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Published:2020-04-25Updated:2026-04-06Words:409,591Chapters:71/?Comments:5,537Kudos:6,020Bookmarks:1,659Hits:467,009
The Stormborn and the Stormbringer
SkilledWarriorKiwi
Chapter 23: Legacy
Notes:
Ramblings
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Daenerys' rage instantly flared, still wounded from her last family's passing, and how Strickland was throwing such a ridiculous, manipulative thing in her face as she snarled, "You dare to use the name of my slain nephew against me?"
"Not so slain, Your Grace," Strickland held up his hands in a placating gesture, "As I said, your remaining family is waiting west for you. If you accept our princeling and take him for your consort then Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Many have doubts, just as you, but with you our claim is legitimized and none shall discount your family. The Westerosi lords would only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender but with his beautiful aunt Daenerys Stormborn and her golden dragon accepting him...none would cast his blood in doubt and together you can rebuild the greatest House Westeros had ever seen."
"Rhaegar's child is dead, killed just as he was," Daenerys said, her jaw clenched so tightly her teeth ached as she ground out, "This is just some Blackfyre pretender-"
Strickland just shrugged, "Did not Aegon the Unworthy legitimize all his bastards before he died? And even if he is a Blackfyre, he would still be of your blood, wouldn't he?"
Daenerys swallowed, nails biting deeper into her palms but before she could say another word Strickland continued, "But as I said, dragons need not fight. You are a rare species now, your brother being killed by the Dothraki and then you alone in the wastes of Essos. True, you have done wondrously for yourself, returning with an army and a dragon and grinding the master's cities beneath your heel. But still, alone. Aegon the Conqueror had his queens Visenya and Rhaenys by his side and all Targaryen rulers after had kin. Why should you suffer any different?"
She said nothing, her jaw said and eyes narrowed. Outside she could hear the dull thud of Ghidorah's tails slapping on the ground in agitation like a cat. Her mind was churning with too many emotions and thoughts, rapidly unspooling at the edges like tattered cloth. The months of stresses from Meereen and the Harpy murdering her people then losing Aemon and now this was causing her emotions to churn and swiftly shift rancid.
"You're in disbelief; I understand, gentle queen. It is a great deal to absorb. I was much the same when Jon first told me of it," Strickland told her kindly. She hated his tone, as if she was a stupid, hysterical child that he was comforting. A part of her wanted to throw something, to claw at his eyes like some wild beast. Instead she just tightened her fists, small rivulets of blood seeping past her fingers from how tight her nails were clutching her palm.
Even when Strickland continued to talk, recounting how this Aegon had been kept hidden away and taught and protected, two insidious words began to slither through her mind, seeking to poison her reasoning and cloud her senses. That despite her trying to push them aside grew louder and louder until they reverberated through her skull like the beat of a drum.
What if.
What if it was true? What if that ridiculous tale was true? What if that fantastical story of swapping infants was true, what if Aegon being in Westeros with the Golden Company waiting for her was true?
It isn't, it's a lie. Daenerys tried to tell herself. A lie intended to manipulate her, to dangle bait before her of a tale of long lost family. Something intended to draw her completely from Essos, to send her after a whisper of rumours. It was just a lie intending to control her. Another manipulation.
But then, Aemon had been true. She had thought herself alone until told of the ancient maester, she had his chains around her waist and had burnt his body upon a pyre after only having him for a handful of days. Aemon had even lamented about leaving her alone, unable to escape his age and be by her side. Would he encourage her to follow Strickland's absurd claim? To find another dragon? He had been insisting the dragon needed three heads. Was that what he meant? No, Daenerys was quite sure if Aemon had known about Aegon he would've told her, he would have. Maybe it was his own dragon dreams, he had told her of them and his brother's dreams. How he had seen dragons within them, how he was all but certain that was what caused Aegon the Unlikely to create the Tragedy at Summerhall trying to usher dragons back into the world.
And Daenerys still remembered her dream, of the dead and those blue, blue eyes. Quaithe told her, Aemon told her, Tarly told her. They had truth even if at the time Daenerys did not understand it.
Would it be so absurd to think Aegon survived? Perhaps, but many claimed her birthing Ghidorah was simply a wild tale until they saw him for themself. There were so many rumours about her, knowing what lies the masters had spread. From the ridiculous to abhorrent but just if someone says it does not make it so.
As for Strickland's claim that her nephew lived. That he was in Westeros with the Golden Company, awaiting his aunt to help join him regain their ancestral throne. It was just a mean to trick to her, to manipulate her emotions.
What she hated most was that it was working.
Already there was a tiny, flickering flame of hope, of longing and want simmering low in her gut.
Beware the screaming horn and the urge to dance with fellow dragons.
Daenerys hadn't really thought of that part, slipping from her mind as she marched on the masters and bonded with Ghidorah. Even when Quaithe visited her in Meereen she was focused on the maegi, not the cryptic prophecy. Or was it even a prophecy or just a warning? She knew the Dance, the war between Targaryens. Daenerys just did not contemplate upon it, to her own foolishness. Was this what Quaithe meant? Cloth dragon, red dragon, black dragon. Daenerys did not know. Other Houses in Westeros had droplets of Targaryen blood such as Baratheon and Dorne while Valyrian blood still ran strong in Essos at places such as Lys.
But the tale of her brother's child being spirited away from King's Landing seemed too fanciful. It made more sense he was of Blackfyre blood. Her Queensguard had slain the male line yet who knew if a black dragoness had lived and birthed a son after Maelys the Monsterous had fallen? Maelys had killed his own cousin so Daenerys could understand if a woman who shared blood had chosen to hide herself. It made more sense for this Aegon to be a Blackfyre pretender.
Daenerys had the urge to do something foolish and reckless in that moment, to just jump onto Ghidorah's back and fly straight to King's Landing. Pentos was closest to it from any Essos city. Ghidorah had strong wings, he could take her over the Narrow Sea. She could verify those rumours.
Though the moment that nonsensical urge grew she just as easily dismissed it. Already she was too far from Meereen, it was nearing a week of absence and she would not abandon her people. She had chosen the responsibility and their faith and she was not going to abandon them, not to the like of the masters.
Perhaps that was why Aegon had never reached out to her, hearing the rumours the masters had spread about her. How she bathed in the blood of maidens and fed her children to her dragon and even more abhorrent lies. Maybe he heard of a Mad Queen to the east and did not want to put himself at risk. One of the rumours was that she killed Viserys herself to seize her inheritance and even killed Khal Drogo to be Khalessi. Perhaps this Aegon feared her based on those tales. That and a combination of being a Blackfyre, as her Queensguard counted the slayer of the last dragonseed among its ranks. Perhaps he thought she would executed him based upon that alone if he reached out to her.
Perhaps perhaps perhaps. Daenerys didn't know what to think and Strickland's mannerism towards her wasn't helping. As if she were some silly little girl so willing to go chasing butterflies rather than a dragon queen with the weight of a crown upon her brow.
"Why do you believe I'm so eager to bind myself to another without any proof of blood?" Daenerys words was sharp as a knife, cutting through Strickland's droning.
"Who doesn't wish for family to be by their side?" Strickland didn't even seem bothered by her interruption. "Aegon had his two queens who by all accounts ruled the kingdoms far more than the Conqueror, Jaehaerys' wife Alysanne was considered one of the greatest queens Westeros had seen. Dragons ruled best in a flock, yes? And if the Golden Company are to cast their die we would prefer one of stability. It would do no good for Aegon to claim your ancestors throne only for you to charge in and burn King's Landing to ash. And even then, the boy is not eager to fight his aunt. Yes, we could wait no more and many within the Company would prefer to die upon Westerosi soil but that is hardly a declaration of war, Your Grace. You are no queen Cersei, to scorn all those near and hiss and spit at the shadows. If you bring your army west, your nephew will receive you warmly. Of that I have no doubt."
More platitudes and the assumption she'd instantly go running overseas. Daenerys found her attention slipping back to the walls behind the captain, where an assortment of standards and banners were hung. It was not the largest decoration nor the most well made but it caught her eye nonetheless. It was made of old and tattered cloth, used to be a wondrous yellow but now faded to an dull parchment tan. Upon it was a crudely stitched rearing red stallion snorting flame, two black wings flared out from its shoulders. The threads were frayed, the edges torn.
Quaithe's voice whispered through her head, shrouded and soft like shadows as she spoke those words yet again.
You must look beneath the rivers and gold to seek the bitter steel within the waters, but beware the screaming horn and the urge to dance with fellow dragons. To bring the spring you must pass through the red heart of winter.
The Golden Company. Founded by Ser Aegor Rivers, one of the Great Bastards. Also known as Bittersteel.
Daenerys had been told to beware of prophecies, for they were not what they seemed. Words were wind and the gods were just as fickle. Quaithe herself had said she did not know the meaning of her own words for they were for Daenerys to understand. To heed them but not bind herself to them. But she felt sure that the first part of that cryptic advice was for this moment. Was she speaking of the Golden Company? Of this absurd pretender?
Now, now she had to touch that flayed old flag.
But first she needed Strickland to leave.
Strickland was unarmoured.
But he still had a sword and Daenerys wasn't fool enough to think with her svelte frame that she could remove him forcibly. For all his sagging frame he had still many years of being a mercenary and far more experienced in a physical fight and it was too small of an area for Ghidorah to stick his head inside. Still, Daenerys felt a deep conviction that banner of the long dead dragonseed was important. Why, she did not know, but it reminded her of lighting Drogo's pyre. That it was important. Perhaps a remnant of her dragon dream, her Valyrian blood that ran thick with magic but Daenerys had to know. Even if she was wrong and it was spoken about this strange Aegon, this black dragon to the west, she still had to search and see for herself.
Shaking off the shiver of inciting violence that shot up her spine, Daenerys instead shuffled through a series of probably reasons to get Strickland to leave her alone before settling on the least threatening of one.
"You say you were told of this," Daenerys said. "Who informed you of this...Aegon?"
"Jon Connington. You are a well read queen, are you not? He is the lord of Griffin's Roost, though Robert Baratheon stripped them of much their land and lordship. Now a place of landed knights, as Jon had been a close friend of your noble brother Rhaegar and was banished across the seas when that drunken stag took the throne."
"I know that," Daenerys said irritably. Their coat of arms was two battling griffins in red and white.
"Ah, then do you know most thought he'd drunk himself to death, myself included? I knew him for many years in the Golden Company were he served loyally so his drunken demise was quite a surprise. But instead it was a farce, so he might better protect the hidden princeling."
"Do you have any proof of this? Any missives or letters or notes or do you expect me to take a sellsword's word for this whole tale?" Daenerys' voice was sharp as a knife.
Strickland got to his feet, "Of course, forgive me. Here I am, rambling on yet without proof. Perhaps I seem a shade mad. Wouldn't be the worst any had claimed for me. These books here are just a boring sort, stories and fables to help me pass the time you see. Nothing of importance and much less a letter to tell you of family. You would know the seal for House Connington, would you not? Ah what am I saying, of course you must. Well tutored in the Houses of Westeros like our young king, I would bet gold upon."
Daenerys' bloodied fingers twitched but she said nothing as Strickland strode from the room, yelling out for his squire. The door barely shut after him before she was on her feet, eyes roaming over the tattered yellow cloth. Her fingers ran over the ancient flag, the fabric rough against her skin. Something had to be there, something had to be a clue or a suggestion or a whisper for those words. This was Aegor River's personal sigil, the banner he marched with in the first Blackfyre rebellion. Even if she was wrong, she had to check.
Sweat pricked her brow and nape, and through their connection she could sense Ghidorah picking up on her anxiety. She struggled to calm her breathing, knowing that at any moment Strickland could return.
The words seemed to reverberate through her mind and Daenerys tore the old banner from the wall, letting it flutter to the ground at her feet.
The stone behind it was cool to the touch; Valyrian stone, black stone, the rock must be ancient indeed. What Strickland said it had been same room that Aegor himself used to create the Golden Company, for other Blackfyres to command from before her own Queensguard felled the last dragonseed in Westeros. Simple to show the origins of the Golden Company. The stone felt oily, slick as if wet as she dragged her palm across it.
And upon the wall was a long narrow rectangle of different coloured stone, as if a brick of pitch black had been laid onto the wall. Longer than her arm but nearly as narrow. It was an oddity but Daenerys felt the hairs upon the nape of her neck rise as she touched it. This must be it. Beneath the rivers, beneath the banner of the Great Bastard. Would this be truth to Aegon? She doubted Strickland's missives he was receiving for her would be true. It was easy to forge if one knew the skill. If this vault held the true secrets of the Golden Company then she would know. Would know if her nephew was truly waiting for her across the Narrow Sea or just a vicious lie meant to manipulate her.
However she quickly realized there seemed to be no key hole to the vault embedded in the rock. There seemed to be a handle, a lever, to tug up the lid but as hard as she tried it wouldn't move. It was as if it were painted on, some trick upon a portrait.
Daenerys scowled, unsure of how to open the vault. For it must be one, clearly hidden in the rock to the point. Unlike the one at Qarth there was no impression for a key to fit. So how? How did she open a lock with no key, with no hole? How to open a vault with no hinge? There was only the handle set within the middle with a strange indent next to it.
Then, as she dragged her bloodied hand across the body of the narrow vault to search for an edge and let her stained fingers brush the indent, that would fit her the pad of her thumb easily, she noticed a faint stwitch. The handle had raised, with a slight jiggle.
Daenerys froze, staring at it as she came to a realization.
It was the blood. Which stained her hand from how tight she had been clenching. Only scant red but enough all the same.
How the Golden Company was nothing until Bittersteel came and how it kept us together over the generations. A dark stone, like the scales of the Blackfyres. He was once said to say that this room should only make its secrets known to dragonblood but then Maelys lost both of his heads on the Seasteps.
Strickland's offhand comment to Aegor Rivers rose in her mind and Daenerys swallowed thickly. Had she not said such a thing, many times over? That she was the blood of dragons, of Old Valyria? And she had seen the strength in blood? Valyrians were whispered to be blood maegi just as much as they were dragonriders. Dragons only ever accepted one of Targaryen blood after all. Even the old maegi, Mirri Maz Durr, had spoken of the bloodprice and its power when she murdered Daenerys' son and husband.
It would seem Aegor Rivers struck true to such mentality and he lived in an age with the likes of Bloodraven and Shiera Seastar.
Quickly Daenerys snatched up a letter opener from the desk to slice the skin of her thumb, blood quickly welling from the narrow wound. She pressed it against the depression in the stone, next to the handle, as if she was trying to force down warm wax with such an imprint and again the handle gained more flexibility even if it did not turn fully.
She had to cut her finger several more times in order to paint enough of her blood along the depression in the stone, so her hand was bleeding crimson and pain was lancing up her arm from the torn flesh of her thumb.
Through their link Daenerys could feel Ghidorah's confusion and anger at his mother's pain, for he did not understand why she was injuring herself. And in that brief flash she could see how the Golden Company had moved in response to Ghidorah's rising agitation and bristling, the workers gone and armoured men slinking through the courtyard. But Ghidorah would wait, he did not see them as a threat yet and he was drawn by his mother's desire to claw through that black stone with bloodied hands, drawn by her raging curiosity.
Then finally she managed to pull the handle fully and finally, the door of the small vault swung open upon silent hinges.
Daenerys stared, her breath tight and sharp as hot blood dribbled down her fingers to drip to the ground.
For there, lying in the safe and as pristine and perfect as the day it was forged, was Aegon the Conqueror's own sword, Blackfyre.
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