Year 283 AC
"You should have gone with the Prince, Arthur." A knight clad in golden armour walked towards the door where a much taller knight was stationed, and seeing the lost expression on his friend's face, he could not help but sigh.
"I promised Rhaegar that I will always stay by the Young Prince's side." The son of the Lord of House Dayne, and one of the most famous knights in the Kingdom, hailed as the Sword of the Morning, answered with conviction that made the younger knight sigh again.
"Will he make it?" he whispered and watched a dangerous glint pass Arthur's purple eyes.
"The Prince only has a slight fever, Mooton."
"Slight you say, but all the maesters have failed to help him wake up. How long has it been now? Six moons?" Myles asked and showed hints of frustration that made the other knight frown.
However, having known him for years, Dayne knew that the younger knight was only restless and meant no harm. The injury he had received during the Battle of the Bells had not yet healed, and his left arm was clearly very stiff.
Mooton's face looked pale as well, bearing clear signs of fatigue, and any normal person in his condition would not dare to get out of bed, much less wear his armour and come to perform his duty.
Arthur was there the day Myles had vowed to protect Rhaegar with his life, but the Prince had not taken him along when he marched to the Trident to meet the rebels.
He was kind as ever and asked him to stay back and heal. Upon his continued insistence, the Crown Prince finally gave him a task and told him to protect his son together with him.
Myles did not want to stay back. He wanted to march to the Trident, but he could also not disobey the command of the one to whom he had promised his life.
Rhaegar was always very clear with his commands.
And now, the young knight was restless, both in mind and heart, and so Dayne did not make things difficult for him.
"Aye, six moons," he whispered. "Get some rest, Mooton. You cannot even guard yourself in this state."
"Shut up, Dayne."
The irritated response made Arthur smile, and then the two knights stood side by side, guarding the door of the Prince, who was the light of this keep.
A light that had fallen asleep six moons ago, and still had not woken up.
"Is it true?"
"What?"
"Rhaegar once said something about the Young Prince being a dreamer. He said that the Young Prince can see glimpses of the past in his sleep." Myles glanced at him, but Arthur's expression remained impassive.
"Who knows."
"And magic?"
The question made the Sword of the Morning frown, and as much as he trusted Myles, he did not tolerate this line of inquiry.
"Do not let the rumours trick your mind, Mooton."
"I…"
"You are speaking too much today." The coldness in his voice was enough to turn his companion silent.
However, the silence only lasted a few moments, and a sad whisper, which held all of his companion's fears, entered his ears.
"I feel hollow, Arthur. The walls of this keep suffocate me. I do not like this ominous feeling. I keep thinking that I should have marched with Rhaegar."
The Sword of the Morning remained silent at his words. Was not this the same reason that made him restless as well?
Arthur did not want to say or even entertain the thought, but he truly felt that he would never see his Crown Prince again.
Yes, the old Barristan had gone with him. He had faith in his skill, but neither Lewyn Martell nor Jonothor Darry was a match for Robert.
As much as he disliked that scum, he had to admit that the Baratheon rebel was a mighty warrior.
Arthur hoped that Rhaegar would not face him by himself. A single misstep would cost him his life. And never had he ever wished before that his Crown Prince was not such an honourable and kind man.
Gods, he prayed that his fears would not come true.
He had seen enough honourable men meet an early end.
"Get some rest, Mooton. You are losing your mind."
"Shut up, Dayne."
Behind the door that the two were guarding, inside the room that was lavishly decorated, a young girl, probably around fourteen namedays old, with long and lustrous raven hair, lay soundly asleep in the large bed. Next to her was a young boy, whose silver-blonde hair was still as lustrous as it had been on the night he went to sleep six moons ago.
He had just passed his ninth nameday a few weeks ago, but he was tall, even taller than his father had been at that age, and he was ethereal.
Azaerys Targaryen, the Twin Who Survived, was born to Rhaegar Targaryen and his younger sister by a year, and wife, Shaena Targaryen, in the year 274 AC. His birth was not celebrated, for whilst he survived, his twin sister was stillborn.
The day that was supposed to be the most joyous in the lives of the Prince and Princess turned out to be melancholic, and Shaena never recovered from the difficult childbirth, which left her sick and eventually claimed her life before Azaerys even saw his second nameday.
Some people with ill intentions started spreading rumours that the Young Prince was an ill omen, that he had claimed the life of his twin in their mother's womb and then claimed the life of his mother whilst she held him in her embrace.
The fact that the King became more crazed after his birth only fuelled these ridiculous rumours, and despite Rhaegar and Queen Rhaella's efforts, these thoughts still travelled within the city and the keep.
However, anyone who knew Azaerys would paint a very different picture of the Young Prince.
He was the Prince who laughed the most, and whose laughter brightened everyone's mood. He was the Prince who was kind to all, just like his father, and he loved playing with the maids, enjoyed playing pranks on the knights, and was so patient with the servants and everyone that they could not help but love him. He was well-mannered, never making things too difficult for anyone, and he was an attentive student.
Despite these facts, whenever those who had ill feelings towards the Targaryens heard such words, they would call the Young Prince an Evil Charmer. And then they would point towards the King, asking questions about his contrasting behaviour towards everyone else and Azaerys.
The Mad King, to the confusion of people, seemed very normal whenever the Young Prince was around him. His Council had even seen him show compassion and care to his grandchild, something he had long ceased to show anyone else. They did not even remember the last time the King had shown any affection towards his son, Rhaegar, or even towards his wife, who had been by his side all his life.
However, with Azaerys by his side, Aerys the Mad was Aerys the Kind, as he had been in his younger days before the madness gripped him, but as soon as the Young Prince left his sight, the King returned to his ravings and mutterings with the shadows.
Even the sanest of minds could not help but see that something was strange with the Young Prince, and given the rumours that were going around, people started to grow wary of Rhaegar's eldest child.
In the last days before he went to sleep, even the servants were afraid in his presence, and their estranged behaviour caused him immense sorrow.
"Did I do something wrong?" he innocently asked Ashara, but despite all her efforts, his mood did not improve.
Now that he had been silent, away from their eyes, the people in the keep strangely felt hollow deep inside their hearts. It was as if someone had stolen the light of their lives from them.
And those who wished for Azaerys' death would surely rejoice if they knew the kind of hell the innocent Prince was going through.
What had the child not seen in his never-ending dream this time?
He had seen blood, fire, betrayal, kinslaying, madness, genocide, lust, greed, arrogance, and the sheer stupidity of people that infuriated him to the core.
From the time the ancient magical tribes roamed the lands of Essos, to when they disguised themselves as shepherds, to the rediscovery of the long-lost creatures in the Fourteen Flames, and how they rose above everyone by binding the dragons to their blood.
He saw the rise and fall of the Valyrian Freehold, he saw the tragic fate of the beautiful creatures who paid the price of the Valyrian nobles' overindulgence in blood and dark magic, and he saw the bloody aftermath of the Doom.
And if the pain he felt over those tragedies was not enough, he saw how his House made Dragonstone their home. He saw how Visenya and Aegon decided to unite the kingdoms of Westeros into an empire, and he saw how they realised their dream.
Azaerys saw how the unworthy sat on the Iron Throne, how weak they were, and how they stopped honouring their blood and mingled with the sheep, taking and accepting their traditions and gods as their own.
Was it not laughable that the dragons sought the approval of the sheep?
He saw how power slipped from their hands and how enemies grew bolder when Targaryens lowered themselves to their level and started treating them as equals.
The Young Prince felt ashamed of the actions of his ancestors and wanted nothing but to turn them to ashes as he witnessed them making foolish and selfish choices one after another.
He saw how the worthy and those who honoured their blood never truly sat on the throne, and they paid the price for their loyalty to their family.
The greed and lust for power of the crazed children of a failed King and father eventually led to the demise of the dragons, and what followed was nothing but a nightmare.
It was a miracle that his noble blood survived, but only thanks to another foolish King, Aegon the Fifth of his name, who conducted a blood and fire ritual at Summerhall and died miserably in the flames.
However, the real nightmare began for Azaerys when he reached his present, saw himself lying on the bed next to the raven-haired girl, and then stepped into the future.
Tears streamed from his eyes when he saw the fate of his father, his mother Elia, his grandfather, his grandmother, his beloved younger siblings, Viserys, and his aunt who had not even taken her first breath. He saw the fate of his brother who would be born in a couple of moons, and he saw every horror imaginable to the living.
There was nothing but darkness in the world, and the Long Night had returned.
Just when he began to despair, Azaerys realised that something was amiss. Where was he in the future?
Once he found the abnormality, he sensed something very sinister, and things became clear to him.
He was not seeing the future. He was seeing what someone evil believed would happen, all according to its design.
It was the same sinister voice that had possessed Brynden Rivers, the same voice that had driven his grandfather to madness, and the same voice that had filled the minds of his family with false prophecies to realise its own goals.
Azaerys wanted to lock on to it, trace it, but his consciousness smashed against the Wall in the North that kept the evil from stepping into Westeros again, and then he saw glimpses of the night that had seemed to last forever thousands of years ago.
He saw things that chilled his soul, beings at work that no mortal could go against, and he saw the blood losing its blessings.
And then he travelled further back into the past when the First Men discovered Westeros. He saw how the beautiful creatures, the magical Children of the Forest, were forced to protect their trees and land, and how they were seen as abominations by the First Men and were slaughtered.
He saw how they were pushed into a corner, and how they were forced to unleash an evil that now threatened to consume the entire world.
When the nightmare finally ended, or so he thought, he found himself flying in the sky, passing King's Landing, travelling across the sea, and panic gripped him when he realised where he was headed.
Azaerys tried to stop himself, but instead he gained in speed, and a blink later he was in the ruins of Valyria, surrounded by the evil and the blood magic that threatened to tear his soul apart.
He tried to escape, fearing death, but his soul was being pulled by something, and before he could even make sense of what was happening, he crashed into a small silver stone, which shone inside a wooden chest.
"Uuhhhh!"
As if struck by a galloping horse, his soul returned to his body and he shot up, gasping for breath. His entire body was covered in sweat, and his heart pounded painfully against his chest.
For the next several seconds, he kept seeing glimpses and locations of certain things, and finally he saw what was about to happen at the Trident tomorrow.
Tears streamed from his eyes as his body went numb. His already pale face turned paler, and he began to sob in grief.
A short while later, Azaerys felt the warm embrace of the girl who had been sleeping by his side and finally heard her panicked calls.
"Azer!" She called him by the nickname she had given him, and he finally formed some words.
"Father is going to die, Ashara… Elia, Rhae, Egg… you…" His voice wavered, and when he opened his eyes and saw through the tears that blurred his vision, he found something warm resting in his lap.
A dragon egg, a shining silver egg, the very same "stone" that he had seen and crashed into in his dream, and Azaerys's mind went blank at the sight of it.