Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

139AC

Since I had gained consciousness, I had always thought that my current life was a dream, a figment of my imagination because surely reincarnation or rebirth was impossible. Or was it? I was someone who shouldn’t exist—Jaehaerys Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone—that was my name now. I couldn’t remember what my former name was or what my former life was like, but I knew that the world of Planetos was created by G.R.R. Martin. Did that make him some sort of deity? Surely not; he was far too ugly to be a god. Yet I was a Targaryen, a member of the family of dragonriders created by him in his works *A Song of Ice and Fire*. Aegon III was my father, and my deceased mother was Jaehaera Targaryen, having birthed me at ten years old and dying in childbirth. It was such a cruel fate to force motherhood upon a child. The lives of all Aegon II’s children had ended wretchedly—perhaps his line was cursed due to his usurpation of the Iron Throne. Or maybe my mother’s death was deliberate. All I knew now was that I was the heir to the Iron Throne, and my family didn’t seem to care much for me at all. I was six years old now, living on Dragonstone, away from the rest of my family, with nothing but a Kingsguard and my dragon, Meraxes, who had hatched in the cradle with me.

I was born in 133 A.C., likely conceived as soon as my mother had flowered; my father impregnating her had likely killed her. I suppose my father’s apathy towards my mother’s death was not surprising, considering my maternal grandfather had burned his mother to death in front of him. I was the last of Aegon II’s line, and that likely didn’t endear me to any of House Targaryen. My aunt Baela was Lady of Driftmark yet never visited me, and my other aunt, Rhaena, who had previously resided on Dragonstone, married a Hightower as soon as I arrived here. My father’s new wife was a Velaryon, and considering that both aunts held allegiances to House Velaryon due to their mother, and that the new Queen was a ward of my aunt, they would likely favor her children over me. Despite Rhaena marrying a Hightower and the Hightowers being my grandfather’s greatest supporters, the current Lord Hightower had fathered six bastards by his father’s former wife, later married her, and likely cared little for me. This meant I was essentially isolated, and while I doubted I would be displaced, considering I was the only Targaryen with a dragon and the wounds of the Dance were still very fresh, I likely had no allies among my family. Considering my father was well-known for his hatred towards dragons and that Meraxes was my constant companion, I was likely unwelcome in the Red Keep for the duration of his reign. The only dragons that were alive after the Dance were Morning, Sheepstealer, Cannibal, and Silverwing, with all being missing except Silverwing. Considering the destruction dragons had wrought on the realm and my father’s known hatred of them, now the only dragons whose locations were known were Meraxes and Silverwing, who was unbonded after Ulf the White’s death. Morning’s disappearance likely meant she was dead, either at my father’s hand or the maester’s, which was beneficial for me in a way, as having a potentially hostile dragonrider during my reign would not be advantageous. Yet House Targaryen having no dragons that were rideable meant our legitimacy was waning. Dalton Greyjoy’s insurrection was only stopped by his assassination by one of his mistresses; what was to stop the Lord Paramounts from declaring themselves kings again? Meraxes would likely be mountable within the year, and she was growing quickly, but I worried for her safety, so I kept her out of chains and allowed her to scavenge her own food to avoid her getting poisoned. As of now, I had no power or influence, yet I needed to save the Targaryen dynasty. My grandmother had been a whore, fathering bastards and presenting them to the Iron Throne, while my grandfather had been a usurper and arguably caused the downfall of our house. I had to be the one to fix our dynasty, as my father was too weak. I had to be a stronger fighter than Conqueror and my grandfather Daemon, while I needed to be wiser than the Conciliator. My goal would not be easily accomplished, and if my grandfather could slay his sister, what was stopping a sibling of mine from killing me? If Aemond the Kinslayer could kill Lucerys, what was to stop Viserys from doing the same to me? I had to become stronger and wiser than my forebears. I had to be constantly vigilant—my exile to Dragonstone would serve me well.

My father had no heirs besides me as of now, but his wife was now older than my mother when she had given birth—perhaps he would have more children soon. My uncle had three children already: Aegon, Aemon, and Naerys. Luckily for me, after my cousin Laena’s dragon egg hatched a wingless wyrm, all the dragon eggs had been taken from the Red Keep and sent to Dragonstone, which meant I was the only one with a dragon as of now. Yet what was stopping a rival Targaryen from claiming Silverwing? Dragonseeds had claimed dragons during the Dance; what was stopping an ambitious one from doing so again? Meraxes was House Targaryen’s only dragon, and she was dwarfed by Silverwing. If one of my aunt’s or uncle’s children claimed Silverwing and decided to usurp my father, what was stopping them? My cousins never saw me, and my siblings likely never would either, so the bonds of kinship would be as weak as those between my grandparents. While my great-grandfather championed Rhaenyra’s legitimacy, my father would likely choose his younger children over me. I needed strength to defend my claim. Luckily, Silverwing was feral at the moment. If the worst-case scenario occurred and Silverwing was claimed by a usurper, by the time my cousins had grown up enough to claim a dragon, Meraxes would be big enough to mount and fast enough to evade Silverwing. Ulf the White had been killed when he wasn’t mounted on his dragon; the would-be usurper could be killed in the same manner. All I could do now was keep the dragon eggs on Dragonstone and ensure any future riders were loyal to me. Only House Targaryen would be allowed to ride dragons from here on out—I would ensure it.

In the meantime, I had to train my skills as a warrior and in kingship. I would need to make myself the ideal heir. I would make myself so irreplaceable that no one would dare to usurp me, and if they did, then Meraxes would get her next meal.

Chapter Text

143AC

My father had a new heir now, named Daeron. I had still not been visited by any of my extended family members, yet I remained the Prince of Dragonstone. Perhaps he would try to replace me, but Meraxes was now the size of Tessarion when he died, meaning he was nimble and capable of war, though still susceptible to scorpion bolts and arrows. I was now an able enough rider and still the sole dragonrider in Westeros, but Meraxes needed more time to grow—for both my good and that of House Targaryen. Our house was at its weakest at the moment, with a young dragon being the only one we had tamed. My father’s reign had brought nothing but ruin to our house. While my aunts’ marriages had ensured the loyalty of two of the wealthiest and most influential houses, my uncle Viserys had been nothing but a burden. His marriage to the ambitious Rogares formed no ties to Westerosi nobility, and the ransom paid for his freedom further drained the already almost empty treasury. His wife even had the gall to abandon him, causing House Targaryen even more embarrassment. At least the Rogares had lost their influence now. I would seek revenge on House Rogare for the slight against House Targaryen. They believe they can kidnap a Targaryen with impunity. House Rogare will pay for this, as will Lys and the former cities of the Triarchy for the sacking of Driftmark and the death of my uncle. However, I was still too young to lead a war offensive against Essos.

My training with the sword was progressing well. Outside of my lessons with the maester and flying Meraxes, the sword was my sole companion. I had no cousins or boys my age to play with, so I spent all my free time in the training yard. I never slept easy, knowing an assassin could come for me at any time, as I was the sole dragonrider of House Targaryen—or because they wanted my brother to replace me. I truly was in a lonely and precarious position. Is this how my father felt when he thought his brother dead? I longed for companionship, and aside from Meraxes, I had no one. My mother was dead, and I didn’t even remember my father’s face. I suppose solitude is the price for greatness. I was the last dragon; the rest of my kin were wyrms. Uncle Viserys had never flown a dragon, and my father’s and aunts’ dragons were dead. The legacy of House Targaryen now rested solely on my shoulders.

As I was ten name days old, surely my father should have requested my return to King’s Landing as a page or to squire under a Kingsguard. Is he intending to replace me with Daeron, or does he simply not care if I am ill-suited to rule? I would have to prove I am suited to rule by listening to petitions, enforcing the law and justice, and keeping the King’s peace. While my castellan and maester said I was too young to properly fulfill my duties as the Lord of Dragonstone, I argued with them that I am the same age as my father when he became king and my mother when she was deemed a maiden. If they were not too young, neither was I. Thus, I did my duties as Lord of Dragonstone. My life was monotonous, with little joy, and I heard the servants whisper among themselves that I was reminiscent of my father. I suppose that was true. Compared to when my uncles and aunts had grown up on Dragonstone before King Viserys’s death, surely their childhood was filled with much more joy than my own. I had neither a mother’s nor a father’s love, and my family ignored me. What was there to be happy about? I slept each night unsure of whether I would wake the next morning, due to the threat of assassins. The only creature I truly loved was Meraxes. I imagined my bond with him was like my grandfather’s with Caraxes—only my dragon truly understood me. I wonder how my uncles could be the sons of Daemon Targaryen. My grandfather died fighting Vhagar, likely knowing his death was coming, yet still fought regardless to protect his family. But my own father hasn’t visited me once since I arrived on Dragonstone. I hope I will find familial love one day in this lifetime. I am sure I had it in my past life, even if I can’t remember it.

Chapter Text

145AC

Father’s wife had birthed him two more children, a son named Baelor and a daughter named Daena. I was still named Prince of Dragonstone and had been fulfilling my duties as the Lord of Dragonstone for the past two years. None of my family had contacted me, and I still hadn’t been invited to court. Did my family truly have that little interest in me? Perhaps my father knew he couldn’t disinherit me, as I was House Targaryen’s only dragonrider, but still had little interest in seeing me. My father hadn’t undertaken a royal progress during his reign; I would need to do so as Prince of Dragonstone to ensure the lords hadn’t forgotten me or the power of House Targaryen’s dragons. The lists would be a good place for me to make a reputation for myself. If a grand tourney were held in King’s Landing, it would be the perfect opportunity to be knighted, but Father apparently hated tourneys, so none were held. Visiting known Black loyalists first would be a good way to endear myself to the lords as Rhaenyra Targaryen’s firstborn grandchild rather than Aegon II’s. Father might reprimand me, but he couldn't disinherit me, and it wasn’t like he could realistically enforce any punishments. I hadn’t even been informed of potential betrothals as the heir to the Iron Throne. I could marry my cousin Naerys, but I was planning to murder the Rogares, so marrying a daughter of one wouldn’t do. The Velaryons had a princess as their lady and a queen, so marrying my cousin would be fruitless. I suppose I would have to marry my sister and ensure a new generation of dragonriders were solely loyal to House Targaryen. I felt no desire for women at the moment and could always take a pleasure or two from Lys as a mistress until I married. Marrying a non-Valyrian while there were so few dragonriders was truly a foolish decision.

My skill at arms was steadily improving as well. I was apparently a tall boy for my age, just as my father was, and would be an able warrior once I was a grown man. I couldn’t just be an able warrior, though; I had to be the finest knight of my age. I may be nearly invincible on dragonback, but I wasn’t on the ground. In some situations, a dragon could not be used, and my training in arms would be invaluable then. I had also begun training for jousts so I could become an accomplished tourney knight. I had little interest in riding a horse, which was far less enjoyable than riding Meraxes, but I would do what was necessary to portray a good image to my future vassals. My daily routine consisted of listening to petitions and performing my duties as Lord of Dragonstone until midday, when I would train my swordsmanship by sparring with the knights on Dragonstone and practicing my jousting for four hours. Afterward, I would attend lessons with the maester for another two hours before flying on Meraxes and then going to sleep. The only time I found a semblance of joy was with Meraxes; otherwise, I was ambivalent at best. I remained constantly vigilant for assassins and people who meant to do me harm. Considering how many widows and orphans were made during the Dance of the Dragons, I couldn’t blame the smallfolk who hated House Targaryen.

I had also begun to plan my revenge against Lys. Myr and Tyrosh were severely affected by the Battle of the Gullet and achieved a Pyrrhic victory, suffering greatly from the Daughter’s War, but Lys still had a debt to pay. As of now, House Rogare was exiled from Lys, but I could ally myself with them under the guise of kinship due to my uncle’s marriage to a Rogare. Once they had invaded Lys, I could sack it and send the wealth back to Dragonstone by boat with Meraxes as an escort before killing all the Rogares and claiming their Valyrian steel sword for myself. Those insolent curs had demanded a ransom from House Targaryen, squandered Westerosi nobles’ wealth, and allied themselves with the Martells—extermination was what they deserved. I would ask House Velaryon to aid me, but their loyalty to me isn’t assured, as my death would mean the next king had a Velaryon mother, which would likely improve their future influence. I didn’t need a fleet, though. Lys had no army, just high walls and sellswords whose loyalty could be bought by the Rogares.

The Rogares would gain me entry into the city, and once they were comfortable, they would meet their end. It would send a message that House Targaryen is not to be trifled with. Now, all I had to do was send a messenger to House Rogare in Lys. My uncle’s wife had apparently died, so I would send my regards for her death as well as offer my dragon in an assault against Lys, with the payment being loot from the magisters and the ships to transport the loot back. All I had to do now was wait.

Chapter Text

146AC

Life on Dragonstone had been as boring as ever, with my daily routine remaining the same. However, as my body developed, I was becoming more and more capable with the sword, and it had gotten to the point where I could defeat the Kingsguard assigned to me in spars. I was only thirteen name days old, yet I was a better swordsman than the Kingsguard. I don’t know whether that shows how skilled I am or how poor a swordsman the Kingsguard is. I still hadn’t received any ravens from my family members. Perhaps they thought I was dead or cared so little about me that my death wouldn’t matter to them. However, I had received a reply from the Rogares regarding the alliance I proposed, which was an acceptance. We were to meet in a coastal town in the Disputed Lands near Lys, where we would gather an army of sellswords to conquer Lys. I planned to leave immediately and quickly packed my belongings, including a set of armor I had commissioned from King’s Landing using my income as Lord of Dragonstone. My father hadn’t even sent me gifts for my name days. I wonder if my maternal grandfather felt this way when my grandmother remained heir despite being a woman and birthing three bastards? I guess I’ll never know, but I can make one statement: Targaryen kings tended to be bad fathers. Aegon I apparently neglected Maegor and married him to a woman ten years his senior at my age. The only children Jaehaerys didn’t outlive were the maester and the whore who left King’s Landing as soon as possible. Viserys I’s firstborn son burned his sister alive in front of his nephew. Both of Aegon II’s sons died brutal deaths, and despite being the Prince of Dragonstone and my father’s heir, I don’t even remember what he looks like.

Anyway, as soon as I had loaded provisions, clothes, armor, and weapons onto my dragon, I informed my castellan that I was taking a leave of indefinite absence and that if my father asked where I was, he should tell him I was visiting my uncle’s good family. Then, I mounted Meraxes and flew towards the Disputed Lands.

Meraxes was an agile mount. She was now larger than Tessarion had been at his death and continued to grow quickly. She had never been confined in chains, resting in the Dragonmont when not ridden, and hunted fish for food, so she didn’t ingest any poison. Meraxes was now large enough that only a scorpion bolt through her eye could kill her. Still, I had to remain constantly vigilant while flying on her. Silverwing had been the only mountable dragon besides Meraxes, and while there were some dragons in King’s Landing, they were apparently malformed, likely due to poisoning at the hands of my father or the maesters. Thus, I was the last Dragonlord, as my father’s and aunts’ dragons were naught but bones in the Red Keep. Only two decades ago, House Targaryen was at its strongest, with both sets of my grandparents, my mother and father, my granduncles, four of my uncles, and one of my aunts, as well as Princess Rhaenys, having a dragon bound to them. And now I was all that remained. It was truly a sobering thought. This decline in strength allowed our house to be mocked by the likes of merchants who demanded a ransom from House Targaryen. Such impunity would not go unpunished—I would make sure of it. My ancestor burned thousands of Myrish pirates for the death of his brother. I would burn thousands of these Lyseni scum to avenge my uncle. My three paternal uncles, Lucerys, Jacaerys, and Joffrey, may have been bastards, but they did their duty to House Targaryen and died horribly for it. My uncle Jacaerys died in an attempt to save my father. I would avenge him. I would show the Lyseni scum why House Targaryen’s words were fire and blood. Perhaps in the afterlife, my ancestors will love me? Or perhaps they will hate me like my father does. Surely my mother wouldn’t hate me? Well, I suppose I did kill her when I was born, so she probably does. If I am unloved in life, how can I expect to receive love in death? Still, even if I am unloved, I would ensure that House Targaryen would not let the great insult from the Rogares and the Lyseni stand. The Lyseni whore abandoned my uncle and cousins and caused naught but political complications for our already weakened family. Allegedly, the Rogares won a family crypt; surely my uncle’s wife would be in there. If I took her bones back to Westeros, it would be a fitting punishment for her being taken from her family to the place she had fled from, while also endearing my uncle to me. I am often astounded by how clever I am. If only every Prince of Dragonstone was as wise as me.

I had never left Dragonstone before, so flying over the great expanse of the Narrow Sea was quite terrifying. Despite being able to travel the known world faster than any other man or woman alive, I was confined to Dragonstone—how ironic. Traveling over the Narrow Sea was accomplished in a matter of hours, and before long, the Stepstones came into sight, which meant I needed to turn left towards the Disputed Lands. My grandfather had crowned himself king of that pile of barren rocks. I wonder if he would approve of me? Considering how he ordered the murder of my uncle in front of my mother, probably not. My grandmothers hopefully would. Rhaenyra had loved all her sons deeply, even her bastards. Surely she would love me as well. Helaena loved her children so much that their deaths drove her to madness. Surely she would have spared some love for me? Dead men tell no tales, so I will never truly know. I wish I had a mother. I would give up almost anything to have a mother who loved me. I would even give up my right to the Iron Throne. I can only imagine feeling such affection for someone to grieve so deeply for their death as my father did. If my father died, would I truly be sad at all? I know nothing of him, just rumors about his inadequacy and sameness. What has he got to be sad about? His family died to protect him. They died for the Iron Throne, which their ancestor had won. They loved my father so greatly they were willing to die for him. My family would likely celebrate my death. None of them care for me. They would sooner slip a dagger in my back than take a dagger for me. It wasn't fair. Why was my father loved, yet I was not? It is said my father was happy once he had married his new wife and his brother had returned. How could he love his brother more than his own son? I understand hating my maternal grandfather, but my mother had just as much right to hate my paternal grandfather, considering the way her twin was so brutally murdered in front of her was just as bad. Pitying myself will achieve nothing. House Targaryen will have its revenge, and perhaps I will have a reason to smile for once.

Chapter Text

146AC

“Your Grace, the Grand Maester urgently requests a small council meeting,” a Kingsguard utters from outside my chambers, disturbing my brooding. Munkun never calls for small council meetings unless absolutely necessary. I suppose I must go, then. Truly, this wretched crown is nothing but a burden. Mother should be wearing it, or Jace—not I. This wretched crown is the source of all my miseries. I would give it all up to see Father, Mother, and my elder brothers again. I would join them in death, but I cannot abandon my remaining siblings and my wife. Daeron, Baelor, and Daena are still so young; they cannot be left alone yet. I suppose my constant torment will endure.

The small council was already convened when I arrived. The Grand Maester had a worried look on his face. What could have disturbed him so greatly?

“Why have you convened this meeting, Munkun?” I questioned sullenly, my displeasure likely evident given the ever-paling face of Munkun.

“It is terrible news from Dragonstone, Your Grace,” the maester replied fearfully, watching my reaction as if waiting for me to grow angry. What could make me that angry?

“What is this terrible news from Dragonstone, then?” I asked, somewhat curious as to what had flustered the maester and would seemingly anger me.

“Prince Jaehaerys has fled on dragonback alone to visit your brother’s good family,” the maester replied. He has gone to Essos with our family’s last dragon without my permission? How dare he!

“Did he say why he had gone to visit the Rogares?” I asked, the anger evident in my tone as Munkun began to flinch.

“No, Your Grace, by all accounts, he just left randomly,” the maester replied.

“What is to be done, then? He is House Targaryen’s only dragonrider, so chasing him is out of the question. Besides, he is still a boy—what is the purpose of his visit?”

“Your Grace, perhaps he wanted to visit the famous pillow houses. That is what Lys is known for, after all,” answered my brother beside me.

“He is only thirteen name days old. What use has he for whores?” I had no such desires at that age. I was forced to bed Jaehaera out of duty; I took no joy in it whatsoever, not like with Daenora.

“We were both married at that age. Perhaps he should be as well—he is the Prince of Dragonstone, after all,” my brother replied. Perhaps that is sound advice; my brother usually advises me well.

“Once my son returns, summon him to King’s Landing. He will answer for his actions directly to me.” I had mostly forgotten about my eldest son, not out of lack of love, but indifference. His dragon was always near him, and dragons are what I hate with a passion. He will need to learn to do his duties to rule, once he replaces me.

“Brother, may I have a word in private?” My younger brother Viserys asks.

“Of course, brother,” I replied, leading Viserys into my chambers.

“Brother, I believe you should make Jaehaerys stay in the capital. He has grown up without the bonds of family; he must be lonely all alone,” my brother urged me. His words had reasoning—the last time siblings in House Targaryen grew up with enmity, the Dance occurred. Only this time, one dragon remains.

“Your words hold wisdom. I will send for him to stay here,” I replied.

“Brother, we must also discuss your heir’s marriage. The lords will wish to know who the next Princess of Dragonstone will be,” Viserys added.

“I will consider it. Now leave me, brother—I must consider things in solitude,” I added, gesturing for my brother to leave. I wonder what my son is like? He probably has little affection for me, considering I have certainly been a terrible father. When he was born, I was still a boy and could barely look at him. He reminded me of Jaehaera and how I had killed her. I never loved my cousin, but she was broken just like me. Perhaps our son will be the same? I will endeavor to know him better once he returns.

Chapter Text

146AC

I had arrived at the meeting point with the Rogares, and we were about to finalize our plans for the invasion of Lys. We were in the Rogares’ tent, and I was surrounded by the Rogares. My uncle’s good brothers were plentiful, and I hadn’t bothered to learn all their names since they would soon be dead anyway. However, I had learned Moredo Rogare’s name. He was a skilled warrior, having recovered his brother’s bones from the Temple of Trade and wielded House Rogare’s ancestral sword, Truth. It would make a fitting war prize—perhaps I might even execute them with it.

“I assume you’ve gathered an army of sellswords and have a large enough fleet to transport them to Lys itself. Once we arrive with Meraxes, the sellswords will likely surrender and allow us to enter the city freely. What happens afterward?” I asked, not directing the question to anyone in particular but expecting an answer nonetheless.

“We will gather all the magisters responsible for seizing House Rogare’s properties, execute them, and reclaim all of House Rogare’s former properties, re-establishing ourselves in the city. Their Unsullied guards will resist, but hired swords will abandon them once they see a dragon above the city,” Moredo answered. It was a sound plan. Now, when will I be able to kill them?

“I assume my reward will come from the wealth of the magisters you plan to execute?” I asked Moredo. I would need to find a way to gather them all in one place to kill them all at once—perhaps a feast would do? There was no guest right in Essos, so killing them in their own homes might be dishonorable, but these were foreign slaver scum to the Westerosi. Many had lost much wealth during the fall of the Bank of Rogare, and many would approve of my culling their line despite the dishonorable way I planned to kill them.

“That is correct, my prince,” Moredo answered almost immediately.

“What will happen to the families of the magisters you execute?” I asked. Lyseni women are notoriously beautiful; taking them as concubines would be a fine war prize. I wasn’t betrothed yet, and birthing a dragonseed would be an honor to most. Besides, they would likely be sold into slavery otherwise.

“We will execute the men and sell the women and children into slavery. It will be fitting revenge considering they did the same to our women and children,” Moredo said. I suppose that was fair enough; I couldn’t really begrudge him.

“If the magisters have any particularly beautiful maiden daughters, I will take one or two as concubines. Dragonstone has no whores, and I am unmarried as of yet. I wish for a wench to warm my bed—perhaps they will do,” I said. I would need experience with beautiful women lest I get seduced by some noble’s maiden daughter and be forced to marry her as recompense.

“As you wish, my prince,” Moredo answered.

“We will leave tomorrow, I assume?” I asked, and Moredo nodded in response.

“I will meet you here at dawn, then,” I said before exiting the tent and going over to Meraxes. I mounted him and flew to a field undisturbed by men. Staying near the Rogares meant I was at risk of death before the battle by assassins or even the Rogares themselves. The Dance had shown that men were willing to poison and kill dragonriders and dragons alike dishonorably—I would not die that way. I was nervous about my first battle on the morrow. I had never killed a man before, yet I would likely kill tens or even hundreds tomorrow. Realistically, while Meraxes and I were high in the air, they would be very unlikely to kill me. But if Meraxes flew down too low, we would be a target for arrows and crossbow bolts. Meraxes would need to quickly fly down, burn a few of the men manning the walls, then ascend again. If necessary, she would circle the city walls, burning the area around us to intimidate the sellswords and encourage their quick surrender. What could go wrong?

The next morning at dawn, Meraxes and I flew back to the Rogares’ camp, where we finalized the plans once more. I told the Rogares that I would dismount from dragonback once the walls were no longer manned by sellswords—I had to remain constantly vigilant. At Dragonstone, I was relatively safe, but on foreign soil, my safety was never guaranteed. Lys killed the dragonlords that remained here after the Doom; there was no guarantee they wouldn’t do the same to me. As the fleet manned by sellswords set sail, I flew behind and high above them, out of range of any scorpions and arrows, having a full view of the battlefield. I would reestablish House Targaryen’s reputation here in Essos. Lys would be too weakened to retaliate against Westeros, and the only ties to Dorne would die with House Rogare. While Myr and Tyrosh would likely try to take advantage of Lys’s weakened position, the only Free City that could realistically pose a threat to House Targaryen would be Braavos, through the Faceless Men and the Iron Bank. But my action against Lys wasn’t unprovoked—Lys kidnapped and ransomed my uncle, and House Rogare caused economic instability throughout the Seven Kingdoms with the collapse of their bank. My looting of Lys would guarantee economic stability for House Targaryen and negate the influence of the Iron Bank. I trusted no one, so getting a Faceless Man to kill me would be extremely difficult. Nevertheless, perhaps I could proclaim freedom to the slaves to mollify them. Braavos surely couldn’t take action against me if I were liberating slaves, and it would curb potential criticism from Westerosi lords as well. It might earn the disfavor of the Free Cities, but they couldn’t threaten Westeros with invasion due to the large distance between us. The slave rebellion would likely be crushed immediately anyway. Most slaves here were naught but whores and gigolos and had no clue how to control a city. Sure, thousands would likely die because of my actions, but at least I would give them a choice to rebel or not. Their masters had enslaved them from birth, giving them no free will. Their slaves murdering them was justice in my opinion.

After around an hour since the fleet had set sail, the island of Lys was in front of me. I had to remain vigilant at all times now—my dragon was not large enough to be fearless. I saw the high walls of Lys and urged Meraxes to descend quickly and burn down the men manning that section of the wall. If given enough time, Meraxes could perhaps burn the wall down, but we would be far too vulnerable, so I urged Meraxes to quickly ascend into the air, out of range of the scorpions and arrows. The men manning the walls were firing scorpions and arrows at me, but I was too far away from them to be truly threatened. We remained high in the air, and I could already see some sellswords abandoning the city walls—that was good. I commanded Meraxes to descend, and she circled around the city, blowing fire toward the city walls to intimidate the sellswords. While she was doing that, I watched the Rogares’ sellswords being admitted into the city through my Myrish eye. It seemed victory was upon us, so I urged Meraxes to ascend until the walls were emptied of sellswords.

Chapter Text

146AC

It took two to three more hours until the city had fully surrendered to the Rogares, and the sellswords had abandoned the city walls. Using my Myrish eye, I located the Rogares in front of what I assumed to be the Temple of Trade. I urged Meraxes to descend and flew down to the courtyard in front of the Temple of Trade. Upon landing, I was greeted by the sight of the Rogares and, presumably, the magisters who had wronged them.

"It seems we have achieved a great victory," I spoke happily to Moredo. For once, I was pleased; I would gain a great amount of coin and exact revenge for House Targaryen regarding House Rogare's slights.

"Indeed we have, my prince. Your loot is being loaded onto ships as we speak, as are two famously beautiful maiden daughters of the magisters before us. They are of the finest Valyrian stock," Moredo replied, equally as pleased. That was good news; now all I had to do was find a way to eliminate all the Rogares at once.

"Ensure the maidens' belongings are loaded onto the ship with them as well. I would like to endear them to myself; laying with a woman who hates me isn't satisfactory. Also, what is the plan for the magisters before us? Surely killing them right now would be a waste. Doing so in front of the whole city would show that the Rogares have returned and send a message to the enemies who would seek to harm you if my dragon were circling the air above." If they took my bait, then I would have the perfect opportunity to eliminate them in one fell swoop while also declaring the slaves free, causing the city to erupt into chaos with their leaders dead. A fitting revenge for the member of the Triarchy who came out the least unscathed. All I had to do was ensure my ships carrying my loot had left the city, burn down the remaining fleet, and I would be free to escort my ships through the Stepstones unscathed with Meraxes as their escort.

"That is a most wonderful idea," Moredo replied, seemingly unaware of my desire to burn him alive. I would sleep outside the city in the Disputed Lands just in case some assassin tried to murder me within the city walls.

"We should fully crush any of the magisters' family armed forces within the city before announcing their execution to the whole city and inviting the citizens to watch, lest their armed forces attempt to stop the execution," I added. My idea was reasonable, while also giving enough time for my loot to be fully loaded onto ships and ready to depart from Lys. I would instruct my ships to leave half a day before the scheduled execution to ensure they were not caught up in the chaos that would ensue.

"Your words are full of wisdom, my prince. You will surely be a most wise King of the Seven Kingdoms, like your namesake," Moredo replied in an agreeable manner. If my brothers and I died, then my uncle would be heir, and his heir apparent, my cousin who was half Rogare, would be king. If the Rogares regained power and wealth in Lys, sending assassins after my siblings and me would not be completely unlikely. I would have to kill them to protect my siblings' and my interests—at least that was another excuse I could give to my father.

Half a moon had passed, and my loot was now securely on my ships. Around five hundred thousand dragons' worth of gold would surely be appreciated by the royal treasury. While the coin that the Greens had taken from the treasury was returned, the financial stability achieved during the later years of my great-grandsire's reign was certainly not being replicated under my father's reign, considering much of the treasury was being used to rebuild the Riverlands and the Westerlands from the effects of the Dance. During my great-grandsire's reign, the fear of dragons, the wise financial stewardship of Otto Hightower, and the wealth gained by the Sea Snake ensured the realm prospered, combined with the long peace inherited from my namesake. My father's reign was filled with much instability and likely no small amount of corruption by the likes of Unwin Peake and his cronies, while much coin was needed to repair the realm from arguably the most brutal war in Westerosi history. I could only hope to replicate the long peace inherited from my great-grandsire. The execution of the magisters was tomorrow, and I would finally achieve House Targaryen’s revenge. Sadly, I hadn’t been able to retrieve my uncle’s wife’s bones as she hadn’t been interred in the family crypt for some reason or another, but all in all, if tomorrow went well, my descendants would hopefully speak of my genius for centuries to come.

The execution was about to occur, and I was so nervous I was practically sweating. I had given the order for my ships to leave Lys an hour or so earlier, and I watched as the magisters were executed in front of thousands through my Myrish eye. Essentially all of the Rogares were there, and with my loot sent away and the majority of them perishing here—as well as the main reasons the sellswords surrendered to them turning against them—the Rogares were doomed even if they managed to cling to life. I urged Meraxes to descend and burn the Rogares alive before quickly dismounting her in front of Moredo’s burnt body. I looted Truth, his Valyrian steel sword, from his corpse before pointing it high into the air.

“Nyke sīr declare slavery abolished isse Lys, slaves daor longer emagon naejot obey ūñyr āeksia commands (I now declare slavery abolished in Lys, slaves no longer have to obey your masters' commands)!” I shouted to the crowd before quickly remounting Meraxes. Arrows began to fly towards me, but I quickly ascended and headed towards where the remaining ships were kept.

“Dracarys!” I shouted to my ever-faithful companion, Meraxes, as she burned every ship to the ground. Hopefully, chaos would ensue in Lys due to it being an island with all of its magisters essentially dead now, and my proclamation that the slaves were free might spark some sort of revolt. Even if it didn’t, I had made off with a significant amount of coin, destroyed Lys’ naval might, and essentially exterminated House Rogare. Now all I had to do was escort my loot home through the Stepstones. Burning sellswords alive was reasonably fun; surely burning corsairs alive would be fun as well. Besides, some of these pirates likely remembered Caraxes and would know it better to flee from a dragon and her rider—if not, I would have to remind them of why my house's words were fire and blood.

Chapter Text

146AC

The small council meeting, suddenly called early in the morning by the master of whisperers, had disturbed some of my much-needed sleep. It was always lonely going to bed at night by myself; ever since Larra had left for Lys, I had never truly felt content at night. Whores brought me no relief—it was Larra who had stolen my heart and treated it so cruelly. I once thought she would eventually return for the sake of the children, but she can’t return now, seeing as she’s dead. I wonder if this is how my father felt when Laena Velaryon died, or my grandsire when my grandmother died. It truly was a terrible feeling. But I couldn’t focus on that now; I had duties to attend to. I must help my brother rule. Sometimes I feel truly fortunate that I barely remember my parents and brothers. Aegon is so consumed by his grief that he doesn’t truly live. I suppose that is the curse we endure as the line of kinslayers—my namesake killed his cousin for an heir who lived for a day, and my father killed his nephew. I suppose I got off lucky; my siblings’ dragons all outlived them, and two were widows younger than I, haunted by the ghosts of the past. It was my duty to ensure the sacrifices of my siblings and parents were worth it, that the Targaryen dynasty would prosper despite the only dragon remaining belonging to my wayward nephew whom I hadn’t even met yet. Who knows if he would be a worse king than his father? I truly loved my brother, but he was too broken to truly rule. Hopefully, his successor would be better. Allegedly, my nephew was extremely dutiful and had begun his duties as Lord of Dragonstone since he was ten name days old. Hopefully, he would live up to his namesake.

As I entered the small council chambers, the master of whisperers looked visibly distressed. What news could have made him like this? Could my nephew have gotten himself killed? He was our last dragonrider and the heir to the Iron Throne; his death would truly be disastrous. If our last dragon was dead, I would need to counsel Aegon to send for the dragon eggs and allow the children to carry them around in hopes they might hatch—it happened like that for my mother, it could happen again. As my brother came into the small council chamber, sullen as ever, the master of whisperers looked reluctant to speak.

“Why have you convened this meeting?” my brother asked, his voice monotonous as ever, showing his lack of interest in being in the small council chamber.

“It is Prince Jaehaerys, Your Grace. He was spotted in Lys with the Rogare family,” the master of whisperers replied. Why was he visiting my goodfamily? He had never met Larra before, and she was dead. Besides, they were exiled from Lys last I heard.

“Why was he visiting my goodfamily?” I asked, unable to restrain myself. Surely, if he wanted to visit family, he could have gone to Driftmark, Oldtown, or King’s Landing—why all the way to Essos?

“He joined the Rogares in a military alliance, my prince,” the master of whisperers replied, now looking visibly pale, as if he were hiding something. Why was Jaehaerys joining the Rogare family in a military alliance in Lys?

“Why in the Seven Hells was my heir joining the Rogare family in a military alliance?” my brother asked angrily, showing a rare display of emotion. Perhaps he cared for my nephew more than I thought.

“According to my sources, Your Grace, the prince joined the Rogare family in invading Lys with his dragon. They were successful in their endeavor and had rounded up the magisters of Lys to be executed, but…” The master of whisperers was growing so pale I thought he might be a ghost. What more could my nephew possibly have done besides possibly starting a war with Essos? Surely Braavos and the rest of the Free Cities would not take a Targaryen intervening with his dragon in Essos well.

“But what!” my brother shouted, angrier than I had ever seen him, shocking not just myself but the rest of the small council as well. It was strangely nice seeing a form of emotion evoked in my brother, despite it not being a positive one.

“The prince… after the magisters were executed… burned the Rogares to death… before claiming their ancestral sword and declaring every slave a free man, then departing on his dragon and burning every ship in Lys. He also apparently claimed several hundred thousand dragons' worth of coin from this endeavor and is transporting it through the Stepstones as we speak.” My nephew was a fool—he risked war with the Free Cities and killed my good family. What had he done?

“What are the rest of the Free Cities and our vassals’ reactions?” I asked somewhat hesitantly, truly nervous about the dire consequences my nephew’s actions could have caused.

“Braavos could not condemn the prince as he freed slaves. Pentos has maintained a good relationship with the Iron Throne and seems to wish to continue it. Myr and Tyrosh are still suffering from the Three Daughters’ War, but the weakening of a rival of theirs is welcomed, as is the same with Volantis. Relations between the Iron Throne and Lorath, Qohor, and Norvos are virtually non-existent. Besides, the prince’s actions against Lys are not unprovoked, considering one uncle of his was killed during the Battle of the Gullet, another was kidnapped and ransomed by the Lyseni, and his father’s dragon died in part due to the Lyseni. Furthermore, House Rogare had demanded a large ransom to be paid to them and had shamed House Targaryen with Larra Rogare’s actions. Moreover, House Rogare had married into House Martell in the past and may have chosen to do so again. His actions have weakened Dorne’s link to Essos, as Lys was an ally of theirs. Many of the vassals will likely approve of his actions, considering he freed slaves, and House Rogare had lost the wealth of many of the Iron Throne’s vassals with the collapse of their bank. Moreover, considering he gained significant wealth for House Targaryen, his actions were arguably commendable. Yet he did break the King’s Peace and risked his life as heir to the Iron Throne, which, in my humble opinion, deserves punishment,” the master of whisperers replied. I suppose I hadn’t thought of that. If his actions didn’t cause war, gained significant coin, and punished a slight against House Targaryen, they were arguably wise, if not reckless.

“I see. I must think on this matter on my own,” my brother responded, clearly distracted. My brother must be distressed—his heir had joined a foreign war without permission, risked his life, and killed his brother’s goodfamily. If he were not House Targaryen’s only dragonrider, that would be grounds for exile; my father had gotten exiled for less. I wonder how my nephew would justify this.

Chapter Text

146 AC

Flying as an escort for the ships carrying my loot was truly a boring task. As soon as I had left Lys, Meraxes and I followed the ships. Once we reached the Stepstones, I urged Meraxes to land and dismounted her. Once on the ground, I commanded each ship to stop and boarded them individually. On each ship, I declared that every slave would be a free man once they reached King's Landing, and that they were free to travel wherever they wished on these ships once we had unloaded the coin. This surely earned me the temporary loyalty of most of them.

I also visited the two daughters—Serea and Saelle—of the former magisters. They were the most beautiful women I had ever seen, products of generations of Lyseni noble marriages, which placed great importance on the appearance of their offspring. They were abnormally beautiful with the classic Valyrian coloring. If my grandmother had been named the realm’s delight, they would be named the realm’s goddesses. I felt sorry for my future wife, as she would surely be less beautiful than them. Their families had now lost the wealth and influence they were accustomed to, and while they could likely become some rich merchant or magister’s concubine in Essos, I offered them to be my paramours. I made it clear that I wished for no children and could never marry them, but their quality of life would remain high in my service, and they were free to return to Essos whenever they wished. Along with being able to keep most of their belongings and avoiding slavery or poverty like the rest of their family, this likely endeared them to me. Our relationship was beneficial for them and me, as they avoided poverty and slavery while maintaining a semblance of the lifestyle they were accustomed to, and I could sate my lust without visiting whores who were disloyal, thus avoiding siring bastards. Moreover, it meant that I was less likely to recklessly deflower some highborn maiden and be forced to marry her, thereby avoiding a scandal.

Now all I had to do was lose my virginity. I was admittedly quite nervous, considering I had never laid with a woman before. I didn’t know whom to pick between the two, so I intended to bed them both in the same sitting, which was particularly scandalous of me. I started with Serea and began to undress her until she was as naked as when she was born. After that, I was so driven by primal lust that I bedded them both until I collapsed and woke up the next morning with my head between Serea’s breasts. What need was there for piety to enter the seven heavens when there were beautiful maidens? I had finally found something that made me smile aside from my dragon. Wenches and dragons were the two great joys in my life; perhaps I had taken more after my grandfather than either of his sons. I would need to restrain myself lest I create an army of dragonseeds.

Flying over the Stepstones as an escort proved a wise decision indeed, as numerous pirate ships attempted to ambush my loot, but they were promptly burnt to dust each time, allowing the ships to sail through the Stepstones and reach Estermont within three days as the winds were in our favor. This allowed me much-needed rest, as I had stayed mounted on Meraxes for two days straight. Once I arrived at Estermont, I flew down to Greenstone, the ancestral seat of House Estermont, introduced myself as the heir to the Iron Throne, accepted guest rights, and had some much-needed sleep. The next morning, after talking to Lord Estermont, I congratulated him by saying Greenstone was the first keep I had visited besides Dragonstone and that his lands were very idyllic when seen from dragonback. I wasn’t sure if my attempt at flattery was successful or if he was just sycophantic due to my station, but my ships and I left Greenstone the next day.

For the next three days, my ships sailed towards Tarth while I flew on Meraxes, stopping to rest in the Stormlands at night and following the ships during the day. Since we were so close to Westeros, it was unlikely my loot would be attacked by bandits, but I intended to escort them until we reached Dragonstone, as in Blackwater Bay, the royal fleet could guarantee my ships' safety. Once we reached Tarth, I descended upon Evenfall Hall, where, after informing them I was the Prince of Dragonstone and accepting guest rights, I stayed at Evenfall Hall, attempting to endear myself to the Evenstar for two more days before leaving. As my ships sailed towards Dragonstone, I visited the Crownlands for the first time.

Meraxes flew to Stonedance, where I was given guest rights by House Massey, and I made sure to especially endear myself to them as they were Blacks who supported my grandmother’s claim to the Iron Throne and were among the first houses to bend the knee during Aegon’s Conquest. My father had also named a Massey as Lord Commander of his Kingsguard before his regency was ended, who was killed by Unwin Peake’s guards. Thus, I strove to inspire loyalty in Lord Massey, as my father never ventured outside the Red Keep. I also visited the now-blind Elinda Massey, who had taken her eyes out when she witnessed my grandmother’s death. She and I spoke at length, where I thanked her for her loyal service to my grandmother, while asking about her and my father during his childhood. She regaled me with tales of my family I was completely unaware of, and at one point, I even succumbed to tears. It was truly unfair that I would be stuck rectifying the mistakes of my ancestors. The foolishness of my grandmother, in some part for siring bastards, resulted in her believing that all her children except my father were dead, and dying at the hands of her brother. Meanwhile, the foolishness of my grandfather resulted in his two sons being brutally murdered, his brothers dying terrible deaths, his wife and mother going mad, his daughter dying at the age of ten barely a year after she flowered, and him being poisoned by his own council. I was the last of Aegon the Elder’s line, yet I perhaps hated him the most out of all the remaining Targaryens. While my grandmother was a fool for siring alleged bastards, the King and her husband acknowledged them, and she remained the King’s named heir, and the King’s word was law. My grandfather usurped the throne, which, while resulting in my birth, meant that my mother never grew to be a woman, my father was a shell of a man according to rumors, my uncle was kidnapped, nearly all of House Targaryen’s dragons died, and the war had the most casualties since Garin the Great’s defeat at the hands of the Freehold. Perhaps the world would be a greater place without dragons. Meraxes was the last dragon alive in Westeros, perhaps in the known world. I hope Meraxes never has to kill my sons or grandsons. I would give up anything for Meraxes—she was my constant companion since she had hatched from the egg presented to me at birth. Would she mourn me too? I truly pitied Vhagar; she had been my great-grandfather's mount and my grandfather’s second wife’s mount, yet she died attempting to kill my grandfather. Perhaps she willingly allowed herself to die—she was the largest threat on the Greens' side, and my grandfather defeating Aemond the Kinslayer was arguably the most important battle during the Dance. Perhaps Vhagar allowed herself to die rather than killing the son and husbands of her past riders. If she could feel the same way humans could, she likely would have felt terrible grief when her riders had died. Would Meraxes mourn for me? I hope Meraxes dies after me. I would be honored if a child or grandchild of mine derived the same joy from riding her as I did. Meraxes and I were a dying breed, after all—the last dragon and dragonrider.

After spending the night at Stonedance, I departed the next morning, flying to Sharp Point, the seat of House Bar Emmon, where I was given guest rights and repeated my routine to charm the lords. I always did the same thing—praise the castle, compliment the heir, the whole routine. I wondered if it worked at all because I was handsome or because Meraxes was outside his keep and the memory of the Dance was still fresh in his mind. I didn’t care for the specifics and left the next morning, finally arriving at Blackwater Bay with my ships. Meraxes descended down to Dragonstone.

Upon arriving at Dragonstone, I immediately summoned my castellan, thanked him for his service, and was promptly informed that I was summoned to King's Landing by my father—good to know he remembered I exist—before dismissing him and summoning my steward, telling him to prepare chambers for my paramours near my personal chambers. I doubt I would be having lonely nights for the foreseeable future, but that was beside the point. I had to go to King’s Landing. For fuck’s sake. After spilling my seed into my paramours a couple of times for good measure, I prepared my personal vessel to travel to King’s Landing while Meraxes would significantly shorten the journey. The Storming of the Dragonpit was not even a lifetime ago, and I felt Meraxes would be far safer in the Dragonmont.

Chapter Text

146AC

Sailing was a truly miserable experience. I felt like throwing up constantly, and being aboard this wretched boat made me yearn for a wench or Meraxes. I was quite annoyed that Father had summoned me. While my actions were likely foolish and irresponsible from his perspective and I deserved punishment, being deprived of Meraxes and a woman to plough made me more sullen than ever. At least my new Valyrian steel sword kept me occupied. Truth was quite ugly, with a gold hilt lacking embellishment and a green blade, and it lacked a sheath since I burned the original. Meraxes was named for her resemblance to the dragon of the Conqueror's sister-wife, as she was silver with gold eyes, much like my own mount. I planned to have my sword reforged into a silver blade with a silver hilt, adorned with golden dragons on either side of the rain guard and a golden gem on the pommel. Dark Sister could be wielded by one of my children, and Blackfyre could be given to my heir or used ceremonially once I became king. Once my sword was reforged, I would name it Morghul after my mother’s dragon. It would be a blade fitting for the Prince of Dragonstone. Oh, how the other Great Houses would be jealous—only House Stark had a Valyrian steel blade after Brightroar was lost by some foolish King of the Rock, and Nightfall was lost after Dalton Greyjoy’s death. House Targaryen now had three.

Arriving in King’s Landing was a disappointing sight, to say the least. The harbor was certainly large, yet the city seemed like a disorganized mess. The smell wasn’t the most pleasant either, and I already found myself missing the salty air of Dragonstone. Looking towards the three hills named for the Conqueror’s, atop Visenya’s Hill was a grand sept, atop Rhaenys’ Hill were the ruins of the Dragonpit—a stark reminder of the death of five dragons, including my mother’s and uncle’s—while atop Aegon’s Hill was the Red Keep, my future seat and the home of my inheritance: the Iron Throne, the cause of death for most of my immediate family members. How exciting.

Usually, someone would greet a person of my status upon arrival, but I had strictly informed my castellan to send no ravens to King’s Landing, as I wished to explore the city my family had founded. I donned a cloak and covered my head as my resident Kingsguard followed me as I ventured towards Visenya’s Hill. I first ventured to the Street of Steel and found that the higher up the street you went, the greater the smiths tended to be. At the very top, I found a Qohorik smith capable of reforging Valyrian steel, and thus I entrusted him with the task of forging me ‘Morghul,’ which he eagerly accepted. Showing my silver hair and purple eyes was enough for the smith to guess I was a Targaryen, if the design, which included dragons, didn’t already. After departing the Street of Steel, I ventured towards Eel Alley and spent several hours visiting the taverns there, trying to learn the smallfolk's opinions on my father, which were that he was loved little. I would need to change that during my rule. Finally, I ventured to the Great Sept atop Visenya’s Hill, where I lit a candle for the Warrior to grant me strength to protect House Targaryen from any who seek to do us harm. I lit a candle to the Crone to give me wisdom and help me become a wise king who would return the realm to its greatest heights, as it was in the later years of my great-grandfather’s reign, and I lit a candle to the Stranger to ease the suffering of my mother, uncles, and grandmothers in death. I prayed not for my grandfathers, as they had cursed me with their acts of kinslaying and possibly ensured I would lead a life of suffering. I was not a pious man by any means, but I truly prayed for my departed family to find the happiness in death that they weren’t afforded in life.

I lit a candle to the Mother to beg for forgiveness from my mother for killing her during my birth. I asked for forgiveness for the family of my past life, whom I had completely forgotten by now, and to keep them safe. Before I realized it, nightfall was nearly upon us, and I ventured towards the Red Keep, extremely nervous about the encounter with my father.

Upon arriving at the Red Keep, my nervousness quickly turned to anger.

“Why won’t you admit me into the Red Keep? I am Jaehaerys Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, firstborn son of King Aegon III!” I shouted at the Gold Cloaks guarding the entrance to the Red Keep. How dare they insult me like this by denying me entry into my own keep? Not even the presence of a Kingsguard by my side was proof enough for the Gold Cloaks. Well, considering the numerous Targaryen pretenders and the lack of armor the Kingsguard had on at my command, I guess thinking me a dragonseed was not entirely unreasonable.

“Look here, boy, you ain’t no son of Aegon III. He don’t like no whores, but you might be some bastard son of Aegon II. He enjoyed the whores more than his own wife. Now fuck off to the pillowhouse you came from before I start to get angry,” the Gold Cloak replied angrily. By now, we were clearly causing some sort of commotion.

“How dare you call my mother a whore? I’ll have your head for that, you insolent swine!” I shouted furiously, my hand going towards the sword sheathed at my hip. The replacement sword I bought from the Qohorik smith was no Valyrian steel, but it was far better than your average steel sword, that’s for certain, and I doubted the blade would have difficulty relieving this whoreson’s insolent head from his insolent shoulders. Before I could send the whoreson to meet the Stranger, another Kingsguard appeared, evident from his white cloak, and immediately vouched for my identity as he recognized the Kingsguard behind me.

“Take off your Gold Cloak and leave this city before I cut you from your balls to your brain to see what a cunt like you is made of,” I whispered in the Gold Cloak’s ear before entering the Red Keep with the two Kingsguard beside me. As I made my way up the serpentine steps to the Throne Room, I was truly nervous for the first time. I imagined the court would be dissolved, considering night was upon us. I wondered what my father would think of me.

What would the rest of my family think of me? It matters not. I didn’t need their love—all I needed was their fealty. The Throne would be mine upon my father’s death, and I would accept no less.

Chapter Text

146AC

It seems my wayward son had arrived at the Red Keep. How many namedays old had he been when I sent him to his seat on Dragonstone? Two or three? I can't remember the exact number. It seems he was stopped outside the Red Keep because they didn’t believe him to be a prince of House Targaryen, mistaking him for some dragonseed mummer. I didn’t know how to feel about meeting my son; he hadn’t occupied my thoughts at all until he decided to go to Lys. I wondered whether he felt antagonistic towards me for ignoring him. It was likely safer for him outside the Red Keep—his uncle had been murdered here as a child, and his mother, grandmother, and all of his great-grandmothers had died here. This accursed keep was full of ghosts, and I was the only one who could see them. Viserys couldn’t remember the faces of our departed family, and my sisters were living in Oldtown and Driftmark now. I would meet my son in the throne room, atop this wretched chair that my family had killed each other for. His inheritance would be the thing I despised the most—Aegon of House Targaryen, Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. Such a lofty title for a broken man. Perhaps Jaehaerys, the Second of His Name, would be remembered far more fondly than I. I hope he will be. The realm needed a wise king; the prosperity achieved during my grandsire’s and great-grandsire’s reigns was unprecedented, despite their deaths causing fractures in the House of the Dragon. My own death might do the same. I couldn’t let another Dance happen. Perhaps Daena or Naerys would make a good wife for my son. Daena was just a babe, but marrying sibling to sibling was normal by House Targaryen standards, and it would hopefully stop infighting between my heir and his younger brothers. Marrying Naerys to him would reward Viserys for his aid and intertwine my brother’s line with my own, though my son had murdered Naerys' uncles in cold blood. I would have to see Jaehaerys in person to get the measure of him.

My son had the look of a warrior about him. If I gave him Dark Sister, he would be like my father come again, yet it was perhaps obvious that he was my son by the haunted look in his eyes, as if he would never be happy. One could try to hide their emotions from their face, but even the greatest mummer knew the eyes could never lie. Perhaps, as my father’s line was cursed due to his kinslaying, my son was cursed twofold for the sins of both his grandfathers. He was a handsome boy, a maiden’s dream if he could bring himself to smile, yet I doubt even if he did it would ever be a genuine one. He truly was my son indeed.

"You have returned unharmed from your gallivanting in Lys. If you wanted to be summoned to King’s Landing so greatly, a raven would have sufficed," I spoke, looking him in the eyes. While I often disliked the burden of my seat, the authority it granted me was much needed. Despite how much I had loved my father, the realm could not have its only dragonrider acting as his grandfather reborn, especially the heir to the Iron Throne. He would need to be his namesake born again, ushering in a new age of peace and prosperity.

"I thought you would thank me, Your Grace. I have avenged House Targaryen and Velaryon after all." Avenged House Targaryen? What seven-damned logic is he using to try to deflect from the fact he broke the King’s peace and joined a foreign war?

"How have you avenged them?" I asked, barely suppressing the anger from my face.

"The Lyseni were the least scathed of the naval forces from the Triarchy fleet that attacked you during the Battle of the Gullet, killing my uncle Jacaerys Velaryon. They were also responsible for sacking Driftmark, the domain of your queen, goodbrother, and dead brother’s house. I not only destroyed their navy and destabilized them greatly, but I also avenged the damage House Rogare had done to Westeros. Not only had they ransomed my uncle, but their whore of a lady wife fled the Red Keep, tarnishing the reputation of House Targaryen. House Rogare had also stolen much of the wealth of Westerosi houses with the collapse of their bank, including House Velaryon, House Targaryen’s most loyal vassal and the house we have the most kinship with. I returned the slight we were given by eliminating all chances of their restoration of power and sent a message that House Targaryen is not to be trifled with. I have even brought substantial coin to fill the royal coffers and be used for the good of the realm. Moreover, House Rogare allied themselves with the Martells, and Lys was the greatest ally of Dorne among the Free Cities. My actions have indirectly weakened House Targaryen’s greatest enemy, Your Grace," he replied without hesitation, in a cold and commanding tone. It seemed he didn’t respect me or my authority.

"Yet you have broken the King’s peace and risked a war with Essos, despite the fragile peace in the Seven Kingdoms. You have shirked your duties," I replied. It seemed he did not truly understand the consequences of his actions, and I was becoming angry.

"With all due respect, Your Grace, what do you know of duty? You rarely leave the Red Keep, and you do not interact with your vassals. The smallfolk and the nobles alike hold no love for you—how does that affect the King’s peace? Your lack of strength shows that House Targaryen has grown weak. Your father was a man both reviled and loved in equal measure, yet he inspired respect. Your uncle was poisoned by his own men, yet he still fought his own battles. Your own sisters fought during the Dance while you fled the Battle of the Gullet, leaving your brother to die. The only duty you did was bedding my mother at ten namedays old and killing her. You know nothing of duty," he replied, visibly angrier. How dare he disrespect me like this.

"Do not speak on matters you do not know, boy. If you had seen your mother being burned alive in front of you, three of your brothers being brutally killed, and your father dying, would you be able to do your duties?" I questioned him angrily, cutting my arm on the Iron Throne, blood dripping to the ground.

“Your actions all but killed my mother! You waited until your new wife was sixteen years old to consummate the marriage, yet my mother, your own cousin, was not afforded the same grace. Your father and brother sacrificed themselves to protect you, but you abandoned me on Dragonstone without a single raven or gift—it was as if you forgot about me. My grandfather’s and uncle’s deaths were not a worthwhile sacrifice; you are an unworthy king, even the Iron Throne thinks so!” he shouted back, shoving his way out of the Great Hall despite the Kingsguard blocking the way.

It seems my relationship with my son was in dire need of repair. Perhaps he was right, and my family’s sacrifices were in vain.

Chapter Text

146 AC

How dare that swine lecture me! My actions had been for House Targaryen’s benefit, yet he lectures me on ‘shirking my duty’? That swine hasn’t left the Red Keep, he has no dragon, he is naught but a wingless wyrm—a stain on the blood of House Targaryen. Yet my words were rash; if ambitious lords became aware of the rift within House Targaryen, they would use it to their advantage, and dissent among an already weakened House of the Dragon might result in unimaginable losses. I would have to swallow my pride and apologize to my father; some of my insults were cruel and unnecessary. A king cannot be so prone to anger and mercurial. My grandfather was like that, and it was Otto Hightower’s manipulation that convinced my great-grandsire to name a woman as his heir. I would not lose my throne, my birthright. Only I could usher House Targaryen into greatness once again. These dragonless mongrel half-siblings of mine are mummer’s dragons, as is my uncle and his spawn. A man who has never claimed a dragon is no true Targaryen. No Targaryen monarch had ever not ridden a dragon before, and I meant to continue this precedent.

My chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast were far grander than the ones at Dragonstone, yet I did not like it here in this pit of vipers. I wanted to go home. My uncle died here, slain by the ratcatchers while my mother and grandmother watched; he was just six namedays old then. My mother died here, the effects from my birth slowly killing her. She was just a girl, even though she had flowered. My grandmother went mad here and killed herself. My grandfather was poisoned to death here by his own men. How could I be sure of the loyalty of those who swore to serve me? My actions in Essos had earned me many enemies. While I was sure Braavos itself wouldn’t send Faceless Men after me, I was the last known dragonrider. It wouldn’t be too unreasonable to think that the Dance had shown that the power of dragons was best left untouched by the hands of men. I couldn’t sleep here; I was unfamiliar with this place. The ratcatchers had killed the Prince of Dragonstone here once—who was to say they wouldn’t do it again? While there was a Kingsguard outside, could I be confident enough in his skill at arms to protect me? No, I couldn’t. Thus, I barred the door by moving my wardrobe and slept with my sword beneath my pillow.

In the morning, servants attempted to enter my chambers, but I sent them all away. I could trust none of these fools. My grandfather had raped many maids in the Red Keep; perhaps some wench would attempt revenge. I knew deep down that I might be losing my wits due to paranoia. I dressed myself and kept my sword with me at all times as I was invited to dine with the rest of my family.My father’s wife was admittedly beautiful, not as much as the paramours I had acquired from Lys, but she certainly wasn’t ugly. My younger siblings hadn’t joined us as they were in the nursery, but my uncle and cousins had. My uncle was striking but less handsome than my father and I, in my humble opinion. Aegon and Aemon had the typical Valyrian coloring, as did their sister, but she was a wisp of a girl and looked sickly. The meal was an awkward affair as my father was consistently silent, and the rest of the room mirrored his behavior. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad growing up on Dragonstone, away from King’s Landing. I could tell the children were eager to interact with me, but the stern look on my uncle’s face and the silence of my father likely stopped any questions. My father went off to presumably brood; apparently, he was wont to do it for days at a time. As I finished my meal, I headed to the nursery. I hadn’t been informed of any duties I had as of yet, so I wanted to see my siblings—my potential rivals and likely future threats to my rule if the Dance had proven anything. My siblings were all of the typical Targaryen coloring; at least my father hadn’t been made a cuckold. They were quite pleasant to look at and even evoked a small amount of some twisted form of affection in me. It was hard to love siblings when they would likely prey upon your downfall as you grew. I wonder if my grandmother Rhaenyra looked upon my maternal grandparents like that. If I voiced my concerns to anyone, they would likely write them off as paranoia, but Aegon burned her alive, and Aemon killed my uncle—they didn’t turn out harmless in the end. My brothers couldn’t gain possession of a dragon; I will not have Daeron emulate Maegor and kill my sons. If Daena gained possession of a dragon, I would wed her. House Targaryen was too weak at the moment with only a single dragonrider. Silverwing was in the Reach, and none had claimed her as of yet. No eggs had hatched for any of my siblings and cousins except the wingless wyrm from Laena Velaryon’s egg. That was good for me but bad for House Targaryen—we needed someone to claim Silverwing. She was described in the past as a docile dragon and was the largest remaining mount alive that had been ridden. My father wouldn’t claim her—he hated dragons. My uncle doing so would pose a threat to me. While unlikely, what if he tried to usurp me? Neither Aemon nor Aegon could claim her. Only Naerys could. She would likely flower soon, and if I got betrothed to her, as her father was Hand and, from what I’ve seen, did more ruling than my father, having the Hand’s support would be instrumental, as he also had influence over my father. If I informed my father or uncle of what I intended to do, they would likely refuse me, but House Targaryen needed another dragonrider, and by going on royal progresses with Naerys while both being dragonriders, it would either strike fear into the potential rebellious lords or endear ourselves to the loyalists. Silverwing was an old mount and would likely be outlived by Naerys, but Meraxes was still young and could possibly live until 260 AC. Silverwing and Sheepstealer had hatched when my namesake was still young; perhaps they could be ridden by my children, but unless new dragons hatched, Targaryen legitimacy would be gone, and we would likely be deposed. I could not risk Silverwing and Sheepstealer falling into hostile hands. Meraxes would fall to either in battle, and with that, the hope for the Targaryen dynasty would be gone. Naerys would have to claim Silverwing, and Sheepstealer by a son or daughter of mine, or potentially by my second wife. Naerys was small and fragile and might die from complications related to childbirth—it wasn’t uncommon among Targaryen women. My mother had, as had Aemma Arryn and her mother, as well as Alyssa Targaryen and her namesake—all of whom Naerys descended from. While my grandmother and her own mother had birthed multiple children successfully, she might not. While my cousin dying in such a manner made me no better than my father, a king needed heirs. My father was assumed to be the last male Targaryen alive before I was born, and uniting the lines of the Blacks and the Greens had led to much-needed peace. Making a woman heir when the memory of the Dance was still so fresh was unfeasible. If my wife died, children from my first and second wife would wed each other to unite the lines and stop another Dance of the Dragons. I had to keep the dragonriders within my line, and none except my wife and children should claim one. I would also need to find a way to hatch dragon eggs and keep dragonriders within House Targaryen. No women bonded to a dragon would marry outside our house again. It wasn’t just the Velaryons who had the blood of the dragon in their heirs—so did House Hightower. While the Velaryons and Hightowers would be loyal to my father, the same couldn’t be said for me. The Velaryons had a queen on the throne, and unless I married my sister, they would likely be more loyal to my siblings than to me. While my great-grandmother was a Hightower, the new Lord Hightower had damaged his ties to the Faith, yet they still held more influence than their lord paramounts, and their seat was the richest in Westeros besides the Lannisters. If my cousins could hatch dragons, it would be disastrous. I couldn’t kill my aunt and cousins, but I would never allow them eggs.

While the aftereffects of the Three Daughters’ War, Dance of the Dragons, and Dalton Greyjoy’s rebellion meant none wanted war, when the realm recovered and all who remembered the horrors of war became old men unable to fight on the battlefields, men would lust for war, eager to earn renown in battle. I would need a way to unite the realm once it was rebuilt. A war with Dorne would unite the Reach and the Stormlands, notably the Marcher lords, and with the aid of the Velaryon fleet, the Seven Kingdoms could be united, and House Targaryen’s rule secured. The North would remain loyal if we fulfilled our oaths to them—they were leal men unconcerned with the politics of King’s Landing, more focused on surviving the winter. The paramounts of the Riverlands were leal to House Targaryen and reliant on the peace provided by House Targaryen and the Iron Throne, as their lands were the least defensible. The Vale would likely remain loyal, and marriages to the Arryns could always be used to ensure it. The Tyrells relied on the Targaryens for authority, especially considering how House Hightower had had three marriages with House Targaryen, and their seat was wealthier and more influential than the Tyrells’, who were a house of former stewards. The Stormlands were disloyal, and House Baratheon could not be trusted. Despite the Conqueror being responsible for the house’s formation, Borros was untrustworthy and had forgotten his blood ties to Rhaenys Targaryen. Despite his father being brothers with King Jaehaerys, the Baratheons grasped above their station. I would either need to neuter them or replace them. The Lannisters were arguably the most powerful lord paramount, and without the threat of dragons, they would be extremely dangerous with the vast amount of wealth they controlled. The Westerlands had been arguably weakened the most from the Dance, considering their lord and his brother died, leaving a boy as their lord, and the Westerlands were continuously raided by Dalton Greyjoy. At the moment, the Lannisters were at their weakest, but after my death, they would seek influence in court once again. I would have to remain careful in my treatment of them lest they grow too powerful. Ideally, I wanted a foolish lord in charge—perhaps I should have the lord’s mother killed. I would need to go on a royal progress as soon as Naerys had hopefully claimed Silverwing and we had married. It would ensure the loyalty of the lords and remind them that the dragons were still a threat.

Chapter Text

146AC

I was becoming accustomed to life in King's Landing. The courtiers tried to win favor with me, and unmarried noblewomen often acted in strange ways to gain my favor. Yet, I had met none with whom I felt I could form a genuine bond of friendship; it was quite disheartening. The Conqueror had Rhaenys, the old king had the good queen, Baelon had Alyssa, Viserys had Aemma Arryn, Aemon had Jocelyn, and Rhaenyra had Daemon. All the great loves our house had were between kin, yet I find myself feeling no affection for my own, and it seems the feeling is mutual. My uncle does not care for me; he must be upset that I burned his good family to death. What a weak-minded fool. Perhaps my grandfather also cuckolded Daemon since this wingless wyrm acted nothing like a son of the Rogue Prince. It was not ideal, as he had much influence in my father's court as Hand and was likely the person my father loved the most. He could poison my father against me. I would need to wed his daughter and force his loyalty to me. I doubt he has it in him to be a kinslayer, yet every man except my own father apparently wants their blood on the Iron Throne. Until his daughter flowers, I need to avoid any betrothals to women outside House Targaryen. I need to ensure that another dragonrider is loyal to me, and having children with someone is likely the best way to do it.

My cousins were interesting, to say the least. Aegon seemed jealous of me; he saw Mhorgul on my hip, and I swear I could see the greed in his eyes. It might be because it was his mother’s house's ancestral sword or because it was Valyrian steel. He loved to dance, was charming, and was apparently becoming skilled with the sword and joust. I couldn’t bring myself to trust him, though. While he had never met them, I did butcher his uncles in cold blood. If he heard of it, he would likely dislike me, and if he didn’t, then he likely didn’t regard blood ties highly and thus couldn’t be trusted. Aemon was also skilled with a sword and would likely make a great knight once he became older. He and his sister alike were both pious. It was quite ironic, considering their mother was known as some heathen by the court. Naerys was pious and loved music and poetry; she would likely have the perfect temperament to claim Silverwing and be a loyal wife to me. I endeared myself to her by gifting her books on poetry from the Free Cities and hiring bards to sing for her, and I trained with Aemon in the yard. Aegon I couldn’t stand, though. My gut told me he couldn’t be trusted, and I would trust it in this instance.

My routine of training in the yard didn’t stop, and with my new Valyrian steel blade, I felt as if I were the Warrior reborn. As I wasn’t fulfilling my duties as Lord of Dragonstone at the moment, I had more free time that I could dedicate to the training yard or the tomes in the library of the Red Keep. I studied the maester’s accounts of the Dance, the Conquest, and the Dornish wars. The knowledge of the Dance would help me kill Nettles if she were hostile to me and I came across her while also helping me learn from the mistakes of my predecessors. The Dornish wars taught me the importance of the smallfolk. Despite the nobles abandoning their castles, Dorne being razed to the ground, and achieving no victories except the killing of Meraxes, the smallfolk in Dorne didn’t surrender. I could send the armies of the Reach into Dorne and win every battle, but unless the smallfolk were quelled, they wouldn’t be ruled by the Iron Throne. The Dornish survived the harsh environment of the deserts; they were enduring people, but if you starve even the most loyal of creatures, they will eventually turn against their masters. The lords had abandoned their castles before, but if I blockaded Dorne with the Redwyne, Velaryon, and the Crown’s fleet while burning the fields with no aid coming from the Free Cities and the Dornish starving to death, they would surrender. I could then take Dornish nobles hostage and arrange marriages between Reach and Stormlands houses with the Dornish to establish blood ties and marry either Daeron or Baelor to the Martells. It would establish myself as the conciliator reborn for bringing Dorne into the fold, and if I managed to get Naerys to tame Silverwing and more eggs to hatch, then my house would reach even greater heights than its apex under my great grandsire. However, while the Stormlanders and Reachmen would happily go to war with Dorne, and it would appease the dissatisfied former Greens, while I was the grandson of Aegon II, I was the heir of Aegon III, the king the Blacks fought to crown, and I would need to satisfy the Vale men, Northmen, and Riverlanders. Going on a royal progress and endearing myself to the nobles would be a start. I had no duties at the moment; perhaps visiting the Riverlands first would be a good way to start my progress. All I had to do was gain permission from my father.

Chapter Text

147AC

I had finally been given permission by my father to embark on a journey to the Riverlands, Vale, and the North. These were the regions whose armies secured my father's throne, and their leaders were loyal men—especially the North. The Starks were steadfast and loyal, yet they had gained little from the Dance. The Velaryons were turncoats, and the Hightowers were my grandsire's biggest supporters, yet both families had been granted royal marriages during my father's reign. I knew in my heart that Addam Velaryon and Alyn were loyal to my father, and that Corlys' counsel to my grandfather likely saved my father's life. Marrying my aunt to a Hightower would ensure peace. However, royal blood in the hands of ambitious houses could spell the downfall of House Targaryen. I would make certain that none of my Velaryon and Hightower cousins ever gained access to a dragon. My siblings were half Velaryon, my aunt was married into House Velaryon and was half Velaryon herself, and I had no great house backing my claim to the throne. I had distant blood ties to the Hightowers and Arryns, yet the current heads of those houses held no loyalty to me. I had no great allies among my immediate kin either. My father was absent at best, my uncle likely feared or hated me due to my actions in Lys, and I had no relationship with either of my aunts. I could perhaps influence Aemon and Naerys to join my circle, but Aegon was an uncertainty—he had a covetous look in his eyes, and House Targaryen was no stranger to kinslaying. I needed to personally cultivate relationships with the lords and their heirs. I may have Meraxes, but she was not infallible. Though she was growing rapidly, the Dance demonstrated the mortality of dragons.

The Riverlands was the first kingdom I visited. The smallfolk who saw my dragon were terrified; I suppose memories of Vhagar’s exploits were not easily forgotten. The foolishness of my predecessors had potentially doomed our house. The infighting among dragonlords was not like the infighting among normal men. The potential for devastation that dragons possessed was great. Dragons did not plant trees, after all—they burned them. While a kingdom of ashes could be forged anew, what of the people burned in the process? I could limit the number of dragonriders to the King and Queen, their heir and spouse, their presumptive heir and spouse, and so on, yet that would limit the dragonriders to six at any time. The Conquerors forged the kingdom with three dragons and ruled with just Balerion and Vhagar after Rhaenys' death. My namesake ruled the kingdoms initially with just Silverwing, Vermithor, and Dreamfyre. My great-grandsire didn’t even claim a mount, and the only dragonriders were Rhaenys and my grandsire, yet his reign was as secure as any. But could I deprive my children of a dragon? And what of potential branch members of House Targaryen who wanted dragons of their own? A woman marrying outside of House Targaryen and not claiming a dragon, with her children following suit, was precedented, but what of a child born to two Targaryen parents? That was unheard of, yet it might be the price of peace. Another civil war within House Targaryen could not occur. The only problem was deciding on the method to prevent it. That was a matter for when I had heirs of my own. For now, hatching as many dragon eggs as possible was necessary, given that I was the only dragonrider.

I wasn’t supposed to visit Harrenhal, but I wanted to see the extent of Balerion’s power. The largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, with some of the most fertile lands, reduced to an accursed ruin. Every house that controlled it had gone extinct—Hoare, Qoherys, Harroway, Towers, and Strong—all were gone. It must be cursed. Perhaps it was the cruelty during its construction, with thousands dying under the yoke of Harren the Black, or perhaps the destruction of thousands of weirwood trees that caused the Old Gods themselves to curse this place. Or maybe it was the interaction of the lords of Harrenhal with House Targaryen that led to their downfall. After all, when the Conqueror visited, the line of House Hoare went extinct. The founder of House Qoherys was the master-at-arms at Dragonstone and likely interacted frequently with House Targaryen. The second of Maegor’s wives was from House Harroway. Dowager Queen Rhaena took up residence in Harrenhal, and the last lord of House Towers died. The father of my uncles, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, was apparently Harwin Strong, and Aemond Targaryen slaughtered every member of House Strong besides Larys. It seems there is a recurring theme. Perhaps I was courting death by wandering into Harrenhal alone, especially considering the rumors of Alys Rivers and her bastard son from the beginning of my father’s reign. But Harrenhal had been abandoned since after the Winter Fever. While bandits may have taken residence within its walls, the Witch and her bastard were reportedly missing without a trace. Where could they have gone? The bastard would be my kin, the last of Alicent Hightower’s line besides myself, and a potential usurper. If his mother was a witch and he inherited his father’s avarice, what would stop him from attempting to claim Silverwing, Sheepstealer, or even hatching a dragon egg? He would have to be killed.

Harrenhal certainly fit the bill for a stereotypical cursed castle. It looked even gloomier than Dragonstone, as if despair and death itself were woven into the black stone of its keep. To me, it felt like a failed attempt to replicate the Seven Hells, and it seems I wasn’t alone in my thoughts. From atop Meraxes, the castle looked abandoned. It seemed the Witch had truly fled with her band of outlaws—or perhaps she was using her magic to hide herself from the sight of others. I desperately hoped she wasn’t here, but sometimes desperation wasn’t enough.