And His will be the Song of Ice and Fire…

Aegon Targaryen, the King Beyond the Wall…

Ice.

For five and fifty years, the cold and ice had been my companions – nearly as long as they had been my enemy. When winter fell all those years ago, when it had marched and brought an army of the dead to my doors, I thought I would deal with it no more… For I thought I had been saved by Fire, that we had finally defeated Winter itself.

What a fool I was.

I thought Daenerys was my salvation. Our salvation. She was the Queen I knelt to, the Queen I should have married.

A King for a Queen.

Aye, I've had many years to think on my failures…

Most of them I spent alone in the wilds exploring the Lands of Always Winter — the lands I was staring over now as I trudged over the ice, trying to find a memory.

Speaking of… the last time I was here, Ghost was by my side. He stayed right there for a long while, but, even for Direwolves, life is short… It had been twenty years since he died, passing quietly in his sleep. He lay down beside me one night and never woke… It was almost a mercy that I was still with the Free Folk then. They helped build his pyre and placed my faithful companion upon it.

That was the day I decided to venture out on my own.

For twenty years, I had wandered. After exploring the lands of Always Winter, I found myself traveling Essos. I followed the path Da- she would have taken from Pentos to Meereen and then found passage back to Westeros. The captain of that ship landed in Planky Town so I took the opportunity to search out another piece of my history. It took me months, but I found the tower where my Mother died. Then I walked away. From that place in the Red Mountains, I had traveled through the Prince's Pass down to Old Town, the only thing marking my old life hanging at my hip in the form of Longclaw. The Old Bear's sword had never left my side. Though try as I might, I could never bring myself to change the pommel from Ghost's image… Even after that encounter I had with the few bandits I'd met outside Old Town soon after my adventures in Dorne recognized it – and, by extension, me. They thought I was too old, that I would be easy prey… They were wrong and had felt its edge keenly in return.

A small smirk lit my face at the thought of that battle, but I winced as the Winter Winds bit through my furs.

Gods be good… I'd thought my life was over time and again, but I'd soldiered on.

But oh, how I wish I hadn't.

I'd died once; what was dying again? Death was an old friend. Old gods willing, mayhaps I would see those I'd lost again.

First father, killed at that cunt Joffrey's command, then Robb – betrayed by the fucking Freys… It had been fifty-some years, but I could still recall their faces as clearly as if I had seen them only yesterday.

Rickon… Gods, I almost saved him. Damn Bolton to the pits of the Seven's darkest hells. Him and his traitor father.

As for my beloved little sister? Arya had never returned from her journey to the far West across the sunset sea. No one knew what had happened to her, as no one knew what happened to any who sailed that far west. For all the realm knew, the savior of Westeros had died decades ago. And I? I'd never heard from her again.

Bran and Sansa? Bran never fathered any children – his legacy died with him. Sansa, however, bore many sons and daughters to her husband: Podrick Payne. No one had seen the match in the cards though it was a boon for the realm. Their marriage united the Westerlands and North, however tenuously, and then it united the realm itself.

Bran died ten years into his disastrous reign. His reign nearly saw the realm collapse and his death nearly sparked another war. But perhaps unsurprisingly, Lord Edmure Tully and Lord Robert 'Robyn,' Arryn called another great council. This time, instead of only the great houses gathering the eight or nine lords, all the lords of the realm gathered at Harrenhal (gods damn that thrice-damned castle). The Lords had pressed Gendry Baratheon (regardless his bastardry) because he was King Robert's eldest living son, Sansa's eldest son – Eddard Stark, and my own claims.

Runners had attempted to find me, for the lords of the realm now knew I was the last Targaryen, but I was deep in the Lands of Always Winter. Needless to say, the runners never found me. By the time I knew what had happened, Eddard had been on the throne twenty years and had sons ready to succeed him with daughters to ally the crown closer to the Lords of the Realm.

Eddard Stark was a good king, a good man. Thoughtful, just, he was King Jahaerys come again. But for every Jahaerys I, there needs must be a Viserys I.

Jorah Stark was the Viserys to Eddard's Jahaerys. Prince Jorah would not be a bad king, nor would he be a good one. He was blessed with a single child, only the one, and she was a daughter. I would not know how the realm would react to a Queen.

Perhaps there would be another war, perhaps not. Perhaps Princess Lyarra Stark would be a good Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She would be a better Queen than Sansa anyway.

The lady of Winterfell was well known for her… Indulgences. The ones she had grown accustomed to in King's Landing when she was a prisoner in the Red Keep. Only the finest wines would do for the Queen in the North, even as the Lady of Winterfell when she bent the knee to her son. Though she died shortly thereafter.

Rumor has it that the Lady of Winterfell slipped on a patch of ice while leaving her chambers. I had never thought that to be true. Perhaps it could have been possible, but it was unlikely. Sansa may have had the Tully look, but she was a Stark of Winterfell. She would not slip… Though they had found her at the base of a stair with a broken neck.

And thus died the Lady of Winterfell.

Her second son, Robb, took her place as Lord of Winterfell – but he was also Hand of the King. His steward (Sansa's third son, Rickon) ruled Winterfell until Robb's own eldest son, Darron, came of age. It was, in fact, Darron who now ruled Winterfell – at least according to the whispers I'd heard from a gang of roving free folk.

The realm was at peace for the first time since King Robert died. It was stable and flourishing. And all without a Targaryen on the Throne.

I sighed, staring up at the star-studded heavens.

Would the realm have been a better place if I had swallowed my fucking pride? If I had buried my damn shame?

If I had offered my hand to Daenerys in marriage instead of bending the knee and keeping my head down as I was told to do all my life?

I was a king, but I'd made the decision of a bastard. And we all suffered for it.

Bastard. Steward. Lord Commander. King in the North. King Beyond the Wall.

'What a fucking joke that last one is,' I thought callously.

True. Heir. Targaryen. King.

'The Line of the Dragon, grandson of the Mad King. Son of the Knight of the Laughing Tree… Rightful heir to the Iron Throne.'

Aye… Robert had killed Rhaegar first, but the last dragon had already sired sons. With Rhaegar dead, the crown would pass to Aegon. Aerys II had died before the son of Elia, making Aegon, the Sixth of his name, King. And then Gregor Clegane split his head against a wall like an over ripe melon.

Rhaegar had married my mother, aye, but his children by Elia were born legitimately. Perhaps they would have been removed from the succession, but it would not have mattered. He kept the marriage secret, and that secret died with him, Elia, and my own Mother… Or it would have had my fath– my uncle not found me.

I sighed as my boots crunched in the snow, my eyes finally making out the dim outline of the memory I was seeking against the dark sky.

'Aegon Targaryen, the Seventh of his name, rightful King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm…'

Gods. All I ever wanted was to be Jon Stark, son of Eddard. But fate had cursed me otherwise.

I stopped as I stared up at the massive, bent form of the weirwood before me. I nodded once, hauling myself up the trunk until I had found a comfortable place to rest for a few moments.

This was not Bran's tree, the one where he and the Bloodraven worked their magic. No, this was much further North. Somewhere I was sure the Walkers would have destroyed it… But here it stood. Gnarled, grotesque, and towering, but it had a face with the red leaves all the trees of the Old Gods had.

I pushed my head against the bark, my left hand finding Longclaw's handle as I stared up at the clear sky through the boughs of the tree.

And soon after, I bore witness as myriad green, purple, blue, and red lights exploded into existence, lighting the night with a brilliance I had never experienced before.

I had seen these before, once, but not like they were now. But so lost was I in the grandeur of the light that I did not see the remnant of a branch, a spike more than anything by now, jutting from the weirwood right where I placed my free hand to brace myself.

Pain surged through my near-frozen hand as I cursed, jerking my hand back up to see dark red blood oozing through the seal skin glove. I swore viciously, tearing away the glove to inspect the wound. I growled, shaking my head and leaning back. The wound wasn't terrible; in fact, the blood would freeze it shut soon enough. I would climb down from the tree to start a fire and tend to it.

Or so I thought.

My injured hand fell flush against the tree's smooth bark, and the lights above flared even brighter – nearly lighting the land beneath me as if it were day.

"Aegon."

"Who is there?" I croaked, my throat unused to speaking.

"You know," The voice whispered in my head, the sky pulsing with light as I felt warmth build in my belly.

"Aye… I always thought we might meet, old gods… Have you finally come to take me?"

"If you wish," the voice wavered, "or you can right wrongs we thought could never be undone."

"What do you mean?"

"Warg, Dragonrider, Prince… King. You were the Prince who was Promised. You should have brought the Dawn.'

"Arya did."

"Because the Raven intervened."

"Which Raven?"

"The one with Three Eyes."

"Ah… Lord Bloodraven, then? What did he do?"

"No," The voice rumbled, the sky pulsed red, and then it settled back to green. "Bloodraven was the Crow, we speak of the Raven who sat the throne. The Raven who was once your brother."

"Bran…"

"Yes. His manipulations, his recklessness… They sundered plans so delicately laid."

"Dany?"

"Perhaps... But the young Targaryen had always been bound for madness, her choices were her own," I closed my eyes, shaking my head slowly.

"I see."

"If you could defeat the Walkers, would you?"

"I did."

"No, you did not. Yours is the Song of Ice and Fire, but your song was cut short."

"Do you want to make me a King?"

"Only should you wish it."

"I don't want the throne. I never did."

"You were born to it."

"I know, but I do not want a crown."

"Then we can send you to a place, a time, where the crown will never be yours. Can never be yours."

"Will my family be there?"

"Yes, but not the family which you seek."

"Can I see them again?"

"No." Tears cut a hot trail down my cheeks before they froze to my face. My heart pounded harder in my chest. "But you could have a new family, Aegon."

"Why?"

"You are needed."

"To end the Walkers?"

"To save life."

"Have I not already done that?"

"You speak but you do not see. Life in Westeros is doomed."

"How? When?"

"It will start with war, a war unlike any Westeros has ever seen before. You have heard of the developments being made in the Yi-Ti?"

"Aye, they call it gunpowder? Firelances?"

"The power of fire out of the hands of the Dragons. It will bring a famine worse than the one you saw in the War of Five Kings… For another conqueror has risen in the East, he will bring blood and fire to Westeros and leave death and ash in his wake."

"What conqueror?"

"The son of a Black Dragon. He is bent on reclaiming what is 'rightfully,' his by birth, even being raised in Essos."

"What is his name?"

"Maegor."

"The Cruel?"

"Aye. Maegor Blackfyre may not have Balerion the Dread, but he will have a force armed with these firelances and the Dothraki ready to kill for him. He has already killed the Khals, now he gathers men to him like moths to a flame."

"Will he come as a Blackfyre or a Targaryen?"

"Targaryen." I growled deep in my throat.

"And what lie has he come up with to convince men of this claim?"

"That he is descended from Vaegon Targaryen, an Archmaester of the Citadel who took a woman to wife secretly before he forged his chain. That his children lived a quiet life in Braavos under the name Ulthis."

"And those still loyal to my house will drink it like sweet arbor wine."

"Indeed."

"You say he will destroy the Seven Kingdoms?"

"No, he will destroy all those who do not kneel before him."

"I cannot stop him, I am an old man now. Weak, tired…"

"Aye. We will send you back with your youth and an old companion should you accept."

"Ghost?"

"Do you accept?"

"I… Is my family watching?"

"Yes."

"And I cannot join them?"

"You could, but it would not be the reunion you expect. They are dead, Jon Snow, and your time has passed. What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms?* Yet you, Aegon Targaryen, still live. You, Aegon Targaryen, get to decide again. So long as there is air in your lungs, there is work for you yet."

"I see… Robb, Arya, Sansa, Rickon, Bran… Uncle, Father, Mother, if you are watching, I pray I will reunite with you one day." I had already made my decision as I stared up at the flaming sky. "What must I do?"

"Close your eyes. When you drift to sleep, you will awake made new. Good fortune, Aegon… We will be watching." I nodded, breathing in deeply as my eyes slid shut and I knew no more.


Consciousness did not return to me readily. I knew I was awake and yet my body did not seem to register that fact all at once as it often did. In fact it seemed my senses were returning to me one at a time. First came my hearing.

There was a deep rumbling about me that I could feel as much as I could hear – so my touch was coming back too, excellent.

Or not… Damned, but it was cold.

Or it should have been. I felt the cold, but no wind was biting through my furs, making the cold more tolerable. I thought of that as I waited for my eyes to finally open.

Unfortunately, my nose decided to work first – the first thing that hit me was the reek of sulfur mixed with burnt charcoal… I knew that smell. But from where?

As I tried to cut through the fog of memory, I heard a rumble coming from behind me.

'No… It can't be…' I thought as I fought to open my eyes, but they still refused to obey me.

The rumble was deeper than I remembered, but it was still unmistakable. It may have been forty years since I'd last heard it, but it was etched into my mind as surely as if it were carved in stone.

Then my eyes opened, and I came face to face with a wall of green studded with bronze.

"Rhaegal?" I managed to croak out, trying to push myself onto my feet, but my legs wouldn't obey me. But the dragon heard me. His massive body flexed and twisted until the wing covering me from the elements moved away entirely – only to be replaced with the dragon's maw. I froze for a beat until the Dragon pushed his nose into my chest. I grinned loosely, putting my hand on the side of his face. The dragon puffed out a breath, buffeting my hair and face with warm air.

He then moved his head back, drawing his eyes level with mine. His amber eyes almost burned through the darkness as we locked eyes. I smiled sadly and reached out, pressing my hand to the great green dragon's snout.

"It's been a long time, old friend," I said, stroking his snout as he growled deep in his chest. "'Twas the gods who spoke to me indeed… I'll be honest though, when they said that I would be accompanied by a companion I'd thought Ghost would be here instead."

The dragon snorted and blinked his eyes slowly.

"Oh hush, you. I'm glad you're here. Where are we?"

The dragon, of course, didn't answer. Electing to simply look upward. I did the same and saw the green fire lighting the sky through the crimson leaves of the ancient weirwood. If the gods spoke true, and I had no reason to doubt they did, then I had an opportunity to put wrongs to right but the only way to do that…

"Oh… Seven hells… Come Rhaegal, we need to fly. Now."

Rhaegal hooted in agreement, stretching his wings and shaking himself as he uncoiled himself from around the tree – and me. As he stretched out, I noticed something different about his scales – there were three new patches of bronze where there used to be only green: one on his chest, his wing, and his neck. I grit my teeth as I stared at the spots, cursing Euron Greyjoy to the same pit Ramsay Bolton was occupying. But I held my tongue.

The dragon stooped as low as he could and I climbed his wing gracefully as I could manage.

I was strong again, no doubt about it, but I wasn't as strong as I should have been… I supposed it was something to think about when I actually had time to think as I settled in between the largest spines on Rhaegal's back. It wouldn't do to live again with a second chance only to squander it so quickly.

"Fly!" Rhaegal roared once, extending his wings as his legs crunched against the ice – launching us skyward with powerful wing beats. I couldn't help but grin even as we climbed higher and higher into the clouds – until we were above them. Rhaegal angled himself South and we were off – rider and dragon taking to the skies once again.

But gods was it cold!

I swore and pulled my hood up as far as I could, pressing myself against Rhaegal's back as much as I could. The air was cold but Rhaegal was as hot as his flame. I wouldn't freeze even though I certainly wouldn't be comfortable.

But I would live.

And that, more than anything, was worth braving the cold for.

For if we flew any lower, they would take notice. And that… That would spell disaster.

Thankfully, Rhaegal flew swiftly and unmolested over the white waste below us. I did not know how long it had been, but I was parched and hungry when the clouds parted to reveal the first of the Frostfangs jutting into the sky beneath us. We were closer to safety but not quite there yet.

Rhaegal rumbled beneath me as he turned his head to face one of the mountains.

"What do you see?" I asked, squinting and scanning the general area Rhaegal was looking at. He huffed and growled as I lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

Rhaegal rumbled again and gave a small puff of flame. I blinked before I realized what he wanted.

"You want me to warg with you?"

Another puff of flame.

"Can I even do that?"

A rumble and a growl as Rhaegal began to circle the mountain. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I nodded.

"Here goes then…" I grumbled, stretching my mind out like I learned to do with Ghost but reaching for the dragon beneath me. Instantly my vision sharpened to a razor's edge – and I felt a sense of approval spike through me before the edge of irritation scraped against my mind. I focused back to what was in front of me and found an enormous (for this side of the Wall) elk trudging through the mountains.

"Leave it, Rhaegal," I said, patting his flank in understanding – the hunger pangs were gnawing at my stomach as well. "First we need to get to safety, then we can find you a nice, fat cow for supper."

Another spike of annoyance shot through the bond we shared, but the dragon bowed to the idea all the same. And I could feel the hint of satisfaction he felt from the idea of a prize bull crunching between his jaws. And so, Rhaegal turned to the South.

I was not sure for how long we flew, nor for how far, but the winds were strong and to our backs. The Frostfangs were a haven for the Wildlings but, right now, they were our shield as well. Already I thought I had spied the Valley of Thenn, but that was hours ago.

Then Rhaegal looked to the left and spied something I knew all too well:

The Fist of the First Men.

My face pulled in a ragged smile, and Rhaegal hooted hopefully.

"East, Rhaegal," I said. "We must lay eyes on Eastwatch… Then, and only then will we know." Rhaegal snorted another puff of flame as I slipped out of the bond between us – only to find an amber eye looking back at me. I nodded, and the dragon dipped his wings. My grip tightened so much that I knew my knuckles were white beneath my gloves, but I dared not let go as the dragon banked hard to the East.

I looked down, my eyes taking in every detail they could as we soared over the green and grey of the Haunted Forest. It was still here, untouched by Mance's bonfire… That or we were still too far North to see any of the damage the bonfire would have caused.

It wasn't that I didn't believe the old gods when they told me I would right wrongs they thought could never be undone, but if that were true, then I… I was in the past. I was young again, aye, I knew that much just by how my body felt. I was strong again. My body did not ache, and my joints did not protest against the cold.

The gods had kept their oath. I was a young man yet again.

And I was a Dragonrider once more… It was surreal to be here, on dragonback once again, above the far North. My thoughts did not have a chance to wander far as Rhaegal hooted and growled deep in his throat. I felt his body rumble beneath me. I blinked, moving my eyes from his scales to the horizon. I thought I saw something but I couldn't be sure. But I knew how I could.

I reached out to the Dragon's mind, my vision blending with his. The first thing I felt was his hunger, unsurprisingly. It was as fierce as mine, if not worse… But the next thing I felt was his excitement. I blinked (or maybe he did?) and the world became focused. For a moment, I thought the world had dropped away – the grey sky mixed with the steel grey of the water in the Bay of Seals seemed to mix before it came into focus and split apart. Then I saw the Wall.

Whole.

The Dragon's excitement dimmed for a moment as anticipation twisted in my gut.

We were in the past… And I didn't know how far.

I drew my mind back into myself, breathing deeply as I stared ahead.

"Rhaegal, fly out to sea, circle around the Wall. We don't need the Brothers to see us, not yet."

Rhaegal snorted once and looked over his shoulder questioningly.

"Aye, we could get food and water from them… Perhaps a bed for me and a bull for you. But I don't know when we are. Dragons could be gone from this time, perhaps Dragons have not yet come to Westeros. We do not know, the gods didn't tell us."

Rhaegal growled in his chest and looked back toward the sea, banking his wings more to the south – toward the Wall.

"Rhaegal! Rhaegal, no!" I reached out to the Dragon's mind again, not trying to wrest control from him but to see if I could try to make him under–

Rhaegal opened his maw and roared loud and long, his normal calm completely undone by the roaring hunger tearing at his gut. I blinked, gritting my teeth as I let go of the warg. My vision snapped back to mine own as Rhaegal – with the wind to his back, he dove toward the Wall faster than I'd ever felt him fly. I held on for dear life, clutching to the dragon's back with my thighs and his spines with my hands all the while praying to the gods that this would not be the end to whatever course they had plotted for me.

XXX

*Maester Aemon, GRRM.