As the court adjourned and the gathered lords began to disperse, Aegon found himself flanked almost immediately by his two older brothers, Viserys to his left, Daemon to his right. Both wore identical expressions of strained smiles barely concealing their envy.
Viserys leaned in, trying to sound casual. "So… how did you do it?"
Daemon, more blunt as always, scoffed. "Yeah, no way you just walked in and she let you ride her. Definitely didn't shovel shit like Viserys has been doing for the past few months. So, how?"
Aegon smiled wryly, rubbing the back of his neck with mock modesty. "Honestly? I just walked in, approached her slowly, kept my voice calm… spoke to her in High Valyrian."
He shrugged, deliberately omitting the part where he was nearly incinerated alive and bent fire to his will. "Then she just lowered her head. Let me climb on."
"You're saying she just let you mount her? Just like that?" Viserys asked, incredulous.
"She didn't even snap at you?" Daemon added, his brow furrowing.
Aegon shook his head innocently. "No. I think… maybe she was waiting. I just got lucky, I suppose."
Daemon swore under his breath. Viserys looked away, muttering something about wasted months. They both stood silent for a moment, stewing.
Then a slow, calculated voice cut through the tension.
"Congratulations to the young prince," said Otto Hightower, stepping forward from the shadows at the edge of the hall. He was just a few years older than Viserys, but already carried himself with the quiet arrogance of a man who thought three moves ahead.
"As a third-born, you've done what your elder brothers could not. Remarkable."
There was a pointed gleam in his eye, a subtle smirk curling his lips as his gaze flicked between Viserys and Daemon. A seed of discord, deliberately sown.
Viserys's jaw tightened. Daemon's fingers flexed at his sides.
Aegon smiled, calm and composed. But behind his eyes, fire stirred.
"Oh, I've only just claimed Dreamfyre," he said lightly, with feigned humility. "She's a fine she-dragon, but my brothers are destined for something greater. I'm certain they'll claim stronger male dragons.
That's why it's taking time, they're simply… waiting for the right one. I fully believe in them."
Otto's smirk faltered. Just a fraction. He opened his mouth, perhaps to deliver another insinuation, but then froze. A pained gasp escaped his throat. He staggered back, one hand clutching at his face.
"AHHH—MY EYE!" Otto screamed, collapsing to one knee, clutching at the left side of his face.
"Otto!" Viserys shouted in alarm, rushing to his friend's side.
Blood trickled between Otto's fingers. His left eye was red, raw, weeping fluid, and something else. A smell, faint but distinct, burnt flesh.
"GUARDS!" Viserys roared. "MAESTER! QUICKLY!"
A flurry of movement followed as several guards scrambled forward to escort Otto out. A maester appeared from the rear hallways, shouting for cloth and herbs as they rushed away with the screaming noble.
Aegon stood still, worry painted convincingly on his face. He watched with furrowed brows, playing the role of the concerned.
But within, he was calm. Curious, even.
That was the first time he'd used it that precisely, his trait [Blood and Flame Awakening], focused like a needle.
A tiny spark, conjured on the surface of Otto's eye, had done the work of a dagger in complete silence.
A fitting punishment, he thought coldly.
Daemon leaned close, grinning ear to ear. "The cunt deserved it."
Aegon chuckled under his breath. "It seems today really is a great day."
Daemon snorted. "Viserys looked like he might cry over his little friend."
They both laughed quietly, ignoring the suspicious glances of a few passing knights. As they exited the hall together, side by side, the tension between them felt a little lighter.
"Come," Daemon said, clapping a hand on Aegon's shoulder. "Let's go eat something before the whole court starts whispering about your miraculous taming of Dreamfyre."
"Too late," Aegon replied with a smirk. "They're already whispering."
At Harrenhal — House Strong
The great hall of Harrenhal was unusually quiet save for the soft clatter of utensils on pewter plates.
Lord Lyonel Strong, a broad-shouldered man with a sharp, contemplative gaze, had just received a raven from King's Landing. He wiped his mouth carefully with a linen cloth and broke the seal with calm.
A servant stood silently nearby, waiting for dismissal, but Lyonel's brow furrowed as he read. He didn't look up immediately.
"What is it, father?" asked Larys, just nine but already unusually observant, with eyes far sharper than his limp form suggested.
Lyonel didn't answer him. Instead, he turned toward his older son, Harwin, who was still tearing through a roasted pheasant.
"Harwin," Lyonel said in a measured tone. "Stop eating for a moment. A raven from the Red Keep."
Harwin blinked. "News from court?"
"Something more significant than that." He folded the parchment. "A dragon has been claimed."
Harwin's interest was piqued. He leaned forward, brushing crumbs from his chin. "Prince Viserys? Has he taken the Black Dread already?"
Lyonel shook his head slowly. "No. Not Viserys. It is Prince Aegon. The third son of Baelon the Brave. He's claimed… Dreamfyre."
Harwin sat back, stunned. "Dreamfyre? That's the dragon of Princess Rhaena, was it not?"
Lyonel nodded solemnly. "She's lain unclaimed for years. And the boy is only seven."
Both brothers were shocked into silence. Even the calculating Larys seemed briefly shaken.
"That makes him…" Harwin began.
"…the youngest dragonrider in the history of Westeros," Lyonel finished. He stared into the fire. "The court may not yet realize how significant that is."
At the Eyrie — House Arryn
Far in the mist-veiled mountains of the Vale, a white-feathered eagle descended with measured grace onto the high windowsill of the Eyrie. Its talons scraped lightly against the stone as a servant stepped forward, unfastened the sealed scroll from its leg, and quickly carried it to Lord Rodrick Arryn.
Rodrick, a tall, reserved man in his mid-thirties, took the parchment with a nod. His features were etched with quiet weariness, a calm exterior masking a life touched by repeated sorrow.
His children sat near the hearth, murmuring among themselves until they noticed their father's eyes narrowing slightly as he read.
Beside him sat Lady Elena Royce of Runestone, his third wife, watching him closely, her brow arching in silent question.
Rodrick had married three times. His first wife, a Redfort, had died after giving him an heir and two daughters. His second, Princess Daella Targaryen, had borne him Aemma before being lost to childbed fever.
That guilt still weighed on him, so much so that when he wed Lady Elena, he had sworn to her personally that there would be no children between them. A promise of restraint, born from pain he never truly voiced.
"Well?" she asked, breaking the silence.
Rodrick looked up, folding the letter with deliberate care. "News from the capital. Aegon Targaryen, Baelon's youngest, has claimed a dragon."
"Aegon?" said his daughter, Aemma Arryn, incredulous. "He's younger than me." She remembered playing with him during the wedding of Princess Rhaenys at Dragonstone.
"And the dragon?" asked Elena, suspicion already forming in her voice.
"Dreamfyre," Rodrick said flatly.
Even Elena, who had little fondness for Targaryen airs, fell quiet at that.
Rodrick's face grew thoughtful. "At seven, he now rides a dragon. The youngest to do so in living memory. The blood runs strong in him..."
At Casterly Rock — House Lannister
In the high seat of Casterly Rock, Lord Tymond Lannister, just into his thirties, sat with a golden goblet in hand, hearing the letter read aloud by his steward.
"Dreamfyre… claimed by a boy of seven," Tymond said, running a hand through his neatly trimmed beard. "Baelon's youngest."
His twin sons, Jason and Tyland, both barely twenty, showed astonishment at the news. They exchanged glances, clearly caught off guard.
At Storm's End — House Baratheon
In the storm-blasted keep of Storm's End, Lord Boremund Baratheon read the raven himself, frowning behind his thick black beard. Around him, several bannermen and kin were gathered for supper.
"Aegon Targaryen, age seven, now rides Dreamfyre," he said aloud.
A silence fell over the hall.
"Seven?" muttered one knight. "The dragon must be mad…"
But Boremund shook his head. "Or the boy is far more than we've been led to believe. The blood of Old Valyria burns hot in some of them. I met Baelon in his prime, if his son has even half his strength and a dragon's fire to match…"
He trailed off. "The realm may hear more of this Aegon, sooner than expected."
At Oldtown — House Hightower
In the white towers of Oldtown, Lord Hobert Hightower stood at the balcony, staring down at the harbor as the bells tolled noon. The message in his hand was brief, but weighty.
"Dreamfyre?" asked one of his retainers, just returned from a visit to the Citadel. "I thought she'd gone feral."
"She hadn't," Hobert said quietly.
He already had heard one bad news today about Otto losing an eye. Now this is the second one.
He stared at the parchment again. "Seven years old."
Behind his calm voice, gears were turning. Quietly. Coldly.
From White Harbor to the Twins, even the Isles of the Arbor, the news spread like wildfire:
Aegon Targaryen, barely seven years of age, had claimed the mighty Dreamfyre, last ridden by Rhaena Targaryen.
A new dragonrider had risen.
And across Westeros, lords whispered quietly in their halls and solar chambers, each wondering what this meant for the future of the realm, and who this boy might grow to become.
Watching the moon at night from his balcony, Aegon stood quietly, arms resting on the carved stone balustrade.
The lights of King's Landing flickered like a living sea below, lanterns and torches stretching across the city's spine, from the Dragonpit to the docks. The distant echo of waves, the murmur of late-night voices, and the rhythmic beat of hooves in the streets far beneath were all softened by the night wind.
Aegon exhaled slowly, eyes lifted to the stars as he opened his interface. With a thought, he brought up his new class.
[Class: Dragon Rider (Tier 2)]
[Prerequisites:
- Class: Heir of Old Valyria at max Level 10 (satisfied)
- INT ≥ 9.0 (satisfied)
- DEX ≥ 6.0 (satisfied)
- AGI ≥ 6.0 (satisfied)
- Accepted by a dragon for riding (satisfied) ]
[Level 1 (000 / 1100)]
[Trait : Symbiosis of Flame and Flesh
(+20% Riding efficiency and control with bonded dragon)
(+20% Mental connection with bonded dragon)
(+10% Growth rate of bonded dragon)]
[Trait : Draconic Conduit
(+20% Dragon fire temperature when riding)
(+15% Combat efficiency with bonded dragon)
(+10% Magic resistance)]
He smiled faintly.
He had attempted to create this class the night before he claimed Dreamfyre. While defining the class, he had used his words carefully, precisely enough that the Class Tree system would accept another Tier 2 class as a prerequisite.
A subtle maneuver, but a crucial one. Doing so allowed the [Dragon Rider] class to possess more powerful traits than would normally be permitted. After all, the blood of Valyria was not meant to be bound by shallow constraints.
Originally, he had aimed higher. Vhagar. Vermithor. The mightier, older dragons. But even as he considered his lineage and potential claim to those ancient beasts, reality had stepped in.
He could not wait that long.
The attempt to discredit him and Daemon during their tenure in the City Watch, spreading malicious rumors, fanning courtly suspicion, had already alarmed him. The political game was sharpening.
Delay could cost him everything.
Besides, claiming Vhagar or Vermithor was not even possible at present. Vhagar still flew under his father, Baelon. Vermithor belonged to King Jaehaerys himself.
So, Aegon made a decision: if he could not claim a powerful dragon now, he would take a different path.
Instead of seizing an already mighty dragon, he would claim one with immense potential, and make her mighty.
Dreamfyre.
Rhaena Targaryen's she-dragon. Known for her grace and speed, but not her raw dominance.
Not yet.
But with the Class Tree in his hands... he would change that.
Based on this idea, he created the class [Dragon Rider (Tier 2)].
And now, as he watched the experience reserves rising exponentially, every moment he spent after claiming Dreamfyre, his gamble was proving correct. He had begun to be noticed. Being Watched.
The class was working. The bond was growing.
Now I have finally stepped on the stage, he said silently, eyes fixed on the lights of King's Landing below.
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