Chapter 5

Rhaegon approached his bed and began undressing. It had been another exhausting day, and he was eager to bathe. Just then, Visenya called out to him from across the room.

"Rhaegon," she said calmly, "Morghon Tīkun seems to be growing abnormally fast just like you"

"Mom, stop calling his name in high Valyrian, it sounds...Weird, just says his damn name in the common tongue, Deathwing" Rhaegon put his hands on his eyes massaging them exasperated at his dragon name in Valyrian.

"About your doubts, here let me show you" Rhaegon after removing his shirt and boots moves only in his trousers to his mother desk while Visenya admires his body, then he bends and takes the letter opener and cuts his hand a little with enough force, dropping them in a cup from where his mother his drinking wine, after a few seconds the bleeding stopped and the wound closed in the blink of an eye.

Visenya wondered and was fascinated at seeing Rhaegon do that, first, she was nervous and exasperated seeing him hurting himself followed by the magic trick of seeing how his body healed instantly. Then she started hearing him in her mind his thoughts.

'While training with my sisters and our dragons feeding them, Vhaenara that is Vaenya's dragon got a little rough and used a lot more force than it should have while feeding from her hand and hurt Vaenya, so I shooed her away but bit me in the process drawing blood, extraordinarily the next moment she inflated like a balloon before resting for a while and then she got a growth outburst suddenly but she was hungry like crazy after waking up'

'Since then I have been experimenting with them, I feed daily my blood to Deathwing and the other two accelerating their growth, I have tried to see what happens if I feed my blood to humans instead of the dragons, it has remarkable effects, for once it's like an elixir to the body, healing wounds and it has a soothing effect, about other effects I still have yet to discover but only healing it already his is a drastic thing in this and any world, I do not want to become a walking blood bag so I am trying to push Deathwing growth to the daily limit of what he can take'

'So, that's basically it, blood magic or at least I think it is that. Drink my blood from the cup maybe it has a beautifying effect'

Visenya face changed a few times seeing the danger this posed to Rhaegon "You will say no word of this to anyone outside of our household, do you understand the gravity of this Rhaegon?"

"Yes, Mom, only us, my sisters, our dragons along with Vhagar know this for the moment" Rhaegon nodded seriously to her mother.

Visenya nodded seeing him comprehend her "Good, now go to bathing, you stink, and stop thinking about that song all the time". Rhaegon naughtily kissed her before going into the bathtub that was on the large terrace attached to the room with sights of the sea while humming "dum dum da da dum dum da da dum dum, dum da da dum da da dum da da dum dum, dum da da daaa dum..." The water was already lukewarm having been prepared before he came back into the room. 

While scrubbing his body he already thought of a simple way of money-making, not having the need to do anything from production or infrastructure, he only needed to acquire trade partners with vineyards or trade firms and resell wine diluted with a few drops or less on them but this time as an elixir to the populous, he doesn't say it, but he saw some signs of addiction from feeding from his blood on the dragons seeing how eagerly they became, surely prolonged diluted drinking from this diluted wine would be the same.

As Rhaegon soaked in the warm water of the terrace bath, the cool evening breeze from the Narrow Sea brushed his face, a contrast to the heat radiating from the fire pit nearby adorned with chairs around it for gazing at the sea or the sky. His mind, however, was far from idle as the calming waves whispered against the cliffs below Dragonstone. He stared into the distance, his thoughts lingering on the conversation he had with his mother earlier—the blood, the dragons, the unsettling power he was beginning to uncover.

Just as his muscles began to relax in the steaming water, the creak of a wooden chair announced the presence of his grandfather, Aerion Targaryen, the patriarch of their house. A man of formidable presence even now in his later years, Aerion settled himself comfortably by the fire, placing a bottle of Dornish red and a few cups on the small table by his side.

"Child, the servants don't stop talking about your prowess during the training. When I was your age, what you're doing now? Hah! Even Aegon could not manage it." Aerion's voice carried the weight of both pride and curiosity. "What kind of food does my daughter feed you? Milk laced with magic, perhaps?"

Rhaegon tilted his head back, eyes closed, a smirk playing on his lips as he lazily responded, "Milk, magical milk, Grandpa. That's the secret—strong bones, healthy growth." There was a mocking lilt in his voice, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. He wasn't ashamed of his body nor of his unusual abilities.

Aerion chuckled, leaning forward and pouring himself a drink, the firelight flickering in his sharp violet eyes. "I see...your mother's tits must be something else then, to produce a natural-born warrior such as you," he said with a mirthful laugh, a glint of mischief behind his words. "Your sisters, lively as they are, seem a bit more…ordinary. Or perhaps it is you who's abnormal."

Rhaegon snorted, shrugging his broad shoulders as he relaxed further into the water. "What can I say, Grandfather? I am unique." His tone was drenched in narcissism, the kind of self-assured confidence that came naturally to one who had rarely faced defeat. He found humor in the words, but there was also truth—he was different, a Targaryen blessed not only with dragon's blood but something far more potent.

Aerion did not seem to mind the arrogance in his grandson's voice, for the older man had once harbored the same fire in his youth. "Unique," he repeated, swirling the wine in his cup. "Or cursed, depending on who you ask." His gaze shifted toward the horizon, the fire's warm glow dancing on his weathered features as the sky darkened completely. The wind howled softly, mingling with the crackling of the flames.

A quiet moment passed between them before a familiar figure approached. Lady Valaena Velaryon, the matriarch of the house, moved with a grace that defied her years. Her silver-gold hair, so much like Rhaegon's own, caught the firelight as she sat in the chair beside Aerion. The stern but knowing look she cast at her husband immediately tempered the conversation.

"Speaking ill of our daughters' gifts again, Aerion?" she asked, her tone sharp but affectionate, eyes narrowing playfully at him. She poured herself a glass of wine, the faint smile tugging at her lips betraying her amusement. "Rhaegon has his talents, but so do Vaenya and Rhaenya. Or have you forgotten how quick they are with a blade?"

Aerion chuckled but nodded, conceding the point. "I haven't forgotten, my love. How could I? Vaenya bested me at practice just last moon." He took a hearty gulp from his cup, clearly proud, the pair of twins came running to him to teach them how to wield a blade when they saw that their brother was about to start training. "But our boy here—he's something else. Stronger, faster…even the dragons seem to obey him without question."

Valaena's eyes softened as she glanced at her grandson, her expression thoughtful. "Aye, there is something different about you, Rhaegon. Perhaps more of the old magic runs through your veins than even your mother knows." She let her words hang in the air.

Rhaegon sighed, sliding further into the water. "Mother suspects it too. We…we've spoken of it," he admitted, his tone a little quieter, perhaps even contemplative. "I've been experimenting with the dragons...with my blood. There's something there, something powerful, but dangerous too." He paused, a shadow crossing his face as he recalled the recent incident with Vaenya and her dragon, Vhaenara.

Valaena and Aerion exchanged a glance, both sensing the gravity of his words. Before they could press him further, the soft patter of footsteps could be heard as more figures joined them by the fire.

Visenya Targaryen, Rhaegon's mother, came first, her sharp, regal features silhouetted against the night as she moved gracefully to her seat. Her eyes, always fierce yet filled with a mother's affection when she looked at her son, were fixed on Rhaegon as she sat down. "Already talking about blood magic and dragons, are we?" she said, her voice cool but with a touch of warmth reserved for these intimate family moments.

"Of course," Aerion responded, his grin wide. "Your son has a gift for making himself the center of attention."

Visenya's gaze flicked between her father and son, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "He gets that from you, Father."

As the banter unfolded, Aegon and Rhaenys, both younger siblings to Visenya, arrived next. The future conqueror himself, Aegon, wore his usual stoic expression, though there was a light in his eyes as he took his place by the fire. Rhaenys, his younger sister and wife, followed close behind, her beauty radiant even in the dim light.

"You all look too comfortable here," Rhaenys teased as she approached, her voice musical, though there was an underlying sharpness to her wit. "Did we miss something, or is Rhaegon boasting about his exploits again?"

Rhaegon, still soaking in the bath, laughed heartily, though there was no denying the truth in her words. "It wouldn't be a gathering without a bit of boasting, would it, Aunt?"

The fire crackled as the night deepened, and the family dynamic began to shift from the playful jabs of earlier to something warmer, more intimate. Aegon spoke little, as was his way, but when he did, the room always listened. His thoughts were often of plans about traveling the mainland and know the places. Tonight, though, he seemed more relaxed, content to listen to the familial banter as the conversation ebbed and flowed around the fire.

They dined beside the fire, sharing roasted meats and bread, along with copious amounts of wine. The warmth from the hearth wrapped around them like a cocoon, the firelight flickering in their pale Targaryen eyes. Rhaegon had left the bath by now, donning a loose shirt and trousers, his wet hair hanging loosely down his back as he took his place beside his grandfather. The smell of roasted boar filled the air as plates were passed around.

"You've always had an appetite, haven't you, boy?" Valaena remarked, watching Rhaegon tear into the roasted boar with a vigor that reminded her of a dragon at feast. Her smile was soft, yet there was a lingering intensity behind her words, as if she were watching him for something more than just his hunger.

Rhaegon smirked between mouthfuls, wiping grease from his lips with the back of his hand. "Hunger's a sign of life, grandmother. And I've got plenty of life left in me."

Aerion chuckled, refilling his cup with more Dornish red. "Aye, hunger's a fine thing. Just make sure it doesn't consume you, boy. You're Targaryen—fire runs in our blood. But fire can burn too hot if not controlled."

Rhaegon met his grandfather's gaze across the fire, the flickering flames reflecting in his violet eyes. "I'm aware, Grandfather. You need not worry about me."

"I worry because you're young and reckless," Aerion responded, his tone turning serious. "Your strength, your speed, even your command over the dragons—it's unnatural, Rhaegon. Even for a Targaryen. I see the same look in your mother's eyes when she talks about you, the same concern."

Rhaegon shifted slightly, his earlier confidence waning just a fraction. He wasn't a boy anymore, but in front of his family—especially Aerion—he still felt the weight of their expectations, their fears. "I'm doing what I can to understand it, Grandfather," he said finally, his voice lower. "But I won't stop. If this power is a gift, I'll use it to protect our house, to strengthen it."

Aerion regarded him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Just don't let that power turn on you, boy. Many before us thought they could wield magic without consequence. Few lived to tell the tale."

The crackling of the fire filled the brief silence that followed, the weight of the conversation heavy in the air. It was Valaena who broke it, her voice softer but no less firm. "It's not just about power, Rhaegon. You're not alone in this. Your mother, your sisters—we all stand with you. Remember that."

Rhaegon looked toward his mother, who sat quietly, listening intently. Visenya's gaze was sharp, as always, but there was a warmth there too, a mother's love that didn't need to be spoken aloud. He nodded, acknowledging Valaena's words, though his mind still raced with thoughts of blood and dragons, of the dangers he was slowly uncovering.

As the evening deepened, the firelight danced more wildly, casting long shadows across the stone terrace. The conversation lightened, moving from the heavy burden of power and magic to more familial topics. Rhaenys, always the more playful of the siblings, leaned forward, a teasing smile on her lips as she addressed her nephew.

"Tell me, Rhaegon, are the dragons easier to handle than your sisters? I hear Vaenya's been giving you quite the trouble lately."

Rhaegon laughed, the tension from earlier easing. "Vaenya's trouble because she thinks she can outsmart me. I keep telling her—I'm older, faster, and more clever."

"You're older by what? A minute?" Vaenya's voice cut through the night as she emerged from the shadows, her identical twin sister, Rhaenya, following close behind. The two sisters moved with the same fluid grace, their silver hair catching the firelight in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

Rhaegon grinned at the sight of his twin sisters. "Older is older," he shot back, leaning back in his chair. "And faster, well…that's been proven."

Vaenya rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. "Faster because you cheat. I've seen the way you move when no one's watching." There was a hint of seriousness in her words, but it was buried beneath the usual sibling banter.

Rhaenya, the quieter of the twins, took a seat beside their mother, her violet eyes studying Rhaegon closely. "It's impressive," she said softly, her voice almost drowned out by the crackling fire. "But you should be careful, Rhaegon."

Rhaegon's expression faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, giving his sisters a half-hearted grin. "You both worry too much. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Vaenya asked, her gaze challenging as she sat down next to him, their identical features mirroring each other in the firelight. "Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like you're playing with fire, brother."

Rhaegon shrugged, leaning forward to pour himself another cup of wine. "We're all playing with fire, Vaenya. We're Targaryens."

Vaenya sighed, clearly not satisfied with his answer, but she let it go for now, instead turning her attention to the food laid out before them. "Well, at least if you burn yourself, we'll still have dinner."

The conversation shifted again, flowing easily as the family settled into the warmth of the fire and the familiarity of each other's company. Aerion and Aegon spoke in low tones about matters of the house, their voices steady and measured as they discussed potential alliances and the growing conflicts in mainland kingdoms. Rhaenys and Visenya, meanwhile, shared quiet words, their bond as sisters and co-wives evident in the way they leaned toward each other, their heads bent close.

Rhaegon found himself lost in thought as he watched them all, his family, the blood of the dragon, gathered here under the stars with their dragons sleeping nearby. He knew the power he wielded was dangerous, but it was also exhilarating. He felt the weight of it every day, the blood magic coursing through his veins, the way the dragons responded to him, almost as if they recognized him as one of their own.

But tonight, surrounded by those he loved, that weight felt lighter. The warmth of the fire, the smell of roasted meat and spiced wine, the sound of his family's laughter—it was a rare moment of peace, and Rhaegon cherished it.

As the night wore on and the fire began to die down, Aerion rose from his chair, his movements slower now, more deliberate. "It's late," he said, his voice gruff but affectionate. "And I've had enough wine for one night. We'll continue this conversation another time, boy."

Rhaegon nodded, standing as well. "Goodnight, Grandfather."

Aerion clapped him on the shoulder, a rare gesture of affection from the old man. "Goodnight, Rhaegon. And remember what I said. Power is a fine thing, but don't let it rule you."

With that, Aerion and Valaena made their way back inside, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone. One by one, the others followed suit. His sisters had gone inside the room into the bed while Aegon and Rhaenys left together, their whispered conversation trailing off into the night. Visenya lingered for a moment, her sharp eyes studying her son.

"I'm going to bed, Rhaegon," she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of both love and warning. "Don't be late stargazing."

"I know, Mother," Rhaegon replied, meeting her gaze. "I won't be until morning this time." She nodded as she finally turned and left, leaving Rhaegon alone by the dying fire.

For a long while, he stood there, staring into the embers, the warmth of the flames slowly fading. The night was cool now, the wind from the Narrow Sea brushing against his skin. In the distance, he could hear the faint rumble of the dragons as they settled into their slumber, their great wings rustling in the dark.