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

FEAR. That is what fills 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 make an appearance 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 manage to find, scavenging for scraps of food in the streets of Pentos. As he had grown older, the memories had become numb to him. They never failed to make an appearance in his dreams sometimes, reminding him of where they came from.

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 made itself 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? He deemed that this fear was a result of his anxiety toward the subject.

Soon enough, Daenerys left his presence with the unknown man. He is overcome with emotion as he recalls her betrayal and the way it had hurt him.

His heart dropped and his dream went quiet until he was seemingly transported to the throne room of the Red Keep. It appeared to him in the same way it had in the House of the Undying.

Pale sunlight and a layer of untouched snow covered the throne. It was ominous in the way 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.

He 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 turns, sinking back against the metal. It was ridged against his back as he settled, an unpleasant feeling that would always remind one of the burdens they carried whilst sitting on its seat. He 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 has him jumping to his feet and whirling around.

His violet eyes widen at the sight of Rhaellor. Instead of being in the throne room still, he finds that he is on one of the grass-covered rocky cliffs of Dragonstone with his back to the frothing sea below. The sky is cloudy and the wind whipped against his face as if it were angry at him.

Rhaellor is ten times the size Vaegon knew him to be, towering in the sky. His pearlescent and azure self seemed to stand out against the overcast sky of grey. His horns were pointed and long and his fangs were like daggers, exposed as his crimson eyes were trained on Vaegon. The beast opened his wings, displaying enormous flaps that could seemingly blot out the sun.

The dragon drops his wings again, lowering his head down to Vaegon's level. The Targaryen looks into the eye of his dragon, feeling a sense of understanding from the beast. It was always said that dragons were thought to be more intelligent than men.

He reached his hand out to touch Rhaellor's rough, warm scales. As his hand soaks in the uncanny amount of heat radiating from the beast's skin, he looks down his long neck to the spot on his back Vaegon was drawn to.

Vaegon makes his way to the limb of the dragon, climbing his way up until he has reached his place. The dragon rises, readying himself before taking off into the sky with a few powerful and wind-breaking swoops.

Suddenly, Vaegon wakes from his vivid dreams with wide eyes and a pounding heart. His breaths are shallow as he gains awareness from his dream. After finding his bearing, he sits up from his cot, looking around his illuminated tent. Sunlight filtered through the slits between the flaps. It had to be well into late morning, meaning that he'd most likely been left to sleep in by the servants.

He pulls away from the silken sheet from his legs, swinging them around to get to his feet. Wiping away sweat from his forehead, he sighs and rises to his feet. He felt as if he hadn't slept at all.

At the commotion of his movement, Rhaellorletss out a cry to gain Vaegon's attention. The man makes his way over to where the dragon waits for him, perched on a wooden stand that had been fashioned for the beast. Luckily,Vaegon never worried about the dragon wandering away. He always wanted to be with him.

Vaegon reaches his hand out, the dragon affectionately leaning into his hand as a cat would. Though troubled by his dreams, Vaegon smirks to himself at the affection of his companion. He recalls his dream and how large and magnificent Rhaellor had grown in it. The thought made him swell with excitement to one day roam the skies with the beast.

"It was a rough night," He tells Rhaellor as he continues to pet him. "I suppose the only thing to do now is to get on with the day."

♜

VAEGON finds himself making his way through their camp, passed Unsullied and servants carrying on with their day. With their new army, things seemed to be far more orderly and maintained. They finally had a true fighting chance. For the first time, Vaegon was beginning to feel like a true King, or perhaps, at least a leader. He hoped he was doing alright with the role.

Their journey from rags to riches was a hard and strenuous process, but Vaegon knew that living in grasslands among the Dothraki and leading an army through the desert-like conditions of Slaver's Bay would eventually pay off. Though his relationship with Daenerys had its fair share of issues and he'd suffered a great deal of unhappiness, he still made his effort to find something worthwhile after his suffering. His efforts would come to fruition, he hoped.

The Targaryen paused his walk once he found some of the Unsullied training with spears. They swung and dodged as the spear was merely an extension of themselves as if their sole purpose of living was to wield the weapon.Vaegon admired it. The men were being coached by another Unsullied, the one that Daenerys had informed him was chosen as the army's Commander.

Grey Worm paced as he watched his men train, analyzing their movements. Vaegon appreciated his attention to detail as h corrected their training in Low Valyrian.

As Vaegon made his way into their training area, Grey Worm called the group to attention. The Unsullied snapped into their ridged stances without hesitation.

With a motion of his hand, Vaegon told them to carry on. He turned his attention to Grey Worm as the soldiers continued training.

"Daenerys chose well with you," the king tells Grey Worm in the Common Tongue.

"I am honored to be chosen as your commander," Grey Worm tells him with a heavy accent. "I will keep this army strong for you."

Vaegon grinned. "Perhaps you could train me, then? It has been many moons since I have been able to hone my skills. I'm afraid our journey through Slaver's Bay hasn't allowed me the time."

Grey Worm looks unsure at first, but nods. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Fantastic," Vaegon exclaims cheerfully as he makes his way into the open area where the other Unsullied stood.

At the command of Grey Worm, Vaegon is handed a spear by one of the soldiers. He feels the weight of the weapon, twirling it in his hand. He'd trained with staff before, but nothing with a blade at the end. He hoped he wouldn't make a mistake.

"At your command," He tells Grey Worm after readying himself in front of another Unsullied.

In Low Valyrian, Grey Worm commands the soldier to begin sparring with Vaegon. The Targaryen is not ready at first, narrowly dodging a spear to his face as the soldier thrust forward without warning. Managing to move to the right fast enough to dodge the blade, he staggers backward until he is balanced again.

He looks at Grey Worm, who holds a still face.

"I see you wanted to give me a challenge,"
He tells the eunuch, smiling himself even though his heart was nearly beating out of his chest. "It's okay to smile."

Luckily, Grey Worm loosens up a bit, managing to crack a grin.

The sparring between Vaegon and the soldier commences once more, turning into a dangerous match. The Targaryen begins to learn just how skilled his army is the longer he trains, for he has learned these eunuchs are quick and decisive with their movements. They handled a spear-likee it was an extension of themselves. His army was truly lethal and he was thankful to have them loyal to him.

By the end of the training, Vaegon is lathered in sweat. His silver hair hangs over his face as he rests against his knees to catch his breath. His lungs burn and his throat is raw.

"You are strong, Your Grace," Grey Worm tells Vaegon as the other soldiers begin dispersing. "Very skilled."

"Thanks," Vaegon sighs as he begins to finally gain his breath back. "But not nearly as skilled as your men with a spear."

"Perhaps not with a spear," Grey Worm agrees.

"Where did you learn the Common Tongue?" Vaegon asks, leaning up once more. "You couldn't speak it when we first met."

"Missandei has taught me," Grey Worm tells him. "I am thankful."

Vaegon grins, thinking on the beautiful Naathi woman.

"Well, I have her to thank as well," He tells the eunuch, resting his hands on his knees once more. "Though I can speak Valyrian, I must admit I prefer the Common Tongue. Now, there is something I would like to ask of you."

Grey Worm nods. "Yes, Your Grace."

"I would like you to train me," the king tells him. "Show me your ways with a spear. I want to one day be able to wield one as well as an Unsullied."

Grey Worm hesitates, but nods in understanding.

"Also," Vaegon says as he leans up again. He pats Grey Worm's armor as he begins to walk away. "Loosen up.

♜

EVENING settles over Essos, painting a sunset of vermillion, violet, and rose. A soft breeze filters through the small valley that the Targaryen army camps in, settling a calming hum over the cacophony of tents and men. The next day, they would be setting off to close the gap between them and the slaver city of Yunkai, which they would take control of and sack. Another wicked city to cross off their list.

Vaegon allows himself to be massaged by servants to help his sore muscles acquired from his training with the Unsullied earlier that day. He nearly lulls to sleep as two women work their hands into his back and arms, massaging away the achinesss as he lies on his portable cot. They manage to work out most of the pain, leaving him feeling much better.

"I see you did yourself some training today," Selmy's voice draws Vaegon's attention from the pillow he'd had his face smashed in during his massage. The women soon find their exit as the knight came further into the tent.

The Targaryen pushed himself into a sitting position and began rolling his arms, feeling the looseness in the muscles in his shoulders and back.

"I thought I'd take the chance to get to know the new Commander of my army," Vaegon stated. "Grey Worm was a great choice. Daenerys chose well."

Selmy smirked at Vaegon. "Well, I've brought wine for us to share before our journey tomorrow," the older man lifts the bottle, it being a very large one most likely from a passing market along their journey. It was more of a jug than a bottle. "I figured it good for you to destress and have no talk of your conquest for a night. But it's apparent you've already begun the destressing portion." He smirked again.

Vaegon smiled. "I suppose I could use a night of being in a drunkin stupor before my duties as a king take precedence over my happiness."

And so the king and the knight decorked the bottle, Vaegon lounging on a pile of pillows while the knight found a chair. The both of them downed one healthy swig after another until the bottle was the majoriy empty. Their conversation went on well into the night, past any sort of suitable bed time they might have needed for their trek the next day. They spoke of Westeros, past memories they found fond and what they might like to see once the conquest they were on ended and they could finally begin their lives anew.

Selmy held himself together quite well for an older man drinking as much as he did, but the same couldn't be said about Vaegon. The younger man's inhibitions were shot, likely due to his poor intolerance to alcohol. He'd never found the drink to be necessary to him.

"I would give up my claim to the throne if it meant I could have my family back," Vaegon muttered, his speech slow and cheeks flushed red. It was well passed midnight. "My mother and brother, at least. Viserys and my father could stay dead."

Selmy chuckled. "I know you would. But know, they are more than proud of you for what you're doing."

"I feel as if I do nothing but repeat the same thing, over and over," Vaegon sighs. "I can only ever speak about how much I miss my family, how I fear what will become of Daenerys and I."

"You might be a hot head, but you love your family," Semly points out. "You have wants and needs as much as any other person in this world. But unfornately, your position as king doesn't always allow them."

Vaegon sneered. He hated the idea of not having what he wanted, for it was such a simple meager things. Daenerys, above all, was what he wanted and if he couldn't, the world be damned. He'd never know another woman, he told himself. Yet, he needed heirs. Which she couldn't provide.

"I had a nightmare last night," Vaegon tells Selmy. He stared a crossed the tent, his vision trying its best to focus on something, anything. "She found another man. She left me as if I were but a second thought."

"Guarding your heart is the only thing I can suggest to you, Vaegon," Selmy sighs. "Fate takes its course as it pleases. All you can do is go along with it."

Vaegon thought on how he didn't want to accept fate, but his drunkenness became too much. All sense of cognition and memory soon disappears, causing the Targaryen to slump onto the pillows and fall into a deep sleep. He dreams of nothing that night.