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— Brother, do not let the failure cloud the bright days coming ahead! You see, THIS TIME, I will surely succeed and bring them back to us. — Aegon exclaimed cheerfully, as he shoved ancient scrolls into his brother’s face, hitting him in the process.
Viserys scoffed and pushed them away, his nose crinkling at their unpleasant smell. They stank of rot and death. He sighed loudly and looked at Aegon, hopelessly. He and his sisters have searched every corner of the world for a medicine that would heal their brother from this accursed mania, but fruitless were their attempts. No potions helped, no herbs worked and all of the healers they sought for aid looked at them with pitiful looks. “Mad, he had gone mad”, they all concluded. They did not give up though, but that small flame of hope died more each day.
— We have been over this, Aegon! You have said it each time and each time you failed miserably to keep your word! — Viserys said harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned on the richly decorated table covered by the piles of complaints from all of the Westeros. Long ago had Aegon abandoned the crown, and it was just him, Baela and Rhaena who kept the recovering Realm from falling apart.
Aegon’s smile faltered and he looked at his little brother, deeply offended. Viserys, Baela, Rhaena… All that remained from those he cherished and yet all were against his quest of bringing their family back. Only Daenaera, his beloved, stood loyally by his side and supported what he did. It did not matter though. Their anger would fade as soon as they were all reunited again. He was sure of it.
— It will work this time, you will see my brother! I have found an ally. A true ally who dabbles in the sorcery just as our ancestors did!
Viserys’ face turned into a deeper scowl, completely baffled by the insanity residing within his beloved brother. He uttered those mad words for years, wasting money on the liars and their tricks, trying to change the fate, reverse time and defy death. Ever since he found the journals of Visenya Targaryen, their ancestor who was rumoured to be a witch, Aegon settled on resurrecting their late family lost during the bloody war for the crown. He stubbornly flipped through the pages of her diaries, studying them while trying to recreate the ancient rituals.
Some days, Aegon ranted out his frustrations, questioning why would Visenya willingly destroy majority of her scrolls and hide such an useful knowledge. On the other days, he would say how he related to her grief for Rhaenys.
The Dragonbane grew very fond of Visenya during those past years, just like their mother was once fond of the very same ancestor— The memory of their mother made Viserys cringe, shivers going through his body like a painful bolt.
— Aegon, listen to me. — Viserys began, his purple eyes drafting to the open windows of the chambers and fixating on the calm sea that swallowed two of his brothers before settling on Aegon once more. — They are not coming back. They are dead. Accept it.
His older brother recoiled like a frightened pup at his words, his face reflecting betrayal at Viserys’ harsh words. The other man just sighed in defeat. He and their sisters understood the pain Aegon carried all too well. They would give everything to bring back the people they had lost, but it was not possible. It was a painful realisation but finally, one day, they moved on. And it was high time Aegon moved on too. Before his insanity took him away too.
— Snap out of this madness! The dead are dead, and the past is past. Return to the living, brother. They need their king and protector. They need you.
Daenaera needs you.
Baela and Rhaena needs you.
I need you.
Aegon stared at him, silent, but his eyes betrayed his true feelings. Accusation. Wrath. Despair. He collected his papers and stormed off, leaving Viserys all alone.
Alys Rivers hummed quietly to herself while cleaning the old bones and putting them on the table.
— I think you must belong to Lucerys Velaryon, don’t you?
Sorting out the bones and ashes of the dead royals had proven to be more time consuming and exhausting task than she had anticipated. The passage of time had not been the kindest to them, as if the Greens wanted to bite the Blacks for the very last time, proclaiming their final victory over them. Mayhaps a revenge for their fallen bloodline? The gods could only know this, and Alys had no desire to find out if this was true or not. She was paid for one task only, and on that said task she was solely focused.
— Yes, you must surely belong to Lucerys. — Alys pointed out and put the bone in the pile reserved for Luke, finally finishing the tiring preparations. When that was over, it was finally time for the sorcery, necromancy.
Alys smiled a little, not being able to truly conceal her excitement. Never ever in her life, she would have assumed that the king would call for her and seek her aid. When she finally arrived to the court, Aegon treated her like a guest of the highest honour, despite her poor status. He gifted Alys the best chambers, allowed her to decorate them as she pleased, covered the costs for the necessary materials and engaged in her jests. The monarch was very patient, though eagerly awaited the day of the ritual.
The day has come today; everything was ready.
— Your son must have really loved you. — Alys said to the dead bones and rats hiding in the shadows of her chambers. — He is very desperate to get you back, isn’t he? After all, he converses with a witch as if I was an old friend. Men do not like me, nor my magic. They fear us. And he? He could care less about what I am as long as I do what he asked me for. I find it rather fair. — She continued on her monologue, walking up to the dull skeleton of Daemon Targaryen, a late companion of hers once ago. — He reminds me of you, old friend.
Alys Rivers, after the brutal harm Aemond had forced on her and her family, vowed to never help another silver-haired bastard. They could all rot in the Seven Hells for all she cared. But Aegon III was a stubborn fool. He sought her time and time again, promising more gold and titles with each return. The witch at first was annoyed with the boy-king, standing before her doors with tears streaming down his face, whining for her favour. He reminded her of Aemond, but was more of a harmless pest than the devil his uncle was. After a while, the frustration burnt out and formed into a pity. Targaryen or not, Aegon was just an orphan crying for his parents and brothers. Of course, pity was not her main motivation; the Dragonbane spoke of necromancy, a subject that always fascinated Alys. And it was the final straw into giving him her favour.
The Riverlands witch always wished to dabble with the sorcery linked to death but had no way of accessing the necessary materials or guaranteed safety to do so. If the men found out that she tried to play the god, they would surely kill her. Men, such fearful creatures, hiding between shields and metal against harmless yet strange creatures. But here he was, Aegon the Dragonbane, offering all of her desires. Only a fool would reject his proposal.
And so here she was.
Her musings were cut shortly by the loud bang of the creaking doors as they hit the stone walls, causing the whole chamber to tremble in fear and cover before the angry monarch. Alys rose her eyebrows, slightly amused, observing as the young man stormed inside, throwing the papers on the long table covered by bones, ashes, herbs and other strange artefacts. She noticed that even in wrath Aegon was careful enough as not to disturb the remains of his loved ones. Oh, he surely loved them.
— What troubles you, my Sire? — The witch asked, walking up to the furious king, as he fidgeted with his rings, with his mother’s rings; truly his mother’s son! — If I may guess, you had another quarrel with your brother or sisters. Or perhaps, your wife stopped tolerating your mishaps?
The Dragonbane only stared at her deadpanned, drowned out of energy to make a clever comment against her tease. He hid his face in his hands, silver curls falling on both side like curtains and calmed down, collecting his thoughts. Aegon was well acquitted to Alys’ peculiar ways, and truthfully did not mind them as long as his wishes were fulfilled; and so far she never let him down, unlike his siblings, and their constant bickering about the so-called “madness” possessing his mind. He was not mad.
— Viserys… — Aegon finally replied, deeply pained — He doesn’t understand. None of them do! Not him, not my sisters, not Daenaera and not even you.
Alys Rivers did not know how to reply.
She shrugged it off and spoke about the preparations being ready for the ritual.
— We can start whenever you wish, my Sire-
— Now.
— Now?
— Now.
— Your word is my command, Your Grace.
And so, the sad king and the witch began the ritual.
The Royal Gardens shimmered in the sunlight, basking in the warm light; the flowers residing within the walls resembled precious gemstones more than the plants they were. The northern wind hummed quietly, offering the gentle breeze while the bees and butterflies engaged in heated debates about which flower tasted the best, but came to no conclusion.
Under the shade of the orange trees, the Dragon Twins and Daenaera Velaryon sat, clothed in beautiful silks and shining jewels, observing as their children played in the pond filled with exotic fishes.
Laena, named for Baela’s late mother, splashed the water on her cousins, Daenora and Rhaella, to which they shrieked in response. Viserra, the youngest of Rhaena’s babes, a quiet girl, held a red fish and stared at the older kids, dumbfounded. She never appreciated typical children games and did her own thing, however peculiar.
Daenaera giggled at their antics and put a hand on her swollen belly; she carried the king’s heir in her womb. The whole court rejoiced at the news as many feared Targaryens were done for, since all that was left of them were four orphans.
— I can’t wait for the day my son plays with your girls. — The little queen exclaimed innocently, not noticing how both of the twins cringed. A son. No one was sure what was truly growing in her womb but they all wished for a son. Nothing changed since the war.
Baela put her hand on Daenaera’s shoulder and smiled softly, looking more like her mother than a good sister; the court was quick to notice the seemingly parental affection she gave to the little queen.
— I am sure that it will be the case.
Rhaena nodded at their interaction with a small, forced smile, a expression taught to please the nobles, but her mind was elsewhere, her lilac eyes staring at the Maegor’s Holdfast, shrouded in the shadows ever since Alys moved in. Baela was quick to note her sister’s concern and the shift in her behaviour caused Daenaera to worry as well.
— Does something upset you, dear sister? — She questioned, patiently awaiting for the answer while the younger girl played with her rings, a trait she shared with Rhaenyra.
— I worry for Aegon. He has not been well since when he found those diaries. — Rhaena replied, deeply saddened, and stared at the fresh grass.
It was true, Daenaera hated to admit. Her husband was never well. The Realm thought he was, although solemn in nature, but the truth spoke of a different matter. The Dragonbane drowned in grief, even when surrounded by those he loved. And that grief pushed him to the extreme.
Daenaera never liked his methods of coping, but kept quiet. They made him smile, truly smile, for the first time in years. If that made him joyful, so be it; he deserved it.
— I would not worry as much, dear sister. Aegon will grow bored of it, eventually. He just needs some sort of comfort for now, that’s it. — Daenaera replied, trying to soothe Rhaena’s concerns but they all knew she was lying through her teeth. He would not grow bored of it.
BOOM.
The solemn talk was cut short but the abrupt explosion coming from the Maegor’s Holdfast and the frightened screams.
What the fuck had just happened?
Garmund Hightower sat splashed on the floor, his empty gaze focused on the stone wall, with a beautiful vase lying on his stomach. It was full of his pukes. When another wave of furious roars tore the sky apart, he trembled and vomited again and again. Aegon, you fucking fool, what have you done?!
Next to his good brother, stood Viserys, who leaned on the wall before sinking to his knees. He was sobbing uncontrollably, wailing loudly and muttering incomprehensible sentences, but all knew he was cursing Aegon, Alys, himself, the gods, everyone.
Rhaena sat on the chair lined with red velvet, her face hidden in her hands, as she sobbed quietly while Baela paced around the chambers, muttering to herself that it was all in her head.
Daenaera didn’t move an inch since the whole ordeal began, staring frightened at her dead? alive? family members. Laena, Daenora, Rhaella and Viserra hid between her skirts, looking for the comfort no one could muster out of their bodies.
Alys sat next to Rhaena and counted her shimmering coins, occasionally glancing at the crying royals or petrified servants of Aegon who peeked from the doors.
The Dragonbane expected a more joyful celebration for his achievement.
— WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! — Baela screamed as she walked up to her little brother and violently shook him — WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU FUCKING FOOL?!
No guards dared to separate the princess from the king.
— I brought them back, my dear sister, just as I have promised many moons ago! — Aegon exclaimed proudly as he hugged his older sister. — We can be together again!
Baela stared at her grinning brother, dumbfounded, not believing any word coming out of his lips. He couldn’t be serious, could he?
“Mayhaps Viserys was right when suggesting the usurpation; the king has gone mad!” Garmund mused to himself as he remembered one of the night spent drinking he shared with his good brother. They would confide in each other their foolish ideas, but they didn’t seem so foolish now.
— BROUGHT THEM BACK?! BROUGHT THEM BACK?! — Viserys screamed as he stared at Aegon, or more what was behind him. — YOU MASSACRED THEIR BODIES FOR THIS?
The Dragonbane remained unusually calm, still grinning from ear to ear: — My dear family, it’s them, it truly is! They have returned to us from the beyond. It is shocking, I am well aware, but we will get used to it, I swear to you. — He explained carefully, hoping his siblings would finally understand his actions. — I even brought back the dragons! — The king quickly added, shuddering at the mention of those creatures, but nonetheless dragons were their kin as well.
All eyes settled on the people behind Aegon.
If you could call them people.
Corlys Velaryon, Rhaenys Targaryen, Harwin Strong, Laena Velaryon, Laenor Velaryon, Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey, all of them who died long ago, were here.
They walked around the chambers, or rather stumbled around, their legs taking, unnaturally, long steps, sometimes nearly falling to the ground. Their skin possessed an unnatural hue resembling ice, deprived of any warmth the living had. The faces of those who returned had a permanent scowl on them, as if somebody disturbed their sleep.
The dragons shared their sorrow and half-rotten, soared the skies, crying and roaring.
Aegon had all of his loved ones clothed in fine silks and shimmering gemstones, to prepare them for feasts celebrating their safe return. He was giddy thinking of all the parties, dances and talks. There was so much to be done and now they had all the time to do so! The Dragonbane was still puzzled as to why his siblings did not share the joy but drowned in grief, even if they explained himself. When he was the one mourning, they rushed him to move on, but when the tables have turned, they wailed and sobbed instead of heeding his advice to celebrate.
Aegon, however, did not shout at them in anger; they come to accept it.
So, he just smiled and said: — I have done no such thing, Viserys. I have brought them back to us.