Chapter Text
Almost 300 years ago, Aegon Targaryen invaded Westeros and united the Seven Kingdoms under one ruler. They defeated powerful and noble houses like House Gardener and House Lannister, and the Starks surrendered to avoid the destruction of their people. Aegon was then known as Aegon the Conqueror. Soon, Westeros belonged to the Targaryens. But they couldn’t have done it without one thing.
Dragons.
Those who didn’t believe they existed were quickly faced with the truth, right before a burning and painful death. Others surrendered, like the Starks. Aegon commanded his dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, to burn the swords taken from the conquest; melting them down to create the Iron Throne. A simple, flashy chair that great houses and rulers would fight over for centuries.
Besides the men and women, there were other beings that lived among or around the realms of men. Some believe that they are nothing but stories to entertain guests by the fire, others claim to have seen them personally. Beings like witches, shadowcats, white walkers, Children of the Forest, or even giants. Until the formation of the Seven Kingdoms, people didn’t believe dragons existed either. There is another creature that was born as a human, lives as a human, but with a unique aptitude. These people were called Shapeshifters, aptly named by their abilities to take the form of another creature, but only one. There is no way of telling when a shapeshifter will be born, or what they can become, but you can tell when someone is a shapeshifter by their unique hair coloring. Perhaps it’s one strand of blue, or red frames their face, redder than any ginger. Perhaps their ends turn yellow or purple. Any otherwise unnatural coloring of their hair is a telltale sign.
Because of their abilities, mankind placed great distrust in them. They say only one shapeshifter is born every generation, and few survive to adulthood since many parents or neighbors take action against raising what they assume would be a monster. Other parents, who grow attached to their child despite what they are, shave their heads to hide the sign, to give them a normal life. For those who survive, it’s become known that Shapeshifters are mainly horses, dogs, or cats. More powerful Shapeshifters could be basilisks, bears, or direwolves. There has never been a dragon shapeshifter, until one man. Rohar the Winged.
Without the dragons, the Targaryens would have lost their conquest of Westeros. But they didn’t always have the majestic beasts. 20 years before the invasion, that Shapeshifter approached Aegon’s father with a proposition.
A man draped in a dark cloak appears from the balcony of Lord Aerion Targaryen and his wife Lady Valaena Velaryon. A small newborn, Aegon, is asleep in his crib. The wind wafts through the open balcony as the father and mother stand at alert. Aerion quickly draws his sword as Valaena runs to her baby.
“Who are you?” Aerion demands. “How did you get in here??”
The cloaked and shadowed face turns towards the man, but Aerion still can’t see his face. “There were guards at your door, My Lord. My Lady.” The stranger answers. “But I found another way in.”
Aerion steadily walks in between the stranger and his wife and son. “What do you want?”
“You are Aerion Targaryen.” The stranger states more than asks. “And your son is Aegon.”
“What. do you want.” Aerion demands, taking a threatening step forward, but the man doesn’t budge.
The stranger slowly reaches up to the hood hiding his face and pulls it down. He’s a handsome man, with fair skin and ear-length wavy brown hair. His eyes are golden, almost glowing in the moonlight. Right behind his ears, however, the moon illuminates strands of green hair.
Aerion notices this and raises his sword higher. “You’re a Shapeshifter.” He states distrustfully.
The man smiles peacefully. “My name is Rohar, My Lord. And you have nothing to fear. I’m afraid storytellers like to create tales of my kind, but I assure you that they are false myths, and far from the truth.”
“They say Shapeshifters take the form of horses or pets.” Aerion begins, taking glances to make sure his family is still safe. “And when they let their guard down, they kill and eat the kids before disappearing.”
Rohar smiles humorously at the far-fetched story. “I promise you, I do not eat children. Or humans at all for that matter.”
“If that’s true, then what do you want?” Aerion demands again, the chilly breeze prickling at his skin.
“I have a gift to bestow upon your son for his name day.” Rohar states. “The child was born a few days ago, was he not? I apologize for being late, the winds were rather fierce.”
“You sailed here?” Valaena asks, speaking for the first time.
Rohar smiles at her, eyes squinting with friendliness. “Not quite.” He answers.
“If you think I’m letting you anywhere near my boy–”
Valaena interrupts him. “Aer. The Teller in the market told me of this. She prophesized that we shall see good fortune, and gifts will come our way. That it will change our lives. I assumed it was the healthy birth of Aegon. But perhaps…”
Aerion glances back at her, unsure. She looks at him, conflicted but hopeful as she finishes. “Perhaps this is also what she meant?”
As Aerion considers the possibility, Rohar speaks up again. “If it pleases you, My Lord, I can show you the gifts first, and you can decide if you’d like to keep them. I will not be offended if you do not.”
Aerion thinks about it for a few more moments before he sighs and lowers his sword, but stays between the stranger and his family. “Very well then. What do you have?”
Rohar gracefully walks towards a table, his back facing Aerion. It crosses his mind for a moment to slice the intruder down when he’s not looking, but that would be dishonorable. That, and his curiosity garnered the best of him. Rohar lifts his arms and a gust of black-ish grey smoke pours onto the table. The smoke clears as the man turns back around and steps back to present the gifts.
On the table sat three large eggs.
“What…” Aerion begins, brows furrowed at the large stones.
“Dragon eggs.” Rohar answers softly.
Aerion looks up at him, even more distrustful than before. “Dragons aren’t real. What are those really?”
Rohar smiles at him. “Your son is destined for greatness. These eggs must be born of fire. One for Aegon, and one for each of your daughters.”
Aerion and Valaena look at each other, confused. “We don’t have any more children.” Valaena replies.
“Not yet.” Rohar nods and walks back to the balcony.
Aerion walks after him, not satisfied. “I still do not believe you, Stranger. Dragons are not real, what are those?”
Rohar stands up on the balcony railing and turns back to him before bowing respectfully. “If that is what you wish to believe, My Lord.”
With that, the man’s figure wafts off the balcony in a quick drag of smoke before reforming in the air as a large, winged beast, flying towards the moon. Aerion and Valaena run to the balcony, baby Aegon still asleep in his mother’s arms as they gawk at the sight.
Since then, they set the dragon eggs in the fire, and they hatched as beautiful and small creatures. The parents had two more children, two daughters, as if the Shapeshifter predicted it. Named Visenya and Rhaenys, the three siblings raised and grew alongside their dragons. Visenya rode Vhagar, Rhaenys rode Meraxes. And Aegon, soon-to-be-conqueror, rode the largest in history. Balerion the Black Dread. There has only been that one recorded history of a Dragon Shapeshifter.
Until I was born.
And I’m much less ethereal.