A Different Breed of Madness

Rheagar

Red Keep

He found himself dreaming again. He had always looked forward to dreams like this, where he could walk as he had before the rebellion and be free of pain. But since Lyanna had appeared in his dreams, he dreaded them, afraid she would haunt him again.

This time, he stood in the middle of the cavernous expanse of the great hall of the Red Keep, with its narrow windows and large galleries above. The hall was majestic and imposing, filled with the echoes of history. Yet, he noticed the absence of the roof; the sky above was blue and clear.

People surrounded him, cheering his name with fervor. He recognized some of the faces; all the great lords of the Seven Kingdoms were there, as well as some of the minor lords sworn to them. Their voices blended into a thunderous acclaim, filling the hall with a sense of triumph.

This was something he dreamed of before the rebellion: finally deposing his mad father and revealing his true destiny to the world. The lords would have cheered his name like this as he stood with both his queens.

"My queens," he muttered.

"My king," a voice called to his side. He turned and saw Lyanna, and for the first time in his dreams, she looked at him with love, not scorn.

Another voice called his name from the other side. He turned and saw Elia, gazing at him with the same loving expression.

"Yes, this is what I wanted," he said as he soaked in the raucous cheers of the lords around him.

He looked to Elia and Lyanna again. "No ... no," he muttered.

Elia was dead. Lyanna was dead. Was this a punishment? Were the gods mocking him?

Then a sound filled the air, a sound he had only seen described in ancient texts. He looked up, and the lords chanting his name vanished. The sky darkened as three large dragons descended from the heavens. He watched in awe. Never had he seen dragons in his dreams.

The first dragon had black scales, the second was bronze, and the third was gray.

"The three heads of the dragon," he muttered, entranced.

"Yes, my love," both Elia and Lyanna said together, holding his hands on either side.

The riders must be his son Aegon and daughters Rhaenys and Visenya. He paused. He did not have his Visenya. Instead, Lyanna had given him Maekar.

His eyes widened as he saw the person who dismounted from the largest dragon. It was not Aegon.

The riders did not have faces or forms; they were shadows. He could tell the one who rode the largest dragon was a man, and the other two were women. One of the women walked closer to the man, while the other kept a distance. They walked over to him, and he could see the shadow shaped like a man was large and held a warhammer.

The warhammer terrified him.

He turned to Lyanna, only to be met with a large grin, the look of love slowly transforming into one of hate—the look he was used to.

"No," he whispered, the realization dawning on him.

"Yes," Lyanna's voice said, dripping with malice.

The man with the warhammer approached, his presence radiating power and authority. The dragons loomed above, their massive forms casting shadows over the hall.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice trembling with fear and desperation.

The man did not answer. Instead, he raised his warhammer high. Rhaegar tried to escape, but Elia and Lyanna held him from both sides, their grips strong and unyielding.

To his horror, with a swift, decisive motion, the man brought the warhammer down. Just as the warhammer was about to strike him, he woke with a start, sweat pouring down his face, his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

He sat up in his bed, panting and drenched in fear. He looked around his chamber, trying to ground himself in the present. The familiar surroundings of his chambers offered little comfort.

He slowly stood up from his bed, the lingering effects of the nightmare still echoing in his mind. He went through his morning routine with an unusual heaviness, the visions refusing to leave him. The maids helped him dress meticulously, ensuring his appearance was as impeccable as ever. As he left his chambers, Arthur and Oswell who stood guard outside fell into step beside him.

They walked in silence until Arthur broached the subject that had been weighing on every Kingsguard's mind.

"Your Grace, we need to fill the vacant positions in the Kingsguard. With Ser Arys and Ser Lewyn gone, we are two knights short."

"And Ser Gerold, too. He has been wanting to find a replacement for himself for some time," Oswell added.

Rhaegar nodded, his thoughts momentarily diverted from his unsettling dream. Ser Arys had died defending his son, and Ser Lewyn had died protecting Elia when they were attacked by Euron. "Look for the best knights in the realm. Perhaps a tourney can be held. After that, I will make the final decision."

They continued toward his son's chambers. Aegon had returned from his captivity at the hands of Euron Greyjoy, a broken man, much like he had been after Robert's rebellion.

They reached Aegon's chambers, which were being guarded by Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime. They bowed and opened the doors for him.

Upon entering Aegon's chambers, he saw his son lying on his bed. Aegon looked pale, his skin almost translucent. He was gaunt, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes sunken. One of his arms lay limp at his side, still unusable. The sight of his once-vibrant son reduced to such a state filled him with deep sorrow.

"Aegon," he began softly, trying to mask his own anguish.

Aegon turned his head slightly, acknowledging his presence with a mirthless laugh. "How are you, my son?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Aegon laughed again, a bitter sound devoid of any real humor. Rhaegar approached the bed, his heart aching for his son. "You will be fine, Aegon. The Grand Maester has promised that you will recover."

There were some who whispered that Euron had used some kind of blood magic on Aegon. With Aegon remaining silent about what had happened, many rumors spread around the capital. Some called him the Cursed Prince, a rumor that angered him so much that he ordered the tongues to be plucked out of anyone spreading such rumors. Aegon was the Promised Prince, not a cursed one.

Aegon's eyes flickered with disbelief. "No…no, I won't," he said, his voice a shadow of its former strength.

"A crippled prince for a crippled king," Aegon said, laughing once more.

"No, son," Rhaegar said earnestly. "You don't understand... your destiny. The gods won't allow you to be like this. You are the promised prince."

He watched as Aegon's face twisted with anger. "Get out," Aegon said in a low voice, the words barely more than a whisper.

"Aegon," he tried again, but his son cut him off.

"Get out!" Aegon repeated, louder this time, his voice trembling with fury.

Rhaegar felt a pang of despair as he slowly backed out of the room, the door closing behind him.

"He will recover, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said with a sad smile.

He returned the smile with his own and began walking away. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. He, along with Arthur and Oswell, walked silently to the garden of Maegor's Holdfast. The garden was a serene escape, filled with meticulously tended flowers of every hue. Vines crept up trellises, and the sweet scent of blooming roses mingled with the earthy aroma of the soil.

Arthur and Oswell stood silently nearby as he found a seat near the small fountain. He found the sound of water trickling from it soothing as his mind was churning with thoughts and doubts.

What if Aegon did not get well?

Was he wrong about everything?

He thought back to the dream, trying to decipher its meaning. Who was the shadowy man with the warhammer? At first, he thought it might be Robert, but no, it couldn't be Robert. The man in the dream rode a dragon, and there were two other riders as well, shaped like women.

'Maekar,' he thought.

Could Maekar be the man from the dream? The man had tried to kill him in the dream. Did it mean his son would try and kill him? And a dragon—was Maekar the key to the dragons' return?

"Arthur," he called out.

"Your Grace," Arthur answered, stepping up to him.

"Maekar—you saw him at Seagard, yes?" he asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."

"How was he?" he asked, searching for clues in Arthur's response.

"Maekar is doing well. He has made a name for himself during the rebellion," Arthur said, recounting how they had sparred. "He's good with a sword, despite claiming he hadn't used it for a while."

"How did he look?" he pressed.

Arthur smiled. "Looked like a Stark...but he's too pretty to be a Stark. He must get that from you, Your Grace."

"He has a strong build and is only six and ten now. I think he will grow to be larger."Arthur added.

Yes, Maekar could be the man from his dream, and that meant he could be the key to the return of dragons.

He needed to be brought back to his side, made loyal to the Targaryen family.

He should have listened to his advisers; he should have never sent him away.

Who knows what Brandon Stark has been filling his son's head with?

Now he understood the true purpose of the dream. Yes... he could see it clearly now. Lyanna was trying to warn him... yes, warn him of her brother's treachery. She wished for their son to come to his side.

"Arthur," he called again, a sense of urgency in his voice. "Summon the Grand Maester. I have a missive to be sent north."

Arthur nodded and left to carry out the order.

He knew Maekar had a part to play in the coming conflict with the darkness. Yes, he could see it now. Maekar would be by Aegon's side, and he would return the dragons to their family.

For the first time in a long while, Rhaegar smiled—a genuine smile.