𝕱𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊 ( house of the dragon )

PROLOGUE

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄
⸻ 𓆰𓆪 ⸻
𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔

Aemon Waters had been eight years old at the death of his mother. His grandmother, Queen Alysanne, vowed to her daughter that she would take care of her grandson, taking Aemon to Dragonstone to grow up, knowing that he deserved to live away from King's Landing where his grandfather, King Jaehaerys, was. The King had disliked his grandson and his illegitimate parentage greatly, but, when Alysanne died a year later, he was left with no choice but to choose who would care for the boy.

It was the King's heir and Aemon's uncle, Prince Baelon, who agreed to foster the boy on Dragonstone, though Baelon was rarely there. Baelon's oldest son, Prince Viserys, and his wife, Aemma Arryn, took on the responsibility of raising the young boy instead.

Aemon had known all his life that his grandfather did not respect him. His disdain for Aemon was palpable from his birth. All he'd heard was that he was no true Targaryen. His silver hair and violet eyes claimed the opposite but the name Waters was all the label the king needed. Aemon's only desire was to gain acceptance from his grandfather.

In 101 AC, after the death of Baelon, Aemon made the decision to finally prove himself.

Dragonstone loomed like a shadowy sentinel against the furious sky. The castle, perched upon the jagged cliffs of its namesake island, seemed to merge with the swirling tempest, its ancient stones slick with rain and its towers wreathed in mist. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the jagged silhouette of the Dragonmont, the dormant volcano that dominated the island's landscape.

Wind howled through the battlements, carrying the salty sea air and the distant roars of dragons that lived in the castle's caverns. The castle's great courtyard was awash with rainwater, and the storm's fury resonated through the stone walls, echoing the turbulent skies above.

In the depths of the castle, servants hurried through the corridors, securing shutters and lighting fires to fend off the chill that seeped through the stone. The great hall, normally a place of gathering and feasting, was lit with flickering torches, casting long shadows that danced across the walls.

Aemon stood at a high window, his gaze fixed on the storm-tossed sea. The tumultuous weather matched his mood; the decision he had made weighed on him as he waited for the perfect moment.

The King had summoned Viserys and Aemma to King's Landing, specifically ordering Aemon to remain alone on Dragonstone.

As Aemon finally took his chance, he could see the light in the Lord Castellan's window fade away, his candles blown out. He slipped through his chamber door, the dark halls barely lit by the torches that adorned it. The flickering flames cast eerie shadows that danced along the stone walls, creating an ever-shifting tapestry of light and darkness. He moved swiftly and silently, his footsteps muffled by the thick rugs that lined the floor.

The storm continued to rage outside, its fury a constant backdrop to Aemon's sly journey. He passed through the corridors of Dragonstone, the tapestries rustling faintly as the wind found its way through the cracks in the walls. His mind was focused, intent on his destination—the caverns below the castle where the dragons resided.

Aemon was well-versed in the route, having meticulously explored every corner of Dragonstone since he could walk, his senses attuned to the castle's secrets. The air grew cooler as he descended deeper into the heart of the island, the sound of the storm gradually replaced by the distant rumble of the dragons beneath the rocks.

At the entrance to the caverns, he paused for a moment, listening to the deep, resonant breathing of the dragons within. The cavern's entrance was a jagged maw in the rock, a gateway to a world that few dared to enter. The flickering torchlight barely penetrated the darkness within, casting a pale glow over the rough-hewn stone.