Chapter 12: The Dream
That night, amidst the thick veil of darkness, Aegon awoke from a dream that felt more real than waking life. He gasped for air, heart pounding, as if some great shadow had loomed over him, so powerful that even his flame, so intrinsic to his being, struggled to hold it back. His body was drenched in sweat, more than any battle or sparring session could ever have caused. Thunder cracked in the distance, rolling over King's Landing like nature itself was torn between night and day.
Disoriented, Aegon stumbled out of bed. His head throbbed, reminiscent of the time he struck it as a child while trying to manipulate a stone with nothing but sheer will. The rhythmic pounding of rain against the window only deepened the surreal feeling. He dismissed the concerned Kingsguard on duty with a wave, too shaken to explain. A deep, primal need pulled him outside.
Unthinking, Aegon made his way to the Heart Tree in the courtyard, as though something from deep within the earth or sky beckoned him. Kneeling before it, the flashes of lightning illuminated the yard in brief, violent bursts. Rain cascaded down like a waterfall, soaking him in moments. But it was the tree that held his attention. The carved face on the ancient weirwood was weeping, thick, red streaks ran down its trunk as though the tree itself bled.
He reached up, trembling. His fingertips brushed the rough bark, and at that moment, visions tore through his mind with such force that he thought his skull might split. Blood-soaked battlefields stretched before him. Dragonfire clashed against ice, the very elements warring for dominance. Great dragons lay dead, their bodies twisted in unnatural agony, while the land itself screamed in terror.
Then he saw them.
Figures, pale as snow, their eyes a cold, piercing blue, as vibrant and unforgiving as sapphires. There were dozens, leading an army of the dead, skeletal and twisted in grotesque forms. Aegon's heart raced as one among them, an otherworldly being with a crown of ice, turned, as if sensing a distant presence. Its gaze shifted, piercing the dream's veil, locking onto Aegon.
"You cannot hide... I see you," a voice of unfathomable darkness whispered, crawling through his mind like tendrils of malice. "There is no life, in the void, only...death."
Terror clawed at Aegon's heart. For the first time since childhood, he felt genuine, all-consuming fear. His body trembled as the icy presence approached, the void around him suffocating all warmth and life. Desperate, instinctively, he roared, flames erupting from his hands in a fiery torrent, his only weapon against the nightmare.
The fire blazed between him and the monstrous figure, holding the darkness at bay. Yet it felt like a mere delay, not a victory. This was not the one who ruled the dead, but a thrall of something far greater, a voice of absolute malice.
With a jolt, Aegon tore himself from the vision, lurching backward and screaming into the storm. The courtyard rang with his cry, drawing the attention of the guards. They rushed toward him, alarmed, calling out as they battled the torrential rain.
Aegon stared at the Heart Tree, his chest heaving, unable to comprehend the full weight of what he had just seen. The seconds stretched into what felt like hours. His body was still shaking when the King, Queen, and Rhaenyra arrived at his side, their faces pale with concern.
Viserys's eyes lingered on the weirwood, suspicion flickering behind them. He had seen the haunted look in his son's eyes before, the same look that plagued men who had glimpsed something terrible beyond the mortal world. But before he could speak, the storm erupted in a final, violent crescendo. A bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, striking the Heart Tree with ferocious intensity. The ancient wood ignited in flames that no rain could extinguish, the fire burning unnaturally bright and fierce.
The dream had never called to Aegon, let alone so loudly as it did tonight. And now, the echoes of that darkness had awakened something far older than any man dared to remember.
The hearth crackled and hissed as flames leaped and danced over the fresh wood, sending warmth throughout the room. Yet, despite sitting mere inches from the fire, Aegon felt no heat. He was drenched from head to toe, his soaked clothes clinging to his skin like a second layer, but the cold he felt was not just of the flesh, it was deep, buried within him. He stared into the heart of the flames, eyes fixed and unblinking, yet his mind wandered far from the warmth of the hearth, back to the icy horrors that plagued him.
Rhaenyra sat beside him, on the verge of tears. Her hands wrung the edge of her dress anxiously, glancing between her brother and their parents. Aemma sat to the side, pale and shaken, her usual serene composure shattered by the sight of her son in such distress. She clutched her hands in her lap, trying to stay composed for her children. Viserys, ever the firm father and king, sat across from Aegon, eyes narrowed in thought. His concern was masked, but those who knew him could see the deep worry etched into his face.
"Aegon, what happened? Say anything, my dear boy," Viserys asked, his voice low but gentle, trying to coax an answer from his son without pushing too hard. He leaned forward in his seat, but Aegon remained silent.
The silence in the room was suffocating. Only the crackling fire and the hurried footsteps of servants bustling in and out with fresh clothes, towels, and hot drinks filled the void. Aegon hadn't moved from his place since he returned, dripping wet and haunted. He looked as though he had stepped out of a nightmare and carried the darkness with him.
Finally, Aegon spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's true, Father… all of it...the dr..."
Before he could finish, Viserys' face darkened with realization, his composure faltering. He rose swiftly from his seat. "Clear the room!" he barked, his command breaking through the tense air. The servants, mid-motion, froze, exchanging brief glances before they hurriedly delivered their things and scurried out of the room. Viserys turned to his wife and daughter, his expression softening slightly, though the tension was still palpable.
"I must speak to him alone. It will be but a moment, please," Viserys said, his voice now calmer but firm.
Rhaenyra, usually obedient, stood her ground, her eyes blazing with determination. "No, Father, he needs me. He needs us!" she protested, her voice cracking slightly under the weight of her emotions. She reached out to Aegon, her brother who had been her rock through so many storms, and now it was her turn to be his.
Aemma stood as well, though more cautiously. "Come, my dear," she urged softly, gently placing a hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder. "Your father just needs a moment. Your brother needs space."
Reluctantly, Rhaenyra allowed herself to be guided out of the room, her gaze lingering on Aegon until the door closed behind her and Aemma.
Viserys ensured the room was entirely empty before he turned back to Aegon, his face showing the cracks of worry. He knelt down to meet Aegon's eyes, which had not moved from the fire. His son was pale, his usually sharp features dulled by exhaustion and terror. Sweat was beginning to bead on Viserys' brow, though whether from the roaring fire or the conversation about to unfold, he could not tell.
"The dream…" Viserys began, his voice barely audible. "You saw it, my boy."
Aegon finally blinked, his eyes distant as though he were still trapped in the nightmare. His voice trembled as he spoke, the words coming out slowly as if each one was a burden to carry. "I-it's true, f-father… all of it. Slaughtered dragons, ice, the dead… and that darkness… it had its own will. My fire...it did nothing" His voice faltered, and his eyes, wild with fear, met his father's. "I couldn't hide from it… it saw me."
Viserys felt a chill crawl down his spine. He knew the dream Aegon spoke of, it was a tale passed down through their bloodline, whispered in the dead of night by kings long gone. But never had it been spoken of with such clarity, such fear. He swallowed hard and shook his head, trying to push down the fear clawing at his own heart.
"It was just a dream, my son," Viserys said softly, his hands trembling as they cupped Aegon's face. "Dreams matter not in the waking world. Even if it was real, it is far from us."
Aegon's gaze remained hollow, distant. He barely felt his father's touch, his body still trapped in the cold grip of the vision. "But it's all around us, Father… the darkness. It's never been so clear."
Viserys' breath hitched as Aegon's words sank in. He pulled his son into his arms, his embrace tight, trying to shield Aegon from the horrors that haunted him. But as he held him close, Viserys could feel the weight of what his son had seen, the ancient darkness that had long loomed over their house.
For a moment, father and son remained locked in that embrace, the fire in the hearth burning brighter than ever, but its warmth could not reach them. The storm outside continued to rage, the wind howling against the walls of the Red Keep. It was as if the very gods themselves were unsettled.
The next morning
"I do not know why the darkness chose me, but it did. And I think that it always had. The song is loud and beautiful and I am so very afraid. There is a fire in my heart. Perhaps it can soothe my frozen, itching soul..."
He had slipped into some fresh clothes, a warm cup of Chamomile tea accompanied by a pitcher of wine at his side. Rhaenyra dozed in the chair opposite of him from the exertion of her worry, both huddled by the hearth. It had been some time since he had taken quill to paper, but it felt right, to lay his thoughts bear, despite never having been good at it. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his mind was empty after saying those words.
Upon finishing his tea quickly, regardless of it's heat that never bothered him with any food of drink, he topped that off with wine. He slipped off surprisingly comfortable into that cold night, his mind, to his world of happiness, was empty of nightmares, as though whatever that darkness was said all it needed to...for now. But it was not it that then called, the voice felt familiar, but distant, in distance or time, he couldn't tell"
"BAELON!!!" He heard a young, feminine but stern voice roar in fury.
He stirred awake, the morning sun creeping through the windows. It felt as though it called immediately upon closing his eyes, but it was hours later..."I am truly cursed" He chuckled upon noticing Rhaenyra, now awake and as radiant as ever with her long cascading silver hair across him.
"And I shall be it's cure" She smiled.
Six months later, Dragonstone.
The sea breeze was cool, offering a momentary reprieve from the heat that filled the chambers of Dragonstone, where Rhaenyra sat on the balcony, her heavy belly resting beneath her hands. Aegon and Alicent sat with her, the three of them lost in idle conversation, laughter weaving its way through their words. Aegon had just made a jest about Rhaenyra's belly being large enough to serve as its own table, only to receive a playful smack to the back of his head. They laughed, the tension of the past weeks momentarily forgotten, carried away by the wind.
In truth, it had been a challenging stay on Dragonstone. The King and Queen had urged Rhaenyra and Aegon to return to the Red Keep for the birth of their children, but the couple had been adamant. Dragonstone, despite it's often overstayed welcome of doom and gloom, was the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, it held a symbolic weight for the couple. They were the blood of old Valyria, the blood of dragons, and it was only fitting that their children be born here, amidst the echoes of their ancestors.
Daemon had arrived the day before, his usual brash demeanor tempered by a quiet, watchful support. He had come to see the birth for himself, and though he did not say it aloud, Aegon knew he was eager to see if the daughter they planned to name Visenya would live up to her legendary namesake. Alicent, too, had been a steadfast presence. At both Rhaenyra's and Aegon's request, she had stayed close, offering quiet companionship, especially when Aegon was pulled away for matters that required his attention.
It was a calm afternoon when it happened. Rhaenyra shifted in her seat, a sudden look of discomfort crossing her face. Before she could speak, her hand flew to her belly, her expression one of surprise and confusion. The next moment, there was a soft pop, followed by a rush of water spilling onto the floor beneath her.
Aegon and Alicent jumped to their feet, the sudden shift from tranquility to urgency sending a jolt through both of them.
"The babes are coming, my prince!" Alicent's voice was calm, but her movements were swift as she rushed to Rhaenyra's side, helping her to her feet. "We must call the midwives!"
Aegon, caught between panic and determination, bolted from the room with a speed that startled even him. His shouts echoed through the halls of Dragonstone, urgent and commanding. "The midwives! Now! Hurry!" His voice reverberated off the stone walls, and within moments, the castle was alive with movement. The midwives, like seasoned warriors answering a call to arms, assembled with practiced efficiency. They moved with the grace of those who had seen many births, their faces calm but resolute as they made their way to the princess.
Aegon returned just in time to see his mother, Queen Aemma, enter the room, her presence a balm to his frazzled nerves. Aemma, who had delivered her own children with the same fiery spirit, quickly took charge. She was calm, instructing the midwives with the confidence of someone who had lived through the trials of childbirth herself. Rhaenyra's cries echoed through the chamber, the sounds guttural and fierce, like a dragon roaring its defiance. Her contractions were coming hard and fast, each one bringing the babes closer to the world.
Aegon stood in the doorway, his hands wringing together as he bit at his nails. He wanted to rush to her side, to offer his support, but a part of him hesitated. Would his presence help? Or would it add to the chaos? His heart raced, torn between his need to be with Rhaenyra and the fear that he might only complicate things further. His eyes never left her, though. Every cry, every groan made him wince, his love for her causing him to feel every moment of her pain as though it were his own.
Then, a hand landed on his shoulder, firm but reassuring. Aegon turned, surprised to find Daemon standing behind him, his expression more serious than Aegon had ever seen.
"She's stronger than any of us," Daemon said quietly, his eyes flickering toward Rhaenyra. "But if you want to be there for her, don't stand here biting your nails. Go to her, Aegon."
Aegon blinked, startled by the tenderness in Daemon's voice. His uncle's words cut through the haze of doubt clouding his mind, grounding him in the present. Without another word, Aegon nodded and crossed the room to Rhaenyra's side. Her face was flushed, her breathing labored as she gripped the sheets tightly. She turned her head at his approach, her eyes locking onto his, a flicker of relief crossing her features despite the intensity of her labor.
Aegon knelt beside her, taking her hand in his. "I'm here," he whispered, his voice soft but steady. "I'm here, Rhaenyra."
Rhaenyra's grip tightened on his hand, her strength surprising him. Between her labored breaths, she managed a small, strained smile. "I wasn't sure…if you would be."
"I wouldn't be anywhere else," he said, pressing his forehead against hers for a moment. "You're not doing this alone."
The hours dragged on, and the sun began to set outside, casting long shadows across the room. Rhaenyra's cries grew louder, her body wracked with the effort of bringing their children into the world. Aemma and the midwives remained close, guiding her through each step, their voices calm and reassuring. Alicent hovered nearby, her presence a quiet source of comfort, her eyes never straying far from Rhaenyra.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the first cry filled the room—a sharp, piercing wail that cut through the tension like a knife. Aegon's breath caught in his throat as he watched the midwife lift a small, wriggling babe into the air, her skin pink and slick with birth. "A girl," the midwife announced, her voice filled with joy. "A healthy girl."
Rhaenyra collapsed back onto the pillows, tears of relief streaming down her face as the babe was placed into her arms. She gazed down at her daughter, her expression one of pure love, as though every moment of pain had been worth it for this.
Aegon leaned over, brushing a tear from Rhaenyra's cheek as he looked down at their daughter. "Visenya," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "She's perfect."
Rhaenyra nodded, her fingers gently tracing the babe's tiny features. "She's strong, like her namesake."
But it wasn't over yet. The second babe was still on its way, and before they could catch their breath, the contractions returned. Rhaenyra gritted her teeth, her body tensing once more as the labor resumed. Aegon stayed by her side, his hand never leaving hers, whispering words of encouragement as the hours wore on.
When the second babe finally came, it was with a roar of triumph from Rhaenyra. Another cry echoed through the room, this one softer, more tentative than the first.
"A boy," the midwife said, her voice filled with awe as she held the second child aloft. "A prince."
Rhaenyra's exhaustion was evident, but the pride in her eyes was unmistakable as she held their son. Aegon looked down at the tiny, squirming bundle in her arms, his heart swelling with love for this new life. His son. Their son.
He kissed Rhaenyra's forehead, his voice barely a whisper. "We've done it, my love. We've done it."
Rhaenyra smiled weakly, her eyes fluttering closed as she rested her head against his shoulder, the weight of the day finally catching up to her. Aegon held her close, his arms wrapped around both her and their newborn children.
Outside, the stars began to appear in the night sky, their light reflecting off the waters surrounding Dragonstone. Inside, the fire burned low, but the warmth of family, of love, filled the room. Aegon looked at the two tiny lives they had brought into the world, the future of House Targaryen resting in their arms. The darkness of his dream, of the prophecy, loomed in the distance, but for now, in this moment, there was only light.
And in that light, there was hope, hope to, for a time, quell the dream.
The hours drifted by in a peaceful haze, the earlier tension giving way to a tranquil calm. Rhaenyra had been bathed and changed by the skilled hands of the midwives, their gentle ministrations bringing her comfort after the intense trial of labor. Aegon, ever the jester, made a remark about increasing their pay tenfold, though the sincerity beneath his words was evident. One of the older midwives, a veteran of countless births, simply smiled and replied that the honor of helping deliver life was payment enough. Her words brought a round of soft laughter from the room, a moment of lightheartedness after such a monumental day.
Aegon sat beside Rhaenyra, shirtless, as he cradled their newborn son against his chest. The midwives had advised him that this skin-to-skin contact was vital for bonding and ensuring the babe's happiness and good health. His hand rested on Rhaenyra's belly, his fingers radiating a gentle warmth as the soft glow of his Targaryen fire magic pulsed from his palm. Though his power in this moment seemed small compared to the vastness of what Rhaenyra had just endured, he offered what healing he could, soothing her with the warmth of his love and his flame.
Rhaenyra rested peacefully now, her breathing slow and steady as she closed her eyes, exhaustion catching up to her. Aemma, ever the matron, held baby Visenya in her arms, the babe having wailed for some time before her grandmother's practiced care lulled her into a deep sleep. Aemma cradled her granddaughter close, pressing the small head to her neck, knowing full well the benefits of warmth and closeness, just as Aegon had been instructed. This wisdom, she had known for years—passed down from her own experiences as a mother.
As the room quieted, the door swung open, and Viserys entered with measured steps. His usual regal composure melted as he took in the sight before him—his son, his daughter, and the two new lives cradled within the loving arms of his family. Daemon stood in the doorway, watching from afar, his expression softer than usual, a rare and fleeting smile curving his lips as he witnessed this intimate moment. But it was Viserys who showed the most emotion, his joy uncontained as tears welled in his eyes.
"By the gods…" he began, his voice choked with emotion. "My children… you have brought a light into the world I could never have imagined…"
His words faltered as his gaze settled on his grandchildren. A mix of pride, love, and awe washed over him, and he blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. He approached Aegon with a reverent step, his hand trembling as he reached out to his son. "May I… my dear boy?"
Aegon smiled warmly, handing baby Baelon over to his father with no hesitation. Viserys cradled the infant with care, his heart swelling with emotion as he looked down at the tiny face. "This boy… he will not be lost to us," Viserys vowed, his voice firm. "The gods will know my wrath if they ever try. He is the answer, my dear boy. Words cannot describe how proud I am of you."
Aegon, who had always viewed his father with a mixture of respect and frustration, felt something shift in that moment. Tears began to well in his eyes as he watched Viserys hold his son. He had always known his father to be a man of words, a ruler who spoke with conviction. But in this moment, it was not Viserys the King speaking—it was Viserys the father, the grandfather, a man humbled by the beauty of new life.
"Thank you, Father," Aegon said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "My baby brother… It feels as though I've given him a second chance, even though I know that's not the truth."
Tears slipped down Aegon's cheeks, unbidden but not unwelcome. The room, filled with both love and grief, seemed to hold its breath as these emotions danced together, intertwining like threads of a tapestry. Yet, in the end, it was love that triumphed. The love of family, of new beginnings, of the promise that life brings with it. Aegon wiped at his eyes, the weight of the moment settling in his heart. They had won this battle, not through force, but through love and hope.
As Viserys rocked Baelon gently in his arms, Aemma leaned over to kiss the sleeping Visenya's forehead, and Aegon, still holding Rhaenyra's hand, found his heart swelling with a peace he hadn't known before. His children, the future of House Targaryen, lay before him. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. And with that, the night on Dragonstone continued, filled with the quiet hum of love's enduring flame.
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