IV.

The Gray Rat, Thirteenth day of the fifth moon of 297 AC. Dragonstone, Blackwater Bay, Westeros

"Robert did you an injustice," Maester Cressen replied carefully, "yet he had sound reasons. Dragonstone had long been the seat of House Targaryen. He needed a man's strength to rule here, and Renly was but a child." ACoK Prologue

The master was outside his rooms, on the balcony swept by the cold wind of the now cloudy night.

It was here that the crows arrived after a long flight. Their droppings peppered the gargoyles towering four meters high on either side of Cressen, a hellhound and a wyvern. Two of the thousands that sprouted on the walls of the old fortress.

He did not believe in omens. But what happened that night ... old as he was Cressen felt something in his bones.

Leaning against one of the gargoyles, he pondered the events, listening as the distant waves

crashed on the rough black stone that lay everywhere on the island.

First was the tremor. Then the volcano began to expel smoke. Then the noise from the seven hells. Then even more tremors seeming were going to split the island. And then the volcano eruption.

Oh, and finally the comet. Especially the comet.

"Talking to gargoyles of prophecies in the sky, the next thing I will be to believe is that the long night was true?! Grumpkin and Snarks?" Cressen wailed as he breathed in resignation and left his balcony, grabbed the book he had come for before heading to the Painted Table Room where he had been summoned by the lord of Dragonstone, no doubt to discuss the star and the prophecy. And there was him thinking about that again.

'At what point has the hard-earned wisdom of a lifetime deserted me as well as my health and strength? What madness had invaded my body, when superstition fill my head like an ignorant field hand? '

He was a master trained and with a chain forged in the great Oldtown's Citadel, Cressen thought with resentment of himself.

'Castles are not friendly places for the frail' his aching bones reminded Cressen as he ascended the endless stairs of the Sea Dragon Tower.

Lord Stannis would be found in the Hall of the Painted Table, located atop the Stone Drum, Dragonstone's central Fortress. Named for the way its ancient walls echoed and rumbled during storms. To reach it, Cressen had to cross the gallery, traverse the middle wall and the inner wall with its guardian gargoyles and black iron gates. And then, climb more steps than the old master wanted to see.

As Cressen ascended the endless steps that led him to his destination, he could not help thinking about the history of the castle and the omen that the comet that had appeared in the north of the night landscape could mean.

Dragonstone is a grim place. Built by the ancient Valyrians with arcane arts dragon fire and sorcery. Otherwise the ability to liquefy and mold the stone wasn't explained. Giving shape to a castle that had the appearance of multiple dragons.

The architecture of the castle exclaimed Dragon where the eyes rest. A pair of gigantic stone wings roofed the armory and forge and dragon's tails form arches and stairways. The doors were placed in such a way that they fit the mouth of the stone dragons, producing the sensation of entering the dark jaws of a dragon. Instead of merlons, the grotesque gargoyles serve as battlements topping each of the three mighty and massive curtain walls. The designs varied between basilisks, demons, griffins, hounds, manticores, minotaurs, firewyrms and other hideous creatures from legends and tales to scare children. Statues in the shape of dragons were present throughout the castle. These could be found throughout the castle, even in the small details, such as the dragons that framed the doors and dragon claws as a torch holder.

The castle's dark reputation seemed more than justified. It had seen Aegon the Conqueror die from a sudden collapse in the Room of the Painted Table. Within its walls Maegor the Cruel had been raised and grown. And The Cruel himself chose it as the starting point for his wars that ravaged Westeros. The black and magical rock witnessed one of the final chapters of the Dance, with the death of Rhaenyra at the jaws of Sunfyre while her son, the future Aegon III, watched as his mother was devoured by the golden dragon.

When Cressen reached the Stone Drum the guards outside recognized him immediately and gave way to a new flight of stairs.

'It is not only dark because of what is known to have happened in this castle, but especially because of what is believed to have happened in this castle'. Cressen whispered internally as he continued to think about the black history of the castle.

It had always flown over the castle the legend that Visenya Targaryen has practiced blood magic in these same halls. Offering human sacrifices to the flames to ensure her brother's triumphs in battle.

'What can be expected of the Targaryens.' thought the maester with disgust, while with a gesture he asked the guard at the door for access to the Room of the Painted Table.

Lord Stannis Baratheon's solar was a large round room with black stone walls and four narrow windows that looked out on the four points of the compass. In the center of the chamber was the large table from which it took its name, a massive slab of carved wood created at the command of Aegon Targaryen in the days leading up to his Conquest. The Painted Table was over fifty feet long, perhaps half as wide at its widest point, but less than four feet wide at its narrowest point. Aegon's carpenters had carved it in the image and likeness of the land of Westeros, gouging each bay and peninsula so that the table did not run in a straight line. On its surface, obscured by nearly three hundred years of varnish, were painted Seven Kingdoms as they had been in the days of Aegon; Rivers and mountains, castles and cities, lakes and forests, without borders between kingdoms.

There was a single chair in the room, carefully positioned in the precise spot that Dragonstone occupied off the coast of Westeros and raised to give a good view of the table. Sitting in that chair was Westeros Master of Ships, dressed in a tight-laced leather jacket and brown woolen breeches.

When Cressen entered, Lord Stannis looked up.

"About time old man, I think I remember calling you when the tremors started." There was no hint of warmth in Stannis' voice; there was seldom any.

"My Lord." Cressen greeted Lord Stannis while bowing.

"The volcano that is on my island and that the gray rats claimed was never ever going to erupt, coincidentally, it has erupted again. What explanation do you have for this, Maester?" The King's middle brother said sharply and curtly. The same man who forced his troops to eat the bodies of fallen comrades during the siege of Storm's End. That man was questioning the veracity of the knowledge of the Citadel and therefore Cressen as its maester.

He was nervous thinking about what was going to be questioned about the comet and its prophecies, not that its usefulness would end up being questioned. Swallowing to try to undo the knot that had formed in his throat, Cressen answered Stannis while interlacing and unlacing his hands under the wide sleeves of his gray robe.

"My lord, in the Citadel it was thought that it had no possibility of re-erupting, but it was never denied that it continued to expel gases and vapors. The flames of the world are something still unfathomable even for the knowledge of the arch-masters."

Before Lord Stannis could interrupt him, as his gesture denoted that his explanation was not finishing convincing him, Cressen continued.

"However my Lord, I thought you were calling me to discuss something else ... to talk about the

comet that has appeared in the north of the sky ..." he uttered with an uncertain and trembling voice.

"Comet? What are you old man talking about? Is age affecting you and has you become simple of mind?" Lord Stannis answered with the same coldness as always, but beginning to exude some annoyance.

"You see my lord ... we are in Dragonstone ... so I thought you ..." before Cressen could finish the sentence his lord interrupted him abruptly.

"Yes. I know we are in Dragonstone, thank you. What with that, Cressen? Stop beating around the bush and tell me at once the nonsense you were thinking were coming to tell me."

At the order of his lord the maester asked permission with his head to approach the table that emulated the Seven Kingdoms. The he laboriously deposited the heavy book of Grand Master Luca, the first Grand Master of Aegon the Conqueror.

"My lord, this book deposited in the castle library explains the various prophecies surrounding House Targaryen, especially one about a red comet."

Opening the heavy tanned leather cover of the ancient book, House Targaryen Myths and Prophecies, as Cressen searched for the page that referenced what he thought was happening.

"When the red star crosses the sky

Be friend or foe

Gods, First Men,

Andals or Rhoynar,

or from the Old Blood.

Neither law, nor love, nor alliance of swords,

Nor fear, nor danger, nor fate itself,

Would defend them from Aegon Targaryen and the offspring of the Dragon. To whom betrays, hides or treasures, or takes in their hands,

the inheritance from the blood of Valyria.

This I, Visenya Targaryen, swear,

Death will overtake my family's enemies before the day is out,

The long night will fall!

And the Dragon will Triumph!

Hear my word, Gods of the Flames!

With the everlasting darkness curse me and my offspring

If I ever break this oath, causing pain to my blood!

Over one of the flames of the world, hear it as witnesses and remember my promise!"

"My lord, don't you see? It is a sign that the Targaryens will return and you are occupying their ancestral site." Cressen spat agitated and fearful.

Lord Stannis fixed his eyes on the text, frowning. He read it once. Read it twice and the third time sighed and addressed Cressen with a raised eyebrow and a look that seemed to be mocking him.

"Are you suggesting that suddenly through this comet the Beggar King will be able to conquer Westeros like Aegon the Dragon and his sisters?" Lord Stannis made a pause and gave a deep sigh "Enough of superstitions and magic Cressen. Next time I need some real knowledge, I'll call Pylos. Now leave, and when you leave, ask one of the guards to summon my wife and the lady who she has to introduce me."

Without making a sound Cressen bowed to his lord, turned and left the Painted Table Room.

Lord Stannis was probably right. The comet was nothing more than a normal phenomenon in the sky. Surely if Cressen searched the reports of the citadel, records of its sighting in other times will appear. He should feel ashamed, as a maester, Cressen should not believe in myths and prophecies.

"Lord Stannis has ordered Lady Baratheon and the guest to be summoned." he said to one of the guards after leaving, heading towards the library of the black fortress, in search of something that would confirm the irrational of his thoughts, in that misty and faintly tinged red night at Dragonstone.

Jon III, Indeterminate

The darkness without any sensation beyond the searing heat that enveloped him and for which he was grateful, suddenly disappeared, to give way to a dazzling, blinding light.

'Is this the afterlife? 'Jon wondered bitterly.

As he tried to adjust his vision he began to perceive that the blinding light was the sun shrouded in

clouds and 'Smoke?' that was on the site where Jon had appeared.

Jon's other senses seemed to return, little by little to regain their sensations. Soon the smell of the

sea, salt and ash permeated his nostrils. The hot, humid wind caressed Jon's face and bare back.

'Damn ... If I had taken the cloak when I came up with the brilliant idea of going down to the crypts, I could have put out the fire and I wouldn't be here, wherever I am, dead.' Jon thought laconically while trying to adjust to his new environment.

No matter how much he thought about it, Jon was unable to understand anything about his situation.

When he finally managed to focus his eyes, Jon began to see what looked like a mountain of black earth whose peak was hidden behind smoke that hid its top. A volcano.

'By the old and new Gods, how did I get to a volcano?' By focusing better on his surroundings, Jon saw that he was on an island surrounded by water black as night. In the distance to the north he could see another islands and the mainland.

'Seven hells! Where the hells am I?'

Jon in his five a ten name days of his name had never left the north. If he really thought well about

it, his father had never taken Jon too far from the Winterfell and he wasn't allowed to go beyond the Wolfswood. It was impossible for him to pinpoint where he was.

Descending joyfully and nonchalantly from the top of the volcano what Jon could only describe as a Goddess, appeared in the distance.

'Is this the maiden that the southern gods talk about so much?'

On taking a better look Jon saw that it was impossible that this girl was the Maiden. 'Not even a

goddess can be so beautiful'.

'And if what I'm seeing is a Goddess, it is certainly a Valyrian goddess.'

The aforementioned in question was taller than Sansa and perhaps Jon's sister age or a little bit older. With hair silver like the full moon and eyes like two shining amethysts in black wells. The girl body was beginning to show the shapes of a woman with an athletic and slender body.

'She has eyes like mine, but much more streaked in purple.' Jon thought.

Suddenly he couldn't help but feel a release of tension and be glad to think that maybe he was looking at his mother in the afterlife, when she was a young woman. If so, Jon understood how his father had dishonored Catelyn Tully.

'Being this beautiful with less days of her name than me now, when Eddard Stark met her during the Rebellion she must have been the most beautiful woman in history.'

Suddenly the spell in what Jon had fallen into with his thoughts was broken.

Jon's body or what he believed to be his body began to move on its own. And not only that, Jon began to feel as his thoughts were shared and heard by the owner of the body in which he was imprisoned.

'What witchcraft is this?! Is this the punishment of the gods for those who take their own lives? Or is it just a graceless joke to haunt me for the rest of eternity wherever I am?'

All Jon wanted right now was to be able to feel physically ill and vomit, but his body, or what he had believed to be his body until then, was perfectly fine and kept walking in the direction of the silver-haired girl.

When Jon got close to her he could finally appreciate her in all her splendor, confirming why from afar she was mistaken for a goddess.

Before Jon's eyes 'or should I say, before the eyes of whoever I am in?' it was the most perfect woman he had ever seen in his life.

The 'Girl? Or is it a Goddess?' wore a scarlet red dress with black traces on the sides of her trunk, which made the effect of scales. The combination of colors enhanced the paleness of her porcelain- like skin, without an imperfection, without an impurity.

The trance in which Jon found himself disappeared immediately when he heard the stranger speak to him, while she looked at him with love and sweetness.

"Egg !!Tubī iksis aōha tōma ampā Brōzio Tubis [1] Māzigon va lēkia, aōha irudy aōha irudy tubī iksis bona ao umbagon lēda Balerion [2]!" The stranger girl spoke in a warm voice and with great familiarity.

'Egg? Who the hells is Egg? Is she talking to me?' Jon mused, as he tried to shape the only thing he thinks he understands that this mysterious girl has said.

'Balerion? The only Balerion I know of is the Black Dread, the Conqueror's dragon... and of course the girl fits the description of a descendant from The Old Valyria... but the conquest of Aegon and his sisters was 297 years ago!! What hell am I in? What's going on?'

However before Jon could find any answers and while he could only drown in his thoughts, the body and mind in which he found himself seemed to understand everything perfectly.

Acting without having any control over the actions of his body or mind, Jon closed the distance between himself and the beautiful silver-haired woman in a couple of strides until he was even with her. Moment in which Jon or the body in which his soul and consciousness was found, grabbed her by the waist to attract her towards him and looking into her eyes, spoke to her in a language that he had never spoken distilling some annoyance but warmly.

"Rhaenys, ao gīmigon skorkydoso bōsa nyke ve issare waiting syt bisa tubis, iksan daor hae ao, gaoman daor mirre jaelagon naejot sagon sōvegon mirre jēda[3]"

Without Jon being able of process anything of what was happening, the beautiful girl gave him a mischievous look and launched into a passionate kiss, to what 'Myself? ' answered more than delighted.

Jon couldn't be more confused. His first kiss in his life had intoxicated him even more than all of the unlikely situation he was in. The kiss felt like all the love he'd never had or knew he needed. It was something magical, pure and real all at the same time.

That kiss felt like the home he had never had. Never in Jon's life had anything he ever done felt more correct than that kiss.

Despite all the good that the kiss had caused him, Jon had never imagined kissing a woman. Much less that Jon's first kiss would be with such a goddess and that he could only be some sort of spectator although feeling as if he were the one who really kissed her.

Jon tried to return to his thoughts, or as little he was able to process at that moment, trying to remember the only thing he had been able to understand anything from the strange language in which Jon had addressed the stranger who, after the kiss had been made owner of his senses and his soul even if it were in the other life.

'I've called the unknown girl Rhaenys? As in Rhaenys Targaryen?' Jon wondered to himself. 'Yes.' replied suddenly and dryly although with some affection an internal voice.

'Mine? That of the person within whom I am? That of the gods of this strange world I am in after my death? ... Who are you?' Jon asked to the voice with doubt in his tone.

Jon did not expect an answer. Or he didn't really want to have it, scared of who it might be.

'Aegon Targaryen, the son of Lord Aerion Targaryen and Lady Valaena Velaryon. The heir to Dragonstone and the last scion of Valyria. Who are you? I know how you got here, your last memories somehow are also mine now...' replied the owner of the body in which Jon's soul was, in a tone that was clearly sympathetic and with sorrow.

'Jon, Jon Snow. Son of Lord Eddard Stark.' Jon replied feeling as if he were an ant addressing the huge black dragon that was beginning to emerge on the horizon in the sky.

'Has the future changed so much that men will be able to have children without the need for a woman?' The Conqueror said with a certain bitter aftertaste.

'Impossible, this can't be happening.' Jon thought.

The moment he tried to deny the reality of what was happening to him, Jon experienced as if his life passed before his eyes, but interspersed with all the memories and experiences of the life of the person Jon somehow was in.

Thus Jon now could understand that the language that he was unable to understand just was High Valyrian, and that his mind and soul had somehow been transported to the body of the damm Conqueror on the day of the Dragon's fifth and tenth day of the name. Just about to be bonded by first time with Balerion, the Winged Shadow.

'If Aegon Targaryen is on his fifth and tenth day of the name and my memory of studying the Conquest with Maester Luwin is correct, it means that I am in the body of the Conqueror 295 years before I was born. This is not possible! This is fucking madness!! I should be dead. I without being able to control it, I have driven into my heart the dagger that I found in my aunt Lyanna's grave. I should be in the Seven Hells, or in the afterlife, not being an exceptional spectator in the life of Aegon the Dragon without having any control over the acts that happen around me ... What a practical joke of the gods is this? Is this the punishment for ending my life by my own hand? I didn't want to, really didn't want ...'Jon lamented bitterly, as he tried to adjust to his incredible new reality.

'Stop thinking so much, you're giving me a headache. I suppose it must be like being leaning out of a window watching life go by, but you contemplate it through the eyes of a person peeking out and feeling from inside.' interrupted, who was undoubtedly Aegon Targaryen.

'Don't worry. Even if I can't understand how you feel, I'm not going to judge you by the circumstances of your birth or death. No newborn should be judged on the actions of his parents or his rank on the social scale. It's our actions that define us, Jon. And as I see it, in your death there was something beyond your hand...' The Dragon pronounced with an affection that could almost be considered brotherly, conveying a certain concern at the last thing he had said.

After establishing the connection or whatever the gods wanted Jon to have with Aegon, Jon tried not to turn around how and why he had gotten there, feeling grateful that at least this time he knew that he would live a better life. Although without being him really responsible for anything that happened in it. Somehow the absence of being judged as his father's shame was exhilaratingly liberating, Jon had to add.

He reached a kind of internal peace in that moment by deciding that dead or in limbo, Jon was living, through some magical way, in the life of a person from the past. What he did not quite understand was why Jon was reliving the life of a Targaryen. Especially THAT Targaryen, instead of an old King of Winter whose name was Stark.

No matter how many turns he gave it, Jon couldn't find a possible explanation for his situation. But deep down in his soul or what was left of it, he felt that there was a reason for being there.

He was in Dragonstone, within the soul of Aegon Targaryen. It took him getting used to it, but since he couldn't do otherwise, Jon resigned himself to being an exceptional witness in the life of the Conqueror.

He, in a way, was the Dragon.