Dragonstone
The night air on Dragonstone smelt of salt and smoke. Aemon Targaryen stood on the highest balcony of the citadel, with arms folded behind his back, and his eyes fixed on the stars.
Caraxes circled overhead, a blood red shadow gliding across the face of the moon. His presence was calming in a way words could never describe. After he bonded with Caraxes it felt like he had found a lost part of his soul, but even that bond couldn't quieten the storm inside him tonight.
He had agreed to the Conquest.
He had stood beside his siblings and said yes. That he would burn what needed to be burnt. Break what needed to be broken. That he would help shatter the Seven Kingdoms and bind them to a single throne forged with fire and blood. He would do it. He would not hesitate. Armies didn't frighten him. He had destroyed armies before, and he would do so again.
That wasn't what gave him pause.
What gave him pause was what comes after the conquest.
Aegon dreamed of unity, of peace, of a realm forged to endure the Long Night which he saw in his visions. A kingdom strong enough to face what lay beyond the Wall. But all Aemon saw was a throne built on weak foundation, and a dynasty too fragile to bear its own weight.
Because he knew now. He had seen.
The visions began two years ago and never truly stopped. At first, only in dreams. Then creeping into his waking hours. A world unlike this one—with strange magic, stranger gods, cities and faces and horrors he had never known. But it felt real, more real than illusion should.
He had watched a boy grow up in those dreams. A boy with a scar and a chosen fate. A boy who endured pain, betrayal, death—and bore it all with quiet grace. A boy who loved and lost and still walked to his death.
That boy lived inside him now—not just as memory, but as instinct, woven into the marrow of his soul.
The first visions were only flashes. Names and voices that weren't his. A wand in place of a sword. Magic not born of fire or blood, but out of will. A castle beneath the stars. A woman's scream. A madman's laughter. Then more—wars in corridors, friends who became enemies, enemies who saved him. Death, so much death. And always that boy, walking toward it and returning again.
At first, Aemon had thought himself cursed.
He woke screaming more nights than he could count. Drenched in sweat. Grieving for a mother he had never met. For friends he never truly had. For a world that was not his, but lived in his bones like it always had been.
And always—always—Rhaenys was there for him.
She never mocked him. Never doubted him. She held him through it, with her cheeks on his bare chest. Listening in silence, with her arms around him, and spoke in soft voice "Tell me everything, Aemon."
And he had. Night by night. Until she knew the names. Wands and Horcruxes. A school of ghosts and memories. All the pain. All the love. All the terrible, beautiful truth of it.
Visenya and Aegon believed him too. How can they not when Aegon has his own dreams.
Only Orys didn't know about their dreams. Not because they didn't love him, but because the bond they shared with Orys was not the same. Orys was their brother and he was loyal, there was no doubt about it, but he was not their brother by fire and blood.
There were things Aemon could do now—spells remembered from another life, when he stood near Caraxes. As if the dragon lent him strength, as if something ancient stirred in the magic that had long slumbered in this world. Fire also bents differently to him now. He can mould it, and use it according to his will.
He had killed with wand, sword and dragon. Fought Dark Lords and Volantene hosts. He had won wars that ended in ruin. And if there was one thing he remembered more clearly than all the rest—it was this:
You could not rule through fear alone forever. You could not trust bloodlines to remain strong. Nobles were fickle. People forget. Love fades. Fear dies. Thrones topple.
And Aegon… Aegon hadn't seen that yet.
Aegon believed House Targaryen was eternal. That dragons, magic and visions would keep them aloft forever. But none of that mattered if their children were weak, if their rule bred only resentment, if their kingdom was built on only bones.
Aemon hadn't said any of this aloud.
He had been the boy who won a war, only to see the world rot anyway. He had watched a Ministry eat itself. Watched love turn to ashes. He had died and returned and it still wasn't enough.
Not then. And not now. Not unless they conquer differently. Not unless they built something better.
Behind him, the door creaked open.
He didn't need to turn, to know that it was his wife who had entered.
"You didn't come to supper," said Rhaenys softly.
He said nothing. Just stared out at the clouds and the wind and the silhouette of Caraxes circling above.
She stepped beside him, with hair unbound, silver-gold strands fluttering in the breeze. "You saw more?"
"No," he murmured. "Not tonight. I've just been thinking."
She waited. She always waited. That was why he could tell her anything.
"Aegon means well," he said finally.
"But you have doubts about the conquest," she replied. "You haven't said it, but we know. And you're in luck—Aegon and Visenya wants your counsel. They want to talk. All of us do."
He turned to her. "My doubts are about what comes after the conquest of Westeros. When we are gone. When our children inherit out legacy. What kind of world will we be leaving behind, Rhaenys?"
There was silence for a while.
Then he said, softly but firmly, "Let's go talk. There is no better time than now."
He looked back to the sky. Towards Caraxes.
"We will conquer Westeros," Aemon said, voice low with firm resolve. "But then we will rebuild it in our image. Not in the image of the lords and ladies. Not in the image of Westeros. We will change the laws in a way that will benefit us. We will shatter all the old powers. We will create a new power structure. We will build something that can last a thousand years. We will create a New Valyria. A realm of dragons, magic and unrivalled power."
Rhaenys stepped closer to him. And she kissed him fiercely, full of fire.
And when she pulled away, she smiled against his lips. "Then let's begin."
_______________________________________________________________________
The chamber was quiet save for the crackling of the brazier in the corner. Four dragonlords sat around a carved obsidian table—four siblings who would decide the fate of an entire continent.
Aegon broke the silence.
"Aemon, we need to speak plainly." He looked at his brother—with the gravity of someone who had thought deeply, and come to uneasy conclusions. "Visenya and I—we've been discussing your silence. I know you have doubts about our conquest plan. And after thinking it over, so do we."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So tell us, brother. Tell us how you would have done it. And don't deny that you've made plans. We all know how your mind works."
Rhaenys gave a small smile, her eyes shine with mischief. But she too, was listening.
Aemon sighed. "If we follow the plan as it is to defeat these petty kings in battles, and then giving them the opportunity to bend their knee to you or burn. You want these kings and lords to bend the knee, and in return, they all swear fealty to you, and they send you taxes and men when you ask for them. That's it, isn't it?" He looked around. "You think our dragons will do the rest."
Aegon didn't deny it. Neither did his sisters.
Aemon continued in his calm voice. "Aegon, these kings have ruled their lands for far longer than before even Valyria rose to power. We can defeat these kings in war. They will kneel to you. But the loyalty of their lords? Their smallfolk? Their loyalty will remain with their former kings, not with us. Except some opportunistic or disgruntled ones."
He paused to let the words settle.
"And then there is the Faith." He looked to Visenya, who grimaced slightly. "They already see us as abominations. They will not stop seeing us as anything else. And one day they will rise, not in our lifetime, but they will rise against our descendants. Of that, I have no doubt."
Visenya's fingers tapped once on the table. Rhaenys said nothing, but her brows drawn.
"Then there's the Citadel," Aemon added. "They hold too much influence. Every castle relies on their maesters. They control knowledge, history, medicine, communication—and they are not loyal to us. They are loyal to themselves only."
Aegon shifted slightly. "You believe we would be surrounded by enemies, even after victory?"
"I know we would," Aemon replied, eyes steady. "The power structure would remain the same. We would just be replacing one king with another while leaving the true roots of power untouched. And these roots will grow back."
The room fell into silence again. Then Visenya spoke.
"So what do you propose?"
Aemon sat back and breathed deep. "Complete restructuring of Westeros. Eradication of the power structure of Westeros as it exists now. War of the Conquest must be methodical. We have to diminish the strength of all the nobles and the Faith in our lifetime. We have to break the spine of their hold on the realm."
Rhaenys asked. "You mean destroy every noble house?"
"No," Aemon replied. "But strip them down of their power. Limit how many men they can raise and limit their other powers. Let them keep their titles without their teeth. And it can be done if our conquest is methodical instead of just few battles."
Aegon frowned. "And what will replace them?"
"A well planned bureaucracy," Aemon answered. "Built from the ground up. We will train and raise smallfolk—educate them—to serve as officials, magistrates, stewards. We will create a new merchant class. We will form a standing army, a professional navy, and our own spy network that doesn't die with the spymaster. City watch, border patrol, tax collectors—all will answer to House Targaryen only, not to some lord. We will create an alternative to citadel, whose loyalty will be towards House Targaryen. A new institution that teaches healing, science, history—but loyal to us. Our own centre of knowledge. We will create our own bank and our trade network."
Visenya narrowed her eyes, intrigued. "And the Faith?"
Aemon said. "Let them keep their Septs but remove all their hold over the governing of the realm. Poor Fellows and Warriors Sons must be wiped out by any means necessary—be it through diplomacy or fire and blood. Religion and State must be kept separate. And House Targaryen must never abandon their culture, heritage and religion."
Rhaenys, thoughtful now, asked softly, "And what of us, Aemon? Of House Targaryen?"
His gaze turned to her, gentler. "We are not First Men or Andals. We are Valyrian dragonlords. That is what must endure. We must not build a fragile monarchy."
He continued. "The realm should be ruled by a Dragon Council—made only of adult Targaryens. Our numbers will grow in the future. It will be led by the Head of the House, yes, but all members will have a voice. Head of House will have emergency power during wars or some critical situations. All the members of our House will receive a proper education. And we will have to make codified laws about all the situations, or as many as we can, and courts for small matters. Like Valyria, where every Dragonlord had a voice. It worked for five thousand years. If there is some situation on which we don't have enough knowledge, then we can call some knowledgeable person but the final say belongs to the council. This is the only way to decrease the chances of any civil war happening in our family."
Aegon spoke quietly. "That led to political rivalries in Old Valyria."
Aemon replied "Yes. But no open warfare. Because every dragonlord had power, and no one had all of it. That's why Valyria existed for so long."
Aegon asked. "And marriages?"
Aemon replied. "Strictly within the family. And if no suitable match exists, then we look first to the surviving Valyrian house in Westeros. If none exist there, then Valyrian descendants in Essos. Only then, and only if needed, then to the other Westerosi houses."
He met their eyes one by one. "Any Targaryen who marries outside the family, their spouses have to give up all the rights to their birth house, even if these spouses are the last of their house, and these spouses will have no voice in the realms governance. There will be no compromise on this. Female Targaryens must marry only matrilineally."
"To protect the dragons from passing outside our house," Visenya murmured, approving.
"And to ensure no house gains too much power through our house," Aemon added.
Rhaenys whispered, "This may take our whole lifetime."
Aemon's voice was low. "Other option is that House Targaryen will loose the realm in few centuries."
They all sat with his words for a long while.
Then Aegon sighed but a faint smile touched her lips. "I must admit, little brother… you don't think small."
Then Aegon was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "What else?"
Aemon shook his head. "That's as far as I've thought." He looked down at his hands.
________________________________________________________________________
A week later the four Targaryen siblings sat once again in Aegon's solar.
Aegon broke the silence first.
"Aemon," he said, his voice calm but certain. "I've thought long and hard about what you had said last time. Your plan—it has merit. More than that, it might be the only way forward if we want our dynasty to last long."
Aemon nodded once, eyes flickering with a restrained satisfaction.
Visenya, seated with her arms crossed, frowned slightly. "It's an ambitious vision. But a costly one. Bureaucracies, armies, spy networks, fleets… temples of knowledge don't build themselves. Where do we get the gold? And the people?"
Aemon leaned back.
"We've been paid generously for our help against Volantis," he said. "And we've hardly touched the wealth our ancestors brought from Valyria. There's more hidden in vaults in this very castle. Later, once we land, Casterly Rock will make up the difference in short run. Then the bank and trade network will cover the cost in long run. And not to forget taxes."
Visenya raised a brow, but said nothing. Rhaenys, lounging comfortably beside the fire, stirred at that.
"And the soldiers?" she asked. "The administrators? The builders?"
"We can start with Essos," Aemon replied. "We can buy slaves—then free them, and offer them a new life in Westeros. Use them as labor after training them. The Unsullied, too, if we can secure them. It gives us manpower and loyalty. People who owe everything to us will not look elsewhere when war comes."
Rhaenys asked curiously. "Why didn't the Volantenes ask Aegon's help, to deal with their Dothraki problem?"
Aemon smirked. "Apparently, they don't feel safe with Balerion inside the Black Walls."
Aegon let out a laugh. "And they think Caraxes is safer? That blood-soaked wyrm would torch his own shadow if it twitched in the wrong way."
Aemon chuckled in return. "To them, size is all that matters. And Balerion's fire burns hotter."
Visenya leaned forward slightly. "So, you'll use this as a chance to visit the ruins of Valyria?"
Aemon's expression shifted, becoming thoughtful. "Yes. You all know—I have no wand. Without it, many of the magics I saw in my dreams remains beyond my reach. If there are answers to be found, they'll be there."
Rhaenys looked at him with concern. "Aemon… be careful. The air in Valyria is said to be poisonous. Even dragons didn't survive the doom."
"I'll take precautions," Aemon said gently. "My magic stirs strongly when I'm near Caraxes. I will use Bubble Head Charm and stay close to Caraxes. And whatever secrets remain in Valyria—stone-fusing, Valyrian steel, spells long lost, maybe even Dragonhorns—if we can uncover them, it will change everything."
Aegon drummed his fingers lightly on the table. "And the gold? The artifacts? Where do you plan to dock the ships that will carry all that back?"
Aemon's eyes lit faintly with mischief. "I found a hidden cove south of Tolos last time I was in Essos. It is perfectly isolated. I have already kept lots of empty chests there. I'll do dropping of the chests during night. I will wait for Orys there. And then he can oversee their transport."
Visenya narrowed her eyes. "Orys doesn't know where you got those chests, and neither will he ask. He won't speak a word, I know. But rest of the crew? Even the loyal ones—men will talk."
Aegon's voice was low. "I've taken care of it. The men who are chosen have no families. No ties. When the time comes, they'll be… dealt with, before anyone has the chance to pry words from them."
There was a silence after that. Rhaenys didn't look pleased, but she didn't argue either. But it looks like they will have a long talk in their chamber.
______________________________________________________________________
Caraxes waited at the edge of the courtyard, his long serpentine neck was curved, his wings were twitching like he could already feel the wind. Aemon stood beside him, rubbing his jaw gently.
"Take me with you," Rhaenys said, her voice soft but urgent. "I can fly closely. I can wait beyond the smoke. If anything goes wrong—"
"I can't shield you too," Aemon said, cutting in gently. "Not even for a moment. I tried that with Aegon once—I nearly dropped the spell."
Visenya stepped forward and placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"If you see anything that speaks to you—anything that calls to you—don't trust it."
"I won't," Aemon promised.
Her fingers tightened. "Good."
Then Rhaenys broke. She threw her arms around him and held on like she didn't want him to go.
"Please come back to me, Aemon," she whispered.
He hugged her back, pressing his cheek against her hair. "I will, my love."
Slowly, she let him go.
Caraxes let out a low rumble as Aemon climbed into the saddle. The bindings clicked into place.
The dragon was preparing to spread his wings.
"Come back to us, Aemon," Aegon said from below.
Aemon looked down at the three of them, gave a crooked grin, and offered a casual two finger salute.
"I love you all," he said. "I'll see you soon."
Caraxes rose into the sky, crimson wings beating against the grey dawn, flying east—first towards Volantis and then toward smoke, ash, and a land the living were never meant to walk again.
The wind swallowed their shapes.
And the courtyard fell silent.