Author's Note: Woah, Almost 50 favs and 60 follows along with reviews on this fic. Thanks for the feedback which has been mostly positive so far. Hope y'all enjoy this chapter.
The seagulls squawked overhead, their cries a harsh contrast to the gentle lull of the waves against Dragonstone's ancient shores. Princess Elia Martell held her son, Aegon, close to her chest. The babe, barely a week old, was a bundle of soft linen and warm, milky scent. His eyes, a deep violet inherited from his father, were often closed in slumber, but when alert, they held a startling intensity for one so young.
"We leave our refuge behind," she murmured, her voice laced with bittersweetness.
Rhaegar, her husband, stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The Targaryen prince's silver hair shimmered in the sunlight, his features a mask of practised calm. "A necessary sacrifice, my love," he said, his voice soft. "Father calls, and we must answer."
Elia Martell clutched her son, Aegon, close to her chest. The salty air of the sea filled the air as their ship sailed towards King's Landing. Despite the gentle lull of the waves, a feeling of unease gnawed at Elia's heart.
Rhaenys, their two-year-old daughter, clung to Rhaegar's leg, her wide eyes filled with a child's curiosity. Sensing her mother's worry, Elia reached out and knelt, scooping Rhaenys into a gentle embrace.
"Going see King?" Rhaenys babbled, her voice a mix of excitement and confusion.
Elia smiled faintly, the worry momentarily pushed aside. "Yes, my little sunbeam," she whispered, stroking Rhaenys' dark hair, tousled by the sea breeze. "Grandfather wants to meet his new grandson."
Rhaenys tilted her head, her brow furrowing in thought. "Dragons?" she questioned, her voice barely a whisper.
Elia chuckled, a sound like wind chimes. "Perhaps," she replied, the word laced with a hint of uncertainty. "But King's Landing is different from Dragonstone. A big city, with many people."
Rhaenys pursed her lips, her eyes widening with a mix of apprehension and wonder. Though young, she sensed the shift in their lives, the journey away from the familiar shores of Dragonstone towards the unknown of King's Landing. As the ship sailed on, Elia looked towards the horizon, her heart heavy with a mix of trepidation and hope, unsure of what awaited them in the heart of the realm.
Aegon snuffled in her arms, his small hands reaching out as if to grasp the salty air. "Such a wonderful babe you are, Aegon" Rhaegar said, and Elia felt a surge of warmth at the quiet pride in his voice. Despite his often melancholy air, he adored their children with a fierce passion.
"Often sleepy," the prince mused, "yet surprisingly active when awake. He has a curious spirit, this one."
Elia smiled. It was true. Despite being a mere babe, Aegon seemed to observe the world with a focus beyond his tender age. Perhaps it was merely a quirk of newborns, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more in her son's gaze, something that transcended the simple curiosity of a child.
The ship was waiting, sails billowing under the clear sky. Their journey back to the mainland would be brief, yet it marked a significant shift. Dragonstone had been their haven, a place of relative tranquillity isolated from the growing tensions of the realm. Now, they ventured back into the heart of the storm, into King's Landing, where the shadow of madness loomed over them all.
The Red Keep was a monstrous structure, perched atop a hill like a brooding dragon overlooking the bustling city. For Elia, it felt more like a prison, its corridors echoing with secrets and the ever-present paranoia that had consumed King Aerys II.
They were led to the throne room, a cavernous chamber adorned with crimson tapestries and the imposing Iron Throne – a twisted mass of blackened swords forged by the breath of the first Targaryen king. King Aerys sat hunched upon the seat of power, his once-noble features twisted into a grotesque mask. His long, unkempt fingernails scraped against the armrests, the sound echoing ominously in the silence.
Elia steeled herself as she approached, Aegon cradled in her arms, Rhaenys clinging to her skirts. Rhaegar stood beside her, a pillar of stoic support.
Aerys' eyes flickered over them, the embers of his waning sanity momentarily flaring to life. "You have brought the boy," he rasped, his voice laced with a chilling edge. "Let me see him."
With a heavy heart, Elia presented Aegon to her father-in-law. The babe fussed, sensing the unsettling atmosphere. Aerys took him with surprising gentleness, his withered hands cradling the swaddled infant. A moment of silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by Aegon's whimpering.
Finally, Aerys spoke, his voice surprisingly clear. "A dragonling," he declared. "A strong one. He will grow, and his wings will cast a great shadow..."
The king's words hung in the air, loaded with an ominous undercurrent. Elia exchanged a worried glance with Rhaegar. Even in his fleeting moments of lucidity, Aerys carried a darkness within him, a volatile unpredictability that left a chill upon her soul.
When Aerys returned Aegon to her, the moment was broken. He slumped back against the throne, eyes dimming as the madness crept back in. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he signalled for them to leave.
As they retreated, Rhaenys tugged at her hand. "Grandfather scary," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Elia squeezed her daughter's hand, her own heart heavy. "Sometimes," she replied, mustering a gentle smile she did not feel.
They made their way back to their assigned chambers, but the encounter with Aerys lingered like a spectre. That evening, as Aegon slept peacefully in his crib, Elia watched her children, the loves of her life, with a bittersweet ache in her chest.
Not much had happened in the next few months since then, other than Rhaegar's untimely departure. Just after leaving the throne room where the echoes of Aerys' unsettling pronouncements were still heavy in the air, Rhaegar departed the throne room shortly after presenting Aegon, whispering "Three heads of a dragon" with a troubled look.
He had left King's Landing soon after and was accompanied by Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent, two of Aerys' most loyal kingsguard whose skills spoke for themselves.
Thinking about Rhaegar's departure washed upon her a wave of abandonment, a familiar feeling in recent years. Her husband, often lost in his own melancholic musings, had left her alone in this viper's nest, vulnerable and exposed, with only her precious children as solace.
The shadow of confinement loomed large over Elia after Rhaegar's swift departure. The Red Keep, once a symbol of power and grandeur, now felt like a gilded cage. The Mad King, his paranoia gnawing at the edges of his sanity, had declared Elia and her children his hostages, a cruel attempt to bind Dorne to the crumbling Targaryen dynasty.
Lewyn Martell, Elia's trusted confidante and uncle, had revealed the King's twisted logic. Dorne, he explained, was suspected of harbouring treasonous intentions, and Elia's forced presence within the Red Keep was meant to serve as a twisted guarantee of their loyalty.
Despite the suffocating constraints, Elia's life remained cloistered within the confines of Maegor's Holdfast. The company of her children, Rhaenys and Aegon, provided solace, a refuge from the ever-present madness that permeated the halls of the Red Keep. She avoided the King and his sycophants whenever possible, her spirit unwilling to be further tarnished by their presence.
Yet, a single thread of connection remained, a lifeline to the outside world: Varys, the enigmatic Master of Whisperers. Though she held his professed loyalty to Rhaegar with a grain of salt, his subsequent honesty, following an initial fabrication, had earned him a begrudging trust from Elia.
Through Varys' veiled pronouncements, she gleaned the unsettling truth – a rebellion, fueled by righteous fury, was brewing across the realm. Lord Robert Baratheon, his grief for Lyanna Stark a potent rallying cry, had risen in open defiance, joined by his sworn brother, Eddard Stark. And the seeds of this rebellion, Elia learned with a mixture of sadness and exasperation, had been sown by her own husband's actions.
Rhaegar's impulsive decision to crown Lyanna Stark, the "Queen of Love and Beauty," at the Tourney of Harrenhal remained a stark betrayal that still stung. Yet, the flames of rebellion were fanned not by a simple act of infidelity, but by the cloak of outrage it had assumed. The Starks, blinded by grief and fueled by misinformation, believed their daughter to be a victim, stolen away by a lustful prince succumbing to the Targaryen madness. The brutal murder of Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark, who had journeyed to the Red Keep seeking Lyanna's return, had only fanned the flames of rebellion further. Each passing day brought news of further defections, houses abandoning the Targaryens and pledging allegiance to the Baratheon banner. The once formidable force of the Seven Kingdoms was fracturing, leaving only the dwindling support of Dorne and the Reach standing alongside the beleaguered Targaryens.
Elia, trapped within the gilded cage of the Red Keep, felt a growing sense of despair. With each whispered conversation with Varys, the harsh reality of their situation became more apparent. The future stretched before her, shrouded in uncertainty and steeped in the bitter taste of betrayal and impending war.
As the realm turned against them, Elia's greatest fear was for her children. Children who were both awake now. She had placed Rhaenys beside Aegon in the crib who smiled at seeing her. Rhaenys giggled and reached for Aegon, and a clumsy fist landed on his face.
A low, melodic chuckle escaped Elia's lips as her gaze fell upon her children. "Oh, my loves," she murmured, the words tinged with a bittersweet affection. A smile bloomed on her face, as fleeting and delicate as a desert flower struggling for life amidst the harsh sun. Yet, beneath that fragile smile lurked a shadow, a worry that settled in the corners of her eyes like a gathering storm. Even in the stillness after her laughter faded, the echo of her unease lingered, a palpable tension that hung heavy in the air.
"Ma?" Aegon gurgled as he tried his best to call out for her. Elia's attention snapped to him, her eyes wide with a strange mixture of awe and concern. Her worry deepened, and he longed to reach out, to comfort her somehow.
Yet, the image of Rhaegar's departure, coupled with the unsettling encounter with the Mad King, gnawed at Elia's resolve. A feeling of despair threatened to engulf her, but looking down at her children, a flicker of defiance sparked in her eyes.
"No," she whispered fiercely, more to herself than to Aegon. "I will not succumb to fear. I must be strong, for them."
"She's saying that she can't succumb to fear and that she has to be strong for you and your sister" Kurama spoke in Naruto's mind, surprising him.
For a second Naruto froze. 'Kurama... what? Do you understand her? How? Did you manage to learn her language just by hearing her speak to me?', Naruto asked Kurama, his voice filled with shock and awe.
"Let's just say that this language is not all that special, Naruto. I have learnt hundreds of languages over the course of my life, my title of being the greatest of the tailed beasts wasn't earned by being a dunce like you." replied Kurama while Naruto looked annoyed at his jab before they both started laughing together.
Elia held up Aegon as he gurgled and made some funny faces which, unknown to her, were a result of his silent conversation with Kurama, drawing an amused smile from her. Naruto, having noticed her smiling at him, smiled back at her, to ease the ache in her heart.
Despite being frustrated at being trapped in a tiny, unfamiliar body, and in a world he barely understood, His mother's warmth and her touch were like a soothing balm to the chaos of his reborn mind.
It was there he realised that in this strange new reality, all he had aside from Kurama were his loving mother Elia and his sweet, innocent sister Rhaenys. They were his precious people now, and he would do everything to protect them, comfort them, make them smile. It was the least he could do as a son and a brother.
The Red Keep loomed, its imposing shadow swallowing the setting sun. Aegon, barely 10 months old, lay swaddled in his crib, his senses overwhelmed by the cacophony of the bustling castle. He still couldn't understand the unfamiliar language, but the emotions resonated with him – fear, anger, and a simmering tension that gnawed at his mind.
"What's wrong, Kurama?" he thought, his voice still a whisper in the real world, but clear as day within his own. "Why is everyone so scared?"
"This woman, your mother," Kurama rumbled back, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "She's worried, Naruto. This castle… it holds bad memories for her."
Naruto, despite his limited ability to act or speak, felt a pang of sympathy for his mother, Elia. He could sense her worry, a heavy weight pressing down on her. She held him close, singing him Dornish lullabies, their lilting melodies a stark contrast to the harsh pronouncements that echoed through the halls.
One day, a wizened man with eyes like polished obsidian approached Elia and the babe. It was Varys, the Master of Whisperers, his face etched with concern. "Princess Elia," he murmured, his voice low and conspiratorial, "The King grows increasingly unstable. Especially after Robert killed Rhaegar in single combat, victory is now assured for Robert Baratheon and his army of rebels. My little birds tell me that even the Lannisters plan to join him soon."
"Kurama," he called out mentally, his voice filled with a childlike urgency, "what's going on? I can't understand what they're saying. Could you please translate what they're saying?"
"He says the King's getting crazier by the day," Kurama rumbled in his mind, his voice a low growl. "Especially after the rebel leader killed your father. The rebels are guaranteed to win, even the king's biggest supporters are turning coat."
'Dad, was killed?' Naruto thought, an unfamiliar primal rage that he couldn't quite grasp, coursed through him. For the past few months, he had been wondering where his father was. Yet only now he learnt that his father had been fighting in a war and had been killed.
Kurama, sensing his turmoil, rumbled within his mind. "Seems like your old man wasn't as tough as he looked" the Bijuu commented dryly.
'This is not the time for that Kurama', Naruto scowled internally, not appreciating the comment. Meanwhile, hearing that caused Elia's heart to hammer against her ribs. "What does this mean for my children?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Varys knelt, his gaze meeting Aegon's wide, curious eyes. "For them, Princess," he said, his voice barely a rasp, "it means danger. Robert's hate for the Targaryens knows no bounds, and your children, symbols of the Targaryen dynasty, are most at risk."
"He says you and your sister are in danger." Kurama translated. "This Robert guy hates Targaryens, and you guys are like walking targets."
Elia felt a cold dread grip her heart. She knew of Robert's hatred of anything related to the Targaryens, his red hot rage was what had allowed him to beat even the mightiest of their warriors, he was named "The Demon of the Trident" after his victory over Rhaegar. She couldn't bear the thought of her children, innocent and vulnerable, caught in the crossfire of his rage.
Varys placed a weathered hand on Aegon's head. "There is a way, Princess," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I have contacts abroad, in Essos. I can replace your children with decoys and smuggle them and even you to safety, far away from Robert's reach."
"He says he has a plan," Kurama said, "He can smuggle you all out of here, to a safe place in some faraway land called Essos."
"Lord Varys, fleeing with the children is impossible. Even if we escaped, Robert's suspicions would rise in my absence. He'd unearth the truth, and my children would never be truly safe." Elia's voice, though heavy, carried unwavering resolve.
"A mother's love knows no bounds, indeed," Varys acknowledged. "But sacrificing yourself is unnecessary. Claiming Rhaegar tormented you, mirroring his actions toward Lyanna, could appease Robert's… affections for her ghost. Once free, you could seek refuge in the Free Cities, raising your children in peace."
Elia's mind raced. She knew that letting her children leave Westeros, their home, was a painful choice, but the alternative, the thought of her children facing Robert's wrath, was unthinkable. She looked down at Aegon, his tiny hand clutching at her finger, and a fierce determination filled her. "Take them," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion, "take them both. Keep them safe."
Varys nodded, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes. Smuggling one child was risky, but two, especially under the watchful gaze of the King, was a near impossible task for most men but for better or worse, he was not most men.
He held the knowledge of King's Landing's hidden veins: secret passages twisting beneath the city's bustling heart. One such forgotten tunnel, whispered about in dusty scrolls, led out from the very bowels of the Red Keep. It was a perilous path, fraught with danger, but their only hope. As the city cloaked itself in the inky embrace of night, Varys, disguised as a humble fisherman, slipped into the nursery. Elia awaited him, her eyes heavy with unshed tears.
Elia bent low, her voice cracking with a love so fierce it ached in Naruto's chest. "My children," she whispered, her words thick with sadness, "I must send you away. I promise, I'll come find you soon. Until then, stay strong, my little dragons."
Kurama's voice resonated within him, a stark contrast to the raw emotions swirling around Naruto. "She says she has to send you away to keep you safe. Be strong for her, she says. She promises to find you again soon."
Tears welled up in Naruto's eyes, blurring his vision. He didn't understand the intricacies of the situation, the web of politics and power that had ensnared them. But he understood his mother's love, the raw fear and determination in her voice. He squeezed his eyes shut, the image of his mother's tear-streaked face etched in his memory.
With a trembling hand, she brushed a stray strand of hair from Aegon's face, then leaned down to press a bittersweet kiss on his forehead. The same gesture was repeated for Rhaenys, the weight of her tiny hand a final anchor before the storm.
As the princess choked back a sob, Varys cleared his throat, his voice a low murmur. "It is time," he said, his words carrying the weight of their desperate hope.
Elia, with a final lingering look at her children, moved backwards, her heart a battlefield of love and fear. This was the only path to their survival, even if it meant walking it alone.
Varys, a master of disguise, lowered himself onto the nursery floor. With practised ease, he unfurled a large, intricately woven basket, its sides dotted with discreet ventilation holes to ensure the children's comfort. Gently, he lifted Aegon and Rhaenys, their weight a fragile reminder of the immense responsibility he carried. As he nestled them into the basket, a bittersweet pang pierced his heart. He knew this was the best chance for their survival, yet the thought of separating them from their mother caused a deep ache within him.
His gaze swept over the room, landing on two swaddled forms in the crib. These children, bought from a tanner in Pisswater Bend, painstakingly chosen for their uncanny resemblance to the Targaryens, were essential to his plan. Replacing the real infants with the decoys, Varys moved with silent efficiency, his every action imbued with the desperation of their situation. The fate of a dynasty rested on his shoulders, and in the flickering candlelight, his face, usually an unreadable mask, seemed etched with the burden of his choices.
Varys departed with a silent nod to Elia. Infants nestled securely in his basket, he navigated the forgotten passageways of the Red Keep. Fear and determination pulsed through him; each step echoed with the infants' fate and his own precariously balanced survival. Reaching the shadowed docks, a sense of relief washed over him – the pre-arranged ship shimmered in the moonlit water. Awaiting him was Illyrio Mopatis, the Pentoshi merchant whose corpulent form concealed a sharp mind and a strange nostalgia for a dynasty in ruins.
The crisp night air swirled around Varys' cloaked figure as he stood on the bustling docks of King;s Landing. His weathered face, etched with lines of a life lived in the shadows, held a mix of exhaustion and relief. With a grunt of effort, he handed a basket to Illyrio, the rotund Pentoshi merchant. The weight of the basket seemed far greater than its physical form, carrying the fragile hopes of a fallen dynasty and the potential fate of an entire continent.
"Keep them safe, my friend," Varys rasped, his voice thick with emotion that belied his usual stoicism. "The whispers of the winds carry the burden of a prophecy unheard - the fate of Westeros may very well rest in their tiny hands."
Illyrio, his face creased with concern and the weight of the responsibility thrust upon him, nodded solemnly. He had known of the Targaryen children for some time and knew about the potential dangers they could be in if they stayed in King's landing. Now, the burden of their survival and potential restoration fell squarely upon his shoulders.
With a final, lingering glance at the basket, Varys turned and melted back into the throng of people, his cloak a shroud concealing his departure. The fate of the two children within the basket was now in the hands of fate, and the enigmatic Master of Whisperers.
Inside the basket, a world tilted on its axis. He gurgled, a strange sound escaping his lips. Beside him, a small hand reached out, tentatively touching his cheek. He turned his head, his hazy vision focusing on a pair of inquisitive eyes, dark and curious. It was Rhaenys, his younger sister, her presence a beacon of familiarity in this strange new world.
A feeling, one he couldn't quite define, bloomed in his chest. It was a mix of protectiveness, a sense of responsibility towards this tiny being who shared his blood, his lineage. Even though circumstances had forced them apart from their mother, an invisible bond tethered them together. He wasn't alone. He had his sister, and that, in itself, was a source of comfort.
He reached out to Rhaenys, his tiny fist meeting hers, their fingers intertwining. A warmth spread through him, a connection he had craved for all his childhood in his first life.
The journey aboard the ship was a blur of rocking waves and hushed whispers. Illyrio, the merchant, kept a watchful eye on them, his movements shadowed by a silent intensity. Aegon, his senses slowly adapting, observed everything – the gruff sailors, the glittering stars at night, the endless expanse of the sea. He absorbed it all, his mind forming memories, his spirit absorbing the essence of this new world.
One day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, Aegon felt a shift. The ship docked, and they were ushered onto bustling streets filled with strange sights and smells. Men in unfamiliar garb bartered in a language he didn't understand, yet the emotions were clear – joy, anger, desperation, all swirling in a chaotic symphony.
They were carried through a maze of narrow alleys, the bustling city noises fading into a distant hum as they entered a secluded quarter. Here, nestled amidst a maze of twisting streets, stood Illyrio's manse, a sprawling estate that spoke of wealth and influence. Lush gardens, bursting with vibrant flora, surrounded the imposing structure. Towering statues, depicting unknown heroes and mythical beasts, adorned the grounds. This was to be their new home, a gilded cage amidst a tumultuous world.
'Not a bad place for a temporary stay, don't you think, Kurama?', Naruto asked Kurama in his mind.
Kurama, ever the shrewd observer, rumbled back, "I agree. Although, I have a feeling it might not be as 'temporary' as you'd like"
So that's it. The two chapter prologue is done and the next chapter will have multiple timeskips. The prologue was mostly from the POV of Elia, which was super fun ngl. Her story is tragic and ngl it's still gonna be tragic here. I'm excited to write the duo of Aegon/Rhaenys in the next chapters ngl. Spoilers: It's gonna mirror a sibling pair from Hotd atleast at the start.