Viserys Targaryen (123 AC)
To be entirely honest, he had not seen his son, his heir in quite some time. Something that as he looked at him... he likely should have pressed for much more given the state of him. Less due to the fact that his son had removed his clothes and showed him the sheer extent of the scales, of the armor that covered most of his body. There was even a scattering of the dark purple scales on his face, as if his son's body was making a helm. Or a crown given some of the nubs and how they were spaced about his brow.
Truthfully, there was a shiver of something as he watched his boy, the child that his beloved was able to give him. He was tall and strong, more so than could be readily accounted for by his frame, but at the same time he was reclusive and shy. Or at least, that was how it was mentioned to him. He did not see it, as his son, shirtless and without armor, went into the practice yard, a sword in hand like a natural extension of his body, a presence around him the equal of any dragon.
It was a sort of danger, even as the Kingsguard tensed, slit eyes looking over them almost dismissively. He was just a boy of ten namedays, and yet, as he looked over Baleon, there was a moment were it all faded away, as he beheld not the boy, but the man that would be. At the throne whose shadow stretched across the world as dragons soared in the skies. The shadow of black wings, of a will harder than steel or fire.
And then the dream faded, as the words echoed, faint and something that he could not catch, caressing his soul with laughter, the marks of a smoldering clawed hand on his cheek, and the laughter of ravens, as he began the drills in the yard.
Aemond Targaryen
He was not sure what to think of Baleon, his eldest brother who had no dragon, and yet was the heir. A brother that was distant and reclusive, that barely interacted with anyone, who was born deformed and doomed to an early death and yet remained alive. Indeed, based on the whispering, he seemed to merely grow stronger over time, if also less natural. A great part of him pondered this, as he looked at his brother, having tracked him down.
He was unsure why their father allowed his heir to be so reclusive, so unknown even to his family. And yet, as the eyes burned like torches in the dark, he had a greater understanding, even as he sneered. He could barely tolerate Ageon, barely tolerate the fact that his lazy and unmotivated brother was the spare, the one who would inherit when their elders birth defects finally did him in. And yet, the capable one, the one willing to do what it took to rule, was in third place. "Brother."
The tone made him shudder, provoked instincts needing to find shelter, to find a place to hide from the predator before him. Because there were enough features on his elder that made it clear, that while they spoke of being dragons... his lips curled into a smile. "Brother."
He would learn from the one in the family that actually was one.
Corlys Velaryon (126 AC)
There was no close link between the boy and himself, save that Laenor and his sister were wed. And yet, the young man stood as tall as any man, and was more a dragon in roughly human shape than a mere man. Still, it made him curious as to why the prince wished to lend his aid. "You claim to have those that are willing to fight on your behalf." To be entirely honest, as he looked down at the whelp that delayed his blood on the throne, he was not sure just what to think, as there was indeed some truth to the whispers of the rarely seen monstrous prince. There was no crown of flame between curled rams horns however, a lack of a tail and the cloak was the wrong shape to be disguised wings. "To fight against the Triarchy in the Stepstones, despite your father remaining as passive as ever."
It was as close to a damning a statement as he could make, given that Viserys was still king an d in good health. But the other man merely chuckled. "Father values peace, or the ideal of peace, over the reality of things from time to time." The draconic boy sighed, shaking his head. "And truthfully, I agree with him, in that it is a noble goal to strive towards." A part of his stomach curdled, and then the boy raised a hand, a claw swaying back and forth. "And yet, can we call what exists true peace, or merely the peace of the ignorant, unaware of the dangers?"
A sharp snort, flickers of flame, of smoke from the boys nostrils. "It is the latter I fear, due to the simple fact that true peace there needs to a certain amount of strength, of the fact that if those who view you with hungry eyes know that they approach that they will burn, if not drown in their own blood." There was something dark in the youths face, as those eyes gleamed. "I am the blood of the dragon." There was more weight to those words than there should be, given his appearance. "And these pirates and thieves dare touch that which belongs to us?" The creatures chuckling was like bones cracking in a flame. "Take my hand my lord, and let our enemies burn."
Racallio Ryndoon
Fires raged out of control and the very seas seemed to be aflame. It was not, as they desperately tried to escape, wildfire. No, it was sorcery beyond that of the Red Priests, as they followed the Ashen Dragon, the Monstrous Heir to the Iron Throne. The priests carried censers, chanting as the skies rumbled and the seas cracked open, as it rained flames and embers, as shapes grew in the dancing flows of heat and monstrous things of living flame and molten rock ambled forth, sweeping mortal men aside to the laughter of the creature flying above, held aloft on wings of black fire.
Even as they tried to desperately charge the chanting sorcerer-priests, armored knights, their swords blaze held the line, ashes and smoke coming to their call as they struck, as they struck men down with blade and spell. Even then, they shone, beacons in the battle that all could see and hear as they sang and reaped terrible tolls in lives... and every time when it was possible that they should have been struck down, one of the priests touched them with a rod, flames engulfing them as they returned the the fray.
This entire war was a clusterfuck, because yes, the Westerosi were annoying enough to deal with, but these maddened zealots of fire and ash were something that had not been seen since the doom, or even before then, the tales of the dragons being one of the last great things of magic left in the world now proven false. Every ship which had one of those priests on it would be able to reduce any of their ships to flaming wrecks, even as the ash wrapped knights protected the sorcerers as they reduced battlefields into new volcanos and fields of pyres.
In the west, the dragons had awoken to sorcery, and now, he had to warn all who would listen, before they burned.
Laena Velaryon
She faced Vhagar, shaking somewhat, but firm as she prepared to meet her end as a dragon rider should, to die in the flames. Which is when the voice spoke. "Kneel."
It was a simple word, and one that she obeyed without thought, without understanding, even as she witnessed the Queen of All Dragons kneeling alongside her, shock widening the ancient dragons eyes, as her head rose. And then she saw him, black flames clinging to him as he strode towards them, something of myth and legend, as her dragon growled, flames gathering and he raised a hand. "Cease your attempts to burn me. I come with an offer for my good sister."
There was something mocking, something that was daring for the dragon to breath, to engulf him in flame. And something, as he looked over them both without hesitation or fear, that such would amount to nothing. "You fear the babe will kill you." The words were heavy, sharp and without remorse. "I offer you life. Take my hand and live. Know that you will owe it and your unborn child to me." He sneered. "Or embrace the flames and die. I merely offer another choice."
He was a dragon in the shape of a man, with wings of black fire on his back and whose presence was greater than that of mighty Vhagar. She smiled, as she reached out, as she felt life itself burn in heir veins, as she cried with relief and exultation.
When Daemon Targaryen arrived scant minutes later, it was to see her cradling their child in her arms, and with his nephew nowhere to be seen.