Dragonstone Castle
Aegon walked through the corridor with measured steps, his expression unusually serious. The echo of his boots on the stone floor was the only sound that accompanied him as he made his way toward the royal chambers.
He hadn't expected things to unfold quite like this.
His little "demonstration" in the training yard, fireballs slamming into armored dummies, the last consumed by a stream of searing flame, had gone beyond impressive.
It had been terrifying.
He could still picture their faces: wide eyes, parted lips, a few steps unconsciously taken back. The guards stiffened. His aunts looked as though they'd forgotten how to breathe.
Even his father, Prince Baelon, always bold, always brash, had gone silent, sword lowered. And the King… Aegon hadn't missed the way his grandfather's gaze lingered on the scorched earth.
It hadn't been simple awe.
It had been calculation. And perhaps... unease.
Only his grandmother, Queen Alysanne, hadn't flinched. She had looked at him not with fear, but with something softer.
Relief.
Maybe even pride. Still, there had been a glimmer of something else in her eyes, something thoughtful.
Aegon exhaled quietly.
Seven hells, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck.
Maybe I overdid it.
Trying to look cool and powerful, smart. Accidentally terrifying half the royal family? Less so.
But what was done was done.
Dinner had been quiet. The clink of silverware echoed a little too loud in the hall. Conversations veered around him like water around a rock.
Everyone looked. Few spoke.
The King had said little. But when the meal was over, he looked at Aegon and simply said:
"Come to my chambers. We need to talk."
So here he was, standing outside the door.
He knocked once.
"Enter," came the King's voice from within, calm, but firm.
Aegon pushed the door open.
Inside, King Jaehaerys sat alone by the hearth, one hand resting on the armrest, the other cradling a goblet.
His face was lit by firelight, casting deep lines across his thoughtful expression.
"Your grace," said Aegon.
He looked up slowly, eyes sharp beneath heavy brows.
"Sit," the old king said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
Aegon stepped forward and obeyed, lowering himself into the chair opposite the King.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Jaehaerys studied him in silence for a long moment, the firelight reflecting in his pale violet eyes.
"It seems I underestimated the power of pyromancers," he said at last, his voice low and tinged with something between awe and caution.
"What you displayed today… was nothing short of phenomenal."
He gave a dry, wry smile, the corners of his mouth barely lifting.
"But power like that," he continued, swirling the wine in his goblet, "comes with consequences. And expectations."
Aegon said nothing, letting the King speak.
"The fire you command is not just fire, Aegon. It is legacy. It is myth, brought back into flesh. And it is dangerous. To others…and to yourself."
He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing.
"The Valyrian Freehold revered their pyromancers. Feared them too. And rightly so. What you did to those dummies…" He shook his head.
"That kind of force could burn through a group of knights…."
Jaehaerys paused, voice quieter now. "But there are no manuals. No scrolls. Nothing remains of their teachings. Whatever path lies ahead… you will have to walk it largely alone."
Before Aegon could reply, a knock echoed from the door.
The King frowned, clearly irritated by the interruption. "Yes?"
The door creaked open, and Queen Alysanne stepped inside.
Her expression was calm, but her eyes flicked between her husband and grandson with quiet determination.
"I heard you were planning to speak with Aegon," she said gently. "I thought I'd join you."
She walked gracefully to Aegon's side, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder as she passed.
Then she settled into a cushioned chair nearby, her gaze warm but alert.
The King looked at her, his face unreadable for a moment.
Then, with a faint sigh, he gave a nod.
"Very well. You should hear this too."
Aegon felt the Queen's presence settle the room slightly. The air, once thick with scrutiny, softened, though not entirely.
The fire still crackled in the hearth, shadows dancing along the stone walls, casting both King and Queen, in shades of gold.
Jaehaerys turned his gaze back to Aegon.
"As I said… the power you have has no precedent in Westeros," the King continued.
His voice was steady, but there was a weight behind every word.
"No lore remains on how to train a pyromancer. No mentors to temper your growth. No one to guide you."
Aegon gave a solemn nod, his back straight, hands resting on his lap.
The King continued. "The power you showed in the yard must be controlled. Not just in form, but in instinct. You are eight years old, Aegon. And fire listens to you. That is as wondrous as it is dangerous."
He paused, studying the boy's face.
"You know about Maegor, don't you?"
Aegon nodded again. "Yes, Your Grace."
"Maegor… or Maegor the Cruel, as he is remembered. His legacy is one of fear, not glory. Of domination, not leadership."
The King's expression grew darker. "Your fire can be a sword. But if you wield it carelessly, you'll burn more than your enemies, you'll burn your own name into history in ash."
The words hung heavy.
Then the Queen's voice broke the tension, soft, almost a balm to the stern lesson.
"Aegon has always acted above his years," she said with a small smile, her gaze resting gently on him. "Still… this power must be learned and tamed. Thoroughly."
Aegon inclined his head. "Yes, Your Graces."
But the King wasn't done.
"There is one more thing you must understand," Jaehaerys said, leaning forward slightly, his voice quieter, but sharper.
"Though you are young… the world won't care. Men will fear you. Some will seek to use you. Others may seek to kill you."
Alysanne's brows drew together at once. "Jaehaerys, he's still a child…"
"I know," the King said firmly, turning to her.
"I know. But he must be made aware of such things, Alysanne. The world doesn't wait for children to grow into their power. Especially when the child holds fire in his hands."
"But…" she began again, a protest rising.
Then Aegon spoke.
"Your Graces…" he said slowly. "May I speak freely?"
The question cut through the room. Both Jaehaerys and Alysanne turned toward him, surprise flickering in their eyes…surprise at the calmness in his tone, the steady confidence in his bearing.
The King gave a nod, sitting back.
"Of course," he said. "Speak."
Aegon took a deep breath.
He could feel the warmth of the fire on his skin, but it was the weight of two royal gazes that pressed heavier on him now.
Still, he didn't look away. His back remained straight. His voice was calm, almost too calm for a boy of eight.
"I know that both of you are worried about me using this power… impulsively," he began. "And you're right to be cautious."
His words were met with silence, but he could feel the subtle shift in the air, the King leaning slightly forward again, the Queen still and watchful beside him.
"I can give you my word," Aegon continued. "I won't be reckless with it."
A pause, and then his tone shifted, firmer, deeper. "Yes, I will use it against those who would harm me… or threaten our House. That is the duty of any Targaryen with power. But this fire, this… gift," he said the word carefully, "is not just a weapon. It is fearsome, yes. But I believe it can also be beautiful. Useful. A gift to the realm, not just a curse to fear."
Both Jaehaerys and Alysanne raised their brows at that, eyes narrowing not in doubt, but in surprise.
"I intend," he said, his voice growing clearer, "to use this power not only to defend, but to build. To create. Like the pyromancers of Old Valyria once did, crafting wonders, like Valyrian steel. That was more than destruction. That was magic woven into permanence."
There was a stillness in the room now. The fire cracked once, but otherwise, the chamber was silent.
Jaehaerys blinked slowly. His lips parted, but no words came.
"I know I am young," Aegon went on. "I know I'm just eight. I don't have scrolls passed down to me. No mentors as no order of pyromancers survived the Doom. I don't even know if what I can do is anywhere near what they once achieved…"
He looked into the fire, briefly, then back at his grandparents.
"But I want to try."
There was something resolute in his gaze now, something heavy, earned.
"I want to study this power. Understand it. Shape it. Even if what I discover are mere scraps compared to what once was… they could still be the beginning. A foundation for something greater. A new branch of knowledge. For those who come after me."
The Queen's lips parted slightly in astonishment. The King, stone-faced as ever, still betrayed a flicker of emotion, a quiet kind of wonder, tinged with something harder to place.
"After all," Aegon added, "even the pyromancers of Valyria must've started with nothing. Once."
His voice lowered slightly. "I cannot do it alone. Not without resources. Not without time. And not without the crown's support."
He looked between them now, no longer just a boy asking for permission. There was a quiet dignity in his bearing, as if he understood the scale of what he was asking… and was prepared for the cost.
"This will be my legacy," he said. "Aegon Targaryen…not only the fearsome pyromancer, but the one who brought back the beauty of magic to the realm."
There was a long silence.
The words hung between them like incense, bold, ambitious, and burning at the edges.
Jaehaerys leaned back slightly in his chair. The goblet in his hand shifted, then stilled.
The old King let out a slow breath. He looked at Aegon…really looked at him.
"Gods," he murmured under his breath. Then, louder: "You speak like no child I've ever known. And with thoughts most men wouldn't dare voice even grown."
He set the goblet down.
"Good," he said at last, his voice low but firm. "Then hear this, Aegon Targaryen, third son of Baelon and Alyssa."
Jaehaerys straightened, regal and sharp.
"You will have the full support of the crown."
Aegon's breath caught slightly. He hadn't realized just how tense he'd become, how hard he'd been holding his composure.
His shoulders loosened, just a bit.
The Queen, quiet until now, reached out across the small table between them. Her hand, gentle and warm, rested atop his.
"And whatever storm comes," she said softly, "you will not face it alone."
Aegon turned to her, his grandmother who had stood by him when others hesitated, who had smiled when others had feared, and offered a grateful smile in return.
"Thank you," he said. "Both of you."
The fire crackled again.
The shadows shifted, dancing along the chamber walls like echoes of a time long buried, like memories of a legacy that had almost vanished in ash and time.
But not anymore.
The boy who sat before them was no longer just a prince. He was a spark rekindled.
And the world would soon come to know it.
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