The hour before dawn lay heavy over Drakoncrest.
The windows of the chamber were still dark, the sea beyond them unseen but ever present, its distant breathing rising and falling like a vast creature at rest.
Aegon sat alone at the long table, parchment spread before him, his fingers stained with ink, his expression tight with concentration. The same lines had been read and reread so many times that he could have recited them from memory, yet still his eyes returned to them, again and again, as if sheer will might force certainty from uncertainty.
He adjusted the placement of a small stone on the map, then stilled his hand.
Footsteps sounded softly behind him.
"Still awake?"
Helaena's voice was barely louder than a whisper, gentle enough that it seemed woven into the quiet rather than breaking it.
A moment later, her presence announced itself in another way. Small, cool fingers brushed his temples, then began to knead lightly, carefully, as though afraid of disturbing something fragile inside his head.
Aegon exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders despite himself.
"I am not tired yet," he said, though his eyes closed for a heartbeat beneath her touch. "What of you? Why are you not resting?"
Instead of answering, Helaena leaned closer. He felt the warmth of her body, the faint scent of soap and night air in her hair. He reached up, caught her hand, and with a gentle pull drew her into his arms. She yielded without resistance, settling against him as though the motion were the most natural thing in the world.
"I dreamed," she said after a moment.
Her voice had changed. The softness remained, but something else lay beneath it now, a thin thread of unease.
Aegon opened his eyes.
"What sort of dream?"
Helaena hesitated, her fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sleeve. "A storm came from the north," she said slowly. "Snow without end. It blotted out the sky, Aegon. Everything was white and screaming with cold." Her brow creased, and she pressed closer to him. "And from the south, there were figures. Endless ones. Grey, all of them. They walked as one body."
Aegon's hand moved instinctively, stroking the back of her fingers, grounding her.
"I was afraid," she admitted, her voice dropping further. "Especially of the ones from the south. Beneath their feet, the mountains and fields were covered in bodies. Corpses everywhere."
He did not interrupt her. He waited until she had finished, until the silence returned, heavy and thoughtful.
"Do not be afraid," he said at last, his tone calm, steady. "I am here."
The words were simple, but he spoke them with certainty, as if declaring a fact of the world rather than offering comfort.
He shifted slightly, angling his body toward hers. "Did you see them clearly? Those grey figures?"
Helaena shook her head, her cheek brushing his chest. "No. I tried, but it was like looking through fog. I am sorry."
"There is nothing to apologize for," Aegon replied. His thumb traced slow, absent circles over her knuckles. "It is enough that you told me."
Her breathing began to slow not long after. The tension in her body ebbed away, replaced by the familiar weight of sleep. When her grip loosened entirely, Aegon knew she had drifted off.
Carefully, he rose, lifting her as though she were made of glass. She did not stir as he carried her up the narrow stair, nor when he laid her gently upon her bed and drew the covers up around her. He lingered there for a moment, watching her face soften in sleep, then turned away.
Back in his own chamber, Aegon lit another candle and reached for a thick, dust-worn volume.
A History of the Strange and Mysterious World.
The snowstorm from the north required little thought. The Others had haunted the far edges of recorded history for thousands of years, perhaps longer. Whether the Night King would stir early or not was a question for another day. If he did, Aegon was not afraid.
The unknown, however, was another matter entirely.
Grey figures from the south. Corpses beneath their feet.
They were not the Shark-Arm Dornishmen. Of that, he was certain.
He turned page after page, scanning for anything that might fit, anything that might explain what Helaena had seen. When the first pale light of morning crept through the window, he found himself staring down at an entry on greyscale.
The resemblance was superficial at best. Greyscale was a wasting disease, slow and fatal. It did not march in endless ranks.
With a sigh, Aegon closed the book. His head ached faintly now, and fatigue finally caught up with him.
After a simple breakfast, he intended to sleep for half an hour. No more. The day ahead would not wait for him.
The North District bore little resemblance to the wasteland it had once been.
Where barren ground had stretched empty and lifeless, rows of wooden houses now stood, small but orderly. Beyond them, reclaimed fields rippled faintly in the morning breeze, planted with rye and barley that had only recently begun to take root.
Inside the large mess hall, the wind slipped through poorly sealed planks, carrying with it the smells of grain and boiled vegetables. Nearly a hundred people stood in line, waiting patiently for their allotted rations of food and fresh water.
At one of the distribution windows, a man stepped forward, clutching a few copper coins in his calloused hand.
"My lord," he said, his voice low and careful. "Could you spare an extra egg? My wife is close to birthing. I can pay."
The knight behind the window glanced down at the coins, his mouth twitching.
"I understand," he said after a moment. "Truly. But rules are rules. If you wish to buy eggs, you may speak with others."
He softened his tone, nodding toward the line. "Someone might be willing to trade."
Eggs were distributed only once every ten days. Even money often failed to loosen their scarcity.
The man bowed his head in thanks and stepped aside, already scanning the crowd.
Supplies were tight everywhere in the North District.
The East District, by contrast, was marked by relative abundance.
Families of naval soldiers and knights lived there, their homes sturdier, their stores better stocked. The gold dragons promised by Aegon upon their resettlement had arrived in full. For many, it was more wealth than they had ever held in their hands.
Even after building homes and securing provisions, there was money left over.
Unlike the North District, where tools and seed were borrowed and owed back within three months, everything in the East District belonged to its residents outright. Taxes would be paid, of course. What remained was theirs.
Morning mist clung to the ground as Arryk moved among the workers, his eyes rimmed with exhaustion.
"Make sure the foundation is solid," he snapped, pointing toward the partially completed structure. "This fertilizer plant is essential. If it fails, everything fails. Take it seriously."
He had repeated the same instruction more times than he could count, yet he stayed, watching, supervising every detail.
Even in the Reach, rye yields rarely exceeded one hundred and fifty pounds per acre. Aegon claimed that with proper fertilizer, the Stepstones could produce more than one hundred and eighty.
Arryk could scarcely imagine it.
Yet he believed.
The shout of a guard broke through his thoughts.
"My lord," the man said, slightly out of breath. "There is a problem at the waste disposal plant. Please come at once."
Arryk straightened sharply. "Again?"
His fatigue vanished as though it had never existed.
"Take me there. Now."
When he reached the site, the words left him unbidden.
"Gods above…"
He stared down into the pit, disbelief freezing him in place. Then instinct returned.
"Stop digging!" he shouted. "All of you, stop!"
He climbed down into the pit, kneeling beside the exposed remains. Even the small section revealed was unmistakable.
A dragon.
"Send word to His Highness," Arryk said hoarsely. "At once."
Aegon had only just closed his eyes when Aemond shook him awake.
His brother stood there with a sandwich in hand, bacon and egg visible beneath a glossy layer of honey sauce.
"You had better have something important to say," Aegon muttered, sitting up. "Otherwise, you will not sleep tonight."
Aemond swallowed quickly. "A dragon skeleton," he said. "Found in the East District. Ser Arryk requests your presence."
Aegon was on his feet instantly.
"How large?"
"I do not know," Aemond replied, taking another bite. "You will see."
Sunfyre took wing soon after, the golden dragon descending upon the East District with a roar that drew every eye.
When Aegon saw the pit, his breath caught.
The exposed snout alone was enormous.
"Secure the area," he ordered, voice steady despite the thrill running through him. "Five hundred meters. Only trusted men."
He rested his hand upon the dark bone, smiling faintly.
*
Three days later,
Inside the main house, the study lay steeped in afternoon quiet.
Prince Aegon wrote at speed, quill scratching across parchment, while a letter from his mother lay open at his right hand. Alicent's careful script had delivered news he still found difficult to accept.
He had never imagined that Viserys would truly decree that Rhaenyra's wedding to Daemon be celebrated on the very same day as his own engagement feast with Helaena.
At times, Aegon thought grimly, he wished he could pry open his father's skull and see what muddled thoughts drifted within.
The door creaked softly. Helaena entered with a small dish of fruit. She peeled a pale, translucent grape and, without a word, placed it between Aegon's lips. The sweetness burst against his tongue.
"With Aemond and Daeron away, it's become so quiet," she said with a gentle smile. "I'm not quite used to it."
Aegon huffed. "To be precise, only Daeron ever truly filled the halls with noise."
He leaned back, stretching his shoulders, then drew Helaena into his arms. He pressed a kiss to her round, smooth cheek, lingering there longer than courtesy required.
"I've just received word from Mother," he said. "Rhaenyra and Daemon's wedding will be held together with our engagement feast."
Helaena, nestled against his chest, stiffened and straightened at once.
"Together?" A faint frown creased her brow. "I don't like Rhaenyra. She's always… unkind to you."
Aegon's eyes darkened, though his voice remained calm."She is a thief," he said softly, "one who stole what should have been mine, shielded only by Father's favor."
He turned his gaze toward the window, where sunlight cut through the dust-filled air.
"She fears me," he continued. "Fears the day the true heir to the Iron Throne reclaims what was taken from him."
As he spoke, a smile curved his lips, not one of anger, but of cold disdain.
Helaena lifted both hands to his face, cupping his cheeks as if he were still a boy. She kissed his brow, light as a blessing.
"Of course," she said earnestly, "my Aegon is the most brilliant king of all, and the youngest."
Aegon laughed under his breath and drew her close once more.
"Since Father insists our feast and their wedding share the same day," he said, voice low and certain, "then let us show him who truly commands the Iron Throne."
-------
A/N:
Read ahead on Patreon, 22 advance chapters available, with the first 2 free.
patreon.com/Captain_Lag
Also a little announcement-I just released a new fanfic, Dance of the Dragons: Reborn as Aegon the Dragonbane, So do check it out!
that's it I guess, happy reading!!