Beneath the shadows of fire and steel,
Old secrets stir wounds yet to heal.
A crown once lost, a path unclear,
Blood will flow, and fate draws near.
Echoes whisper of swords unsheathed,
Of fallen kings and vengeance breathed.
The dragon's roar, a ha...
In the training yard, Rhaenys Velaryon was still practicing her swordplay with fierce determination. Her focus was unbreakable, each strike carrying the weight of her aspirations to stand as an equal beside Rhaegar. As she brought her blade down in a powerful arc, a servant approached hastily, his face pale and stricken with grief.
"Lady Rhaenys," he called out, his voice trembling. "It's Prince Rhaegar... something has happened."
She froze, her heart hammering in her chest as an unsettling dread clawed at her. "What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice sharp and urgent as she lowered her sword. "Speak plainly."
The servant's voice cracked as he struggled to find the words. "He... collapsed in the council chambers, my lady. The masters are with him now, but he is... he is unmoving."
Rhaenys's world tilted, a cold numbness spreading through her limbs. Without a second thought, she sprinted from the training yard, the servant's voice fading behind her. She ran through the halls of the Red Keep, her breath ragged as tears welled in her eyes. The people she passed in the corridors seemed like ghosts, their faces a blur as she pushed her way to the council chamber.
When she reached the doorway of the prince's chamber, the sight that met her eyes tore at her heart. Rhaegar lay motionless on the bed, surrounded by the maesters who frantically worked to revive him. His usually strong, resolute form was limp, his eyes closed as if in a deep, restless slumber. Viserys and Daemon stood beside him, their faces streaked with tears, while King Jaehaerys sat slumped in a chair, his expression a mix of anguish and helplessness.
"Rhaegar!" Rhaenys cried, rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees, grabbing his hand with desperate strength.
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"No, no, this cannot be. Wake up!" Her voice broke, and she laid her head against his chest, listening for any sign of his heartbeat. There was a faint rhythm, but it was weak as if he were slipping further away with each passing moment.
Viserys, his voice choked with emotion, whispered, "The maesters say there's nothing they can do. They don't know what caused this."
"He's still breathing!" Rhaenys exclaimed, her voice raw with desperation. "You cannot give up on him!" She looked at the maesters, her eyes burning with a fiery determination. "Do something! Bring him back! He's stronger than this."
The head maester, a grey-haired man with lines etched deep into his face, shook his head slowly. "We have tried, my lady. There is a darkness upon him. He remains beyond our reach."
Rhaenys turned back to Rhaegar, her tears falling freely. She pressed her lips to his forehead and whispered, "Come back to me, Rhaegar. You promised..."
As Rhaenys wept over Rhaegar, Daemon stood close by, his small hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His eyes, usually bright with youthful mischief, were red and swollen from crying. "Why won't he wake up?" he asked in a small, trembling voice.
