The corridors of the Red Keep buzzed with the soft murmurs of awe and reverence. The news of Prince Rhaemon's survival and the hatching of three dragons had spread like wildfire across the Seven Kingdoms. Courtiers, servants, and guards alike craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the newborn prince and the legendary creatures that heralded a new era for House Targaryen.
Prince Aerys Targaryen, the Second of his name, fiery and youthful at fifteen, made his way through the labyrinthine corridors, cradling his firstborn son Rhaemon, with pride. The baby, currently oblivious to the monumental expectations placed upon him, gazed around with wide, innocent eyes. He was cocooned in silken Targaryen swaddling and was an enigma to all who beheld him.
Behind them, a retinue of servants and guards carefully carried the three dragon hatchlings, their eyes ever-vigilant for any signs of danger or unrest. The dragons, still young and small but already exuding an aura of raw power, snapped at anyone who dared come too close to Rhaemon, their protective instincts fully aroused. Their presence was nothing short of a phenomenon.
Meanwhile, Rhaemon reflected on the past week with a clarity that belied his infant form. It had been a blur of the typical newborn routine - sleeping, eating, pooping, the whole nine yards. Yet, amidst these primal instincts, flickers of his adult consciousness emerged, trying to process this surreal new reality.
He'd gathered, through snippets of overheard gossip and fragmented memories, that he'd narrowly escaped a fire at Summerhall. Once again—damn ironic, given that fire had claimed his life before. But this time, his Targaryen lineage protected him - he was immune to the flames. Thank fuck.
During a so-called "Dragon Sleep", the world had moved on without him. When Rhaemon finally awoke, the people around him regarded him with creepy worshiping eyes and awe. And unbeknownst to him, they say he had hatched three dragon eggs - a feat that had pulled him from his week-long coma. Crazy.
Now, his father was going to show him off to his friends with the dragons. While being carried, Rhaemon observed the bustling activity of the Red Keep with wide, curious eyes.
He was still uncertain about the current year, and that nagging sense of unease only grew with each passing day. But based on his observations, it seemed the timeline was situated a few years, or perhaps even decades, before the events of Game of Thrones began to unfold.
Plagued by self-loathing, Rhaemon could only lament the fact that he had only managed to watch the very first episode of the first season in its entirety. Everything else he knew came from scattered social media clips and spoiler-filled snippets. He had intended to binge the entire series, but fate had cruelly intervened before he could even start.
Still, Rhaemon was familiar with the core players - the Starks, whom he rather liked, the notorious Lannister twins and their scandalous incest, their psychotic son, Joffrey—he wanted to kill that bastard—and of course, Daenerys Targaryen. He had been particularly enthralled by the YouTube videos showcasing Dany and her cool dragons. And he knew of Jon Snow, the fabled Prince that was Promised, and the looming threat of the Night King and his undead army—the winter zombies.
Despite this patchwork of knowledge, Rhaemon knew it was mostly useless and now realized it was far more complex because the main characters weren't even born yet. Oh, but his boy, Ned Stark was alive. Rhaemon couldn't believe that the one man he grew attached to, was fucking beheaded.
Rhaemon would rather have been reborn into the Stark family than the Targaryens. With the Starks, he imagined he could have enjoyed a peaceful, quiet life - the kind of family-oriented environment he enjoys. Rhaemon appreciated the close-knit bonds of large families.
But of course—instead, he was a Targaryen, where he found himself in a world rife with treachery, where one's life was always in peril, where spies were watching your every move. And the living conditions were simply abhorrent. Why didn't anyone ever invent hygiene? Like fuck—they had thousands of years to think about it! The moment he regained consciousness, the first thing to assault his senses was the stench of human waste—it was disgusting—a truly repulsive experience that made him yearn to get the fuck out and breathe in the fresh air. Winter air of the North, preferably.
Having Direwolves would have been nice. But since he's gotten three dragons… all is forgiven for now.
As they approached the courtyard where Tywin Lannister and Steffon Baratheon awaited, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. Tywin, already known for his sharp mind and calculating demeanor, stood with his arms crossed, his golden hair glinting in the sunlight. Beside him, Steffon, the young heir to Storm's End, could barely contain his excitement. His eyes were glued to the dragons as soon as they appeared within view, a look of sheer wonder etched on his face. Both young men had been summoned by Aerys to witness the marvel that had set the entire realm abuzz.
"Prince Aerys," Tywin greeted, his voice steady and respectful, though his gaze flickered to the dragons with fascination and wariness. "You've certainly brought a spectacle with you."
Aerys smiled, a hint of the charm that had made him popular in court shining through. "Indeed, Tywin. Meet my son, Rhaemon, and his three companions." He gestured to the dragons, who hissed softly.
"Not one, but three dragons? Born of stone eggs, no less? It seems like a tale from Old Valyria," Steffon exclaimed, his voice tinged with admiration.
He stepped forward, his eyes never leaving the dragons. "Gods, have they been named yet?" he asked.
Aerys shook his head. "No, Steffon. These dragons belong to Rhaemon, granted by father, King Jaehaerys. It will be his right to name them. They have already formed a bond with him, one that cannot be ignored."
Rhaemon perked up his ears on the remark. Within the confines of his limited baby existence, his adult mind had found ways to stay entertained and engaged. One of those ways had been observing his three dragons and deciding on their names.
The red and black dragon, once commonly referred to as Drogon, had quickly earned the name Stormfyre. Rhaemon had chosen this name after watching the dragon's temperamental and aggressive nature unfold over the past week. Stormfyre had bitten the most servants and guards out of the three, a rebellious streak that made Rhaemon inwardly laugh every time he witnessed it. The name 'Stormfyre' captured his fiery spirit perfectly, embodying both his temperamental nature and his devastating power.
Then there was the blue and black dragon, whom Rhaemon decided to name Poseidon. The dragon's coloring reminded him of the seas and oceans from his old world, and the name Poseidon seemed fitting. This dragon was the most affectionate and friendly of the three, often seeking out caresses and attention from the family members. Poseidon's open-minded and loving nature made him a favorite among the royal household, and Rhaemon found a comforting sense of familiarity in naming him after the god of the sea.
Lastly, the violet and black dragon was named Noctis. This dragon's dark attributes and colors, combined with his regal and intelligent nature, made the name Noctis feel right. He was the most observant and calm, often watching the world with an otherworldly calmness that could be unsettling. Noctis was quiet but commanded a presence that was impossible to ignore. The silent but scary type, Rhaemon thought.
He wanted to share the names he had chosen with everyone, but as an infant who couldn't yet talk, he was forced to keep his thoughts to himself. He babbled incoherently, attempting to form the sounds, but it was no use. He would have to wait until he was older—perhaps two or three years old—before he could announce their names to the world.
As Aerys sat down in an ornate chair between his friends with Rhaemon still in his arms, the young dragons flapped their wings and stated themselves around the two. Servants and guards alike kept a respectful, if not fearful, distance. The dragons' scales gleamed under the midday sun, their eyes—fiery red, deep blue, and dark violet—radiating an almost otherworldly intelligence.
Tywin, the pragmatist of the three, observed the creatures with fascination and caution. "This changes everything," he murmured, his voice low and contemplative. "The balance of power in the realm... House Targaryen's grip will tighten once more."
Aerys nodded, his eyes alight with ambition. "Indeed. With these dragons, the Targaryen legacy shall rise from the ashes of Summerhall. Rhaemon, my son, my heir, is a symbol of our resurgence."
The infant gurgled softly in his father's arms, seemingly oblivious to the weight of the expectations placed upon his tiny shoulders. Stormfyre nuzzled closer to Rhaemon, his fiery nature tempered by an almost affectionate protectiveness. The other two followed suit, their primal and regal natures respectively evident in their movements.
"Father believes Rhaemon to be the fulfillment of prophecy," Aerys continued, a note of reverence in his voice. "The prince that was promised. His survival from the flames and the hatching of these dragons... it cannot be mere coincidence."
Tywin raised an eyebrow, his analytical mind already at work. "Prince Rhaemon is only two weeks old, and yet he has already become a figure of legend. Do you truly believe in the prophecy your father speaks of?"
Aerys met Tywin's gaze, his expression solemn. "Why wouldn't I? Rhaemon has already brought two miracles since his birth. He survived the fire at Summerhall, and he brought dragons back into existence after a century and a half. Prophecies are the reason Targaryens survived the Doom of Valyria. My son is destined for greatness."
Steffon, though young, understood the gravity of the situation. "If the realm believes—it will rally behind your house. Faith can be a powerful ally."
Tywin's measuring gaze met Aerys'. "But faith alone won't secure the throne. Your son's miracle has given us an opportunity, but it also paints a target on his back. Envy and fear are potent motivators for those who seek to undermine your house."
Aerys smiled, a hint of the future Mad King's intensity flickering in his eyes. "Let them come. Let them see the power of House Targaryen reborn. Rhaemon and his dragons will be the beacon that guides us through the darkness. And I, Aerys Targaryen, will ensure that our fire never fades."
The sun cast a warm glow over the training grounds, where three young noble heirs sat around a sturdy wooden table. The air buzzed with the sounds of clashing swords and the distant murmur of courtly life.
As they continued their talk, Tywin Lannister's sharp mind was already working through the implications of recent events. He glanced at Aerys, his expression thoughtful.
"Aerys," Tywin began, choosing his words carefully, "I've heard that King Jaehaerys plans to host a great tournament in three months to celebrate the birth of the twins and the return of dragons. With the Band of Nine uprising looming, do you think it's wise to divert our resources and attention to such a spectacle?"
Aerys's expression momentarily hardened, his Targaryen pride bristling at the perceived challenge to his father's decision. "You question the King's judgment, Tywin?" he asked, his tone cold.
Tywin met Aerys's gaze steadily. "I mean no disrespect, Aerys, my friend. I'm merely concerned about the timing and the potential risks."
Aerys took a deep breath, his initial defensiveness giving way to a more measured response. "My father is a wise man, Tywin. The tournament is not just a celebration; it's a strategic move. He understands the importance of morale. The people need something to look forward to, something to rally behind. The tragedy at Summerhall has cast a long shadow, and the threat of the Band of Nine adds to the unrest. A grand tournament will serve as a distraction, a means to uplift the spirits of the realm and shift focus from the impending war."
Steffon nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "So, it's about giving the people hope. A reason to believe in a brighter future."
"Exactly," Aerys replied, his tone softening. "I must admit, there was a time when I didn't fully trust my father's decisions. When he commanded that I marry my sister, Rhaella, I resisted. I couldn't see the necessity or the fairness of it all when both my grandfather, Aegon V, and my father married for love."
He glanced down at Rhaemon, a soft smile playing on his lips. "But ever since Rhaemon was born, my perspective has changed. His birth, his survival, the return of dragons—these are signs. I now understand the wisdom in my father's decisions. I'm glad I married my sister-wife, Rhaella, and trusted in my father's vision."
Tywin couldn't help but be surprised by this. He observed his friend silently, contemplating his sudden change of view.
"There's another significant reason for the tournament," Aerys said, his tone growing more serious. "Half of the Kingsguard perished in the Summerhall tragedy, including the Lord Commander, Ser Duncan the Tall. My father, King Jaehaerys, sees the tournament as an opportunity to find new knights worthy of the Kingsguard."
Tywin's eyes sharpened with interest. "A wise move. The Kingsguard is the backbone of the realm's security. Finding replacements quickly is essential."
Aerys nodded. "Indeed. The tournament will be grand and expansive, with all the noble houses invited to attend the celebration feast. It will not only serve as a distraction and a morale booster but also as a means to scout for the finest knights in Westeros. The best of the best will be tested in the lists, and those who prove themselves will be considered for the honor of joining the Kingsguard."
Steffon looked impressed. "A grand tournament is a surefire way to attract the most skilled warriors. And with the noble houses in attendance, it will also strengthen alliances and foster unity."
Tywin stroked his chin thoughtfully. "And with all the noble houses in attendance, it will also serve as a platform for political maneuvering. New alliances can be forged, and existing ones strengthened. It's a masterstroke."
Aerys looked up at Tywin and Steffon, his expression earnest. "You both should put your trust in our king as well. The future of the royal family and the Seven Kingdoms is brighter than it has been in a long time. We must stand united, with faith in our leadership, to navigate the challenges ahead."
Tywin nodded, his respect for Aerys growing. "You make a compelling case, Aerys. I will trust in King Jaehaerys's judgment and do my part to support the realm."
Steffon grinned, his youthful enthusiasm undiminished. "And I'll do the same. Together, we'll ensure that the future remains bright."
Aerys, leaning back with an air of casual authority, watched with amusement as the dragons lazed about. Poseidon rested atop the table in front of him, his oceanic wings folded neatly to his sides. Suddenly, Poseidon stirred, straightening up and spreading his magnificent wings. He let out a roar, which sounded more like a plaintive whine, directed at Aerys.
Aerys chuckled, recognizing the signal. Without a word, he gestured to the waiting servants, who hurried forward with trays of roasted meat. They placed the platters cautiously in the center of the table, their eyes wide with awe and fear.
Stormfyre, the first to react, lunged at the meat with a ferocious appetite, tearing into his share with primal vigor. Poseidon, not a second later, joined in, playfully engaging in a tug-of-war with his brother over a particularly juicy piece. Their playful struggle drew smiles and laughter from the onlookers. Noctis observed his siblings with a regal patience before gracefully approaching the platter. He took his share without haste, his movements unruffled and calm.
Tywin, Steffon, and Aerys watched the scene unfold with fascination. The dragons, a symbol of House Targaryen's ancient power, were a sight to behold, their behavior both awe-inspiring and a reminder of the volatile nature of these magnificent creatures.
Aerys, still holding Rhaemon, broke the silence. "We tried to separate the dragons from Rhaemon," he said casually, his tone betraying a hint of frustration. "But they didn't take kindly to it. Wildly aggressive, they were. Several servants got bitten for their troubles."
Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly, his calculating mind already assessing the implications. "Dragons are fiercely loyal creatures. Their bond with Rhaemon must be exceptionally strong."
Steffon nodded in agreement.
The trio of noble heirs fell into contemplative silence, each lost in thoughts of the future. The dragons, having finished their meal, settled back into their resting positions, their bellies full and their loyalty unwavering. The courtyard, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, bore witness to the beginning of a new chapter in the history of House Targaryen—one that promised to be as fiery and unpredictable as the dragons themselves.