Chapter 1: As always nothing's changed

As always, the hall was the same. A grand hall that seemed large enough to contain a dragon. Had he seen it in its prime, he would have said it was one of the most beautiful things he had seen. Unfortunately, it was not in its prime. The room, in truth, was a withering and decaying thing. The walls and floors had cracks, small craters, and blood stains all over. There were a few swords on the ground that had turned slightly bronze from rust. The room was ancient standing strong despite trials of time.

It hadn't changed at all from the first time he saw it. Not a speck of dust was out of place.

Yes, It was still the same old decrepit ruin.

Next, he turned to the large wooden doors as they slowly opened. The metal hinges had also rusted, so they gave resistance as they were opened. The sound from those few seconds was a horrid thing. Even though he knew it was coming and had blocked his ears beforehand, he still heard it loud creaking and scraping.

As always

He watched as the doors were finally fully opened, and the man entered as if on cheque. Abyssal black armor that further helped the man blend into the darkness.

There was no light source to be seen except the flickering torch in the man's hands. The torch helped him make out some of the man's features, such as the unkempt silver blond hair, but not enough for him to completely see his face.

No matter how close he came. He could never see the man's face. As if the world itself was shielding him.

On one memorable occasion of his visits, he got curious and walked toward the broken windows in the hall to see what laid beyond. What did he find?

Nothing

Absolutely nothing

There was complete darkness, just a void.

On another unforgettable visit, he contemplated just jumping out to get a better understanding of what exactly he was looking at. That was until he felt like something was watching him, something deeply unsettling. Since then, he vowed to himself to never approach the windows, much less look outside.

He was drawn out of his thoughts, but the sudden cough of the man in which blood shoot out. He couldn't help but muse, as he stood to the side and watched, that the first time this happened he honestly thought the man was one breath away from death.

He remembered not sleeping for two days after seeing so much blood as a child.

As always, he watched as the man slowly made his way to the other end of the large hall. What stood there was...

In all honesty, despite seeing it for an untold number of times, he still didn't know what to call it.

A demon's creation?

A failed attempt at creativity?

An abomination forged with iron?

He didn't know what it was, but after he watched the man climb the steps and sit at the peak of the mountain of swords, he realized this was supposed to be a throne. Asymmetrical and misshapen as it was.

Honestly, what king would find comfort spending his days in the cold embrace of sharpened iron? The obvious answer would be this man, apparently, as with practiced easy, he climbed the steps and sat there.

As always, all he could do was stand there and watch.

Until the pain came.

_______________________________________________

Conviction. What exactly is conviction?

Will?

Determination?

Drive?

Although he was admittedly young and lacked real world experience. He liked to believe he understood conviction more than any man alive.

Why, you ask?

Because, as always, he stood there and watched conviction.

With silver gold hair and purple eyes, conviction stood proudly under the moonlight. It held an unsharpened steel sword, and all it did was swing.

As always, conviction swung its sword. Whether it be through freezing winds or thunderous storms, conviction stood where it always did and swung.

It didn't stop, and he didn't bother to try. He learned that nothing can stop conviction because that's what it is. Absolute certainly in one's actions regardless of what the world says or believes.

That is conviction and nobody embodiment that more that Visenya Targaryen.

"You're late." She spoke with a cold, detached voice. He noticed how he instinctual avoided make eye contact.

It was commonly accepted on Dragonstone that if Visenya wanted something, she would get it no arguments or negotiations involved. Why?

Because Visenya is unnatural. He might even make a guess and say she wasn't even human.

On her 11th name day, Visenya nearly beat a squire to death with a wooden sword, and the justification she provided was, 'I needed to establish my authority and demonstrate my skills, otherwise no one would take me seriously.'

Visenya was a monster. She was always stoic and cold. He couldn't recall a single moment where she once genuinely smiled.

And to make matters worse, she was a talented monster. Her martial prowess was something of legend on Dragonstone. He often overheard guards talking it in the halls, 'No one that young should be that good. It goes beyond mere talent.' They'd whisper while looking over their shoulders, hoping she wasn't around the corner.

If only she'd been born a man. Then, his father would not even look at the rest of his children. Not with perfect, faultless Visenya to draw his attention.

He hated that small spark of envy that lighted up.

For a second, he was glad he was the only male heir because how could an ordinary, untalented boy ever hoped to compete against the unnatural?

He hated that he thought this way. It was pathetic and shameful.

"Apologizes, sister. I lost track of time." He did his best to project a confident presence much like his father. He couldn't afford to look meek in front of Visenya. She despised weakness.

She couldn't know that the same dream had been haunting him for over a moon. She couldn't know that he often awoke screaming in pain.

No one could know.

He was the heir to Dragonstone and the one who would inherit the Black Dread. He couldn't have people thinking he was mad or unfit for ruling.

He'd lose Dragonstone, and it was all he had. Which made his current predicament all the more infuriating.

It all started where all of his current problems seemed to originate from.

His recurring dream.

More partically, the constant pain that accompanied it. Ever since they started, he's never been able to get a full night's rest, and any attempts to go back to sleep were useless, leaving him with a lot of time on his hands for reading or something else.

On one fateful evening, he was taking a simple stroll outside and encountered Visenya training. One thing led to another, and he ended up joining her late night training sessions, partly because he wanted to improve, but mostly because his monster of a sister wanted to use him as a living target.

"Sister," he let out a tired sigh as he looked up at the stars.

"What?" It was faint, but he heard a flicker of curiosity in that soulless voice.

"Have you not been curious about what life's going to bring in the coming years?"

"We are both already aware of what life will bring us." He looked at her, actually looked at her, and yet no matter how hard he tried, there was absolutely nothing in those eyes.

Yet her voice carried a hint of finality and certainty.

She was right. Everyone already knew what came next. He just didn't like to acknowledge it. He was to become the Lord of Dragonstone, claim the Black Dread, and marry Visenya. Rhaenys was to marry one of the Vassals for the sake of preserving order.

And yet it all felt so hollow.

He wanted Dragonstone. All his life has been spent preparing for it, and yet, at the same time, he felt like there's more to it all.

He should be doing more.

He wanted to be doing more.

There needed to be more!

Was he supposed to accept that his fate has already been written and the ink has dried?

This frightening uncertainty. The realization that there might be a crossroads ahead.

As always, nothing had changed. He still harbored the same doubts and uncertainties.

Questions about the future and his place in it.

"I suppose you're correct, sister."

Aegon Targaryen knew deep down that he had no idea what to do with his life, and that terrified him more than he would admit.