POV: Aegon Targaryen
Location: The Painted Table Chamber, Dragonstone
The Painted Table gleamed under the torchlight — a masterpiece finally complete. The whole of Westeros stretched before me in color and shape: mountains carved in relief, rivers painted with shimmering blues, and tiny castles glinting with fresh lacquer. Six kingdoms stood divided by faint golden lines, their borders drawn as they stood today — though, as I looked upon them, I could not help but imagine those lines erased.
I sat at the head of the table, the seat carved in the likeness of a dragon's skull. To my right was Visenya, ever stern and still, her golden hair braided back in the warrior's fashion. To my left sat Rhaenys, radiant and curious, fingers tracing idle circles along the painted coastlines as if charting her next flight.
Behind me stood Orys, my half-brother and shield, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword more from habit than threat. He had insisted I rest, that I wait until the morrow to summon this council. But there were too many matters left unsettled after Essos — too many questions that could not wait for the dawn.
Across from me sat our kin and allies.
Lord Daemon Velaryon of Driftmark — my uncle — his salt-streaked hair and sea-worn face a reflection of his years commanding fleets and men. Beside him, Lord Crispian Celtigar of Claw Isle, his white and crimson cloak draped neatly over his shoulders, his manner sharp as the coins his house minted.
At the far end, Maester Dickson hunched over parchment and ink, quill ready to record whatever was decided tonight. To his side stood Ser Quenton Qoherys, our master of arms, broad-shouldered and silent, watching Myra — the Red Priestess — with the same suspicion many in Dragonstone still felt for her.
Myra, to her credit, stood calm and unbothered by the stares. The torchlight played along her red robes, giving her an otherworldly glow. Her green eyes were steady — searching, almost amused — as if she already knew every word that would be spoken here.
I looked down at the map again, letting silence reign for a moment. The hum of the torches and the faint hiss of wind from the open vents above filled the room.
"So," I began, voice echoing faintly against stone, "House Targaryen stands whole once more, and the drums of war in Essos are finally quiet."
Visenya's gaze flicked toward me a smirk on her lips, her tone level but edged with pride. "Only because we made them so."
Rhaenys smiled faintly clearly amused.
I nodded, remembering the searing heat of Balerion's breath upon the Disputed Lands, the ash covered fields and hills with the Argilac's army watching on in fear and awe as ash and smoke flowed into the sky for days after the battle. "We did what was asked and promised," I said. "No more, no less."
Daemon Velaryon leaned forward, his voice low and respectful. "You brought peace through fire, Aegon. With no soldiers, no fleet — only your dragons and the strength of your will. Bards across the free cities sings of you as 'The Last Dragonlord.' The free cities will remember what you and Visenya did for a long time."
I gave a small, humorless smile. "Let them remember the shadow of our dragons wings and how they brought peace. That was the purpose of our flight to aid an ally and end a pointless war."
Visenya's gaze lingered on me at that. "Pointless," she repeated softly, though the word sounded foreign in her mouth.
Before I could reply, Rhaenys leaned in, eyes bright. "And yet, brother you've brought back more than peace." Her gaze flicked briefly toward Myra, who met it without issue.
I sighed inwardly. I'd known this would come.
"Yes," I said evenly. "The Red Temple of Volantis seeks friendship. Myra was sent to serve as their voice in our court, and she has offered to prove herself… useful during her time here."
Rhaenys' brow arched, though her tone remained polite. "Useful, you say in what way?"
"Her counsel on certain matters that will interest us as the last true heirs if the Freehold," I replied simply, keeping my voice steady. "The red temple has apparently been recovering Valyria's secrets during the century of blood."
Rhaenys crossed her arms glancing skepticly at Myra. "And the red temple is willing to... share such knowledge?"
Myra inclined her head slightly. "We serve only the will of R'hllor — and that of his chosen." Her words carried that odd, fervent calm I'd grown used to during my time with her.
Lord Celtigar cleared his throat. "And this… alliance — what does it cost, my lord?"
I turned my gaze to him. "Only what we choose to give." I said simply "This new... relationship can end immediately if we so choose."
There was silence then, filled only by the soft crackle of flame. Myra's eyes flicked toward me once, and for a moment, I could almost hear her voice echo in my memory: The Lord of Light has chosen you.
But that was a thought for another time. Today and the coming days was for rest, planning, and preperation.
I straightened, placing my hands upon the Painted Table. "Our houses have spent our time on dragonstone ensuring peace across the Narrow Sea and securing prosperus trade. Now, I must turn our gaze westward — to the lands before us."
Daemon's eyes narrowed slightly. "You speak of the Westerosi Kingdoms."
I nodded. "The Six kingdoms," I corrected softly. "For now."
Visenya's lips curved faintly. "For now," she echoed.
And as I looked down upon the Painted Table — the rivers, the castles, the painted borders — I felt it again: that pull, that whisper of destiny in my blood.
The Kingdom of the North lead by house Stark the kings of winter at their ancestral seat of Winterfell.
The Kingdom of Mountain and Vale lead by house Arryn the falcon kings from their mountain stronghold the Eyrie.
The Kingdom of Isles and Rivers a kingdom uniting the Iron islands and the riverlands under House Hoare from their unfinished castle Harrenhal.
The Kingdom of the Rock under House Lannister the gold lions who lead from Casterly Rock and Lannisport.
The Kingdom of the Reach lead by House Gardener who lead from the castle Highgarden.
The Kingdom of the Stormlands lead by House Durrandon the storm kings from the castle Storm's End.
And at last the Principality of Dorne lead by House Martell from their seat of power Sunspear.
I couldn't help but stare at the kingdom of Dorne and made a vow to myself... I would not fail to make them bend the knee and I would not lose my sisters doing so.
"What are you planning brother?" Visenya asked giving me a look of curiosity and I saw the look mirrored by the others and I smirked slightly.
I turned my head toward her, finding her cool violet eyes studying me, searching for what lay beneath the stillness. The others followed her gaze — Rhaenys, Orys, Daemon Velaryon, Lord Celtigar, even Maester Dickson paused mid-scratch of his quill.
A faint smirk touched my lips. "I plan," I said slowly, letting the weight of each word hang in the air, "to not just make a legacy that will change the world but to spread it and prepare for what's to come."
The words echoed softly in the vaulted chamber. For a heartbeat, only the crackle of the torches and the whisper of wind from the narrow windows answered me.
Orys leaned forward, brow furrowed. "What's to come?" he asked, cautious but curious.
I looked down again at the Painted Table — at the seven crowns of Westeros and the black waves carved around them. My reflection in the lacquered surface seemed older, colder, burdened.
"War," I said at last. "One The kind the world has never seen before."
I swept my hand over the painted table and the once dark and cold map suddenly shined to life from a internal flame highlighting all the land marks and castle names.
But what it also did was take away the color borders of the kingdoms and shine all of Westeros in a light red flame.
Everyone's eyes widen as curiosity became awe then realization.
"You wish to conquer the entire continent of Westeros!" Lord Crispian Celtigar shouted in alarm, disbelief, and a slight but genuine excitement that didn't match the man's age.
But his mood was mirrored by all those at the table.
Visenya leaned forward in her seat. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp. She studying the map already creating battle plans and troop movements.
Rhaenys' eyes widened, bright with a mixture I knew all too well: exhilaration and purpose.
Behind me, Orys shifted, the leather of his gauntlet creaking.
"Seven hells…" he muttered under his breath, then caught himself and straightened but i could feel the anticipation radiating off him.
Daemon Velaryon leaned forward, palms pressed flat against the table as though anchoring himself at the idea and the possible opportunities from such a war.
Quenton Qoherys the master-of-arms clenched and flexed his scarred hands that rested on the table as if he could already feel steel in his hands.
The Only person not outwardly reacting was Myra, the red priestess.
She stood utterly still beside the Maester's chair, emerald eyes glowing faintly in the shifting torchlight. When the Painted Table had ignited when our eyes met she bowed slightly.
Only one person reacted with some hesitans.
Maester Dickson had frozen mid-sentence, quill dangling from his fingers. Ink dripped soundlessly onto the margin of his parchment.
"Your Grace," he finally stammered, "to conquer Westeros… such an undertaking would require unprecedented logistics. Food, water, soldiers, supply lines–" he began trying to bring cold reson to this council burning with new ambition.
I raised a hand.
"Maester the reson I called this council is to discuss such challenges."
"Yes, of course my lord," he said quickly, blotting the ink trying to regain his composure.
"Challenges is putting it lightly my lord," Daemon Velaryon said his lips pressed thin in thought "Some of these kingdoms have existed longer than the Valyrian Freehold they won't fall easily."
Quenton Qoherys nodded in agreement "Dragonstone has a levy over seven hundred and 22 war ships," he said causing the mood to dip slightly.
And soon the talk become more and more defeating.
And I understood why together house Targaryen, Velaryon, and Celtigar could raise a force slightly over a thousand men and a fleet of a just over a hundred war ships.
A size able force for three small islands.
But just glancing at the painted table made the idea if conquering six bigger, stronger, and wealthier kingdoms seem impossible almost ridiculous.
But then I spoke and the new fire of ambition and legacy that was starting to burn out flicker back to life.
"You are all right..." I said simply causing the discussion to come to a halt "... from our current position it seems utterly impossible if not foolish."
The hall was quite the tension in the air thick as if the world was paying attention solely on my words.
"But... the six kingdoms are far more fragile than they appear and our strengths are far more than any know," I said and I felt the fire starting to return to them all even the Maester's quill slowly stopped once more.
"So we shall gather our strength prepare for what's to come..." I said decisive "...while the six kingdoms weakness fester and grow until the moment comes for us to strike."
"And when will that moment be brother?" Visenya asked and Rhaenys nodded and I could feel Orys eyes on me as well and I smiled.
"When the black castle lays its last brick and the black stag roars for fire and takes a messengers hands then will the three heads fly west," I said getting a confused look from all but Myra who's emerald eyes shined.
---
Colors... strange colors... ive seen them before... a ocean or sea of impossible colors...
All around me... through me I felt something... no somethings move through the colors...
I saw it... no them... watching beyond... watching me... hungry... waiting...
I reached to my hip for Blackfyre but nothing was there countless voices whispered and yelled, roared and screamed all at the same time.
For the first time in felt overwhelmed... so small... I couldn't understand the voices... I didn't want to understand them...
war... ambition... stagnation... change...
"Stop..." I said but my voice was so small drowned out by the endless cacophony.
War... Ambition... Stagnation... Change...
An impossible weight presessed down on me trying to crush and bend what I and who I am...
And then I felt it... a connection... familiar... amd a voice deep, ancient, and powerful.
Who are you?
And suddenly I remembered my sisters, my brother, my father, my life before, the golden light.
I AM AEGON TARGARYEN SON OF THE LAST DRAGONLORD!
I roared pushed with all my will and raged against the pressure.
The voices screamed in rage!
HAIL CHAOS!!!!
They tried to force me to knee... to be a slave... but dragon's are no ones slaves...
A black shadow enveloped me and I opened scarlet red eyes that burned the voices at a glance...
I spread my wings that covered engulfed solar systems in darkness...
I opened a maw that could swallow worlds...
And I roared...
Dracarys!!!
And the warp burned...