**The Red Keep - King's Landing - 97 AC (One Week After the Hatchings)**
The arrival of House Velaryon was announced by dragons before ships.
Meleys the Red Queen appeared first, a crimson shadow against the morning sky, her distinctive scarlet scales catching sunlight like rubies. She circled the Red Keep three times—a formal greeting, a show of respect, and a subtle reminder that House Velaryon came as equals, not supplicants.
On the ramparts, guards who'd seen dragons their entire lives still stopped to watch. Meleys was magnificent, one of the swiftest dragons alive, and Princess Rhaenys rode her with the casual grace of someone who'd been flying since childhood.
"She's showing off," observed Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, with the kind of fondness that came from having known Rhaenys since she was a child.
"Can you blame her?" asked Ser Ryam Redwyne, standing beside him. "First time bringing her new son to court. She's entitled to a dramatic entrance."
Below, in the courtyard, King Jaehaerys leaned heavily on his cane and squinted at the sky. At seventy-five, the Old King was still sharp as Valyrian steel, but his body was finally admitting that decades of ruling, dragon-riding, and surviving family drama had taken their toll.
"Rhaenys always did have a flair for spectacle," he observed.
Queen Alysanne, beside him, smiled. "She gets that from you, husband."
"I have never been dramatic a day in my life."
"You rode Vermithor into a thunderstorm to impress me."
"That was tactically sound."
"You nearly died."
"But I impressed you."
"You're impossible."
Prince Viserys, standing with his father Prince Baelon, watched the dragon with less nostalgia and more nervousness. "Do you think Meleys will get along with Syrax and Brightfire?"
"The hatchlings aren't flying yet," Baelon pointed out. "They're a week old. It'll be years before territorial disputes become relevant."
"Yes, but—they're in the same castle. Same nursery, if Corlys agrees. What if Meleys decides the hatchlings are—I don't know—competition?"
"Then Meleys is an idiot, and Rhaenys will explain basic mathematics to her." Baelon clapped his son on the shoulder. "Stop worrying. Dragons are smart. They'll sort themselves out."
Meleys banked wide, heading for the Dragonpit on the city's outskirts. Standard protocol—large dragons didn't land in castle courtyards unless actively under attack. Too much property damage, too many nervous horses.
"Ship's coming into harbor," called a guard from the wall.
Jaehaerys turned his attention seaward. House Velaryon's flagship—*Sea Snake*, naturally, because Corlys had never met a nautical pun he didn't immediately claim—was gliding into Blackwater Bay with the kind of precision that came from having the best sailors in the Seven Kingdoms.
"How long until they dock?" Jaehaerys asked.
"An hour, Your Grace. Maybe less with this wind."
"Good. That gives us time to prepare." The Old King turned to Viserys. "Your daughters?"
"In the nursery with their dragons," Viserys said. "Aemma's with them. The servants wanted to move Syrax and Brightfire to the Dragonpit, but—"
"But the hatchlings refused to leave the babies," Jaehaerys finished. "Yes, I heard. Dragons bond young these days."
"These ones bonded *extremely* young," Viserys said. "The maesters are baffled. One week from egg to hatch to bond? That's not—"
"Not normal," Baelon agreed. "But when has our family ever been normal?"
"Fair point."
They descended from the ramparts and made their way to the throne room, where the official greeting would take place. Servants were already arranging things—extra chairs for the Velaryon children, tables for refreshments, the kind of organized chaos that happened whenever important guests arrived.
In the nursery, Aemma was having what could charitably be called "a crisis of presentation."
"They can't meet the King and Queen covered in dragon slobber," she said to the nurse, who was doing her best to clean Rhaenyra while Syrax watched with deep suspicion.
"Princess, the dragons won't let us separate them for more than a few minutes—"
"Then we work quickly."
Annara, already cleaned and dressed in a gown of pale blue that matched her sister's, was currently engaged in what appeared to be a philosophical debate with Brightfire. The silver dragon kept nudging a wooden toy horse toward the baby, who would push it away, prompting the dragon to nudge it back.
*This is ridiculous,* Annabeth thought from behind Annara's purple eyes. *I'm four weeks old. I shouldn't be having battles of will with a dragon over toy placement.*
*The dragon thinks you need to practice object permanence,* Rhaenyra's thoughts filtered through their connection. *Just let her win. It'll be faster.*
*I don't let anyone win. That's not how I work.*
*Then enjoy being stuck here while the Velaryons arrive without us.*
*You're a terrible sister.*
*You literally met me four weeks ago.*
*And you're already terrible. It's impressive, really.*
Rhaenyra's mental laughter rippled between them, and Syrax chirped as if sharing the joke. The golden dragon had been successfully cleaned—mostly by licking herself and ignoring the servants—and was now preening her wings with the self-satisfaction of someone who knew she looked magnificent.
"There," the nurse said, stepping back from Rhaenyra. "Both princesses are presentable. But the dragons—"
"The dragons are coming," Aemma said firmly. "Jaehaerys wants to see the hatchlings anyway. We're not leaving them here to destroy the nursery."
"They're very well-behaved, actually," observed another servant, who'd been watching Brightfire's toy game with fascination. "I've never seen hatchlings so—"
"Smart," Aemma supplied. "Yes. We've noticed."
She lifted Rhaenyra carefully, mindful of the way Syrax immediately moved to follow, keeping her chosen human in sight. Another servant took Annara, and Brightfire shadowed them with the same protective intensity.
The procession through the Red Keep must have looked absurd—two nurses carrying royal babies, two dragons barely bigger than cats following at their heels, and Princess Aemma leading them all like a general marshaling troops.
They reached the throne room just as the Velaryon party was being announced.
"Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark," called the herald. "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Lord Laenor Velaryon. Lady Laena Velaryon. And the infant Prince Perseon Velaryon."
The doors opened, and the Velaryons entered in formation that was clearly calculated for maximum impact.
Corlys led, dressed in sea-green and silver, looking every inch the richest man in Westeros. His presence alone commanded attention—this was a man who'd sailed further than any living explorer, who'd built a trade empire that made kingdoms jealous, who'd married a princess and somehow avoided being overshadowed by her.
Rhaenys walked beside him, and even in relatively simple traveling clothes, she radiated the kind of presence that made people remember why some had wanted her on the Iron Throne. Her silver-gold hair was bound in a complex braid, her violet eyes sharp as she surveyed the throne room with the assessment of someone who'd been passed over for a crown and never quite forgotten.
The twins—Laenor and Laena, both three years old—flanked their parents with the kind of coordinated movement that suggested they'd been practicing. Laenor wore blue and silver, his silver hair cut short in the style of young lords. Laena wore sea-green and white, her silver-gold hair flowing loose.
But everyone's attention went to what Laenor carried.
The boy held a small dragon—barely two feet long, aquatic blue with those distinctive ray-like wings—with the careful pride of someone handling something precious. The dragon's head swiveled, taking in the throne room with intelligent blue-green eyes that seemed to categorize and dismiss everything they saw.
Until those eyes landed on the two hatchlings following the nurses.
Typhōnas made a sound—that distinctive water-dripping chirp—and Laenor nearly dropped him as the dragon suddenly *surged* in his arms, trying to reach the other hatchlings.
"Hold him!" Corlys said sharply.
"I'm trying!" Laenor's three-year-old arms were definitely not prepared for a dragon with opinions.
Syrax and Brightfire responded immediately, both chirping in what sounded like greeting, excitement, *recognition*. Brightfire's wings unfurled slightly, the gold-edged membranes catching light.
And in Rhaenys's arms, baby Perseon made a sound that was far too intentional for a three-week-old.
*What the—* Percy's thoughts stuttered. *Annabeth? And—wait, is that—*
The mental connection snapped into place like a circuit completing.
Three minds, suddenly aware of each other.
*Percy!* Annabeth's relief flooded through. *You're here. You're—gods, you're a baby too. I wasn't sure if—*
*If I'd remember? Yeah, I remember. Everything. It's been the worst four weeks of my life and I literally fought in two wars.*
*Try doing it twice.* A third voice, familiar but *wrong* somehow, like hearing someone you knew speak a different language. *Try doing it as twins.*
Percy's infant mind reeled. *Calypso?*
*Rhaenyra. I'm Rhaenyra now. But yes. Also me.*
The pause that followed was the mental equivalent of several people trying to speak at once and failing.
*You're my cousin,* Percy said slowly. *You're Annabeth's sister. That's—*
*Complicated,* Calypso—Rhaenyra—finished. *Yes. We've established that. Can we focus on the fact that we're currently in a throne room being stared at by the most powerful people in Westeros?*
*Right. Yes. Tactical assessment.* Annabeth's mind shifted gears with practiced ease. *King Jaehaerys on the throne, Queen Alysanne beside him. Prince Baelon and Prince Viserys—that's our father—to the right. Guards positioned at every exit. Thirty-seven people in the room total, not counting us or the dragons.*
*You counted in three seconds?*
*ADHD works differently when you have three thousand years of practice organizing information.*
King Jaehaerys, unaware of the telepathic conversation happening among the infants, was addressing Corlys with the kind of formal warmth reserved for valued family members.
"Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys, you honor us with your presence. And you've brought the newest member of House Velaryon." He leaned forward slightly, his old eyes sharp with interest. "May I see the boy?"
Rhaenys moved forward, and Percy got his first clear look at his new grandfather.
Jaehaerys the Conciliator was old—properly old, not just "getting on in years"—but his presence filled the room like Poseidon's presence had filled Olympus. This was a man who'd ruled for five decades, who'd built roads and established laws and somehow kept his family from tearing itself apart despite the Targaryen tendency toward drama.
His eyes were calculating, measuring, *knowing*. Percy had the uncomfortable feeling that Jaehaerys could see more than he should.
"A fine boy," Jaehaerys said, studying Percy with that unnerving intensity. "Strong features. Good color. And those eyes—"
"Are unusual, Your Grace," Rhaenys said calmly. "The maesters suggested various explanations. I've suggested they keep their suggestions to themselves."
"Wisely done." Jaehaerys smiled slightly. "Sometimes the blood shows itself in unexpected ways. The boy carries Old Valyria in his veins. That's what matters."
Queen Alysanne rose from her seat beside the throne and approached with the kind of grandmotherly energy that made even Percy's ADHD brain focus. She was smaller than he expected—slight, silver-haired, with eyes that had probably been striking violet in her youth and were now faded to pale purple.
But her smile was warm enough to heat a room.
"May I?" she asked, holding out her arms.
Rhaenys transferred Percy to his great-grandmother with practiced ease. Alysanne held him like someone who'd had fourteen children and knew exactly how babies worked.
"Hello, little prince," she said softly. "Welcome to King's Landing. We've heard so much about you." Her eyes went to Typhōnas, still struggling in Laenor's arms. "And your dragon. May I see him as well?"
Laenor, clearly relieved to be rid of his squirming burden, carefully passed Typhōnas to a servant who'd been designated as "dragon handler" and probably regretted all life choices leading to this moment.
But the moment Typhōnas was free, he did something that made the entire room freeze.
The dragon *swam* through the air—actually swam, his ray-like wings undulating like he was moving through water—straight to Percy.
He landed on Percy's chest with perfect precision, curled up like he belonged there, and made that dripping-water chirp of contentment.
"Well," Alysanne said. "That's definitive."
Syrax and Brightfire, not to be outdone, immediately began chirping from their positions near their own humans. The three dragons created a chorus that sounded like rain on stone, wind through trees, and bells all at once.
*Our dragons are showing off,* Annabeth observed.
*Our dragons are smart,* Percy corrected. *They're establishing themselves. Making sure everyone knows we're bonded.*
*Political strategy from three-week-old reptiles,* Rhaenyra added. *I like them.*
Jaehaerys descended from the throne with surprising grace for a man of seventy-five. He moved toward Aemma and the nurses, his eyes on the two hatchlings.
"May I see them closer?"
The nurses looked to Aemma, who nodded. They moved forward, babies and dragons all visible to the Old King.
Jaehaerys studied Syrax first. The golden dragon met his gaze without flinching, her small head held high. "Proud," he observed. "Like Sunfyre. That kind of gold."
Then Brightfire. The silver-pearl dragon tilted her head, studying him back with those amber-gold eyes. "Clever," Jaehaerys said. "I can see it. She's thinking."
Finally Typhōnas, still curled on Percy's chest. The water-colored dragon made a small chirp but didn't move. "Loyal," Jaehaerys said. "And protective. Look how he positions himself. That's a guardian's instinct."
The Old King straightened, looking between the three babies and three dragons with an expression that was hard to read.
"Three eggs delivered the same day," he said quietly. "To three children born the same day. All hatching within hours of each other. All bonding immediately and completely." His eyes swept the room. "Does anyone else find this... significant?"
"The dragons know their own," Baelon said carefully. "Perhaps they sensed something in these children."
"Perhaps," Jaehaerys agreed. "Or perhaps something sensed something in the dragons. Magic works in strange ways."
He turned to Rhaenys. "Your son's dragon—has he named it yet?"
"He's a week old, Your Grace," Rhaenys said dryly. "Naming will come later."
"But you must have noticed the dragon's... unique characteristics."
"The webbed claws, the ray-like wings, the way he moves through air like water?" Rhaenys smiled. "Yes. We noticed. The maesters are fascinated. Corlys thinks it's a sign from the sea itself."
"And what do *you* think?"
Rhaenys looked down at Percy, who was trying very hard to look like a normal baby and definitely not a reincarnated demigod having a crisis. "I think my son is special. And his dragon matches him perfectly."
*She has no idea,* Percy thought to the others.
*None of them do,* Annabeth agreed. *Which is good. We need time to prepare before anyone knows what we really are.*
*What we really are is three babies with dragons,* Rhaenyra pointed out. *That's already enough to cause problems. Let's not borrow more.*
Alysanne, still holding Percy, moved toward the nurses. "May I see the girls?"
It was phrased as a question, but queens didn't really ask. The nurses brought Rhaenyra and Annara closer, and suddenly all three babies were within arm's reach of each other.
The dragons noticed immediately.
Typhōnas raised his head. Syrax chirped. Brightfire's wings spread slightly.
And then, moving with coordination that three-week-old dragons absolutely should not possess, all three launched themselves into the air.
The room gasped. Dragons this young shouldn't fly—their wings weren't developed enough, their instincts not fully formed. But Typhōnas swam through the air with his ray-like wings, Syrax glided on her golden membranes, and Brightfire moved like liquid light.
They circled once—a perfect formation, like they'd been practicing—and landed in a triangle around the three babies.
Defensive positions. Territorial positions. *Guarding* positions.
"Seven hells," Corlys breathed.
"That's not normal dragon behavior," Baelon said. "Hatchlings don't coordinate. They barely understand the concept of 'other dragons' at this age."
"These ones do," Jaehaerys observed. "These ones understand quite a bit, I think."
He was looking at the babies now, really *looking*, and Percy felt that same uncomfortable sensation he'd felt when Chiron looked at him, or when Athena studied him, or when any immortal being decided to pay attention. The weight of ancient wisdom, measuring, calculating.
*He knows,* Percy thought.
*He can't know,* Annabeth countered. *There's no way—*
*He knows something's different. Look at his eyes.*
Jaehaerys reached out slowly, letting each dragon sniff his hand before touching their heads gently. "Beautiful creatures. All three of you. And smart. Very, very smart."
He straightened, addressing the room. "These dragons will be watched carefully. They're clearly exceptional, and exceptional things require exceptional care." His eyes went to Viserys and Rhaenys. "The children should stay together, I think. At least for now."
"Together, Your Grace?" Viserys looked uncertain. "The twins' nursery is—"
"Is large enough for three cradles and three dragons," Jaehaerys said firmly. "These three are connected somehow. Forcing separation seems unwise."
Corlys and Rhaenys exchanged glances. A silent conversation happened in the space of seconds—negotiation, calculation, agreement.
"We accept, Your Grace," Corlys said. "Perseon can stay at the Red Keep during our visit. If it helps the children—all three children—adjust."
"It will," Alysanne said confidently. She was still holding Percy, and she bounced him slightly, making him make an involuntary baby sound. "Look at them. They're already watching each other. Already aware. They need this time together."
*They're making decisions about our lives,* Percy grumbled mentally.
*They're our parents,* Annabeth pointed out. *That's literally their job.*
*Doesn't mean I have to like it.*
*You never liked authority figures. Why start now?*
*Fair point.*
Rhaenyra's thoughts carried amusement. *This is actually ideal. We're in the same place. Same nursery. We can coordinate, plan, figure out our next steps without trying to communicate across castles.*
*You sound like Athena's daughter,* Percy observed.
*I spent three thousand years reading strategy treatises because I was bored. I'm basically an honorary Athena kid at this point.*
*Athena would probably adopt you out of spite.*
*Your mother always did have commitment issues.*
Annabeth's mental laugh rippled through. *I can't believe I'm mediating between my boyfriend and my sister about my mother.*
*Ex-boyfriend,* Percy corrected. *I mean—we died. Different lives now. Different people. We're not—*
*Don't finish that sentence,* Annabeth interrupted. *We're not having this conversation in a throne room while we're four weeks old.*
*When would be better?*
*Literally any other time.*
The adults had moved on to discussing logistics—where exactly three babies and three dragons would sleep, how the servants would cope, whether the dragons needed separate feeding schedules (they didn't, having already established they'd eat when their humans ate and not before).
Laenor and Laena, feeling left out of the baby-and-dragon attention, had found a corner to examine a tapestry depicting Aegon's Conquest. The twins were arguing in whispers about which dragon was which.
"That's Vhagar," Laena insisted, pointing at a massive green-bronze beast.
"No, that's Meraxes," Laenor argued. "Vhagar's scales are different."
"You don't know scales."
"I know more than you."
"Do not."
"Do too."
Rhaenys separated them with practiced ease, redirecting their attention to the actual dragons in the room. "If you behave, you can help carry Perseon to the nursery."
"Can we hold the other dragons?" Laenor asked hopefully.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because they're bonded, and interfering with a dragon bond is how people lose fingers."
"Father lost a finger?"
"Not yet. Let's keep it that way."
The procession to the nursery was carefully orchestrated chaos. Servants led the way, clearing paths and warning people to press against walls. The three babies were carried by nurses who'd drawn the short straws. The three dragons followed, moving in that unnerving synchronized way that made everyone nervous.
And behind them, a small crowd of royal family members who wanted to witness this historic moment of three bloodlines, three dragons, three futures converging.
The nursery had been expanded overnight—or what passed for expansion when you had hours instead of weeks. A third cradle had been added, positioned to form a triangle with the twins' shared cradle at one point.
"Who decided on triangle geometry?" Annabeth wondered.
*Someone who understands symbolic significance,* Rhaenyra guessed. *Or someone who's really into tessellation. Could go either way.*
The dragons entered first, making a circuit of the room like they were checking for threats. Satisfied, they took up positions near their respective cradles.
The babies were placed carefully—Rhaenyra and Annara in their shared space, Percy in his new cradle positioned close enough that all three could see each other but far enough that the adults felt they'd maintained some separation.
Typhōnas immediately jumped from his cradle to Percy's, curling up on the baby's chest with possessive certainty.
"He's not going to stay in the dragon bed, is he?" a servant asked.
"Would you want to tell him to move?" Rhaenys replied.
"...no, my lady."
"Wise choice."
Syrax and Brightfire, not to be outdone, had also ignored their designated dragon beds in favor of joining their humans. The shared cradle now contained two babies and two small dragons, all tangled together in a way that looked comfortable but probably violated several safety regulations.
Jaehaerys, leaning on his cane at the nursery entrance, watched this arrangement with an expression that might have been amusement.
"They've already established their own rules," he observed.
"Should we intervene?" asked Maester Mellos, who'd appeared with the kind of timing that suggested he'd been lurking nearby waiting for permission to examine the dragons.
"No," Jaehaerys said simply. "Let them be. Dragons and children both do better when they're not micromanaged."
"But Your Grace, the proximity—"
"—is what they want. And I've learned, over seven decades, that fighting what dragons want is usually pointless." He turned to leave, then paused. "Though I want daily reports. Observations about development, behavior, anything unusual."
"Everything about this is unusual, Your Grace."
"Then note what's *more* unusual than the baseline unusual. You're maesters. Categorize things."
Mellos bowed, clearly already composing his first report in his head.
As the adults filed out—leaving only two servants on watch rotation and a guard at the door—the nursery settled into relative peace.
Three babies. Three dragons. Three minds connected across impossible distances, finally close enough to touch.
*Okay,* Annabeth's thoughts cut through the mental space they shared. *We need to talk. Properly talk. About what happened, where we are, and what we're going to do next.*
*Later,* Rhaenyra said. *When the servants sleep. Right now, we need to act like normal babies.*
*I don't remember what normal babies act like,* Percy admitted.
*Sleep a lot. Cry sometimes. Poop frequently. You've been managing that last one fine.*
*I hate you.*
*You really don't.*
And somehow, despite everything—despite being reincarnated in a different world, despite having the memories of teenage heroes trapped in infant bodies, despite knowing a civil war was coming that would kill tens of thousands—Percy felt something warm settle in his chest.
They were together. All three of them. In the same room, with dragons who understood them, with a connection that went deeper than blood.
They'd been willing to fall into Tartarus rather than separate.
A nursery in Westeros was significantly better than Tartarus.
This would be okay. They'd make it okay.
But first, they had to survive being babies for five more years.
One day at a time. One mental conversation at a time. One dragon-sitting-on-your-chest at a time.
They'd figure it out.
They always did.
Together.
---
**The Royal Chambers - The Red Keep - Evening**
Queen Alysanne Targaryen had been married to Jaehaerys for fifty-three years, which meant she could read his silences the way maesters read books.
This particular silence was the dangerous kind.
Her husband stood at the window of their private chambers, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the darkening city below. He'd been standing there for the better part of an hour, barely moving, barely breathing. Just... thinking.
Alysanne finished braiding her silver hair—more white than silver these days, but she'd earned every pale strand—and set down her brush. "Are you going to tell me what's troubling you, or shall I guess?"
"I'm not troubled," Jaehaerys said, which was his first lie of the evening.
"You've been staring at that window since we dismissed the servants. You haven't touched your wine. You didn't notice when I changed into my nightclothes, which means whatever you're thinking about is more interesting than me, and we both know that's rare."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Your ego remains intact, I see."
"My ego and my eyesight. Both still functional." She rose from her seat and crossed to join him at the window. King's Landing sprawled below them—thousands of lights, thousands of lives, all of them technically their responsibility. "Talk to me."
Jaehaerys was quiet for another long moment. Then: "The children."
"Which children? We have rather a lot of grandchildren and great-grandchildren at this point. I've lost count."
"The three. The babies. Rhaenyra, Annara, Perseon."
"Ah." Alysanne leaned against the window frame. "The ones with the dragons."
"The ones with the *impossible* dragons." Jaehaerys finally turned to face her, and his expression was troubled in a way that made her chest tighten. Her husband wore many faces—the king's face, the grandfather's face, the dragon-rider's face. This was the face he wore when something genuinely worried him, which happened perhaps once a decade. "Did you see them today? Really see them?"
"I held Perseon. He seemed like a normal baby. Healthy, alert—"
"Too alert," Jaehaerys interrupted. "All three of them. Too aware, too focused. Babies that age don't track movement like that. Don't watch people with that kind of... intention."
Alysanne had noticed, actually. When she'd held little Perseon, those sea-green eyes had looked at her with something that felt uncomfortably like assessment. As if the child was measuring her, deciding whether she passed some unspoken test.
"Children of our blood often develop quickly," she said carefully.
"Not this quickly. And then there are the dragons." Jaehaerys moved away from the window, beginning to pace. He did his best thinking while moving, had for decades. "Three eggs that should have taken months to hatch. They hatch in three weeks. On the same night, within hours of each other."
"Dragon eggs are unpredictable—"
"These weren't unpredictable. These were *coordinated*." He stopped pacing, fixing her with that sharp gaze that had intimidated lords for half a century. "You saw them in the throne room. Three hatchlings that can barely walk, flying in formation. Landing in defensive positions. Responding to each other like they've been clutch-mates for years."
"Perhaps they're simply exceptional—"
"Alysanne." He said her name like a plea. "Don't patronize me. Something is happening here. Something we don't understand."
She moved to the table where a carafe of wine sat untouched and poured two cups. Handed one to her husband. "Then tell me what you think is happening. Not as a king. As a man who's lived seventy-five years and seen things that would make maesters weep."
Jaehaerys took the wine but didn't drink. Just held it, watching the liquid catch firelight. "I think those children aren't... entirely what they seem."
"You think they're changelings? Creatures wearing baby shapes?" Alysanne kept her voice light, but her hand moved unconsciously to the seven-pointed star she wore around her neck.
"No. They're human. That much I'm certain of. The blood tests as true Valyrian—Mellos confirmed it. The dragons accept them completely, which they wouldn't do for imposters." He finally sipped the wine. "But there's something else. Something in the way they look at things. Like they're seeing more than babies should see."
Alysanne thought about this. She'd had fourteen children herself, had held dozens of grandchildren, great-grandchildren. She knew infants. Knew the unfocused gaze, the random movements, the way they existed in the present without past or future.
These three weren't like that.
"What do you want to do?" she asked quietly.
"I don't know," Jaehaerys admitted, and that admission—that uncertainty from a man who'd ruled a continent—made her stomach clench. "If they're touched by something, blessed or cursed or simply *different*, what's the proper response? Lock them away for study? Treat them like normal children and hope the strangeness fades? Announce to the realm that something impossible is happening in the heart of our family?"
"None of those options sound appealing."
"No. They don't." He set down his wine and scrubbed a hand over his face. Alysanne saw the weariness there, the weight of decades. "I'm too old for new mysteries, beloved. I want grandchildren who are simply grandchildren. Dragons that hatch on normal schedules. A succession that doesn't keep me awake at night."
"But that's not what we have."
"No. That's not what we have."
Alysanne took his hand—the hand that had held reins and swords and pens that signed laws into existence. It trembled slightly, age finally catching up with strength.
"Then we do what we've always done," she said firmly. "We watch. We wait. We protect them, because they're ours, regardless of what else they might be. And we trust that whatever's happening is happening for a reason."
"You sound like you're quoting the Faith."
"I'm old. I'm allowed to quote whatever I want." She squeezed his hand. "They're babies, Jaehaerys. Strange babies with strange dragons, yes. But they're still babies. They need love and care and time to grow. Whatever they become—that's years away."
"Unless it isn't," Jaehaerys said quietly. "Unless whatever makes them different accelerates things. Unless we're watching something unfold that we're completely unprepared for."
"Then we adapt. It's what Targaryens do."
He pulled her close, resting his chin on top of her head. They stood like that for a while, an old king and his queen, facing another uncertainty in a lifetime full of them.
"I want them watched," Jaehaerys said finally. "Not oppressively. Not obviously. But I want reports. Daily observations from the servants, the maesters, anyone who interacts with them."
"Looking for what?"
"Anything that confirms they're normal. Or anything that proves they're not." He pulled back to look at her. "And I want us to visit them. Regularly. Not as king and queen—as great-grandparents. I want to know these children. Really know them."
Alysanne smiled. "I can manage that. Though I warn you, Viserys gets anxious when you pay too much attention to his daughters."
"Viserys gets anxious when the sun rises. He'll survive." Jaehaerys moved back to the window, and his voice went softer. "Three children. Born the same day. Dragons hatching in unison. Eyes that see too much. What are the odds, beloved?"
"In our family? Higher than you'd think. We've had prophetic dreamers, dragon speakers, children who could see the future. Strangeness is in our blood."
"This feels different."
"Everything feels different when you're the one responsible for it."
He laughed, short and sharp. "Seventy-five years old, and you're still the wisest person I know."
"Someone has to be. You're busy being kingly and dramatic."
They returned to their familiar evening routine—Jaehaerys reviewing reports he'd already read twice, Alysanne working on embroidery she'd probably never finish. Married silence, comfortable and worn smooth by decades.
But both of them were thinking about the nursery down the hall. About three babies sleeping with dragons curled against them. About the weight of impossible things, pressing down on a family that had always lived with impossible things.
"They'll be special," Alysanne said eventually. "Whatever else they are, they'll matter."
"I know," Jaehaerys said. "That's what worries me."
---
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