The Tartered Dragon - Aegon, Son of Baelon)by mootjeman7)

Chapter 10

Mid to Late 99 AC, Isle of Faces

The sounds of Mīsaragorn's fleshy wings flapping in the still winds of the night was all he could hear as they veered down towards the lonely isle that sat in the heart of Westeros, the silver light of the unhidden moon illuminating the world around them.

Aegon felt Mīsaragorn's unease, an unease familiar to Aegon whenever they'd roamed the skies over these parts of the Riverlands. It had taken more will than usual to make Mīsaragorn comply with his wishes, almost as much as it took him to convince Mīsaragorn to go through the madder parts of this plan of his.

They banked and turned before Mīsaragorn descended down onto the beach of the Isle, the lake at their backs and their eyes set onto the source of their unease.

He climbed down off of the back of Mīsaragorn who craned his neck ominously as he gazed down the abyssal darkness that lay between the thick tree line, his deep low rumbling growl echoing hauntingly across the dark and misty surroundings.

Where Dragonstone felt like home, this place…this place felt like a thousand eyes were set on him, eyes that touched and poked in ways that felt like they were being hosted by someone, something that considered them to be unwanted guests.

Aegon patted Mīsaragorn's neck with some force, nothing but a feather touch to a dragon and resorted to draw on their bond to get him to focus on Aegon.

Mīsaragorn swivelled his draconic head towards Aegon, half an eye towards the dark corners of the forests that lay in front of them, and the other half firmly set on Aegon as discontent rippled through their bond in discombobulating waves.

'I'm as unhappy as you are about this, brother' Aegon answered quietly to Mīsaragorn 'But you know why I must…I must have answers that they can give me' Aegon answered calmly but firmly, unwilling to waver from the dangerous and desperate path he'd set himself on.

He was at his wits end as to where she could be and he knew that by now, nearly two fortnights later, she could be half way across Essos by now.

He needed to know where she was, if she was alright, if she was safe.

A pang of guilt and sorrow washed over him, their acidic touch borne out from his actions, and it burned a hole in his chest that he knew he could not heal until he found her, until he fixed everything he'd broken for her.

It was the least he could do, the least that he must do. How could he not?

When he'd driven her away to leave everything she knew and loved all because of his actions, because she felt like she had no other choice but to leave?

Days turned to weeks and he found himself realising, amongst many, many other things, that that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her safe return, no crime he couldn't contemplate, and no atrocity he wouldn't consider.

He didn't dare contemplate that she was…

Self-contempt pawed its putrid mitts at his being, the thought that she was dead as a consequence of his actions weighed heavily on his conscience.

'No.' fervently rang in his mind. Denial fortified his being more than anything else could or would. She simply couldn't be. He'd bring her home…whatever it took.

Mīsaragorn lips drew back in deeper displeasure, a throaty growl escaping through rows of several inches long teeth, rows of dagger sharp teeth that glistened under the light of a bright full moon, and it was a frightening sight to behold.

Aegon was stone faced as he reached out to Mīsaragorn snout without fear, knowing that he had nothing to fear from the other part of his soul, a part of his soul that he could command and will towards what he needed it to do. What must be done.