A/N: Hey Fanfiction community! So, I've been reading and participating in SYOC on here for a while now and figured what the hell, might as well try writing one myself. I've been on a real ASOIAF/Game of thrones binge lately, re-reading the books, reading "A world of ice and fire", re-watching some of the show. So, I thought this would be a pretty good setting for my first story. The setting of this story is a pre-conquest AU and will follow the kings and queens of Westeros as the game of thrones is played on a massive scale. Now, I haven't written any fiction in, Christ, I'd say 5-6 years. So, as you may imagine I'm rather out of practise, any constructive criticism or ways I could improve is appreciated (please be kind tho, my soul is soft and innocent).

Anyway, enough of my rambling, please enjoy the prologue to… An Era of kings.

Dragonstone, Westeros

Vaegon lay silently in his dimly lit chambers, the sound rain beating against the window and the occasional crack of thunder doing little to drown out his own wheezing. As he stared at the dancing flame of a nearby candle, one thought filled his mind, this was no way for a Dragonlord to die, wasting away in his bed with barely enough strength to breath let alone ride. Gods, how he longed to feel the wind flow through his hair as he rode atop Vhagar one last time. Alas he knew that was impossible, now he only hoped one of his children would claim her after his death, she was a loyal and mighty beast and deserved a rider that would match her, not a sick old man who couldn't even leave his bed to take a piss.

A hard knock echoed through the room, pulling Vaegon's attention from the candle to the dark wooden door.

"Enter" Vaegon called out, his once deep and commanding voice replaced by raspy wheeze.

The door slowly opened and Vaegon was greeted by the familiar black hair of Lyonel Baratheon, his bastard.

"You called for me, my lord?" Lyonel said, bowing as he entered the room.

"Leave the formalities at the door, boy. I called for my son, not a servant" Vaegon wheezed, giving his first born a warm smile and gesturing for him to take a seat.

"Very well father" Lyonel said, a sombre smile crept onto his face as he sat down next to his father, taking the lords frail hand in his own. "What can I do for you?"

Vaegon Smiled up at Lyonel, the boy seemed taller than he remembered, perhaps that was due to delirium of a dying man… Or perhaps he'd been trapped in this cursed bed longer then he thought. Either way, it was good to see his first born again. He must have been, what, twenty-four now? More of a man then a boy, the lower half of his handsome face hidden behind a well-groomed, jet black beard that connected to his thick slicked back hair by neatly trimmed sideburns. He had a small scar over his right eyebrow from an accident while sparring the master-at-arms, and a build and frame of a warrior, strong and tall… Gods he looked so much like his mother, that she never had the chance to see the man he would become caused Vaegon's heart to ache.

"You remind me of her so much" Vaegon muttered as he stared into Lyonel's pale lilac eyes, the one trait he had inherited from his father… The eyes of a Dragonlord.

Lyonel stared down at his father, taken aback by his statement. "Father, is this really the best time for this?"

"This could be our last time, we've never really spoken of her and I'm sorry for that, son. But we need to now, while I still can" Vaegon said, as he gave his son's hand a comforting squeeze… or at least tried to.

Lyonel visibly tensed at his father's words. The topic of his mother was one neither him nor his father liked to discuss, despite all the years that had passed the wounds were still very much there, he was hesitant to open those wounds any further. But he knew his father was right, his time was short and Lyonel would not refuse him this. With a sigh Lyonel gave his father a nod and began to speak.

"Honestly… I don't remember her much" Lyonel muttered, his voice was tense, and he avoided his father's gaze but did not pull away from his father's touch.

"She loved you Lyonel, more than life itself… She loved us both" Vaegon assured, he knew this conversation would cause them both pain, but Lyonel needed this. They both did.

"And did you love her too, or was she just…?" Lyonel snapped, unable to finish his sentence as he meet his father's gaze again.

Vaegon just stared into his son's eyes, the sound of Vaegon's wheezing breaths cutting into the silence of the moment and the angry in Lyonel's eyes soon turned to regret as he stared down at his frail father. He opened his mouth, about to apologise for his outburst but Vaegon cut him off.

"I did… Truly, I did" Vaegon said calmly "You are not the product of empty lusts or the claiming of first night, son. Your mother meant so much to me"

"If that's true, why didn't you…?" Lyonel began to say, swallowing the knot that had formed in his throat as memories of his mother began to flood back to him.

"Wed her? I'm a Targaryen, Lyonel, I had my duty" Vaegon said, wanting to spare his son having to ask a question that pained him. "We Valyrians, we are a different breed, we have different responsibilities then those of lesser blood. Our bloodline must remain pure" Vaegon could tell his explanation did little to bring his son peace. He knew Lyonel understood his reasoning, he was more than familiar with the Targaryen custom of wedding siblings and the reasons behind it. But Vaegon could remember how much the idea of marriage meant to the boy's mother, she never complained or pressed the matter, but Vaegon knew. "The blood of the dragon is our greatest gift… but it can also be our greatest burden, one I'm glad you will never have to fully know, my son" Vaegon said as placed his hand on Lyonel's cheek, the bristly beard tickling his slender fingers a little as he tried to comfort his son.

Lyonel leaned into his father touch, the lump in his throat grew harder to swallow as his father's words brought down a wave of emotions and he could feel the prick of tears starting to form in his eyes. "Thank you, father" he muttered, unsure of what to say as his mind raced, trying to process all the emotions he was feeling. He stared down at his dying father and listened to him talk about his dead mother and the whirlwind of emotions proved too much for him to bare, Lyonel finally lost his inner battle and tears began to flow.

Vaegon gave his son a wry smile, gently wiping away his tears with his thumb, his wheezing breaths began to slow, and he felt tired, oh so tired. He was running out of time.

"Don't cry for me son, I need you to be strong. Everything will change for our family in these coming days, they will need you… Daemon will need you" Vaegon clasped his hand around the back of Lyonel's head and pulled him close "I need you to promise me, son, promise me you will help him. He will have a mountain of responsibility thrust upon him, to be the last Dragonlord… I have tried my best to prepare him, but he will need someone loyal, a strong right hand he trusts to advise him and counsel him. You must be that person, Lyonel"

Vaegon locked eyes with his son, trapping the two in an intense gaze as Lyonel's face, still damp with tears, turned from a look of sadness to shock and finally to a look of hardened resolve. He had always been known as a bastard, a Dragonseed. And while he may have been treated with more respect than bastards on the mainland, these title had always grated on Lyonel, made him feel less. Now he had the chance to be something more.

"I promise, father… I promise"

"Thank you, my son" Vaegon said, giving a wheezy sigh of relief as he placed this forehead against his sons. "I know the two of you are destined for great things… Now leave me to rest"

Lyonel rose from his seat and gave his father's shoulder one last squeeze of comfort before walking out of the room, the dark wooden door closing slowly behind him. And just like that Vaegon was alone once again. Several flashes of thunder illuminated the room, giving Vaegon a glimpse of his reflection in the nearby window. His once well-groomed silver hair had become unkept and matted with sweat and grease, his once lean and fit body had become thin and skeletal. His fair skin and handsome face, once the picture of the near inhuman Valyrian beauty, was now a sickly pale green tinge. His features were gaunt, and his violet eyes seemed to sink into his skull, gods, he prayed this wouldn't be how his family remembered him. The room suddenly seemed to grow darker around him, despite the candle on his bedside still lively flickering, the sound of rain and thunder also seemed to dull and drift into the distance. Vaegon ragged breath quickened as a twinge of fear began to creep its way through his soul, he was going to die tonight, the thought finally being fully realised as he felt the life start to leave him. Suddenly, a familiar sound broke through the fear, a soft and feminine giggle. And a smell tickled his nose, sea salt with a hint of lavender and berries, a combination he remembered fondly… and hadn't smelled in years. He heard the giggle once again, this time closer. He shakily turned his head to face the direction of the sound and what he saw brought tears to his eyes. There, sat beside him was the visage of Lyonel's mother, her jet-black hair tumbled down her back and her lips curled into a warm smile as she looked down at him. She was still as beautiful as he remembered, seemingly unaged by the years that had passed. Vaegon didn't know if this was a hallucination, his dying mind playing one final trick on him, or if the gods had decided to send an angel to take his soul to it final destination. The visage leaned forward and placed a soft kiss upon the Dragonlords forehead, her lips were delicate and soft. Vaegon's breath slowed and he felt at peace.

"Celia" With his last breath Vaegon muttered one finally word, calling out to the ghost of his past that sat before him as the last of his life left his body and his eyes closed forever.

Dragonstone, the following day

The sky was grey, the storm from the night having mostly passed, only the grey clouds and bitter winds lingering. Daemon was thankful that the nights rain had passed, the day was sombre enough without it. He was a young man, barely into his twenty third year, his short silver hair shifted gently in the wind, and the bitter cold of the wind chilled his handsome, pale face. He wore a fine doublet of black silk and linen with elaborate red lining along its edges… Funeral clothes. The sound of muffled crying came from the crowd that had gathered behind Daemon, practically all of Dragonstone had come to pay their final respects to their fallen lord. Daemon stared at the wooden pyre that had his father's body now lay on, his body had been washed and dressed in his finest robes of black silks and in his cold skeletal hands lay Blackfyre, the ancestral sword of the Targaryen lineage. Hundreds of flowers had been placed on the pyre and at its base by the crowd of smallfolk, who had now retreated to a safe distance, twenty feet behind Daemon (who was himself twenty feet from the pyre). A mighty roar filled the sky, as a great shadow covered the crowd. Daemon looked up and saw the hulking form of Balerion soaring above him, the dragon flew a few circles over the pyre before slowly coming to land next to the young lord. Daemon reached out and placed his hand against the black scales of his old mount, the last living piece of his family's homeland. He knew what he had to do next, but the he couldn't bring himself to say the word, he suddenly felt something gently grip his free arm. He turned to see the face of his mother, Elaena Targaryen. Her long platinum hair tied into a long braid with a black veil on her head. She wore a fine black gown that matched her veil. Her lavender eyes, puffy from crying, stared into Daemon's own deep purple eyes as she gave his wrist a soft squeeze and a small nod of wordless encouragement. Daemon took a long and deep breath.

"Dracarys!" He yelled. Balerion then reared his giant head back before letting loose a blast of black fire, the heat of the dragon fire causing some of the townsfolk to shield their faces. But not Daemon, he was a Targaryen, the last of the Dragonlords of old Valyria. He merely stood there and watched as Balerion's fire consumed the pyre, his father's body gently turning to ash as the fire roared on.

As the fires died down Daemon walked forward, followed by his mother and other siblings (bar his half-brother, who was nowhere to be found). Together they made their way towards the still smoking remains of the pyre. Each knelt down and collected the ashes from the pyre into a several finely made Valyrian steel erns, ornate designs of dragons engraved into them. Daemon also picked up Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel longsword was still hot to the touch from Balerion's fire but had cooled enough to be only a mild discomfort to the young Valyrian lord. The crowd of mourners parted for the family as they made their way back to the keep of Dragonstone, each cradling Vaegon's ashes. They walked in silence and soon found themselves back behind the thick black walls of Dragonstone, Elaena led her children down to the tomb in which the Targaryen's interred their dead, Each ern was placed in a place of honour, beautiful stone dragons watching over Vaegon's final resting place.

"You did well, Daemon." Elaena spoke, placing her arms around her son "Your father is now at rest… and tomorrow you will be named Lord of Dragonstone, come, you must prepare"

"No" Daemon muttered shrugging free from his mother embrace; everything was moving too fast. He needed a minute to breath. "No… we will prepare later, now. Now I need some time alone"

Daemon didn't wait for his mother's response, he simply turned and left tomb. Daemon walked through the castle grounds, fast and silent, his mind raced, and he soon found himself atop one of the might Blackstone watch towers of the island fortress he called home. He sat alone, his legs dangling off the towers edge as he stared out across the ocean towards the mainland of Westeros. He pulled a small leather-bound journal from the inside of his clothes, he flipped through its pages, each one full of dozens of finely drawn charcoal sketches. He arrived at a clean page and pulled out a well-worn charcoal pencil and began to draw. Daemon found that these moments of silence and artistic creation were the best way to calm his mind, and his mind desperately needed calming today. From the second the maid had discovered his father's body in the early hours of the dawn he hadn't had a moment to himself. The day had been full of ceremony and tradition, being the heir, it was his duty to send off his father's spirit through dragon fire. It had also been his responsibility to comfort his mother, she had broken down more then once today, Daemon had lost a father, true. But she had lost a husband, a lover and a brother, he knew the day would be hardest for her. Daemon himself had yet to fully grasp the situation… at least he hoped that shock was the reason for what he was feeling, or the lack of what he was feeling would be more correct. It wasn't that he wasn't saddened by his father's death, he was. Just not in the way a son should be, there were no tears or sombre thoughts of memories past. In truth he and his father had never been the closest, while it was true the two spent much time together his father used that time to lecture and teach Daemon how to rule, seeing Daemon as more of a protégée, a piece of clay to be moulded to suit whatever design he wanted. No, the sadness Daemon felt was that of losing a mentor, his heart raced with both fear and excitement, soon he would be lord of Dragonstone, he only hoped his father's lessons would pay off.

"I thought I'd find you up here"

The sound of a low, masculine voice pulled Daemon from his thoughts. He turned to see the jet-black hair of his half-brother as he finished climbing the steps of the watch tower, breathing heavily as he reached its top. "I'll have to find a better place to think then" Daemon said, going back to his sketch.

"You mean a better place to brood" Lyonel said with a smile, still catching his breath. "Fucking stair" the bastard huffed as he sat down next to Daemon.

"Piss off Baratheon. I do not brood, I think. I know all those blows to the head might have stifled your ability to tell the difference" Daemon replied, keeping his eyes on his paper but unable to stop a smile creeping onto his face.

"Oh, don't you worry about me brother, I can tell the difference. I may not be an expert in thinking, but I am one on brooding. Besides, like you always said, my skulls thicker than these castle walls, it'll take more then a few blows in the training yard to turn me simple" Lyonel japed.

Despite his best efforts Daemon couldn't contain his laughter, a chuckle slipped from between his lips then another. Soon both brothers had fallen into a fit of laughter, truth be told, the joke wasn't even that funny, the laughter was more from emotional exhaustion. Soon the pairs laughter died down and Daemon let out a heavy sigh, a question had bothered him since the funeral, one he needed an answer to.

"Why weren't you at the pyre burning?"

Lyonel smile slowly dropped as he turned to face his younger brother, his lilac eyes meeting the deep purple of Daemons. "I thought it would be best if I wasn't present during the ceremony" Lyonel said, his head lowering in what Daemon imagined was shame.

"He was your father as much as he was mine, Lyonel. You should have been there"

"Lady Elaena has been through enough today, I didn't want to add the disrespect of a bastard being there" Lyonel muttered, his eyes still at his boots.

Daemon just stared at his brother for a moment. Lyonel was right, as much as pained him to admit it his mother would not have approved of Lyonel being there. Elaena had always held Lyonel in contempt, to most of the island Lyonel was a gift, a great Dragonseed, and Daemon loved him like the brother he was. But to his mother, Lyonel was a constant reminder of his father's infidelity. "Let me worry about my mother" Daemon muttered in response, placing a hand on his brother shoulder.

"Anyway" Lyonel said, loudly clearing his throat "You're going to be lord soon, how does it feel?"

"Honestly, I'm terrified and excited, I've been training for this day since I was boy and now that its finally here… I just hope I'm ready" Daemon said as he gazed out across the water.

"You are. I have faith in you Daemon, as did your father, as does this entire island" Lyonel placing a comforting hand on his brother shoulder and pulling him closer. "And I'll be by your side every step of the way. You have my word"

"Thank you, brother" Daemon said, wrapping one arm around Lyonel's shoulder and pulling him closer as they looked out over the call ocean, the sun beginning to slowly sink beneath the horizon.

As two brothers sat atop the great black watch tower Daemons deep purple eyes gazed across the horizon and focused on the mainland of Westeros. As he stared at the distant land and he knew that together with his family he could accomplish anything, his ambitions would be realised, and the history books would speak of him. A smile crept across him face

The Sunset Sea, off the coast of Westeros

"Oars in, sails at full mast. The winds on our sides lads, let her carry us home!"

The booming voice of Dagon Hoare reached every ear on the deck of the Endurance and her crew went to work. The men who had been previously rowing let out a small cheer as the pulled the large wooden oars out of the water and set them to the sides of the long ship. As oarsmen finished the other crewmen went about untying ropes and climbing riggings, unfurling the ships sails. In less then a minute the sails were down, the strong winds sent the Endurance slicing through the salty sea water. Dagon stood at the bow of the ship, his thick and messy black hair blowing wildly in the sea air and the saltwater sprayed his sun kissed skin. In the distance he could see his destination, Seagard, the port city to his family's kingdom. Three years he has been at sea, three years he has lived as his god commands Ironborn to live, and now he finally returns home.

"After all these years, I'll finally see her again" Dagon muttered to himself as he leaned against the Endurance's ram, questions filling his mind.

He wondered if his father had finally managed to finish his grandfather ambition, the mighty fucking eye sore that was Harrenhal, When Dagon left it was still years away from being complete, but they were given years. If it not Dagon was sure the riches of the east, he had brought with him would be more then enough for the old man to finally finish. His mind also wondered to his elder brother, he wondered if the man was still the vicious cunt, he remembered him as. Reavos Hoare was the reason Dagon's rugged good looks were blemished by the long scar across his left eye, the memory of that day caused Dagon to grind his teeth in contempt. He wasn't looking forward to meeting either of those pricks again, his fat arrogant father or his prick of a brother. There was one however, one person the thought of seeing again caused Dagon's heart to race. His sister, well, half-sister. Tessana, the daughter of one of his father salt wives, and one of the few people Dagon genuinely loved. His grimace turned into a smile at the thought of her thick red locks and kind face, and that smile only grew as he saw Seagard growing closer and closer.

"Oars back out lads, I want to be at land before sundown"

A/N There we have it, my prologue chapter to my first SYOC. If the ending feels a little rushed that's because its 4:30am where I live and I just kinda wanted to get this chapter posted, I'll reread it later and correct any mistakes I've made.

If you enjoyed please follow, favourite and review, and if you're interested in the form and rules are on my profile. Until next time 3