Heir of the Dragon

As The Days Pass

Shrouded in an ancient tapestry of secrets, the Red Keep bore witness to a momentous arrival—a child destined to intertwine his fate with dragons and a lineage steeped in legend. Swaddled in the softest fabrics, Rhaegar Targaryen's first cries reverberated through the chambers, like echoes from a realm unseen.

Amidst the twilight glow of countless candles, shadows painted mystical patterns upon tapestries adorned with scenes of chivalry and conquest. In his cradle, Rhaegar's eyes, a poignant shade of lavender, shimmered with tears unshed. A cry—a haunting lament—pierced the stillness as if resonating with the echoes of a forgotten existence. In the midst of the haunting wail, a hushed flurry of steps filled the corridors. Aunts, uncles, maesters, and handmaidens converged, their whispers like rustling leaves in a forgotten forest.

"Peace, young prince," consoled Princess Gael, her voice like a soothing melody.

"Mayhaps a warm blanket?" suggested Maester Aemon, his countenance wise with years of learning.

Queen Alysanne, her silver hair flowing like a cascade of moonbeams, leaned over the cradle, her gaze tender and protective. "Fear not, my child. You are safe."

But it was Princess Aemma, Rhaegar's mother, who gathered him in her arms. Her touch was a fortress against the storm of his emotions, and as she cradled him, his cries softened, syncopating with the rhythm of her heart, a heartbeat lullaby.

Within the sanctuary of his mother's embrace, beneath the ethereal glow of stars, Rhaegar found solace. Her whispered words were incantations, weaving a tapestry of comfort around his soul. Her heartbeat, steady as the ocean's tide, was a reassuring lullaby.

As the days dissolved into weeks, Rhaegar's life fell into the rhythms of infancy—a cadence of feedings, swaddling, and the tender embrace of slumber. This life was a far cry from the modern world he'd once known—a world of innovation and progress. Yet, like a traveler adapting to new lands, he grew accustomed to the medieval lifestyle of his new reality, threading his identity into its rich weave.

The Red Keep, steeped in history and mystery, became a realm of discovery and growth. His eyes, wide with curiosity, absorbed the sights and sounds of this bygone era. Amidst the intrigues of court life, where alliances were woven like spells and ambition lay cloaked in veiled intentions, Rhaegar's consciousness expanded. Each encounter became a brushstroke on the canvas of his understanding, painting a portrait of the world around him.

In the quieter corners of the Red Keep, Rhaegar's bonds with his family deepened. His uncle, Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, became a beacon of adventure and companionship. Cradled against Daemon's chest in a sling, Rhaegar traversed the castle's labyrinthine passages, a young explorer unearthing forgotten histories.
Daemon spun tales of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Rhaenys and Visenya in hushed tones. He wove sagas of ancient Valyria, the cradle of their bloodline, and the catastrophe of the Doom and the Fourteen Flames. Rhaegar's laughter harmonized with Daemon's hearty chuckles, a bond sealed in shared stories.

As days melded into memories, Rhaegar's connection with his family deepened, woven with threads of shared laughter and moments of profound understanding. Though his words remained unspoken, his presence resonated—through his gaze, his touch, and the laughter that echoed through the halls of the Red Keep. In this world of mystery and wonder, he thrived, his path aligning with a destiny that was both ancient and new.

A year had come and gone since Rhaegar's arrival, marking the passage of time with the grace of a dragon's wings. As the sun kissed the horizon, bathing the Red Keep in a soft, golden glow, Prince Viserys Targaryen and Princess Aemma Arryn gazed out from a window, their hearts burdened by a shared concern.