Frostfyre

by Xebecs

The ice dragon

6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: He Who Swings the Sword

Summary:

Dany and Jon try to figure out how to hatch the dragon eggs with Frostfyre. A new Dragon Dreams brings a dead love to light. Jon and Viserys' strained relationship reaches a breaking point.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: He Who Swings the Sword

Two days after Jon and Frostfyre repelled the Dothraki raiders from Pentos, Daenerys found herself riding out to meet the dragon with her Rider and Ser Jorah.

Frostfyre was currently nesting back on the hills to the north of the city. She often ventured out to the incinerated field south of Pentos to scavenge the countless bodies she'd cooked during the battle, but for now, the dragon was resting away from the scene of carnage.

Just as well. Dany didn't want to go out on that field anytime soon. She wasn't sure if she could handle the smell of burnt and rotting flesh.

She held the chest of dragon eggs in her arms while Jorah led the horse to their destination. They wanted to see what Frostfyre thought of them; to see if perhaps she could provide some clue as to how the eggs might be quickened.

Dany knew there was life in them. Somehow…somehow she could sense there was the possibility that the eggs could hatch. She and Jon both had felt it—felt the warmth in them. Their Valyrian blood told them there was a chance.

Viserys had been conspicuously absent since the Dothraki attack. Jon had hoped that maybe his victory would gain the goodwill of his uncle, but it seemed that wasn't the case.

She wondered what her brother was thinking.

They stopped a short distance from Frostfyre, as they always did. The horses would not dare get any closer and the dragon had a very short list of people she allowed to approach her.

That list consisted exclusively of Jon and Dany. Anyone else would get the death glare and stay the hell away from her.

Or else.

Jon took the chest of dragon eggs from Dany so she could dismount her steed, and then they walked to Frostfyre while Jorah minded the horses. The white dragon had been napping, but looked up as they approached, rumbling deep in her chest with a greeting.

Dany smiled at the dragon; she was blessed to see this beautiful creature so close. To see the gentle side of the most magnificent and dangerous predator in the world.

"Hello, sister," Jon set the chest down carefully and straightened, lifting his hand to meet the dragon's snout. Frostfyre blinked at him with her large, amethyst eyes, snorting warm air onto Jon and Dany both.

Dany knelt to open the chest. Frostfyre tilted her head slightly, curious of what the Targaryen girl was doing.

As soon as Dany lifted up the black and red dragon egg, Frostfyre's pupils dilated. She made a startled rumble, looking away from Jon completely in favor of the egg. Her nostrils flared, taking in the scent of it.

Dany stood, showing the egg to Frostfyre more closely while Jon took the green and cream eggs out of the chest, also displaying them to the huge female. The dragon's eyes flitted over the three eggs, gleaming and…and thoughtful.

She often wondered exactly how intelligent Frostfyre was. Some Maesters throughout history claimed that dragons were even more intelligent than men. Whether it was instinct, magic, or something else, she certainly seemed to know something.

"You sense it too, don't you? You know they're alive," Dany breathed. The dragon made a quiet growl. Her tail thumped the ground like a lounging cat.

Frostfyre seemed to consider the eggs in silence for a while before her gaze lifted from them to the pair of Targaryens. Dany watched, curious, as the dragon looked from her to Jon and back again.

She suddenly shifted her head closer, moving until her snout was next to Jon, and carefully herded him closer to Dany. The boy allowed her to do so, bemused and fascinated by the strange behavior. Frostfyre pushed until he and Dany stood shoulder-to-shoulder, arms touching and as close as they could be with the eggs still in their arms.

The dragon pulled back then and studied her work. She leaned forward again, sniffing them. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Frostfyre let out a long breath—almost a sigh—and pulled away, curling up to nap again.

Jon blinked and glanced at Dany. "Well."

"That was interesting," she murmured. "She knows, doesn't she?"

"I can tell she senses something," he admitted. "But the way she's reacting…maybe things aren't quite right for them to hatch. Not yet."

"Maybe."

He was still so close to her. They hadn't stepped away from one another just yet. "I wonder why she pushed us together. There has to be a reason. She doesn't do things like that normally."

"How would you know? Do you bring other girls to meet your dragon, Jon Snow?"

That made him smirk. "Afraid not. She's very particular about the people she likes."

"A wise woman," Dany laughed, looking at the dragon fondly. She knelt to return the black egg to the chest, to which Jon followed suit. "Let's head back to Pentos. I don't think she's going to tell us anything more today."

"As you wish."

His fingers brushed hers as they set the eggs back in place, and Dany had the ridiculous urge to grab and hold his hand simply for the sake of doing so. They hadn't had a chance to really be alone since the Dothraki raid.

Maybe tonight…

She pushed that thought from her head and closed the chest, then stood with Jon as he lifted the eggs and walked with her back to Ser Jorah.

"A ship to Braavos?"

Aegon nodded. "Aye. We plan on visiting the city for a short time, at least. Staying too much longer in Pentos would not be wise."

Illyrio raised an eyebrow at the boy. "Why not, Your Grace? You are loved by the people here, and I am more than happy to continue housing your family."

"I am aware, and I appreciate your hospitality," the boy said tactfully. "But as soon as word gets out that I've appeared here with my dragon, King Robert is probably going to react rather explosively. Daenerys and Viserys have been lucky enough that your guards have stopped any assassination attempts thus far. Who knows what he'll send when he learns I'm here with them?"

It was a valid point, Illyrio reflected. The Fat King would not take news of Rhaegar Targaryen's offspring surviving—and with a dragon in-tow, no less—well at all. His hatred of the Targaryen Crown Prince was legendary, as was his hunt to destroy all traces of the dragonspawn.

To find out he had not only missed a Targaryen, but that the dragon in question was Rhaegar's child—well, his wrath would be terrible. It would certainly be wise of them to disappear before Robert's next batch of killers found them.

Except for one thing.

"You want to avoid assassins, yet you are going to Braavos."

"Aye…" Aegon frowned in confusion and Illyrio was reminded that the boy was, in fact, still a boy. A learned one, yes, but it was clear more often than not that he still had much to learn about Essos.

"Have you heard of the Faceless Men, Your Grace?"

"I have not."

"The Faceless Men are a guild of assassins stationed in Braavos. They can blend in nigh-anywhere, and are world-renowned as perhaps the most dangerous killers hidden in the shadows."

Aegon's eyes narrowed. "Then why didn't Robert hire them when my aunt and uncle were in Braavos?"

Illyrio smiled. Clever child.

"The Faceless Men are something of an enigma," he responded. "They worship the Many-Faced God, and their motives for accepting any given request are rather…mysterious. It is not always clear why they refuse or accept a request."

"So either they rejected Robert's previous requests, or he has no idea how to contact them."

"Correct."

Aegon pursed his lips. That brooding expression, so often on his face, was present again. "I don't plan on us making an announcement of our arrival in Braavos—quite the opposite, ideally. I'd like to keep our presence as quiet as possible while we're there."

"A wise decision. Especially given how chaotic King's Landing will be once word gets out of your existence," Illyrio stroked his beard. "If you were quiet and careful, I think you could hide safely in Braavos for a short time. Perhaps two months, or three if you are cautious enough. With the gifts my fellow Magisters and I have given your House, you will have money enough to easily find suitable housing throughout your stay."

"I thought the same," Aegon agreed, then looked at him with a little more intensity. "Master Illyrio, I would like to keep our travel plans quiet. No one else save you, myself, and Daenerys currently know we intend to leave soon. I would like to keep it that way—and keep our destination quiet."

"Of course, Your Grace," the fat man dipped his head. "I will have a ship ready for you soon enough. Perhaps in a week, you could set sail."

"Thank you, Magister."

He would, of course, be sharing this information with Varys—as would Ser Jorah, he suspected—but he also knew Varys would not give the information out immediately. He would let it trickle out slowly amidst the chaos of King's Landing.

The Spider would want to see how these new pieces on the game board played out. He would not give them up to die so easily, especially not when he realized how fascinating a piece Aegon Targaryen was.

No, Varys would allow the Targaryens to have some peace before his duties as Spymaster forced his hand. By then, hopefully Aegon and his family would have decided on their next course of action and left Braavos behind them.

Hopefully. The boy was used to hiding, but he hadn't been on the run before. His judgement would have to adjust quickly.

The day passed them by quicker than expected, and before she knew it, Dany was curled up next to Jon again as they fell asleep in his chambers. She'd abandoned her own sleeping quarters for the most part since his arrival; although Viserys had seemingly calmed and she no longer feared the coming of the next day, resting close to Jon soothed her—and, it seemed, her presence did the same for him.

She knew that particular decision of theirs had led to some rather gaudy rumors. She'd overheard some of the servants discussing it before, about how she'd seduced the Dragon Rider King into waging a war on the Dothraki, or how he had seduced the Targaryen Princess away from her marriage to a Dothraki Khal.

That last one made her smirk. As if she'd needed seducing to get away from Khal Drogo.

But there was no seducing to be had, whatever the servants said. Though they often held hands during their rest, neither of them sought for more. Not yet. They had dreamed of each other for years, and there was definitely attraction between them. Hunger. But being together now—it was more relaxed. No longer bound to end so soon.

They had time. That was the most precious gift that had been delivered to them upon meeting outside of their dreams.

Speaking of dreams.

Dany blinked when she found herself not in the winter woods, but in a tower—well, she assumed it was a tower, given she was looking out a window that was high above the ground below. She frowned at the unfamiliar setting and turned, stopping when she spotted Jon. He as well turned in place and tilted his head dubiously when he saw her.

"This is new," he said slowly.

"Look familiar?"

"Not at all."

There was a large bed in the center of the room, made proper and untouched. Though it was light outside and not cold by any means, she could see the fireplace was burning—

Dany and Jon stilled when a shape emerged from the flames. A tiny, white dragon with beautiful amethyst eyes.

Jon's mouth fell open. "Frostfyre?"

The dragon chirped and sat down on the floor; tiny and pure, snowy white despite all the soot in the fireplace. Despite clearly being so young, her gaze possessed that same, uncanny intelligence to them as her adult self.

Dany felt her heart melt at the sight of the infant dragon. She was simply adorable—her eyes were big, her wings small and still growing. Her tail curled up. She looked almost harmless.

She looked at Jon and saw him thinking. Saw him processing the sight. He looked back at the bed and stared at it in silence.

"Jon?"

"…I think this is the Tower of Joy," he whispered, turning to stare at her. "This is where I was born. Where Frostfyre was born. Uncle Ned said she hatched out of an egg in the fireplace after my mother gave birth to me."

Dany's eyes widened. Frostfyre chirped and darted close to their feet. She looked down after the dragon and realized that the three dragon eggs from the chest lay between them.

Jon knelt and picked up the green and cream eggs. Dany did the same for the black, which had always called to her more than the others. She looked at Frostfyre again.

"What are we supposed to do with them?"

The dragon's gaze flickered from them to the fireplace. Her egg had been hatched in fire. Maybe these three eggs needed the same to happen?

She looked at Jon and they seemed to share the same thoughts. They took the eggs to the fireplace and knelt beside it. Dany carefully started to put the black egg into the flames, but stopped, frowning.

"What's wrong?"

She said nothing and briefly set the egg down. Her hand pushed its way into the flames.

"Dany!"

He yanked her arm hard and pulled it away from the fire, staring at her as if she'd gone mad. Dany held her hand up to him.

Unburnt. Unharmed.

"It's not hot," she whispered, observing her flawless skin. "It doesn't burn."

Jon could only blink in disbelief. His eyes trailed to the fire and he slowly imitated her. She felt what was undoubtedly the same urge to yank his hand out from the flames, but he twisted it in the fire and when he retreated, his skin was also unmarred.

"It's warm, but it doesn't hurt," he frowned. His gaze went back to the flames, then he lifted the green and cream eggs, carefully setting them in the fire. Dany set the black in the center, running her fingers over the three siblings. The warmth of their shells seemed to grow.

Frostfyre growled, seemingly pleased by the action. The dragon stalked to the front of the fireplace, spun in a circle, and laid down to take a nap.

"Do we just…leave them?" She wondered.

"I suppose so," he murmured.

They heard someone walking up stone steps and froze, spinning around. From a lower level in the tower came two people; a man and a woman.

The man had silver-gold hair and dark, lilac eyes. He was tall, fair, and ethereally handsome, and he wore fine clothing the like of which Dany had never seen before. But what struck her more than his attire were the clearly Targaryen features he possessed. His expression was brooding, almost sad, and yet soft and happy all at once.

The woman was also fair of skin and beautiful, though rather shorter than her companion. Her hair was a deep brown, almost black, and her eyes were a deep silver. She wore clothing that didn't seem to suit such a lady—a tunic and breeches that, while finely made, seemed to be made for that of a warrior rather than a woman such as herself. She was smirking at the man, and the look on her face could only be described as wild and mischievous.

She spoke. Her voice and accent were familiar. Like Jon's. Northern.

"I have to say, I'm glad to be out of that dress," she sounded amused.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have prepared something better for you," the man replied quietly. "You deserved—"

She lifted a hand and placed a finger against his lips, causing him to stop and blink at her. Her eyes gleamed, but her smile was soft. "I married you. That's what I wanted."

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "And I you."

Her eyes left him and trailed to the fireplace, but she seemed to look right through Dany, Jon, and Frostfyre. "When do you think it will hatch?"

"I do not know for certain," he admitted, following her gaze. "My dreams were…frustratingly vague."

"Remind me again what the dragon told you?"

"'Father and mother, and quickened in fire.'"

She frowned. The way her nose scrunched up reminded Dany, again, of Jon. "I always thought dragons would be more straightforward. That's rather cryptic."

"I've read that Dragon Dreams often are."

"Well, I have an idea," she looked up at the man—her husband—and her eyes were full of love, but also dark with hunger. "The egg is within the flames. You might be a father already, but I am not a mother."

"No, you are not."

"Yet."

The man's breath stopped. He looked at her and she framed his face in her hands, whispered something Dany couldn't quite hear. He kissed her aggressively and she responded in kind, laughing into his mouth.

The dream ended.

She woke up.

Dany looked at Jon as his eyes opened wide and he stared at the ceiling for a while. Abruptly, he pushed the sheets away and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to her.

Dany quietly moved behind him and hesitantly wrapped her arms around his torso.

"It was them," he whispered. She squeezed him tight, pressed her face against his shoulder. His hands rose to hold hers, clenched tight. She felt him trembling. "That was my mother and father."

Dany nodded slowly, something unfathomable quaking within her. The man—Jon's father, her brother—had undoubtedly been Rhaegar Targaryen. The woman could only have been Jon's mother, Lyanna Stark.

She'd never dared to hope she would ever be able to set eyes on Rhaegar. She barely heard about him, for all that Viserys had once idolized him. Jon—Aegon—took after her brother for his personality, as far as she could tell. He looked much more like his mother, Lyanna. Rhaegar's physical traits were barely noticeable on him. Maybe he'd grow tall one day, but as of now, Jon's appearance was dominantly reminiscent of the she-wolf.

She could feel the way his heart was pounding rapidly, every thrum heavy from within his chest.

"I was afraid to believe it," he was whispering, and she heard the way his breath was hitching. "When I first heard how Rhaegar had taken Lyanna away, and that his actions sparked Robert's Rebellion…I wondered what sort of man my father was, to do something like that. I feared the answer to that question. I feared perhaps my uncle had lied to safeguard my happiness. But he didn't lie. Rhaegar never kidnapped my mother. He never raped her."

"He loved her," Dany's voice cracked. Tears filled her eyes. "And she loved him."

A quiet sob left Jon, and Dany squeezed him so tight that both of them could scarcely breathe. They cried together—joyful and sorrowful and relieved to know, beyond any doubt, that Rhaegar had been good. That he and Lyanna had loved each other more than words could express.

She held him for a long time.

Aegon stood before the door and steeled himself.

It had been nearly five days since his victory over Khal Drogo and the Dothraki. Five days of recovery for him—both of his minor wounds were healing, though he had a thin scar on his left cheekbone now—and planning their next move. Illyrio had a ship being prepared for them. In perhaps four more days, they'd be setting sail for Braavos.

Five days and he'd seen next to nothing of Viserys.

He sometimes saw his uncle eating, but more often than not, he had servants deliver food to his chambers. The young handmaiden he'd been bedding—Doreah—had visited him several times.

Now Viserys had sent a request via another servant for Aegon to meet with him. He'd be lying if he said it didn't rouse his suspicions. He didn't trust Viserys, even if the man was his uncle.

This had to be sorted out now, before they were stuck on a ship with each other for the next two months. The ride to Braavos would be significantly longer than his absurdly fast flight from Westeros to Essos. No ship could hold a candle to a dragon, after all.

He knocked on the door. "Viserys? Uncle, I came to speak with you."

Aegon almost didn't expect an answer. He was a little surprised when he heard Viserys respond cooly. "Enter."

His eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right with his tone. He set a hand on his sword.

Aegon opened the door slowly and peered inside. Viserys was standing by the window, hands held in front of him and his back to Aegon. The Targaryen male seemed to be perfectly at ease.

He closed the door behind him. "You have made yourself scarce, uncle. Did I not show you that we never needed the Dothraki screamers?"

"Oh, you showed me," Viserys responded, his voice soft in a way that made Aegon uncomfortable. "You also showed me your intentions for my sister."

"Viserys—"

"Tell me something, nephew. Have you already bedded her?"

Aegon bristled. "Of course not. I would not insult Dany's honor by laying with her before…"

He trailed off, stopping himself, but Viserys caught it. "Before you wed her?"

"This is not the conversation I came here to have."

"Then what did you intend to speak of, nephew?"

Aegon pursed his lips. "You and I need to settle our differences, Viserys. We cannot be at odds with each other as we travel across the continent. Not when King Robert's assassins will be hunting us."

"His assassins are of little concern. They have all failed."

"Somehow, I imagine he will be more…extreme given that I've emerged from hiding with a fully grown dragon."

"Perhaps so. But what are assassins worth when the King is dead?"

Aegon stilled. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you see, nephew? It's so very simple! You indeed showed me that we never needed the Dothraki. All we needed was but a single dragon. We will burn the Usurper out of our home in King's Landing, and we can simply sail from Pentos to Westeros to claim our rightful place!"

"It is not that simple. Westeros is more than just King's Landing and Robert."

"What is the whole of Westeros to the might of a dragon?"

"If I recall correctly, the Dornish once shot down a dragon."

"A lucky shot. They never would have killed Meraxes if I had been riding her."

"Lucky shot or not, Meraxes is long ago and far away. That is besides the point. All of this harbors on the idea that I will fly Frostfyre to King's Landing and burn the Usurper out in the first place. If we decide to retake the Iron Throne one day, I would not sit as King of the Ashes, and I would have to burn the Red Keep down, to say nothing of the city surrounding it, to conquer King's Landing with just Frostfyre. Taking over a city and defeating a Dothraki horde are two very different things, uncle."

"You see, that is where our opinions differ," Viserys said. "The Red Keep is full of traitors, and obviously the people who allow the traitors to live in our rightful home are no better. I see no reason we should not burn them out."

Aegon's eyes narrowed. "You are talking about slaughtering innocent people. I will never fly Frostfyre on such an attack."

"You might not, but I certainly will."

The boy stiffened. His tone carried a warning. "Viserys…"

Viserys turned, smiling benignly. "Ah, I see you came with your sword."

"You'll forgive me for finding little reason to trust you," he frowned. Viserys wasn't visibly armed. He didn't even carry that sword he normally showed off—and Aegon had never seen him use it in the first…place.

Maybe it was a sixth sense. Maybe he heard something. Hells, maybe he just knew.

Aegon spun around and saw a sword already over his head. He dove away, unsheathing his own sword with a slither of steel. He managed to block the thrust that was aimed for his heart, deflecting it out of the way.

His attacker was Essossi—dark of skin and ferocious. One of the guards. Not an Unsullied, but skilled enough. Aegon wasn't sure where the hell he'd been hiding, but he'd managed to sneak up on the boy well enough.

He was strong. Aegon locked their blades at the hilt, reached down in a blur of speed, and pulled his hunting knife out. He drove the weapon into the guard's shoulder. Although his foe grunted, he barely reacted to the pain. Aegon dove away again as the sword came in a sweeping motion again, attempting to behead him.

There was no chance to talk this enemy down. Whatever Viserys had bribed him with had the man determined to kill him. His every swing was fast and powerful, meant to deal fatal damage.

The door suddenly flew open and Aegon spotted a familiar blonde head. "Your Grace! Viserys, what—!"

"GET OUT!" Viserys roared at Doreah, who flinched.

Aegon seized his chance. "Doreah, get the guards!"

She scrambled to flee, but he had no idea if she would obey him or Viserys first. He wasn't sure if Doreah was more loyal to his uncle, as she had spent so much time in his bed as of late, but at least now the sound of the attempted assassination would be easier to detect throughout the manse.

Aegon deflected another blow and kicked the guard away. He made for the door, only to yelp when an arrow flew past his face. He whipped his gaze up and saw Viserys with a bow, cursing at his miss. His uncle started nocking another arrow.

Well, fuck.

The guard came at him again, agitated by the fact that Aegon was still alive, and slashed at the boy again. Aegon saw Viserys draw and blocked the sword strike, then lunged behind the guard. He heard a twang, a dull thunk, and the guard screamed with surprise and pain.

He fell to his knees, Viserys' arrow lodged in his back. As the guard fell, Aegon was given full sight of his uncle, who paled with his failure. He scrambled to nock another arrow, but Aegon lunged forward in a blur of speed and slashed the bow in twain.

Ser Jorah ran into the room, his sword already unsheathed. His eyes grew wide as he surveyed the scene, and jumped when the boy's rage was made abundantly clear.

"Viserys," Aegon snarled.

"NO! I am the dragon! I am the blood of the dragon!" Viserys screamed in fury. "I WANT MY CROWN! USURPER!"

Viserys lunged, hands reaching for the boy's throat, but Aegon smashed the pommel of his blade into his uncle's temple, stunning him. The man collapsed with a gasp.

Aegon sheathed his sword and glared from Viserys to the guard he'd bribed. He heard footsteps running in from the hall as Ser Jorah approached the downed guard. He spared only a glance for Master Illyrio, Doreah, and the half-dozen Unsullied soldiers that pushed their way into the room.

Illyrio seemed to realize what had happened before any of the others did. His lips thinned. "You are unharmed, Your Grace?"

"I am unharmed," Aegon sheathed his sword and grabbed Viserys by the hair, fisting it painfully until the man shrieked.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"

"I can and I am," Aegon hissed, dragging Viserys by his head. The man stumbled to his feet and scrabbled at his nephew's hands, but he had never been a fighter. His hands were soft compared to Aegon's, and he was still too stunned to put up much of a struggle.

Illyrio and the Unsullied quickly moved out of the way. Aegon was furious; he pulled harshly on Viserys' scalp and dragged the man out of his chambers and into the open space of the courtyard. Once they had more space, and Illyrio's Unsullied guards were surrounding them, Aegon shoved his uncle away and stepped back, a hand on his sword.

He glimpsed Dany emerging from the opposite end of the courtyard and saw the wide-eyed, stunned look on her face. Aegon steeled himself.

"You tried to kill me," he spat. "Tell me why."

"I am the rightful King! You have no claim!"

"I am Rhaegar Targaryen's son, and I am the last Dragon Rider," Aegon retorted. "I have the only claim!"

"You're a pretender! A usurper! You've taken everything from me! Everything that should be mine! You have no right to the crown! No right to that dragon! No right to my sister!" Spittle was flying from Viserys' mouth. His eyes were wild, desperate, and crazed.

"Enough! You tried to kill me. The Head of your House, the heir to the Iron Throne. Do you deny it?"

"You have to die! The dragon should be mine! Daenerys should be mine!"

"You admit to treason?"

"You are a usurper!"

"Did you try to have me killed, yes or no?"

"Of course I did, you stupid child!"

Aegon unsheathed his sword in an aggressive flourish and Viserys flinched, staring at him. His uncle's breath was rapid and heavy. His eyes were wide. Maddened.

He was wholly aware of Dany watching him. Almost everyone in the manse was present now, but he felt Dany's eyes the heaviest upon his person. Aegon breathed in deep through his nostrils. He reigned in his temper, tried to control himself. He couldn't carry out a sentence whilst drowning in rage.

It was proving to be too difficult for him to focus, and it took more willpower than he cared to admit to give his next command.

"Ser Jorah," Aegon forced out. "Throw him into an empty chamber and guard him. I will decide what to do with my uncle later."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

He sheathed his sword, turned, and stormed away from Viserys before the sight of his traitorous uncle convinced him to do something hasty. Aegon needed to breathe.

He wound up isolating himself in his chambers for a few hours, steadily regaining control of his anger. Nobody tried to bother him, which he was grateful for. He needed to settle down.

Even if he and Viserys had never been on good terms, it still stung to know that his uncle had thrown away all of Jon's attempts to be kind, all the possibilities that could have been had he just gotten over his own arrogance. The boy knew his arrival in Pentos had massively shifted the balance of power in the remnants of House Targaryen, had stripped Viserys of all the authority he'd previously held. He knew that must have felt beyond unfair.

But what else was he supposed to do? Viserys would never have annulled the marriage between Dany and Khal Drogo. Westeros would never have supported a ruler who brought Dothraki savages to their lands. His uncle's plan had been foolish and hastily thought out.

However unfair his arrival had been to Viserys, his uncle had witnessed what Jon could do. He had seen Frostfyre's strength, had seen the bond his nephew shared with the dragon.

And he had wanted it for himself. Greed and lust had claimed Viserys. Greed for a dragon with whom he'd burn the world. Lust for a sister he had tried to sell to a savage.

It was so frustrating. He and Viserys were the only two young males of House Targaryen. Their family couldn't afford this sort of infighting. If the Targaryens had another Dance of Dragons, it would drive them into extinction forever.

They were on the brink as it was!

What was he supposed to do? If he were back in Winterfell, uncle Ned would have executed for such a crime. He'd be right to—Viserys had tried to kill him. He supposed he could just exile Viserys, but would that be crueler than simply killing him?

A knock sounded at the door. Jon wanted badly to send them away, but by now his anger had cooled and he knew he had to talk to the others.

"Enter," he called stiffly.

Dany slowly opened the door, followed by Illyrio. Jon beckoned them inside, and the entrance to his chamber was closed quietly. For a few moments, they looked at each other in silence.

"Were you hurt during the assassination attempt, Your Grace?" Illyrio asked.

"I was not," he answered, sighing. "The guard was not an Unsullied. I suppose that's the only reason Viserys convinced him to try and kill me in the first place."

"He was promised gold and a knighthood in Westeros," the Magister told him. "He will have neither; I have already had him executed."

No surprises there. Jon looked from Illyrio to Dany, who hadn't said anything yet. He took a deep breath and told them all that had happened in Viserys' chamber.

"There are three Targaryens left in the world," he murmured, purposefully omitting Aemon to keep their connection a secret. "All of them reside under this roof. If Viserys were anyone else, I would execute him for trying to murder me. Do I exile him, or do I kill him?"

He pursed his lips. "I need your advice."

"It is not an easy situation, Your Grace. He is your uncle, and it is true House Targaryen is in dire straits already," Illyrio admitted. "But if Viserys had succeeded, you would be dead. Your dragon would be without a Rider. I must beg your pardon when I say this, but your uncle would not be a good King—we would have been left with a lesser man to lead House Targaryen. Exile might be the easy choice, but it does not change that he tried to murder you for his own gain. I think you must execute him."

Jon swallowed and looked at Dany, worry in his heart. "Daenerys?"

She was quiet for a time, long enough that he wondered if she would actually answer at all. But she did, and when she spoke, there was steel in her voice and the sparks of dragonfire in her eyes—which he'd seen slowly returning to her since Viserys' authority over her was revoked and her engagement to Khal Drogo annulled.

"If you died, Frostfyre would be alone. I know you said I might be able to bond with her, but I would not see you parted from your dragon so young, Aegon. And for all that Viserys is my brother, I know he would try to kill me next if I bound myself to Frostfyre. He would kill both of us if it meant he could claim the Iron Throne."

She tilted her chin up. "Do what you think is right, Aegon."

He searched her face for several minutes. Daenerys did not waver.

"Very well," he finally decided. Jon stood from the edge of his bed abruptly. "I will hold a trial for him. He will be found guilty regardless, but I will hold a trial all the same."

"I will tell Ser Jorah. Once you try him, he will carry out the—"

"No," Jon interrupted the Magister. "He who passes the sentence should swing the sword. I will execute him myself."

Illyrio stared at him oddly for several moments, but nodded. "As you wish, Your Grace."

"Prepare the horses. Bring wood for a pyre. We will ride out to my dragon."

Night had fallen by the time they reached the dragon. Viserys had been bound, gagged, and blindfolded, and was being carried on the back of Ser Jorah's horse. Illyrio and several other Magisters were riding out with them to witness the trial.

The horses stopped and Jorah removed Viserys from the horse, taking off the blindfold and gag. Viserys gasped, glaring up at the Knight with fury in his eyes. "Traitor!"

Jorah said nothing as he dragged the Targaryen forward, shoving Viserys to his knees and placing a block in front of him, then backed off. Viserys looked away from the man and froze at the sight before him; Jon—Aegon—with his sword in hand and Frostfyre looming behind him. The dragon's amethyst eyes glowed dangerously in the low light, like gems promising death.

"Viserys Targaryen," Jon growled, his voice carrying an undercurrent of fury. "You are charged with attempting to murder the Head of House Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Is there anything you'd like to say in your defense?"

"You are a pretender and a thief," Viserys spat. Jon glared down at him, unfazed. "That dragon should be mine! My sister should be mine! The throne belongs to me! You are nothing!"

Frostfyre bellowed, a deafening sound that made Viserys pale and quiver in fear. Several of the Magisters—including Illyrio—jumped and shrieked. The dragon's maw parted and the slightest flickers of flame were visible deep in her throat.

Jon barely reacted to the dragon's rage. "If you have no intention of defending yourself, then your trial is over. I, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of my Name, Bane of the Dothraki and Rider of Frostfyre, find you guilty of treason and sentence you to death. Have you any last words?"

Viserys' eyes were wide, perhaps only now realizing what fate awaited him. He looked from Jon to Frostfyre and back again. "Please."

Jon steeled himself and walked to Viserys' side. Jorah stepped forward and pushed Viserys down so his neck lay upon the block. The Targaryen man squirmed and screamed. "Dany, please!"

Daenerys said nothing. She did not look away. Jon could see her out of the corner of his eye.

Jon lifted his sword, took a breath, and swung.

So passed Viserys Targaryen.

He looked away from the headless corpse—twitching in its death throes—and up to the Magisters, as well as Ser Jorah. "Prepare the pyre. We will put him to rest tonight."

The servants hurried to do as he ordered. Jon did his best to ignore the smell coming from Viserys' body as the dead man's bowels relieved themselves of waste. He would see this through. Viserys was his uncle, even if he'd tried to kill him.

The pyre was constructed quickly and Jon helped Ser Jorah lift Viserys onto the pile of wood. He placed the head where it would have been in life and closed the eyes of his uncle. He hoped Viserys found peace now—found some way in whatever afterlife existed to be the young, happy boy Dany remembered fondly from her childhood days.

He'd been twisted by a cruel and desperate world, but he could rest now.

"I'm sorry, Viserys," he sighed. "I wish it could have been different."

Jon looked at Dany, who hadn't said anything yet. She walked over and lay a hand on her brother's paling face.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

They stepped away from the pyre. Jon looked up at Frostfyre, who watched him closely. The boy met his dragon's eyes and swallowed.

"Dracarys."

When they returned to Illyrio's manse, Dany followed Jon to his chambers. He was nervous—didn't know what to expect from her. Viserys had been cruel to her in his last years, but even so…

When the door closed and they were left in silence, he turned to face her and took a deep breath. He had so much he wanted to say, was hoping beyond hope that what he did hadn't alienated her from him.

Dany simply walked into his arms and held him tight. Jon hesitantly lifted his hands to hold her in response.

"Thank you," she murmured. "For doing it yourself."

"He deserved that much. Even if he was the way he was, I…I couldn't let someone else carry out his sentence. It had to be me. You understand, right?"

"I understand," her frame quivered. "I mourn the brother I had long ago. I'll remember him for who he used to be. Not who he was in the end."

"I'm sorry, Dany," Jon choked out, pulling back to cup her cheeks. He had to see her eyes—had to know she didn't hate him. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I know," she whispered. Her eyes were full of tears that flowed down her cheeks as he watched her. "I forgive you."

She leaned up and kissed his brow. Neither of them had anything else to say.

Their belongings were packed up. All the gifts from Illyrio and the other Magisters, the supplies they'd need for the trip, Daenerys' handmaidens, and a small crew of sailors to get them to their destination were aboard the ship dubbed the Fair Sea Maiden.

He hoped the weather would be as kind as the name of their vessel.

It struck Jon as odd that he'd only been in Pentos for a month. So much had happened in so short a time. Barely more than a week ago, he'd been flying into battle against Khal Drogo.

Not even two months had passed since he fled Winterfell to save Daenerys.

Their farewell with Illyrio was short, but pleasant. Jon wasn't sure if he truly hoped to ever see the Magister again, but he was grateful he'd left an ally behind and not an enemy. There was that, at least.

The captain of their vessel had been told their destination the night before—Jon had kept it a secret from most everyone to ensure the chance of Robert's spies picking up on their trail was mitigated. Now they were off at last, and he felt like he could breathe a little more easily.

He walked up to the bow of the ship, where Dany was leaning on the railing and looking out over the waves. Jon joined her, nudging her with his elbow lightly. She smiled at him and he smirked back.

His eyes trailed over his shoulder as Pentos gradually became small in the distance. "I think we'll see this place again one day."

"Perhaps," she murmured. "But I mustn't linger on it. If I look back, I am lost."

Jon frowned at the melancholy in her tone. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "You won't lose your way, Dany. I'll make sure you don't."

Dany blinked at him. She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder at Pentos. Jon saw something in her eyes, vulnerable and unsure, but she looked regardless. Her hand tightened on his own, and he returned the pressure until at last she returned her gaze to him.

Her face was weary, but a little lighter for it.

They heard a roar and looked up, watching as Frostfyre flew over the ship. The dragon sang her song of farewell to Pentos and soared ahead of them up the coast. Jon wasn't worried about her—she'd be able to find him with their bond no matter how far she roamed Essos.

Dany's lips curved up into a genuine smile at the sight of the dragon and Jon felt a little joy return to him.

Braavos awaited them.

Notes:

Would've had this out sooner, but got stuck with work.

As ever, please review and thanks for reading!