The King of Winters

Chapter 58

Rhaegar

He killed a dragon," the king said.

"He did, my king." The messenger's voice was dulled by exhaustion. On the breast of his faded surcoat, the red three headed dragon of House Targaryen was half-obscured by dried mud and sweat.

"And my son?" Rhaegar asked. The messenger flinched for a moment. He looked down at his worn boots caked in dried mud. No wonder his son's men raced to him all their way from White Harbor.

"He sent Prince Jaehaerys to the Wall, Your Grace," the messenger said never looking up from his boots.

To the Wall. The king knew he should be happy that Jae was not sent to a block and an executioner but somehow he couldn't help to bring himself to it. He had sent enough men with his son to hold Winterfell and here they are with a sack of bones and some stupid legend of the Born King while his son is freezing in some frozen chamber of his. His scroll might tell him that they were destined for it but not like this, defeated and humiliated.

His small council members had fallen very quiet as the courier told his tale. The only sound was the crackle and hiss of the log burning in the hearth at the end of the small council room.

The moment they brought the messenger from the north in, Rhaegar knew that not even a single breath he had in his lungs meant good. He had put an end to the court and brought him to the small council chambers at once. It would do no good for the realm to hear this long dead legend once again. It will only stir up the chaos that's already made up for me. Derek's disappearance, his son's banishment to the Wall, the north is lost for sure now. The boy would be coming south by now if the messenger from Winterfell was anything to go by. Damn the north, damn them all.

Somehow the day he had been dreading all these years had come at last. So it had all been for nothing. The blood, the sweat, the battles, the bodies . . . all for naught. So that Stark's son could grow out from his grave to come and haunt me.

"How could this happen?" Mace Tyrell grew puffy and red. "How? The Stark line was ended that day, cut down to pieces . . . how could this boy have survived? There must've been a mistake."

That is why I told likewise to you, you fat fool, Rhaegar thought. One word of Stark and you'll tremble in fear. Mace Tyrell's only accomplishment was making the last stand against Ned Stark's forces to help them retreat in the Battle of Wolfswood and that too was done by Randyll Tarly.

"There is no mistake, my lord," the courier said. "We'd locked the castle and left no way for anyone to get in or our, yet it was not enough. No one was expecting an attack. Stark killed the men upon the walls during night to keep them from warning. The prince told us it had been the outlaws. Ser Derek had gone out to deal with them before . . . well, with what we thought was them. No one was expecting to see him there, your grace. The people started fighting the next day and he came out from his hiding when Prince Jaehaerys called in his dragon. And he . . ."

Killed it, that left unsaid.

"We all saw him, my lords," the messenger continued. "The people recognized him at once and he even had the wolf with him. The white one, big as a horse with eyes red as blood."

"What of Darkfang?" Jon Connington asked.

The bloodstained messenger shook his head. "He took the cream of our garrison to deal with the outlaws, my lord. But we've heard nothing else."

"You said he came out to slay the dragon," Jon Connington prompted.

The man gave a weary nod. "It's some dark sorcery, my lord. Andrew Stark might have wounded the beast but it was the weapons he used killed the dragon. Don't know what is that he used to coat on his spear but it was darker stuff even the dragon was afraid of it. And his sword . . . it didn't melt. We all felt the heat coming off the beast but it did nothing to the sword."

That is interesting. The insides of a dragon was always burning hotter than a thousand furnaces lit up all at once. He wondered even if valyrian steel could endure that much of heat. Somehow he think not.

"And what were you doing during all of this?" Rhaegar asked.

"The prince challenged him to a single combat, my king," the messenger said. "We tried to tell him that it's unwise after what had just happened but he insisted. The castle folk opened the gates to the direwolf too."

Smart boy, Rhaegar thought, swirling his cup and staring down into the winy depths. Using his wolf as an advantage to put fear in the minds of his enemies like they did with their dragons. He does have some brain. That didn't surprise him, given Andrew Stark was as much a son of Ashara Dayne as he was Ned Stark's. After all the last thing she ever did was to outwit him to save her son though.