Capítulo 11: The Dragon's Reckoning
The flight home had been long, taking the rest of the day and stretching into the early hours of morning. The first rays of sunlight painted the skies as Aegon and Rhaenyra descended upon the shores outside of Dragonstone. Aegon dismounted from Vermithor, the great bronze-scaled beast who now gazed down at his rider with heavy, knowing eyes. The weight in the dragon's gaze was not merely from exhaustion, but from a deep sense of reminiscence, as if he were recalling the days when fury and flame were his life's purpose.
Aegon stood before his trusted companion, understanding the ancient dragon's feelings. Vermithor had been born of fire, his very essence forged in battle and flame, yet the years had changed him. Now, such opportunities for raw, unrelenting combat were rare. Aegon smiled softly, laying a hand on the bronze scales of the beast that had fought with him so fiercely, both now tempered by the burdens they carried. "Rest now, old boy. One day soon, I will come knocking again," he whispered, a promise that spoke of their unbreakable bond.
Vermithor, with slow, ponderous movements, lumbered back toward the caverns, where his mate, Silverwing, no doubt awaited him. He moved with the weight of age, yet there was a timeless grace in his steps. Rhaenyra, still perched atop Syrax, watched the scene unfold. Even after two days without sleep, her beloved husband still found time for compassion and tenderness. She smiled softly, knowing that it was moments like these that set him apart, not just his power, but his heart.
Syrax's arrival over the capital set off a flurry of movement. The guards wasted no time alerting the chain of command, the news soon reaching the King. Aegon and Rhaenyra no longer hid from their adventures as they marched through the front gates of the Red Keep, two Kingsguard waiting to escort them for both protection a symbolic walk of penance, a formality the couple ignored. The great doors to the throne room opened before them, revealing a large procession summoned for this momentous occasion. Hidden among the nobles and lords, Alicent struggled to contain her joy, watching in silence as tension filled the air.
The crowned prince and princess stood before their father and kind, who watched them with a mixture of relief and scrutiny. Rhaenyra, unable to suppress a slight smirk, radiated a quiet pride that her father recognized well, born not from mere amusement, but from the satisfaction of having fought for a just cause. Viserys descended the steps from the Iron Throne, Blackfyre in hand, Jaehaerys's crown resting atop his head, his eyes locked with those of his son. Aegon, despite his fatigue, remained stoic and composed, his emotions tempered by years of training.
"For the chair, father," Aegon said simply, dropping Drahar's bloodstained warhammer at his father's feet. Their eyes remained fixed on each other, the unspoken weight of their bond, contested by all that had transpired carrying more than words.
"Your uncle? Lord Corlys?" Viserys asked, his tone quiet but probing.
"Daemon Is where Daemon decides to be, wherever that is. Lord Corlys sailed home. The victory was hard-won, and weariness clings to us all," Aegon answered, the steel in his voice reflecting his resolve.
Viserys scrutinized his son further. "And did you find what you sought? Glory? Honor?"
Aegon's gaze never wavered, his voice now heavy with conviction. "For the realm, father. We fought for those who survived, who came home to their families, to their kingdom. Some bear scars that will make them strangers to the homes they left, but they bled and died so all those who fought for realm's prosperity before us was not in vain. We fought, and will fight again, because we must!"
Aegon leaned in, his words imbued with the weight of his heart, undeterred by whatever judgment his father would cast. The throne room fell silent as murmurs rippled through the gathered lords, many quietly agreeing with the future king's words. Yet none could truly grasp what it meant to fight for the realm they ruled over.
"My son," Viserys began, breaking the silence. "Against my expressed command, has vanquished a great foe, one that has plagued our kingdoms for many moons, and one we are all relieved to see reduced to ash." His gaze shifted to Rhaenyra. "And you, Princess? The Realm's Delight, what say you?"
Rhaenyra, after so many years by Aegon's side, had adopted his same unburdened pride. "All that needed to be said, has been said, your grace," she replied, casting a quick glance at Aegon, their shared smile hinting at a deeper understanding between them.
The tension in the room gave way to hushed banter as the court reacted to their words.
Viserys, his authority reasserting itself, continued. "You are both hereby confined to the Red Keep until I decree otherwise. No dragons are to be ridden, no acts of defiance tolerated. But your achievement... must be acknowledged." The king stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of his office for all to hear. "Aegon Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, I hereby bequeath to you Blackfyre, the sword of the Conqueror, along with his crown of ruby and Valyrian steel, and his armor of Valyrian steel, his bulwark, his strength, forged in the fires that built this realm."
Drawing Blackfyre, Viserys held it out for his son to claim. Aegon stepped forward, accepting the blade. As a servant came forth bearing the crown, Viserys placed it on Aegon's head. The court looked on in awe as a set of armor, dark and formidable, was unveiled on a stand behind them, a gleaming testament to House Targaryen's might.
"You are the future of this house," Viserys declared, his voice softer but no less commanding. "You both would do well to obey the call of your king... whatever that may be." He paused, casting a final glance over the crowd. "Dismissed."
The hall erupted in applause as the young royals were met with a standing ovation. Ser Harold swiftly escorted them from the hall, guiding them to their quarters. Once there, the White Cloak stood before the door, informing the twins that any requests, no matter how simple, would need to go through him, even something as trivial as stepping outside.
The weight of the day settled around them, but beneath it all, a shared sense of accomplishment pulsed between them. They had survived the war, the court, and their father's judgment—now, the future awaited.
The moment the door clicked shut behind Ser Harold, the twins burst into laughter, finally releasing the tension they had maintained throughout the formalities of court. Their shared amusement flowed freely, a wave that had been dammed behind their regal facades. As Rhaenyra moved to embrace her brother, Aegon raised a hand, cautiously signaling her to wait as his eyes lingered on Blackfyre, the legendary sword that could, as he imagined, slice through the fabric of dreams themselves.
With reverence, Rhaenyra's hand gently slid over his, her fingers tracing the ancient Valyrian steel. Awe shimmered in her eyes as she admired the mythical and gorgeous blade, her fascination palpable as Aegon carefully removed the Conqueror's crown from his brow. The rubies adorning the crown glimmered like tiny crimson stars, casting soft reflections in the flickering candlelight.
"It was due time for the world truly let you to mantle, to embody, to show who you have truly been all long ," Rhaenyra said, her voice a hushed whisper of admiration. "They may fear what you are capable of, but with this... you embody the living myth, greater than any before you. You are my king, the one thing I couldn't live without, nor could I imagine a world without you."
Their lips met in a tender kiss, a moment of shared triumph and intimacy. But as they pulled apart, the intensity in Rhaenyra's gaze told Aegon that her passion was far from spent. Sensing the impending fire in her eyes, Aegon carefully set the crown and Blackfyre aside, eager to unburden them both of the constraints that had held them all day.
In the flicker of moments, the room was filled with fervor, their embrace transforming from gentle affection to the raw entanglement of lovers reunited. Aegon, ravenous with desire, found his queen more than willing to match his ardor, and their passion entwined them completely.
Outside the door, Ser Harold stood sentinel, his duty unbroken as he guarded the twins. Though the faint noises of their... activities reached his ears, he kept his post, fully committed to his service that he'd never fail again. This, he concluded, was one...transgression he could allow them to commit unsanctioned.
Then came the soft yet unmistakable footfalls of King Viserys and Queen Aemma approaching. Ser Harold, recognizing the danger of what was about to unfold, quickly stepped forward to warn them, his voice low and cautious.
"Your Grace, I must caution you..."
But before he could finish, Aemma smiled knowingly. She placed a hand on her husband's arm, understanding far quicker than Viserys what they were about to interrupt. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she gave Ser Harold a reassuring nod and proceeded to gently push open the door.
Inside, the sound of the latch jolted Aegon and Rhaenyra into action. With practiced speed, disentangling a they scrambled for cover. Aegon, ever the quick thinker, snatched a book from the nearby table and opened it, both of them now fully clothed, at least from the waist up, and sitting upright.
Feigning deep interest, Aegon glanced over the pages, speaking with mock enthusiasm. "Ah, yes, this section on Aegon the Conqueror's campaigns is truly... enlightening."
Rhaenyra stifled a laugh at her brother's quick thinking, the awkward tension between them and their parents humorously diffused by the absurdity of the scene. Viserys raised an eyebrow, clearly not fooled, while Aemma, suppressing a grin, simply shook her head.
"Indeed," Viserys said dryly, looking between his children. "Perhaps after such... rigorous study, you might have time to speak with us."
Aemma stepped forward, gently beckoning Rhaenyra closer. The princess, still covering her chest with one arm and clutching the bed sheet above her waist with the other, moved toward her mother. Aemma's hands instinctively found their way to her daughter's belly, already showing signs of growth. Her maternal instincts seemed to guide her, as if needing to ensure the well-being of the grandchild growing within.
"Please, tell me you stayed with Syrax, never setting foot on the battlefield. If you were to lose the babe..." Aemma trailed off, the weight of her own past heartbreak seeping into her voice. She had known that pain when she and Viserys tried once more after the twins' birth, Baelon, who had lived for only three days before slipping away in his sleep. The memory of losing Baelon weighed heavily on them, particularly Aegon, who, despite his power and even his ability to heal minor wounds with fire, had been helpless to save his younger brother, a darkness none of them liked to recall.
"I never left Syrax's back during battle, mother. The babes are fine," Rhaenyra reassured her, her calm confidence startling her parents. Their expressions turned to shock.
"Babes? As in plural?" Viserys echoed, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"How can you be certain?" Aemma asked, a mixture of awe and astonishment coloring her voice, recalling the miracle she herself had once shared when the twins were born.
Aegon, laying next to Rhaenyra, explained, "Riders feel a resonance with their dragons, an understanding between them. When I placed my hands on her belly, I felt that same connection, but this time... there were two sources, not just one." His smile mirrored Rhaenyra's, the joy of the moment unmistakable.
Viserys and Aemma exchanged glances, their shock quickly melting into affection and joy. "Two babes..." Viserys whispered, Aemma's hands still resting on Rhaenyra's belly. "By the gods, I will be babysitting during small council meetings," Viserys quipped with a grin, resting a hand on Aegon's shoulder, a far cry from the tense atmosphere that had filled the throne room just hours ago.
"You must tell Alicent at supper tonight. She will be overjoyed!" Aemma suggested, beaming.
"Hear that, Aegon?" Rhaenyra teased, a playful gleam in her eye. "We're summoned for supper."
"For now," Viserys added, joining in the lightheartedness. "Perhaps I should recommend you two help in the kitchens to help prepare it. I'm sure they'd be delighted for the extra hands."
The family shared a long moment of laughter and discussion, the earlier tension all but forgotten. As they reveled in the excitement of the unexpected revelation, the room felt lighter, filled with a joy that had been missing for some time.
Eventually, Viserys and Aemma excused themselves, allowing the twins to return to their "studying" undisturbed. As the door closed, Rhaenyra and Aegon exchanged amused glances before collapsing into laughter, the tender yet slightly embarrassing encounter only strengthening the bond between them.
Later that night.
During the quiet intimacy of their family supper, Alicent's sudden, joyful scream shattered the calm. The news of Rhaenyra and Aegon expecting twins had overwhelmed her with excitement, causing the usually composed Lady of the Keep to clap her hands over her mouth in an attempt to suppress her outburst. The king and queen shared warm smiles at the sight of her unbridled joy. No one in the room seemed to care about the breach in decorum. The bond between the three had been unshakable since they were little children, especially, especially Alicent and Rhaenyra, and in that moment, it was clear to everyone just how deeply the news had affected her.
"Have you thought of names?" Viserys asked with a thoughtful tone. "You now need four, after all, a difficult choice to be sure"
Rhaenyra and Aegon exchanged a knowing glance before Rhaenyra answered. "Visenya, Aerea, Baelon, and Rhaegar."
It had always been either Visenya, one Rhaenyra was drawn to, or Baelon, in honor of their grandsire and little brother. Since the morning after Aegon finding out, but with the new revelation, far more thought
A brief silence followed, broken by Viserys, who chuckled lightly. "Visenya? I think that position might already be claimed in our family," he said, referring to a certain Rogue Prince.
Aemma leaned forward, her smile broadening as she nodded approvingly. "Lovely names, children. Honorable ones. They will bring life to the keep in a way that hasn't been felt in quite some time."
Alicent, still glowing from the earlier news, smiled warmly at Rhaenyra. "I'm sure you'll need much help, dear sister. A single babe, let alone two, is a daunting prospect."
Rhaenyra, finishing another generous helping of spiced beef, quipped with a smirk, "Pain and duty both."
Her appetite had noticeably increased, and her cravings had become more unusual, something both Aegon and her mother had observed with amused curiosity. She ate for three now, her body demanding more then ever.
"They will be adored by the realm and by us both," Aemma added, her voice filled with maternal pride. "They will want for nothing I'm sure."
The room was filled with a peaceful warmth as the family savored the joy of what was to come. The twins would bring a new generation into the fold, carrying with them the hopes and dreams of House Targaryen. All knew the challenges ahead, but for now, in this moment, the future felt bright and promising.
Noon the following day found Ser Harold stationed under the Heart Tree, his watchful eyes never straying far from Aegon, Alicent, and Rhaenyra, who had gathered at their childhood spot beneath the ancient symbol of Old. The trio giggled and bantered, their carefree laughter filling the courtyard as Aegon rested his head in Rhaenyra's lap, soaking in the tranquility of the moment.
"You appear ever pleasant in your position brother" Rhaenyra giggled.
"I like this position, it's quite comfortable" He smiled as they all laughed, forming the warmest day the twins had in a long time.
A fox darted from the nearby brush, a fleeting reminder of the wildness that still lingered in Westeros, even in the shadows of dragons.
Suddenly, Daemon strode into the courtyard, his black and red armor gleaming in the afternoon sun, the plume on his helmet swaying lightly in the breeze. At his side hung Dark Sister, its hilt catching the light. Ser Harold's hand instinctively moved to his blade, his wariness of the Rogue Prince never quite dulled by familiarity.
"Prince, Princess, Lady Alicent. A beautiful day, one that calls for action," Daemon said with a grin, his sharp gaze falling on Aegon. The young prince blinked open his eyes, his contentment dissipating as he sat up, meeting his uncle's gaze with curiosity.
"You look comfortable, nephew, but that will have to change," Daemon continued, his voice carrying a teasing edge. "We shall see how far you have come, to see if your taste of war has tempered you, without interference of the elements."
Rhaenyra's expression darkened instantly as she deciphered Daemon's cryptic meaning. "If only Ser Harold would permit it," Aegon replied with a smile, standing to face his uncle, his tone light but with an edge of anticipation.
"I cannot, my Prince," Ser Harold spoke, stepping forward to place himself between the two. "His grace has ordered that the heir remain within the Keep."
Daemon's smirk only deepened. "Then shall simply draw the circle here," he said with a hint of snark, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "The king made no commands against you brandishing a blade, nephew."
Aegon chuckled and turned to Alicent and Rhaenyra. "Girls, I suggest you make some distance."
But Daemon wasn't finished. "Not quite yet, nephew. You must embrace the image of the Conqueror himself, with the means now available, just as the dragons of old."
Ser Harold's patience thinned, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword as he half-drew it from its scabbard. "You forget yourself, my prince. The king will not condone this, nor will I."
Aegon, ever the peacekeeper, gently patted Ser Harold's armored shoulder. "It's alright, Ser. Even the rogue prince knows the perils of crossing such a line."
He turned back to Daemon, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Escort myself and the Princess to our chambers, Ser Harold. I shall prepare."
Sometime later, the twins returned as Aegon stood transformed, his presence nearly ethereal beneath the weight of his newly bestowed heirlooms. The smoky steel of his armor shimmered, giving off the illusion that it was alive, subtly shifting in the light. His crown gleamed, the rubies embedded in it sparkling like crimson stars, no doubt designed to hold the gaze of thousands on the battlefield. Blackfyre, now in his possession, hung at his side, the blade whispering tales of conquerors and kings. As he faced Daemon, his uncle's typically impassive expression betrayed a flicker of awe that matched Rhaenyra and Alicent's silent admiration.
Ser Harold stood nearby, a faint smirk crossing his lips. He and many others had trained Aegon for years, through countless hours of swordplay and lance practice. He knew this would not be the lesson Daemon intended to give. Leaning closer, Harold whispered to the prince, "Are you sure of this, my prince? You know best of all he is without limit. If his ambitions have reached a point where he dares challenge you like this…"
"It will be fine, Ser Harold," Aegon replied confidently. "Three short rounds, and we'll see who prevails. Afterward, if you feel it necessary, you may inform my father. But for now, stay and witness the fruits of yours and many others years of instruction."
Daemon, ever the instigator, flashed a grin as he unsheathed Dark Sister. "Let us begin, nephew, with the gods as our witnesses."
Aegon drew Blackfyre in unison, its smoky Valyrian steel blade catching the light like a shadow given form. The two men faced each other, their legendary swords humming with a dark energy that seemed to silence the courtyard around them. The tension hung in the air, thick and expectant.
Suddenly, Rhaenyra's voice cut through the stillness, shocking everyone but Aegon. "KICK HIS ASS, MY LOVE!" she roared, her eyes blazing with a mixture of excitement and encouragement. Alicent, caught off guard by her friend's outburst, stifled a heavy laugh that turned into a chuckle.
Ser Harold hesitated for a long moment, casting a wary glance between the two Targaryens. But seeing the resolve in Aegon's eyes, he finally nodded. "Begin!"
The sound of steel clashing against steel echoed across the courtyard as uncle and nephew met in combat, each blow a test of strength, will, and destiny.
Aegon moved with precision, ducking under Daemon's horizontal swing and returning with a fluid riposte, the tip of Blackfyre barely grazing Daemon's armor. Deliberate restraint on Aegon's part, a silent display of control. Ser Harold's voice cut through the tense air, "First round to Prince Aegon!"
A smirk briefly crossed Daemon's face, he still had two rounds to claim victory. "You know there are no true reprieves in war, only the constant of blood, until it is done" he muttered, just loud enough for Aegon to hear. Rising to his feet, Aegon stifled a grin, careful not to provoke his uncle further. Nearby, Rhaenyra's giggle echoed through the courtyard, starkly contrasting with the deadly silence of their duel. Alicent, meanwhile, smiled politely, caught between respect and anxiety.
Both combatants stepped back ten paces, giving each other space for a brief reset. Aegon adjusted to the lightweight yet resilient armor he wore, noticing how it allowed for full, unrestricted movement. It was as though he was wearing nothing at all, yet it held the robustness of a lancer's heavy plate.
"Begin!" Ser Harold called again, eager to conclude the duel before tensions escalated further.
Aegon and Daemon circled each other like predators, each watching for the faintest sign of weakness. Every shift of their armor, every subtle movement of muscle was scrutinized as they willed the other to make the first fatal mistake. The stillness between them was electric, like the calm before a storm, two thunder gods preparing their smiting strikes.
Daemon lunged first, his strike swift and calculated, but Aegon sidestepped the attack, parrying the follow-up and driving the pommel of Blackfyre into the side of Daemon's helmet with such force that it sent him crashing to the ground. Daemon's helmet clattered off as he hit the grass of the courtyard, his right ear ringing. In a desperate move to regain his footing, Daemon reached for his dagger, only to find Blackfyre's tip at his throat. Aegon stood over him, a towering figure of command, a harbinger of death in anyone else's eyes. Daemon's frustration boiled over, and he swatted the blade aside in defiance.
"Second round to Prince Aegon!" Ser Harold called, his voice carrying an air of finality.
"You forget, uncle, you were my main instructor, the one who gifted me my few scars. I'm here, and you are there because of all the lessons you taught me" Aegon said before he extended his hand to help, but the rogue prince smacked it away, rising to his feet on his own. His pride was clearly wounded, though his face remained a mask of cold determination. "Are you still feeling confident in your opinion of my abilities, dear uncle?" The heir asked, unable to resist a smirk.
Daemon's eyes narrowed, fire burning within them as his temper flared. "We are far from the end!," he growled, his voice laced with venom. This time, he left his helmet where it had fallen, opting instead for razor-sharp focus.
The final round wouldn't be a test of technical skill alone, it would be a battle of wills, a clash of superiority. Both men squared off, knowing that this would be the deciding moment, not just of the duel, but of the power dynamic between them.
Alicent leaned into Rhaenyra's ear with a grin. "Forgive my vulgarity, dear sister, but he may just kick his ass." The two women erupted into laughter, their giggles like cackling hens. Despite the tension of the duel, their shared joy was a moment of lightness amidst the heavy stakes.
Ser Harold, ever the mentor, approached Aegon with a calm yet firm tone. "End this, my prince, but feel no need to prove yourself. Even if you stumble and fall, the realm and the gods alike will catch you. You've already proven yourself in the Stepstones. He may not yet know that lesson yet, so you must teach him, as he once did you." Aegon, feeling the warmth of Ser Harold's words, smiled in gratitude. It was a rare thing, the bond of trust between them, and Aegon cherished it.
"BEGIN!" Ser Harold's voice rang out like a battle cry.
Daemon charged, abandoning all finesse. He lunged at Aegon with a powerful overhead strike, a move so wild and forceful that it was more lion than dragon. Aegon dodged, but this time Daemon didn't relent, barreling into his nephew with a brutal shoulder-check that sent him crashing to the ground.
With a swift movement, Daemon unsheathed his dagger once more, aiming to end the duel decisively. But just as the blade came down, flames erupted from Aegon's hands, seemingly without aim. The burst of fire gave Aegon just enough of an opening to slip from Daemon's grasp. He slid across the courtyard with intense speed, rolling several times before stopping on his hands and knees, breathless but undefeated.
Aegon quickly shot to his feet, locking eyes with his uncle, whose face showed both surprise and amusement that tempered his frustration to a degree. Rhaenyra and Alicent, watching from the sidelines, were stunned into silence by the sudden display of magic.
"I thought we agreed, nephew!" Daemon barked, his voice filled with a mix of irritation and admiration.
"There are no pacts between dragons, nor them with men," Aegon replied, still catching his breath. "A sentiment I'm sure you agree with fervently."
Daemon chuckled, a low, menacing sound, as he looked down at the ground for a moment before meeting Aegon's gaze once more. "You're learning. Good!"
With that, Daemon charged again, more determined than ever. Even Ser Harold, who had seen Aegon's skill countless times, found himself surprised by the prince's ability to match his uncle. Aegon, despite the chaos, stood firm, ready for whatever came next
The courtyard echoed with the sounds of clashing metal, whooshing, whipping, and clanging, until finally, Daemon's blade came crashing down, burying itself deep into the Heart Tree as Aegon dodged, the prince for missing once more. The ancient bark groaned under the force of Darksister's vicious bite. Aegon, seizing the moment, delivered a palm strike to his uncle's breastplate, too close now for either blade to swing effectively.
The blow, though seemingly simple and ineffective, reverberated through Daemon's body with shocking force. He staggered back, crashing to the ground, pain blooming in his abdomen. Is this what it meant to be dealt a blow by one that struck down mountains?. The sheer power behind Aegon's strike was far beyond what Daemon had anticipated, leaving him winded and unable to rise as intense pain contorted his face.
Aegon, breathing heavily, approached with calm, gently placing Blackfyre atop the same mark on Daemon's armor it made from their earlier round, completing the duel in a symbolic full circle.
"THIRD ROUND TO PRINCE AEGON!" Ser Harold called out, his voice momentarily breaking with pride before he regained his composure, clearing his throat.
Rhaenyra and Alicent rushed over in cheers, expecting to find Aegon basking in his victory. But instead, they found him not reveling, but concerned for his uncle. Daemon, still on the ground, rolled to his side and vomited, the celebratory wine from the previous night pooling in a thick white-and-red mixture.
Aegon knelt beside him, his brows furrowed in worry. He removed his chest plate, exposing the tunic beneath, and placed a glowing hand over Daemon's stomach. The soft light pulsed through his uncle's body, and slowly, the pain and nausea subsided. Daemon, his breathing steadier, blinked up at his nephew with a mix of surprise and begrudging respect.
"I told you I was learning, Uncle," Aegon said softly, a hint of humor returning to his voice. Rhaenyra knelt beside them, her hand resting on Aegon's shoulder in silent support, while Alicent stood nearby, smiling with relief at the peaceful resolution of the duel.
The intensity of the duel faded as the family returned to its heart, a bond deeper than any contest of might.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder