297 AC
The sky stretched out in an endless expanse of blue as Ancalagon soared high above the plains of Essos, his massive wings slicing through the clouds with effortless grace. The wind roared in Daenerys Targaryen's ears, whipping her silver-gold hair around her face as she clung to Aemon Targaryen, her heart pounding not from fear, but from exhilaration.
She had never felt so free.
The ground below was a blur of green and brown, the rivers like silver threads weaving through the land. The sun warmed her skin, and the sheer power of the dragon beneath her sent a thrill through her veins. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn't running or hiding. She was flying—a dragon's blood flowing through her, as if she belonged in the sky.
Aemon glanced back at her, his dark hair streaming in the wind. His eyes, so much like her brother Rhaegar's, burned with determination and something softer, something she couldn't quite name.
"Hold on," he called over the wind, his voice steady and sure. "We're almost there."
Daenerys tightened her grip, her arms wrapped securely around his waist. She trusted him, more than she had trusted anyone in a long time. The fear and uncertainty that had haunted her since Viserys's death were still there, but they were muted now, overshadowed by the awe and wonder of the moment.
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting the world in hues of gold and crimson, the distant outline of Slaver's Bay came into view. The cities of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen rose from the coastline like ancient sentinels, their walls gleaming in the fading light.
Daenerys felt a flutter of anticipation in her chest. This was where it would begin—where their destiny would be forged in fire and blood.
The Bond Between Them
As Ancalagon began his descent, Daenerys's mind wandered to the unspoken understanding that had settled between her and Aemon. She knew, without him having to say the words, that they would be married when they arrived in Slaver's Bay. It wasn't just a political alliance—though it would strengthen their claim to the Iron Throne. It was something deeper, something rooted in their shared blood and the bond they had forged through their trials.
She wasn't afraid of the idea. In fact, a part of her welcomed it.
Aemon had saved her, not just from the Dothraki, but from a life of fear and uncertainty. He had given her a purpose, a future. And as they soared over the bay, the wind carrying them toward their destiny, Daenerys felt a sense of peace settle over her.
She leaned forward, her lips close to Aemon's ear. "I'm ready," she whispered.
Aemon's hand found hers, his grip warm and reassuring. "We'll rule together," he replied, his voice filled with quiet determination. "No one will stand against us."
Arrival in Slaver's Bay
Ancalagon landed with a thunderous roar outside the gates of Meereen, his massive form casting a long shadow over the city. The guards, who had once trembled at the sight of Aemon's dragons, now bowed in deference, their faces filled with awe and fear.
Aemon dismounted first, turning to help Daenerys down from the dragon's back. Her feet touched the ground, but her heart remained in the sky, still soaring with the exhilaration of their flight.
The people of Meereen gathered to witness their arrival, their whispers filling the air like the rustle of leaves. They saw not just a dragonlord, but a queen by his side—a Targaryen reborn.
Aemon took Daenerys's hand, leading her through the city gates and toward the palace that would soon be theirs. The streets were lined with onlookers, their eyes wide with wonder and fear.
Inside the palace, preparations were already underway. Aemon had sent word ahead, and the halls were adorned with the banners of House Targaryen, the three-headed dragon of red on black. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of incense and flowers mingling with the ever-present hint of dragonfire.
As they stood before the great hall, Aemon turned to Daenerys, his eyes searching hers. "Are are right?" he asked, his voice softer now, tinged with vulnerability.
Daenerys nodded, her heart steady. "I am."
Aemon's gaze held hers for a long moment before he leaned in, his lips brushing against her forehead. "Then let's go."
The Wedding to Come
That night, under the watchful eyes of their dragons and the flickering light of a thousand torches, Aemon and Daenerys prepared for the ceremony that would unite them—not just as allies, but as husband and wife.
The city buzzed with excitement and fear, the people uncertain of what this union would mean for them. But in the hearts of the Targaryens, there was no doubt.
They were the blood of the dragon, and together, they would set the world ablaze.