—Two Moons After the Wedding—
Inside the King's bedchamber, the scent of dried herbs, poultices, and the metallic tang of blood permeated the air—residue from the King's body, spilled as Grand Maestre Mellos tended to him with leeches and cared for his skin, which bore patches of decayed flesh. The old man's fingers, gnarled with age, traced the rim of the crucible of leeches as he fetched another. His eyes, sharp despite his advanced age, flicked to the King, who was silently groaning, his weak body trembling softly as he endured the treatment.
"It will pass soon, Your Grace," Mellos said, his voice a rasp.
Viserys did not turn. "I hope so. This is making me uneasy as it gets worse and worse."
A pause. The Grand Maestre set the tweezers down after placing the leech where it needed to be. "I know of something that would lift your spirit, my grace."
"Yes? What is it?"
"The Princess Rhaenyra has not bled since her wedding night."
The King's fingers twitched softly. "And?"
"And," Mellos exhaled, "Her womb quickens and the child grows healthy."
Viserys closed his eyes. The dream—the vision—had not lied. The course of nature would march on, regardless of his wishes; at least he was on the right path. "How far along?"
"Near three moons, if my calculations are correct."
"And the father?" The King's voice was hollow.
Mellos did not flinch. "The Princess claims Ser Laenor, of course."
"Of course." Viserys turned, his face gaunt in the fading light. "But we both know the truth."
The Grand Maestre inclined his head. "The timing aligns with… prior events."
Viserys rubbed his temples. "If this child is born…"
"It will be a Targaryen, as you decreed."
Mellos' gaze was steady. "Then the realm will rejoice with a new heir. After your daughter, if it's a son, he shall take her place, and Westeros will have a male on the throne once again. His presence would calm some restless Lords. And if it is a girl, likewise would be the same result, just that she will be threading the path that his mother started, and it would be harder."
The King's laugh was bitter. "Yes." He gripped the edge of the chair until his knuckles paled. "You will tend to her. Prepare any necessary food and supplements so she and her child can continue being healthy."
The Grand Maestre nodded. "Yes, Your Grace."
---------------------------------
—Next Year, The Hour of the Wolf—
The screams tore through the princess's bedchamber like a blade.
Rhaenyra's back arched off the blood-soaked sheets, her nails digging crescents into the midwives' arms. The pain was a living thing, a dragon gnawing at her insides, clawing its way out. She had heard birth was agony, but this—this was like being burned from the inside and feeling the pain of it.
"Push, Your Grace!" the head midwife barked, her voice hoarse from shouting.
Rhaenyra snarled, her teeth bared. She could feel it—her child inside her, twisting, fighting. Her skin burned. Her vision swam. "Aahh…" She cried out in pain. "Come on, baby. Get out of your mom."
And then—
A searing heat lanced up her spine. She gasped as something spread around her body like a numbing tingle. The pain she was feeling while pushing suddenly… it was…
—Gone.
She felt something in her breast and her neck as she touched both places at the same time. Her fingers traced her slick, sweat-covered skin, but she didn't feel anything. She looked downwards at her big white twin peaks, and to her amazement, she found a dragon mark in her right breast where before she hadn't had anything, making her gasp in surprise. Her face morphed into one of wonder and surprise for a moment, making her stop pushing her baby out.
The midwives didn't notice. They were too busy with the babe.
The old head midwife, seeing her princess not continuing to push her baby out, barked, "Push! My princess. Push! Don't stop!"
Her barking snapped Rhaenyra out of her trance and focused on pushing now that she was free of pain. Soon enough, she felt a relieving comfort as she finally birthed her child.
"A boy!" one cried, lifting the squirming, slick thing from between Rhaenyra's legs.
The child did not cry.
Rhaenyra's breath hitched as she hoarsely asked. "W-Why...Why isn't he—?"
"He's breathing, Your Grace," the midwife assured, wiping the babe clean with soft cloths. "See? Strong as a bull."
The infant's eyes were open wide as he observed his surroundings. They were a beautiful purple color—like hers and his father's… Daemon.
And his hair—a beautiful soft patch of silver-gold, stark against his dark, bloodied scalp.
Rhaenyra's arms shook as she reached for him. The moment his small, warm body was placed against her chest, the world stilled. She felt whole as she stared at her baby boy, and the babe, at the same time, was staring at her.
She had a radiant smile on her face as she touched his cheek softly with her finger. Her body felt an attraction to her baby, feeling a warmth radiating from her chest and neck—from her dragon marks. But as she was looking at him, lost in her happiness, her body stilled before trembling as she looked at him now with a strange expression. After a second, she said, "Rhaegon," she cooed softly and lovingly, "you will be Rhaegon. My son."
Rhae—for her. Aegon—for the Conqueror.
Her precious son.
Her dragon.
Her heir.
The midwives chattered with joyous smiles, oblivious of the new dragon marks on their princess's body. The Grand Maestre and the King would be summoned soon. The whole realm would know.
But in that moment, it was only them.
Rhaenyra pressed her forehead to his. "You will be the strongest and most handsome Targaryen, my son," she murmured. "My everything can feel it. As much as my love for you."
The babe's tiny fingers curled around her cheeks.
And for the first time, he smiled.
Rhaenyra, while appearing calm on the outside, was in turmoil inside, as she was experiencing something extraordinary in her mind—seeing and hearing things that made her doubt her sanity.
...
— A while later —
The chambers of Princess Rhaenyra were being cleaned. Her bed was changed and scrubbed, the windows thrown open wide as the air rushed inside the room, sweeping away the scent of blood and leaving behind only the smell of innocence—though that was far from the truth, as Rhaegon drank milk from his mother's plump, soft, big breasts with delight and eagerness, his tiny mouth working at her hard nipples like gum as Rhaenyra panted softly and blushed, excitement coursing through her body as her child feeded.
The midwives bustled about, cleaning the afterbirth. They had also cleaned Rhaenyra's body, making everyone gasp in amazement after they discovered the new dragon marks in her body, everyone not knowing what to say about their presence, attributing it to the Gods will, favoring their princess and son.
Rhaenyra was able to control her mind and put her thoughts in order after a while, already knowing what the cause was of the weird things she was currently experiencing. She cradled in her chest the source of her new predicament as he feasted, as he wanted, from her milk. Still... after learning some disturbing revelations in such a short span, she had felt like her world was crumbling at first—but her son would be her salvation, her pillar.
The room stilled when the heavy oak doors groaned open.
Viserys entered with fast, uneven strides—all his failing body could manage—his breath ragged yet charged with vigor. His purple eyes, so like his daughter's, blazed with something akin to eagerness as they fell upon the swaddled bundle in Rhaenyra's arms, the babe still feasting at his mother's white breasts.
"Let me see him," he rasped, his voice rough with emotion as he stopped beside the bed.
Rhaenyra, exhausted but radiant, now with a motherly aura exuding from her very being, pried her boy's lips from her nipples despite his protests—his tiny fists flailing as he refused to leave his mother's tits—and lifted the babe for her father's inspection. The moment Viserys laid eyes on the child, a laugh—deep, rich, and almost youthful—burst from his chest, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He took the infant in his arms, cradling him as if he were made of dragonglass.
"Look at you," Viserys breathed. "Look at this face." His fingers traced the babe's sharp cheekbones, the silver-gold hair already thick as a lion's mane, the purple eyes—so damn purple—staring up at him with an eerie awareness. "A true dragon," he murmured. 'No Velaryon softness here. This is the purest blood of the blood.'
Behind him, the door creaked again. Queen Alicent Hightower entered, her green gown without a single speck of disarray, making her appear every inch the radiant, regal woman. Her face was a mask of serene congratulation, but her knuckles were white where they clutched the fabric of her skirts.
"Your Grace," she said, her voice carefully smooth. "What a blessing. A healthy boy."
Rhaenyra's smile was a blade, filled with meaningful words. "Isn't he perfect?" She now looked at Alicent with a new look—different from before. She felt disgusted and already started hating her once-friend. If she hadn't married her father, nothing would have happened in those visions. Even if... the path she took was different there from the one she intended to take now.
"Oh, he indeed is," Viserys replied as he rocked the baby soothingly.
Alicent forced her gaze to the child. And there—Gods, there it was. The jawline, sharp as Daemon's. The haughty tilt of the brow, the color of those eyes, and that little patch of gold-silver hair above his tiny head. Her stomach twisted. "He has your look, Your Grace," she managed, but her voice cracked on the last word. "It is a blessing for the family... and so... healthy."
Viserys, oblivious, bounced the babe gently. "What is his name, daughter?"
"Rhaegon," Rhaenyra declared proudly, her eyes filled with love and something more as she gazed at her firstborn.
"Rhaegon," Viserys chuckled happily. "A name for a conqueror. Aegon and Rhaenys, reborn in one." He pressed a kiss to the infant's forehead, then passed him back to Rhaenyra. "The realm will love him."
Alicent's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Yes," she said softly. "I'm sure they will."
She then observed the tired but highly spirited Rhaenyra as she covered her breast, which was exposed, and saw the dragon mark upon her. She also noted the one on her neck. With wonder, she asked, "What are those marks on your body, Rhaenyra?"
"Are you now perhaps trying to transform yourself? Carving a dragon in your body." She had a little disdain at such a thing. "That is unfit for a princess."
"Marks? A dragon?" Viserys asked in wonder as he raised his sight from Rhaegon and looked at his daughter and Alicent. "Where?"
"In her neck and breast, husband!" Alicent quickly said, trying to stir up trouble for Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra lifted her head and proudly showed her neck, with its dragon mark, and her plump breast to her father. "The gods favor me and my son. As I was giving birth to Rhaegon, they suddenly appeared on my body." But she knew better; these things had nothing to do with any God in existence, but with her beautiful and precious son.
"They freed me of pain and gave me the strength to have him without problem. It is their way of showing the world that they favor my son's birth and me, his mother."
"All the midwives can testify to this godly event."
Viserys looked at the dragon marks in her daughter and froze, seeing them. A little shudder ran through his body before he snapped and laughed wildly. "Yes! This is the gods will!"
"Good. Good! Our house shall continue blooming under my daughter and her son, Rhaegon."
Alicent seemed to have eaten shit at this dramatic turn of events. Far from what she wanted.
"Are they giving you trouble, daughter?" Viserys asked with worry. "Do you feel any different now?"
"No, father. I'm well, better than ever." Rhaenyra reassured him; this was a blessing to her.
"Still! Maestre Mellos will be here in a moment, let him check you up and take note of your markings."
"As you will, father."
A storm was beginning to brew in its infancy—all because of Rhaegon's arrival into the world.