Chapter 42: The Prince That Was Promised
Early in 262 AC, joyful news arrived from Storm's End.
Ser Steffon Baratheon's wife had given birth to twins.
Like Rhaegar himself, these children belonged to the generation that would one day reshape the fate of Westeros.
Has the wheel of fate already begun to turn? Rhaegar wondered. Robert Baratheon, Brandon Stark… then Eddard Stark, the twins Jaime and Cersei Lannister, and the daughters of House Tully.
Once they come of age, history truly begins.
This time, I will seize the initiative.
His thoughts drifted again to the newborn girl of House Baratheon.
Roberta Baratheon… my betrothed in name, perhaps.
Even this has already diverged from history.
If matters continued this way, Robert Baratheon—future Lord of Storm's End and famed warrior—might one day become his goodbrother. The so-called butterfly effect caused by Rhaegar's presence was already revealing itself.
The intentions of King Jaehaerys II and Lord Ormund Baratheon had not been spoken lightly.
The Targaryens placed extreme importance on blood when arranging marriages. Roberta's grandmother had been a Targaryen princess, and through her, the girl possessed some of the closest dragonlord blood outside the royal family itself. Combined with the long-standing bond between House Targaryen and House Baratheon, such a match was almost inevitable.
The great alliance of Dragon, Lion, and Stag traced its roots back to King Aegon V and Ser Duncan the Tall. Gerold Lannister had supported Aegon's rise with gold, while Lord Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm, had been Aegon's close companion. Their friendship still shaped the political balance of the realm.
Thinking this through, Rhaegar felt a measure of calm.
It was impossible to escape the inertia of history entirely.
In this age of noble houses, lineage, honor, and appearance governed all things—especially marriage. The unions of heirs were strictly confined within the highest circles. Without proper blood or standing, even beauty could not secure a match.
Prince Duncan's fate stood as a warning.
As the sole heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaegar would never be free to choose his bride by affection alone. The realm could not endure another scandal born of royal defiance.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—the great houses of the Stormlands, Westerlands, and Dorne were known for producing handsome men and beautiful women in abundance.
Robert Baratheon, even as a youth, was said to be broad-shouldered and striking, a figure destined to become the dream of countless maidens. If he had an elder sister, she would surely be no less impressive.
History remembered Princess Jocelyn Baratheon as a great beauty—tall, dark-haired, and long-limbed—who had once married into House Targaryen. Roberta, it seemed, would inherit the best of that lineage.
As ravens carried congratulations to Storm's End, Rhaegar turned his attention instead to a book that had long occupied his thoughts:
The Autobiography of Brynden Rivers.
The ancient volume bore the weight of years, its pages marked by time and secrecy. Whenever Rhaegar read it, he felt as though Bloodraven himself watched him—cold-eyed, stern, and faintly sorrowful.
Brynden Rivers was a contradiction made flesh.
A bastard who ruled the realm.
A ruthless hand who preserved peace.
A master of shadows who pursued order.
Warrior, sorcerer, statesman.
Even his love—for his half-sister Aemon Rivers—had curdled into bitterness and regret.
After retrieving the dragonring, Rhaegar brought the book back to his chambers.
He could read only the upper portion of the text. The lower half remained sealed, as though bound by some unseen art. Whether by spell or design, Bloodraven had left parts of his legacy inaccessible.
Still, what Rhaegar could read was invaluable.
And within it, traces of King Aegon IV appeared again and again.
Though dead, Aegon the Unworthy lingered like a shadow over history.
The world believes my father to have been neither good king nor good man, Bloodraven wrote.
He drowned himself in indulgence and desire. Yet I suspect there was more behind his madness.
When drunk, Aegon IV had spoken often of prophecy.
He believed the Prince That Was Promised would arise from among his descendants. He believed that Daemon Blackfyre, born of Princess Daena and bearing pure dragon blood, was closer to that destiny than Daeron, whom he despised.
Thus were planted the seeds of rebellion.
Daemon's blood was strong. His mother was Targaryen. Daeron's children, born of a Dornish wife, bore too much of Dorne in Aegon's eyes.
From such thinking came chaos.
Aegon IV had failed utterly as a father. He indulged himself yet refused responsibility, even slandering his own queen simply because he resented Daeron's inheritance.
Rhaegar felt a chill.
Was the King's endless lust merely indulgence… or something more?
Aegon IV sowed dragonseeds across the world—Braavos, Lys, the Riverlands, the Crownlands—believing perhaps that quantity might give rise to destiny.
Bloodraven himself doubted the prophecy.
The Prince That Was Promised is likely nonsense, he wrote.
My father used prophecy to justify his appetites. The Targaryens are cursed not only with greatness and madness—but with belief.
Dragon Dreams. Portents. Omens.
Three prophecies haunted the family above all others:
The Prince That Was Promised
A Song of Ice and Fire
The Dragon Has Three Heads
Ice and fire. Winter and summer. Destruction and rebirth.
The dragon with three heads—once Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, later something else, undefined and dangerous.
Rhaegar's heart tightened.
His grandfather had believed the prophecy. The woods witch had foretold that Aerys and Rhaella's union would produce the promised prince. Later, Rhaegar himself had believed it—first of himself, then of his son Aegon.
Both paths had ended in ruin.
And now he knew: Aegon IV had believed it too.
But belief alone had only brought bloodshed.
The prophecy had existed for thousands of years. How arrogant to think it would bend to one man.
Closing Bloodraven's autobiography, Rhaegar exhaled softly.
"I do not deny prophecy," he murmured. "But I will not worship it."
The False Silver Prince chased prophecy.
The True Silver Prince would shape history.
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