As night fell, the moon shone brightly in a sky scattered with only a few stars. Summerhall was peaceful, its palace aglow with light.
"Mommy, the eggshell is broken," the little girl announced, cradling a pile of pale purple eggshells in her arms.
"Roar..." A newborn dragon, its body adorned with gorgeous purple scales and milky white horns, squatted in the corner, curiously peering around.
Helaena took a sip of wine, then bent down to pick up her daughter. "Your young dragon has hatched. You can keep the eggshell as a souvenir," she said thoughtfully.
"Oh..." The little girl looked slightly disappointed. She had grown fond of the round, warm dragon egg, which she could cuddle and sleep with without fear of being bitten.
Rhaegar, observing the scene, smiled and suggested, "If Daenaera likes, she can piece the eggshell together and keep it by her bed."
"Yes!" Daenaera's eyes lit up as she clapped her hands in approval.
"Alright, I'll find a craftsman," Helaena agreed, though she seemed a bit troubled. She handed her daughter over to Rhaegar and called out, "Viserion, come and eat dinner."
Rhaegar naturally took Daenaera in his arms, tilting his head to let her plant a kiss on his cheek. She obliged, wrapping her arms around his head in a big hug.
"Good girl. Remember to take care of your young dragon," Rhaegar beamed, the picture of a doting father, as he personally picked up food and fed it to her.
Daenaera opened her small mouth and chewed slowly. She had always been a bit frail, with a pale complexion and a tendency to lose her appetite—traits that worried her parents.
Across the room, Helaena's attempts to summon her son were met with little success. Resigned, she lifted her skirt and walked away from the table. Rhaegar's gaze followed her.
"Roar..." In the corner, the young dragon raised its small head, nestled in a soft bed of stacked pillows. Next to it, a silver-haired boy with purple eyes squatted, engrossed in a book.
"Time to eat," Helaena said, a note of exasperation in her voice as she gently pulled the somewhat tattered book from her son's hands. The cover was intricately decorated with an image of a thousand ships sailing across the sea.
"I know, Mother," the boy, replied, his face sweet and innocent.
"You haven't greeted your father yet," Helaena reminded him, ruffling his hair as she helped him to his feet. She considered herself fortunate to have given birth to twins—a son and a daughter.
The daughter had been born last, named Daenaera by her father, Viserys, in honor of his late first wife Aemma Arryn's mother. The son, born five minutes earlier, had been named by Helaena herself to celebrate her father's recovery and his reconciliation with her mother, Alicent.
"Viserion, come to me," Rhaegar beckoned, motioning for the little one to sit beside him. He was, after all, immensely proud of his achievements.
Jeyne had borne his first two children, while Helaena had given birth to their fourth, a pair of twins.
Rhaenyra had followed with Visenya, their third daughter, and by bringing their youngest into the world—a baby boy named Aegor, just over a year old.
In all, there were nine children: five boys and four girls, all pure Targaryen blood. Excluding the stillborns, their survival rate alone had already surpassed that of his great-grandfather, the Old King, elevating the family's power to new heights.
"One step at a time, don't be afraid," Helaena whispered, winking as she took her son's hand and led him to the table.
Viserion lowered his head, his movements stiff, occasionally stealing a timid glance at his father, who was nearby.
"Come on, I've brought you a present," Rhaegar said with a warm smile, pulling out the fashionable toys he had prepared—dolls, precious stones, and other treasures.
As the family's territory expanded, greater control was required. Jeyne sat quietly in the valley, saying nothing. After Laena's death, Rhaenys was lost and often traveled between King's Landing and Lys.
With Dorne's persistent unrest, Helaena temporarily resided in her fiefdom of Summerhall, forming alliances with House Tyrell and House Baratheon to garrison the border. The children had not seen their father in some time and were a bit distant from him.
"Eat your vegetables, Father," Daenaera chirped, arching her head as she pushed a leaf of vegetables into Rhaegar's mouth. Rhaegar opened his mouth and accepted the hurried gesture of love. Across the table, Viserion's envy flickered in his eyes as he quickened his hesitant steps. With Helaena's gentle guidance, he finally managed to sit next to his father, feeling both flattered and shy.
"Choose a gift and see which one you like," Rhaegar encouraged, rubbing his son's short silver hair. The little boy was introverted, rarely speaking as a child, often lost in a picture book biography. But Rhaegar saw this as a sign of inner beauty, cherishing his son's quiet nature.
"I want this one," Daenaera announced, climbing into her father's arms and reaching for the table. Her small hands grabbed a dragon doll and a blue gem, recalling how her uncle had a blue gem in his eye socket that he never let her play with. 'Stingy!' she thought.
Rhaegar looked at his four children and encouraged them, "Choose one, you can take a few more as well." It had been two or three months since he had last seen them, so he felt the need to offer something to win them over.
"I..." Viserion hesitated, not moving among the pile of gifts.
Rhaegar was surprised. "Don't like it?" he asked.
When he tried this before, Visenya was delighted and had even slipped a gem into her younger brother Aegor's underpants, hoping to stash it away as a little piggy bank.
"I like them!" Daenaera quickly answered, hugging the doll and gem tightly as she continued to pick out a small, rounded wooden sword.
"Wait a minute, let your brother choose one too," Rhaegar said, wrapping his arm around his daughter like she was a little cat. He then looked over at his four sons, "Choose one, don't be so shy."
Viserion looked timidly at his father, his hand pausing in mid-air.
"You can choose whichever one you like," Rhaegar said, his eyes bright with encouragement. He understood introversion—he had been rather withdrawn as a child himself. This was precisely why he had liked Maekar, who was also reserved, and why he treated Viserion with special care. Introverts often had their own plans in mind and were skilled at controlling situations.
"I'll choose this one," Viserion murmured, his eyes lingering on the wooden sword before finally reaching for an obsidian dagger.
Rhaegar noticed his fourth son's choice and gently intervened. "That's a keepsake from the Dragonkeeper," he explained. "It's not part of the gifts." He placed a firm hand in front of Viserion, signaling for him to hand over the dagger.
Viserion hesitated, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. Rhaegar remained silent, waiting to see how his son would respond. In his mind, there were only two possible outcomes.
"Then, I'll give it back to you," Viserion whispered, reluctantly returning the obsidian dagger and reaching for another black crystal stone instead.
Rhaegar's forehead creased with frustration. He had expected his son to return the dagger and perhaps choose the wooden sword he had seemed interested in. Instead, Viserion opted for another crystal stone, further irritating his father.
Suppressing his displeasure, Rhaegar's gaze shifted to the small backpack slung over Viserion's shoulders—a bag Helaena had sewn for the children to carry their dragon eggs. At that moment, the knapsack appeared empty and dry, with no sign of the black dragon egg.
Rhaegar frowned. "Where is your dragon egg?" he asked, his tone serious.
The dragon eggs for his four sons were still in the cradle, placed there by Rhaegar himself. They were eggs from Dreamfyre, the dragon whose egg had failed to hatch when Rhaegar was young. He had never felt a connection with that black dragon egg, but since Helaena had tamed Dreamfyre, it seemed only fitting that Dreamfyre's egg should belong to her son.
Viserion lowered his head and muttered, "I put the backpack with the books in it. The dragon egg is in the room."
Rhaegar let out a deep breath, rising from the table. "I'm full," he said, his voice tight. "I'll go put Daenaera to bed." With that, he scooped up his daughter, her round tummy resting against him, and left the table.
As he walked away, frustration gnawed at him. How could his son, the child of the so-called "Cruel Rhaegar," be so timid? Viserion hadn't even fought for what he liked. Not even the dragon egg—coveted by the world as a priceless treasure—could hold his interest like those picture books did.
Once Rhaegar had left with Daenaera, Helaena and Viserion remained alone at the table. Helaena, with an innocent expression, scratched her loose bun and comforted her son. "Don't worry, he's just angry."
"I'm sorry," Viserion murmured, his lips trembling as he bowed his head in guilt. His father had come to visit for the first time in ages, and he'd only managed to make him angry.
"It's okay," Helaena reassured him, swallowing a mouthful of roast meat. "It's good to understand why he's angry." She then stood, stretching a bit as she walked around the table. "You eat first, fill yourself up, and then go to your room to rest," she said, instructing the Dragonkeeper to tend to the young dragon in the corner before following her brother upstairs.
Viserion watched, curled up in his seat, feeling more alone than ever. Once the young dragon was taken away, he was left in the empty hall by himself. His eyes fell on the book covers scattered across the table, stories of the legendary Rhoynar warrior queen, Nymeria, who had sailed with a thousand ships.
Dong! The clock struck, and a bat-shaped pendant popped out from its box. Viserion stared at it for a moment, lost in thought. Slowly, he reached out his hands.
"I'll take this one," he murmured to no one in particular. He picked up the obsidian dagger his father had left behind and, with his other hand, grabbed the small, rounded wooden sword. His gaze dull, he pressed the two items against the pages of the book, lost in his own world.
...
Attic, Princess's Bedroom.
"This child is weak and spineless, not of much use," Rhaegar remarked calmly, leaning against the window and gazing out at the night sky. Among his many offspring, few were as timid as Viserion. Even Aegor, his youngest son, whose milk teeth had yet to fall out, would bite back when his sister Visenya teased him too much. Viserion's behavior tonight had left Rhaegar deeply disappointed.
"Perhaps he just wanted to give his sister the gift he liked best," Helaena suggested gently, sitting by the bed as she tenderly patted their sleeping daughter. Her perspective was different from her brother's.
Rhaegar, not in the mood to argue, sighed. "If he's too afraid to express his love for something he truly desires, what great achievements can he hope to accomplish?" His four sons would one day inherit Summerhall and be tasked with overseeing Dorne, The Reach, and the Stormlands. How could he trust someone so timid with such responsibilities?
Helaena tilted her head, speaking with quiet wisdom, "Isn't someone who is willing to make sacrifices even greater?"
"Hm?" Rhaegar paused, then chuckled helplessly. "You're right. I hope I'm wrong."
At three years old, Viserion's personality was already forming. If all else failed, Rhaegar considered bringing Viserion to King's Landing to spend more time with Baelon. Perhaps his eldest son's courage could help sharpen the boy. Ultimately, it was Rhaegar's neglect that had left his son so vulnerable. Reflecting on this, he felt a sense of relief.
Helaena blinked and suddenly said, "Aemon hasn't been back in a long time." She believed her son was destined for greatness, that the throne in her dreams belonged to him. But she knew Rhaegar wasn't interested in discussing it, so she shifted the conversation to something that might hold his attention.
Rhaegar sat back on the edge of the bed, replying cautiously, "Qohor is at war year-round. Aemon has to stay and defend the realm."
"His fiefdom is in Stonehelm," Helaena countered, her tone indifferent.
Rhaegar snorted. "Tell him that. See if the boy is willing to give up Qohor."
Qohor was a hotbed of conflict. Situated in the vast Forest of Qohor on the eastern continent of Essos, it was a land rich in resources—forestry, animal husbandry, fishing, and farming. An extinct volcano outside the city also made it an ideal place for dragons to dwell. After Aemond took control of Qohor, he faced attacks from the remaining Free Cities of Braavos, Pentos, Norvos, and Lorath. Only four of the Nine Free Cities remained, and none were willing to allow House Targaryen to occupy Qohor unchallenged.
This struggle was the cause and core of the ongoing war. Even their uncle, Daemon, had ridden Caraxes into battle for this critical territory, which would determine whether House Targaryen could establish a stronghold on the mainland of Essos.
Rhaenyra went to Lys to gather supplies to support the battlefield in Qohor. The remaining Free Cities clung desperately to their positions, fearing that if they relented, they would eventually be annexed by the Targaryens.
(Word count: 2,251)