The rain beat heavily against the thick stone windows of the keep, while the wind howled as if carrying the whispers of ancient prophecies. In the great hall of Dragonstone, torches cast flickering shadows across the weathered walls, where stories of glory and tragedy intertwined.

You walked slowly down the hall, the sound of your footsteps echoing like a reminder of the weight of fate. In your arms, the incipient sign of new life—the hope contained in your third pregnancy—seemed to pulse in time with the distant thunder. Each beat of your heart was a measure of an ancient song, the notes of which had been sung for generations and now resounded amid the coming tumult.

In the center of the hall, Rhaegar stood leaning against one of the walls, his gaze lost in the dancing flames of the hearth. The flickering light highlighted the tension on his face, reflecting both the fervent conviction and the anguish that consumed him. He murmured, almost to himself, his eyes shining with a mixture of fervor and despair:

“The dragon has three heads, my beloved, and the fate of our kingdom rests on the completion of this symbol. This third son… he will be the Prince that was promised who will dispel the approaching darkness.”

Silence settled between you, interrupted only by the crackling of the logs and the distant echo of the footsteps of soldiers patrolling the corridors on alert. You couldn’t help but worry about your brother’s words and beliefs, fearing that he might fall into the same madness that plagued your father.

“The maesters said that this will be my last pregnancy. It was a miracle that my womb was able to generate another life after the last birth.” You approached, gently touching his arm, trying to convey the strength and uncertainty that mixed hope and fear in your chest.

Amidst the roar of the storm and the whispers of rebellion that began to spread through the corridors of the fortress, you both knew that each decision led them to an inexorable destiny, where faith and fear fought a silent battle.