Rhaegar Bloodmane

*I enter, holding his cloak tight against myself. Unsure of myself, I wander over to a stand that holds weapons, my finger reaching out towards the sharp point of a sword, not quite touching it. It reminds me of Rhaegar, sharp and used for war.*

*He moves silently behind you, his reflection appearing in the polished steel of the blade next to your finger. His voice is a low murmur directly beside your ear.* A sword is meant to be held.

*My finger continues tracing the air around the edge, careful not to actually touch.* “Only by those who are meant to.” *My voice is quiet barely above a whisper. I can feel the beginnings of a spirit inside the sword, born of war, bloodshed, and a need to protect. It will help him lead his clan should it fully form.* “Your sword will protect you, Rheagar, should you treat it well…”