Somewhere within the dream world…
The surroundings were shrouded in darkness, an expanse that felt utterly vacant and lifeless, stripped of any sound or presence. The air was thick with an oppressive silence as if the very essence of life had been drained from the environment, leaving only an eerie stillness in its wake. Shadows loomed like specters, their shapes indistinct and formless, merging seamlessly with the inky blackness that enveloped everything. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, where the weight of despair hung heavy in the atmosphere, suffocating any flicker of hope. Aeonar found himself prone, face-down in a grimy puddle, the cold, murky water seeping into his clothes and chilling him to the , despite the bleakness surrounding him, he remained unresponsive to the world around him, as if he had become a part of the very darkness that enveloped him. His eyelids were sealed, heavy with the weight of unconsciousness, and his physique remained still, a statue of flesh and bone in a world devoid of color and sound. His respiration was notably sluggish, each breath a laborious effort that seemed to echo in the silence, a faint whisper against the backdrop of nothingness. The rhythm of his breath was languid and faint, each inhalation a struggle, as if the very act of breathing was a burden too much to bear. The world beyond his closed eyes was a distant memory, a place filled with color and sound that now felt like a dream long forgotten. Time felt distorted in this desolate place, stretching and contracting in a way that made it difficult to discern how long he had been there, trapped in this state of suspended animation.
« Awaken. »
After a brief period, Aeonar started to exhibit involuntary twitches, minor spasms that rippled through his limbs like the last flickers of a dying flame. It was a subtle movement at first, a mere flicker of his fingers against the cold, wet ground. Muscles contracted and released, a silent battle waged within him, urging him to awaken from the depths of his stupor. His fingers curled and uncurled, and his toes flexed against the ground as if they were reaching for something beyond his puddle beneath him rippled gently, disturbed by the tremors of his awakening. With each twitch, a flicker of consciousness ignited within him, illuminating the shadows that had held him a sudden surge of determination, Aeonar's eyes finally cracked open as he forcibly pushed himself up, his palms pressing against the damp ground. "Gaaaaah!" he gasped for breath. The shadows recoiled momentarily as if surprised by his his senses began to awaken, he became acutely aware of the coldness of the water beneath him, how it clung to his skin, and the gritty texture that pressed against his body. He pushed himself up, muscles protesting as he fought against the weight of his own inertia. Finally, he managed to rise to his knees, the murky water sloshing around him, and he took a moment to catch his breath. The silence was still there, but it felt different now—less suffocating, more like a canvas. He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the desolation, and for the first time, he felt a flicker of uncertainty.
It was a silence that felt almost sentient, watching him, waiting for him to succumb again to despair.
"I am… still alive?"
« You are, for the time being, Aeonar Targaryen. »
Aeonar's senses heightened as an unusual echo resonated from the depths of the void, capturing his attention. The sound was unlike anything he had ever encountered—a haunting melody that seemed to weave through the fabric of silence, pulling at the edges of his physique. He spun around, his gaze darting in every conceivable direction, seeking the sound's origin. But no matter how he strained his eyes, the surrounding darkness revealed nothing! It was as if the void itself conspired to keep its secrets hidden, wrapping him in a shroud of uncertainty. "Who's there?!" he called out, his voice reverberating through the emptiness, a fragile thread of sound that dissipated into the abyss. The echo returned to him, distorted and elongated, mocking his plea as it faded into silence.
Meanwhile, the water pooling at his feet had risen ominously, now lapping at his shins, cold and clammy against his skin. It was as if the depths were awakening, intent on engulfing him whole. The surface shimmered with an otherworldly glow, reflecting the darkness above like a mirror to a hidden could feel the coldness of the water seeping into his skin, a biting reminder of the danger that lurked beneath the surface. It was as if the puddle had a life of its own, pulsating with a rhythm that matched the echoing took a cautious step back, but the puddle seemed to respond, rippling and expanding as if it were alive, eager to claim him.
"Show yourself! Who's calling me?!"
The silence stretched unbroken, enveloping him like an unyielding shroud. It was as if Aeonar found himself enveloped in a realm resembling a dream, an expansive void entirely unfamiliar to him. The ground beneath his feet felt insubstantial as if he were standing on the edge of a precipice, teetering between reality and the unknown. At that moment, the soft rustle of wings caught his attention, a sound that seemed to echo through the vast emptiness. Aeonar turned his gaze, yet there was nothing to be seen. The emptiness stretched endlessly, shrouded in darkness and strangeness; it was as if he were blind in a world of shadows, where shapes and forms danced just beyond the reach of his perception. Seven hells, he can't see anything! Aeonar once more heard the sounds of birds, the rhythmic flapping of their wings accompanied by a deep, resonant cawing reverberating through the void like a distant thunder. In an instant, many crows emerged from nearly every angle, swirling around him in a chaotic dance. Their glossy black feathers glinted in the dim light, creating a mesmerizing spectacle that was both beautiful and unsettling. The crows moved with a purpose, their sharp beaks and piercing eyes glinting with an otherworldly intelligence.
"Gah!" Aeonar's eyes widened in startled surprise, and a rush of annoyance coursed through him as he instinctively raised his hands to cover his face. With swift and frantic gestures, he desperately waved his arms, attempting to disperse the descended crows, their dark wings obscuring his vision and filling the air with their raucous cawing. "Begone from my sight! Back! All of you!" As he attempted to shoo away the crows, Aeonar's attention was caught by a singular crow with a third eye in the middle of its forehead. He halted momentarily, his eyes locked onto the black-feathered bird before it joined the others in vanishing into the void.
« Tell me, Aeonar Targaryen: was it worth it? »
Aeonar felt as if something or someone was behind him. With his senses on high alert, he swiftly turned to see an enigmatic figure standing before him. The person before him had an ethereal complexion, with skin as pale as milk, almost luminescent in the dim light surrounding them. Long, flowing hair cascaded to his shoulders, a shimmering white as freshly fallen snow that shimmered like moonlight on the man's eyes truly captivated Aeonar—vivid orbs of red that glowed with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the shadows as if they held secrets of the universe within their depths. They bore an unsettling knowledge, a glimpse into realms unknown, and Aeonar felt as though he were being scrutinized, laid bare before this stranger. A peculiar birthmark resembling a red raven traced a path from his throat to his right cheek, a striking contrast against his alabaster skin. The man's physique was slender, almost skeletal, exuding an aura of foreboding accentuated by his sharply defined, unsettling features. He stood with an elegance that belied the tension in the air as if he were both a part of this world and yet entirely separate from it. As Aeonar narrowed his eyes to study the stranger closer, his Targaryen blood burned. Whoever this man was, he felt a distinct raced through Aeonar's mind—who was this stranger, and what role did he play in the unfolding tapestry of fate?
« Was it worth bringing so much death and destruction on the land you sought to rule, to preserve and strengthen a dynasty that had long since been in decline? »
"Silence, knave! I willnotbe patronized, nor will I apologize for anything!" Aeonar shouted angrily. "Who are you to judge what price was worth paying for doing what needs to be done?! There's never been peace without great suffering to start it all; the greater the pain, the greater the results for everlasting peace! And every choice I make―no matter how violent or cruel―is for the greater good of House Targaryen and, by doing so, for the good of all! And to have every ungrateful peasant, every self-serving malcontent throw it all in my face willnotbe forgiven nor forgotten!"
« So you remain unrepentant. Defiant. Unrelenting. You see no wrong with your methods. You justify your actions in the name of rooting out all enemies, whoever or wherever they may hide. To avenge and punish all slights, real or imagined. In your eyes, treason is no less vile because the traitors had long proved themselves craven. I applaud you for your skills as a spymaster, Young Dragon, but… by giving in to the madness that plagued your house for countless millennia, you have become the embodiment of what you swore not to become. »
The mysterious figure stood with his arms casually folded behind his back, moving in a slow, deliberate circle around Aeonar before finally turning to face him.
« Oh, Aeonar. What would your mother think if she were to see you now? Or your father? Or perhaps… your sons? »
"SILENCE!"
Stung by the reference to Queen Aemma, King Viserys, and his deceased sons, Daeron and Viserys, and the implications of their current judgment of him, Aeonar reacted instinctively. A surge of emotion coursed through him, a storm of anger and vengeful fury that clouded his judgment and ignited a fierce impulse within him—a primal urge to seize the stranger before him for invoking these , as he swiftly extended his forward, propelled by awave of indignation,his hand passed through the figure as if it were nothing more than a mirage or a wisp of a fleeting breeze that danced beyond his fingers, palm, wrist, and entire left arm slipped through the air without any resistance as if the very essence of the wind eluded his grasp. The stranger was not solid or tangible; he shimmered a mirage of memories and regrets, taunting him with 's heart raced, confusion mingling with frustration. He had expected to feel the solid resistance of flesh and bone to assert his dominance over this apparition that dared to invoke the names of his family. Instead, he was met with an unsettling emptiness.
"What the…?!" Aeonar took a step back, his breath quickening as he tried to regain his composure. Was this a mere trick, a figment of his imagination conjured by his own insecurities? Or was it something more sinister, a manifestation of his doubts and fears?"Who are you?! What are you?!" he demanded, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "What do you want from me?!" The silence that followed was deafening.
« You've long refused to close a wound in dire need of healing when your mother died on the birthing bed, cut open by the man you loved… a man you once called 'father.' But instead of understanding the implications, knowing Viserys the Peaceful was in a no-win situation regardless of what action he took, you instead chose to place all of the blame on him for your mother's death. You pushed him away and isolated yourself from your friends and loved ones when you went into a self-imposed exile across the Narrow Sea. »
Aeonar made another attempt to strike him, but once again, his right arm passed through the figure as if it wasn't there.
« By bringing the Lykirī Mēre to Westeros, you sought to remake the Seven Kingdoms in your image―to create another Valyrian Freehold despite knowing many would never accept that. Your own personal death squad, an elite order of assassins who will carry out your orders without question and silence those who speak up… forever. Instead of the peace and stability you once promised to uphold, you brought fear and terror to the Seven Kingdoms. Where its people once revered you as a hero, a prince with the potential to be one of the greatest Targaryen kings, they now fear you and curse your name. Your children, who once respected you, now believe you to be irredeemable and were forced to grow up after being thrown into the decadence of war. Your demand for flawless perfection was anything but. »
"They weren't going to be children forever! They needed to learn how to defend themselves and punish those who wrong us with fire and blood!" Aeonar shot back, refusing to accept any fault of his parenting skills.
« And yet, by instilling in them the teachings of familial unity and solidarity, you inflicted greater pain on them. Jaehaerys, Aegon, Viserys, Aemma, Daeron… where one feels loss, so do the others. Your youngest child's death served as the catalyst for breaking your already fragile state of mind; a twin's murder shattered the other, and the woman you loved since childhood has given up on you. In her eyes, you are merely the shell of the Targaryen prince Alicent Hightower once knew. »
Aeonar clenched his jaw in frustration; how many more sharp jabs could he withstand? Each taunt, each derisive comment from the shadowy figure before him, felt like a dagger piercing through the fragile armor of his pride, twisting deeper with every word. He was powerless to strike back, knowing that any attempt would only result in him passing through the enigmatic figure, a mere wisp of smoke that offered no tangible target for his anger. The rising water now surged around him, lapping at his knees, anchoring him in place as if it were a living entity, its cold embrace a stark reminder of his current state—trapped, vulnerable, and powerless. The abyss surrounding him seemed to mock him for his perceived shortcomings, its depths whispering doubts that echoed in his mind like a relentless chorus. All his efforts were solely for the benefit of House Targaryen! He had poured his heart and soul into the cause, every scheme, every whispered alliance, and even his own sense of self in the pursuit of greatness while sacrificing countless lives to make it so. His earnest desire was to elevate the House of the Dragon, the last remnant of the ancient dragonlords of Old Valyria, into an unparalleled dynasty, a formidable power that would dominate the known world. He envisioned a future where the Targaryens would reign supreme, their dragons soaring through the skies, casting shadows over their enemies, instilling fear and awe in equal measure. But at what price would this ambition come?Would he sacrifice his own humanity, his relationships, and perhaps even his very soul in the pursuit of power? Was it worth the isolation that now surrounded him? The whispers of betrayal that echoed in the shadows? The faces of those he had lost along the way, their eyes filled with disappointment and sorrow, haunted him relentlessly. And what of those who remain?Each step he took toward greatness seemed to push him further away from the very people he sought to protect. The weight of his ambition felt like chains. Aeonar was not the hero of this tale nor the master of his fate; instead, he was a pawn in a game far larger than himself. The tides of fate were shifting, and he was caught in their relentless current.
« But don't fret. Let me show you… a glimpse of what's to come. Since your eyes won't accept the truth based on words alone, allow me to open them for you. »
Aeonar observed intently as this enigmatic stranger slowly shut his blood-red eyes. The air around them was thick with unspoken tension, and the world felt suspended at that moment as if time itself held its breath. However, he was taken aback when the stranger's eyes snapped open, revealing an eerie, milky white that sent a chill up and down his spine. It was as if the man had transcended the realm of the living, his gaze piercing through the veil of reality and into the very essence of his soul. Almost immediately, Aeonar felt a sudden, jarring pull at his ankles. It was as if the water itself had come alive, reaching out with unseen tendrils to ensnare him. As he looked down, Aeonar was yanked violently beneath the water's surface, the world above him fading into a distant memory. The coldness enveloped him like a shroud, dark and heavy, starkly contrasting the warmth of the air he had just breathed. Panic surged within him as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. The world above faded into a distant memory, the light of the surface swallowed by the inky blackness surrounding pressure around him intensified. The water around him was murky and thick, obscuring his vision and distorting his sense of direction. Shadows danced in the murky water, twisting and swirling like phantoms that danced just beyond the reach of his understanding. They whispered secrets in a language Aeonar could not understand, their voices a haunting melody that echoed through the clawed at his throat as he kicked and flailed, but the more he struggled, the tighter the grip around his ankles became. It was as if the very essence of the abyss had come alive, intent on claiming him as its own.
Before long,the water became eerily silent, yet it hummed with an otherworldly energy.
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Aeonar jolted awake as if emerging from a fleeting dream, finding himself lying on a cold, hard marble floor. Startled, he swiftly rose to his feet, anxiously surveying his new surroundings. The last thing he remembered was a vast, consuming darkness, followed by the sensation of being submerged beneath the water, only to awaken in this strange place. Yet, as Aeonar took in the details, he realized he was in the Red Keep, a location he knew all too well. But what was he doing back in King's Landing?Even more perplexing was the eerie familiarity of the tapestries, the sturdy stone columns, and the ornate decorations that adorned the room. Why do they look so hauntingly familiar? He needed to investigate. Aeonar was intimately acquainted with the layout of the Red Keep, but as he navigated its winding corridors and opened door after door, he felt an unsettling sense of déjà vu, as if he were trapped in a loop. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and candle wax, and the flickering torches cast long shadows that danced along the walls, creating a haunting yet familiar atmosphere.
With Blackfyre drawn and ready, Aeonar continued his investigation, yet the halls were eerily empty. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the distant echo of his own footsteps. Those he encountered seemed oblivious to his presence, their faces blurred, their conversations muted and indistinct. It was as if he were a ghost wandering through a world that had moved on without him. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on him, and he felt a growing sense of isolation as if he were the last remnant of a forgotten era.
"What is this…?"
Only when a soft, melodic humming reached Aeonar's ears did he feel an inexplicable pull guiding him toward the source of the sound. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, weaving through the air like a silken thread, drawing him followed the sound, his instincts sharpening, each step cautious, uncertain of what to expect from the other side of the door. Following the sound to its source, Aeonar slowly pushed the door open to find a woman and a child.
"That's it. Come on, Jay. Come to auntie~," the young woman cooed.
Aeonar cautiously inched closer, his fingers tightly wrapped around the hilt of Blackfyre as he examined the pair closely. He finally froze when he recognized who they were! "Rhaenyra?" he called out, his voice mixed with confusion and a hint of surprise.
However, the Rhaenyra standing before him appeared significantly younger, merely nineteen years of age. He could easily recognize his younger sister from their youth. And the little boy who tottered toward her with curious eyes was none other than his own son, Jaehaerys. But a perplexing thought struck him—why did his heir look so small? Aeonar was sure that his eldest son had reached the age of twenty, not three. The boy's small stature and innocence seemed to mock the passage of time, a cruel trick played by fate. He had envisioned Jaehaerys as a young man, intelligent, capable, and wise beyond his years, ready to take on the responsibilities of the crown. Yet here he was, nestled comfortably in Rhaenyra's lap, blissfully unaware of the confusion swirling around , with her gentle touch and warm smile, cradled Jaehaerys as if her nephew were the most precious treasure in the world. What in Seven hells was going on here? How could time have betrayed him so? Had he truly lost years in the blink of an eye, or was this a cruel illusion crafted by the whims of destiny?
Before long, the humming stopped.
"Always expecting more than what we could give, weren't you? Demanding that we take our duties and responsibilities more seriously. But no matter what we did, no matter how hard we tried, it would never be good enough for you," the younger Rhaenyra taunted him, looking over her shoulder and up at her much older brother. "I loved you. And you always blamed me for our problems." She turned away from Aeonar and redirected her attention to her sleeping nephew, humming him a lullaby.
Aeonar stood in silence, unable to find the right words to express the overwhelming emotions gripping him. "I…" A subtle but unmistakable sensation tugged at the back of his mind as he gazed ahead, signaling that something was amiss.
« I'm not done with you yet. This is just the beginning. »
Before Aeonar could grasp what was happening, an unseen force violently seized him by his feet, dragging him backward into the oppressive darkness. Completely disoriented, he could see nothing, and his mind raced with apprehension about what awaited him in this unknown realm.
Chapter End
Author's Note: Here we go, guys! The first part of Aeonar's spiritual journey has begun. And care to guess who he was talking to based on the description of his physical appearance? And what do you think will happen in the next chapter?
Dante 101: Was it worth it Aeonar? All of it? Was it worth the price? Deep down, I think Aeonar knows that it wasn't. Not entirely. Am I wrong?
He may have been in a no win situation but the fact remains is that Viserys chose to sacrifice Aemma . What's worse is that Aemma had no control over her own body when she was cut open like a pig. Had Viserys explained to her what was to happen, to give her a choice. Had he decided to give Rhaenyra & Aeonar the chance to say goodbye, a lot of the trauma could've been avoided. But he didn't do either of those things, it was by his order alone that his wife died.
It's not Young Rhaenyra that Aenoar will see. It's Viserys, Aemma, Young Alicent, Viserys & Daeron.
1) Is this AU (for this fic) Bloodraven or Sacred Timeline Bloodraven?
―AU Bloodraven
2) Why did Viserys choose to marry Beatrice again?
―It wasn't his choice; he had to further propogate the royal line. But Beatrice was clever to seduce the king.
3) Why not do this whole storyline in one chapter?
―Because it'll take too long and there's a lot of demand
4) What will the result of this storyline be?
―No comment
i) Will Aeonar change?
―I'll leave it up to you
5) How will Rhaenyra react to Daemon's death?
―She won't be happy
6) Why did Aeonar fall in love with Alicent?
―They grew up together
7) Why did Alicent fall in love with Aeonar?
―They grew up together
randomdude24: So begins Aeonar journey into his mistakes and who he became. Now the question can he accept the monster he has become and try to set things right before the end? Guess we will see.
Looks like Bloodraven is talking with him and trying to help him. Interesting way to approach it, not sure if the show did something like this since I decided not to watch anymore. Either way, curious why he even cares to guide him, as he doesn't exist until many years later.
I am looking forward into these next chapters on Aeonar's journey!
Questions,
If I'm wrong on who is talking with Aeonar, please correct me. Its looks like Bloodraven, so why is he helping or talking to him?
―Brynden Rivers, the Bloodraven
In this AU, is Bloodraven related to Aeonar in any way? If so how?
―There's a speculation that Bloodraven could either by Aeonar's future grandson or great-grandnephew. I'll leave that up to you guys.
How many chapters are you planning for this journey?
―It'll vary
Just curious do you have any chapters planned to be centered around Aegon Waters? Been wondering what he's been up to
―I'm still thinking about how to do it
mpowers045: Hey since they're making Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, would you make that a sequel to Fire and Blood after finishing it and when they finally have it on air next year?
―I'll think about it.
Jedi Knight Ryan: Well, well, well our dear friend Bloodraven makes his appearance.