Divide and Conquer, Chapter 28: White Harbor

Third Moon, 116 AD (15 AC)

Aegor

“He’s just so adorable, isn’t he?” Rhaena said as she fawned over their son in the nursery.

Aegor couldn’t help but agree as he ran his hands through the faint wisps of silver-gold hair on his son’s head and drank in the sight of those innocent purple eyes. His eyes, or as they should have been if one had not been torn out and replaced with cold, hard emerald long ago.

It had taken him countless years to accept that maiming, that disability, yet as he beheld his son now, he couldn’t help but feel grateful. He hadn’t died that day, he hadn’t lost both eyes. He had lived and kept at least part of his vision and it had brought him to this sight now. Sometimes it felt like everything in his life had led up till now.

There was just this strange feeling of contentment and rightness as he stood there in the nursery, his arm wrapped around his lovely wife and their eyes cast down on their son’s smiling face as he giggled and played, reassured by his parents’ presence and love. While undoubtedly biased, he did not think he would be wrong in saying their little Valerion was the cutest baby the world had ever seen.

Though he was certain his elder brother and sister would contest that assertion, he thought as his eyes glanced over briefly to where his niece Vaella slept contentedly in her cot. Valerion and Vaella were of an age with each other, and he had already heard their parents murmuring that the pair would be well suited to wed.

Aegor had had mixed feelings about that. He knew he and his siblings had been paired up practically since birth and none of them had ever protested but when it came to his own child… it just didn’t feel right to speak on such matters as of yet. He couldn’t deny that Vaella was by far the best match for Valerion for a whole list of reasons, it just felt exceedingly premature to think of such things when neither of them could even walk yet.

He wondered if this was how his parents had felt as he had grown up. In their eyes, it must not have felt so long ago that he had been a little helpless babe nestling into their necks and in a blink, he was a man grown with a babe of his own.

Did they feel the same way he did when he thought of how soon he would be leaving his child? Six times in his life his parents had left him behind to go fight their wars, and the first time it happened he had been just a babe like Valerion was now. Barely a year old… where had they found the strength and heart to do it?

The years had passed quickly ever since he had lost his left eye, as if having just the one one made it easier to simply blink and miss the passage of time. So much had happened in the past few years.

His family had painstakingly rebuilt their fraying bonds and come together again like they had once been before the skinchangers, before everything. There had been a new beginning for all of them when the vault had been found, when the wars had come to a halt temporarily, and when Aegor and his siblings started marrying, a hope embodied in three little children for whom they would all do anything for.

Beyond their restored family life, they had finally crushed all the Andal kingdoms and the Faith Militant for good, with the last whispers of dissent in Oldtown and all the rest vanquished for good even if they were still working on ways to win the people’s loyalty beyond just fear. Their rule over Central Westeros had been consolidated and they had experienced years of peace and rebuilding, but the Conquest was still far from over.

In Essos, the Century of Blood continued to rage as neither side could decisively break the stalemate, just as they wanted. On their southern border, the Dornish continued to panic knowing that their subjugation was inevitable. The Martells continued to ‘prepare’ for their invasion, building up their sietches in the deserts, stockpiling food and weapons, and recruiting shadowbinders, warlocks, Sorrowful Men, and other quacks thinking it would save them when their time finally came.

It was laughable that they thought such efforts would bear any real fruit. The Martells failed to even realize that they had already been betrayed from within. With the Eyes as their agents and intermediaries, Aegor’s family had long since established secret lines of communications with Houses Dayne and Yronwood as well as with the Orphans of the Greenblood and they were certain that when the time came, those groups would all turn on the Martells in exchange for the promised rewards.

Wards and other honors for the Daynes and Yronwoods and full rights to their language and culture for the Orphans. It was amusing that the last true Rhoynar in the world reluctantly trusted the heirs of Valyria more than they did the heirs of Nymeria but it was simply the consequences of the Martells’ own foolishness. Even the loss of the water magic the Martells so desperately hunted for now was their own fault but Aegor and his family would hardly mourn the extinction of yet another magic that could threaten them.

Of course, it would still be many more years before they moved against either Dorne or the Free Cities. All of these efforts were simply them laying the groundwork for their eventual invasion. They first had to dispose of their greatest remaining enemy.

Brandon Snow.

Just the thought of him filled Aegor’s whole soul with rage. He had been the cause of everything, for the loss of his eye, for all the suffering and heartbreak his family had endured during and since the skinchanger attacks. And he hadn’t even had the decency to die.

No, instead he had lived. Lived to become the self-proclaimed Warg King of Winter. A tyrannical sorcerer who had subjugated the North with mind control and new sorceries and powers he had learnt. Much to their concern, much of what he was even doing was hidden from their sight through means unknown, almost like how Storm’s End would resist scrying, and they had to dedicate extra effort with the glass candles or the flame-visions to pierce through whatever wards had been raised.

It gave credence to the rumors of children of the forest, giants, and wildling skinchangers allying with Brandon Snow in large numbers. Whispers also came of how Brandon and the children had riled up much of the North into a religious fervor centered on Brandon as the new greenseer and champion of the Old Gods. A great and sorcerous army had been built to resist them, enough even to give their family pause.

The Old Gods it seemed, had gone all in on Brandon Snow and had set themselves against their family. So be it. They had already proven themselves above gods and men and brought one religion low before. They’ll do it again, and they’ll make sure to wrap up all the loose ends this time and destroy Brandon Snow and all his skinchangers, giants, children of the forest, and even the Old Gods themselves.

They hadn’t acted sooner because they couldn’t invade during winter and they had been spent and in need of recovery after the long war against the Faith of the Seven and its coalition. And they hadn’t unleashed another Dragon’s Wroth either because they had wanted there to be something left in the North worth conquering and avoid scattering Brandon Snow all of his skinchangers deep into the forests of the North where they would be a long-term nuisance; at least this way they knew where they were for the most part.

That hadn’t meant they had been idle, however. They had continued to master their own magic, assimilating all the knowledge in the lost vault of Maegon little by little. And with their growing mastery of their magic came growing confidence in teaching parts of it to their most loyal.

The magical training of their Rangers, Eyes, and Dragonguard had continued, and plans were well underway to set up guilds for the making of Valyrian steel and dragonstone and the practice of magic, just like had existed in Valyria of old. With more and more of their most loyal spies trained in magic, they had sent them to infiltrate the North and give them the information on the ground they needed.

They had annexed the depopulated Neck and the devastated Cape Kraken after Oldtown fell, and even before that, since the Dragon’s Wroth itself, they had spent years draining the Neck’s marshes, burning and clearing more swamps, and starting the process of removing the Neck forever as a geographical barrier between north and south. They had rebuilt Moat Cailin and Flint’s Finger, and built enough forts, roads, and ports to sustain a land and sea invasion of the North in numbers never before seen.

Already much of the Neck had been drained and increasingly converted into farmlands that would both feed and give easy passage to their armies, and their fleets made use of their expanded naval bases in the Three Sisters, the Neck, and Cape Kraken to blockade the entire North, crippling its economy and starving its people. Their supremacy of the northern seas was such that they could even ship prisoners to the Night’s Watch without any contest from the Northmen.

And now that winter had finally come to an end and spring had bloomed, the time had come for all of these preparations to finally bear fruit. The armies and fleets were massing; their spies had been positioned long in advance. After four years of peace, House Targaryen was about to go to war again.

This time, Aegor would be accompanying his parents and older siblings to war. The last time he had been given the opportunity, he had turned it down out of concern for his sister Rhaena, wanting to make sure she didn’t burn herself out with magic in her guilt (something he had succeeded in). No such thing stood in his way now, far from it. Rhaena had bloomed into a capable and terrifying sorceress, one the court already whispered about being relentless in all her endeavors.

Rhaena would be going to war with them, as would their younger siblings, Aenar and Daena, who had recently wed but had no children as of yet. Aemon and Elaena had wanted to come as well, but their parents had forbidden it as neither had come of age. They would remain in Summerhall, ruling as the regents and watching over their niece and nephews while the rest of them led the invasion of the North.

After all these years it would finally be time for them to get their vengeance on the skinchangers who had so scarred and tormented them in their childhood.

As Valerion drifted off to sleep in the cot, the resolve in Aegor’s heart hardened. At long last he understood how his mother and father had always felt every time they had left him behind. He had resented them for so long for it, for leaving him when he needed them, but only now did he truly realize what it had been for.

They hadn’t wanted to leave him or his siblings. If they had felt even a fraction of what he did now, it must have been agony for them. Yet still they had done it, because they had to. Because they had set out to accomplish something and they couldn’t leave it half-finished. They couldn’t leave enemies around to mar the world they sought to leave behind for their children.

Aegor couldn’t either. Even if it hurt now for him and Rhaena to leave Valerion behind, even if it tore at Aerion and Valaena to leave their two children as well, in the end it meant that their future was secured. That their children would never suffer the scourge of the skinchangers as they had, that they had never had to lose their eyes or tremble in fear and betrayal as their own pets turned on them or watch as their loved ones slipped away into comas from which they might never wake.

The door to the nursery opened and their older siblings, Aerion and Valaena, walked in. Nestled in Aerion’s arms was their older child, their son Aegon, named for their father.

“Took him out to see Sunfyre?” Aegor asked.

They both nodded and Aegor smiled at the confirmation. He had wondered as to where his nephew had been but it made sense. Valerion, Vaella, and Aegon all had dragons of their own, Tyraxes, Seasmoke, and Sunfyre respectively, but due to the growth rate of the dragons, all of them had already been moved into the Dragonpit.

“He’s so much older and more energetic than the other two. Soon enough we’ll have to move him out of the nursery,” Rhaena said.

“But not just yet,” Valaena replied as she took her son from her husband and laid him down to sleep in his own cot.

Aerion locked eyes with them. “You should make your way to the council chambers once you’re done here. Father has called for a meeting; he wants to the finalize the date of our invasion.”

Aegor and Rhaena shared a glance. “We’ll meet you there,” Rhaena answered.

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Fifth Moon, 116 AD (15 AC)

Orys Baratheon

They were probably the first in history to invade the North by land like this since the Age of Heroes but the draining of the Neck had made it all possible. Orys wouldn’t at all be surprised if by the end of his brother’s reign, the swamps and marshes of the Neck were little more than a memory.

From naval bases in Flint’s Finger and the Three Sisters, their navy commanded the seas in the Saltspear and the Bite, and in Moat Cailin they had massed an army of forty thousand strong. Four legions, the rest all auxiliaries and levies, including levies from his own demesne, the Ward of Seagard.

Visenya had led two legions and a third of the levies west to march on Barrowton, with a mission to secure all of the Barrowlands, the Rills, the Stony Shore, and Torrhen’s Square. With her had gone his nephews, Aerion and Aenar, and his niece Rhaena. Four dragons to ensure the fall of the North’s west.

Orys meanwhile was the foremost ground commander of the army marching on the east. His brother and sister, Aegon and Rhaenys were at the head, along with Valaena, Aegor, Daena, and their five dragons. Their objective was to secure White Harbor, Oldcastle, Ramsgate, Widow’s Watch, Hornwood, and everything south of the Sheepshead Hills.

Their eastern force had by far more manpower and dragons compared to the Western Army, and it was simply because the North’s eastern coasts were more populous. White Harbor was the North’s only true city, and it had served as Brandon Snow’s main seat of power since he had become the Warg King.

They were anticipating heavy fighting, with many magical threats and elements for the upcoming battle at White Harbor, and so the men were on edge. Many of them expected for the convoy to be attacked by wargs, giants, or some other foul magic before they even reached White Harbor but none of that ever came to pass.

Their entire journey from Moat Cailin to White Harbor was entirely peaceful and uneventful, and they barely even encountered hamlets or villages along the way, so huge and desolately sparse was the North. Every day his siblings and their children took to the skies on their dragons to patrol ahead while their Rangers and Dragonguard continued their rounds in the army’s marching column by day and their campsites by night.

Most of the men would simply assume the Rangers and Dragonguard were watching out for threats to the army and to their lieges but Orys was one of the few who knew they had been trained with magic and how to identify magical threats.

Meanwhile, Orys saw to his duties as the army’s ground commander, second only to the Targaryens, and his eldest two sons shadowed his every step, learning from what he did.

He had been fortunate to be blessed by the gods to have five children with his dear wife, Lady Arianne Celtigar. Baelon, Rhaella, Vaemond, Aeryn, and Gael. Three sons and two daughters. The line of House Baratheon was secure for this generation, but he had to consider the future as well. It was why Baelon and Vaemond were both accompanying him to war this campaign, they had been too young in all the previous campaigns but it was time they learnt.

The two of them and their siblings had spent most of their lives coddled in Summerhall, both due to Orys’ position on the Elder Council and the requirements of Alternate Attendance. They had barely even spent time in what was supposed to be their family’s seat, Seagard, let alone gone to war, but if they were meant to succeed him, they had to learn and quickly.

Orys himself was exceptionally close to the Targaryens, Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys still saw him as a brother and he was the only one outside the house their children had ever truly obeyed as their beloved and respected ‘Uncle Orys’. That closeness had not extended to their children, unfortunately.

Aerion, Valaena, and all the others, though they had been surrounded by noble scions almost all their lives and made respectable friendships with many, including Orys’ own children, it was evident to many that the inner circle was nowhere near as large for them as it had been for their parents. Maybe it was because they were less charismatic than their parents, or too codependent and engrossed with their spouses to be, or because their traumatic experiences with the skinchangers had left them with a deeply engrained distrust for outsiders.

Orys didn’t know, but it was simply a fact that the next generation of House Targaryen was much more insular and distant, harder to read and predict. Even with how much they had changed in the past few years, Orys could still read his siblings quite well. He couldn’t say the same for their children, not anymore, not since Brandon Snow’s attacks.

Few could really. And the fact that there were so many of them made it even harder because the eight of them could find such easy companionship with their blood which they trusted fully then risk being betrayed by outsiders.

It wasn’t like they were standoffish or anything, all eight of them remained quite popular at court even if the degree of that popularity varied greatly and the elder four especially were increasingly becoming feared with their intense reputations. But to those who knew what to look for like Orys, it was evident that kept those that weren’t Targaryens at a distance the way their parents did not.

And that was dangerous for the rest of them. His children were not nearly as close to their cousins as Orys himself had been to their parents and that worried him.

He knew his own loyalty was not in doubt, but the fact that his siblings had still imposed Alternate Attendance on his house as they had every other Warden house spoke volumes of what they anticipated for the future. Call it paranoia, suspicion, or whatever it may be, the Targaryens evidently did not trust in the long-term loyalty of their vassals and he with his closeness to them and his position on the Council was one of the few to see through the pleasant veneer and games of court they shrouded their system in to see the future at hand.

His brother and sisters sought to create a future where House Targaryen was the beginning and the end, the sum of all things in the Empire they were forging, and the rest of the nobility were little more than ornaments. Long gone would be the days where the great houses of the kingdoms would contest the will of their monarchs even in the slightest.

Orys knew he couldn’t stop it from happening, it would be suicidal to even try and he was too loyal to even think of it. But he still worried on what place House Baratheon would have in such a future.

Right now, due to his own kinship with and closeness to the Targaryens, House Baratheon enjoyed a comfortable though unofficial second place in the realm, even if the Velaryons and a few others would contest that assertion. But what happens after he dies?

When his children take his place, their distance from their Targaryen cousins will make them much less inclined to automatically favor them when their own family is large enough and with enough proven loyalty to fill the seats of the Elder Council. How would Baelon ever become Aerion’s Chancellor if Aegor or Aenar could so easily fill that role?

As House Targaryen continued to grow in number and insularity, the only way that House Baratheon could retain its high favor and standing in the realm, council seat or not, was to prove themselves with merit and skill. They couldn’t rely on just kinship anymore, that would matter increasingly less with time, especially if there were enough Targaryens to marry each other that they no longer needed spouses from the other houses.

Orys was not the only one who had come to this conclusion either. Many of the other Warden houses had as well. Qoherys, Scales, Gryvetheon, Reyne, the various Velaryon and Celtigar branches. They had begun work on forming an informal coalition, reinforcing existing alliances with new marriages and trading pacts.

Fostering which might once have been done was no longer very feasible with all of their families concentrated in Summerhall but that was perhaps a blessing in disguise. With all of them gathered in one place, they could coordinate their efforts and ensure the closeness of their children much easier.

There was nothing malicious in their plans, no intentions to betray or undermine the Targaryens whom they all remained loyal to. They only sought to ally to ensure that it would be more difficult for their collective favor with the dragonlords to decrease so rapidly and see them supplanted by newcomers like all the Lyseni and Myrish Wardens.

They wanted to ensure the Targaryens’ Empire continued to thrive and their place within it was secured, and they all knew that collective merit and usefulness to the Targaryens was the best way to ensure that.

The days where Baelon and Vaemond might have proven as capable rulers of Seagard and accrue power and influence in that way was gone and Orys was perhaps one of the few who understood that intimately. Because of alternate attendance, his children barely even knew Seagard but that would be a worthy tradeoff if growing up in Summerhall allowed them to carve out a respectable place in the central administration and to do that they needed to prove themselves.

What better way than through war? By following in his footsteps and serving as one of the foremost ground commanders for House Targaryen?

Some other lords might consider it unthinkable but Orys wouldn’t be surprised if the Targaryens removed the last vestiges of feudalism and ended or greatly limited their privileges to private armies and levies eventually.

His children could either be caught off guard and left to scramble in response or be prepared and well-integrated into the Targaryens’ central bureaucracy and military and Orys meant to ensure it was the latter.

He was shaken from his thoughts by one of the Rangers pulling up beside his horse in the marching column. “What is it Crowley?” he asked, identifying the Ranger Commandant at a glance.

“News and orders from the King. White Harbor is a lot less heavily defended than we were anticipating. Prepare the army for an assault as soon as we arrive,” he said and Orys nodded.

As Crowley departed, his son Baelon spoke up. “Won’t the men be tired? I thought we were going to set up camp first and strike on the morrow?”

“That’s how one would wage war without dragons and we had anticipated doing it here as well but it seems White Harbor is not as heavily garrisoned as it should be. The Targaryens must have decided that it was worth the risk taking the city on the first day, their dragons will clear the way for us into the city, they are the greatest siege weapons the world has ever seen.

“Once they burn through the gates and scour the battlements, our army can charge into the city and secure it all, cavalry first, and there would be little need to set up camp outside the walls at all. We can all sleep on warm beds with solid roofs over our heads tonight,” Orys said with some eagerness.

He might be used to it, but the rough camping of a soldier’s life was something only madmen like the Rangers genuinely liked.

Obeying his orders, Orys ensured the army was prepared for an attack as soon as they reached White Harbor. The attack was more complicated by the fact that the city straddled the White Knife. While the western half would fall easily, the east would take more time as their fleet would have to transport men across the river and attack the other half of the city.

Once they arrived, Orys’s advance preparations paid off as those assigned to the eastern half quickly moved to the bay where their fleet was moored and waiting to receive them. The rest of them slated to take the western half formed up in front of the gates, their strongest knights and cavalry at the front as a spearhead that would punch right into the city once the order came.

Up ahead of them the five Targaryen dragons descended upon White Harbor. Meleys and Aegarax escorted the fleet across the river while Balerion burned opened the gates and Meraxes and Vermithor scoured the western battlements.

The way was open, Orys was about to give the order when the air was cut through with the distinctive soul-searing shrieks of the hellhorns. Despite himself, he flinched, and most of the army did as well.

Those horns never ceased to terrify, even knowing as much as he did that they were wielded by their lieges and targeted at enemies. They just evoke such a primal sense of terror and fear.

Once he and the army had recovered, Orys sounded the horns. “All Hail Targaryen! Advance!”

With a resounding battle cry, the army surged forward, the cavalry entering into a furious gallop as they charged towards and then promptly through the ruined gates.

Orys had never believed in leading from the rear, he was right in the thick of that cavalry charge, his sons and personal guards by his side as the sound of hooves thundered on every street.

To his surprise, there was little resistance beyond the occasional city guard or watchmen they had to cut down. None of the skinchangers, giants, or children of the forest they had so dreaded facing were present. Something was not right, why would Brandon Snow simply yield his capital without a true fight?

By sunset, all of White Harbor had fallen under their control and despite Orys and the other commanders’ attempts to keep discipline, they could not keep the men from celebrating lest they punish half their army and turn them against them.

So, they drank and made merry and took liberties with the local women while Orys brooded in disquiet. He had raised his concerns that all of this was too easy, that something wasn’t right to his siblings as well, and they had agreed with him.

The Rangers, the Eyes, and the Dragonguard were all out in force tonight, meeting up with their previously established informants in the city and trying to scour every nook, alley, and corner, trying to find out what Snow’s game was.

Yet the hour was late and they hadn’t made any progress. Reluctantly Orys tried to get some rest, knowing he needed sleep to function and respond appropriately if and when any threat arose.

He had barely drifted off when he was shaken awake. “Father, you must wake up, quickly!” Baelon said as he and Vaemond shook him furiously.

“What’s going on?” Orys demanded.

“There’s a fire! The city is on fire!” Vaemond cried.

Orys immediately sprang out of bed and rushed to coordinate the response. Many of the drunk and drowsy men were little help but those that had obeyed orders to stay alert and watchful (mostly those from the disciplined legions rather than the less soldiery levies) fell in line and worked effortlessly to fight back the fire, moving and pouring buckets of water and aided by the begrudging efforts of the townspeople of White Harbor.

It was rapidly becoming clear to Orys what Brandon Snow’s game had been. He had intentionally left White Harbor as bait, planning to lure them in with a deceptively easy victory before setting fire to the city and burning them all with it, foe and friends alike.

Madness. It was complete madness that Brandon would do this when even the Targaryens had not in the heights of their rage and despair in the Dragon’s Wroth. There were fifty thousand Northmen in this city, fifty thousand subjects of Brandon, yet he cared not one whit for their lives and would happily see them all die if it would take the invaders down.

Orys shook off his disbelief as he rode with his sons and guards about the city trying to rouse all alert enough to join the fight against the fire. He should not have let himself expecting anything more from one so clearly insane and depraved as the Warg King, and he should not be dwelling on his incomprehensible logic any longer.

If there was one good thing about this whole mess, it was that in his madness Brandon had never stopped to realize that he had chosen the wrong weapon. The fool had thought to use fire of all things against the dragonlords.

Fully roused and ready, the Targaryens took to the skies atop their dragons and soon the fires began to die, the flames extinguishing as they were sucked into the air and the waiting outstretched hands of the dragonlords.

It was an awe-inspiring feat of magical mastery and prowess, something they wouldn’t have been capable of before Maegon’s vault had been rediscovered or even during the war with the Faith Militant. The years of peace had served House Targaryen well and their magical might had never been stronger.

Working in tandem, the five dragonlords slowly extinguished flames across the whole city while their army and the townspeople worked to contain the spread of the fires and limit the damage before the Targaryens could arrive and extinguish it. The strategy worked brilliantly and it was not long before nearly the entirety of the fires in the city had been put out.

That was when it happened. Orys and his party rode down a street when suddenly their horses began to thrash and buck beneath them, throwing them all off.

Orys heard a sick snapping sound as he was thrown from his horse and he screamed from the intense pain, knowing that he had broken his right arm from the bad fall. He was luckily that was all the injury he had received from that kind of fall.

As he came to himself, he looked up in fear as his trusted horse and companion stalked towards him menacingly and reared its forelegs up to trample him and end his life when suddenly arrows whizzed out from down the street and pierced straight through the head of the stallion.

He heard gallops thundering down the streets as he struggled to get to his feet. He was pulled up in short order by Crowley. Two other Rangers were beside the grim Commandant, having dismounted from their own horses. And down the street he could espy Dragonguard and Legionaries alike rushing up the road to secure the area.

Orys looked around and surveyed the damage with dismay as he saw all of his company had been bucked off from their horses and either killed in the fall or trampled underfoot. The whole street was littered with the trampled bodies of his guards and the arrow-ridden corpses of their traitorous mounts.

Skinchangers did this. He knew it to be true with all of his being.

His fears grew as he searched desperately for where his sons were amidst all the chaos and his heart froze in his chest when he finally found them.

“VAEMOND? VAEMOND!”

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The Targaryens and their Dragons in 116 AD (15 AC)

Generation 1:

Visenya Targaryen, born 73 AD (29 BC), 43 years old, rider of the she-dragon Vhagar which hatched on Dragonstone in 50 AD (52 BC). Known as the Bronze Fury, Vhagar has bronze scales with greenish-blue highlights and flames and bright green eyes.

Aegon I Targaryen, born 75 AD (27 BC), 41 years old, already known as the Conqueror though the epithet has not yet gained its full prestige, rider of the dragon Balerion which hatched in Old Valyria in 13 BD (115 BC). Balerion is known as the Black Dread for his black scales and wings and for his black flames with red swirls.

Rhaenys Targaryen, born 76 AD (26 BC), 40 years old, rider of the she-dragon Meraxes, which hatched on Dragonstone in 14 AD (88 BC). Meraxes is known as the Silver Queen for her striking silver scales and imperious golden eyes and accents that further emphasize her regal nature. Her flames are silver-gold.

Aegon Targaryen married both his elder sister Visenya and his younger sister Rhaenys in the same wedding ceremony in 93 AD (9 BC). He has four children with each of them, three sons and one daughter with Visenya, and three daughters and one son with Rhaenys. The eldest two children, Aerion and Valaena, are false twins because they were born from different mothers on the same day and are half siblings through their father and first cousins through their mothers. Their closeness, same nameday, similarly colored red dragons, and obsession with red as their favorite color have given the pair the moniker of the ‘Red Twins’. A moniker they doubly earned with the addition of ‘Bloodstained’ from their bloody massacres in the Wars of Conquest, starting at the tender young age of three and ten.

Generation 2:

Aegon and Visenya’s children:

Aerion Targaryen, one of the Bloodstained Red Twins, known as the Crimson Prince, born 94 AD (8 BC), 22 years old, rider of the dragon Caraxes which hatched in his cradle on Dragonstone in 94 AD (8 BC). Caraxes is known as the Blood Wyrm for his lean slender build and his blood red scales and wings. His flames are a dark crimson, the color of dried blood.

Aegor Targaryen, born 96 AD (6 BC), known as One-Eye, 20 years old, bonded to the dragon Aegarax which hatched in his cradle on Dragonstone in 96 AD (6 BC). Aegarax, known as the Black Scourge, has scales as black as coal and menacing green eyes and flames that are the color of wildfire. (Aegon Targaryen believes Aegarax is the same dragon that would have become the Cannibal in another world).

Daena Targaryen, born 99 AD (3 BC), 17 years old, bonded to the dragon Vermithor which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 100 AD (2 BC). Known as the Bronze King, Vermithor has bronze scales, large tan wings, and golden-red flames.

Aemon Targaryen, born 102 AD (1 AC), 14 years old, bonded to the dragon Telarion which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 102 AD (1 AC). Known as the Terror, Telarion’s scales are a rich mahogany brown and his flames are gold with swirls of red. (Aegon Targaryen believes Telarion is the same dragon that would have become Sheepstealer in another world.)

Aegon and Rhaenys’ children:

Valaena Targaryen, the other of the Bloodstained Red Twins, known as the Ruby Princess and Princess Massacre, born 94 AD (8 BC), 22 years old, rider of the she-dragon Meleys which hatched in her cradle on Dragonstone in 94 AD (8 BC). Meleys is known as the Red Queen for her regal bearing and queenly personality and she has scarlet scales, pink wing membranes, and a bright copper crest, horns, and claws. Her flames are copper swirled with scarlet.

Rhaena Targaryen, born 98 AD (4 BC), 18 years old, bonded to the she-dragon Quicksilver which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 98 AD (4 BC). Quicksilver has silvery-white scales and pale white wing membranes. She is known as the White Flame for her pale white fireballs and coloring.

Aenar Targaryen, born 100 AD (2 BC), 16 years old, bonded to the she-dragon Silverwing which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 100 AD (2 BC). Silverwing is known as the Splendid for her beautiful silvery scales and blue fire.

Elaena Targaryen, born 103 AD (2 AC), 13 years old, bonded to the she-dragon Dreamfyre which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 103 AD (2 AC). Known as the Blue Queen, Dreamfyre has pale blue scales, wings, and flames, with silver crests and markings.

Each of Aegon’s children with his two wives is paired with a half-sibling from his other wife to ensure that all of his grandchildren will be descended from both Visenya and Rhaenys. As of the year 116 AD (15 AC), Aerion and Valaena, Aegor and Rhaena, and Aenar and Daena have all wed, with the first two couples already having their first children. Aemon and Elaena are still betrothed and will marry when they come of age, just like the recently wedded Aenar and Daena.

Generation 3:

Aerion and Valaena’s children:

Aegon ‘the Younger’ Targaryen, born 112 AD (11 AC), 4 years old, bonded to the dragon Sunfyre which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 112 AD (11 AC). Known as the Golden, Sunfyre has gleaming gold scales and flames and pale pink wing membranes.

Vaella Targaryen, born 115 AD (14 AC), 1 year old, bonded to the dragon Seasmoke which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 115 AD (14 AC). Seasmoke is a pale silver-grey dragon with blue flames.

Aegor and Rhaena’s children:

Valerion Targaryen, born 115 AD (14 AC), 1 year old, bonded to the dragon Tyraxes which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 115 AD (14 AC). Tyraxes is a pale violet dragon with dark purple horns and purple flames.

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Author’s Note: Back at last after that week-long field trip! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and the attached maps and family tree! All credit to Jordan Redstark and Poke_verse for making them for me!

Definitely check out all the appendices connected to this chapter!

Please me know your thoughts, suggestions, and questions in the comments below or over on Discord!