Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 29

Chapter 29: The Dragon Dreams
...
Rhaegar POV

I stood before the Iron Throne, the jagged swords twisted into the seat of power that I knew would one day be mine. Each blade glinted menacingly in the flickering torchlight.

The throne loomed high above, its cold, sharp edges glinting ominously in the dim light of the hall. Everything was bathed in darkness, the once-grand chamber now shrouded in an eerie, oppressive aura.

The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of blood and iron. I slowly lifted my gaze, following the winding stairs that led to the top—where the king should sit.

My heart pounded as my eyes settled on the figure slumped on the throne.

King Aerys, my father.

His body lay sprawled beneath the shadow of the throne, lifeless. Three deep, savage claw marks tore across his chest, rending flesh and fabric alike. His entrails spilled from his stomach, staining the throne in a grotesque display of violence.

A man, cloaked in darkness, descended the steps of the Iron Throne, his boots echoing ominously against the cold stone.

His face was hidden beneath the heavy fabric of his hood, casting deep shadows where his features should have been.

He seemed more specter than man, his presence thick with malice and foreboding.

He stopped at the base of the throne, his presence heavy, shadowed in the dim light. Slowly, he raised a gloved hand, his finger pointing directly at me.

"Your fate will be the same as your father's," the figure rasped, his voice low but powerful, filling the hall with an unsettling weight. "You're destined to die, destined to be damned."

A cold fear gripped me, crawling down my spine like icy fingers. My hands shook, but I swallowed the terror and forced my voice to rise, trying to sound brave even though my heart was racing.

"Who... who are you?" I yelled, though the fear cracked my voice.

The hooded figure tilted his head, as if amused by my question. "Who am I?" he repeated, his voice low and mocking.

"I am he whom the old, sick, and dead fear. I collect the dead—king, queen, prince, princess, noble, merchant, smallfolk. Whomever you may be," his tone darkened, sharp as a blade, "I collect all of you."

He paused, his next words dropping like stones into the still air.

"I am the Stranger."

The name hung between us, heavy with meaning, as his words echoed in my mind. The Stranger—one of the seven faces of the gods, the bringer of death and the unknown.

My heart pounded in my chest, but I couldn't shake his final words.

"What do you mean my fate is the same as my father's?" I screamed, my voice cracking as panic set in.

The Stranger chuckled darkly, the sound filling the hall like an echo from the abyss.

"Why are you laughing?" I shouted again, this time fear tightening my throat.

Suddenly, I felt something wet beneath me. I looked down, and to my horror, blood began to rise from the floor, flooding the room as though a dam had broken.

Hands—pale, cold, and wet—emerged from the blood, grasping at my legs, pulling me down. I kicked and thrashed, striking at the hands as they clawed at my body, dragging me deeper into the floor.

"No! Please, no!" I begged, my voice hoarse from terror. "Tell me—how do I change my fate?"

The Stranger's laugh faded into silence, and then he spoke, his voice cold and final.