AC 103

The waves lapped quietly at the shore as Daemon Targaryen's ship drew near the newly risen island. Its dark silhouette jutted against the horizon, rocky and jagged, as if it had clawed its way up from the depths. The Maesters believed it had been submerged for longer than living memory, before the Targerans came to Westeros, but it is only now resurfacing due to a shift in the ocean. Supposedly somewhere a large mass of something had been taken into the sea being reclaimed on land, causing the levels to lower elsewhere. The island was isolated and should've been untouched by man.

This made it all the more intriguing to Daemon as the black stone pillars he saw as they approached were proof otherwise.

They weren't Valyrian—Daemon knew that much but his knowledge left there as it wasn't something from any Westeros people he recognized. The Maesters would speculate about its origins later, but they could only guess. Whatever this place had been, it predated the rise of the Valyrian Freehold, perhaps even predated the First Men themselves.

So Daemon Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne held by his elder brother, King Viserys Targaryen, stepped onto the shore, his curiosity pulling him deeper into the island's interior. The air was heavy with moisture, the smell of salt and damp earth filling his lungs. It was eerily quiet—no birds, no wind. Just the rhythmic crash of the waves in the distance. The men he brought with him hesitated, hanging back as he ventured alone.

He soon reached what appeared to be a cave, partially submerged when the tide was high, but now exposed. Something about the cave tugged at him. He could feel it—a strange presence. He entered, stepping carefully over the slick rocks. The cave opened into a small chamber, dimly lit by the sunlight filtering through cracks in the ceiling.

It was then that he noticed something impossible.

A crystal, shimmering faintly in the low light, it wasn't a small chamber at all, because the entire west wall was a dragon, the likes of which he'd never seen, not so much encased by crystal but had deformed into being crystal. It would be easy for someone to confuse it with a memorial, but there were still tiny specks of flesh on the creature. Daemon's mind wondered if the sea water had done this to the creature, but discarded the thought. This bright emerald nature of it couldn't have come from seawater.

The dragon had six limbs, rather than the four he was used to. Two wings, four legs. It was larger than all but the largest of his house's dragons. Daemon felt a bit of rare sorrow for the creature, such a majestic creature who deserved the roam the skies, and given the legs on it, sprint across fields. Not die in a cold cave.
Given the dwellings his people had built for dragons, dead or otherwise, this place was making more sense the further he went in it. Deeper and deeper so he went.

It was only then, only then that sight before Daemon brought even his thoughts to silence. There was a large dark purple crystal, but clean, translucent, standing in the center of a large chamber, ramps and deformed stairs led to it.

Encased within it, as if frozen in time, was a small dragon. Its body was coiled as if asleep, its scales gleaming with a soft, iridescent glow. The creature was no larger than a hound, its wings folded tight against its body, its tail curled around itself in slumber.

Daemon's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't one to claim something was cute. That was far too womanly for his liking. But there was something about this small dragon, a hatchling, the child of the larger he guessed that sent chills down his heart.

"What are you?" he whispered to himself, but there was no answer.

Daemon stood there, transfixed, staring at the encased creature. His thoughts raced. He had to take this back to Dragonstone. This dragon, this creature... it was his discovery, and he would ensure its place within the Targaryen legacy. This wasn't a martial achievement, it didn't prove his might. But there was something spiritual about the discovery.

His brother needed to be made aware of this... or did he?

"Rhaegor," Daemon muttered, a name forming on his lips. It came naturally—a name that echoed the power of dragons. It was fitting. A name that would tie the hatchling to the legacy of House Targaryen. "Yes... Rhaegor, you will be mine."

With a final glance at the encased dragon, Daemon ordered his men to prepare for its transport. It was then that the crystal started to crack audibly, drawing Daemon's attention to it once more. He gasped as it shattered and the hatchling's head peeped out before the rest of the crystal followed soon and the body was free.

Daemon had expected the hatchling's body to have been distorted by the light through the crystal to appear larger than it actually was. But it turned out that it wasn't quite the case, this hatchling was as it appeared in the crystal.

The hatchling screeched, it wasn't a loud sound but it suited the creature. It blinked at him, as if not understanding what was before him. Daemon could sympathize with the hatchling.

He moved in, hand outstretched to pat the brow of the hatchling, it accepted the action with expected animal-like behavior. It then took a mighty yawn before a bright light overcame Daemon's senses and the once child dragon was replaced with a very naked child with blue hair.

'... This is incredible?" Daemon whispered, keeping his voice low so as to not wake the child. The find of this boy, this child that wasn't just like a dragon, but was in truth a dragon capable of taking human form. It was greater than the find of this island and the crystallized remains of what he presumed to be this child's parent.
He wondered if the larger specimen could've transformed in the same way? But cast the thought aside for now. This was a power deserving to be in their family.

Daemon would make sure of that.

Five Years Later-AC 108

In the courtyard of Dragonstone, the sound of clashing wood echoed off the stone walls as Rhaegor faced his first opponent. Daemon watched from above, unnoticed by those below, his arms folded, his eyes narrowed, trying to mask his astonishment. The boy had changed more than he could have ever anticipated in the five years he'd lived under Daemon's watch.

When Rhaegor had first taken up a practice sword, Daemon had been disappointed. The boy could barely swing the thing without shutting his eyes, as if fearful of even wood smacking wood, and his footwork had been clumsy, the weight of the weapon a burden to him. Daemon had thought the boy's strength might lie elsewhere, in his otherworldly nature was the most obvious, the secret only he knew. It made enough sense to him, after all, dragons didn't wield a blade but claws and fire itself. Yet now, the boy's blade cut the air with startling speed, and each movement was purposeful, calculated. Daemon could see the boy's eyes open and focused, reading the fight as though he'd been doing this for years.

Rhaegor's feet slid across the stone courtyard with deliberate grace, each step measured to keep the distance between him and his opponents. His toes dug into the dirt as he pivoted, his body spinning to the side as one of the boys swung at where he had just stood. It was like watching a dance—every movement was part of a fluid whole, controlled and instinctual, honed far faster than Daemon had thought possible.

A shield served Rhaegor little purpose in this bout as he parried effortlessly each swing his sparring partner attempted, but he carried that shield all the same, nor did the shield of this other lad help him much; it only delayed the inevitable. Rhaegor's strikes were fast and hard enough that blocking them shook the other boy enough that Daemon could see how loose that grip became in merely three strikes. The clack of wood meeting wood rang out like thunder, reverberating through the stone walls. Each strike from Rhaegor carried a force that vibrated through the other boys' arms, sending tremors down to their wrists. Daemon watched as whoever this boy was winced after one particularly harsh blow, his fingers loosening on his practice sword, the pain of the impact dulling his reaction time just enough.

The Targaryen Prince's lips twitched into a slight grin as the boy continued parrying with ease, stepping aside and knocking his opponent off balance with a quick swipe.

Daemon began his descent from the balcony, his boots echoing faintly against the stone stairs. As he approached, another joined the first lad in the sparring. He'd been the prior opponent, embarrassed by this boy, not even six months training, toward his seven years... at least Daemon could only recall this particular lad training in the last seven years. Frustration flickered in the eyes of the boys as their attacks failed to land. Sweat beaded down their brows as they swung harder, more desperate, hoping that brute strength would break through the wall that Rhaegor had become. But the boy was unfazed. Where they were frantic, his movements remained calm, deliberate.

They moved against Rhaegor like weak prey banding together to take down a predator far more dangerous than they. It was natural—Daemon thought of this often; the weak sought strength in numbers, but it was fleeting. True strength was singular, undeniable.

Unstoppable.

As Rhaegor handled the two boys, Daemon allowed himself a moment to reflect more on how Rhaegor had developed. Not only had the boy mastered the blade far faster than expected, but he'd also picked up his letters with a frightening ease. His command of Valyrian, the ancient tongue of their ancestors, had come to him as if it were second nature. It was more than a talent—it felt almost like instinct. Daemon had always thought that dragons, their beasts, were trained to understand Valyrian commands, but now he wondered. Was the language not of men, but of dragons? Was that why the boy, half-dragon in a way Daemon had never seen before, learned it so effortlessly?

Halfway down the stairs, Daemon's eyes narrowed. He had yet to see the boy transform again since the day he'd found him, encased in crystal, a small dragon sleeping beside his kin. Though Daemon was not troubled by it. There were few places where such a transformation wouldn't be noticed, and Daemon wasn't ready to reveal the boy's nature to the world. There were snakes and weasels at court, always sniffing around for secrets, and Daemon wouldn't have it. Even Dragonstone wasn't immune to spies.

Daemon would wait before investigating this, wait till the boy was fully his—before Rhaegor saw him as his guide. His idol. As if they were blood. It would be impossible for anyone to turn the boy against him once their bond was strong.

Daemon stopped halfway down as a third boy joined the fray.

Unlike before, this was something that gave Rhaegor pause. The trio forced him finally to block with his shield, to use the footwork for more than bracing or leverage but also to dodge attacks. For the next minute and a half, Rhaegor was forced on the defensive. It was as impressive to Daemon as the offense had been. It was the timing he had seen from experienced knights, not a training yard boy. The only thing missing was the counters.

But that came soon too, as Rhaegor's patience was thinning; Daemon could see it in the boy's stance. The trio pressed in on him, attempting to overwhelm him with sheer numbers. But the dragon-blooded boy had had enough. When Rhaegor finally struck back, it was like a coiled spring releasing. His blade slammed into his opponent's shield with such force that it reverberated through the courtyard, shaking the boy's entire arm. The second attack came with the speed of a whip, sweeping the legs out from one another and sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Enough," Daemon's voice rang out—not a yell, but firm, commanding. The boys immediately stopped, stepping back, some looking winded, others wounded in their pride. Rhaegor looked at Daemon with the same bright eye that had poked out of the crystal all those months ago, and for a brief moment, Daemon was reminded that this boy was a Dragon.

If the adult was anything to judge his future growth, as great as any of the Dragons his family ever rode.

Daemon reached the yard, his gaze sweeping over the others to give him a reprieve from the Dragon's eyes, before settling on Rhaegor when he regained his composure. The Prince dismissed the rest with a wave of his hand, and they scattered, leaving the courtyard silent once more. He approached the boy, his expression softening slightly. "Walk with me."

They moved away from the yard, stepping into a quieter part of Dragonstone's grounds, where the wind from the sea was the only thing to be heard. Daemon looked down at the boy beside him, his mind turning over thoughts he had kept quiet for some time.

"You've improved," Daemon said, offering no further detail. He didn't need to. The boy knew. They both did, the context of what Daemon had witnessed alone was enough to get that across. The Prince was reminded of niece looking at the boy's response, so bright and peaky at the compliment. It was instinct when Daemon reached out and ruffled Rhaegor's blue hair. "And quickly. Far quicker than most." He glanced at Rhaegor, noting the slight shift in his expression, perhaps a flicker of pride.

They continued walking in silence for a moment before Daemon changed the subject. "And your studies? Do you find any of it interesting?"

Daemon didn't pay too much attention to that aspect, as long as he met with Rhaegor every day or so, he could mold the lad into the form he wanted. Despite anything the Maester had been teaching Rhaegor, correcting any soft thoughts the man tried to impart was easy.

Rhaegor glanced up, considering the question for a brief moment before his eyes shifted over to the horizon and back to Daemon "The dragons," he said simply.

Daemon smirked. "Of course." It was only natural for a Dragon to be interested in kin. There were still wild, and riderless dragons here, at Dragonstone—beasts without a master, waiting to be claimed. It would be interesting when Rhaegor finally met one, Daemon was sure if he hadn't been keeping Rhaegor's nature a secret, it would be an event historians wrote as important. The boy's fascination with the creatures was natural, but it was something the Prince intended to cultivate carefully.

"They are a part of who we are," Daemon continued, his tone measured, readying a use of the phrase with the boy. Daemon was careful, always referring to the pair of them as 'we' always suggesting they were the same. Always referring to them together, that they were the same. "We'll see if you're ready soon enough." He cast a sidelong glance at the boy. He wasn't referring to just the dragons of flesh and fire. There was another dragon hidden within Rhaegor, one that only Daemon knew about.

For now, they would talk around it, carefully. The day would come when the boy would understand his true nature. But not yet. For now, Daemon was content to let their bond grow stronger—strong enough that no one, not even the snakes at court, could ever come between them.

After all, who could come between a father and a son?

Author's Note: I hate this scene. Editing these into something readable is such a bad experience that I struggle to find the energy to upload here.

But I have in this case. I like this story idea and thought it was interesting enough to spread it. This story will have very short chapters, short enough that I will probably be bundling up two chapters into one. Any line or timeline shift will basically be that.

This story will start off with this kind of light tone, but grow darker over time. So I set the rating toward future developments rather than the starting point.

Essentially, Daemon found Ryu here, and given his personality, Rhaegor became his name instead. I'm going to still try to keep to Ryu's general characteristics shown in BOF3, as that story is the inspiration for this set up.