The Unlikely Dragon

Out of the two groups that met, it was—for most of them—a heartfelt reunion; Aegon ran to the man who'd said his name only moments, before pulling him into a hug which was only half-reciprocated, most likely something to do with the look of shock on the man's face. Similarly, Egg himself was glad to see Lord Lyonel before him, a man he considered a friend despite their difficulties in the past.

The same, however, could not be said for the remaining two.

'Dragonspawn!' The final Baratheon lunged at Rhaegar, swinging his hammer in a vicious arc toward the prince's head and missing only due to Egg's timely intervention of giving a swift shove to the shoulder of his grandson.

Great-grandson? He wasn't quite sure. He was the son of Aerys, who was the son of Jae—

It was a matter of no real importance and could be figured out later. What could not be solved later, however, was the giant swinging a hammer at Rhaegar.

By now Rhaegar had his own sword drawn and was swatting away every attempt of the yet-anonymous Baratheon—who, based on Rhaegar's story over the past hours, Egg assumed to be Robert—that was attacking him. If what Rhaegar had told him had been true, mere hours before, he'd had his chest caved in by that exact hammer before waking in a similar manner to Egg, and it looked as if history was about to repeat itself.

Rhaegar's sword had been smacked from his hand, and Robert swung his leg into his adversary's, sending him sprawling to the ground. He raised his hammer high above his head and was about to smash it down into the prince's chest when the gods must've heard Egg's prayers for them to intervene. Gods whose chosen instrument, it turned out, was Lyonel Baratheon and a well-placed clout to the ear.

With a quiet yelp of shock, the hammer was dropped into the snow, sending flakes into the air.

'What the fuck do you think you're doing!' Lyonel barked at Robert, who did not even have the grace to look abashed. 'There is no honour in killing an unarmed man, not when he is lying helpless beneath you.'

'Nor is there honour,' Robert spat back, 'in kidnapping and raping another man's betrothed.' His glare toward Rhaegar intensified, and Aegon could practically feel the heat radiating from his gaze.

'Nor in making unfounded accusations.' Aegon spoke at last, having been silent throughout the melee. 'It's getting dark. We should make a fire if we have any hope to survive the night. You,' he gestured toward Lyonel, 'take the boy and find some firewood.'

He looked toward Egg. 'See if Rhaegar here needs to be patched up. Orys and I will try to find some food. And then.' He looked around sharply before continuing. 'We shall get to the bottom of this.' With that, he turned round and walked away, leaving Orys to hurry to catch up.

Egg glanced toward the man on the ground. He was groaning, but his eyes were open and there was no damage visible. He'd be fine.

The Conquering Dragon

'It is good to see you, my friend,' Aegon began, 'and with an extra hand, no less.' Gone was the commanding voice of King Aegon the Conqueror, and in its stead was simply Aegon.

'Aye, and you as well, even though I must admit that I'm confused by what the fuck we're all doing here. Who are those men claiming to be Baratheons? And who were those men with you? And how're you so calm about all this?'

'Baratheons, Targaeryens, and Daenys.' Aegon answered simply, as was his wont. 'You know of my great aunt, Denys? The dreamer, I think they called her. She died generations before I was even born, but it was she who dreamt of the Doom and had our family move to Westeros.'

'Aye, I know of her. I'm not a simpleton, Aegon.'

The Conqueror smirked at Orys. 'Could've fooled me. Anyhow, she had another dream on her deathbed. In her last moments, supposedly, when she was lucid enough to actually speak, she told my great-great-grandfather that there'd be one of his line, a conqueror the likes of which the world had never seen.'

'You?'

'Yes, of course she meant me. Do keep up, Orys.'

'Sorry.'

'So, to continue without any further interruptions,' he continued, giving Orys a mock glare, 'She told him of the conqueror, and of the message that he must be given.' His eyes seemed to glaze over slightly, as if he were recalling some ancient wisdom.

'When the Dragons, the Stags, the Wolves, and all the others return, trust in who they are, for they will are the only ones to stop the descent of all, into fire and blood. That's what I told the others, and I'll tell anyone else the exact same.'

'So you're telling me that those men back there—they're my line? My house, in the hands of those simpletons?'

'Well, yes, but no.'

'What the fuck do you mean by that? They're either mine or they're not.'

'From what I've gathered, we're all dead.'

Orys froze. 'What?'

'You died a few months before I, journeying back from Dorne, if I'm not mistaken.'

'And?'

'And as for those two that I was with, they're the blood of the dragon, and if they're who they claim to be, I see no reason that those claiming to be Baratheons should not be seen as liars.'

'But if we're dead, why are we only awakening together now? Surely we shouldn't have to wait centuries to get into the seven heavens. And if we're in the seven heavens, then why is it so bloody cold?'

'Simple. We came back to life. I cannot say why, exactly, but based on the words of Daenys, I'd wager it's for something important. So, let's find some food, and pray that they've got a fire going.'

Robert

The fire was blazing, with Robert building and lighting it the way that Jon had taught him all those years ago in the Eyrie. It was also a pleasant distraction from his all-encompassing desire to kill the whoreson sat barely two metres from him, doing nothing but staring at the sliver of moon visible in the sky.

The other one seemed decent enough, although Robert was reluctant to let his guard down. That's how Targeryens got you—they lure you in, and before you know it you're being strangled or burnt to death. Still, he seemed to know what he was doing—he'd dried off some moss that had been clinging to a tree, and the fire had been burning brighter ever since.

'So, Egg.' Lyonel, he'd learnt the man was called, shouted over to the Targaryen helping Robert at the fire. 'Any clue what we're doing here?' He was ridiculously jovial, especially for the one sitting furthest from the fire. 'Any at all?'

'None, I'm afraid. One moment I'm at Summerhall, trapped under a collapsed column as the smoke rises around me, the next I'm here. In a frozen wasteland with you sorry lot.'

'How about you?' Lyonel was now looking at Robert.

'Not a fucking clue. I was in bed, bleeding out from a boar tusk and sorting my will with Ned and Ser Barristan, and then I-'

'Barristan?' Rhaegar interrupted, speaking for the first time since Robert had pounded his sorry arse into the ground. 'He's alive?'

'Aye,' Robert growled. 'A good, loyal knight that one. One that serves his rightful king faithfully. You know, a king that's not a rapist or a kidnapper.'

'I didn't kidn-'

'Save it for someone who believes it. Mark my words, were it not for our current predicament I'd have smashed your chest in all over again. When we get out of here, I intend to rectify that immediately.'

'No-one needs to be smashing anyone's chest.' The other Targaryen—Aegon, Robert recalled—had returned. 'Not yet, at least. I told you before that there was no honour in making unfounded accusations. For the moment, it appears that we're stuck here, so why not tell us what Rhaegar here supposedly did?' He sat down, having cleared a patch of snow from the ground, and made a gesture for Robert to begin.

He told them all of his betrothal, of the tourney of Harrenhal, of Rhaegar kidnapping Lyanna. He spoke of the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark, and the moment that he'd watched the light leave the dragon prince's eyes at the Trident.

Robert then looked down, his eyes filled with shame. He told his audience about Jaime Lannister slaying his king, of the sack of King's Landing and of the notorious exploits of the Mountain. He saw Rhaegar weep as he spoke of the deaths of Rhaenys and Aegon, and how he'd done nothing but condone the actions of their killers. After all, he reasoned emotionlessly, they'd been the final threats to his rule, and surely it'd be kinder for the people of the Seven Kingdoms to live under the peace of a stag, than to die in the war of a vengeful dragon. Lyanna, he told them, had been found by her brother, having been held captive by the kingsguard, and died before she could ever come home.

All remained silent, the story spanning well into the night. A tentative peace had emerged; by no means did he view the dragons any differently, but Robert felt too drained from the story to follow through with any immediate action against him.

'You bastard!'

The peace was shattered the second that a figure came barrelling out of the shadows and wrapped their hands around the slender throat of Rhaegar. They released his throat and began pummelling his chest with their fists. 'I'll teach you to leave me to die in the middle of a fucking desert, you prick!' They gave one final punch to the jaw, and Rhaegar was out cold. The figure rose.

'Hello Robert,' Lyanna Stark said nonchalantly, as if they'd been old friends passing on the street. 'Fancy seeing you here.'