章節 5: King & Queen
The day dawned with the golden light of the sun pouring over Dragonstone's jagged cliffs, bathing the black stone castle in a fiery glow. Smoke curled from the peaks of the volcanic mountains, the smell of brimstone hanging heavy in the air, a reminder of the ancient power that slumbered beneath the island. On this sacred morning, Dragonstone pulsed with life. From the godswood to the docks, there was a restless hum of activity as the island prepared to witness a momentous event, the union of the two most radiant children of House Targaryen: Aegon and Rhaenyra, the twins whose bond was said to be forged in fire and bound by blood.
The lords and ladies of Westeros had gathered to witness the ceremony. Ships from all corners of the realm crowded Dragonstone's harbor, their sails emblazoned with the sigils of noble houses, Baratheon, Velaryon, Celtigar, and others, come to pay their respects. Lords in rich brocades and gold-threaded tunics wandered the courtyard, their eyes drawn to the looming towers of the ancient fortress and the dragons that roosted on its battlements. The great beasts perched there, watching the proceedings with sharp eyes, their scales glimmering in the morning sun like molten metal.
Aegon stood before a polished mirror edged with obsidian in his chambers, the reflection staring back at him like an apparition. He wore the colors of their house: a tunic of deep black trimmed with crimson, the three-headed dragon of Targaryen emblazoned upon his chest. His silver-gold hair had been pulled back into a knot at the nape of his neck, tidy for the first time in an age. Left in it's absence was his sharp, handsome features. His violet eyes were alight with anticipation, but beneath the excitement, a deeper fire burned, one comparable only to his hottest flames in training his abilities. something primal, something ancient.
A knock on the door broke his reverie, and when he turned, he found their mother, Queen Aemma, standing in the doorway. She was regal as ever, her platinum hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes soft with affection as they fell upon her son.
"My son," she said, her voice lilting with pride. "Today you stand not only as a prince but as a man about to become a husband. I could not be more proud."
Aegon crossed the room, bowing his head as she approached. She placed her hands on his shoulders, the weight of her gaze heavier than her touch. "You and Rhaenyra... you were always destined for greatness. But this union is something more. Together, you will be the flame that burns brighter than any that has come before. The blood of Old Valyria flows through your veins. Today, you honor it."
Aegon nodded, a subtle smile touching his lips. "I feel it now as I've always felt it. I can't...describe it. A feeling of such power it feels like a sickness I want to be there"
Aemma smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. " It is love my sweet boy. It is, at the best of times, indescribable. Come, It is time."
Meanwhile, in the heart of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra stood in her own chamber, surrounded by her handmaidens, who fussed over her gown of shimmering red and black silk. The dress was adorned with delicate silver thread, which caught the light in a way that made her seem to glow from within. Her long hair had been braided with strands of gold, a crown of dragon-bone resting atop her head. She looked every inch the queen she was destined to be. Alicent stood next to her, teary eyed for her best friend as the day was upon them they discussed countless times as girls.
Her heart fluttered, not with nerves, but with excitement. She had never felt more powerful, more radiant, and she could feel Aegon's presence even from here. It was as though they were connected by an invisible thread, pulling them closer together with each passing moment.
As her ladies adjusted the last of her gown, the door opened, and her father, King Viserys, entered. He stopped short when he saw her, his eyes misting over. "Rhaenyra...," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You look... like a queen. If only your grandsire and all those before could see you now" Her father spoke as he stood on the brink of needing to hold back tears.
Rhaenyra smiled softly, stepping toward him. "I will always be your daughter, father."
He embraced her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Today is a new beginning for you. For our house. May the gods, old and new, bless this union, for you and Aegon forge a new era of dragons and prosperity. The blood of the dragon...Nothing is stronger."
Only a few more minutes passed before the handmaidens were satisfied with the art piece that was the dress of the Princess. With that, he took her arm, and together they made their way to the Dragonmont, where the ceremony of old Valyria would take place.
The air was thick with the scent of burning incense and dragonfire. The gathered lords and ladies watched in awe as Aegon and Rhaenyra approached the altar, carved from the very stone of Dragonstone itself. Behind them Vermithor and Syrax stood sentinel as ever, their eyes glowing like coals, watching with intensity.
The leader of the Dragonkeepers, more versed in Valyrian customs then any, stood at the ready. Draped in crimson robes, he stood between them, his voice echoing across the courtyard as he began the ancient rites. He spoke in High Valyrian, the words rolling off his tongue like flames licking at dry wood.
"Vezhof muñe daor issi bē naejot tolie īlōnde, lo jevi Vezhof zȳhos ambrilī tēkor," he intoned, invoking the old gods of Valyria to bless the union of blood and fire.
Aegon and Rhaenyra locked eyes, their hands intertwined as they repeated the vows that had been spoken by their ancestors long ago. There was a weight to the words, an undeniable pull of destiny that neither of them could ignore, nor did they want to. Their bond was no mere union of convenience, no simple marriage for power or politics. It was something far deeper. They were halves of the same soul, fire and blood bound together in a way that could not be broken.
As they spoke the final words, the flames of the brazier flared, and the many gathered dragons roared as if in approval. Aegon leaned forward, his lips brushing Rhaenyra's in a kiss that sealed their fates. The crowd erupted in cheers, and the ceremony was complete. They were one.
The festivities carried on long into the evening, the grand hall of Dragonstone filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. The great feast stretched before the guests, platters of roasted meats, spiced wines, and sweet fruits from across the realm. Lords toasted to the health and prosperity of the newlyweds, their voices booming in celebration.
Viserys stood at the head of the table, raising his cup. "To my children, Aegon and Rhaenyra. May their union be as strong as the dragons that guard our house. Fire and blood!"
The toast was echoed by the crowd, and the night pressed on in a blur of merriment. Yet for Aegon and Rhaenyra, there was only one thing that mattered, the connection that crackled between them, the pull that grew stronger with every glance, every whispered word. But of course, the kings must say a few as well.
Tapping a spoon against a surprisingly reverberative metal goblet, Viserys began. "My lords and ladies, be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only it's beginning, as we honor the Prince and Princess, Aegon and Rhaenyra, and their union that many like it have been honored before. We beckon a new age of dragons, one that could look proudly back at our roots in Old Valyria. To the Prince and Princess, now husband and wife!" Viserys cheered as the court erupted in much the same way. All Aegon and Rhaenyra could do was smile, yet another moment the both connected, with the world around them might as well not existing at all.
As the festivities began to simmer, the two excused themselves, slipping away from the crowd and making their way to their shared chambers. The air between them was thick with anticipation, the fire within them stoked by the day's events.
Once inside, the door shut behind them, and they stood there in silence for a long moment, their eyes locked. It was as if the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only them. Aegon stepped closer, his fingers brushing against her cheek, trailing down her neck in a soft caress.
"You are mine now," he whispered, his voice low and filled with desire. "And I am yours."
Rhaenyra's breath hitched, her eyes darkening with the same hunger that burned in his. Her explored his form, present even beneath his tunic. Her hand found his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath. "We are one," she replied, her voice trembling with the weight of it.
Their kiss was slow at first, deliberate, as if savoring the taste of each other like no wine they had enjoyed the whole night could compare. But it quickly grew more fervent, more urgent, the heat between them building like a firestorm. Fingers maneuvered as clothes fell away, discarded without thought, and soon they were bare before each other, the flickering firelight casting shadows over their pristine pale skin. The few scars his instructors had managed to give him only refining his look in her eyes.
Aegon's hands moved over her body with a reverence that bordered on worship, and Rhaenyra responded in kind, her fingers tracing the contours of his back, pulling him closer. The bond between them had always been strong, but now, in the sanctity of their union, it was unbreakable.
Wrapping his hands around her thighs and effortlessly lifting her into his grasp, they embraced another in another kiss as husband carried wife to the their bed of feathers and silk.
Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, as though they were made for each other, two halves of a whole that had finally come together. The air around them crackled with energy and heat, sweat mingling in a dance that easily overshadowed the one at the reception. Both the hearth and the candles present flickered to match their rhythm. Their shared desire manifested in a way that was both physical and metaphysical, as though the very gods themselves were watching and blessing their joining...from a distance of course.
When at last they lay together, their bodies spent and intertwined, Aegon pressed a kiss to her forehead, his breath warm against her skin. "You are my queen," he whispered.
"And you are my king," she replied, her voice soft but full of conviction.
Together, they lay in the aftermath of their union, the fire within them burning brighter than ever before. Fire and blood had brought them together, and fire and blood would keep them bound forever.
The next morning
The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of Aegon and Rhaenyra's chambers, casting long streaks of gold across the bed where they lay. Aegon had been awake for over an hour, propped up on his elbow, silently admiring the sleeping form of his sister-wife while also staving off the slight handover that lingered. Rhaenyra's face was peaceful, her breathing soft and rhythmic, her silver-gold hair spread like molten light across the pillow.
Aegon's heart swelled with something deeper than desire, a reverence that transcended the physical. She was his other half, his queen, the one destined to stand beside him in the flames of destiny. He could feel the invisible thread that bound them tighten with each breath she took. It was a connection beyond words, beyond oaths. They were one.
For a long time, he remained still, not wanting to disturb the serenity of the moment. But as the sun crept higher in the sky, responsibility began to weigh on him. There were matters to attend to, duties that could not be ignored now that they had crossed the threshold from prince and princess to king and queen in all but name.
Reluctantly, Aegon slipped out of bed, moving with quiet grace so as not to wake Rhaenyra. He dressed himself in a simple tunic of black linen, fastening it with a belt of dragon-hide, his mind still lingering on the night before. His body still hummed with the afterglow of their union, but there was something else beneath it, a sense of inevitability, a quiet pull toward something larger than either of them.
He cast one last glance at Rhaenyra, her form still curled beneath the sheets, before leaving the chamber. The castle was still hushed in the early morning hours, with only the faint sounds of servants beginning their day echoing through the corridors. Aegon made his way toward the kitchens, his stomach growling slightly, when he was stopped by a figure at the end of the hallway.
Ser Harrold Westerling stood there, his armor gleaming even in the dim light, his expression as stern as ever. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard gave a respectful bow before speaking, his voice low and measured.
"Your Grace," he said, though the title felt more natural than ceremonial. "King Viserys seeks your presence in the cellar. I have been instructed to escort you. He said it was of utmost importance."
Aegon raised an eyebrow. The cellar? It was an odd place for his father to summon him, but there was always an air of mystery surrounding Viserys, especially when it came to matters of legacy and prophecy. There was something deeper lurking beneath the surface of his father's rule, something ancient and weighty that Aegon had never fully understood, a feeling immerging from the many dreams he had in past years of odd specificity, but not to warrant him bringing it up in conversation.
"Thank you, Ser Harrold. Lead the way" Aegon replied with a simple nod from the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
Ser Harrold made his way down a passage as two sets of boots softly echoed on the stone floor as they descended deeper into the bowels of Dragonstone. The castle's cellars were ancient, carved into the very rock of the island, a place where the weight of history hung thick in the air. The further he descended, the cooler the air became, the smell of stone and earth filling his nostrils.
At last, he reached the entrance to the deepest chamber, its heavy iron door slightly ajar. Ser Harold pushed it open and stepped to the side, as Aegon's breathe caught in his throat at the sight before him.
The chamber was vast, dimly lit by a few flickering torches, but what truly commanded his attention was the massive pile of bones and scales that filled the center of the room. The remains of Balerion the Black Dread, the greatest of the Targaryen dragons, lay in a sprawling heap, his colossal skull was placed in the cellars of the Red Keep, but his scales, dull and cracked with age, were all present. once-mighty wings now mere fragments of their former glory.
King Viserys stood near the center of the chamber, his hand resting gently on one of the great dragon's rib bones, as if communing with the past. His face was lined with age and the burden of kingship, but his eyes, when they met Aegon's, were sharp and filled with purpose.
"That will be all, Ser Harold" Viserys dismissed his guard, who with a simple bow took his leave back up the passage.
"Father," Aegon greeted, bowing his head slightly in respect. "You summoned me?"
Viserys turned toward him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, my son. Come closer."
Aegon approached, his eyes flickering between his father and the remnants of Balerion, feeling a strange sense of awe and melancholy. This was the dragon that had conquered Westeros, that had laid waste to entire armies and cities. And now, here it lay, reduced to bones and dust, a reminder that even the greatest power eventually fades.
Viserys, sensing his son's thoughts, spoke quietly. "Balerion was the last creature to see Valyria before it's doom. He carried Aegon the Conqueror across the Black Water, forged the Iron Throne, and shaped the future of our house. But even he, in all his might, could not escape the passage of time."
Aegon nodded, understanding the unspoken lesson. Power, no matter how great, was fleeting. It had to be wielded with care.
"There is something I have long wished to tell you," Viserys continued, his voice taking on a more solemn tone. "Something that only the ruler of House Targaryen can know. It is a secret passed down from Aegon the Conqueror himself, a dream that shaped his destiny and the fate of our house."
Aegon felt a shiver run down his spine. He had heard whispers of the dreams of Valyria, of the Targaryens' strange connection to prophecy, but his father had never spoken of it in detail before.
"The dream," Viserys said, his eyes locking onto Aegon's, "is of a great threat from the North. A darkness that will sweep across the land, cold and unyielding. A threat to all of humanity. It is not just Westeros that is at stake, but the very world. Aegon knew this when he united the Seven Kingdoms. He saw it in his visions, a storm of ice and death that would one day come."
Aegon's brow furrowed as he listened, his pulse quickening. "The Walkers..." he muttered, recalling the ancient stories of ice demons from beyond the Wall, stories often dismissed as myth.
Viserys nodded gravely. "Yes. And it is for this reason that our bloodline must remain strong, that our house must endure. For only a Targaryen, seated upon the Iron Throne, can unite the realms against this coming storm. This is the true reason we must hold the realm together. Not for glory, not for power, but for survival."
The weight of his father's words settled over Aegon like a cloak of ice. It was not the first time he had heard such talk of prophecy, but never had it felt so immediate, so real. Aegon the Conqueror had not forged an empire out of ambition alone, he had done it to protect the realm from a threat that had yet to reveal itself.
But there was more.
Viserys stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Aegon, the dream… the prophecy, it speaks not only of a Targaryen upon the throne, but of you. It centers on you more than it has any of our predecessors. You are the key, my son. I don't know how or why, but the dreams have grown clearer in recent years. The ice, earth and fire that war within you are the balance needed to face the coming storm. Aegon called his dream, the Song of Ice an..."
"Fire" He son finished, causing Viserys great pause upon realizing the dreams he had once mentioned held power, like his own, but likely fare greater.
Aegon's heart pounded in his chest. He had always felt a strange pull, a sense that his destiny was greater than most, but to hear it spoken so plainly, with such certainty, sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through him.
"What must I do?" he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.
Viserys placed a hand on his son's shoulder, his grip firm. "You must prepare. You must keep this secret close, for it is a burden that few can bear. But when the time comes, when the cold winds begin to blow, you must act. You must be ready to unite the realm, to stand against the darkness. Only then can the dream of Aegon the Conqueror be fulfilled."
Aegon nodded, his mind racing. The weight of the prophecy, the responsibility it placed upon him, was immense. But in that moment, as he stood beside the remains of Balerion the Black Dread, he felt the fire within him burn brighter than ever. This was his destiny, his birthright.
"I will not fail," he vowed, meeting his father's gaze with unwavering resolve. "The realm will not fall while I draw breath."
Viserys smiled, a hint of pride in his weary eyes. "Good. For you are the flame that will burn against the coming storm. And I believe, my son, that you will rise to meet it."
The chamber fell into a heavy silence, the weight of their shared knowledge hanging between them like a cloak of smoke. Aegon cast one last glance at Balerion's remains, feeling the ancient power of his house stir within him.
The dream of Ice and Fire was his to fulfill, very likely more ways then one.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票