A massive dragon soared through the sky, while thousands of soldiers, clad in mismatched armor, marched in its wake.
Atop the dragon's back sat a young man with silver-gold hair, brimming with confidence. A longsword hung at his waist, and a spear was strapped to his back.
From a distance, Rhaegar observed the scene.
The young man's face was indistinct, yet strangely familiar.
A single dragon, leading thousands of soldiers, passed by a vast lake and came to a halt on its northern shore.
**"Screeeech..."**
At that moment, another dragon's roar—thunderous and earth-shaking—echoed from afar, reverberating across the heavens.
**Whoosh—**
A violent gust swept through the air as a pair of enormous wings blotted out the sun, casting the entire lake into shadow.
Rhaegar stood frozen, his mind clouded with confusion, as he beheld a massive black dragon circling overhead.
Its body was covered in pitch-black scales, crowned with menacing horns. The spines along its back and the membranes of its wings were a deep, blood-red. Its terrifying, vertical pupils were as cold and merciless as death itself—like a reaper emerging from the abyss.
Without thinking, a name surfaced in Rhaegar's mind.
**Balerion—the Black Dread.**
**"Uncle, you usurped the throne! Surrender at once!"**
From atop a silver dragon, a young man shouted, his voice ringing with authority as he drew his sword.
Hearing this, Rhaegar shifted his gaze toward Balerion's back.
Seated upon a saddle of black iron was a towering, formidable man with short, silver-gold hair.
At that moment, Rhaegar's mind snapped into clarity, and he blurted out:
**"This is the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye!"**
He recalled the history of House Targaryen.
On the northern shores of the Gods Eye, the ruthless King Maegor I had slain his own nephew, Aegon Targaryen.
**"Nephew, the throne is mine. Today, you cannot escape your fate!"**
Just as Rhaegar processed this realization, the man atop the dragon let out a deep, booming laugh.
**"Screeeech!"**
In the next instant, Balerion beat his colossal wings and lunged at the silver dragon with a thunderous roar.
Balerion was the largest dragon ever to exist in Westeros.
Even from afar, Rhaegar could see that it dwarfed Cannibal and far outmatched Vhagar in size.
Against the Black Dread, the silver dragon seemed no larger than a sparrow—completely outmatched.
**"Screeeech..."**
Balerion moved with terrifying speed, charging straight through the silver dragon's fiery breath. Closing the distance in an instant, he clamped his jaws around one of its wings, ripping it clean off and swallowing it whole.
The silver dragon had no chance to fight back.
With a pained shriek, it plummeted to the ground, crashing down with its rider.
**Boom!**
The impact sent blood splattering dozens of feet, painting the grasslands by the lake in crimson.
Rhaegar watched the carnage unfold before his eyes, awestruck by Balerion's sheer power.
The world blurred. The dream began to shatter.
**Crack—**
A sharp sound rang out. Rhaegar looked down to see frost forming on the ground.
When he lifted his head, snow had begun to fall—thick, heavy flakes descending from the sky, quickly burying the bloodied corpses of man and dragon alike.
**"Screeeech..."**
High above, Balerion roared once more, exhaling a torrent of red flames laced with thick, black smoke.
Rhaegar was entranced.
Battered by the icy wind, he stood motionless, watching the fire and snow—two extremes colliding before his eyes.
---
**Outside the dream.**
Rhaegar's brows furrowed as beads of cold sweat formed on his forehead. His hands and feet twitched involuntarily.
**"Rhaegar!"**
Rhaenyra gasped in alarm at his state and quickly called his name.
Rhaegar had nightmares often.
And every time, she would wake him.
**"Ahh!!"**
With a sharp cry, Rhaegar jolted awake, sitting bolt upright.
**"Rhaegar, are you okay?"**
Rhaenyra, her expression tense, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake.
Rhaegar's eyes widened in shock as he muttered to himself:
**"Ice and fire..."**
The visions from his dream remained crystal clear in his mind.
Yet, it wasn't Maegor's kinslaying that unsettled him, nor the death of the young Aegon...
It was the snow and the dragonfire—engraved into his thoughts, replaying over and over.
**"What do you mean, ice and fire? Did you dream of A Song of Ice and Fire?"**
Rhaenyra, recognizing the phrase, grew even more concerned.
**"No! It wasn't A Song of Ice and Fire."**
Rhaegar panted heavily, holding his forehead as he murmured, "I dreamed of Maegor committing kin-slaying."
"What exactly did you dream about? It sounds like nonsense."
Rhaenyra sighed softly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her chest.
Usually, Rhaegar didn't react so strongly to nightmares.
Feeling the soft warmth, Rhaegar's wildly beating heart gradually calmed, and he closed his eyes, sinking into silence.
He had a slight headache.
The content of the dream wasn't particularly shocking—he'd had more intense visions before.
It was the snow and dragonfire that startled him awake.
This wasn't a good omen!
Rhaegar buried his head deeper, lost in thought.
Rhaenyra, looking helpless, gently rubbed his scalp and whispered, "Still acting like a child, aren't you?"
Rhaegar wanted to retort but instead tightened his arms around her waist.
It was just a nightmare—his stress was a bit overwhelming.
**Clang… clang… clang…**
The blacksmiths' work continued, their hammering unaffected by Rhaegar's sudden awakening.
For a long while, the sounds filled the air.
Breathing in Rhaenyra's familiar faint fragrance, Rhaegar suddenly remembered himself—he was a man.
"Ahem, I'm fine now."
Rhaegar pulled away from her warm embrace, clearing his throat to mask his embarrassment.
Rhaenyra, smirking faintly, retracted her hand and clasped it in front of her stomach.
"Prince, the sword is ready!"
A foreign blacksmith spoke in High Valyrian, coming to Rhaegar's rescue.
"Great! Let me see!"
Rhaegar got off the bed and strode quickly to the furnace.
The foreign blacksmith was an elderly man with curly chestnut hair and a weathered face.
He held a long, narrow box in both hands, lined with red fabric.
Rhaegar glanced at him.
The blacksmith, with a solemn expression, gestured for him to lift the fabric.
Following his cue, Rhaegar unveiled a gleaming longsword.
The blade was a standard hand-and-a-half sword.
Its surface shimmered with the distinctive rippling pattern of Valyrian steel, and its edges on both sides were razor-sharp.
The hilt and guard were crafted from a pale, bone-like material.
The guard was shaped like a dragon's claw:
One side was a dragon's rear talon, sharp and curved, slightly smaller.
The other side was the dragon's three front talons, sculpted as one piece, slightly larger.
The length of the hilt was just right, intricately engraved with fine dragon-scale patterns, with a slight curve at its end.
As a whole, it resembled a dragon's claw extending into a deadly blade.
Admiring the reforged Valyrian steel sword, Rhaegar couldn't help but feel delighted. He gripped the hilt and lifted it from the box.
**Whom—**
Swinging the sword, the blade cut through the air with a light hum, akin to a dragon's roar.
"A fine sword! Superb craftsmanship!"
Rhaegar held the sword in one hand, running his fingers along the blade with the other, and said with joy, "The hilt looks like a dragon's claw. This sword shall be named *Dragonclaw*!"
"They say the blacksmiths of Qohor are world-renowned, and it's no exaggeration."
Rhaenyra approached to take a closer look, smiling with satisfaction. "You're calling it *Dragonclaw*? That's a fitting name."
"Of course! I spent days pondering this name."
Rhaegar grinned smugly, handing *Dragonclaw* to her for inspection. "Look at the hilt and guard. I specifically sawed off a piece of Balerion's dragon horn for this—it's as strong as meteoric iron."
"Only you would do something so extravagant."
Admiring the freshly forged Valyrian steel sword, Rhaenyra beamed. "With this, our family now has three ancestral swords."
"There's more to it."
Rhaegar pointed to the forge, smiling mysteriously. "The melted Valyrian steel from the greatsword was more than enough. Even after forging *Dragonclaw*, there's plenty of Valyrian steel left."
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