The Death & Birth Of Kings

Dragonstone, 103 AC, Six Years Later

The skies over Dragonstone hung heavy with a sense of mourning. Dark clouds roiled above the ancient fortress, casting a brooding shadow over the island. The seas churned restlessly, the waves crashing against the jagged black cliffs below, as though the world itself grieved the passing of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, the greatest king Westeros had ever known. The Targaryen family had gathered in solemn respect, the weight of their loss etched into the stoic faces of each rider and noble who had made the journey.

The funeral would be held on the morrow, a grand ceremony worthy of a king, with his body committed to the flames, as was the custom of their Valyrian blood. But the night before, in the dark halls of Dragonstone, the air was thick with something more than sorrow. It was as if the very island held its breath, waiting.

In their chambers, far removed from the grief of their elders, Rhaenyra and Aegon were restless. The twins, now six years of age, had grown into two sides of a coin. Rhaenyra was bold and wild, with a fiery temper and an even fiercer will. She had inherited her mother's beauty but with the dragon's blood burning hot beneath her skin. Aegon, on the other hand, was quieter, more contemplative, though no less intense. He spoke little, but when he did, his words carried the weight of someone far older than his years. And then there were the moments, fleeting, almost imperceptible, when the very elements seemed to respond to him, as though they, too, recognized the latent power simmering within him.

Neither child could sleep that night, though for different reasons. Rhaenyra's mind was full of dreams of the future of dragons, adventure and ruling. Any common girl has dreamt what it would be like to be a Princess, but she was one. Aegon's restlessness was more primal, a sense of unease that gnawed at him like a quiet whisper he couldn't quite hear. He felt it in the air, in the distant rumble of the earth beneath Dragonstone, in the flicker of the torchlight that lined the ancient stone corridors.

"I can't sleep," Rhaenyra whispered from her bed, tossing the covers aside. "Let's explore."

Aegon, sitting up on the edge of his own bed, nodded silently. There was no need to speak, Rhaenyra always took the lead, and Aegon was content to follow. Together, the twins crept through the silent halls of the castle, their footsteps light as shadows. The air was cooler than it had been in the Red Keep, the stone walls here old, etched with the history of the Targaryens who had come before them. The smell of salt and smoke lingered, carried on the wind that whistled through the narrow windows and high ceilings.

They wandered aimlessly at first, their curiosity leading them through the winding corridors of the keep. But as they ventured deeper, something seemed to pull at them. Aegon felt it first—a subtle tug, like the island itself was calling to him. Rhaenyra sensed it too, though for her it was less a pull and more a challenge, an invitation to explore the forbidden.

After what felt like hours of wandering, they found themselves standing before an ancient iron door set into the stone. It was half-hidden by shadows, and so old that the iron had rusted, the hinges almost fused from disuse. Aegon ran his hand along the cold metal, feeling the faint hum of something beyond.

"Open it!" Rhaenyra urged, her violet eyes gleaming with excitement. She wanted adventure, something to pull her from the gloom of mourning.

Aegon hesitated but then pushed against the door. It creaked open with a groan, revealing a passage that sloped downwards, deeper into the bowels of the island. The air that wafted out was musty and damp, tinged with the scent of the sea and earth. Without a word, Rhaenyra darted inside, her bare feet padding lightly on the stone, and Aegon followed closely behind.

The passage was narrow, the walls closing in on them as they descended further and further into the darkness. The torches that lined the main hall were long behind them, leaving only the faint glow of their breath to illuminate the way.

"Where do you think it leads?" Rhaenyra whispered, her voice echoing off the damp walls.

"I don't know," Aegon replied quietly, though in his heart he had a sense of where they were going. He could feel it, a thrumming beneath his feet, a presence calling him deeper into the earth.

The tunnel widened after a time, opening into a cavernous chamber. The ceiling was high and jagged, the walls lined with strange veins of obsidian that gleamed like jewels in the dim light. But the path ahead was blocked by a mound of loose rock, freshly fallen debris from the unstable passage above.

As they moved closer, the ground beneath them began to tremble. It started as a faint vibration, but quickly grew into a rumble that shook the very stones around them. Dust and small rocks began to fall from the ceiling, and in an instant, the passage behind them collapsed with a deafening roar, sealing them inside the chamber.

Rhaenyra let out a gasp, grabbing Aegon's arm. "The ceiling, it's going to..."

But before she could finish, the roof gave way, sending an avalanche of stone crashing toward them. There was no time to run, no time to think. Aegon's body moved on instinct, something primal and ancient rising within him. He threw his hands out, his palms splayed toward the falling rocks, and in that moment, the ground beneath their feet answered.

With a great groaning of stone, the earth surged upward, forming a shield of solid rock above them, blocking the cascade of debris. The cave fell silent once more, the only sound the soft echo of their breathing in the newly still air.

Rhaenyra stared at her brother, wide-eyed, as the realization of what had just happened sank in. "Aegon… what did you do?"

But Aegon could only shake his head, his heart pounding. He didn't know. His hands still tingled with the sensation of the earth moving at his command, and his mind raced with questions. Was this the same power he had felt whenever he stared into fire? Was this what it had whispered to him? this connection to the elements, to the very bones of the earth?

Before he could answer, a low rumble echoed through the cavern, this time not from the stone, but from something else. Something far larger.

The twins turned, their eyes drawn to the far end of the cavern, where a massive form stirred in the darkness. A faint, fiery glow pulsed from the depths of the shadows, illuminating the outline of something vast, ancient, and unmistakable.

Vermithor!

The Bronze Fury, the once-great mount of King Jaehaerys himself, lay coiled in the deep cavern, his scales glinting like molten metal in the faint light. His eyes, glowing with the ember of slumbering fire, locked onto the two small figures before him. For a moment, the twins stood frozen, unable to move, their hearts caught in their throats.

But Vermithor did not attack. Instead, he shifted his massive head toward Aegon, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply, as if sensing something in the boy. The air between them crackled with an energy neither child could fully understand, but both could feel.

Fire recognized fire.

Aegon, his body trembling from the rush of power, stepped forward, unafraid. Rhaenyra reached for him, but her hand fell short, her own awe paralyzing her. The bond was forming, one of fire, earth, and blood. Vermithor's massive, glowing eyes blinked slowly, and then, as if in recognition of a kindred spirit, he bowed his head to the young prince.

The bond was sealed.

Aegon felt it, a surge of warmth and strength unlike anything he had ever known. The fire that burned within him roared to life, and for the first time, he understood. He was more than just a Targaryen. He was born of fire and stone, a creature of the elements themselves.

And now, he had a dragon.

The morning had barely broken over the dark spires of Dragonstone when the silence of the castle was shattered. A gust of wind rattled the ancient windows as King Viserys Targaryen stormed through the halls, his face contorted with worry and rage. Behind him, Queen Aemma followed closely, her hands trembling despite the regal composure she struggled to maintain. The late night and early morning had been long and sleepless for them both, filled with a growing sense of dread. The twins, Aegon and Rhaenyra, were missing.

"How could this happen?" Viserys demanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "They were in their chambers! Surrounded by guards!"

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Ryam Redwyne, stood stiff and pale, his armor gleaming despite the tension in the air. He had faced battle, dragonfire, and rebellion, but nothing compared to the wrath of a father fearing for his children.

"My king," Ser Ryam began, his voice steady though lined with regret, "we had men stationed at every entrance and along the halls. The children must have slipped out while the guards rotated their watch."

"Slipped out?" Aemma hissed, her eyes wide with panic. "They are six years old! How could this be possible? You swore to keep them safe!"

Ser Ryam bowed his head, shame rippling across his weathered face. "Your Grace, I take full responsibility. But I swear to you, we will find them."

The queen's hand clenched at the folds of her gown, her knuckles white. She looked as though she might collapse, but her voice held firm. "If any harm has come to them…"

Viserys' fury boiled over. "If they are not found soon, there will be no corner of the Seven Kingdoms where you can hide from my wrath, Ser Ryam. Now go! Send every man we have to search the island!" His words were a blade, cutting through the tension in the room.

The Lord Commander gave a sharp bow, hastily retreating to marshal his forces. The guards would scour the island, but Dragonstone was a labyrinth of old tunnels and hidden passageways, finding two children lost within its depths could take hours, if not days.

Aemma turned to her husband, her voice breaking under the weight of her fear. "Viserys… what if they're trapped? The caves, the cliffs… they could be hurt…"

Viserys took her hand, his own voice softening. "We will find them. They are our blood—nothing will take them from us."

But in his heart, Viserys felt the same gnawing dread. The island had many dangers, and though the Targaryens were born of fire and blood, children were still fragile, even those with dragon's blood in their veins.

Suddenly, the great doors to the hall swung open, and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen strode in, her dark hair rippling with the movement of her swift pace. She wore the armor of a dragonrider, her red and black scales gleaming like the fire of her own dragon, Meleys, the Red Queen. Her eyes were sharp with determination, and without a word, she nodded to the king and queen.

"I will take to the skies," Rhaenys announced, her voice steady and sure. "If they are anywhere on this island, Meleys and I will find them."

Viserys nodded, unable to form words as his heart raced. Aemma clutched her hand to her chest, tears brimming in her eyes. The sight of Rhaenys preparing to take flight offered them a brief glimmer of hope.

Without delay, the Princess of Dragonstone left the hall, the sound of her boots echoing on the stone floors. She hurried to the courtyard, where Meleys awaited her. The Red Queen was a fearsome sight, her crimson scales reflecting the morning light, her serpentine neck coiling in anticipation. Rhaenys wasted no time, mounting the dragon with practiced ease. With a mighty beat of Meleys' wings, they were airborne, soaring above the keep and toward the cliffs, the winds howling in their wake.

The island stretched out beneath them, the cliffs falling sharply into the churning sea, the dark rocks jagged like teeth. Rhaenys scanned the landscape, her eyes sharp as a hawk's, searching for any sign of the children. She urged Meleys lower, the dragon's fiery eyes sweeping the ground below.

As they circled the craggy coast, something strange caught her eye. A flash of movement—no, more than that. Smoke, rising from a point far deeper within the island than any normal fire. Her heart skipped a beat, but it wasn't the smoke that held her attention...it was a dragon...Vermithor!

Sometime later back in the castle, Viserys and Aemma were pacing, their anxiety mounting with each passing moment. The castle was alive with movement, guards rushing in and out of the hall, but still no sign of the twins.

Suddenly, the doors burst open once more. A guard, breathless from his haste, ran into the room, his face flushed with urgency.

"Your Grace!" he called, his voice strained. "The twins have been found!"

Aemma gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Where? Are they safe?"

The guard nodded, though his expression was one of disbelief. "They are safe, Your Grace. But… there is more. Prince Aegon… he...he's riding Vermithor!."

The room fell into stunned silence. Viserys' brow furrowed in confusion. "What did you say?"

The guard swallowed, struggling to find the words. "The Bronze Fury, Your Grace. The ancient dragon. Prince Aegon is riding him."

Aemma nearly stumbled, her eyes wide with shock. "That's impossible."

But before they could ask more, the sound of great wings beating the air filled the hall, followed by the unmistakable roar of a dragon. Viserys and Aemma rushed to the courtyard, the guards and servants trailing behind them.

And there, descending from the sky, was Vermithor, his massive bronze form gleaming in the morning light. Atop him, Aegon sat tall and proud, his small figure commanding the great beast with a grace and confidence far beyond his years. Rhaenyra was seated behind him, her face alight with a mixture of awe and triumph as she clung her arms around her brother. 

As Vermithor landed, sending gusts of wind through the courtyard, Aegon looked down at his father and mother, his violet eyes glowing with the fire of his bloodline. In that moment, he was not a child. He was a dragonlord, born and true.

Viserys could only stare in disbelief. Aemma, her tears flowing freely now, reached out for her son, though she was rooted in place by awe.

Aegon, however, remained mounted. He guided Vermithor with a gentle touch toward the pyre that had been prepared for Jaehaerys, his late grandsire. The king's body lay in state, ready for the final rite. And in a display of both power and respect, Aegon raised his hand, the fire within him answering his call.

Vermithor took a moment to stare at the pyre, releasing a cooing sound none had heard a beast of his might make. He too was mourning. The person he'd bonded with since hatching from the egg...was gone. Slowly his mouth opened as torrent of flame erupted, consuming the pyre in a blaze of dragonfire, as was the tradition of their ancient Valyrian ancestors. The body of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, the greatest king Westeros had ever known, was sent to the afterlife not by any dragon, but by the dragon of his own blood, the great grandson who had tamed the Bronze Fury.

Viserys and Aemma stood side by side, their hearts swelling with a indescribable mix of sorrow, pride, awe, and the knowledge that their son, Aegon, was destined for greatness. The fire of the Targaryen line had never burned brighter.

The waves rolled gently against the black sand shores of Dragonstone, their steady rhythm filling the air with the soft hiss of water meeting rock. Morning mist clung to the island's jagged cliffs, casting a silvery veil over the sea and sky. The air was thick with the scent of salt and smoke, a reminder of the events that had transpired the day before. The funeral of Jaehaerys the Conciliator had been a grand and solemn affair, but now, in the quiet dawn that followed, life resumed its course.

Aegon stood on the shoreline, his bare feet sinking into the damp sand, the coolness of the earth grounding him. His violet eyes were fixed on the horizon, but his mind was elsewhere. The grief of losing his great-grandsire still weighed on his heart, though it no longer consumed him. He had honored Jaehaerys in the way of their bloodline with fire. That had given him a sense of closure. Now, he focused on what came next: harnessing the power within him, mastering the elements that seemed to pulse through his very veins.

He raised his hands, palms outstretched toward the earth beneath him, and took a deep breath. Slowly, the sand began to ripple, small pebbles vibrating as if alive. With a flick of his wrist, the ground shifted, stones rising from the beach to form a floating circle around him. His brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on the movement, his connection to the earth deepening with every breath.

Then, with a sharp exhale, he turned his attention to the fire. A snap of his fingers, and a spark flickered in the air before him, growing into a small flame that danced on the wind. He shaped it, bending it to his will, the fire spinning around the floating stones in a spiral of heat and light. The two elements—earth and fire—moved in harmony, as though they were extensions of his very body.

It felt natural, instinctive, like something he had always known how to do.

Aegon let out a slow breath, releasing his hold on the elements. The stones fell back to the sand with a soft thud, and the flames winked out, leaving only a thin trail of smoke curling up into the morning sky. He smiled, satisfied with his progress, but the weight of responsibility lingered on his young shoulders. There was a power within him that few others in his family seemed to possess, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the world beyond Dragonstone took notice.

A few paces away, Rhaenyra sat beside the massive form of Vermithor, the Bronze Fury. The great dragon was resting, his enormous bulk stretched out along the shoreline, the heat of his slumbering breath causing the air around him to shimmer. Next to him, in stark contrast, was Syrax, still small enough to fit comfortably in Rhaenyra's lap. The young dragon nuzzled her playfully as she ran her fingers along its golden scales, her face a mixture of delight and awe.

"You're going to be big one day, aren't you?" Rhaenyra whispered to Syrax, scratching beneath its chin. The little dragon gave a soft purr in response, its wings fluttering lazily as it settled deeper into her lap.

She looked over at Aegon, watching as he practiced with the elements, her eyes wide with admiration. "You're getting better at that," she called, her voice cutting through the sound of the waves.

Aegon turned to her, grinning. "It feels like the more I practice, the easier it gets."

Rhaenyra nodded, though she couldn't quite understand the connection Aegon had to the earth and fire. Her bond with Syrax was powerful, but it was different—a shared instinct with her dragon rather than control over the elements themselves. Still, she envied him in a way. Aegon seemed to be growing into his power faster than anyone could have predicted.

As she opened her mouth to speak again, a familiar voice broke through the quiet.

"Careful with those flames, nephew. You might singe your hair off."

The twins looked up to see their uncle Daemon approaching, his usual swagger on full display. He wore his riding leathers, the unmistakable red and black of House Targaryen, his silver hair tousled by the wind. There was a mischievous glint in his violet eyes, the kind that always hinted at trouble. Behind him, his own dragon, Caraxes, was visible in the distance, perched high on the cliffs overlooking the sea.

"Uncle Daemon!" Rhaenyra cried, her face lighting up as she scrambled to her feet. She ran toward him, Syrax trailing behind her with an excited chirp. Daemon scooped her up in a quick hug before setting her back down, his grin wide and infectious.

"Aegon," Daemon said, nodding in approval as he looked the boy up and down. "You're growing into your power faster than I expected."

Aegon gave a modest shrug, though he couldn't hide the pride that flickered in his eyes. "It feels like it's always been there, waiting for me to understand it."

Daemon chuckled, stepping closer and crossing his arms. "Ah, that's the blood of the dragon. It's in all of us, just waiting to wake up." He glanced at Rhaenyra with a wink. "Even you, little niece. Just wait until Syrax is full grown. You'll be riding high above the clouds, the wind in your hair, the world at your feet."

Rhaenyra beamed, her excitement palpable. "I can't wait! Syrax is going to be the fastest dragon there is."

Daemon laughed. "That's the spirit. But don't let your father hear you say that, or he'll have Caraxes race her when she's older. And believe me, my dragon doesn't lose."

Aegon smiled at his uncle's playful tone, but there was something about the way Daemon looked at him—a seriousness lurking beneath the banter. He had always admired Daemon, who seemed to embody the very essence of their house: bold, brash, and utterly fearless. But today, there was something different about him, something that made Aegon feel as if this conversation wasn't going to remain light for long.

After a moment, Daemon's smile faded, and his gaze turned more thoughtful. He glanced over at Vermithor, still sleeping soundly on the shore, then back at Aegon. "You know, boy," he began, his voice lower now, "riding a dragon like Vermithor… it's not just a matter of skill or bravery. It's a matter of power. True power."

Aegon felt a shiver run down his spine at Daemon's words, though he wasn't entirely sure why. "What do you mean?"

Daemon crouched down beside him, his eyes locking onto Aegon's. "The world will see you as more than just a prince now. You've bonded with a dragon that even the greatest of kings feared to command. And with that comes a different kind of danger."

Rhaenyra, sensing the shift in tone, sat quietly next to Syrax, watching the conversation unfold with wide eyes.

Daemon continued, his voice serious but calm. "You've got the blood of the dragon, Aegon. But you've also got something more. The elements answer to you. Fire, earth—they bend to your will. Not even our ancestors had such power, not since the Doom of Valyria. That makes you unique, and it makes you a target."

Aegon frowned, the weight of his uncle's words settling on his shoulders. "A target? By who?"

Daemon's gaze flickered toward the horizon, as if he could see far beyond the shores of Dragonstone. "The world is full of people who would do anything to control power like yours—or destroy it. Enemies from within and without. And one day, sooner than you think, you'll have to defend that power. You'll have to fight for it."

The boy's face hardened, his young features trying to mask the fear that crept into his heart. "But I have Vermithor. And my bending. No one can take that from me."

Daemon nodded slowly, though there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. "Yes, Vermithor is a weapon. And your bending makes you more dangerous than most could imagine. But remember this, Aegon—power isn't just about what you can do. It's about what others think you can do. It's about how you use it, when you use it, and who you use it against."

Aegon fell silent, absorbing the gravity of his uncle's words. For the first time, the thrill of his newfound power felt… fragile. He thought of the fire and earth he had bent so easily that morning, of Vermithor's immense strength beneath him. He had felt invincible, but now he understood that power alone wouldn't keep him safe. The world was dangerous, even for those with dragons.

Daemon stood, placing a hand on Aegon's shoulder. "You have more potential than any of us, boy. But potential isn't enough. You'll have to grow into it. The time will come when the realm looks to you, and when that day comes, you'll need to be ready."

Aegon looked up at his uncle, determination flickering in his eyes. "I will be."

Daemon's smile returned, though it was tinged with a hint of sadness. "Good. Just remember—never trust too easily, even among family. Blood may bind us, but ambition can break even the strongest bonds."

With that, Daemon gave Aegon's shoulder a firm squeeze before turning to walk back toward the cliffs where Caraxes awaited him. Rhaenyra, her earlier excitement tempered by her uncle's words, sat quietly beside her brother, her hand resting on Syrax's back.

Aegon watched Daemon go, the weight of the conversation heavy in the morning air. He felt the fire and earth within him, the power that hummed beneath his skin. But now, for the first time, he understood that it wasn't just a gift. It was a responsibility—a dangerous one.

And one day, the world would know it.