"Knock, knock," ca the soft, deliberate taps on the chamber door.
Queen Alysanne, still seated in her chair by the hearth, lifted her gaze.
"Co in," she called, her voice calm and firm.
The door creaked open, and Aegon stepped in, his face lit gently by the firelight. A maid was near the bed, adjusting the pillows.
"Leave us," said the Queen, her tone gentler this ti. The maid imdiately bowed to her and then to Aegon before slipping out, the door clicking softly shut behind her.
"Sit, Aegon," she said, gesturing to the cushioned chair across from her.
Aegon obeyed quietly, lowering himself into the chair with grace well beyond his years.
The silence between them was warm but heavy.
Queen Alysanne watched him fondly. Her eyes softened, as they always did when she looked at him.
Her daughter had died giving birth to him, and though Alyssa had borne two sons before, it was Aegon who felt like the closest living piece of her.
A final, irreplaceable link to the daughter she had lost.
She had raised him herself, doted on him, taught him to read, to reason, to question.
Not just a grandson, he was hers, in every sense that mattered.
She rembered the day he'd climbed Dreamfyre's back at only seven.
Gods, how her heart had nearly stopped.
She could still rember how she had rushed towards the dragonpit, only to find him in the skies of Kingslanding on top of Dreamfyre.
Her grandson, the youngest dragonrider Westeros had ever seen.
Oh, how proud she had been. After that, every court lady wanted to know her secret.
"How do you raise a child so well-mannered? So brave?" they would ask.
Alysanne had only smiled and deflected their awe, though inside, she'd glowed with pride.
"So…" she began, her voice light but curious, "what did you wish to tell ?"
Aegon exhaled slowly. His hands rested on his knees, but they flexed ever so slightly, betraying a quiet tension.
He didn't et her eyes right away.
"Umm… Grandmother," Aegon said, his voice careful but steady, "do you rember when we talked about my dreams… dreams about magic, fire, and blood… a couple of months ago?"
Queen Alysanne's brows knit slightly, and she leaned forward in her chair.
"Yes," she said slowly. "And I also rember telling you to let know if you ever found anything unusual."
Her tone shifted, concerned now.
"Did sothing happen?"
Aegon nodded. "Yes… about that."
He hesitated only a mont more before taking a deep breath.
"I've discovered the reason why I have those dreams," he said firmly, eting her gaze.
There was no doubt in his eyes, only certainty.
He slowly raised his right hand, palm facing upward.
"It seems… I am a Pyromancer."
Alysanne's lips parted in confusion, but before she could ask, a whisper of fla sparked to life in the center of her grandson's palm.
Then, in a breath, it grew, a silent, controlled swirl of fire, suspended just above his hand, burning brightly without heat or smoke.
"Ah—!" she gasped, flinching back instinctively as her hand shot to grip the side of the chair, as if for balance.
Her breath caught, heart skipping a beat, eyes wide with disbelief at the sight before her.
Is this a trick? So new sleight of hand?
But the fire stayed. Alive, precise.
And then, her grandson moved it.
"Do not be scared, Grandmother," he said gently.
"I can control it."
The fla twisted, reshaping itself like clay made of light. It flattened, lengthened, hardened, into the shape of a flaming sword.
Then it lted again, curling and shifting mid-air into a tiny dragon, wings of living fire flapping as it circled above their heads with a low hum, casting flickering shadows along the chamber walls.
She began breathing heavily, her mind still in daze from what was before her eyes.
Pyromancy…
A word from myth. From the whispered pages of lost Valyrian tos.
Sothing no living person had seen since the Doom.
And here it was.
In her grandson's hand.
In Aegon's hands.
"This… how…" his grandmother stamred, struggling to form the words, her fingers trembling faintly.
Aegon's expression swiftly shifted to concern as he caught sight of his grandmother, who stared at him in shock and visibly shaken.
He closed his hand, and the fire vanished at once, no smoke, no scent. Gone like a dream.
He stood up and crossed to her chair, kneeling beside her.
"Are you okay, Grandmother?" he asked softly, placing a hand on her arm.
His voice carried none of the pride that had shone in his demonstration, only concern.
Alysanne looked into his eyes, the sa eyes she had seen since he was a babe in her arms, and slowly, shakily, she nodded.
She drew in two long breaths, steadying her heartbeat.
"I… I'm alright," she said finally, still a bit breathless.
Her hand found his and squeezed it.
"I just never thought… never imagined…" She blinked, fighting to hold back the flood of emotions.
A heavy silence hung between them, Alysanne's mind still reeling from what she had just witnessed.
After a pause, she finally spoke, her voice low but charged with gravity:
"Aegon, do you realize what this ans?"
He gave a faint smile. "I have so idea."
Her eyes searched his again.
She wasn't just looking at her grandson now.
She was seeing history reborn.
A legacy that had died with the Freehold… rekindled in the blood of a boy.
Her own grandson.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered.
And she ant it more than she had ever ant anything.
She stayed silent for a mont longer, her eyes still fixed on Aegon as if afraid he might vanish like a dream.
The reality of what she had just witnessed clung to her like mist, thick, unreal, but undeniably there.
Then, at last, she exhaled, the tension softening from her shoulders.
Seeing her calm at last, Aegon allowed himself a breath of relief.
He returned to his seat beside the hearth, resting his hands in his lap.
His eyes t his grandmother's, who watched him with a blend of shock, affection, and deep concern.
"Should we let the King know?" he asked quietly.
Queen Alysanne nodded slowly at first, then firr. "Yes… Yes. Jaehaerys must know."
She stood then, more suddenly than he expected, and moved toward him.
She pulled him into a hug, her arms strong, her breath warm with emotion.
He felt her grip tighten for a mont longer than usual, as though she feared letting go.
Pride, love, shock, and an edge of unease warred in her chest, tangled like threads of different cloth.
But one thing stood unshaken, her love for the boy she had raised.
No discovery could undo that.
She pulled back just enough to cup his cheek briefly, her hand soft, eyes misted but steady.
"I will send the ravens," she said, her voice composed again. "Stay here until I return."
Aegon gave a slight nod. "Yes, Grandmother."
Without another word, she turned and swept from the room with a sudden urgency, her long skirts whispering against the stone floor.
The door closed behind her with a low click.
Aegon leaned back into the chair.
The fire in the hearth crackled softly, the only sound in the room. Shadows danced across the stone walls, flickering like faint mories.
He glanced at his hand, the sa hand that had held fla just monts ago, and flexed his fingers slowly.
So it begins, he thought.
King's Landing, The Red Keep – Late Night
The Red Keep lay under a blanket of silence, broken only by the occasional gust of wind brushing against the ancient stone walls.
Inside, the king's chamber glowed faintly with the flicker of dying candlelight.
King Jaehaerys I Targaryen sat alone on a high balcony, wrapped in a thick cloak, his silver hair glinting faintly under the stars.
The cool night air brushed against his weathered face as he gazed up, eyes reflecting the sky above.
At nearly sixty, the weight of the realm lay heavy on his shoulders, and in these quiet monts, he found his only peace.
The hush was broken by urgent footsteps. A servant burst in, flanked closely by the towering figure of Ser Ryam Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
The polished white enal of his armor glead under the torchlight.
"Your Grace," the servant panted, slightly bowed. "A raven has arrived. A letter… from the Queen."
Jaehaerys turned, brow lifting in surprise. "Alysanne?" he said, rising slowly from his chair. "At this hour?"
He had not received word from her in months, not since she'd taken her leave to reside in Dragonstone. That she would send a raven now, and in the dead of night, unsettled him.
The parchnt was sealed with the royal crest. He cracked it open with steady fingers, but as his eyes scanned the neatly written lines in his wife's hand, his expression changed.
His brow furrowed. His eyes widened. Then, silence.
He read the letter twice, thrice.
"Gods," he whispered.
He lowered the parchnt slowly, his knuckles whitening as he clutched it.
"She wouldn't lie," he muttered to himself. "She wouldn't imagine this."
He looked up, his voice suddenly sharp with urgency. "Send for Prince Baelon. Imdiately. Wake him if you must."
The servant dashed out the door without a word.
Jaehaerys turned to Ser Ryam, his voice low but commanding. "Have the dragonkeepers ready Vermithor and Vhagar. We fly to Dragonstone. Tonight."
The knight hesitated for only a breath, then bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Grace."
The castle burst into a quiet storm of activity.
Dragonkeepers were roused from sleep, torches lit the paths down into the dragonpit, and the deep roars of dragons echoed faintly in the distance as they were prepared.
Within the hour, two shadows rose from the pit and streaked across the sky, the massive wings of Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, and Vhagar, ancient and colossal, blotting out stars as they beat toward the east.
From below, night sentries of the city watch looked skyward in silent awe, torches flickering in the sudden wind.
Two dragons, one bearing a king and the other a prince, soared through the darkness, toward the island of Dragonstone, toward the Queen, and toward a truth that defied reason.
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