The White Dragon - The return of the King. (Patreon)

Aemon Targaryen, the Cradle – Pacific Ocean.

"You'll have to do better than that, young dragon!" shouted Daemon with a crazed smile as he slid across the platform using flames to propel himself at a simply absurd speed.

The sword... Dark Sister, was illuminated with draconic flames that shot toward Aemon with lethal intent at an equally absurd speed.

Aemon quickly conjured his Indomitus, stopping the fierce attacks with ease and giving himself enough time to prepare his response.

His right hand lit up with a crimson glow as he created a pack of stone wolves and launched them toward Daemon, while with his left hand he prepared his next move.

As expected, Daemon shattered the wolves in a damned blink of an eye.

His ancestor moved among the wolves with absolute lethality and precision, severing heads with ease with the edge of his sword, his body surrounded by a storm of flames.

For an instant, Aemon wondered how Daemon had become so skilled in the use of magic, and he shuddered to think how much the history of Westeros would have changed if he had possessed access to Valyrian magic during the Dance.

As soon as Daemon finished with the last of the statues and focused his attention on Aemon once again, the Rogue Prince was greeted by a powerful blast of black fire, courtesy of Aemon and his faithful sword, both in a combat stance.

Daemon quickly placed his sword in a defensive position, generating a crimson bubble around himself, one that was capable of stopping Aemon's fierce attack, though it pushed the Prince several meters backward, breaking the momentum of his assault.

Arraxys and whom Aemon assumed was Caraxes flew and battled in the skies.

His familiar possessed barely half the size of the infamous Blood Wyrm, but to the young Targaryen's pride, his companion fought with the ferocity of a hundred dragons and was battling Caraxes on equal footing.

The heavens rumbled.

The powerful storm lashed the ocean, causing gigantic waves to crash against the Cradle.

Crimson lightning illuminated the dark night, serving as the only witnesses to the clash between the two Dragon Lords.

"Oh, how strong you've grown, Aemon. I didn't believe the words of those Old Cunts when they brought me to this strange world, but now... having you here, blood of my blood," said Daemon, his aged face carrying a manic smile as he moved his sword with precision and lethality, creating swords of flame and launching them toward Aemon before once again sliding toward him.

But this time, the young dragon was prepared.

After all, while Daemon was an expert in Valyrian magic and possessed a lifetime of experience, Aemon had tricks of his own hidden up his sleeve.

Like Stark magic.

The young Lord buried the blade of his sword into the floor of the Cradle, causing an arcane shock wave to spread across the platform, followed by a wave of frost magic so powerful that it extinguished the flaming swords and interrupted Daemon's fiery propulsion, sending him crashing to the ground.

However, before the Rogue Prince could even touch the floor, he simply vanished, appearing behind Aemon with Dark Sister prepared to remove his head.

Aemon responded swiftly, bringing Dawn Bringer into position and intercepting Daemon's strike, unleashing a magical explosion that shook the entire complex and leaving both Aemon and Daemon locked in a contest of will.

"Hahaha! Oh, descendant of mine! You are truly worthy of our glorious bloodline!" shouted the old man while the blades of both swords ignited with flames, both fierce, both Dragon Lords struggling for absolute supremacy.

"How the hell are you alive?" asked Aemon, attempting to buy time while he figured out how to defeat Daemon Targaryen.

His ancestor simply laughed loudly before smiling arrogantly toward Aemon.

"The threshold to Vanaheim is sealed. If I die in this place... my soul would not transcend to where all our family awaits... I would not see my wives, my children, or my grandchildren again... and that is not a risk I intend to take," said his ancestor, separating Dark Sister from Dawn Bringer before launching another vicious slash with the infamous sword.

"Now, on guard, Aemon. Defeat me and open the threshold, once and for all," barked the Prince with a fierce smile, one filled with challenge.

Aemon answered in kind.

"Oh, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into, old man!" snapped Aemon, his irises glowing and the blade of Dawn Bringer charged with magic.

"Show me the Dragon, brat" whispered the Prince.

The blades collided once more.

And in the process...

They shook the magical world itself.

Eddard Stark, Lord's Chambers – Winterfell.

"OH Ned! My Love!" moaned Catelyn while Eddard took her firmly from behind, his wife was on her hands and knees, completely surrendered and conquered, her face drowned in pleasure, her eyes unfocused and rolled back.

Eddard roared, spilling his seed inside his exhausted wife, who only moaned and trembled as she felt Eddard's virility mark her as his.

"Oh Gods," whispered Eddard, as he lay back on the marital bed and Catelyn curled against his chest, purring softly, evidently satisfied, but at the same time sad.

"I don't want you to leave, my Lord. I've grown accustomed to you, to your warmth and your passion. These last months... Gods Ned, you've fucked me more times than in the last several years," whispered the redhead with a radiant smile.

Eddard laughed softly and opened his mouth to respond, when a crimson glow illuminated the skies of the cold night, accompanied by something resembling a... roar.

"What is that commotion?" asked Catelyn fearfully, standing up and covering herself with the furs of the bed to conceal her naked body.

"I don't know," said Ned, while walking toward the window, more than determined to find out what the hell was happening.

And when his grey eyes looked upon the skies of Winterfell... the breath left his body.

"Are those... roots? In the sky? Ned, what the hell is happening?" asked Catelyn, now dressed in a robe and staring with shock and terror toward the heavens, and Ned could not blame her.

The skies of Winterfell were... illuminated, the normally black landscape was filled with what could only be described as colossal white roots, which were beginning to spread throughout the entire sky at an alarming speed.

And though alarming, that was not the most worrying part of the situation, but rather the terrifying roars that seemed to batter the entire fortress, a familiar roar that Eddard had heard not long ago.

The roar of a dragon.

From the balcony, Eddard was able to observe the horizon, directly toward the forest near Winterfell, and he was able to witness something troubling.

As one by one, the Heart Trees of the North began to glow, illuminating the dark night with a crimson color.

Including the Heart Tree that stood within Winterfell.

The Wolf within Eddard began to howl with joy, gallant and triumphant, while a warm sensation began to spread throughout him.

Excitement, the desire for battle, everything at the same time, threatening to overwhelm the Lord of Winterfell.

He had... he had to reach the Heart Tree, something important was about to happen, of that he had no doubt.

Therefore, without hesitation, Eddard put on his cloak, took his sword, and began his long journey, completely focused on reaching the Tree as quickly as possible.

"Ned? NED WAIT!" shouted his wife, who began dressing herself quickly, but Lord Stark paid her no attention, completely concentrated on reaching his destination, paying no attention to the fact that his wife's cries had attracted the attention of all his children, who were beginning to emerge from their chambers with curiosity and fear.

"What is happening, Mother?" asked Sansa to her mother, but Ned simply continued on his path, leaving the main Fortress of Winterfell while the roars became more and more powerful.

Everyone in Winterfell had awakened, servants, guards, and guests, all staring toward the Heavens as though the Judgment of the Gods had finally arrived, the Southerners spoke and whispered in fear, while the Northerners did so with more curiosity and caution.

Lord Stark did not truly pay attention to what was happening around him, the Heart Tree was the only thing that mattered at this moment, something within the Lord simply told him that he had to reach the Tree as quickly as possible.

With a few exceptions, such as Lady Maege and Lord Reed, who looked toward the heavens with astonishment, approval, and wonder.

They, like Eddard, knew what this meant.

ROOOOOOOAAR

This roar, unlike the previous ones, sounded much more savage and closer, and when Ned lifted his gaze...

"By the Gods! A... A dragon!" shouted one of the guards, completely terrified, while raising his gaze and pointing toward the heavens, causing everyone in the courtyard to do the same.

And indeed, there among the mighty roots, together with what appeared to be an enormous and colossal cosmic tree... Eddard saw it.

A familiar shadow, the dragon of his beloved nephew.

Arraxys, roaring and fighting another dragon, twice larger and fiercer than he was, while the figures of two knights danced with steel at a simply absurd speed, both masters of the art of the sword.

"Ned! What is happening Ned?" asked Catelyn, who had caught up to him together with his children, all staring in absolute terror toward the heavens, the roots had grown even stronger and had spread throughout the entire North, as far as Ned's sight could reach.

Possibly beyond.

Ned did not answer his wife, but simply began walking toward the Heart Tree, urgency in his steps.

He needed... he needed to be ready, he still did not know for what, but the Gods were sending him a message.

Ned had to be prepared, for what?

He did not have the slightest idea, but he was certain it had something to do with his nephew.

And House Stark would be ready, if the time had come for the White Dragon to return to Westeros...

Then so be it.

Aemon Targaryen, the Cradle – Midgard.

"Come on Aemon! Where is the mighty White Dragon? Where is the scourge of the Death Eaters? Show me the Archon of House Targaryen!" shouted Daemon while both warriors appeared again and again, exchanging sword strikes and casting spells so powerful that they made the entire place tremble.

Aemon gripped his sword with fury, his gaze crazed and exhaustion taking hold of him, he had not come this far only to die here... at the hands of the specter of Daemon Targaryen of all people.

The only way Daemon could still be alive after so much time was if his soul was... bound to something in this place.

He had studied soul anchors while studying Horcruxes, and though similar, it was evident that Aemon still retained his entire soul intact.

According to the books of Clan Koslova, the only way to contain something as powerful as a soul on the physical plane was to bind it to an object of great power, the soul in question could not move too far away from the anchor, or it ran the risk of the anchor's magic failing, releasing the soul.

And the only nearby object was that curious obsidian throne at the foot of the Oak...

And there was only one way to test his theory.

Daemon launched another sword strike directly toward Aemon's neck while letting out a laugh, it was evident that his ancestor was enjoying himself quite a bit.

But it was time to end this.

Aemon disappeared...

But instead of continuing the fight with Daemon, the young dragon moved directly toward the throne.

"Oh no you won't..." shouted the Rogue Prince, disappearing and aiming Dark Sister toward Aemon's neck.

But this battle was already finished.

The blade of Dawn Bringer struck Daemon's throne, shattering it to pieces upon the slightest contact and releasing a monstrous quantity of magic, throwing both Aemon and Daemon several meters backward.

The resulting explosion was simply overwhelming, stunning Aemon and preventing him from standing, the exhaustion was terrible, his vision was blurred and his hands trembled.

Daemon's throne had been reduced to pieces, while motes of Valyrian magic began to be released toward the tree, producing a strange effect.

The leaves of the Oak had begun to turn crimson, similar to the Heart Tree so familiar from his homeland.

"What the hell is happening?" he asked aloud, making a titanic effort to remain awake.

"You have broken the seal," said Daemon's voice behind him, causing Aemon to turn around with difficulty, more than willing to continue fighting.

However, Daemon had no interest whatsoever in the young Lord, his ancestor stared toward the tree with such deep longing that Aemon could not help but shudder.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his vision blurring and his legs trembling, causing him to fall toward the ground.

Or he would have...had Daemon not caught him around the waist.

"Come on boy, we're in the final stretch, don't pass out yet, you have to open the road home," said Daemon while literally dragging Aemon toward the immense tree.

The storm in the sky had vanished, and now mighty white roots, together with the silhouette of a colossal tree so enormous that it covered the entire sky above the ocean, dominated the heavens.

Aemon looked heavily toward his ancestor, Daemon's body was deteriorating rapidly, the magic that had kept him bound to the world had been destroyed and his body was paying the consequences quickly.

His skin darkened.

His muscles shrank.

And even then, his ancestor did not release him, but dragged Aemon with his final strength, throwing him toward the roots of the Tree.

"Open the Bifrost, Aemon, take us home," begged Daemon, falling to his knees, holding on with all his strength and staring at Aemon with naked hope, the plea in his eyes more than evident.

And Aemon, with the last shred of his strength and will, placed his hands upon the trunk of the tree, channeling the Gift of the First Men, as well as that powerful spell that Lorian Stark had designed so long ago.

So, he spoke in the Old Tongue.

"BIFROST! TO ME!" roared the young dragon.

And the universe obeyed.

The roots of the tree began to move, while the surrounding crystals began to shatter one by one, weakening the seal that had kept Vanaheim separated from the influence of Yggdrasil.

The roots of the tree began to rise and form the arch, while a rainbow portal began to appear.

"Nyra... Baela, Daela... Viserys... I'm going home," said Aemon, his wrinkled and lifeless face staring at the portal with longing and trying, unsuccessfully, to raise his hand and reach it.

He would not make it...

Daemon's body had reached its absolute limit, if he died in Midgard... all those years of waiting would have been for nothing.

And Aemon would not allow that.

Daemon had done much for him.

The Veela.

The dragons.

And decades of arcane and Targaryen knowledge.

The least he could do was ensure that his ancestor reached his own ancestors.

His family.

Therefore, with his last breath, Aemon took hold of Daemon's body, dragging him toward the threshold.

"Don't die yet, old man, be a stubborn dog and cling to life like a cockroach," said Aemon, causing the dying old man to say.

"Fuck you, brat," he replied, much to Aemon's amusement.

Aemon began walking toward the threshold, observing the clearing of Winterfell's Heart Tree on the other side, together with a familiar silhouette...

But Aemon was far too exhausted to care.

"RAHHHHG!" Aemon shouted, while crossing the threshold, at the exact moment that Daemon's body could endure no longer, dying at the precise instant both of them crossed through the portal.

Aemon fell into the small lake before the familiar Heart Tree of Winterfell, completely exhausted, his vision entirely blurred, while he slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

The last thing he heard...

Was his father's voice.

"Jon! Son!"

The White Dragon was once again in Westeros...

Enemies of the Dragon beware.