Aegon was more than capable of soaring straight to the top of the pillar in his half-awakened state.
But instead, he chose to climb step by step along the ladder of flesh—testing its true purpose.
A demigod could already bend their own essence into new forms, shaping unique abilities. This ladder was no natural structure; it was born from Aegon's demigod body itself, a manifestation of his talent [Stairway to the Gods].
Its wonder lay in this: for every rung climbed, any of Aegon's bloodline would feel their veins purified, their dragon's essence refined. The higher the climb, the greater the gift.
Now that Aegon had carved open a path to Old Valyria, the future was clear. His descendants would be able to pass into the Fourteen Flames, ascend the Stairway to the Gods, and emerge stronger in both flesh and blood.
Dozens of dragonborn watched as he climbed, his movements solemn and deliberate, like a devout pilgrim drawing ever closer to his god.
With each step the pressure grew, crushing, relentless.
Yet this was only his split body—an avatar of a demigod. Such strain meant nothing to him. He pressed ever higher without faltering.
Any other Targaryen might have broken—halted by weakness of will, or the limits of their blood.
But here and now, Miria the Phantom Blade, Larissa the Swift Sword, and the other dragonborn gazed up in awe. They knew they were witnessing the birth of myth.
And they knew that when they returned to Westeros, the songs of the bards would carry this legend to every hall and tavern.
Aegon climbed until his form vanished into the cloud-sea above.
No one knew what awaited him there. Perhaps he had stood before the fabled God-King. Perhaps he had spoken with the elders of Valyria in some hidden communion.
When at last he descended, every soul gasped.
The emperor had changed.
His height had surged past two meters, his skin gleamed with a holy radiance, and the air around him pulsed with a power no mortal could withstand.
They felt it in their bones: Aegon was no longer man. He carried divinity.
A roar split the heavens.
"ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!!"
From the clouds burst three colossal dragon heads—the threefold gaze of Ghidorah.
Moments later the beast's full body unfurled, no longer the young wyrm of ten meters it had been. Its frame had swollen past fifty, a true adult dragon. In climbing with its master, it too had been blessed by the gods.
With a thunderous crash, Ghidorah struck the earth, shaking stone and soil.
The dragonborn dropped to their knees, not from fear of kingship, but from the crushing instinct that seizes all lesser creatures before a divine being.
Aegon ignored their worship. He simply ordered Ghidorah to bring forth the remains of Aerea and Rhaella, laying them gently upon the pillar of flesh.
The sisters' minds had long since been broken by the dragon demons' beast-blood. That they had lived long enough to reach Valyria was a miracle. Now, they would be nourished by the essence of the Outer God flowing through the pillar, their lives slowly rekindled.
When this was done, Aegon turned to his followers and commanded them to fortify the bay that led into Valyria. They were to guard the passage at all costs.
For this was no mere route. This was the Targaryens' greatest secret—an inheritance of gods.
The Stairway to the Gods, a treasure that could forge prodigies, would ensure House Targaryen stood forever at the world's peak.
Already, dragonborn power had spread across Westeros and Essos, gifting countless men and women with strength beyond mortals. That tide would only rise.
But with the stair in their keeping, the Targaryens would always have the edge.
When all was settled, steel wings burst from Aegon's back. He soared skyward, landing upon Ghidorah's central brow. With a single sweep of his wing-blades, he carved a throne into the dragon's horned crest and sat, serene and sovereign.
Ghidorah spread its vast wings and carried them from the peninsula.
Though grown into a giant, neither dragon nor rider dared wander freely here. The island, nourished by the power of the Outer God, had birthed horrors too great to risk. Aegon might escape them—Ghidorah, with its vast bulk, might not.
So they retraced their route, leaving Old Valyria behind, bound for Westeros.
Ghidorah flew hard and fast across the Summer Sea. By Aegon's reckoning, they would reach King's Landing within days—far sooner than he had promised Alysanne.
Through the Regal Eye he had left in her care, he already knew the state of the realm. The troubles whispered of in court were trifles. With his return, all would be resolved.
...
Seven days later, Emperor Aegon II returned to King's Landing, astride Ghidorah in majesty.
Through the Eye he had already told Queen Regent Alysanne of his return, and she had made every preparation for a grand welcome.
The day he came, the sky was iron-gray, rain falling without pause since dawn.
The air was heavy, oppressive, as though the heavens themselves foresaw what was to come.
Bennifer and the other great officers of court waited in the Red Keep's inner yard, cloaked and hooded against the drizzle, silent in their vigil for the emperor's arrival.
Within the castle, knights, squires, pages, laundresses, and servants all busied themselves with their tasks, yet none could resist pausing now and then to glance skyward, eyes full of expectation.
At last, amid the city's eager anticipation, the sound of vast wings beating the air reached them.
From the eastern wall, a guard glimpsed the gleam of Ghidorah's crimson scales and shouted in excitement.
That single cry spread like wildfire, swelling into a roar that spilled over the walls of the Red Keep, rolling down Aegon's High Hill, sweeping through every street of King's Landing—echoing even into the countryside beyond.
Aegon II did not descend at once. He circled the city three times on Ghidorah's back.
Each pass brought him lower, as if to deliberately flaunt his majesty and the dragon's grandeur, ensuring every man, woman, and child could see him clearly, wave to him, shout his name, and be struck with awe.
Only then did he bring Ghidorah down, landing before the Hall of Conquest in Dragon Square, where his long-awaiting lords and advisers stood ready.
"He's changed so much since the last time I saw him," Bennifer murmured among the gathered nobles, reflecting silently: "The boy who once flew to Old Valyria is gone. In his place stands a man—mature, steady, and radiating power."
Aegon had grown taller, his chest and arms broad and powerful. His silver hair fell loosely to his shoulders, and his once-smooth cheeks now bore a fine silver stubble, lending him a look both older and more commanding.
Gone was the polished regalia of his coronation. He now wore a salt-stained leather jerkin, suited for hunting and riding, with a studded vest over it. Yet on his belt hung the legendary sword Blackfyre—his grandsire's blade, symbol of kingly might.
Though sheathed, its unmistakable shape and aura of power sent a shudder through Bennifer like a bolt of lightning.
"Is this the King's warning to me?" he thought uneasily.
As the thought crossed his mind, Ghidorah landed with a thundering crash, smoke curling from its jaws, its presence overwhelming.
During Aegon's absence, many lords had approached Bennifer in secret, scheming to unseat the king who had "abandoned" his realm.
Hesitant, Bennifer had not rebuked them as he ought.
Now, standing in the rain, his heart twisted with regret. Perhaps he had been a fool not to have denounced them outright.
But the young King's demeanor quickly eased the Grand Maester's fear.
Aegon dismounted with effortless grace, smiling warmly—confident yet gentle, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Lord Tully murmured in awe, "That smile could banish every shadow from the world."
The crowd bowed deeply, many falling to both knees in reverence and devotion. From the city, bells rang out in joyous peals, echoing through every street, carrying the people's relief and joy at their King's return.
Aegon II pulled off his gauntlets, tucking them into his belt, and said in a firm, steady voice:
"My lords, let us begin."
Queen Regent Alysanne stepped forward quickly, embracing her husband with deep affection.
They had been wed only briefly before Aegon departed, yet in his absence she had managed the realm with grace and order, earning widespread praise.
That same day, Aegon II resumed his place upon the throne.
Though Alysanne had governed ably, the burden of regency had left her weary, and she no longer attended council meetings.
In the throne room, the young King wasted no time in reshaping the Small Council.
With sharp discernment, he retained loyal, capable advisers and dismissed the inept without hesitation.
First, he affirmed the strength and loyalty of Lord Rogar Baratheon, Hand of the King, and confirmed Lord Corbray in his role as Captain of the City Watch.
He then thanked Lord Tully for his faithful service, granting him leave to return to Riverrun to reunite with his wife, Lady Lucinda, and enjoy the peace of home.
The office of Master of Laws passed to Lord Albin Massey of Stonedance.
One of the first lords to yield during the reign of the Dragon Prince, three years earlier Massey had studied diligently at the Citadel, striving for a maester's chain. Then fever had claimed his two elder brothers and father, thrusting lordship upon him.
Though a crooked spine left him limping, his mind was sharp and gifted. As he once declared:
"I do not limp when I read, nor do I limp when I write."
The offices of Admiral and Master of Ships went to Lord Manfryd Redwyne of the Arbor, who entered court with his three young sons—Robert, Rickard, and Lian—serving as his pages.
It was the first time the admiralty had gone to someone outside House Velaryon, a change that stirred no small controversy.
At last, when Aegon announced the dismissal of Lord Edwell Celtigar as Master of Coin, the city erupted in celebration.
The King, it was said, parted with Celtigar with tact and courtesy, even praising his two daughters for their loyal service to Queen Alysanne on Dragonstone, calling them "two jewels."
However, while the two girls were permitted to remain in the Queen's service, Lord Celtigar was ordered back to Claw Isle at once, and all of his tax policies were abolished. Within only three days of the young King's return, he had decreed the repeal of every recently raised tax and added levy, winning wide acclaim from the commons.
Yet finding a successor to Edwell Celtigar was no simple matter.
Many urged King Aegon to appoint Lyman Lannister, the wealthiest lord in all Westeros.
But Aegon dismissed the idea with calm certainty. "Unless Lord Lannister can dig up gold beneath the Red Keep, he is not the answer I seek."
He briefly considered whether to recruit one of Donnel Hightower's cousins or uncles, for Oldtown's wealth came mainly from trade rather than natural resources. But Donnel the Delayer's conduct during the Moon Septons' trial had already cast doubt on House Hightower's loyalty.
At last, Aegon made a bold, visionary choice: to bring in a man of talent from across the Narrow Sea.
Rego Draz was no lord, no knight, not even a local magister. Born in obscurity, he had clawed his way up through wit and relentless effort to become the richest man in Pentos.
Yet even at the height of his wealth, he was shunned by high society, barred from the Magister's Council, mocked and excluded. Tired of such scorn, he leapt at the chance when Aegon's invitation arrived, gladly sailing to Westeros with his family, friends, and vast fortune.
To give him rank equal to the other lords, the young King granted him a lordship. Though Draz bore the title, he had no land, no knights, no castle. Some in the Red Keep mocked him as the "Lord of Air." But Draz laughed it off.
"I'd sooner have the power to tax the very air we breathe," he quipped. "That would be a title truly worthy of me."
Aegon also dismissed Septon Mattheus, the irascible, corpulent priest who had once railed against his leaving Westeros.
...
The young King's reforms did not stop with the Small Council. He swept through the lower offices as well, replacing dozens of officials.
Among those dismissed were the Master of the Spoons, who oversaw the royal kitchens; the Great Seneschal of the Red Keep and his many subordinates; and the Master of the Docks at King's Landing. Soon after, his reforming hand reached farther still, replacing the harbormasters of Oldtown, Maidenpool, and Duskendale.
Nor did it end there. The head of the Royal Mint, the King's Justice charged with upholding order, the Master-at-Arms who trained the young squires, the Master of the Menagerie who tended the crown's beasts, the Master of the Stables, even the castle's lowliest ratcatcher—all were dismissed and replaced.
When the reshuffling of offices was complete, Aegon II turned his gaze to the dungeons of the Red Keep.
He commanded a full cleansing. Cells were scoured, the damp and rot driven out. Prisoners long confined in the black cells were dragged blinking into the daylight, feeling the sun on their skin for the first time in years.
More than that, Aegon offered them something rarer still: the chance to plead directly before their king, to speak of their grievances and tell their tales.
He did this because suspicion lingered in his heart—that some of those languishing in the dark had been cast into chains unjustly, victims of his father's cruelty.
But the truth was harsher than he had hoped. Many had been broken by years of darkness, their minds and bodies alike ruined. Some were near-mad, unable even to speak clearly, others so wasted they could no longer care for themselves.
When all had been seen to, and the new officers settled into their posts, Aegon gave his next order.
He instructed Grand Maester Bennifer to send a raven north to Winterfell, summoning Lord Stark to King's Landing.
For Alaric Stark, Warden of the North, had time and again denounced the King's policies. Now that Aegon had returned from across the sea, such words would not go unanswered. Some would pay the price.