Right Where You Left Me

by TheSunsetStar

Rhaegar's life is spared by the valiant intervention of Arthur Dayne, moments before Robert deals the fatal blow. With their lives preserved, Rhaegar and the remaining Targaryens seek refuge on Dragonstone, eventually making their escape to Essos. Regrettably, Rhaegar is forced to leave his eldest daughter behind. Left in the midst of her adversaries, Rhaenys must survive.

18. Chapter 18

Authors Note: Hello guys, hope everyone is having a good day.

This story has been super fun to write but also very difficult, especially the last ten chapters aka the 'war' arc. I have deleted this story a couple of times(sorry, i'm very impulsive) and have reuploaded it as well because of my struggle. Last month, I made a post where I basically informed you all about my struggle with writing this story. My main difficulty with writing this fic was the 'war arc', I just found it very difficult and so I asked you guys if I should just go ahead and skip the 'war' arc and just go to the next arc the 'reconciliation' arc or if i should take a break and come back, continuing the 'war' arc.

A lot of comments told me that I should just skip the 'war' arc and head straight into the next part of the story. But I really didn't want to just abandon the 'war' arc without a proper ending. So I decided to do both, this chapter will be the end of the 'war' arc, as well as the last chapter of 'Right Where You Left Me'.

But this is not the end, I have decided to make this into a series. 'Ptolemaea' will be the continuation of Rhaenys' story. It is a direct sequel to 'Right Where You Left Me'. There will be a time skip in it meaning that there WILL be flashbacks of important moments in the war/mentions of important moments in the war but most of the story will be focused on Rhaenys and her family.

I am currently writing the first chapter of it. I still haven't decided when I'm going to upload 'Ptolemaea' but I do want to upload it AT LEAST when I've written two-three chapters for it.

That's all, enjoy the chapter! Also this chapter is very long so sorry about that 😭😭

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Aegon Targaryen stood at the shore, his gaze fixed upon the imposing silhouette of Dragonstone in the near distance. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue upon the rugged cliffs and blackened stone of the ancient fortress. He was born here and spent the first two years of his life in the castle but he remembers nothing of the stronghold. Now, as a grown man, he marveled at the sight that lay before him.

Dragonstone rose defiantly, its jagged towers reaching skyward like the claws of a mythical beast. The castle, a formidable stronghold of House Targaryen, appeared both awe-inspiring and foreboding. Its weathered walls, worn by the passage of centuries, stood as a testament to the strength and endurance of the Targaryen legacy.

The exterior of Dragonstone was a tapestry of dark stone, veined with streaks of red and black that seemed to pulse with an ancient power. As the waves crashed against the rocky shore, sending sprays of foam into the air, the castle stood firm and resolute, a symbol of the dragons that once soared above Westeros.

Turrets and towers dotted the castle's perimeter, rising proudly against the backdrop of the turbulent sea. They reached towards the heavens like the outstretched wings of a dragon, ready to take flight once more. Aegon's heart swelled with a mix of unfamiliar nostalgia and anticipation as he took in the sight.

This was his birthright.

The winds whipped around him, carrying with them a sense of ancient secrets and forgotten whispers. He imagined the echoes of dragon roars and the beat of leathery wings filling the air, lost to time but eternally ingrained in the stone that surrounded him.

As the sun began to set, casting an orange glow across the horizon, Aegon took a deep breath. The air tasted salt-laden and tinged with the faint scent of seaweed. He felt a surge of pride and responsibility welling up within him. This was his family's legacy, his duty to reclaim what was lost and forge a new path forward; doing so with his father by his side.

"Aegon," he heard his sister call out to him, reluctantly tearing his gaze from the castle. He turned to face Visenya, who stood a few feet away.

"Look, it's mother!" she exclaimed excitedly, pointing towards two faint figures in the distance. Viserra and Aemon eagerly followed her, bounding in the direction indicated.

Arianne's scoff did not escape Aegon's notice, but he chose to ignore it and instead began making his way towards Lyanna. The sound of his siblings' voices grew louder as he approached them. Lyanna was fussing over them, her maternal instincts in full display. As she caught sight of Aegon, she pulled him into a tight embrace, and he reciprocated, holding her tightly. Her embrace enveloped him with warmth.

"Aegon, oh, how I have missed you all," Lyanna expressed, a bright smile gracing her face as she reunited with her children.

"We've missed you too, mother," Viserra replied, her voice filled with genuine affection. Lyanna's smile widened in response. However, the atmosphere suddenly shifted, and a flicker of nervousness crossed Lyanna's face but a soft smile took its place quickly. Aegon turned around to see what had caused this reaction, only to find Arianne and Obara standing there a few feet away from them.

The two women appeared disinterested, which sparked anger within Aegon. Dragonstone was a magnificent castle, and yet the pair of women seemed as if they had been dragged into a cheap and dirty inn instead of the ancestral seat of House Targaryen.

"Princess Arianne, Obara, this is Lady Lyanna," Aegon introduced, his voice filled with a tinge of unease. A scowl etched its way onto Obara's face, her brows furrowing in displeasure. Arianne, on the other hand, expertly masked her disdain for Lyanna, but the slight curl of her lips betrayed her true feelings.

"Princess, Obara, it is a pleasure to meet you both," Lyanna spoke graciously, though an uncertain smile graced her face. Her eyes held a glimmer of hope, tempered with caution.

Arianne and Obara exchanged disgusted looks as Lyanna greeted them, their expressions a clear reflection of their distaste. Aegon keenly sensed the annoyance and anger emanating from his siblings, their hostility towards his cousins palpable. Anger surged within him as his cousins blatantly refused to reciprocate Lyanna's greeting.

However, before the tension could escalate further, a familiar voice cut through the tense atmosphere. Aegon realized that Ser Arthur Dayne had been patiently waiting alongside Lyanna.

"Princess Arianne, it is a pleasure to see you again. Both you and Obara have grown so much since I last saw you." he expressed.

"And you are?" Arianne asked with an eyebrow raised. Aegon was taken aback by her apparent lack of recognition. Even if it had been years since she last saw Ser Arthur, had forgotten what he looked like, how could she not identify Arthur when he held Dawn, the most famous sword in all of Westeros? Confusion gnawed at him until he noticed the suppressed smirk on Arianne's face, revealing her deliberate attempt to embarrass Arthur.

A pink hue crept up Ser Arthur's face, and he cleared his throat before responding, his voice composed but tinged with a touch of vulnerability. "I am Ser Arthur Dayne, Princess," he replied, maintaining his composure despite the subtle humiliation.

Arianne's eyes momentarily flashed with false clarity as she seemingly grasped the connection. "Oh yes, now that you say that, I can see a resemblance between you and Darkstar," she innocently remarked, her tone laced with a hint of mischief.

"Darkstar?"

"He's Lord of High Hermitage."

"Oh," Arthur said, "Yes, I remember him, Gerold Dayne."

Arianne nodded her head, Arthur opened his mouth to speak but Arianne cut him off.

"I am quite tired, my cousin and I are in need of some rest." the Princess of Dorne says as she looks expectantly at Lady Lyanna. The Stark immediately responds, nodding her head in understanding.

"Of course, would you like me or Ser Arthur to escort you there?" she asked. His cousins looked unhappy with the prospect of having to spend time with either Lyanna or Arthur but in the end they decided that they rather be escorted to their rooms by Arthur.

Aegon watched as they climbed up the steps. Obara's large, leather clad body trailed protectively behind Arianne and seemed to dwarf Arthur himself.

"Come, Dany wishes to see you all." Lyanna says with a coy smile. "She wants to show you something."

"What does she want to show us?" Viserra asked impatiently.

Lyanna gives a knowing smile to her daughter, "You shall see,"

Viserra grunts in frustration at her mothers lack of information but follows Lyanna nonetheless. Aegon and his siblings follow.

Aegon's eyes widened with a mixture of wonder and amazement as Lady Lyanna gracefully guided him through the grand halls of Dragonstone. The ancestral castle seemed to come alive around him, bustling with a myriad of individuals. His gaze swept across the diverse groups of people, encompassing diligent maids going about their tasks, stalwart soldiers clad in armor, noble lords engaged in hushed conversations, and weathered sailor men pausing their duties to catch a glimpse of the young prince.

Whispers seemed to dance through the air, a soft symphony of curiosity and recognition. The moment Aegon stepped into view, all eyes turned toward him, their attention fixated upon the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. The murmurs carried through the corridors.

He became overwhelmed by the attention. Back in Dorne he basked in the attention but the many piercing eyes on him felt odd here.

Lady Lyanna's steady guidance provided him some relief amidst the swirling currents of attention. Along with his siblings, their assured steps and comforting presence anchored him, reminding him that he was not alone in this journey.

As he proceeded through the castle, Aegon absorbed every detail, engraving them into his memory. The grand architecture, the flickering torches casting ethereal shadows, the lingering scent of ancient stone and salt in the air—each element painted a vivid picture that would forever be etched in his mind.

And as they walked deeper into the castle, the wandering eyes on him lessened.

In swift strides, they arrived at their destination, traversing the labyrinthine corridors and ascending a flight of worn stone steps. The heavy wooden doors swung open, revealing a breathtaking sight—the sprawling garden of Dragonstone, bathed in warm sunlight that cast vibrant hues across its ancient stones. As they passed through a stone archway adorned with delicate vines, they entered a world of serene beauty—a garden nestled at the very heart of Dragonstone.

The garden unfolded before their eyes like an intricate vision woven by nature's hand. Lush greenery, meticulously groomed, carpeted the ground beneath their feet. Fragrant blooms of vibrant hues adorned every corner, their petals delicately unfurling to reveal a kaleidoscope of colors—a symphony of crimson, gold, and azure that danced with the sunlight filtering through the branches above. Aegon recognized the sunburst flowers, the indigo flowers had a whole section of the garden to themselves.

Majestic trees, their branches stretching upward, provided a rich canopy that sheltered the garden from the outside world. Leaves whispered secrets to the wind, casting dappled shadows that played upon the cobblestone pathways.

At the heart of the courtyard stood a magnificent stone fountain, adorned with intricate carvings depicting long-forgotten legends. Water cascaded from the mouths of sculpted dragons, forming graceful arcs that sparkled in the sunlight before pooling at the base, where vibrant fish glided gracefully through the clear depths.

The air was alive with the symphony of sounds. Sounds that Aegon had only heard once before, a sound he had only heard in a dream.

"They are eager to meet you," a melodious voice called out from the other side of the garden, its gentle cadence barely audible amidst the cacophony of screeching that seemed to reverberate from every direction. Aegon strained to catch the words, his curiosity piqued, when suddenly a familiar voice cut through the clamor.

"Dany!" Visenya's voice carried a note of excitement and astonishment, drawing Aegon's attention. As his gaze shifted, a breathtaking sight unfolded before them, a spectacle that would forever be etched in his memories. With an awe-inspiring swiftness, a creature soared past them, its powerful wings beating against the air with grace and precision.

Visenya's gasp echoed through the garden, mirroring the astonishment present on her face.

The sight was nothing short of mesmerizing—a dragon, all believed to be dead, now soaring majestically above them. The sheer magnitude of its presence commanded both reverence and wonder, leaving them all momentarily speechless.

Viserra, her voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and awe, attempted to articulate her thoughts, but the words faltered on her tongue. "Is that– surely that can't be–,"

Aegon understood the unspoken question that lingered in the air. The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, and a quiet certainty resonated within him.

"It's a dragon," he whispered, his voice filled with equal parts of astonishment and reverence. The words hung in the air, acknowledging the extraordinary truth they had just witnessed. The legends of House Targaryen had come to life once again, soaring through the heavens on wings of mythical creatures.

As Aegon continued to gaze in amazement, his attention shifted to Daenerys, who had remained hidden beneath the verdant canopy of overarching tree leaves. The dragon, as if guided by an unseen bond, swooped gracefully toward her, a dance of trust and familiarity. A hush fell over the garden, as if even nature itself recognized the sacred moment unfolding before their eyes.

Aegon's heart swelled with a mixture of awe, pride, and a deep-rooted sense of belonging. The dragon's presence reminded him of the legacy he carried within his veins, the blood of the dragon that flowed through House Targaryen.

In the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, Aegon watched, spellbound, as Daenerys embraced the dragon, their connection radiating with an otherworldly energy. In their union, he glimpsed the potential for greatness and the hope of restoring the glory of House Targaryen.

The sight of a single dragon had already left Aegon breathless, but his astonishment reached new heights as two additional dragons emerged into view, completing a trio of magnificent creatures. The trio, each adorned with vibrant scales that shimmered in the sunlight, encircled Daenerys..

Mindful not to startle the dragons, Aegon cautiously approached his aunt, his footsteps measured and deliberate. His eyes never wavered from the mesmerizing spectacle unfolding before him. With each step, a mixture of apprehension and exhilaration coursed through his veins. As Aegon drew closer, a radiant smile adorned Daenerys' face, as she saw the wonder reflected in her nephew's eyes.

Suddenly, the black and red dragon positioned itself protectively on Daenerys' shoulder, its imposing presence filling the air with an undeniable aura of power. A low growl reverberated through its chest, and its sharp teeth were bared in a display of primal defense. Aegon instinctively took a step back, an undercurrent of caution surging through him.

However, Daenerys' voice broke through the tension, her words laced with a soothing gentleness that echoed through the garden. "Calm down, Aegarax," she spoke with quiet authority, her hand extended towards the dragon. With deliberate grace, she began stroking the dragon's wings.

In response to Daenerys' touch, the dragon's demeanor gradually shifted, its aggression dissipating like a wisp of smoke in the wind. Aegon watched with a mixture of delight and relief as Aegarax, whose name paid homage to the ancient Valyrian God, succumbed to his mother's calming influence. The dragon's growls transformed into contented purrs, its ferocity tempered by the bond of love and understanding. Aegon remembered reading about Aegarax from one of the scrolls his father lent him from his own childhood. The creator of the first ever dragon. A fine name indeed.

Aegon, emboldened by Aegarax's gentle nature towards his aunt, cautiously extended a hand towards the red and black dragon, heart pounding. The dragon regarded him with eyes that held innocence, and with a flicker of recognition, it allowed Aegon's touch. The sensation of the dragon's scales beneath his fingertips sent shivers of awe through his being.

Aegon felt his siblings, Aemon, Visenya, and Viserra, approaching from behind, their excitement palpable in the air. Their eyes locked onto the dragons, mirroring the emotions that had coursed through Aegon's own veins just moments ago.

"How?" Aemon's voice trembled with awe, his voice barely a whisper as he reached out tentatively, his fingers gingerly stroking the rough scales of Aegarax. The dragon's eyes gleamed with acceptance, a silent acknowledgment of their shared dragon's blood.

Dany wore a knowing smile as she observed the bewilderment etched across their faces. Sensing their hunger for answers, she gently raised a hand, the gesture a promise that their curiosity would soon be satisfied.

"It is indeed a long story," she replied, her voice sounding mysterious. "But fear not. I shall share the tale with you later."

Visenya, ever determined, interjected, her voice laced with urgency. "No, Dany, you must tell us now. This is..." Visenya struggled to come up with the right word.

"Madness," Viserra declared, her tone tinged with skepticism but intrigue, her eyes lingering on the dragons warily.

Aegon found his own voice, the awe and wonder evident in his tone. "Incredible, this is incredible Dany," he breathed, his words intertwining with the chorus of emotions that echoed within the garden.

Lyanna stood quietly behind them, a gentle chuckle escaping her lips as she heard the siblings' reaction to the dragons.

Daenerys, ever aware of the burning curiosity in her nieces and nephews, reassured them with a gentle smile. "I understand your eagerness to know how the dragons came to be, and I promise that I shall share the knowledge with you all." she teased.

Before any of the Targaryen siblings could voice their protests or pose further questions, Lyanna's voice sliced through the air, commanding their attention. Her words resonated with a sense of authority. "Come, my dear ones, let us go see your father."

The mere mention of their father stirred a profound longing within them, a yearning to be embraced by his presence once more. None of the siblings hesitated or voiced any objections; their eagerness to see their father again outweighed any lingering doubts or reservations at leaving the company of their aunt and her dragons. It had felt like an eternity since they last beheld his familiar face, and the anticipation of their reunion tinged the air with excitement.

Their footsteps reverberated through the towering, empty corridors of Dragonstone. The stone walls seemed to whisper secrets of the past as Lyanna guided the Targaryen siblings forward. Each step brought them closer to the heavy oak door that guarded the grand chamber within.

With a gentle push, Lyanna revealed the magnificence that lay beyond the door. The chamber was a breathtaking sight to behold, adorned with crimson tapestries that depicted the glory and triumphs of House Targaryen. The large painted table dominated the center of the room, its elaborate carvings telling tales of battles and conquests. The chamber was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting a dance of shadows on the stone walls, creating an ethereal atmosphere.

As Aegon entered, his eyes darted around the room, taking in the scene before his eyes. Familiar faces surrounded his father, Rhaegar, but there were also unknown men who stood with purpose and determination. The intensity in their gazes sent a chill down Aegon's spine, reminding him of the weight of his blood and position as his father's heir.

Amidst the sea of faces, Aegon caught sight of his uncle Vierys. He approached Aegon with a warm smile, but before they could exchange greetings, their father's voice resounded through the air, commanding attention.

"I would like to speak with family alone," Rhaegar declared, his voice carrying an undercurrent of authority and longing.

The room fell into a hushed silence as the assembled council members and advisors filtered out, leaving only the Targaryen siblings, Lyanna, and their uncle. Aegon's heart raced with anticipation, realizing the significance of this private gathering. The air was thick with suspense, and all eyes turned to Rhaegar as he stood tall behind the painted table, a figure of authority and wisdom.

Aegon stepped forward, his voice filled with a mix of reverence and affection. "Father," he greeted Rhaegar, his words carrying a depth of emotion that only a child could express.

Rhaegar locked eyes with his son, his stoic expression revealing a myriad of expressions that Aegon struggled to decipher. Aegon had always found his father difficult to read and now that he had spent some time apart from Rhaegar, he nearly found it impossible to read the emotions present in his father's eyes.

The painted table stood between them, a symbol of their shared history and the burdens that rested upon their shoulders, serving as a bridge over troubled waters. However it became a subtle partition.

Just as Aegon went on to open his mouth to speak, a messenger burst into the chamber, interrupting the fragile moment between father and son. The man, disheveled and breathless, bowed before Rhaegar and presented him with a sealed letter.

Rhaegar's hands trembled ever so slightly as he broke the seal of the letter, his fingers betraying a hint of unease. With a quick yet intense scan of its contents, a veil of anger descended upon his face, casting a dark cloud over the room. Aegon instinctively took a couple of steps back, startled by this rare display of raw emotion from his typically composed father. Only one person can prompt such a reaction. The r oom seemed to hold its breath, as if collectively yearning for answers, their gazes fixed on Rhaegar, silently begging for him to divulge the truth locked within the letter's pages

However, Rhaegar stood there in a disquieting silence, an aura of simmering fury emanating from him in waves. His gaze remained fixed on the letter, his eyes scanning its contents again and again, as if desperately seeking confirmation that he had not misunderstood its words.

Not a single word was uttered, for the occupants of the chamber seemed acutely aware that any sound might invite the scorching intensity of Rhaegar's gaze to fall upon them. It was as though they held their breath, paralyzed by the weight of their father's unfamiliar anger.

But Aegon could no longer bear the suffocating silence. Determination drew upon his face, he resolved to break through the tense atmosphere that had ensnared them all. Stepping away from the painted table, he approached his father. The closer he got, the more pronounced his father's anger became, etching lines of tension upon his face.

"Father," Aegon called out. He hoped his words would pierce through the veil of Rhaegar's seething rage, shaking him from the haze that clouded his mind. But there was no response, no acknowledgement of his presence. Rhaegar remained rooted in his anger, his eyes unyielding as they remained fixed on the damning contents of the letter.

Undeterred, Aegon called out to his father once more, his voice edged with desperation. But his pleas were met with silence, a silence that stretched into an eternity, as Rhaegar remained unresponsive, his focus unbroken. The weight of the situation bore down upon Aegon, the realization that his father's anger held him captive, rendering him invisible in the face of his fiery rage.

As he stood there, mere inches away from his father, Aegon's heart wavered between frustration and a deep longing for connection.

He does not pay attention to me. He is a prisoner to his anger and grief. I only wish that I were able to understand him better.

Yet, despite his efforts, Aegon remained a mere bystander, his voice lost amidst the echoes of his father's inner turmoil. The sound of his own words dissipated into the open air, leaving him with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. The purple depths of Rhaegar's eyes remained steadfast, unmoved by his son's attempts to reach him.

To Aegon's astonishment, it was Lady Lyanna who managed to divert his father's attention away from the unsettling letter. Her voice, tinged with concern and worry, cut through the heavy silence like a lifeline.

"Rhaegar," she spoke, her words laced with both compassion and curiosity. "Has something happened?"

Aegon had always regarded Lady Lyanna as a woman of immense courage, a warrior in her own right who wielded her own sword with finesse. But even the strongest souls could falter, and he observed with a mixture of surprise and sympathy as Lyanna visibly squirmed under Rhaegar's seething gaze.

Yet, Lady Lyanna managed to gather herself, finding a semblance of composure. Instead of meeting Rhaegar's piercing eyes head-on, she redirected her gaze to a point just beyond him, creating the illusion of direct eye contact. It was a subtle tactic, a way to navigate the stormy waters of Rhaegar's rage without further provoking his wrath.

Rhaegar, however, remained locked in his disdainful glare, his expression one of unyielding enmity. Aegon felt a discomfort settle within him, a knot of unease that tightened with each passing moment. He couldn't bear to witness his father's piercing gaze directed at Lady Lyanna, a woman who had become an integral part of their lives. The weight of that intense scrutiny seemed unjust, a reflection of his father's fury fueled by the damning contents of the letter. Aegon reminded himself that this animosity was solely tied to the words on the page, and not a true reflection of his father's feelings towards Lady Lyanna.

Aegon felt a surge of newfound courage well up within him as he witnessed his father's unjust wrath directed towards Lady Lyanna. It was as if the unfairness of it all ignited a fire within his own heart, compelling him to speak up and seek answers.

" Father," Aegon mustered his bravery, his voice steady but tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What does the letter say?"

Rhaegar, his gaze still fixed upon Lady Lyanna, tore his eyes away just long enough to retrieve the parchment from his grasp. With an almost reluctant motion, he extended the letter toward Aegon, their fingers brushing briefly as the parchment changed hands. Aegon's grip tightened around the letter, his palms feeling the weight of its contents, as he prepared to delve into the truths it held.

Carefully, his eyes scanning the words upon the page, Aegon absorbed the harrowing details etched into the ink. His heart clenched at the words that unfolded before him, painting a vivid portrait of his sister's suffering at the hands of the Usurper, King Robert.

" The Queen suffers tremendously at the hands of King Robert. Her face is often marked with bruises that cover her face."

Oh, Aegon thought.

Suddenly, he understood the depths of his father's rage upon reading the letter. The fury that had clouded Rhaegar's eyes found a mirrored reflection within Aegon's own heart. How dare Robert, a man who should protect and cherish his own wife, subject her to such abuse? The thought alone ignited a fiery indignation within him.

Though Aegon held no particular fondness for his sister Rhaenys, he could not bear the injustice of her mistreatment. Robert, once seen as nothing more than a mere dog, now appeared as something even less worthy.

As Aegon's mind swirled with a maelstrom of anger and frustration, it was the voice of his uncle that broke though his thought. Viserys reached out his hand, a silent plea to see the letter for himself. Aegon wordlessly passed the parchment into his uncle's awaiting grasp, watching as a deep anger etched itself onto Viserys' features.

In Viserys' eyes, Aegon recognized a pain and helplessness that mirrored Rhaegar's own. Having witnessed the brutal beatings of the Mad King towards Queen Rhaella had divested his uncle as a child. And now, reading about Robert's transgressions against his beloved niece, the weight of powerlessness settled heavily upon Viserys. In both instances, Viserys is forced to bear witness to the suffering of those he held dear, unable to intervene and shield them from harm.

Aegon's eyes darted back to his father, the object of his pity. His father is now closer than ever to his beloved Rhaenys, yet seemingly unable to rescue her from the clutches of her tormentor.

"Has something happened?" Concern laced Lady Lyanna's voice, her gray eyes filled with genuine apprehension. Yet, to Aegon's astonishment, his father's reaction took an unexpected turn. Rhaegar abruptly tore his gaze away from Lyanna, his expression shifting from anger to a sense of pain and longing, and without a word, he swiftly strode out of the room. Aegon scrambled to follow his father's lead.

Aemon and Visenya, caught in the wake of Rhaegar's swift exit, had little time to react. Before they could make way for their father, he forcefully shoved past them, leaving a sense of bewilderment in his wake.

Desperately, Aegon called out to his father, his voice echoing down the corridor, but Rhaegar seemed oblivious to his pleas. His father's unyielding stride continued without pause, and Aegon felt frustration welling within him. He had to know what had caused his father's sudden emotional shift. And so, he persisted in following, his footsteps echoing through the stone halls.

Eventually, Rhaegar's brisk pace slowed, signaling his arrival to his wanted destination. Aegon, unfamiliar with this part of Dragonstone, felt a sense of intrigue mingled with uncertainty. However, his father, who had spent years within these walls, possessed an intimate familiarity with the castle's layout. With a moment's hesitation, Rhaegar reached for the ornate door before him, his hand resting upon its intricate carvings.

Curiosity and determination surged within Aegon as he watched his father take tentative steps into the unknown room. Without hesitation, he entered the chamber as well.

A s Aegon stepped into the room, he was taken aback by its small and cluttered nature. The air was heavy with the scent of perfumes and the presence of various trunks filled to the brim with clothes and jewelry. Colorful paints and art supplies adorned the disheveled space, adding a splash of vibrancy to the chaotic scene. The room seemed to be a mishmash of forgotten treasures and discarded remnants, an eclectic collection of odds and ends.

Curiosity piqued, Aegon allowed his gaze to wander, taking in the scattered artifacts that surrounded him. His eyes landed on elegant yellow gowns, their intricate designs speaking of opulence and grandeur. Gold jewelry glimmered from within open trinket boxes, beckoning with their lustrous allure.

In one corner, a partially concealed canvas caught his attention. It lay flipped around, hiding its artistic secrets from view, revealing only the skeletal framework that supported the hidden masterpiece. Aegon couldn't help but wonder what scene or image had been brought to life on its surface, now concealed from his inquisitive gaze.

The room held an air of forgotten dreams and unfulfilled aspirations, as if it had become a repository for discarded remnants of beauty and artistry. It was an enigmatic space, the significance of which eluded Aegon for the moment. However, the sight of the jumbled collection of items left him questioning the purpose behind his father's unexpected arrival in this seemingly inconsequential chamber.

"Father, what is this room?" Aegon inquired, his voice filled with curiosity and genuine interest. As he posed the question, he noticed a flicker of surprise in Rhaegar's expression, as if Aegon had materialized out of thin air, and only his voice had alerted his father to his presence.

For a moment, it seemed as if Rhaegar hadn't fully registered the question, lost in his own thoughts and emotions. However, Aegon persisted, asking the question once more, his eyes fixed on his father's troubled expression. A veil of sadness and pain draped over Rhaegar's indigo eyes, emotions that Aegon had grown accustomed to witnessing throughout his life, but this particular look held a depth of pain that he had rarely seen before.

Aegon sensed that there was more to this room than meets the eye. It was not just a cluttered space filled with forgotten items but held a profound significance to his father. Perhaps it was a place of memories, of cherished moments now trapped in the confines of the past. Or maybe it had been a sanctuary for Rhaegar during his time at Dragonstone in the past.

Instead of addressing his son's question, Rhaegar wordlessly proceeded further into the small room. As he reached a trunk filled with discarded gowns, Aegon could catch a glimpse of a delicate red and black garment resting on top. The sight intrigued him, but he noticed a change in his father's demeanor. Rhaegar's hand extended towards the fabric, his fingers lightly grazing the gown's surface before carefully lifting it from the trunk, cradling it close to his chest.

Aegon felt a sense of discomfort wash over him, prompting him to avert his gaze momentarily. His father's behavior struck him as unusual and unfamiliar. Never before had he witnessed Rhaegar exhibit such vulnerable and peculiar actions. The image of his father clinging to a woman's gown seemed absurd in itself, and under different circumstances, Aegon might have been tempted to laugh. However, the depths of sadness and misery etched upon Rhaegar's face quelled any inclination towards amusement.

Confusion swirled within Aegon's mind. Why was his father so profoundly affected by this gown? What significance did it hold? Questions tugged at his thoughts, yet he hesitated to voice them, fearing that he might intrude upon a private and deeply personal moment. Instead, he silently observed, grappling with a mixture of concern and curiosity as his father clung tightly to the fabric that belonged to some unknown woman, his grip a testament to the pain and longing that resonated within his soul.

Time seemed to drag on for Aegon, each passing moment marked by his father's motionless presence as he clung to the fabric of the gown. The air in the room felt stagnant, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Aegon couldn't help but question the passage of time, wondering if it had slowed or ceased altogether.

Unexpectedly, Rhaegar gently returned the gown to the trunk, and Aegon caught a glimpse of the pain reflected in his father's eyes as he did so. A flicker of hope sparked within Aegon, anticipating his father's departure from the room. However, his expectations were swiftly shattered as Rhaegar's resolve to delve further into his emotional journey became evident.

Moving towards another box, smaller in size yet brimming with promise, Rhaegar knelt on one knee before it, the contents shimmering with gold and silver, casting captivating reflections. Aegon marveled at the array of jewelry meticulously displayed before his father's gaze. Each piece seemed to hold a special significance, evoking a fond smile on Rhaegar's lips as he studied them one by one, his touch reverent and nostalgic.

Amidst the collection, Rhaegar's attention fell upon a particular ring. Although Aegon's position hindered a clear view, he discerned the presence of a precious jewel adorning its center. A sense of mystery enshrouded the ring, its allure beckoning Aegon's curiosity.

I n a poignant gesture, Rhaegar pressed the ring to his lips, leaving a delicate kiss upon its surface. A surge of bittersweet emotions echoed in his eyes as he abruptly rose to his feet, his focus now fixed upon Aegon. The air crackled with unspoken sentiments, leaving Aegon uncertain of what awaited him in his father's next words and actions.

Rhaegar's voice quivered with anguish as he spoke of his late wife, Elia. The weight of sorrow permeated his every word, his struggle evident as he hesitated to utter the painful truth. A hint of bitterness tinged his voice as he continued, his words laced with a mix of disbelief and resignation.

"When Elia... when she passed away," he whispered, the word "died" catching in his throat like a jagged shard of grief. "They sent most of her belongings back here, to Dragonstone. It surprises me, honestly, that Stannis allowed them to be kept. Perhaps he was unaware of their presence, as if Elia's belongings were a secret hidden within these walls. Even if he knew, I doubt he cared enough to rid himself of those reminders."

Rhaegar's words echoed with a profound sadness, the weight of lost memories and unfulfilled promises lingering in the air. Aegon listened in solemn silence, empathizing with his father's pain and the weight of a shared loss. And for once, Aegon found himself sharing his fathers grief, though in a limited sense when compared to his father.

Aegon's gaze swept across the room once more, but this time with a surge of clarity to his mind. The scattered belongings, the yellow gowns discarded within the trunks, it all suddenly made sense to him.

"These are my mother's belongings," Aegon whispered, his voice tinged with wonder and small yellow suns of the Martell sigil carefully embroidered in the gowns only served to confirm this. Aegon did not have any memories of his mother but it was as if he could feel her presence in the room. Perhaps she had rocked him to sleep and sang to him as a baby in these very walls.

His father's hand extended, offering him the ring. Aegon reached out, his fingers trembling. As the ring was placed delicately into his palm, he examined it closely, his eyes tracing every intricate detail.

Aegon couldn't help but notice the uncanny resemblance between his mother's ring and the one his father always wore on his fourth finger. While his father's ring boasted a solitary red ruby at its center, his mother's ring revealed a hidden secret. At first glance, it appeared to have a single, large jewel adorning its focal point. Yet, upon closer inspection, Aegon discovered a circle of tiny rubies encircling the center gem, like a halo of crimson. To his surprise, the ring found a perfect fit on his pinky. It nestled there comfortably, as if it was meant to be worn by him all along.

His father's gaze remained fixed on Aegon's hand, watching the glimmer of the ring under the faint light.

"You should keep it," his father suggested softly, his voice carrying a hint of sentimentality. Aegon met his father's gaze, sensing the unspoken melancholy that lay behind those indigo eyes.

Aegon nodded, understanding the weight of his father's gesture. Rhaegar wished for him to have a keepsake from a time long past, a connection to a mother he never truly knew.

Yet, as he admired the ring on his finger, his thoughts shifted to his sister, Rhaenys. A pang of protectiveness washed over him, and he couldn't help but wonder if she possessed anything of their mother's as well—a gown, a necklace, or some other memento.

However, the idea of Rhaenys wearing their mother's belongings did not sit well with him. She probably only wears jewels and pretty dresses that the usurper gives to her. That thought did little to quell the strange sense of possessiveness that he felt.

Aegon recognized the convoluted nature of his emotions towards his mother's belongings. He had a childlike possessiveness, even though he understood logically that he had no right to claim them. After all, Elia was a mother he never truly knew, a figure who had faded into the recesses of his memory. But something had changed within him during his time in Dorne, a revelation that had stirred a newfound connection to his roots as not just Rhaegar Targaryen's son but Elia's son.

He had spent moments in solitude reflecting on his mother, a longing that he couldn't quite explain had awakened within him. It was as if his journey to Dorne had unknowingly opened a door to a hidden part of his heart, an unspoken yearning to know the woman who had brought him into this world. However, these thoughts only surfaced when he was alone, for in the presence of his family who have seen him grow from a child to a man grown, Elia seemed to slip away from his consciousness.

The desire to see his mother again had taken hold of him, manifesting in those private moments when he pondered the weight of her absence. He recalled the conversation he had shared with his uncle, Doran, back in Dorne, during which his uncle had reminded him that Rhaenys was both Martell and Targaryen—a perfect blend of their family lines. At the time, Aegon had dismissed the significance of such a statement, scoffing at the notion. For how could a daughter raised by stags, falcons, and lions be the daughter of the sun and dragon. But now, doubts plagued his mind. What if Rhaenys embodied the true essence of Rhaegar and Elia's union more than he ever could? Is Rhaenys more a child of Rhaegar and Elia than he would ever be?

Lost in his contemplations, Aegon was abruptly snapped back to the present by his father's voice.

Rhaegar's words broke through the haze of Aegon's thoughts, grounding him in the present moment. "You can look around, you know. These are your mother's things," his father gently reminded him.

Aegon nodded, his eagerness shining in his eyes as he surveyed the room, excited to further explore his mother's belongings. He wondered what other treasures he could discover—keepsakes that would hold a piece of Elia's essence.

Perhaps he could find something else, not only for himself but also for his sisters and Daenerys. Maybe he could even find another ring for Aemon, knowing his brother's desire for a thoughtful gift.

However, a hint of doubt crept into Aegon's mind as he pondered his sisters' preferences. Would Visenya and Viserra appreciate the jewelry and gowns he offers them? He recalled their inclination towards simpler attire, rarely seen adorned with such embellishments. Nevertheless, he held onto hope that Daenerys, being more attuned to the finer details, would cherish such a gift from him.

As he delved deeper into the trunks, he saw a large book with an orange cover and golden embellishments. He opened it to find elegant calligraphy written on the first page.

"To my dearest Elia,

As your beloved brother and the embodiment of charm and wit, I couldn't let your sixteenth name day pass without imparting my unique wisdom upon you. May your heart be as fierce as a scorpion's sting and your laughter echo through the halls of Sunspear. As the sun sets on this special day, know that my love for you burns brighter than a thousand suns.

From Oberyn"

Aegon felt as though he was peeking through something he shouldn't be but his curiosity burned within. Flipping through the pages, he saw a collection of exquisite sketches and at the bottom of every drawing, the name 'Elia' was written. His father never mentioned his mother was such a talented artist. A smile tugged at Aegon's lips as he admired the meticulously drawn Water Gardens and the busy marketplace of Planky Town, he felt a surge of pride knowing that he was now able to recognize such locations, having just been to Dorne. Rhaenys would not recognize any of the places mother drew.

However his gaze halted abruptly upon encountering a particular painting which seemed so different from others. It was of a man smiling, unmistakably Valyrian. Aegon was able to discern that the man in the drawing was none other than his father. He looked almost softer, frozen in the midst of a hearty laugh, looking so beautiful and unburdened. When was the last time his father laughed or smiled without such reservations?

He felt shame and some sort of embarrassment creep within him, as though he was prying into something forbidden. With these uncomfortable emotions plaguing him, he closed the book and stroked it delicately, making sure to remember to take it to his chambers.

He instead turned to the canvas that had caught his attention earlier. Its hidden presence intrigued him, urging him to unravel the mystery concealed within its frame. With anticipation, he moved closer, eager to see what lay being the skeleton of the canvas.

As Aegon's gaze fell upon the portrait, he found himself mesmerized by the image before him. The upper half of a woman's body was masterfully captured on the canvas, revealing exquisite details that beckoned his attention. She donned a resplendent burnt orange gown, its squared neckline adorned with a delicate arrangement of shimmering jewels. A diamond necklace graced her chest, adding a touch of opulence to her ensemble.

But it was the woman's face that truly commanded Aegon's fascination. Every feature was flawlessly depicted, creating a vision of breathtaking beauty. Her eyes, gentle and inviting, shimmered with a warm shade of light brown, reminiscent of a tranquil oasis. A perfectly sculpted nose lent balance to her lovely face, while her lips, delicately curved with a hint of a pout, radiated an alluring charm. A faint smile danced upon her lips, revealing two enchanting dimples on either side of her face. Her cascading curls framed her visage, while a tiara adorned with blood-red rubies graced her regal head.

Despite it being his first encounter with the painting, a sense of familiarity washed over Aegon.

As he scanned the portrait, a faint memory stirred within him. It reminded him of a dream—a dream he had long forgotten, buried in the depths of his subconscious. But now, as he compared the woman in the painting to the ethereal figure of his dream, similarities began to emerge.

In his dream, he had encountered a young girl, her beauty as haunting as the portrait before him. The girl was truly lovely, with long, black hair flowing like a night river and large violet eyes that seemed to hold his attention. Those eyes were like his own.

The woman in the portrait, however, bore a striking resemblance to the girl from his dream, with the exception of a few discernible differences. Instead of the enchanting purple eyes that had entranced him in his slumber, the woman's gaze held the warmth of light brown, mirroring the hues of the earth. Moreover, time had etched its delicate lines upon her face, lending an air of maturity and wisdom that the girl in his dreams had yet to acquire.

As Aegon pondered the inexplicable resemblance between the girl from his dream and the woman in the portrait, a sense of curiosity swirled within him. The connection eluded him, leaving him with a perplexing mystery to unravel. Why did these two figures, separated by the boundaries of time and imagination, bear such striking similarities?

Lost in his contemplation, Aegon couldn't help but feel drawn to the woman depicted in the painting. Her serene and benevolent smile, carefully immortalized on the canvas, emitted kindness Unlike the girl in his dream who had paid him no attention, he sensed that the woman in the portrait would acknowledge his presence.

However, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted when he noticed his father's silent presence by his side. Rhaegar's hand extended, delicately grasping the canvas, effectively snatching it away from Aegon's hands. The sudden action snapped him out of his reverie, and he turned his attention to his father, questioning the significance of the painting and his father's reaction.

"Father," Aegon spoke softly. "Who is this?"

His question hung in the air, and for a moment, Rhaegar's gaze remained fixed on the portrait of the unknown woman. A subtle smile played at the corners of his father's lips, a mingling of melancholy and joy. Aegon's heart quickened, eager to hear his father's response, but before he could repeat his question, the words spilled forth from Rhaegar's lips.

"She looks just as I remember her," his father's voice carried a bittersweet tone, tinged with both sorrow and happiness. He put out a hand but retracted it, as though his father was afraid to hurt the portrait. "I had feared that I had... I had feared that I had forgotten what she looked like. But no, she remains etched in my memory."

Aegon's curiosity heightened, his desire to know the identity of the woman in the painting intensified. He repeated his question, hoping to uncover the depth of his father's affection for her. "Who is she?"

His father turned to him briefly, a mixture of surprise and a flicker of irritation evident in his eyes. "Do you truly not know, Aegon?" Rhaegar's voice was gentle, laced with a touch of sadness.

Shaking his head, Aegon felt a surge of frustration rise within him, but he suppressed it, yearning for his father to reveal the truth.

"She is your mother, Aegon," Rhaegar's voice softened, carrying a weight of tenderness, "She is Elia."

A flood of emotions engulfed Aegon. Surprise mingled with a newfound sense of connection and understanding. The woman in the portrait, so familiar yet shrouded in mystery, was none other than the mother he had never truly known. Questions whirled in Aegon's mind, each one vying for his attention. How could such beauty be kept hidden from him, never spoken of? Why had he dreamt of a girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to his mother, Elia? The enigma of it all gnawed at his thoughts.

Aegon was lost in his own thoughts, unanswered questions ran through him. How could his mind conjure an image so vivid and reminiscent of Elia, a mother he had never truly known? The more he pondered, the deeper he delved into all the different possibilities.

Could it be a mere coincidence, a trick of his imagination? Or was there a deeper significance that caused him to dream of a girl who looked like his mother? Aegon felt a yearning to unravel the secrets woven within his dreams, to decipher the hidden messages and understand the link between the girl and his mother.

As he stared at the portrait, the woman's gentle smile seemed to hold a hidden truth, a whisper of familiarity that tugged at his heart. Aegon knew he had to seek answers.

He hesitated, not knowing if he should tell his father about the girl he saw in his dream. Aegon felt the need to tell Rhaegar about the girl that bore a striking resemblance to his mother. If I describe her, maybe father would know who she is.

The possibility that his father might know who the woman in his dreams was proved to be sufficient motivation to tell him about her.

"Father," he called out, Rhaegar ripped his eyes from the painted portrait of Elia. His indigo hues beckoned Aegon, waiting for him to speak.

Aegon cleared his throat, for some reason he felt slightly embarrassed about telling his father about the girl in his dream.

"I had this dream, back in Dorne," he began, struggling to look his father in the eye, "It was a strange dream. There was this girl, a very pretty girl—"

Rhaegar interrupted him with a loud sigh, "Aegon, I do not care about some pretty girl in your dream,"

"No, father, it isn't like that," Aegon said hurriedly. "

"Then what?"

"The girl in the dream," he pointed to the portrait, "looked like her,"

Rhaegar gave him a peculiar look, and looked back and forth between Aegon and the painted portrait. "You saw Elia in your dreams?" His voice was laced with surprise and intrigue.

Aegon shook his head, "No," he paused, "Well, it looked like her," he gestured towards the painting, "But I don't think it was my mother,"

He watched as Rhaegar's eyebrows furrowed.

"The girl in my dreams had purple eyes," he looked at his father closely, "Kind of like yours," he explained.

The older silver haired man stayed silent, turning his full attention to Elia. Aegon waited rather impatiently for his father to say something.

"Father, do you have any idea who she could be?" the young prince asked. His father faced him again. Aegon could recognize the specks of disappointment that danced in Rhaegar's eyes.

"You dreamt of a girl, who looks like your mother, a girl with purple eyes just like mine." Rhaegar repeated the girl's description back to Aegon, though he wasn't sure why his father did that seeing as Aegon knew what the girl in his dream looked like. "And you, my son, have no idea who that girl could be?"

He didn't know how to respond, his father seemed almost annoyed that Aegon couldn't figure out who the girl was. He stayed silent, not wanting to admit to his father that he had no idea who the girl who bore a striking resemblance to his mother could be.

Rhaegar let out a loud, disappointed, sigh. "Your sister Aegon, the girl in your dream was Rhaenys." he revealed.

Oh

Aegon was left momentarily speechless at the revelation that the girl he was seeing in his dream was Rhaenys. Of course it was her, who else would bear a resemblance to Elia but her own daughter. He felt like the biggest idiot for not having made that connection himself.

"Right," was all Aegon said in response to his father. He picked up the book with her mothers drawing, "The journey from Dorne to here has been tiring, I think it's best if I go get some rest now,"

Rhaegar glanced at him, eyeing the book that Aegon held in his hands before nodding, "Yes, go get some rest,"

The young silver haired prince walked out with his mothers book in hand and with the knowledge that he had dreamt of Rhaenys.

Aegon stood in awe as he witnessed the black and red dragon, known as Aegarax, take flight, soaring gracefully into the sky above Dragonstone. The dragon's agile form twisted and turned, executing intricate loops in the air, a display of freedom and joy. Beside him, Aegaraxs brothers emulated their eldest brother's cheerfulness, their own winged companions dancing in the open sky.

As minutes passed, the dragons gradually descended, each returning to the ground in their own unique manner. Aegarax, with a sense of protectiveness ingrained in him, immediately made his way to his mother, seeking solace and companionship. Meanwhile, the other two dragons gracefully alighted on a nearby rock, perched on the sandy beach.

Aegon's siblings, enthralled by the presence of the dragons, gathered around the magnificent creatures. They reached out, their hands gingerly touching the scales and leathery wings, marveling at the texture and strength of the dragons' forms. His aunt had shared with him the dragons' affinity for affection, assuring him that the youngest ones, Viserion and Rhaelyx, were particularly fond of human touch. While Viserion, with his green and black scales, welcomed the attention with an open heart, Rhaelyx displayed a gentle acceptance, but with a discernible limit.

Amidst the flurry of interaction, Aegon observed the intricate dynamics between his siblings and the dragon, observing the profound bond that had begun to form between them. Though he had not yet formed such a connection himself, he couldn't help but feel a deep admiration for the dragons' majestic presence and the tender relationships they had fostered with his family.

"Aegon," he heard his aunt's voice call out to him, pulling his attention away from the captivating scene of his siblings and the dragons. When he turned to face her, his gaze met Daenerys, standing beside him with Aegarax comfortably nestled on her shoulder, the dragon coiled into a small, contented ball. A warm smile graced Aegon's face as he beheld the sight of the mighty creature, now calm and serene under his mother's gentle touch.

"Yes," he replied to his aunt, his tone filled with curiosity and anticipation. Daenerys paused for a moment, her expression reflecting a slight hint of concern.

"I wished to speak with you," she finally revealed, her face etched with a mixture of contemplation and care.

"We are speaking now," Aegon playfully quipped, attempting to lighten the mood. However, he soon caught the serious gaze his aunt directed towards him. Despite Daenerys being younger than him, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear in her presence, especially now that she had a dragon perched upon her shoulder—an imposing creature that would readily unleash its fiery breath if commanded to do so.

"Fine, what is it that you want to speak about?" Aegon asked, his curiosity piqued by his aunt's insistent need for a private conversation.

Rather than immediately answering his question, Daenerys chose a different approach. She gracefully lowered herself onto the sandy beach, and Aegon followed suit, taking a seat beside her. Together, they directed their attention towards the expanse of the vast ocean before them, its rhythmic waves crashing against the shore. The joyful laughter and playful shrieks of his siblings and the dragons provided a pleasant backdrop, creating a serene atmosphere.

In the tranquil setting, Aegon and Daenerys shared a moment of quiet contemplation, allowing the sounds of the water and the presence of their loved ones to wash over them. The weight of his aunt's unspoken words hung in the air, creating a sense of anticipation for what was to come.

"How do you like it here at Dragonstone?" Daenerys began, her voice filled with genuine curiosity. "It's very different from Pentos."

Aegon took a moment to reflect, his thoughts swirling as he contemplated his feelings about their new surroundings. The words danced on the tip of his tongue, but he struggled to articulate the complexity of his emotions.

"Dragonstone is fine," he began cautiously, searching for the right words. "It does feel nice to be here, but it doesn't quite feel like home." He let out a sigh, his eyes reflecting a mix of longing and sadness. "At least, not yet," he added, a bittersweet smile gracing his lips.

Daenerys responded with a gentle smile, understanding the depth of his words. "And what about you? Do you like it here?" he inquired, his voice also laced with a tinge of curiosity.

Her face illuminated with joy, Daenerys' beauty magnified by her beaming smile. "I didn't expect to love it as much as I do, Aegon," she replied, a light laugh escaping her lips. The genuine happiness in her voice was contagious.

Aegon couldn't help but feel a twinge of happiness himself, seeing his aunt embrace their new home with such enthusiasm. Even his siblings, who had shared his initial reluctance in leaving Pentos, seemed to find peace and contentment at Dragonstone. Aegon suspected that their delight was not solely tied to the castle itself, but also to the presence of Daenerys' beloved dragons. Regardless, he found solace in the fact that at least some members of their family had found a sense of belonging in their new surroundings.

"They are magnificent, you know," Aegon exclaimed suddenly, his eyes fixed on the dragon perched upon his aunt's shoulder. Daenerys appeared momentarily puzzled, but soon grasped the essence of his words.

"Yes, I know," she agreed with a warm smile, her hands tenderly cradling the dragon and gently lifting him from her shoulder to rest upon her lap. The dragon grumbled in protest at the movement, but soon settled comfortably in her embrace. Daenerys lovingly stroked the dragon's scales, her touch bringing a sense of calm to the creature.

Aegon's disbelief lingered in his voice as he voiced his thoughts. "I still can't believe father allowed you to do that," he remarked, his astonishment evident. When his aunt had revealed the story of how she had hatched the dragons, just as she had promised she would, he found it difficult to fathom that Rhaegar would permit his sister to walk into a burning pyre.

On the night of his arrival at Dragonstone, gathered alongside his siblings, Aegon had listened intently as Daenerys recounted the tale of how she had brought dragons back into the world. Her words had woven a captivating story, one that left them all in awe of her extraordinary accomplishment.

But there was something about her story that intrigued him most of all.

He had dreamt of the hatching of his aunt's dragons, back when he was in Dorne. In that dream, he witnessed a figure boldly stride into a blazing pyre, mirroring Daenerys' account of walking into the pyre of three burning men.

When his aunt revealed that it was through the sacrifice of Tywin Lannister that she had hatched her dragons, Aegon was overcome with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. The man who had ordered the death of his mother had unknowingly become a sacrificial offering, serving to restore House Targaryen to its former glory. The knowledge that the man responsible for his mother's demise had met a gruesome end brought a degree of solace to Aegon's heart.

Yet, there was still something that perplexed him. Why did he dream about Daenerys hatching her dragons? And what about the larger dragon that had shown up in his dreams? This dragon was noticeably larger than Daenerys' own dragons. Aegon briefly entertained the notion that the grand dragon in his dreams could be one of his aunt's dragons grown to maturity, but he swiftly dismissed the idea. The dragon in his dreams possessed a distinct brown hue, unlike any of Daenerys' dragons. This unfamiliar dragon remained an enigma to Aegon.

However, the most puzzling aspect of his dreams revolved around the girl with brown curly hair and captivating purple eyes. After seeing the portrait of his mother, whom he could scarcely remember, he noticed an uncanny resemblance between the girl in his dreams and his mother. When he had shared this observation with his father, Rhaegar had surmised that the girl he had seen in his dreams was none other than Rhaenys, his sister, as Elia and Rhaenys had borne a striking resemblance to one another.

These lingering questions continued to occupy Aegon's thoughts, their answers eluding him like whispers in the wind. The mysteries of his dreams remained shrouded, begging for further exploration and understanding.

He contemplated the idea of seeking answers from his aunt, knowing that Daenerys had always been a dreamer herself. Her unwavering determination and trust in her dreams had led her to walk into the fire, after all, indicating that she possessed a deeper understanding of dreams than Aegon ever could. However, before he could unleash his barrage of questions upon her, she unexpectedly turned the tables and began probing him instead.

"Aegon, have you experienced any dreams recently?" Her voice was gentle, her eyes fixed on the expanse of the sea.

"No," he replied, shaking his head, "But I did have a strange dream back in Dorne," he admitted with a hint of eagerness, wanting his aunt to help him answer all that he seeks to know about his strange dream.

Her interest piqued, Daenerys turned her gaze towards him, her eyes intently studying his face. "Tell me, what did you dream about?"

Aegon proceeded to recount his dream, describing how he believed he witnessed her hatching the dragons. He spoke of the large brown, shaggy dragon that had captured his attention. However, he deliberately withheld mention of the girl he had seen in his dreams, Rhaenys. He felt an inexplicable urge to keep her presence within his dreams a secret, though he couldn't quite fathom why.

Dany does not need to know that I've dreamt of Rhaenys, father already knows, there is no need to tell anyone else of it.

His aunt looks deep in thought, her eyebrows furrowed together. "Aegon, tell me more about the dragon," she gently urged.

Aegon obliged, recounting everything he could recall about the dragon. He described the haunting sound that preceded its arrival, the sight of its shaggy brown wings spreading across the sky, casting a dark and ominous shadow over the burning pyre. He detailed how the dragon had made its presence known to him, flying straight toward him, but he deliberately omitted the fact that it had appeared only after Rhaenys had vanished from his dreams.

"Aegon, what do you know about Dragon Binders?" she asked, her gaze piercing and intense, a stark departure from her usual demeanor.

Caught off guard by her question, Aegon sat there, momentarily dumbfounded, his mouth slightly ajar as he struggled to find an answer.

"Egg," she called him by his childhood nickname, bringing him back to the present. Gathering his thoughts, he responded honestly, "I don't know anything about Dragon Binders. Should I?" he asked, a touch of sheepishness in his voice. The concept of Dragon Binders was entirely foreign to him; he had never encountered or heard of such a term before.

"No, I had never heard of it before Marwyn the Mage's visits to Pentos," she confessed, her tone laced with intrigue. "He lent me a book that mentioned it, but there was very little information available. Strangely enough, the book only contained a single drawing depicting it."

Aegon's curiosity piqued as he listened to his aunt's revelation. Marwyn had been a close friend of his uncle and had also become a trusted confidant to Aegon himself. The mage's eccentricity had always fascinated him, and he suspected that whatever a Dragon Binder was, it would be just as captivating as Marwyn himself.

"The Dragon Binder is a unique horn imbued with ancient and mysterious magic," she explained, her voice carrying a sense of wonder. "Its origins and creation remain shrouded in mystery, but its purpose and usage are known."

She continued, her words captivating Aegon's attention. "When the Dragon Binder is blown, it has the power to forge a bond between the horn's bearer and a dragon. The one who blows on the horn becomes connected to the dragon in an unbreakable bond."

Aegon looked at her with confusion and skepticism. "Why are you telling me this? There are no other dragons I can bond with, and my siblings already have strong connections with Viserion and Rhaelyx. I don't want to take away their chance to be dragon riders by using a mythical horn."

Daenerys regarded him with a thoughtful expression. "You're right, Aegon. Currently, there are no dragons other than mine that we know of. But the world is vast, and there may be undiscovered dragons or dragon eggs waiting to be found. The Dragon Binder could be the key to awakening dormant dragons or forming new bonds with them."

Daenerys met his gaze with a mix of understanding and empathy as she continued. "Aegon, I share this with you because you have the blood of the dragon within you. The potential to bond with a dragon is in your lineage, and it is a gift that should not be dismissed lightly."

She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I understand your reservations and the loyalty you feel toward your siblings. But remember, dragons are not bound by the same rules as we are. Their bonds can be fluid and unpredictable. It is possible that a dragon may choose you, even if they currently favor your siblings."

Aegon's expression softened as he contemplated her words. The thought of a dragon choosing him, forming a bond that transcended familial ties, intrigued him. Perhaps there was more to his connection with dragons than he had previously considered.

Daenerys reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ultimately, the decision is yours to make. I merely wanted you to be aware of the possibilities. The Dragon Binder may still hold significance in our journey, even if it's not for binding the dragons we currently know."

Aegon's excitement grew, his mind racing with possibilities. The idea of bonding with a dragon through the power of the Dragon Binder ignited his imagination. However, a hint of doubt lingered in his voice as he spoke. "But even if we find the Dragon Binder, how can we be certain that it will work? Are there any records or tales of its successful use in the past?"

Daenerys paused, her gaze focused on the horizon. "The accounts of the Dragon Binder are ancient and scarce. But legends speak of those who have used it to command dragons and forge powerful alliances. While the truth may be obscured by time, I believe that if we have the Dragon Binder and the opportunity arises, we must be prepared to seize it."

Aegon nodded, a newfound determination burning in his eyes. The prospect of becoming a dragon rider, like the heroes of old, was a dream he never dared to entertain until now.

Aegon looked at his aunt, pondering her words. "But if there were still dragons out there, wouldn't our ancestors have already found and claimed them?"

Daenerys smiled slightly, her eyes filled with mystery. "Dragons are elusive creatures, Aegon. If they don't want to be found, they won't be. There are rumors of a few dragons still alive, though. Cannibal is said to be roaming somewhere up North, and Sheepstealer, along with her dragon rider Nettles, disappeared after flying off towards the Vale. Who knows, Sheepstealer might still be out there."

Suddenly, his aunt's expression turned serious once again. "On one of the nights that I was aboard Lord Celtigar's ship, I had a dream, Aegon. It was different from any dream I've had before," she began, her voice filled with a mix of awe and uncertainty. "Most of my dreams involved walking through fire, or seeing the three dragons soaring in the sky. But this dream was unlike those."

"I found myself outside a cave, a cave that resembled the ones here on Dragonstone. At first, I felt afraid, but then my dragons appeared. They guided me into the cave, and with them by my side, my fear subsided," she explained, a faint smile gracing her lips. "They led me deeper into the cave, and I followed, not knowing where we were heading. It felt like an endless journey, just walking and running, with my children as my only guides."

"But eventually, I grew impatient and shouted at them to stop. Yet, they didn't listen. They continued onward, deeper into the cave, and I chased after them. Finally, they came to a halt, and so did I. They had led me to a wall within the cave, where a remarkable horn was embedded," she revealed, her eyes shining with wonder. "It looked just like the Dragon Binder from the book Marwyn the Mage had given me."

Daenerys stared at him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "I think you are the one meant to find the horn, Aegon," she declared, her voice filled with conviction.

Aegon's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Me?" he exclaimed, shaking his head in denial. "Dany, it was just a dream," he reminded her, trying to dismiss the notion.

Her gaze remained firm, undeterred by his skepticism. "And it was a dream that led me to hatching my dragons," she retorted, her voice tinged with a hint of urgency. "You may not believe it now, but I truly believe that I had that dream for a reason. Perhaps it was meant to guide me to help you."

Aegon's mind raced with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Could it be possible that his dream, the one with Rhaenys, held a greater significance? Was there a purpose behind them, just as there had been for Daenerys and her dragons? Despite his doubts, a glimmer of curiosity and hope sparked within him, prompting him to consider the possibility that his aunt might be right. But he tried not to be too hopeful.

"Maybe so," he finally responded, a playful glint in his eyes. "So, will you be my guide in search of this magical horn? Even though I have my doubts, if you believe in it, then I'll join you in trying to find the Dragon Binder," he said, flashing a charming smile.

He jolted awake, his brow damp with sweat. The air in Dragonstone was typically warm, but as night descended, a chill permeated the air. The chamber's fireplace, usually a source of comforting warmth, seemed to intensify the heat instead.

His chest glistened with sweat, his breathing heavy and labored. He sat there, feeling the weight of frustration and confusion pressing down on him. Raising his hands to his face, he let out a muffled curse, his palms rubbing against his tired eyes.

"Damn it," he muttered in frustration.

Ever since his conversation with his aunt, a relentless dream had haunted him, the same one he had had in Dorne, resurfacing night after night. But tonight, it had taken an unexpected turn. In the usual sequence of events, his sister would vanish, making way for the appearance of the unknown shaggy dragon. However, this time, his sister had remained in the dream, her presence lingering.

And something was different.

For the first time, she had acknowledged him, turning to face him with an intensity that captured his attention. Aegon couldn't help but be captivated by her gaze, losing himself in the depths of her eyes.

Her dark purple eyes, resembling the deepest hues of twilight, held an intensity that seemed to swallow him whole. In the depths of those eyes, he felt an unwavering gaze that cut through his defenses, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. It was as if she could see into the depths of his soul, uncovering every flaw and imperfection.

Anger and judgment radiated from her eyes, striking at his core. He stood there, transfixed by her scrutinizing gaze, unable to escape the weight of her piercing stare. Her eyes burned with an intensity that both unsettled and ignited something within him.

Who was she to look at him with such disdain? A mixture of defiance and resilience surged within him, fueling a fire that blazed in his eyes. He met her gaze head-on, refusing to back down. And yet, in the midst of his fiery defiance, a flicker of sadness danced at the edges of his being, tugging at his heart. The source of this inexplicable sorrow eluded him, leaving him perplexed and yearning for answers. Why did he feel a pang of sadness when confronted with such disdain? The questions lingered, echoing in the recesses of his mind.

Rhaenys's sneer deepened, a mischievous glimmer dancing in her eyes. The curl of her lips formed a cruel smile, laced with a hint of pity. The disdain that radiated from him only seemed to invigorate her, as if relishing in his hate and anger. Her indifference to his seething emotions was unnerving, almost as if she derived pleasure from it.

Silence enveloped them, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, a clash of emotions that transcended any need for words. In the depths of their gazes, a tumultuous exchange unfolded, revealing the depths of their animosity and unspoken desires.

And then, in the midst of this silent exchange, the scene shifted. The air trembled with anticipation as the brown dragon emerged from the shadows, its majestic wingspan casting a shadow over the land. Aegon's gaze was drawn to the dragon, his eyes drinking in its awe-inspiring presence. The details of the dragon's scales and the power in its movements became clearer to him.

Yet, as he watched, a bitter realization washed over him. The dragon's attention was no longer on him as it had been on other nights that this dream came to him. It was solely fixed upon Rhaenys, his sister. Aegon's presence became irrelevant in the presence of her arrival. The dragon's gaze, once captivating and promising, now held no recognition of his existence. It was as if he were a mere afterthought in the dragon's world, overshadowed by the allure of Rhaenys's presence.

Bitterness welled up inside Aegon, intensifying the anger that coursed through his veins. His gaze never wavered from the scene unfolding before him. The dragon's blatant disregard for him, coupled with Rhaenys's indifference of the dragon's unwavering attention towards her, fueled his resentment.

How dare she! She had captured the attention of a magnificent creature, a dragon, and yet she scorned it, choosing instead to direct her sneers and glares solely at him. The dragon, oblivious to his existence, appeared drawn to her like a moth to a flame, while she disregarded her power over it.

A swirl of motions engulfed Aegon, entangling him in a web of anger, annoyance, and self-loathing. The realization hit him with brutal force— the dragon was never meant for him. It had never shown any interest in him, nor would it ever. Its allegiance lay solely with Rhaenys, leaving Aegon cast aside, unimportant and insignificant.

As he awoke, drenched in sweat, his heart still racing, the weight of his anger lingered. The bitter taste of resentment clung to his thoughts, mingling with a sense of betrayal. The dragon, a symbol of power of House Targaryen, was a painful reminder that he would forever be in the shadow of his sister's glory.

Restless and consumed by his thoughts, Aegon rose from his bed, discarding the tangled sheets that confined him. Frustration propelled him into a ceaseless back-and-forth pacing, a desperate attempt to find solace and shake off the lingering remnants of the haunting dream. He yearned for the dream's grip to fade, for it to retreat into the recesses of his mind, eventually forgotten.

Yet, as time passed, he found himself unable to escape the stark reality of the dragon's indifference towards him, its unwavering devotion to his sister. The unfairness of it all gnawed at him, just like his father's favoritism towards Rhaenys. What made her so special? Was there not room in their hearts for both of them? They were both children of Elia, deserving of equal love and attention.

The incessant whispers of his uncles, their endless praise of Rhaenys, haunted him. They spoke of her as if she were a cherished memory, while he, who stood before them alive and present, was dismissed with indifference. It was a bitter pill to swallow, fueling a growing sense of resentment and hurt.

Determined to escape the suffocating weight of his emotions, Aegon hastily dressed and left his chambers, seeking refuge in the corridors of Dragonstone. He yearned for clarity, for a respite from the constant reminders of his perceived inadequacies.

He hadn't gotten very far before he bumped into someone just as he was about to venture out into the castle's dark courtyard. Amidst the shadows, she stood like a beacon of light, her fiery red hair and blood-red gown commanding attention. Even her piercing crimson eyes seemed to penetrate the darkness, fixing their gaze upon him.

Aegon halted in his tracks. Though her back was turned to him, she seemed to know that he was behind her. Slowly, she turned to face him, her hands folded tightly against her stomach, a knowing smile adorning her crimson-stained lips.

"My Prince," she greeted him, her voice carrying an air of familiarity. Aegon couldn't help but feel an unsettling aura surrounding her.

"What are you doing here?" His words escaped his lips more forcefully than intended, a reflection of the unease he felt in her presence. The sight of Melisandre of Asshai evoked a sense of discomfort within him. She had become a familiar figure in his life, often seen alongside his aunt Daenerys and occasionally in the company of his father. Yet, her presence unsettled him, stirring an unspoken aversion that he struggled to comprehend.

Something about the red priestess raised his suspicions, although he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Nevertheless, his instincts screamed at him to keep his distance from her.

She remained unfazed by his sneer, her crimson eyes fixed upon him intently. "I could not sleep," she replied, stepping closer until only a few strides separated them. Her penetrating gaze seemed to delve into the depths of his being. "And you, My Prince, what brings you here?" she inquired, her voice laced with a subtle intrigue.

Aegon couldn't suppress his disdain as he retorted, "I don't have to tell you anything."

"Of course not," she responded, her tone seemingly light but carrying an undertone of condescension that didn't escape Aegon's notice. Before he could address it, she posed another question, her curiosity evident in her crimson gaze.

"Did you have that dream again?" she asked, her eyes brimming with knowledge.

"What?" Aegon's response was sharp, his mind racing. Could she truly be aware of my dream?

"The Princess Daenerys has informed me of your dream," she revealed, her words cutting through the air. "The one in which she hatches her dragons and an unknown dragon appears."

Aegon instinctively denied her claims, "I have no idea what you are talking about," There was no point in hiding the truth, yet a part of him wanted to safeguard the secrecy of his dreams by denying its existence to Melisandre. He regretted confiding in his aunt, now realizing that she had shared his dreams with the red woman.

"There is something I must tell you before you venture into the night," she began, her tone grave and unwavering. "You shall attain what you desire," she said.

"What you seek, what you intend to pursue tonight shall come to you but it will come at a cost. A heavy price shall be paid."

As her words resonated in his mind, Aegon absorbed the weight of her statement. I shall attain what I desire. I will have my dragon.

Deep down, Aegon knew he shouldn't place his trust in the red woman and her mystical powers. Yet, the fervent desire to believe that he would obtain a dragon, become a dragon rider, and prove his lineage as the blood of the dragon—the son of Rhaegar and Elia—overwhelmed any skepticism. He refused to let Rhaenys claim the dragon. She already possessed their father's love and favor; he would not allow her to possess the dragon as well. She has everything, but the dragon shall be mine.

"I understand," he replied with a determined tone, his voice tinged with anticipation. He could sense her intense gaze burning into his back, but he resisted the urge to turn and meet her eyes.

Knowing that the main entrance of the castle would be heavily guarded, Aegon opted for an alternative exit. He ventured down a lesser-known pathway, leading him towards the rugged terrain that housed an array of caves. These caverns interconnected in a labyrinthine fashion, and over the past few days, both he and his aunt had explored them extensively. Their purpose was clear—to search for the Dragon Binder, the object that had haunted Daenerys' dreams and held the key to his becoming a dragon rider.

With each step he took, Aegon felt a surge of anticipation coursing through his veins. The caves beckoned to him, shrouded in mystery and the promise of untold power. He pressed on, driven by an unyielding determination to claim the Dragon Binder.

Having scoured the vast expanse of Dragonstone's labyrinthine caves, Aegon and his aunt had painstakingly searched each chamber in their quest for the elusive Dragon Binder. Disappointment had become a familiar companion as their relentless pursuit yielded no fruitful results. With each fruitless endeavor, Aegon's heart sank a little deeper, the weight of unfulfilled dreams gnawing at his spirit.

Yet, there remained one final cave, an enigmatic abyss that beckoned to him with an air of mystery and possibility. As he trod upon the sandy shores, his footsteps guided by an innate instinct, Aegon knew this was the last cave to be explored. The cave's entrance stood before him, an imposing gateway into the unknown.

With a mixture of anticipation and determination, he crossed the threshold, stepping into the dimly lit cavern. The atmosphere inside was heavy, filled with a palpable sense of ancient power. Shadows danced upon the rough stone walls, as if whispering secrets of forgotten eras. The air carried a faint scent of salt and dampness, intermingling with a hint of something indescribable, an otherworldly essence.

Though uncertainty still lingered within him, the words of the red witch echoed in his mind, offering a glimmer of hope. She had assured him that his quest would not be in vain, instilling a newfound confidence within his core. The knowledge that he was on the brink of discovering what he sought lent him renewed vigor and purpose.

As he delved deeper into the cave's depths, guided solely by the dim glow of his torch, the anticipation grew. Each step resonated with the weight of his aspirations, propelling him forward with an unwavering resolve. Aegon's heart quickened with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, his senses heightened as he remained attuned to the slightest whisper of destiny that hung in the air.

In this final sanctuary of shadow, Aegon's destiny awaited him. With the echoes of past failures haunting his steps, he pressed onward, ready to uncover the Dragon Binder that held the key to his dreams and hopes.

As Aegon ventured deeper into the cavernous depths, the atmosphere shifted. The air became thick with a mystical energy that seemed to pulse from the very walls of the cave. Shadows danced and flickered, casting eerie patterns upon the obsidian surface. The walls themselves seemed to come alive, emanating a subtle warmth that hinted at the dormant power contained within.

His steps grew slower, more deliberate, as if drawn by an invisible force towards the heart of the cavern. A sense of anticipation mingled with slight fear, amplifying his heartbeat and quickening his breath. He could feel the ancient magic that resonated within the depths, echoing the same essence that coursed through the veins of Aegarax, Viserion, and Rhaelyx.

And then, bathed in an ethereal glow, it revealed itself to him—the Dragon Binder, the object of his desire. Aegon's eyes widened, his breath hitching in awe at the sight before him. The horn possessed an otherworldly beauty, an exquisite fusion of Valyrian steel and red gold. Its craftsmanship was impeccable, every detail meticulously etched and adorned, reflecting the mastery of its creators. Whoever they were.

The horn's sleek, obsidian-like surface glistened with an iridescent sheen, reminiscent of a dragon's scales caught in the light of a fiery sunset. The crimson hues that shimmered along its length seemed to dance and shift, as if mirroring the very bodies of the dragons it was meant to bind. Its form exuded an undeniable aura of power and enchantment.

Aegon approached with a mixture of reverence and longing, his fingertips almost trembling with anticipation as he reached out to touch the Dragon Binder. The moment his skin made contact with the cool surface, a surge of energy coursed through him—a tingling sensation.

In that moment, the dreams and aspirations that had consumed him for so long crystallized into a singular focus. The Dragon Binder held the promise of fulfilling his destiny, of realizing his birthright as a true dragon rider. With every intricate detail and ethereal glow, it whispered of the power that awaited him, the connection he could forge with a dragon of his own. It excited him to know that it was he would become a dragon rider and not his sister.

The Dragon Binder, though too large for Aegon to carry, resonated with an otherworldly power that seemed to pulse through his very being. As he pressed his body against the magnificent object, he felt the cool touch of the horn beneath his fingertips, guiding him to the point where he would summon his wild dragon.

Uncertainty lingered in his mind as he contemplated which dragon would respond to his call. Sheepstealer and Cannibal, both mentioned by his aunt, held equal weight in his eyes. To him, the identity of the dragon mattered less than the fulfillment of his destiny. They were dragons, mighty and awe-inspiring, and any one of them would become his companion.

Yet, as he was about to blow the horn, a surge of doubt crept into his thoughts, his mind goes back to what Melisandre had said to him, you shall attain what you desire, these were the words that had given him the confidence to go into the cave and find the Dragon Binder.

What you seek, what you intend to pursue tonight shall come to you but it will come at a cost. A heavy price shall be paid, he had not paid any mind to that part, too excited with the prospect of binding himself to a dragon to hear her warning.

Aegon played the warning over and over in his head. What shall be the price? Can I afford to pay it? Contemplation swirled within him, grappling with the weight of his ambition. The allure of a dragon, the embodiment of his birthright and legacy, beckoned him forward. But the warning resonated, urging caution and consideration for the price that must be paid.

In the end, Aegon resolved that the cost was inconsequential. The prospect of a dragon, a symbol of power and greatness, outweighed any sacrifice that would be demanded of him. With renewed determination, he once again pressed his lips to the tip of the Dragon Binder, ready to release the resounding call that would mark the beginning of his journey as a dragon rider.

As his breath intertwined with the ancient artifact, a sound unlike any he had ever heard emanated from the horn. The melodic resonance mirrored the haunting echoes of Daenerys' dragons, an ethereal melody that stirred his soul. It was a sound that reverberated with promise and destiny, signaling that the bond between man and dragon was now forged.

In that moment, he felt a connection unlike any he had ever known. It was as if a force coursed through his veins, intertwining his essence with that of his dragon. A surge of exhilaration surged within him, his heart swelling with the weight of newfound destiny.

The bond had been forged, the bridge between man and dragon established. Aegon could sense it deep within his being, a profound understanding that he was now a part of something extraordinary. The Dragon Binder had unveiled its ancient magic, granting him the ability to command the loyalty and companionship of a wild dragon.

A mixture of awe and elation washed over him. The Dragon Binder had worked, and the realization ignited a fire within his soul. Aegon, son of Rhaegar and Elia, was now bound to a dragon. I will be a dragon rider, not her.

After many days of anticipation, the results of the Dragon Binder began to unfold. Aegon had carried a seed of doubt within him, fearing that his experience in the cave had been a mere figment of his imagination, and that the Dragon Binder had failed to summon a dragon.

As darkness cloaked the world outside, reminiscent of the night he had blown the horn, a sense of anticipation filled the air. Aegon's heart quickened, his senses heightened, as he perceived the imminent presence of the creature he had beckoned. Even Daenerys' dragons, as if attuned to the call of their kindred, emitted resonant roars from the far reaches of the castle.

Driven by the resonating roar of the approaching dragon, Aegon hastened his pace, his footsteps echoing through the castle halls. The urgency of the moment propelled him forward, a determined fire burning in his eyes.

Whispers of anticipation spread among the inhabitants of the castle, the news of the dragon's imminent arrival reaching their ears. Curiosity and excitement mingled in the air, prompting some to follow in Aegon's wake. But he paid no heed to the trailing footsteps, his focus fixed solely on the impending encounter with the dragon he had forged a bond with.

As he traversed the corridors, his brother Aemon's voice pierced the air, a desperate plea for answers. Aegon sensed his brother's presence behind him, his words demanding explanation, yet he pressed on, driven by a force that surpassed comprehension.

With each step, the sound of the dragon's roar grew louder, a thunderous symphony reverberating through the castle walls. It served as a beacon, guiding Aegon, pushing him forward even as doubts and uncertainties threatened to assail his mind.

The night sky a canvas splashed with stars. Aegon burst forth from the castle walls, his anticipation palpable, his heart racing in tandem with the dragon's resounding call. The courtyard lay before him, bathed in an ethereal glow, the air electric with anticipation.

Aemon's desperate cries fell on deaf ears as Aegon ventured down the large steps, leaving the safety of the castle behind. The bond he had forged with the dragon compelled him to follow its call.

Guided by an unyielding sense of purpose, he stepped into the night, his path illuminated by the starlight.

The silhouette of the dragon gradually emerged from the obscurity of the night sky, its dark form blending seamlessly with the shadows that enveloped it. Aegon stood at the precipice of the final steps, his heart pounding in his chest as he beheld the magnificent creature before him.

The moonlight cast an ethereal glow upon the scene, revealing the dragon's imposing stature. It surpassed Aegon's expectations, its size and presence commanding the beach where it stood. The dragon's wings bore the marks of countless battles, tattered and torn in places, a testament to its strength and resilience.

In stark contrast to Aegarax's fiery black and red scales, this dragon possessed a sleek, unyielding darkness that seemed to absorb the light around it. Its entire body was reminiscent of polished coal, exuding an aura of mystery and power. Aegon found himself drawn to the mesmerizing hue of its emerald eyes, a captivating gaze that beckoned him closer.

With a mixture of anticipation and awe, Aegon took tentative steps onto the sandy shore, the grains shifting beneath his feet. Each footfall brought him closer to the dragon, his heart pounding with anticipation and a hint of fear. Yet, an unassailable determination fueled his movements, guiding him towards the dragon he had longed for.

As the distance between them closed, Aegon could feel the palpable connection between man and beast. The dragon's presence was both daunting and exhilarating, filling him with a sense of purpose and destiny. This was the moment he had dreamed of, claiming his rightful place as a dragon rider.

As Aegon stood face to face with the dragon, the realization struck him hard. The telltale signs were unmistakable—the deep green eyes, the obsidian scales, and the battle scars that adorned its majestic form. It was none other than Cannibal, the notorious wild dragon that had answered his call.

A mixture of awe and fear coursed through Aegon's veins as he locked eyes with the fearsome creature. The dragon's head lowered, its gaze piercing into the depths of his own violet eyes.

With hesitant determination, Aegon extended his hand, reaching out to touch the dragon's scaly face. The texture felt foreign against his palm, a stark contrast to the familiar touch of Daenerys' dragons.

This dragon, Cannibal, the one under his touch, belonged to him now.

But as his hand made contact with the dragon's rough skin, an unsettling sensation washed over him. Instead of the warmth and affection he had come to expect from observing his aunt's dragons, Cannibal's eyes held a burning anger, an intensity that sent a shiver down Aegon's spine.

Startled, he swiftly withdrew his hand, a mixture of confusion and unease settling within him. It was as if a surge of foreign emotions had surged through him, anger that did not belong to him, but to the dragon itself.

Shaking his head in an attempt to regain his composure, Aegon grappled with the whirlwind of emotions. Something had shifted in that moment, an unspoken understanding between him and Cannibal. The bond they shared was tinged with a fierce and untamed anger, a reflection of the dragon's nature.

Aegon couldn't help but wonder what lay behind the dragon's wrathful gaze. What secrets and burdens did Cannibal carry within its mighty heart? The answers were shrouded in darkness, and Aegon wished nothing more but to uncover them.

But despite the underlying anger within Cannibal's gaze, Aegon chose to embrace the opportunity that lay before him. It was on that fateful night that he mounted the back of his dragon, ready to take flight.

As they soared through the midnight sky, a surge of adrenaline coursed through Aegon's veins. The wind rushed past him, whipping his hair and clothes, as they ventured into the unknown. The bond between rider and dragon began to solidify.

Through the darkness, they navigated the starlit sky. Aegon felt the power and might of Cannibal beneath him, a force of nature that mirrored the fiery determination within his own heart. The rhythmic beating of Cannibal's wings propelled them forward, the world below shrinking into a mere speck as they embraced the boundless freedom of the skies.

In that moment, all worries and doubts melted away. Aegon and Cannibal were no longer separate entities; they had become a single entity, a force to be reckoned with.

In the end, when his grandmother and two youngest siblings arrived on Dragonstone aboard a ship, he knew that what the red witch had whispered to him back on the night he had blown the Dragon Binder was true.

A heavy price was paid for Aegon to claim Cannibal.

His grandmother arrived dressed in a black gown, an transparent obsidian vale covering her aged face, her eyes shined like wet amethyst. Rhaenyra spoke not a word, her indigo eyes lacked the shine it once did. His little sister walked with a shadow cast over her shoulders.

And Daeron arrived in the finest clothes he had, only a dark gray tunic, a direwolf neatly embroidered on either cuffs of the sleeves, his trousers were clean, a sign that he had never worn the well fitted bottoms. Lyanna had never taken an interest in dressing her children as nobility, she was content to see them with dirty trousers, ripped tunics caked in mud. Signs that showed her children's freedom and happiness. Indications of a happy life, a life where her children did not need to abide by rules. Lyanna's children could be as free as they wanted to, their rugged clothes suggested as much.

That was how Daeron came to them, his attire not at all fitting of his status as a Targaryen. He should have been clothed in Targaryen red and black, not Stark gray. He should have had red jewels sewed onto his clothes to form the three headed dragon of his house. Instead he had an old tunic, old gray thread used to form the direwolf of his mothers house.

The young boy's eyes were closed, his lips had gone completely purple. His skin was gray and pale, the signs of days spent in the sunny streets of Pentos were gone. The curve of his brother's smile had disappeared, Daeron remained still as a statue.

Rhaella had claimed that it was the sickness that took Daeron. She cried and cried as she tried to explain it, "It happened so fast, he was fine but then he wasn't. We– I couldn't do anything,"

What plagued his brother and claimed his life remained a mystery to others, but Aegon held the answers deep within his heart.

What you seek, what you intend to pursue tonight shall come to you but it will come at a cost. A heavy price shall be paid.

Daeron had been the price.