Chapter Text
The sun was slowly beginning to rise, and the skies above the Blackwater were painted in warm golden shades. For Rhaegar, another night spent alone with his own thoughts was coming to an end.
When Rhaegar had obtained some of the prophecy books hidden in the deepest corners of the castle from Lord Hightower, he had been overwhelmed with joy. At last, he had thought, he might finally find answers to some of his questions.
And he had.
Some questions had been answered, but countless more had taken their place.
"Arthur," Rhaegar asked his most loyal companion, "what color do you think fire is?"
Arthur Dayne raised a single eyebrow at the prince. "What kind of question is that now? Please do not tell me you spent the entire night thinking about this."
"Just answer the question," Rhaegar grumbled.
"Hmmm... I suppose red?" Arthur stroked his beard thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact, they say the comet that fell upon Starfall burned with purple fire. That is why my family's sigil is purple."
Rhaegar could only nod. He knew the answer to the question would not be that simple.
"Perhaps we should ask your father," Arthur said with a grin. "The Seven know His Majesty is the wisest man in all Westeros on this matter."
"No truer words were ever spoken." Rhaegar laughed along with him before turning his attention back to the book.
As he reread the ancient Valyrian texts, he translated them inside his mind. He had done this thousands of times throughout the night.
"With a mane of flame, eyes of fire, and a heart of fire, the one shall sing the song that ends the Long Night."
The phrase at the end of the text, "the song that ends the Long Night," was undoubtedly the Song of Ice and Fire. But was the text speaking of the chosen one himself? Certainly not. There was only fire here, no ice.
The word song was used to describe the chosen one. In short, the person spoken of in the text was not the chosen one himself, but one of his parents.
This was the clearest information Rhaegar had ever found about the parent of the chosen one, yet he was not truly certain how to interpret it.
What did "With a mane of flame" mean? Most likely, mane truly meant hair. But why fire? Burning hair? No, that seemed unlikely. It was probably speaking of color. The phrase "eyes of fire" would likewise refer to eye color, while "a heart of fire" was most likely describing the personality of the person in question.
The moment Rhaegar read the text, he understood it was not speaking of himself. Silver hair and purple eyes could hardly be described as fire. Likewise, Rhaegar's personality was far from fiery.
Then he interpreted the prophecy in reverse.
"With a mane of ice, eyes of ice, and a heart of ice, the one shall sing the song that ends the Long Night."
That would have been a perfect description of Rhaegar himself. Silver and purple were among the most distinct colors associated with ice. In the same way, Rhaegar's withdrawn personality could easily be interpreted as ice.
Rhaegar laughed bitterly. He had always believed himself to be fire, yet in truth, he was ice.
Now that he knew he himself was ice, he needed to find the woman who would serve as fire, and together they would create the Song of Ice and Fire. Together they would bring forth the prince that was promised, the one destined to end the Long Night.
Yet accomplishing this was not as simple as he had imagined. After staring into the flames all night long, he had realized that the answer to the question of what color fire truly was remained highly open to interpretation.
The truth was that fire was certainly not made of a single color. After watching the flames in the hearth for hours, Rhaegar had decided that red and green were the dominant colors, though blue sparks appeared from time to time as well.
Green and blue were not natural hair colors people could possess. That left red as the only answer. Red hair was uncommon, yet not exceedingly rare. Rhaegar knew several red-haired ladies. He especially remembered that Catelyn and Lysa Tully possessed blood-red hair, and their eyes were blue as well. They partially matched the prophecy. Yet neither possessed particularly fiery personalities. They were more easily described as proper and courteous ladies fit for marriage. Furthermore, House Tully was an upjumped bloodline that had never worn a crown. The prince that was promised could not be born from such an inadequate lineage.
Perhaps he could find the woman he sought in Essos. Rhaegar had never seen a priestess of R'hllor before, but he had heard that they possessed red hair and red eyes. R'hllor was the god of fire, and Rhaegar also knew that the faith of R'hllor possessed the prophecy of Azor Ahai. Yes, it was entirely possible that a priestess of R'hllor could serve as fire beside ice.
Yes, that idea made somewhat more sense. It still would not be an ancient bloodline, yet it was certainly logical.
But where was he supposed to find a priestess of R'hllor? Would he have to travel to Volantis? Rhaegar was the crown prince. He could not simply journey to such a distant city on a whim.
Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.
He would think about the matter of finding fire later. First, he had to deal with his father.
Aerys Targaryen could no longer remain upon the Iron Throne. With each passing day, Rhaegar became more certain of that.
Ever since the announcement of a Hightower-Stark marriage, his father had become even more paranoid than before. He was utterly convinced that a rebellious alliance of great lords was forming.
Rhaegar thought the idea absurd. House Arryn was known for its honor. The Starks had no quarrel with the Targaryens. The Tullys had become Lords Paramount thanks to the Targaryens. The Hightowers had avoided games of power ever since Lord Leyton became Lord of Oldtown. As for the Baratheons, they were kin. Neither his late uncle Steffon nor his cousin Robert were men who would engage in such schemes.
It was certain that the alliance of lords desired something, yet Rhaegar was convinced they were not rebels.
But his father would do something that changed that. He would commit some unimaginable madness under the grip of his own paranoia, something that would force the alliance of lords into rebellion. Rhaegar knew this with certainty.
And if the alliance of lords truly rose in rebellion because of his father's actions, House Targaryen would be walking upon a knife's edge. Even the previous Blackfyre Rebellions would pale in comparison to such a war.
Before his father committed the madness that would seal the fate of House Targaryen, he had to be removed from the throne. Yet Rhaegar could not do so arbitrarily, or he would be seen as a usurper.
Great Council needed to be convened. There, he would present his claim to the throne, and likely not a single Lord Paramount would oppose him.
Yet serious problems remained. Rhaegar could not summon a Great Council through open letters. His father would certainly see it as an attempt at usurpation and begin a civil war.
He needed to gather all the Lords Paramount in one place, yet his father must never suspect it was an attempt to convene a Great Council.
The birth of his daughter Rhaenys had given Rhaegar the perfect excuse.
"Let us hold a grand tourney for the birth of your first grandchild," he had told his father. "It shall be the greatest tourney in history. Every Lord Paramount shall come to King's Landing, and they shall witness the majesty of House Targaryen and tremble."
His father had eagerly accepted the idea. Of course, he did not truly care for newborn Rhaenys. The moment he saw the babe, he had cursed, "She smells Dornish!" and berated Elia for failing to give birth to a child that looked Targaryen.
Yet the idea of a tourney displaying the grandeur of House Targaryen had certainly interested him. Rhaegar had chosen the correct words to persuade his father.
He let out a deep sigh. Only a year and a half had passed since his wedding to Elia, and now a grand tourney was being organized. All these events would place a heavy burden upon the treasury of House Targaryen.
"My prince." Arthur suddenly placed an arm before Rhaegar, halting his steps as they entered the throne room.
A greasy, smoky, and all too familiar smell reached Rhaegar's nose.
"Wildfire," he muttered to himself. "Did my father burn another person? Why was I not informed?"
"Ah, there was to be another burning at dawn. A rapist from Flea Bottom," Arthur recalled. "You were working all night. I did not wish to disturb you."
No, you forgot, Rhaegar clicked his tongue to himself.
Yet despite the overpowering smell of wildfire, no screams could be heard. That meant the execution had already ended.
Rhaegar signaled for the guards to open the doors.
The throne room was completely empty. There was no one there, only a corpse still burning.
That corpse would continue to burn for several more hours. Wildfire did not extinguish itself until it had completely consumed whatever it clung to.
Rhaegar turned, ready to leave.
Then, for no reason at all, he looked back once more.
A conversation he had long forgotten returned to his mind.
Rhaegar looked at the flames once more.
Perzys burned green and gold.
"With a mane of flame, eyes of fire, and a heart of fire, the one shall sing the song that ends the Long Night."
Rhaegar now knew who he needed to find.
He knew that woman.