Chapter 1: Ambush

A/N: Hey everyone. Hope you're feeling good. Meant to put this out yesterday, but I was a bit under the weather cause of the Moderna second dose so… here it is.

Had the idea for this story for a while now and I've been working on it for a bit - wanted to get enough written before publishing. I'm fascinated by the history of House Targaryen and decided to take a stab at a period in its history that really doesn't get many stories. This one will be focused on the era of Maegor I Targaryen, though we start long before him.

Kudos to bykim0120 for helping me get this story off the ground.

Sit, relax, and enjoy :D

The Legacy of Fire and Blood

An impossible task. Such was the first reaction of the commander of the assassination unit, a motley crew of weathery old fighters and young hotshots trained in the art of stealth combat - an art hated amongst the chivaldic Andal society but finding more of a home both north of the Neck and south of the Boneway. Many of them had many kills to their names, but this was not any ordinary task. No, it seemed to be more daunting than their usual missions climbing the crags of the Red Mountains to get at the marcher lords.

The gentle waves of Blackwater Bay audible as they crashed against the cliffs and beaches of the new city, it was clear as day to why they were here. They were to assassinate the dragons.

Each of the men resigned themselves to the task and immediately started planning since arriving aboard a Pentosi merchant cog one moon before. Some marks were easy, many ignorant of the threat against them. Dragons were far different. Importance real and not taken for granted, the self-styled King and Queens of Westeros did not take chances. Dragons circled overhead, guards born of Dragonstone surrounding the wood and stone Aegonfort. Out of sheer bad luck, the youngest Queen had departed the city days ago, ending their chance to hit them all at once - not that they'd possess any chance of killing the infant prince dwelling within the keep - but such was the luck of the draw.

Things weren't simple here, they never were with the Valyrians. But the art remained the same. Team members blended into the crowds - easier since all were stony Dornish from the Wyl or Torrentine that looked more like Andals - charting all movements into and out of the Aegonfort. From the largest convoy of knights and wheelhouses to the most insignificant stablehand bringing back hay for the horses, all were jotted down and memorized for any routing that could be manipulated.

It hadn't been a week before they decided that assaulting the Aegonfort was suicide. The household guards would kill them where they stood, let alone the lumbering forms of Balerion and Vhagar circling overhead.

No, they would have to kill the Valyrians outside the Aegonfort.

Attacking outside the dragon's lair also posed an arduous task, but the assassination team operated by a universal dogma - valar morghulis. All men must die, including the dragonlords. Eating their rations and drinking their Dornish Red, they pondered how they would proceed.

The King and Queen only left their domain for two reasons - dragonriding and inspecting the large concentration of troops readying to sail south to the homeland. The first was impossible to deal with, while the latter posed possibilities. They were heavily armed with knights and men-at-arms guarding them, but both the King and his warrior Queen rode rather than ride in a wheelhouse… exposing them. Doable, especially since at the normal mid-afternoon time the inspections were made, the dragons flew to sea to hunt and fish.

Perfect.

The route was soon chosen. The Valyrians had a routine that was spotted, their security's first major flaw. They were as crafty as ever - no route was the same, every procession taking a separate direction through the rapidly growing city. The team wasn't about to attack near the Aegonfort nor the army camp, so it had to be somewhere along the route.

Through further observation the second major flaw was spotted. No route was ever taken twice in succession. However, it was discovered that the route taken would always be one of seven. Wolfish grins curled on each of the assassin's faces at this knowledge.

The plan was set.

The dragons would die that afternoon, and their homeland saved.

Fishing boat bobbing gently on the calm surface of Blackwater Bay, the deckhands suddenly dove for the deck as a large green shape dove over them. Roar filling the air as its head plunged under the water. It kicked up a large, white spray, emerging with a shark impaled on its massive teeth.

Droplets of water showering her, Visenya Targaryen smirked. Whooping in spite of herself as the wind blowed through her hair - doing its best to rip the silver locks from their braids. "Easy girl," she chuckled, feeling the large bulk of Vhagar beneath her sizzle the shark in her mouth before gulping it down.

Vhagar hooted, only to change to a roar. Above, much as the she-dragon had with the poor fishing vessel scared shitless by her, the golden scales of Meraxes twirled past in a spin. Sleek and agile, Vhagar's sister loved showing off… and that went similarly for her rider. "WHOOOOO!" Her own silver locks let loose as befitting her free spirit.

Visenya could have sworn that Rhae was teasing her - the moment slowing as her lavender eyes looked down, sparkling at her. Meraxes quickly carrying her away as she climbed from the surface towards the clouds.

Oh, it was on. "Climb, girl!" Vhagar hooted and beat her green wingspan, kicking up another salty spray and rocketing higher and higher.

Jinking, weaving, Vhagar's larger wings carried Visenya up to Rhaenys, trading the lead with Meraxes nearly a half-dozen times. Merry laughs from the younger daughter traded with fierce grins from the oldest, drawn out of her taciturn shell with the roar of the wind and the majesty of the dragons. Enjoying what only they and their brother ever could.

An immense bellow drew the two sisters from their competition. Immense, size double that of either Meraxes or Vhagar, the bulk of Balerion separated the both of them - revealing the powerful build of their only brother. Aegon looked the part of a great Valyrian warrior, and normally a small smile would grace his face at these races… but not now. Not in the slightest could any merriment be found in the midst of his scowl. Visenya gripped Vhagar's spines, knitting her brows.

Aegon pointed to the ground before spurring Balerion into a dive. The sisters shared a look before diving after him - landing atop the ground with a jolt.

Visenya was the first to approach her brother. "Egg, what bit you in the ass?" crossing her arms, she glared at him with a cross look. Aegon had his back turned towards her, sitting upon the grass on the far end of the island, overlooked by their keep and the Dragonmont. "Well?"

"Kepa is dying."

She blinked, almost thinking she misheard. "What?"

Less skilled than her siblings, Rhaenys jogged up from climbing off Meraxes. "Egg… what's wrong?" She was always the more gentle of the three. "Vis?"

It was slowly sinking in. "Kepa's on his deathbed…" Aegon would never lie about that.

Her hands flew to clasp her mouth. "No…" Lord Aerion Targaryen had grown from a strapping knight into a frail man, but none of his children imagined he could fall… Rhaenys' eyes welled with tears. "Kepa…" Without prompting, the normally touch-adverse Visenya threw her arms around Rhae, sobs soon wracking the both of them. Two large arms then wrapped around the both of them, hot tears soaking Vis' hair from where Egg buried his face.

It was far more intimate than they had dared in spite of their family's traditions.

It was exactly what they needed.

An hour later, they all leaned against the trunk of an oak tree, Rhaenys leaning into Aegon's chest while Vis rested beside him - arms touching and her head on his shoulder. "Everything's going to change, isn't it?" she mused.

"Aye…" Aegon ran his hand up Rhaenys' arm. "I don't know if I'm ready to be Lord of Dragonstone."

"Father trained you well, Egg," Rhae remarked. "He trained all of us."

"The last of the dragonlords," he continued. "Stuck on a pitiful rock in the middle of the ocean… we were meant for greater things."

"I've always thought so." For Visenya, more inclined to spar than displaying affection, the arm that wrapped round her waist was oddly welcome. "But what do you mean, Egg?"

Looking at him, she saw his eyes cast west. Across Blackwater Bay, to the great lands of the Sunset Kingdoms. In them, she saw the covetous gaze of a conqueror.

Ones she would later see in her own eyes.

"Seven's blessings upon you, your Graces!"

The proclamation from the craftsman drew Queen Visenya from her internal musings. Bobbing up and down on her clearly bored mount, an awkward wave at her subject caused the man to bend the knee, seemingly in awe at the blessings of the royal house. Fought over by the Stormlords, Valemen, and Ironborn for centuries, the residents of Blackwater Bay saw the dragons as near gods come to rescue them from perpetual war prizes. It… unsettled Visenya. Gods, Rhaenys was always better at this than me.

A gentle chuckle drew her attention. Beside her was Aegon, grinning at her. "Only you would be perturbed that our subjects adore you, Vis."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Not all of us like to be fawned over to soothe our insecurities," Visenya shot back.

"Sure, sure." As always, the King of the Seven Kingdoms wore his hair styled short but not too short, face clean-shaven to accentuate his strong jaw. Once, he had tried to grow a beard, but a complaint from Rhaenys put an end to that idea. Disrupted his natural god-like handsomeness, she had put it.

Visenya wasn't too proud to admit that Rhaenys was absolutely right, though she'd never tell her younger brother that. He'd lord it over her for moons.

"Seriously though." She looked back at him to find his face serious again, violet eyes boring straight into her in the way that made Rhaenys swoon and her own knees… Visenya would never say weaken. Both were strong women, and the intensity of their husband was a major draw. "What are you thinking of?"

Oh, this was not a conversation Vis wanted to have. "How is little Aenys? Is he missing Rhae?" The newborn babe born two weeks before had been held by her exactly twice - she wasn't exactly the motherly type, adding yet another insecurity to silently stoke her ire.

Egg blinked. "Aenys is fine, Vis. What is bothering you?"

Debating whether to lie to him to avoid an awkward conversation, Visenya instead sighed. "Long story." Passing through the bustling streets of what was being called 'King's Landing,' while surrounded closely by guards picked from Quenton Qoherys' elite Dragonstone bannermen there was no one in earshot. Words were safer here than in the Aegonfort. "Do you remember when all of this was still merely a dream? Just you, Rhae, and I hoping for glory?"

Aegon's jaw set harder, closing his eyes as the procession turned a corner towards the outskirts of the new yet growing city. "Increasingly every day," was his response. "You're feeling it too… the death of purpose?"

She nodded. "It wasn't supposed to be like this." Raining fire upon their enemies, securing their brother Orys the keep of a legendary house, watching as King after King bent the knee… all of it disappeared into the muck and mire of mundane ruling and the growing Dornish ulcer that kept enveloping their armies in their mission of death. "There is no glory in this war anymore. Nothing but death and atrocity."

Aegon looked away, eyes falling upon the crowds of people that milled about to catch a glimpse of their King and Queen. "We're in too deep to come out now," he said quietly. "Win or die."

"We will win, if not us then our descendants." This Visenya believed with all of her being, but unlike what many portrayed her as, the stern ruthlessness was but one part of her. "But will it be worth the suffering?" She could see it in Orys' eyes, their once jovial bastard brother filled with rage and bitterness thanks to Lord Wyl's torture. She saw it in their sister, her sister-wife. Lover of merriment and pleasure, when she thought herself alone she would hold Aenys close, crying softly. As if afraid their only future would be shorn away from them at the first opportunity.

It was destroying them all, even herself. Visenya hated it. "Have we lost our power, Egg, or is it merely that we've lost sight of what matters?"

"Rhaenys said something before she left, in response to this very question. 'Only the wicked find their paths to be enjoyable. The just must suffer in their cause.'" He snorted. "Probably read it somewhere - she's eloquent but not that eloquent, the minx."

Visenya raised an eyebrow. "Why am I not shocked you talked to Rhae before I."

He furrowed his brows. "Vis, that's not what I meant…"

"No, it's alright. I understand." I will not be jealous of my own sister… I will not be jealous of my own sister. "You and she always understood each other, while I was just the gruff oldest sibling to spar and butt heads with."

"That wasn't it at all." For the life of him, Aegon didn't know how it got to this topic. Gods, let me at the Dornish over this. "You're my sister and my wife."

"A wife from duty, as opposed to a wife of choice that Rhae was and is. I know what the courtiers whisper behind my back." Whenever she was gone, Egg was always morose - Visenya accepted it long ago. It was easier to deal with the shame and humiliation when one had a dragon. Poor Argella Baratheon could never escape the indignity of being delivered naked to Orys as a gift… she was in a constant battle to prove herself… which Visenya supposed she was in as well. "You need not apologize or seek redemption for it, Egg."

Much as Vis inwardly wished he'd do so anyway.

About to open his mouth, Aegon was cut off as a sharp thwack echoed beside them. Two pairs of eyes swiveled around, catching the groaning figure of one of their guards as he slumped over on the horse - collapsing bonelessly to the ground. Out of his breastplate, an arrow shaft projected out. The entire column halted, guards tensing around their reins or weapons.

Visenya was the first to rally herself. "AMBUSH!" She and Egg had just drawn their blades as the rain of arrows began to fall upon them.

Screams rang out as the smallfolk scattered, racing away like scurrying ants while the knights and men-at-arms reacted. Using instincts only years of combat experience could give, Visenya leapt off her now screaming mount - Aegon did the same only a split-second later, less flexible and agile than his more nubile sister. From the buildings to all sides, a pair of javelins hurled towards where they once were… instead burying deep into the flesh of the horses.

Neither monarch had the time to celebrate their good instincts. Egg rolled towards the side of the road while Vis jumped to her feet, following him in a crouch.

The others weren't as lucky. The ones still mounted instead tried to charge the front… only for a hidden tripwire at head height to knock the front two from their horses - throats slit open by the sharp wire. Horses skidding to a halt, arrows and javelins followed, while pre-placed pitch and oil soaking the rear exit was ignited, creating a wall of fire that hemmed them all in.

Wedged into whatever cover they could, Visenya gritted her teeth - the screams and cries of their men being slaughtered filling her ears. "Spot any of them?!" Egg yelled beside her, enraged that they were being attacked… enraged at the gall of the Dornish.

Easing her head out of their alcove of cover, suddenly an arrow tore right along her shoulder's chainmail armor - slicing through flesh. "Fuck!" Her blood burned.

"Vis!"

She ignored Aegon's worry. "We have to get out of here!" Snarling, she hit her uninjured shoulder against the thin plywood wall of the building they sheltered against. It gave a bit but didn't budge. "Shit!"

"I got it!" With a grunt Aegon crashed through, opening up an avenue of escape.

The stench of death was first noted, violet eyes finding a trio of corpses piled in a corner - a tradesman and his family all with their throats slit, the wife and daughter with their dresses torn apart from obvious violation. Their murderers… at least the inference was strong, were at a battered table winding up two crossbows. A tense quiet filled the house, both sides staring at each other.

Visenya reacted first. Half from survival and half from sheer hate at such brutality, she charged with a snarl that would make Vhagar blanch. Crashing against the first man before he could even move, she bashed him into the wall and cut across his chest with Dark Sister. She reached forward and then ripped out his throat with her armored fist, eyes blazing.

Behind, the second assassin tried to level the crossbow but Blackfyre batted it aside, bolt fired harmlessly into a wooden beam. Aegon spun the longsword back and thrust forward, burying the blade into his gut.

"Valyrian!" The commotion had only drawn attention from upstairs. Curved scimitar up high with murder in his eyes, an assassin charged down the stairs towards the monarchs - both easily recognizable with their silver hair and Valyrian armor. Two followed him, one equally scrawny as the first while the other… he towered over Aegon in size and strength, wielding a scimitar in each meaty hand.

Visenya found herself double teamed, and not in the pleasurable way she and Egg did to Rhae on occasion. Meeting the hateful and not a little dismissive gaze of both Dornishmen, Visenya spun her wrist gently, bending her knees just a bit as she stood her ground. Not backing down. Daring them to attack.

A dare they took, the first of them launching a leftward slash directly at the Dragon Queen. One that Dark Sister parried easily, forcing him back.

The other advanced as well, swinging an uppercut right at Vis' chest only for her to lean back. Tip shooting past just an inch from her face. Her wound ached, but the hot blood of the dragon suppressed it. Spinning, she slashed to the side, cutting his chest and sending him reeling to the ground with a scream.

Aegon was struggling, though not from lack of skill. Blackfyre slashed and parried like an extension of his arm, meeting the twin blades of his opponent with furious clangs. Using his endurance to make the bruiser tire. However, he refused to take the bait, attacking ever harder, trying to just bash through Aegon's defenses… and it was working.

Crying out a shrill battlecry, the assassin swiped at Visenya's head, the Queen twirling out of the way on one foot… an ever so slight savage smirk crossing her lips as she chopped downward, severing the man's spine and sending him to the ground. A smirk that disappeared quickly. "Egg!"

Lunging with Blackfyre, Aegon was blocked by crossed scimitars, muscles straining to try and overcome them. The bruiser chuckled deeply, red flush beneath his swarthy skin as he leaned his head back and rocketed forward, bashing the King in the skull and sending him reeling. Watching Aegon stumble, he lashed out with his left.

"Egg!" Visenya's cry was followed by a bellow of agony from the Dornishman, his arm severed at the wrist by Dark Sister. Recovering at his sister's call, Aegon threw a left hook to the assassin's face, feeling the crack of bone. Angling Blackfyre, he thrust - pulverizing bone and impaling the Dornishman's heart clean through. There was a slight delay, only for the man to topple dead to the ground.

Breathing hard, their eyes met - soon, Egg and Vis were embracing tightly, thanking all above that the other lived. But the cacophony of the outside ended the moment soon after it started. Aegon grabbed for his sister-wife, pointing to a back exit. "Let's get out of here!"

Everything passed by in a blur. Dark allies, crowded shanties, countless men, women, and children that they simply barrelled through in their mad dash away from the ambush. Their wounds and bruises burned and ached but nothing could stop them. It hurt to leave their men to die, but there was no other choice. Stopping in an alley to pause - one that reeked of shit and piss - it was their lives or their deaths. The only choice that House Martell and Wyl of Wyl left them.

Suddenly, they heard voices approaching.

Hidden in the shadows of the alley, Visenya resolved to toss her boots as the concoction of human excretions soaked the leather. As the voices grew closer, she tightened her grip around Dark Sister, blood of their tormentors dripping onto the hilt. Head leaning slightly forward, Visenya met Aegon's eyes - silently communicating their joint plan. You go high, I go low. Aegon nodded, each counting down to three before the shadows grew closer and the time to erupt came. Crouching down, Visenya prepared to swipe at the attacker's legs before the red three-headed dragon emerged into view.

Aegon froze just as she did, faced with a half-dozen Targaryen guardsmen, blades at the ready. "Your Graces!" They bowed their heads, fists clasping their breastplates.

Twirling her blade, Visenya pointed it back in a nonthreatening pose. "Who sent you?"

"Lord Fell, your Grace," the lead man answered. "Are you alright, was it the Dornish swine?"

She waved off the questions. "Fetch us mounts, and be fucking quick about it!" Nothing could be answered unless they were safe behind the walls of the Aegonfort.

Men-at-arms surrounding them in a protective screen, suddenly Aegon clutched his head, groaning in pain. "Your Grace!"

"Egg!" For a moment, Visenya's heart stopped - but there was no new wound visible. She wasn't going to take any chances. "Let's go!"

"I'm… fine…" Egg grounded out, nonetheless practically dragged through the city streets by his guards and sister-wife. "Just… fuck… something bad happened. He couldn't explain it, but it was as if his soul was burning alive.

Visenya opened her mouth to respond, only for the same inferno to hit her like a wall of Vhagar's dragonfire. She stilled but recovered - gritting her teeth and pushing through the pain.

Feel it that they did, neither the King nor Queen of Westeros could fathom what had transpired in Dorne that very moment.

Where one attack failed, another succeeded beyond its wildest dreams.

None of it registered to him. Not the hint of disapproval on the bedservant's face as she found her in the bed of her Lady. Not the unabashed nonchalance from his lover as to him being there. No, for Hugor Flowers only the information contained in the dispatch truly mattered as he leaned up in bed - sheets falling to expose his lean upper body. "By all… the gods are toying with us." Heavy resignation filled his voice.

Keeping her still trim figure - even at five and thirty - shrouded by the sheets, Sharra Arryn craned her head at her lover… and the Resident Septon of the Eyrie. "Why the melancholy, dear Hugor?"

He sighed. "The Dornish swine failed in their attempt on their Graces' lives." The last was spat out in disgust, loathing the fact the Targaryens actually ruled over them all. Given his blood and history, such was expected from him, but dangerous if he wasn't among friends here.

Sharra snorted. "Nonsense, they may have lived but the Dornish managed to kill Queen Rhaenys." She leaned up, swell of cleavage exposed as she did, pointing at the bottom of the dispatch parchment. "Killed her dragon too. A great victory." Once the proud Queen of the Vale, her humbling at the hands of Visenya Targaryen didn't predispose her to their rulers even as her growing son maintained his childhood excitement and loyalty to the woman that gave him a dragonride.

Hugor hated them far more than the Flower of the Mountain. "One good thing the Dornish have ever done." Being from the Reach, he hated them too. "But not enough… nothing will ever be enough."

"I know you blame them for your family, but you need to learn to be patient with your goals, Hugor."

"I want them to burn. To choke and suffer for what they did." In truth, Hugor was no ordinary bastard of the Reach. His father was Mern, Ninth of his Name and King of the Reach. The blood of House Gardener flowed in his veins, the last male of the family to live following the field of fire. "I was studying in Oldtown when I learned of my family's demise…" He hung his head. "I want vengeance but I can do nothing."

Soft hand stroking his bare back, Sharra kissed his shoulder. Theirs had started out of lust, but the affair spanned half a decade and grew into some affection. She wanted to help him, seeing someone that could restore the glory of their people. "Such won't last, Hugor."

Her Septon peered up at her. "How do you know?"

She smirked. "My cousin just became the new High Septon." Formerly of House Tarly, Sharra's aunt had married Lord Althos Hightower - such a noble and august family often filled the Starry Sept with their spare sons and daughters, and one finally ascended to become His High Holiness. "He wrote to me and asked if I knew anyone that could help fill his household."

Hugor's eyes widened. "You don't mean…?"

"Which position would you like?" It would take him away from her, but Hugor knew both he and she would never pass such an opportunity. "Take your time, dear Hugor. We have time, now." She leaned back, looking at him sultrily. "I believe we should make more memories before you leave." Running a hand through his dark brown locks topping a fair and intelligent face, Hugor chuckled and gave into temptation.

Slowly shutting the door behind him hours later, Hugor released the deep sigh he had held in for so long. Never was he allowed to be himself anymore, his soul given to the Seven and his body carrying itself with the august blood flowing through his veins. Not even with Sharra… No, his true fears and worries were saved for solitude.

The chambers of the resident Septon of the Eyrie was rather drab. It hadn't all been this way, but Hugor had all the gilt and luxuries of the previous septon stripped out and donated to the orphanages of Gulltown as befitting a true man of the cloth. He had his temptations, but they manifested in fine food and pleasures of the flesh… though never in excess. There was no excess in his chambers. A single bed and drab writing desk. Two chairs thrown about and a small shelf of texts and tomes in the corner. Hanging from the wall was the green hand sigil of House Gardener, a token of his youth.

But Hugor Flowers was no longer a Gardener. He belonged to the Seven while his house was attained and extinct.

Because of the dragons…

A layer of dust covered the room, Hugor drawn to the soft sheets and warm arms of the Flower of the Mountain over his modest upkeep. Something he would savor while it lasted, even as both he and she strategized his rise through the Starry Sept. Quietly, he removed a copy of the Seven Pointed Star, holding it to his breast. Hugor gazed upon the sigil of his ancestors - imagining the fires that roasted them. His father, brothers, uncles, and cousins. Their screams while burning, although by the mercy of the Stranger they died instantly.

He burned with hate. Hate for the Valyrians, for the dragons they rode, and for the traitors that fought alongside them.

Falling to his knees, he placed the book to his forehead, hoping for the wisdom of the Seven who are One to seep into his soul. "Holy Seven… why does this happen to the righteous? Why must you torment us so?" Heart heavy, Hugor let it out. "We are your humble servants upon this earth. When will it be time for our victories? For our triumph?"

He knew there would be no answer, no divine miracle for the Faithful - but he knew what the Seven wished. If they were to triumph over the dragons, they would have to earn it. To take it.

"Let it be done."