92 AC – Four Years After Aegon's Birth
The throne room of Dragonstone was thick with tension. The old King Jaehaerys held a thick parchment letter, sealed with cracked wax. The island of Tarth, in the eastern Stormlands, had called for aid for the last time.
Invaders from Myr—exiles and pirates—were raiding the coast. The conflict had dragged on for more than a year, and war now demanded more than steel—it demanded fire.
"War can wait no longer," declared the king.
Beside him, Princes Aemon and Baelon were already prepared to depart. The decision had been made in silence weeks earlier. Now it was official.
Aemon, Master of Laws, would lead the ground campaign. Baelon, the Spring Prince, would command the aerial assault atop Vhagar, devastating enemy positions along the coast.
The weight of war would leave Dragonstone quieter. But the mission was clear: reclaim Tarth for the Crown.
Despite the preparations, Aemon carried more than weapons into battle—he carried hope. For even as he readied for war, his thoughts often wandered to Rhaenys, his daughter. She was with child, the first of her union with Corlys Velaryon. Aemon longed to return not only victorious but in time to hold his grandchild.
Aemon's Request
On the night before departure, Aemon sought the king one last time.
"If we fall, others will come," he said. "But if my son falls into ignorance, it will be the end of what I am building."
Jaehaerys watched him in silence.
"Who would care for the boy?"
"Ryam Redwyne. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. No man has lived with more honor."
The king nodded slowly.
"Let him train him. Your son will be forged like iron in fire."
Departure for War
At dawn, the two brothers left Dragonstone. The sky roared with the beat of dragon wings.
Caraxes and Vhagar crossed the heavens like living storms. Aemon rode the fierce red dragon, and Baelon, the legendary beast that once carried Visenya. War had begun.
Aegon, only four years old, watched from atop the walls with silent eyes. The wind from Blackwater Bay blew strong, tousling his dark hair. He did not cry. He did not scream. He simply watched, as if he understood more than he should.
Aegon's Thoughts
In those days, Aegon felt the world shifting.
Laenor Velaryon had never been born. His sister, Rhaenys, was pregnant with a child who would carry both fire and sea in their veins. His uncle Baelon had gone to war with his father, and Dragonstone felt emptier, colder, even with the fires burning.
Aegon often stood on the cliffs and looked eastward, toward the sea, hoping for the return of two dragons.
He hoped his father would survive the war. He did not yet understand destiny in words, but he felt its weight in silence.
The Bond with Aenarion
At night, after his lessons, Aegon descended into the caverns—though less often now. The dragon had already hatched. Aenarion, fierce and restless, hated confinement and made his displeasure known with growls that echoed like distant thunder.
With the princes at war and the king attentive to the winds of the east, Dragonstone prepared the ground for something greater.
Aegon was beginning to be forged. Aenarion was beginning to awaken. And in Tarth, the swords of justice and fire began to fall upon the invaders.