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A Golden Path: Foundation 2.11 (ch. 20)
🕑 Added 2025-06-23 15:03:21 +0000 UTCAnswers. At long last, they felt like they were in the cusp of his hand -- all he had to do was reach out and grab them. The questions that plagued him every waking hour of the day as he tried to make sense of his senseless dreams… Rhaegar wasn't aware how desperately he wanted those answers until he could finally have them. But, the very act of being able to receive them left him with more questions than ever as the initial burst of excitement faded.
For months, visions of Paul and what lurked beyond the Wall troubled his sleep. Each and every vision felt like a fever dream that left him gasping and drenched in a cold sweat. He couldn't even remember the last time he had a restful night's rest, but he suspected that it was a great deal longer than what a maester would recommend. As troublesome as the visions were, Rhaegar welcomed them. With the aid of his journals, he pieced together the fragments of the visions and they painted a rather clear picture.
That Paul Atreides was not an ally. That he brought the Long Night to the Wall and to the Seven Kingdoms. That picture was difficult to mesh with what he knew of Paul -- a rather quiet, yet sharp minded young man that had an astonishing talent for combat and mercantile matters.
It made him cautious as he awaited the new lord in the godswood, beneath a great oak tree as there was no heart tree in the Red Keep. Still, it was private and that suited his ends quite well. No doubt many spies would note the private meeting, but so long as they didn't have an inkling of the contents of the discussion, it mattered little.
“He comes,” Arthur warned Rhaegar and Rhaegar forced himself to stop the bouncing of his foot. He stilled himself, sitting straight, and turned his gaze to the entrance of the godswood. There, Rhaegar saw him.
Paul Atreides moved like the ground would never dare to trip him, and with a sense of unyielding purpose that couldn't be dissuaded even by a brick wall. Everything about him was controlled, Rhaegar noted, and not for the first time. He was immaculately dressed, the natural waves of his dark hair were carefully styled to seem effortless, while his expression was one of polite interest and even caution.
It struck him then how little Rhaegar truly knew of him for all that he had become a centerpiece for many plans -- both his own and within the North. His father his his plans well, but not well enough -- Aerys had no love for the North, but their political isolation had earned them his favor. Jumped up barbarians that froze to death every winter and they worshiped the wrong gods. In his father's eyes, allowing them to replace their imports was a way to avoid empowering lords he already distrusted. Such as Lord Lannister.
Paul seemed to be a great stone tossed into a lake, the ripples of his actions having far greater consequence than he should otherwise merit. And, for the life of him, Rhaegar couldn't puzzle out why the stone had been tossed in the first place.
Why the Seven Kingdoms? Why Skagos? Why now?
“Prince Rhaegar,” Paul greeted him with a polite bow. His voice even and the action rehearsed. “I am here, as summoned.” Nothing to hint at what he might suspect the conversation might be, though he uncountably did. It could be no coincidence that the summons came after he gave that message to Arthur. Arthur himself stood guard at the entrance of the godswood, while Richard Lonmouth stood guard to make sure that no one overheard in the hidden corners of the godswood.
“I thank you for coming so promptly, Lord Atreides. Please, sit,” Rhaegar said, gesturing to the seat across from him. A small short table separated them, but Rhaegar wasn't foolish enough to believe that would serve as a deterrent should Paul attack. Rhaegar knew that he was a lifted swordsman and he had no lacking in natural talent, but what he had seen in Paul during the Melee… Paul would kill him dead a dozen times before he realized he had died.
Paul did as bid, taking the seat across from him and seemingly perfectly at ease despite the tension that seemed to be strangling Rhaegar. Paul met his gaze unflinchingly, and that was a very rare thing. Even the highest lords in the realm rarely dared to hold his gaze for long, fearing to be seen as impertinent. Something that Paul had no concern over. “It is my pleasure to serve, your grace. I'm glad that my message reached you so swiftly.”
It was a prompt, allowing Rhaegar to take control of the conversation and, for a moment, he found his tongue tied. Twisted into knots because of how many questions he tried to ask at once. But, he controlled himself and stilled his hammering heart. “It did,” Rhaegar began, his voice low but sharp. Curt. “I hope that you don't begrudge me a few questions, would you?”
“I would never be so presumptuous, my prince,” Paul replied evenly. No hint of his inner thoughts.
He had imagined this conversation a hundred times by now, trying to figure out what approach to take. Did he make demands? Did he speak vaguely to force Paul reveal what he knew? Did he prod and prob for a reaction? But, now that he was here in the moment, he found his plans slipping from his grasp like smoke in the wind. Paul seemed like a wall -- he gave nothing away, while being perfectly polite.
You couldn't convince a wall to move. You were either forced to go around or through it.
“The Others,” Rhaegar began, and even uttering their name out loud made a chill race down his spine. “You know of them. You claim to be an ally in combating them, and you somehow know that to be my intention.” He searched Paul's face, but his expression gave nothing away.
He only offered the barest of nods, “I do.” He replied, answering all three observations.
It felt so overwhelmingly underwhelming that Rhaegar felt like he was walking face first into a trap. Of what kind, he could only guess. But, despite the fact that he was the one that summoned Paul here, he felt unbalanced. There was a loud silence between them and it was Paul who broke it, “Tell me, your grace, what do you know of them? The Others and the Long Night?”
Rhaegar hesitated to answer, uncertain if he should confess his ignorance, but he found himself telling the truth. “Not as much as I would like,” he admitted. “Time has turned them into little more than a folk tale, and as a result, it has been… difficult separating fact from fiction. What I know for certain is that the Wall was not built to keep out wildlings. They slumber in the North- the far North of Lands of Always Winter, and when they rise so too shall the dead with the Long Night come again.”
Paul nodded, as if he expected all of that. “That is largely correct,” he said, and all but confirmed that he knew more. Rhaegar felt a surge of… anger in his chest that came so suddenly it caught him off guard. He spoke so lightly of the subject, as if he were a maester and Rhaegar a young and foolish student.
Swallowing down his anger was something that came easily to Rhaegar because of practice. “I discovered a prophecy when I was a young and within them, I recognized the signs that the Long Night is upon us once more. Since then, I have dedicated my life towards stopping it.” He stressed, clenching his teeth as he did so.
It had been a terrible revelation to have. There were times that Rhaegar wished desperately he had never found that dagger, and with it the clues he needed to piece together the prophecy. In his weakest moments, he craved ignorance. He had no love for the sword. No love for war or politics. He wished he could go back to being that ignorant boy who spent all his time reading and practicing the harp.
But destiny cared not for wants or desire. And he could never be so selfish as to ignore what could be the end of the world itself because it was easier to turn a blind eye to all of the signs-
“It has nearly come a thousand times,” Paul stated, disrupting his thoughts and it felt like someone else had just punched him in the stomach. “Eight thousand years is no small amount of time, even for beings such as the White Walkers. They are eternal, but that does not mean their patience is infinite. For eight thousand years, they had probed and prodded for weakness, and should they have found what they were looking for… the Long Night could have begun at any era before now. It was only forstalled until now because their victory wasn’t assured.”
Every thought that Rhaegar had came to a halt, his lips parting to respond but he found that his words had left him. He had to force himself to swallow a lump in his throat, “H-how…?” He hated how weak his voice suddenly sounded and how shaken he felt.
“Preparation,” Paul answered, mistaking his question. “The Starks of old seemed to be aware of the Others, and they made their preparations to defeat them a second time, but time has not been kind to them. Rituals and methods for doing things have long since become a matter of tradition. They lack the understanding of why they do things a certain way. Thus, they break from tradition when it becomes inconvenient.”
He had to control himself. Rhaegar wanted nothing more than to leap across the table, grab Paul hy the tunic, and start shaking Jim while demanding answers. But one who cannot control himself cannot control his circumstances. He had to take a step back, examine this new information, and decide how he would act on it.
According to Paul…
“What does that mean for the prophecies?” He questioned sharply, deciding to withhold judgment and his belief in what Paul said. Wanting to believe something didn't mean that he could. “My ancestor, Ageon the Conqueror, came to the Seven Kingdom and united them not out of ambition, but because he too received visions of the Others.” He revealed, expecting some kind of reaction.
What he got was the barest tilt of the head from Paul that was reminiscent of an animal looking at something unexpected. However, a reply was quick to spill from his lips. “That was a mistake,” Paul concluded so bluntly that it gave Rhaegar pause. “I cannot claim to understand the visions your family has been blessed with, but Ageon's conquest has only served the Great Other. You need only to look at the Dance of Dragons to see that the arrival of your family had served his ambitions. Dragons, the greatest threat to the writes, were snuffed out by civil war.”
Rhaegar found that a retort was stuck behind a lump in his throat. The idea was utterly unthinkable to him, yet he found that he was struggling to offer an argument. Something Paul didn't fail to seize upon as he continued. “With the uniting of the Seven Kingdoms, the Night's Watch, while always struggling to man the Wall, became a means to escape the noose for every criminal in Westeros. A once noble institution has become polluted with criminals to the point that those seek honor no longer consider it a possibility to find any. In a mere three hundred years, the two greatest threats to the Others have been removed from play.”
Paul leaned forward and there was a cutting glint on his eyes, “Prophecies are dangerous, my prince. They are weapons by their very nature, and a prophecy that you do not wield is one that is as likely to harm you as it is to aid you.” There was a note of bitterness in his voice that sounded like it came from a place of experience.
No. He refused to believe it. He couldn't believe that everything that his family had done was all a mistake. All in service of the enemy they were trying to combat. Everything he had done for more than a decade by this point was all to prevent the next Long Night and it was all… a mistake? Is that what Paul trying to convince him of?
“That… does not answer my question, Lord Atreides,” Rhaegar gathered himself, swallowing the lump in his throat with sheer force of will. “I have seen the signs of the prophecies -- The Prince That Was Promised. Azor Ahai. The chosen warrior who will forestall the Long Night once again.”
“The Long Night has already been forestalled, your grace.” Just when Rhaegar was starting to build momentum, Paul spoke and dashed everything that Rhaegar thought he knew upon the ground. “The Others will not attempt to attack for another few centuries at the very least. The opportunity that they sought to exploit has been closed -- the Night's Watch is still a shadow of its former self, and there are no dragons, but my efforts to fortify Skagos and cultivate Beyond the Wall have had their intended effect. They will let this opportunity slip by them and wait for another. Simply because time is their ally and our enemy.”
Rhaegar froze. A lifetime of dealing with grasping nobles and his own father had taught him how to hide his emotions and true thoughts. It taught him how to respond even when he had nothing to say. But those lessons failed him as he openly gaped at Paul, who sat across from him with a polite expression that told him he realized the enormity of what he just uttered. All the implications and consequences, and he was doing him a favor of allowing him to… process the information for a brief few seconds.
He couldn't. It was impossible. “The others… will… not attack?” He echoed the words not feeling real as he said them.
“Not for a few centuries at the very least,” Paul answered with a certainty that cooled Rhaegar's blood. How could he be so confident in that? “Skagos, in the coming decades, will become a thriving port in the North. The North at large will share that prosperity -- booms in population, local development, and cultivation of largely neglected lands. However, the North’s greatest ally has always been its stagnation. The harshness of the land cultivates a special but insular mentality.”
Rhaegar listened closely, forcing himself to remain calm. He couldn't believe it just because Paul said it. But his certainty was more convincing than his words could ever be. Paul spoke like it was all a forgone conclusion, as if he was spoiling the ending of a tale rather than divining the future.
“With wealth and excess, that mentality will be lost. The lords of the North will find that the kingdom grows smaller the more interconnected they become. And they will find that they are no better than the lords of the South when it comes to petty politics. Some will become jealous of others' successes, they'll find reasons to feud, and they’ll pull on the leash that the Kings of Winter placed upon them millennia ago,” Paul continued. “It's human nature. It is inevitable, with it only being a question of when. The Others can wait as long as they like -- a century years, a thousand, or ten. It makes no true difference to them. Meanwhile, people will forget their oaths. The guards against the Long Night will grow lax. When they do, the Others will be waiting.”
“You paint quite the vivid picture, Lord Atreides,” Rhaegar voiced, his tone far calmer than he felt. “You seem remarkably well informed. One does wonder how you came across such information,” he prodded lightly, and by this point…
Rhaegar wasn't sure if he really wanted an answer. It was simply too much. Far too much.
The very idea that the Targaryen conquest of Westeros was a mistake was too much. The idea that the foe he dedicated his life to fighting and vanishing simply… deciding to not attack within his lifetime was…
It felt like the floor was giving out from underneath him, and he was in free fall.
But there was a conflict. The visions. The visions that plagued him for months… They, too, painted a very vivid picture of Paul being the enemy.
“And I cannot help but wonder… why now?” Rhaegar continued, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly. “If you had this… trove of information, why not come to me directly? It would be a challenge, true, but you have proven yourself to be a man of means so I cannot imagine that it would be an impossible task for you.” The pieces didn't fit.
No. They did. He merely had to change his perspective -- if Paul was, in fact, an enemy… then every word he said up to this point could easily be perceived as an effort to break his confidence. His certainty that he was the Prince that was Promised. That he should lower his guard because the Others wouldn't invade in his lifetime.
“Because you are difficult to predict,” Paul answered with what sounded like honesty. “The Starks? Far less so.”
“I'm difficult to predict?” Rhaegar echoed, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. “Explain.”
Paul inclined his head, as if deeming him owed an explanation. “The closest thing that I am that you would know of is a Greenseer,” he answered, and his tone didn't at all convey the weight of the admission. “I'm not, but the differences are… superficial in practice.”
A greenseer. Little and less was known about them, with the only true definitive evidence coming from the records of the Wall's Library, which were given to him by Maester Aemon. A rare breed of men who supposedly could see both the past, present, and future. How they could was never explained in any detail ,and the entire ability was poorly understood, as all magic seemed to be.
“Those with prescience cannot perceive each other,” Paul continued, his lips thinning and his gaze growing hard. “That is a lesson it took a great deal of pain for me to learn. I can no more perceive the Great Other than he can me. Yet, I can feel the ripple of his efforts, just as he can mine. You, on the other hand, seem to change course for seemingly no definable reason. I was quite… surprised to be invited to your wedding.” That sounded like the first honest admission Paul had made since this meeting had begun.
This didn't make sense. It couldn't. If he believed that Paul was a Greenseer, which would honestly explain a few things about him, he had contradicted himself. Rhaegar had seen visions of Paul. He could perceive him. Why was that if those with prescience can't perceive each other?
“Meaning?” Rhaegar questioned sharply, his mind churning over all that he heard.
“Lord Steffon wasn't meant to find a bride for you,” Paul stated, and that earned a blink from him. “He would return empty-handed and upon returning to Storm's End, he and his wife would be caught in a storm and drown at sea.” He spoke of their fates without emotion, all except for an idle curiosity as to why it hadn't happened. “You would then marry Elia Martell.”
That sounded… very plausible. It mirrored his own thoughts quite well before he had resigned himself to his current marriage.
“What changed?” Rhaegar asked, his tone growing harsh to his own ears. This conversation was… far more taxing than he had prepared himself for.
“A ripple from another player, I suspect,” Paul answered with surprising candidness. “Someone put Lady Aenessa in the path of Lord Steffon. For what reason, I am unsure. Only that whoever did stands to benefit.”
Rhaegar clasped his hands in his lap and clenched his jaw. He was a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. He was not some pawn to be moved along the board in another's game. “If what you tell me is true… then the list of suspects will be rather short,” Rhaegar remarked. “Perhaps that shall be the test I shall give to confirm if anything you've said here has any trace of the truth.”
He had hoped to see Paul blanch. Some kind of sign that would hint that he was a fraud and a liar who was afraid of his lies being unveiled. Instead, what he got was a single deliberate nod. “That would be quite helpful, my prince,” he said, almost as if they were allies. And that was… puzzling.
Puzzling in a way that Rhaegar wasn’t quite sure how to describe.
Aenessa was always someone who troubled Rhaegar, right from the very moment that they met. Her mere presence had denied him a strategic marriage within the realms, all because of the whims of his father. He would never dare to trust her, and he was… admittedly more willing to find fault with her than a good husband should.
But, if there was a chance that he could discover something -- that Paul’s words held some truth to them… perhaps it would be enough to call the entire thing off.
It wouldn’t, he knew. Too much had been spent on the wedding already. His family would never live down the shame. So, failing that, he wanted something that could serve as a lever for his bride-to-be. He wanted… something. Even as he desperately hoped that Paul was wrong and making the entire thing up.
“I shall conduct my own investigation into the matter,” Rhaegar declared, though he had no idea how he would begin to do such a thing. How did one see the unseen hand? But it mattered little. This conversation had worn thin on him, and he needed time. Time to process everything he heard. Time to decide if he was willing to believe any of it.
Paul inclined his head to him, accepting the dismissal for what it was. “By your leave, your grace,” he said, standing up and simply leaving the godswood with the same unyielding confidence that he entered it with. It was more than what Rhaegar could claim for himself.
He was shaken. All the way down to his core, he was shaken. Paul knew too much to dismiss his claims so easily -- the mere fact that he knew about the Others lends some credence to his claims. As did his efforts in the North. There were simply far better places that he could have settled down in if mere wealth were his goal. Yet, his claims were so hard to swallow. As hard as they were to argue against.
“My prince?” Arthur began, his tone concerned and Rhaegar found his gaze affixed to the table. There was one thing in particular that was nagging him. One thing that he couldn’t quite explain. A single deviation in everything that Paul had talked about.
Those with prescience couldn’t perceive others with prescience. It was possible that Paul was simply wrong about that, but… the look in his eyes told Rhaegar differently. That was a lesson that was learned the hard way, though Rhaegar couldn’t imagine how. Then there was how Paul spoke to him towards the end, as if their alliance was some foregone conclusion.
His mind lurched to an answer, and he felt his stomach lurch alongside it.
The answer was overwhelmingly simple. So very simple that it was glaringly obvious, no matter how much he might wish otherwise.
Paul didn’t know about his dreams. He didn’t know how he was portrayed in the visions that plagued him. And if those visions hadn’t… poisoned the well, so to speak, he could very well see himself allying himself with Paul with little need for tests. The contradiction wasn’t there in that case… but it meant something else that had Rhaegar’s stomach lurching once more.
“I’m…” He began, before he abruptly stood and walked to the edge of the godswood. The truth of it slammed into him like a fist to the gut, and his stomach rebelled. “What… have I been doing all this time?” He breathed in a broken whisper, tears stinging at his eyes as a terrible revelation washed over him.
He wasn’t presciencent. His visions weren’t his own. There were something given to him, pulling him along like a puppet and he hadn’t been able to see the strings.
His entire damn life was a lie and for the very first time… he saw the truth.
“What a damned fool I am.”
Comments
MontyTzeen
And now that Rhaegar KNOWS someone or some THING is pulling him along, he'll begin to more easily discern such manipulations, perhaps even see what lies BEHIND them.
Sover_Invic
I concur, Bloodraven would be the most obvious choice. But maybe something different in this AO. Either way it’s interesting.
Vincent Mason
I wonder if Bloodraven was stringing along Rhaegar the entire time.
