Game Of Thrones: The Dragon Targaryen

Aegon Targaryen had never been so cold in his entire life.

The Wall was a splendor to behold, so massive it made even a King wonder how man had made such a thing, but it was seven hundred feet of ice. Aegon was of the south; he didn't like ice. Or snow. Or the wind so cold it could cut through layer upon layer of fur and leather, freezing his pale skin. Targaryen's were dragons, not bloody snow bears. They thrived in heat and flame, not chill and snowflake.

Except Jaehaerys of course. His half-brother seemed right at home, surrounded by Starks and a red-eyed, white furred beast of a direwolf. The King couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at how well the animal's fur matched the white armor of Ser Borran of the Kingsguard, who had travelled north with Jaehaerys over half a year ago. Aegon supposed it was the Stark that ran through Jaehaerys' veins that gave him his cold resistance, the blood of six-thousand years' worth of Kings of Winter flowing through the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Aegon was buggered in that regard; on one side he was a dragon, on the other the bloody sun itself. Neither lent much help in being prepared for the North.

Even the cold and the terrifying-looking direwolf couldn't stop the King from swinging off his black stallion and striding to the black-haired Prince, even as the courtyard—Stark, Targaryen and Crow alike—sank to one knee. With a chuckle he waved Jaehaerys up before clasping his brother's wrist, slapping Jaehaerys' shoulder. "You look like shit, baby brother."

Jaehaerys grinned at that. "You'd best be careful, Your Grace," he said, tilting his head towards the albino direwolf regarding the King quizzically. "He's somewhat protective of me."

Aegon raised an eyebrow at the beast, trying to keep his face blank of the apprehension standing near the creature gave him. Its red eyes bored into his violet ones, more intelligence behind them than any animal had a right to possess. Though his slightly too-big legs and ears indicated the wolf still had some growing to do, he was already bigger than any dog Aegon had come in contact with before. "So this is the infamous Ghost, eh? He's….big."

Jaehaerys laughed at that, grinning. "You should see Grey Wind, Robb's wolf. Makes Ghost here look like a runt."

Aegon had the suspicion that he in fact did not want to see Grey Wind, though the mention of Robb Stark reminded the King of the Iron Throne that there were others present awaiting his word. "Lord Stark, it is a p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e to see you again."

The Lord of Winterfell rose, the others in the courtyard doing the same as Aegon's own party began dismounting. "It is an honor, Your Grace," Eddard replied, Ice, the Stark greatsword of Valyrian Steel, strapped across the layers of furs covering his back. A young man beside him grinned even as the King and Lord Paramount spoke.

Aegon turned to meet that grin with one of his own, grasping the wrist of the heir to the North as he had Jaehaerys' moments before. "Robb, it is good to see you again."

"And you, Your Grace." His blue eyes lit up with glee. "I would have loved for Grey Wind to greet you as well, but I'm afraid he became distracted with a particularly juicy bone. I've not been able to teach him proper priorities as of yet."

Aegon shook his head in wry amus.e.m.e.nt as he moved on down the line to a stocky, broad-shouldered man in a black cloak. "Lord Commander Mormont, I presume."

The Night's Watchman's voice was as grizzled and rough as his aged face. "An honor, Your Grace. The Night's Watch is indebted to you for answering our call."

Aegon shook his head. "It is my duty as King, Mormont, though I will not lie and claim that my decision to turn north was deemed wise by all those at court."

Another voice, elderly and wizened, responded from the ranks of Crows. "Those at court have not seen what we here at the Wall have, Your Grace." An ancient man, face lined with more wrinkles than Aegon had coin, slowly walked forward, escorted by none other than Samwell Tarly, who had attached himself to Jaehaerys' party when the Prince first went north—to escape his father, no doubt, who ridiculed Sam but was unable to replace him as heir to Horn Hill due to Samwell's friendship with Jaehaerys. The elderly man's hair was as white as the snow around them, stature stooped from age, eyes milky and clearly blind. "What most of us here on the Wall have seen, that is."

Aegon shouldered past Mormont and Robb, taking the hand of the oldest living Targaryen. "Maester Aemon," the King breathed, unable to move as his great-great uncle's hand slowly reached up to brush over Aegon's face, as if the blind former Prince was seeing with his hands. Aegon realized with a start that he was.

"I have heard many good things about you, Aegon Targaryen. I believe you would have made Egg more than proud."

Aegon didn't have time to question just who 'Egg' was before another presence appeared on the Maester's other side, a gauntleted hand reaching out to replace Samwell Tarly's gentle grip on Aemon's arm. "Uncle Aemon," Aelor nearly whispered, a direct contrast to the authoritative tone the

Dragon of Duskendale normally wielded as a weapon. Aegon knew these two men, who had at one time been the only a.d.u.l.t Targaryen's left in all the world, had kept a correspondence since before Aegon had even been born, meaning this meeting had a much more potent effect on Aelor than it was having on Aegon. "I'm glad I can finally put a face to the name."

The old Aemon repeated the face tracing on Aelor even as he smiled knowingly. "I wish I could say the same, nephew."

Aelor returned the smile even though the Maester couldn't see it, appropriately chagrined by the faux pas in word selection. "I have several of my sons with me, uncle, one of whom is named after you. He was nearly as excited at the prospect of this meeting as I was."

"Meeting another Aemon Targaryen would be a p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e; for a time I wondered if there would be any of my blood left to bear the name. But my bones are old, and the cold bothers me. I would prefer to meet my great-great nephews in the warmth of Castle Black."

Aegon and Aelor both laughed, near identical sounds. "Of course, uncle," Aegon said, turning to Lord Commander Mormont and Lord Stark, both of whom had been waiting respectfully. "I suspect there is much to be discussed, my lords."

Mormont nodded sharply. "Aye, Your Grace. Much and more."

Tyrion Lannister had often said he intended to travel north, climb the Wall and piss off of the edge of the world. Since the entertaining and brutally smart Lord of the Westerlands was stuck back in King's Landing, Aegon Targaryen did the honors for him, no matter how unkingly the action was.

The view from seven-hundred feet in the air was unlike any other the King of the Iron Throne had seen before, particularly here at dusk. The setting sun painted the sky in oranges and reds, making the savage land north of the wall look almost serene. Aegon looked out across the forest and icy mountains and wondered how something so beautiful could produce something as brutal as the wildlings.

And, just maybe, things much more deadly.

Reading of tales and reports from Beyond-the-Wall, passed to King's Landing in the scrawl of Commander Mormont, was one thing; hearing those same tales from the men who had lived the experiences was another. Aegon didn't necessarily believe the tales of giants and Others, not even after the firsthand accounts of some of the Watch's most reliable men, but he couldn't quite say he disbelieved them either. The sheer terror in the eyes of some of the Rangers, men who were in normal circ.u.mstances every bit as tough as even Aelor, could not be faked. None could say they had seen a White Walker themselves—though no one was truly sure just what those even looked like—but they had most certainly seen something, and whatever it was had frightened them.

That in turn frightened Aegon. He wasn't a craven, but he certainly wasn't a fool either.

The Royal relief force had arrived a few hours after dawn, and after a midday meal a council had been convened. It had lasted until mere moments ago, Night's Watchmen, Northmen and Southerners all debating the best way to handle the wildling threat, which was the foremost issue on most minds despite the underlying, sinister threat. Reports consistently placed Mance Rayder's in the tens and tens of thousands, numbers nearly unfathomable to Aegon's mind but estimates the Rangers swore to. Aegon had brought with him fifteen thousand men, the Starks another ten. The Watch itself numbered less than one thousand, with only a few hundred quality fighting men among them. Aegon had no idea just how bad the state of the Watch had become, and already was planning on rebuilding it back to strength.

Assuming he survived, that is.

On the trip north the idea that he wouldn't hadn't even crossed the King's mind. The wildlings were supposedly unwashed, unorganized barbarians. While that may yet prove true, there seemed to be a whole hell of a lot of them. While the higher quality of men and weapons the Targaryen Prince possessed evened the odds considerably, there was something to be said for sheer mass of numbers. Even so, with the Wall as a buffer between his men and the swarming capabilities of the wildlings, the royalist had a startling advantage.

But that also provided a problem. There were near twenty-six thousand men on the Watch side of the Wall, and while they had brought rations for their men as expected, Aegon couldn't camp out on the Wall forever and eat through the supplies of the Night's Watch. As the Starks so often said, winter was coming, and even after the wildling—and any other—threat was put down the Watch would have to do battle with the cold. But if he sallied forth north of the wall he'd be giving the wildlings the advantage; they'd see him coming with so many men, and while his better soldiers could smash the wildlings in open field there seemed to be a stunning lack of those north of the wall. If it became a war of attrition Aegon knew he would come out on the losing side; each of his best men were worth ten wildlings, but all reports of Mance Rayder claimed he was passing intelligent. The King Beyond-the-Wall would know not to engage Aegon fully and would take to the forests and hills, wearing out the horses and men of the King of the Iron Throne and bleeding Aegon slowly.

Aegon's one true advantage was that Rayder would have the same logistical problems; some rumors placed his number of men at triple that of Aegon's, which meant triple the men to feed. A large number of women and children were also among the wildling camps, which provided their own set of issues. While Aegon couldn't stay at the Wall forever, Mance Rayder couldn't keep so many hungry mouths together on the other side of it either.

Which led to the final issue; nothing said Mance Rayder would stay on the other side.

The Wall could stop an army, it was true, but it couldn't do much against one man. Small parties sailed across the Bay of Ice in canoes to land on the other side. Others reportedly even climbed it. While there was no chance of even near his entire force reaching the southern side of the Wall, it was no secret that only Castle Black, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and the Shadow Tower were occupied. That left miles and miles of open territory where small bands could cross and begin to wreak havoc on the North and on the forces at the Wall.

Which is why most of his force was leaving in the morning.

"Beautiful, isn't it."

Aegon turned to face the voice, tucking his manhood back into his breeches. Walking by the ever-vigilant Ser Barristan was his brother, Jaehaerys covered head to toe in black. Aegon nodded in greeting before turning back to the view. "Aye, it is."

"I have spent nearly all of my time up here since we arrived. I can't get enough of it."

"You enjoy it here, don't you."

Jaehaerys nodded. "I enjoy the North, yes. Something about it seems to draw me in, take a hold of me. Like I…"

When Jaehaerys didn't continue Aegon smiled gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Like you belong here." The black-haired Prince could only nod. Aegon chuckled lightly. "I hope you don't start hating the south, brother. If I fall to wildlings or a giant—or just this stupid cold weather—you are the King of the Iron Throne."

Jaehaerys shoved Aegon jokingly. "You will not fall, Aegon. Ser Barristan will not allow it, correct Barristan?"

The older but always deadly Kingsguard grinned. "Correct, my Prince."

Jaehaerys turned back to the King. "You see? You will come out of this as whole as you went in, mark my words."

They chuckled together before growing silent, observing the rapidly setting sun as the already frigid temperatures dropped even more. After a long while Aegon spoke again, voice low. "How is your mother?" The question was simple enough at face value, but both Targaryens knew Aegon's true meaning in asking it.

Jaehaerys sighed, long and slow. "She loves me very much, and I her."

"…but?"

The half-Stark grunted. "She missed so much of my life that she wants to be in every waking moment of it now. That was fantastic at first—I'd spent so long dreaming of meeting her that the actual thing was bliss—but it's like she does not realize I am every bit Targaryen as I am Stark. It is as if she wishes me to abandon the Dragon for the Wolf. And as if she doesn't realize that I need time to myself as well."

Aegon nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "So you're saying your mother can be…"

"Annoying, yes, though the Seven know she means well and I love her for it. It took all Eddard and I had to keep her in Winterfell and out of the war party. It's nice to be able to breathe again." Aegon only nodded, though a small smile played on the corner of his lip. Jaehaerys caught it, and though he threw his elder brother a glare the same twitch began in his own lips. Before long the two brothers were laughing aloud.

When they sobered several moments later, Aegon asked the question he knew he probably shouldn't. "I noticed you still aren't talking to our uncle."

Jaehaerys' face instantly resorted to its grim nature. "I...don't know what to say." Aegon said nothing, allowing his brother time to gather his words. "Down deep I understand why he did what he did, I truly do. I may not be happy about it, but if I were in his place I likely would have done the same. I'm not saying all he did was right, because it certainly wasn't, but…I wasn't correct in all of my actions either, particularly during the tourney at Duskendale. Gods, it's all just a mess."

The King patted his brother on the shoulder once more. "You should speak with him, settle the air. There are too few of us Targaryens in the world to allow infighting in our family." Even as Aegon said it he felt ashamed. I am no one to talk on this matter, me who despises his uncle's power.

Before Jaehaerys could respond or Aegon could voice his own conflict, the strong voice from their youth spoke from behind them. "Jaehaerys." Both Princes whirled to find Aelor Targaryen standing beside Barristan, scarred armor blending in with the rapidly falling night. His equally scarred face was impassive, but Aegon could see no small amount of relief in his uncle's violet eyes; it was all the King needed to see to know that he had heard at least the last part of their exchange.

Jaehaerys opened his mouth to respond but whatever words he had intended to stay became lodged in his throat, for the Prince didn't manage to make so much as a sound. That was all well and good it seemed, for Aelor spoke again quickly. "I am taking my retinues and Renlor and Baelon ahead of my force to scout out the way to the Nightfort before we garrison it. I was…" Aelor hesitated. It was odd, hearing the man who so decisively destroyed cities be at a loss for words. "I was wondering if you would like to come along."

Jaehaerys kept his silence for a long moment, Aegon knowing better than to say a word. His uncle had volunteered himself and his two warlike sons to garrison the Nightfort, the largest of the ruined and abandoned Night's Watch castles—and also the one with more legend of terror surrounding it than any other. Jaehaerys had been meant to accompany none other than accomplished ranger Jaime Lannister—the same Kingslayer Aelor had sentenced to take the black all those years ago—to Queensgate, putting a fair amount of distance between Lannister and renowned Lannister-slayer. But plans could be changed, and Aegon waited almost as apprehensively as he knew Aelor was.

"Yes," the younger Prince said finally, nodding ever so slightly. "I believe I will, uncle."

The Dragon of Duskendale nodded, smiled ever so slightly, and quietly turned to leave.

Well, that's one battle over. Now all we have left is eighty thousand wildlings and mythical ice demons; this should be a piece of lemon cake.

Jaehaerys had been raised with stories of his uncle's valor on the battlefield, of the marvelous feats the famed Dragon of Duskendale had carried out. Even as he heard those stories from the court his uncle had refuted them, claiming war was nothing like those stories led boys to believe and that Aelor himself was nothing more than a cold-blooded killer.

The Prince realized now that his uncle had been correct on both accounts.

Their scouting force had encountered a raiding party of Wildlings just outside the Nightfort's walls, proving the decision to garrison and patrol the ruined castles a good one. The wildlings had been as surprised by the sudden arrival of four Targaryen Princes and their retinue as the Targaryen Princes had been at the presence of the wildlings. The two sides were evenly matched in number—though there were several thousand Targaryen and Night's Watch soldiers rapidly closing in on the skirmish—and had seemed to crash into one another in a mutual decision to kill.

Jaehaerys had never seen battle before, but he had drawn his sword and charged in alongside his uncle and Ser Borran without hesitation. He hadn't even had a chance to think about it.

He heard the war of Warrior, his uncle's old warhorse, and found the stallion he himself rode—one of Warrior's many descendants—echoing the cry. Or maybe that Jaehaerys himself, he couldn't quite say. All that mattered was the sword in his hand.

His shield was strapped to his stallions back—they hadn't actually been expecting any sort of battle—but Jaehaerys had wisely followed his uncle's lead and donned his black armor. His personal sigil of the warring dragon and wolf, newly etched onto to his b.r.e.a.s.tplate, gleamed as his stallion barreled towards a huge wildling with a massive grey beard. They were all afoot, dressed in boiled leather and many furs, against mounted men in armor, but the wildlings joined the battle with a war cry of their own.

Jaehaerys catapulted towards the big wilding from the side, as the big man was distracted by two men of the Night's Watch, scouts that had shown Aelor the way to the Nightfort. Jaehaerys readied his blade, intending to skewer the wildling from the side with no regards to if it was an honorable blow. The giant wildling cut down one of Watchmen as Jaehaerys grew ever closer, turning to rain down blows on the other with stunning ferocity. The move placed his back more firmly in Jaehaerys' path, however, and the Prince readied himself to land the blow.

But suddenly an arrow sprouted from the eyehole in his stallion's armor, digging deep and killing his horse instantly, and Jaehaerys found himself flung forward as the great destrier crashed to the ground.

Before the Prince understood what was happening he was flat on his back, ears ringing and visor angled up to block his vision, sword miraculously still in his hand. His vision swam for a moment, left hand reaching up to pull his visor back down without any true conscious thought.

And suddenly instead of looking at his visor he was looking at a sword, rusty but certainly sharp, stabbing straight down towards his face.

Instinct took over, the countless hours Jaehaerys had spent training in the tiltyard all that saved his life. He twisted his head out of the way, the sword that was supposed to sink into his eye instead digging into the churned snow. In the same instant Jaehaerys drove his blade up, his mind calculating where the wildling who was attempting to kill him was without any effort on the Prince's own behalf. He felt the blade dig into something solid, felt something flow into the gap between his gauntlet and vambrance, and he rose to a sitting position out of instinct, driving the blade deeper. A wilding stood halfway over him, surprise across his features as his lifeblood trailed in rivulets over Jaehaerys' arm.

Even as he struggled all the way to his feet in his armor, withdrawing his sword from the now dead wildling, Jaehaerys knew he'd never forget the man's face.

Jaehaerys didn't dwell on it long, though part of his brain knew he would relive the moment in his brain over and over in his dreams that night. The sound of battle still raged around him, Jaehaerys catching a glimpse of Renlor and a wildling with an axe hacking away at each other, seeing Ser Borran cut down another wildling and attempt to reach Jaehaerys' side before being caught up by another. The slight knight of the Kingsguard was limping badly, an arrow with markings matching the one that had felled his horse embedded in the gap of his knee armor. Without truly thinking Jaehaerys rushed towards him, only as an afterthought stopping by his very dead stallion to cut his shield free.

That afterthought was all that saved his life, as an arrow bounced off his shoulder pauldron as the Prince bent down. If he hadn't have made the motion the arrow would have embedded itself in his neck.

Jaehaerys shot back to his feet, only half holding onto the shield, and turned to face the archer. He caught a glimpse of the man between a mass of fighting bodies and horses, and inexplicably the Prince started towards him, gripping his shield firmly. He charged forward, bashing one wilding locked in battle with one of the retinue knights in the side of the head with his shield. Another wildling, this one roaring like an aurochs and wielding two axes, appeared in front of him. Jaehaerys instinctually caught one axe on his shield and deflected the other with his sword before pushing forward like a bull, shoving the wildling off balance with his shield and driving his sword into the man's gut.

As the second wildling fell Jaehaerys found himself only a few feet from the archer, an arrow staring at his face. The Prince brought his shield up just in time, the arrow digging into the top inch of the banded steel and oak instead of his grey eyes, and with a roar of his own he slammed into the archer, knocking their slight frame onto their back. Roaring like a dragon—or snarling like a wolf, take your pick—he raised his sword, ready to land a killing blow.

His blade stopped in midair. Staring up at him was a woman.

Her hair was fiery red, her eyes blue-grey. Her bow had been knocked aside, her near-empty quiver of arrows now useless. Fear had covered her features as she stared up at Jaehaerys, her eyes—which were slightly too far apart—pleading, her mouth hanging open to reveal crooked teeth.

She was beautiful.

His shield and sword dropped, Jaehaerys staring in his own slack-jawed shock and confusion. He couldn't kill a woman, could he? There was no honor in that. A man trying to kill you was one thing, but a woman? Would a true knight do such a thing?

His mind was racing with so many questions that he didn't see the glint of victory flash across the wildling girl's eyes until it was too late. A dagger was suddenly in her hands as she lunged at him, the point aiming directly for the gap under his chin. Jaehaerys' reflexes had no chance of stopping her, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was going to die.

But then a sword flashed in, colliding with the dagger and knocking it out of the girls grip. One whole finger and part of another went with it. The red-haired wildling barely had time to look at her now maimed hand before a figure closed in and a gauntleted fist crashed into her cheek, snapping her head around and sending the girl crashing to the snow unmoving.

Jaehaerys could only stare dumbly at the girls back, part of his brain registering the rise and fall of her torso indicating she was still alive. His view of her unconscious form was suddenly filled with black armor, and he looked up into his uncles raging violet eyes.

Aelor's voice was sharp and harsh. "A woman can kill you just as fast as a man; sometimes even faster. Don't you ever hesitate; it will only get you killed!" With his words his uncle shoved Jaehaerys' b.r.e.a.s.tplate, sending him staggering back.

The motion returned him to his senses, and Jaehaerys looked around to see the battle was largely over, a few wildlings still in sight as they scattered like the wind away from the scene of carnage. Bodies, of both horse and man, littered the blood-soaked snow, some in the furs of the wildling, some in the black of the Night's Watch, and still others in the armor of knights from the retinue. Renlor and Baelon were both still standing, the former retching out of the eye and visor holes of his helm as he desperately tried to pull the spiked piece of armor off. The latter stood so stonily calm despite the blood on his blade that you'd think he had merely been in a tilt instead of a battle. Ser Borran was limping towards them, armor bloody from both his enemies and the arrow in his leg.

Aelor took his scarred helm off, eyes still blazing, but he finally stopped staring a hole in his nephew and instead scanned the rest of Jaehaerys, looking for signs of injury and noting the blood coating his arm and sword. When the Dragon of Duskendale met his nephews shocked eyes once again they were slightly softer. "Otherwise you did well for a first battle. I am proud."

A slick voice called to his uncle in that moment as the survivors began to act, tending to wounded and taking stock of the carnage. A medium built man, with black hair and pale blue eyes, stopped beside them. The man's name was Bronn, a sellsword who had joined Aelor's retinue after assisting in the destruction of House Rogers. While once the men Aelor Targaryen had kept were all knights of high valor, they had been replaced in later years by all sorts of different men, both high-honored knights and cutthroats. All Aelor seemed to care about now was men who were good at killing, and few were as good at killing as Bronn.

Jaehaerys didn't like him; he was amoral and a mercenary, only there to get paid. But something about the man's sheer honesty and demeanor prevented Jaehaerys' from disliking him either.

"What do you want done with her?" Bronn asked, gesturing with a bloody dagger down at the maimed, unconscious wildling. Bronn never m'lorded or Your Graced, but Aelor didn't seem to mind. Bronn was excellent at killing after all, and he seemed to understand better than most the hatred and need for blood that Aelor carried with him.

Aelor opened his mouth to reply and Jaehaerys was certain eh would tell Bronn to slit her throat. "Uncle," he protested, grasping the Dragon of Duskendale's arm, then realizing he didn't know what he was going to say and slamming his mouth shut so hard his teeth rattled.

Even though Jaehaerys' hadn't put in in words Aelor seemed to understand what he was asking. He stared at his nephew for a long moment before grunting. "Bind her hand and take her prisoner; we'll see what she knows." He stopped Jaehaerys' bubbled thank you's with a sharp glare and raised hand. "We'll get the information out of her by whatever means necessary. Do the same for any others left alive."

Bronn nodded, whistling and gesturing for two other men. Even as they approached Aelor turned and remounted Warrior, having dismounted in the midst of the fighting for one reason or another. "I'm going to head back to the column and get some ravens sent to the other garrisoning parties to be on the lookout."

Jaehaerys stayed rooted in his spot as one of the men Bronn had called for knelt beside the unconscious wildling, binding the heavily bleeding stump where her fingers had been lopped off. A dark bruise was already beginning to cover half of her beautiful face, where Aelor had landed his fist. He only took his eyes off of her to notice the blood caked on his arm and c.h.e.s.t, and then couldn't help but notice her fingers lying in the snow.

Unlike Ren, Jaehaerys' managed to get his helm off before he emptied the contents of his stomach all over the blood-churned snow. Even as he retched over and over, Bronn's amused laugh filling his ears, all Jaehaerys' could think about was how happy he was the wildling girl wasn't awake to see it.