( ACT I; sleeping dragon )
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chapter 1: the darkest of days.

VAEGON would be lying if he claimed that he hadn't thought of usurping his elder brother a time or two, even if fratricide was greatly frowned upon.

How could he not? Viserys was coined as the "Beggar King", styling himself as the one true heir to the Iron Throne and the rightful ruler of Westeros. Of course, his claim was not empty for he was the eldest surviving son of their father, but in no right was the title deserved. Viserys was a vain man, cruel and abusive and had been as such since they were young and forced to flee from Dragonstone after their mother had slipped off into oblivion on her bloody birthing bed so many years ago.

Vaegon cursed the gods for making Viserys older, allowing him to become the Crown Prince once Rhaegar was slain. He'd always believed it would be the end of their House.

Yet, titles don't mean much when the royal family had been disbanded and slain.  Three dead and three fleeing as fugitives bound for Essos, merely children on the run for their lives. It was a truly saddening thing that a man such as Robert Baratheon could call for the heads of children, yet it seemed there was no shortage of cruel men in the world. The displaced trio learned plenty of times of the extents that a heart of hate would go to.

The lengths at which man might go were  apparent after Tywin Lannister had allowed the behemoth Gregor Clegane to slaughter Vaegon's niece and nephew in Red Keep once it had been breeched. To this day, Vaegon still vowed to kill the man that was called "The Mountain", and he planned to follow through with his promise. He even wished to slay the Lannister lord himself. Above all else, he wished to destroy Robert Baratheon, for he was the one who killed Rhaegar.

The thought of making a killing blow on the Usurper drove Vaegon on and on when he sparred in the yards of Pentos with anyone who dares face him. The man fought so hard and often that people often showed themselves to bet on him, claiming the "Dragon Spawn" was to unleash a plume of fiery breath upon his opponents. Vaegon was indeed a dragon, but it seemed many had only made the connection with his fierceness in one-to-one combat. Sometimes he wished he could breath fire.

When he took part in the activity, he ventured far enough from Magister Illyrio's estate that he wouldn't find Viserys' unaccepting glare from the crowd, but close enough that Dany could sometimes find a spot to watch. This day was not a day for lovers to cheer on lovers, unfortunately. This day was a saddening one that Vaegon had prayed he'd never see.

As hard as Vaegon had fought against his brother to prevent any sort of marriage for their sister, Viserys wouldn't relent.

This is the only way we'll go home, Vae, Viserys had reasoned quite annoyingly when he wasn't being cruel. He knew Vaegon would relent to his desires. This is the only way you'll ever get to kill Robert Baratheon and Gregor Clegane. Is that not what you wish?

Despite his overwhelming desire to destroy any and all of those who had torn apart their family, Vaegon now believed that he would give it all if it meant that his dear, sweet sister wouldn't be sold off to a Dothraki Warlord like a broodmare. Vaegon was utterly conflicted.

Around him, peasants, merchants, and nobles alike roared over the fight that would soon take place in the small courtyard. People jumbled over each other to watch the scene, argueing over the best seats.

A man, if that was what he could be called, stood before Vaegon like a wall of solid, impenetrable meat. His arms had to be the width of a small tree, his gut double the width with a girth of solid muscle. An ugly scar covered one of his dark, beady eyes and the blackened teeth of a lowly peasant were visible under peeled back lips. The bare chest of the giant flexed as he paced.

Whomever the man was, it was obvious that many were swaying their bets toward Vaegon's opponent.

Viserys had told Vaegon years before that he had been an extremely sickly babe, that the maester has even declared he wouldn't make it through the night of his birth. He'd been told that Rhaegar had stayed by his side, praying to the Seven that he would remain with them. Many feared the third head of the dragon would be gone, a harrowing omen for their house that was already struggling.

Alas, Vaegon arose, for he survived the first night and over time eventually into a hardy toddler. From then on, he'd been coined the Ashborn Prince, arisen from death like the Phoenix of myth. Vaegon was a strong man now and his past caused no shame.

This was the first time the silver haired man had ever felt concerned about his impending victory, but he knew fear was the quickest way to lose. Even if he did receive a small cut from any who were thoroughly entertained by the match, his intentions were not of gold that day. He merely wanted to unleash the rage that was bubbling underneath the surface.

Vaegon's opponent let out a deep and guttural battle cry before charging like a bull with a swinging arm aimed right for the Targaryen's face. Many made the same mistake, coming at him with blunt force. He'd trained himself to be smooth and quick yet resilient and strong, which aided him in avoiding any hard blows. When he had to be swift, he was, and when he needed to fight back, he did. There wasn't much he'd not studied over the years.

His head dipped and his body followed him to the side, where his arms lifted up once more in a defensive position toward the stumbling giant. The opponent swiped, Vaegon deflected. The blows quickened, Vaegon unable to make advances of his own and at certain points it seemed as if he were about to face defeat. Vaegon didn't give up very easily, yet he'd given up on Daenerys. How could he? He not only failed her, but he failed himself. His rage plumed like the flames of a roaring fire.

The crowd's roaring spiked when the giant came charging once more, nearly sweeping off Vaegon's head it seemed but the prince dropped to the ground. With all the thoughts of self loathing and rage coursing through him, his leg came sweeping under. He managed to narrowly topple his opponent to the dirt, the sound similar to a tree crashing down. The giant made an effort to get to his feet but before he could Vaegon had his arms wrapped around his fat neck.

With all the strength he possessed, Vaegon flexed and pulled and grunted as the man began to beat the ground in panic. All the rage he'd been feeling coursed through him as pure adrenaline. He only noticed the approaching spectators when they came to rip him away from his opponent. Blind rage had consumed him, most likely scaring those around him. As he stood, body shaking and muscle burning, he looked down as people checked Vaegon's now unconscious opponent.

It was true, Vaegon would have found more of a challenge and not have won so easily if it had been someone with more skill rather than brute force. There had been plenty of times where he'd nearly lost or had been defeated, but it took more than mindless swinging to beat him. If he had any luck, the Mountain would be similar.

Some were cheering with glee while others watched in awe as Vaegon stalked his way from the yard. He didn't care about the coins that were thrown after him. He disappeared into the alleyways with his cotton blouse grasped in his fist. He was still angry, furious as could be despite his victory.

The halls of Dragonstone had been eerily haunting, with the sounds of thundering chaos raging outside the Keep. Vaegon could remember the memory as if it were clear as day. He remembered the feeling of the thunder through the walls; Viserys had attempted at the time to keep him calm by telling him it was merely the dragons dancing in the heavens, making the booming with the beats of their leathery wings. Vaegon knew better. Better than to believe that everything was alright, especially once the horrible, anguished cries of their mother carried down the the hall. He couldn't think of the beasts despite his admiration. They reached the room that the two brothers had been hiding in, trying their best to get away from the terrors of the storm.

Viserys had made the mistake of leaving the chamber door cracked open, for nothing would stop the dying cries of their mother. Vaegon looked to Viserys, who's violet eyes held a sense of morbid fear.

"Mother—," Vaegon began, but was cut off by an intruding wave of thunder. The boy flinched, terrified.

"Come, follow me," Viserys ordered with urgency as he snatched Vaegon's hand, the young boy dropping his carved wooden dragon toy on the stone floor. As he was yanked out of the door he looked back at his toy, one he'd delved all his awareness into to escape the horrible life that he and Viserys had experienced in the recent months.

Rhaegar's abduction of Lyanna Stark had not done well in easing the affliction that their father unleashed on the realm. Their current situation was proof enough.

The two found their mother in the chambers where she'd been rushed to once the startling laboring began. It seemed that the birthing process only began once the storm had assumed its chaos in the sea and sky. Rhaella lay in her bed, sickly pale compared to the fair complexion she normally held. Her features were hollow, gaunt, her eyes seemingly sunken in and barely a hint of life left in her lilac eyes.

The bedding from her waste down was soaked in a startling crimson, so deep and moist that Vaegon struggled to near his dying mother. It was apparent that the babe she'd been expecting had been delivered, a crossed the room with the remaining maester and a couple of servants that hadn't fled the Keep when news of approaching rebels had reached Dragonstone.

Despite her movements near none, Rhaella managed to look to her surviving sons.

"Viserys, Vaegon," she nearly whispered. To this day Vaegon could still remember how unnaturally weak she'd appeared, somewhere between life and death and barely clinging to what was in the living world. "You must protect her."

A servant brought a tiny bundle into view of the boys, allowing Viserys to take the little baby girl into his arms. Vaegon looked at her sleeping features, her skin still a shade of pale rose. Her nose was little and her lips pursed as she grunted lightly. The young boy of seven looked at his newborn sister, seeming to forget the turmoil they were facing and instead finding peace in her sweet, sweet innocence.

"We vow it, Mother," Viserys promised solemnly as both of the princes looked to their queen mother.

"Her name," Rhaella wheezed, the life finally draining to its last ounce. "Is Daenerys Stormborn."

The particular memory had been the beginning of it all. Daenerys has arrived into the world just as their mother had left, giving them no other duty than to protect and raise her. Vaegon cherished and loved her more than he ever would Viserys, nor would he ever have to tell him so. Viserys was well aware of the connection his siblings held and it caused a pit of jealousy to form at a young age.

And so, Vaegon's fierce determination to protect what was left of his mother was birthed. Nothing would change his love for Daenerys, not even the mock marriage that Viserys had so cruelly devised recently. In that moment, as he stomped his way down the now quiet street, he vowed to be with her. No matter the cost. Be it death, Vaegon would endure until the end.

♜

MAGISTER Illyrio had been the kindest of all their hosts throughout the years. His villa sat on the edge of the city overlooking the Narrow Sea and the kind man had granted the place to the Targaryen's for an entire year. Often, Dany and Vaegon would stand on the balcony and gaze at the full moon hanging over the water, dreaming of the day they would return home and never have to think of the struggles of Essos again. She often liked to recite poetry, walk among gardens, and sometimes the sandy beaches that overlooked the Narrow Sea.

While Vaegon and Daenerys took a kinder approach to their lives, Viserys' dreams were always more war oriented, of him claiming the throne with all of their enemy's crushed beneath them, fire and blood reigning throughout the kingdoms. Vaegon never quite understood the lust, but as the more unlikely of all the children of Mad King Aerys and Rhaella, he more than likely would never see a King's crown resting on him brow.

Illyrio was the most generous of their hosts as well, as he often gifted them things such as precious jewels or fine silks and wines. When they received them, Vaegon would often give his jewels to Daenerys, for he had no interests in them and she always looked so lovely in sapphires or amethyst. The color always brought out the violet in her eyes, the same color they shared.

Their hosts' estate was lavish as ever with granite pillars open to blue skies, vases adorning exotic flowers, artifacts from ancient and faraway lands, and an astounding amount of gold pieces displayed in every available place. Silken curtains framed every window open to the usually blue sky, while palm leaves swayed just outside in the warm breeze. Servants kept the place well managed on the order of the Magister.

Vaegon rounded a corner, finding his way to the bathing room. He knew he'd find Daenerys there, for there were scents of lavender oil permeating throughout the halls. He knew it was her favorite oil, as well did he know that she would be getting pampered by servants to look her best for the approaching ceremony. Vaegon fumed at the thought.

Indeed she was in the bathing room, being covered up by servants with linens to dry her wet and pink steaming skin. Vaegon paused a few feet from the steps she took down from the steaming bath, servants scurrying around the room to complete their tasks.

"The fighting yards again?" Daenerys asked, her voice soft. She'd been quiet as of late. "That's where you were?"

Vaegon nodded with a sigh. "I had to. Otherwise, I might have tried killing this khal myself."

"Oh Vaegon, please don't make this any worse for me," she pleaded, violet eyes clouded with grief. "I dont want to see your fighting turn sour. You enjoy it. I don't want to follow through this either. You know where my heart lies."

"I know," Vaegon said, stepping closer to her. His hand reached to cup her cheek, brushing away her dripping silver hair as his other hand wrapped around her linen covered waste. "That's why it's taking everything in my power to not march down the hall and find Viserys. If you truly wished me to, I would end this all. No more begging, no more of our cruel brother. You wouldn't face that war lord today."

She frowned. "Viserys is the only reason we really know anything about our family," she murmured while looking up to him. "Rhaegar, our mother—we can't just turn against him. Even though this... ploy is not what I desire, I'll do whatever it takes to get us home, Vae. You know that."

Daenerys' dedication to the ones she loved had always been her most upstanding trait, but Vaegon found it hard to believe that she wasn't merely submitting to Viserys' threats, threats of having them both exiled or even executed once he 'sat on the throne'. The only reason Vaegon had ever conceded to his brother's better claim was to save Daenerys the pain of losing one of the only two people she knew in her life, no matter how mad and cruel he really was. Otherwise, Vaegon would have gladly rid the world of his narcissistic brother.

"You know that I love you," he said to her with as much emotion as he felt it in his heart. "If you wish to be taken out of this situation at anytime, you tell me. I'll take it all away."

"Is our beautiful bride getting ready?" Viserys' voice breaks the moment of peace as the siblings suddenly split apart. They look to their scrawny older brother, who struts into the room with the pride of a lion as a slave follows behind him. In her hand was a beautiful lilac dress, Vaegon noticed, that was all too thin and translucent to be worn alone.

The eldest Targaryen paused between the two, looking them both up and down. He'd always been so arrogant.

"It appears that Vaegon has been enjoying his time in the slums once again," Viserys remarks with a smug look, for he had noticed the dirty blouse on his younger brother. "Do you know nothing about being royalty, brother? Who am I jesting, of course you wouldn't. You were but three and a half when we fled our home. I suppose I couldn't expect much from you."

"Is it hard work being such a royal prick?" Vaegon spat in annoyance. Thoughts of choking his brother out filled his mind.

Viserys gave Vaegon a smug look of contempt. "If you weren't my brother, I'd have your tongue."

Daenerys stood between her brothers, looking to them both with a grief stricken expression. Her violet eyes brimmed with pain filled tears, tears of misery that she had endured for her entire life. She felt utterly empty knowing she was trapped and had no way out of the marriage she was going to partake in. She listened as they both argued, Viserys threatening Vaegon with empty threats while he screamed profane insults at their elder brother. It was a common occurrence that carried on throughout her young life.

"You won't be safe once I'm on the throne, Vaegon," Viserys hissed with malice. "You may be my brother, but neither Rhaegar nor mother are here to protect you. No matter how much you train in those shit yards with the peasants, you'll never be safe." He then looked to Daenerys, his lilac eyes narrowed. "You'll wear this. And you'll make him love you. Otherwise, you'll wake the dragon. You do not want to do that, sweet sister."

With his last words, Viserys left the room with his overly combed silver waves flowing behind him. The slave girl that had been following him stepped forward to offer the dress to them. Vaegon, though fuming, looked down at the dress. It was beautiful, no doubt, and would look fantastic on his sister but the purpose made him want to tear it apart.

He reluctantly grabbed the silken dress, feeling it with his calloused fingers while dismissing the slave girl as he turned to Daenerys. She looked at the dress with a sort of fear, knowing that once she put it on, things would change. She was terrified to say the least. She looked up to Vaegon with her heart pounding in her chest.

They looked into each other's eyes as their fleeting moment of oneness began to fade. They both know that soon, they would no longer be each other's. No, Vaegon would be alone in the world and Daenerys would be claimed by a stranger.

♜

BIRDS sang merely from the palm leaves during the early evening, but such a tune could never raise Vaegon's spirits. He stood rigidly on the steps of Illyrio's villa, just before the dirt road that the Khal would most likely arrive on. Colleagues of Illyrio had come to attend the occasion as well, all of the rich merchants and nobles alike standing nearby to watch. The sun shown above, it's rays peering down through the slowly driving clouds floating against the blue sky. If not for such a harrowing occasion, one might consider it a beautiful day.

Vaegon clenched and unclenched his fists angrily as anticipation hung in the air. His violet eyes drifted toward Daenerys, who stood rigidly a few steps below. Her silver hair had been combed into soft waves that hung down her back like a tumbling water fall. The dress she been put in was incredible, but not to Vaegon. Any would be able to see every part of her body.

"Daenerys will make a fine bride, Your Grace. With Khal Drogo's army, you'll easily take back the Seven Kingdoms," Magister Illyrio feeds Viserys' pride. Vaegon glared down where they stand just a few steps down from him. "None would dare face a Dothraki horde of fifty thousand mounted warriors. They're the most feared fighters in Essos."

"Of course they wouldn't," Viserys replied mattarfactly. "They'd be dead by doing so. Tell me, Magister, when should the wedding take place?"

Vaegon despised hearing his brother speak, let alone about his impending conquest on their long lost home. Once, he loved his brother as much as he did Rhaegar. That love soured as the years went.

He tried to focus on Daenerys instead of dwelling on the saddening fact, who stood with her hands clasped together in front of her. Her violet eyes seemed to be focused on her feet. Vaegon wished dearly that he could wrap her in an embrace and promise that nothing was going to change, but he knew better.

"I don't want to marry him," Daenerys blurted out, drawing the attention of their brother, whom wandered to her side with his eyes narrowed.

"Of course not, sweet sister," Viserys murmured as if he is being understanding and kind. "But you're going to. You will give me this army, do you understand? It is how we will take back our home. Let it be known that if I had to, I would let every man in his Khalasar fuck you, their horses as well."

"Watch your tongue," Vaegon hissed in rage. His neck began to burn and he could feel his cheeks becoming hot. It took everything in his power not to lunge for Viserys.

"I think not," Viserys replied with a smug look. "Perhaps I should find a use for you as well. I could see good use for you in the fighting pits of Mereen. I'm sure we could catch a fine price that would get us to Westeros even quicker."

Vaegon watched as Viserys haughtily returned to the Magister's side. He always found it hard to accept the man's kind hospitality, especially when he was in full support of Daenerys' forced marriage that was obviously wrong. It was obvious that the man wanted to root himself with the future rulers of Westeros.

A long spell of time passed of the group waiting silently in anticipation of the Khal. It seemed that their elder brother's patience was running especially short that day. Viserys stirred from his place, marching toward the road with his silver locks drifting behind him.

"Where is he?" Viserys demanded to know as he looked up and down the road angrily. "He dares make me wait?"

Magister Illyrio attempted to calm Viserys. "I assure you, Your Grace, he will arrive momentarily. The Khal only runs on his time, I'm afraid. The Dotharki are not known for punctuality."

As if on cue, the muffled sound of pounding hooves on dirt could be heard approaching just down the road. Those in attendance perked at the sound, Viserys especially as he seemed to beam with excitement for the arrival of the warlord.

Soon enough, a small group of riders appeared, all men thick with muscle and long, dark braids falling down their backs. They're olive toned skin was a obvious sign that they were people who spend their days in the sun, handling their horses as Vaegon had been taught earlier in his life.

The most noticeable of the riders is the man at the front; tall, dark, menacing, a braid longer than any of those behind him and the reins of rowdy blood red stallion clutched tightly in his hand. Lines of blue war paint were raked over his shoulders like the claws of a beast and a beard full of beads nearly touched his well toned chest. Vaegon knew this had to be Khal Drogo.

"Your Grace," Magister Illyrio spoke up, his hands gesturing toward the rider who contain their stomping steeds. "I present to you Khal Drogo, son of Bharbo, Khal of the Great Grass Sea."

Vaegon felt a twinge of guilt for telling Daenerys he would free her of the turmoil of marrying this stranger, but a seed of fear pitted itself deep within him as he gazed upon the Khal with concern. Would he survive against such a man if he had to defend her? He'd been told that the Dothraki wore their braids until they've been defeated and by what Vaegon could see, Drogo's braid nearly reached his waist...

It was quite a strange thing to see Drogo simply look down upon Daenerys, who looked up at the fearsome man with a terrified expression. Vaegon's gaze shifted from her, to Drogo, then back as he analyzed the situation. It was even stranger to see him pull the reins of his horse, having not dismounted. Leaving as quickly as he came, it was finished. The four of them were left watching them leave.

Viserys ran forward once again, watching the Khal and his riders speed away.

"Where is he going?!" Viserys cried out in confusion. "Why didn't he speak? Did he like her?"

"Trust me, Your Grace," Illyrio assured Viserys. "If he hadn't liked her, we'd know."

Vaegon grimaced, knowing that things were locked into place now. He wanted to drop to his knees, to cry out to whatever gods there were that would listen. He turned toward the entrance of the estate, his head hanging in utter defeated.