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"With Uncle Aenys, it feels different... as if the fire in our blood burns brighter when we are together. He sees me, truly sees me,— not as a princess, not as an heir, but as Rhaenyra. And in his eyes, I glimpse the strength I wish I possessed and the freedom I yearn for. Perhaps that is why I cannot help but be drawn to him, even when the rest of the world feels like chains."
— Rhaenyra Targaryen, in the near future.
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The air on Dragonstone was thick with salt and ash, the tang of the sea mingling with the sulfurous breath of the volcanoes that simmered beneath the island's surface.
The castle loomed above like a blackened crown, its spires twisting into the overcast sky, and below its shadow stood Daemon Targaryen, Darksister at his hip, facing the unexpected arrival.
Before him stood an armored figure, tall and imposing, flanked by two monstrous dragons.
Cannibal, dark as the Void itself, shifted restlessly, his green eyes glinting with barely restrained ferocity, and beside him stood Vhagar, the now second largest of all living dragons, her golden eyes steady and unblinking, a mountain of scales and fire.
The figure then removed his helm, revealing a face Daemon had not seen in over a decade.
A face he had mourned, a face he had idolized as a boy.
Silver hair spilled from beneath the helm, framing sharp features that seemed untouched by the years, save for the dark hue creeping into one of his violet eyes.
"You've grown taller." the man said, a wry smile tugging at his lips, and Daemon's heart lurched, his breath caught in his throat. "Y-You…" he managed, the word barely a whisper.
Aenys Targaryen stood before him, alive, where there should have been only bones and dust, and though he had heard the news of Aenys being alive and named the new heir, he had not believed it for a while.
"Forgive the sudden arrival." Aenys said, his voice steady, though there was a hint of warmth in his tone. "But your situation wasn't exactly the best for us to meet under more pleasant circumstances."
Daemon's hand twitched toward Darksister, not in threat, but in reflex, as if the blade might anchor him to reality. "Brother…" he murmured, his mind reeling. "How? How are you here? How are you alive?" Aenys tilted his head slightly, his expression softening as he stepped closer, his armored boots crunching against the volcanic stone. "It's quite the long story." he replied, his tone betraying no urgency. "Though I'd be happy to share it,— if you'll allow me entry into my own castle."
Daemon blinked, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came.
His emotions warred within him,— joy at seeing the elder brother he had idolized, disbelief at the impossibility of his return, and a flicker of resentment that even now, Aenys commanded the situation so effortlessly.
Behind Daemon, Caraxes, who had arrived a few moments ago to suport his bonded, stirred, the Blood Wyrm lowering his elongated neck to level his crimson gaze at the new arrivals.
He hissed, a sound that rumbled through the ground like distant thunder, and Aenys's eyes shifted, his attention drawn to the scarlet beast.
A faint smile crossed his lips, and he gestured toward the dragon. "Quite the gorgeous beast, isn't he? Ever imposing, Caraxes." Daemon's gaze flicked to Caraxes, then back to Aenys.
He caught the hint of admiration in his brother's voice but also the ease with which Aenys regarded the Blood Wyrm. Caraxes, who had cowed so many, seemed a mere curiosity before the likes of Vhagar and Cannibal, both of whom loomed behind Aenys like silent sentinels.
"He is." Daemon replied, his voice steadier now, though there was a hint of exasperation. "Isn't he?" For a moment, the brothers stood in silence, their dragons watching each other with a predator's intensity.
Then Aenys stepped forward, his movements deliberate but unthreatening, the faint clink of his armor breaking the stillness. "So..." Aenys said, his tone light, "will you let me enter, Daemon? Or must I stand here and endure the cold stares of your Goldcloaks a moment longer?"
Daemon let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and so he sheathed his pride, along with the storm of questions swirling in his mind. "Of course." he said, gesturing toward the castle. "Come with me."
And the two brothers walked toward the towering gates of Dragonstone, their dragons watching them go.
Cannibal released a low, rumbling growl, his jagged teeth bared in a feral grin, while Vhagar remained still, her great head tilting slightly as if to appraise Caraxes.
The Goldcloaks on the walls exchanged nervous glances but did not dare speak.
The sight of two Targaryens, one thought dead and the other a rogue prince, walking side by side beneath the shadow of their dragons was enough to leave even the bravest man in awe.
Daemon glanced sideways at Aenys as they approached the castle doors. "I've a feeling you'll enjoy lording your presence over me for a time..." he muttered, though there was no venom in his tone, and Aenys chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Perhaps a little." he admitted. "But first, I think we have much to discuss."
"Much indeed." Daemon said, his hand brushing against the hilt of Darksister, as he regained some of his usual fire. "Starting with how you survived where no man should have." Aenys's smile widened, though his violet eyes glimmered with something deeper,— something Daemon couldn't quite place. "All in due time, brother." he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "But first, let us sit and drink."
The doors to Dragonstone creaked open, and the two brothers stepped inside, their dragons' roars echoing behind them like a prelude to a storm.
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The Painted Table loomed between the two brothers, its ancient surface etched with the contours of Westeros, the Seven Kingdoms laid bare under their gaze.
The room was bathed in the flickering light of torches already, casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls of Dragonstone's war chamber, and the air was heavy with unspoken words, a tension palpable enough to cut with a blade.
Daemon's fingers brushed the edge of the table as he regarded his brother, his expression oscillating between confusion, and disbelief.
"The Painted Table." Aenys murmured, running his hand across the map's weathered surface. "It has its historical weight, does it not?"
Daemon's eyes narrowed, studying the man before him. "Quite the chamber." he replied, his voice clipped. "Indeed it is." Aenys said, his tone almost wistful, as if the past weighed upon his words.
But Daemon had no patience for riddles tonight. "How?" he growled, his voice low.
"How are you alive, and so damned casual about it!" That made Aenys turn to him, the faintest smile curving his lips. "Ah, forgive my humor." he said, though there was no mockery in his tone.
"What I am about to tell you… will make you doubt reality itself, Daemon. Are you sure you wish to hear it all? I've not shared this with anyone,— not even our brother." And Daemon's hand moved to the hilt of Darksister, his knuckles tightening around the pommel. "Tell me everything!" he demanded, his tone leaving no room for evasion.
Aenys sighed, his violet eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "If that's what you wish." he said softly, and then his voice hardened.
"Everything began after I was banished by our grandfather. My ship to Essos was caught in a storm, like none I've ever seen, violent enough to tear the clouds and churn the sea into fury,— that's where it all began."
Daemon's jaw clenched, memories of that time surfacing unbidden. "We thought you dead then." he said, his voice quieter now.
"So did I..." Aenys admitted, his gaze distant.
"And yet, I survived,— thanks to the Cannibal." Daemon's brow furrowed then, "Cannibal? He saved you?"
Aenys nodded, a faint smile returning to his face. "We bonded, strangely, in that moment when I was near death. I was drowning, the waves pulling me under, and I knew my end was near. Until I felt him, and afterward, he lifted me from the waters with a gentleness I still cannot explain. It was then, even in my delirium, that I understood that we were bonded,— I didn't choose him, he chose me."
Daemon stared, his skepticism warring with awe. "So you lived. Yet sixteen years passed without a word, why is that? You survived, you bonded with a dragon, but you did not return. Why?" Aenys leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Because my journey was far from over, Daemon. And Cannibal, he carried me to the heart of Old Valyria."
Daemon's breath caught. "Old Valyria?"
Aenys's gaze met his brother's, unflinching.
"Our ancestors' home. And it was no sanctuary. The ruins are alive, Daemon,— alive with power, with horrors you cannot fathom. For weeks, I fought to survive, the heat, the creatures, the madness of that place… all of it tested me. It is a graveyard of gods and monsters, and I was an intruder on it." Faced with that, Daemon laughed bitterly.
"And you expect me to believe this? That you ventured to Valyria and lived to tell the tale?"
Aenys's voice hardened then, and with a small smile, he warned him. "Call me mad again, and I'll bash your face into this table, brother." The tension crackled between them, and for a moment, Daemon considered punching his brother, but he relented, gesturing for Aenys to continue.
"There's a know text in most history books of our family." Aenys said, his voice regaining its calm. "A tale of Aerea Targaryen. You know it well, I assume?"
Daemon's eyes darkened. "She flew to Valyria with Balerion and returned a dying husk, her body torn apart by… something. The maesters claimed it was sickness, but…"
"It wasn't sickness." Aenys interrupted. "It was the magic of that place. Small creatures, parasites, feeding on the very essence of her blood,— the magic of the Targaryens. I encountered them too, but unlike her, I survived." Daemon's voice turned sharp, then, questioning his brother. "How?"
Aenys reached beneath his tunic,— having taken off his upper armor which now rested atop a nearby stone chair,— pulling free a dark, glinting necklace. "This saved me. Forged of Valyrian steel, imbued with magic, it grants me strength, longevity, immunity to poisons and ailments... and it was my salvation."
Daemon's hand twitched again at Darksister's pommel. "Magic." he muttered, shaking his head. "You sound like a madman."
Aenys smirked. "You're not wrong. But there's more, Daemon."
"More?" Daemon spat. "What more nonsense can you spew,—..."
"I met Vhagar." Aenys said, his tone quiet but firm, and Daemon blinked. "Our father's dragon? So have I many times,—..."
"No." Aenys interrupted, his voice low and intense. "Not the dragon,— the goddess."
Daemon stepped back, his hands clenching the back of one of the stone chairs nearby, his eyes dark with distrust. "Enough. You've lost your mind."
"I didn't want to do this..." Aenys murmured, and before Daemon could react, Aenys closed the distance between them in a blur, his strength overwhelming. "What are you,—..." Daemon began, but Aenys pinned him to the Painted Table with an ease that left him breathless.
"Forgive me, brother." Aenys said, his eyes glowing with a brilliant violet light, swirling with something ancient and terrifying. "But you need to understand,— you need to see."
Daemon struggled, cursing, but Aenys placed his hand over his brother's forehead, and suddenly, Daemon screamed. The glow from Aenys's eyes transferred to Daemon's, flooding his vision with memories not his own.
He saw Valyria, its ruins alive with writhing shadows and fire. He felt the suffocating heat, the gnashing of unseen predators, the overwhelming sense of dread and power. He saw Cannibal's wings stretched wide over a volcanic chasm, heard the voice of a being ancient and unfathomable, a whisper that echoed through his soul.
When Aenys finally released him, Daemon collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his eyes wide with terror and understanding.
"What… what have you done to me?" he whispered, before passing out.
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In the twilight of her own eternal domain, where time rippled and folded upon itself like the tides of a great and endless sea, Vhagar stirred.
Her realm was not one of stone and flesh but a liminal space where ancient magic and primordial chaos converged, it was a place of shifting colors and fractured light, where the whispers of a thousand long-dead tongues echoed in the ether.
Vhagar, in her ageless, beautiful and naked form, sat atop a throne of jagged obsidian.
Her skin shimmered like molten gold and darkened steel, reflecting the fractured light that emanated from no discernible source.
Her eyes, twin orbs of ancient fire, burned with an intelligence that saw not just the world as it was but as it had been and as it would be.
A ripple passed through the shimmering void,— a disturbance. She felt it, the tug of her essence being called upon, the weight of her power being invoked by the mortal who dared to claim her favor.
"Foolish man…" she murmured, her voice a deep vibration that resonated through the infinite void, her lips curled in a draconic smirk as she gazed into the threads of fate that unraveled before her.
There, within the weft and weave of mortal ambition and desperation, was Aenys, bold as ever. His defiance, his fire, his willingness to bend the impossible to his will,— it amused her endlessly.
And yet, it was not without risk.
The visions he demanded, the truths he sought to reveal, were not gifts freely given.
The mortal thread was so fragile, so easily unraveled, and yet, she flexed her hand, each movement sharper than a blade forged in Valyrian fire.
A single stroke, and she could sever him from the weave entirely.
End the foolishness,— end the audacity.
"And yet…" she mused, her fiery gaze narrowing. "That's what I love about you."
Her laughter rippled through the void, a sound both melodic and menacing, like the crash of waves against an ancient shore. It echoed into the far reaches of her realm, stirring the shadows that lingered there.
The thought of Aenys, defiant and daring even as he knew the cost, brought her something akin to… joy.
With a flick of her hand, she sent a pulse of energy spiraling through the threads of fate.
A gentle reminder, a caress, to let him know she had seen him.
Felt him,— permitted him.
But only this once.
And so, her laughter faded, replaced by a deep, contemplative silence. For a moment, her gaze lingered on the vision of the mortal prince and his schemes. "Play your games, mortal." she whispered, her voice softer now, almost tender. "But do not forget… the promise you and I made."
And with that, Vhagar turned her gaze back to the infinite expanse of her realm, content to let the foolish man tug at the strings of destiny.
For now.
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The air in the chamber was heavy with the scent of dragonfire and salt, the stone walls lit by the faint glow of torches that flickered like restless spirits.
Daemon Targaryen sat on the edge of a long stone bench, his body tense, his breath uneven, his hands gripped the edges of the bench so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "N-No..." he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of what he had just witnessed.
Aenys stood across the chamber, leaning casually against one of the ancient carved pillars.
His violet eyes gleamed in the dim light, still glowing faintly with the remnants of magic that had been coursing through him moments ago, his face was calm, though a subtle tension lingered in his posture, as if bracing himself for what was to come.
"You have finally woken up, brother." Aenys said, his tone even, though the faintest note of concern crept beneath the surface.
Daemon's head snapped up, his usually sharp, confident gaze clouded with disbelief.
"What I saw..."
"Was the past..." Aenys said, his voice soft but firm, "... and the future."
Daemon shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Why me?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Why not Viserys? He is the king. He would be better suited to help you in whatever this madness is, so why did you show this to me?"
Aenys pushed himself away from the pillar, his steps deliberate as he crossed the chamber to stand before his brother.
His presence was commanding, even in the dim light. "Viserys…" he began, his voice tinged with both affection and frustration, "Is not someone who can help me with this. You know that better than anyone, you've been by his side his entire reign, Daemon. Tell me, do you truly believe he could handle what I've just shown you?"
Daemon stared at his older brother, his mouth opening as if to argue, but no words came, and so he looked away, a scowl forming on his lips. "Right…" he muttered, his tone begrudging.
"I chose you, Daemon." Aenys continued, his voice hardening, "Because you and I are more alike than you care to admit. And I know, together, we can change it."
"'It'." Daemon echoed bitterly, his eyes narrowing. "You mean our family's fall, and the coming of the dead?..."
"Indeed." Aenys replied without hesitation, while Daemon let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head, remembering an excuse Aenys had used on his brother and niece.
"Time passing differently in Old Valyria..." he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm, as he locked eyes with him. "What a stupid excuse you found."
"I couldn't think of anything better, honestly." Aenys admitted with a wry smile, and Daemon's lips curled into a reluctant smirk.
"Well, no one would have believed you if you told them you spent five years inside a goddess's domain… training." Aenys chuckled, the sound low and amused.
"True." he said, inclining his head. "Hence why I told you the truth… and then showed you as well, so you would believe me."
Daemon's expression grew serious, his voice lowering. "When you showed me those visions… was it your magic at work? Or hers?"
"Hers." Aenys admitted, his tone devoid of pretense. "And she allowed you to do it?" Daemon asked, his voice edged with suspicion.
Aenys's eyes darkened, the faint glow intensifying for a brief moment. "There are many things you do not understand about Vhagar." he said, his voice carrying an almost reverent weight. "I am one of the few who knows anything at all. So, yes, I knew she would permit it,— besides, she knows the stakes at hand, Daemon."
Daemon let out a sharp breath, his expression a mixture of anger and reluctant awe. "A fool and a madman," he muttered.
"Aye," Aenys said with a faint grin. "You could say that I am."
And his younger brother hesitated, his gaze fixed on his him. "Are the other gods real?" he asked, his voice quieter now, and Aenys tilted his head, considering the question.
"Well… kind of." he said vaguely, his tone signaling that he would not elaborate further.
Daemon's eyes narrowed. "Alright." he said finally. "If you don't want to dwell on it any further, let's change the topic." Aenys's expression softened, and he nodded.
"Thank you, Daemon."
"What now?" Daemon asked, his tone guarded but curious. "Now?" Aenys said, his voice firm, "Now, we carry on as though nothing has changed. We continue doing what was supposed to happen… until the time feels right. And then, then we change history."
Daemon raised an eyebrow. "So, I should still go to war on the Stepstones?"
"I think so." Aenys replied. "But I am certain that amidst that war, we will begin to shape the future into something new. And I will also try to convince Viserys to go to war as well."
Daemon leaned back, his lips curving into a wolfish grin. "And then?"
"Then..." Aenys said, his voice carrying a quiet determination, "I will rule as king. And you, Daemon, will be my Hand."
For a moment, Daemon said nothing, his gaze searching his brother's face. "That…" he began, his voice softer now, "Was meant to be, wasn't it?"
Aenys smiled faintly. "One way or another."
"Had our grandfather not banished me, I would have been king, and you my Hand. This time, I intend to make it so." And Daemon nodded slowly, his grin fading into something more solemn. "I see. Thank you, Aenys."
"You need not thank me." Aenys said, his tone gentle. "You are my brother."
The mention of their bond seemed to stir something in Daemon. "And Rhaenys?" he asked hesitantly. A shadow passed over Aenys's face, his voice hardening. "That… is unchangeable now." he said, his tone clipped. "She even has a family with that bastard Corlys."
Daemon's jaw tightened, his own anger rising in tandem. "I could never imagine it happening to me..."
"It makes me want to burn everything to the ground." Aenys admitted, his voice laced with quiet fury. "To help the others rid the world of the living."
Daemon stared at his brother, understanding but not entirely agreeing. "I imagine as much. But what will you do, then? Your loved one was taken. Your throne was taken. What's left?" Aenys straightened, his expression resolute. "I will do what I've always done. Be the perfect brother to the king, help him rule, and wait until the time is right to act."
Daemon smirked. "And about marriage? You'll have to marry eventually, won't you?"
"Probably when I ascend, yes." Aenys said, his tone dismissive. Daemon's grin widened, urging his brother on. "Do you have someone in mind already?"
Aenys's eyes gleamed with mischief. "I do."
"Who?" Daemon pressed, leaning forward, though Aenys shook his head. "That..." he said with a sly smile, "Is for the future you to uncover,— for I don't plan on revealing my hand just yet."
Daemon laughed, shaking his head. "Very well, brother, very well."
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| Fire & Blood |
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