Instinctual Behaviour

The body the Seven blessed me with was different from any normal human. Within mere months, I had acquired two peculiar companions—though calling them "pets" would be a stretch. An assassin, intent on my life, had released a pair of venomous snakes into my crib, but they had instead turned on her. Their fangs sunk deep, delivering lethal venom, and she collapsed, lifeless, beside me. My father entered, only to find his infant son playing with the two venomous "death ropes," as he might call them for now, though I'd learn their proper name in time.

The shock on his face was evident, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. But he halted the moment the snakes looked into my eyes and stilled at the sound of my voice. It seemed I had the ability to charm them without words—a song, just a sound, would hold sway over both man and reptile. After a moment, he understood that these creatures posed me no harm and saw something powerful in my gaze, a gift he could not yet comprehend.

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Daemon's Perspective

"Find them all. I want them hunted down and killed," Daemon commanded, his voice low and simmering with rage. In one hand, he held his Dark Sister, and in the other, his swaddled baby son who wiggled fiercely, eyes bright with a piercing intelligence. "Calm yourself, little one," he murmured, though the boy seemed not to heed him. At only three moons, the child already shredded his clothes with ease, his small body surprisingly strong and unyielding. A true dragon indeed.

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Maester Georrad's Perspective

Why would the Citadel wish this child dead so fervently that they would send an assassin? Maester Georrad pondered, the thought gnawing at him with each observation. While he was here, he vowed to study the boy as best he could, though his attempts had grown increasingly challenging. He had already learned a handful of strange details—sharp teeth forming early, a strength in his tiny hands that drew blood from Georrad's finger when he once foolishly offered it too close. His wings, still growing, held a strength far beyond the rest of his body, flapping persistently and eagerly whenever he was given the chance. Now with two rock vipers seemingly guarding him, Georrad had been relegated to observing from afar, piecing together his research on this unusual child.

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One Year Later…

An unbelievable scene played out before a gathering of nobles, each more stunned than the last. Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen stood at the forefront, both unable to believe their eyes. Before them was Daemon, his roguish demeanor ever-present, but his hands were raised under his floating, half-naked child, who clumsily soared just above him, dipping and rising erratically, laughing with pure delight. Moments passed, the crowd collectively holding its breath until, with a gasp, the child plummeted from the air.

Daemon moved in an instant, catching his son securely in his arms, allowing the crowd a sigh of relief. Princess Rhaenys's voice cut through the air, hard and unwavering. "Daemon, speak the truth." Her tone was sharp, unforgiving. "We received your ravens detailing the loss of my daughter in Vhagar's flames. Explain yourself, and may the gods help you if your answer does not ease our grief." Her words, bitter with grief and anger, were punctuated by the roar of her dragon, Meleys, the Red Queen, who seemed to echo her rider's fury.

Before Rhaenys could say more, the child in Daemon's arms let out a sound—a strange melody, an imitation of a dragon's roar that somehow surpassed Meleys's own. The dragon halted, lowering her head quickly, unsettling the people gathered around her. Rhaenys tried to soothe her mount, but when she glanced back at Daemon, she saw a smirk on his face, his gaze unwavering as he held the unusual boy forward. Meleys sniffed the child, then paused, her massive head lowering to the boy's level. She nuzzled him gently, almost like a feline greeting its cub.

As the child's hands reached out to touch the dragon's snout, he began to hum again, a melody that resounded through the air, provoking roars from dragons across the island. Meleys wrapped herself protectively around Rhaenys, Daemon, and Corlys, her enormous body coiling like a guardian.

When the song ended, the boy looked directly at Rhaenys and Corlys, his first words clear as day, though spoken in the voice of a child. "Granna… Granpa… Mama is free." The words, simple yet profound, echoed in the hearts of all present. Princess Rhaenys's stern facade crumbled as tears flowed down her cheeks, her grief spilling forth with the boy's innocent proclamation. Corlys, too, could barely maintain his composure, his face wet with silent tears, the boy's melody tugging at his heart with an intensity he couldn't explain.

This boy, he thought with awe, is something beyond mere human understanding—something touched by the divine.