1 Prologue: The Dragon's Bastard

The sun was setting over Moat Caitlyn, casting a faint glow over the wrecked towers of the ancient fort. In the courtyard, a young boy with silver for hair and vivid amethyst eyes was training with a group of soldiers.

The boy's name was Daeron Snow, a bastard son of Daemon Targaryen and Lyarra Stark. At merely 8 name days old (although he looked a awful lot like 10), the boy had a Stark build and was quick on his feet, capable of besting experienced man-at-arms in sparing duels, his talent unparalleled.

Unfortunately for the boy, however, he received no praises for his accomplishments, with the sword or otherwise, as the servents were more freaked than impressed by his "monstrous" development.

With his mother dying at childbirth, and neglected by his father, the boy felt a constant need to prove himself in all manner despite his genius, having already mastered both the common tongue and High Valyrian, studying the historys and philosophys, besides learning the sword and bow, being able to shoot a bird a hundred passes away.

This, however, is not enough. It was never enough. And today like all days, he would go on with his incessant drive for betterment, for perfection. At least, that was what was supposed to happen, if not for the letter from his father summoning him to Harrenhall for the Great Council his great-grandsire and King had arrenged to choose his successor.

Apparently the Old King had decided that all Targaryen blood, Bastards and Trueborn alike, must attend the Council. Although he did not understand what required his presence, the fact remained that the boy, previously estranged from both his families, would now meet his entire extended family, including the King, and no amount of training could ease his anxiety at the prospect.

But for all his nervousness, the boy could not quell his excitement and wanderings of his childish mind while he finished his preparations for the trip that he imagined would change his destiny. He just did not imagined by how much.