Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Brynden Rivers held no emotional attachment to most Targaryens.
They weren’t his family.
Not any longer.
Maybe they never had been.
So when he witnessed the sunset of the Dragon rule he thought little of it. Of course he would miss those beautiful Valyrian looks, the pearl-haired maidens that reminded him of Shiera. But maybe it was for the best.
Because the Dragon madness?
The one so easily seen in their later years?
It was a disease that tormented the realm. With the Targaryens gone, perhaps Westeros will be the better for it (You wish).
Of course he kept watch on the Game.
On the Mad King.
On the downtrodden Queen.
On the foolish Prince that was just as mad as his father in his own way.
This might be hypocritical coming from a greenseer, but what kind of man believes in a prophesy? Especially one that was given by someone else? Not a Targaryen? Not a family member? Not yourself?
Is it even true or is it just a hoax?
Can it even be acted upon or will the events unfold regardless?
What kinds of consequences does it have?
No one thought on it. No one. No one at all.
But the consequences?
The price?
The extinction of house Targaryen.
Would the violet-eyed dragons have still put merit in such a prophesy had they known the outcome?
Bloodraven has his doubts.
But they will remain unsaid and unheard.
For all his observations, it wasn’t the Silver Prince that held his attention. Or his obviously mad younger brother. Nor his unborn babe of a sister.
No.
It was Rhaegar’s children that held his outmost focus.
Elia Martell was a soft beauty. A delicate flower miraculously raised among the vipers. She would have been better off as a viper. Perhaps then she would have lived.
She was too downtrodden to slip her goodfather poison, too soft to act when her husband strayed, too naïve to take measures to protect her children.
And so the Mad King reigned and terrorized. Rhaegar wedded and bedded his Northern paramour. And her children lay dead at an Usurper’s feet.
After the deaths of most of the Royal family, only two boys of house Targaryen were left alive. One through folly, another through trickery.
But young Viserys was already beginning to show signs of madness.
He couldn’t be the Promised Prince.
But ‘Jon Snow’?
That ‘Prince’ was a perfect candidate.
If only said candidate agreed to his point of view. But he didn’t. He not only reached and gutted his mind through one of Brynden’s crows, but spent considerable efforts to avoid any contact!
To think that some young brat is not only a more powerful sorcerer than him but cares not about using such a gift for something meaningful!
But ‘Jon’ was strange.
He didn’t care for the insults about his heritage.
He could care less about authority of the Lords.
He didn’t show any interest in his origins.
Unlike most bastards, he didn’t try to unearth his past. It was as if he already knew. And he probably did.
Bloodraven had already begun to make plans. Of mentoring the cute but annoying brat. Of converting him to his point of view. Of defeating the Others. Of bringing down the Wall. Of terminating the Night Watch and thus rendering his contract null and void. Of gaining the throne for his new Prince. Of wining the new stage of the Game. Of finding a new body for himself. Perhaps even among the little Stark brats, it’s not like ‘Jon’ cares about any of them. Of becoming the Hand of the King again. Of returning to his position of the Master of Whisperers. Of liberating that upstart Blackfyre eunuch of every position... post-mortem of course…
But just as he was planning another attempt to approach, the selfish brat ran away.
Oh well...
It was time to make new plans.