A Song of Ash and Empire

Rhaegar's hands were sweating.

He wiped them on his tunic for the third time, but it didn't help. His palms were damp again the moment he stepped into the corridor that led to the King's private solar.

Every step felt like a death march. His boots echoed faintly against the stone floor, accompanied by the sound of his breathing, too loud in his ears.

This is stupid. This is so stupid.

He was eight years old. He should be reading books or playing with his brothers, not trying to manipulate the King of the Seven Kingdoms. But here he was, marching toward Jaehaerys Targaryen, a man who had ruled Westeros for nearly fifty years. A man who was sharp, calculating, and entirely too good at sniffing out deceit.

Rhaegar wasn't ready for this. His plan—if it could even be called that—was flimsy at best, stitched together in the dead of night like a poorly made dress. It relied on half-truths, vague guesses, and a generous dose of luck.

And yet, he had no other choice.

The door to the solar loomed ahead, guarded by two silent Kingsguard knights in their polished white cloaks. Their gazes flicked to Rhaegar as he approached, assessing him with faintly amused expressions. He was just a boy, after all, and he probably looked like one too: pale, nervous, clutching the hem of his tunic as if it might save him from the weight of the task ahead.

"I… I'm here to see the King," he managed to stammer.

The taller of the two knights raised an eyebrow. "Do you have an appointment, my prince?"

Rhaegar's throat went dry. "No, but—"

The door opened before he could finish.

"Let the boy in," came a deep, calm voice from inside.

The knights stepped aside, their expressions unreadable now. Rhaegar took a shaky breath and stepped through the door.

The solar was warm and dimly lit, the air scented faintly with parchment and old wood. Jaehaerys sat at a broad table near the window, a quill in hand, scratching out something on a piece of parchment. The king didn't look up immediately, his silver hair glinting faintly in the sunlight streaming through the window.

Rhaegar swallowed hard and stepped closer.

"Your Grace," he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. He bowed deeply, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Rhaegar." Jaehaerys's voice was calm, but there was an edge of curiosity in it. He set the quill down and finally looked up, his violet eyes sharp and penetrating. "What brings you here, unannounced?"

Nothing good, Rhaegar thought, but he forced himself to straighten and meet the king's gaze.

"I… I had a dream," he said carefully, choosing his words as if each one were a stepping stone over a pit of vipers.

Jaehaerys raised a single silver eyebrow. "A dream?"

"A dragon dream," Rhaegar clarified, forcing himself to stand taller. 

Jaehaerys's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, just slightly. "A dragon dream?"

Rhaegar nodded, his palms damp again. "Yes, Your Grace. It was… vivid. Strange. I thought it might be important."

The king leaned back in his chair, studying him with those unrelenting eyes. Rhaegar felt like a mouse under the gaze of a dragon. "Go on, then. Tell me what you saw."

Rhaegar swallowed hard, his mind racing. He'd practiced this moment a dozen times in his head, rehearsing every word, every detail. But now that he was here, the plan felt fragile. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to speak.

Keep it just vague enough. He reminded himself.

"I saw fire," he began carefully. "Flames rising high, turning the sky red. There was blood in the flames—blood on a prince."

The king's fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the desk. "A prince?"

Rhaegar nodded quickly, grateful he'd remembered that detail. "Yes, Your Grace. A prince, struck down by shadow. There were great storms and a giant stone of sapphire surrounded by sea."

He paused, watching Jaehaerys for any reaction. The king's face remained impassive, but his gaze was sharper now, like a blade glinting in the firelight.

"Go on," Jaehaerys said.

Rhaegar hesitated, then added, "There were dragons, too. Circling, roaring, but they couldn't stop the blood from falling. And… and the fire grew colder."

The room fell silent.

Rhaegar's heart pounded in his chest as he forced himself to stand still, even as every instinct screamed at him to flee. This is it, he thought. He's going to laugh, or send me away, or have me thrown out of the room for wasting his time.

But Jaehaerys didn't laugh. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. "And what do you think it means?"

It means my uncle is about to get shot in the neck and I for the life of me can't think of a way to stop his death myself right now, Rhaegar thought bitterly. But he couldn't say that.

"I don't know," he said instead, his voice low. "But it felt… real. Like a warning."

The king's gaze didn't waver. "Dragon dreams are not to be ignored," he said slowly. "But they are not always what they seem. They can be warnings, yes, but also fears, fantasies, or tricks of the mind."

Rhaegar's stomach twisted. He doesn't believe me.

"But," Jaehaerys continued, his voice softening, "you are of my blood. And our blood has seen such things before. Tell me, boy—why did you bring this to me?"

Because you're the king and I need to start planting seeds before the realm goes to shit, Rhaegar thought, though he doubted that answer would go over well.

"I thought you should know," he said instead. "In case… in case it's important. You've always protected our family, and I thought…" He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding like a complete fool.

Jaehaerys's expression didn't change, but his fingers stopped drumming against the desk. "You thought I might see the meaning in it," he finished for him.

Rhaegar nodded quickly, grateful for the save.

The king leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the fire. For a long moment, he said nothing, the crackle of the flames filling the silence.

Rhaegar shifted uncomfortably, resisting the urge to fidget. Gods, he's going to dismiss me. I knew this was a bad idea. I should've just waited until something actually happened—

"You've thought about this," Jaehaerys said suddenly, his voice cutting through Rhaegar's panicked thoughts.

Rhaegar blinked. "Your Grace?"

"This dream of yours," the king continued, his tone measured. "You've given it thought. More than I would expect from a boy your age."

Rhaegar swallowed hard, unsure whether that was a compliment or a veiled warning. "I just… wanted to help. To protect our family."

Jaehaerys studied him for another long moment, then stood, the weight of his years evident in the slow, deliberate movement. He walked to the hearth, staring into the flames.

"Fire can be dangerous," he said, his voice low. "Even to those who wield it. Dreams, and prophecies… can be just as dangerous. Be careful, boy."

The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Rhaegar bowed deeply, his heart pounding. "Yes, Your Grace."

Jaehaerys turned back to him, his violet eyes glinting in the firelight. "You may go. But if you have another dream, come to me."

Rhaegar hesitated, then nodded. "I will."

As he stepped out of the solar, the tension in his chest began to ease, replaced by a faint, reluctant sense of triumph. The king hadn't dismissed him. He hadn't laughed. He had listened.

The first seed was planted. Now all Rhaegar could do was wait for it to grow.

As he walked down the hall, his lips twitched into a wry smile.

I just lied to the King of the Seven Kingdoms and got away with it. Either I'm the smartest Targaryen alive, or the stupidest.