Dragonstone, 95 AC
The storm had passed, but the tension in Dragonstone lingered like smoke after battle.
Prince Daemon Targaryen stood alone atop the Stone Drum, watching the sun rise over the churning sea. His dark cloak whipped in the wind, the hilt of Dark Sister at his side. His mood, like the weather, was unpredictable.
"He's bonded with a dragon," said Ser Harwin Massey, one of Daemon's trusted retainers.
Daemon said nothing.
"A wild one, my prince. From the caves even the keepers fear."
Daemon turned, his eyes narrowing. "What name does he go by?"
"Vaeron Waters."
A pause. Then a bitter smile curled across Daemon's lips. "My son then. Or so they whisper."
Ser Harwin lowered his eyes. "It's said he's your blood."
"He may be." Daemon stepped toward the edge of the battlements, staring into the mist. "But he is a bastard. No name. No claim."
"Yet a dragon answered him."
"That," Daemon said, "is the problem."
King's Landing, the Red Keep
The court was abuzz. News traveled faster than ravens when laced with scandal.
"Have you heard? A bastard bonded a dragon in Dragonstone!"
"A boy with silver hair, they say. Prince Daemon's seed, some whisper."
"Not just any dragon—an ancient one. A terror from the old Valyrian bloodlines."
Queen Alicent Hightower listened in silence as her ladies murmured.
"Another bastard with a dragon," she said finally, setting down her cup. "Like the Strong boys—but worse. This one has Valyrian blood, and Daemon's temper."
Across the court, Ser Otto Hightower stood with Lord Beesbury and Grand Maester Orwyle.
"This cannot stand," Otto said. "A legitimized bastard would threaten the line of succession."
"He has not been legitimized," Lord Beesbury protested.
"Yet," Otto replied darkly. "But Daemon is impetuous. He may claim the boy to spite the crown."
Grand Maester Orwyle stroked his beard. "Or worse… use him."
Dragonstone – Prince Daemon's Chambers
Later that night, Daemon entered the old dragonkeeper barracks. He found the boy—Vaeron—feeding Noctharys, her wings half-unfurled and eyes glowing with dim fire.
"You've made quite a mess," Daemon said.
Vaeron didn't flinch. "She chose me."
"I suppose she did."
They stood in silence. The air shimmered with heat.
"Do you want me dead?" Vaeron asked.
Daemon tilted his head. "No. But others might. You've stirred the realm, boy. They will call for your head."
"I didn't ask for this."
"No." Daemon's eyes hardened. "But now that you have it, you must decide: will you cower… or carve your name into history?"
Vaeron met his gaze. "I'll carve."
Daemon's grin was cold and dangerous. "Then I shall see what you become."