"The one in my arms is the older brother."
Rhaenyra's eyes curved into a smile.
"Heh, then the one in my arms must be the younger brother."
Viserys gently teased his little grandson.
Rhaenyra beamed with pride. "He's amazing—he hatched a dragon egg on the very day he was born."
"Oh, now that is truly a natural-born dragon rider."
Viserys was astonished, his gaze toward his grandson growing even more affectionate.
Who wouldn't love a descendant with such pure Valyrian blood?
"They are both incredible. One day, they will be the greatest dragon riders."
Rhaegar's expression softened as he fully embraced the warmth of their family reunion. He then brought up an important matter: "The twins haven't been named yet."
At those words, Viserys's eyes lit up, and a renewed energy seemed to course through his frail body.
Rhaegar smiled. "Rhaenyra and I both believe that, as their grandfather, you should be the one to name them. They would love that."
As he spoke, he gently caressed his younger son's cheek, then exchanged a glance with Rhaenyra.
Viserys grew emotional, and his once sluggish mind seemed to quicken.
Encouraging him further, Rhaenyra said kindly, "Father, the right to name them is officially yours."
"Good! Good!"
Viserys repeated the word twice, his voice full of joy. Surrounded by his children's love and consideration, he wore a smile more radiant than he had in years.
For a moment, even his illness seemed less daunting.
Rhaegar simply smiled, patiently waiting for his father to choose names.
He sincerely hoped that these newborns would bring their grandfather a new spring in life. That they could accompany him for another sixteen years. And another sixteen after that.
"You truly are all wonderful children."
Viserys understood the love his children held for him. His eyes grew misty as he gazed at them and his grandsons, his heart brimming with joy.
After a moment of deep thought, he made his decision.
Under the expectant gazes of the three adults in the room, Viserys looked at his daughter—or rather, the infant in her arms—and declared with certainty, "Baelon! This child shall be named Baelon Targaryen, inheriting the name of your grandfather."
Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly, contemplating the name.
Rhaegar's expression remained natural, and he nodded in approval. "Good. Then he shall be Baelon. May he be as brave as his grandfather."
He had once glimpsed fragments of his mother's dream, a vision from the past when she gave birth to him.
In her final moments, she had called out his name, the name he bore now.
Before that, Baelon had been the name his father had originally chosen for him, to honor the memory of his late grandfather.
"As long as you like it," Viserys said, his eyes filled with nostalgia.
He then turned to his younger grandson, who was gurgling and blowing tiny bubbles with his mouth. After a moment of contemplation, he murmured, "Baelon's greatest brother was Aemond Targaryen. They were the pride of their generation."
Rhaegar listened quietly, already anticipating the name.
Sure enough, his father soon declared, "Then this child shall be named Aemond. May they share a brotherhood as deep as those two did, and become legends of their time."
Aemond, heir to the Iron Throne.
Baelon, the brave warrior.
One tamed the formidable Blood Wyrm, Caraxes. The other rode Vhagar, one of the three dragons of conquest.
Together, they embodied both wisdom and valor, making their era one of the most glorious in King Jaehaerys's reign.
Rhaegar and Rhaenyra exchanged a knowing glance, both deeply satisfied with these names, rich with history and hope.
Ignoring the fact that Baelon was still nursing, Rhaenyra playfully pinched his chubby cheek and laughed. "Did you hear that? Grandfather named you Baelon."
"It's a fine name, no doubt about it!"
Viserys was immensely proud of his choices.
The three of them laughed together.
Watching from the side, Laenor finally joined in, sitting at the edge of the bed while gazing at little Aemond. With a hint of sentimentality, she said, "To inherit our grandfather's name… he will surely be an exceptional Targaryen."
Her own memories of her grandfather were faint, reduced to the occasional reminiscing of her mother.
Viserys's smile faded slightly, replaced with a gentle expression as he looked at Laenor. "Your mother was unable to carry on Aemond's legacy. By naming this child after him, I hope to bring her some comfort."
"I think my mother would have loved this little one," Laenor said softly, smiling.
Viserys wasn't joking. He spoke with solemn sincerity. "Once the Dornish War ends and Rhaenys returns to King's Landing, she must hold this child."
The loss of her son had left Rhaenys heartbroken. Viserys couldn't imagine how he would bear such grief himself.
Laenor's expression faltered slightly before she said, "Thank you, Your Majesty."
"We are family."
Viserys set aside his royal authority, his words warm and heartfelt.
During the Great Council of 101 AC, he had competed against Rhaenys for the right to inherit the Iron Throne.
Though he had won, he had spent years haunted by the fear of Corlys Velaryon's rebellion.
For a decade, that anxiety had plagued him, robbing him of sleep.
Due to this and other mounting tensions, his relationship with Rhaenys had rapidly deteriorated, turning into mutual resentment.
Even after Rhaegar asserted dominance over Driftmark, forcing Corlys to accept the Dragon Law—which limited House Velaryon's right to dragon-riding—their rift remained.
Now, however, Viserys had the heir he had always hoped for, six exceptional children, and even a pair of twin grandsons.
At last, his long-standing insecurity was soothed, his heart both strong and at peace.
In contrast, Rhaenys had lost her eldest son, and House Velaryon had been humbled beneath the Iron Throne.
With his grievances dissipated, Viserys now simply wanted to take care of his cousin and strengthen the bond between their families.
Laenor saw the genuine warmth in his eyes, sensing the goodwill he extended.
For a long while, the room was filled with quiet understanding, each person lost in their hopes for the future.
Fifteen minutes later, both infants had fallen asleep, their tiny eyes shut in peace.
Viserys adored them dearly, but his shoulders ached too much to keep holding Aemond. With some reluctance, he handed the baby back to Rhaegar.
As Rhaegar took his son, he finally brought up another matter. "Father, how do you plan to deal with Alicent?"
Viserys froze for a moment before falling into silence. After a long pause, he finally said, "You and Rhaenyra need not concern yourselves. I will handle it personally—it will not affect you."
At the last word, you, his tone carried a weight of meaning.
Rhaegar understood immediately.
That you did not refer to just him and Rhaenyra—it included Aegon, Helaena, and their other four siblings as well.
His father was going to…
Rhaegar was not surprised. He remained silent.
Viserys suddenly chuckled, patting his son's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't overthink it. Alicent truly went too far this time."
Rhaegar still said nothing, only gazing at his father with a complicated expression.
"Mm…"
The swaddled baby in his arms moved slightly. Little Aemon seemed to be dreaming, letting out soft murmurs from his tiny mouth.
Rhaegar gently stroked his youngest son's delicate, rosy cheek. His gaze shifted to his father's hand resting on his shoulder.
It was his father's left hand, missing both the ring finger and pinky. The pale skin was wrinkled with age.
For a moment, his mind wavered, and a sudden thought emerged.
"Am I a father now too?"
Rhaegar stared blankly, struck by a deeper understanding of the word father.
His own father had been willing to give up everything for him.
Including... Alicent.
Abruptly, father and son fell into silence.
Rhaenyra, gently rocking the swaddled infant in her arms, noticed the heavy atmosphere between them. A flicker of curiosity flashed in her eyes.
Suddenly, she realized that when her father had spoken of handling things, he might not have meant protecting Alicent.
A tight, complex emotion rose in her chest.
Laenor, sensitive to the tension in the room, sensed that this was not the right place for him. He exchanged a glance with Rhaenyra and silently stepped out of the chamber.
Rhaenyra's gaze lingered on father and son before hesitantly following suit.
At yesterday's Small Council meeting—and even during childbirth—she had desperately wished for Alicent's demise.
The first was out of fury. The second, out of fear.
She had feared dying in childbirth, leaving Alicent to continue clinging to Rhaegar. She had wanted to send her former confidante to meet the Stranger first.
But today…
Holding her newborn son, Rhaenyra no longer wished to be involved in their scheming.
With the two women gone, the atmosphere in the chamber grew even heavier.
Rhaegar remained silent for a long time before finally speaking. "I'll go see Alicent later."
"There's no need."
"A face-to-face conversation is necessary. Some things must be said clearly."
Holding his youngest son in one arm, Rhaegar placed the ghost orchid powder box on the bedside table. Rising to his feet, he said, "I'll be leaving for Oldtown in a couple of days. You should rest and recover—leave everything to me."
He offered a reassuring smile before carrying the child out of the room.
Viserys watched his eldest son's retreating figure in a daze. He instinctively raised a hand to stop him, only to let it fall weakly back to his side.
His son understood his desire to protect him. And Viserys, in turn, understood the deeper meaning behind his son's words.
Perhaps… there was still room to maneuver.
Viserys remained lost in thought, silent.
The thick scent of medicine filled the chamber, mingling with the fragrance of orchids and the faint milky scent of the infant.
Outside the room.
Two Kingsguard knights stood guard at the door, watching as the crown prince and princess disappeared down the corridor.
Suddenly, from behind the closed door, a soft, stifled sobbing could be heard.
The two knights tensed, lowering their heads, trying to make themselves invisible.
---
Behind Maegor's Holdfast, in the Sept of the Seven.
Rhaegar and Rhaenyra left their father's chamber and headed directly to where the queen was being held.
Laenor had already left to inform the Hand of the King to convene a Small Council meeting.
Inside the Sept's grand hall.
Statues of the Seven surrounded the spacious chamber, positioned along the four walls in a circle.
At the center of the hall, a round altar stood conspicuously.
Resting atop it was the skull of the Black Dread—Balerion.
Rhaegar approached the altar, hovering his hand above the dense array of candles, feeling their heat.
As a child, Balerion's skull had been the first relic given to him.
It was here, using white tallow candles, that he had tested the Blood and Fire blessing.
"Balerion… truly a mighty guardian of House Targaryen."
Rhaenyra, still holding her child, approached and placed her slender fingers over Rhaegar's hand, lightly flicking the candle flames.
Rhaegar smiled, took her hand in his, and said, "Come with me. Let's pay a visit to our stepmother."
He had refused his father's sacrifice.
Not for Alicent. Not out of mercy.
He simply didn't want his father to go against his own conscience—to suffer the pain of losing another wife at his age.
At the same time, looking down at the baby in his arms, he felt a sense of responsibility toward his younger siblings.
He had grown up without a mother. He didn't want to take away the shelter his siblings still had.
As a child, he had envied Aegon for having a mother. Rhaenyra had been the one to fill that emotional void for him.
If Alicent were to die, he couldn't offer them the same.
Rhaenyra caught the teasing tone in his voice and shot him a sideways glance but obediently followed him upstairs, hand in hand.
Holding little Aemon, Rhaegar looked at Rhaenyra and baby Baelor by his side. His heart felt as light as the early days of spring.
After all these years, Alicent had been… tolerable.
There was no point in targeting her. It was better to leave her fate in their father's hands.
Compared to that, Rhaegar was more interested in eliminating the true source of all trouble.
"The Hightowers have grown far too comfortable in Oldtown."
---
The Sept, Top Floor Attic.
Calling it an attic was generous—it was more like a narrow, suffocating, forgotten little cell.
Rhaegar climbed the ladder to the top floor, accumulating cobwebs and dust on his clothes as he ascended.
"Mmm… mm…"
At the end of the hallway, muffled sobbing leaked through the cracks of a broken wooden door.
(End of Chapter.)