Pre-Chapter A/N: So here we are back on our regular upload schedule. Sunday and Tuesday/Wednesday. I've put systems in place to ensure we don't fall behind again so yay. I look forward to stress-testing them as the madnesses of life stack up (We're two weeks in now and life is really hitting. We're still on schedule though(more or less– does this count as Wednesday or Thursday? I haven't slept so I count it as Wednesday), so things look good!). To celebrate the scale of our achievement, we've got a cheeky little discount for the whole month (code: MAY01) on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga). Next four chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio.
XXXXX – AEGON TARGARYEN
Mother was going to kill him, Aegon decided as he watched the dragon break out of its chains. She was going to kill him, and then after that Father was going to kill him again. Doubledead. Aegon Targaryen, son of Viserys Targaryen, was doubledead. The reason he was doubledead: his idiotic brother who clearly did not understand when a dare was sarcastic was hollering for dear life. Aemond was dead, and Aegon was going to join him very soon. If Caraxes the Blood Wyrm did not kill him, then Mother would. And then Father after her. Scratch that, he was triple dead.
The dragon roared, and Aegon felt his breeches begin to moisten. His cheeks flushed. The dragon had better burn his clothes when it killed him. If he was Aegon the Breechwetter in the history books, he would die of shame again. Four times dead. What was the word for that? Helaena would know, but there was no way to ask her since he was about to die. His eyes had closed themselves already, and so he did not see it, but every step the dragon took was felt in his very soul from the way the ground shook. Aemond was dead. He was dead.
The dragon was coming towards him now. Was it going to kill him first before it did Aemond in? Shouldn't Aemond's screams be annoying it more? Aegon's tongue was as frozen still as his feet were. He could not run even if he wanted to. Not like running would do him much good, would it? The dragon's steps got closer and closer until it was practically on top of him. He opened his eyes and looked up. He was right under the dragon.
It was going to sit on him to kill him, he realised. That was it. It was over for him. He was a dead, dead boy. And with that renewed realisation, his tongue suddenly regained its function. Aegon had no choice but to scream. There was no stopping it from happening. He wailed for his life. For any one of the dragon handlers that they had distracted and ran away from to come find them. But Aegon knew they never came this direction. That was why he and Aemond had run here. It was just supposed to be a joke. Get Aemond to come here, scare him with the Blood Wyrm, and get a good memory out of it, and now he was going to die.
Aegon felt Caraxes' tail slam into his side as the dragon walked past him. He hit the wall with a crunch, his vision instantly beginning to darken. He wasn't sat on, at least. That was the last thought he had before he died.
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The Seven Heavens were shockingly warm, he realised. Unless he was in hell. That made sense. He was in the Seven Hells. He knew he should have prayed with the Septa instead of planning pranks to play on Aemond.
And noisy as well. There was a lot of growling and snapping going on here. Perhaps too much of it. Then he felt a sharp poke against his ribs. Ribs that felt suspiciously intact. He lifted his head and was met with nothing but blurry darkness. It took his vision too long to come back to him. But then perhaps it should not have, as he realised what he was looking at. A set of teeth sharp enough to pluck out his nose. He jerked backwards, but his vision blurred again with the sudden movement. Still, Aegon. Still. He told himself. Don't be scared. If the dragon was going to eat you, then it would have eaten you already, he said mentally.
He did not know that. The Maester had taught him about carrion predators, and dragons did not seem the sort. Maybe it was just waiting to find out if he was still alive before it did the killing and eating bit. That suspicion was supported when the creature suddenly growled, prowling forwards until its face was right in front of Aegon's. He closed his eyes and waited for his death. This was all Aemond's fault, he thought with his last seconds of life. When they met in the Seven Hells, he was going to strangle him. How hard could it possibly have been for him to realise that he was being pranked and just step away from it?
No, he had to go through with it, and now they would be the first Targaryen princes to be killed by dragons in this stupid a manner. Even Aerea had managed to fly somewhere with Balerion before she died. They were just going to be bones and char in the dragonpit. Wait, why was it taking so long? he wondered.
And then he contemplated opening his eyes again. Did the dragon want his eyes to be open so he witnessed his own death? That would be cruel. But he had no idea what was going on regardless. There were growling sounds in the distance but nothing he could parse. Maybe he should just leave his eyes closed and run? The dragon would set him on fire in a matter of seconds, though. It wasn't even close to Caraxes' size, only slightly bigger than the ones that they had practised with the Dragon Keepers, but then again, even those ones could have killed him or Aemond if they got in the mood to.
Still, his eyes opened slowly, and he was met with the dragon's bright golden orbs staring at him. It was still. Just like he was. They were also practically nose to nose—barely a fingernail's worth of space between them. He leaned backwards, trying to get some space, only for the dragon to sharply match his motion, closing the distance again. It growled in its throat, not opening its mouth, but still making Aegon's heart beat like one of those drums that the Bravosi carnival carried around, and his very bones vibrate like a bell that had just been rung.
No moving, then, he noted, staying as still as he could. And then that was the moment that his bladder decided that it needed to empty itself. The dragon tilted its head at him, the distance between them remaining precariously little and the situation with his heart reaching a level that was not sustainable even for a boy his age. He had never heard of someone's heart beating so fast that it got tired and stopped working at all, but that had to be a possibility. Maybe he would be the first. He could just imagine the indignity. Aegon the Weak-Hearted, they would call him. A name more suited for a swooning maiden than the legendary knight he would have become if this thing with the dragons had never happened.
What a way to die, what a legacy to leave behind. The dragon in front of his face was just there, still, like nothing was happening.
"What do you want?" he found his voice and asked. A risk, he knew. But the dragon had not killed him yet, and if it had not yet killed him, there was a chance that it did not want to. Perhaps it wanted something else. Maybe it was smart enough to know that humans did not taste all that nice and knew that Aegon could get him all the sheep in the world if he let him go. His father would do it, he would. Just if the dragon let Aegon go. But it remained there, still. Not saying or signing anything that Aegon could understand. Saying, Aegon near-scoffed at his own phrasing. Dragons could not speak. But they could understand, though?
Was that the issue? That Aegon had spoken in the common tongue? High Valyrian was the language of dragons. The dragon keepers had them command the dragons only in High Valyrian. A dragon understanding common was probably unheard of.
And so Aegon repeated his request in High Valyrian, stuttering his way through it. Aemond and Helaena both spoke the language better than he did. For a second, he wished that either of them was in his place, but then he felt guilty. Aemond was probably dying an even worse death than Aegon's inevitable one right now. And Helaena was just a toddler. A toddler too smart for her own good, but just a toddler regardless.
His High Valyrian was either very bad—too bad for the dragon to understand—or this dragon, just like he, could not much understand the language that was their mother tongue. Mother tongue? His father was the one who spoke High Valyrian. Did that make it his father's tongue instead? Focus, Aegon, the part of his brain that sounded oh so much like Mother scolded. Mother. She would be so sad. Both he and Aemond dead in one afternoon. He hoped it didn't harm the baby. The baby that he hoped would be another boy he could play with. Maybe one not as weird as Aemond. And definitely not as bookish as Helaena.
Focus. The voice said again, and Aegon nodded absently, only for his forehead to slam into the dragon's snout.
It looked shocked. Could a dragon even look shocked? It reared back, eyes wide and lips—did dragons have lips?—coming apart to reveal teeth set in a growl.
"Sorry," Aegon said in reflexive common before repeating the word in Valyrian. That was one he knew well. What else would he use when he inevitably messed something up in his High Valyrian work? The dragon did not seem interested in its apology as it shot forwards, snout bumping straight into Aegon's own head. He flinched backwards more from shock than from pain. The dragon was strong, yes, but its skull wasn't all that hard. Aegon's head was harder by his own reckoning.
"Look, can you just make up your mind or something? Either you're going to eat me—and good luck with that, I am just skin and bones, I assure you—or you are going to let me go—in case you can not tell, the one I think is the best suited for our present situation is the latter," he said, and the dragon just tilted its head to the side. He'd spoken in High Valyrian, then, Aegon was certain. Bad Valyrian, to be certain, but most definitely still High Valyrian, or close enough to it that it should have been able to understand his words.
He sighed in frustration before the dragon finally did something other than stare at him, scare him to death, or annoy him. It backed away. Was it letting him go? He hoped so. Oh, by the Seven, he surely hoped so. No complaining when the Septa took them to pray anymore if the gods actually managed to get him out of this one, which nobody else would have been able to.
Aegon watched the dragon closely as it retreated. It had not turned away from him even once, just stepping backwards with its gaze fixed on Aegon. He couldn't miss this opportunity, rising to his own feet. He swayed as he did so, only now noticing the blood that had been flowing down from his head. It was not too much, but it had clearly been happening for a while. His tunic was near soaked with his own blood.
Following the dragon's example, he also did not turn his back on it, leaving by taking steps backwards even as his gaze was drawn towards the dragon's gesticulations. It almost looked like it was waving at him. Not wanting to be rude—especially not to a dragon that had just spared his life—he waved back and then continued his journey. He walked backwards until his back made contact with the wall behind him. It was warm to the touch—nearly hot. Aegon then began to walk along the wall, searching for an exit of some sort. The dragon, credit to it, remained where it was, head following Aegon's path but seemingly uninterested in anything he was doing.
Aegon finally found a gap in the stretch of wall after a few seconds—too many seconds, to be honest, of searching—and walked through it. He did not turn until he had made it through, and only when he did did he realise that he actually had no idea where he was. He knew about the Dragonpit. Every Targaryen did. Constructed by Maegor the Cruel and completed by Jaehaerys the Wise, his great-grandfather. It was a place for the dragons that gave their House their power to roost and to exist in some relative peace. The only problem with it was that the Dragonpit was man-made only to an extent.
The older dragons, when it came time to roost, would dig the earth with claw and tail. They would melt the stone and burn whatever was in their path to make comfortable places to rest. And then the smaller ones would dig tunnel after tunnel for their own use. And since dragons were dragons and did not oft like having random humans in their territory, much of the Dragonpit had warped from his great-grandfather's master plan, and no one had actually mapped out the changes. They had vague ideas of what was where, but only for the shallowest parts of it, and Aegon knew the Dragonpit ran deeper than most would expect.
Coming out of that cavern, he had no choice but to just keep going. He kept an ear out for dragons, but his lessons had taught him that that was a mostly useless endeavour. Any dragon would smell and hear him long before he would hear them—unless they were roaring at full volume for some reason, and that would be a danger of its own. But it made him feel better, and at least if a dragon killed him, then he would have it be said that the beast had to work for it, at least. Aegon the Almost Dragon Escaper, perhaps? Or would that be Dragon Almost Escaper? No. Both of them were stupid. And then he heard something. What was that? he wondered, turning around by instinct.
He was not proud of it, but whatever urine he still had in his bladder joined the rest of it in his breeches as he came face to face with a dragon. A very familiar dragon. Now that he was standing, he could see that the dragon stood just a bit taller than he did, having to lean down a bit to be face to face with him. Once again, it did nothing but stare at him.
"Is this the part where you laugh because your prank succeeded and then eat me?" he asked, speaking in common. Not like he was going to much like whatever answer he got. But then again, the dragon remained still. It just watched him with those golden eyes.
"You know what? I'm done. Eat me if you want," he said, more than slightly fed up with the pranking. He turned and began to walk away. If he would die, let it be said that the dragon had feared him so much that it had to attack from behind.
And much to his shock, the dragon did not attack. It just followed his steps. At first, he was sure it had just stayed there, but every few seconds he would turn and there it would be. Right behind him, silent as a ghost and seemingly uninterested in doing anything other than stare at the back of his head. So he chose to ignore it and just kept going. He maintained a slow pace, trying to be careful to hear any of the greater dragons, and beyond a deep roar far to the left—he had chosen to take the right route at that intersection and avoided any turns that looked like they led in that direction—he had been successful.
Well, successful in avoiding other dragons, but not so successful in figuring out a way out of here. Part of him wanted to ask the dragon behind him, but he knew it was probably something of a prankster like he was. And he knew that if he himself knew the way out and someone asked for it, he would lead them instead to the largest dragon he could. So for his own good, he did not even attempt it. Well, that and the fact that the dragon could not speak.
Aegon would find his way out. He had to. He was named for the Conqueror himself. He would find his way out of here. It was just a matter of time. And if he did not end up finding his way out, then he was sure someone would come in and find him eventually. He was a prince. They had to be searching. Well, unless they thought he was dead like Aemond. Oh, Aemond, he remembered. Now that his death was no longer imminent, his mind turned to his little brother. His little brother who he had taken to get killed. Aemond was annoying, but he did not deserve to die. Why had he just followed Aegon's lead? He should have known better.
Thoughts adrift, he did not hear the snapping and growling until it was too late. He took the right turn and froze as he was faced with over a dozen dragons. They were only a small bit smaller than the one that followed him around. But they were worlds more active, play-fighting with themselves around a scrap of charred meat. A scrap that was ignored in favour of Aegon. He froze, feet refusing to move as they began to rush at him as one. Killed by a horde of dragons. What a way to go.
His bones shook, and he was shoved to the side as the golden dragon roared and stepped in his place. The approaching dragons for the most part froze as he did so. Two kept coming. One with dark grey scales, and the other with purple scales. The golden-scaled one roared and counter-charged. He hit the purple one, driving it into the wall before turning and facing the grey one. He breathed out magnificent fire the colour of his scales that forced the grey one to cover its head with its wings, and behind the fire, he charged. His claws dug into his foe, tearing large trenches into the side of the grey one. Blood—dragon blood—fell to the ground, sizzling as it did so. The grey one backed off, and while the purple one found its feet, it did not attack.
Gold nodded, proud of his work, before turning to Aegon almost like he was asking how he did.
"You're—my dragon?" he asked, not fully sure, and the golden dragon just looked at him like he was stupid.
"Sunfyre. Your name shall be Sunfyre," he said.
A/N: Aegon, meet Sunfyre. Sunfyre, meet Aegon. Couldn't have a story without my favourite dragon in it, could I? We meet the absolute badass now. Next four chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early. Discount available with the code MAY01– have fun.