Before the oceans carved their paths, before the earth rose beneath our feet, and before the sky stretched over everything, the world was nothing but swirling chaos. The sun had yet to shine upon the land, and the moon knew nothing of waxing or waning.
The lightest fire elements drifted upward and became the heavens, claiming their place in the highest reaches.
The air elements, lighter than earth yet heavier than fire, settled between ground and sky to become the wind.
The heavy earth elements sank to the bottom and formed solid land, while the flowing water elements gathered in the lowest places, embracing the firm ground around them.
Fire, wind, earth, and water. These four primal forces shaped the cosmos and eventually gave birth to the world that would cradle countless living beings.
Countless ages passed. Plants and animals rose and fell through endless cycles until the first sentient race that humans would remember appeared — the Children of the Forest. They ruled the continent of Westeros, worshipped nameless gods later called the Old Gods, and carved faces into the weirwood trees. Through the "green sight" they perceived all things. Their time was known as the Dawn Age.
During the Children's long reign over Westeros, another race shared the land: the giants. Cultural and lifestyle differences kept the two peoples locked in constant opposition.
This uneasy balance lasted until the First Men — the earliest humans — arrived on Westeros's shores. Wars raged for hundreds of years between the First Men, the Children of the Forest, and the giants. In the end, the ancient races reached an understanding and forged peace. That era became known as the Age of Heroes.
Thousands of years later, the Andals crossed the Narrow Sea in their ships. With iron and fire they swept through the kingdoms of the First Men. They drove the Children of the Forest and the giants into the distant North and felled countless weirwood trees. The Children largely vanished from Westeros, and the true Age of Man began.
After settling the continent, the Andals gradually blended with the First Men. They brought their faith in the Seven and a code of knightly chivalry. Many kingdoms sprang up across the land, forever at war with one another. Peace remained a distant dream until the dragons came.
Aegon Targaryen, riding the great dragon Balerion the Black Dread, along with his sisters Visenya and Rhaenys upon Vhagar and Meraxes, united Westeros — save for the southern realm of Dorne. This conquest, which ended centuries of endless bloodshed, is remembered by maesters as Aegon's Conquest.
From that day forward, Westeros adopted a new calendar: the Conquest Era.
The year King Aegon Targaryen was crowned by the High Septon in the Starry Sept of Oldtown became Year 1 AC, and the reckoning continues to this day.
73 AC — The Red Keep, King's Landing
King's Landing had grown from the moment Aegon first set foot on Westeros and claimed it as his capital. After decades of expansion, it had become the beating political heart of the Targaryen dynasty's rule over the Seven Kingdoms and the largest, most populous city on the entire continent.
At its center stood the Red Keep, ancestral seat of House Targaryen. Every day, ravens arrived bearing messages from every corner of the realm, and every command issued from within these walls shaped the fate of Westeros.
But today, an atmosphere thick with anxiety and dread hung over this center of power.
Inside the Red Keep, lords, officials, guards, and servants moved with extreme caution. No one dared make a sound that might disturb the chamber from which a woman's raw, exhausted screams continued to echo.
Today, the mistress of the castle — Queen Alysanne Targaryen, consort of the Seven Kingdoms — was giving birth to her eleventh child.
At thirty-seven years old, the queen was now considered advanced in age for childbirth. She was in the midst of a brutal, difficult labor. Each desperate cry tore at the hearts of everyone listening. Large beads of sweat rolled down her pale forehead as the maids attending her constantly wiped her brow with woolen cloths.
Outside the birthing chamber, several figures stood in the corridor. Leading them were members of the royal family, all with the signature silver-gold hair and striking violet eyes that seemed almost otherworldly.
"How is this possible?" a tall, powerfully built young man muttered. His handsome face carried the sharp, sword-like presence of a warrior. He paced anxiously back and forth before the door. "Mother has given birth to so many of us without any trouble. This has never happened before. Why hasn't the child come yet?"
"Baelon, can you stop pacing for one moment?" a sharp voice cut in. The speaker was another man with the same silver-gold hair and purple eyes. Clearly, Baelon's restlessness was only feeding his own growing irritation.
"Brother, I'm worried about Mother," Baelon replied defensively, though he did stop walking.
The older man ignored his younger brother's grumbling and turned his intense gaze back to the closed door of the birthing chamber, as if willing good news to emerge.
A short distance behind them stood several beautiful young girls. They held each other's hands tightly, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the door, their faces pale with fear and concern. The sight of their delicate features twisted in worry was enough to break anyone's heart.
"Aemon! How is your mother? Has the child still not come?"
A powerful voice suddenly rang down the corridor. Everyone turned to see a group of people approaching with long strides.
The speaker was a man in his forties. Silver-gold hair fell neatly around a handsome, resolute face. Though not overly massive in build, his presence was imposing, especially flanked by several tall, white-cloaked knights of the Kingsguard.
As the group drew near, everyone except the silver-haired royals bowed deeply.
"Your Grace, King Jaehaerys," they chorused.
King Jaehaerys I, who had ruled Westeros for decades, was known for his calm, measured demeanor and thoughtful expression. Those qualities were nowhere to be seen now. Only raw anxiety and fear remained on his face.
As a father who had already gone through this ten times before, Jaehaerys had not been overly concerned about this birth — until a maid rushed to him with news of a difficult labor. He had hurried here at once, heart heavy with dread.
In this era, the birthing bed was a woman's battlefield. Every delivery was a brush with death. Because his wife had always given birth easily in the past, this sudden complication had shaken him deeply.
He turned immediately to his eldest son.
"Aemon, tell me — how is your mother?"
Aemon Targaryen faced his father and answered quickly:
"Father, the maester just came out. He said Mother is getting older and her strength is failing. She can't effectively push with the help they're giving her."
Jaehaerys's heart clenched. If the mother was too exhausted to deliver, the longer it dragged on, the more dangerous it became. The outcome was often fatal for both mother and child… unless…
He shook his head sharply, refusing to let the darkest thought take root, and strode toward the chamber door.
"Open the door! It is I, the king!"
The moment the door swung open, Jaehaerys stepped inside without hesitation. Several Kingsguard followed closely behind him. Two remained outside to guard the entrance.
Once inside, Jaehaerys's sharp violet eyes immediately locked onto his wife — Alysanne Targaryen.
She lay on an ornate wooden bed wearing a loose white gown. Her beautiful silver hair was plastered to her sweat-soaked forehead and pillow. Between her spread legs, a large stain of blood had soaked through the wool padding.
The sight nearly stopped the king's heart.
He rushed to her bedside, seized her hand that was desperately clutching the sheets, and pressed his forehead gently against hers.
"Alysanne… don't be afraid. I'm here. You'll be alright. The Mother will protect you. I know you can do this."
As if drawing strength from his presence, the queen's exhausted face softened into a faint smile.
Half an hour later, a thin but healthy infant's cry finally filled the room.
The long battle between life and death was over.
After the babe was cleaned and placed beside his mother, the entire Targaryen family crowded around the bed. The younger princesses leaned against the headboard, chattering excitedly to their mother.
"Mother, is it a brother this time?"
"Yes! I finally have a little brother! He's going to play with me every day!"
Seeing the warm family scene, King Jaehaerys finally allowed himself to breathe easily again.
But his expression quickly grew serious.
"Alright, children. Your mother has just given you a new brother. She is still very weak and needs rest. Stop crowding her now. Let her recover. You can speak with her later."
Though reluctant, the young princesses bid their mother goodbye one by one.
In the days that followed, Queen Alysanne recovered remarkably quickly. Soon she was walking again. Yet her greatest concern was not her own health, but the newborn.
The maesters had given her troubling news: the child's condition was poor. They feared he might not grow up normally.
As a mother, Alysanne refused to accept this. She could not bear the thought that the child she had nearly died to bring into the world might be denied a normal life.
The moment she was strong enough, she took her husband's hand and led him to the most important treasure vault of House Targaryen — the Dragonpit.
She intended to personally choose a dragon egg for her son. The blood of the dragon ran in their veins. She hoped the power of a dragon might help him.
After careful searching, Queen Alysanne returned to the Red Keep carrying an egg roughly the size of a human head — one of the priceless treasures of their world.
The egg was predominantly white, with scales edged in shining gold. It looked magnificent and regal.
King Jaehaerys watched as his wife carefully placed the dragon egg beside the infant in his cradle. Only then did he speak:
"This child has already faced death once, right from the beginning. Let us name him Gaemon. Gaemon Targaryen."
Alysanne moved closer to her husband and asked softly:
"After the greatest Lord of Dragonstone in our family's history — the Glorious Gaemon?"
Jaehaerys nodded with firm conviction.
"Yes. I hope this name brings its new bearer the strength it once carried. May he too become 'the Glorious' Gaemon."