Rhaegar interrupted with frustration evident in his tone:
"Father grounded me over mere gossip. Isn't that excessive?"
"Gossip can be harmful. His Grace simply wanted to protect you from any potential trouble," Erryk explained.
Rhaegar scoffed bitterly, "He was worried someone might fill my head with dangerous notions."
Listening intently, Erryk paused to consider Rhaegar's words.
"The Sleeping Dragon!"
The moniker implied weakness and vulnerability, suggesting the infant's frailty. But "infant dragon" also carries the connotation of youth and potential.
"If a dragon were to awaken from slumber, what would be its first act?"
Rhaegar pondered aloud, his expression thoughtful.
Upon awakening from a deep slumber, a dragon's primary task is to nourish itself and mature into its full dragonhood.
"And what name would befit such a transformation?"
"Awakened Dragon" or "Roaring Dragon"?
This was a deliberate effort to sow discord by spreading the reputation of the King's first son.
"A sleeping dragon may be vulnerable, but it's preferable to one that never wakes at all." Rhaegar consoled himself.
Meeting Erryk's gaze squarely as he issued his command: "Ensure he receives every penny of his wages, and henceforth, any rumors concerning me are to be reported to me directly."
"Consider it done," Erryk replied with a grimace, acknowledging the directive.
"Let's go. Take me to purchase some toys for toddlers, and then we'll head to the Dragon's Pit," Rhaegar declared, his mood darkening further as he stepped into the carriage.
...
The wagon came to a halt on Silk Street, where Erryk swiftly darted off to procure an array of toys, stuffing them into the carriage before they continued on to the Dragon's Pit.
Perched atop a mountain, the Dragon's Pit stood apart from the bustling city center, its surroundings notably more tranquil.
Upon arrival, no welcoming party awaited them at the gate; only two armored guards stood sentry.
Spotting the royal carriage, one of the guards approached, curiosity evident in his tone: "Which lord graces us with his presence?"
"Rhaegar Targaryen, firstborn son of Viserys I!" Erryk announced proudly as he emerged from the carriage.
Although they couldn't see the prince himself, the guards saluted, recognizing the authority conveyed by the white robes of the Kingsguard, and promptly opened the gate to admit them.
The Dragon's Pit sprawled across a vast expanse, boasting numerous entrances and exits scattered throughout its perimeter.
Aside from the grand front gate, there were caves nestled within the mountain and openings carved into the cliffsides—pathways through which the dragons could freely roam.
Outside the gate, the royal carriage remained under vigilant guard, while Rhaegar opted to traverse the grounds on foot, stepping into the expansive courtyard reminiscent of a grand schoolyard.
At the far end loomed a towering, magnificent domed structure, the focal point of the pit.
Scattered throughout the courtyard were the dragon trainers and keepers, bustling about their duties. The majority hailed from Valyrian lineage, their loyalty to the Targaryens spanning generations.
Fluent in the ancient Valyrian tongues, they possessed the unique ability to calm the dragons' restlessness and were tasked with ensuring the creatures' well-being, providing them with sustenance and care.
"Greetings, Your Highness!" They all saluted respectfully as Rhaegar entered the Dragon's Pit.
"Rise. I'm here to take a look around," Rhaegar stated bluntly, cutting straight to the chase.
"I'll be your guide today, Your Highness, as Bass is absent," offered a young apprentice, his features marked by black hair, dark eyes, and a somewhat pallid complexion.
"And what's your name?" Rhaegar inquired politely, extending the courtesy of acknowledgment.
"I am Maynard Waters, Your Highness," the apprentice replied, his voice soft and smile shy.
"Waters?" Rhaegar's brows furrowed slightly, recalling that it was a surname often associated with bastards in certain regions of Westeros. In the Crownlands, Waters was the designated surname for such individuals, much like Snow was in the North.
Rhaegar glanced down at Maynard and couldn't help but notice his plain attire, adorned with a few patches here and there. It was evident that Maynard wasn't living in the lap of luxury.
The plight of bastards was a harsh reality; they often faced discrimination and disdain, even if they were educated or talented. Maynard's demeanor betrayed a hint of insecurity, a feeling all too familiar to those born on the wrong side of the sheets.
Sensing Maynard's discomfort under his scrutiny, Rhaegar felt compelled to offer some words of encouragement, albeit abruptly. "Lift your head up. You've been blessed with a face that's not unpleasant. Don't shy away from it."
Maynard complied, lifting his head with a humble smile, though the shadow of his origins lingered in his eyes.
"The world may remind you of your birth, but that doesn't define your worth. Each person has their own talents, and being a bastard doesn't diminish that," Rhaegar continued, offering a brief but heartfelt reassurance.
Acknowledging the weight of societal judgments based on lineage, Rhaegar couldn't help but silently thank his own mother for the honor she had bestowed upon him.
"Thank you, Mother," he murmured in a silent prayer before nodding to Maynard and proceeding on his way.
Being sad and crying under the covers at night was no longer an option. Now he had to be a leader for himself, and he couldn't mix his personal feelings with his work time.
"Tell me, how many dragons reside within the Dragon's Pit?" Rhaegar inquired as they made their way.
"There are three in total: Dreamfyre, Caraxes, and Syrax," Maynard replied promptly, his demeanor swiftly adjusting to one of professionalism.
"Show me around then. I've never been close to a dragon before."
"I am afraid I can't, Your Highness."
Curiosity piqued, Rhaegar pressed further, "Why can't you show me around? Do the dragons harbor animosity towards people?"
"No, Your Highness. The reason is that Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon were here just before you, intending to take the dragons for a ride," Maynard disclosed truthfully.
Rhaegar's eyes sparked with anticipation at the mention of his sister's presence. Eager to join her and perhaps coax her into allowing him a dragon ride, he instructed, "Take me to her then. I must meet with the dragons."
"Very well. The princess has only just arrived. Let's hasten our steps; there's still time to catch up," Maynard agreed, calculating the time in his mind as they hurried along.
Breathless, Rhaegar hurriedly ascended the platform, barely catching his breath. Just in time, he witnessed a pair of dragonkeepers soothing Syrax and removing the shackles from her feet.
Meanwhile, the scarlet Caraxes stood ready on the other side.
In the midst of the two dragons stood Daemon and Rhaenyra, clad in their dragon suits, engaged in conversation.
"Sister!!!" Rhaegar's excited shout echoed as he dashed towards Rhaenyra, heedless of Erryk's counsel.
Startled by his sudden appearance, Rhaenyra turned to him with confusion evident in her expression. "Rhaegar, what brings you to the Dragon's Pit?"
Drawing closer, he seized his sister's hand with pride. "Didn't I mention last night? The dragon in my dream warned that the Dragon's Pit isn't safe, so I came to investigate."
"I thought you were attending the tournament, but upon entering, I heard you were here as well."
"So, are you seeking me out or the dragons?" Rhaenyra teased, amusement lacing her words.
"Of course, I'm seeking you out. The dragons are just a bonus," Rhaegar replied, unable to contain his excitement at being in such close proximity to the magnificent creatures.
Admiring Syrax's graceful form, he remarked, "This must be Syrax, isn't it? She's as splendid as you."
In contrast, Caraxes's imposing head caught his attention, prompting him to add, "And Caraxes here is truly remarkable."
Rhaegar's preference for Syrax's elegant physique was evident in his brief compliment.
"Syrax is named after the Goddess of Harvest. Naturally, she's beautiful," Rhaenyra replied, seeing through her brother's intentions with a knowing smile.
With arms folded across her chest, she inquired knowingly, "So, dear brother, now that you've seen everything, what else brings you here?"
(Word count: 1335)