Legacy of the White Dragon : Dance of the Dragons

The First Four Moons

In the early days of his life, the first four moons were both a blessing and a challenge. As an infant, he could only laugh or murmur as those around him spoke. His brother Viserys and cousin Aemma were cherished companions, as were his grandparents, King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne.

His uncle Daemon, the rogue prince, was less comforting and remained troublesome. Despite this, the young prince found solace in the love of his parents. His father, Prince Baelon, though not as renowned as Ned Stark or Rhaegar Targaryen, was a good man who deeply cherished his family. There was a constant hope that Baelon would not suffer the same tragic fate recorded in history—dying of a burst belly, an event that left the succession in doubt and prompted a great council.

The greatest blessing was his mother. Her presence was a boon he had wished for all his life. Knowing she was his mother from the same timeline made their bond even more special. Aemon looked forward to the day he could speak with her and get answers to the questions he had always harbored.

Notable too in these early days was the birth of Laena Velaryon, the firstborn of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen, four moons after his own birth.

Page out of the Journal of Aemon Targaryen the White Dragon.

Jon Snow/Aemon Targaryen

Kingslanding

The fifth moon after his birth – a dragon flight. In time, Pov.

He woke up and looked at his father, smiling at him. "Well, little dragon, are you up for a flight? All dragons need to fly one day." His father said as he picked him up. 'Was his father really taking him on a dragon? A five moon old babe?' he thought in wonder as he opened and closed his mouth.

Not much later, he was proven right, as his father took him to the dragonpit. Then he looked on as his father held him, and they brought out Vhagar. He hadn't yet seen any of the dragons. He had heard them. 'But not seen them, Vhagar was maybe two times as large as Drogon was. Perhaps larger, but he wasn't sure. Vhagar, the great bronze with greenish blue she-dragon of the conquest, looked magnificent. How would she look in the sky?' He thought in wonderment.

"Vhagar, my girl, meet Aemon," His father said as the colossal dragon came close to him and his father to investigate. The dragon snifted and gave a rumble of approval as he and his father were allowed to mount her.

Then his father gave the command, and the great she-dragon took the sky. Flying with his father was wonderful, and he truly felt like a Targaryen for the first time. But the sight of Balerion himself taking to the air was even more breathtaking—the black dread had flown up after them. "It seems someone wants to join us, little Aemon. I hope you don't get any ideas, little one. Flying with you has frightened your mother," His father said. As he said it, he could feel the bond with Balerion. The black dread himself dwarfed even Vhagar, the she-dragon of 120 meters was around half the size of Balerion. The large golden orbs stared at him, and he roared in recognition.

"Aemon, how long have I awaited the touch of a soul like yours? Aegon was the last to share my dreams, to soar upon my back and converse with me in the language of our kind. I have been unable to forge such a connection since then. I empathize with your loss; the ache of it resonates within me still. I, too, lost my sister in the distant past and witnessed the fall of countless kin during the cataclysm of the Doom," rumbled Balerion, his voice echoing with the weight of ages. A shock ran through him. 'he was conversing with Balerion himself! How was that possible?' He thought as he looked at the black behemoth beside them.

"Yes, it is true. Your lineage carries a potency that even surpasses that of the Conquerors. Our words flow like the currents of ancient fires, for your blood binds us. I express my gratitude for rekindling my life's ember. I seemed destined to fade into oblivion, bereft of a worthy successor. My fire can only be enkindled by the flames of those born of fire or those of strong Valyrian blood, much like you," Balerion rumbled, his immense form emanating a deep, rumbling resonance.

"But you also possess an icy undercurrent, a force that intertwines with my life fire. I am now both the fusion of your ice and my fire courses through my being. This amalgamation sustains me, rekindles the vitality of my youth, and keeps my existence aflame, without which I would have been dead in a year," the ancient dragon conveyed.

"Ah, the honor is mine to make your acquaintance, Balerion. Our destiny entwines us, and we shall take to the skies one day. Yet you mentioned the fusion of my ice with your fire. Pray, what does this fusion signify?" He questioned, curiosity glinting in his eyes. He looked toward Balerion, who was flying beside Vhagar.

"Alas, that remains a mystery. Valyria knew only of fires that blazed with fervor, for ice was absent in the realm of our forebears. But your essence carries a duality, where fire and ice coalesce. In the frigid expanse of the north, ice holds dominion – a formidable force that must find harmony with fire. This equilibrium shall usher in an era of balance, an intricate interplay of ice and fire that will birth a realm of harmonious existence. Yet, tread carefully, for an excess of either element portends disaster. The old annals foretell a power that seeks to end this duality for a cruel purpose. A harbinger of death, the cold that comes in winter, this power aims to cease the perpetual cycle. Fire, the harbinger of life, counters this dire vision, and a delicate balance is maintained. Should either force overwhelm, the world shall descend into a wasteland of ash or a frozen abyss," Balerion murmured, his ancient wisdom flowing like an age-old song.

"You are speaking of the Great Other. The Old Gods and Valyrian Gods spoke to me about it. He wants to end life as we know it, bring eternal darkness to the world, and end the cycle. As you say, fire and ice are opposites, but they balance each other. But where did you learn all this knowledge?" he inquired, his voice a mere whisper. It was a reference he was feeling in the face of Balerion's millennia-spanning existence.

"I dwelt in Valyria for a decade amidst elder dragons, told me off tales of ancient lore. How they came to know all they knew is a secret that remains veiled even from the ancients. Not all of my kind share my insight. However, they have a higher mind than other creatures in the world. So they feel the sting of severed bonds upon death, much as I did when I lost Maegor and little Aerea. Aegon's passing, my closest companion next to you, inflicted the most profound anguish, a pain endured across nearly seven decades," Balerion conveyed, his rumbling voice carrying a melancholy sound to it.

He laughed in delight at what he had now and said, "I am bestowed with a treasure trove of dragonlore indeed. Balerion, I humbly thank you for choosing me as your dragon bond. It's something I shall enjoy fully,"

They flew a little bit more before Vhagar landed, with Balerion not flowing close behind them. "Well, it seems we have a little dragon rider in the making," His father said to his mother as he dismounted from Vhagar. Vhagar was led in the Dragon Pit, with Balerion taking for the sky again.

"Well, it seems that is my lot. I love both men to be riders," Lyanna said, kissing him and Baelon. They went into the carriage, not much later arriving in the King's solar. His father, receiving nods of the Kingsguard, was let through the door.

"Father, it seems we have a new dragon-bonded," his father said proudly as he walked into the solar of King Jaehaerys.

"Oh, how so? I saw the black dread flying again, for a second time. More times than I have seen it do in 30 years. Is little Aemon the cause?" the King asked, curious. The voice was loving. 'Did I seem to remind him of his lost son?' he thought. His grandfather was one who had visited his nursey many times, sometimes just holding him or staring into his crib. On the occasion, Princess Gael also came along, a sweet child, if a bit thin.

"Yes, Father, more or less. The moment I flew with Vhagar into the sky, Balerion followed. The dragon's golden eyes never left our boy," Baelon said, looking at him and his mother.

"Very good. I thought that he would never fly again after Viserys tried to tame him and how weak he was. But it seems something in the boy has awakened the flame of the old dread," the King said with a laugh.

"Well, let's hope Aemma brings us a healthy babe, too, a great playmate for little Aemon here," Lyanna said with a smile, tickling his tummy. 'Damn himself, he was happy at this moment. The black dread was his dragon. He had a loving mother and father and more family he adored. He felt guilty but hoped his family would want him to be happy. It was less than half a year ago, but losing that scale is difficult to move on from.' He wondered as he took in the happiness of the room.

Sometime later : thoughts and moments of Aemon Targaryen

He noticed time flowed like a river as babe, the time flying by as my time was mostly sleeping. Sometimes an obstacle would come into the river breaking the flow. Like, the times with Vhagar and Balerion. As he could at least talk with Balerion. To the rest of the people, he could only gurgle noises. Then some gave big news a another obstacle in the river. He couldn't wait until he could speak, so the flow of his current life could change a little.

 The world for now for him was a happy one, as his bond with Balerion grew stronger with each passing day. The ancient dragon's presence was a constant reassurance, a reminder of the connection between fire and ice. Flying with my father and feeling the wind in my hair became a cherished routine, a glimpse into the world of dragons and their riders.

His mother, Lyanna, remained a steadfast source of comfort. Her touch, her laughter, and the warmth of her embrace became my sanctuary. Even without words, he understood the depth of her love and devotion. Now he knew what his previous Stark siblings felt.

One day, as the sun painted the sky with hues of gold and crimson, Lyanna and he sat together in the garden. She cradled him in her arms, and he gazed up at her with eyes full of curiosity.

"You're growing so quickly, my sweet Aemon," she whispered, her voice a gentle melody. "Soon you'll be crawling and exploring the world around you."

He babbled in response, and my attempt at communication was met with a soft chuckle from her. "Yes, I know you have much to say, my little dragon. One day, you'll have a voice that can express all your thoughts. I tell you all of Winterfell, and you tell me all the mischief you have caused.

He enjoyed being in her presence. It felt like a sense of contentment that words could not convey. The bond between them was unbreakable, a silent understanding that transcended language.

On another day, his father came with my aunt and uncle.

In another corner of the castle, he found myself in the company of Aemma, my cousin and the wife of Viserys. Her growing belly was a testament to the new life she carried within her, a life that was soon to join our family.

My father, Baelon, held me as I reached out to touch Aemma's belly. "Look, Aemon, your cousin is eager to join us. He's going to be your playmate and friend." Aemma's eyes met mine, and a smile spread across her face. He gurgled in response, captivated by the anticipation that surrounded her.

"I hope so to Baelon. I would love for them to grow up together. Perhaps Leana can join them when Rhaenys arrives and Driftmark." Aemma said with a smile.

"Perhaps a wife, for the boy, or friend," Viserys said with a smile. And Aemma gave him a soft hit on the shoulder. But gave him a playful smile, no less.

Sometime later, the birth of Aerion Targaryen, the Firstborn of Viserys Targaryen and Aemma Aryn.

Not much later, as the castle buzzed with preparations and excitement for the upcoming birth, a new energy filled the air. The whispers of maids and servants and the hushed discussions of family members contributed to the atmosphere of joyful anticipation.

And then, as the moons waned and the stars painted the night sky, the moment arrived. Aemma's voice, tinged with both determination and a touch of pain, echoed through the castle walls.

Aemma's voice, signaling the beginning of a new life. The castle, once filled with whispers and laughter, now held its breath in a collective moment of anticipation as the birth of Aerion Targaryen began. Hoping the babe would live. To the sadness of all, it was a stillbirth.

On the seven moons of year 93. AC. Aerion Targaryen was born stillborn. Never taking birth.

Pages out of the Journal of Aemon Targaryen the White Dragon.