A White Dragon's Legacy - A Magical Tantrum. (Patreon)

Rhaegar Targaryen, The Observatory – Ocean of Souls.

“This wait is endless, my love,” Lyanna whispered, quite annoyed, as she watched the damn inert sphere with unease. His wife paced from side to side with a frown on her face, staring intently toward the center of the room.

Completely unconcerned by the curious and judgmental looks of the rest of his ancestors.

Something Rhaegar could not do, considering the annoyance radiating from his ancestors, so, releasing a heavy sigh, he simply shook his head and answered.

“If you have something to say, just say it. It’s not as if the opinion of a group of dead people interests me in the slightest,” the Last Dragon said naturally, completely bored by the imminent complaints.

Rhaegar simply took Lyanna’s hand gently and waited.

And evidently, the complaints did not take long to arrive.

Every single Targaryen present, with few exceptions, began shouting at once, complaining and reproaching Rhaegar for his stupid actions.

Why had he done things the way he had?

Why had he taken a second wife?

However, one question in particular caught his attention, and not in a good way.

“Why the fuck didn’t you get rid of Aerys sooner? If you had simply killed him, all of this could have been avoided,” Aegon II snapped, making Rhaegar frown and focus his powerful and dominant gaze directly on the frankly pathetic man.

“You really think that, you idiot fool?” the Last Dragon asked as he slowly stood up, the entire room falling silent at his presence, commanding silence throughout the chamber.

The Last Dragon’s icy gaze focused directly on the now frightened figure of Aegon, who widened his eyes upon seeing the imposing sight of Rhaegar Targaryen advancing toward him.

His amethyst eyes were completely focused on the horrible sight before him: Aegon II Targaryen, who had had the damn audacity to judge him.

With what fucking moral authority? Rhaegar thought furiously.

Around him, every member of House Targaryen had fallen into a deathly silence. No one seemed willing to interrupt that moment. The Last Dragon was not someone who regularly lost his patience, at least according to the memories they had witnessed of his life, so seeing him this furious with Aegon was… unsettling, to say the least.

The Last Dragon possessed a presence that seemed to fill the room all by itself. There was something in the way he walked, in the serenity of his movements and the intensity of his eyes that forced others to move out of his path.

It was a presence that inspired respect, even fear.

The presence of a Monarch.

After a few steps, Rhaegar finally reached his ancestor. Aegon II slowly raised his gaze for an instant, hiding his obvious fear and trying to open his mouth to respond, but being unable to do so beneath the icy gaze of the Last Dragon.

“I…” the eldest son of King Viserys I tried to speak, only to avert his gaze when he saw Rhaegar simply frown.

At this action, Rhaegar merely snorted with barely concealed contempt, his attitude making it quite clear who the coward in that room was.

And who the man was.

“Pathetic,” he snapped, his amethyst eyes remaining fixed on him for several seconds before he quickly extended his hand, his fingers closing around Aegon’s tunic.

And then…

“AHHHHG!” Aegon screamed as Rhaegar lifted him from his seat with one hand before throwing him toward the floor and dragging him directly toward where the pathetic man’s own father was sitting.

Viserys I.

All the Targaryens in the Observatory remained in complete silence, but some of those present, the few Targaryens with a functioning brain, already had an idea of what was happening and simply leaned back in their seats, enjoying the spectacle.

Without ceremony and with a strength that could only have been obtained through countless hours in the training yard, Rhaegar threw Aegon’s body at Viserys I’s feet as if he were an old rag, making every Targaryen hold their breath.

Nobody said a fucking word. Everyone was fully aware that something important was about to happen.

And then, after several seconds of silence, Rhaegar spoke again.

“Do it.”

Aegon did not answer. He simply looked at the Last Dragon with doubt on his face, as if he did not understand his words.

Rhaegar merely raised his finger and pointed toward Viserys before speaking.

“Do it if you dare. I dreamed of your pathetic life, the times you cursed your own father after his death, the times you swore that you hated him and that you were happy he was dead,” the Last Dragon said, his tone icy.

His words produced strange results. Viserys grimaced in discomfort and shame, but Aegon merely looked away, lacking the courage to look his father in the face.

His voice remained low, and yet it dominated the entire damn Observatory, his mere presence being overwhelming.

But every word carried crushing authority.

“Raise your eyes, Aegon,” Rhaegar said calmly, although it was clear that it was not a request.

But an order.

The pathetic King moved his head until he was looking at Viserys, whose face was filled with concern, hundreds of conflicting emotions contained within that gaze. Both were considered weak men, yet they were so different.

Two sides of the same coin.

“Look him in the eyes, Aegon, and tell me whether you would be capable of putting a knife through his heart. Look at your father and repeat the words you spat from your mouth moments ago,” Rhaegar challenged, commanding absolute silence throughout the room. Not a single Targaryen, man or woman, said a word, not even Aegon IV.

Everyone watched the harsh lesson of the Last Dragon, all of them with mixed feelings.

Aegon opened his mouth, an empty gesture that simply went nowhere.

He tried to answer, tried to say something, only to end up doing in death what he had done all his life.

Failing.

But Aegon merely looked at him.

And then lowered his gaze.

Defeated.

Viserys closed his eyes for a moment, deep sadness crossing his face. He did not dare say a word to his own son. Rhaegar’s words were cruel and harsh.

But filled with wisdom.

“Do not dare judge me,” the Last Dragon snapped, the Targaryen temper filtering across his face.

“No one can. Everyone reproaches me for not putting a knife into my own father’s chest, even after he himself asked me to. I suppose that from this room, talking is very easy, without taking into account what it would mean to watch, little by little, the man you once called father lose himself to madness, losing himself inside his own mind, leaving behind something closer to a fucking beast,” he snapped, to the shame of everyone present.

Rhaegar paused briefly, inhaling deeply as he looked at all the Targaryens with contempt.

“I dedicated my life and my death to leaving a legacy for House Targaryen, to leaving a chance for my beloved Aemon, my sweet Rhaenys, my beloved mother and my dear siblings. I will not sit in this damn place and listen to your stupidity.”

And with those final words, Rhaegar gave Aegon one last look of utter contempt before returning to his place, Lyanna immediately sitting on his lap to calm her husband.

And right at that moment…

The damn sphere lit up again, showing Aemon once more, accompanied by this… mysterious guardian.

And this time, everyone paid attention, without exception.

Jon, who was still in disbelief, replied, “Who are you?” with suspicion in his voice

The being, Nerea, Jon recalled, replied, “I am Nerea, the guardian of the Winter Codex. The ancient wolf princes created me to preserve the memories and secrets of House Stark.”

“Memories and secrets?” Jon asked, not fully understanding that strange being.

Nodding, Nerea said, “That’s right. My father feared that the secrets and magic of our House would fall into the hands of unworthy and weak offspring,” as she looked at Jon expectantly.

Jon asked curiously, “Do you keep all the memories of my ancestors?” Jon was excited at that possibility, imagining the secrets and knowledge he could gain.

Nodding, Nerea replied, “That’s right, My Lord. Since the time of Prince Lorian, I have memories and stored knowledge of all the Starks who were masters of this castle, until the sacrifice of Prince Edwile 500 years ago,” the entity ended with a sad tone.

All the Targaryens fell into complete silence at what they had just heard… it was simply incredible.

“Did you know anything about this, my love?” Rhaegar asked his wife expectantly, only for her to shake her head.

“No, dear. I have heard legends of Wolf’s Den and the Winter Codex, but this… this is the first time I have heard of this Guardian,” Lyanna said softly, observing the face of the beautiful and ethereal woman in great detail.

But not her face.

That of her beloved son.

Her wife’s face hid it well, but Lya… was devastated.

“He is so old, Rhaegar. Fifteen years of his life… I wasn’t there for his first words, I wasn’t there for his first steps… I…” his wife tried to say, and Rhaegar simply embraced her.

There was nothing else to do. How could you comfort a mother who had been unable to watch her own son grow up?

It was simply impossible, no matter what life one was living.

All the Targaryens around them were giving her plenty of space after the spectacle with Aegon, all of them focused on Aemon’s life.

It was… better this way. She was not ready to talk about what had happened.

Not yet.

A moment later, Rhaegar, as well as everyone around him, watched Aemon question the extent of Nerea’s abilities.

And the answer… did not come through words.

But through images.

Nerea’s eyes shone like two suns, dazzling not only Aemon, but everyone who was watching his more than interesting life.

“Fuck!” Daena Targaryen shouted with her eyes closed against the annoying light, and when they were able to see the sphere again, they were no longer watching the Stark study in Wolf’s Den.

Instead, they were in the middle of an immense battlefield. Two immense armies were facing each other outside a walled city, although they were… completely different from those they were accustomed to.

“What the fuck is that? Are those trees moving?”

“Giants? Are they real?”

“Oh shit, look at that! Do the ones wearing red cloaks use dragons as war beasts?”

The bustle of their ancestors was completely focused on the sphere. The battle looked… titanic, tens of thousands on each side, although there were also strange beings, undoubtedly magical in nature.

They were witnessing the prelude to a magical war. That much was obvious.

But they needed more details.

“This is interesting, a magical war. We have no record of anything similar in Westeros, and if there ever was…” Jaehaerys I said, only to be interrupted by Baelor.

“It was lost in the fall of Valyria,” said Daeron II’s eldest son.

However, at those words, Lyanna could not help but snort and respond.

“And yet, with the evidence right in front of your noses, you still don’t understand,” his wife said with resignation and annoyance before focusing her gaze on the old King.

“Not everything revolves around Old Valyria, idiots. Your proud ancestors were still fucking sheep when powerful and ancient empires were already rising in the world. My own family in the North, Old Ghis, the Golden Empire of Yi Ti… all with their own chronicles, legends, and beliefs. Unlike you, we actually have records of battles from ancient times, from the beginning of time,” Lyanna snapped with evident annoyance.

And Rhaegar, seeing that his ancestors still did not understand, simply responded.

“The Long Night and the Age of Heroes, chronicles of the First Men, extremely detailed, hidden in the depths of Winterfell, far from the eyes of the Andals and our family,” Rhaegar answered calmly, making several of the Targaryens present frown, evidently not pleased at all with Rhaegar’s words.

However, nobody commented on it, preferring to watch Aemon.

“Where are we?” Jon asked incredulously.

Nerea replied automatically, her sight on the battle, lost in thought.

“We are on the outskirts of the city of Londinium, during the Roman occupation of Britain, 73 A.D. We are witnessing the prelude to the Battle of the Dancing Star, where Prince Lorian Stark broke the Roman army and killed the imperial war master in single combat, sacked the city and expelled the invaders from the island. Now, silence, this part is important.” Jon nodded and watched the two leaders speak.

“So, we are watching the history of House Stark. Something important, apparently. It will be interesting,” said Maester Vaegon.

Aerion snorted, looking toward the sphere with contempt.

“It’s nothing special. What are men compared to dragons?” the prince snapped, although he received no response. The memory of the battle was simply more interesting.

“A record, where the patriarch stores memories and knowledge for the Heir, guarded by a Magical Guardian… the Starks were wise,” Jaehaerys said wisely, making everyone around him nod softly.

And a moment later, everyone paid attention again when they saw a man, evidently a Stark unknown to all of them, engaging in a parley with the enemy general.

The contrasts were… obvious. While the unknown general wore a battle tunic with decorated armor and a red cloak, Lorian Stark wore bronze armor. The glowing runes revealed its magical nature, his shoulders covered by a black pelt, surely belonging to a bear. In one hand he carried a spear, and in the other…

“Are those heads?” Naerys said in terror, watching as the Stark warrior carried the skulls of his enemies as trophies.

Claudius stared at Lorian and began:

“I see that you have rejected the offer of the Senate. You could have been one of the noblest families in Rome. With your power, your lineage could even become emperor in a few generations. I don’t understand your motives for remaining on this cursed island, Lorian,” the man spoke with respect toward Jon’s ancestor. They were enemies, but there was respect.

It was a really weird interaction.

Lorian replied, his eyes full of disappointment.

“Those beings who have known only slavery cannot comprehend the concept of freedom. Tell me, Claudius, when was the last time you made a decision of your own? When was the last time you were master of your life and not just a puppet for a useless noble cunt in your homeland?” The voice of the Great Wolf was so cold that it shook several of the Romans, Claudius not included.

Beside Lorian, there was a massive Wolf, as big as a fucking warhorse, maybe even bigger.

“A Direwolf!” Jon whispered with reverence in his eyes, looking at the magnificent beast as it showed its fangs toward the enemy army.

“Fuck! That thing is enormous!” Jacaerys exclaimed incredulously, swallowing as he watched the immense Direwolf.

“There were stories that the Starks of old had those beautiful beasts as companions. This confirms it,” Prince Baelor said as the scene continued.

“It’s been too long to remember. My memories are… dispersed. I respect you as a general and I respect you as a leader and as a Sorcerer. Unifying the clans, massacring my soldiers and taming my war beasts only speak of your enormous magical talent and your military genius. However, the obligations imposed upon my lineage force me to stand up to you, here and now. The final clash for the control of Britannia,” said Claudius with a melancholy tone, but ready to fight, his eyes filled with fire.

This… was a man ready to die. Jon knew it, and he was sure that Lorian did too.

And even then, he tried one last time, it seems.

Lorian shook his head and said, “It doesn’t have to end like this. You owe nothing to the parasites of your precious Senate, much less to the cruel animal that calls himself Emperor. Your people are loyal to you, to your lineage. It must not end for a false honor toward your unworthy leaders,” Lorian exclaimed fiercely.

“There is respect, that much is obvious. The men of each side follow them with fanaticism. It’s… curious. It is not something you see every day,” Aemond said softly, looking at the sphere with evident interest.

“Our family apparently does not inspire that kind of loyalty,” Prince Daeron said distractedly, focused on the images in the sphere.

Claudius stared at Lorian, as if, for an instant, he was about to make such a decision. However, he shook his head and replied:

“I have a lot to pay for, and I would rather die in battle at the hands of the Great Wolf than return to Rome in disgrace. At least if I die, my children will not have their honor stained.”

Lorian shook his head and replied, “If a death in battle is what you want, I’ll grant it to you. Go to your home, Claudius. Kiss your children, have dinner with your family and fuck your wife. Tomorrow at dawn, you have a debt to my bronze.” The spear in Lorian’s hand shone with a magical light, as if somehow the metal was… alive in a way, eager to taste Claudius’s blood.

After those words, Lorian left the place of the parley, back with his army, no doubt to prepare for battle.

And when Jon got excited about the battle he was about to witness…

It happened.

From one moment to the next, Jon was back in the office in the castle, disoriented for a moment. Jon looked at Nerea and asked:

“What?”

“And the fight? Where is the battle?” Daeron I asked with a frown, while the entire House of the Dragon watched a confused Aemon look toward Nerea with disbelief on his face before asking.

“Why didn’t you show me the battle?” Jon said as he took his seat again. That experience was disturbing. He needed a moment to compose himself.

Nerea replied with a calm and firm tone in her voice.

“The Battle of the Dancing Star is one of the bloodiest and crudest moments in the history of magic. You are still young. I will not show you that battle until you are at least seventeen years old,” she ended with finality in her words.

To Jon’s disbelief.

The New Stark Lord shook his head and was thoughtful for a moment, then replied:

“And what can you show me?” with a somehow hostile tone as he unconsciously unleashed his magic into the room.

At the tone he used, both Rhaegar and Lyanna frowned.

“He’s throwing a tantrum,” his wife said with evident displeasure in her voice, making Rhaegar nod softly.

“He is. Let’s see how this ends,” the Last Dragon said as he leaned forward slightly.

Nerea replied with a polite smile, her voice steady and firm.

“I can show you the formation of the Council of Mages of Britannia, the political alliances with the ancient clans and the birth of the first Magical Houses, the formation of the League for the Defense Against the Dark Arts, or perhaps the participation of the Starks in the formation of the International Council of Magic, or…”

“Oh, by the Gods! So much history! That sounds incredible!” said Maester Vaegon, his eyes filled with hunger for knowledge, glued to the sphere, wishing for at least a glimpse of what Nerea had just mentioned.

“Alas, it seems Aemon is not pleased with the options at all,” said Aemon the Dragonknight with some disappointment in his voice.

The old King shrugged and answered.

“He is young, and therefore stupid in a certain way. It reassures me that this Guardian limits Aemon’s access to and control over Stark magic. That speaks of great prudence and foresight on the part of the Wolf Lords, examples we apparently should have implemented ourselves, considering the recurring stupidity within the royal family,” the King said, filling the room with an uncomfortable silence.

And the images continued.

“Enough,” Jon said, quite annoyed. “All of those are political moments. I’m not interested in that. Professor Snape mentioned the siege of Zirah-Dok. It is mentioned that the Starks of that time subdued the goblin king. Show me that battle, please.”

At those words, everyone present, both men and women, snorted with amusement.

“Yeah, sure. You didn’t show him one battle, and he asks you to show him the massacre where five thousand goblins died. Of course,” Aegon IV said, and Rhaegar hated having to agree with him.

Nerea looked at him with a scandalized face, as if she couldn’t believe his audacity. The beautiful woman opened and closed her mouth for several seconds before answering with a firm voice.

“Of course not!! The siege of Zirah-Dok is equal to or more bloodthirsty than the Battle of the Dancing Star. I will not show you such massacre and destruction. They are actions that, although necessary at specific moments, cannot be your first option. A wise prince never seeks war,” said the ethereal woman.

And Jon interrupted her.

“But he must always be prepared for it,” Jon finished with annoyance in his voice.

“Little know-it-all shit, hahaha,” Daeron II said, making Rhaegar snort with amusement.

“I’ve also studied history from old books. The Starks of old didn’t forge a kingdom or their government with hugs and words. They did it with bronze, ice and blood.” Jon’s eyes shone with power, his normally gray eyes were yellow, before the woman who called herself a servant of House Stark but refused to carry out her lord’s will.

Nerea shuddered at the tone used, and with some suspicion she looked into Jon’s eyes. The young man was powerful, but power without control is useless, and the young man did not understand that.

“You can’t even control your own magic properly, young man. You are powerful, but you are wild and lack the mental strength necessary to explore family magic. You won’t have access to battle magic until I consider you ready. Master your own mind, subdue the wolf that lives within you, and then we shall talk.”

All the Targaryens nodded at the Guardian’s words.

“Ouch,” Baelor said with amusement, although his gaze reflected approval toward Nerea’s words.

“Nerea speaks with wisdom. Aemon is young. He needs to temper his temper. Too Targaryen,” Rhaenyra said with amusement, making several princesses and queens laugh softly, pleased by Nerea’s actions.

“Excellent work on Nerea’s part. It is obvious that she exists to give real advice, although uncomfortable advice. Aemon will benefit greatly from having a counselor like that,” Rhaegar said with evident approval in his voice.

“He will. Perhaps that is what many princes lack: learning to be told no,” the old King agreed.

Jon, who still had the blood of the wolf, was furious at the audacity of the woman, so in a cold tone he replied:

“Then you are of no use to me. Go back to your artifact. I will find what I am looking for by myself. Dismissed.”

Nerea froze, her gaze reflecting disbelief and pain, as if she could not believe being dismissed by the new Lord. For a moment she thought about refusing, but it was a direct order from Lord Stark, so, bowing, but without saying a word, she disappeared from the room, and the artifact stopped moving.

At that action, both Lyanna and Rhaegar frowned in disapproval.

“It seems our son was missing a couple of good smacks, dear,” Lyanna said with a dangerous tone in her voice, while Rhaegar nodded softly.

“Those words are not worthy of a prince, much less toward someone who only wished to help him,” the Last Dragon said.

“But he looks remorseful. Perhaps it is a consequence of Stark magic? Lady Nerea said that it is difficult to control and that it can alter one’s temperament,” Rhaenyra replied in defense of young Aemon, while several princes and princesses around her silently nodded, watching Aemon sigh and absentmindedly stroke his hair.

Evidently, he was still overwhelmed by the situation.

Jon was quiet for several minutes. He had been unfair to Nerea, but he was tired and in a bad mood. As soon as he had time, he would talk to her. However, today he had other priorities. Soon he would begin his magical education, and he wanted to have as much knowledge as possible.

“And… so it begins, my magical journey,” he said with a smile.

Taking one of the books from the trunk, he began to read about Transfiguration, one of the subjects in which he was least familiar, looking forward to Monday to begin.

And then, the sphere died again, to the evident frustration of everyone present.

“For fuck’s sake, just what we needed,” Maekar snapped, standing up and preventing Daeron from taking another fucking glass of wine.

“No more wine, Daeron! This shit cost you your life,” the furious man snapped, making the young prince shrug and respond.

“But I’m already dead, Father, I…”

However, Daeron’s words were interrupted by a thunderous noise, one coming from the arrival chamber.

Two new statues appeared in the Observatory, two animals that, although innocent…

Made every single Targaryen frown with fury and contempt.

A Stag… and a Doe, side by side, their necks crossed in an intimate gesture.

“Oh, thank the Goddess!! Baratheon souls to tear apart,” Aerion snapped, kneeling before the great sphere before standing up and looking toward the arrival door with a manic grimace.

Rhaegar merely sighed…

His ancestors were going to kill him…

Again.