Heir of the Dragon

Whisper of Fate

Within the walls of the Red Keep, the air hung heavy with a veil of sorrow. The loss of Baelon had cast a shadow over its inhabitants, leaving King Jaehaerys a grieving monarch, consumed by his own sorrow. The once vibrant castle had grown dim, a reflection of the collective grief that weighed upon its heart.

Tensions simmered beneath the surface of the court, an undercurrent of uncertainty fueled by the lack of a clear heir to the Iron Throne. Whispers echoed through the corridors, factions forming like ripples in a pond. Some aligned themselves with Viserys, the unspoken faction supporting his claim as the eldest son of the previous heir. Others, drawn by the allure of Laenor Velaryon's lineage, pledged their allegiance to the son of Rhaenys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon.

As the rumors swelled, so did the shadows of conflict. Whispers spoke of armies amassing, the Velaryons securing their power with might. Corlys, known as the 'Sea Snake', built a formidable fleet, a silent statement of his intent to safeguard his son's rights. Sensing the storm that brewed, Daemon rallied his own forces, amassing sell-swords and men-at-arms, ready to defend the interests of House Targaryen.

Amidst this turbulence, the Hightower family arrived at court, Otto Hightower poised to replace Baelon as Hand of the King. The ripple of change only intensified the growing divide, as Alicent Hightower garnered attention for her growing influence over Jaehaerys. The arrival of the Hightowers injected further complexity into the court's already delicate balance of power and the intricate dance of courtly politics unfolded, drawing lines between those who supported the Hightower's ascent and those who remained loyal to the Targaryen legacy.

In the midst of this tumult, Rhaegar matured into a prince of promise. His dedication to his studies left the Maesters in awe, his commitment evident in every endeavor. Maester Runciter marveled at Rhaegar's potential, admitting that if he were not born into royalty, the Citadel would have eagerly welcomed him as an acolyte.

Rhaegar, now seven name-days old, yearned for more than intellectual pursuits. The urge to wield a sword tugged at him, a desire born from a longing to protect his family. He approached his parents, urging them to allow him to learn the art of combat. Aemma and Viserys hesitated, promising that he could begin his training at the age of ten, a common practice for noble children.

Frustration welled within Rhaegar, his determination bordering on a tantrum. He insisted that danger loomed and that he must be prepared to safeguard his loved ones. Viserys chuckled, citing the abundance of guards within the Red Keep. Rhaegar argued fervently, desperation in his eyes until Daemon's entry disrupted the debate.

Daemon, ever perceptive, inquired about the turmoil. Viserys explained the situation, prompting Rhaegar to turn to his uncle for support. Daemon's offer to train him in swordsmanship shifted the dynamic. Viserys hesitated, concerned for Rhaegar's youth, but Daemon's assurance of his skills swayed the decision. "I am one of the greatest swordsmen in the realm brother" he stated pointing at Dark Sister which hung on his hip "Do you think I would have been allowed the sword of the Warrior Queen Visenya if I had been subpar?".Viserys agreed, with a stipulation to teach only the basics.

Under Daemon's guidance, Rhaegar's potential bloomed. He excelled, his aptitude for swordplay evident with each spar. Weeks melted into days as Rhaegar honed his skills, natural grace, and determination propelling him forward.

The sun bathed the Red Keep's courtyard in a warm glow as Rhaegar sparred with an older squire. Their practice swords clashed and echoed in the air, filling the training ground with the energy of their duel. In a swift move, Rhaegar disarmed his opponent, earning nods of begrudging respect from the other squires.

But then, a slow clap echoed from the balcony above, causing Rhaegar to freeze in surprise. Looking up, he saw King Jaehaerys seated in a grand chair, his silver hair glinting in the sunlight. By his side stood a young girl, around thirteen years old, with chestnut curls cascading down her shoulders. It was Alicent Hightower, a name he'd heard mentioned in hushed conversations throughout the court. She looked down at him with eyes that held a hint of curiosity, and Rhaegar's wariness grew.