Chapter Text
Rhaenyra didn't know how to react to her new little brother.
She mourned her mother, who died to bring him into the world, belly cut as if she was a deer to be skinned.
But she couldn't stay away from his nursery. He was so small, silver-gold hair like her own, violet eyes.
“Would you like to hold him, Princess?” The nurse would ask, every single day. Rhaenyra would shake her head and leave without looking back.
Her father visited often, cradling the son he wanted so much in his arms and looking down upon him with such joy. She used to think she would hate that, and be jealous.
But how could she? Baelon, the little bundle of pale skin and silver-gold hair, was just a child.
Her little brother.
He slept curled around the egg that she had chosen for him, and she swore she saw the egg move sometimes. It would hatch soon, and he would be just like her.
Maybe he would ride his dragon even earlier than she had. The idea made her smile, the image of a precocious little boy atop of a dragon, screaming for joy as the wind whipped about him.
She loves him, she realised. Loves this little boy who would replace her.
Finds she doesn't even mind, as long as her brother is kind, and just, and true.
Then, on one of the days she hovers in the doorway of the nursery (which she knows they leave open for her, so she can see him), the nurse trips with the boy in her arms over a bundle of laundry that she hadn't yet called a maid to take to be washed.
She falls, and her grip instinctively loosens on Baelon as she tries to steady herself.
Rhaenyra moves without thinking, her heart in her throat, and snatched her brother just before he hit the stone floor.
Her chest heaves with panicked breaths as she looks him over, trying to see if he was injured, if she'd gripped him too tight when she caught him. Babies were fragile, weren't they?
The boy doesn't cry, instead staring up at her in wonder, his tiny hand coming to wrap around her fingers.
Rhaenyra adores this little boy, more than she thought possible.
“Are you alright?” She asks the nurse, remembering that she had fallen too. Her mother had always reminded her to be kind to the servants, and she did her best to follow that advice.
After all, servants were less likely to poison you if you treated them like people.
“Yes, Princess. Thank you. Is the Prince well?” She asks, rolling her wrist a little, a bruise already forming there.
“I shall ask a maid to bring some salve for your wrist. Baelon is alright, do you mind if I take him for a while? He has yet to see the castle properly, and I believe he is old enough to be taken from his rooms, yes?” She says, and the nurse chews on her lip before she nods.
“Thank you, your grace. Just for an hour, he must be fed and changed then.” She says, and Rhaenyra nods in assent.
She finds a maid and asks her to find a salve for the bruise on the nurse, and take the laundry on the floor of the nursery to be cleaned.
She got peculiar looks, speaking kindly to a maid with the prince in her arms, but most passers-by smiled.
She holds Baelon on her hip, and speaks to him as she walks. He doesn't understand the words, of course, he's only a few months old, but he stares up at her and seems to enjoy her voice.
She shows him the main hall, the kitchens (and lets the cooks coo over him a little, and gets herself a snack), and then decides to have a little fun.
Her father has a council meeting today, and her uncle Daemon will be there.
Both had expressed concern over her avoidance of the child, and she figured now was as good a time as any to dissuade their concerns.
The guards blink at her, and she must look a little ridiculous. A princess in a rich maroon gown, a lemon cake in her hand, holding a baby, her shoulder likely covered in saliva from said baby.
They don't hesitate to open the door for her, however, and she steps inside.
“Rhaenyra?” Her father asks, and she smiles at him, bouncing Baelon on her hip a little.
“What do you have there?” Daemon asks with a small smile, and Rhaenyra takes a bite from her cake.
“A lemon cake.” She tells him, and he bursts into laughter that makes her smile. Her uncle is always so manic and serious, but when he laughs he looks so much younger and more like the uncle she remembers from when she was small.
“Did you steal Prince Baelon from his nurse?” Her father asks, a little fond and a little exasperated, and Rhaenyra rolls her eyes.
“She took a fall, and while a maid fetched her a salve, I decided I'd show Baelon around the castle. He seems to be enjoying it. Oh, on that note, I'd like the nursery to be carpeted. Stone floors in a place where children are seems to be a danger.” She stated, and her father raised an eyebrow.
She'd shown no sign of being interested in her brother in the previous months, but now she seemed enamored with him. He smiled, glad that his unruly daughter did not hate his son.
“It shall be done. Has his egg hatched yet?” He asks, and Rhaenyra shakes her head.
“Not yet, but there are signs of movement. I do not believe it will be long until Baelon has his own dragon.” She states, and both the Targaryens at the table smile.
“That is good to hear, I wonder what colour it shall be.” Daemon muses, and Rhaenyra smiles.
“I believe it shall be blue and gold.” She states, and those around the table chuckle at her guess.
Baelon lets out a soft whine, and she realises it's probably been an hour since she took him.
“He must be fed and changed, so I shall take my leave. Father, Uncle, Lords.” She says, bowling her head to her father, before leaving the way she came.
She handed Baelon back to his nurse, smiling when he tried to keep hold of her with his little fingers.
“How is your arm?” She asks the nurse, who smiles.
“Bruised, but better. Thank you, Princess. Will you be back tomorrow to visit the Prince?” She asks, and Rhaenyra nodded.
She heard somewhere that reading, even to babies, greatly increases their intellect. She would come back with a book and read to him.
If her brother was to be King one day, he could not be stupid. She would not allow it.
He would have tutors, yes, but their lessons depend on the whims of who they are employed by.
Rhaenyra would teach her brother everything, without restrictions. Her education was limited, and so would his in a different way. She would not allow it for either of them.
Which meant, to her dismay, she would need to visit the library more.
****
Viserys was utterly confused by the changes in his daughter.
She was still unruly, and spent too much time in the dragonpit and on Syrax’s back, but now every spare minute was spent in the castle library, or hounding the maesters for information regarding history or medicine.
She had never neglected her studies, per se, but she had never taken to them with such fervour before either.
However, it could never be a bad thing, being too educated. She was a Royal, and one day she would marry and be the head of her own House. She needed to know as much as possible.
Marriage was harsh and cruel, sometimes, and he admits he had not been a good husband to Aemma. He had loved her, but loved the idea of a son more.
The idea of another man treating his beloved daughter in such a way made his skin crawl, and made him want to reach for a blade.
So he spoke to the maesters and the librarians and archivists, and told them that Rhaenyra could read whatever she liked. It was unorthodox, enough so that the maesters tried to argue with him about it, but he insisted.
What if she was sent to Dorne, or the North, or the Vale? Their ways were different to those of Kings Landing, and his daughter would not be ignorant.
When the matter was brought up in the council, many tried to argue about it. Otto Hightower was especially vocal about it, but was shot down by the combined political power of Viserys, Daemon, and (much to their surprise) Corlys and Rhaenys.
And so Rhaenyra was free to read whatever she liked, to learn whatever she wanted.
And she flourished.
Viserys was still confused about the change, but he wasn't going to push too hard. She was learning, preparing herself for life, and he would not stop her.
****
Every day, Rhaenyra would spend hours reading to her brother. The books ranged from her favourites (tales of knights, and epic battles, and intrigue) to history books. She would read him the tale of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys. She would whisper to him of things she overheard in court, little bits of gossip and knowledge that people said when they forgot she was there.
Her friendship with Alicent suffered, she no longer had much time to see her friend, but her friendship would never be more important than her brother.
Besides, Alicent had spent years trying to temper her, to cool her ire, to make her pretend she wasn't a dragon.
Rhaenyra couldn't ever be what she wanted, because she had the blood of the dragon within her, and would only ever disappoint her friend.
She wouldn't allow anyone to try and temper Baelon, he would grow up like a dragon. He would be good and kind, but fierce too.
He would be perfect.
(He already was.)
****
Rhaenyra snuck into her brother's nursery in the night. Her face was pale and sweaty, she'd just awoken from a nightmare of her mother's screams, and her hands shook.
The nurse was asleep in the next room, the door slightly open, but Rhaenyra didn't care.
She needed to see him, needed to see that the last piece she had of her mother was still alive.
Baelon was awake, but quiet, watching her with almost glowing purple eyes.
“Hello, little brother. Do you mind if I read to you?” She whispers, and he gives a little coo that makes her smile.
Her heartbeat slows, panic fading from her as she looks at him.
The egg is beside him, and he has one little arm pressed against it. She smiles, presses a kiss to Baelon’s brow, and then a kiss to the egg beside him.
She opened the book she had hidden in her nightgown, and started to whisper the tale to him.
He made soft noises, calm and inquisitive, almost as if he was trying to ask her things about the story as she told it to him, and she smiled.
He was almost a year old now, growing bigger by the day, starting to look like a true prince rather than just a baby.
“Drgn.” He said suddenly, and her eyes widened.
“What did you say?” She asked quietly, dropping the book on a cushion beside her and staring at him.
“Drgn!” He laughed, and she couldn't help the laughter spilling out of her either.
He said his first word! And, like a true Targaryen, it had been “dragon”.
“Yes! Clever boy, yes, we have dragons. You have an egg beside you, and it will become your own dragon steed.” She told him, picking him and the heavy egg from the cradle with a beaming smile.
He laughed brightly, much too loud for the time of night, but she didn't care.
“What's going on?” The nurse asked sleepily, appearing in the doorway, blinking her eyes tiredly.
“He said his first word!” Rhaenyra told her joyfully, and pressed a few kisses to the top of her brother's head.
The nurse watched from the doorway with a fond smile, and the news woke her up immediately.
“What was the word?” She asked, and Baelon took it upon himself to answer.
“DRAGN!” He said, much more clearly than before, and the nurse gave a soft laugh.
“Of course.” She shakes her head in amusement.
“DRAGN!” Baelon cries again, and Rhaenyra starts to shush him, before there's a loud noise.
A crack, and a flash of heat on her arm.
She placed the egg back in the cradle immediately, but kept hold of Baelon, leaning them both over to watch.
The egg was hatching, her brother would soon have a dragon!
A series of smaller cracks, along with the sound of Baelon chanting the only word he knew, and soon the hatchling emerged.
Like it had been summoned by his rider.
Rhaenyra watched in awe. She had been right.
The little dragon, a boy from the looks of its face, was blue and gold.
The beast was so small, tiny, like Baelon.
It looked up at them, and let out a shrill little cry. It seemed that its small stature didn't affect its vocal cords.
Baelon reached his little hands out, and Rhaenyra ignored the hushed warning from the nurse.
The nurse wasn't one of them, and didn't know what a claim looked like. She, rightfully, feared dragons. Baelon had no need to.
She placed Baelon carefully beside the dragon, prepared to snatch him up if something went wrong.
The dragon sniffed at him, and then at her.
A little puff of smoke left its nostrils, and then it curled itself around him, its little spiked tail resting feather-light against his back.
“Go and fetch my father and uncle.” She told the nurse, who bowed her head and hurried away gladly.
Soon, Viserys and Daemon came running in, wearing sleep shirts and hastily thrown-on breeches (and Dark Sister in her scabbard, for Daemon), to see the little Prince and his dragon.
Rhaenyra had moved them to the floor, with Baelon in her lap and the little dragon sniffing at his face curiously.
She smiled when they entered, and Baelon screamed with joy.
“Dragn!” He babbled, and Viserys laughed freely.
“Yes, my son. You have a dragon.” He said, filled with pride for both his son, and Rhaenyra, who was waving a rattle for the little dragon to chase.
It seemed to like her, while not her own dragon, but recognising her as someone who adores her bonded rider.
“I wonder what he will name him, when he is older. It seems you were right, Rhaenyra, the little dragon is blue and gold, as you said.” Daemon said, crouching down to ruffle Baelon's hair, and barely avoiding the snapping jaws of the little dragon with a laugh.
“He's a fierce one. He will serve the Prince well, I think.” He said with a grin, and Viserys beamed.
“Yes, I think he will.”
“I think he'll name him Draxtar. When I read him the myths of the gods, he seems to like those the best.” Rhaenyra said absently, and Baelon noticeably perked up at the name.
“You read to him?” Viserys asks, and Rhaenyra scowls.
“I will not have a stupid brother or king. Tutors teach heirs only what they think is appropriate. It is useless in real life, most of it. So yes, I read to him. I read history and politics, treaties and accounts, to him.” She says sullenly, as if she expects to be chastised for taking initiative.
Viserys feels his heart swell. He had worried, in the beginning, that Rhaenyra would despise her little brother. For taking her place, for killing her mother.
It seems that instead, Rhaenyra has assigned herself to be Baelon's protector.
After all, his daughter had never carried a knife around before the birth of Baelon. He noticed it months ago, when an assassin had entered the castle. They'd been quickly caught, and it wasn't certain they had been after the Prince, but Rhaenyra had spent days with an enraged look on her face. Soon after, a knife was attached to her side by a leather belt, and any attempts to convince her that it was not a weapon for a lady was met with derision.
Viserys had given up, when he noticed the correlation between the potential threat to his son and Rhaenyra's blade.
Besides, his daughter should be able to protect herself. The world was a dangerous place for a woman, after all. He had trusted Daemon with her training with the weapon.
Daemon was irresponsible and impulsive, but he adored his niece and would rather set Kings Landing ablaze than allow anything to harm her. It was one of the few things the brothers agreed upon.
“I think Draxtar will be a fine name for the dragon, and you know the little Prince best. You even guessed the colour of the dragon, I believe in this matter, you are the expert. Besides, it would not do for the king to be stupid. Maybe that's why you were picked over me, brother.” Daemon said with a grin, and Viserys bristled slightly before he realised his brother was joking.
“You are not stupid, brother. Simply better on the battlefield than diplomacy.” He says, and Daemon laughs as he places a hand on Dark Sister.
“True enough. Now, I believe it is time for the Prince, the dragon, and the Princess to sleep.” He said, gesturing to the three rather sleepy children on the floor.
“Rhaenyra, it is time for bed.” Viserys told his daughter gently, and she stood sleepily, keeping a firm grip on the prince and dragon.
She set them in the cradle, kissing her brother's hair once more, before dropping a kiss upon the dragon's head. She laughs when she gets a face full of smoke in response, but the dragon makes no other move to show displeasure.
“Goodnight, Father and Uncle.” She mumbles, before dropping onto the window seat and closing her eyes.
“That is not her bed.” Viserys states with an amused smile.
“It is not, but you try and convince her to leave.” Daemon chuckled, tucking some hair behind his niece's ear.
“And be fed to Syrax? I think not.” Viserys kisses both his children on the brow, claps a hand on his brother's shoulder, and leads them both from the nursery with a pleased grin.