Vizem

01 - Born Anew

Added 2025-07-17 15:21:59 +0000 UTC

Of Duty and Freedom (HOTD SI)

Synopsis:
He awoke memories not his own and made not to dance.

His mother would crown him to secure her power. His sister would kill him to secure her claim. But he seeks neither the cursed throne nor the destined war.

— — — — — — —

Goblet in hand, I bore witness to the scene that would transpire, and to my morbid fascination, so it did.

The younger Strong boy's provocative smirks and Aemond's ticklish pride.

The night of the super….Truly fascinating.

Confusion and fear were fitting companions for such an experience, yet it was… Fixed? Adjusted? Amended? Mmh, none of them fit. Not merely set right, or put to rights. Much like remembering a shard of myself I'd somehow mislaid, only that shard was a life's worth of every memory, every breath.

Ryan should have known fear, regret, or guilt, and Aegon too, for they were no more. Not in the way they once were, at least. In their stead, there was only I, and I was the last to remember them both.

So peculiar that two lives would extinguish and entwine and emerge to birth something that was both and neither at the same time.

I would have wagered the inevitable outcome of such a plight would be a man broken, perhaps even cursed with a fractured mind. Dissociative Identity Disorder. Humm. The modern words sound odd and ill-suited even within the confines of my mind.

Instead, there was only I, and I felt whole and hale as never before.

I allowed myself to revel in the completeness of my being. No discomfort, no existential crisis, no denial. My body was a winter cloak, drawn tight and warm, a touch confining, yet strangely soothing.

The grand dining hall played host as the event went on, precisely as I had seen it upon the screen.

Aemond proceeded with his… compliments, granting the eldest Strong boy the chance to prove whether the nickname truly fit.

A peculiar feeling it was, to observe the same happening through two disparate perspectives. From the eyes of an observer to a participant.

I counted myself no participant, however. Not this time. Not in this buffoonery.

With the bronze goblet in hand and the family ruckus as a cover, I slipped away from the supper, none the wiser. Not even my sword shield, Ser Erryk.

To lend my hand and choose a side felt, mayhaps, the most fitting choice. But I couldn't care less about a children's skirmish between a nephew who yearns for my death and a brother who might well turn me to ash.

Mother will not be happy. A voice said.

… when has she ever been? I answered.

Aegon might not be I, but I am Aegon. Same fate. So I strode, with sure steps, to the only one who ever cared about Aegon — Sunfyre.

— — —

The stench of Flea Bottom was a slap to the face. All of King's Landing reeked of shit, but eighteen years of breathing it had granted Aegon some grim immunity — not that one ever grew truly accustomed to it, not if they had a nose to speak of.

Flea Bottom's foulness, however, was another matter entirely.

Even with sleeve drawn over mouth and nose pinched tight, the stench still found ways to violate my sensibilities.

This slap, however, did wake me up somewhat. It's made me realize that I might have made a mistake in my haste

I was alone, in the night, with a half-filled bronze goblet, walking within the most crime-rife areas of the town, while reeking of wealth, and to top it all off, I took a shortcut to the dragonpit. Through the narrow Pig Alley instead of the commonly used Street of the Sisters.

Would anyone hear my screams here?

A graver folly that would be. My screams would either go unheeded or, worse, draw others to partake in a collective theft that would most likely end in murder.

Aegon was so accustomed to these streets. There was nothing to fear, I told myself, as I took a long pull from the goblet of wine. Nothing to fear.

I quickened my steps anyway, for I had no desire to die mere moments after my birth.

It was luck. Truly, I have no other explanation but I reached dragonpit with no misfortune barring my way. Well, if one were to exclude the horrible stench along the way, that was.

The dragonpit was a gripping yet banal sight.

That started a feeling I failed to understand, so they were pushed away for a more pressing concern, namely, the Dragon Keepers.

The question of whether they would recognize me without an escort or knight ticket in my mind, but that soon was dismissed when the two staff wielding monks broke the silence of the night and spoke in High Valyrian.

High Valyrian was taught to all Targaryens, but no Maester or man would accuse Aegon of being a studious sort. I still could understand it, a bit, if spoken slowly, really slowly.

I pursed my lips, and before the man with burned fingers could finish, I cut him off.

“Lead me to Sunfyre,” I said in the most haughty and princely voice I could muster. Without breaking my nonchalant stride or sparing the two Dragon Keepers a second glance, I made right past them. They did not stop me, so I thought it was a win.

Though my High Valyrian might lack proficiency, I am a prince, and while I was never schooled in the art of it, all I needed was to act the part. It seemed I was simply born to it.

The Dragon Keepers lingered behind, hesitant, for a couple of breaths, before the one with burned hands ran past me and through the massive doors.

“Wait here,” the other one said, once we made it within the center of the dom, her accent thick, but she speaks Common Tongue better than I, High Valyrian. “Sunfyre will join.”

A low hum left my lips as I stopped my stride, raising the goblet once more. It was dry. A sigh escaped me, and to steady my racing heart, my gaze drifted, taking in the vastness around me. The walls were adorned with carvings and murals, but they were too far, too tall, and too dark to make out any of it.

Aegon had never held any interest in such things, yet it captured my own, mild as it might be.

I made to question my reluctant companion when I felt it, before I heard it. Before I heard him.

Frantic. Anxious.

The sight of him cut my breath. My heart in my ears, leaping in my throat with each of his heavy steps. golden scaled and a crown of horns. His agitated growls melted into softer and breathier chuffs when his eyes found mine.

His eyes, molten gold, fiercely intelligent, studied me.

I failed to realize when he had drawn so close, but he stopped before me, and a shaking hand slowly and involuntarily rose and rested upon his narrow snout.

I released a breath I’ve been holding at the feeling of his scales on my fingers. The beast of legends let out another purr and nudged its narrow snout against my chest, gently, gentle enough to only push me two steps back.

“Sorry…” I said, my voice coming out unsteadily, “Sorry,” I repeated, my lips stretching wide as I caressed his scales, trying to calm him while taking his retaliation. My laughter wasn’t helping, however.

Playful. Annoyed.

What a fool you are. It seems I have grossly misjudged the relationship bonding between a rider and his dragon.

I had been afraid of him. Of all the what-ifs and the countless perils. To some extent, those feelings were fitting. Dragons were beasts of legend. He was so strong, and I so weak.

He breathes upon me, I die. He claws at me, I die. He bites, I die. Hell, he could simply step on me, and I would die.

So many ways lay in his power to rid himself of my fragile bones.

And all that fear and apprehension, he felt it. Now that I was closer, I felt his own too. Though the word feeling was not the best fit in here, but the closest.

“Ah, Sunfyre,” I whispered after he calmed a bit, “My third soul.”

And he was. Our bonds were deeper than words or reason.

My golden companion nudged his head against my chest once more and purred, a sound that would have leftmost man shaking in their knees but I recognized it for what it was.

Excited. Cheerful.

He craves the sky.

It was dark, the hour of the owl, and I had not planned for this. Probing my acrophobia — acrophobia, acrophobia — this early was risky. But the joy radiating of Sunfyre could not be denied.

He was excited, we both were.

The climb to the saddle, though anticipated with trepidation, proved an easy feat. I had yet to secure myself when the overexcited, oversized puppy moved.

Aegon flew atop Sunfyre every other day, sometimes less — when the warmth and touch of a woman beckoning him more — the deed should not be this novel yet… My chest swelled with each heavy step as I rode upon the world.

All of those thoughts and feelings paled when he beat his mighty wings and we took to the sky.

Sunfyre let out thrilling high pitched cry and I couldn’t help but joined him. The wind whipped my face, its bitter chill could not quench the fire of my laughter, which burst forth like a wild and unbridled thing, swallowing all else in its path, including, mayhap, a stray fly or two.

How had Aegon failed to see? Too consumed with cheap wine, cheaper women, and a hunger for affection that could never be sated. His futile attempts to distract himself from the ache of a father's indifference and a mother’s...

I shook my head, casting aside all that was meaningless and surrendered myself to the marvel of my first flight.

Sunfire has no issue with the dark, it seemed, no surprise in that. Dragons surely have a night vision or something of sort. I recognized the Kingswood when the moon tire of playing shy as well as the Blackwater rush reflecting its light.

The night was a gentle one, neither the biting chill nor the sweltering heat. Sunfyre drifting in the sky; it helped calm the mind.

I would hate to land now that I have experienced freedom of the skies. All I needed was here with me.

My hand came to rest upon Sunfyre's golden scales. We won’t be chained, not anymore. I made a promise, to both of us.

— — — — — — —

AN: Hey everyone,

This is the first chapter of a House of the Dragon fanfic I started writing a while ago — a self-insert into Aegon II’s body, years before the Dance of the Dragons. Life got in the way, and between procrastination and losing the spark, I set this aside. But I’ve always had a soft spot for politics, and kingdom building — and stories like that are rare to come by (won't turn down a rec if you have any). So I'm sharing this now in the hope that posting it might reignite the muse and push me to keep going.

I’ve written six chapters so far and will post them gradually as I finish editing each one.

This chapter's prose is a bit dense. Hard to read, and harder to write. But that will ease up a bit in the next chapters. Because honestly, I can't sustain it.

Canon-wise, this story mostly follows the show’s events, but I’ve cherry-picked dates from both the book and the show. For example and to understand where we are, I used the book’s date for Vaemond’s death (126 AC) and tied it to the show's family dinner scene — the "night of the supper." That means we’re either 3 or 6 years away from Viserys’s death and the subsequent dance, depending on whether I go with the book’s date (129 AC) or the show’s (132 AC). I’ve taken some liberties with dates, but I’m trying to stay consistent with everything else so it doesn’t become a full AU.

Thanks for reading. And let me know your thoughts. Feedback helps, even if it's just “Keep going.”