The room was quiet, save for the scratching of quills against parchment as several clerks worked diligently in the corners. King Viserys I Targaryen sat at his desk, leaning over a collection of documents detailing the preparations for the Tournament of Heirs. The flicker of candlelight illuminated his focused expression, casting shadows over his face as he read through each line with meticulous care. His maester, Mellos, stood nearby, occasionally offering a nod of approval or explanation when necessary.
Viserys rubbed his temple, feeling the weight of the crown pressing on him—not physically at the moment, but in all its symbolic burdens. The tournament was an extravagant affair, one meant to demonstrate the unity and strength of House Targaryen, but it was also a reminder of the delicate balance he had to maintain within the realm.
"It's set to be a grand affair," Mellos commented, his voice calm and measured, eyes skimming the figures laid out before them.
Viserys sighed, knowing that the grand scale of the tournament was also to placate the lords and their incessant whispers about heirs, succession, and the Targaryen line's future. There were always whispers. He would silence those, even if he had to will his child through the sound of battle during labor to be a male, he would pray for it to work.
He scanned over the expenses, noting the sums allocated for food, security, and the jousting lists. House Lannister, as always, was a significant benefactor, contributing not only funds but also sending their finest knights. Viserys made a note to thank Lord Jason Lannister when the time was right. Such alliances would be necessary, they were necessary now in peace, but vital during more horrid times.
"Has there been word from the Vale?" Viserys asked, briefly pausing to dip his quill in ink.
Mellos shook his head. "Not yet, Your Grace. Lord Royce will likely send an envoy in due time, but there has been no direct correspondence from Lady Rhea."
Viserys' hand stilled at the mention of his brother's estranged wife. Daemon and Rhea Royce's marriage had been a point of contention for years. His brother rarely spoke of her, and when he did it was with enough contempt to make Viserys worry for the woman's safety if they were to spend much time together. It was little doubt that Daemon had no loyalty had Rhea Royce. But politics required tact, and even now, with Daemon's constant provocations, Viserys had to consider how any move concerning his brother would ripple through the kingdom.
Revealing and showcasing a bastard before he'd even had a legitimate child of his own? That was bound to get some heckles raised in the Vale.
Viserys set down the quill and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ornate ceiling for a moment. "Have the jousting lists been finalized?"
Mellos gave a nod. "They have, Your Grace. Knights from all over the realm are coming to participate. It will be a spectacle, a display of loyalty and strength from the noble houses."
Viserys nodded absently, thinking of the spectacle that would unfold. A glorious tournament, shining armor, banners snapping in the wind—a grand display of Targaryen power and wealth. But beneath it all, the undercurrents of ambition and rivalry. He was all too aware of the machinations behind the scenes. Some lords would come to secure favors, others to make alliances, and a few would undoubtedly see it as an opportunity to assess the royal family's strength.
"Make sure the Hightowers are placed prominently," Viserys said suddenly, his thoughts turning to Otto Hightower, his Hand. "Their knights are expected to do well."
"Of course, Your Grace. House Hightower's status must be reflected appropriately," Mellos responded.
Viserys glanced at another list, detailing the competitors and their sponsors. The Hightower men were listed alongside many prominent houses—Baratheon, Velaryon, Lannister. A formidable showing.
And then there was Daemon.
His brother's name appeared multiple times, a sure sign that Daemon would use the tournament as a stage for his own ambitions. He had always thrived in such environments, relishing in the blood and glory of combat, both real and symbolic. The City Watch had flourished under his command, but his methods had been brutal, earning him both fear and admiration.
"Have the lists been reviewed by the Master of Laws?" Viserys asked.
Mellos shifted slightly. "They have, Your Grace. There were some concerns raised about Prince Daemon's entry, given the… circumstances."
Viserys' brow furrowed. "Circumstances?"
Mellos hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Rhaegor Waters seeks to compete, but despite his preference for the bastard. He is no ser, so we're not sure if we should allow it. Especially given your grace has yet to make a judgment on his legitimacy.."
Viserys sighed, leaning back in his chair once more. Daemon never made things easy. His son, born outside of his marriage to Rhea, was the source of much speculation. Daemon's insistence on legitimizing the boy had caused ripples at court, though none dared speak openly about it to Viserys, except Otto, of course.
Still, there was never a law that said only those of noble names or knighted folk could compete.
"I will deal with Daemon and his requests in due time," Viserys muttered, his tone heavy with weariness. "For now, we'd let the boy compete, he's old enough... just."
Daemon wouldn't have placed the boy's name on the lists if he would've embarrassed his father.
Any decision regarding Rhaegor would be magnified in the eyes of the lords and ladies gathered. The tournament would not just be a display of martial prowess—it would be a stage for political maneuvering, and Daemon was a master of both.
"Have the safety measures been accounted for? The jousting can be... dangerous," Viserys said, shifting to a different concern in light of letting his nephew compete.
Mellos nodded. "We've taken every precaution, Your Grace. The armorers have been instructed to inspect all gear thoroughly, and the grounds have been fortified with additional guards. Ser Harrold Westerling is overseeing the preparations personally."
Viserys took some comfort in that. Westerling was a reliable man, one who took his duties seriously. But even so, Viserys couldn't shake the feeling that something—someone—might disrupt the peace he sought to project with this tournament.
As if reading his thoughts, Mellos cleared his throat. "The tournament will be a success, people will remember it as a mark for how great an heir your child shall be... or at least one would hope and pray for it. I know I will."
Viserys nodded but said nothing, his mind still occupied with the swirling thoughts of his brother, his son, and the future of his house. Soon enough Melios left the room, leaving the King in silence for just a few moments.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and a steward entered the room, bowing low. "Lord Otto Hightower is here to see you, Your Grace."
Viserys straightened, casting one last glance over the documents before him. "Send him in."
As the steward exited, Viserys leaned forward, bracing himself for the inevitable conversation that was to come. The Tournament of Heirs might have been the topic of the day, but Otto had other matters on his mind—matters involving Daemon and the boy, Rhaegor.
The mess that happened in the Dragonpits today only seemed to heighten Otto's growing concern over the lad. Syrax treated Rhaegor as one of her brood as if the boy was a hatchling she needed to feed, it wasn't with precedent even in the annals of the Dragon Lords. It was new, as far as Viserys was aware.
Interesting, but not remotely dangerous.
Viserys had already spent most of the day thinking about the pair, pondering on what actions he should take.
Otto Hightower stepped into the room, his presence commanding yet respectful. He was a man who chose his words carefully, but Viserys knew well enough that the real purpose of this visit went beyond the tournament.
"Your Grace," Otto began, his voice steady but urgent, "I have concerns regarding Prince Daemon's request. Allowing him to legitimize his son would not only help solidify his claim but also jeopardize the security of your own line. Especially when you have yet to secure a male heir."
Viserys, seated behind his large oak desk, regarded Otto with a thoughtful, measured gaze. His fingers lightly tapped the armrest of his chair, the rhythm slow and contemplative as he absorbed Otto's words.
"Daemon's request is not without merit," Viserys said finally, his tone calm but firm. "He seeks to ensure the continuity of our house, during a time when there are few males at all. This is not merely to elevate his own position. You've made your thoughts on my brother clear, but I view this differently. This is not just about Daemon—it's about his son's future as well."
Otto's expression tightened, his brows knitting together in frustration. "But if Daemon's son is legitimized, it strengthens his position as the primary heir. Even if you produce a son now, his is already older, and able to influence opinion toward his father. Your wife may be pregnant, but we can't even guarantee that it will be a boy."
Viserys leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp yet contemplative. "Daemon's legitimacy as heir isn't my concern. I don't believe he desires the throne, he's never shown the desire. And even if I refuse to legitimize Rhaegor, it doesn't diminish Daemon's potential to forge powerful alliances—perhaps even with houses like the Lannisters or any other of the families with that scale of history. Legitimizing his son ties our house closer to his, reinforcing our unity. No one wants the instability of a bastard inheriting."
Viserys' mind wandered to the boy's mother and wondered what her fate was? Daemon was shameless, it was already an oddity to showcase a bastard when one was married so proudly, it was another to ask to legitimize them like this. She must've been dead, Viserys decided.
There was no way she wouldn't be held up as a pure dragon by Daemon in any other case.
Thoughts of the mother brought with it thoughts of the child. Rhegor wasn't the spitting image of Daemon, but he has aspects of their family line in his face that let Viserys easily accept it. His father's nose, his grandfather's chin.
And Rhaegor held himself as a member of their house should. He had manners that were generally superior to Daemons as if someone dropped his brother into a well of respect and common decency. The lad's martial skills were said to be grand, especially for a boy of not ten and five years. Daemon claimed that he had even been defeated by his son, just once.
The admittance alone told him it was true, though Viserys was sure it was down to arrogance facing his smaller child rather than supernatural skill of some sort.
Otto's face tightened further, his fingers gripping his cane tightly. "And what of Lady Rhea Royce? The implications of legitimizing his son could be seen as an insult to her and her house. This action risks souring relations with the Royces, who may view it as a slight against them."
Otto's inquiry brought Viserys out of his thoughts about his nephew to focus on the actual issues Daemon's actions currently caused. His expression grew more resolute as he leaned forward, his tone soft but firm. "You're correct that the Royces will be insulted. However, if I were to legitimize Rhaegor, he wouldn't inherit anything from their boy would have to earn any lordship or land he might receive in the future, if he manages that. Its most likely Rhaegor will end up a knight and that's it."
Otto straightened slightly, his face showing a mix of frustration and resignation. His final words were clipped and resolute. "I suppose that I've made my concerns clear, your grace. There's nothing more I can expect."
Viserys inclined his head in acknowledgment, his tone softening but retaining its firmness. " I have heard your concerns, Otto. You may go. I will think on this and come to the decision on the morrow."
Otto gave a curt bow, his face a mask of unreadable resolve as he turned and made his way to the door. The soft tapping of his cane echoed in the quiet room as he exited, leaving Viserys alone with his thoughts.
With a deep sigh, Viserys turned his attention back to the documents on his desk, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily upon him.
His thoughts went back to his wife, she was due so soon. It wouldn't be proper to have so much tension between him and his brother during such a hard time for her, she deserved more attention than that. Rhaegor would be their family, whether he was Waters or Targaryen.
Viserys would make that clear, the House of the Dragon would stand together.
The day of the tournament had come.
The roar of the crowd echoed across the tourney grounds as the melee raged on, steel clashing and grunts of effort rising from the combatants. From her seat, Rhaenyra's pulse raced with excitement, her eyes locked on the field below. Alicent sat beside her, stealing glances at the fighters, her face a mixture of concern and fascination. To their left, King Viserys looked on with mild interest, while Otto Hightower kept a watchful eye on the proceedings.
Among the dozen fighters left standing, three figures stood out to Rhaenyra above the rest: her uncle, Prince Daemon; the newly introduced Rhaegor; and the talented knight Ser Criston Cole.
The melee had started with chaos—knights hacking away at each other, alliances forming and crumbling within moments. But now the field was narrowing, and the most skilled among them were emerging.
Daemon Targaryen fought with his usual deadly grace, a whirl of silver hair and black armor. His first notable victory came against Ser Harwin Strong, whose strength was his greatest asset. Strong landed powerful blows, but Daemon was faster, parrying and countering with speed. After a relentless back-and-forth, a clever feint by Daemon left Strong exposed, and a quick strike to the leg forced the man to yield, limping off the field.
Daemon's next opponent, Lord Jason Lannister, fared no better. Though skilled, the Lannister lacked the combat experience Daemon possessed. He fought defensively, but after a series of brutal exchanges, Daemon's sword caught him on the shoulder, sending him crashing into the dirt. Lannister yielded with a groan, clearly winded.
It was lucky for the Lannister that Dark Sister hadn't cut right through his armor as Valyrian Steel was known to do.
As Daemon dispatched his opponents, Rhaenyra's attention drifted to her cousin, Rhaegor. Clad in his unusual bright red and blue, Rhaegor stood out from the other knights. His first real challenge came in the form of Ser Gwayne Hightower, Alicent's brother. The two circled each other warily, and for a moment, it seemed Gwayne had the upper hand. The older man had a longer reach, in both sword and arm, keeping the blue-haired bastard back but Rhaegor was fast and precise, and after a vicious exchange of blows, he landed a strike to Gwayne's side, sending him reeling. Gwayne yielded soon after, to the dismay of Alicent, who gasped softly beside Rhaenyra.
It looked so effortless, like watching a man drown at sea. It didn't matter how well someone could swim, if they stayed in the water long enough they'd drown.
Rhaegor's next opponent, Ser Boros Baratheon, was a hulking brute, larger than most full-grown men, known for his raw power. The battle between them was fierce, with Boros swinging wildly in an attempt to overpower the Rhaegor. But Rhaegor kept his calm, moving in and out of the Baratheon's man range, easily weaving back into range to counterattack. It only took one swift strike to Baratheon's knee to send the larger man toppling to the ground. Rhaegor stood victorious but visibly winded.
By now, only a handful of combatants remained: Daemon, Rhaegor, Ser Criston Cole, and a few others. Cole had shown his prowess earlier by defeating Ser Lyn Corbray, a skilled and dangerous fighter. Their duel had been long and arduous, but Cole's precision and patience had worn Corbray down until a well-placed blow disarmed him, securing Cole's place in the final bout.
The moment had come when only Daemon, Rhaegor, and Ser Criston Cole remained on the field. The crowd's energy was palpable, the anticipation thick in the air. From her seat, Rhaenyra felt her heart pound as she watched the three figures circle each other.
Otto Hightower, ever observant, leaned toward Viserys. "They'll team up, no doubt," he remarked confidently. "Father and son, Cole doesn't stand a chance."
This wasn't uncommon. Competitors from the same House, had sworn allegiance to the same lord, or even just came to an alliance before the melee would commonly do this. It was a bit uncouth for even a talented nobody like Cole but expected behaviour nonetheless.
But as the crowd watched, Daemon and Rhaegor exchanged a glance—one that was heavy and lasted far longer than most would expect. For a brief moment, it seemed as though they might fight together, as Otto had suggested. But instead, it was Rhaegor who broke away from that silent accord, moving to face his father directly.
Rhaegor's sword clanged against Dark Sister, landing against the flat of the legendary blade as the crowd gasped. Rhaenyra leaned forward, her eyes widening in surprise. Rather than joining forces against Cole, Rhaegor had chosen to fight his father, the Prince of the City, in front of the gathered court.
The two were at each other like animals, brutal swings and near-deadly stabs, it was as if neither cared for the concept of being injured.
Otto's brows furrowed as he watched the scene unfold. "There must be rough feelings between them," he muttered to no one in particular, clearly puzzled by the unexpected turn. But it was obvious that the in-fighting pleased him, enough that Rhaenyra's father sent him an unamused frown
The fight between father and son was fierce, their blades clashing with relentless force. It was like the young didn't care that his father had the superior blade, that Dark Sister would soon wreck his weapon if he continued to fight at this fiercity. Daemon's experience and ruthlessness were on full display, but Rhaegor's youthful vigor and speed matched him blow for blow. Each strike was met with a counter, each move was calculated.
At one point, Daemon's helmet was knocked loose from his head by a swift blow from Rhaegor, sending it skidding across the field. Instead of anger, Daemon grinned—a wild, wolfish grin that told Rhaenyra everything she needed to know. He was enjoying this, relishing the challenge his son presented.
Daemon backhanded Rhaegor causing his helm to fling off, an action that the younger man hadn't expected. The melee was brutal, and many had died even in this one, but the Rhaegor had faced foes so far too proud to resort to such attacks.
One would expect frustration from him, especially as it was Rhaegor who started this fight, but instead, the young boy grinned. An action that mirrored his father.
Rhaenyra couldn't help but notice just how much the two were enjoying themselves. It was like two bucks ramming their antlers together, testing which were stronger. However, Rhaenyra wasn't sure those animals did it for the same reason father and son were now.
Criston Cole, meanwhile, attempted to capitalize on the father-son battle by launching his own attacks. But both Daemon and Rhaegor, though focused on each other, would deftly block or parry Cole's strikes without breaking from their duel, almost as if they had an unspoken agreement to handle their business first.
As the fight wore on, the toll of the day's battles began to show. Rhaegor, having already fought and defeated several opponents, was visibly tiring. But in a surprising move, he slammed his shield into Daemon's chest, sending his father stumbling backward. Daemon, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic tactic, fell to one knee.
Rhaenyra held her breath. Would Rhaegor press the advantage? But instead of finishing him, Rhaegor paused, and Daemon raised his hand in surrender, yielding the fight with that same satisfied grin on his face. It was clear to anyone watching that Daemon wasn't bothered by the loss—in fact, he seemed proud.
Now, only two combatants remained: Criston Cole and Rhaegor. The crowd grew tense as they squared off, and Rhaenyra leaned forward in anticipation.
But Rhaegor was clearly exhausted from his fight with Daemon, and it was obvious to anyone watching that he was at a disadvantage. Cole, still fresh from his earlier bouts, fought methodically, picking apart Rhaegor's defenses with calculated strikes. The younger fighter managed to hold his own for a while, his determination keeping him in the fight. But slowly, surely, Cole began to wear him down.
It had been to Cole's advantage that Rhaegor had allowed the older man to catch his breath. But despite being run down, Rhaegor was quick to compensate. Where before the young man relied on his quick feet to dodge, now he stood strong by tanking blows with his shield. The fight became a more dull affair mechanically but to Rhaenyra, it couldn't have been more gripping.
In the end,it hadn't been Cole's actions that cost the young bastard the match, it had been Rhaegor's earlier fight with his father. Clashing blades as fiercely as they did wasn't good to even finely crafted steel swords, but when the Valyrian steel of Dark Sister was being parried by a plain sword, that left a more severe cost on steel. A well placed strike from Cole snapped Rhaegor's blade, leaving him with nothing but a hilt and a stub in his hand. Rhaegor tried to slide his shield into place so he could bash Cole's arm away, but the older man snapped a kick into Rhaegor's arm before bashing him in the chest with his own.. Rhaegor, too tired to rise, yielded, leaving Criston Cole as the victor of the melee.
As the crowd erupted into cheers, Rhaenyra couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for Rhaegor. He had fought valiantly, proving himself on the field. And though he hadn't won, he had earned the respect of those watching, including her.
The murmurs around Rhaenyra were audible now, and she overheard Rhaenys speaking to Corlys Velaryon.
"The boy would've won if he'd teamed up with Daemon," Rhaenys said with a knowing smile.
Corlys nodded, his voice low and approving. "Aye, but he's shown his character. He fights his own battles, even against his father. I can see why Daemon is so insistent to claim him fully."
Rhaenyra's eyes widen at that news. It wasn't unheard of a bastard being made legitimate, but uselessly that was when other resources were spent. She was aware that her Uncle was unhappy in his marriage, his words for the lady wife were not kind. But if he was to do this, it would mark on their House. A disrespect given to one of Vale's Eldest Houses.
She couldn't imagine her father going for it... but then Rhaenyra's eyes caught the pair of them, Daemon and Rhaegor, and couldn't help but notice the warmth. It would've been more in line with the rest of Westeros to have him warded by someone else, someone outside of the family but proven loyal to the crown. But it was hard to blame Daemon's actions, not when the sight of fatherly love was so clear to see.
Even losing out to Criston Cole, it seemed in the eyes of the crowd, the eyes of Daemon, and in her eyes, that Rhaegor was the true victor in this.
Author's Note: It has come to my attention that some of you aren't familiar with Breath of Fire Lore.
So I only need you know there was once a race of Humans that were dragons. They could transform into dragons, transform into humans. What were their true form? Depended on the game. In one the transformation was more like a Final Fantasy boss summon, and I think this is the case in 2 as well but in three it was a genuine form Ryu, the mc's default name, could take. In that one, the true form of the character is debatable when you look at the gameplay/story segregation.
There's a lot of plot from the first two games that don't matter in this particular story.
Anything you need to know will be introduced in this story as if it is new information to the narrative as it will be to the characters themselves.