Game Of Thrones: The Dragon Targaryen

The capitol wasn't the same without him. Then again, very little was.

Alysanne Lefford walked down a corridor of the Red Keep, the same castle she had once all but ruled as Queen. The walls were the same, as were the guards in Targaryen livery and the white of the Kingsguard. The same stench of sewage, the same crimson dragon banners. Aelor's balcony was still there, the view as glorious now as it had been when he'd first shown it to her.

It was all the same, yet so much had changed. Aelor would tell her that it was simply the way of the world.

She missed him every day.

There was a new queen now, and soon there would be a new heir; that was why she was here after three years of being away, to pay homage to the new heir to the Iron Throne, both as his or her surrogate grandmother and as representative of his or her cousin, Lord Lucaerys Taegaryen of Duskendale. Aemma Arryn was the second queen of that name, married to Aegon a year and a half earlier. It had been a reward for the services House Arryn had rendered the Iron Throne during the latest wars, as well as for the key part Aemma herself had played in keeping the Royal Family in the safety of the Vale throughout both conflicts. The former handmaiden to Daenerys was righteous and honorable, not at all a fan of the man Aelor had been, but she had a mind for diplomacy and had been quietly in love with Aegon since she had come to court at age ten. Alysanne didn't know if the king returned that love—doubted it, really—but then again she and Aelor hadn't loved each other either, not at first. Perhaps the young rulers would learn as they had.

The return to King's Landing was more than just a diplomatic trip of course; it was good to see Aegon again. In Alysanne's mind, he looked more and more like Aelor every time she saw him. And of course Baelon, her silent, grim Baelon. His father would swell with pride at the sight of him in his white armor and cloak.

He'd swell in pride at the young child braced on her hip too.

Vaella Targaryen, silver of hair and violet of eye, had come screaming into the world nine months after her father fell in the Second Battle for the Dawn. She was ferocious and fearless even as a baby, as physically exhausting of a child as any of Alysanne's brood. The regent of Duskendale loved every minute of it, though she doubted anyone else did.

Lucaerys was growing at an absurd rate, his mother and both of his grandmothers—beautiful Cersei Lannister, influential Alysanne Lefford—wrapped around his chubby finger. He had a half-sibling on the way now, Myrcella having remarried just shy of a year prior. Aelor Rykker had once been a l.u.s.tful, boisterous young man, not to mention one of Ren's best friends. The wars had changed him, just as Alysanne was sure they would have changed her son if he had survived them. She once thought the now strong and stern Lord Rykker had married Myrcella because he felt guilty that he had survived when Ren had not, but anymore she wasn't so sure that was the case.

Whatever the reasons, his position as one of Lucaerys' bannermen allowed Myrcella to all but live at Duskendale with her son, and his support of the infant lord did much to solidify Lucaerys' reign. Lord Rykker was, after all, nephew of Lord Farlan of the Antlers, another of Lucaerys' bannermen, and young Lord Manfred Langward was the uncle of Lucaerys himself. That left only the Byrch's, and Lord Cleyton seemed more than content to follow Aelor's grandson as he had once followed Aelor.

Lucaerys was safe. They were all safe. Alysanne thanked the Seven and Aelor every night.

Aemon was Lord of the Golden Tooth now. Alysanne's father Lord Leo had been ill since before the War of the Three Kings, and had passed two years past, leaving his daughter's eldest surviving son his lands. Aemon had been married at Duskendale a fortnight before moving west to his new home, wrapping a cloak with his new sigil—a green Targaryen dragon on a black field—around the shoulders of Shireen Baratheon. The banner for his cadet branch of House Targaryen was fitting; Aemon was, after all, dragonrider to Rhaegal. It had surprised them all; one morning Alysanne had awoken to find her quiet son, who was supposed to have been in King's Landing, sitting astride a dragon in the courtyard of the Dun Fort, the fiercest of smiles across his face. Daenerys and King Aegon had both soon arrived atop their own dragons, equal-parts terrified and exhilarated for Rhaegal and Aemon. It had been a laughter-filled, wonderful morning.

Alysanne took a deep breath; it was good to be back in the capitol, despite the changes. There were many wonderful memories here, too, even if many of those who had had a hand in making them were gone.

Jaehaerys had gone north with the Starks a few months prior, riding to Duskendale to say goodbye before rejoining the massive train of returning northerners. Spring had sprung, and while the air was still chilly and snow still covered much of Westeros, the roads were clear enough for Lord Brandon and his lords to finally return home. Val, the wildling woman Jaehaerys had married despite venomous protests from Aegon and the nobles—the two brothers had reputably come to blows over it twice—had been with the Wolf Prince, beautiful and decidedly pregnant. There were plans for a keep to be raised near the ruins of the Wall, from whence Jaehaerys would control the lands north of it for house Stark. Alysanne knew he would thrive there; much as it pained her for him to be so far away, Jaehaerys belonged in the lands of winter.

The North was still overrun with dead bodies, and the cleanup of the Wall would take decades if not centuries, but it still belonged to the living. Jaehaerys had written that Lord Eddard's body had been found in the courtyard of his castle, one hand on Ice, the other on the dagger he had thrust under his own chin. The Lord of the North had been mortally wounded in several places, and when it had come to an end had prevented himself from being able to be revivified. Ice was back in the hands of House Stark, and Lord Bran had the looks of a true ruler; the north would survive, as it had for millennia before the Targaryens and would for millennia after.

Jaehaerys' decision to go north had meant Daemon, Alysanne's youngest son, was now the Lord of Summerhall; he would leave her and Duskendale in less than a year to take 'command' of his new home. Dany was in King's Landing and the best dragonrider of all three, and Aegon was ruling as a king should. Rhaenys was pregnant again, she and Lord Willis already travelling to King's Landing to greet the coming Prince or Princess. Betrothal requests for Saera and Alyssa were already coming in the dozens despite their young ages, and soon enough they would come for Vaella as well.

Her family was spreading out, her children starting to go their own way, but they were still her family. Aelor would have loved to have seen it all; Alysanne swore she would enjoy it double for them both.

"Lady Alysanne," called a cheery voice, and she was already smiling as she turned. The times since the Second Battle for the Dawn had been good to Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the King pin shining on the b.r.e.a.s.t of his tunic. Tyrion smiled broadly as he made his way towards her, the expression mirrored on the face of his wife. Elinor Prester, the Shebull of Feastfires, was a sharp-tongued girl with unrivaled ambition. Her exploits in defending her home from the Ironborn and then in helping to relieve many other Westerland holdings had prompted Tyrion to offer her anything she wanted within his power; all she needed to do was name it. She had replied, simply, 'I wish to be the Lady of Casterly Rock.'

It had been what she wanted, it had been in Tyrion's power, and she had named it. Whatever they said of the halfman behind his back, he was a man of his word. While there was no love between the two there was no hatred either, and Lady Elinor was respected across the region she was now lady of. Alysanne was happy for him; she and Tyrion had long been friends, and the dwarf was one Lannister whom Aelor hadn't hated with all of his heart. It was pleasing to see him with this manner of happiness.

"Tyrion," Alysanne called in greeting, facing them as they neared. "I suppose you are both going the same direction as me."

"Indeed, my lady," Tyrion said, shooting a silly grin at Vaella in Alysanne's arms. "It is not every day that a new heir to the Iron Throne is born."

Lady Elinor chimed in, glancing down at her husband in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Tyrion has been working towards this since he first pinned on the badge of Hand of the King. I'm not sure which of them, he or King Aegon, are more excited."

Tyrion held his hands out in exasperation even as he smirked. "Convincing His Grace to marry was more difficult than it should have ever been; I work for the security of the realm, and that security requires an heir. I will not feel ashamed."

Alysanne laughed lightly. "Nor should you. This is a monumental day for us all."

Others waited outside the birthing chamber throughout that long evening, the anticipation of a new heir heavy in the air. Lord Alesander Staedmon gave both his greetings and his condolences, Lord Commander Arthur Dayne doing the same. Aemon arrived, having ridden Rhaegal from the Golden Tooth on a whim. He took Vaella from his mother's arms, playing with his youngest sibling as if he were a child of an equal age, eventually leaving the hallway to put her down for a nap. Daenerys went with him, the beautiful young dragonrider followed by a near army of suitors, Dany shooting her surrogate mother a good-natured eyeroll in the process. Baelon relived Ser Mychel Redfort of his post outside the birthing chamber, allowing Alysanne to fawn over him as she waited, Baelon having grown taller than Ren or Aelor either one had been. Lord Artys Arryn, his wife Margaery Tyrell and his mother Lysa arrived, Artys fidgeting restlessly at his sister's screams from the birthing chamber, the Rose of the Reach finding his discomfort endearing. Tyrion took lighthearted bets on whether it would be a boy or a girl, Elinor reprimanding him. Varys slithered in and out as silent as a spider. Other lords and ladies arrived, until soon the hall was overflowing and the midwives had to bodily force their way through the awaiting throng.

Chills went up and down Alysanne's spine and a flurry of excited squeals left the crowd when an infant's cry was heard from the birthing chamber.

The king stepped out soon after, having insisted on being in the birthing chamber. That had made Alysanne smile; Aelor had always insisted on being there for their children too. Aegon had grown taller and more muscular in recent years, allowing a closely trimmed silver beard to grow, just as Aelor always had. His hair hung to his shoulders like a silvery waterfall, flowing out from the warlike crown of his ancestors Maekar the First and Jaehaerys the Second. He stood straight and kingly, a broad smile on his face and a bundle held carefully in his arms.

There were dozens of nobles Aegon could have gone to; Lysa, the infant's grandmother. Lord Artys, his or her uncle. Its cousin Aemon or its great aunt Dany. Even Tyrion, the man who had pestered Aegon to death over the need for the heir now in the king's arms.

Instead, Aegon walked to Alysanne.

"Mother," the king said as he gently came to a stop beside her, a violet-eyed, silver-haired infant staring out at her from the swaddles in his arms. "I would like you to meet the future King of the Iron Throne."

"Aelor Targaryen."

From the writings of Aerion Targaryen, Grandmaester to his twin brother King Maekar Targaryen the Second, his nephew King Aegon the Seventh and his great-nephew King Baelon the First, titled The Dragon of Duskendale. Written AC 400.

History will not be kind to Aelor Targaryen.

Grandmaester Colmar the Grey once wrote that you either loved him or you hated him; there was no middle ground. A century after his death, that statement still rings true.

The second son of Aerys, the Burner of Lannisport, the Dragon of Duskendale, was the son, brother, uncle and grandfather of Kings. His youngest daughter, my grandmother Vaella Targaryen, married his namesake, the firstborn son of King Aegon, sixteen years after his death at the hands of the Night's King. From them, the Targaryen dynasty has grown even more prolific than it was in the days of Aegon the Unlikely.

In this humble scholar's opinion, that can be directly contributed to the Targaryen Prince of War.

After his death, many men who once feigned friendship to the first Targaryen Lord of Duskendale would forsake him. Stories of his butchery, his fearsome rage and his affinity for taking lives are known to all, from the highest noble to the lowest peasant. Even now he is widely considered a madman, a highly competent ruler but also a cruel murderer who used his power to crush his enemies into oblivion.

If one believes the stories, the Dragon of Duskendale himself never claimed to be anything less.

Maybe those labels were earned; maybe they weren't. But somewhat lost in the horror of his atrocities is the greatness of his heroics. Accounts and stories written by the likes of Grandmaester Colmar, Lord Brandon Stark the Wise Wolf and Lord Samwell Tarly of the Westmarch all agree that Aelor Targaryen fought all his life for his family, a family that he saved from extinction. If not for the Dragon of Duskendale the Targaryen name would be a legend of old. Dragons would not fly the skies. King Aegon, forever known as 'the Promised', perhaps the greatest king Westeros has ever seen—greater, even, than his forefather Jaehaerys the Conciliator—would have been slaughtered as a babe. Perhaps Westeros wouldn't even exist as anything other than a ruined wasteland, overrun in the waves of Others and wights that toppled the Wall and nearly wiped out an entire generation of fighting men.

We will never know what may have been, but we do know Aelor Targaryen played an important role in all that is. For every horror story there is a song, for every act of contempt another act of reverence.

King Aegon the Sixth ruled for fifty years of peace after the Second Battle for the Dawn, only slightly interrupted by the Cleansing of the Isles. Pat of that was due to the fact that all of the regions had lost so many men in the War of the Three Kings and Second Battle for the Dawn that they couldn't wage war. Part of it was the rebirth of the dragons. But most of it was the fact that Aegon was a wise, just ruler who would attribute the man he was to the uncle who could have usurped him. King Aegon did, as all know, name his heir after the Dragon of Duskendale, though that Aelor Targaryen never became king; he died of an ailment of the heart at the age of eight and forty, followed in death by his heartbroken father less than a fortnight later. His own son and my father, King Jaehaerys the Third, would succeed the Promised as King of the Iron Throne.

Jaehaerys told me stories about the White Dragon since the day I was born, those stories having been told to him by King Aegon and Lord Commander Baelon 'Blooddragon' of the Kingsguard. They spoke of skill-at-arms, of vicious retribution, and of a dragon made man. The songs A Dragon's Wrath and Sun and Sword were written about the Lighting of the Lions and the rumored love of Aelor and Elia Martell respectively. Thundering Hooves, Glinting Steel glorifies his charge across the Ruby Ford at the First Battle of the Trident. Plays of his life, some flattering and most not, are performed in all eight regions and across Essos.

Duskendale, now home to a secondary branch of house Targaryen that rivals even the Lord Paramounts in wealth and influence, thrived under the supposed butcher. The scarred helm and its white flame crest are still displayed in the Dun Fort alongside the ruby pommel of the shattered blade that claimed so many lives, placed there by Aelor's grandson Lucaerys Targaryen.

His children, both in blood and in spirit, helped solidify Targaryen ties to the other regions of Westeros and to previously rebellious factions. Though his eldest son, Renlor Targaryen, would die at the Second Battle of the Trident, Renlor's own son—the aforementioned Lucaerys—would marry Daenella Waters, his cousin and the daughter of Viserys the Betrayer. His shrewd mind and charming nature would later see him appointed Hand of the King to Kings Aegon, Jaehaerys and Maekar, a position he would hold for six and thirty years until the day of his death.

Aemon Targaryen, Lord of the Golden Tooth and first dragonrider of Rhaegal, would marry the only daughter of Lord Stannis Baratheon, the greyscale survivor Shireen. He served Lord Tyrion Lannister faithfully until the Halfman's death, the Giant of Lannister fostering his heir Jaime with Aemon the Scholar and doing much to repair the once-tattered Targaryen-Lannister relations; Lord Jaime would later marry Aemon's daughter Rhaella, further strengthening Targaryen rule in the Westerlands.

Baelon Blooddragon would serve in Aegon's and Jaehaerys' Kingsguards, eventually rising to Lord Commander. Considered both as deadly and as erratic as his father had been, Aelor's third son was as loyal and dedicated a Kingsguard as ever lived, even if honor was never his foremost attribute. He would die defending King Jaehaerys from the assassins of a slighted lord while the King was hunting in the first year of his reign, slaying all four before he succ.u.mbed to his wounds.

Daemon Targaryen, Lord of Summerhall and a child during the War of Three Kings and the Second Battle for the Dawn, would—like his eldest sister Rhaella—suffer a tragic end. At the age of two and twenty he was slain in a jousting accident against his brother Baelon. His wife Daena—the other and elder child of Viserys the Betrayer—would give birth to a daughter, named Viserra, four months after his death. Viserra would serve as the Lady of Summerhall after him, later marrying Aegon's second and final son Vaekar.

Lady Saera Targaryen lives in Winterfell to this very day, great-grandmother to the current Lord Benjen Stark and only living person to have ever seen the Dragon of Duskendale in the flesh. At three and one hundred her mind often roams, and the memories she had of her father have long been lost, though the few fuzzy recollections she had when she could recall them were included in the writing of her husband, the Wise Wolf.

Alyssa Targaryen would marry future Lord Steffon Baratheon of the Stormlands, dying at seven and twenty of complications from the birth of her fourth child, the future Lord Orys II. It is widely believed that her death was the final blow for Aelor's wife Alysanne Lefford, the surrogate mother of King Aegon; the universally respected Westerwoman would join her husband and four of her children in death less than a year later, passing away in the Dun Fort of Duskendale of a broken heart. The whole of Westeros grieved her passing, and as per her wishes she was interred in the Sept of Baelor alongside the ashes of her husband and two eldest.

The final of Prince Aelor's and Lady Alysanne's children, born nine moons after the former's death, would birth a future King and advise him until her own death at the age of five and fifty. Vaella Targaryen was considered smart and beautiful, though stories would carry through the years of her vicious disposition and penchant for ruthlessly dealing with offenders. She was every bit the daughter of the father she never met.

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the niece Aelor so loved—and who was rumored after his death to actually be his ill-conceived daughter, though I myself believe that false—would be the Lady of Highgarden, giving Lord Willas Tyrell three sons and an olive-skinned daughter, a daughter who would be named Aelora in honor of the Dragon of Duskendale. Aelora Tyrell would prove her Valyrian heritage, be it through Rhaegar or Aelor, when she would become the second dragonrider of Rhaegal after Lord Aemon's death, much to the consternation of Princes Aelor and Vaekar. Neither would ever bond with a dragon, though King Jaehaerys would ride Balerion after the death of his grandfather.

Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, namesake of my father and always more wolf than dragon, would spend the rest of his days in the north, travelling south less than a dozen times for the remainder of his life. House Targaryen of the New North shares very few similarities with its southern counterparts; Valyrian features rarely crop up in their children, and the House began worshipping the Old Gods not far into Jaehaerys' reign. The way of life is different there than it is in the south and even in the Old North, but the former wildlings who inhabit the forests and glaciers obey the descendants of Jaehaerys, and they have since the Second Battle for the Dawn fought as ferociously for the King of the Iron Throne as they ever did a King-Beyond-The-Wall.

And then there is the Dragon of Duskendale's sister, the Silver Princess Daenerys Stormborn. The first dragonrider of Aelon and hero of the Second Battle for the Dawn would rise to become perhaps the most powerful woman who wasn't a Queen in Westerosi history, even more powerful than her surrogate mother Alysanne. She was a trusted advisor of King Aegon in matters of diplomacy, and while she would only ever ride the white dragon Aelon, all three of the beasts and their subsequent hatchlings would show a particular affinity for the Mother of Dragons. She would marry the youngest son of Lord Ardrian Celtigar, Ser Melwys, who carried his House's Valyrian steel axe during the Second Battle for the Dawn and every day thereafter. Melwys was a strong man and fair of face, yet also quiet and gentle; Daenerys reputedly chose him more for his poetry and courtly manner than for his Valyrian heritage or skill at arms. Their marriage was a matrilineal one, all four of their children belonging to House Targaryen. Aegon would appoint her to the Small Council as a personal advisor, the first woman to serve on the ruling council of the Seven Kingdoms in a permanent capacity when not a regent or queen, and the Mother of Dragons would spend her entire life in King's Landing.

The royal coffers overflowed under Aelor's care. Trade between Westeros and the Free Cities increased by large margins. The right of agnatic primogeniture, the succession law Westeros was built upon, was honored. Two rebellions were crushed, and the worst threat to ever plague the Targaryen dynasty—themselves—was twice defeated.

These are only stories and artifacts of course, though the logistical and familial statements are accurate; who truly knows what Aelor Targaryen was honestly like as a man. Lady Saera was two namedays old when her father rode off to war, and Lady Alyssa wasn't even one. Renlor and Rhaella would die in that war, Dowager Queen Vaella would never know him, Baelon Blooddragon and Daemon were not fond of writing, and Aemon the Scholar's works were ones of a son about his dead father, and have had their nature called into question—though it is only fair to mention that his accounts paint Aelor in a much different light.

I am not writing this to defend my great-grandfather; for all this maester knows he was every bit as mad as the worst rumors claim he was. But as a scholar, I seek to teach the truth, and the truth is that Aelor Targaryen, whatever his many faults, is as important a figure in the history of Westeros as any king of any house. His atrocities were great, but so were his achievements. He helped build the modern Targaryen dynasty, reshaping Westeros along the way. He wiped out entire Houses and burned prosperous cities to the ground, yet he also spared thousands of innocents and didn't usurp an infant when most of Westeros wished him to. The Dragon of Duskendale was truly a man of extremes, both positive and negative, and those extremes would shape the future of an entire continent.

No, history will not be kind to Aelor Targaryen. But without him, nothing in this life would be the same.