Back

Torrhen woke with a gasp, he swore that the dream he had just had was reality for a second. He placed his hand onto his chest as he panted and slowly calmed his racing heart.

His previously frantic bright blue eyes observed where he was, his eyes slightly widened at the sight, he was in his room. He shook his head in confusion, he could swear he was just in a snowy forest.

He slowly wiped his eyes and took the covers off himself and placed his feet onto the warm rug in the centre of his room.

The red rug he suddenly stood on was a gift from his uncle for his most recent name day, his usually blank look replaced by a soft fond smile as he thought back to his most recent name day.

He had turned three and ten last year and remembered the gifts he had been given. He looked towards his wooden desk that contained his studies on the art of the sword.

As he stood he nudged the large bundle of black fur just in front of his dying fire with his foot and turned his attention back to his desk. He eyed his most precious possession, the small wooden dragon pendant his father had had once gifted to his mother.

With a small smile he placed the pendant around his neck, and started to dress. He stepped around the now yawning bundle of fur that had revealed its golden eyes as they stared at him, his friend was clearly disgruntled.

"C'mon Skoll we must get going" he said as his words were slurred by a yawn he released mid sentence. He inspected himself and nodded in satisfaction, his clothes were nothing fancy nor outlandish.

In fact they were all dark colours, mainly black with slight hints or Stark grey hidden within the folds of his clothes. His cloak was the most important part of the outfit of course, it was a plain black with a grey wolf fur inlay.

Of course it was a very thin layer as he did live in Kingslanding, he does however long to go North one day. He continued his musings as he walked through the lavishly decorated halls of The Red Keep.

He carefully placed his hand over his right eye, and winced as his fingers touched the bruised flesh. He had made a foolish mistake in training the day before and caught the hilt of a sword to his face.

Torrhen was used to the giant tapestries and expensive decorations that had been in The Keep longer than even himself.

He was so used to them that he just ignored them and thought of other topics, mainly being where he was going.

He was heading to the Godswood as he did every morning, he didn't pray as others would, he simply sat and rested.

Torrhen was ashamed to admit it, but he didn't know how to pray to the Old Gods. He had never been taught, here in the south no one really knew how the north prayed.

So he would do as he always would and just relax under the weirwood tree.

A group of three guards walked past him, the armour was clanking and clinking as they strode past. Torrhen took another turn and strode past Harrold Westerling, a kingsguard who was waiting outside the door to the throne room.

The guards were always wary of Skoll and it's not like he could blame them, he's had the wolf for half a year and it was already as big as a full grown wolf already.

Maybe this room is not as empty as he thought it would have been, he mused to himself as he walked through the large doors.

He suddenly stopped at the sight ahead of him, his uncle Daemon was speaking to his cousin Rhaenyra. They were both speaking High Valyrian, Torrhen almost scoffed.

He could speak and understand High Valyrian just fine but hated how he sounded when using the language. He shook his head and looked back towards the two Targaryens.

They were close…awfully close as Prince Daemon was slowly placing something around Princess Rhaenyras neck. Torrhen watched as he felt an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Torrhen decided to make his presence known by walking towards them and allowing his footsteps to be heard clearly "Speaking High Valyrian again Uncle?" He said as his voice echoed off the high ceilings

He watched in satisfaction as they both jolted, Rhaenyra had almost jumped a foot high in surprise and Daemon had simply placed his hand on sword hilt. "You know it makes you sound like a pretentious cunt, right?" Torrhen said with a small mocking smile on his face.

They had both turned towards him quickly, with similar annoyed looks on one another's faces, Rhaenyras look however mainly contained embarrassment.

The quick burst of anger he felt earlier was replaced with satisfaction as he noticed the peeved look his uncle now sported on his usually smirking face. He also noticed his uncle's hand twitch once more when he noticed Skoll lurking in the shadows of the throne room.

Skoll was as black as night and the only real indication he was in the room were the burning golden eyes that look like two stars in the dark.

Torrhen saw Daemon was about to open his mouth and cut him off "Anyway, cousin are you not meant to be in your lessons?" He asked the princess who's eyes were bouncing between him and Daemon.

Daemon interrupted any possible response from Princess Rhaenyra "Who blacked your eye bastard?" His uncle had asked with a smug look on his face and when Torrhen's eyebrows furrowed in confusion "I wish to send them Flowers" he clarified.

The bastard scowled in response and felt his fists clench, something his uncle had noticed instantly and smiled at. Gods he hated his uncle, he was a smug prick and more importantly everything Torrhen had wanted to be.

He was a handsome man sure, he was also incredible with a blade and had a fearsome reputation with quite the amount of coin on him at any time. But Torrhen didn't want any of that, he was jealous of his hair, his eyes…his dragon.

All indications of a Targaryen, something he had wanted to be ever since he had found out he wasn't one. He always hated to admit it but he was jealous of how Targaryen the man was.

Prince Daemon was practically the definition of a Targaryen and Torrhen was the opposite, where Daemons hair was light and shining, Torrhens was dark and seemed to prefer to absorb light.

Torrhen sword skill was all something he had studied tremendously for whereas Daemons seemed natural and instinctive. Where Daemon's temper was fiery and visible, Torrhens was hidden beneath his skin, constantly tearing at his insides.

Torrhen had always felt the icy silver storm beneath his skin, it was a constant reminder that he was no Targaryen. That no matter how much time he stayed by his cousin's side, or no matter how much time he spent with his uncle Viserys and his stupid Valyria model.

That no matter how many sacrifices he made, he would never be a fiery Targaryen and he would always be stuck as an ice filled bastard.

—-

King Viserys was adding a recent addition to his model of Valyria in satisfaction, he had always enjoyed spending time altering the lifelike model.

As he was using a pair of tweezers his nephew gifted him last year, he almost sighed as he thought back to his young nephew. He pushed away the line of thought and got back to the peaceful model.

Slowly and carefully changing the angle of one of the newest buildings he had added to the model of the ancient and amazing city.

The doors behind him burst open, he clenched his hand in surprise and had accidentally knocked over multiple buildings, he felt the familiar fire in his veins as he turned in anger to whoever burst through his door like a maniac.

However he stopped short when he came to the sight of his young nephew with a cold look on his face. His nephew also stopped short as he looked towards the knocked over buildings on the model of Valyria.

Torrhen instantly turned to Viserys' drawer which held another pair of tweezers and sighed, he quickly opened the drawer and grabbed the large tweezers and pulled a spare chair over to the city and sat down next to his Uncle.

Torrhen slowly started to mend what he had accidentally caused, he was familiar with the model. Afterall he had been a part of its development.

It took quite a while to get everything back into perfect place with the occasional murmur or mutter from Viserys to Torrhen. Viserys looked over to his nephew, his jaw was clenched and his left hand that was resting on the edge of the table was clenched.

Most likely a training accident or something similar Viserys mused to himself. His nephew had always thrown everything into his sword training and any mistake would always anger the boy.

In a sudden burst of movement his nephew stood and left the room with a muttered "your grace". Viserys almost sighed but he was a King and a King did not sigh.

Instead he turned to the model and got back to placing it all together. While he was slowly and carefully adjusting the model he started to think of his nephew.

His nephew was a bastard and not even his own, but at some points he felt like his own son. Viserys thought back to Torrhen's parents and shook his head in disappointment.

His youngest brother Aerion was always impulsive but what he did was incredibly stupid, impregnating a Stark girl and then not even marrying the woman. The insult almost started a war, the Starks, No the whole North were not pleased.

It was only the fact that winter was right around the corner that the North did not act in anger. Truly Viserys could not blame them either.

Aerion had impregnated Alys Stark and then left, Alys Stark had passed in the birthing bed and then Aerion returned to Westeros on the back of his dragon both of them extremely sick and had passed away shortly after.

It had not only left an extreme mess politically but had also left behind a young baby with black hair and bright blue eyes. Viserys had taken the boy in and had practically raised him, he had not listened to his family nor advisors that told him to stop the foolish mistake he was making in raising the bastard.

Viserys had not for even a day regretted his 'foolish mistake' of taking his nephew into his home.