Beneath the Red Keep — the secret treasury under Maegor's Holdfast.
The treasury of House Targaryen was guarded with the utmost secrecy.
As the legally recognized second in the line of succession, Prince Rhaegar was already being treated with the privileges of a first heir.
His gaze wandered restlessly over the dragon eggs of every hue.
If even a handful of these eggs could hatch into true dragons, how glorious House Targaryen would become once more.
But fortune and fate were fickle things.
When the tide was with you, heaven itself lent its strength.
When fortune turned, even heroes were bound hand and foot.
In an age where magic had waned, guarding dragon eggs was like sitting atop mountains of gold—without the key to open the vault. All they could do was wait, year after year, while guarding the secret with their lives.
King Jaehaerys II led Princess Rhaella and young Rhaegar onward, breaking the boy's reverie.
Beyond the racks of dragonbone holding the eggs, deeper within the chamber, lay another trove—jewels and gold, glimmering softly in the lamplight. The brilliance was dizzying. Since ancient times, wealth had stirred men's hearts. Gold could move even the gods.
So rich… Rhaegar thought.
This was the accumulated fortune of House Targaryen across generations—reserved for calamity. No king would ever touch it unless the realm itself stood on the brink.
At the innermost dragonbone rack, a collection of jewelry stood apart. Its craftsmanship and color were unmistakably foreign—Lysene, not Westerosi.
"These are relics of House Rogare?" Princess Rhaella asked.
The scale and quality of the treasure, steeped in Lyseni excess, made the answer obvious. The Targaryens rarely married outside their line, and marriages to Lys were rarer still—save for that one extraordinary union during the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons, when Prince Viserys had been held in Lys as a prize and investment.
"Yes," King Jaehaerys II said, nodding.
Rhaegar stared wide-eyed.
Golden bowls shaped like blooming roses.
Clusters of amethyst grapes.
Gemstone plates engraved with scenes of entwined lovers—youthful, intimate, and unabashed.
Every piece was exquisite beyond measure.
The tales of Lysene indulgence were clearly no exaggeration.
In a shadowed corner stood several small vials, untouched. Thoughtful labels marked them:
"Tears of Lys."
"The Strangler."
Poisons of the highest grade.
"These are treasures gathered by past kings," Jaehaerys said quietly. "Gold and jewels are not to be used unless absolutely necessary. These Lysene pieces were sent to us by Queen Larra Rogare before her death."
Larra Rogare—daughter of a great banker of Lys, wife to King Viserys II, mother of Aegon IV.
"She retained a vast inheritance. Even at the end of her life, she sent these back to House Targaryen. During this war…" The king's voice faltered. "I nearly had these melted down."
There was sorrow in his words.
Rhaegar looked at his grandfather and understood.
In times of decline, even a king could find himself without good choices. Jaehaerys II was no conqueror. The crown upon his head was more shackle than glory.
Rhaegar knew Queen Larra's story well. A love that crossed two continents, ending in bitterness and exile. Westeros never truly accepted the Lysene queen. She returned to Lys. Viserys II grew colder with every passing year.
Beneath the Rogare treasure, Rhaegar noticed something else.
A great curved blade, its hilt carved from dragonbone, lay alone in a fitted case.
The blade was dark—black as night—its surface rippling with the unmistakable patterns of Valyrian steel.
"Is that… a Valyrian steel weapon?"
Rhaegar's heart raced.
Valyrian steel stood at the pinnacle of craftsmanship. Every surviving blade was a treasure beyond price.
House Targaryen had once possessed Blackfyre and Dark Sister—but both were now lost.
Blackfyre had been carried into exile by Daemon Blackfyre, likely lost somewhere in Essos.
Dark Sister had vanished with Brynden Rivers, Bloodraven, whose fate was unknown.
"And this blade," Jaehaerys said, pointing to the curved sword, "was also sent by Queen Larra. It once belonged to her sworn protector—Sandoq the Shadow, the Meereenese."
The name struck like thunder.
Sandoq the Shadow—the mute gladiator of Meereen, towering, scarred, unmatched. A hundred victories in the fighting pits. A living legend.
The lone weapon in the treasury.
Jaehaerys lifted the blade. Under the lamplight, the Valyrian ripples flowed like dark water. Despite its size, it was light and perfectly balanced.
"A pity," the king murmured. "It is a curved blade. Few in Westeros know how to use such a weapon properly. To melt it down would be wasteful—but to wield it poorly would be worse."
Targaryen knights favored swords and lances. A curved blade required an entirely different discipline. And with the royal line so thin, no one had ever claimed it.
Rhaegar's eyes shone.
From his mother's arms, he reached out again and again, desperate to touch the blade.
Gold and jewels meant nothing to him.
This—this was a warrior's legacy.
"A born fighter," Jaehaerys said with a smile. "He ignores gold, yet chooses a weapon."
The king knelt, allowing Rhaegar to place his small hand against the blade's curve.
Perhaps this was the last Valyrian steel weapon House Targaryen still possessed.
Achievement Unlocked: Explorer
(Congratulations, little adventurer. You have discovered a Valyrian steel blade hidden within the Red Keep—peerless, indestructible, and unmatched.)
As Rhaegar touched the blade, his mind filled with visions.
A towering warrior—seven feet tall—stood beneath the moon.
Dark-skinned. Dark-haired. His face was etched with faded scars.
A black silk veil covered the ruin of his mouth—tongue and lips long since cut away.
The warrior moved.
Silent.
Precise.
Deadly.
The curved blade sang low as it rose and fell. Enemies collapsed like paper before fire.
Moonlight above.
Blades dancing below.
The Moon's Cut.
Agile as a cat.
Hard as iron.
Wild as flame.
Calm as water.
Steel refined a hundred times—yet gentle as silk.
Rhaegar felt himself merge with the warrior.
I am him.
He is me.
"This blade has waited long enough," Jaehaerys murmured. "No dragonseed has ever claimed it. Perhaps it belongs to Rhaegar."
"Rhaella, keep it for him. When he is older, let him wield it."
Princess Rhaella nodded, watching her son refuse to release the blade.
This child… might truly shake the world.
Character Update — Rhaegar Targaryen
Identity: Last of the Dragonlords
Talents:
Knightly Aptitude (Born warrior)
Sword and Song (Strength balanced with knowledge and art)
Sleeping Dragon (The dragon has yet to awaken)
Dragon Dreamer (True dragon blood, prophetic visions)
Charisma:
Beloved Dragon Prince
Precocious Prodigy
Achievements:
The Game of Thrones (Novice Player)
Warrior (Young Fighter)
Fortunate One
Dragon Dreamer
Explorer
Divine Blade(You have inherited the martial essence of Sandoq the Shadow. Though young, you grasp the soul of the blade. Let the buried legend shine once more.)
Collection: None