Chapter 102: Traces of Alys Rivers
Rough and uneven, the cracked and tilting summit of the Kingspyre Tower: Rhaegar picked his way across, the Flaming Spear throwing light on the wall-scrawls as he hunted for anything else left behind.
The top of the Kingspyre Tower felt hollow, desolate; on a clear day the Gods Eye could be seen stretching to the horizon.
The tower itself had begun to lean, no longer standing straight.
Rhaegar was awed by Harrenhal's vastness—everything here prized size—yet the living were too few. Harrenhal could house giants, let alone mere men; with so few lords, its malice and curses could not be contained. By tradition one should not dwell in such wide emptiness; without people, and with the castle's curse… perhaps a king could manage, but common lords could never fill it.
Reading the scrawls, Rhaegar saw: the Greens' champion, Prince Aemond Targaryen, called Aemond One-Eye, and Harrenhal's wet-nurse witch Alys Rivers—an odd pairing to match Prince Daemon Targaryen and Nettles.
Alys Rivers, one of Westeros' riddles: Aemond One-Eye's mistress, perhaps the last of House Strong. During the Dance of the Dragons, she had been a vivid player.
When she loved Aemond, tales of Alys Rivers' age ranged from forty to a hundred, yet all agreed she was at least forty. Grand Maester Munkun and Septon Eustace held she was the bastard daughter of Lord Lyonel Strong, making her the half-sister of Ser Harwin Strong, called Breakbones, and Ser Larys Strong, called Larys the Clubfoot; Mushroom swore she was ancient, having suckled not only Harwin and Larys but, a generation earlier, their father as well.
Aemond died above the Gods Eye, yet his wild mate Alys lived on, even holding Harrenhal in revolt. The regents for King Aegon III Targaryen, called Aegon the Dragonbane, mustered men to retake the castle, but winter storms delayed them. Alys Rivers vanished, and Harrenhal eventually passed to House Whent.
Rhaegar's interest in Alys ran deep, for she was strange: her face stayed far younger than her years, perhaps signs of blood magic. Her kin and loves were mist, and at the Gods Eye duel the old witch was said to be with child, though no babe was ever seen. Munkun called her a serving-woman dabbling in potions, Septon Eustace a woods-witch, Mushroom a black-hearted crone who bathed in maiden's blood to stay young.
Reading the mournful words, Rhaegar knew Alys had stood here, watching dragonriders kill each other, Aemond falling into the great lake.
Rhaegar judged Harrenhal's curse little linked to Alys; she knew some spells, but little. The castle's curse was ancient, older than she, and her own magics were few and weak—no match for dragonriders, let alone the curse itself. Rhaegar had only quelled and gathered some cursed eyes, not broken them.
Rhaegar raised the true dragon spear and explored near the walls. None had dared come here for years; even the servants cleaning the tower had left corners untouched. Monstrous cracks split the great walls, sorrow fixed upon them like frost.
The scrawls lay in hidden corners, choked with dust; without the spear's fierce flame and Rhaegar's banishing of the cursed lights, they would have stayed unseen.
Alys Rivers—her birth, age, and station—all mystery. "Rivers" indeed marked her as a bastard of the riverlands. Rhaegar guessed she might be a Strong bastard, but of what generation he could not tell.
Only a rare soul like Aemond One-Eye would bed a witch older than his parents. A second son and half-blind, Prince Aemond Targaryen lived wrapped in hate and spite.
Both Greens and Blacks had such fanatics, turning the war ever bloodier and worse.
Rhaegar searched the walls around the scrawls but found no further trace of Alys Rivers. He used the spear's fire to probe the letters one by one, and at last spotted a hidden recess beneath them—a niche gouged from the stone.
With care he drew out the niche: a tiny stone box holding only a few objects.
As he lifted it, his heart lurched; blue flame sprang from his palm, and the box erupted in dazzling crimson motes that coalesced into tendrils like octopus arms, wrapping his outstretched hand.
Those crimson motes were a curse—emblems of evil, gloom, and death. A dragonrider's vital fire could master them, but for common men they were fatal.
"Alys Rivers' gift carries a touch of curse as well?" The searing blue flame on Rhaegar's hand roared until every crimson spark vanished. Alys Rivers might already be dead, yet the curse still thrummed with power.
"My love, my Dragon Prince, perhaps I should never have pointed you toward your uncle. You were too young, too hungry for victory. I did not stand with you on the battlefield of the Gods Eye—yet in truth I died that day as well. Still, you left me a precious gift." Rhaegar looked at the slip of paper still stained with a woman's tears.
Precious gift? Rhaegar felt a flicker of doubt. Was it Alys Rivers' unborn child, a dragon egg, or some other treasure? A child seemed most likely; Alys' generous bosom had nursed many babes at Harrenhal, yet none she bore before meeting Aemond had ever drawn breath.
He remembered Alys watching the once-in-a-lifetime duel from the summit of the Kingspyre Tower, able to do nothing. After the fight she vanished without trace, not to reappear for years.
Beneath the paper Rhaegar found only two things left: a piece of wood and a ruby necklace.
A sliver of timber, gray and bone-thin with rot, bore faint, half-hidden runes—like those Rhaegar had seen on the armor of House Royce of Runestone.
"A rune?" Rhaegar's heart leapt; one rune outweighed a treasury of gold. What sigil had the witch studied?
He fingered the splinter; as flame licked it the symbol brightened—a tree, thriving and ever-green.
Rhaegar beheld that great tree, forever in its prime, never aging, standing green and free beneath heaven and earth.
A sobbing black-haired girl burst into the grove and knelt beneath the boughs. Children had taunted her—bastard, unwanted whelp.
She wept; her tears struck the roots where simple, shifting emerald runes were carved in the shape of a tree. When she brushed them, motes of jade light rose and melted into her eyes.
Day by day the girl grew lovelier, her youth unmarred, while the tree began to fade.
"Explorer: congratulations—you have uncovered the 'Tree' rune of Alys Rivers' line. Ever-green, life may stay forever fresh."
Green sparks drifted into Rhaegar's own body; he now commanded four runes: Shield, Sword, Hammer, and Tree.
The Tree rune signified youth and vigor, lush and unfading, able to hold the years at bay for a long, long time.
Joy soared within him; weariness and deep-seated exhaustion from days of frantic training melted away. Of his four runes, only the Tree was tied to life itself—ever-blooming, ever at its peak.
He tucked the splinter away and lifted the ruby necklace—precious stones Prince Aemond Targaryen must have given his lover.
Rhaegar studied the rubies; he owned plenty, yet one still held a faint, lingering warmth. It looked as though blood and flame had been distilled within.
He breathed fire upon the gem and heard another voice.
"Explorer: congratulations—you have gained Fire Sight. Through flame, life and longing, we may see far beyond."
Pinching the ruby, Rhaegar spoke Ser Barristan Selmy's name; within the fire appeared the White Knight waiting below.
Rhaegar grinned—he had gained a superlative aerial scout. Fire Sight worked like a spyglass.
Now he understood how Aemond One-Eye had found Prince Daemon Targaryen for their duel above the Gods Eye: Alys Rivers' sorcery let her see Daemon in the flames.
Yet the spell had limits—distance foremost. Aemond had scorched the riverlands on dragonback, never far from Daemon, but even so the power was staggering.
As Rhaegar stared into the fire he noticed a strand or two of silver hair turn stark white; Fire Sight demanded payment—life itself.
He called on the Tree rune through flame, and the white hairs silvered once more.
Satisfied, Rhaegar still wondered: could Alys Rivers yet live?
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