Aemon stepped out of the dragon's lair, a ray of morning light hitting his face.
He narrowed his eyes and looked up.
A large sun slowly rose, its warm light dispelling the darkness.
"Shhhh!"
Vermithor stood atop the Lonely Mountain, its massive body like a bronze spire, crouching low and roaring at its rider.
Its wounds had healed quickly, and now it looked like a normal dragon.
Seeing it, Aemon felt a strange sensation.
Something seemed different about Vermithor.
Boom—
Vermithor flapped its wings and flew down, landing at the entrance to the dragon's lair.
"You did well, big one."
Aemon reached forward and embraced it, resting his forehead against the dragon's muzzle, rubbing his palm against its rough jaw.
"Roar—"
Vermithor's pupils narrowed in relief, his throat trembling slightly as he responded to his rider's affirmation.
True gold fears no fire.
Only after experiencing battles between dragons can one be considered a complete and true dragon.
Yet, Vermithor was nobler than a true dragon—it had embarked on the path to rule over all dragons.
"Let's go,"
Aemon climbed onto the dragon's back, settling into the unchanging ancestral saddle.
With a push of his hind legs, Vermithor leaped from the mountaintop, spreading his broad brown wings in mid-air.
. . .
The Lonely Mountain stretched out to the bottom of the Long Lake.
After two days and two nights without rest, Rhaenys's face was weary, but she forced herself to stay awake.
"Vhagar and the others should be back soon,"
Laena supported her mother, letting her lean her head against her shoulder.
"There's been some movement at the Lonely Mountain. Ask Aemon when he returns."
Rhaenys waved her hand, stubborn as ever.
A look of resignation crossed Laenor's face, and he remained silent.
First, Aemon and Daemon clashed, crippling the bloodworm Caraxes.
Then, a tremor erupted, triggering a dragon riot.
Unaware of the cause, Vermithor and Vhagar nearly engaged in a life-or-death battle.
So many twists and turns in one night that it seemed as if even their original purpose had been forgotten.
Laenor rubbed his nose and glanced stealthily at the king and Daemon.
Viserys looked dejected.
Already in poor health, he had worn himself out after a day and night of flying on his dragon, and now slumped against a rock.
Daemon, face gloomy, stood with his back to the group.
He gazed at the Lonely Mountain, standing there like a man waiting for his wife.
"Shhhh!"
A gust of wind swept past, obscuring the rising sun and casting a lingering shadow over everyone.
Vermithor slowly descended, wings spread wide as he landed, his massive form appearing even more majestic.
Bang!
Aemon leaped from the dragon's back, letting out a soft sigh.
Viserys's eyes flickered with excitement as he stood from the boulder, stumbling halfway.
. . .
Two days later.
King's Landing.
The Red Keep, the Council Chamber.
"That's what happened."
Viserys twirled the emerald ring on his thumb and slowly recounted the events.
Two specific events.
The first: Aemon and Daemon had dueled at the Long Lake. The victor would immediately receive a portion of Lys's treasury.
The series of events that followed the duel ensued.
Lady Rhea offered to dissolve the marriage, restoring both parties to freedom.
Daemon had temporarily lost his dragon, uncertain if he would ever be able to mount again.
The battle had cost Daemon dearly, including the Dark Sister, the clan sword.
The Vale's people were working tirelessly to salvage it from the Long Lake.
The second:
Due to over-mining of copper, the Lonely Mountain had suddenly transformed into a volcano.
A valley had appeared in its midst, tentatively named "Dragon's Hollow."
Because several dragons had already made their homes there, the royal family would send a group of dragonkeepers to take over Dragon's Hollow to prevent intrusion.
This was Aemon's initiative.
"We have no objection,"
Laena said softly.
She sat third from the left of the conference table, next to Rhaenyra, who sat second.
Rhaenyra looked bewildered, struggling to process the information.
At Laena's cue, she too raised her hand to indicate her agreement.
The Battle of the Lake wasn't just political; it was also a scandal within the Targaryen clan.
A meeting was held with the Hand and members of the family.
The Sea Snake, Rhaenys, and Laenor's family all nodded in agreement. Alicent and Otto, the Queen and the King's father-in-law, also agreed. The other Lords dared not offend the King.
"Then let us do our best to limit the spread of the Battle of the Lake,"
Viserys said sternly, never smiling.
He still remembered his nephew's explanation the morning before yesterday.
"You can't control Daemon, so I will."
The inaction of the patriarch bore primary responsibility for the family's disunity.
"And you, as the head of the family, are profoundly unfit," Aemon had taunted, almost face to face.
Lies hurt little, the truth cuts sharper.
Viserys was deeply hurt by those words.
His resentment towards Daemon and Aemon, father and son, threatened to explode.
But it was the Battle of the Lake that made him realize the dangers of dragonfighting.
He needed to be ruthless when he shouldn't play dumb.
He was turning harsh.
Anyone who dared disobey the king's orders would be dragged out and whipped.
Sons and daughters would receive ten lashes, Aemon twenty lashes, and Daemon a hundred lashes.
"Your Majesty, what you say is all very well, but I have one question,"
Grand Maester Mellos began slowly.
"What is it?"
Viserys's face was cold.
Mellos leaned forward, glanced at Daemon at the end of the row, then back at the king and asked,
"Where is Prince Aemon?"
He'd heard that morning that Prince Aemon had descended into the dragon's lair and then hurried away.
As someone involved in such a major meeting, how could he not show up?
"..."
Viserys's face paled, embarrassed by the question.
. . .
Riverdale.
The Lonely Mountain, the Valley of the Dragon.
Aemon stepped on dried volcanic ash and entered a smoking cave in the canyon.
"Is this a dragon egg?"
Leaf followed him, standing on tiptoe to peer.
"Keep quiet, don't wake the child,"
Aemon glared.
In his left hand, he held a swaddling cloth, in his right, a large sack.
A corner of the swaddling cloth opened, revealing a small infant with silver-gold stubble.
His half-brother, Aegon Targaryen.
Daemon had lost everything, and his uncle had compensated him.
He agreed to Aemon's marriage in Lys.
The child was given the Targaryen surname and a purple dragon egg Daemon had stolen in exchange.
According to the agreement before the final battle,
if Daemon lost, everything he had would pass to Aemon,
including this half-brother, still breastfeeding.
Aemon flew to Lys, fought through Rogar Manor, and pried the child from his mother's arms.
He would raise him from then on.
As for the impact, and whether he would attend the Great Council in King's Landing, Aemon sneered.
The duel was over, so why would he care about influence and participation in the council?
If they couldn't even handle the final details, were the family and king's ministers just for show?
"He's a deep sleeper, I won't wake him."
Leaf whispered, though occasionally scratching at the swaddling cloth with her claws, curious about the dragon-blooded child.
Soon, they arrived at the depths of the smoking cave.
"Prince!"
An elderly dragonkeeper, solemn-faced and holding a bamboo staff, came to greet him.
Behind him followed two other dragonkeepers, a man and a woman, both with shaved heads and dressed in simple linen.
"Keep them safe and make sure you check them often,"
Aemon said in High Valyrian, handing over the sack.
The old dragonkeeper opened it, revealing five dragon eggs.
Aemon glanced one last time before continuing on his way to the greenhouse.
These were the eggs he had stored for years.
One black egg, the one his great-grandfather had placed in his cradle.
Three others—blue, green, and purple—were Dreamfyre's eggs he had stolen as a child.
This clutch had been laid so recently that the dragonkeepers hadn't yet discovered or recorded them.
Aemon had kept them hidden all these years.
The last egg, purple with a black background, belonged to little Aegon in his arms.
Note: "To distinguish the two Aegons—the elder will be called Aegon or Big Aegon, the younger will be called Little Aegon."
"Yes, Prince."
The old dragonkeeper bowed deeply, full of respect for the eggs.
Deep within the caverns, a rugged path led to several chambers.
The deeper he went, the higher the temperature, the air thick with sulfur.
Aemon entered a fork leading to the innermost greenhouse.
It was larger than usual, with man-made steps leading to an open space below.
A crack ran through the space, revealing thick, crimson lava flowing within.
Facing the volcanic interior, even Aemon felt the pressure and took deep breaths.
At the top of the steps, a groove had been carved.
Inside lay golden wheat straw, harvested stalks of mature topaz wheat.
Aemon shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out the golden-nosed rat.
"Squeak, squeak!"
The rat shrieked in protest, its fur singed by the heat.
"Shut up."
Aemon flicked its head and opened his hand to catch the green dragon egg it spat out.
It was oval, the size of a ball, lush green and brimming with life.
Aemon placed it in the groove, laid his palm over it, and gently wrapped it with the fire magic in his blood.
This was the nurturing method Leaf had told him about.
It was good for the egg.
How much it would help, or if it could increase hatching chances, there was no guarantee.
But at least it would last longer.
That was enough.
"Woo~~"
After a while, the swaddled child stirred.
Little Aegon opened his eyes from the heat, forehead beaded with sweat, squirming restlessly.
Seeing this, Aemon withdrew his hand and left.
"Don't cry, or you'll anger me,"
he threatened.
As they left the greenhouse, the elderly dragonkeeper had just placed the remaining five eggs.
Aemon nodded at him and walked out of the smoking cave.
"Roar—"
Vermithor crouched in the Dragon's Valley, watching its rider cradle the child.
Silverwing and Grey Ghost were also there, circling above, keeping watch.
Dragon's Valley was vast.
Though blanketed in volcanic ash, a few plants still clung to life.
The mountain walls were solid, dotted with yellowed vines.
A closer look revealed countless interconnected caves.
While not as majestic as Dragonstone, it had its own treasures and made for a suitable nesting ground.
"Hoo-ha!"
A fourth dragon crouched on the rocks, a roasted sheep in its mouth, testing Vermithor's patience.
One glance from Vermithor's bronze pupils, and the wild beast dropped the sheep, retreating in fear.
"I thought you were so brave,"
Aemon said with a grin, watching it flee.
A wild dragon—a sheep thief.
"Drawn here by the Lonely Mountain?"
Aemon speculated boldly.
After the Lonely Mountain transformed into a volcano, the air thickened with fire magic.
Even a trace was enough.
Dragonstone's fire magic was thin, yet enough for dragons to nest and breed.
"The more dragons, the better. My children will have more choices,"
Aemon said with a smile.
Once the aftermath of the Battle of the Long Lake passed, he would officially marry.
Rhaenyra was three months pregnant and would give birth next year.
He'd soon have a child of his own.
In the blink of an eye, he'd be an adult—and a father.
. . .
121 AC.
Early spring, April.
By the shores of the Long Lake.
A handsome young man with long silver-gold hair sat cross-legged on the grass, fishing rod in hand.
His demeanor was languid, a faint smile on his fair face.
He looked like a man living in luxury.
Puff!
Ripples spread across the shimmering lake, sending up tiny bubbles.
The young man spread his legs and reeled frantically.
"Hiss!"
A giant pale-gray dragon stood beside him, head craning over the water, its massive form looming.
"Don't worry, it's coming!"
Aemon shouted, grinning as he pulled the rod.
A foot-long fish broke the surface, splashing onto the grass.
The pale-gray dragon flicked its tail, stunning the fish.
"Nice job!"
Aemon laughed.
"Hiss!"
Greyshadow lowered its head and swallowed the catch whole.
Five years had passed, and the once-small wild dragon had grown into a beast over twenty meters long.
Its body was covered in smooth gray scales, its wings broad and pale white, its sapphire-blue eyes clear and cold.
Already, it had the majesty of a mature dragon.
Aemon, too, had changed.
Taller, more rugged, his six-foot-five frame and sharp features exuded dominance.
"It's still early, let's catch one more."
He cast again, relaxed.
Two light footsteps approached.
"Father!"
Aemon smiled as two silver-haired girls with violet eyes rushed into his arms.
"Mother called you to eat," the elder said brightly.
"Yes," the younger nodded softly.
They were Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, the twin daughters of Aemon and Laena, born in 118 AC—now three years old.
"What else did your mother say?"
Baela answered simply, "She said she has something to ask you."
"Hmm." Rhaena nodded like a chick pecking rice.
"What else did I say?"
Laena's soft voice rang out behind them, her navy-blue dress flowing.
The twins' eyes widened.
"Don't scare them,"
Aemon said, shielding the girls.
Laena rolled her eyes. "If you put me against you again, you'll see what a Velaryon can do."
"You're right,"
Aemon smiled, pushing the twins out.
The girls immediately clung to their mother, coaxing her with soft cries of "Mother!"
"You've spoiled them,"
Laena laughed, stroking their hair.
"What do you want from me?"
Aemon packed his gear.
"It's Rhaenyra's raven,"
Laena said seriously. "The princes are receiving dragon training, and they've asked you to come back and supervise."
---------------
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