The chamber was silent—so silent that King Jaehaerys could hear the faint rasp of his own breathing, heavy and uneven in the stillness.The air felt thick, almost solid, as though time itself had slowed, holding its breath alongside him.Across from him, his granddaughter Rhaenys stood in the half-light filtering through the tall, narrow windows. Her expression was calm, yet her eyes… those unmistakable violet eyes of the Targaryen line—sharp, unwavering, alight with the kind of instinctive authority that no crown could bestow and no age could dim.Jaehaerys stared at her for a long while, searching her face for any trace of doubt, any hint that she might have exaggerated or misunderstood. But there was none.The truth had been spoken, and it settled into his bones like the first chill of winter.At last, he exhaled—a long, strained breath that seemed to drag the weight of years out of him. His shoulders sagged as if he had just finished a long and bitter struggle, though the only battle he had fought in this moment was within his own mind.He accepted it. Not because of Rhaenys's conviction, but because the truth itself was undeniable.The bloodline of the Dragonlord family—his family—still possessed the power to shape the world.And after centuries of decline, after the long, slow waning of dragons and the thinning of true Valyrian blood, fate had seen fit to let that dormant power blaze forth again… in a way he had not thought possible.Jaehaerys Targaryen, once the most powerful man in Westeros, found himself once more standing at the edge of a turning point in history. Only this time, he was no longer the vigorous king who could bend the realm's course to his will. He was an old man—tired, aching, and forced to accept that the tide now moved without him.Anticipation swelled in his chest at the thought of the family's resurgence, but it was tangled with a darker thread—deep, unrelenting worry.This news, whether it proved to be blessing or curse, would reshape the future of King's Landing… and perhaps the entire continent of Westeros.He closed his eyes, but the darkness did not quiet his mind. Instead, his thoughts swirled, bright and turbulent, like a ship caught in the eye of a great storm—momentarily still, yet surrounded by walls of chaos.He was old. So very old. His body felt hollowed out, each movement an effort, each moment of thought a burden. In recent years, even pondering the affairs of state had felt like wading through deep mud.But now—this news was no mere political matter. It was a key that had flung wide the door to the deepest vaults of his memory, releasing both the most glorious and most dangerous visions of the Targaryen legacy.He thought of their rise—from the smoking shores of Valyria to the conquest of Westeros. He thought of the long centuries when dragons ruled the skies, and of the steady erosion of that supremacy.He thought, too, of the civil wars, the betrayals, the years of uncertainty. And of his own reign, with its victories and compromises, its hopes and failures.But in the end, all those swirling memories coalesced into three sharp, irrefutable truths—three ice-edged realizations that pierced him to the core.---The First TruthOne man—one—commanded three dragons.It was unprecedented. Not merely rare, but without a single recorded precedent in all the long history of the Targaryen family—or in any known history of dragonkind.Since the Doom of Valyria, dragons had dwindled in number, and the blood of the Dragonlords had been steadily diluted. Even in the family's golden age, the ancient Valyrian tradition had held: one rider, one dragon.Yet in Rhaenys's telling, this man—Rayder—did not merely ride three dragons. They obeyed him utterly. The bond she described was not the tenuous trust between man and beast, but a complete, seamless unity of will.That could only mean one thing: his blood was pure. Pure. As pure as any who had walked the smoking streets of Valyria before the Doom.More than that—he was no ordinary Dragonlord. He was what the oldest songs called a High Dragonlord—an heir to the most exalted bloodlines of the Freehold, a being whose command over dragons was without equal.And he had shattered the ancient limitation. If one man could ride one dragon… then what did it mean for one man to command three? What boundaries did such a power not break?Jaehaerys's pulse quickened despite himself. The possibilities were… boundless. And dangerous.---The Second TruthThe two adult dragons were giants beyond reckoning—larger, Rhaenys had said, than Balerion the Black Dread himself.The words struck him like a blow.Balerion had been the mightiest of all the Targaryen dragons, the living flame of Aegon's Conquest, a shadow across kingdoms. That anything could surpass him was almost unthinkable.And yet… it made sense.Such size was not born in Westeros. It spoke of a place steeped in magic, a land where fire and earth themselves fed dragonkind from birth.A name surfaced in his mind, veiled in both glory and doom: the Valyrian Peninsula.Only there—in that accursed cradle of his people—could the elements themselves forge such titans. The volcanic heat, the air heavy with the scent of brimstone and the tang of raw magic… he could almost smell it now, though he had never set foot upon it.If Rayder's dragons were of that place, then so too was Rayder himself.---The Third TruthThe hatchling.Rhaenys had spoken of it hesitantly, as if the mere description unsettled her.A young dragon—small yet fierce—with three heads.Jaehaerys's mind reeled back through the centuries, to the dustiest scrolls and half-forgotten legends.A three-headed dragon… no, there was no true record of such a thing. Not even in the Freehold's golden age, when dragons were as common as ships in a harbor, had there been a documented mutation like this.Dragons were not immutable. Even in Valyria, they had shown variations—strange colors, unusual temperaments—but never this.Three heads. Did that mean three minds? Three breaths of fire? Three elemental dominions?The potential was beyond measure. The danger, beyond words.If it survived to maturity… it could be the mightiest creature ever to walk—or fly—upon this earth.A tremor of unease passed through him, followed swiftly by a surge of anger.---He saw, in memory, the decadent lords of the Freehold—those preening, power-hungry slavers whose veins held only a fraction of true Dragonlord blood.They had always coveted more. More dragons. More power. More purity in their lineages.He remembered the whispers of their breeding pens, the dark vaults of the Black Walls where they imprisoned those with untainted blood, mating them like cattle in hopes of producing riders.He remembered their experiments—stealing eggs, forcing hatchings, twisting nature's design.The Targaryens had known. Oh, they had known. And they had done nothing.Not out of mercy, but out of caution. To act against Valyria itself would have been to invite destruction. And so they had turned a blind eye, preserving a fragile balance at the cost of their own pride.But now… it seemed those cursed experiments had borne fruit.Not just dragons—this. A three-headed aberration.Jaehaerys's hand clenched in the bedclothes until his knuckles whitened. A low, animal growl rose in his throat."Fools," he thought bitterly. "Cowards. Worms scurrying in the dark."They were not worthy to hold such power. They were not worthy to call themselves Dragonlords.And yet their legacy had flown, unbidden, into his world, into his reign.---Three truths. Three weights upon his heart.A man with the purest blood in centuries, who defied every tradition.Two dragons greater than Balerion.And a three-headed demon hatchling whose future could shatter the world.Jaehaerys felt the enormity of it pressing down on him—not merely the physical threat of the beasts themselves, but the deeper peril they represented.Bloodline. Legitimacy.. Destiny.This Rayder's existence was a challenge not just to the realm, but to the very right of the Targaryens to rule it.It was as though the ancient world had reached out from the ashes of Valyria to remind him—and all Westeros—that its true heirs might not sit the Iron Throne at all.And for the first time in many years, the old king felt something he could neither command nor banish.Fear.---
Øóffer going on for diamond tier
pàtreøn (Gk31)
Final Reminder
Grab the offer soon it's going to end If you buy diamond tier you will able to access all my stories