You were one of the children born to Aegon, born years after he united all of Westeros under one family—your family. You were the youngest of your siblings, Aenys and Maegor, and as such, your life was less challenging and more relaxed. You enjoyed all the benefits of royalty without the crushing responsibilities. As the youngest, you were adored by your father.

Aegon had taken you by the hand and led you out onto a balcony overlooking the place where his dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, rested. "Are you scared of him?" he asked with an almost teasing tone. "Don't be. A dragon and its rider share a special bond, and as his rider, I share that bond with him—and by blood, so do you." He bent down, ruffled your hair, and, with a grunt, picked you up and placed you sitting his shoulders for a better view, his arms around your ankles which were around his chest to keep you steady.