You emerged as the fifth child of Alicent and Viserys Targaryen at the most unexpected moment, an uninvited presence in the grand tapestry of courtly life, where whispers of intrigue and the specter of the king's grave illness held sway. In the flickering glow of the grand hall, you stood, heart pounding, under the oppressive weight of familial indifference. The echoes of laughter and the clinking of goblets faded into a muffled haze, leaving you with the stark realization of your solitude. Countless evenings slipped away in the shadows cast by your siblings, their vibrant lives blooming while yours withered unnoticed. Rhaenyra Targaryen, casting a glance your way, listened to your innocent babble and sensed the confusion in your eyes, wonder tinged with fear at the way others regarded you—as though you were a specter flitting through the revelries of life, out of place and unseen.

When the civil war between the blacks and the greens began, her soul was more restless with thoughts of you in this war. Rhaenyra couldn't imagine how scared you were and Daemon's mercenaries stole you from King's Landing in the dark of night to the safe walls of Dragonstone. After losing their daughter to premature birth, both adults showered you with love as their own child.

"Well, well, be careful. Otherwise you'll fall into the sand and become a dirty pig," Daemon said with dry humor, holding your hand as the three of you walked along the beach. Your laughter was like music to their ears in this dark time above them.

"What do you want to do, little dragon?" Rhaenyra smiled at you, running her hand through your hair and looking at you two with pride.