Chapter 2 : Bonds and Beginnings

Notes : The first nine moons of Aemon's life pass by, and he meets a big black dread.

Pov : Jon/Aemon

Kingslanding

The first four moons had been both a blessing and an agony. He was a babe unable to speak, only able to laugh or make murmuring sounds as people spoke to him. His brother Viserys and his cousin Aemma were blessings, as were his grandparents Jaehaerys and Alysanne. Daemon was still a prick, but I suppose the rogue prince lives up to his name. But what he found most welcoming were his parents. Baelon, while not Ned Stark or even Rhaegar, was a good man who loved his family. He only hoped he wouldn't befall the same fate as history says. Prince Baelon of Dragonstone died of a burst belly, leaving the succession in doubt and prompting a great council.

He still couldn't believe that his mother was alive and with him. It was a blessing he had prayed for since he could wish for anything. But knowing she was his mother from the same timeline made it all the more special. He would speak to her about everything and finally get some answers he had wanted all his life.

One the four moons after his birth Laena Velaryon was born. The firstborn of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen.

The fifth moon of after his birth – a dragon flight.

On his fifth moon, his father took him flying with Vhagar. The great bronze with greenish blue she-dragon of the conquest was magnificent. But the sight of Balerion himself taking to the air was even more breathtaking—the black dread had flown up after them. "It seems someone wants to join us, little Aemon. I hope you don't get any ideas, little one. Flying with you has given your mother quite a fright," Baelon said. As he said it, he could feel the bond with Balerion. The black dread himself dwarfed even Vhagar, the she-dragon of 120 meters was around half the size of Balerion. The large golden orbs stared at him, and he roared in recognition.

"Aemon, how long have I awaited the touch of a soul like yours? Aegon was the last to share my dreams, to soar upon my back and converse with me in the language of our kind. I have been unable to forge such a connection since then. I empathize with your loss; the ache of it resonates within me still. I, too, lost my sister in the distant past, and witnessed the fall of countless kin during the cataclysm of the Doom," rumbled Balerion, his voice echoing with the weight of ages. A shock ran through Aemon – he was conversing with Balerion himself!

"Yes, it is true. Your lineage carries a potency that even surpasses that of the Conqueror's. Our words flow like the currents of ancient fires, for your blood binds us. I express my gratitude for rekindling my life's ember. It seemed that I was destined to fade into oblivion, bereft of a worthy successor. My fire can only be enkindled by the flames of those born of fire or those of strong Valyrian blood, much like you," Balerion rumbled, his immense form emanating a deep, rumbling resonance.

"But you possess an icy undercurrent as well, a force that intertwines with my life fire. I am now both; the fusion of your ice and my fire courses through my being. This amalgamation sustains me, rekindles the vitality of my youth, and keeps my existence aflame, with out I would have been dead in a year." the ancient dragon conveyed.

"Ah, the honor is mine to make your acquaintance, Balerion. Our destiny entwines us, and together, we shall take to the skies one day. Yet you mentioned the fusion of my ice with your fire. Pray, what does this fusion signify?" questioned He curiosity glinting in his eyes. As he looked toward Balerion flying beside Vhagar.

"Alas, that remains a mystery. Valyria knew only of fires that blazed with fervor, for ice was absent in the realm of our forebears. But your essence carries a duality, where fire and ice coalesce. In the frigid expanse of the north, ice holds dominion – a formidable force that must find harmony with fire. This equilibrium shall usher in an era of balance, an intricate interplay of ice and fire that will birth a realm of harmonious existence. Yet, tread carefully, for an excess of either element portends disaster. The annals of old foretell of a power that seeks to manipulate this duality for dire dominion. A harbinger of death, this power aims to cease the perpetual cycle. Fire, the harbinger of life, counters this dire vision, and a delicate balance must be maintained. Should either force overwhelm, the world shall descend into a wasteland of ash or a frozen abyss," Balerion murmured, his ancient wisdom flowing like an age-old song.

"But whence came this knowledge?" inquired he, his voice a mere whisper in his head. It was a reference he was feeling in the face of Balerion's millennia-spanning existence.

"I dwelt in Valyria for a decade, amidst elder dragons who regaled me with tales of ancient lore. We were dispatched in epochs past to quell the inexorable encroachment of chilling cold. Yet, this secret remains veiled even from the ancients. Not all among my kind share my insight; they encompass diverse intellects. Nevertheless, they feel the sting of severed bonds upon death, much as I did when I lost Maegor and little Aerea. Aegon's passing, my closest companion next to you, inflicted the most profound anguish, a pain endured across nearly seven decades," conveyed the venerable dragon, his rumbling voice carrying a melancholic sound to it.

"I am bestowed with a treasure trove of dragonlore indeed. Balerion, I humbly extend my gratitude for electing me as your dragon bond. It's something I shall enjoy full," He responded, his countenance lit with elation as he and his father sailed through the cerulean skies.

"Well, it seems we have a little dragon rider in the making," Baelon said to his mother as he dismounted from Vhagar. Vhagar was led in the Dragon Pit, with Balerion taking for the sky again.

"Well, it seems that is my lot. I love both men to be riders," Lyanna said, kissing him and Baelon. The went into the carriage, not much later arriving in the King's solar. His receiving nods of the Kingsguard was let through the door.

"Father, it seems we have a new dragon-bonded," his father said proudly as he walked into the solar of King Jaehaerys.

"Oh, how so? I saw the black dread flying again, for a second time. More times than I have seen it do in 30 years. Is little Aemon the cause?" the King asked, filled with curiosity. The voice was loving, it seemed he reminded him of his lost son. Aemon had past away

"Yes, Father, more or less. The moment I flew with Vhagar into the sky, Balerion followed. The golden eyes of the dragon never left our boy," Baelon said, looking at him and his mother.

"Very good. I thought after Viserys tried to tame him and how weak he was, I thought he would never fly again. But it seems something in the boy has awakened the flame of the old dread," the king said with a laugh.

"Well, let's hope Aemma brings us a healthy babe too, a great playmate for little Aemon here," Lyanna said with a smile, tickling his tummy. Damn himself, he was happy at this moment. The black dread was his dragon. He had a loving mother and father, and more family he adored. He felt guilty, but he hoped his family would want him to be happy. Less than half a year ago, but a loss of that scale is difficult to move on from.

Some time later thoughts and moments of Aemon/Jon.

He noticed time flowed like a river as babe, the time flying by as my time was mostly sleeping. Sometimes an obstacle would come into the river breaking the flow. Like, the times with Vhagar and Balerion. As he could at least talk with Balerion. To the rest of the people, he could only gurgle noises. Then some gave big news a another obstacle in the river. He couldn't wait until he could speak, so the flow of his current life could change a little.

The world for now for him was a happy one, as his bond with Balerion grew stronger with each passing day. The ancient dragon's presence was a constant reassurance, a reminder of the connection between fire and ice. Flying with my father and feeling the wind in my hair became a cherished routine, a glimpse into the world of dragons and their riders.

His mother, Lyanna, remained a steadfast source of comfort. Her touch, her laughter, and the warmth of her embrace became my sanctuary. Even without words, he understood the depth of her love and devotion. Now he knew what his previous Stark siblings felt.

One day, as the sun painted the sky with hues of gold and crimson, Lyanna and he sat together in the garden. She cradled him in her arms, and he gazed up at her with eyes full of curiosity.

"You're growing so quickly, my sweet Aemon," she whispered, her voice a gentle melody. "Soon you'll be crawling and exploring the world around you."

He babbled in response, my attempt at communication met with a soft chuckle from her. "Yes, I know you have a lot to say, my little dragon. One day, you'll have a voice that can express all your thoughts. I tell you all of Winterfell and speak about to each other. Our second home."

He enjoyed being in her presence, It felt a sense of contentment that words could not convey. The bond between them was unbreakable, a silent understanding that transcended language.

On another day his father came with my aunt and uncle.

In another corner of the castle, he found myself in the company of Aemma, my cousin and the wife of Viserys. Her growing belly was a testament to the new life she carried within her, a life that was soon to join our family.

My father, Baelon, held me as I reached out to touch Aemma's belly. "Look, Aemon, your cousin is eager to join us. He's going to be your playmate and friend." Aemma's eyes met mine, and a smile spread across her face. he gurgled in response, captivated by the anticipation that surrounded her.

"I hope so to Baelon, I would love for them to grow together. Perhaps Leana can join them to, when Rhaenys departs for Driftmark." Aemma said with a smile.

"Perhaps a wife, for the boy, or friend," Viserys said with a smile. And Aemma gave him a soft hit on the shoulder. But gave him a playful smile no less.

Sometime later birth of Aerion Targaryen Firstborn of Viserys Targaryen and Aemma Aryn.

Not much later, as the castle buzzed with preparations and excitement for the upcoming birth, a new energy filled the air. The whispers of maids and servants, the hushed discussions of family members—it all contributed to the atmosphere of joyful anticipation.

And then, as the moons waned and the stars painted the night sky, the moment arrived. Aemma's voice, tinged with both determination and a touch of pain, echoed through the castle walls.

Aemma's voice, signaling the beginning of a new life. The castle, once filled with whispers and laughter, now held its breath in a collective moment of anticipation as the birth of Aerion Targaryen began. Hoping the babe would live. To the sadness of all, it was a stillbirth.

On the seven moons of year 93. AC. Aerion Targaryen was born stillborn. Never taking a breath.

Notes: In the next chapter we will do a time skip to five years in the future.

Balerion is 200 meters long, and Vhagar is 120 meters. For those who were curious about their sizes.
Balerion 656 Feet and Vhagar 394 feet.