A/n:

Hi, sorry for the long hiatus.

I got hyper fixated on manwha's and went down that rabbit hole. BL isekai's sign me up.

Dyna never expected this: being escorted through the ancestral home of dragons by a white knight, of all things. The sound of her boots echoed faintly against the polished stone floors as they walked, her eyes flitting from one mesmerizing detail to the next.

Up close, Dragonstone was overwhelming, its sheer size and majesty almost oppressive. The twisting corridors carved from volcanic rock seemed alive, their walls adorned with intricate carvings of dragons mid-flight, their obsidian eyes gleaming in the flickering torchlight. It felt like walking through the ribcage of some ancient, slumbering beast.

Byren, her boy, moved ahead of her, his soft brown curls bouncing with every eager step. His hands flitted nervously, touching his chest, his arms, never quite being able to stay still, before returning to clasp in front of him as he walked. His blue eyes, wide and shimmering with curiosity, darted from one wonder to the next: from the towering statues of dragons that flanked the halls to the gold-and-ruby sconces holding steady flames.

Her boy had always been different from others his age. Where other children were rough and brash, seeking play or quarrels, Byren preferred the quiet.

He had a tenderness that set him apart, a gentleness others often mistook for weakness. He'd spend hours running his fingers over the bark of a tree or tracing the grain of the wood in her worn table at home, fascinated by the patterns no one else bothered to notice. His excitement at seeing Dragonstone was boundless, it showed in soft gasps of awe rather than shouts of joy. His hands reached tentatively toward the intricate stonework, but he never dared touch, as if he feared he might break the spell by coming too close.

Dyna often worried for him. The world had little patience for boys like Byren. It was a cruel place, one that demanded strength and guile. Her boy, with his soft voice and quiet heart, was so poorly suited to it.

She prays every day the gods would shield him from its worst, but today, at least, she could let him bask in this wonder.

She had never imagined such a thing, walking through Dragonstone as a guest of the royal family.

A prince, a Targaryen prince at that, had stumbled into her life with a baby dragon, no larger than a hound, and somehow, here she was.

The boy, with his bright violet eyes and silver-gold hair, had been polite, even humble. It was his dragon that had sealed her fate.

The knight ahead of them came to a halt, turning to address her. "The king has declared you and your son to be treated as honored guests," he said in a clipped, formal tone. "Full rights and privileges of hospitality. You'll find a bath prepared and fresh linens in your chambers."

Dyna blinked, absolutely stunned by his words. "Thank you," she managed, her voice more breathless than she intended. Beside her, Byren tugs impatiently at her sleeve, his face speckled in wonder.

"Mah," he whispers, his voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the hall's stillness. "Did you see the dragons carved into the doorframes? They're all different! I think they're families. They're all together, like us."

She smiled, but her chest tightened at his words.

Family.

The knight nods curtly before departing, leaving Dyna alone with her boy and the young maid tasked with tending to their needs. Byren, however, was already moving toward a delicate piece of furniture, an intricately carved table inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl.

"Balerion's balls!" Byren exclaimed in a hushed, reverent voice, his fingers hovering over the polished surface as though he wanted to touch but didn't dare.

"Careful!" Dyna snaps, her voice sharp with worry. "We can't afford to pay for that if you break it!"

Byren turns to her, his eyes wide with dismay. "But, Mah, look how they made it! Do you think they carved it by hand, or did they use magic? It's so smooth, like water made into wood!"

Dyna sighs, shaking her head and ushering him away from the table. "It doesn't matter how they made it. Come, let's see our rooms before you destroy something."

She lets the maid steer them down the hall, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder to keep him contained as he vibrates with excitement. As much as she worried for him, as much as his wonder scared her, she couldn't bring herself to snuff it out.

He deserved this moment, this awe, even if it was fleeting.

When they reach their chambers and she almost stumbles at the steaming bath prepared for them, with soft towels and even finer linens layed about, more luxurious than she had ever touched, she couldn't help but let her worries melt away.

For tonight, at least, she would allow herself to feel more than a commoner.

King Jaehaerys watches his grandson carefully, his aged hand resting against the boy's pale cheek. His own violet eyes searched the child's face, noting every twitch of his lips, every flicker of fear in his wide, silver-gold eyes.

"Tell me what happened, Jaeh," the king said softly, though his voice carried the weight of command.

The boy shifts uncomfortably, his small hands clutching the dragon nestled tightly against his side. The hatchling hissed faintly, sensing the boy's distress.

"I… I must've dreamwalked, Grandfather," the boy whispered, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to leave. I don't even remember leaving. I just… woke up in a cave."

The king's expression didn't change, but his heart ached at the boy's words. Dreamwalking that is different. Others in their family touched by such gifts, only had snippets of visions, and whispers of prophecy.

But this? A boy so young, being pulled from his bed and guided to a cavern to obtain a dragon. This makes him feel a weight he hasn't felt since his alysanne passed. If his grandson was touched by the gods, then what does that mean?

Could he be the one?

The promised child? No, that feels wrong, this is something different, something unsettling, even for a king well-versed in the strange and unnatural.

"There was a dream," the boy continues bringing the old king out of his musings, his voice barely audible. "A great big dragon, it spoke to me, I think."

"Then I woke up on… on…" Jaehaerys's breath hitches, his face crumpling as panic claws at him. The dragon in his arms hissed louder, and the king's sharp eyes flicked toward it.

"Calm yourself, little hatchling," Jaehaerys murmured in High Valyrian, his voice soothing. He wasn't sure if he was speaking to his grandson or the dragon.

Perhaps both.

The boy blinks at the sound of the ancient tongue, his breath slowing as the words wrapped around him like a balm.

King Jaehaerys gestures for the dragon keeper, but the boy shakes his head, clutching the hatchling tighter. His small hands tremble against the creature's warm scales.

The king knelt beside the boy on his bed, his aged knees protesting the motion, and rests his hands gently on the boy's shoulders. "You have been touched by something greater, Jaeh," he said softly, his voice kind but firm. "Dreams are the gods' whispers, but they are not always gentle."

"You are safe now, little dragon."

The boy looks up at him, his silver-gold hair damp with tears. The king reached out, brushing the strands back from his face. "The gods have plans for you," he said, his voice quieter now.

"For both of you." His gaze flicked briefly to the hatchling before returning to his grandson. "Do not fear what you cannot yet understand. In time, the truth will reveal itself."

The boy can only nod, his tiny hands stroking the dragon's head as it purrs against him. The king straightens, his mind already racing with what this could mean for their house, for their future.

But for tonight, his grandson needed rest. The weight of prophecy could wait.

Daemon leans against the cold stone of the window ledge, the roar of the sea filling his ears. He stared out at the churning waves, their restless motion mirroring the turmoil inside him. The salty wind lashed at his face, stinging his eyes, but he welcomed the discomfort. It was better than the alternative, better than the knot of bitterness winding tighter and tighter in his chest.

It was happening again.

For as long as Daemon could remember, he had always been the second choice, the one standing just to the side while someone else basked in the light. His older brother, Viserys, had been the golden heir, the responsible one, the one destined for greatness. Daemon, on the other hand, was the afterthought, the shadow trailing behind.

And now, even Jaehaerys, little Jaeh, who still clutched his tunic like a babe afraid of the dark, had stolen the gods' favor.

Daemon clenches his fists, his nails biting into his palms. A dragon. Jaehaerys had a dragon. A bond gifted by the gods themselves.

Where was his dragon?

He presses his lips into a thin line, willing himself to push the thought away. It wasn't Jaehaerys's fault. The boy hadn't asked for this, and Daemon didn't blame him. Not really, but that didn't stop the bitterness from curling in his gut like a snake, hissing its poisonous thoughts.

The soft patter of footsteps broke through his brooding, followed by a voice that made him tense.

"Daemon?"

Of course, it was Jaehaerys.

Daemon didn't turn. He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, his jaw tightening. He could hear the hesitation in the boy's voice, the tentative note that came whenever Jaehaerys didn't quite understand what he'd done wrong.

"Daemon," Jaehaerys said again, a little closer now. "Are you mad at me?"

Daemon snorted, though there was no humor in it.

"I'm not mad," he muttered, his voice low and clipped. It wasn't true, but he couldn't bring himself to admit the real reason for his sour mood. Not to Jaehaerys.

The boy was quiet for a moment, and for a brief second, Daemon thought he might leave. Instead, soft footsteps approached, and out of the corner of his eye, Daemon saw him, small, slight, with silver-gold hair that caught the torchlight like molten metal.

Perched on his shoulder was the hatchling, its golden eyes gleaming with a sharp intelligence that seemed out of place in such a small creature.

"Then why won't you talk to me?" Jaehaerys asked, his voice tinged with hurt. "You haven't said more than two words to me since…" He trailed off, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his tunic.

Daemon's gaze flicked to the dragonling, which chirped softly, its sharp claws gripping Jaehaerys's shoulder. He felt the knot in his chest twist tighter.

"Go away, Jaeh," he said, harsher than he intended. "I'm not in the mood."

He heard the boy's sharp intake of breath, the slight hitch that told Daemon he'd hurt him.

For a fleeting moment, he felt a pang of guilt. But it was quickly swallowed by the bitterness roiling inside him.

"I didn't mean to make you angry," Jaehaerys said quietly, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves. "I just thought… I thought you'd be proud of me."

Daemon's chest tightened. Proud.

How could he explain to Jaehaerys that it wasn't anger he felt? That it wasn't even really about him? It wasn't Jaehaerys's fault that Daemon was always second-best, always standing in someone else's shadow.

First Viserys, now Jaehaerys. Even the gods seemed to favor them over him.

"You'll get your dragon," Jaehaerys said suddenly, his tone brightening with the innocent confidence only a child could muster. "And you'll be the fiercest warrior to ever ride one! This is just my time, Daemon. Yours will come."

Daemon couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped him. "My time?" he repeated, turning to face his brother. Jaehaerys flinched at the sharpness in his voice, but Daemon didn't care, "Do you know how many times I've heard that, Jaeh?"

"From Grandfather, from Mother, from everyone? 'Your time will come, Daemon.'" He shook his head, a mirthless smile tugging at his lips. "I'm still waiting."

Jaehaerys stared at him, his wide violet eyes glimmering with unshed tears. The dragonling hissed softly, its small wings flaring in what looked like a protective gesture.

Daemon sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn't meant to snap. It wasn't Jaehaerys's fault, and he knew that, but the boy's wide-eyed innocence, his unwavering belief that everything would work out, grated on Daemon in a way he couldn't quite explain.

"Come here," he said finally, his voice softer now.

Jaehaerys hesitated, but when Daemon held out a hand, he stepped closer. Daemon ruffled his hair, ignoring the boy's half-hearted protests and the dragonling's warning chirp.

"Have you decided on a name yet?" he asked, nodding toward the hatchling.

Jaehaerys brightened instantly, the hurt vanishing from his face.

"Ikarus," he said proudly. "His name is Ikarus."

Daemon raised an eyebrow. It was a bold name, one that carried weight. Ikarus had been a dragon of legend, a creature of unmatched power and strength. That Jaehaerys had chosen such a name for his hatchling was… unexpected.

"Ikarus," Daemon repeated, glancing at the dragonling. It tilted its head at him, its golden eyes unblinking.

"It suits him," Daemon said finally, though his voice was tinged with reluctance.

Jaehaerys beamed, and for a moment, Daemon felt the bitterness in his chest ease. His brother's smile was infectious, and despite himself, he couldn't help but return it.

But as Jaehaerys turned, cradling his dragonling with all the joy in the world, Daemon felt the knot tighten again.

His time would come. It had to.

But as he watched his little brother walk away, he couldn't shake the nagging fear that it never would.

A/n:

I chose Ikarus, because I always loved the story behind it and its meaning of be mindful of your ambitions, and Richard Madden in eternal is so fine. Thoughts on the name? To cliche?

Don't worry daemon Caraxus is coming soon, stubborn serpent is just mourning his sweet aemon, red wyrm is sentimental (my headcanon)

Thank you for your patience :)