The next few days were extremely confusing for Harry. Each time he opened his eyes, he'd expected to be back in number four, Privet Drive, or worst-case scenario, a hospital, horribly burned and hooked up to an armada of beeping machines. However, this didn't happen. Whenever Harry blinked awake, he found himself staring up at that same chiselled stone ceiling, unable to do anything more than turn his head to the side.
'Weren't you supposed to wake up in real life if you went to sleep in a dream?' thought Harry. He remembered reading that once, but it obviously wasn't true.
Harry began to wonder whether this is what a coma felt like; trapped inside his own head, in a make-belief life that he'd cooked up for himself to escape whatever dreadful reality awaited him if he were to wake up. His mind had likely created it based on 'Medieval Kingdoms', using his desire to live like one of the game's characters to distract him.
If Harry really tried, he could think past the distraction, but all he found there was fire. The phantom pains of his skin melting off his bones, the smell of his own burning flesh as the Dursley house fire claimed him. He'd only thought about this once before he desperately let the dream distract him again. But he knew the experience was right there, always just beneath the surface, waiting to consume him like the actual fire had done.
Living the life of a game character was much more preferable, but there was just one problem with it — a small, teensy, tiny little issue; he was stuck in the body of a baby!
For whatever strange and unknown reason, he'd been forced into the life of a newborn, which was downright disturbing to his ten-year-old mind. None of the characters he'd created in the game had to start so young, yet Harry had to live through his re-birth — thinking of that made his small form shudder. Therapy was definitely in his future after that, if it wasn't already after living with the Dursleys.
Anyway, Harry was only slightly ashamed to admit that the first time he opened his eyes after his … birth … that he'd immediately descended into a distraught panic. He'd like to see anyone else wake up in the that situation and not do the exact same thing. Harry's screams had been piercing, even more so due to his baby status, and he vaguely heard people's concerned voices before he'd cried himself back into an unconscious state.
The next time he woke up, Harry managed to keep a cooler head. This time more annoyed than alarmed. He didn't know how long he glared up at that stone ceiling before mustering the strength to turn his head to the side. What he saw was another baby, swaddled in blankets in much the same way Harry assumed he was. Rhaenys, his mind supplied, having heard her name the first time he'd gained consciousness inside this nightmare. She was his sister, apparently — his twin sister. Harry didn't know how to feel about that.
Of course, over the years Harry had imagined what it would be like to have a sibling; someone who wanted to spend time with him, playing and laughing, unlike Dudley who gained amusement by tormenting him. This was impossible though; his parents had died in a car crash, and Harry thought it cruel for his mind to think up a dream-sister, rubbing the fact in his face that he'd never have a real one. This made Harry want to dismiss Rhaenys, but he couldn't. Watching her sleep peacefully on the other side of the crib caused a warmth to gather in his heart. It felt so much realer than any dream he'd had before.
"The young prince is awake, my lady."
Harry would've jumped if his body had been able. The woman's voice had come from right above him but he hadn't noticed her appear there at all. Her older, weathered face smiled down at him like a grandparent's would.
"Please bring him to me," said another voice, one that Harry recognised.
Harry was picked up — able to do nothing about indignity of being handled like that — and was given to a girl laying in a lavish bed, with an overhead canopy draped in red and black curtains. He said girl because she could barely be considered a woman, far too young in face and form, and far too young to have had two babies. This was Elia, and she was his new dream-mother.
"Thank you, Juline," said Elia to the other woman, her maid, or servant — the specifics were lost to Harry. Juline dipped her head and swept away out of sight, though Harry had a feeling she hadn't gone too far, he hadn't heard a door opening at least.
Elia smiled down at Harry, cradling him close, but he saw the deep concern within her eyes. "Good morning, my little Aegon. Are you feeling better?"
Harry could hardly respond, but if he could, it would've been something sarcastic; yeah, of course he was fine, he was just trapped in a dream as a baby — see, completely fine. He was quite relieved that he couldn't say any of that, though, because Elia showed only genuine worry for him, and it would've made him feel like a twat.
Thinking about it, Harry could understand why Elia was acting like this. It must've terrified her, having one of her babies wake up screaming, and knocking themselves out. He'd hardly acted like a real baby would have — like Rhaenys had — but she didn't have the mind of a ten-year-old, as far as he knew.
'It's a dream — it's not real' Harry told himself, but the look on Elia's face was everything Harry had imagined a mother's look would be when scared for her child. How many times had he wished for such a thing before? In those nights spent alone and hungry in his small cupboard under the stairs. He supposed he could take a moment and enjoy having a caring mother, at least for a little while, then he'd get back to figuring out how the hell to get out of this damn dream.
Elia gently dragged a finger down Harry's cheek, smiling when he leaned into it, following this up by booping him on the nose. That caused Harry to recoiled and scrunch up his face, glaring at the finger as much as a baby could glare. Elia giggled and opened her mouth, about to speak when a cry rung out, and it didn't come from Harry.
"It sounds like your sister is awake," said Elia, instead of whatever she had planned to say.
Juline was quick to reemerge and collect Rhaenys, bringing her over to Elia, who now had a baby nestled in each arm. Still, Rhaenys didn't stop crying, and Juline was the first to suggest why.
"They need feeding, my lady," she said. "I will fetch the wet nurses—"
"No," interrupted Elia quickly. "I will feed them myself."
"But, my lady, you are not well."
And it was true. Elia was pale, like she'd been right after giving birth, but that had been days ago and she hadn't seemed to recover at all. She was so pale that Harry hadn't realised her skin was sun-kissed, only realising so after seeing Rhaenys who shared the trait. Did he share it too, he wondered, or was he lighter, like he recalled his dream-father being.
"I am well enough for this." Elia's tone took on a stern edge, as sharp as a sword. There would be no dissuading her from this decision. "Please, assist me."
Despite disagreeing, Juline did as she was asked without further comment. She helped Elia sit further up, and adjust her thin robes to open the front, exposing her chest.
Harry's face would've gone red if it was able. He'd seem a woman's breasts before, in a magazine Dudley had stolen from his friend, who had stolen it from their father. Those images had been burned into his mind, but Elia's breasts were very different; they were smaller, but they looked more real than those specifically selected models, and full of something — milk, he assumed.
Like a bucket of ice water had been dropped over him, Harry suddenly realised what had been meant by feeding. Elia raised him up to one of her dark nipples, but Harry refused to open his mouth, unlike Rhaenys who he could hear suckling away.
"Please, Aegon," pleaded Elia, before raising her head to Juline. "Why will he not feed?"
"I do not know, my lady," said Juline, equally concerned. "Try again, maybe he will latch on this time."
Like hell he would, thought Harry, abstinently refusing to open his mouth as Elia smothered him with her breast. Being a baby was bad enough, but Harry refused to be put through this immense humiliation as well. He didn't have any experience with babies, but surely there was something else he could be fed. He just needed to refuse long enough for them to give up.
Unfortunately, thinking about food had opened the door for his stomach to inform Harry exactly how starved it was, and right then Harry felt like he could've eaten an entire horse. The hungry discomfort quickly turned into tummy cramping pain, and whether he opened his mouth to cry out in said pain, or to give up, it didn't matter because Elia's teat entered his mouth all the same. Harry's body acted on instincts rather than his will, latching on and sucking like, well, a baby.
"Thank the Seven," sighed Elia.
Meanwhile, Harry focused on suppressing the memory of this embarrassment, as he did whenever he was fed over the following days. It was the same for when he needed to relieve himself; Harry buried those times deeper inside his mind, never to see the light of day again.
Yet another morning had arrived and Harry was being put through another session of feeding when the door opened. There was only one person allowed to enter whilst Elia was exposed in this state, and that was Rhaegar, Harry's dream-father. He too, like Elia, was far too young, still a boy rather than a man.
Harry had hardly seen Rhaegar; he seemed to be very busy, able to spend little more than minutes with them each day. Whenever Rhaegar was around, he spent most of that time speaking to Elia, appropriately assuming that neither of his babies could understand him. Harry could hardly fault him for that, but Harry still didn't understand what could occupy Rhaegar so much that it would drag him away from his wife and newborn children.
"Ah, they're awake," said Rhaegar, immediately noticing Harry and Rhaenys in Elia's arms.
"They woke not long ago," replied Elia, smiling sweetly. "Aegon woke earlier than Rhaenys, again. He's an early riser, like his father."
"Hopefully, besides the hair and eyes, he takes after you for the rest," said Rhaegar chuckling lowly.
Harry shifted his eyes to look at Rhaegar, who sat down on the bed, seeing his silver hair and vibrant purple eyes. Were Harry's hair and eyes the same? Nice! Though his heart ached a moment, feeling the loss of his emerald green orbs — the same as his real mother.
Mentally shaking his head, Harry looked between Rhaegar and Elia, his dream parents. He couldn't get over how young the two of them were, but they acted as if having children at their age was completely normal. Harry could imagine what Uncle Vernon's opinion would've been.
The real question though, was why did Harry's mind create them in that way? It wasn't the only weird thing about this dream either; what came to mind was all the strange names people had. Harry had never heard of names like Rhaegar and Rhaenys before, not to mention what he'd been called — Aegon. He'd happily stick with Harry, thanks very much.
Rhaegar suddenly exhaled a deep sigh, his mouth falling from a smile to a frown. Elia noticed the change in an instant. "Something bothers you, my love. What is it?"
"It's my father," admitted Rhaegar. Harry felt Elia tense and her heart speed up, more so as Rhaegar continued. "I have tried to distract him, but his patience has run its course. He has demanded that I present the children before him at court, today."
"B-But it's too soon!" said Elia loudly, unsettling Rhaenys.
"I know. I have tried everything, but his mind remains unchanged. If I do not take the children to him, then he will send someone to come and collect them."
Elia's arms curled further around Harry and Rhaenys, showing what she thought of that. Harry didn't understand what the problem was. Why were they so afraid of him and Rhaenys meeting their grandfather?
The bed shifted, taking everyone by surprise. Elia attempted to swing her legs out of the blankets, but it was proving difficult.
"What are you doing?" asked Rhaegar, but Elia brushed the question off. "Elia!"
"I am getting up," she said, sharply. "If they are to go, then so am I."
"Elia… You're still too weak from the birth." Rhaegar reached a hand out to her shoulder, but she shrugged it away, breathing hard, sweat dripping from her brow. It became too much for Rhaegar to watch. "Stop, Elia!"
Finally, Elia stopped, but she glared defiantly at Rhaegar, clearly disliking that he'd been right. In response, Rhaegar rested a hand on her leg, rubbing it up and down consolingly.
"You have barely begun to recover," he said. "You must rest and gather your strength for the journey back to Dragonstone. The sooner we leave, the safer the children will be."
OK, now Harry was really confused. They talked like they — that being Harry and Rhaenys — were in danger; that there was an axe hanging over their heads, and their grandfather was the one likely to swing it down. Trying to figure out why, maybe Harry's grandfather had been against Rhaegar and Elia having children so young? Or against them being together in the first place?
"When is your father holding court?" asked Elia, shortly.
Rhaegar flinched, averting his eyes from Elia's heated look. "He has already summoned the nobles. They will be waiting in the throne room by now, I suspect."
Nobles? Throne room? Sure, Harry had been referred to as a prince, but he'd thought that it was more out of endearment than anything else. Perhaps it was more than that. The faint memory of that old man came to Harry, the one with the raspy voice that had called Elia a princess during the birth. How important were Harry's parents? How important was his grandfather? A sneaking suspicion took root in Harry's head.
Rhaegar and Elia had been having their own quick back and forth whilst Harry had been thinking, and the result was Elia very reluctantly handing over both Harry and Rhaenys to Rhaegar. Rhaenys kicked up a fuss, but then seemed to realise who was holding her and calmed back down. Rhaegar carried them to the door before turning back, putting on his most reassuring smile.
"We shall not be long," he said.
"Rhaegar!" Elia called out as Rhaegar went to turn back to the door. "Please … Please keep them safe."
"I promise."
With that said, Rhaegar knocked on the door with his foot, and a moment later it was opened from the outside. Harry had gotten so used to that same room that he was terribly excited to see what else his mind had created in this dream. The castles in his favourite video game were incredible, and if this place was anywhere near as magnificent, then Harry was in for a real treat. But first, he needed to survive meeting his dream-grandfather, who he suspected was also the dream-king.
{ ⚔︎ }
Harry had tried his best to marvel at everything they walked past, but Rhaegar had moved so fast that it all blurred into shapes and colours. Down long corridors and steep staircases they went, until at last, Rhaegar stopped in front of the biggest doors Harry had ever seen. They were easily taller than the Dursley's house, and he couldn't help but wonder why anyone would need an entrance so large. Mind wandering to his favourite video game, since everything seemed to be based off of that so far, Harry listed the many creatures that could've required a construct such as this.
Although there were many, like trolls and ogres who could grow bigger than a house, Harry had a feeling that the throne room was built with neither of these in mind. Then he remembered the creature he had the best connection with, a great purple dragon lovingly called Spyro, and his breath caught in his tiny throat. Did dragons exist in this world? They had to, right? How amazing would it be to soar above the clouds on such a mighty beast, able to touch the heavens, and rain down fire upon those that were deserving of it.
"What could you possibly be giggling about?"
Harry followed the voice back to the present, finding both Rhaegar and a golden knight staring down at him curiously. Harry hadn't realised he was making noise of any kind, but his excitement had clearly gotten the better of him. Blinking innocently, he stared back, as if saying 'what, never seen a happy baby before?'.
"I think this one is going to be troublemaker, my prince," said the knight, making Rhaegar chuckle.
"It appears that way, doesn't it, Arthur."
Arthur had been with them since they stepped out of the bedroom and left Elia. At first, there had been two of them, both dressed in the same expertly crafted and intricately detailed gold armour, but Rhaegar had commanded the other, a man called Lewyn, to stay behind and guard Elia. Both knights had the same sun-kissed skin as Harry's dream-mother, but Lewyn had an inkling of the same nose and face too, making Harry question whether he was somehow related to her, and to himself he supposed.
Anyway, the mere fact that his family had their own personal guards — ones who appeared well trained if going by the confidence they exuded — proved almost beyond a doubt that they were as important as Harry was coming to believe. He'd find out for sure in a moment either way, as Rhaegar gathered himself, standing before the giant doors. He stared at them with so much intensity that Harry thought he might've been able to see through the wood at whatever awaited them inside.
"Are you OK, my prince?" asked Arthur quietly, stepping closer so that the guards at either side of the door couldn't hear.
"I'm fine, Arthur," replied Rhaegar, just as quiet. "I'm just trying to imagine how this will go. You have seen my father lately — he hasn't been of what I would call … sound mind…"
It showed how much Rhaegar trusted Arthur to be speaking of such things, especially if Harry's grandfather was the king, as Harry suspected. In turn, Arthur rested an armoured hand on Rhaegar's shoulder.
"I'm sure everything will be alright, Rhaegar."
"Yes, of course." Rhaegar smiled at his friend. "Thank you, Arthur."
With one last deep breath, Rhaegar gestured to the guards, who nodded back and pushed open the doors. As soon as Rhaegar stepped through, a voice echoed around the cavernous room within.
"Presenting Rhaegar of House Targaryen, the First of his Name, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, and Heir to the Iron Throne."
The already intense atmosphere of the throne room grew thicker as the power of those words settled over everyone. The floor was full of extravagantly dressed men and women, standing between towering pillars of decorated stone that held up the lofty ceiling. As Rhaegar took them further into the room, everyone stood as tall as they could, straining to see over one another's heads to get a look at them, or more specifically, at Harry and Rhaenys.
Harry didn't much like being the centre of attention — he never had; other kids often stared at him at school, whispering about him being an orphan and pointing at his forehead scar, encouraged by Dudley to do so. It made him feel like an animal in the zoo and he hated it.
So lost in his discomfort, Harry almost missed the part where his father was announced as the crown prince of seven kingdoms! Not one, or two, but seven! How did anyone conquer seven kingdoms? Harry had feeling it had something to do with the foreboding skulls dotted around the room, some larger than others but none of them were human. The one Harry couldn't look away from could have easily swallowed a horse whole, and was distinctly draconian. He'd been right! There were dragons in this world!
Rhaegar stopped in front a line of guards that separated a raised platform from the rest of the room. Up the steps, there was but one thing; a monstrosity of a chair made up of melted swords that looked as uncomfortable as it did unsafe. This had to be the iron throne. If that wasn't clear enough, then the man sitting on it with a crown on his head made it irrefutable. This was Harry's grandfather, and the king.
"Your Grace," said Rhaegar.
The king looked down his nose at Rhaegar. From the disdain on his face, one would hardly believe that they were father and son, but the similar silver hair and purple eyes were unmistakable. The only difference was that the king's was long and unkept, and his eyes flitted around constantly, showing none of the confidence that Rhaegar's displayed.
"I present the newest additions to House Targaryen," continued Rhaegar, seemingly unbothered by the daggers being glared at him. "Aegon Targaryen, my heir, and his twin sister, Rhaenys Targaryen — named in the honour of our ancestors."
A quiet murmur floated around the room, coming from the observing crowd, but they were silenced with a single glance from the king. The seconds stretched on as Rhaegar raised Harry and Rhaenys, showing them off, waiting for their grandfather to say, or do something.
"Bring me the boy," the king finally said.
Rhaegar hesitated, but then went to step forward.
"Not you!" shouted the king. "Wife!"
From the shadow of the throne stepped a truly angelic woman. She too had the silver hair that Harry, Rhaegar, and the king shared, except hers was the smoothest of them all, flowing down her shoulders like a water. As she got closer, the wall of guards making a space for her to go through, Harry became mesmerised by her high cheek-boned face, perfect in every way. This was a queen in every sense of the word.
"Hello, mother," said Rhaegar lowly, smiling for the first time since they entered the throne room.
"Hello, Rhaegar." She gazed down at Harry and his sister. "They are beautiful. You and Elia did very well. She is recovering, I hope?"
"The birth was hard, but Elia is nothing if not strong and determined. I had to command her to rest, otherwise, she'd be standing here beside me."
The queen leaned closer, making it appear as if she was taking Harry, but whispered. "It is for the best Elia is not here. Aerys has grown more paranoid, seeing enemies where there is none. You must take Elia and children back to Dragonsto—"
"WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG?" The king's shout — Aerys's shout — made the queen flinch. "RHAELLA! BRING ME THE WHELP!"
Rhaegar inclined his head minutely, showing he understood his mother's warnings, then carefully passed Harry to her. A bad feeling settled in Harry's gut, increasing with every step his grandmother, Rhaella, took towards Aerys. She stopped in front of the king, but didn't offer Harry to him.
Aerys did nothing, but then leaned forward slightly and sniffed, nose scrunching as if he'd smelt a pair of mouldy socks. "Smells Dornish… ROSSART!"
A man dressed in red robes hobbled up the platform, accompanied by another two similarly dressed men carrying a big, bronze brazier. It looked like a plate made for a giant, but instead of piling food onto it, they placed wood and poured a sickly green liquid over it.
"My king?" said Rhaella, staring at the men with caution.
All of a sudden, the room became bathed in a haunting green glow, coming from the emerald flames that had erupted in the brazier. Aerys stood, snatching Harry from Rhaella before she could do anything about it.
"Father?" came Rhaegar's worried voice.
The entire room held their breath as the king walked over to the flames, holding Harry loosely, as if not wanting to be infected by holding the baby.
"He may look Targaryen," said Aerys, talking about Harry as they stopped by the fire, "but there is only one way to make sure that his pure Valyrian blood hasn't been tarnished by that Dornish filth."
"Aerys!"
"Father!"
The king continued as if he couldn't hear the cries of his wife and son. "If fire runs through his veins, then he will not shy away from the flames. A true dragon embraces the fire, relishing in their power to destroy! Let us see if the whelp is a true dragon!"
Everyone present looked on in horror as Aerys held Harry above the green fire. The guards refused to look, having seen what the pyromancer's wildfire had done to those that had caught the king's ire, but even they didn't think the king would ever subject a babe — much less his own newborn grandson — to the same fate. Rhaegar desperately attempted to push through the guards, but they were able to hold him back, what with him needing to be careful with Rhaenys in his arms. Rhaella stepped towards Aerys, but the king sent a look to another golden armoured knight, and the queen found herself held back by a strong grip on her arm.
Harry had been watching everything play out until that point, but as soon as the wildfire had been ignited, the only thing he could focus upon were the flames. His throat closed up, his little heart running a mile a minute as the fire danced in the reflection of his eyes. The closer Aerys took him, the harder it became for Harry to breathe.
The throne room suddenly disappeared, shattering as if it was a mirror, each piece falling away to reveal the Dursley's spare bedroom, and the fire awaiting Harry within it. Everything he'd been trying to forget, to not think about came rushing back; the memory of being trapped inside that inferno as it burned away his life. Outside of Harry's mind, in the throne room, he screamed and thrashed.
"No, Father!" yelled Rhaegar, as Rhaella begged for husband to stop, fighting to break away from the knight who held her. Arthur stood behind Rhaegar, gritting his teeth and placing his hand on the pommel of his sword, debating whether to cut through the line of guard's for his prince and friend, but he was bound by the duty of his position in the Kingsguard.
The more Harry unwittingly struggled, trapped in the horrors of his own mind, the higher the likelihood became that Aerys would drop him into the wildfire, as the king's grip was hardly secure. Aerys lowered Harry further into the flames, his frown showing his displeasure at Harry's reaction thus far.
Back inside Harry's head, the inferno turned from the orange to green, and he tried to scream out for help, but no one answered. It was happening all over again; he was being burned alive for a second time. Suddenly, a face appeared the flames — the same face that had appeared in Privet Drive. This time, it was more defined; Harry could make out the frightening smile, and eyes that had come straight out of the fires of hell. It mouthed words that Harry couldn't understand, but he thought it may be a spell, trapping him in the flames for eternity for daring to try escape them into a made-up fantasy.
"AERYS! I BEG OF YOU, PLEASE STOP THIS!"
By the sneer on Aerys's face, he too wanted to put an end to this, but not in the same way as his wife and son.
"This is no dragon," he said.
Rhaegar fought as hard as he could to break through to Aerys, with Rhaenys crying in his arms. Arthur's blade sung halfway free of its sheath, but none noticed it, unable to tear their eyes away from what they thought would be the end of the newborn prince, cast into the flames by his own grandfather.
Aerys lowered Harry further, the green flames reaching up to take the babe, but then the king abruptly stopped. Aerys's purple eyes glazed over as he stared into the middle of the wildfire, captivated by it, as if something from within it was speaking to him. Harry was now struggling so much that it appeared to everyone that he was in the middle of a seizure, yet Aerys had yet to drop him; if anything, the king's grip became more secure.
Everyone in the throne room waited with baited to see what would happen. The king then stumbled back, away from the fire, and with Harry still in his arms. Aerys had an expression of deep thought, staring into the fire again, as if searching for something but he didn't find it. Next, he looked down at Harry, and for a moment it seemed as if the king was seeing his grandson in a new light, until disdain crept across his face.
"A fake," he spat. "No dragon is afraid of fire. Get it out of my sight!"
The knight holding back Rhaella finally let go, but Rhaegar had already leapt up the platform, let through by the guards at Aerys's words. Rhaegar got there just in time to take Harry as Aerys dropped him. Without a word, the king turned back to the iron throne, missing the hate filled eyes Rhaegar locked onto his back. The knight that had held Rhaella took a step forward, preparing to stop Rhaegar if he were to attack the king.
Instead of attacking, Rhaegar focused on the convulsing form of his son. Rhaenys continued to cry, knowing that something bad had happened.
"Be gone. Take that filth away," demanded Aerys, referring to the children as he slumped back onto the throne, the steel drawing blood from his arm.
Rhaegar didn't need to be told twice, turning and storming back down the platform, past his sobbing mother, and the silent crowd. Arthur lowered his head in shame as Rhaegar approached, but then followed closely behind his prince towards the doors.
Aerys yelled out when they reached the exit. "You should use a firmer hand with that Dornish whore of yours, boy! It might stop her straying into stranger's beds and siring more rotten whelps!"
Rhaegar stormed out of the throne room to the sound of his father's mad cackles. Before he even made it around the first corner on his journey back to Elia, Rhaegar spoke aloud, knowing that Arthur was listening.
"Have our supplies packed and the boat prepared. I will not risk my family by staying in this dreadful place for a moment longer than what's necessary. We sail for Dragonstone tonight!"