𝐒𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐍 ( 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬. )

chapter six.

( ACT II; the age of the dragon. )
⟵ ◊ ⟶
chapter 6: troubling dreams.

FEAR. That was what filled Vaegon's dreams, manifesting in his chest and surging along his skin to form goosebumps. He tossed and turned in his sleep, a sheen of sweat formed on his skin. He hadn't had such bad dreams in many moons, yet they chose to appear that quiet night. Often, he'd dream of the nights he, Viserys, and Daenerys were forced to sleep among filthy animals in whatever shelter they could find, scavenging for food scraps in the streets of Pentos. Other times, when they were more violent, he saw the violent flare of green Wildfire and the sounds of dying men. The smell of burning flesh and the feelings of his father's claws digging into the soft flesh of his arm.

As he grew older, the memories became numb to him. Sometimes, they never failed to appear in his dreams, reminding him of their origins.

Amid the haze of his troubling slumber, Vaegon saw Daenerys. Typically, her gentle self in his dreams would be welcoming, yet he could feel dread wash over him as another presence became known. He saw her attention turn away from him, toward another he couldn't see the face of. His anger flared as he realized it was a man, someone who wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her close. She smiled at this stranger as if Vaegon didn't exist, her violet eyes looking up.

He wanted desperately to yell, to cry out, but not a word could escape his throat. Was he dreaming of this fear because of the question of who his queen might be? 

Yet, before Daenerys left his presence with the unknown man, he shifted into a female figure and a male again until their visages were constantly shuffled, and the stranger's gender was indecipherable. Vaegon was overcome with panic as he recalled her betrayal and how it had crippled him.

Heart dropping, Vaegon's heart went quiet until he was seemingly transported to the throne room of the Red Keep. It appeared to him like it had in the House of the Undying.

Pale sunlight and a layer of untouched snow covered the throne. It was ominous because it sat as if it knew Vaegon by name and expected him to take his rightful place on it. The longer he looked at it, the more he yearned to take a seat. It was his birthright, and the sight of it was tantalizing. Vaegon stepped forward, his hand running along with the jagged metal. He expected it to be cold, yet he felt nothing. Not even its touch.

He finally turned, sinking back against the metal. It was ridged against his back as he settled, an unpleasant feeling that always reminded him of his burdens while sitting in his seat. The king looked ahead at the empty floor where an attentive court would normally be present to listen to their king. Instead, there was but the dancing light of the torches that hung from the pillars.

The throne room was quiet, still. A single breath could be heard in its silence.

A deep, hissing rumble from behind the throne makes him jump to his feet and whirl around.