"Huh?"
Young Daeron was taken aback. His greasy fingers pointed to himself as he asked innocently, "Me?"
"Pfft!"
Baenira burst into laughter, clearly enjoying the moment.
Rhaenyra's cheeks turned slightly red. She clung to her father's arm, curling up shyly.
The three children played and joked, growing more familiar with each other.
The adults, however, had mixed reactions.
Laenor smiled gently, quietly observing young Daeron's expression while caressing his daughter's cheek.
A royal marriage—an essential bond connecting three families.
Daemon's expression stiffened slightly. He forced a smile and said, "My child hasn't even made a decision yet, and you're already setting your sights on him."
Young Daeron shrank his neck, feeling somewhat frustrated as he put down his roasted piglet.
All he had wanted was a bite of roast suckling pig, but somehow, he had gotten pulled into something far more complicated.
Viserys chuckled. "If you're willing to let him be adopted, I'll be happy to discuss it with Lord Corlys."
Corlys nodded seriously. "The three children growing up together—both in terms of bonds and status—would be a perfect match."
At first glance, everything seemed amicable.
Daemon, however, had to suppress the urge to curse them both for their shamelessness. He wanted to outright reject them, but after considering the pros and cons, he decided to endure.
The situation was in his favor, and Corlys, sensing this, relaxed considerably. He even took a leisurely sip of his wine.
House Velaryon had no shortage of heirs carrying the blood of the Merling King.
What he truly wanted was a dragon-blooded child—one that would strengthen ties with the royal family.
For the decades to come, during Rhaegar's reign, such a connection would ensure House Velaryon maintained its status, second only to the royal family.
Conversely,
The royal family lacked a dominant naval force and needed to secure House Velaryon's support.
The Dragonlords and the Seafarers had been natural allies since the days of the Freehold.
Otherwise, their ancestors would never have risked everything to follow the exiled Aenar Targaryen to Westeros.
After careful thought, Daemon made up his mind. He ruffled Rhaena's hair and begrudgingly said, "The adoption can happen, but she must be raised by Rhaenyra until she comes of age."
His daughter would have to marry someday—it was unavoidable.
Marrying her to his brother's youngest son was not a bad choice.
However, she had to be raised in the royal court to ensure she developed the heart of a true Targaryen.
At Daemon's words, Corlys' brows furrowed slightly. He was clearly displeased.
If she was to be adopted, then she should be raised on Driftmark.
Otherwise, merely changing her surname would mean nothing—who knew what her true loyalties would be?
If she turned out to be ungrateful, then wouldn't he, the Sea Snake, be left with nothing?
Daemon's gaze was sharp, meeting Corlys' without flinching.
His first wife had been Lady Rhea of Runestone—a match arranged by Queen Alyssa.
There had been hopes that he would use his offspring to claim Runestone for himself.
But he had never cared for that bronze-clad woman, nor had she trusted him.
Now, however, the Sea Snake was in a weak position, coming to him for help.
In the end, that put Daemon in control.
Viserys glanced around and exchanged a meaningful look with Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra hesitated for a moment before catching on.
Gracefully rising to her feet, she spoke up. "I am Rhaena's guardian. It's only natural that she be raised by my side, where she can properly learn court etiquette."
Corlys and Daemon both froze for a moment.
"Court etiquette" was merely a polite excuse.
Rhaenyra was the Princess of Dragonstone and the future Queen of Westeros.
Being raised under her care would grant Rhaena far greater benefits than growing up on Driftmark or in Tyrosh.
At the very least, no one would dare challenge the Queen's foster daughter becoming a Lady.
And anyone who tried to object would have to face Rhaegar—who was both her cousin and her honorary father.
Daemon had to admit, the proposal was tempting.
By all rights, Rhaena should have been raised by Rhaenyra from the start—it had been decided long ago.
While the men hesitated, the women took action.
Rhaenys gracefully stood up, resting a hand on her husband's shoulder as she made the final decision. "Rhaenyra is the guardian of both girls. There is no question where they should be raised."
Laenor agreed wholeheartedly. "If the children grow up together under Rhaenyra's care, they'll also bond with the newborn. It'll foster deep ties from a young age."
Clink!
A wine cup lightly tapped against the table as Rhaegar finally spoke. "Agreed."
The blood of Old Valyria had returned to the lands of Essos, and before Aegon and Aemond could take charge, the Sea Snake and Daemon still had work to do.
However…
Daemon glanced at his good nephew and saw the smug smile on his face. His eyes narrowed slightly.
It was best to discipline one's nephew early.
Rhaegar had been raised solely by Rhaenyra, lacking a normal childhood.
With no objections, the decision was settled.
Baenira and Rhaena were overjoyed, their faces lighting up with big smiles as they cheered, "Princess!"
The twin girls bounced excitedly and rushed to Rhaenyra's side.
One picked up the sleeping Baelon, while the other grabbed the mischievous Aemond, eagerly helping to care for the babies.
Rhaenyra, too, was pleased. She gently stroked the two girls she had raised and smiled.
Corlys silently observed, realizing that resisting was futile.
Having Rhaena raised by Rhaenyra wasn't necessarily a bad thing—as long as her heart remained loyal to House Velaryon.
After all, Rhaena had half Velaryon blood in her veins.
Bloodlines didn't lie.
Corlys resigned himself to the outcome, thinking that the matter was finally settled.
However, that was not the case.
Rhaegar smiled faintly and added, "Rhaena is Daemon's daughter. She successfully hatched the young dragon, Dawn. It wouldn't be right to strip her of her dragon-riding rights."
"But the Dragon Laws must not be violated. There can be no loopholes."
Corlys's expression changed slightly, and he asked uneasily, "Prince, what do you mean by this?"
If they strictly followed the Dragon Laws, his little scheme was bound to fail.
Viserys and Daemon both turned to look at him, their eyes filled with surprise and a hint of doubt.
Bringing up the Dragon Laws at this moment seemed somewhat inappropriate.
After all, the Velaryons were never supposed to possess dragons anymore.
Rhaegar ignored the glances and spoke candidly, "Rhaena is Rhaenyra's adopted daughter. She has been formally passed into her lineage, taken on her name, and is now married to Daeron, fully integrated into House Targaryen."
"Dawn still belongs to her."
Hearing this, Corlys's eyes flickered, and he secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
But then Rhaegar continued, "The second-born children of Daeron and Rhaena will be passed into House Velaryon. However, since Rhaena has already made a concession, no dragon eggs will be placed in their cradles."
Some precedents simply cannot be set.
Rhaena was one of their own—she could have a dragon.
The next generation? Forbidden.
Understanding the deeper meaning, Corlys's brows furrowed tightly.
In contrast, Viserys and Daemon showed contemplative expressions.
Rhaena was Daemon's daughter; naturally, she had the right to bond with dragons.
But once she was passed into House Velaryon, that right was automatically lost.
Rhaegar ensured that Rhaena retained her rights, maintaining the alliance between the Sea Snake and Daemon.
After all, Rhaena was marrying Daeron, making her a royal family member in the end.
However, their second-born children, being legally Velaryons, would no longer be able to claim dragon-riding rights under the Dragon Laws.
At first glance, it seemed cruel—stripping a newborn of their highest privilege.
But Rhaegar could only say—
Changing allegiances always came with consequences.
To safeguard the interests of the royal family, sacrifices were inevitable.
"I agree."
The first to speak was Daemon.
All eyes turned to him in surprise.
Daemon remained indifferent, sipping from his wine cup.
He only cared about the rights of his own children.
As for his children's children?
That was none of his concern. His descendants would have to forge their own paths.
He had no interest in fighting for the rights of a grandchild who didn't even exist yet.
Viserys also voiced his stance, "It's reasonable. Rhaena already has the favor of the royal family; she shouldn't expect more."
Corlys felt a wave of disappointment but knew he had no grounds to argue.
He had already made a huge gain by securing Rhaena.
On second thought—
With the Crown expanding its direct rule beyond the Narrow Sea, House Velaryon, as fellow descendants of Old Valyria, was an indispensable piece of the puzzle.
If future generations proved capable, they could always intermarry with the royal family again.
After all, while House Targaryen had its unique traditions, not every male and female heir could be married off internally.
Had he not won Rhaenys's favor through his own charm?
With this realization, he accepted it gladly.
—
The moon hung high, stars dotting the sky.
Late into the night, the banquet finally came to an end.
Through negotiations at the dinner table, the three parties had reached an initial agreement for an alliance.
They would sign a peace treaty with Braavos, strengthen the defenses of the Stepstones, and restore trade with the three city-states.
By achieving these three objectives, the alliance—led by the Crown—would rapidly expand both militarily and politically.
It would lay a solid foundation for House Targaryen's strategy of conquest, colonization, and expansion.
"Tomorrow, the Braavosi envoy will depart. We'll also see off the Sea Snake and his family."
Rhaegar yawned as he walked alone through the hallway back to his chambers.
After being so busy for so long, he was feeling physically and mentally exhausted.
The war had ended, negotiations had been settled, and he thought he could finally have a break.
But unexpectedly, his father had decided to abdicate.
He was truly cursed with a life of endless toil, never getting a moment's rest.
Creak—
Back in his room, Rhaegar stripped off his clothes and collapsed onto the soft feather bed.
Rhaenyra wasn't there.
She had been dragged away by an excited Baela and Rhaena, who insisted on cuddling up with their foster mother and the two babies for the night.
Little Daeron, ever shameless, had tried to tag along as well.
Rhaegar grabbed him by the collar and tossed him to Ser Erryk instead.
A seven-year-old boy who kept losing wrestling matches to four-year-old Baela? What an embarrassment to House Targaryen.
Rhaenyra had conceived in April and given birth in the eighth month.
The twins had been born in mid-December, and soon, they would be celebrating their first-month feast.
It was now the year 122 AC.
Rhaegar had grown another year older.
The 17-year-old crown prince would soon ascend to become a true young dragon king.
"So sleepy."
Rhaegar closed his eyes and murmured.
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
Snap!
The fireplace ignited, and a few aromatic logs released wisps of blue smoke, driving out the dampness in the room.
Rhaegar, drowsy and half-conscious, gradually drifted into slumber.
Just before he fell asleep, a sudden thought surfaced.
King's Landing bordered Blackwater Bay, and every winter, it saw at least some snowfall, with temperatures often dropping below freezing.
It was already January this year.
Not a single snowflake had fallen, and the weather was relatively warm.
"A pleasant climate—good for the people to have a comfortable winter," Rhaegar thought.
Whoosh!
The moment he fell asleep, the flames in the fireplace flared up suddenly, twisting into seductive patterns.
Rhaegar, fast asleep, entered a dream.
In the dream, a familiar hazy mist surrounded him—a battlefield soaked in blood.
Rhaegar looked around in confusion, clad in pitch-black Valyrian steel armor. In each hand, he wielded Truefire and Dragonclaw.
A crimson cape draped over his back, billowing in the fierce wind like a shroud soaked in the blood of thousands of souls.
Boom!
Suddenly, a clap of thunder exploded as a red lightning bolt slashed across the sky.
The heavens were murky and chaotic, with thick mist obscuring his vision.
Drizzle…
A light rain began to fall, washing over the battlefield littered with severed limbs and broken corpses.
Rhaegar took a cautious step forward. His boot sank into the muddy ground, where blood mixed with rainwater, forming a small, meandering stream. Drops of water splashed as he moved.
A single dirty droplet landed on his cheek.
Rhaegar shuddered—it felt so real.
"Where is this place?"
Looking around, it seemed oddly familiar.
It looked just like the scene he had dreamed of before, back in the Starry Sept.
Screech!
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing cry rang out.
Rhaegar immediately looked up.
A shadowy figure darted through the mist, then disappeared.
Rhaegar's eyes widened. Ignoring the raindrops pelting his face, he whispered, "A dragon hatchling?"
If he wasn't mistaken, it seemed to be a young dragon about the size of a sheepdog.
Unfortunately, the thick mist obscured its true form.
Screech…
Just then, another shrill cry echoed.
Rhaegar reacted quickly, following the sound with his gaze.
In an instant, a ghostly blue silhouette flashed by before vanishing into the depths of the mist.
This time, Rhaegar saw it clearly.
It was a young dragon, covered in blue scales, roughly the size of a large hunting dog.
"Where did… this dragon come from?"
Rhaegar felt a sense of unease.
His first thought was Dragonstone.
The greenhouse in the Stone Drum Tower held over a dozen dragon eggs of various ages.
Silverwing and Vermithor resided in Dragonmont—it was possible they had hatched new dragons.
He even considered Braavos, the Smoking Sea, and Sothoryos.
The three dragon eggs of Dreamfyre had vanished, still missing to this day.
According to Ser Xil's theory, they were most likely in the hands of the former Sealord of Braavos.
That same Sealord had mysteriously perished in a wildfire—an incident shrouded in suspicion.
As for the Smoking Sea, there was no need to explain. The Fourteen Flames had always been a nesting ground for dragons.
Besides, before Morgul flew out of the Smoking Sea, who knew if she had laid any eggs?
Then there was Sothoryos—no need for further discussion.
The gigantic dragon skeletons there had always exuded an eerie presence.
The stone walls of the caves bore carvings of sinister blood magic rituals, hinting at dark sacrifices.
Inside one of the caves, three dragon eggs had been discovered.
One of them, a dark red egg, had never hatched. It had turned to stone and was taken by Rhaegar.
The other two eggs, their original colors indiscernible, had already hatched.
Judging by the fossilization of the dark red egg, the two other dragons must have hatched around the time of the Doom of Valyria.
Even if they had survived hatching, they wouldn't still be alive today.
Rhaegar furrowed his brows, pondering. "Unless… something unexpected happened, and my timeline calculations were off."
Thinking it over, a vague sense of regret crept in.
Time had been short. He and the Devourer had only explored the northern half of the Sothoryos continent and its surrounding islands—they had never ventured into the core or southern regions.
Perhaps, just maybe, dragons still lived in Sothoryos.
And perhaps, they were the very two young dragons he had just seen in the mist.
Rhaegar sighed helplessly—after all, with the arrival of the Red Comet, the tides of magic were rising ever higher.
The world's magical energy was abundant, and as the pinnacle of magical creatures, dragons were bound to experience a population surge.
Blizzard, Slax, Dawn, Moon Dance...
Dragons that were once supposed to hatch only one or two per generation had been emerging from their eggs one after another in recent years.
Rhaegar pondered how to track down the young dragons.
Suddenly—
Wooooo—
A deep, heavy horn sounded, echoing across the entire Misty Battlefield.
Rhaegar tilted his head, listening. The sound was incredibly familiar—
Ancient, profound, burning with intensity...
As the horn's call resonated, the mist began to shift.
"Screeech!"
"Screeech..."
The fog slowly dissipated, revealing two distinct, piercing cries. Amid the drizzle, shadows darted chaotically through the air.
A dreamlike vision was triggered.
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes as his perspective abruptly changed.
A vast, boundless sea stretched before him, the sky dark and heavy like smoke.
A stormy night. A ruined town. A palace...
A shattered palace of black dragonstone, its floors crumbling inch by inch. At its center lay a cracked altar.
Wooooo—
There, on the altar, rested a five-foot-long horn, its shape eerily resembling a dragon's horn. Its sleek black surface was adorned with crimson streaks, and it was enshrined with solemn reverence.
Though no one was blowing it, the horn echoed with an ancient melody.
Its jet-black exterior, as dazzling as the night sky, radiated a faint crimson glow.
Rhaegar froze for a moment, recalling a magical artifact recorded in an ancient tome.
A flash of insight struck him, and he blurted out, "The Dragon Horn!!"