Prologue : Rebrith and Betrayal

Beginning Notes: Some of you may already be familiar with my story, Legacy of the White Dragon: A Dance of Dragons. While I still enjoy the overall storyline, I felt that some parts—especially the early chapters—could be improved as I continued writing. So, I've decided to embark on a rewrite and rework of the story. This will be Book 1 of a three-part series.

Thanks for the read.

Small note for clarity as you read this story.

'inner thought' – and quoting someone.

"Speaking aloud"

"Dragon-Tong"

Written text

Tessarions time weaves.

In the year 92 A.C., House Targaryen was at the top of its strength yet and wouldn't stay that way as a war called the Dance of the Dragons began. In those days, people only saw it as a decline of its power, yet House Targaryen would never be as feared again. Yet in the year 303 A.C., the world needed those dragons and the family that held them. Yet only three young dragons newly hatched were around, and only two members of the one great house remained. One raised a bastard, a dragon raised among wolves, another raised on the streets of the east. ,

So when the darkest days of the world came, humanity and the realm of Aegon The Conquer were unprepared. The living fought against the dead and each other, the others and their minions, and blue eyes ever haunting.

The living thought they had won after Arya Stark slew the champion of the Great Other, The Night King, and all his minions fell with him. Ye not known to the living that its darkness remains, waiting for an opportunity to strike even after victory. This came after the Mother of Dragons Daenerys Targaryen faltered, fell into despair, and burnt Kingslanding.

Feeling the eventuality, Aemon Targaryen, known as Jon Snow, took up his duty and committed an act of kin slaying. After he stabbed Daenerys Targaryen in her heart, this is where this story begins amid tragedy and despair.

Jon Snow/Aemon Targaryen (Year 304 A.C.)
Kingslanding – Cells.

Jon Snow/Aemon Targaryen (Year 304 A.C.)

Kings Landing – The Cells

Jon woke with a gasp, the nightmare that had haunted him for two moons once again tearing him from uneasy sleep. The cell he was confined in was dark, though he was grateful for it. The black cells of the Red Keep had collapsed, as had so much else that fateful day.

The hope for peace, the chance to rest—it had all been lost in a single, tragic moment. Not even after killing the woman he had loved had he found peace. Grey Worm's words echoed in his mind:"You killed my Queen. I saw her, dead in the dragon's claws. I will not kill you for what you have done. I know your pain—to live when the one you love is gone. You will live with the guilt of what you've done for many years."

Grey Worm had kept his promise. Jon had been left to dwell on his actions, and every night when he closed his eyes, Daenerys' final words and the haunting look in her eyes returned to him.

As sunlight filtered through the bars of his cell, signaling the dawn of another agonizing day, the spell of despair was broken by the sound of the door creaking open.

"Hello, brother. Or should I say Aemon?"

Jon's mouth fell open in shock as his eyes focused on the figure before him. "Bran? What are you doing here?" he asked, incredulous. Then, another thought struck him, his disbelief intensifying.Bran was walking.

The recognition in Jon's eyes didn't deter Bran. What came next was unthinkable—and swift. Piercing pain tore through Jon as Valyrian steel plunged into his chest, the blade sinking deep into his heart. Blood filled his lungs, choking him as he gasped, "Bran…" He collapsed to the ground, his vision blurring.

Bran knelt beside him, a malicious smile twisting his face. His brother's familiar eyes turned icy blue as a voice cold and alien emerged, one that was unmistakably not Bran's.

"Thank you for killing her. With your death, this world will be mine, masters," the voice hissed.

The Night King... he lives,Jon thought in despair as his life ebbed away.

The final slash tore across his throat, severing the last threads of his existence. The pain faded, replaced by an all-encompassing cold. Everything turned black.

The last thing Jon saw was the Night King's cruel, victorious smile as darkness consumed him.

It was all still black. The cold was gone, but the void remained.What is this? I'm dead. Is this the same as last time?He wondered, looking around at the endless darkness.

"No, you weren't fully dead then. You still lived inside your wolf," said a booming voice. Shapes began to form in the void, not solid beings but shifting clouds of mist.What in the Seven Hells?he thought.

"Not quite," another voice replied, mocking and sharp. "It is still unknown where mortals go when they die. But for now, you must decide—do you want to live or die?"

"Where am I?" he asked the shapes.

"You are in the space between the living and the dead," a gentler voice answered. "We could not send you fully to the realm of the dead, not yet. Mortals cannot handle seeing it and then return."

"Who are you?" he asked, though deep down, he already knew. He just couldn't bring himself to believe it.

"We are what you know as the Old Gods," answered the kind, feminine voice, "and the gods of Old Valyria. Many more of us are known throughout the world under different names. For example, you know one of us as R'hllor."

The voice softened further, and for the first time, he felt comfort. "You may call me Meraxes, the All-Mother. The first voice you heard is the All-Father, also called Balerion, Warden of the Dead, or the Many-Faced God."

Jon swallowed hard. The weight of their presence was overwhelming. "What have I done to deserve this? I killed the woman I loved. I left the world in fear of the Others. My own brother, who I now know was the Night King, killed me. Why am I here? It seems I've already lost against the darkness!" he shouted, his voice breaking with anguish.

A deep, calm voice responded, "Ah, our child of ice and fire. Champion of the living. I am Arrax, guardian of the living. Your despair is understandable, but you have not lost yet. There is still hope to prevent the darkness from consuming the world. The children of fire were never meant to perish prematurely. The realms must be prepared as they once were."

'Another chance?'he wondered as a new voice joined in.

"To maintain balance in the world, we sent forth our herald—a champion to counter the Great Other's influence. The first of your peoples, the First Hero Azor Ahai, forged the two bloodlines: one of ice and one of fire. The blood of Valyria, on which the dragonlords descend. Drawn to dragons and flame. The Starks, blood of ice, are drawn to wolves and cold. The Valyrians forgot their purpose and fell when they delved too deep into forbidden knowledge. Some were saved by the dreams we sent to Daenys the Dreamer. Aegon was guided to unite Westeros to prepare for the coming storm. This is the Song of Ice and Fire. You were meant to end this cycle by imprisoning the Great Other's champion, the Night King, once more in the Lands of Always Winter."

The feminine voice softened as it continued. "But when Arya Stark struck the Night King, his essence fled to the nearest link. Your brother was already marked and became his vessel. From that moment, Brandon Stark was no longer truly himself. The Night King orchestrated everything. Even in defeat, he manipulated events to maintain his influence."

Jon's thoughts turned to his brother, and a wave of sorrow washed over him.'Bran died long ago. Meera Reed said it herself. He died in that cave.'

"Your thoughts are accurate," the voice replied. "The Night King has been working in the shadows ever since, spreading winter's grip. Without intervention, the world will succumb to cold and death, as the line meant to stop him is no more."

Another voice joined, somber yet gentle. "There was another tragedy in the Long Night: your doubts and Daenerys' fall. The Night King revealed your heritage at a crucial moment, plunging you into a crisis of identity. He shattered Daenerys' fragile sense of self. She saw herself as a savior but broke under the weight of betrayal and isolation."

Jon clenched his fists as realization dawned.'The Night King used the truth to destroy us to destroy everything I cared for.'

"Be at ease, brave and gentle soul," Meraxes said in a gentle, feminine voice. "I know your pain, your loss. But if you accept our charge, you will receive a boon, a chance to make things right."

He felt warmth in his heart as if the torment eased just slightly.'Was she healing me?' he wondered.

"In a way,"Meraxes replied directly into his mind.

'This mind-speaking feels strange,'he thought, unsettled.

"What is the charge you gods want me to take up? You've already spoken of another chance. What can I do? I'm already dead,"he questioned.

"To maintain order, you will return to a time when the Targaryens were at the height of their power to prevent the beginning of your house's fall and the death of the dragons,"another voice explained, different from the rest.

"I'm Aegarax,"the voice echoed in his mind.

"The time of the Dance of Dragons?"he asked.

"Yes,"Balerion replied."We see you can make the most impact during that era. Of course, we could send you back to when you were born in this timeline. Yet that time, especially after Robert's Rebellion, is too unstable. The Dance of Dragons was the true turning point. It destroyed what we tried to save. The dragons were extinguished, and House Targaryen was diminished."

"So, I will never see my family again?"he asked, his voice trembling.

"Probably not. There is a small chance that their souls may travel with you to this new reality. Yet even I, the god of the dead, cannot say for certain,"Balerion replied solemnly.

"Balerion, if I may,"a feminine voice interrupted, soft but commanding."I have one more thing to say to Aemon Targaryen."

"Of course, Shrykos,"Balerion rumbled."Impart your wisdom. He will need it for the days to come."

"Aemon Targaryen,"Shrykos said firmly,"when you return, you must accept all that you are. You are both Targaryen and Stark Fire and Ice combined. Embrace every part of yourself in what lies ahead. Only then can the winds of winter turn into a dream of spring."

Another voice spoke, grave and somber."Child of fire and ice, do you accept this? To return, to change the future, and to give life another chance? Remember, this is the last opportunity. Beyond this, we will no longer have the power to bring you back. We are fading, overshadowed by false idols."

Shaken, Aemon asked,"False gods? Are there false gods in this world?"

A gentle feminine voice interjected."Perhaps you should explain, Caraxes, before alarming him unnecessarily."

"You're right, Syrax. Forgive me,"Caraxes replied."The Great Other seeks to shroud the truth, cloaking the minds of men with illusions to make them worship shadows. The Seven Who Are One, the Black Goat, the Storm God, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, and the dark gods of Asshai are but manifestations of the Great Other's deception. They are not true gods. Only certain powers remain untouched by this darkness: the Many-Faced God, the Old Gods, the Valyrian gods, R'hllor, the Drowned God, the deities of Yi Ti, and the Moon God of Braavos. Or to give an example, Tessarion is revered by the Qartheen, though under a different name. Each holds a part of the truth, worshiped differently across the lands. They are real."

'This game has been played for thousands of years, and now I am part of it—powers I do not yet understand and never truly will,'he thought.

"You still have free will,"Syrax's voice echoed in his mind."We are here only to guide and hope life makes the right choice."

"Thank you. I will do my best to do the right thing,"he replied silently.

Balerion's voice, deep and commanding, broke into his thoughts."Now, champion, will you fight once again for the world of men? Or will you choose the stillness of darkness, allowing all to wither?"

Aemon took a steadying breath, steeling himself."I will fight again. As an old foe once said, 'I will be fighting their battles forever.' I will be both Targaryen and Stark, fire and ice, and fight for life to give it a chance."

With those words, the world around him turned to white, and a flickering light appeared before him.

The man formerly known as Jon Snow or Aemon Targaryen emerged into the world. It was the year 92 AC., the second moon, as the first child of Baelon Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Third son of Baelon Targaryen and his second wife, Lyanna Stark.

"Damn, where am I?" He said, but it came out as he cried out like an infant. A woman with black-brown raven hair and grey eyes cradled him. He recognized the eyes of Arya and his uncle. Remembering them brought a pang of emotion. 'I will, I ever see them again. The gods weren't so clear.' He thought sadly.

"Lyanna, you've done well. After Aegon, I never thought I'd have another child," a man said with silver-golden blonde hair and purple eyes. 'Lyanna? That was his mother's name,'

"Thank you, Baelon. It seems the little one has your hair and my eyes," The woman, apparently named Lyanna, said. 'It was odd. Could the gods have granted him the blessing of having his mother this time? Meraxes said I would receive a boon. It seemed Rhaegar wouldn't be a part of this life, as he knew Baelon was the second son of King Jaehaerys Targaryen, The Old King. Yet he would honor him all the same, perhaps by learning the harp. As for his other father, Eddard Stark, even if he lied to him about his truth, he still had raised him to be the man he was now. Yet then there was the question: Where were Baelon and his mother married?' Aemon's thoughts ran through his head, the possibilities.

"Do you have a name in mind, my she-wolf?" Baelon inquired, breaking his thoughts. 'Was he her husband, or was he a bastard? Was he reborn a true bastard this time? Or was Trueborn like last time? He hoped the latter.' Aemon thought as he looked at the man.

"I do, if you're in agreement, my dragon. How about Aemon Targaryen, named after your brother?" His mother suggested, her smile radiant. Baelon nodded and kissed her. 'Thank the gods, he wasn't a bastard, even if he wasn't in his last life. Still, a confront to know he didn't need to go living like one again.' He thought relieved.

"Come now, little Aemon. How about some milk?" His mother asked, bringing her breast to his mouth. 'I suppose I'm a little hungry,' he thought. He felt like he was blushing as he suckled at his mother's breast. It was a weird thing, a twenty and three nameday old man sucking at his mother's breast. Yet, for now, he would live again as a babe. As the son of Baelon Targaryen and Lyanna, he thought contently as he drank the warm milk.

Thus began the rebirth of Aemon Targaryen in the second moon of the year 92 A.C. Inside the dragonpit, a roar awakened all inside.

Notes: So, what did you all think of the remastered version? I hope it's an improvement over the first version. I know I have learned more over the last year of writing this story, and perhaps I wish to go back to a time when I was still optimistic about House of Dragon instead of pessimistic.

I notice that I now feel a disconnect when I'm writing the current story Legacy of the White Dragon. So, I wanted to see if I could get my drive back when I started rewriting this story. As of now, I feel different than I did before.
Thanks for all the support, and I hope you enjoy this story.