1-5

*Chapter 1: A Prince for a Day?*

 Westeros  

Since Aegon the Conqueror tamed his dragons and, alongside his sister-wives, Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys, subdued the Seven Kingdoms, the land of Westeros was united under one banner.

From Aegon's ascension, the calendar began anew: the first year of Aegon's reign was marked as 1 AC (Aegon's Conquest). The years before were labeled BC (Before Conquest), while those after were designated AC.

---

*111 AC*

It was early summer, just after dawn.

In the capital city of King’s Landing, on the continent of Westeros, the Red Keep loomed over the eastern coastline, its walls standing firm against the sea. Within its confines lay a small garden, secluded and inaccessible to outsiders.

"White stag, dirty handkerchief, a bear in the sea..."

A boy of five or six years, with silver-gold hair and striking violet eyes, leaned against the trunk of a massive weirwood tree, mumbling to himself out of boredom.

"Another nightmare... endless, as always."

His name was *Rhaegar Targaryen*, a child of true dragon blood.

His father, *Viserys Targaryen*, was the fifth king of the Seven Kingdoms and the current occupant of the Iron Throne.

"Prince Rhaegar, your birthday celebration is about to begin. The Queen is calling for you," a young handmaiden softly informed him as she approached.

Rhaegar looked up. His pale, gaunt face and dark circles under his large, melancholic eyes gave him a fragile appearance. He spoke in a low voice: "I've said before, I don’t like birthday celebrations."

The handmaiden clasped her hands together nervously, forcing a smile. "I’m sorry, Your Grace, but the Queen has been asking for you."

"Fine. I’ll go."

Rhaegar nodded, unwilling to make things difficult for the girl caught in the middle. He rose and followed her into the Red Keep.

He was the firstborn son of King Viserys.

His mother, Queen Aemma Arryn, had died in childbirth.

Thus, his birthday was also the anniversary of his mother’s death.

So...

The fact that my birthday is celebrated every year—without fail—truly shows the dedication of the current Queen, Lady Alicent Hightower.

---

The Red Keep’s interior was vast, grand, and imposing.

Rhaegar climbed to one of the upper floors, where an open door emitted the sound of a child crying.

He gestured for the handmaiden to leave and stepped to the doorway.

Inside the room, a richly dressed young woman was holding a wailing toddler in her arms.

At her feet, a little girl was staring hungrily at a cake.

Catching sight of Rhaegar’s thin frame from the corner of her eye, *Alicent Hightower* turned immediately, offering an apologetic smile.

“Aegon’s eyeing your cake. If you didn’t come soon, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold him off.”

(Note: It is a common practice in Westeros to name children after their ancestors.)  

Rhaegar stepped inside. "It doesn’t matter. Let him have it. How much can he eat, anyway?"

"You’re such a good older brother, Rhaegar."

Alicent handed the squirming *Aegon* to a servant, then gently took Rhaegar’s small hand and led him to sit at a low table.

“Your father is busy with affairs of state, and Rhaenyra is off somewhere, probably causing trouble. So, it’s up to me to celebrate your birthday this year,” she said kindly. “Now, blow out the candles and make a wish.”

Rhaegar remained silent but complied, blowing out the candles and clasping his hands together to close his eyes.

Weakened by his frail health, Rhaegar was naturally quiet and reserved.

His difficult birth had left its mark—his mother, Aemma, had been forced into a brutal Caesarean to deliver him, sacrificing her own life.

Despite this, Rhaegar’s body remained fragile.

Until the age of three, he was so weak that after his first cry at birth, he spent nearly all his time in a coma, sustained by wet nurses.

The Grand Maester once predicted he wouldn’t survive past his first day.

This earned him the morbid nickname: *"The Prince for a Day."*

Yet he did not perish.

At three, a foreign sorceress’s intervention brought him out of his coma.

Even so, his health was poor, and there was an unusual side effect—frequent, vivid nightmares.

His dreams were filled with strange, fragmented images: dragons, fire, war...

Terrifying visions that often left him trembling awake, further exhausting his frail body and keeping him in a state of perpetual lethargy.

"I want some! Give it to me!"

Suddenly, Aegon’s voice broke through Rhaegar’s thoughts, prompting him to look up instinctively.

SMACK!  

---

A chubby little hand plunged into the cake, scattering crumbs as it waved.

A dollop of cream landed squarely on Rhaegar's face.

"Oh heavens! Keep an eye on Aegon!"

Alicent scolded the negligent attendant, quickly pulling out a handkerchief to wipe Rhaegar's face. She apologized, "I’m so sorry. Aegon’s such a mischievous little monkey. If you don’t like the cake, I can have the kitchen make a new one for you."

Rhaegar, enjoying the Queen's attentiveness, replied calmly, "It’s fine. My brother loves it, and we can share one piece."

Alicent glanced at Rhaegar’s composed expression, then at Aegon, who was gnawing on the cake.

For a moment, she felt like she was about to lose her composure.

Fortunately, a voice interrupted the tense atmosphere.

"Your Grace, the King is discussing the hunting plans and requests your presence," announced a knight clad in silver armor and a white cloak, standing solemnly at the door.

This was a member of the Kingsguard, the royal bodyguards sworn to protect the King.

The Kingsguard consisted of seven knights who pledged absolute loyalty to the King, following his every command. Because of their white cloaks, they were also known as the White Cloaks.

"Understood, I’ll be there shortly," Alicent replied.

She cast an apologetic glance at Rhaegar, her tone gentle. "Your father is calling for me. I must go at once. If there’s any gift you’d like, let me know now."

"Nothing," Rhaegar answered curtly.

After a brief pause, he added, "Well, if there is something, I’d like to take fewer medicines. They taste awful."

Alicent forced a smile. "That’s something you’ll have to ask your father about."

With that, she stood and followed the Kingsguard out, not forgetting to instruct the attendants to look after the princes and princesses and ensure they didn’t overeat.

The moment Alicent stepped out, the little princess sitting nearby, who had been picking up cake crumbs from the floor, turned her head to gaze out the window.

Out of nowhere, she said, "Don’t disturb a sleeping beast."

Rhaegar gave her a puzzled look.

The little princess, named Helaena, was Queen Alicent’s two-year-old daughter.

They didn’t interact much.

According to rumors among the attendants, Helaena seemed different from other children.

She often seemed lost in her own world, blurting out nonsensical remarks and acting in a peculiar, mysterious manner.

It appeared the rumors weren’t wrong.

Once Alicent was out of sight, Rhaegar shifted his gaze to Aegon, who was devouring the cake.

"Do you enjoy eating that much?" Rhaegar asked softly as he approached Aegon.

Without even looking at him, Aegon casually grabbed a piece of cream and handed it to Helaena before continuing to eat.

Seeing this, Rhaegar’s lips curled into a smirk. "Sharing with your little sister? What a good brother you are. That deserves a reward."

"What kind of reward?"

At the mention of a reward, Aegon finally looked at him, his innocent eyes brimming with naïve curiosity.

"If you love it so much, then eat to your heart’s content. It’s all yours," Rhaegar said, reaching out to grasp the back of Aegon’s head and forcefully pressing it into the cake on the table.

Thud!  

Aegon’s entire face was smashed into the greasy cake, eliciting gasps from the attendants nearby.

Helaena watched the scene with interest, licking the cream on her fingers.

Rhaegar released Aegon and walked over to Helaena. He gently stroked her silvery hair.

"Prince Rhaegar, please don’t do this. The Queen will be angry," one of the attendants pleaded in a panic, simultaneously wiping Aegon’s face and trying to shield the little princess.

Rhaegar ignored her.

Instead, he ruffled Helaena’s small head.

"When you want something to eat, take it yourself. Don’t pick things off the floor or accept someone’s leftovers."

"Brother! Hehe~"

Helaena giggled, clapping her tiny hands as she mocked the now cream-covered Aegon.

"How silly!"

Rhaegar withdrew his now-cleaned hand, stepped around the wailing Aegon, and left the room.

---

*Author’s Notes:*

In the original draft, the Crown Prince’s name was Baelon, named after Viserys’s father in his honor.

In the final version, the protagonist was renamed Rhaegar because the author didn’t like the name Baelon.

I much prefer the title of "Prince Rhaegar" from Game of Thrones.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 2: The Skull of Balerion

Leaving the room, Rhaegar shook off the attendants following him and descended the stairs alone.

He seemed a bit hurried.

Who wouldn’t be, after hitting the Queen’s son?

Of course, he wasn’t afraid.

Just moments earlier, as he blew out the candle, he had heard a voice:

“Explorer system successfully loaded. Please search for lost treasures.”

At first, Rhaegar thought it was just the aftermath of a nightmare.

But when he opened his eyes, not only was he greeted by Aegon’s cream attack, but also a strange panel.

---

*[Rhaegar Targaryen]*

- *Talent*: Dreamer (Gold)

- *Bloodline*: Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (5%)

- *Skills*: Literature (Beginner), History (Beginner)

- *Relics*: None

*Evaluation*: "A frail human child, certain to die before the age of ten. A pity, given the rare talent."

---

The clean and simple panel outlined Rhaegar’s personal details.

Rhaegar was shocked, confused, and then accepting.

During the brief moment when Alicent wiped off the cream, he organized his thoughts and grew excited about the system’s appearance.

In his three years of nightmares, he had dreamed of many things, including fragments of an unknown continent: green-skinned serpents, steel dragons, towering cement buildings…

The word "system" seemed vaguely familiar.

It appeared to be some kind of tool designed to help useless individuals rise against the odds—perfect for someone like him: pitiful, weak, and helpless.

Overjoyed, he couldn’t resist giving his dear brother Aegon a little "reward." Hopefully, he’d enjoy it.

---

“Explorer… relics…”

“With the system’s prompt, it must mean finding ancient, valuable items.”

Rhaegar analyzed rationally, his young face unusually serious.

Before leaving the room, he had already thought of something sufficiently ancient and valuable.

Walking through the crowded halls of the Red Keep, Rhaegar arrived at an empty great hall where a statue of the Mother was displayed.

At the center of the hall, a circular platform built from stone held a colossal dragon skull.

This was the skull of Balerion the Black Dread, the dragon of Aegon the Conqueror.

---

Balerion was a legendary dragon.

When House Targaryen fled Old Valyria, Balerion accompanied their fleet as a protector.

Later, he became Aegon the Conqueror’s mount, aiding in the conquest of Westeros and the unification of its Seven Kingdoms.

After Aegon’s death, Balerion was tamed by his descendants, continuing to serve House Targaryen.

When Balerion was over 200 years old, he became the mount of Rhaegar’s father, Viserys.

This mighty dragon once circled the skies of King’s Landing three times with a young Viserys on his back.

It was the last time the people of Westeros saw him.

Shortly afterward, Balerion passed away, having reached the natural lifespan of a dragon.

To commemorate the great dragon, House Targaryen placed his skull in the Red Keep, where it has since been honored by future generations.

---

Looking at the enormous skull before him, Rhaegar couldn’t think of anything older or more valuable.

“Balerion, thank you for your service to House Targaryen. Please help me just this once.”

With hopeful eyes, Rhaegar knelt before the altar and silently prayed.

Climbing onto a stool, he scaled the meter-high altar.

Carefully, he touched the jagged dragon teeth, each one larger and thicker than he was.

Gingerly, Rhaegar entered the skull from an unobstructed opening at the back, his small hands brushing against the pale bone.

---

“Exploration task initiated. Target: Balerion the Black Dread’s skull.”

The system’s voice suddenly echoed, startling Rhaegar. He glanced around nervously.

Children were often scolded for climbing and jumping where they shouldn’t.

And he was just a child, terrified his secret might be discovered.

Thankfully, the great hall was seldom visited.

Relieved, Rhaegar noticed a new prompt appearing before him:

---

*[Balerion’s Skull]*

- *Exploration Progress*: 0.2%

---

“What does that mean?” Rhaegar muttered.

*Rhaegar withdrew his hand, and the panel changed.*

*[Balerion’s Skull]*

Exploration Progress: 0.2% (Paused)

“Does exploring the relic require physical contact?”

Rhaegar suddenly understood and touched the skull again.

Sure enough, the exploration progress resumed.

“So that’s how it works. All that’s left is to wait patiently.”

Rhaegar plopped down, leaning against the skull to rest, occasionally touching it with his cheek or feet.

His body was too weak—he was out of breath after just a few steps.

The only reason he’d made it this far to explore Balerion’s Skull today was thanks to the adrenaline rush brought on by excitement.

---

By dusk, as the sun sank lower, a voice broke through and startled the dozing Rhaegar awake.

“Exploration complete. Please retrieve the lost treasure.”

Rhaegar rubbed his sleepy eyes, and the system panel appeared before him.

*[Balerion’s Skull]*

Exploration Progress: 100%

“It’s done! What treasure did I get?”

Rhaegar instantly perked up.

He checked the panel, which only displayed two short lines.

Tilting his head in confusion, Rhaegar recalled the word “retrieve” from the earlier prompt.

Standing up, he scanned his surroundings.

A watermelon-sized red aura floated above the dragon skull’s closed teeth.

Curious, Rhaegar approached and slowly reached out to touch it.

*Pop!*

The red aura burst like a bubble, scattering into tiny red specks of light before shooting into his hand like fireworks.

“Relic retrieved successfully. Analyzing…”

“Analysis complete. Classified as a Legendary Relic: Dragon’s Legacy.”

“Legendary? Looks like I hit the jackpot,” Rhaegar murmured softly as a dragon scale, named "Dragon’s Legacy," materialized in his mind.

With a thought, the scale appeared in his hand.

It was pitch black, covered in scars, and only about the size of an adult’s palm.

“A dragon scale? How do I use this?”

As Rhaegar inspected the scale, the system panel’s text shifted.

“Blood and fire share the same source. To inherit the Dragon’s Legacy, you must first be a true dragon.”

“Blood and fire…”

Rhaegar’s eyes lit up.

Everyone knew dragons were synonymous with fire.

If the activation required blood, it had to be dragon blood.

Rhaegar smiled faintly.

He wasn’t a dragon, but he was a pure-blooded Targaryen.

Grasping the dragon scale in one hand, he pressed his other thumb against its sharp edge.

Gritting his teeth, he said, “Here goes nothing.”

*Slash!*

The scale cut his thumb, and a trickle of blood flowed.

As the scale absorbed the blood, it emitted a red glow.

“Congratulations, Dragon’s Legacy has been activated. You’ve gained…”

*[Blood and Fire]*

Rarity: Legendary (Red)

Effect: Fire Resistance +50%

Description: “True dragons fear no flames; the same goes for Targaryens.”

The dragon scale shattered into dust and scattered with the wind.

Before Rhaegar could react, a faint flush appeared on his pale face, and his skin grew warm.

The sensation wasn’t unpleasant.

It felt like curling up under a blanket on a winter day, next to a cozy fire.

His body filled with warmth.

The heat came and went quickly.

When it faded, Rhaegar’s skin appeared smoother, and his once-pale complexion looked healthier.

He no longer looked frail enough to drop dead at any moment—more like someone recovering from a serious illness.

“Fire resistance? What kind of ability is that?”

Rhaegar walked to the edge of the altar, where a dense circle of candles surrounded him.

Lighting one, he held his hand over the flame.

Why not test it out?

At first, the fire felt warm against his skin.

As time passed and the heat built up, he started to feel a burning sensation.

When a drop of wax landed on his hand, Rhaegar frowned slightly at the sting.

Blowing out the candle, Rhaegar reflected on what he had learned.

“Fire still hurts, but the damage is minimal.”

---

This is a new story by a beginner author. Please excuse any imperfections as I work hard to improve.  

Language can be a sharp blade, and this author has a fragile heart—certain comments can easily discourage me.  

(End of Chapter)  

Chapter 3: The Light of the Kingdom

*[Rhaegar Targaryen]*

*Talents:* Dreamer (Gold)

*Bloodline:* Ancient Valyrian Dragonlord (+8%)

*Skills:* Literature (Beginner), History (Beginner)

*Relic:* Blood and Fire (Flame Resistance +50%)

*Evaluation:* "The ancient bloodline shows signs of revival. If a miracle occurs, it might be possible to escape the current predicament."

Rhaegar gazed at the panel, pondering silently.

The attributes of his bloodline, relic, and evaluation had all changed.

"Ancient bloodline…"

Rhaegar murmured softly, "Did 'Blood and Fire' awaken the True Dragon's blood?"

"Forget it. No use wasting brainpower on things I can’t figure out. I’d be better off continuing to search for the lost treasures."

Feeling noticeably lighter, Rhaegar attempted to jump down from the altar—and succeeded.

"An explorer will surely cure my frail body."

With a surge of excitement, Rhaegar raised his eyebrows, inwardly celebrating his good fortune.

Yet the thrill didn’t cloud his judgment.

The young prince knew it was time to go to bed.

Stepping out of the grand hall, he found the sky outside growing dark. Servants were lighting oil lamps along the walls, illuminating the Red Keep against the night.

No one noticed him as he made his way back to his chambers.

Creak—  

Pushing open the door, the room was dim, bathed in a soft, hazy glow from the moonlight streaming through the glass windows.

"Who’s there?!"

Standing in the doorway, Rhaegar barked out a stern question, his eyes locked on the silhouette by the window.

Someone lurking in his bedroom at night? Could they be plotting to harm him?

"It’s me, Rhaegar."

The figure turned. By the faint light of the moon, he could make out a girl dressed in a fitted leather skirt.

She, too, had silvery-gold hair.

The girl turned to face him, shrugging nonchalantly. "What? Has it been so long since I celebrated your birthday that you can’t even recognize your sister?"

"Rhaenyra, what are you doing in my room?"

Seeing her face clearly, Rhaegar let out a sigh of relief, a smile spreading across his face.

The girl was his elder sister by the same mother.

The rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

The Light of the Kingdom—Princess Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra leaned against the window, her gaze lingering on his pale face with a flicker of pity in her eyes.

Turning her head away, she hesitated before saying, "Today’s your birthday. As your sister, I should at least come see you."

Rhaegar beamed. "Sister, I’m so glad you came to see me."

"But you know I don’t like celebrating birthdays."

Rhaenyra exhaled. "I know. I visited Mother earlier today. I came to find you this afternoon and waited until now."

"You haven’t eaten?"

Rhaegar asked abruptly.

Rhaenyra blinked, caught off guard. "I had a piece of bread this morning. Other than that…"

"Then you haven’t eaten."

Rhaegar cut her off, walking to his bedside table to rummage through it.

"What are you looking for?" Rhaenyra asked, puzzled.

"Don’t worry, I have supplies."

Rhaegar pulled a package of biscuits from the drawer.

Handing the biscuits to Rhaenyra, he took the pot of cold tea from the table, hung it over the fireplace, and lit the coals inside.

"The Red Keep is always damp and chilly, no matter the season."

Rhaegar casually sat by the fireplace, patting the seat across from him to invite Rhaenyra over.

"So, how have you been? Still having nightmares?"

Without refusing her brother’s gesture, Rhaenyra opened the package of biscuits and took a bite, joining him by the fire.

"Give me one. I haven’t eaten either."

Rhaegar grabbed the second biscuit she pulled out and replied, "Nightmares always follow me. I’ve gotten used to them."

"Where have you been all day, skipping meals?"

Rhaenyra asked curiously, her concern evident in her eyes. "The Grand Maester says you’ve been refusing your medicine lately. Father and I are both worried about you."

"I’ve just been wandering around. I know my body well. Medicine won’t solve the problem, but I believe I’ll get better soon."

Rhaegar offered a vague explanation, steering the conversation in a different direction. "But enough about me. What’s on your mind this time?"

Rhaenyra frowned. "We’re talking about you."

"But every time you visit me, you’re full of grievances and complaints."

Rhaegar nibbled on a biscuit. "Dear sister, I’ve grown used to being your sounding board."

"You’re impossible."

Rhaenyra huffed. "It’s the same old, dirty power games. Those ministers think a woman shouldn’t sit on the Iron Throne. They want to push me off and have Father crown Aegon instead."

"Father loves you, Sister."

Rhaegar didn’t believe King Viserys would harm his daughter just to appease the court.

"Not at all!"

---

Rhaenyra retorted loudly.

Rhaegar was startled and looked at her awkwardly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’m just so frustrated by all the rumors.”

Realizing her outburst, Rhaenyra gently patted her younger brother’s head, her voice softening significantly. “Father wants to marry me off to powerful and influential men who can help solidify his reign as king. It feels like... it feels like…”

“Like being sold as a piece of merchandise?”

Rhaegar finished her thought for her.

“Rhaegar, my dear brother.”

Hearing her unspoken feelings said aloud, Rhaenyra’s eyes reddened as she grasped her brother’s hand helplessly.

Since their mother’s passing, their father had married her closest friend, and their uncle Daemon had been exiled from King’s Landing.

She had no one left to confide in.

Apart from riding dragons through the skies, she felt like a wandering ghost in the vast Red Keep.

No one listened to her. No one truly cared for her.

Rhaenyra tightly held her brother’s thin, frail hand. “Thank the Stranger for not taking you away from me. I don’t know who else would care for me if you were gone.”

Rhaegar shook his head and said, “Don’t think like that, sister.”

“Father hasn’t replaced you as his heir, which shows he still loves you.”

“The rumors outside aren’t just attacking you; they’re also weighing heavily on Father, who shields you from the storm.”

Rhaenyra lowered her head. “But I don’t want to marry those scheming vultures. They only want to feast on my blood and flesh.”

“If you’re unwilling, perhaps I could talk to Father. Maybe when he sees how close we are as siblings, he’ll forget about it for now.”

An idea flashed in Rhaegar’s mind, and his face softened as he tried to comfort his sister.

“But…”

Rhaenyra hesitated, unable to voice her doubts.

Rhaegar said bitterly, “I know. Every time Father looks at me, his frail, dying son, he’s reminded of Mother and is consumed by guilt and remorse.”

“He avoids getting close to me because he fears that losing me one day would break him completely.”

“But I am Rhaegar Targaryen. I belong to the skies and the seas. I can’t stay caged in the Red Keep forever.”

Rhaegar’s small face was resolute as he looked up at his sister with hopeful eyes.

Hearing the longing in her brother’s words, Rhaenyra felt a deep connection.

Wasn’t she also being kept close by her father, shackled by the constraints of power?

Without much thought, the young woman agreed in one breath: “Alright. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to see Father. He needs to fulfill his duties as a father.”

A smile blossomed on Rhaegar’s youthful face as he affectionately buried himself in Rhaenyra’s modest embrace, nuzzling against her. “Sister, this is the birthday gift I truly want.”

To hell with cakes and grand celebrations.

All he wanted was the love of his family.

That wasn’t too much to ask for.

Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around her brother, resting her chin on his bony shoulder. Her eyes were filled with confusion and helplessness.

After a long silence, she murmured regretfully, “How I wish you had a healthy body.”

“That way, you could fulfill everyone’s expectations and protect me too.”

“Before the Stranger takes me away, I’ll stay by your side, sister,” Rhaegar replied quietly, nestled in the warmth of her embrace.

For the young boy, his world revolved around their father, Viserys, and his sister, Rhaenyra.

He couldn’t bear to see harm come to either of them.

---

*Author’s Note:*

The timeline differs slightly between the books and the show. The series compresses events for narrative convenience, focusing on specific incidents.

In the books, the author adheres to the original timeline.

While the events remain the same, the portrayal in the books offers more clarity, avoiding ambiguity regarding character ages and related details.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 4: The Plea for Help from the Stepstones

The next day.

As the first rays of morning sunlight bathed the Red Keep, the servants began their daily chores.

After enjoying their customary breakfast of milk and bread, Rhaegar and Rhaenyra headed straight for the council chamber.

On their way, neither servants nor knights dared to stop them; their path was unimpeded.

When they entered the grand council chamber, they found it bustling with activity.

King Viserys, in his thirties and with a beaming smile, was warmly conversing with several ministers.

It was well-known that Viserys was a lenient and benevolent ruler.

He greeted everyone with a broad smile, regardless of who they were.

"Rhaenyra, we’re discussing the royal hunt. You’ve come at the perfect time."

Rhaenyra entered the chamber with a composed demeanor, immediately drawing Viserys’s attention. He invited her to join the discussion.

"Father, do you still remember me?"

Rhaegar, holding his sister’s hand, gazed at his father with a melancholic expression.

"Oh, Rhaegar, why does your sister keep dragging you around like this?"

Upon seeing the frail figure at the door, Viserys widened his eyes in surprise and quickly stood up.

"Your Highness."

As the king left his seat, the other ministers hurriedly rose as well, greeting Rhaegar with respect.

After all, Rhaegar was still the king’s eldest son.

By birthright, he commanded the reverence of the council.

If not for his frail health and the deep sleep that claimed him at birth, the position of heir would never have fallen to Rhaenyra.

Scanning the gathered ministers, Rhaegar raised his hand, gesturing for them to dispense with formalities, and gave a warm smile.

This scene momentarily stunned the ministers.

It had to be said that in terms of appearance, Prince Rhaegar looked almost identical to King Viserys.

Calm, kind...

Holding her brother’s hand, Rhaenyra spoke as they walked forward: "Yesterday was Rhaegar’s birthday. None of us were there to celebrate, so he wanted to see his father."

Viserys was visibly moved by her words. He walked briskly to the siblings, knelt down, and said, "I’m sorry, my son. As king, I’m always burdened with endless tasks. I hope you don’t hold it against me."

Looking his father in the eye, Rhaegar maintained his smile. Stealing a glance at Rhaenyra, who feigned indignation, he softly replied:

"It’s all right. How could I blame my king? As your son, I merely wish to see my father."

If you’re going to absolve yourself as a king, then I’ll appeal to your conscience as a father.

Sure enough, Viserys froze for a moment, guilt flashing across his face.

Lowering his head slightly, he reached out to stroke Rhaegar’s pale face, his expression complicated. "You’ve grown up. You remind me so much of your mother."

"Perhaps, but all I hope for is that in my lifetime, Father will not forget me or cast me aside."

Rhaegar’s voice carried a trace of sadness, pressing further on the crack in Viserys’s emotional armor.

He was no longer a three-year-old child to be easily placated with a few kind words.

At six years old, Rhaegar knew exactly what to say and the effect it would have.

Viserys felt a tremor in his hand, his heart clenched as he took in his eldest son’s gaunt, pale face.

Taking a deep breath, Viserys stood up, lifted Rhaegar into his arms, and returned to the king’s seat.

Running a hand through Rhaegar’s silvery hair, he asked, "You’ve never come to see me on your own before. As a father who has failed you, is there something I can do to make amends?"

As he spoke, Viserys cast a discreet glance at Rhaenyra, trying to discern what the siblings were plotting.

Rhaegar gently shook his head, leaning against his father’s chest. "No."

Say too much, and the hunter becomes the hunted.

Viserys smiled, shifting his gaze to Rhaenyra. "I never realized you two have grown so close."

"He’s my brother, closer to me than Aegon," Rhaenyra retorted bluntly.

Viserys’s smile faltered, choosing not to engage with his sharp-tongued daughter.

Turning back to his ministers, he regained his composure as a king and said steadily, "Rhaegar will be allowed to sit in on today’s discussions. Where did we leave off?"

"Just minor matters, Your Grace. There’s no harm in the prince listening," said Lord Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin and Treasurer, in agreement.

Rhaegar turned his gaze toward the speaker.

He was an elderly man with a mix of black and white hair and a kindly appearance.

Noticing Rhaegar’s attention, Lyman gave him a friendly nod, seemingly easy to get along with.

Rhaegar responded with a smile.

The brief interaction passed quickly, and Ser Lyonel Strong, the Hand of the King, brought the discussion back on track.

"Your Grace, the royal hunt is scheduled for two days from now. The itinerary and expenses…"

The plump Hand of the King appeared unremarkable, but his attitude during work briefings was exceptionally serious and meticulous. He explained in detail everything required for the royal hunt in the Kingswood.

When he finished speaking, Viserys pondered for a moment and agreed with the plan.

Since the resignation of Otto Hightower, the Queen’s father and former Hand of the King, Lord Lyonel had become King Viserys's most reliable advisor.

Lord Lyonel was strict with himself, conducted his work without personal bias, and was greatly valued by Viserys.

Rhaegar listened quietly to their discussion and then tugged on Viserys’s arm, asking in a small voice, “The Kingswood hunt sounds amazing. Can I go?”

He had never left the Red Keep since he was born.

He desperately wanted to see the world outside.

Viserys considered this, his expression troubled.

His eldest son’s health was too fragile. The journey to the Kingswood could very well endanger his life.

Viserys turned to look at Rhaenyra, his eyes pleading for help.

“I think Lord Lyonel’s plan is excellent. I have no objections,” Rhaenyra said, pretending not to notice, and continued her discussion with the ministers.

As the heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra’s father, Viserys, rarely gave her any decision-making authority, but it was still her duty to endorse and praise as a form of proper etiquette.

Left without his daughter’s assistance, Viserys hesitated awkwardly. Finally, he said, “I would love to take you to the Kingswood hunt, but…”

“Aegon is going. Why can’t I?” Rhaegar asked, feigning confusion.

“Because of your health. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“No, I want to go. My health is improving, and nothing will happen.”

Rhaegar was determined. “Even if there’s some risk, I should still see the outside world. I don’t want to be like a little bird trapped in a cage.”

“That’s for your protection.”

Viserys’s tone was stern, and he showed no signs of relenting.

Rhaenyra chose this moment to speak up. “Our whole family will be going to the Kingswood hunt. We can’t leave Rhaegar alone in the Red Keep.”

Viserys shot an annoyed look at Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra straightened her back and met his gaze, refusing to back down.

While father and daughter were at odds, Rhaegar tugged on Viserys’s sleeve, pleading pitifully, “Please, Father, I really want to go.”

“Oh, heavens, you’re always putting me in difficult positions,” Viserys groaned, banging his fist on the table.

In the end, he yielded to his two children.

“Fine, you can come to the Kingswood hunt, but you must promise me to behave and not run off with Rhaenyra.”

“No problem. I promise!”

Rhaegar didn’t hesitate for a second before agreeing.

At that moment, a man rushed into the hall, speaking urgently.

“Your Grace, we’ve received a plea for aid from the Stepstones. You may need to take a look at it!”

Viserys was a man plagued by indecision.

He greeted everyone with a smile, trying to appease them.

He worked tirelessly to please everyone, yet he could never quench people’s hunger for power.

He could please no one.

As Daemon once said, the only thing truly hurting him was his own weakness.

Now, in this story, someone would protect Viserys.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 5: The Second Expedition

A man hurriedly approached Viserys, his expression urgent, and handed him a letter.

Rhaegar openly glanced at the newcomer.

With neatly combed golden hair slicked back and a meticulously groomed beard, he appeared to be a very dignified individual.

Viserys took the letter and examined it, remarking with puzzlement, "A letter of appeal? That doesn’t sound like something Daemon would do."

Tyland Lannister nodded slightly and sighed, "The letter was sent by Sir Vaemond Velaryon, the Sea Snake's brother."

"I knew it. That arrogant fool wouldn't humble himself to write directly to me, his elder brother," Viserys said with a knowing smile.

He quickly read through the contents of the letter.

Viserys's expression shifted slightly as he glanced at the assembled councilors. "The Stepstones have reached a stalemate. That Crab Feeder idiot refuses to fight directly, and Daemon’s forces are bogged down."

The councilors exchanged glances, offering their respective suggestions.

The proposals were predictable: send reinforcements or wait for Daemon and the Sea Snake's forces to fail.

Massaging his temples, Viserys felt a headache coming on.

He hated war.

The conflict in the Stepstones was entirely instigated by the Sea Snake, who had goaded Daemon into acting without royal consent.

Now that they were in trouble, they expected him to clean up their mess?

"Rhaenyra, take your brother out of here. This discussion won’t end anytime soon, and I don’t want him getting exhausted," Viserys said, planting a kiss on Rhaegar's forehead before entrusting him to his daughter.

Understanding the complexity of the situation, Rhaenyra didn't object. She held her brother’s hand and led him out of the hall.

---

Once outside the council chamber, the siblings stopped by a floor-to-ceiling window in the corridor.

Rhaenyra gazed through the stained glass at the scene outside and asked, "Do you think Uncle Daemon can defeat the Crab Feeder?"

"Dear sister, your young brother just turned six," Rhaegar replied, glancing at his own height, which barely reached her hips, and furrowed his small brows in frustration.

“…”

A moment of silence passed before Rhaenyra slapped her forehead, defeated by her own foolishness.

"I’m so silly! I always treat you like a little grown-up and forget that you might not even know who the Crab Feeder is."

Rhaegar said, "If I hadn't overheard Uncle Daemon calling me a 'one-day prince,' I wouldn’t even know I had an uncle."

Rhaenyra: "..."

Tilting his little head, Rhaegar quietly said, "I noticed Father is missing two fingers."

"He’s ill. The Grand Maester has been treating him," Rhaenyra replied, stroking his head in a comforting manner. She assumed her brother had been frightened by their father’s injury.

Rhaegar simply stared at her, then grabbed her hand as she ruffled his hair. Using two fingernails, he pinched a small piece of her skin.

With a sharp squeeze.

"Ow! What are you doing? That hurts, you know!" Rhaenyra yelped, snatching her hand back like a startled rabbit. A red mark, faintly bleeding, appeared on the back of her hand.

Facing his sister’s angry glare, Rhaegar said seriously, "If a small wound like this makes you scream, imagine Father losing two fingers—or more—and not showing weakness because he’s the King."

Pausing, he continued, "As his children, we shouldn’t waste time on a war started for personal reasons. We should focus on strengthening ourselves to support Father."

Rhaenyra stared at him, dumbfounded, and stammered, "You… you just said you’re six, and now you’re lecturing me?"

Rhaegar replied matter-of-factly, "My age limits my experience, but books expand my wisdom."

"Sister, you should read more books. Stop spending all your time either riding dragons or getting tangled in petty rumors."

He made a theatrical attempt to pat Rhaenyra on the shoulder but, realizing he couldn’t reach, settled for patting her waist instead.

Then he turned and walked away with a flourish.

Rhaenyra stood frozen in place for a long moment.

It wasn’t until a cool breeze blew through the corridor that she snapped out of it.

The next second, her furious roar echoed through the hall.

"Rhaegar! How dare you disrespect your sister! Prepare yourself to face the wrath of the sleeping dragon!!!"

---

Two days later.

A luxurious carriage made its way toward King's Landing, accompanied by a procession of guards and attendants.

--- .

Inside the spacious carriage sat the royal family.

Viserys was seated in the center, with Queen Alicent and Rhaenyra sitting across from each other on either side.

Aegon and Helaena sat beside Alicent, with a swaddled infant in her arms.

Naturally, Rhaegar was next to his sister, staring boredly at the little baby.

"Such a tiny thing, but cries as if the world is ending. It's terrifying," he muttered under his breath, pulling a funny face at the infant.

Alicent maintained her usual gentle smile. "Aemond isn’t used to the carriage yet. He’s quite the crier."

Viserys laughed heartily. "Such powerful lungs! He’s bound to grow into a brave warrior."

Alicent smiled sweetly, then held the baby out toward Rhaegar, speaking softly, "Would you like to hold him?"

"I could give it a try," Rhaegar replied.

He gripped the baby under his tiny arms, letting the infant kick and squirm as he amused himself with the little one.

Don’t say it—don’t even say it.

Someday, if this little rascal dares to defy me, he’s definitely not getting away with it.

A grin spread across Rhaegar’s face as he imagined the scenes of future discipline.

Before long, Aemond, after enduring some playful torment, was wailing loudly and returned to the safety of his mother’s arms.

Viserys watched the scene, his usually furrowed brow finally relaxing.

His wife by his side, riding in a fine carriage, surrounded by his children—what could be better than this?

Noticing Viserys’s contentment, Rhaegar spoke up at just the right moment. "Father, is that Blackfyre, the sword of Aegon the Conqueror, by your side?"

Viserys picked up the sheathed longsword with a proud smile. "Indeed it is. Blackfyre, the symbol of royal authority, was the blade Aegon used to unite the Seven Kingdoms."

"May I take a closer look?" Rhaegar’s eyes sparkled as he stared eagerly at Blackfyre.

Viserys began to hand the sword over but pulled it back halfway.

Eyeing Rhaegar’s thin frame, he said regretfully, "Not yet. Blackfyre is a weapon of blood and steel. When you’re older, you’ll be ready to wield it."

"I’d like to try," Rhaegar insisted.

A relic as old and storied as Blackfyre, comparable to Balerion’s skull—it was too tempting to pass up.

But Viserys shook his head, placing Blackfyre back in its scabbard and rejecting the request.

Disappointment clouded Rhaegar’s face as he lowered his head.

"If you want to see a sharp blade, this might be a good substitute," Viserys said.

Perhaps unwilling to see his eldest son upset, he unfastened a dragonbone dagger from his belt and handed it to Rhaegar with a mysterious smile.

Rhaegar fumbled to catch the dagger, staring at his father in confusion.

Viserys chuckled. "This dagger once belonged to Aegon the Conqueror himself. Before him, it was owned by Ennar."

"Wow, that’s ancient," Rhaegar exclaimed as he drew the dragonbone dagger from its sheath.

Shing—

The blade emerged with a cold, sharp gleam, sending a chill through the air.

Rhaegar squinted slightly, observing the intricate patterns etched into the dagger’s Valyrian steel, its craftsmanship flawless.

"Is this a Valyrian steel dagger?" Rhaenyra, drawn by the blade, asked in amazement.

Viserys nodded. "Everything passed down from our ancestors carries a touch of the extraordinary."

At that moment, a system notification rang in Rhaegar’s mind.

*"Ancient artifact detected, containing traces of magical elements. Scanning in progress..."*

"Magic?" Rhaegar’s spirit perked up.

The system notification chimed again.

*"Scan complete. Dagger of Ice and Fire detected. Would you like to begin exploration?"*

(End of Chapter)