The scratching of a quill against parchment filled the room, sharp and deliberate. When the last letter was sealed with wax, the quiet in Ned Stark's solar grew heavy.
Ned leaned back, weary eyes tracing the flicker of the fire. Across from him, Aegon stood near the window, his arms folded, gaze distant as if already seeing beyond the walls of Winterfell, past the snow, past the cold, past the sea.
It was Ned who finally broke the silence.
"So that's it, then," he said. "You've done what you came for."
Aegon turned his head slightly. "I have."
He turned to leave, but Ned's voice stopped him.
"Wait."
Aegon paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Sit," Ned said. "One last time."
There was command in the older man's voice, not the tone of a lord, but of a father.
"I won't waste words." Ned began, his voice rough but steady. "You've grown into something… powerful. I see that now. But power alone doesn't make a king. Mercy does. Restraint does. You can still choose to be more than what the world made you."
Aegon's jaw clenched. "More than what you made me, you mean."
Ned's brow furrowed. "I did what I thought was right...."
"What you thought was right." Aegon cut in, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. "You hid me away. Let me live as a bastard. Let me bleed and starve and beg for acknowledgment. All so you could keep your honor intact."
He took a step closer. "Do you have any idea what that does to a man? To know that your very existence is treated as shame?" He asks, playing the feeling the original Jon Snow had but never dared to speak.
Ned stood, his face lined with guilt but unyielding. "I did it to protect you."
Aegon laughed softly, a humorless sound. "Protect me? Or protect your lie? You say you did it for love of my mother, but love without truth is just another cage, Lord Stark."
The words struck deep, but Ned didn't flinch. "And what will you do with the truth now? Burn the world to ash? You have dragons, Aegon, but dragons are not justice. Fire cannot bring mercy."
Aegon's gaze turned cold.
"When I leave this place." he said quietly, "you will declare your support for Stannis Baratheon, and send out your set of second letters to smooth things over. That much I already know. The man has a claim, and you value duty more than sense."
Ned's jaw tightened. "He is Robert's brother. The throne by right, by law, should fall to him."
"Law." Aegon said, almost spitting the word. "The victors make law. And when we meet next, it will not be as kin. It will be on the field."
He turned slightly, his voice lower, colder.
"When that time comes, Lord Stark, I will remember what I owe you for raising me, even if poorly. I will offer you one chance to surrender. If you are wise, you will take it. If not… your army, your walls, your family… will burn."
The threat hung in the air like smoke.
Ned's hand slammed on the table. "You sound like your grandsire!" he snapped. "The Mad King spoke of burning at every turn, men, women, children. You would become the very monster the realm once fought to kill."
For a moment, Aegon said nothing. His expression was unreadable. Then, slowly, his lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"I have a son." he said. "His name is Maegor."
The name alone made Ned's blood run cold.
Aegon's gaze was iron. "Because I understand that what my grandsire didn't understand was that cruelty is a tool. A blade to be used, not wielded in madness. The realm has forgotten the fear of dragons. They will remember."
He stepped closer, the fire casting a halo of orange behind him.
"By the time I take the Iron Throne, I have no doubt the lords and common folk alike will whisper that they would rather have had the Mad King than me. But that, too, shall pass. History belongs to the winners. And my bloodline will sit on the throne for centuries to come. One of my sons will rule after me."
Ned's face hardened. "And what of honor? Of decency? Of the North?"
Aegon met his gaze, his voice sharp and final.
"My cruelty is for those who stand in my way. If you do not want your family or your people to feel it… Then you know what choice to make."
The room went silent. Only the crackle of fire filled the space between them.
For a moment, they stood as symbols of two worlds, fire and ice, unbending and unyielding.
Then Aegon turned and walked away.
The corridors of Winterfell stretched long and shadowed as Aegon made his way through them, his boots echoing faintly on the stone. Servants shrank from his path, bowing low or pressing themselves against the walls.
He stopped beside one trembling man.
"You." Aegon said curtly. "The girl, Arya Stark. Take me to her."
The servant stammered but obeyed, leading him through the dim halls until they stopped before a small oaken door.
Aegon dismissed the man with a glance and knocked once.
It opened a moment later. Arya stood there, eyes bright despite the fatigue, hair a wild mess. When she saw him, her face lit up.
"You're leaving." she said, half statement, half question.
"I am." Aegon replied.
Her smile faltered. She looked down, twisting her fingers together. Then, in a low voice barely above a whisper, one he wouldn't have heard if not for his enhanced senses, she murmured, "Mother and Robb… they still think you'll burn us. That you'll burn Winterfell."
Aegon's expression didn't change. He watched her for a long moment, then crouched slightly so they were eye level.
"My dragons burn my enemies." he said simply.
The words were calm, almost gentle, but they carried a weight she couldn't understand. Arya looked up at him, relief flickering in her eyes, taking the words as comfort rather than warning.
He straightened. "You should rest." he said.
She nodded slowly. "You'll come back?"
"Perhaps." he said, though his tone left no promise.
As he turned to leave, his thoughts whispered the rest, words he did not speak aloud.
'They are not my enemies. For now.'
Aegon walked out of the castle. The cold air bit at his skin, but he didn't flinch.
Above, Bahamut roared once, the sound rolling like thunder as his massive form descended from the clouds, landing with a gust of wind that sent snow swirling in blinding arcs.
Rahko and Baqo were already waiting.
Without a word, Aegon then his bloodriders climbed onto Bahamut's back. The dragon's molten eyes met his for a heartbeat, a shared pulse of power and understanding.
Then, with a sweep of vast wings, Bahamut took to the skies once more.
The air split with the force of his ascent, the sound echoing across the frozen North as the silver-haired prince and his bloodriders vanished into the dawn, leaving only the echo of dragons and the scent of smoke behind.