Free Web NovelChapter 77: Dreams of Winter
The rescue was over.
For the first time in what felt like days, Rhaego found himself sitting still.
The gardens of Highgarden stretched around him in a sea of roses and sunlight. Bees drifted lazily between blossoms. Somewhere nearby, water trickled from a marble fountain.
Normally he might have appreciated the beauty of it.
At the moment, he was too tired.
He sat beneath the shade of a broad apple tree, one arm draped across a raised knee. His wings had long since disappeared beneath his cloak, but the ache remained in his shoulders.
Flying from Dorne to Highgarden had been exhausting enough.
Flying to King’s Landing and back in less than a day while carrying a passenger had been something else entirely.
He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the midday sun soak into his scales.
"You look terrible."
He opened one eye.
Princess Arianne Martell stood above him, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
Rhaego groaned. "Thank you."
"You’re welcome," she replied sweetly, settling gracefully onto the stone bench beside him. "Lady Olenna asked me to thank you. She’s with Margaery now."
Rhaego nodded slowly. That much he had expected. Grandmother and granddaughter would have much to speak of after everything that had happened.
Arianne tilted her head, studying him with open amusement.
"Though I suspect half of Highgarden already knows some version of the story."
"Which version?" Rhaego asked warily.
"The one where a handsome dragon prince descended from the sky like a hero from the old songs and carried their beloved queen home."
Rhaego stared at her. Arianne’s smile only widened.
"You’re enjoying this far too much," he muttered.
"Immensely." She smiled.
Rhaego rolled his eyes.
A few moments later, the soft crunch of footsteps approached along the garden path. Both turned to see Lady Olenna Tyrell making her way toward them, Margaery at her side.
The Queen of Thorns walked with her usual deliberate slowness, one hand resting lightly on her granddaughter’s arm. Margaery looked composed, though her eyes still carried the faint traces of exhaustion and relief.
Olenna stopped before Rhaego and regarded him for a long moment.
"Well," she said at last.
Rhaego knew that was as close to open affection as the Queen of Thorns was willing to offer in public.
"Well," he echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"You did it."
"I did."
"I dislike admitting when young people prove useful," Olenna continued dryly.
"I’ve noticed."
Olenna snorted.
Margaery laughed softly beside her grandmother.
"But in this case... I suppose I must. I have already sent word to my son in King’s Landing. Not the full story, naturally. Mace does not need every detail. Gods know he would only find a way to repeat them loudly. " freewebnσvel.cøm
That earned an actual smile from Margaery.
"He will know I am safe. For now, that is enough."
Rhaego nodded.
The old woman’s eyes studied him for a moment longer. Then she said quietly, "House Tyrell remembers its debts."
Rhaego waved a hand modestly. "It wasn’t a debt," he said.
"No?"
"No." He shrugged.
"I’ve no need for debts between allies."
One corner of his mouth twitched upward. "House Tyrell has chosen to stand beside me. Why wouldn’t I do the same for them?"
For a brief moment, something softened in Olenna’s expression.
Not much, but enough.
"A strange sort of man," she said, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Most would have made certain I remembered the debt."
Then she nodded once. "Very well."
The meaning remained the same regardless, House Tyrell would remember and the Reach would stand beside the dragon.
Arianne, who had been watching with clear satisfaction, suddenly cleared her throat.
"I have also sent word," she announced, unable to hide the pleased note in her voice. "My father should receive the raven within a few days. Dorne now knows the mission was a success."
Rhaego turned to her with a tired but genuine smile.
"You really do think of everything, don’t you?"
Arianne smirked. "Someone has to."
"You drank wine while I was flying across half the realm," he pointed out.
"It was excellent wine," she replied without shame.
Olenna barked out a short laugh. Even Margaery looked quietly amused.
For a little while, the four of them lingered beneath the warm afternoon sun, speaking quietly of ravens, future plans, and the delicate path that lay ahead.
The rescue had succeeded.
The alliance had taken root.
Yet as the conversation drifted around him, Rhaego found his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon.
They had won a victory today.
So why did it feel as though a piece was still missing from the board? The answer lingered somewhere beyond the Reach.
Across kingdoms.
Waiting.
And sooner or later, it would find him.
The North.
Lady Olenna had retired to speak with her granddaughter. The servants had been dismissed. Ravens had already been sent.
Only two people remained.
The council chamber was quiet in the late afternoon light. Dust motes danced in the golden beams streaming through the tall arched windows. Maps of Westeros lay spread across the long table, weighted down by carved rose-shaped stones.
Rhaego stood near one of the windows, arms crossed, while Arianne leaned against the edge of the table, watching him with sharp, curious eyes.
"I’ve been thinking," Rhaego said slowly.
"We should reach out to the North as well."
Arianne raised an elegant eyebrow.
"The North?" She let out a soft, incredulous laugh, somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
"We have just secured the Reach, the richest and most populous kingdom in Westeros. Half the grain in the realm grows beneath Tyrell banners, and their armies are larger than most kings could dream of commanding."
She gestured lazily toward the map.
"Why in the Seven Hells would we need the North?"
Rhaego remained silent.
Arianne continued.
"They are proud, stubborn, suspicious of outsiders, and frozen for half the year. Northerners do not make friends easily, and they certainly do not involve themselves in southern quarrels unless forced."
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"And as for dragons..." she said, tapping a finger against the map where Winterfell stood, "wolves and dragons have never been particularly fond of one another."
Her gaze lifted to meet his.
"Especially not Stark wolves."
Her dark eyes narrowed slightly.
"What exactly do the Northmen offer that House Tyrell does not?"
Rhaego’s gaze drifted northward, toward lands he could not see from the windows of Highgarden, toward a distant frontier that existed only in memory and imagination.
For a long moment he said nothing, and when he finally spoke, his answer was so simple that it only deepened Arianne’s confusion.
"The Wall."
Arianne frowned. "The Wall?"
"The Wall," he repeated quietly.
Something in his voice had changed. The confidence and easy humor that usually accompanied his schemes had faded, replaced by a seriousness that immediately caught her attention.
Beyond the windows, sunlight danced across the waters of the Mander, filling the chamber with warmth and gold, yet somehow the room itself seemed colder.
"Rhaego," she said, her tone losing its teasing edge.
"What aren’t you telling me?"
He remained silent for several heartbeats, his eyes fixed on something far beyond the horizon.
At last he turned toward her and said carefully, "Beyond the Wall, there is something coming."
Arianne folded her arms across her chest. "Bandits?"
"No."
"Wildlings?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Rhaego hesitated.
The truth sounded insane even inside his own head. Every attempt to explain it only made it seem more absurd, and there was no possible way to tell her that he remembered another life, another story, another ending that had never yet come but will happen.
Across the room, Arianne watched him struggle with his answer, and her curiosity only grew.
Interesting, she thought. Very interesting.
Arianne studied him for a long moment. Her playful demeanor slowly faded, replaced by something sharper, more calculating.
"You speak as if you’ve seen it," she said, tilting her head.
"How would you even know what lies beyond the Wall, Rhaego? You were raised in Essos."
Shit... Yeah, I forgot about that.
Rhaego’s mind raced. His heart gave a hard, anxious thud against his ribs.
She’s too sharp.
Rhaego turned to face her, his expression serious but hesitant. He shifted his weight, clearly choosing his words with care.
"I... heard things," he replied, a little too quickly.
"Stories from travelers. Sailors who went far north. And... if we could find Sansa Stark—"
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Arianne froze.
The moment the name left his mouth, Arianne’s eyes narrowed sharply, locking onto him like a hawk spotting prey.
"Sansa?" Her tone was laced with clear suspicion.
Damn.
Rhaego immediately regretted opening his mouth.
"Sansa Stark?" Arianne repeated.
"The daughter of Eddard Stark?"
Rhaego nodded, trying to appear calm. Inside, his stomach twisted.
Damn it. Why did I say her name?
"Perhaps." He said casually.
Arianne stared. "Perhaps?"
"You know who she is?" He asked.
"Of course I know who she is," Arianne continued, leaning forward with dangerous interest. "The question is, how do you know who she is?"
Rhaego felt the trap closing around him. His mind raced, scrambling for solid ground that kept slipping away. He had spent so long pretending to be ignorant of Westerosi matters, playing the role of the foreign prince who knew nothing of their houses and feuds.
Yet here he was, talking about Sansa Stark, a girl half a continent away.
A girl most people believed either dead or hidden.
Arianne folded her arms.
"I’m waiting."
Rhaego cleared his throat.
"Margaery mentioned her."
Arianne raised an eyebrow.
"Did she?"
"Yes."
"When?"
And now, in one careless moment, he had stepped right into Arianne’s snare.
Rhaego’s heart hammered against his ribs.
"During the flight. She was... nervous. Talking helped. That’s all." He said quickly, the words tumbling out.
Arianne folded her arms, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips. It was the smile of someone who had just caught a rabbit in a snare.
"You are lying," she said pleasantly.
"I’m not."
"You are."
Rhaego groaned and rubbed his face with one hand.
"I’m not."
Arianne didn’t look entirely convinced, but she let it pass for now.
"Even if we found Sansa Stark," she said, crossing her arms, "the North is not easily swayed. They remember the last Targaryen king. They remember fire and blood."
Rhaego stepped closer, his voice low and earnest.
"I know it sounds difficult. But we need them, Princess. Not just for soldiers. The North remembers the old ways. And there is something coming... something bigger than thrones and crowns."
Arianne watched him closely, her dark eyes searching his face.
"You speak like someone who has seen the future," she said softly.
Then, after a pause, she asked a question more directly. "Is this truly just about helping your mother take back the Iron Throne? Or is there... something more?"
Rhaego was silent for a moment. He nodded slowly and then finally, Rhaego exhaled heavily and leaned back.
Okay.. This leaves me no choice but to use the dream trick again.
If it worked with mother, I wonder if this might work for the princess, though I highly doubt it.. But please work.
"Fine," he muttered. "I have dreams sometimes."
The amusement on Arianne’s face faded at once.
"Dreams?"
"Dragon dreams," Rhaego said quietly, committing to the lie.
"When I was younger, I thought they were nonsense."
Rhaego stared at the map.
"Then things I saw began happening."
Arianne said nothing, she simply watched him, dark eyes steady and unreadable.
"I saw cities before I ever set foot in them," Rhaego continued quietly, his voice low. "I saw battles before the first raven brought word of them. I saw faces of men and women I had never met... and later recognized them in the flesh."
His finger drifted across the map, moving slowly northward until it came to rest on the thick black line of the Wall.
"And lately..." He hesitated, the lie heavy on his tongue. "I have seen snow."
Arianne waited.
"Snow is not unusual," she said at last.
"No," Rhaego agreed. "But dead things walking beneath it are."
That finally silenced her.
For several long moments, neither of them spoke.
Only the distant sounds of Highgarden drifted through the open windows, birdsong, the soft trickle of water in the fountains, the lazy murmur of summer wind through the leaves.
A world still warm, still green, still untouched by the horrors he claimed were coming.
Arianne’s gaze remained fixed on the map, on that stark black line at the top of the world.
"What exactly did you see?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
Rhaego looked toward the North, his violet eyes distant.
"I don’t know," he admitted. That much, at least, was not entirely a lie. "Only that something is coming. Something cold. Something hungry. And when it does..."
His voice dropped even lower.
"Dorne won’t survive it. The Reach won’t survive it. King’s Landing won’t survive it." He met her eyes.
"The Seven Kingdoms won’t survive it."
Arianne held his gaze for a long time. The teasing sparkle had vanished completely from her expression. In its place was something far more dangerous... careful, calculating thought.
"If I repeat this conversation to my father..." she began, then paused, letting the silence stretch.
"It’s... a lot to take in," she admitted. "You’re talking about prophetic dragon dreams about the end of the world. He will assume you have gone mad."
"Well," he said dryly, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his lips, "aren’t all Targaryens a little mad? At least now I’m living up to the family reputation."
Arianne’s lips twitched, clearly fighting back a laugh despite herself.
She looked up at him, a faint, wry smile touching her lips.
"Luckily for you, I stopped considering myself entirely sane the moment I agreed to fly across the realm with a dragon prince."
Rhaego let out a quiet breath of relief.
Arianne leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
"I don’t fully believe you," she said honestly.
"Not yet. But I’ve seen you fly. I’ve seen what you can do. So I won’t dismiss it either. If even part of what you say is true... then finding Sansa Stark might be worth the risk."
Arianne’s eyes drifted back to the map, lingering on the North, on the Wall, on the frozen edge of the world where Rhaego kept staring.
Arianne was silent for a long moment, studying him carefully. The teasing princess had vanished. In her place was the heir of Dorne, sharp, ambitious, and weighing every word with deadly seriousness.
"You truly believe this?" she asked softly.
"I do," Rhaego said. "With everything I am."
Arianne exhaled slowly, tapping her fingers against her arm.
"The North will not bend easily," she warned. "Even with Sansa Stark. But... if your dragon dreams are real, then perhaps it is worth considering."
She gave him a long, measuring look.
"For now, I’ll keep your secret. But if you’re going to ask me to gamble Dorne’s future on your dreams, Rhaego... you had better be right."
Rhaego returned the smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
"If I’m wrong," he said quietly, "we’ll have far bigger problems than your teasing."
Rhaego smiled faintly.
Not because he had fully convinced her. He hadn’t. Not completely.
But for the first time, she was considering it.
And for Arianne Martell, consideration was often the first step toward action.
