The simple truth of things was that my... reincarnation seemed to have changed little, due to no small part being... well, in the books and show, they merely said that Baelon Targaryen had breathing problems and passed before he was a day old. Given the fact that I was sure that my body had been trying to breathe fire without having the required immunity to smoke and flame before I flickered into awareness, it would be more accurate to say that in canon his... my, lungs had actually burned. Or produced enough internal smoke to have done my canon self in.

But I survived. I survived and slowly changed, more of the dragon coming to the fore even as I stubbornly clung to life. It was why, even with a 'heir' that little changed. Or at least, at the tender age of five years old, that is what I was assuming. I was treated less as a son and more of a burden in some respects. It was more likely than not the visibly inhuman features, the fact that I had scales, fangs and claws, that my eyes were molten pools with slit pupils.

I could listen. I understood that they were waiting for me to die. That my survival was not seen as likely, and that if I did, well, given how I clearly was not entirely human there was every chance that I would not be able to sire children. That I would be a sterile freak and unable to continue the line. Which of course is why father remarried, why he was aiming for a more human 'spare' that 'would be more likely to survive and have children of his own.'

It was why the Greens and the Blacks still formed. My step-mother and elder sister vying to see who would pass me over, or failing that, who would come after me in the succession. And the most annoying thing of all was that I cared not at all for the throne. That may just be the once more five year old in me speaking, but I looked at the throne and did not see a glorious prize to be won, but a prison.

To be sure, I would rather just lurk in a volcano, but failing that... perhaps I could see about heading North, to get away from the scavengers and beasts infesting Kings Landing. I snorted, flames emerging from my nostrils as I stalked the hidden passages. Fat chance of that. They did not even let me go to Dragonstone, nowhere that risked me being seen. After all, the changes had not exactly stopped. Though as of yet, it was a good thing there was no tail or wings.

That may cross a line.

Rhaenyra Targaryen (117 AC)

She loved her little brother, honestly, she did! It was why she was so concerned about making sure that the others recognized that he lived, that he existed. A part of her had been saddened that she was no longer a potential heir as she was no longer her fathers only child, an angry part that she would be set aside due to her sex. And yet the larger parts of herself were relived. Because she was, in many ways, free. Free to fly and explore and have adventures without the burdens or pressures that being the crown princess would have demanded of her.

To be sure, she had lost some of her influence, if hardly all of it, as she remained a princess and dragon rider both. She retained the love of her father... even as she struggled to understand his choices and there was a seed of resentment in her breast. Because her mother had died to bring her little brother into the world and now, because he shared some traits more clearly with the dragons than most, he was ignored and kept to the shadows. This, more than anything else, stoked the fire of anger in her heart.

To be sure, he was only five namedays old, and yet he was furtive, secretive and untrusting, even as he tried to fake it when meeting with anyone, when he was let out of his rooms, out of his comfortable cage! He was not sickly, even if he was lean and possessed of scales. His nails were closer to claws and his teeth resembled more the fangs of Syrax than something that would be in a human mouth, and quite suited for tearing into meat.

She pondered taking him on a hunt. Because the blood of the dragon ran in their veins, and dragons were predators, hunters and killers. So, maybe that could be a way to let him have some air and exercise, to hunt and indulge in that side of himself, even as she would try and see how his studies were going.

Because she had the suspicion that both their father and the Grand Measter may not be paying any mind or attention to him.

Alicent Hightower

She breathed deeply as she looked over her children. She had wanted to accept and love little Baelon, but at the same time, she had to accept that with his deformities, he was likely to die. Only for that not to be the case, and instead he had a sort of robust vitality that seemed as unnatural as much of the rest of him. Too late, did she understand just what was lurking in the Targaryen blood. Why so many of their children were stillborn.

And there was a trace of that now in her children, of that inhuman taint that burrowed deep and hid itself in something oh so pretty, oh so human looking in the case of her children. In her husbands face, in her former friends face. A mask over the monsters. After all, what else were dragons, but monsters ridden and commanded now by their more human seeming kin? She giggled, even as she patted her darlings. Because she was thankful for Baelon, for letting her know.

With her marriage, she could not escape, could not change anything. She had to choose which monsters she could support. Which demons were the more acceptable ones. So she sung a song, a holy hymn to her babes, to her own little monsters, no matter how fair their masks. Better for her monsters, with her blood, to take the throne, rather than the more open monster, for the creature that grew from blood and fire, skulking in the dark where it could not interact with HER children, with real children.

But no, as she smiled, her father would take care of everything. She merely had to do as she was told and it would all work out.

Acolyte Miltar

He bowed before the figure in the depths of the tunnels beneath the city, before his master. While dragons were fire and magic made flesh, only in the prince was the very essence of it distilled into something that transcended the mundane. And yet, he was willing to act as a bridge, to allow them glimpses into the greater truths and mysteries of the world. What is more, he offered power. Real power that did not rely on gold or influence, but that could be held in his hands.

And all that was required was to cast the Seven aside and bow before the dragon lurking in the depths. Let the Blacks and the Greens play their political games above. In the depths, flames powered by will and lore alone burned and danced.