Heir of the Dragon

The Art of Subterfuge

T.W: Talks of abortion and Miscarriage

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Rhaegar stood in the secluded corner of the Dragonpit, where the rays of the sun filtered through the ancient stones, casting warm hues upon the ground below. His companion, Ameryls, sprawled beside him, her massive form stretched out like a living flame. The dragon, now larger than a warhorse, radiated a fiery brilliance that captivated Rhaegar's gaze.

"Gift of the Flames," he whispered softly, the name rolling off his tongue with reverence. It was a name that felt both fitting and profound, for Ameryls truly seemed to embody the essence of fire incarnate. Her scales shimmered with iridescence, each one reflecting the sunlight in a mesmerizing dance of colors.

As Rhaegar admired Ameryls, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness tug at his heart. Gone were the days when she could roam freely within the confines of the Red Keep, her presence a source of wonder and awe to all who beheld her. Now, she was relegated to the Dragonpit, confined to the solitude of her surroundings.

Despite this, Ameryls remained ever mischievous, her eyes gleaming with an innate curiosity and playfulness. She greeted Rhaegar with a low rumble of contentment, her tail sweeping the ground in eager anticipation of their next adventure together.

It had been no small feat to convince his grandsire, King Jaehaerys, to allow both Ameryls and Syrax to remain unchained within the confines of the Dragonpit. Only through sheer determination and unwavering persistence had Rhaegar managed to sway the king's opinion, citing Ameryls' non-aggressive nature and her ability to keep the younger dragon in check as reasons for their freedom.

And yet, despite the challenges they faced, Rhaegar couldn't help but swell with pride as he beheld Ameryls' magnificent form. She was growing at a remarkable pace, her size and strength a testament to the bond they shared. Perhaps, he thought, it was the touch of his own blood that had helped to hatch her, infusing her with an inner fire that burned brighter with each passing day.

But even in the tranquil embrace of the Dragonpit, Rhaegar's thoughts were plagued by the pressing concerns of his everyday existence. Images of his sister, Rhaenyra, flitted through his mind, her vivacious spirit and unwavering devotion a constant presence in his thoughts.

Rhaenyra's obsession with their bond had become increasingly apparent in recent days, her insistence on monopolising his time growing more pronounced with each passing moment. He watched with a mixture of amusement and concern as she flitted about the Red Keep, a whirlwind of energy and enthusiasm, her laughter echoing through the corridors.

But beneath her playful exterior lay a deeper longing, a desire for his companionship that bordered on possessiveness. And though he cherished their bond, Rhaegar couldn't help but feel suffocated by her constant presence, her insatiable need for his attention.

As he reclined against the cool stone, Rhaegar's thoughts turned to a recent encounter with Rhaenyra, a simple game of make-believe that had taken an unexpected turn. He recalled the way she had insisted on playing house, her fervent imagination transforming the dusty corners of their chambers into a makeshift kingdom.

With a wistful smile, Rhaegar remembered the joy that had illuminated Rhaenyra's face as she assigned roles to their makeshift court, her laughter ringing out like music in the stillness of the night. And yet, beneath the facade of childhood innocence, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him.

For amidst the laughter and revelry, there had been a subtle shift in Rhaenyra's demeanor, a possessiveness that belied her tender years. He had watched, with growing concern, as she claimed him as her husband and King in their imaginary world, her words laced with a fervent intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.