The Riverlands — Near Harrenhal

"*GASP!* *huff* *huff*" Aeonar suddenly inhaled sharply, his eyes snapping open instantly as if awakening from a deep slumber. The world around him came rushing back in fragments, a kaleidoscope of sensations that felt familiar yet so foreign. He had no clear idea of how long he had been out of it, but he could sense that time had moved on, evidenced by the rustling leaves stirred by the wind and the ominous clouds looming overhead, dark and heavy like a shroud. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and impending rain, a stark reminder of nature's relentless march. The air rushed into his lungs, invigorating yet overwhelming, tasted of moisture and decay, and he tried to stand up, pushing against the ground for support. The soil felt cold, muddy, and wet beneath his palms. However, as he tried to stand, he struck his head harder than anticipated against a low-hanging branch, a sudden jolt of pain radiating through his skull. The impact left him feeling dizzy and disoriented as if the very fabric of reality had shifted around him. "Ngh!" he groaned, the sound barely escaping his lips. A loud ringing filled his ears, drowning out the symphony of nature that surrounded him. His head throbbed with a heavy ache, his vision swam in and out of focus, the world around him a hazy blur of greens and browns, and every sound seemed wrapped in a thick blanket of muffled confusion. The rustling leaves transformed into a distant murmur, birds chirping became a faint echo, and even the gentle rustle of the wind felt like a whisper from another realm.

As Aeonar lay there, struggling to regain his bearings, fragments of memory began to flicker in his mind like the dying embers of a fire. Faces, places, and moments danced out of reach, teasing him with their familiarity. He could almost grasp them, but they slipped away like grains of sand through his fingers.

« If you wish for House Targaryen to stand against the cold, completely intact, you must first learn to let go… and accept the truth. »

« It's not too late, father, to be different… than him. »

Aeonar swore he was on the verge of losing it again. Everything he experienced in his unconsciousness felt incredibly real as if his mind had become more vivid. He saw visions and the ethereal forms of those he knew—people from his past, present, and even future. All of it was overwhelming. With a deep breath, he focused on the sensations around him. The cool earth beneath his palms, the scent of damp moss mingled with the air's crispness, and the distant rumble of thunder hinted at an approaching storm. Each detail anchored him, pulling him back from the precipice of confusion. He blinked rapidly, willing his vision to clear, but the blurriness and almost deafening ringing in his ears still hit.

All the Young Dragon could do was crawl.

With his fingers sinking into the damp earth, Aeonar painstakingly dragged himself toward the shoreline of the Gods Eye. Each movement felt laborious as if the very ground beneath him conspired to hold him back. His body felt very heavy, and his hands struggled to find purchase on the slick surface with mud and moisture. Yet, despite the overwhelming fatigue, he continued to pull himself forward, inch by agonizing inch. As Aeonar neared the water, the rhythmic lapping of the waves beckoned him, a siren call that both soothed and tormented his weary soul. Then, he saw his reflection shimmering on the water's surface. The vibrant blood-red ringlets that had once encircled his limbal rings had faded, returning to their original milky-white hue. His signature pale lilac tones, once a source of rarity and captivation, had reemerged, but they felt like mere echoes of the person he once was, a shell of his former self.

It's not the same…

However, what struck Aeonar most was the expression on his face, distorted and fragmented in the rippling water. It was a visage marked by profound pain, an overwhelming sense of loss, and deep grief from the deaths of his father and two of his sons that seemed to seep from his very pores. He felt utterly shattered, as if the pieces of his soul had been scattered across the winds of fate, leaving him a hollow shell of the person he used to be. Everything he had fought tirelessly to achieve—the family he had desperately tried to preserve, the ambitions he had nurtured with such fervor—was gone, scattered like ashes in the wind.

Father, mother… Viserys, Daeron… My boys, oh, my boys… What have I done?

How could he possibly face those who've been left behind? The thought twisted in his gut like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting as Aeonar mentally envisioned their faces, filled with questions he could not answer, with hopes he could no longer fulfill, the crushing pressure of their unspoken disappointment. The weight of his failures pressed down on him, a heavy shroud that threatened to suffocate any flicker of hope within him. Aeonar had been their brother, husband, father, protector, and champion; now, he felt like a traitor who had abandoned them and tossed aside his ideals all to exact his revenge on those who wronged him.

Rhaenyra, Alicent… my sweet Alicent… I-I'm so sorry…

As Aeonar lay in a state of despair, the thunderous roar of waves colliding with the shore not too far from him reached his ears. Slowly raising his head, he turned to see Caraxes slowly pulling himself out of the water and onto dry land, even though his entrails were falling out and one of his wings had been torn clean off. The Blood Wyrm survived the impact, but Aeonar could see no sign of Vhagar, Daemon, or Aemond. Neither man nor dragon could've survived such a fall from that height. All Aeonar could see was the lake, its surface a churning cauldron of deep crimson, as dragon blood mingled with the water. A thick, steamy fog rose in swirling tendrils, releasing a hissing sound that echoed across the stillness. Here and there, fish bobbed lifelessly, their scales glinting in the dim moonlight, creating a haunting tableau of death amidst the unnatural scene.

"*Hrrrrr… Hrrrr… Hrrrr…*" Caraxes wheezed weakly, dragging himself slowly before collapsing on the ground facing the walls of Harrenhal. As his life slowly ebbed away, Caraxes gave a final, resounding screech that echoed through the Gods Eye, a powerful proclamation of triumph even in his last moments. The roar carried the weight of his battles, a testament to his fierce temperament. "*Re-REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…!*" Within mere moments, his eyes dulled and closed forever. Caraxes, known as the Blood Wyrm, first claimed by Prince Aemon Targaryen and later by Prince Daemon, lay lifeless, a tragic end for a dragon that had been the most aggressive among his kin.

Aeonar, his palms pressed firmly against the muddy ground to maintain his balance, looked on as he realized that Caraxes was dead. The persistent ringing in his ears nearly overwhelmed his senses, rendering all sounds muffled and distant, while his blurred vision distorted the reality around him, making it seem almost dreamlike. Shadows danced at the edges of his perception, and the world felt as if it were spinning, further disorienting him. Still, even he couldn't comprehend that the fearsome Blood Wyrm was dead. "Daemon…" he called out, his voice raspy and strained, the sharp ache in his chest making each struggle for a breath feel like a laborious task. However, there was no sign of his uncle anywhere. "Daemon!" he croaked again, but he was all met with an eerie silence. Daemon… Kepus… (Uncle…)

The air crackled with tension as thunder boomed in the distance, reverberating off the hills and echoing through the Riverlands. Jagged flashes of lightning bolts shot across the darkening sky, illuminating the landscape in brief, blinding bursts of light. The dark clouds, heavy with moisture, began to release their burden, and soon, the relentless downpour commenced. Raindrops fell like a waterfall, drenching the earth and turning the riverbanks into a slick, muddy terrain as the severe storm unleashed its fury upon the Riverlands, the winds howling like a restless spirit caught in the tempest.

"*Hurrrr… Hurrr… Hurrr…*"

Though his sense of hearing had not wholly returned, Aeonar felt a deep, resonant rumble pulsing through the ground beneath his palms. The vibrations traveled through his body, up along his spine, and into his inner ear. With painstaking effort, Aeonar turned his head to the right. As he finally caught sight of his own dragon, a surge of emotions flooded through him. "Vaelor…" he gasped, the name barely escaping his lips. His chest tightened with every shallow breath, a relentless struggle to expand his lungs and draw in air.

"*Hurrrr… Hurrr… Hurrr…*" Vaelor, although seriously wounded, was still alive. His growls came out as low, nearly inaudible whispers, resembling a faint rattling sound that echoed through the stillness of the surrounding forest. Each breath he took was labored, a struggle against the pain that coursed through his massive body. The dragon bore the scars of his battle against Vhagar, with deep scratches and claw marks marring his flanks, chest, and underbelly, spanning nearly seven feet in length; his right horn had been viciously bitten off, leaving behind a jagged, painful stump along his head; specific areas of his wing membranes his were torn and had little holes in them; crimson eye flickered dimly, clouded by pain and exhaustion. Each labored breath he took was a struggle. And fresh blood still oozed from his wounds, each hot and smoking. The steaming black liquid pooled beneath him, soaking into the earth and mingling with the fallen leaves and mud. The Swiftrunner was still alive but looked like he was clinging to life. "*Hurrrr… Hurrr… Hurrr…*"

"Vaelor…" Aeonar murmured, his voice barely audible as he strained to push himself upright. Each movement was a struggle, his body trembling with effort. The lingering effects of his concussion clouded his thoughts, causing the world around him to spin in a dizzying blur. He paused, swaying unsteadily, trying to regain his balance while confusion washed over him like a heavy fog. "Valor… (Vaelor…) Ju-Jumbari… (W-Wait…) Māzīlare…! (I'm coming…!)" He moved slowly, taking several unsteady steps forward, his body trembling with each effort. Just as Aeonar began to regain his balance, a sudden wave of nausea washed over him. In that moment of weakness, Aeonar stumbled, losing his footing entirely. He crashed to the ground, his face colliding harshly with the cold, wet mud. The rain from the relentless thunderstorm poured down around him, each drop mingling with the dirt on his skin.

"*Hurrrr… Hurrr… Hurrr…*"

Vaelor… No, Vaelor. I won't let you die here… "Gak!" Aeonar gasped, a sharp pain radiating through his ribcage with each breath. With great effort, he clawed at the earth, his fingers sinking into the muck as he slowly dragged his weary and battered body closer to his dragon. Each movement sent agony through his body, but seeing his dragon before him kept him going. Vaelor's egg had been nestled in his cradle since infancy, and when it finally hatched within a mere three months, the world before him had shifted. Since then, the bond between Aeonar and Vaelor had been unbreakable; they were always seen side by side—whether they were training in the Dragonpit or flying through the skies with the wind whipping through their faces. He watched his dragon grow from a hatchling the size of a cat, one who'd fit snugly in the crook of his arm, to become one of the largest in the world with wings spanning wide enough to cast a shadow over the ground below in such a short period. To him, Vaelor was not merely a dragon or a companion; he was a true friend who understood him better in ways no human ever could. But now, as he lay in the mud, the acrid scent and hot steam of dragon blood filling the air, Aeonar refused to let Vaelor die in this place.

With every ounce of strength he could muster, Aeonar pushed himself forward, the pain in his ribs screaming for him to stop and his head throbbing with such agonizing discomfort, but he refused to back down.

"Ngh! Gaah, ow!"

"*Hurrrr… Hurrr… Hurrr…*"

As he dragged himself closer, Aeonar eventually reached Vaelor's side. He gently rested one hand on the dragon's snout, feeling the warmth radiating from Vaelor's massive form. The heat of the dragon's breath enveloped his face. Aeonar tenderly caressed the Vaelor's face with his other hand, his fingers gliding over the Swiftrunner's textured scales. Rather than rising to his feet, Aeonar chose to stay on his knees, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. His body ached from the exertion, every muscle protesting as he remained in this position. Tired, battered, and bruised by the struggles he had faced, both physically and emotionally, he lowered his head onto Vaelor's snout. "Daor… Glaesa daor… (You… You're alive…)"

Vaelor's eyelids flickered gently as he subtly detected both the sound and the familiar scent of his rider nearby. It was as if the very act of keeping them open was a challenge. "*Hurrrr… Hurrr… Hurrr…*" Each sound resonated through the air, a deep vibration that echoed the fatigue coursing through his massive frame. The Swiftrunner's exhaustion was unmistakable, evident in how he communicated that he was tired. His great wings lay heavily against his sides, his tail curled, and the gash on one of his legs made him lying down uncomfortable. It wasn't that Vaelor couldn't move; it was just too painful. He had given everything he had in his fight against Vhagar.

Aeonar stayed pressed against Vaelor's face. However, as a lightning bolt streaked through the sky, he caught sight of something protruding from the other eye of his dragon. It was the dagger that Daemon had hurled at Vaelor, a desperate attempt to force him to break the deathlock just before he fell with Vhagar and Caraxes into the depths of the Gods Eye. "Ngh! Let me… Let me remove the blade," he groaned. Gradually adjusting his position, Aeonar maneuvered himself to the opposite side of his dragon. He observed that the dagger had penetrated the most delicate layer of the eye, with the dark, heated, and steaming dragon blood oozing down Vaelor's face. The pain from the dagger was so intense that Vaelor could not even shut his other eye. "Bisa… (This…) Bisa jāre ōdris. (This is going to hurt.)" he warned.

Vaelor felt too tired and in pain to move. However, picking up Aeonar's scent, he knew where his rider was. Upon hearing his words, the Swiftrunner growled weakly, preparing himself for what would come.

Aeonar extended his hand and firmly grasped the dagger's hilt, sensing a subtle shift and tension in Vaelor's head. Their mental bond was powerful, allowing him to experience his dragon's agony as if it were his own. With a steadying breath, Aeonar swiftly withdrew the blade from Vaelor's eye.

"*REERARAAAOAAOAAAA!*" Vaelor roared in pain as the blade was finally pulled out, but the damage was done; he could not see from one side, leaving only his left eye functioning. Overwhelmed by the pain, he let his head fall back to the ground, causing the heavy thud's impact to send tremors through the muddy soil beneath him. "*Hurrrr… Hurrr… Hurrr…*"

Aeonar released the blood-soaked dagger, watching it plop into the muck as he sank back onto his knees. With a deep breath, he steadied himself, feeling the cold, wet earth beneath him, and began to crawl toward the other side so his dragon could see him, driven by the urgent need to reassure Vaelor that he would not abandon him amidst the raging thunderstorm. The booming thunder reverberated through the air, a primal roar that seemed to mock his struggle. With every crack of lightning that illuminated the darkened sky, he caught fleeting glimpses of the world around him—twisted trees, the glistening surface of the mud, and the distant silhouette of the cliff that loomed ominously above. The jagged flashes cast an unsettling shadow over their surroundings, warping reality into something nightmarish. Despite the winds violently howling against him, the cold stinging rain lashing against his skin like needles, and the menacing crackle of thunder and lightning that enveloped them. "It's my fault you're in this condition," he whispered, laying his head on his dragon's face, brushing his palms against his scales. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones. "I… I lost control. Of everything." Aeonar hadn't bothered speaking High Valyrian at this point, not even caring whether or not Vaelor understood what he was saying. "By holding on to deep, bitter grudges… inability to let go of it all… and to mend bridges when I had the chance, I… I let things spiral out of control, Vaelor."

"*Hurrrr… Hurrr… Hurrr…*" Vaelor rumbled silently, his lone remaining eye flickering as he looked upon his rider.

"My mother, father, great-grandfather… my sons… everyone… I gave them my word. And I… I let everyone down. Revenge, Vaelor… it's like a poison. It seeps into your veins like poison, a slow and insidious invader that masquerades as justice. It whispers sweet promises of satisfaction, of closure, but in truth, it consumes you gradually, gnawing away at your very essence. By the time you realize its grip, it's already too late; you are ensnared in a web of your own making." Aeonar brushed his hand across the Swiftrunner's snout. "So much death," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing all of it… it almost destroyed you too, Vaelor. I'll never… forgive myself for causing all of it to happen. Because I let it happen."

Vaelor slowly closed his lone remaining eye, his breath a fragile sigh escaping through his nostrils, heavy with exhaustion and the weight of his injuries. Blood, dark and viscous, stained the ground around him. Despite the throbbing pain that coursed through his body, a sense of serenity washed over him, knowing that Aeonar remained by his side in this fleeting moment of stillness. Their bond was a soothing balm against his wounds, wrapping around him like a protective shroud.

"I will never be able to forgive myself for the role I played in this." Aeonar felt a chill. The storm wouldn't let up. "Fuck… Vaelor… you are more… than just a dragon to me. More than a companion. No… You…" He coughed hard, struggling to take a breath. "You're family, Vaelor… And you always will be."

Despite the roaring winds and torrential rain that lashed around them, Aeonar steadfastly remained by Vaelor's side throughout the stormy night. The icy droplets, like spears of crystal, pierced through his armor, causing his body to shudder and tremble from the biting cold. Yet, he stayed. Unbeknownst to Aeonar, Vaelor weakly but instinctively curls his left wing around him, creating a protective barrier against the relentless rain that poured from the darkened sky that mingled with the distant rumble of thunder. In his own way, the Swiftrunner was still trying to keep Aeonar warm and protect him from the elements. It was as if Vaelor understood every word Aeonar was saying and what was running through his mind right now. Despite being a dragon, Vaelor might be a dragon, but he had profound insight into Aeonar, perhaps even more than Aeonar understood himself. It was as if the dragon could sense the very essence of Aeonar's soul, reading the unspoken fears and dreams that lay hidden beneath the surface. With his crimson eye flickering, the Swiftrunner kept a close watch on Aeonar Targaryen through the night. It was as if the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them—dragon and rider—bound by an unbreakable thread of trust and understanding. As the rain continued to fall, a cascade of memories from Vaelor's early days as a hatchling surged through his consciousness.

« Ziry iksos sepār ao se nyke daor se vys, Valor. Īlon moriot hēnkirī iksa! (It's just you and me against the world, Vaelor. We'll always be together!) »


Chapter End


Author's Note: Upon waking up and seemingly breaking free from the Targaryen madness, Aeonar is left to stew over everything that's happened. Although we saw Caraxes drag himself out of the Gods Eye, it was time to give him a send off befitting a dragon such as him. As for Vaelor? Well, he's still alive, but he's badly wounded. Determined to reach his dragon, Aeonar crawled his way through mud and rain to get to him but he did before pouring his heart out. Don't worry; Vaelor seems to understand what's going on. What do you think will happen next chapter?

On that note, Happy Halloween everyone!

romanomichael391: And so Aeonar has finally snapped from his madness, although, it's already too late. The sheer amount of atrocities Aeonar has commited at this point will eventually come back at him. With the news of Vhagar, Caraxes, and Vaelor having most likely been seen fighting and falling from the sky, those in Kings Landing would most likely assume all the combatants are dead considering that Vaelor and Aeonar are nowhere near able to return to Kings Landing in their current state, now that 3 of the largest dragons are presumed dead as well as the presumed death of King Aeonar, it would leave a power vacuum that would leave the capital in a precarious state as Jaehaerys would need to be coronated and the war with the caltrops to be ended. The perfect time for the Shepherd to make his move, without the threat of Caraxes, Vaelor, Daemon and Aeonar, and the upheaval with the presumed death of Aeonar, it would allow the Shepherd to rally the smallfolk of Kings Landing who are already very unhappy with the state of the Seven Kingdoms, without the everlooming threat of Aeonar burning them all, their unhappiness could very well lead to The Storming Of The Dragonpit, although I highly doubt they would be completely successful like in the book, the presence of Vermithor and Silverwing in the dragonpit would be enough to stop the rioters, but I wouldnt be surprised if any of the younger dragons are killed.

C.E.W: So King Aeonar Targaryen is finally seeing the error of his ways since Daeron died, he sees how his hatred and desire for revenge ruined his family. He pushed everyone away, his children, his sister, nephews and even his beloved wife Alicent. Many people have died in the civil war that has devastated the realm. With Aemond and Vhagar dead, the end of the war is close but in the end it may not matter as the damage is already done.

With Vhagar dead, Vaelor is now the undisputed alpha of the dragons. Closest one to rivaling him is Vermithor the Bronze Fury.

Aeonar and Vaelor won't be going anywhere... not for a while. Begs the question on what they are going to do in the meantime. Alys Rivers and the remaining Caltrop garrison might still be close by. Cregan Stark and his host are getting closer and closer to Harrenhal. Perhaps Aeonar might greet Cregan when he arrives.

Questions:

How does Vaelor feel about Vhagar's death?

—The end of an era

Are Alys Rivers and her guards still close by Aeonar and Vaelor?

—No

Will Aeonar recover Dark Sister?

—Impossible right now; the water is too deep

Are Rhaena and the young ones still alright in the Vale?

—Yes

Dante 101: 1) Why was Otto chosen as Aeonar's Hand?

—Aeonar chose Otto because of his political acumen and intellect, but mostly because of his prior experience as Hand to his father and great-grandfather

2) Why did you spare Luke from dying at Storm's End, only to kill him off later?

—It's a Song of Ice and Fire universe in a what-if scenario, what do you think? All it did was delay the inevitable

3) Will there ever be a Dragon pov?

—I'm thinking about it

4) How successful will Aeonar be at his attempts to reconcile with his family?

—It'll be hard

5) How long was Aeonar knocked out for?

—2 days; I mentioned that in my last chapter

i) Are there any long term injuries he sustained?

—If you've ever had a concussion, you'll know that anyone will experience nausea, blurred vision, ringing in the ears, difficulty concentrating, memory loss, etc.

6) Has anyone been sent to look for them?

—No comment

7) Have you determined what the final arc of his story will be?

—I'm still working on it and looking at ideas