Disclaimer: I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people...

Quick Summary: Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?

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I just want to thank Guest for your review suggesting I make Rhaego a true Targaryen with silver hair from the sculpting. I love this idea and hope you like that this chapter shows the beginning of that process. Also thank you WeylandCorp 4 for your helpful tip on Rhaego's appearance in the books (which I admit I have not read yet, my loss) which was informative. Not to mention your suggestions on whose point of view to write from. I am excited to say my next chapter will be using the point of view of one of your suggestions :) just building up to a point where I can do that naturally with this small fill in chapter.
Thanks for the reviews and for reading, it makes my day.

Chapter Seven:
All in a Night's Work

Rhaego saw them in his sleep, the dragons. They danced around him and sang into his mind as he felt a soft tingling sensation creep across his body followed by a warmth spreading from his chest out to the tips of his fingers. He scrunched his fists and shivered as waves of heat passed over him, growing hotter and hotter as the dragons claimed him. Searing him from the inside, reworking him to their own image. He rejoiced even as the the pain struck.

"You are safe, little prince" their voices soothed as the heat became uncomfortable even for him, a true Targaryen.

"I know," he sent back even as his nerves set alight with their relentless pulses of energy. He trusted them. They had felt his discomfort turn to pain and he could sense them stepping in, intruding on his mind to collectively shoulder the burden of his agony and free him of such things so that his mind could focus on the memories they flowed through him. So many memories. They showed him streams of images and thoughts, the rise and fall of dynasties, they showed him their memory of the aeons and he dreamed of lives he had never known. He dreamed of the lost age of the dragons.

"We will teach you, remind you of all that we are," they promised.

Daenerys stirred as she sensed something was happening. She sat herself up and felt the energy thrum throughout the room, tingling her senses and sending a shiver up her spine. "What-?" she began, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

"Fear not dear mother," the feel of Rhaellath's mind brushing gently against hers was soothing and all traces of panic vanished in an instant, snatched away and replaced only by a deep seated curiosity.

She picked herself up and strode over to the crib around which the dragons were perched, like sentinels keeping watch over their charge. In the half light of the moon's glow which crept in through the cracks of their tent it was difficult to make out much, so she lit a candle and placed it down to one side to better see and understand this moment. The scene was important, she knew, although she could not explain why, she just felt it was so. She walked forward and lay her hands softly on either side of the crib, feeling a momentary warmth of welcome from her dragons before they set their minds back to her son. Their expressions seemed intently focused, although she was not yet accustomed to their ways enough to pick out most emotions from their body language, all she knew was that they were clearly watching Rhaego with a fierceness which drew her. Looking over the edges of the crib she was relieved to see Rhaego sleeping soundly, despite the occasional flicker flitting across his face as if he reacted to the most vivid of dreams.

As the quivering candlelight illuminated the planes of her son's face she gasped. His hair.

"What is wrong?" Viserion asked, a worried note in his thought sending as the dragons turned as one upon hearing her shock.

"Rhaego.." she began, pointing to his tufts of hair with disbelief, "he has a strand of white hair that wasn't there before."

Sure enough, plain as day under the candle's light as it fell over his features, the front right-hand-side locks of his hair were now silver-gold. Even more silvery than her own, she noted as she stared down at these new tresses which gleamed in the night. The strand was also longer than the rest of his dark hair, falling down over his eyebrow and curling at the ends into light tendrils like wisps of gold-spun smoke.

"Do you dislike it, mother?" Viserion puzzled, his nostrils flaring as the tiniest puff of smoke rose to the ceiling. All of the pride which they had felt at their collective achievement thus far was seemingly forgotten as the three young dragons gazed imploringly up at Daenerys, desperate for her approval.

For a moment Daenerys did not know what to say, staring in shock at the baby before her. Was it her imagination or was he also larger, the edges of his face more defined? It took the pleading tone in Viserion's sending to bring her back to the situation, feeling the attention of her dragons on her as they waited for her reply. Reply to what? Her mind reeled, trying to catch up, she could not recall a question. She felt the tension in her shoulders and back relax slightly. This was not such a big deal, she told herself, the dragons were merely shaping him as a true Targaryen. She had prepared herself for this as she had tossed and turned before falling asleep that night, hadn't she? They had warned her. She had expected this. This was no big deal.

"Mother?" the dragons prompted, feeling her distance as a sign that she was angry or upset.

Yet she couldn't prevent the outpouring of emotions as she saw him lying there, displaying the trademark Targaryen features for all to see in a way that he had not when she put him to bed last night. While she had loved the heavy mix of Drogo she saw in him, she realised as she glanced down at him now that he truly was blood of her blood. The continuation of her line, the heir of her throne. He was her family's legacy and looking upon his peaceful face with these new found Targaryen tresses, she felt a whole host of emotions well up inside her that she had not known before. Stronger than love, stronger than a need for vengeance and justice, stronger than anything she had ever felt this emotion overcame her and the dragons shuddered softly in response as if they, too, could feel its power.

"He is beautiful," she choked as she turned her tear-glistening eyes to her dragons. "So utterly beautiful." She drew in a shaky breath and straightened her shoulders before sending waves of gratitude towards her dragons, "as are you."

The intensity of their returned affection nearly knocked her off her feet and she felt tears pouring down her cheeks as she stood and kept watch over her son with her dragons, feeling the energy surrounding them as they worked over his sleeping form all night.

As the first rays of the sun broke through the darkness and bathed their tent with a soft glow she marveled at the miracles before her, her children. The light shimmered off of the dragons' scales like precious gems and highlighted the streak of white-gold hair crowning her son's head, setting it off magnificently as the candle had not. She was surrounded by the most magnificent creatures she had ever known, one of them being her own son.

"We are Targeryen," she whispered reverently as she reached down for the first time and caressed the lock of white-gold hair, marveling at how it flowed through her fingers, its touch like molten silk.

At her contact Rhaego stirred and opened his eyes sleepily. Daenerys was surprised to note that his lavender eyes were now even more vivid, glowing with a luminescence as if lit from behind by a fire of their own. In the sunlight she could make out that there were also now flecks of green, black and gold showing close to the iris; the colour of their dragons reflected within his very soul. His eyes were like non she had ever seen, more unique than even her own. She could not tear her own eyes away, gazing at him adoringly and wondering how else they would grow and develop him. He was already breathtaking.

They studied each other quietly, Rhaego squinting in concentration and Daenerys noting every detail, drinking up the sight of him with greed. For a moment, as their eyes held, she felt a depth of connection she had not expected and her heart fluttered with tenderness and joy. She was about to reach down to take him in her arms when he opened his tiny mouth, gaping slightly as if working unused muscles, and after a moment managed to say his first word.

"Muña?" Mother.

He had spoke to her in the tongue of High Valyrian.