Chapter 3: Aegon Targaryen
Summary:
Aegon and Frostfyre fly for Pentos. Ned and Catelyn reflect on their nephew's abrupt disappearance. Dany dreads her upcoming marriage to Khal Drogo.
When Aegon arrives in Pentos astride his white dragon, the last of House Targaryen have much to discuss...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter Three: Aegon Targaryen
Aegon sat by the fire he'd started and stared down at the map he'd taken before he left Winterfell.
Even though Frostfyre seemed to know where she was going already—whether she was guided by the Valyrian magic in Daenerys' blood, the Dragon Dreams, or some sixth sense he didn't understand, Aegon wanted to plot their course so he had an idea of what to expect. Where they should land to rest on the way to Pentos.
They had already flown past White Harbor and were currently resting on the edge of the Bite, well east of Old Castle. Aegon wanted to steer clear of human habitation as much as possible, ideally. He knew it was likely someone had at least glimpsed Frostfyre by now, despite how high they flew, but there was no need to expose them more than was necessary.
The waves of the Bite lapped at the rocky shores not far away. Frostfyre was elsewhere at the moment; hunting most likely.
He heard the familiar sound of heavy wingbeats and looked up. Speak of the devil.
His dragon landed close by, shaking herself with a low growl. He blinked when he realized she had something clenched in her claws, and grimaced—it was a deer. Or what was left of one, anyways. He could only see the upper half of the body; the rest was missing. Probably in his dragon's gut by now.
She seemed to be rather sated, however. Frostfyre sniffed the charred body, tore off one of the front legs, and turned away from the rest of the deer to curl up and rest.
Aegon bit his lip. He had kept his water supply full and had plenty to drink, but he hadn't eaten much in the last two days. He hadn't exactly been able to carry much on him.
He approached the deer's remains and looked at Frostfyre, whistling to get her attention. She watched him as he knelt to set a hand on the deer, but didn't look away from her. His eyes silently asked for permission.
She seemed to debate his unspoken question before snorting and turning away. She must've really eaten her fill. He was vaguely reminded of Sansa giving Bran whatever leftovers she didn't want, and the thought amused him.
Frostfyre was as close to a birth-sister as he'd ever have, after all. Whatever Valyrian magic allowed her to hatch had seen to that.
Aegon pulled out his hunting knife and started to skin whatever fur was left on the deer. Frostfyre liked to make her meals nice and crispy—something Aemon had told him was common for dragons. They preferred to cook their prey before eating it.
Frostfyre seemed to like her meals a bit on the rare side, but that was just as well for Aegon. He didn't want to eat burnt meat.
He ate his fill and sighed in relief. He'd needed that.
Now he returned to the map to plot their course. From where they camped now, on the north shores of the Bite, he planned on flying south to the Fingers. They'd camp there tomorrow, then fly south through the Vale and past the Eyrie. His aunt Lysa lived there, but he had no intention of stopping by for a family visit.
After that, he wanted to make another stop southwest of Gulltown, again as remote as possible. They'd cross another stretch of water and head a bit east to camp on the edge of the Narrow Sea.
There, they would find the shortest crossing from Westeros to Essos. That would still be a long flight, but crossing the Bite would give them a rough idea of what to expect. Hopefully the weather would be kind.
Part of him briefly wished to fly further south to Dragonstone, which was directly across the Narrow Sea from Pentos, but that trip would be too long and would bring them closer to King's Landing than he was entirely comfortable with. Besides, Stannis Baratheon was the current Lord of Dragonstone, and he certainly would not be pleased if Aegon showed up out of nowhere.
No, Dragonstone would have to wait, if he ever visited the ancient, Westerosi home of his House in the future.
Once they reached Essos, he planned to give both himself and Frostfyre a brief respite. A day or two, perhaps, to recover their strength. By then, he'd still have about two weeks before Dany was due to marry the Dothraki Khal.
Perhaps within two days of that, they could be in Pentos.
Aegon knew what he had to do there. Just revealing himself with Frostfyre would immediately place him at the Head of House Targaryen. He would order Viserys to cancel the planned marriage for Daenerys to the Dothraki Khal, or he would force his uncle to do so.
What he didn't know was what he should do after he got Dany away from that mess. He'd had some time to think about it. It wasn't like there was much to do flying on Frostfyre besides think.
The most tempting option was simply to put Dany on Frostfyre's back and fly the hell away. But that was a child's solution, and he could not be a child anymore. He had to be a Dragon Rider.
He'd have to talk about it with them, but he knew they'd stayed in Pentos for too long. Dany had told him in some dreams about men who had tried to break into the manor—likely to murder her and Viserys—and been killed by the guards. The assassins weren't that skilled yet, but he did not want to chance that. Eventually, King Robert would get sick of the failures and buy an assassin who would succeed.
No, they needed to leave Pentos soon after his arrival. Aegon would have to plan that trip with Dany and Viserys, if his uncle was even open to the idea by the time he issued his new orders as Head of House Targaryen.
That was another concern. If Viserys refused to respect his authority as Head of the House, Aegon would be left with few options. He'd either be forced to cast Viserys out or execute him if his uncle's rage proved too extreme.
And he had little doubt Viserys' fury would be tremendous.
Aegon's mouth parted into a wide yawn. He was exhausted from the long days of flying and his body ached. He'd think on this more when they were soaring over the Bite. For now, he needed to sleep.
Ned Stark had his face buried in his hands, and stress roiled off of him in waves.
Jon had fled in the dead of night five days ago. He'd slipped a letter under the door to Ned and Catelyn's room, then snuck out of Winterfell with scarcely a sound.
He remembered the cold feeling in his gut when he recognized Jon's handwriting. Maybe he'd already known what he was about to read then, but he'd had to sit down on the bed with Cat before he opened it with shaky fingers.
He intends to sell her to a Dothraki Khal. I cannot let this happen. I do not know when I shall return. Give my love to my brothers and sisters.
Jon.
It had been short and vague, intended to mean nothing to all save those who understood what could cause Jon to leave in such a manner. Catelyn had taken his hand and squeezed it tightly as they both realized what had happened.
Jon had shared another Dragon Dream with Daenerys Targaryen and learned that Viserys was going to sell her to a barbarian. Why, neither of them knew for certain, but Ned could only assume the Mad King's last son wanted an army.
Now he was gone to try and stop the marriage.
"We might be able to catch up to him," Catelyn had urged.
"I'll send riders to Castle Black," Ned had already been thinking about who he could send with haste. "With any luck, they'll get to him before he gets to the Wall, even with that head start he's got."
He'd burned the letter. No one but he and Cat could know it had been written at all. It was too sensitive, even for how vague it was.
His riders had returned early this morning with Jon's horse, but not Jon himself. They'd found it roaming around about two days north of their home, and searching the area for any sign of the rider, they'd spotted a set of gigantic tracks belonging to a strange beast none of them recognized.
The men had apologized profusely, stating it was likely Ned's offspring was dead.
He knew better.
The dragon had come for him and now Jon was too far away for any horse to catch. For all Ned knew, he might have summoned it in the dream he shared with Daenerys. It had flown that vast distance over the Wall to his territory in just two days.
By now, Jon could be as far as the Vale. Even sending ravens out would be too slow. Nothing could fly as fast as that dragon.
Robert was still a few weeks away. Winterfell was preparing for his arrival, and Ned had quietly ordered his riders not to say anything about Jon's disappearance—simply that he'd left for Castle Black earlier than expected. He'd also ordered them to be silent of the giant tracks they'd seen. He would order a search party to investigate those soon, which he already knew would be fruitless.
But he had to keep up appearances. With any luck, the weather would erase most of them before anyone with a trained eye could make assumptions of the beast's true nature.
He'd told his children much the same, save the news of the beast. He'd told them Jon had left for the Wall a bit earlier than anticipated, on an urgent request from their uncle Benjen. All of them save Sansa were disappointed by the news, but accepted it readily enough.
He wished he could tell them the truth, but Catelyn was here to share the burden.
Even as he sat on the edge of their bed, knowing he should rest, she moved behind him on the furs to hold her husband close. "Have faith, Ned. He has a dragon protecting him."
"I know," he sighed. "But he's still so young, Cat. He's not ready to fight Dothraki."
She nodded and planted a soft kiss on his bare shoulder. Neither of them were in the mood for sex, but the intimacy was comforting regardless.
"We must focus on what we can do now, My Lord," she told him. "I will miss him, but I believe he will come back to us. He always has."
He twisted his head and they shared a kiss that was as much for their love as it was to calm the frayed nerves harrying them both. "Even so, I do not believe I will rest easy until I hear word of him alive and well."
"I do not believe I will, either," she admitted. "But I will comfort you as much as I am able, if you would do the same for me, My Lord."
Ned smiled and at last retreated into bed, pulling Cat up to the pillows with him. He dragged the furs over them and they curled up close together, taking comfort in the presence of their beloved while the absence of their nephew hung heavy over them.
All they could do now was hope.
Aegon was in trouble.
He had his sword already drawn, warily watching as a group of three men strode cautiously near him. Frostfyre was off hunting, but he was already pulling on their bond as urgently as possible.
He didn't know where they'd come from. They were halfway to their next main destination, currently camped in the mountains between the Eyrie and Old Anchor. Jon had been checking their course when he heard them coming, and by the time he was on his feet, they were already almost upon him.
"Who are you?" One of them demanded gruffly.
Aegon eyed the three of them. They were all armed. Mercenaries or bandits? He wasn't sure.
"That's close enough," he growled when they kept approaching. The men slowed, but kept inching closer. Aegon's eyes narrowed. "Stop."
"You're from the North," the man on the right said. "I recognize that accent."
"I have nothing of value for you to take," he snapped. "You're wasting your time."
"We'll be the judge of that. It's a pretty sword you've got there, boy."
Aegon had held the blade with the tip pointed downwards, but now he lifted it in a smooth motion and pointed it at the man who was starting to flank his left side. The man halted as Aegon glared at him dangerously. "Last warning. I have nothing to take and nothing to share. Be on your way or else."
"Or else what?" The man sneered, reaching up as if to swat the flat of the blade down.
It was the stupid move of a man believing he was staring down a frightened boy.
Aegon twisted in a flourish and his sword flashed, severing the man's hand. He screamed, clutching the stump now spurting blood, and the boy whipped towards the other two as they began to unsheathe their own weapons. He darted forward with a thrust, faster than they were expecting, and slashed the throat of another man. He dropped, clutching at the mortal wound.
The last got his sword out and Aegon engaged him, aggressively striking to drive the man against the rock wall behind him. Too focused on the startling fury of the boy, his foe backed into the rock and trapped himself. Aegon smashed his guard open and drove his sword into the man's gut. He screamed in pain and the boy ripped his sword free, then grabbed his hunting knife and slit his throat.
He turned back to the last man, still clutching the stump of his wrist, and strode over to him. The man was lying on his back, screaming, but before Aegon could put him out of his misery, a shadow fell over them.
Frostfyre landed hard, claws scraping against the rock, and eyed the screaming, bloodied man with disdain. She seemed disappointed there wasn't a fight to be had, but she loosed a blast of flame to shut the screaming enemy up. Aegon winced, but at least he was dead now.
Her head lifted to regard him and she sniffed at the blood covering his furs—all belonging to the men he'd just slain. Aegon lifted a hand to her snout and shushed her.
"I'm fine, girl," he sighed. "But we should leave now, I think."
She blinked at him and growled. Aegon took a few minutes to clean his sword of the blood on the cloaks of his dead enemies. He searched their belongings, but found nothing of great interest save some coin. He disliked the idea of stealing from dead men, but he would probably need the money. He took the coin, packed up his bag, and mounted Frostfyre.
They'd need to find a new place to camp for tonight. But for now—he didn't want to leave the bodies to rot. To be picked over by predators. For someone to find and wonder on their fate.
He pressed his lips as he looked at the corpses and steeled his heart for the distasteful task he needed to see through. Uncle Ned had taught him to be honorable. The Watch had taught him to survive.
"Dracarys."
Daenerys felt her heart torn between hope and despair.
The days after her Dragon Dream with Jon were some of the longest and most miserable of her life. She was being constantly reminded of her upcoming marriage to the Dothraki Khal, as other merchants trickled in from Pentos and other nearby towns to be a part of the celebration. Hoping to buy some favor from the barbarians, no doubt.
She stayed away from Viserys as much as physically possible. That wasn't hard, at least—he was always with Illyrio, planning things and discussing what it would take to ship the Dothraki to Westeros once their alliance was secure.
The only time he'd stopped to speak with her was one evening after dinner, perhaps a week after her last Dragon Dream with Jon.
Viserys had come to her chambers and taken her chin in his hands, studying her with a hunger that made her spine crawl. "It is a shame I won't have you for myself. I would ensure our bloodline stays pure and take you as my sister-wife, but the Iron Throne must come first. Perhaps the great battle to come will see your future husband dead. Should that be the case, rest easy sister, for I will wed you myself."
She'd cried herself to sleep that night. Viserys' proposition was even worse than the idea of being married to the Dothraki Khal. To be the whore-bride of a horse lord, then to be given to her brother for his own pleasure was a sickening thought.
Dany wanted to hope. She wanted to hope beyond hope that Jon was actually coming for her. Another part of her was terrified that all the dreams she'd had of him were just desperate fantasies her mind was creating to keep her going.
She had so little joy left in her life. Dany didn't think she could handle it if she found that Jon and Frostfyre were just…figments of her imagination.
And so on the nights between her last Dragon Dream and her upcoming wedding, Dany curled up beneath the sheets of her bed, hid in her pillow, and begged to any gods that existed.
Please, please, please help him find me.
She cried herself to sleep again.
Aegon looked east.
He was on Frostfyre's back in the early morning. They were on the edge of the Narrow Sea, just north of Dragonstone. Both of them were ready for the flight to come. The distance they had to cross was roughly the same as the Bite, if perhaps a bit longer.
It would be tiring, but they could not stop for a lengthy rest now. It had already been more than a week since Dany had told him what was to become of her. They still had some time, but staying in Westeros was too dangerous as it was. They needed to leave now.
It struck him as ironic. Hundreds of years ago and not far south of them, Aegon the Conquerer had looked west and seen the future. With Balerion the Black Dread, he had flown to Westeros in search of Seven Kingdoms to rule.
Generations later, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, looked east with the dragon Frostfyre to save the last of his family.
He tucked himself close to Frostfyre's back and urged her to take the next great stretch of their journey.
"Sōves."
Frostfyre roared and launched herself into the sky. Beneath them, the Narrow Sea roiled. The weather had been clear so far, and Aegon could only hope it would remain so.
He was still getting used to the growing heat, but at least in the air, it was cool. While he found it uncomfortable in his fur cloak and northerner's clothing, Frostfyre seemed to revel in it. The warmth of the south was bringing her energy she had lacked in the North, for all her great strength.
She had grown up in the cold and become tough. Hardened. In the heat, she was coming home, for dragons were fire breathed life, and the climate stoked the inferno within her blood. Gave her vitality beyond anything he'd seen in her before.
Frostfyre dove closer to the sea, her wings sending up a spray of water, but she only trilled and blasted them upwards again. Aegon leaned into her motions as they flew with growing speed.
Westeros was behind them now. Essos lay ahead, and Pentos on its shores.
Daenerys lay ahead.
Frostfyre picked up the pace and Aegon grinned. Horses had been ruined for him from their first flight together. He loved flying.
A little less than two weeks before she was to be wed to the Dothraki Khal Drogo, Daenerys found herself breaking her fast in the morning with Magister Illyrio and Viserys. The servants bustled around them and close by, Ser Jorah stood guard.
She appreciated the Knight's presence. Jorah was a source of solidarity for Dany, but he was never allowed to speak so long as Viserys was around. Sometimes, he told her stories of Westeros. She liked those.
"So, Princess Daenerys, I thought you might like an update on the proceedings of your upcoming wedding," Illyrio proclaimed.
The food turned to ashes in her mouth. She forced herself to nod and smile pleasantly, despite the sick feeling in her belly. "Of course, Magister."
"Splendid! So of course, a number of my partners will be attending to present you and your soon-to-be husband with gifts," the merchant told her. "It's looking to be quite the gathering. Most of our company will be Dothraki, it must be said. The Khal is bringing his whole khalesar along."
"I am pleased to hear it," she heard herself say, absent and withdrawn from the conversation as much as she could manage.
"I myself have a very special gift for you," Illyrio's eyes twinkled. "Something befitting a Targaryen."
That admittedly piqued her curiosity somewhat, but any questions regarding the special gift were suddenly left unspoken.
They heard something of a ruckus coming from outside. Viserys frowned and looked over his shoulder at the window, watching as guards and servants shifted around. Many of them looked confused or worried. "Is something happening?"
"Perhaps it's another one of my fellow merchants," Illyrio said, standing up. "I apologize for the interruption. I will eat with you later for—"
A servant suddenly ran into the room and fell to their knees, looking up at Illyrio. "Master! We have heard that a beast is coming for the city!"
Illyrio's brow rose. "A beast?"
"Yes! They say it is huge!"
Jorah set his hand on his sword and looked at Viserys. "Perhaps we should see what all the commotion is about, Your Grace. I will guard you and the Princess."
"Yes," Viserys admittedly looked somewhat curious. "This event has drawn my interest. We will eat later. Have fresh food prepared for us by the time we return."
The servant looked all too happy to run off deeper into the manor, away from whatever was coming to Pentos.
They headed outside and the Master summoned his personal guard, who surrounded them and escorted the group outside of the manor's grounds. Several more servants were running towards them, eyes wide and panicked.
"Stop!" Illyrio ordered them, frowning deeply. "What runs for us?"
"No! It flies!" A woman shrieked. "It FLIES—!"
Dany heard screams of panic in the distance, and then a roar drowned them all out, shaking the land and sea and sky. Her head snapped upwards, her eyes grew large, and the breath left her lungs.
She felt the moment when her heart stopped, then surged with hope anew.
From the far side of the city, a gigantic white dragon soared over Pentos, bellowing to announce its arrival. Its vast wings cast a huge shadow, which blotted out the sun as the creature flew directly above them. Every flap created a thunderclap of air, and violet eyes pierced all beneath it.
The dragon roared again, and spat a lazy tongue of pure, white flame from its fanged maw through the sky. It wheeled over the city, flying in a wide circle.
"Frostfyre," Dany breathed so lowly she barely heard herself.
The dragon was real.
Illyrio made a very undignified shrieking sound beside her, and then Viserys grabbed Daenerys by the shoulders, almost thrashing her with his excitement.
"Do you see, Dany?!" Viserys exclaimed. "The dragons have returned for me! For the rightful King! They have come to give me their power!"
She only nodded absently. Disagreeing with Viserys on this matter would be very unwise.
They watched the dragon fly east, wheeling over a set of hills not far away. It seemed to be staying there, and Viserys turned to Ser Jorah in a hurry. "Ready the horses! We must pursue it! I will claim the dragon as mine!"
Dany heard Jorah rush off to the stables, as well as several of Illyrio's servants as the merchant finally got his act together. Her eyes remained fixed on the dragon flying above the hills—Frostfyre was not going any further. She was waiting.
Jon, she thought with hope swelling in her heart, as she spun around and chased after Viserys.
They rode harder and faster than they ever had before, yet it still took them nearly half an hour to reach their quarry. The dragon was still airborne, circling that same, large hill to the east of Pentos.
Dany was riding with Ser Jorah. Ahead of her, Viserys rode at a frenzied pace to reach the great white predator. As they closed in, Frostfyre shrieked, prompting them to stop and dismount.
She flew down to meet them, flapping her huge, white wings until her back feet hit the ground with a loud thud. The wings quickly tucked in so she could walk on her clawed joints, and the beautiful head lifted high to regard them. Dany met the piercing violets, the same shade as her own eyes, and saw the intelligence in them unlike any other animal.
Viserys practically threw himself from his horse despite Ser Jorah's shouted warnings and strode towards the dragon, eyes half-mad with joy and desire. "Great dragon! You have come for me! For your King—!"
Frostfyre's lip curled dangerously as he got closer, exposing huge fangs. She lunged forward in several fast steps—faster than Dany would have thought possible—until she towered over Viserys and roared at him. It was a massive sound that made him stumble to a stop and stare, wide-eyed.
Jorah positioned himself between the creature and Dany, insisting she stay on his horse should she need to flee. He called out to Viserys cautiously. "Your Grace, it may be too wild to tame!"
"Silence!" Viserys shouted back. He slowed his approach, but her teeth, sharper than swords, still gleamed threateningly at him. "Come now…I am the blood of the dragon! Surely you sense it!"
"Aye, she senses it."
Viserys froze.
Dany's breath caught as a young man appeared on the dragon's back. The teenager's messy hair was a deep sable, almost black, and his eyes were such a dark grey that they reminded her of a moonless night. His skin was pale, only slightly tanned where she could see it. He bore clothing suited for a much colder climate than Pentos—furs and a black cloak, as well as gloves and boots of similar make.
There was a brooding air about him; a certain quiet, and yet he was not timid. The dragon lowered herself to the ground to make dismounting easier for the boy, who carefully climbed down her great wing. Her eyes fixed on her Rider, and he lifted a hand to stroke her snout, gently pushing at the dragon's head so he could approach them.
When he stepped forth, his gaze flickered briefly from Viserys to Jorah, and then to Dany, where they fixed upon her for several moments. She felt as if she were being watched by one of the wolves she'd sometimes seen caged in the city, but this wolf prowled free.
And she felt no fear. She wanted to weep for joy, but kept her composure with a few deep breaths.
Jon.
Frostfyre watched him with the closest thing a dragon could give to love, and lifted her head back up to watch Illyrio's group reach them. She snorted a puff of air, growling when she decided the horses had come close enough. They didn't need any further warning.
"She senses your blood," the boy repeated. "But dragons only bond with one Rider at a time. Until I die, she will accept no one but me."
Dany glanced at Viserys, who seemed oddly unperturbed. In fact, her brother's smile returned to him. "Then you have come to commit yourself to my cause by sacrificing yourself, so the dragon will accept me? You will be honored forever as the one who helped House Targaryen most in our time of need—"
"I did not come here to die, uncle."
Viserys stilled and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a few moments. "Uncle?"
"It cannot be," Jorah breathed in front of her.
"My name is Aegon Targaryen. My father was Rhaegar Targaryen," the boy said. "And my dragon is Frostfyre."
"It cannot be!" Jorah repeated, frowning. "If the Prince had bonded to a dragon, the whole of King's Landing would have rejoiced. The dragon would have become public knowledge everywhere."
"My dragon's hatching was kept a secret. She was born after the Battle of the Trident."
The boy fell silent and the dragon crooned down at him. His lips rose into a small smile as he looked up at her, then turned back to his audience. His eyes kept flickering to Dany, and it seemed he wanted very badly to speak to her. She wished for the same.
Not yet, his eyes told her. She answered with the slightest of nods. Soon.
"We should make ourselves comfortable. 'Tis a long story I have to tell you."
It was hot in Pentos.
Aegon had already removed his dark cloak, which provided some relief. He still felt like he might melt, but he could hardly speak to his host without a shirt. That would not be a good first appearance.
He was trying very hard not to focus too much on Dany. He had that childish urge to walk over to her, take her hand, and bring her onto Frostfyre so they could fly off far and away, but he resisted that particular desire.
But there she was—silver of hair, violet of eyes, pale and perhaps more beautiful than he'd ever seen her in their Dragon Dreams of the winter woods.
By the time the Magister had a tent and comfortable seats brought out to them from his manor, it was nearly noon. Aegon had refused to go back to the city just yet, despite the man's assurances of their safety.
"I would like to discuss a few matters here and now," Aegon told them, projecting the authority he needed to make his position clear. "I do not trust easily. I would speak with you before I approach the city, to ensure you are not people who will slit my throat in the night."
He stared meaningfully at Viserys. His uncle had already asked the boy to die for him. He was far too hasty.
"Of course," he continued. "If you plan to kill me, it would be important for you to know that dragons are closely attuned to their Riders. Should harm befall me within your walls, she will react with her full wrath."
Frostfyre may not have understood all the words he spoke, but she understood his energy and intentions. She knew Aegon was firmly cementing the dominance of his position, and she spat a tongue of white-hot dragonfire directly into the air to compliment his threat.
He was satisfied by the wary—and fearful—looks they gave his dragon. They would not be stupid enough to risk Frostfyre's wrath. They understood that she would burn down the whole of Pentos and everyone in it if harm came to Aegon.
Good.
Little was said while Illyrio's servants brought all they needed to make themselves comfortable. Viserys was seemingly processing everything in complete silence, often looking from Aegon to Frostfyre. His eyes often lingered on the dragon with something like hunger, and the boy did not like that.
Dany stood close to the horse and the Knight who had escorted her here. He looked somewhat familiar, but Aegon could not quite place it.
When Illyrio's servants finally brought a tent, seating, and food out to them, Aegon had to hide his relief at the chance to sit down on something besides hard ground or the tough scales of Frostfyre's back. He settled onto an absurdly plush sitting pillow across from Viserys, Illyrio, and Dany, who sat on similar pillows. The Knight stood behind the pair of Targaryens. Food was hurriedly brought out and served to them, along with wine.
Frostfyre watched them, curling up on the ground and shifting her head behind Aegon so she could stare into the tent. Her violet eyes pierced them all, but Aegon leaned back against her skull and rubbed at her scales absently. The dragon made a soft trill in response to his touch, but she did not look away from their host.
The Knight seemed to recognize Aegon's clothing. "You're from the North. From Westeros."
"Aye," Aegon said stiffly.
"How did you come to be here?"
"I received word that some of my House had yet survived," he answered. "Frostfyre was getting too big to hide, even in the far North. I felt the time was right to leave Westeros and seek out my last surviving kin."
Aegon had prepared this story as they flew to Pentos. He could not give away his true identity, could not risk House Stark. He'd taken Ser Alliser's suggestion from nearly two years ago to pose as Elia Martell's Aegon Targaryen, his half-brother whom had been murdered by the Lannisters.
"As for how I came to be here," Aegon stroked Frostfyre's scales and smiled. "I think the answer to that should be rather obvious, is it not?"
The Knight nodded, and Aegon tilted his head. "You are also from the North. I recognize that accent. Who are you?"
"This is Ser Jorah Mormont, nephew," Dany answered, speaking for the first time.
Jorah Mormont.
The delight he felt in hearing Dany speak outside of their dreams for the first time was poisoned by the identity of the Knight. Aegon's eyes darkened as he regarded the man.
"Mormont," he repeated, his voice soft and lethal. "You wouldn't happen to be the Ser Jorah I heard tell of in Westeros? The one who was exiled for selling poachers into slavery?"
The Knight stilled and Dany froze, eyes going wide. Frostfyre's gaze fixed on Mormont, matching the dangerous glare of her Rider even if she didn't know why he was angry with the man. It seemed like everyone had stopped breathing, for fear of inspiring the wrath of the dragon and her Rider.
"Aye," Jorah answered at last. "My greatest shame."
"My trust is already wearing thin," Aegon growled, still glaring at him. "I did not think you to keep this sort of company in your midst, uncle."
"Come now," Illyrio tried to settle the tense atmosphere. "We all have our sins, do we not? It need not make us into enemies. Ser Jorah has served your House honorably since he was employed to them, Prince Aegon."
"King," Aegon corrected, making the merchant blink. He needed to get this over with, even if he did not wish to do so. "I am the Crown Prince Rhaegar's heir, and thus I am the Head of House Targaryen, Magister. The rightful heir to the Iron Throne. You will refer to me as 'Your Grace' in the future."
Viserys bristled and Dany shot a nervous look at her brother. "You overstep your bounds, nephew. I am the heir!"
"No, I think not."
Viserys stood abruptly and Frostfyre snarled, baring her huge fangs and glaring at him. Aegon watched him unblinkingly, having not so much as flinched from the dragon's threat behind him.
"Do not challenge me, uncle," Aegon warned him while the man was frozen beneath Frostfyre's gaze. "I am forgiving, but my dragon is not."
Viserys looked ready to explode, but his eyes were fixed on the burning violets of the dragon behind Aegon, and he slowly sat down. His gaze fell to the ground and he breathed heavily. But he said nothing.
Submission.
Aegon watched him carefully for several more moments before looking up at Jorah Mormont. "I must confess, I am very tempted to pick up where Eddard Stark left off and execute you for your crimes. But I did not come here to shed blood. Daenerys, has he been good to our House?"
"Although he was not forthcoming with his past," she admitted stiffly, looking back at Jorah over her shoulder. "He has been kind and honorable for as long as I've known him."
Aegon studied Jorah for a few moments more. "I will not kill you. Not today."
The Knight dipped his head uneasily. "Thank you, Your Grace."
Though Viserys stiffened at the title that was once his, he said nothing. Frostfyre's lip settled and the threatening air mostly dissipated. Aegon took a deep breath. He needed to settle his own anger, he knew. This was getting too intense.
"Forgive my short temper," he sighed, and his audience looked up at him, perhaps sensing the possibility of an olive branch. "I have flown from the most northern parts of Westeros all the way here to Pentos within the past two weeks. To say I am weary is…putting it lightly."
"It is understandable, Your Grace," Illyrio quickly seized on the chance to help the tension die. "That is an incredible distance to cover in so short a time."
He snorted. "It certainly is. I was even attacked while Frostfyre was hunting once."
"Were you injured?" Dany asked with worry in her eyes.
"No. The thieves were fools who thought me a helpless boy. I slew them," he answered. "I am also unaccustomed to the heat. I have lived in the far North all my life, after I was smuggled out of King's Landing as a babe, you see. I am used to the cold, and the heat has not been entirely kind to me."
"I will see to it that we find you clothing that is more comfortable for this climate, Your Grace," Illyrio promised, smiling at him. Aegon nodded gratefully.
"That would certainly be appreciated."
The Magister beamed and Aegon managed to smile in return. The air was finally starting to become relaxing.
"Now," he said. "My family has been apart for too many years. Viserys, Daenerys, I have longed to meet you both. I would share with you my story if you would share yours."
He tried to include his uncle. Viserys was already on a very short leash with Aegon, but he wanted to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. Viserys had lived a difficult life, as had Dany, and he didn't want to be at odds with the man if he was willing to make some concessions.
Viserys didn't look eager, but he nodded. Dany just smiled, bright and happy, and Aegon felt himself settle down.
He knew much of their story as Viserys spoke, and Dany occasionally chimed in. That seemed to irritate her brother at times, but he didn't react aggressively towards her. Still, it was nice to hear what they'd been up to.
Until they got to the subject of Dany's marriage to the Dothraki Khal.
Her happiness seemed to die before his eyes and Aegon frowned. "Why are you selling her?"
"To gain the loyalty of the Dothraki. With the horse lords at my command, Westeros will fall all the more easily," Viserys told him, some light returning to his eyes at the idea of the conquest.
"They would be at my command, uncle," Aegon reminded him, causing the man to stiffen again. "And I fail to see how this would possibly convince them to follow you."
Viserys gestured to Daenerys. "Lay your eyes upon your aunt, nephew, and tell me she is not the most beautiful and tempting woman you have seen! The last Targaryen female is a priceless gift for the barbarians! Khal Drogo will be sure to follow me—us if we gift her to him!"
Dany was cringing further and further into herself, as if trying to hide from her brother. Aegon's eyes narrowed at her discomfort. "No, I think not."
"Your Grace—" Illyrio tried, but the boy shook his head, irritated.
"You could sell that Khal a thousand women and they would not follow us," Aegon told Viserys, who opened his mouth to protest. "The Dothraki do not obey foreigners, uncle. Their life is to raid and rape and pillage. You cannot seriously believe giving them your sister will be anywhere near enough to convince them to follow us across the sea, which they distrust deeply. No, all they understand is power. If you do not prove yourself to be more powerful than they are, they will never follow you."
"I have the Khal's word!"
"I would trust that Khal no farther than you could throw him. The Dothraki accept concessions; if you do not keep giving them gifts, they will raid you. Is that not what your city does to discourage raids, Magister?"
"It is," Illyrio admitted. "But the promise of glorious battle is likely to sway the Khal."
"Likely? Not certain?" Aegon questioned sharply. The Magister hesitated before nodding slowly. "You would have me sell Daenerys for a chance at an alliance? I disagree even further with this proposed marriage. No, I will not have Daenerys sold to be a whore-bride for a barbarian."
"The arrangement is already finalized!" Viserys protested.
"If we pull out of the marriage now, it is certain the city will suffer an attack, Your Grace," Illyrio agreed hurriedly.
"If that Khal is stupid enough to challenge a dragon on an open field, I will burn him, fields and all," he said flatly.
Illyrio pursed his lips. "Their arrows…"
Frostfyre snorted, mocking of the threat. Aegon's lips rose into a smirk. "I would like to see their little sticks try to scratch my dragon's hide, Magister. No, the arrangement is nullified as of now. We will not be selling my aunt to warm the bed of a savage."
Dany looked ready to cry, but she kept her composure with practiced care. Aegon had to resist the immense urge to wrap her in his arms and comfort her.
In contrast, Viserys was fuming. "Then how are we to get our army?"
"That is a subject we can discuss at length another time," Aegon told him. "I would not discuss war with my family whom I have just been reunited with. What we've spoken of thus far has been trying already. We will discuss Westeros another time, uncle Viserys. That I promise you."
The boy took a moment to bite into one of the orange fruits the Magister had brought here, and recoiled when he was met with a tough hide. He blinked at the food and Dany giggled.
"You must peel that particular fruit, nephew."
Aegon felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment, but it made him laugh. "It seems southern food will take some getting used to."
That drew a few chuckles from his audience, and a large smile pulled at Aegon's lips. He was starting to feel more comfortable now. He waved away one of the servants who came to peel the fruit, extracting his hunting knife to skin it himself. He tried one of the pieces he'd cut once the hide was gone.
"It is delicious," he admitted. It was sweet and tangy; unlike anything else he'd eaten before.
"Many of our foods are, Your Grace," Illyrio promised. Aegon was sure that wasn't just a boast. He couldn't deny he was excited to see more of Pentos.
He'd never been south, let alone south on another continent.
"I think it is time I told you my own story," Aegon confessed.
"Ah yes, the great mystery! How did you survive? Has anyone else from your House been hidden away, Your Grace?"
His smile died. "No. My mother, Princess Elia, was raped and murdered by the Mountain, Gregor Clegane. My sister, Rhaenys, met a swifter end at the hands of Amory Lorch. I am all that remains."
Viserys' eyes burned in rage and Dany herself looked angry. Aegon shared that feeling; he despised those who had so brutally destroyed whatever family he had left. He might not want a war, but he wanted justice, if nothing else.
"How did you survive, Your Grace?" Ser Jorah asked hesitantly. "We heard tell the Mountain had dashed Prince Aegon's face against the Red Keep's wall."
Aegon scowled. "A few people loyal to our family swapped me for another babe and spirited me away. The other child was murdered in my place."
"A blessing," Illyrio began, but froze at the anger on Aegon's face.
"We do not celebrate the death of babes," he hissed. "The child was as innocent as I, and they did not deserve their fate. I do not even know the name of the one who died so I might live."
"It was not my intention to insult their sacrifice, Your Grace," the Magister told him quietly.
"I know. Forgive me; the topic is…sensitive. I do not enjoy speaking of those unjust murders."
"I imagine the death of your father and grandfather angers you deeply, as well."
"My father," he pursed his lips. "I do not know how to feel. He ran away with Lyanna Stark and started Robert's Rebellion with that act. Whatever happened afterwards, no one knows. But Aerys Targaryen deserved his fate."
"That is nonsense!" Viserys exclaimed. Dany stared at him with a hurt expression.
Aegon blinked in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"
"Nephew," Dany frowned deeply. "Our father was a great King, beloved by the people. You should not speak of him so."
He stared at her, then at Viserys. "What do you know of Aerys Targaryen?"
"More than you, clearly," he snapped.
"No, I don't think you do," Aegon said slowly. "You surely have heard of his crimes? His infamy?"
"Lies spread by our enemies!"
"No, Viserys," Aegon shook his head. "They are not lies."
Dany looked from Aegon to her brother and back again, confused. Behind her, Ser Jorah was pressing his lips as if to keep himself silent. "What do you mean? What crimes?"
"My grandfather," Aegon began. "Aerys Targaryen was a monster. You know that our family sometimes has ill health due to our lineage—the price we pay for being so closely bonded to the dragons, do you not?"
"Minor problems," Viserys dismissed. "Small sacrifices for our magic."
"For some of us, aye," he admitted. "But Aerys was a complete madman. He was cruel and insane, especially after the Defiance of Duskendale. He burned people with Wildfire for the pleasure of it. When Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark, her father and brother rode to King's Landing to demand her release. Aerys arrested them both; he burned Rickard Stark alive while Brandon Stark strangled himself trying to save his father. And that's just one of his crimes."
The blood had drained out of Dany's face and was replaced with horror. Viserys was blustering against the perceived injustice towards his father.
"They were traitors! It was not their place—"
"Aerys raped Rhaella Targaryen repeatedly, Viserys. His wife. Your mother."
Viserys was silenced and paled with anger. "That is a lie."
"It is not."
"You have grown up influenced by the men in the North," Viserys spat. "You have been poisoned by the traitors—"
"I grew up with the Targaryen Loyalists who hid me away, uncle. They told me these things."
"Then they were not loyal!"
"It was not loyal of them to tell me the truth of our family? I have heard all the tales of our history—everything from Old Valyria, to my namesake and his conquest of Westeros, and beyond. Our family has great men and women, Viserys, but Aerys was a monster. He brought us to the brink of extinction with his madness."
Viserys didn't look like he agreed, and that made Aegon wary. But any further discussion of the topic faded when Dany pushed away the plate of food placed beside her.
"I do not believe I am hungry any longer," she said hoarsely.
He didn't blame her. Hearing of Aerys' crimes had made Aegon sick the first time he heard of them, and the man was his grandfather. He could hardly imagine how it must have felt for Dany to hear these things.
Aegon felt even more tired. The long flight had already exhausted him, but he was well and truly drained now.
"I think perhaps the rest of my story can wait for another time," Aegon told them. "We have spoken much, and I am weary. I would see us continue this conversation tomorrow, perhaps."
Illyrio nodded, seemingly unwilling to break the silence. He snapped his fingers and the servants started to clean everything up. When the Magister finally spoke, it was hesitant. "Would you be comfortable returning to Pentos with us to rest in my manor, Your Grace?"
Aegon weighed the risks and finally nodded. "Aye. Frostfyre needs to hunt, anyways. I will return with you."
"Splendid! I will have your chambers prepared for you by the time we return. Erm…what about your dragon, Your Grace?"
He smiled and pat the white scales gently. "She will make her nest outside of Pentos. Cities are not suited to housing dragons. It would irritate her. I must strongly insist no one else approach her, however—Frostfyre is calm with me, but she does not like strangers when I am not here. If anyone gets too close, I think it likely she would kill them."
"I will certainly pass the message on to any of my colleagues who grow too curious," Illyrio told him.
"Thank you," Aegon slowly stood up, wincing at the soreness of his legs. "Let us ride to Pentos, then."
When they arrived at the lavish manor, Viserys immediately excused himself.
"I think I will go to my chambers for the rest of the day," his uncle said. "I have much to think about."
He took off without another word and Aegon watched him go warily. He couldn't decide if Viserys was better or worse than he was expecting. He hadn't lost his temper around Aegon yet, but he imagined Frostfyre's presence was mostly responsible for that. Now he'd see how Viserys was without a dragon glaring him down.
Illyrio also excused himself to meet with his colleagues and prepare for a feast in the evening to celebrate Aegon's arrival—a momentous occasion to gather the last Targaryens together, as he stated. If nothing else, the fat man moved much faster than the boy had entirely expected of him.
The servants showed him to his chambers and he stopped outside the door. Dany had walked with him there, along with Ser Jorah, who was still guarding her.
"That will be enough, Ser Jorah," Dany turned to look at him. "I would like some time to speak with my nephew in private."
He looked from Dany to Aegon. "Is that wise, Princess?"
Aegon raised an eyebrow at the man, but Dany smiled. "I will be safe."
"If I may, Princess Daenerys," Jorah tried again. "He may be your nephew, but we do not yet know his intentions…No offense, Your Grace."
"None taken," Aegon replied, causing the Knight to go still with surprise. "I am a stranger to you. Understand that I do not trust you either, Ser Jorah, but I will never bring harm to Princess Daenerys. I give you my word on that."
He finally nodded, slowly. "Very well. Princess, should you need me, you have but to call."
Aegon watched the Knight walk off, feeling somewhat uneasy. He didn't like how insistent Jorah was about remaining near Dany. He understood being wary of the newcomer, but he had questioned his Princess twice.
Maybe he was just tired and was thinking too much.
Aegon stepped into his new chambers—a lavish room, to no surprise, with a large bed, comfortable sheets, and curtains blocking the light of the falling sun from the windows. It was still well-lit, but comfortable. There were a few sets of foreign clothes set aside on the end of his bed. Illyrio undoubtedly had gone ahead and requested something comfortable be brought to him.
Hopefully he wouldn't mess up putting them on the same way he'd tried to bite into the unpeeled fruit.
Dany closed the door behind them after ushering out a servant who had been doing some last minute touches on the room. Jon turned to face her.
Alone at last.
There were no winter woods, and her shoes clicked on the ground as she strode towards him. Frostfyre was far away, hunting on the plains.
Dany threw her arms around him and Jon caught her, holding her waist and squeezing so tight he felt the breath leave her. He buried his face in her neck and breathed in her air. She smelled like flowers and some sort of foreign cream that reminded him of the sea.
"You came," she trembled, and he felt his shirt become wet with her tears. "Oh gods, you actually came to get me."
"Did you doubt me?" Jon asked, smiling.
"I feared for too long that you were just a figment of my imagination. A girl's dream."
"Dragon Dreams, Dany," he murmured.
"Years of them," she pulled back and looked at him, lifting a hand to touch his cheek. Her fingers were soft and warm, her eyes full of tears already spilling down her face. "I dreamed of you and Frostfyre for years."
"And we dreamed of you."
She laughed wetly and he lifted his hands to wipe her tears away, holding her face gently in his hands. She grasped his wrists and squeezed tight, as if reassuring herself that he was real. "We do not have to part this time."
"No," he shook his head.
"Jon," she breathed. He pressed his lips to her temple. "Tell me you'll stay."
"I'm staying, Dany. I'm not going to leave you again."
And in that blissful moment, Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow held each other for the first time in their lives.
Notes:
Well, this wound up being longer than expected. I was anticipating writing the encounter with Khal Drogo in this one, but that will wait for chapter four or five, I think. Possibly five. We'll see. Might have Jon/Aegon and Dany exploring Pentos and talking a bit more with Viserys instead.
As ever, please review and thanks for reading!