I know that in canon, House Targaryen's sigil originally came from Aegon and his sisters, thus the three heads. Obviously, in this particular version of the universe, however, the Targaryens have been using the three-headed dragon sigil since their time in Valyria.

Chapter Seventeen: House Targaryen

Don't let the magic change us.- Simple Creatures, Strange Love

Many years ago, Viserys had explained sigils to Daenerys. He'd told her of the Great Houses of Westeros, at least as he remembered them. There were the Baratheons, of course; Aegon the Conqueror was close friends with the founder of House Baratheon, and many a Baratheon had married into House Targaryen, and vice versa. This, Viserys had said, made Robert Baratheon's betrayal far worse. From the books Ser Jorah had gifted her, she'd learned that the usurper's grandmother was a Targaryen herself, making him Daenerys' cousin. Always be wary of stags, Viserys had warned.

He'd told her, too, of House Lannister's betrayal, of how Tywin Lannister had sacked King's Landing after swearing fealty to her father. Lions were dangerous creatures that would attack unprovoked, he'd promised her. House Stark had fought beside Daenerys' ancestors on many occasions, their direwolf banners fluttering in the wind. The Martells ruled over Dorne with their spear-pieced sun sigil, refusing to submit, not even to dragons.

House Velaryon with a seahorse and House Celtigar with numerous crabs emblazoned on their banners had ventured to Westeros before House Targaryen, but they were not dragonlords as the Targaryens had been, nor were they as great a House.

No one was quite sure when the Targaryen sigil was formulated, but it had clearly withstood the test of time. The first buildings in Valyria rose up five thousand years ago. Who knew when House Targaryen was founded? This particular house had not been in use since her ancestors fled Valyria for Dragonstone nearly four hundred years ago. It was impossible to say when it was first founded.

Daenerys gazed up in awe at her family's sigil, a meticulously carved relief directly above two dragons at least twice her own height, their wings meeting to form the center of the archway. There was a ringing in her ears that seemed to block out all other sound. She could hear, or rather feel, the pounding of her heart, but nothing more. She had been standing before the door to her ancestral home for an indeterminate amount of time, and with each beat of her heart, the ringing in her ears intensified. Something inside of her was telling her, screaming at her, to go inside.

She stepped forward, slowly at first, with great trepidation, but her next step was surer. She could not walk away from this place. Not without venturing inside. She knew as much, deep in her bones. When the door was close enough to touch, she reached out, fingers stretching forth to touch the old wood. Hesitating, she retracted her fingers.

Like mist taking form after a summer rain, a hand, white and translucent, materialized above hers. She should've been terrified, she knew. Should've turned to see who -what- was there, whose hand it was, but she didn't. There was something comforting about the hand, the presence she felt. The presence was nearby, but also within her, and she felt it urging her forward, encouraging her. Closing her eyes, Daenerys touched the door with the tips of her fingers. In that second, the ringing that had been in her ears vanished, and her eyes snapped open in time to see the door opening with a loud creak.

The presence urged her feet onward, and she listened, stepping over the threshold. The interior was dark, the only light from windows whose glass had long since broken off and been blown away. Illuminated by the dim sunlight, she could see what had once been a grand room. A hearth, bigger than any she'd ever seen, was across the room, on the far wall. There was a chaise with a blanket strewn across it, a table stacked with books. Everything appeared to be covered in ash.

A great staircase was beside the hearth, and she considered climbing it. The presence, however, surged within her, and she felt something intense and negative at the notion of venturing upstairs. No, she decided. It couldn't be terribly safe on the second floor. Slowly, so as not to trip, she walked towards a doorway on the other side of the hearth from the staircase. As she approached, she realized there was no door; only darkness.

Somehow, though, Daenerys knew that she needed to pass through this doorway. There was something important, something essential, on the other side. As she walked through, the flickering of a torch started up on the floor, it looked like. Upon closer inspection, though, she discovered that it wasn't on the floor, but rather a torch in a passageway that led beneath the house. Whatever it was, this essential thing, the passageway would take her to it. She was certain of it.

With the torch as her only light, she had to take small, careful steps, not unlike the ones she'd taken in the previous room. When she reached the top of the narrow stairs, the torch itself came into view. It was attached to the wall of the passageway, and its flames cast a flickering shadow upon the steps, blending in with her own shadow so that it was impossible to tell where she ended and the flames began.

In the corner of the passageway's opening, there was something shimmering. It was as if the air itself was sparkling. When Daenerys lowered her foot onto that first step, it felt almost as if she was breaking the surface of water, only she was completely dry. As soon as she broke the surface, though, whatever the shimmering was exploded throughout the room in a haze of light that was somehow black. Half a second after that explosion, she felt it shoot through her, and the force of it knocked her onto her backside.

Her hands were on the cold stone floor, and she felt this force within her body, searching her. It was in her skin, her bones, her veins, her very soul. As it raced through her, she couldn't seem to remember how to breathe, air refusing to make its way into her lungs. She felt as if there was a hand on her shoulder, and when she turned to look, it was the translucent hand from before. When it touched her, the shimmering force inside her body turned warm and kind, and she was able to breathe again. She inhaled deeply through her nose, but when her lips parted to exhale, she saw the shimmering force leave her, swirling together before returning to the passageway.

Magic, she realized dimly. The dragonlords of Valyria used magic, she knew, but she could only guess as to what the purpose was. Even so, she must continue forward.

Bracing her hands on the floor, she put her other foot on the first step. Nothing happened. She pushed herself to her feet again and tentatively moved to the second step, toe first. Still, nothing happened. She descended each step like this, and on the fourth, the top of her head was below the passageway opening. She was at eye level with the torch, and below her, there was nothing but darkness.

She took another slow, careful step. Then another, and another. When the light from the torch behind her was no longer of use, another blazed to life. This happened twice before she reached the base of the stairs. When she did, light filled a room that was covered wall-to-wall in books, save for one wall. There were shelves from floor to ceiling, and on them lay something she never thought she'd see again.

More than a hundred, of all colors, more than she'd ever heard of being in one place- dragon eggs.

Dragon eggs! Did anybody guess that she was gonna find some? I'm so excited, man, you've got no idea. Please share your thoughts. Hate it, love it, whatever it is, I wanna hear it!