♛ → THE FREE CITY OF BRAAVOS presents RHAEGAR TARGARYEN, the FORMER PRINCE of THE CROWNLANDS & STORMLANDS. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the GREENS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the 26 year old MALE who was MISCHIEVOUS & ENERGETIC before they saw the first of the flames, is now CALCULATED & GUARDED after seeing the last. they’re often associated with the steady drip of blood against a dusty stone floor, distant pained shrieks of dragons and their falling riders, the charged calm before a storm. ( jamie campbell bower )
; physical attributes
height; 6ft
eye color; icy blue
hair color; silver
positive traits before the war; mischievous, energetic, easy goingÂ
negative traits before the war; privileged, foolish, impatient
positive traits after the war; calculated, disciplined, focused
negative traits after the war; guarded, mistrusting, dishonest
; bio
In his later years, Rhaegar, speaking of his origins and his upbringing, would simply say he’d once been born as someone.Â
Someone with a family. siblings and a mother and a father, grandparents even. Someone almost… loved, at times, even if not all. Someone with a name, meaningful like no other. Someone destined, undoubtedly, for something either great or heartbreakingly devastating. Someone who would have almost everything softly given to him in his cradle when he was born 118 years after Aegon’s conquest, and taken away years later during something as innocent as spending time with his father. Someone with a dragon bound to his soul, a dragon that shrieked and cried when Rhaegar was taken from the city at three and ten years old. A dragon Rhaegar felt the pain and loss of its death, even without hearing the news of it.
Yes, Rhaegar would say he’d been born someone, in the past.Â
No one in the Free City of Braavos seemed to care, however. No one seemed to care that he’d been dragged from his family’s side one day, his father left behind who would never see his son again. No one gave any notice to treating him any differently, or even equally to the lowest born in a city that was so free it didn’t recognize the Kings and Queens of Old Valyria. In a place where naught but money mattered, no one batted an eye at a silver strand of hair.Â
“Your days as a prince are numbered, little boy.”
Lies were spun freely, lies were spun like the finest silk, lies that seemed equally as real as the truth. Rhaegar and his father, Daeron Targaryen had merely been spending time together, flight lessons with Rhaegar’s dragon, when a horde barged in. Too much for the guards to handle, too much for even a dragon to deal with. Men fell at its claws and teeth, some fell to fire, but ultimately, where one seemed to fall, two others followed.Â
The dragon was restrained. Daeron Targaryen was beaten and bound, forced to watch his son’s head veiled by a sack as the men began to drag him off.Â
“Your father would rather save his own neck.”
Lies were all that Rhaegar would be told.Â
Rhaegar fought tooth and nail for a while, to regain some of the respect he’d basked in during his time as a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. His downright arrogance and endurance went largely ignored, as the people who’d taken him from his home sold him and he was left to wither away in a cell for the better part of a year.
After that, when he was let out. he almost believed himself someone free again. Though, no such luck, it appeared.Â
He began being trained in ways terribly strange to himself. there was no one wielding a sword and claiming victories on a battlefield. The fighters, all of them in this quiet, soundless war, remained faceless. slipping in and out unseen, leaving death in one’s path as one went. Or rather, death and destruction in the pathways no one set foot in. Rhaegar spent his time unlearning his own name and learning countless new ones.Â
Years after, a face he recognized was added to the Hall of Faces. He felt so very strange as he gazed upon it. Dead eyes, expressionless features that he had once recalled as something akin to gentle and whip smart, and finally terrified, was now wiped free of all emotion.Â
Back in Westeros, to everyone’s knowledge, Daeron Targaryen had simply vanished.
Without a family, without the purpose of his birth, Rhaegar Targaryen had slipped away and left in its place someone quieter than the whirlwind, mischievous boy he had been when he had the hallways of the Red Keep to run through. Someone calculated and careful had taken his place, someone with a new purpose other than carrying on a legacy that had naught but thrived in the past.Â
He was told time and time again that he was willingly given away so his father could save himself. Yet, years later when the Dance had long ended, the fires had been put out and the continent had rebuilt itself, he found out that there had been searches for him. His disappearance remained a mystery to his remaining family. Rhaegar had resented them for so long, thinking that he’d been so easily disposed of. Rhaegar had embraced namelessness with open arms, had made something of himself and at the same time nothing at all. He’d become a walking shadow, the very thing that lingered in the dark, an omen of death wherever he went. Finding out, though, that he hadn’t been given up so easily, that there had been search parties that had simply come up empty, curiosity for his origins returned.Â
Rhaegar Targaryen had once been born someone, yes.Â
And then, the dragons had danced.





















