296 AC
The conquest of Slaver's Bay had not gone unnoticed. While Jon Snow—now Aemon Targaryen—solidified his dominion over Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, the ripples of his rise spread across the Narrow Sea, reaching the ears of powerful figures in Westeros. In the great halls of Winterfell, the shadowed corridors of King's Landing, and the blooming gardens of Highgarden, whispers of the Dragon Reborn stirred hearts and minds alike.
But not all welcomed the return of fire and blood.
The Weight of Secrets – Winterfell
The cold winds of the North did little to numb the turmoil within Lord Eddard Stark. The Lord of Winterfell stood in the godswood, beneath the ancient weirwood tree, its red leaves rustling like whispers of the past. The words he had received from across the sea weighed heavily on his heart.
"A Targaryen has risen in Slaver's Bay. He calls himself Aemon, son of Rhaegar."
Ned Stark's jaw tightened, his breath visible in the chill air. He knew the truth. Jon. His Jon had risen in the East, no longer the quiet, brooding boy he had raised at Winterfell, but a conqueror—a dragonlord.
Guilt gnawed at him like a festering wound. He had promised Lyanna he would protect Jon, keep his secret safe. But in doing so, had he failed her? Had he failed Jon? The boy had grown into a man, forged in fire and blood, far from the cold comfort of the North. And now, he wielded power beyond imagination.
"I've let you down, Lyanna," Ned whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. The weight of his sister's memory pressed down on him, her dying words echoing in his mind. "Promise me, Ned."
But promises were fragile things, easily broken by the tides of fate.
Catelyn found him there, her presence a familiar warmth amidst his turmoil. "You've been out here for hours," she said softly.
Ned didn't turn to face her. "There are things…" he began, but the words faltered. He couldn't tell her. Not yet.
Catelyn placed a hand on his arm. "You don't have to carry everything alone, Ned."
But he did. For Jon. For Lyanna.
The Lion's Den – King's Landing
In the Red Keep, the Small Council gathered in the echoing chamber, the air thick with the scent of perfumed oils and concealed agendas. At the head of the table sat King Robert Baratheon, his face flushed from drink, his expression one of irritation rather than concern.
"Another Targaryen?" Robert barked, slamming his goblet onto the table, splashing wine across the polished surface. "They breed like vermin, don't they?"
Varys, the ever-smiling Master of Whisperers, steepled his fingers. "The reports from Slaver's Bay are… troubling, Your Grace. This Aemon has taken Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen. He commands dragons."
Robert snorted, waving his hand dismissively. "Dragons, bah! And he claims to be Rhaegar's son? Impossible. Lyanna Stark never bore that bastard a child. This is some Essosi charlatan trying to play at kings."
But Varys's expression remained unreadable. "Perhaps, Your Grace. But his success cannot be ignored."
Littlefinger leaned forward, his mocking smile in place. "Success in Slaver's Bay doesn't concern the Iron Throne. Let him rule over his pitiful cities. What does it matter to us?"
Robert's eyes darkened, his jovial facade slipping. "I'll not have another dragon crawling out of the woodwork, claiming thrones and stirring rebellion. Varys, find out more about this… Aemon. And if he is who he claims… hire someone to put an end to him."
The Spider bowed his head slightly. "As you command, Your Grace."
As the council dispersed, Littlefinger lingered, his mind already calculating. A Targaryen rising in the East… it was an opportunity, but not one he needed to act on yet. Let the dragon grow. Let the game become more interesting.
Varys, however, felt the prickling of unease. There was something about this Aemon… something that tugged at the threads of his vast network of whispers. A connection he couldn't yet see, but one he was determined to uncover.
The Rose's Thorns – Highgarden
In the lush gardens of Highgarden, Lady Olenna Tyrell sipped her tea, the fragrance of blooming roses filling the air. Across from her sat her son, Mace Tyrell, his brow furrowed as he read the latest reports from across the Narrow Sea.
"Another Targaryen," Mace muttered, shaking his head. "It's preposterous."
Olenna snorted, setting her cup down with a clink. "Of course, it is. Some fool in Essos playing at dragons and crowns. Let the Easterners worry about it. We have more important matters here."
Margaery, ever curious, leaned in. "But what if he's real? What if he comes to Westeros?"
Olenna waved a dismissive hand. "Then he'll find the Iron Throne well-guarded. The Targaryens are a relic of the past, dear girl. Let him burn his cities and play with his dragons. It won't matter here."
But as they returned to their affairs, the seeds of regret were sown. For in dismissing the dragon across the sea, they had overlooked a force that would one day shake the very foundations of Westeros.
The Spider's Web – King's Landing, Later That Night
Varys moved through the hidden passages of the Red Keep, his mind racing. The more he learned of Aemon Targaryen, the more unsettled he became. There were too many coincidences, too many unanswered questions.
In his chambers, he unfurled a map of Westeros and Essos, his fingers tracing the journey of this so-called dragonlord. Reports from his little birds spoke of a young man with a direwolf, a Valyrian blade, and the blood of the dragon.
Stark blood. Targaryen fire.
Varys sat back, his mind working through the possibilities. If Aemon was truly the son of Rhaegar Targaryen… and Lyanna Stark…
The implications were staggering.
But Varys was patient. He would find the truth. And when he did, he would decide whether this dragon was a threat… or a tool.
The Wolf's Burden – Winterfell, Days Later
Ned Stark sat in his solar, the fire casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The letter from King's Landing lay open before him, its contents a confirmation of his worst fears.
Robert knows.
Not the full truth, but enough to stir his hatred. Enough to put Jon in danger.
Ned's heart ached with the weight of his secrets. He had protected Jon as best he could, but now the boy—no, the man—was far beyond his reach, embroiled in a game of thrones more dangerous than any Ned had ever faced.
He closed his eyes, the image of Lyanna's face haunting him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
But sorry was not enough.
The Calm Before the Storm
Across the seas and kingdoms, the rise of Aemon Targaryen sent ripples through the hearts and minds of those who heard his name. Some dismissed him as a pretender. Others saw him as a threat. But all would soon learn the truth.
The dragon had returned.
And Westeros would never be the same.