Fire And Blood

The Company Of The Rose

Aegon XIV

Jon.

Aegon.

Stark.

Targaryen.

Two worlds he had in him, two worlds which had been at war, one rebelling against the other. Two worlds which had found affection and desire for the other against the odds. Was there love? It was likely that no one would ever know for both parties were long since dead. Two worlds had become one and he was born, raised a bastard, his eyes set on the Wall to become a brother of the Night's Watch. Yet, here he was, in Volantis; an uncrowned king with uncrowned queens, a Targaryen with dragons supposedly vanished from existence, raising an army to crush slavery in a foreign land with his eyes set on the Iron Throne in Westeros instead of the Night's Watch.

Out on the deck, watching their dragons and with one hand on the soft, still flat belly of his sister, his wife, where his child was growing, and the other embracing his aunt, his other wife, by her waist, he felt more Targaryen than he had ever before. It probably was about time as well. He had been on the threshold for a long time, toeing the line between Jon and Aegon. Sentimentality still weighed heavily on him when thinking of his uncle and the sacrifices he had made to protect him, to protect his mother's name.

But Aegon knew he would be a father in just a few months. Rhaenys was carrying his child, a new Targaryen who would witness a new age for the house which had united Westeros under one rule and which had been all but ruined.

Jon.

Aegon.

Stark.

Targaryen.

He was a bastard no longer. That burden he had shed in Braavos. It had taken its time and a lot of persuasion and convincing from both Dany and Rhaenys but, in the end, the burden was shed. Whatever the circumstances surrounding his mother's and father's union may have been, they had been married nonetheless. Regardless, he had many questions which would most likely remain unanswered for the rest of his life. He had reached one conclusion, however. With his babe growing inside of Rhaenys, he no longer could linger on the threshold between sentimentality for his uncle and duty for his heritage. In the end, was it not his father who was a Targaryen? Was it not his father who should have sat on the Iron Throne after King Aerys's death? Was he not the only male heir remaining? His conviction was now needed, more than ever, and with conviction, he knew that now was the time to move on from sentimentalities and to commit – and committed he was. He was committed to Rhaenys and Dany. He was committed to their conquest of Slaver's Bay. He was committed to their conquest of Westeros. He was committed to taking the throne. He was committed to his heritage of being a Targaryen.

He would never forsake the bond he had with his mother's family, with Robb and Arya in particular, but he had to set a priority and this priority was his heritage.

Before all, he was a Targaryen.

-

The sun and sweltering, humid heat continued to beat down on him. A good week had passed since their arrival in Volantis and much had happened. The Red Priestess Kinvara had joined them on their ship now and had integrated herself seamlessly into the proceedings of their inner circle.

And now Dany, Rhaenys and he were meeting in the captain's quarters with Sers Barristan, Jorah and Oberyn as well as Commander Pahryl and Kinvara over news from the Company of the Rose.

"One of my men got word from the Roses," Commander Pahryl explained, showing them a tightly rolled piece of paper before handing it to him. "The tavern became a meeting place of sorts."