( ACT I; sleeping dragon. )
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c

chapter 17: dracarys.

IT is in the wee hours in the morning when Vaegon rises from the stiff bed, mind weary and muscles sore. The remnants of his restless sleep linger in the form of a slight headache and a parched tongue. Leaving Daenerys asleep where she lies, he lumbers toward the window a crossed the small room where a clay pitcher sits inside of a basin. Pouring a liberal amount, he leans forward to splash the water into his face. He leans up, allowing the liquid to roll down his skin like tears.

They were to retrieve their dragons soon and he was going to ensure the warlocks would pay for what they had done. He would never let anyone who had slighted him carry on without knowing the truth behind the Targaryen words. He realized they'd been foolish to trust Xaro, but he was going to ensure that the merchant would pay for his insolence.

He turns to look at Daenerys, who is still sleeping as peacefully as she'd been when he'd went to sleep. Her silver hair splayed around her head, framing her soft features. She was in a seemingly peaceful state and he envied her for a moment. Vaegon smirked to himself despite their current predicament that had left him in a sour mood.

He was pleased to see that, through all they'd been through, they managed to always come back to one another. The lingering pain of her betrayal was still fresh to him and he was reminded of the constant back and forth they always seemed to do. He feared it would become a ruthless cycle and the past moons almost seemed to prove it.

Not long after dressing himself, Vaegon finds Jorah outside of the inn in the shade of a stone pillar that shielded him from the quiet street. He seems to be waiting for the Targaryen and perks at his presence.

"Your Grace," the knight greets. "Are you well this morning?"

"I will be well once we've retrieved our dragons and left this dastardly city," Vaegon replies with disgust. "I pray this trend does not occur wherever we go."

"Unfortunately, Your Grace, I wouldn't expect anything but that," Ser Jorah frowns. "Without an army, there is little protection for you. News of your dragons has surely spread throughout Essos and perhaps even Westeros. That most definitely has put a target on your back."

Vaegon grimaces at the truth of the knight's words. Every rich noble and merchant on either side of the Narrow Sea would be vying to get their hands on the only dragons in existence. Dragons were power and the world knew it.

"They'd be a fool to think they could ever control a dragon," Vaegon mutters as he reminisces on the thought of what he'd imagined their dragons looking like once they'd grown. It offered a sliver of relief to his worrisome mind. "Dragons demand respect. They aren't slaves."

"Of course not," Ser Jorah agreed.

"I want to return the Seven Kingdoms the way it was long before the rebellion," Vaegon continues. "I want to see dragons in the skies again and put an end to the petty quarrels the lords entertain for power."

"But this world roots itself in greed and power, unfortunately," Jorah sighs. "No king or lord has ever been able to govern true peace."

Vaegon nods his head at the sad truth. The reality of it was unfortunate, but he vowed to himself that would make every effort to make a true difference, no matter the cost.

"And Your Grace, if I may speak frankly, I believe you should choose to leave here," Jorah expressed.

Vaegon cocked a brow in confusion at the sudden suggestion from his advisor.

"Leave?" Vaegon uttered. "Why in God's name would we do that?"

"I've booked passage to Astapor," Jorah begins to explain. "Leave the dragons and flee. I truly fear we are severely against odds with these warlocks. There is no telling what they have in store for you if you visit the House of the Undying. If something were to happen, your efforts to take back the Iron Throne could be all for naught."

Vaegon is greatly upset that Jorah believed him incapable of retrieving his dragons. He'd always valued the older man's wisdom, but what he suggested was wrong. If he just gave up in the past in the same manner the knight was suggesting, they'd have perished in the Waste. Vaegon was resilient and the knight should know it by now.

"I am not just abandoning my dragons," Vaegon said coldly. "As much as I value your counsel and look to you as a mentor, suggesting I abandon one of the few things I have left to hold dear is nonsense. We will find the dragons. I don't want to hear anything else on it."

With a last glance, Vaegon leaves the presence of the knight to re-enter the inn.

♜

THE house of the Undying was strange, Vaegon would admit, as they walked around its circular walls. It was shaped similar to a tower, yet an entrance could not be found in its seemingly endless amount of stone. He grew more and more confused the longer they wandered around the structure. Daenerys and Jorah follow close behind as Vaegon looked up and down to find a way inside.

"How can there be no entrance?" He half asked himself, violet eyes trained on the sandstone.

"Keep in mind these are warlocks, Your Grace," Ser Jorah remarked. "Their magic seems to be strong. Strong enough to create illusions."

"Apparently so," Vaegon muttered in a reply as his steps grew quicker. "But I'll be damned if I let illusions keep me from my dragons."

"Be careful, Vaegon," Daenerys warned.

Vaegon, determined to find the entrance, quickens his pace until he is far ahead of Daenerys and Jorah. He looks ahead until he finally spots a difference in the stone where a wooden door becomes visible. Turning to tell the others of his finding, he finds no one is there.

"Dany?" He calls with a brow cocked, looking around. "Ser Jorah?"

Hw continues to look in every which direction he possibly can, but there is no sight of them.

"Where the bloody hell did they go?" He asked himself as he anxiously ran his hand through his silver hair. No answer is heard, leaving him no other choice but to enter the tower. Taking one last look around, he enters the tower.

After entering the door, he is swathed in darkness, wandering forward until he comes to an open area dimly lit by but two small torches. A stone table sits in the middle with three doors looming in the darkness behind it. Vaegon gazes around wearily, half expecting to see a warlock appear from the shadows. Seeing no sign of their dragons, he makes his way toward one of the doors and reluctantly enters.

Finding himself to be transported to a time and place he wished he could forget, he stands before the very bed that his mother had bled to death in. She is nowhere to be seen, but the site of the crimson-covered linens is enough to bring back the horrible memories of the night Daenerys was born. The window to the right of the bed flashes with lighting and the sound of rain is audible as it batters against the window.

His mind is filled with the memories of that night when they'd been forced to flee from the Red Keep as Robert Baratheon's host made its way through the walls of King's Landing.

He makes his way closer to the bed, his mind swirling with grief as his violet eyes train on the blood-soaked linens. He is almost consumed with the memories of that night until a touch on his shoulder has him quickly turning.

Before him stands his mother, offering him a warm and welcoming smile. She looks healthy and glowing, without the signs of abuse or bloody childbirth. She comes closer to him, looking up with her bright lilac eyes. Behind him, the lighting flashes violently.

"My sweet prince," she greets ever so softly, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek. "You've finally come home to me."

He is filled with bitter emotion, feeling the urge to rush into her arms and sob at the same time. He is nearly consumed with the idea of having his mother back before he turns his gaze away from her, forcing himself to remember that it wasn't real. The warlocks were merely using their illusions.

"You're not real," He murmurs, his expression crestfallen. "You're dead. You're not real."

Fighting everything his instincts told him to do, he gives himself one last look at her before peeling away. Rushing toward the door, he finds himself in an entirely different place.

He is in the gardens of the Red Keep, the sun shining and the birds singing. It is any beautiful summer day he remembered from the young years of his childhood, warm and serene.

He wanders down the path until he reaches the small courtyard that Rhaegar used to practice his swordplay in. The area brings back many memories to Vaegon despite them being so many years ago. He runs his hands along with the sword rack on the edge, reminiscing. He picks up a bow to examine it.

"You never seemed to quite understand the ways of a bow, Vae."

Whirling around in almost the same manner he had when his mother appeared, Vaegon spots Rhaeger. He flashes a playful grin at Vaegon as he sauntered over with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword at his side. He appears healthy and glowing as he grows closer.

"My have you grown," Rhaegar remarks with a grin as he looks him up and down.

Vaegon is almost lost in words of what to say. He'd almost forgotten what his brother had looked like. The only memory he'd held was watching his brother gather with his army to journey from King's Landing to meet Robert Baratheon at the Trident from which he never returned alive.

"I've missed you," Vaegon murmurs softly, setting the bow in his hand against the rack. "I've spent years wishing I had your guidance and companionship."

Rhaegar smirks slightly as if he is proud of his little brother.

"But look at you," Rhaegar says, smiling. "Look at the man you've become, that you were molded into. The Ashborne Prince."

"You promised you'd return from the Trident after you'd defeated Robert Baratheon," Vaegon uttered. "You said there were many great things you had to tell of your time away. But you never came back."

Rhaegar frowns. "I know that I never came back. But I fought as valiantly as I could in order to return to my family. Though in my absence, you grew into an exceptional man."

Hearing Rhaegar speaks so highly of him made Vaegon's heart twinge with sadness. Though he loved to see his brother once again, he knew it was the warlock's magic. None of it was real.

"If only you knew what we've been through," Vaegon murmurs, his voice filled with emotion. "Perhaps one day I'll truly get to tell you."

Vaegon turns heel toward the direction he'd come, not quite worried about where he was going. He paces quickly as his eyes are closed tightly shut. He tries his best to not dwell too much on what had just happened. His steps bring him to another place, yet it is not a memory from his past.

Vaegon had seen the Iron Throne many a time as a child. Present for court and many other things, he'd been near and even touched the jagged and cruel-looking blades that had been melded together with dragons fire. Yet, the sight of it bathed in pale sunlight and accumulated snow was no less eerie to him.

He made his way toward the throne, snow groaning under the weight of his feet. Above him, a hole exposes all of the grey skies. Snow falls aggressively over the top of the throne. He stops before it, thinking back on the horrible days when his father had ordered the many deaths of innocent people by wildfire.

Suddenly, the deep, deafening shriek of a dragon draws his attention toward the sky causing Vaegon to shrink in fear. He catches no glimpse of the beast itself, only the shadow that traveled over him. After a few moments of gathering himself once more, he directs his attention back to the throne.

He was drawn to it with a desire to touch its cold and jagged metal. His hand reaches forward to get even the slightest touch, but he reminds himself that it isn't real, just like the other visions.

Turning heel once more, he leaves the throne room quickly.

♜

FINDING himself once more in the same room he'd first entered in the House of the Undying, an incredible amount of relief washes over him once he finds his dragons on the stone pedestal in the center of the room. They cry out to him as he rushes over.

"Drokar, Haelyx, Rhaellor!" Vaegon exclaims. He caresses each of them, the little beasts rubbing their heads affectionately against his head. They chirp at him as he pets them. "By the Seven, I was almost afraid I wouldn't find you."

"You've done us a great service," Pyat Pree's voice has Vaegon whirling around, placing himself between his dragons and the warlock.

"Have I?" Vaegon spat. "Well, don't worry. You're about to pay back my favor with your life."

Just as he is about to rush forward to meet the warlock, his wrists are suddenly restrained. He scoffs in confusion, looking to see that he'd been magically cuffed. The magic chains pull tight, causing his arms to be stretched to his sides.

"Your dragons have restored our magic, Prince Ashborne," the warlock goes on. He paces back and forth in front of the restrained Targaryen. "But they only seem to thrive in your presence. So you will stay here for the many moons that remain of your life. It's a shame we couldn't get a hold of your sister as well."

The warlocks grin causes Vaegon to sneer in disgust.

"I'd sooner die than keep the only dragons in existence locked away for cravens such as you warlocks," the silver-haired man spat.

"There is no escaping the House of the Undying," Pyat assured him.

Vaegon's expression hardened into a disgusted sneer. His muscles tense and he straightens his back.

"Dracarys," He utters, waiting.

Behind him, Rhaellor coughs out a puff of smoke from his jaws. The warlock steps back wearily, his attention trained on the dragons. Drokar and Haelyx do the same until true flames begin to form. One of them spits a flame at the warlock, setting his robes on fire. Vaegon watched with a smug grin as steady streams of flames shoot toward the screaming warlock, burning him alive until there was nothing but a pile of ash.