Across the sea, Dragonstone.
"Hiss—Gah—"
The Glutton panted heavily, sprawled before the Stone Drum Tower, its chest rising and falling.
After flying intensely through the night without rest from Oldtown to Dragonstone, its stamina was nearly depleted.
Inside the Stone Drum Tower, a figure quickly stepped out.
"The Glutton, let's go."
Rhaegar's face was beaming with a smile as he cradled two dragon eggs in his arms.
These eggs would serve as cradles for his children.
One egg was entirely bronze, while the other was a deep shade of green.
They came from the ruins of the Syrax and Balerion bloodlines, respectively.
The Glutton's green eyes gleamed as it spread its wings, shifting its massive body.
Rhaegar climbed onto its back, carefully securing the eggs to his chest.
Whoosh—
A pair of pitch-black wings unfurled, and the massive dragon took off into the sky.
Rhaegar's smile remained undiminished; he couldn't wait to return to King's Landing.
The Glutton flew at a steady pace, soon leaving Dragonstone behind and entering the waters of Blackwater Bay.
Suddenly, the sea rippled gently, as if something had subtly shifted in the surroundings.
"Hm?" Rhaegar snapped his head up.
"Hiss—Gah—"
The Glutton, with its heightened senses, turned its neck sharply, its head now facing beyond the gullet.
More precisely, it was looking toward the northeastern corner of the Narrow Sea.
Rhaegar focused his gaze—it was roughly in the direction of the Shivering Sea.
In the central Narrow Sea, there were only Crab Isle and Gulltown; further north lay White Harbor and the Three Sisters.
Directly across the Narrow Sea, the only significant city was Braavos, one of the Nine Free Cities.
"Roar!"
The Glutton let out a raspy growl, its maw dripping faint traces of dragon saliva.
A shiver ran down Rhaegar's spine, a flash of confusion crossing his eyes.
Ever since his transformation into a Dragonborn, his sensitivity to magic had been growing.
Just now, the normally stable magic tides had fluctuated, as if a small stone had been dropped into a still pond.
Ordinary people wouldn't notice. Fire mages wouldn't notice.
But Rhaegar had sensed it clearly—like a fly passing before his eyes or the faint sound of a water droplet hitting the ground.
"The Glutton, you felt it too?"
Rhaegar patted the dragon's back, his mind racing.
Since the appearance of the Red Comet, the magic tides had been steadily increasing, and magical energy was becoming more active.
This resurgence had been beneficial to both the Dragonborn and dragons alike.
It was like an infant suckling its mother's milk, thriving in a nurturing environment.
For the magic tides to suddenly ripple like that… hopefully, this wasn't a bad omen.
"Roar!"
The Glutton's emerald pupils remained cold as it sniffed the air, trying to detect something.
But it was too far away to pinpoint.
Rhaegar stroked the dragon eggs against his chest, considering a possibility but unable to confirm it.
After some thought, he said, "Let's return to King's Landing first. I'll make time to check out the Shivering Sea later."
The disturbance in the magic tides had occurred roughly in Braavos' vicinity.
Once Dorne was conquered and the Oldtown faction dealt with, Braavos would eventually have to answer to House Targaryen.
"Hiss—Gah—"
The Glutton lifted its head and roared, flapping its wings and soaring across Blackwater Bay.
As it pierced through the clouds, it glanced back briefly.
Its eerie green eyes flickered with deep contemplation.
---
King's Landing.
Morning. The sun rose in the east.
In Flea Bottom, commoners were already out in the streets, busy working for their daily livelihood.
"Hiss—Gah—"
A massive black dragon flew over the city from Mud Gate, its dark wings blocking out the rising sun like an ominous shadow.
Circling over King's Landing once, it slowly descended into the Red Keep's gardens.
Inside Maegor's Holdfast, in the princess's chambers—
Rhaenyra lay reclined on a lounge chair, her eyes filled with warmth as she cradled two swaddled infants in her arms.
Suddenly, the door burst open with a loud bang.
Rhaegar rushed in, and the first thing he saw was her softly humming a lullaby, lulling the babies to sleep.
The melody abruptly stopped.
Rhaenyra looked toward the door, her violet eyes instantly lighting up with joy, a wide smile spreading across her face.
Rhaegar stood frozen, staring at the scene before him, unable to look away.
Even though he had prepared himself for this moment, seeing it in person still overwhelmed him with emotion.
Rhaenyra's smile was radiant. She lowered her head and gently kissed one of the infants before speaking first.
"Well? Are you just going to stand there? The children have been waiting for you."
Her words snapped Rhaegar out of his daze.
"I'm coming."
His thoughts finally settled, and he hurried forward.
After placing the dragon eggs down, he quickly knelt beside the lounge chair.
His violet eyes widened as he alternated between gazing at Rhaenyra's smiling face and studying the two small bundles in her arms.
"What? No words to say?"
Rhaenyra adjusted herself into a more comfortable position, the corners of her lips curling higher.
"On the contrary, I have too much to say."
Rhaegar's emotions were a whirlwind, but he reached out carefully, gently grasping a tiny foot. A grin spread across his face.
By Balerion's grace, Rhaenyra was truly holding two babies in her arms.
Feeling the soft, delicate skin under his fingertips, Rhaegar's expression turned dazed—his heart nearly melting.
"Want to hold one?"
Rhaenyra's eyes gleamed with amusement as she generously offered him one of the infants.
"Of course!"
Rhaegar answered immediately.
But instead of reaching for the swaddled baby, he wrapped his arms around Rhaenyra, pulling her into a tender embrace.
Burying his head into the crook of her neck, he murmured, "Rhaenyra, I'm home."
He loved children, and he would cherish his own even more.
But before anything else, he loved their mother.
Children were an extension of that love—but nothing could replace the person in his heart.
Rhaenyra's gaze grew increasingly gentle as she nuzzled her cheek against his head, softly complaining, "You've been gone for so long."
Rhaegar remained silent, tightening his embrace slightly.
Since the Dornish rebellion began, just the Battle of Dragon's Wrath alone had taken two months.
Including the preparations before and after, he and Rhaenyra had been apart for a full four months.
It was the longest they had ever been separated since he became the heir.
"Lift your head, I'm not blaming you."
Rhaenyra's voice was soft as she cherished the moment of intimacy.
Obediently, Rhaegar lifted his head and immediately noticed her slightly pale complexion. With concern in his voice, he asked, "Let me guess—something big happened while I was away from King's Landing, didn't it?"
"You didn't receive the Hand of the King's recall letter?"
"Recall?"
Rhaenyra looked surprised. "You didn't get the letter?"
Then why did he come back to King's Landing?
Rhaegar answered sincerely, "I felt it last night—my child was born. So, I rode my dragon, Glutton, and flew back nonstop."
Glutton was an excellent flyer; his wings had practically been smoking from the speed.
"You really are something."
Rhaenyra let out a surprised chuckle, skipping over his question. Instead, she moved the two swaddled infants closer and changed the subject. "Look! Both of them look exactly like you did when you were little."
Rhaegar took one of the bundles in his arms and observed carefully.
There was no need to dampen the joy of the moment with worries.
Lifting the cloth covering their faces, he studied the two babies closely.
They were so small.
Tiny, fair-skinned arms, chubby legs like little bamboo shoots, and adorable little faces no bigger than his palm.
One had a tiny arm exposed, with his left thumb in his mouth, suckling in his sleep.
The other had both legs outside the swaddle, sleeping just as soundly, his little chubby legs moving unconsciously.
The tiny foot Rhaegar had touched earlier belonged to this little one.
As he gazed at them, Rhaegar became entranced, finally asking with anticipation, "They look identical. Which one is the elder brother?"
Rhaenyra reached out and gently touched the baby who was sucking his thumb. "This one. He was born five minutes before his brother."
As she spoke, she tilted her chin proudly, like a little girl waiting to be praised.
Rhaegar tried to distinguish between them. The one in his left arm was the elder brother, while the one kicking his legs was the younger.
When he looked up, he saw Rhaenyra's expectant expression and didn't hold back his admiration. "Compared to conquering Dorne, you are the real hero—you overcame the greatest challenge of all."
"Hmph~"
Rhaenyra let out a soft hum, unable to suppress her laughter.
Rhaegar laughed along with her. He then dramatically lifted his left arm, gazing intently at his sleeping firstborn. "A healthy baby who eats and sleeps well—he is destined to be my heir, the future king on the Iron Throne."
Rhaenyra's smile grew even wider as she laughed cheerfully.
Rhaegar then raised his right arm and placed a gentle kiss on his second son's cheek, dramatically declaring, "Look at him—even in his sleep, he's training his body. He'll grow into a mighty warrior and dragonrider, with all the Disputed Lands at his feet. He'll be his brother's greatest ally."
"Haha, you always know how to make me laugh."
Rhaenyra was enchanted by the warmth of their little family, but she remained rational, asking openly, "Are you sure you want to give him the entire Disputed Lands?"
"Why not?"
Rhaegar countered with a question of his own.
Rhaenyra blinked and then smiled knowingly. "It's up to you. I have confidence that I can raise them well."
Based on what Rhaegar had done in Oldtown, she had a feeling he was hinting at something deeper.
Rhaegar was making a statement—that her children would hold the highest inheritance rights, ruling both the Iron Throne and the Narrow Sea.
He allowed her to interpret his words as she wished, holding their children close and showering them with affection.
By both law and sentiment, his eldest son was the undeniable first in line to inherit.
Beyond the Iron Throne, there were still many lands to grant as princedoms.
If his younger son proved capable, he would be the vanguard for the conquest of Essos, expanding their rule beyond the Narrow Sea.
If he was of more ordinary ability, he could inherit Rhaenyra's title as Prince of Lys, helping to control Daemon and Aegon.
Rhaegar lovingly cherished his two children, breathing in their sweet newborn scent before suggesting, "We should give them names worthy of their status."
"Finally, you thought of that," Rhaenyra teased, rolling her eyes. Then, in a more serious tone, she suggested, "Father is still unconscious. I want to wait until he wakes up so he can name them himself."
They could name the children themselves, but it wouldn't feel as meaningful.
Leaving the honor to her father would create a cherished memory—for both the siblings and the children in the future.
Rhaegar paused for a moment before agreeing wholeheartedly. "Alright, let's do that."
Everyone knew he was terrible at naming things.
The names of both his swords had been met with Rhaenyra's disapproval.
Glancing around, Rhaegar spotted two exquisitely crafted cradles made of pearwood beside the bed.
He carefully placed the two babies inside, settling them atop soft silk blankets.
Pushing the cradles closer to Rhaenyra's side, he retrieved two dragon eggs, his heart filled with anticipation. "Do you want to place them, or should I?"
Rhaenyra shot him a playful glare and held out her hand. "One each. Don't even think about keeping both for yourself."
"I never said I would."
Rhaegar smirked, holding a bronze-colored dragon egg. Without hesitation, he placed it in his firstborn's cradle.
He was curious—how much of his bloodline had passed on to his children?
If he calculated correctly…
When Rhaenyra had conceived, he had not yet undergone his transformation into a dragonborn.
So, the likelihood of the children inheriting those traits was slim.
And that might actually be a good thing.
The benefits of dragonborn blood were obvious—long life, control over fire, and an affinity with dragons.
But the drawbacks? He wasn't entirely sure yet. It seemed to make one more prone to losing control, possibly even developing draconic deformities.
The children were still too small. If they had inherited the drawbacks, it could be disastrous.
As these thoughts raced through his mind, Rhaenyra had already placed the dark green dragon egg in their younger son's cradle.
Rhaegar snapped back to the present, gazing at his two fair and delicate children, his heart swelling with tenderness.
Such healthy children—they were destined for greatness.
(End of Chapter)