The Dragon Prince - Part 1

Fan fiction of A Song of Ice and Fire, set weeks after the conclusion of the fifth book in the series from Aegon VI's perspective.

Aegon gazed out onto the lands Jon had reclaimed seven and ten nights prior. Only four men lost, a marvel at that he decided. As he peered into the forest that surrounded Griffin's Roost, the young Prince couldn't help but remember the father he never knew stood here, with the now Lord Connington six and ten years ago. The Lords will remember me father, and they will fall to their knees for mercy. Or so Aegon had hoped since he knew of his destiny to return to Westeros, since he knew who he was and what he had lost. The raven to Dorne held all his hope and ambitions with it, twined to its leg. He needed desperately the fifty thousand spears Dorne could provide as well as the entire allegiance of the family so close to his own, an old heritage.

With a letter transcribing that the son of Rhaegar and Elia Martell has returned for the Throne, Dorne will not ignore it, the Martells will not ignore it. They too thirst for vengeance...

The Prince and his protector, who had left his alias on the Shy Maid, waited eagerly for the Martell emissary. The emissary was necessary for the Martells wanting to make sure of the Dragon Prince's existence rather than a bloody jape. Jon could not blame the Martells, and expected their caution, however Aegon grew impatient.

The violet eyes of the young Prince stared further and further over the Stormlands. With every step he and his companions had made, Aegon felt the throne become closer. A few years ago he would never have believed that he would be on Westeros again, with the legendary Golden Company at his back and the lords and ladies held in waiting for the return of a Targaryen... Even if they knew not which Targaryen in question. To the dismay of Aegon, less than half of the ten thousand that came across the Narrow Sea with him wouldn't be enough to take King's Landing. He needed all the banners of old to fall in line to his return. Yet all those thousands could house many a spy, deception laid at every turn and more than ever he needed to be careful, even with an army.

Aegon left the keep's roost and descended through the spiral steps.

He felt heavier with the weight of the all the danger Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms could offer, yet Aegon was his father's son and will do his duty despite the danger such as a good King would do with his Kingdom.

Aegon tapped on the chambers of Septa Lemore, he feared that he would need the help of something much stronger than dream wine to sleep.

A humming voice granted him entrance with no Septa in sight. Lemore stepped out from behind a bed veil with a seal of the seven in her hands as she placed it next to her bed. In her small clothes the aging but still surprisingly beautiful woman glanced at the weary young man before her.

"Are you still finding sleeping a painstaking process, my lord?" The Septa spoke, smoothing her skirts. "I believe it is the maester you wish to see for dream wi-"

"Actually I was hoping the Seven could help me..." The Prince spoke out quick and indirect, staring at the cobblestone floor of the chamber and resting his weight on the wall with his right arm.

Lemore smiled and ushered Aegon to a chair along the wall of her chambers. With a heavy sigh he fell into the cushioned seat and sank low. The Septa noted his purple rings beneath the beautiful haunting violet eyes of a Targaryen. She placed herself adjacent of her guest and Aegon grasped with both hands the chalice of wine she handed him, yet she did not drink with him as par with her duties as a servant of the seven. Aegon chuckled at this devotion after the comments Tyrion had made about her when on board the Shy Maid.

 

Aegon broke the silence.

"This keep, it is Lord Jon's home yet I feel my father closer to me more than ever, as if his ghost walks here. Even if he died in the Ruby Ford..." Drinking deep and hunching over in the chair.

For a moment he imaged how the Iron Throne and it's warped blades would feel as he towered over the lords and matriarchs from the seat of twisted and metal iron.  A premature smile took his lips at the thought.

The septa smiled. "My lord, should you not feel more comfort if it is your father you feel?" Lemore reached for the boy's arm and squeezed it. "The father will always watch over you as will the crone and the smith... and when the time comes so will the warrior. You are not alone Aegon and never will be, the seven have guided you this far with Lord Connington as their champion for this challenge. Trust in him..." "Here."

Lemore reached into the dusty drawer of a nearby table as Aegon watched. She took out and handed Aegon a scribe with the seven pointed star in embroidery printed upon it.

"Study it young Aegon, if you give yourself whole-heartily to the seven much like Baelor the Blessed did many an age ago, then you will have the Throne much quicker than you may expect."

"Thank you Lem-... Septa Lemore." Aegon lifted himself with the scribe in hand and placed the chalice on the table beside him.

Walking for the door he paused and turned to the Septa who was standing in waiting.

"My father, Rhaegar, was he no more righteous than the usurper Robert Baratheon?" His eyes opened wide at her then peered down to the floor once more as he held the chamber door.

The Septa paused yet she knew he would not leave without an answer.

"Your father gave himself to the stranger so that you would live and return to restore peace to the kingdom, Aegon."

Aegon nodded his head and smiled at the Septa, she was glad he accepted that wisdom as he left.

 

Shutting the door behind him, Aegon's face became stern and his fists clenched.

My father died at the hands of a traitor, I have returned to restore peace, yes... With Blood and Fire....

 

Aegon strolled through the corridors past heavy wooden doors where those who surrendered during the brief assault on Griffin's Roost were held, to avoid the ravens flying unwanted messages across the kingdom. The Golden Company guards that stood as sentinels in the corridor bowed to Aegon  as he cleared the hallway. A horrid stench of piss filled the air and soured every breath.

The boy halted.

"Which of these chambers warrens that ungodly reek?" Aegon held his nose and recoiled in disgust.

The guards exchanged looks then stared back at Aegon.

"Sigmad, my lord. He died and left us a mess to go with his passing."

 Scrunching his face Aegon quickened his pace, fleeing the passage.

"Find someone to clean that retched stench, now!" He commanded upon his exit.

 

The Prince was met with another flight of stairs lit by torches. It was barren and silent, and his steps weren't much to heard within the stone walls.

The long passage was unguarded and Lord Connington's chambers lied ahead at the very end to the right.  Aegon followed the passage bearing no mind to the labyrinth he weaved through.

His attention was caught when frantic but hushed whispers almost became shouts of frustration. The young man crept closer and held his breath to listen to the mumbles from the wooden door beside him, he pressed out of sight against the stone wall and waited.

"Are there any words or even hopeful rumours of Daenarys?" Franklyn Flowers hushed to Connington.

"None, nothing since her black dragon burnt the greater half of Meereen and carried her off, maybe she is dead however I choose not to believe that, Flowers." Connington's voice became deep with silent frustration.

"Then it seems as if all we can do is wait, Jon." A deep sigh exhumed through the room and something heavy was placed on a bench. "For the time being we must plan our siege of Storm's End with caution, however whether that is before we meet whoever Prince Doran has sent from Dorne. Aegon is for the ide-"

 "Aegon is becoming rash in his excitement of our landing." Jon cut off the thought and fell silent for a moment.

"Aegon... is not a fool, but letting him lead the attack against Storm's End, could that be too much?" Jon had fear taint his voice Aegon heard, he sighed and continued to listen.

"He needs to learn to conquer to become one." Franklyn replied with a scoff of laughter.

"True. Still, we need more men. The rest of the ships still haven't been sighted at all even after the capture of Crow's Nest." Jon spat out with anger, the ships hung everything in the balance for Aegon's invasion.

"I refuse to agree with your thought on the ship's fate Franklyn. They will come, they must."

"Jon, the likelihood that they have been smashed throughout the Step Stones is greater than stillness of the wind or any delay. Plan the attack without them and if they appear then there is no loss for us."

"That is granted we can take Storm's End..."

"If only we had Daenarys and her dragons, huh?" Franklyn, again, scoffed in mockery. It was his vanguard over the direness of the situation. Again with a heavy sigh the conversation ended until Lord Connington spoke through the tranquil of encompassing silence.

"I grow weary, Franklyn. Leave me."

Without another word the door opened with a creak and footsteps marched loud and faded rapidly into the opposite direction of Aegon. It was time to leave he thought.

 

Taking steps out of the western wing of Griffin's Roost, Aegon took his final glance of the moon and stars above as he prepared to settle for the night.

Entering his chambers, Aegon stripped to his small clothes and sat on the lip of the bed with weary sigh. He placed the scribe on the table beside him and laid back, sprawled sideways across the feathered bed. He let his mind wander.

Without the marriage to my aunt, my claim will be laughed at. I am dead to Westeros, my infantile head smashed against a wall with my sister. All I can do is wait; Wait on Dorne, wait on Jon and wait on Daenarys...

His head spun at the thought of his lost aunt and future wife, word of Daenarys and her dragons seemed to have become quiet. The thought of her dead or in danger is too much for the Dragon Prince to dwell on now. Sitting upright he uttered to himself under his breath.

"Where are you Daenarys?"

Aegon licked his fingers and reached for the candle, yet paused. Staring across the chambers and into a mirror he saw his gleaming white hair in the reflection as the flames danced with its shining luminosity. The flames could be seen flickering in his violet eyes at a distance. Aegon turned back to the candle, reaching for it with his other hand that remained completely dry. Running his fingers through the flame, he pinched down on the wick amongst the searing wax. He did not flinch and the flame died within his pinch. Aegon smirked then laid once more staring into the blackness of the ceiling, as the smoke rose from the snuffed candle.

Mayhaps if I set King's Landing ablaze and walked to the Iron Throne, I wouldn't need Daenarys to show them all my Targaryen blood...

 

Mayhaps.