“The prince is hungry, perhaps?” the maester suggested.
Viserys nodded, his gaze still fixed on him, a flicker of something akin to pride, or perhaps just profound relief, in his tired eyes.
“Fetch the wet nurse,” he commanded one of the attendants.
A prince.
A Targaryen prince.
His heart leapt.
A dragon.
I’m actually going to have a dragon just like balerion
Then suddenly across the chamber, behind the moving shapes of attendants and healers, he saw a smaller figure.
She was standing very still weeping Silver hair.
Violet eyes in the torchlight, wide and holding everything in.
She was not crying, not truly, but the tremor in her shoulders, the slight clench of her jaw, spoke of the grief she held captive inside.
She is the girl from the trailer.
Rhaenyra Targaryen
She was perhaps eight years old,
His gaze followed hers as he saw in the direction she was constantly staring, There, on a bed draped in crimson, lay a woman.
Her skin was as pale as milk, her silver hair fanned out like a halo against the pillows.
A dark, spreading stain bloomed beneath her, a rich, wet crimson that soaked into the fine linen.
Motionless.
Utterly, terribly still.
The realization struck him
He immediately understood that she was his mother in this world and probably has died giving birth to him.
A crushing guilt settled over him.
Rationally he knew it wasn’t his fault.
Yet reason meant nothing.This woman had died…
so that he could live.
What emerged from his throat was not the silent horror he felt, but a desperate uncontrollable guttural wail, a fresh burst of infant crying that filled the chamber.
Viserys, his own face a mask of profound weariness, turned to the girl.
“Rhaenyra,” he said, his voice soft, frayed at the edges.
“Come, hold your brother.” The words seemed to break the dam of her composure.
She looked at him.
Then at the bed.
Then at the child in his arms.
Her lips trembled.
She turned and ran.
“Rhaenyra!
Rhaenyra!” Viserys called after her, but his words were swallowed by the closing door.
Riddhi understood her mother had just died, and her father was holding a brother she had not asked for.
and no one cared about what and No one had asked her how she felt, or if she could find joy in this new life when her own had just been shattered.
Minutes might have passed, or an hour, or more.
The urgency of the birth faded, the sudden clamor, faded into the heavy, suffocating silence of grief.
Maesters moved with quiet solemnity.
He was placed in a small, carved cradle, the wood smooth beneath his back.
His limbs felt like twigs, useless and uncooperative.
He was a newborn.
He could not walk, speak, fight, or communicate anything more complex than hunger or distress and he didn’t know when that war shown in the trailer is gonna happen, or if he has enough time to live or not.
All he could do was lie there, a squalling bundle of flesh and bone.
He knew that she was the heir to this kingdom and will rule But that knowledge was fragmented, pieced together from trailers, wiki articles, and the first chapter of Fire & Blood.
He did not know if the war was ten years away or thirty.
He did not know if he was a character in it, the cause of it, or both.
He did not know the players, their motives, or the rules of the game.
Later, the torches burned lower, casting long, dancing shadows against the stone.
The chamber grew quiet.
The attendants had vanished.
Viserys remained, he sat beside the cradle, his silver hair disheveled.
Profound exhaustion etched his face, the hollow, distant look of a man who had pushed past his limits of endurance
Exhaustion eventually claimed Riddhi as well.
His newborn body ignored every protest from his mind.
His eyelids grew heavy, thus falling asleep
.
.
A faint sound stirred him awake.
His eyes suddenly flutter open
The chamber was dim.
Viserys sat alone beside the bed that no longer held a queen.
His shoulders trembled.
“Aemma…”
Silence.
He bowed his head.
“He has your eyes and is as beautiful as you.” His voice broke.
“You should have been here to see him.”
*He grieves for her,* Riddhi thought, a strange ache blossoming in my chest, an emotion he had no right to feel, yet it was there.
He wanted to tell him, to offer some impossible comfort, but his new body betrayed him.
He tried to form a word, any word, but only a wet, pathetic gurgle escaped his lips.
The sound, small as it was, startled him.
Viserys lifted his head, his violet eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, focusing on my face.
He quickly wiped them with the back of his sleeve before forcing a weary smile.
“There you are, little one,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though still laced with sorrow.
He lifted the infant carefully into his arms, his protective embrace that tightened around my small frame.
“You are awake, my prince.
Forgive your father for his weakness.” He pressed a gentle kiss against the child’s forehead, the bristles of his neatly trimmed beard tickling my skin.
“Fetch Grand Maester Mellos.”
Footsteps hurried away, and soon a figure entered his blurred vision.
Grand Maester Mellos, the same old man with a long white beard who he saw when he first woke up.
Mellos reached out a hand, his palm broad and warm, and pressed it firmly against the child’s forehead.
Ten seconds he held it there, his gaze unblinking, before he finally withdrew.
“The prince is healthy, Your Grace.
His breathing is strong, and his heartbeat is steady.”
Yet as the old maester withdrew his hand, his eyes briefly met Riddhi’s.
Just for an instant…
Riddhi thought he saw concern flicker there.
Then i was placed back into the cradle Sometime later, after the chamber had once again fallen quiet, Viserys approached the cradle carrying something carefully wrapped in cloth.
He reached inside, carefully shifting the linens, and carefully laid a large dragon egg beside me.
It was oval and slightly elongated, nearly the length of his forearm.
Its shell was rough and stony, a burnished bronze streaked with twisting veins of jade and deep teal.
Even in the candlelight, it seemed to shimmer with an inner warmth.
A dragon egg.
His breath caught.
Mine.
*Here, it is, my dragon* the child shifted his posture slightly tilting to get a hold of the egg and his tiny fingers wrapped around the egg as best they could.
It was far too large for him to hold.
Yet he refused to let go.
I am testing this as a concept and first chapter, i will see if the response for the first 5 chapters are great and the audience like my writing style.
Then i will continue with the story or will close the book after 5 chapters.
of House of dragon