The ancient civil war between two targaryen branches had been the one moment in the dynasty that determined whether it would live or burn up. only three dragons died in that conflict. That meant only 6 targaryens were passed, balerion, quicksilver, meraxes, vhagar, arrax, and sheepstealer.

Those deaths could have shown the smallfolk that the gods overheard were just oversized falcons. Thankfully that epiphany did not rise, just like the greens who craved the throne. They all died and everyone rejoiced.

Yet there was another dance on the horizon.

Your grandsire, aegon IV was a burden to the entire realm. And of course, his ever grand litter of bastards had access to dragons because his royal bum said so. Daemon with caraxes, aegor with stormcloud, and even shiera with syrax.

However, Baelor had Meleys, Maekar had Vermithor, Aerys had grey ghost, and you were the rider of Tessarion. War in the sky was eventual with the succession crisis between daemon blackfyre and your own father Daeron the good.

The skies were clear and the air crisp. Perfect flying weather.

And those very skies were ruled by fire, only the targaryens and their dragons held sway of the vast realm above all the smallfolk.

They rode gods. That was what the smallfolk whispered and even some weak nobles whispered when shadows passed over that didn't belong to clouds blocking the sun.

Yet here you were, strolling with baelor, arm and arm, enjoying the fresh spring air.