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She didn’t know why she was awake. To be honest, when she had fallen asleep in the mountains of Skaggos, some part of her believed she’d never wake. She’d been tired and though she’d never admit it, she had been lonely. She questioned if her rider would ever be born. 

She’d been born many years before. After listening to the humans of her old home, she figured that she’d been born in 153 BC. She’d never found a rider in her early years. While her sire and siblings all had riders, she had never felt a connection. She chafed against the horns and spells the Dragonlords had attempted to use against her. None had worked. After nearly 25 years of being chained in a basement, she’d broken out, tired of the weak little boys who constantly came to try to claim her.

She’d been small then, only 25 yards long when she’d flown across the seas to an island she eventually called home. There had been a stronghold then, a much smaller castle than the ones of her old cage, but barely inhabited. She’d been left alone for many years after that, only growing in size now that she was no longer chained below the ground. Still, she’d seen other dragons grow much faster than herself. She knew why, her rider had not yet been born. 

It was been an odd realization. Most dragons had multiple riders, usually of the same bloodline as their hatcher. However, she had been born without a hatcher. She would grow more slowly so that she could still be alive when her rider was born. Dragons only usually lived to be 250-300 years old these days. At some point, they usually got too big to support themselves and too big to feed. It became difficult to breathe, much less fly or hunt. She blamed the Valyrians. Their sorcery and blood arts used to control them had warped their abilities to survive. The free dragons of old could live to be nearly 500 years old, if not older, and they could talk in human tongues. But, alas, the Valyrians had thought to control them, and in gaining that control they weakened the dragons to the pitiful things they were now. 

Still, she lived as a free dragon, though they called her wild. She had spent most of her time sleeping and flying until they came in 114 BC. They were called the Targaryens and they came with 5 dragons. She found she couldn’t hate her brethren and they didn’t hate her either. She’d found their presence oddly comforting, as they explained why they stayed with their riders instead of fleeing now that the binding spells had weakened. The Targaryens had won their dragon's loyalties. She admired and craved it all at once.

So, she remained on Dragonstone for the years that came. The occasional child of Valyria would attempt to claim her, she warned the earlier ones with growls and screams. The ones idiotic enough to attempt to use horns or spells found themselves as her next meal. 

She found the dragonlords and their families interesting to watch. There was a string of familiarity in their blood. She believed, no, she knew that her rider would come from this line somewhere in the future, but it was missing something. Another bloodline of magic. She put it out of her mind. She’d know her rider when they were born, and not until then. 

She stayed in her fellow dragon’s company, coming to know the smaller dragons as they were born. She had little patients with dragon babies and made her opinions clear when she chased them away. They were their sire’s or rider’s problem at their young age, she’d speak to them when they were older and wiser. 

Soon, other wild dragons joined her on the island. They were named Sheepstealer and Grey Ghost. He avoided them. Sheepstealer overindulged in his eating, causing himself to become fat. He preferred the company of Grey Ghost, however, said dragon was often moping and it bought her mood down. His rider had died young before he could ever meet them, and no other dragonseed could ignite Grey Ghosts’ spirit. 

She mourned when Balerion died. Her oldest friend died far too young. Yet, the dragon had died happy. His Aegon had secured a kingdom with his help and had found a new home for his family. Balerion had even permitted her to feast when he died, to strengthen her magic so she might live to see her own rider. It was an old tradition, one from the free dragon days, to eat the dead so that their magic may continue onto the next generation. The Valyrians hadn’t liked this practice and had forbidden it over the years, but there were no more Dragonlords to stop her. Balerion’s magic had strengthened her, but it earned her a name she hated, Cannibal.

Over the following years, she would eat the dead dragons of Dragonstone, only those that gave their permission before their deaths, as well as the dead eggs. She’d never eat a live egg, but dead eggs still had a hit of magic to them, and leaving that magic to disappear would have been improper. 

She earned a reputation as the years went by. More and more idiotic men came to her and attempt to mount her. She had less patience as it continued. She’d given years of warning and yet they still came to her. The ones that left quickly, who recognized her roars as dismissals lived, but those stupid enough to try to ride her meet their deaths quickly.

She had begun to consider hibernating when she felt the division start to grow. She watched as the Targaryen family split, as Balerion’s last rider grew ill and started to die. Syrax and Caraxes started to distance themselves from Vhagar and Sunfyre. She understood the desire to avoid Sunfyre, the dragon was an annoyance of the highest order and constantly flaunted his bright scales in every dragon's face. However, Vhagar was more of a surprise, or it was until the War broke out.

She’d never been so disappointed in the Targaryens, and never so disappointed in her brethren. Oh, how Balerion would be turning over in his grave, knowing the family he loved would kill each other for simple greed. She felt the dragonlords die, felt her fellow dragons die, and all for the greed of a human with no Valyrian blood in their veins. If only her brethren had refused to fight, perhaps more of the bloodshed could have been avoided. She’d grown even more upset when Sunfyre came down and killed Grey Ghost, leaving his body half-eaten on the ground. She’d desired Sunfyre’s death then, but Moondancer had gotten their first. Sheepstealer had finally found his rider and left Dragonstone, leaving her alone. Sheepstealer had been happy, however, and that had mattered more than her loneliness. 

She’d left Dragonstone after the war had quieted, seeking refuge on an island in the North. There had been 20 dragons just a few short years before. Now there were only 4 dragons left in existence, and soon the others died as well. Sheepstealer died less than 3 years later with his rider somewhere in the Vale after being attacked. His rider had died with him. Silverwing died of old age, coming up to her in her later years so that she could use her strength after her death. Silverwing had always been one of her favorite dragons, after Balerion. She’d barely known Morning before she fled to the North, but she still felt they died at far too young an age. There had been no magic left for Morning to survive and grow with, and they had died after just 15 years of life. She had felt the last dragon being born, but even all the way up in the North, she had felt how sickly they had been. They died shortly after Morning, barely living a decade of life. They were never even gifted a name.

She’d been all alone after that and lonely. She decided to hibernate, her rider had yet to be born and she was already 300 years old. Perhaps her rider would never be born. It broke her, to think she might never know the feeling of having a bonded rider. For the first time in centuries, the magic was practically gone from the air and the dragons were dead to the world. The Targaryen family was broken and weak. So, she slept away on the island of stone. It was easier to sleep than to continue to watch the world fall apart.

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She cracks her eyes open. A layer of ice had formed over her scales. Snow had built up around her, forming an igloo of snow and ice. Her muscles ached and her joints creaked as she pushed herself up. The igloo collapses as she pushes her head up. She sniffs into the air, still as crisp and fresh as the day she first landed here. Something was different, there was magic in the air. More magic than she had felt in many, many years. She hadn’t felt such magic since she’d been back in Valyria. 

It was only after a few minutes of stretching that she realized what was different. There was a link in the back of her mind. A link that ended in the mind of a young boy. Her rider had been born.

She focused on the link. Her rider was young, too young, but more importantly, he was alive. She wanted to fly to him right then and there, but she couldn’t. He was surrounded by other humans, she would not risk meeting him until he was alone. She was the last dragon in Westeros, in the world, and she and her rider would be hunted for their power. She would not risk his life before she ever got a chance to get to know him. Besides, her rider was too young. She knew little about humans, but she did know that they didn’t ride their dragons until they reach a certain size and they definitely didn’t ride dragons as big as her when they were young. 

She’d have to wait, several years most likely, before venturing to her rider. However, for the first time in her life, she felt true hope and joy. Her rider existed and soon she’d meet him one day.

She flexed her wings, a flight would do her good. She would have to fly north, beyond their wall, to avoid the castles and their men. So fly north she did. The air was cold, oddly welcoming, as she flew beyond the tallest of Westeros’ barriers. She flew for hours until something caught her eye. 

To her immense surprise, she landed next to a dragon carcass. It was different than her deceased brethren. This dragon had been free its entire life and had managed to escape Old Valyria’s grasping hands of control. It also lacked the fire magic she was used to, so perhaps that was why the Valyrians never came for them. The body still held magic, just like all dragon carcasses did, but it was not a fire dragon. Nonetheless, beggars couldn’t be choosers. She devoured the remnants of the body, sending a silent prayer to the dragon for their gift. Their magic, while different, would help her grow and stay alive. 

She continued on her flight later, finding more and more dragons over the next few years They all had the same different magic as the first dragon, and they were all frozen and still whole. Some had injuries, likely causes of death, but most were just huge and old, likely dying from old age. 

It was odd, how as the years went on she found the cold less annoying. Soon, she had grown used to the wind and ice and snow. Soon, she grew to love it. 

She also grew in a more physical sense. When she had woken up she had not been small. She’d been as big as Balerion had been at his death, as large as Vhagar in his last years. But, now, with her rider alive and dozens of dead dragons for her to feed upon, with magic being in the air, she grew exponentially. Her wings were nearly twice as big as before, and her body was almost 50% bigger. She felt truly powerful for the first time in her life.

She continued on her trek, moving from dragon carcass to dragon carcass as she felt her rider grow. After several years, around the time she was starting to grow restless, she felt another bond in her mind. It was a different bond than the one she shared with her rider. She felt it snap into reality the moment the little being was born into the world. She also felt, just a few mere hours later, as the little being met her rider. It appeared that she and this direwolf would have to share her rider. She should have hated the little thing, but somehow she couldn’t. She had waited hundreds of years for this rider, she was willing to share him with the wolf. He could have their rider on the ground, she would have him in the sky. Besides, the little furball had mentally latched on her just as much as her rider, their rider. She could share with him, but only with him.

Just weeks later, she had finally felt her rider come towards her. She’d been excited, perhaps he felt her presence? She didn’t care, he was away from large cities of people, she could go to him soon. The furball, named Ghost by their rider, had not been happy. He had explained it to her, their link having grown quickly and securely. 

Her rider was being kicked out of his home, his nest. At four and ten, he was told he was no longer welcome where he grew up. Something about an angry cold trout with red hair? How fish could have hair, she didn’t know, but she hated this red-headed trout from Ghost’s stories. She knew little of the Night’s Watch, but she knew of its reputation from her time on Dragonstone. It was a glorified penal colony filled with traitors, murderers, rapists, and thieves. Her rider would not be safe there. 

Ghost had been lost, not knowing how to stop their rider. She was not lost in what to do. If she had to steal him from the top of that ice wall herself, she would not let him swear his vows. She would come for her ride and they would leave. All three of them.

Chapter Text

Histories of Valyria, Volume 11

While the Targaryens are commonly believed to be the only Dragonlord family to escape the Doom of Valyria, they was in fact one other family to survive. The Vallarama Family left Valyria 9 years after the Targaryens, 3 years before the Doom. 

At the time that they fled, the family only consisted of Lady Behra and her three daughters: Saenenya, Naeremera, and Draenesella. It is believed that Lady Bahra and Lady Daenys were good friends and that Lady Bahra trusted Daenys’ warning about the Doom. However, Lady Behra’s brother-husband, Lord Maehavar thought the dreams folly. It wasn’t until after his death that Lady Bahra fled the city with their dragons.

There is evidence that the family spent some time on Dragonstone, before leaving in 103 BC to find their own place. Some reports from maester at the time tell us that the Vallarama family went to the western edge of Westeros. They stopped in between cities before continuing off the edge of Westeros. 

There has been no mention or sighting of the family since then, and it is believed that they died out in the seas trying to find land.

It is worth mentioning that the Vallarama family was the three Elder Dragononlord family of Valyria. They had been a ruling family of Valyria for nearly 3,000 years prior to the Doom.

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295 AC - The Wall

Jon’s POV

Jon had never felt so angry in all his life. The Night’s Watch had been a lie. In retrospect, he could now see the truths his Uncle Benjen had tried to weave in his stories. Things his Uncle couldn’t or wouldn’t say out loud. The vague answers to his questions. His Uncle Benjen wasn’t who he was mad at. No, all of that anger was directed at Lord Stark, he couldn’t  How could the man claim to love him if he sent Jon here to live out the rest of his days? He had to know the truth. His father was the Warden of the North, he had to know of the Watch’s current condition. He communicated with the Lord Commander on a monthly basis. He sent food and tools twice a year. Uncle Benjen had to have shared the walls’ condition on his visits. 

How could his father claim to love him if he sent him to a wall that was so in such bad shape? He could understand sending him away from Winterfell, Lady Catelyn had made her opinion about Jon clear over the past fourteen years, but surely one of his father’s bannerman could have let him join their castles. He knew Lady Mormont, Lord Reed, Lord Umber, and Lord Manderly had all made numerous offers over the years. He would have been a simple guard, just another unnamed northern boy. But, no, his Father had encouraged the watch, refused to speak about the potential fosterings, and even used the knowledge of Jon’s mother against him. He couldn’t understand why his father sent him to a place filled with rapists, murderers, and traitors? Even after just a few short days, he knew all of these men would rape and murder if given the chance. And he just couldn’t understand why his father sent him to a place filled with Targaryen loyalists? Those men in particular were making his life hell. He had no doubt some of them would kill him if he left himself exposed. They could get away with it too, given who was all here. He wondered if Lord Stark would even care if he got a letter from the Lord Commander telling him that he was dead.

“The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother, I promise.” That was what Lord Stark had said the last time they meet. He doubt Lord Stark would even tell him. When he eventually returned to the North, after Joffrey picked a new Hand of the King, it would have likely been years. Whether he’d ever be allowed to visit Winterfell like his Uncle Benjen was also up for debate. Lady Catelyn would likely not allow it, and he knew Lord Stark would never come up to the wall.

He could still leave, technically. He could return to Winterfell, journey down to King’s Landing, or even just explore the world. He could leave, but really, he couldn’t. Lady Stark still lived in Winterfell, and he would not be welcome back there. He would not journey south if he didn’t have to, the various Riverland servants along with the Septon and Septa at Winterfell made that option very unpalatable. He had no friends among the Northern Bannermen, so going to one of those keeps was out of the question, besides, without his Father’s approval, they couldn’t really accept him. He did not have the money to travel to Essos, and he wouldn’t be able to get the money from anyone. 

The wall was the only option left to him. Lord Stark had made sure of that.

Chapter Text

295 AC - Beyond The Wall

Jon’s POV

For the past few days, Ghost had become overly agitated. His wolf wasn’t violent, but he’d caught Ghost staring longingly out at the land beyond the wall more than once. Ghost had also been sleeping less and was more likely to growl at passing Watch members. 

He’d been wondering if Ghost longed for freedom beyond the wall, and after a third day of Ghost’s attitude he’d gone to the Lord Commander to ask permission to go beyond the wall. The man had sat on the request for a day, before summing him back to the Lord Commander Solar and approving the request. 

All of this had led to now. Ghost had been ecstatic, putting his nose to the ground immediately. He’d followed his wolf for a good few minutes before nodding and trying to turn back.

Ghost had not been pleased. The wolf grabbed his arm and pulled him deeper into the woods. However, now he was doing so at a jog. Keeping up was unpleasant. 

“Ghost, what the hell!”

The wolf said nothing, not that he expected a verbal response. Instead, Ghost seemed to be going faster. 

Finally, they stopped at the edge of a large open field next to a large hill. He turned back. The wall was definitely still visible, but no longer looming. They’d been walking for at least an hour if not several. He’d spend the rest of the day going back. Thorne would not be pleased, seeing as he had chores he needed to do this afternoon.

“Ghost, why did you do that?”

The wolf stayed silent, but his eyes were fixed on the hill. The small bond he knew existed with the wolf, though he’d never verbally confirm it with anyone, was teeming with excitement. Even without the bond, he could tell Ghost was excited. His tail was wagging, his ears perked up, and he was dancing in place. In any other situation, Ghost’s behavior would have been funny. Now, it just made him a little worried.

He was right to be worried. The loud pounding comes from ahead of them, like heavy footsteps that belonged to a giant. Snow falls from the tree branches. He takes a few steps back, but Ghost takes off instead. 

He sees it a second later. The head of an impossible beast. The head of a dragon. 

It comes over the hill and it is unnaturally huge. He’s never seen any of the Dragon skeletons he knows are in King’s Landing, but he’d read some books about dragons. He doesn’t think that any of the Targaryen dragons were this large. 

The ground shakes as the large black form moves towards him. 

Ghost is still moving toward the head, but he was frozen. Running didn’t seem like the thing to do, but staying put didn’t feel right either. 

The dragon stops in the middle of the field and Ghost meets it. His wolf is jumping up to try to sniff the large head, which had fixed its gaze on him. Without looking away, the head lowers to the ground for Ghost to sniff. 

As if in a trance, he takes careful steps toward the unnaturally large head. He couldn’t look away from the green eyes, the same color as the wildfire drawn in books. 

He remembers the odd feeling in the back of his mind the first time he looked at Ghost. The bond that formed between the two of them. Old Nan had talked about such things in her stories, about Wargs and Skinchanging. How the Starks of old would bond with direwolves, and others would bond with dogs or ravens. Something like that was happening with the dragon. 

Finally, he was within reach of the snout. He pulls off his glove and places a shaking hand on the lower jaw. The dragon's eyes finally close with his touch and what sounds like purring comes from its chest. 

His hand continues to rub the dragon's jawline, as he looks across the body. The scales are as black as coal, without a single scar in place. The sun glistened along its body and off the spikes. The dragon was beautiful. 

A trill of pride runs through the back of his mind. He instantly knows that it’s the dragon's pride. 

Ghost is still sniffing the dragon, but he’d made it halfway down the body by now. 

“How are you even alive?”

He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling that comes across the bond, but he knows the answer to his question. Magic.

The bond was different than the one with Ghost. That bond was stronger at night when he watched through Ghost’s eyes as he hunts or explored. He wakes up with the scent of dirt and pine in his nose, and the taste of blood on his tongue. He wonders if he’ll be able to see through the dragon's eyes as it flies.

“How are you even this big?”

Again, he just knows the answers. This dragon was old, centuries old, 448 years old. That shouldn’t be possible. Balerion was only just over 200. 

“How did you know I was here?”

This time, the head turned slightly so the jaw was pushing against my chest. Its gaze was fixed on Ghost, who was down to the tail.

“You talk to Ghost?”

The dragon looks back at him and blinks. The same mental messages tell him that the two do communicate.

“I suppose I should ask your name?”

This time a name floats across the bond. Cannibal . There’s a tinge of displeasure across the bond at the name. 

“I suppose you need a proper name. What about Corras? Does that sound alright to you?” Pleasure runs across the bond once again. I stroke its snout. 

I frown at that thought. Calling the dragon before him an it seemed rude. “Do you have a gender? All the books say you don’t.”

There’s a thrum of laughter this time, but just like every other time he asks a question, he knows the answer. Corras is a female dragon. 

Ghost finally seems satisfied with sniffing the dragon and returns to his side. Corras, in return, lowers her front wing. Ghost immediately starts climbing up the wing to the back of her neck.

“I suppose you want me to get on too?” No mental response this time, instead she pushes him toward her wing with her head. 

He doesn’t hesitate to climb on. Riding a dragon was every kid's dream and he was living it. 

It’s only when he is down hours later, and waking back to Castle Black with a promise to return, that the situation truly settles in. 

He had just ridden a dragon. Only the Targaryens of old, or those of their bloodlines could ride dragons. For him to ride a dragon, he must have Valyrian blood in his veins. There was only one Valyrian woman alive during the Rebellion, and she had already been pregnant. Besides, when and why would Ned Stark have sex with Rhaella Targaryen? Most of the dragon seeds had died during the Blackfyre wars, Aerys had killed off his mistress and no children were ever reported. No, he knew who his mother was, and that just made him angrier. The only way this made sense is if his Aunt Lyanna was his mother. 

Lord Stark never specified what kind of fever claimed his sister’s life in Dorne, but the birthing bed was known to claim many lives, even with a Maester around to care for the mother. 

There was only one person who could confirm this, and that was Lord Stark, and he knew the man would never. 

Unless?

Aemon Targaryen might be old and blind and stuck up here, but the Maester might have the answers he seeks. 

With a slightly quicker step, he makes his way back to Castle Black. 

Maester Aemon’s eyes are unseeing, focusing on something over my shoulders, but the Maester’s hands still find my face easily. 

“You say you have the look of a Stark, but only slightly. You have Benjen’s long face, but my brother’s chin and nose. Rhaegar’s cheeks were just like yours too!” A heart laugh accompanies the statement. “Your eyes are shaped just like my nieces'. You might have your mother’s eyes and hair, but you have the Targaryen face. How did you figure this out? You’ve been here for weeks and just now seek me out. You don’t sound like a man who’s been waiting to see me, no, you sound like someone who just learned something. So, what did you learn?”

I open and close my mouth. “I-Ghost dragged me out to a field earlier today. He knew she was there. I don’t know how, but he knew her.”

“Who is her?”

“A dragon.” He wonders if the man hears his whispered answer. He’s silent for a solid minute.

“The dragons are dead.”

“Not this one, and she’s huge.”

“What did she look like?”

“Black, like coal, but with bright green eyes.”

“It sounds like the Cannibal, but that dragon is long dead.”

“It’s her. Cannibal, but she doesn’t like the name. It’s Corras.”

“Cannibal would be almost 300 years old now, dragons don’t live that long.”

“She’s older, almost 450 years old.”

“How do you know that?”

“I-What do you know about warging?”

“It’s an ability that those descended from the First Men are said to have. I’ve heard of wildlings having unnatural connections with birds, but nothing south of the wall.”

“I can warg with Ghost. The bond Corras and I have is different but similar. She didn’t talk to me, but I’d ask a question and I’d just know the answer.”

“This is unheard of.” His tone is cautious, but not disbelieving. 

“You believe me?”

“I’m almost 100 years old, I know when men are lying or when they are mad. You don’t sound like either.”

I nod but don’t say anything. 

“You have questions about him, don’t you?”

“Why did he take her?” I don’t have to say the names for Aemon Targaryen to understand my question. 

“Rhaegar wrote to me often. Elia could not have any more children after Aegon. Aerys was displeased and spoke of disinheriting Rhaegar and his children. Rather than risk Elia’s life, my nephew started to look for a second wife. Lyanna Stark did something at Harrenhal, all those years ago, that caught his attention. She dressed as the Knight of the Laughing Tree and competed in the Tourney.” Aemon sighs and seems to suddenly look his age again. “Your mother wanted to escape a marriage her family was forcing her into and Rhaegar needed a second wife to give him more children. Elia was in agreeance with the marriage, she confirmed this in a letter to me, to soothe my worries. So long as her son remained heir, she would have no objections. Besides, Viserys was already showing signs of madness, even at his young age. Rhaegar worried about his sanity and for the Kingdom if his younger brother were to be made King. One does not commit regicide unless they are next in line for the throne. A second wife and additional children made everyone safer. I don’t know what happened next, but word spread of Rhaegar kidnapping Lyanna. Brandon and Rickon Stark died trying to bring her home. Suddenly there was war and the truth didn’t matter.”

“No, I suppose it didn’t.”

“He married her. On the Isle of Faces. It was the last letter I received from your father before the war broke out and he died. He told me he believed Lyanna was carrying his child. His Visenya. Your mother, however, demanded he pick a male name. She was sure she was carrying a boy. Jaehaerys is what he decided upon.”

Silence fills the room. Only the crackling of the fire fills the silence. 

“What are you going to do?”

I shrug at his words, forgetting the man could not see. “I don’t know. Eddard Stark’s bastard wanted to join the wall to gain a sense of honor, but there is nothing for me here. I don’t even know why Lord Stark was so set on me coming here.”

“Years ago I told Egg, my brother, something. Kill the Boy, Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born. So, let me say it to you. Kill the Boy, Jaehaerys. Kill the boy and let the man be born.”

“Where would I go? I don’t want war.”

“Essos is always an option.”

“I suppose.”

Aemon leans back in his chair. “You could go West? Our Ancestors always spoke about going West and mapping the unknown.”

“West?” Two nudges fill the back of his mind. “Corras seems to agree, and so does Ghost.”

Aemon laughs, much more lively this time. “I wouldn’t disagree with either beast. However, you will need something.” He turns in his seat. “Under my mattress, there’s two packages, grab them for me.”

I go to where he points and pull out the packages. They’re swords. I recognize both hilts. “How do you have these?”

“My Uncle Brandon Rivers left Dark Sister and Blackfyre in my possession years ago before he went beyond the wall. He left a fake with Bittersteel. He was a greenseer, not a dragon dreamer. Must have been his mother’s blood that gave him those abilities. He told me that I’d know when they should return to House Targaryen. He was right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you think they should stay here, with me at the Wall?”

“Well, I-”

“Take the swords. Better they stay with you than rust away hidden at the Wall. Besides, I will not have Robert Baratheon have possession of either of those swords. Eventually, old age will claim me and those swords will be found. Any man here will bring those swords to King’s Landing for a pardon.”

“Fair.”

The man pushes on my arm. “Sleep, Jaehaerys. Tomorrow, collect your thoughts and then tell the Lord Commander your decision. However, you must say goodbye to your Uncle if you decide to go. A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, but your dragon and your wolf will lessen that pain.”

“You’re leaving?” Lord Commander Mormont’s shock is not easily hidden. “Did you have some kind of spiritual retreat in those woods yesterday?”

“Something like that, and some really good advice. My place is not here, I can’t stay.”

The man sighs. “You haven’t sworn your vows yet, you’re welcome to leave. It’s a pity though, you would have made an excellent Lord Commander.”

“The wall isn’t going anywhere.”

A small laugh escapes him. “I suppose it’s not. How soon?”

“Today.”

“I’ll have your horse prepared.”

“No. I won’t need the horse. She’s from White Harbor, a garrison. You could sell him to one of the houses near here for a fair amount. Consider it thanks for housing and feeding me these past few weeks.”

“And how will you be leaving?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

The man stares at me, forcing me to hold his gaze. “You’re different than you were two days ago when you asked me to go beyond the wall. What happened to you?”

“I figured some things out.”

The man shrugs. “Anything else?”

I hold out a letter. “When my Uncle Benjen returns, can you give this to him? I would like to explain things to him personally, but I’m not sure how much longer he’ll be gone. I won’t impose on you that long and I don’t think I can wait weeks or months.”

The Lord Commander takes the letter. “I’ll give it to Benjen, you have my word.”

“Thank you, Lord Commander.”

“Good luck to you, Jon Snow, wherever it is that you end up.”

Chapter Text

295 AC - Royal Capital of the Vallarama Empire

Emperess Draenesella’s POV

Emperess Draenesella watches as her many grandchildren spar below her. She was 77 years old, but she only really felt her age when looking at her Grandchildren. It had been almost a decade since she’d been able to pull a bowstring back as effortlessly as Vahaerion did or swing a sword like Saelaeh just did. Her grandchildren made her very proud, they also made her feel very old.

Though, only her beloved Elaeyls made her feel as ancient as their dragons. Elaeyls, at only 15 years old, could scale some of the tallest towers with ease. She made sword fighting look like dancing, as she twirled left and right, practically hiding her sword and daggers in the skirts she wore. She could draw and launch an arrow or throw a spear while flipping over enemies. Her flexibility made many drop their jaws and stare. She rode her dragon standing sometimes, arms out to the side, laughing as her hair flew behind her. Elaeyls was very alive in everything she did. From weaponry to martial arts, her educational studies, her music lessons, to her various hobbies of baking and artistic drawings. She make a fine Empress one day, but for now, she’d left her heir to enjoy herself. Even if it made her feel ancient. 

However, all perfect moments even eventually. 

A roar rips through the sky, causing all of her grandchildren to stop sparing and spin towards the noise. She could see them coming, all 16 of their dragons. Even young Kirses, who was only 3. They were all yelling, a mixture of fear and warning. The servants around them froze in place. Their dragons were never like this. Even those with no experience with the reptiles would recognize the seriousness of this moment. 

Her Grandchildren dropped their weapons, and all started running out of the courtyard. Their various guards all started cursing and running after them. She pushed herself up, cursing her arthritis, and started running after them. Their guards were all following suit. It took a moment, but they made it to the large open field where Reka was waiting for Elaeyls. Inva was circling their city, with little Kirses trying to keep up with her. Ythi, Gysess, Nienda, and Emyrry had joined in the patrol, spacing themselves out and putting an even distance between each other. They’d protect their people, as well as their riders. Whatever this threat was, the dragons had decided who would join in the search. 

“Elaeyls, wait!” She continued to curse her elderly body and the gods. If her daughter, Elaeyls’ mother, were still alive, she’d be able to stop Elaeyls from flying off after something that scared their dragons. Or maybe she wouldn’t be able to. Her daughter had been just as stubborn as Elaeyls. Perhaps, it wouldn’t have been easier for her daughter to stop her granddaughter. She shakes her head and picks up speed just a little bit. Her daughter was dead. Thinking about what-ifs would not help anyone. 

She focused back on the potential threat. It couldn’t be another dragon, only the Targaryens and their relatives had dragons after the doom, and they had lost them over a hundred years ago. 

Elaeyls, true to form, ignored her and climbed up her dragon’s saddle. None of her other Grandchildren tried to stop her, they knew better than to try when she got like this, nor did her guards, who were still terrified of Reka’s large form.

By the time she got there, Reka was already in the sky, Elaeyls along with her. 

Caldre landed down next, turning her huge head towards Vahaerion. 

“Grandmother?” Vahaerion shoots his eyes between her, his dragon, and then back to her. 

“Go. If they’re all here it must be something important.”

Vahaerion nods and goes to his dragon, climbing on just as fast as Elaeyls had. Caldre took off, just as her grandson sat down in his saddle. 

Vervi came down next, the rest of the dragons keeping themselves airborne above them. 

She turns to the rest of her Grandchildren. “Erinssa, Taedor, Draenesella, Syros, Matamyx, we’re going back to the castle.”

Taedor gaps at her. “Why do we have to go back?”

“Because you’re too young!”

“Elaeyls is going!”

“Yes, and she’s three years older than you. Regardless, your dragon made that decision for you, all of you actually, seeing as they're patrolling instead of waiting for you. So, to the castle.”

Taedor glances up at Kirses, who’s still trying to keep up with Inva. “Alright.” 

She nods to the guards, who sweep around her children and start using them back to the castle. Two more of her grandchildren were already in the air, and the last two were about to join them. 

As she guided her grandchildren back to the castle, her son and daughter, along with their spouses go past them. It made her feel a little calmer, knowing the four of them would be in the skies too. 

She turned back to the family she could currently protect, praying to the Valyrian gods to protect the ones she couldn’t.

Chapter Text

Vallarama Family Tree

Vallarama Banner

Vallarama Dragon Sizes

Map of Vokenda

Full Map

Chapter Text

295 AC - Skies Above the Royal Capital 

Crown Princess Elaeyls’s POV

I could feel my dragon’s worry as we flew up. Flying with Reka was usually fun. My dragon would throw fire into the air, skim the waters below, and call out to the ships they passed. Now, my dragon was quiet and flying flat. The tension in her muscles looked painful to my human eyes. Something had scared Reka, and not much could. At 418 years old, Reka had seen and fought much over her life. Little could scare her, so whatever this is must be dangerous. 

The skies were clear, which I was somewhat thankful for, as I looked around for whatever could be setting my dragon off. Still, I felt like it was the calm before the storm or that we were caught in the eye of a hurricane and didn’t know it. At any moment, things could go badly. 

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been up for when I finally saw it in the distance.

To an untrained eye, it would look like a bird, but I knew what it was. It was a dragon and it was flying towards me fast. It was dark, likely black, with bright eyes. The dragon must have spotted Reka because it let out a mighty roar that could put any of my family’s dragons to shame.  

Reka slows as the dragon nears, rearing up and putting her large chest between the mystery dragon and me. She lets out a growl that vibrates my bones. Reka had always been overprotective. Usually, it annoyed me a little, but right now I was thankful for it.

The black dragon comes to a stop in front of us but doesn’t rear up like Reka. I notice the two beings on its back. The first is easy to see, as it was as white as snow. Why a dog was on a dragon, however, was a mystery. The second being was a boy, dressed in all black, with three swords strapped to his back and a small knapsack. 

“Corras!” The boy’s fear is evident in his voice and he seemed a little unsure of himself on the dragon. Perhaps he’d never ridden before now? 

The two dragons stare at each other, neither starting a fight nor yelling. A good old stand-off. 

I use that time to look at the boy more closely. I couldn’t see him perfectly, but he didn’t look obviously Valyrian. No silver hair, though his eyes could be purple. 

“Are you a Targaryen?” I scream at the boy. 

“What?” 

I try not to laugh, laying a hand on the back of Reka’s neck. I could see why the dragons were scared. The other dragon, Corras, was larger than Reka, who was our eldest dragon. It had to be at least 400 years old, closer to 450 years. And yet, I couldn’t think of a single dragon outside of our home that could be that old. 

Reka lets out a whine but shifts to a more flat position so I could see the three beings more clearly. “I said, are you a Targaryen?”

The boy’s face goes through a whirlwind of emotions, before settling on anger. “Probably.”

I blink. “What?”

“I likely am a Targaryen, because nothing else makes sense!” The exasperation was strong. “ Well, I could be a Blackfyre. Or I could be from some long-lost Velaryon line. Who knows?”

“Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not. I’m riding a fucking dragon.”

“No shit.”

I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I knew there was a look of annoyance on it. “I’m riding a dragon that should be dead-” The dragon lets out a snort at that statement. “Oh come on, you’re almost 450 years old. Balaerion was over 200 and Vhagar just barely. You should be dead, regardless, everyone knows dragons are dead, except I’m riding one and so are you, which I have some questions about.”

I nod. “This is Reka. She’s a dragon.”

“I noticed.”

“Anything else pissing you off?” That statement of mine opened a floodgate.

“I’ve also been sent away from my home and I can’t go back. Apparently, I’m fireproof. Oh, and a really old guy thinks I’m his great-something nephew. So, I’m probably Rhaegar Targaryen’s kid with my Aunt Lyanna, who is evidently, not my aunt. Which means I’m the result of an affair that threw a realm into civil war. All because my Grandfather is a fucking madman and my Uncle Viserys was a psychopath in the making at 7 years old. I’ve spent my entire life believing I was my Uncle’s bastard, his only mark of shame. Apparently, I’m not.”

“I can see why that would upset someone.” Even as disconnected from the rest of the world, we knew about Robert’s Rebellion. “How’d you find out?”

He gestured at the dragon he was riding. “Ghost dragged out to the woods and I meet her.”

“What’s a Ghost have to do with anything?”

He gestures to the white dog next to him. “This is Ghost.”

“Oh, your pet dog.”

“It’s a direwolf.”

“I see. I have even more questions.”

“I still have some questions, too.”

“Do you want to land? All this yelling is starting to hurt my throat.”

The boy is quiet for a minute. “Sure, why not? Lead the way.”

I pat Reka again, who is completely unhappy with my plan, but she still took off toward home. The boy, his direwolf, and his dragon followed.

“So, let me see if I understand this correctly. You think you’re Lyanna Stark’s and Rhaegar Targaryen’s son but were raised as Eddard Stark’s bastard. You were raised as Jon Snow, but your great-something uncle Aemon, who banished himself to a frozen hell, says your name is Jaehaerys Targaryen and that your parents were married. You can’t confirm this because the Uncle who does know is in King’s Landing with the man that killed your blood father and laughed at your dead families’ bodies. The other Uncle is somewhere beyond the wall and might not even have the answers you want. You left Westeros on a dragon, that’s supposedly Cannibal the wild dragon, and with an albino direwolf rather than forcibly join a celibate group of mostly criminal men who all dress in black and live in a frozen hell. Does that sound right?”

The boy, Jon, hums for a moment. “Pretty much.”

“Huh. I’ll admit, this is not how I thought my day would go.”

“Me neither.”

“Elaeyls!” My grandmother comes running down the hill towards us, her guards in tow. Mine were just behind hers. 

“Hi, Grandmother.” I gesture to Jon. “This is Jon or Jaehaerys, he isn’t sure.”

Grandmother stops a few yards from me. “What?”

Jon does a small bow. “Your Grace.”

I shake my head at Jon. “No, she’s an Empress. It’s either Empress, Imperial Highness, or Your Majesty. Same for a consort King or Queen. Everyone else is Your Grace or Your Majesty.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be. Anyways-” I turn back to Grandmother whose face is torn between a look of exasperation and annoyance. “Grandmother, this is Jon. He’s from Westeros, we think he’s Rhaegar Targaryen’s son with Lyanna Stark. There’s only one person for sure who knows and he’s in King’s Landing, but Great-Uncle Aemon thinks he is. Besides, the Starks don’t have dragons.”

“Great-Uncle Aemon?”

“He lives at the Night’s Watch, no one remembers he’s even there. There’s a whole reason why he’s at the wall, but that doesn’t matter. Jon’s from the North, you know the frozen snowy place with all the Weirwood trees and the people with common sense.” I shrug. “Oh,” I gesture up at Jon’s Dragon. “This is Corras, though she was once called Cannibal. And this-” I gesture to Ghost. “Is Ghost, he’s a direwolf. They get as big as a horse.”

“I see. Why is Jon here instead of in Westeros?”

“His dad, or Uncle, sent him to the Night’s Watch. He doesn’t want to stay. Besides, I don’t think Corras would fit in at the wall.”

Grandmother turns to Jon. “What did you do?”

Jon frowns. “Be born.”

Grandmother sighs and closes her eyes. “Elaeyls.” Definitely annoyance in her voice now. 

“I was raised as Eddard Stark’s bastard son.” Jon shifts his feet nervously. 

Grandmother’s lips turn down even more. “I don’t understand.”

“So, Jon Arryn died which made Robert Baratheon come to the North and drag Eddard Stark, his supposed father, down to King’s Landing.” I stop and click my tongue. “We should update the Conclave and Council about this.”

“Explanation first Granddaughter.”

“Right, so Eddard Stark leaves and Catelyn Tully, his wife, says that she won’t let Jon stay at Winterfell anymore.” Ghost’s teeth pull back at the name Catelyn. “Eddard doesn’t make fostering plans or argue with his wife, he tells Jon that he should join the Watch because it’s honorable. So, Jon, with no other choice, left for the Watch. He met his dragon, talked to the great-uncle, and flew off and ran into us.”

“For the record, I did not know this was here. I was just exploring. I didn’t feel like going to Essos and Westeros is not an option.”

Grandmother lets out a long sigh. “Child, you make me feel so old. I assume you brought Jon or Jaehaerys here for a reason.”

I nod. “Yes. Well, sort of. The original purpose was to land so we could talk without having to yell. Now though, I figure he could stay with us. He knows nothing about his Valyrian heritage, it’s a tragedy we must correct. I am personally offended by his lack of knowledge.”

“Tragedy?” Jon sounded offended. 

I nodded fervently. “Yes, a tragedy.”

“I see.” Grandmother had switched to exhausted now. 

“I’m going to bring Jae up to show him his room.”

“Greenhill House, Elaeyls.” Grandmother wasn’t arguing, that was nice.

“Jae?”

“Short for Jaehaerys. And I know Grandmother.” I loop my arm through his. “Come on Ghost. Corras can stay here if she wants. We have a few acres of land sectioned out for the dragons, but she can stay for now if she wants to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t think she’s ready for long-distance separation yet. Do I get a say in any of this?”

“No.”

“It’s best just to follow her.” Grandmother watches Ghost with curious eyes. “She’s very persuasive when she wants to be. Besides, your wolf is already halfway there.”

“Right.”

I tug on his arm. “Come on. You need a bath before dinner, you reek.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jae’s voice is full of sarcasm. “It’s hard to bathe on a dragon.” 

“That’s what rivers and lakes are for.”

“We were over the ocean!” 

“Exactly, a very large lake just with some salt. You could have bathed in that.”

“And how should I have gotten back on the dragon after bathing in the ocean?”

“Climb her tail.”

“Are you serious?”

“May the Gods help us.” Grandmother sighs. “Are you two going to bicker like an old married couple all day?”

I grin back at her. “And Night. Now, you really do need to bathe. Does Ghost like baths? I can give him one. He can smell like honeysuckle and lavender afterward and I’ll braid his fur with ribbons.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“That might make hunting difficult.”

“Maybe I’ll braid in some beads. Or flowers! Oh, he’ll look so cute!” 

“You know, he’s my wolf.”

“Not anymore.”

Chapter Text

297 AC - Royal Capital of the Vallarama Empire

Jaehaerys’ POV

The woman before me was kneeling on one leg. Elaeyls is smiling wide, uncaring that she’s in a puddle and her dress is being ruined. 

Women did not propose in Westeros, no matter their stations, and yet, Elaeyls’ proposal seemed so natural. She’d always been so sure of her decisions. 

It takes a few seconds for me to realize Elaeyls is still waiting for a response. 

“Yes!”

299 AC - Royal Capital of the Vallarama Empire

Jaehaerys’ POV

My lip stung from the cut, but I could hardly care. Elaeyls was smiling as she waved to the unending crowd of people before them. She was splendid in the kind of way that should be impossible. A sleeveless white dress of silk and velvet, trimmed with polar bear fur. The bodice had purple quartz crystals sewn into it. The skirt had been hand embroidered by one of Elaeyls’ female ancestors had been passed down for 6 generations and been worn by over a dozen Vallarama women.

My wife, and wasn’t that an odd thought was beyond gorgeous. The family had even agreed to have the ceremony in front of the Weirwood tree they had here, instead of the Valyrian Temple. 

Personally, I thought it made the ceremony even more beautiful. Elaeyls had a few weirwood leaves in her hair, sitting so perfectly still you’d have thought they’d been placed there on purpose. 

I turn back to the crowd and give my waves to the people as Reka and Corras fly over the people, roaring. 

This was the best day of my life and I couldn’t imagine it getting any better.

301 AC - Royal Capital of the Vallarama Empire

Jaehaerys’ POV

I stare down at the bundle in my arms. There was a small tuff of white hair on her head with eyes that were already a bright purple. Alysanne Vallarama was perfect from the moment she’d been handed to me. 

Elaeyls comes up next to him. “You ready to baptize her?”

I simply nod. Alysanne is sleeping in my arms as we walk to the Valyrian Temple. The statues are human-sized and evenly spaced around the room. Grandmother Draensella is waiting in the middle with the ritual knife.

Elaeyls stands directly across from me. She takes the knife in one hand and starts to chant. “Lēda these udra, nyke claim bisa riña hae ñuhon. Lēda bisa ānogar, nyke claim bisa riña yno. Ānogar naejot ānogar. Ābrar naejot ābrar. Perzys naejot perzys. Nyke brōzi bisa riña hae ñuhon. Nyke, Elaeyls Vallarama, brōzi Alysanne Vallarama hae ñuha tala.” (1) As she chants, she pricks her thumb with the knife. She traces the traditional Valyrian symbol of birth on our daughter's forehead. 

Grandmother Draensella takes back the knife, and Elaeyls scoops up our daughter from my arms. This time, I take the knife and start to chant. “Lēda these udra, nyke claim bisa riña hae ñuhon. Lēda bisa ānogar, nyke claim bisa riña yno. Ānogar naejot ānogar. Ābrar naejot ābrar. Perzys naejot perzys. Nyke brōzi bisa riña hae ñuhon. Nyke, Jaehaerys Targaryen, brōzi Alysanne Vallarama hae ñuha tala. (2)” I prick my thumb with the knife and trace the symbols of fire and blood on each of my daughter’s cheeks. 

Alysanne giggles at us.

Grandmother Draensella takes back the knife and sheaths it. She sets in on the ceremonial altar we stand before. When she turns back to us, she throws her arms up. “Īlon brōzagon bē se ancestor, both human se zaldrīzes naejot guide alysanne throughout zirȳla ābrar. Īlon brōzagon bē se vlayrian gods naejot mīsagon Alysanne throughout zirȳla ābrar.  Kostagon jeme bless bisa riña sīr bona kostas prosper throughout zirȳla journey hen ābrar.  Hen ānogar naejot ānogar, perzys naejot perzys, ābrar naejot ābrar.  Kostagon se ānogar hen Vlayria prosper.” (3)

303 AC - Royal Capital of the Vallarama Empire

Jaehaerys’ POV

Once again, I am standing inside our bedroom holding a freshly born child. This time, however, it’s a boy. Elaeyls had suggested our son’s name. Aemon Vallarama was a beautiful boy, with my brown hair and dark purple eyes. 

Alysanne is eyeing her baby brother carefully. “New brother?”

I smile and nod. “Yes. This is your brother Aemon.”

“He so small.”

“Yes. You were once this small.”

Alysanne shakes her head. “No. I’m big!”

Elaeyls chuckles. “And you will be bigger yet.” Her gaze shifts to me as Aemon starts to fuss. “I do believe our son is hungry.” She holds out her arms. “May I have him back?”

I place our son in her arms. Aemon is shifted slightly to access my wife’s open breast. 

“Papa?”

I look down at my daughter. “Yes, Sweetheart?”

“Can I dress Aemon?”

(1) With these words, I claim this child as mine. With this blood, I claim this child of mine. Blood to Blood. Life to Life. Fire to Fire. I name this child as mine. I, Elaeyls Vallarama, name Alysanne Vallarama as my daughter.

(2) With these words, I claim this child as mine. With this blood, I claim this child of mine. Blood to Blood. Life to Life. Fire to Fire. I name this child as mine. I, Jaehaerys Targaryen, name Alysanne Vallarama as my daughter.

(3) We call upon the ancestor, both human and dragon to guide Alysanne throughout her life. We call upon the Vlayrian Gods to protect Alysanne throughout her life. May you all bless this child so that she may prosper throughout her journey of life. From blood to blood, fire to fire, life to life. May the blood of Vlayria prosper.