The man who entered looked anxious, striding quickly to King Viserys's side and handing him a sealed letter.
Rhaegar openly studied the newcomer.
Golden hair slicked neatly back, beard trimmed with precision—he was clearly a man of refinement and rank.
Viserys took the letter and read through it, his brows knitting slightly."A plea for aid? That's… unlike Daemon. He'd never do such a thing."
Tyland Lannister gave a slight nod and sighed. "The letter wasn't written by Prince Daemon. It was sent by Ser Vaemond Velaryon—the Sea Snake's younger brother."
"I knew it," Viserys chuckled dryly. "That stubborn fool's pride would never allow him to ask his elder brother for help."
He quickly finished reading, and his expression changed subtly as he glanced around at the gathered lords.
"The Stepstones campaign has stalled," he announced grimly. "That 'Crabfeeder' coward hides instead of fighting, and Daemon's forces are bogged down."
A murmur swept through the council chamber.
The ministers exchanged looks, one after another voicing suggestions—Send reinforcements, or sit back and let Daemon and the Sea Snake bear the consequences of their own war.
Viserys rubbed at his temples, feeling the familiar ache of frustration.
He hated war.
The conflict over the Stepstones had been started entirely by Daemon and Corlys Velaryon, without royal consent.
Now, finding themselves in danger, they dared to beg for his aid?
Was he supposed to clean up the mess of those who disregarded their king's authority?
"Rhaenyra," he said wearily, "take your brother and go. This discussion will take a while, and I don't want him getting tired."
He leaned over and kissed Rhaegar's forehead, entrusting the boy to her care.
Understanding the matter's gravity, Rhaenyra made no objection. She took her little brother's hand and led him out of the council chamber.
In the long corridor outside, the two stopped before a large stained-glass window.
Rhaenyra gazed through the colored panes at the distant horizon. "Do you think Uncle Daemon can defeat the Crabfeeder?"
"My dear sister," Rhaegar said solemnly, "your younger brother has just turned six years old."
He looked down at himself—his head barely reached her hip—and furrowed his small brows in dismay.
"…"
For a moment, Rhaenyra was speechless. Then she slapped her forehead and groaned.
"Gods, I'm an idiot. I keep treating you like a little old man. You probably don't even know who the Crabfeeder is."
Rhaegar replied calmly, "If I hadn't overheard Uncle Daemon calling me the 'One-Day Heir,' I wouldn't even have known I had an uncle."
Rhaenyra: "…"
Tilting his small head, Rhaegar asked softly, "I saw Father's missing fingers today. Two of them. Why?"
"He's ill," Rhaenyra said quickly, brushing his silver hair with gentle fingers. "The Grand Maester has been treating him."
She assumed the boy had simply been frightened by the sight.
But Rhaegar just stared at her, then suddenly caught her hand—the one rubbing his head—and pinched a bit of skin between his tiny nails.
He squeezed, hard.
"Ah! What are you doing, that hurts!"
Rhaenyra yelped, jerking her hand back. A thin red mark welled with blood across her skin.
Meeting her angry glare, Rhaegar said earnestly, "That tiny wound made you scream. Father lost two fingers—and perhaps bears other wounds unseen.
He's the king. He can't cry, or show weakness."
Pausing, he added quietly, "As his children, what we should focus on isn't some petty war our uncle started—but becoming strong enough to help our father."
Rhaenyra froze, pointing at him in disbelief. "You—you just said you're six, and now you're lecturing me?"
Rhaegar said naturally, "My age limits my body, not my mind. Books broaden wisdom."
"Dearest sister," he added, "you should read more, instead of spending all day either flying your dragon or drowning in rumors."
He made a show of trying to pat her shoulder—only to find he couldn't reach even on tiptoe.
So he settled for patting her slim waist instead.
Then, with a little spin, he walked off down the corridor in mock dignity.
Rhaenyra stood there frozen for several seconds.
Only when a cool breeze drifted through did she suddenly react—her face flushing crimson.
The next moment, her furious voice echoed through the entire hall:
"Rhaegar! You dare be disrespectful to your sister? Prepare to face the wrath of the Sleeping Dragon!!"
Two days later.
A luxurious carriage rolled toward the Kingswood, flanked by rows of guards and attendants.
Inside the spacious carriage sat the royal family.
Viserys sat in the center, Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra opposite each other.
Beside Alicent sat Aegon and Helaena, and in her arms—an infant swaddled in silk.
Naturally, Rhaegar sat beside Rhaenyra, staring at the baby with mild distaste.
"So tiny… and when it cries, it sounds like it's dying. Terrifying."
He muttered under his breath, making a funny face at the baby.
Alicent smiled warmly, her tone gentle as always. "Aemond hasn't gotten used to the carriage yet. He cries a lot."
Viserys laughed heartily. "A powerful voice—he'll grow into a brave warrior someday!"
Alicent's smile deepened, and she held out the baby toward Rhaegar. "Would you like to hold him?"
"I can try."
Rhaegar grabbed the infant awkwardly under the armpits, letting him kick and flail as he lifted him up to eye level, playing idly.
Well, well.
Someday, when this little brat dares act up in front of him, he'll remember this day and won't go easy on him.
Rhaegar grinned slyly, already picturing the future.
Aemond soon began wailing again, and was swiftly reclaimed by his mother's arms.
Viserys, watching the scene, found his frown finally easing.
His wife beside him, his children around him, a royal carriage under the sun—What could be more perfect than this?
Noticing his father's good mood, Rhaegar spoke up just in time. "Father, is that the Blackfyre of Aegon the Conqueror beside you?"
Viserys smiled proudly, picking up the long sword in its scabbard. "Indeed. Blackfyre—the sword that symbolizes royal authority. Aegon wielded it when he conquered the Seven Kingdoms."
"May I take a look?"
Rhaegar's eyes lit up with eager fascination.
Viserys handed it halfway toward him—then hesitated, pulling it back.
He looked at his frail, thin son with regret. "Not yet. Blackfyre is a weapon drenched in blood. When you're older, you'll be strong enough to bear it."
"I'd still like to try."
This was no ordinary blade—it was a relic steeped in history and legend, comparable to Balerion's skull itself. Rhaegar didn't want to miss the chance.
But Viserys shook his head and set Blackfyre aside, denying his request.
Rhaegar's shoulders slumped as disappointment clouded his face.
Then Viserys chuckled softly. "If you want to see a sharp edge up close, perhaps this will do."
Unfastening a small dagger from his belt, he tossed it toward his son. "Catch."
Rhaegar fumbled, barely managing to grab it, staring at the weapon in confusion.
Viserys smiled. "That dagger once belonged to Aegon the Conqueror himself. Before him, it was the possession of Aenar."
"Wow… that's ancient," Rhaegar breathed, full of awe.
He drew the blade with a quiet shing—
A flash of cold light spilled forth, sharp and clear as starlight.
Rhaegar narrowed his eyes, tracing the intricate patterns along its surface. The craftsmanship was flawless—beautiful and deadly.
"This is… Valyrian steel?" Rhaenyra asked, captivated.
Viserys nodded. "All heirlooms of our forebears hold their own power and meaning."
At that very moment, a soft chime rang in Rhaegar's ears—
"Lost artifact detected. Traces of magical energy found. Beginning analysis…"
"Magic?" Rhaegar's eyes brightened instantly.
Another chime followed:
"Analysis complete. Artifact identified—'The Dagger of Ice and Fire.' Would you like to initiate exploration?"
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