Prince Daeron Targaryen's Point of View
The halls of the Red Keep were never truly silent. Even at night, the castle breathed with the quiet sounds of footsteps, wind through high windows, and the distant murmur of torches. It was a sleeping beast ancient, heavy, and always awake.
Prince Daeron Targaryen walked the upper corridor of the Tower of the Hand, a worn leather book clutched tightly in his hands. The hour was late, but he had found it harder and harder to sleep these past weeks. The talk of war, dragons, and loyalty weighed on the air like storm clouds waiting to break.
Inside the small library, only one candle burned. It flickered in the breeze from a narrow window, casting shadows on the old stone walls. Daeron sat at the desk and opened the book to a page marked with a ribbon.
"Wild dragons, unlike their kin raised within the Dragonpit, are known for stronger instincts and sharper memories. They are often larger, more dangerous, and difficult to bond with, especially when matured without a rider. Though they are rare, some live freely across the world, bound to no name."
Daeron read the lines again. Then a third time. His fingers rested on the text, unmoving.
The others didn't talk about the Shadow the way he did. They saw a prize, a weapon. A thing to wield.
But Daeron had watched from afar how the dragon flew, how it kept its distance, how it answered to no one. Not even the dragonkeepers could get near him.
He was called the Shadow, but to Daeron, he was something more.
He didn't know why, but the dragon made him feel… drawn. Like he was being called.
The sickroom smelled of herbs, sweat, and dying fire. King Viserys lay still beneath heavy blankets, his breath shallow, his face pale and drawn. The crackling fireplace at the far end barely touched the cold in the air.
Daeron stood at the foot of the bed.
"Father," he said quietly.
The king stirred. His eyes opened slowly, searching.
"Daeron," he rasped. "You're not often here."
Daeron stepped closer. "I know. I've been thinking a lot."
Viserys gave the faintest nod. "About what?"
"Dragons," Daeron said. "About the one they call the Shadow."
That name made Viserys's lips twitch not quite a smile, but not fear either.
"I've seen him," the king said, his voice dry. "Once. On Dragonstone. Larger than any young dragon should be. Quiet. But powerful."
Daeron sat beside the bed, lowering his voice.
"Everyone wants him. Aegon speaks constantly. Otto thinks the right Targaryen name will be enough. Aemond… he just wants to prove he's stronger than anyone else. Even the Blacks watch him."
Viserys turned his head slightly, focusing on his son.
"And you?" he asked.
Daeron hesitated. "I don't know. I don't know if I want to ride him."
He looked down, fingers tightening on his cloak.
"But I think someone should. Someone who won't just see him as a tool."
"He's no tool," Viserys said quietly. "And you are right to be cautious. That dragon is not like the others. Not broken. Not raised in the Pit."
"He's still young," Daeron said. "But he's already bigger than most."
Viserys exhaled, slow and wheezing.
"That is why they fear him. Because they cannot control him. And because he came from fire untouched by men. But he came back. To Dragonstone."
There was a pause. A moment of silence between father and son.
"You trust yourself?" Viserys asked.
Daeron blinked. "What?"
"You have a good heart, Daeron," his father murmured. "Better than many. If he is to choose anyone… he may choose you."
Daeron's throat tightened. "You think I should try?"
Viserys didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, as if watching something beyond the stone.
"The time may come soon when dragons will rise against dragons," he said quietly. "If fire is to answer fire… let the right flame burn first."
Daeron bowed his head.
The night outside was windless. Still. From the highest tower, Daeron looked toward the east.
Toward Dragonstone.
He didn't know if the Shadow would accept him. He didn't even know what he would say or do when he saw him up close.
But he had made up his mind.
Not because he wanted power.
But because he couldn't let someone else take that dragon… and burn the world with it.
———-
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