A White Dragon's Ascension - Part 2 (Patreon)

Rhaenyra Targaryen, Somewhere, Somewhen.

The sphere, as everyone present referred to the damned omen that tormented them by forcing them to witness each and every tragedy of their family, displayed a rather... peculiar image.

The young man, Aemon, apparently one of her last descendants, was inside an enormous library, seated at an old desk and reading a thick ancient book, completely absorbed in it.

"Oh shit, another fucking bookworm, wonderful," Aerion blurted out with an annoyed sigh, causing some of those present to nod in agreement.

"For the love of the Gods, Aerion, be quiet," Maekar snapped, his face twisted with irritation, but Rhaenyra paid them no mind.

This Aemon... was painfully similar to her beloved sons, with the obvious exception of his eyes.

And then, an unfamiliar maester appeared, stepping into view and peering over Aemon's shoulder.

"What are you reading, boy?" he asked curiously, causing all the Targaryens present to frown at what many considered a lack of respect.

"Why did he address him that way? Like an equal?" old Jaehaerys asked, his aged face contorted in concentration.

And Aemon answered, his gaze never leaving the page before him.

"The Dance of the Dragons, Maester Luwin," Aemon replied, allowing the entire Targaryen clan to hear his voice for the first time.

It was clearly youthful, carrying a certain melancholy and pleasant to listen to.

The elderly maester sighed heavily, nodding to himself before responding.

"Ah yes, quite an unpleasant affair. The Battle of the Gullet, a terrible matter," the old man said, shaking his head.

Aemon nodded and replied.

"The death of Prince Jacaerys, the point of no return in the war, and the undeniable defeat of Rhaenyra Targaryen, losing her best strategist," Aemon said honestly, provoking curious reactions among the Targaryens.

Her beloved son blushed completely at the praise, as the rest of the Targaryens nodded at Aemon's words, though he could not stop a bitter taste from filling her mouth at the words of his descendant.

The maester nodded at Aemon's statement and continued.

"Indeed. The Dance of the Dragons left thousands dead, and yet none of those deaths was as tragic as that of Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne, firstborn son of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the beginning of House Targaryen's slow decline," the old man said, causing all the Targaryens in question to frown.

"Fuck you, you miserable stupid old man," Aerion snapped furiously, and nobody, not even Maekar, corrected him this time.

Though to their dismay, the maester's words were... painfully true.

Aemon looked at the old man with a frown and spoke.

"Queen... Rhaenyra I, Maester. She lost three sons for that Throne, and two more were born from her womb afterward. Do not disrespect her sacrifice or her legacy, and refer to her by her rightful title," young Aemon said, his tone polite but his firmness more than evident, surprising the old man.

Rhaenyra could not help but smile softly, feeling a strange and pleasant warmth in her chest at Aemon's words, deeply grateful for them. Beside her, her beloved sons looked at her with smiles, happy that their mother's legacy was recognized, while her own mother squeezed her hand firmly, the radiant smile on her face impossible to miss.

"A Targaryen man who actually uses his damned head. I'm impressed and we've barely begun," Daena said, sitting beside her sister Elaena, casually wrapping an arm around her shoulders and crossing her legs coquettishly.

The old man nodded gently and corrected himself.

"Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. And indeed, the loss of Jacaerys Velaryon was the key moment that caused her to lose the Dance. What is your opinion of the young prince's actions?" the old man asked with evident curiosity, commanding the attention of every Targaryen watching.

"This will be interesting," King Daeron said, folding his hands beneath his chin and focusing on Aemon's answer.

"As a prince... it was not his smartest decision. But as a brother, I completely understand the desperation he must have felt. I do not feel entitled to judge his actions, Maester," Aemon said calmly, generating a variety of reactions among the Targaryens.

"What would you have done differently? Regarding the Dance, I mean. If you had been there, I'm curious about your opinion, Jon," the maester said calmly, surprising all the observing Targaryens.

"Jon? Why in the Seven Hells would he call a Targaryen prince Jon?" Daeron I asked with a frown, a bad feeling settling over him.

"Perhaps it's a nickname," Baelon said without conviction.

No one present had an answer, but Aemon's response came quickly.

"It's difficult, Maester... my perception is altered by my knowledge of the events, but if a similar situation were to arise here, and Robb's right to Winterfell were threatened..."

Aemon shook his head to compose himself before inhaling deeply and answering firmly.

"A decisive message. Queen Rhaenyra hesitated when she should have acted decisively. The moment the great houses failed to answer her call, she should have made an example of them. After Prince Lucerys's death, the Queen should have organized a full assault with Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys directly against Storm's End, burning the Baratheon stronghold to its foundations. Such an act would have demonstrated that the Queen was not playing games, it would have thrown all the Stormlands into disarray, and allowed her riverlander allies to focus entirely on the golden kittens."

"Apparently someone else can't stand those damned traitors either," Princess Alyssa said, holding her two grandsons in her arms.

"She could have approached the Dornish, negotiating rights over some lands in the Marches in exchange for Martell troops wreaking havoc among the Hightower vassals. Sow chaos in the Reach to force Ormund Hightower to divide his forces into two armies," Aemon said with complete calm, causing mixed reactions among those present.

"Thank the Gods, that my descendant has a functioning brain!" Jaehaerys shouted in relief, looking up at the sky with a smile.

"Those are useful and efficient strategies. I agree with Aemon, they could have actually worked," King Daeron II said, nodding softly.

Rhaenyra frowned, blushing in embarrassment at not being able to... think of the solutions Aemon had shared so naturally after only ten seconds of thought.

And apparently, he was not finished yet.

"Even a simple frontal assault with all her strength against King's Landing, preferably at night. Vhagar was enormous, but her size forced her to remain outside the Dragonpit, far from the Red Keep, at least an hour's ride away. More than enough time for Caraxes, Meleys, Vermax, and Syrax to take the city with ease. With luck, they could have gotten rid of the kinslayer during the attack," Aemon said in a calculating voice, causing disbelief and even greater embarrassment to wash over the Dragon Queen.

"I... hadn't thought of that, to be honest," Rhaenyra confessed shamefully, and to her surprise, Aemond was the one who answered.

"Neither had I... and it's cold, efficient logic. I can respect that. Had you done it... it was quite possible you would have neutralized us before we could even mount our dragons," replied Rhaenyra's half-brother, while everyone in the room nodded softly, looking at the young and evidently brilliant Aemon with admiration.

"Well, the future of our family is promising. Aemon has an excellent head on his shoulders and apparently a gift for warfare," Baelor said with amusement, prompting whispers among those present.

Suddenly, the library door opened, revealing a young lord with red hair and blue eyes, dressed like a Stark and, judging by the sweat on his body, he had just finished training.

"SNOW! You missed a great training session, brother! You should have seen me knock Theon to the ground three times!" the mysterious young man said with a radiant smile as he walked toward Aemon.

But the House of the Dragon was not listening.

They were all stunned.

Completely shocked.

Until the surprise transformed into fury, and the dragons roared.

"SNOW!? THEY DARE CALL A PRINCE OF THE BLOOD SNOW!?" roared the old king.

"THIS IS A DAMNED HUMILIATION!"

"WHAT INSOLENCE!"

The shouts of every Targaryen throughout the dynasty flooded the chamber. Every one of them wore expressions of indignation and fury at the mere notion that a legitimate Targaryen prince was being humiliated and forced to live as a northern bastard.

Until Princess Daena stood up and shouted.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

The daughter of Aegon III shouted, to the evident pride of her father, who was watching her actions with unmistakable satisfaction.

"Are you all idiots? It's obvious Aemon is in hiding! House Targaryen was overthrown! Gods, if you were this stupid while alive, now I understand the pathetic state of our family!" the princess snapped, causing some present to snort indignantly while others burst into laughter.

Aerion stood up and pointed at Daena.

"And by what fucking right do you dare lecture us about our mistakes? When you, by sleeping around like a whore, gave birth to the greatest damned threat our family ever faced, that fucking Blackfyre bastard!" the Brightflame accused.

Alas, Daena did not retreat.

Instead, wearing a mocking expression, she answered.

"Oh! Hahaha, considering the pathetic job all of you did, my Daemon would apparently have been a much better option," the princess said.

The argument threatened to spiral out of control until someone unexpected rose to their feet.

Queen Naerys, who was sitting as far away from Aegon IV as physically possible.

"Both of you, please be quiet. I am very interested in seeing our family's future," she said softly, silencing both of them with remarkable efficiency.

And allowing the family to focus once more on Aemon's life.

The young dragon now found himself in what could only be the Great Hall of Winterfell.

Quite different from what they were accustomed to.

And yet, the interactions among the Starks were... warm.

Aemon was eating beside a little brown-haired girl who sat next to him, talking endlessly about her newest plan to get rid of the stupid Septa Mordane.

The atmosphere was one of support and affection.

Completely different from anything the Targaryens were used to.

"Oh, so this is what a real family looks like," Viserys I said with a heavy sigh, lost in the image.

Everyone smiled at the young Stark girl's words, laughing at her escapes from what she called "the insufferable" Septa and her various adventures around Winterfell.

Then they heard another voice, clearly belonging to another young girl.

This one was red-haired and blue-eyed, like the young man they had seen earlier.

She spoke with a childish tone while attempting to imitate a southern lady.

"You shouldn't behave that way Arya, it's not proper of a lady."

All the Targaryens snorted with veiled disdain, while Princess Daella frowned and spoke.

"But she is just a child. In fact, it gladdens my heart to see her getting into mischief with such joy."

Immediately afterward, the brown-haired girl looked at who was clearly her sister and snapped with barely concealed fury.

"Don't get involved Sansa, I'm talking to my brother, no one asked for your opinion, you can go talk to your stupid friends and leave me alone with Jon."

The reaction caused amused snorts among the members of House Targaryen, at least until the insufferable girl replied.

"Half-brother, and you should be careful who you relate to, bastards are troublesome and sinful, that's what the Faith of the Seven dictates."

"Oh hell, just what I needed. Another damned sanctimonious fool believing in nonsense," Aerion snapped, taking a drink from his wine goblet and ignoring the offended looks from Maegelle and Naerys.

But just as another argument was about to begin, Aemon intervened, his tone solemn and gentle as he addressed the young Stark girl.

"We don't follow that Southern faith. We are Starks and we are from the North, and our faith comes from the true Old Gods of the Forest. You, as a Lady Stark, should know that. Every time you speak of the Southern faith as if it were your own, the lords and servants talk, and our father's reputation is affected."

"He is right. Sensible and intelligent. Our descendant is quite promising," Queen Alysanne said, nodding to herself.

And then the young Stark replied.

"What can you know about what the lords of the kingdom think? You are just a stupid bastard. Your existence is a dishonor to our father and to House Stark."

"What an insufferable child," Aegon V muttered, crossing his arms as he watched Aemon's face clear of all emotion, leaving only his furious eyes behind an entirely stoic expression.

"Are those truly the words of my sweet sister Sansa? The one I used to sneak away with to steal lemon cakes? Or perhaps they are the words of the disgusting southerner filth and her putrid, disgusting religion... think about that, my little she-wolf, and learn that words are often sharper than any sword," Aemon replied with mastery and elegance, standing up and leaving the dining hall while the pair of wolf maidens continued arguing fiercely.

All the spectators began murmuring in approval at the magnificent way Aemon had handled the young Stark girl.

"Far too soft in my opinion," King Jaehaerys I said, causing all of his daughters and his wife to stare at him in disbelief.

Everyone watched as the young dragon walked toward what was clearly a forge, where he was greeted by an elderly man with enormous arms and a matching belly. It was more than evident that he had once been a warrior in his youth, but those days were long behind him.

"You're late, boy," the massive man said in a gruff voice, throwing a leather apron at Aemon, who caught it while rolling his eyes.

"My lessons with Luwin ran long. Apparently my High Valyrian is so good that he's forcing me to learn the Old Tongue now," Aemon said as he began removing his tunic, revealing his trained and muscular body, much to the obvious pleasure of the Targaryen maidens spying on him.

"OH GODS!"

Naerys and Maegelle said at the same time, covering their eyes and looking away, completely red-faced and embarrassed, while others...

"Oh my, look at that... if only I were two hundred years younger..." Princess Viserra sighed, drawing laughter from the maidens around her as they watched Aemon put on the apron and begin forging ingots.

"Remember, good steel is the perfect mixture of iron and carbon. The trick lies in the quality of both, so first we'll remove the impurities from the iron. Start hammering!" said the blacksmith.

Aemon nodded without complaint and began striking the metal, causing the young dragon's powerful arms to display the generous muscles they possessed, much to the delight of the thoroughly interested maidens present.

"Oh Gods... imagine what those arms could do..." Princess Helaena sighed, watching the repetitive but incredibly fascinating task Aemon was performing with absolute hunger and concentration.

During this time, the Targaryens listened to the story of Mikkel, a northern warrior who had served Aemon's grandfather, Lord Rickard Stark, during the last Blackfyre Rebellion, at least until an arrow to the knee had ended his days as a warrior.

"Since then I dedicated myself to smithing. Oh Gods! It's late! Leave that alone, boy, or your father will kill me, hahaha!" Mikkel said, causing Aemon to nod with a smile as he placed the final ingot on the anvil after forging it, sighing and moving his arm to relieve the pain the repetitive labor had caused.

"Can we continue tomorrow with my project? I have a lot of ideas for the guard and the hilt. I hunted a fox two nights ago, I hope its skin will be useful for the grip," Aemon said, causing Mikkel to nod with evident pride.

"No problem, lad. But first... I have something for you. I know your nameday wasn't long ago. A boy only turns fifteen once," Mikkel said with amusement as he walked toward a chest in the workshop and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth, placing it into Aemon's hands.

The young man received it with such reverence that it filled the Targaryen princesses with compassion and the princes with titanic fury.

The sword was made of good steel, but there was nothing extraordinary about it, and it was clearly not worthy of a prince.

And yet, Aemon received it with reverence shining in his eyes.

"I know you don't get many gifts, brat. It's not the most decorated blade, but it's functional. I hope you like it and that it saves your ass someday. If it does that, it will have served its purpose," Mikkel said with a smile.

"That is a good man. There are not many of those in Westeros," Daeron II said solemnly, causing several people around him to nod.

Immediately afterward, they watched as Aemon thanked him for the gift and departed.

It was already night, and visibility was limited, so they were not surprised to see him collide with someone on his way to his chambers.

At least until they saw who it was.

"For the Seven Hells, Winterfell is one of the largest castles in Westeros and he just happens to run into that uptight bitch?" Aegon II snapped.

But nobody answered.

They were too absorbed in watching what happened.

"What do you plan to do, bastard? You wanted to attack me, right? You wanted to hurt me, offspring of sin. I am a servant of the Seven and they protect me from your devilish actions."

"Oh for Fuck sake , can someone shut that damned bitch up? It was a bloody accident," Queen Naerys snapped, to everyone's surprise.

She immediately blushed in embarrassment beneath the incredulous gaze of her brother Aemon and the proud, amused expression of Daeron II.

"It seems Aemon inherited your temperament, mother," Daeron II said as he watched his descendant's furious expression while he prepared to answer.

"Curious that I am the one accused of greed, when your precious septs are the ones stealing coins from the people of the southern towns by threatening them with the Seven Hells. The High Septon dresses like a king, clad in fine silks, wearing a crystal crown, and growing as fat as a whale while the people of King's Landing starve. And yet I am the greedy one? Don't make me laugh, old hag."

Aemon's face was twisted with fury.

A familiar one to everyone present.

"HAHAHA! He has your temperament, Maekar!" Baelor said with amusement, looking at his blushing brother while laughing loudly.

The insufferable septa tried to respond, only to be interrupted once more by the young dragon.

"How dare you talk to me like that, I'm a servant of the Sev..."

"I care little for your false gods, woman. You stand in the North, a land that has kept faith with the Old Gods for thousands of years. Your Seven hold no power here, nor does your Sept, nor your hypocrisy. Who do you think you are to address me in such a manner? I am Jon Stark, son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I have no patience for your barking. Leave my sight at once," roared the young dragon.

And the entire House of the Dragon celebrated as they watched the terrified woman flee from Aemon as quickly as possible.

"HAHAHA! He already speaks like a monarch. It's like watching my father, but without the stick up his arse," Princess Saera said with amusement, causing the monarch in question to shoot her a dirty look.

"The Targaryen temperament in action," Baelon said with amusement as they watched Aemon sigh and resume his walk, passing by the entrance to Winterfell's famous Godswood.

When...

It happened...

"Jon..." whispered a female voice from within the image.

Silence immediately reigned throughout the viewing chamber.

And Aemon stopped dead in his tracks, turning toward the entrance of the forest.

Aemon frowned as he gripped his sword with both hands.

"Who... who's there?" the young man asked, only to inhale sharply as he watched a female figure, dressed in a gray robe and a white cloak, emerge from among the trees.

"What in the Seven Hells is that?" Jacaerys asked, stunned.

"Is that a ghost?" Helaena asked cautiously, trembling as she watched Aemon hesitate for not even a moment before beginning to walk toward the forest.

"Damn, that boy has balls to spare," Aerion said with respect as the spectral figure began walking deeper into the woods, disappearing among the trees while the voice spoke again.

"Jon... my son... Jon," said the mysterious entity, causing Aemon to hesitate. His eyes filled with cruel hope as he whispered.

"Son...Mother?" he asked, naked hope and desperation evident in his voice as he ventured deeper and deeper into the Godswood.

All the Targaryens watched in astonishment as Aemon advanced without fear, sword in hand, while the voice became louder and clearer.

"The truth, my son... you need to know the truth..." the woman said desperately.

"What? What truth? Show yourself!" he roared, just as he reached the center of the Godswood, revealing Winterfell's Heart Tree to the Targaryens and stealing the breath from many of them.

"Oh Gods! It's beautiful!" little Daenerys said from her mother's lap, gazing in wonder at the imposing and magnificent tree.

"There is no time. Touch me... Touch me and reclaim what was lost!" the female voice said desperately, causing the members of House Targaryen to exchange incredulous glances.

"The tree is talking to him? Are those... the Old Gods?" Queen Naerys asked uncertainly, unwilling to believe what she was seeing, but... the evidence was irrefutable.

Aemon hesitated.

His hands trembled.

But for some reason, he touched the trunk of the tree.

And then...

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Aemon let out the most agonizing scream of pain they had ever heard, shocking every Targaryen watching.

"What in the Seven Hells is happening?" Helaena asked, watching with concern and fascination as Aemon's eyes changed intermittently for a brief moment, rapidly shifting between amber, similar to those of a wolf, and the classic Targaryen purple.

The small pool at the foot of the tree began to shine with a white radiance so bright that it would have been impossible not to see it from every corner of Winterfell.

"What the fuck is happening? What in the Seven Hells is this?" King Maekar asked, utterly confused, a feeling shared by everyone present.

No one knew what was happening.

They could only watch in awe as Aemon was subjected to obvious agony, until the pain simply became too great.

Aemon lost consciousness.

Falling into the pool and dragging one of the tree's branches down with him, while the mysterious voice spoke once more.

"Good luck, young Dragon. You're going to need it."

Said the... Goddess?

As everything in Winterfell returned to normal.

The pool stopped glowing...

And Aemon Targaryen had completely disappeared.

To the utter disbelief of everyone present.

Quickly, the image of Winterfell faded away...

Only to be replaced by an entirely different scene.

A beautiful forest could be seen, surrounding the most beautiful and luxurious castle that House Targaryen had ever laid eyes upon.

Making even the Red Keep look like a damned shack.

And there...

On the bank of a stream at the foot of the castle...

Lay the unconscious Aemon.

Completely removed from Winterfell.

To the obvious confusion of every Targaryen present.

"What the fuck just happened?" Jaehaerys I asked, completely dumbfounded and unable to comprehend what they had witnessed.

No one understood Aemon's fate.

All of this was...

Surreal.

"Does anyone recognize that castle? It doesn't resemble any that I know of," Aegon V said with a frown, causing everyone present to shake their heads.

"It seems... the young Aemon's adventure is only just beginning, and it will be... far more interesting than we expected," Prince Vaegon said, giving the mysterious sphere his complete attention.

House Targaryen was not prepared for what was coming.