You know, it's amazing how the implications of certain things can creep up on you. I love my family. Such a simple statement... If someone had asked Aegon-that-was, he probably would have denied it. Frankly, the brat would have his reasons for that. House Targaryen is a mess. But, walking in the halls of Dragonstone hand in hand with Helaena, I couldn't deny the realization of how much that boy lied to himself.
I love Helaena. I love Alicent. I love baby Daeron. I think I might even love Aemond (Shocking, I know). And I love them because he loved them. Huh? My older half-sister? Viserys and Daemon? My extended family, both Velaryon and Hightower? Nah, fuck them.
Well, to be honest, I think I'm might be in love with RhaeRhae's RhaeRhaes. But these feelings are mine, or at very least, they are from the Man of the other World. No woman with a pair like that can be truly bad! This is known. Damn you, Strong boys! How dare you be breastfed by my older sister! It should have been me!
By my side, Helaena was blushing prettily. With her looking so scared after our talk with Ser Errik (That obviously, is still shadowing us. He is my Sworn Sword, after all), I couldn't help but ending spoiling her a little. Just some kisses on her cute hand, don't worry. I'm a gentleman, thank you very much. I'm just staring respectfully.
"Brother, please do not look at me like that…" Cute! Sorry Helaena, I can't help it! You are just to cute!
"Impossible!" I replied mercilessly. "The Gods fashioned beautiful things to be loved and cherished! All septons would agree with me on that". Based Seven, actually. I will never pray to any God, but being Alicent's son, Aegon had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the many Holy Books of the Faith out of sheer necessity. The chapters of the Maiden (and of the Crone too, weirdly enough) in the Seven Pointed Star are almost pornographic at times. The poems are pretty nice too. I think some university students in my previous World would have a busy day writing articles full of comparative analyses of the sacred texts.
Anyways, even the prude Andal Gods agree that pretty things should be appreciated, don't you know? That's why we have tapestries on the Walls.
…
Well, that and for intimidation. In the Red Keep, for every tapestry about beautiful moments, like Jaehaerys and Alysanne's secret incestuous underage wedding (fuck off, that was beautiful for my family's standards), there are 3 or 4 about things like the Vulture's Hunt, Morion's Folly or the Dragon's Wroth. Well, to be fair, I suppose there's a certain beauty in seeing Dornishmen burning.
"Aegon…" Helaena started whining.
"Ah, very well, I will stop the teasing, sweet sister." At very least, she looks quite better now. The dream talk really spooked her. I probably should have a serious conversation with her about that, but I don't want to upset her. I will do it later. I'm a master of procrastination! Thanks for your service, future Aegon! I believe in you, you bastard!
"Aegon, where are we going? Aemond's room is on the other side…Uh, brother, you also should stop dragging your hand along the walls. It is not proper…"
"Our brother is reading something in this keep's library. Let us meet him there."
"How could you possibly know that?"
I gave her the Look™. You know, the look older siblings give their cute baby siblings when they say something stupid. If any of you, my imaginary friends, have (or are) older siblings, you must know exactly what I'm talking about.
"We are talking about Aemond. He is in the library. He is probably engrossed in some enormous tone writ in High Valyrian where some Essosi loremaster rambles about the past glories of our ancestors. Preferably, about an occasion when many of our long dead enemies died screaming. He does like his butcheries, after all."
"Oh. Yes, that does sound like him." It's pretty telling that the kindest girl ever born in the Seven Kingdoms didn't even try to defend Aemond.
Now, my imaginary friends, don't worry. We don't hate Aemond. We just… know him really well.
How can I explain this? If my little brother had been born in my past world, he would be the kind of guy who thinks trench coats are unironically cool, would have a collection of fingerless gloves, mall katanas, and steel-toed boots. He'd probably have posters of Avenged Sevenfold and Nine Inch Nails on his bedroom walls and listen to Wagner, not because he appreciates classical music or opera, but because he thought Red Skull was cool in that Marvel movie. You probably know someone like that.
Okay, that is not that bad by itself… As long as one doesn't make it their whole personality. Aemond very much does that.
Fortunately, he is not yet on his school shooter arc, so I can do something about it. Hopefully. Fingers crossed!
Well, I suppose that a lot of that is my fault, being a big brother bully and all that. In my defense, some people need to be bullied.
The true problem is that Aemond is a very, very, very lonely boy. Born before his time, he was a very small baby, so Alicent was beside herself with worry. She kept him by her side a good chunk of his childhood… But Alicent is an awful mother with a pretty terrible way to show affection. With her, it's always a new book to read rather than a hug. Without friends, Aemond lived vicariously through his books and tomes, first reading about knights and kings and then about the great Dragonlords of Old Valyria. He is also more or less incapable of not presenting his opinions about everything, and when you are a maladjusted little boy raised by books about genocidal slavers, your opinions tend to be rather… intense. Fortunately, he is currently on a "the Rhoynar's deserved it" phase, and Westeros is a very casually racist place (I will not tell your guys how many jokes about the Dornish I know now), so people are not giving him the side eye yet. But they will if he ended up becoming a bargain-bin Daemon, like he could potentially grow up to be. Seriously, this place doesn't needs another prince waxing lyrics about the innate inferiority of all his Andal and First Men subjects and how it is good and proper that a Men Of True Valyrian Blood (all initials capitalized for proper emphasis) to dominate the pathetic locals… specially if said prince is Half-Andal himself.
Actually, about that… What is Aemond is doing now? Let's take another look.
Ghostly sparks danced on my fingers on the black walls of the castle before being absorbed by the fused witchstone. A fast octarine glow, invisible to anyone without the proper knowledge, both traveled outward and reached to me.
[…licts between Valyrians and Ghiscari at the dawn of recorded history are, naturally, the stuff of legend. The fleeting memories of lesser men can confuse the details of one war with another as millennia pass, and other details have been added or distorted by the most powerful among the Forty Families of the Freehold. Even these records often contradict each other, as rival families of Dragonlords have attempted several times to attribute greater feats of sorcery and martial glory to their own ancestors. The fact is that the Third Ghiscari War ended in an absolute victory for the Valyrian Conquerors. The nobility of ancient Gorgai was captured in its entirety. The men and the elderly were killed by the sword, while the children and women were ritually violated and sacrificed on the pyres of Aquos Dhaen in a ceremony that lasted 14 days. Furtherm…]
I cut the connection.
How cherry. Wonderful choice for a light reading. For fucks sake, that brat is 7 years old! Who the fuck thought that it was a good idea to give him that book? Oh, yeah, this Keep's Maester.
Gerardys when I catch you Gerardys!
My alternative future self was on to something when he turned the old man into dragon food.
Anyways, I think it goes without saying that my little "hunch" that Aemond is in the library was not a hunch at all. I know he's there. Unlike the castles of Westeros, all with their painted and decorated walls, Dragonstone, though richly furnished, it's quite austere and grim in this aspect. This is by design. This is a place of power, and a sorcerer can know much of what happens with a mere touch on the bare walls.
Of course, this kind of place was built by the Dragonlords with many safeguards precisely to prevent some random wizard from spying on their family, but apparently, some people are neglecting the maintenance of the castle's more magical aspects. Oh well. Unfortunately, I don't have time to actually take the place for myself (I would need a few days at Dragonmont to fully transfer the authority over the local geomancy to myself without risking serious backlash… like a Volcanic Eruption), but I have enough magical know-how to grant myself some temporary privileges. Locating my brother is the least of what I can do here. I have big plans for tonight.
He loved Dragonstone! This certainty grew stronger with each passing day that Aemond Targaryen, blood of the Dragon and descendant of heroes, kings, and gods among men, spent in the castle.
There is no place like it in the world since the Doom ruined the land of his Ancestors. Dragonstone is not a mere fortress, but dozens upon dozens of towers, made of magic as much as of stone. All shaped like dragons, but just as no two dragons are alike, each tower is unique. Aemond, that desired no other thing as dearly as to be special, found Dragonstone to be the most beautiful place in the whole world.
Aemond also loved libraries. He was forced to convince himself of that very early on, while still in his mother's lap. If you do something right, you can learn something new, and the more you learn new things, the more you can do something right!
And Aemond loved being right. Being right proves that he is better, that he is special. Like his ancestors.
What does it matter that the other boys are training with swords in the courtyard? He can read about warriors better than any of them. And one day he'll go to the courtyard and learn there too. He will prove that he's the best of them all!
But this is not that day yet. This is another day to learn on the library. And he cannot waste the opportunity, because the Library of his ancestors is a veritable Dragons hoard, unlike the Royal library in King's Landing.
The Red Keep have a treasure of books, of such a number that Aemond could never hope to read all of them. But they were ordinary books, for the ordinary nobles that served the Old King on his Council. The good books were in Dragonstone, because everyone know that this island was the Old King's favorite place in the World. He married his wife in this place, and to this day everyone hears songs about that.
Here, some of the shelves were carved directly into the black walls of the Keep, like his ancestors had hoarded the collection of books not just to have them but more to protect them, hiding them away from the Doom by burying them all deep within the mountain.
This place is also fantastic in the best way. Dragonstone and it's library didn't look expensive like some other places. They were scary, like as if they were haunted. The tables had legs shaped like horned serpents, the arches above were supported by dragons whose elongated necks and tails disappeared into shadows high overhead, the gilded braziers cast wavering orange light across shelves, making the dust in the air look like embers. It's like the library is on fire.
Even the smell differed from King's Landing. His home's library just smelled like ink and dust. Dragonstone's parchments smelled like rotten eggs, salt, smoke and rust.
The best part were the Valyrian scrolls rested within the old lacquered tubes.
There are Valyrian books and tomes in the Red Keep, but they are all of law and music and poetry, books for women. The best were the books of philosophy, which Aemond read, but did not truly understand, even if he would rather die than say it aloud.
What he really wanted was history, but such books in the Red Keep were boring, books about Andals and Rhoynars and First Men. Aemond is a Valryrian; he wanted to read books about his people and their glories. The library of Dragonstone delivered.
His half-sister's old Maester was really useful for that, for a time.
Taking all of this into consideration, Aemond should have realized how this was far too comfortable to last.
Aemond had a days to read anything that he wanted, until…
Currently, he just have some maps depicting the old coastlines of his folk homeland and cities that no longer existed. He traced with his finger the places in which the Doom must have broken them when it reshaped Essos.
Helaena sat cross-legged upon a cushioned bench near the wall on his right. She held some old book about manticores of all things.
Why can she read something like that while Aemond has maps for babies? Because him.
Aegon. Alive.
Aemond's older brother sat besides Helaena, helping her read her book. He also had an old book, a huge tome on his lap about Valyrian philosophical postulates, which he calmly leafed through while helping Helaena. As if reading a book in High Valyrian while helping someone else do the same with a completely different text was easy. When did he even learn that? He doesn't even pay attention to Grand Maester Mellos! Was all the times he raged and ran away from his lessons another mummery for attention? Oh, of course it was. It is Aegon, after all.
He would have suspected it was an imposter in his brother's place, except that he arrived at the library with such a ridiculous and bombastic clamor, and then took out the old history book that the Maester had given him to read with such casual disrespect, that it could be no one but his older brother.
Aegon the Mummer. Aegon the Fool.
Aegon. Alive.
Just a few days ago, their mother was crying in the Sept while the rest of the family spoke in barely hushed voices. "Oh, how very sad, to such a young prince like Aegon to simply disappear into the sea". "The poor boy drowned. The Narrow Sea is treacherous this time of the year, especially with the Winter approaching". "The crabs must be eating his face." (The last one was from Nuncle Daemon). Aemond was a little sad, but also relieved. Without Aegon, Mother would have no choice but to place her hopes and expectations on him, the better brother, and he would show everyone how special he could be.
Then Aegon had returned. Not rescued, no. No mundanity for his older brother. Why be found clinging to driftwood by some fishermen? No, Aegon is a Prince of the Dragon's blood, so he had to descend from the skies riding Cannibal.
The Cannibal. The dragon everyone feared. Of course Aegon would tame a wild dragon, something that no Targaryen did on living memory.
Aegon.
Aemond hates his brother sometimes. His stupid, lazy, irritating brother.
His brother who forgot lessons, who laughed during sermons, who complained about studying and training in the yard, who slept late and avoided responsibility. The brother that had everything Aemond ever desired and did nothing with that. Aemond has half his brother size, but twice his ferocity! Everyone says that! Then why?! Why? Why does his brother have everything without even trying while he has nothing?
His brother. Cannibal had permitted his brother upon its back.
Aemond hated himself for caring about that. But he couldn't help himself because dragons mattered.
Dragons were everything. His father, the king, rider of the late Balerion, mightiest of beasts, loved dragons. His family stories celebrated dragons. The greatest heroes among his ancestors rode great and fierce dragons. A king named Aegon conquered most of the continent with his dragon. His black dragon. All the importance of the Targaryens comes from dragons. Without a dragon, a Targaryen is nothing.
Aegon was truly a Dragonlord now, in name, blood, and deeds… while Aemond was nothing. Aemond also had nothing. Not even an egg. Four eggs had been laid on Dreamfyre some moons ago. Three of them came with them to Dragonstone on the Kings' ship, as a gift for Rhaenyra's bastards, while the last one, blue and copper, rested in little Daeron's cradle. Aemond kept his feet on the ground, for he was too old for a cradle egg. Ah, but he was too young to approach older dragons, either here or in the Dragonpit at King's Landing.
Dragonless. Aemond is a bookish boy, everyone also said that. Will they send him to the Citadel in Oldtown to become a Maester too?
Besides their sister, Aegon turned another page. He had been reading that book constantly since he invaded the library with Helaena. Philosophy. When his stupid brother has use for philosophy?
Aegon was supposed to hate reading. If Aegon actually liked that… Then why did Aemond was even born?
As he often did when no one was looking, Aemond concentrated intensely on his brother face.
Aegon was blessed at birth with the colors of the Dragon. All of the children of Alicent Hightower were… But they were stronger on his brother.
Helaena have the same striking silver-gold hair of their father and elder half-sister. But her eyes were of a light blue, rather than purple. Daeron is the same.
Aemond was born with fine silver-white hair. His locks lacked the heat of his siblings'. His eyes were also blue, but of a more intense shade. His mother said it was quite beautiful, like the sapphire eyes of the Good Queen Alysanne. He had no use for the eyes of a queen. Aemond wanted the fierce gaze of a King.
Aegon has silver-gold hair, like their father. Much like their father, he also has deep purple eyes. Everyone says how much his elder brother looks like their father. King Viserys, First of his Name, was not always a fat old man. He was young once, and strikingly handsome, like all the men of the House of the Dragon.
Aegon have his looks, a perfect Valyrian look, something that not even nuncle Daemon can deny.
Aegon suddenly laughed softly.
"What?" Aemond asked.
Aegon looked at him. "Hoh? Speaking with me again, little brother?" Despite himself, Aemond made a face. Aegon is so annoying.
With a sight, Aegon closed his book. "I was just imagining our beloved nuncle Daemon attacking my Issaros with a raspberry and a pointed stick."
Aemond just stared. "What?"
Before Aegon could begin to explain his absurd joke, the library door opened. Ser Criston entered, with his immaculate white cloak billowing behind him. With his composed expression and a sword on his hip, Ser Criston looked like he had jumped from some fairy tale.
He inclined his head.
"Princes. Princess."
Aemond straightened.
Ser Criston looked toward Aegon. "His grace the king requires your presence and that of your siblings." Aemond hates that. How his whole existence is a mere complement to his brother's.
Aegon just gave one of his annoying smiles. "Am I being disinherited?"
"No."
"Disowned?"
"No."
"Executed mayhaps?"
Ser Criston's lips twitched.
"No."
"Then it cannot be urgent."
"It is luncheon."
Aegon groaned. "Even worse."
Ser Criston continued. "His Grace wishes the family assembled." A pause. "All family."
Aegon actually looked cross now. Good. "Mother is still resting." Now Aemond felt guilty. Damn.
Ser Criston sighed himself. "She is awake. For his Grace, that means that she rested enough."
"I see." He made a face. "When you say all family..."
"Your elder sister and her… husband will be there. So will be Prince Daemon and his wife. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys too."
Silence.
Aemond felt his stomach tighten. Family gatherings were always awful. Disaster after disaster.
Aegon stood and start stretching.
"Wonderful." He smiled again. Too easily. He is planning something.
"How wise of my beloved Father to assemble every potential cause of civil war around one table."
Ser Criston sighed again. People did that quite a lot around Aegon.
"Please do not say that aloud."
Aegon's grin widened. "I promise." He said in his most annoyingly fake tone, with a hand over his heart, like he was doing some terrible vow of vengeance.
And somehow, despite everything, Aemond found himself smiling a little too.
It's easy, so very easy to hate Aegon… But….
Aegon has always been like this. He's always done what he wants, without caring about criticism or the opinions of others. Perhaps that's why things always end up happening to him.
Once a man has seen a dragon in flight, let him stay at home and tend his garden in content, Aemond had read that on a book once, for this wide world has no greater wonder.
Aemond thinks that he can understand that a little better now.Last edited: Sunday at 7:34 PM Like ReplyReport Reactions:aymdrim, VxCxL, tikki and 728 othersVictor-FigueiredoJun 21, 2026NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 4 - Parents New View contentVictor-FigueiredoNot too sore, are you?Jun 21, 2026NewAdd bookmark#81The "luncheon" was held within the Great Hall of Dragonstone.
It would be reasonable to expect that a family meal would be a private affair, perhaps held in one of the castle's many private chambers. Who knows? If my oh so wise father were in a good mood (which is quite common), lunch might even be served in the great circular hall that housed the Painted Table of my royal namesake.
Unfortunately, family meals at the House of the Dragon weren't supposed to be private matters. At least not during the reign of Viserys I Targaryen, arguably the richest and most powerful king to ever rule Westeros.
No, family gatherings of all kinds were performances. Which, okay, is quite normal and expected for a feudal royal family, but still pretty damn annoying.
Case in point: the so-called Great Hall of Dragonstone. Not the one inside the Stone Drum, mind you. The Great Hall proper.
I think this might be a good time to explain a few things. I think some of them are quite obvious, so I apologize if I seem like a condescending prick at times. It's the Valyrian in me, I can't help it.
Anyways! The architecture and decoration of a castle should be able to convey meaning to its visitors.
Let's take the Red Keep for comparative purposes: Maegor's little pet project, inherited from his older half-brother, was built to force the nobility of Westeros to accept the fact that the Targaryens were not merely kings in the style of the Andals (or the First Men. The "Rhoynars", however, are still persona non-grata, even with their presence on the traditional title of the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms), but rulers who wished every visitor to understand that, despite their adoption of silly little traditions like family banners, they remained descendants of a civilization that had once looked upon such kingdoms and and thought of them as little more than rabble (and intended to continue thinking so).
The Red Keep was built to both impress and intimidate, and this is reflected in every room of the castle, especially its Great Halls (both of them).
Rather than the naked pale red walls that appear on the show, the Red Keep had some magnificent carved oak panels, banners displaying the three-headed dragon, beautiful tapestries, and halls full of courtiers, singers, petitioners, ambassadors, all richly dressed, because each and every one of them is yet another decoration in the end.
And of course, the Pièce de Résistance: the ugly and misshapen behemoth of sharp steel that my Ancestor, in his hubris, called a throne.
So, rather than a pop-culture rendition of a castle, made by people that don't understand that castles had color and life in their glory days and naked stone walls are a sign of decay, the Red Keep and its great hall resembled, in many aspects, the ceremonial halls of late medieval and Tudor eras, being constructed as spaces for monarchy display their power and riches, to be admired, with their lofty timbered roofs and broad windows intended as much to invite participation in the pageantry of royal life as to make the lesser folk of Westeros (I.e. everyone that is not a Targaryen) to always remember their place under my family's boots. Of course, things in Westeros tend to be quite a bit bigger than any sane architect would even contemplate, but, oh well, this is a "fantasy" world, after all.
While not the biggest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, the Red Keep is the most majestic… except for Casterly Rock. You can't really beat that, I fear.
What I'm trying to say here it's that Great halls are supposed to serve as places to proclaim royal magnificence while remaining occupied by courtiers and servants throughout the day.
Dragonstone's great hall doesn't do that, though.
To start: Like everything else in this place, the Great Hall is shaped like a dragon, more specifically, a dragon lying on its stomach. To enter, you must pass through its open maw. Very inviting. Inside, the hall was long and narrow, again, made from the same polished blackstone as the rest of the castle. The surface of the walls reflected the light of braziers in dull crimson tones resembling blood smears. It's always dark here, even at noon. All in all, very… nice in a "Evil Overlord" way. Considering who built this place, I suppose that the general vibes are to be expected.
The ceiling arched overhead like the ribcage, while dragons took the place from conventional supporting columns, with their elongated necks intertwining above the guests, their eyes fashioned from polished garnets that seemed to glimmer whenever flames shifted.
Eating inside a dragon and beneath a few more felt kinda like attending a diplomatic function hosted in the Great Tomb of Nazarick.
...
Where is Albedo? Or my best girl Shalltear? I need some eye candy here! Dammit, why don't I have the Chaos Gacha instead? I'm pretty sure that they are available in the Familiars roll! What? If I would abuse my power over them? You already know the answer.
…
Ah, sorry for that. My thoughts slipped a little. So, were I was? Oh, yeah: Dragonstone is ugly as hell and sucked balls as a castle. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk!
Well, there are some redeeming qualities. Like the whole "magical place of power that massively boosts one's sorcery skills when properly attuned". And, at very least, the place is always warm. Unfortunately, appreciation for these characteristics needs some proper eye… That my poor mother lacks entirely. She plainly disliked it.
Even weary and sleep deprived, she sat to Viserys' right, with impeccable posture and manners, her hands clasped in her lap when not busy with utensils, speaking politely only when asked. She had the appearance of a septa who had accidentally stumbled upon an orgy dedicated to the Black Goat of Qohor.
Viserys, meanwhile, looked delighted. He always liked opportunities to drag the whole family (and extras) together.
Rhaenyra sat beside my father, to his left. Ser Laenor sat next to her. His mother, Princess Rhaenys, sat beside her son, followed by Lord Corlys, his daughter Laena, and my dear uncle Daemon.
The "Velaryon" boys, fortunately for everyone, remained absent, presumably entrusted to nurses.
I am by my mother's right. She insisted on that quite vigorously. Aemond sat beside myself (ugh), followed by Helena. Dammit, no wonder I'm so bored. Give me my little sister to spoil! Right now! Ser Criston stood discreetly behind Mother's chair. Similarly, a certain man of renowned strength stood beside Rhaenyra's.
Go die on a fire, Harwin! Rhaenyra should be mine! All sisters should be mine, in fact! Helaena, Rhaenyra, marry me, both of you! Right now is fine, thank you.
Opsie Daisie, my thoughts ended up slipping again.
Below us, lesser lords of the Narrow Sea were here, sitting right by the big boys table: Celtigar, Bar Emmon, Sunglass… RhaeRhae's lap dogs. The less important members of the Velaryon family are there too. I wonder if Vaemond and his sons interpreted this as an insult. Could RhaeRhae's problems with them have started so early? I imagine giving birth to three Strong boys might cause some trouble. How unexpected!
Damn it! You should only have my sons, Rhaenyra!
Ahen. Sorry, I'm bored.
Below all nobility, on the inferior tables, are knights, singers, archers and men-at-arms, eating a lot better than they normally should. We are filthy rich, after all.
Mushroom was dancing around. The little guy had some serious moves for a guy with legs that twisted.
The food itself arrived on the tables in waves. Gatherings like this don't have courses in the modern sense. Meals of special events in my past World emphasized sequence: Starter-Main dish-Dessert, with each dish appearing individually as ordered.
Westeros, though, favored abundance and simultaneity, with many different dishes served together in shared arrangements intended to display wealth and status. Meals at the Dragon's Court generally consists of two substantial services containing many dishes presented at the same time.
Large platters of warm bread filled the spaces along the table, along with bowls of butter and cheeses, both hard and soft. There were pickled onions and smoked lamprey. All kinds of seafood were available, along small pies filled with minced meat and slices of wild boar served with a dark, sweet sauce with raisins and flavored with honey, oranges and cinnamon.
Some people in my old World romanticized medieval food. Well, when you do have the money for the Good Life™ like my new family, the food is actually worth it. The dishes were fucking excellent.
There are some things I will miss, of course. No potatoes, I checked. Also: no tomatoes, no chocolate, and no coffee. We do have tea, though. Thanks Yi Ti, I love you guys!
The pastries here are a little weird, but actually passable.
About the drinks: Ale flowed freely, and so did Arbor wine, red and gold. There is also some Mulled Wine from there that my oh so wonderful father loved.
For my part, I was sampling a rather nice appetizer: a fantastic almond cream thickened almost into custard and flavored with saffron.
There was also water available. I had some with orange slices. I don't know if I have refined enough tastes to know if that has or not a good complement to my cream.
Oh, I could have some watered down wine if I wanted, but I had some alcoholics in my family in my past life and saw the sad creatures they become over time. No supernatural power will ever convince me to drink if I can help it, especially considering the kind of man my alternate future self has become.
Viserys, as always in these kinds of situations, attempted conversation.
"Rhaenyra informs me Jace has become quite vocal."
Rhaenyra smiled.
"He is at that age… Always asking new questions."
Daemon snorted. "He must ask some tedious questions. No one ever accused a toddler of being entertaining." Rhaenyra just gave him a tight smile.
I actually was quite shocked by the tension between the two of them. But my memories of Aegon's life did paint a somewhat different tale from Fire & Blood. The specifics are mostly right, I think, but Daemon and Rhaenyra weren't exactly super close since his return to the Court with his wife and daughters last year.
Oh, Rhaenyra does visit Laena at High Tide and Laena visits Rhaenyra in Dragonstone. The two of them are fast friends. But RhaeRhae only flies to Driftmark when Daemon is on King's Landing visiting my father.
Considering how my nuncle's snake-like gaze drifts to Ser Brokenbones every 5 minutes or so, I have a fairly good idea of what caused this coldness between them.
Could this be some rift that would be healed with time, so the Maesters and courtiers didn't find it worth of note? We are really early on the "timeline", for lack of better word.
Rhaenyra noticed my gaze on her and glanced toward me.
"And you, little Aegon? Has Dragonstone inspired some new scholarly inclinations? Maester Gerardys told me good things about your High Valyrian?"
The old fuck already babbled? Wonderful. I will bury him later.
Well, to be fair, I guess that surviving shipwrecks and returning upon dragon back invites some measure of scrutiny.
I smiled. "Dragonstone inspires many things, sweet sister."
"What kind of things?" Daemon asked in her place. Rude!
"Existential dread."
Ser Criston coughed. On my father's other side, Rhaenyra smiled despite herself. Kinda cute how even after all that happened between them, these two are still so in sync… Not! You had your chance, Criston! Back off from my future wife!
Daemon leaned back. "Somehow, nephew, I do not think that you know the meaning of these words."
"Oh, my cherished Nuncle, there is no motive for shame. You can ask the Maesters about the meaning of my words later."
The Rogue Prince grinned. I think that is a bad sign. Oh well.
"You are quite insolent now that you took a dragon for yourself."
"A sadly common failing in this family, I fear."
Let me explain something to you guys: this mess has already lasted 3 fucking hours. Viserys made a long and draw out speech in the beginning about how the birth of yet another grandson is an amazing gift to the kingdom, blah blah blah, the Seven Kingdoms never saw so many princes of the blood before, yada yada yada, New Valyria and so on…
Anyways, after that, father kept trying and mostly failing to maintain some civil conversation going. Every fucking time someone directed the flow of the talk to me, Daemon jumps in the conversation like Terry Crews on an Old Spice commercial.
This shit is exhausting. I know, I know, my imaginary friends. I'm the epitome of charm, so I can handle this easily... Not!
While I am a devastatingly clever guy (trust!), social interactions actually drain me something awful. Who would have guessed that a mashup of an introverted adult man and a 10-year old spoiled brat would have social difficulties?
At very least, I think I actually landed some serious zings on Daemon. The guy is starting to look like a jailed tiger, all coiled energy without some way to release it. But I didn't do that because of my amazing (inexistent) social skills. I did that because I have the peerless power of metaknowledge, so I know which buttons to press.
I'm seriously tempted to put my remaining charm on Leadership or Presence… But I was pretty serious when I decided to only use my charges on abilities beyond my capacity to learn. Using my phenomenal cosmic power for something like that… There's power fantasy and there's being plain pathetic.
"Aegon, please." Alicent looked like someone had craved an ice pick on her skull. Oh, yeah. She hasn't slept properly yet. My bad, mom!
"Sorry mother."
"Hoh? So the conquering hero is under his mother's thrall. How sad." Daemon mocked. Pal, you realize that I am (physically) 10 years old, don't you? Why are you beefing with a kid?
"Well, my Lord, if I behave well, my mother gives me a hug and a kiss on the forehead before I go to sleep.You should understand… Oh, wait, you cannot. Nevermind."
Daemon laughed. The sound surprised everyone. The Velaryons on the table are looking quite spooked. Too close to my good Nuncle for comfort. Generally, Daemon laughing preceded violence. Ser Criston actually put a hand on his sword. Come on guys! I did not even say something that nasty. Can you all stop tweaking every five fucking minutes? What? I'm putting gas on the flames? Nah, I'm an Angel. This is all Daemons fault. "Insolent indeed."
Don't blast the fucker, Aegon. Remember your plans for tonight.
Time for the Alicent's special!™
"I rather think of myself as charming. You should try that sometimes, Nuncle. Your motherless behavior is embarrassing to be around."
Silence.
Dear old dad is frowning. Come on Mother! Get the fucking hint!
Mother took the bait. "Aegon requires rest, my husband. He nearly died, and his ribs were bound just last night."
Thanks mom! You rock!
I wonder if my mother knows that I (Well, Aegon-that-was) start fights like this to get out of uncomfortable situations. Mothers tend to know about these things, don't they? Although Alicent also tends to be a rather lacking mother in some aspects... Well, she was a teen mom, so I guess she deserves some slack.
Viserys nodded.
"Of course, of course." Then he smiled at me. Huh, this is new. The fat fuck actually looks like he is trying to be nice to me for once. "But I confess I am proud of you, Aegon, my son. You showed every single one in this castle how a Dragonlord should be."
He raised his cup. "A moment!" You have to give Viserys credit when it's due: he has some strong lungs.
"My son, Aegon, is weary and needs his rest. But first! A toast! To my son, a Dragonlord and hero with Dragon's blood! First rider of his Issaros!"
When the king toasts someone, the whole court toast together.
There was some heavy applause too. You guys know that this is a toast, not an ovation, don't you? There were some shouts of "Aegon!", "Prince Aegon!", and some singer on the lower tables screamed "Storm rider!" and that nickname catched fast. By the end, the whole of the lower levels of the hall were screaming that.
Huh. The boy that drowned would have loved that, I guess.
…
Too late.
I turned to my mother and gave a fake sight. "I guess I might need some rest."
Rising from my chair, I gave a courtly bow to my parents and the rest of the family. I gave Helaena a kiss on her brow because she is the cutest thing ever born. I did not gave Aemond a kiss on his brow, because he is not cute at all.
Just before Sir Errik could start to escort me to my quarters, I stopped by my mother's seat.
"What do you need, my son?" Asked the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with a long suffering tone. I just pointed to my forehead. She got the hint.
"Aegon, you cannot be serious about that, my son. We are on public. If you truly want something like that, I can do it later."
"Either I get the kiss or you do, dear mother."
Oh, she looks so mad right now! Huh, actually, she did not look that mad at all… Weirdly enough, she actually hugged me.
Man, this is the first time she did that since I'm a little kid.
Then she kissed my brow and started to caress my face with a smile. "I am also proud of you, my son."
…
I am not a momma's boy. Really.
I let her side with a smaller than usual grin. That doesn't mean that that smile was fake, though. This might be my truest smile in this new life of mine.
Just before I stepped outside the elevated dais with Ser Errik, I turned to Daemon. I pointed to my brow, marked red by my mothers' kiss, and gave him a mocking smile. "Ask Lady Laena for one! If you ask really nicely, she might even call you a good boy!"
My father and Mother closed their eyes simultaneously. Rhaenyra started to shake violently trying to stop her laugh. That did some magic things to her Rhaenyra's, I can guarantee you that.
"My prince, please stop trying to kill yourself."
"I refuse."
Tonight is gonna be fun.Last edited: Jun 22, 2026 Like ReplyReport Reactions:aymdrim, VxCxL, tikki and 791 othersVictor-FigueiredoJun 21, 2026NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 5 - Death threats New View contentVictor-FigueiredoNot too sore, are you?Jun 22, 2026NewAdd bookmark#148I leaned against the embrasure of a narrow window overlooking the sea. It's late afternoon, so one can see the pale, faint light escaping through the clouds, fog, and volcanic smoke of Dragonstone painting the sea orange. I think that for someone unbiased, the view from here is quite good... But I don't like looking at the sea. Bad memories, you know.
Tapping in my bond, I could feel my dragon sleeping upon a distant terrace carved into the flank of the Dragonmont. Well, sleeping was a generous description. Through my mind's eye, I could feel that she slept with one eye half-open.
I suspected my Issaros didn't trust sleeping. Reasonable of her, really. And maybe spending at least a century stealing hatchlings and eggs and whatever else she could eat is probably a good way to gain enemies among the local dragons. Does Silverwing actually care about that?
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. Ser Errik entered my temporary chambers to announce a visit. Truth be told, I had already felt her presence through the walls.
Sir Errik opened the door for my "guest". I don't think that someone can really be a guest in their own castle.
Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, stepped inside.
Richly dressed as always, she wore dark red silk rather than her favored purple and maroon velvets and golden Myrish lace. It's not the same dress that she used for lunch (a delectable dress in black and red, colors of our house that RhaeRhae mostly uses to annoy my mother when we all gather together), so she must have changed.
Both dresses she wore today seem a little tighter than they would be appropriate to wear. I don't think she's trying to seduce anyone, especially not a 10-year-old brat. It's simply the consequence of three pregnancies one after the other with little room to breathe. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate the view.
You know, it's interesting how a change in mental age can alter someone's perspective. Before the Storm, Rhaenyra loomed in my early childhood memories like a cliff. She's not a particularly tall woman, but she always had a strong, imposing presence, and coupled with that her usual expression, proud and stubborn, my half-sister seemed to be 3 meters tall.
But now… she appeared much younger. Damn, she's what, 20 years old? Still a baby. What the hell was Harwin thinking putting his cock in her?
What? My thoughts about Helaena? Well, I can do it, because I'm her sibling. All sisters should belong to their brothers, this is Valyrian ancient wisdom, don't you know? Aemond and Daeron? Too bad, I'm older so I got the first pick! And the second! If they wanted a Shimaidon, they should have been born earlier!
"I hope we are not disturbing you." Followed by her Sworn Sword, Rhaenyra spoke to me like an empress to a misbehaving servant. Cute! RhaeRhae, if you want people to take you seriously, you must stop pouting! The so-called petulance in her small mouth? That's the best part!
"You are." Not her, truly, but the fucker behind her. Ser Harwin Strong, following my sister along like this world's biggest puppy. "But I do forgive you, my beloved half-sister. This is your castle, after all."
"How kind of you."
"I know. I am the most forgiving person alive. Perhaps, the most forgiving person ever born."
Rhaenyra rolled those beautiful amethyst eyes of hers.
"Drowning appears to have improved your wit, little brother" Oh ho! Not half-brother? This day is looking up!
"I think that if drowning had such properties, the Iron Islands would look quite different."
"True enough."
Silence settled. After some seconds, Rhaenyra started to turn her rings around her fingers.
Awkward. The atmosphere is not exactly hostile as usual, just… unfamiliar. Because before I had become… Whatever the fuck I currently was, Aegon and Rhaenyra barely interacted. She was the distant elder sister, and I was a politically inconvenient younger brother. Also: I was (and still am, actually) a real shithead who spent all our time together being the most annoying creature to ever walk the earth.
I kind of regret it a little now.
Well, I don't regret saying Jacaerys was the ugliest baby ever born, though. That was hilarious. Nor that time I tried to see what was under her skirts when she was distracted. At most, I'm deeply ashamed of my failure on that occasion. But... Myrish lace is pretty expensive, you know? I shouldn't have thrown food on RhaeRhae's clothes. Now that I think about it, she never wore that kind of dress again... At least not when I'm around.
Oh, In case you haven't noticed from my mental chatter, the silence continues here.
Ser Harwin shifted, looking really uncomfortable. Jump the window and this discomfort will pass, Ser. Do it! Now!
Inside his white armour, Ser Errik just looked a little bored.
"Is this one new? The white-gold one with the fire opal, I mean" I said, pointing to one of her rings. What? Do you guys have any better idea of how to keep a conversation going? Then tell me, please!
"Oh? Yes, it is. Some Dornish envoy or other gave me this, I think. Honestly, they all look the same." Wow. How bitchy! Bad girls need correction, Rhaenyra! Well, the Dornish suck anyways, so whatever.
"Why? Is it the thing with their horses again?" Uhm... I mean, it's not exactly a bad idea to please Rhaenyra. As the heiress, she has our father's ear. But they'll need more than just a pretty ring for that.
Rhaenyra gave me a strange look. "How do you even know about that?"
"Father commented that Lord Lyonel wanted to put another tax on the sand steeds when we were breaking our fast some time ago. Some days before we got the news of your Joffrey's birth, actually" Are we seriously discussing taxes? Kill me. "Oh! Congratulations for the safe birth." Not! All her babies should be mine! "Hope he grows…"
Don't say Strong! It would be mad funny, but don't say Strong! Control yourself, Aegon Targaryen!
…to become a brave man. Like me!" Nailed it!
"I would not call a boy of your age a man."
"Hey, I am a Dragonlord! I flew on my Cannibal to this Castle's Yard not even a full day ago!"
"I know. I was there, little brother."
"Rhaenyraaaaa…"
"Ah, so be it... I supposed that you are somewhat of a brave boy. Are you satisfied?"
"Uhm… Give me a kiss and I forgive you this time." I started pointing to my cheek.
Rhaenyra just began to laugh. Oh well, It was worth a try.
I think Mushroom was right. Rhaenyra looks much prettier when she laughs. It does wonders for her breasts. Dirty jokes aside, this conversation is actually making me sad. Rhaenyra is just a young woman, barely twenty years old. She deserves a better life than she's destined for in that horrible future that will never, ever happen.
...
Luckily, I'm here! The only dragon that's going to eat you is me, RhaeRhae! And by eating, I mean sex.
Rhaenyra let out a long sigh after her brief fit of laughter. She looked at me quite seriously. Whoa! That's one of Alicent's serious looks™! Is this some kind of universal mother superpower? "Are you truly well, Aegon? Geradys told me you had broken quite a few ribs."
Ah, there's no way I can resist this opening. "It only hurts when I breathe."
Woah! She is giving me the Look™ now! My look! The one for dumb little siblings! RhaeRhae, I'm (mentally? spiritually?) older than you, you know?
I let out a long sigh myself. "Ah, I'm fine. It is very sweet of you to care about me, oh Realm's Delight." Another flat stare. Stop seducing me, woman! I've already decided to make you mine, You don't need to give me any more reasons for that! "Well, to be honest, the cuts are hurting more."
"Hoh?"
"Well, It's not like my dragon had a saddle. Dragon scales are sharp." And I am dumb. Valyrian Sorcery has actually quite a few different protective spells for that specifically, but I was so elated with the whole Inspired Inventor thing that I actually forgot to cast them. Retard. Dumbass. I cut my hands, arms, and legs climbing my black steed until I remembered those spells. Luckily, I remembered before I ended up cutting my arse. That would have been embarrassing. "If only some amazingly noble person, full of love, were to kiss these wounds!"
"Very well." Oh ho!? Is this the best day ever? "Ser Harwin, please tend to my brother." You witch! Betrayal is the gravest sin!
Beside her, Ser Harwin visibly regretted existing. Good. Kill yourself.
"Ah, nervermind." Guess I will not get a kiss this time.
"Thanks the Seven." Shut up, Harwin. I'm planning your murder, you know?
After the initial awkwardness passed, Rhaenyra and I had a pretty good conversation. We spent a good hour chatting. I wonder what Rhaenyra is trying to achieve with this conversation? Is she worried that I have a dragon now? What difference does it make? She has at least 5! Or would have. Will have?
Seasmoke, Meleys, Carxes, Vhagar, and Syrax. A respectable front line.
But I understand her point of view. Things must be a little tense with the Velaryons, considering the public and blatant insult to their honor, and she doesn't seem to be talking to Daemon. I know that she doesn't actually have much to worry about, considering that Corlys wouldn't recognize the meaning of sulken cost fallacy even if it danced naked in front of him and that Daemon would always lust for her. But I understand that from her point of view, her list of worthy allies seems thin.
So, endearing yourself to your little brother who has a big black dragon. Makes sense, I guess.
Well, the conversation was fun, and she is pretty endearing, so I forgive her for the subterfuge.
"Gerardys told me that you were reading philosophy. Why? Why subject yourself to that torment, Aegon?" What a gossipy old man!
"Reading philosophy? What a dreadful accusation! I just picked that book to annoy Aemond."
Of course, I should have known things were going far too well. At least, I wasn't caught off guard. The castle had informed me of his movements quite some time ago. So, I was somewhat prepared.
A knock on the door. Sir Harwin made for the door, only to freeze when it opened.
Daemon casually walked past the frame with his long, brisk stride, smiling his best predatory smile. Rhaenyra tensed. Stop being a scared cat, sister, You don't have nothing to fear from Daemon. Probably.
"How nice of you to joy us, Nuncle! Did Lady Laena already give you your kiss?"
His smile almost warped. Ser Errik moved closer to me, putting a protective hand on my shoulder."
In the end, Daemon just kept smiling. "How touching, seeing both of you here together."
He leaned against the same embrasure I had rested some time ago.
"I particularly enjoyed the part where my niece attempted familial reconciliation. Do you want to know what my sweet niece used to call you?"
Rhaenyra frowned. "Daemon."
"Probably some new and innovative variation of mongrel, I suppose," Rhaenyra turned to me, startled. "What? I'm young, not stupid. Besides, my dear uncle, I remember you two saying some rather horrible things about me, when you thought I wasn't listening, or that I was too young to understand, before my father banished you back to those islands of yours."
Again, blessed silence.
"Then why bother with this farce, Nephew?"
"What farce? Rhaenyra is cute, so I forgave her. It's that simple."
"Daemon, what are you doing here?" Huh, Rhaenyra is giving him a rather nasty glare.
Daemon approached her "What? You know I hate sentiment."
Ser Harwin stepped closer to my sister. "Oh, Ser Harwin! You appear devoted today."
Harwin stiffened.
"I live to serve the Princess."
"How admirable." Daemon nodded. "One almost suspects affection. Love, mayhaps."
"She is called the Realm's Delight, Nuncle. Everyone loves her."
He turned towards me again.
"You."
"Me."
Daemon smiled wider.
"How Interesting. It's true that flying on a dragon changes a person. I understand that very well."
I nodded gravely at him. That's true enough.
"I didn't give you the proper congratulations, did I? Come here, nephew. Let me shake your hand."
Now, I could have stayed seated and given some clever response, but that would have been pretty pathetic, wouldn't it? Sometimes you just have to dot the i's and cross the t's. Well, I was out of clever answers too. I used them all up earlier. I'm sure that the next time I take a bath, they'll all reappear in my mind.
So I walked over to Daemon Targaryen without fear and shook his hand.
Āⷡᶫnͦoͦgͩarͬ ͤgͫīͤmͫiⷡgͤoͬn̾!
I knew exactly what he would do.
Daemon is the kind of pathetic guy who would forcefully pull a child towards him during a handshake, or maybe try to crush the kid's hand. Maybe even lean to whisper something dramatic and frightening. Unfortunately to you, Nuncle, your poor nephew drowned in the Narrow Sea. I'm not that child, not really. I'm not a child at all.
...
The Hercules Method is a technique that allows someone to increase and control their physical capabilities by concentrating the mind, body and spirit at one point. Normally, disregarding factors such as extreme innate talent, it takes months, maybe years of proper exercise, proper diet and proper murder to see a truly drastic change in someone's physical abilities.
But I'm not just a wanderer in the Path of Cain. I'm a Valyrian sorcerer with a terrifying amount of blood magic knowledge. And when you know what you're doing with it, aligning body, mind, and spirit at one point is quite easy.
A blue shadow moved. I tensed. When Daemon tried to pull me to himself, I did not balk. I just pulled him to me. Not expecting any meaningfull resistance from a 10-year-old boy, he ended up falling to his face on the ground.
Rhaenyra covered her mouth. Harwin looked horrified. Sir Errik actually drew his sword from its sheath. Uhm, Sir Errik, I'm grateful, but you know that if you want to join your twin on the other side, there are easier ways, don't you? Daemon would trounce you. And even if you hurt him, he has royal blood and Viserys actually likes the fucker. I can fuck around with him. You aren't built for this, bro.
I waited a while for Daemon's reaction... And...
What a disappointment.
He just laughed, rose and and stepped aside. After dusting his clothes, he turned to me.
"Bother my niece less."
"I will consider it."
"And nephew... Sleep lightly. This castle can be dangerous at night." He gave me another of his smiles. Fuck off back to Gotham, Joker, go bother Batman or something. Creepy weirdo.
Then he walked away, leaving behind silence.
Harwin exhaled. That useless idiot didn't even do anything!
Rhaenyra pinched the bridge of her nose. "Aegon." Mother, please stop possessing my sister. I want to fuck her and you will make this weird!
"What! This was his fault." Nothing ever is my fault. I'm an angel. All the other people were the ones wrong.
Well, that was exciting, but I still have a few assassinations to plan and execute. Starting with you, Ser Harwin.
AN: This is actually the second half of the last chapter. Since it becomes difficult to write and edit these chapters on my smartphone after a certain word limit, I cut it in half.Last edited: Jun 23, 2026 Like ReplyReport Reactions:VxCxL, Gluttz, tikki and 717 othersVictor-FigueiredoJun 22, 2026NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 6 - A̷̛̮č̷͈ć̶̞e̷͆͜ptance New View contentVictor-FigueiredoNot too sore, are you?Jun 23, 2026NewAdd bookmark#205Shortly after my sister and her soon to be dead lover left my room, I stopped bogging myself down with mental jokes and started thinking seriously while listening with half an ear to Dragonstone's music.
When I speak of music, I refer to its contribution to the Song of the Spheres (i.e., fate), not to the admittedly nice sounds of the distant crash of waves against volcanic cliffs or the whispering currents of air that threaded themselves through ancient galleries and stairways of this castle.
Beneath everything else, too d̸͓̿e̵̩͠ep to be consciously perceived and yet impossible to ignore if you have the know-how, there is the slow "breathing" of the mountain itself.
Dragonstone (the island) was alive. Well, volcanoes certainly possessed impressive geological processes, but to attribute intent or consciousness to a dumb mass of igneous rock is generally the kind of stuff that gets one jailed into a padded room.
Unfortunately to a lot of people in the near future, Dragonstone, like most innately magical places, resisted sane conventions.
My room had darkened considerably in the last hour. Night fell, and with it, servants lit candles, braziers and prepared a bath and my bed.
Speaking of my bed… It was waiting for me in such a seductive way, looking really comfy. Dreaming, though, seems to me a less comfortable prospect.
Dreaming, huh… Am I really letting myself be scared of it?
Okay, Let's reaaaally starting doing what I hate the most: Thinking hard about stuff.
Prophecy! What the fuck it is?
This new world of mine possessed an uncomfortable relationship with prophecy. Most "fictional" settings (And now I wonder how many of these worlds truly exist. All of them?) utilized prophecy in several traditional and relatively straightforward manners. Prophecies were some flavor of one or more of the followings options: accurate, inaccurate, accurate but misinterpreted (maliciously or not), and, the worst of them all, self-fulfilling.
How exactly that works here?
Let's take an example: Daenys Targaryen dreamed of destruction: Valyria burned. Great success!
Except that Daenys was not the only (or the first) to Dream about the Doom. In truth, every century, for at least 3000 years, some virgin girl from one of the 40 Dragonlord Families would awaken screaming from a Dream of death and fire. At first, the Dragonlords took the warning seriously... But as decades and centuries passed, they eventually dismissed such concerns. I mean, Prophecy? Pfffff. Such an obscure field of magic, they would say. Unreliable. Let's dedicate our time to pastimes more worthy of our Blood, such as human sacrifice and finding new and creative ways to torture our slaves.
When Aenar took his daughter's warning seriously, he was ridiculed. But he survived in the end. So, Dreams should to be taken seriously. Trying to ignore your troubles is like burying your head in the sand like an ostrich. Of course, obsessing over prophecies is also bad. Sometimes, Dreams are just dreams. Poor Rhaegar.
The Prince That Was Promised appeared throughout scattered traditions. Centuries passed, and nobody agreed upon identity, location or context. Fuck, Melissadre though that Stannis would fill the bill! Stannis!
Okay, the Mannis is (will be? Could have been?) pretty cool. But too bald. Heroes of Prophecy need some mad hairdo! RPGs would not lie to me, would they?
Opsie Daisie, I'm digressing again. Sorry! My bad!
Anyways: The Ghost of High Heart experienced visions. How did that helped anyone? Correct visions have no meaning if the warning is too symbolic to be useful. Prophecy rarely helped. That shit, more often than not, just informed people that their suffering would have some cool thematic significance for the Main Characters.
Huh? Where am I going with this? I'm getting there, calm down. Geez.
...
I had a terrible dream last night. You know, I told you guys that, didn't I?
But let me clarify the content of the said dream: I dreamed of a certain A̶̰̹̤͕̳̖͂̏̎͜n̴̢̤̈́͒̄͌̃c̶̞̳̬͖̲̾̌͑͗̚͝ị̵̡̯͈̑̅̔́ȅ̸̛̗͌n̶͖͍̼̙̰̯̰͗̓̈́̇̅ṫ̶̡͖̖̦͜͜ ̷͓͈͔͍̗̘̂͊́̈́͗͝C̷͕̭̯̬̠̭̏i̵̲̖̱͇̩̔̓̄̕͝ṫ̸̛̯̜͊͆́͠ŷ̷̬͓̞̫͐̈̏̌̄͝ with its impossible geometries, with the ̶̧̩̥͂͆̈́̚ͅÄ̵͕͊̎b̶̡̝͔̌͜y̶̡̯͈̞͌̆̿s̶̠̙̑s̶̢̥̚... And with the past.
One would expect that the part of the dream about a distant past in a faraway land would be far less disturbing than the rest. How wrong one would be. In my dream, I wasn't myself. I was a certain man who had been dead for a very, very long time. This man, whose name has been long, long lost, was also a prince. He also had an older sister.
To make a long story short: do you know what human flesh tastes like? I do now. Because my D̶̛̮̹̮̱̋̆̋ream ended with "me" ritually cannibalizing and raping my "sister" to death. At same time, I mean.
I fucking hate guro. Poor Amethyst Empress. Nasty way to go.
So, my point is: What is history if not repeated stories from the past? Not in a cycle, but in an ever-smaller spiral, while a world grows ever darker and sadder? Was Aegon-that-was destined to kill Rhaenyra and them die himself? Because fuck that. Oh, no, in this case, my refusal is not just because I want to fuck my sister.
I'm not going to be a slave to fate or some Song. I was born into a world without magic or enchantment, I lived a dull, gray and tasteless little life, and now, I have power. A mountain of power. I am the only one who decides who Dances!
Between blood magic and the Hercules Method, I'm already immortal. Well, not yet... but the path is there to be followed. I have all the time in the world to carry out my plans. Which plans?
Before the Dream, before I even reached the main castle's yard of Dragonstone, while I was flying on my Issaros back, I made many plans. I was going to be clever, I was going to be subtle, I was going to be charming. The perfect prince. Carefully, I would turn Daemon against Rhaenyra, and make them kill each other in a few years. Then, with equal care, I would kill my Strong nephews. I would take Baela as my wife. Oh, I would orchestrate the Conquest of Dorne over the years.
I would use my magic to drive both slaves and masters mad in Essos, and take advantage of the carnage to dominate the Free Cities. I would earn and save Charges, and use them in fields like economics and administration, allowing me to add them to my Desmene without much trouble. From Lonely Light to the Bone Mountains, the best part of the World would be mine. The rest I would leave in peace, provided proper tribute was given to me.
At no point in history would there be a king so powerful.
In the end, when people named their children Aegon in the distant future, it would be because of me. The rest of my family, damn it, the rest of the entire Valyrian civilization would be footnotes in the books written about me.
I know, I know. Pathetically humble, isn't it?
Kill my sister? Conquer the world with magic and reign as a dark and terrible king?
That's for loser failures like the Bloodstone Emperor. No fucking way am I going to become a note in the shitty Song of this world, condemned to repeat patterns of the past. And there's not a damn chance I will.
Why be a king when you can be a God? I don't want people admiring me. I want them worshipping me. Starting with Rhaenyra. Her, Helaena, perhaps even Baela and Rhaena when they grow up. My lovely and cute priestesses. Maybe a few others, too. Aliandra certainly will need some correction in the future, doesn't she? That Rogare girl too. Sorry Viserys II, but to be fair, its not like you will even be born here. I guarantee that to your nonexistent ass.
All that sounds a lot better, huh, my imaginary friends? But there's a little problem. My charges are not a priceless power. I've already understood that. They will cause and spread À̶̯̮̎b̷͖̩͌ȳ̷̥̺ssal corruption. If I invest too much, too fast, I might unintentionally break the World. I would survive, I think... Most people wouldn't.
Before I can be God, I have to be (mostly) mortal. And being mortal in a world broken by eldritch powers would suck!
I have no intention of becoming a good person. In fact, I think most people who carefully analyzed my thoughts would call me crazy, grasping, perverse, manipulative and cruel. And that was before my reincarnation here! (Lol!) In short: I'm trash!
But I'm not the sort of trash that thoughtlessly destroys a entire world at once! I live here!
What? Would I be worried if my powers were to mess up another place without affecting me? Heh, What do you think?
Huh? My eldritch visions drove me mad? Well, I suppose it's fair to say that. But you know what? I could fight it if I wanted to. I don't. I'm not a victim.
Well, just because my old plans are humble doesn't mean they're wrong. They just need a few tweaks. Obviously, Daemon won't be a problem, and I don't want my RhaeRhae dead. But the rest... A good pastime until I achieve Godhood. Of course, they're also a bit boring... A certain je ne sais quoi is needed. I'll think of something.
All that said, I can't really ignore my Dreams. They might be useful. But how do you separate D̷r̴e̶am from dream?
Impossible to know... That means, impossible without data.
Which returned me, inevitably, to Inspired Inventor