𝕷𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 ( house of the dragon )

prologue

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 that agreed to foster the boy on Dragonstone, though Baelon was rarely there. Instead, the raising of the young boy was left to Baelon's oldest son, Prince Viserys, and his wife, Aemma Arryn.

Aemon had spent all the years of his life knowing that he was not respected by his grandfather. 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 wanted nothing more than to be accepted by 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.

The wind howled through the battlements, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea and the distant roars of the dragons that made their home in the caverns beneath the castle. 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 waited for the perfect moment.

Viserys and Aemma had been called to King's Landing, the King's letter specifically commanding that Aemon stay on Dragonstone, alone.

Aemon could see that light in the Lord Castellan's window die, his candles blown out as Aemon finally took his chance. 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 knew the route by heart, having explored every corner of Dragonstone since he was a boy. He moved with the practiced ease of someone who had traversed these halls countless times, 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.