Pentos: 289 AC: 5 Years Later:
The sun hung high over the bustling streets of Pentos, casting a warm glow over the vibrant city. The air was filled with the scent of exotic spices and the lively chatter of merchants hawking their wares. Among the throng of people, a young Viserys Targaryen, just thirteen name-days old, walked with narrowed yet calm eyes, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. His black and deep red doublet absorbed the sun like a sponge, whereas his recently forged sword reflected it like a mirror, as it hung lazily on his hip.
Beside him, the imposing yet protective figure of Arthur Dayne strode with a watchful gaze. Despite his relaxed demeanor for Viserys' sake, his eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, ever vigilant. Arthur had promised to his mother to keep him safe whilst they roamed the city. This was not the first time they had been out together like this and it certainly wouldn't be their last, as Arthur intended for Viserys to grow into a fine young man and experience the city he had dwelled in these last five years.
In the air, Arthur could hear the gentle flaps of wings and someone could be forgiven if they had thought it was a flock of birds, migrating somewhere for the changing seasons. However, Arthur knew that it was not and that Cloudiver's watchful eye was forever upon them as they walked together.
"A fine day, Arthur, is it not?" Viserys smiled at the knight beside him, his lilac eyes narrowing in the sunlight.
"It is, my Prince." Arthur smiled back, his hands never far from Dawn as it rested on his back. "Remember, your mother sent you out here so that you can buy things for your sister's name-day."
"I know, I know, I'm looking," Viserys mumbled as his lilac eyes scanned the shops. His attention was soon drawn to a nearby smithy, which had fearsome weapons and bright shining armor displayed for all to see. They ranged from Dothraki arakh's to Westerosi longsword and everything in between. Smiling to himself, Viserys had Arthur follow him inside and they both took in the wonderous sights of war before them.
The weary blacksmith inside was very quickly drawn to his rich-looking customers, especially Viserys' long silver hair. He knew who they both were as did the whole of Pentos by now, thanks to the two dragons that often circled the city. "Ah, my Lords! How can I help you today?" He asked, wiping his hands free from the grime and grease that covered them.
Arthur turned to the blacksmith, his blue eyes piercing the man with an uneasy stare. "We're looking for something for his sister. It's her name-day soon and we need something appropriate." He smiled, putting the blacksmith at ease.
"I was thinking a dagger of some sort," Viserys called out from the back of the shop, his hands gliding softly over the row of swords before him.
"A dagger, my Prince? For the Princess?" The blacksmith questioned, his mind racing on what to pick out for them.
"Indeed, my friend. I don't suppose you have some lying around for us to look at?" Arthur replied, his eyes scanning the weapons that dangled off of the wooden beams that supported the shop's roofing.
"I have a selection." The blacksmith recalled, quickly moving to the back of the shop and out of sight. Arthur could hear the rustling and clanging of steel as the blacksmith went about his search. He beckoned Viserys over towards his side and the two watched down the blacksmith appear from the back rooms with his arms enwrapped around a heavy brown wood chest. He placed it down with a bellowing thud, as he stepped back and opened it.
Viserys and Arthur peered inside and marveled at the daggers that were there. The blacksmith began to place them out one by one and each one was different. Some were straight and some were curved, and even some of the steel on a few of the daggers was darker than all the others. Viserys smiled at the carvings and intricate designs of them all until one caught his and Arthurs' eye.
"That one. Let me have a closer look." Viserys smiled, as the blacksmith passed him the blade he had requested. His delicate hands ran the course of the intricate engravings that ran the course of the blade, as his other hand grasped the ivory handle. "I like this one. What do you think, Arthur?" Viserys said as he passed the blade to Arthur, who twirled the dagger around in his hand as if he was a knife juggler that you would see in a troupe of mummers.
The sight always made Viserys smile, and it often proved to him just how much he still had to learn from the Sword of the Morning as he could not do what Arthur did with the dagger lest he cut himself like a fool. "A fine blade. The engravings are a masterwork." Arthur admired, as he passed the blade back to Viserys. "The grip too. It reminds me of her hair."
"Hence why I like it. How much?" Viserys asked toward the beaming blacksmith.
"Oh, for you, my Prince, you can have it for free as a gift from myself to your family and sweet Daenerys." The blacksmith smiled.
Arthur immediately stepped in and took the coin purse that dangled in the side of Viserys' hip and began to rummage through it. "How much?" Arthur said sternly.
"Ser, please take it as my gift." The blacksmith smiled once more.
"No, he needs to learn that not everything is free because of his birth, now how much?" Arthur asked again, his eyes on a thankless Viserys.
"Oh, well if you insist, five gold coins would do."
"Here." Arthur sighed, as he handed over the Pentoshi gold coins to the blacksmith.
As the twilight deepened, Arthur and Viserys walked side by side through the winding streets of Pentos, the warm glow of lanterns guiding their way back to Illyrio's manse, all the while Arthur had to explain to Viserys why he needed to pay for things without using his position as a Prince who owns a dragon to just get what he wants. Viserys agreed with Arthur as they entered the gates of the manse together.
As they walked through the courtyard, Viserys smiled as he saw Cloudiver land on a nearby rooftop, his weight displacing some of the tiles as he did so. The dark gold dragon let out an ear-piercing roar which was reciprocated by Vēdros, who flew overhead. Both dragons were now nearing their sixth year since being hatched and whilst not being big enough to be ridden properly, much to Viserys' displeasure, they were both nearly as large as elephants at this point.
As Arthur and Viserys walked through Illyrio's manse, the opulence of the place was evident in every corner. The polished marble floors gleamed underfoot, reflecting the soft glow of the ornate chandeliers overhead. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of ancient Valyria and the glory of dragons. It seemed that Illyrio's wealth had only increased since they had arrived at his manse all those years.
Finally, both of them entered the great dining hall that held all of their friends and family. Arthur's eyes scanned the room to see all his sworn brothers in a circle, making japes with one another. He looked to the other side of the enormous room to see Rhaella and Bonifer in a deep conversation with Illyrio. He looked once more to see Aemon and Daenerys playing with each other near the fireplace, their faces emblazoned with childish joy.
Arthur looked down at Viserys and noticed that he couldn't help but smile at the camaraderie among the knights, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging. Arthur, with a knowing glance, gently guided the young prince toward the group, their presence adding to the light-hearted atmosphere. The knights greeted them with friendly nods, their laughter momentarily pausing as they welcomed their friends into the fold.
"Ah, the young Dragon Prince, we are glad to see you back." Jaime smiled, as he placed a welcoming hand on the shoulder of Viserys. The past five years had done nothing to wear away the ethereal beauty of Jaime and Arthur often wondered if the sun of Essos made his shoulder-length golden hair brighter. "Did you get something for your sister?"
"I did, Ser Jaime, this dagger." Viserys grinned as he held out the exquisite dagger. All of the men marveled at the blade as if they were young boys looking through a shop window.
"A fine blade, my Prince." Barristan nodded. The past five years may have been more evident on the face of Barristan as the lines had become clearer now that had entered his fiftieth year. "Where did you get it?"
"The blacksmiths a few streets from here," Arthur answered.
"Ah, I know the place. I had my armor made there a year ago." Richard grinned. His face had become more mature in the past years as his facial hair grew into a more subtle deep brown and his hair itself grew longer.
After a brief moment of silence, Arthur spoke up, his gaze directed towards Aemon. "How is the King?"
"He is well, Arthur. Rhaella tells me that Illyrio has hired a teacher for him to help with his Valyrian." Barristan smiled as he looked towards Aemon.
Arthur smiled at the sight of the young King. Aemon had grown very well these past years and now sported short curly black hair, which was far different from Daenerys' long silver hair. "What of Rhaella and Illyrio?" Arthur asked, his gaze shifting towards them.
"Something has happened in Westeros," Jaime explained. "A rebellion we believe."
"A rebellion? By who?" Arthur gasped.
"The Ironborn," Willem interjected. "It seems we're not the only ones who are upset with Robert's rule."
As Rhaella and Bonifer stood engaged in conversation with Illyrio, her expression a mix of calm determination and subtle worry, Arthur watched from a short distance, his brows furrowed with deep concern. The grandiose surroundings of Illyrio's manse seemed to fade into the background as Arthur's focus remained solely on Rhaella. He wondered what this could mean for them and if the chance to strike and make their way home was fast approaching.
The Sunset Sea: 289 AC: 1 Week Later:
Under a sky heavy with storm clouds, Victarion Greyjoy led the Ironborn fleet with grim determination, steering towards the Lannister ships anchored in Lannisport. The sea churned angrily, mirroring the ferocity of the Ironborn warriors preparing for the assault. Victarion's eyes gleamed with a fiery intensity as he stood at the prow of his flagship, Iron Victory. The wind whipped his long hair and salt-stained cloak, but his focus never wavered. He raised his arm, signaling the attack. The Ironborn warriors, seasoned and brutal, sprang into action with deadly precision.
Around fifty ships were at his command and each one of them loosed volley after volley of fire arrows at the thirty or so ships anchored at Lannisport. Masts burned and sails were set alight like candles in the night as each arrow struck home and soon the air was filled with the screams of burning sailors and dying men. Victarion himself sailed close to Tywin Lannister's flagship and set the thing alight with a well-thrown torch.
The rest of the ships in his fleet followed his example and soon enough, the entirety of the Lannister fleet was burning. The heat was almost unbearable and even Victarion could feel it as he sailed away from the destruction he had just wrought. His flagship pulled further and further away into the sea as he watched the blaze become bigger and bigger.
This was a massive blow to the Lannisters and their capability to wage war against their righteous claim. All Vicatrion hoped, for now, was that his brothers and family were as equally successful as he was.
Seagard: 289 AC: 2 Days Later:
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a crimson hue across the turbulent sea, Rodrik Greyjoy stood at the prow of his longship, Iron Storm, his gaze fixed on the distant silhouette of Seagard. The coastal fortress loomed ominously against the darkening sky, its walls a testament to the strength and resolve of the mainlanders. Rodrik's face was set in a mask of grim determination. The salty breeze whipped his hair, and the rhythmic creaking of the ship's timbers blended with the distant crash of waves against the shore. Behind him, the Ironborn warriors readied themselves for the impending assault, their eyes gleaming with the promise of battle and plunder.
Rodri turned to his men, their eyes full of fury and hopeful expectation. "We take Seagard and hold it against any who come for us! For the King!" He yelled to them, his arm raised high in the air with his sword in hand.
"For the King." His men yelled back at him.
Soon enough their ships crashed into the shore of Seagard and all at once the Ironborn warriors disembarked and made their way onto the land. Their hearing was soon shattered by the sound of the bronze bell of the booming tower, which signified to the Ironborn that the Greenlanders were most certainly aware of their presence. Steadying himself, Rodrik led his men into Seagard itself.
They had cut their way through the streets of Seagard and were soon at the castle where they met the Mallister host, their white eagle banner flying high proudly, beneath the castle walls. The two parties crashed into one another and whilst Rodrik's men fought fiercely and were perhaps the better warriors yet they could not deal with the heavily armored knights of the Mallisters and the weight of their advance. One by one, Rodrik watched his reavers fall to the knight until he stood in front of a man draped in the Mallister banner.
"Greyjoy! I'll fucking end you!" The man yelled at him, his voice slightly muffled by his helm.
"And who are you? Some highborn lord who thinks he can end the heir to Pyke?" Rodrik yelled back, a smug smile appearing on his face as he did so.
"Jason Mallister to you, Ironborn scum."
"Come then, Mallister, come and die."
Amidst the chaotic clamor of battle, the two men clashed with ferocious intensity. The battlements of Seagard provided a stark and bloodied backdrop to their fierce duel. Jason's polished armor gleamed in the dim light, every movement precise and calculated. Rodrik, a formidable force of raw power and relentless fury, wielded his sword with deadly intent. The clash of steel rang out, each strike a testament to their skill and resolve. Jason parried Rodrik's brutal swings with measured precision, his experience and training evident in every move. Rodrik's relentless assault, though wild and unorthodox, kept Jason on his guard, pushing him to his limits.
The battle raged on, both men displaying remarkable endurance and tenacity. Blood and sweat mingled, the ground beneath them slick and treacherous. With a final, decisive move, Jason disarmed Rodrik, knocking his sword aside. In a swift and powerful strike, Jason delivered the fatal blow, piercing his chainmail armor with ease, the sword appearing through his black, covered in blood and sinew.
Rodrik fell to the ground, his lifeless body a grim testament to the ferocity of their encounter. Jason stood over him, breathing heavily, the weight of the battle and its outcome settling upon his shoulders. He looked up and saw the Ironborn reavers fleeing at the sight of their commander falling dead on the ground. He gave the order for them to be driven back to the sea from whence they came, as his men began to do so.
After a mere few moments, the ironborn had been driven back to their ships. Jason ordered for them to be set alight before they could escape, however, some managed to much to Jason's displeasure. He stood there on the shore, watching the handful of ships limp away back into the sea, as his moment turned to the vile retribution he hoped Robert would lay upon them for attempting to rebel against his rule.
Fair Isle: 289 AC: 1 Week Later:
The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting an eerie glow upon the churning waters of Fair Isle. Victarion stood on the deck of his longship, his hands gripping the rail as he surveyed the scene before him. The Iron fleet had been sailing to raid the fertile lands of the Westerlands, but now they found themselves cornered by the royal fleet, led by the iron-willed Stannis Baratheon. How he had allowed this to happen was beyond him and it turned out Stannis was the superior tactician after all.
The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and impending battle, mingling with the smoke from distant fires set by the Ironborn. Victarion's men scurried about, preparing the ships for the inevitable clash, their faces hardened by years of raiding and warfare. Yet, even these seasoned warriors couldn't mask the flickers of doubt in their eyes.
The royal fleet, resplendent in their banners of the crowned stag, had encircled them, cutting off any hope of escape. Victarion knew that Stannis's reputation as a formidable naval commander was well-earned, and the Ironborn were about to face a foe unlike any other. Looking to his North he could see ships closing in and looking to his South he could see even more warships converging on his position.
Victarion cursed himself for allowing this to happen and he silently wondered why the Drowned God had forsaken them in this moment. "We have to break out! We must!" He yelled after thinking for a moment. "Turn us North! We must meet them head-on!"
The sailors at his commands did as they were ordered and soon enough the entire Iron Fleet began to sail North into the enemy. Victarion hoped that the combined strength of their fleet would be enough to smash the split forces of Stannis and allow some of them to make it home to Pyke. He knew many would be lost today but if it meant saving some of the fleet, he was willing to pay that price.
It was then he saw it. The massive flagship of the fleet, helmed by Stannis himself. It made the Ironborn's longships look like simple row boats in comparison, as it began to let loose its fearsome weaponry onto the Ironborn. Victarion watched on with horror as flaming rocks smashed the ship to his left flank, burying it in the sea along with its crew. Once they approached the massive warship and its accompanying fleet, it began to launch enormous arrows at Victarion's fleet which splintered wood and cut men in half without any effort.
However, their ranged advantage was now over as the two fleets began to engage each other. Victarion watched on as ship after ship rammed the other, some sinking and some pulling away to attack again. His own ship rammed straight into another that bore the flag of House Redwyne, sinking it immediately. This opened up a gap for him to slip through the lines of Stannis' fleet. He knew his men may view him as a coward for such an action but he knew that there was no way they were going to win this battle.
He gave the order for his ship to sail through the lines, leaving his fleet behind as they were caught in the trap that Stannis had laid. As they sailed away, he turned with a disheartened look in his eye as he saw the black smoke of his fleet and the screams and cries of his men fill the evening air. To him, the rebellion was over as with no fleet, they could not dare to challenge Robert now. All they could do was go to Pyke and wait for the inevitable.
Pyke: 289 AC: 3 Days Later:
Balon Greyjoy stood resolute on the windswept balcony of Pyke, his ancestral stronghold. The castle, perched precariously on a set of jagged rocks that jutted out into the Iron Islands' unforgiving sea, had withstood countless storms and sieges over the centuries. Today, it faced one of its greatest tests. Below, the restless waves battered the cliffs, the ocean's fury mirrored in Balon's eyes as he surveyed the scene unfolding before him.
The sky was an ominous grey, the clouds thick and heavy with the threat of rain. The air was filled with the sharp tang of salt, the constant roar of the waves, and the distant, rhythmic clatter of siege engines being assembled by the enemy. Balon's cloak, as dark and brooding as the sea, snapped and billowed around him, a symbol of his unyielding spirit.
From his high perch, he watched as the enemy forces, loyal to King Robert Baratheon, labored on the rocky shores far below. Trebuchets, mangonels, and towering siege towers were being maneuvered into place, each a testament to the resources and determination of the Iron Throne. Balon's lip curled in contempt as he observed the invaders. They were mainlanders, soft and coddled, unaccustomed to the harsh realities of life on the Iron Islands.
Yet, he could not underestimate them. This has been proven after the death of his son at Seagard and the defeat of his fleet at Fair Isle. Where Victarion had scurried off to he was not sure
The siege engines were a formidable sight, their wooden frames stark against the bleak landscape. Balon watched as the first trebuchet was loaded, its massive arm creaking as it was wound back. He could almost feel the tension in the air as the stone was released, arcing through the sky to crash against Pyke's mighty walls. The impact sent a shudder through the stones beneath his feet, but Balon did not flinch. He turned to his commanders, his voice carrying over the din.
"Reinforce the outer defenses," he commanded, his tone as cold and unyielding as the sea. "We will make them pay for every inch they try to take."
The commanders bowed and hurried to relay his orders, leaving Balon alone once more. He took a deep breath, the salt air filling his lungs, and allowed his thoughts to drift. He thought of his sons, Theon and Asha, and of the legacy he hoped to leave them. This rebellion was more than a bid for power; it was a fight for the very soul of the Ironborn.
As another stone crashed against the walls, Balon's gaze hardened. He would not let Pyke fall. This castle, this land, was his birthright, and he would defend it with every ounce of strength he possessed. The Ironborn had a saying: "What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger." Balon embodied this credo, his spirit unbroken, his resolve unshaken.
With one last look at the siege engines below, Balon turned and strode back into the depths of Pyke, his focus now on defending his home. His son, Maron, gathered with him as well as his mad brother Euron and together they convened in the great hall where this ill-fated rebellion was first conceived.
"What are we to do Balon? They are at our gates." Euron questioned, his voice an unusual tone of panic.
"We defend and hold to the last man." Balon spat, his voice full of ire and anger. "Maron, head to the southern wall, and ensure it holds against their siege engines. Euron, I want you with Asha and Theon, to protect them."
With those words, Maron watched Euron head deeper into the castle to protect his brother and sister. He then ran to the southern wall to see how they were holding up. As he arrived at the battlements, he could not believe his eyes. Thousands of men from all over the Seven Kingdoms had come here to destroy them or to seek their glory, yet one man stood out to him the most. The large imposing frame of Robert Baratheon stood out amongst them all and Maron prayed to the Drowned God that he would not have to face such a man in battle.
Steeling himself and taking a deep breath of the salty air, Maron turned to one of his father's commanders. "How are our defenses?" He asked, attempting to hide the separation in his voice.
"They have been pounding us relentlessly, my Prince, but we have taken measures to reinforce the walls." The commander replied.
It was then, as if some sadistic twist of fate ordained by the Drowned God himself, the watchtower to their side were struck by a rock nearly the size of a warhorse. Maron watched on with horror as the wall came down upon him and his men, turning his world black indefinitely.
Balon watched on from the balcony as the southern wall of his castle came down, and he prayed to the Drowned God that Maron was not near it when it did. Believing the Drowned God would have spared his life, he carried on watching the breach in his wall and a bewildered look came across his face as he saw a man wielding a flaming sword enter the breach, followed by the might of Robert's army, the banners of Baratheon, Tully, Arryn and everyone in between appearing as they did so.
Balon resigned himself to his fate as he watched thousands of men storm his castle. He let out a heavy sigh and sat on a chair in the chambers he was in, as the sounds of fighting grew louder outside of his door. He felt that he must have waited a few hours before Robert's knights burst through his door, their once shining armor now covered in Ironborn blood.
"Balon Greyjoy?" One of them asked, looking at the crown that lay half heartedly atop his head.
"That is me." Balon sighed, standing up. He wanted to kill them all and die like a King would, yet he felt his strength fail him and the desire to fight leave him.
"You're coming with us. The King awaits you."
Balon allowed them to disarm him and wrap their chains around his legs and arms. He felt embarrassed as they dragged him through the hallways of his keep, his eyes looking at the dead bodies of his once proud warriors that now lay strewn about the floors. He silently hoped that the same fate had not befallen his children and brother. They eventually dragged him to the great hall, where Robert stood proudly with his warhammer in hand, looking every inch the King that Balon wished he was.
"Greyjoy." Robert sneered, as Balon was thrown at his feet.
"Baratheon." Balon spat, his anger at being treated so low clear for all to see. He looked up to see Jorah Mormont standing to the side of Robert, his face full of disgust for the rebellious King before him. "You may take my head, but you cannot name me a traitor. No Greyjoy ever swore fealty to a Baratheon."
"Swear one now or lose that Stubborn head of yours." Robert snapped.
Balon bowed his head in shame and swore an oath of fealty, his crown slipping from his head as he did so. Robert smiled and helped him to his feet, happy that the fighting was over.
"Oh, and to make sure you don't do anything stupid like this again, I'm taking your surviving son, Theon, to Winterfell as a ward," Robert said.
Balon felt he was in no position to argue and so gave no reply to the smug Stag King that stood before him. Now, stripped of his power and pride, he faced a future as a humbled lord, forced to pledge fealty to those he once defied, his legacy forever marred by the memory of his failed insurrection.
Pentos: 289 AC: 1 Moon Later
Arthur and Jaime sat in the opulent room within Illyrio's manse, the soft glow of candles illuminating the fine tapestries and luxurious furnishings. The rich aroma of aged wine filled the air as they poured another round, their cups glinting in the warm light. They reclined in comfortable chairs, the tension of their lives momentarily eased by the lavish surroundings and the rare companionship.
Outside, the weather was cool and dark, a stark contrast to the usual warmth of Pentos. The night sky was a blanket of deep charcoal, with heavy clouds obscuring the stars and moon, casting the city in a shrouded gloom. A gentle, persistent breeze drifted through the streets, bringing with it a chill that seemed to seep into the very stones of the buildings. The sound of the wind whispered through the leaves of the manicured gardens surrounding the manse, adding to the eerie quiet of the night.
"So they burnt the fleet?" Arthur asked as Jaime told his version of Grejoy's rebellion. The only information about the event they gained was from the letters of Varys, which Illyrio has received nearly fortnightly now.
"Yes, the whole fleet. I imagine my father would've been quite angry about the whole ordeal." Jaime chuckled.
"I imagine so, Jaime." Arthur smiled as he stood up from his chair, his cup in his hand. "I figure this whole ordeal would only serve to strengthen their Usurper's grip on the throne." He sighed, as he walked around the room.
"Perhaps, Arthur, but annihilating the Ironborn with half of the Seven Kingdoms behind you, is hardly an achievement."
"I agree, but it proves that he is strong enough to deal with dissent in his Kingdoms."
Jaime nodded in agreement. He knew that this ill-conceived rebellion was the most fortuitous thing that could have happened to Robert as it only served to prove his strength and power to anyone who would have any thoughts of rising up against him.
"I tire of talking about him, so how about a toast, Jaime, to the true King." Arthur smiled, raising his cup high in the air.
"To the true King!" Jaime bellowed, drinking down his wine as he did so.
Just then, Willem flung open the door with a bang, startling Jaime and Arthur who were mid-toast. "Sers! This is unbelievable!" he practically shouted, his face flushed with exhilaration. "Aemon's dragon has hatched! And not just that, Daenerys' dragon too!" The room buzzed with a sudden, electrifying energy as Jaime and Arthur exchanged stunned glances, their drinks momentarily forgotten. Willem's enthusiasm was infectious, and the gravity of the news hung in the air, thick with anticipation.
"You surely jest?" Arthur grinned, finding his joy difficult to hide.
"I jest not, Ser, come with me, I will show you both." Willem smiled, gesturing to the door behind him.
Willem, Arthur, and Jaime, hearts pounding with excitement, nearly sprinted through the grand halls of Illyrio's manse. Their footsteps echoed off the marble floors as they raced past ornate tapestries and towering statues. Willem led the way, his earlier news still vibrating through him like an electric current. Arthur and Jaime, fueled by the shared anticipation, kept pace, their minds racing with visions of dragons and the monumental events unfolding. The air in the manse was thick with suspense, every corner turned bringing them closer to the heart of the excitement.
Eventually, they all arrived at the chamber, skidding to a halt, breaths ragged with excitement. They reached the chamber where Aemon and Daenerys' dragons had hatched. The room was bathed in the soft glow of firelight, flickering off the newly emerged dragonlings' scales. Aemon and Daenerys stood nearby, their faces a mix of awe and pride as they watched their dragons take their first tentative steps. The colors emerging off of the blue and white dragon were immense as the room seemed to be brightened by its presence.
However, this was juxtaposed by the fierce midnight black of Aemons' dragon, its dark red eyes casting a fierce gaze over its newly found carers. Arthur and Jaime stood stunned as did Rhaella, who sat quietly in the corner of the room, her violet eyes quickly turning to her two bewildered knights that stood in the doorway.
"Ser Arthur, Ser Jaime," She smiled, standing up and walking to them both. She took both of their hands and led them to the center of the room where Daenerys and Aemon stood, their newly hatched dragons crawling and chirping at their feet. "I have no idea how it happened." She gasped.
"Is this truly real? Do we truly have four dragons?" Jaime asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"We do, Ser Jaime." Rhaella smiled, her gaze turning to Daenerys and Aemon, who both stood bewildered as their dragons hooped and crawled around their feet.
"Mother, I cannot believe it." Daenerys chirped, her smile illuminating the room with childlike wonder.
Rhaella gave a soft smile to her child. "Have you thought of a name, Daenerys?"
Daenerys turned her violet eyes towards her dragon. Its blue and white scales stood out amongst all the others, and they reminded Daenerys so much of the North that her mother would tell her about. She thought of the stories of ice and snow that populated the mysterious place, as she pictured the images of it in her head. It was then she made up her mind. "Frostfyre." She smirked, her dragon chirping at her feet as she did so.
"Frostfyre? A fitting name, Daenerys." Rhaella grinned. "What of you, Aemon?"
Aemon had not said a word the whole while, as he seemed lost in thought, his hazy grey eyes never leaving the midnight black dragon at his feet. "Aemon?" Rhaella asked once more, her concern showing in her voice.
"I cannot think of a name, Grandmother." Aemon sighed, running a hand through his curly black hair.
"You need not name it now, Aemon." Rhaella smiled, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Maybe think of your father or mother, if you are struggling."
Aemon looked behind at Arthur as she brought up his parents, his grey eyes piercing the Sword of the Morning. "I think you are right, Grandmother." He smiled, his gaze averting back towards Rhaella.
That night, Aemon sat in his bedchamber, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls as he stared at the tiny dragon curled up on his bed. He could hardly believe it had finally happened. His very own dragon, straight from the pages of history. His thoughts lingered on what his Grandmother had said to him earlier in the day, and he racked his brain on what to name his dragon.
Unable to think of a name, he sighed and threw his head down onto the soft pillow in frustration. Sleep claimed him not too long after, and as he lay sleeping, the evident gentle rise and fall of his chest. That night, his dreams were vivid and strange, a world of mist and shadows. As he wandered through the dreamscape, two figures emerged, familiar and yet distant.
"Mother? Father?" Aemon's young voice trembled with both hope and fear.
Lyanna, with her flowing dark hair and kind eyes, smiled warmly at him. "Aemon, my sweet boy," she said softly, kneeling to his height. "We have missed you so much."
Rhaegar, tall and regal, placed a hand on Aemon's shoulder. "You carry our legacy, Aemon. Never forget the strength that runs in your veins. Our blood is strong, our dragons fierce. They will guide you, protect you as will your knights."
Aemon felt a warmth and love enveloping him, filling the void left by their absence. "I miss you both too," he whispered, tears glistening in his eyes.
"We are always with you," Lyanna assured her voice like a soothing lullaby. "In your heart and in your dreams. Be brave, my son."
"But what am I to do without you?" Aemon asked, his voice relaxing at his mother's soothing tone.
"Fear not, son. When the time comes you will sing your song and save the world from the coming darkness." Rhaegar smiled, as he placed a reassuring kiss on Aemon's forehead. "Now go, and be brave."
As the dream began to fade, their words lingered, a comforting presence in the young boy's mind. Aemon awoke with a sense of purpose, knowing that his parents' spirits would always watch over him. It was then he knew exactly what to name the midnight dragon that stared expectantly at him with narrowed red eyes.
"Vaedar."
Vaedar = Song in Valyrian
Apologies it took me so long to update this. I have been monumentally busy between Christmas and New Year, but I should hopefully be updating this more regularly now. Got the first twenty chapters done and so now I will be time skipping way ahead into the future to start the main plot of this story so stay tuned for that. Thanks for reading and all the best.