Aemon walked in silence, the royal dinner still pressing on him. Ser Barristan, ever the steadfast presence, flanked him, a silent reminder of the duties that awaited him.
The corridor beneath Dragonstone stretched endlessly, its dim light flickering as they walked. As they neared the massive iron door to the hatcheries, Aemon's steps quickened. This was where his past and future intertwined, where House Targaryen's legacy slumbered in the form of three dormant dragon eggs.
When they reached the door, Aemon paused, his fingers brushing the cold metal of the lock. The familiar weight of the Valyrian steel key, entrusted to him by Múna, rested in his pocket.
He had always known the significance of this key—it was not just an entry into a room but into the heart of his family's history. His mind swirled with the uncertainties about his journey to King's Landing weighing on him. But for a brief moment, in the quiet of the hatchery, he allowed himself a pause.
He slid the key into the lock, twisting it with practised ease. The heavy door groaned as it creaked open, revealing the shadows within.
Aemon turned to Ser Barristan. "I need a moment for myself," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ser Barristan nodded, his expression unchanged, understanding the need for solitude. "Take the time you need, Your Grace."
Without further words, Aemon stepped inside, and the door closed softly behind him, leaving him alone in the quiet, cavernous space of the hatchery.
Aemon stepped into the hatchery, the silence and darkness wrapping around him like a cloak. A crisp, quiet breeze blew, carrying the faint scent of stone and earth. He paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dim surroundings before reaching for the torch mounted on the wall.
With a flick of his lighter, the flame sprang to life, casting long and flickering shadows that danced across the stone walls.
He moved forward, his footsteps echoing softly in the vast space. The hatchery seemed even more massive now, its high domed ceiling stretching far above him, disappearing into the shadows.
As he walked deeper, jagged cracks in the stone floor revealed a faint glow beneath—a lava vein snaking through the room, its warmth rising and adding a subtle hum to the stillness.
At the far end of the hatchery, atop a raised platform above the jagged cracks, stood the ancient brazier. Worn by centuries of use, its surface bore the marks of time. Resting gently within it were the three dragon eggs, their dark, smooth shells almost glowing in the torchlight. The brazier was positioned above the lava vein, allowing the eggs to absorb the necessary heat to remain warm, their dormant life quietly waiting for the right catalyst to awaken them.
Aemon stopped just before the brazier, his heart heavy with the weight of his family's legacy. The soft light from the torch flickered, casting gentle shadows across the eggs as he stood there, his breath steady and the only movement in the stillness the dance of the flame.
Aemon gently placed his hand over the cool, smooth surface of the dragon eggs, feeling a faint warmth emanating. Closing his eyes, he centred his thoughts, focusing on the connection to the ancient legacy of House Targaryen resting in his grasp.
"S.E.R.A.," he whispered, his voice quiet yet resolute. "Can you scan the eggs for me? Tell me everything you know about them."
There was a brief pause, and then the familiar hum of S.E.R.A.'s voice resonated in his mind.
[Scanning… Analysing… The dragon eggs are consistent with the ancient Valryian lineage. They are dormant, showing faint heat signatures. No immediate changes were detected. The timeline for hatching remains uncertain.]
Aemon's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information. The weight of his decision lingered, uncertainty swirling around him. The dormant eggs symbolized the uncertainty of his family's legacy. The mystery of how to bring them to life lingered, leaving him with more questions than answers.
Aemon's fingers hovered over the eggs. "S.E.R.A.," he whispered, his voice low and urgent, "how do I hatch them? What's needed to awaken these eggs?"
S.E.R.A.'s reply was calm and methodical.
[To hatch the eggs, a catalyst is needed—a specific trigger to awaken the dormant energy within them.]
Aemon's brow furrowed. "A catalyst? Is there any way to make this happen sooner? Do you know what that catalyst might be?"
[Unfortunately,] S.E.R.A. answered, [I lack enough information to identify the catalyst. My analysis is limited by the data available to me.]
Frustration welled within Aemon. "Then what can we do? How do we figure this out?"
There was a brief pause before S.E.R.A. spoke again.
[To conduct a deeper analysis, I request permission to access additional host memories. My current knowledge is limited to the books and records you've reviewed since my activation. I cannot offer a complete assessment without access to your earlier memories.]
Aemon hesitated, surprised by the request. "Why? I thought you had everything you needed."
[My access is based on the initial programming and the data you've entered since my activation,] S.E.R.A. clarified.
[I have no experiential data before your activation to gather more information about dragons and their lore. I require access to your earlier memories.]
Aemon's gaze dropped back to the dragon eggs, thoughts swirling. He understood the necessity of her request, even if it felt uncomfortable. With a resigned sigh, he nodded. "Alright, S.E.R.A. You have my permission. Go ahead."
[Thank you, Host. I will begin now.]
S.E.R.A.'s voice was calm yet insistent, cutting through the stillness of the hatchery.
[Host, I will begin the process now. You may experience some discomfort during the memory access. Please prepare yourself for a brief impact.]
Aemon steeled himself, ready for whatever was to come. He felt the familiar hum of S.E.R.A.'s presence in his mind, followed by a sudden, dull ache that spread across his temples. The sensation began as a subtle pressure in his head and quickly intensified, becoming sharp and disorienting for a brief moment.
Then, just as quickly as it had come, the pain dissipated, leaving only a calm after the storm. Aemon let out a slow breath, the discomfort fading as everything around him settled into quiet stillness.
[The process is complete, Host.] S.E.R.A.'s voice returned, now smoother and more grounded. [I have accessed your prior memories. All available data is now integrated.]
Aemon stood still, his mind processing the change. His memories, once distant and fragmented, were now more vivid. The walls between him and his past had vanished, and he could feel it all at once: the knowledge, the emotions, the weight of everything he had been.
Aemon stood motionless, his hand hovering over the dragon eggs, his thoughts pressing heavily on him. "S.E.R.A.," he asked softly, "Did you retrieve the information?"
S.E.R.A.'s response was calm yet matter-of-fact.
[Data retrieved. However, no definitive method for hatching Valyrian dragon eggs has been found. Historical records suggest that some eggs hatched while others did not. House Targaryen has a tradition of placing dragon eggs in newborns' cribs, but this practice has little relevance. The success rate for hatching is less than 1.9%, making it more of a ritual than a reliable method.]
Aemon's frustration deepened. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to digest the information. "Is there any way to accelerate the hatching, or are we left to wait?"
[The process is experimental,] S.E.R.A. continued.
[However, valuable insights could be gained from the future hatching process of Daenerys's eggs. The catalyst required to awaken the dragon eggs may be one of several possibilities: fire, blood, a sacrificial life, or the Bleeding Star. Or Daenerys could be the key, as she may be the prophesied saviour destined to bring the dawn.]
Aemon froze, his mind racing. Daenerys—his niece, yet unborn—was tied to this prophecy?
Was she the key?
The weight of the Song of Ice and Fire settled heavily on his shoulders. Aegon's dream. The prophecy that had haunted Targaryens for generations. He knew what it could mean—he'd seen it written in pages, spoken in riddles, and burned into memory through screen and script.
In the books, she was the last dragon—breaker of chains, rider of fire. In the show, she brought ash and ruin to King's Landing itself, her fury unbound. Two paths, same name, different ends. He didn't know which would come to pass. Could she be the saviour? Or the storm?
Or was it Jon Snow?
He swallowed hard, the question clawing at him like a whisper in the wind.
He couldn't be sure.
Not yet.
S.E.R.A.'s voice returned, adding more clarity.
[The method remains uncertain. One possibility is the ritualistic use of fire and blood—sacrificing life to fuel the hatching. Another possibility is the Bleeding Star, a natural occurrence that may trigger the hatching, though it cannot be controlled. Alternatively, we may need to wait for Daenerys's birth to see if she can unlock the key to hatching these eggs.]
Aemon clenched his fists, frustration welling inside him. Eighteen years until Daenerys was born? That felt like an eternity. The weight of the prophecy, the thought that he could do nothing until then, made him feel powerless.
"I can't just wait for her to be born," Aemon muttered, the idea of inaction settling uneasily on him. "The future can't just unfold on its own. I need to change it now."
S.E.R.A. responded with quiet assurance.
[The future is not a fixed path but a blank canvas waiting for your mark. You can shape it or let others do so for you.]
Aemon paused, grounding himself in her words. He stood still, the echoes of her voice lingering as he absorbed the finality of what lay ahead.
S.E.R.A.'s presence loomed over his thoughts like a steady hand on his shoulder, guiding him. [You have the ink to write your future, Host. How the story unfolds is within your power.]
Aemon's mind raced. He couldn't sit idly by. He had to take action. With S.E.R.A.'s guidance, he felt ready to control his destiny.
"S.E.R.A., is there any other way to accelerate this process?" Aemon asked, his tone urgent. "Anything else we can try?"
[Host, there are still many unanswered questions. While the library at Dragonstone holds some knowledge, it is far from exhaustive. There are more extensive records in the Red Keep library and additional texts in Essos that may hold key insights. The Citadel in Oldtown could also provide valuable information. But there is one other option—though I do not recommend it lightly.]
Aemon raised an eyebrow. "What option?"
[Valyria, Host. The ruins of the ancient Valyrian Freehold may hold the answers you seek. The knowledge there is vast, but the land is cursed. It is a place of death and destruction. To venture into Valyria would be a suicide mission without proper preparation. However, if you believe the answers lie there, I will assist in preparing you.]
The idea of stepping into the ruined land, considered a death trap, made Aemon's heart skip a beat. The thought was daunting, but the possibility of uncovering knowledge that could change the fate of House Targaryen was too significant to dismiss.
He took a deep, steadying breath. "I'll keep it in mind," he said quietly. "But for now, I'll focus on what I can access here. I'll seek knowledge in the Red Keep, Essos, and Citadel. Valyria… that will be a last resort."
S.E.R.A. responded with quiet assurance. [Understood, Host. I will help you gather data from the Red Keep, Essos, and the Citadel while keeping the Valyria option in the background should you decide to pursue it.]
Aemon nodded, feeling the weight of his decision. There was still so much to learn, but now, with a clear path ahead, he could act. The uncertainty was daunting, but it was not insurmountable.
"The future isn't set," Aemon whispered, his voice firm with newfound determination. Her words echoed in his mind. "I'll change it. We won't wait for fate. I'll do whatever it takes."
S.E.R.A.'s reply was unwavering, a quiet promise. [I will be with you, Host, every step of the way. Together, we will change the future.]
Aemon raised an eyebrow and shot a smirk toward S.E.R.A. "So, you've got access to all my memories, huh? Everything?"
[Yes, Host. All of your records. Your childhood, your habits, your choices.] S.E.R.A. replied, her tone steady and matter-of-fact.
Aemon chuckled, puffing out his chest. "I must admit, I'm quite the catch. Who wouldn't want to be with someone like me?"
S.E.R.A. didn't miss a beat. [Indeed, Host. A single, with no girlfriend, a self-identified geek, and a virgin until your death.]
Aemon blinked, his pride quickly deflating. "Hold on, I'm not a virgin! And I wasn't a geek—well, maybe a little, but that's beside the point."
[Ah, yes. I recall one incident. You tried asking a girl out, didn't you? You walked up to her with your best line, only to trip over your feet and knock over a shelf of books. You tried to laugh it off, mumbling about destiny, and she left shortly after.]
Aemon's face turned crimson, and he quickly turned his head away. "Alright, alright! That's enough of that! I don't want to hear about it anymore."
[Of course, Host. Just know it's all safely stored in my memory. A perfect moment to revisit when needed.] S.E.R.A. replied, her voice tinged with a subtle hint of amusement.
Aemon slumped into the corner, arms crossed, sulking. "This is the worst," he muttered, sinking into embarrassment.
Aemon finally lifted his head from his momentary embarrassment, shifting gears as his expression turned serious again.
"Alright, S.E.R.A.," Aemon began, taking a steadying breath to regain his composure. "What's our next move when we reach King's Landing? How do I navigate all of this?"
S.E.R.A.'s response was swift, practical, and unwavering. [Your immediate focus should be mastering your combat and knightly skills. Training under Ser Barristan and the Kingsguard will lay the foundation for your future.]
Aemon nodded thoughtfully, chin resting in his hand. "And after that?"
[Simultaneously,] S.E.R.A. continued, [you should take full advantage of the Red Keep's library. The knowledge within its walls will prepare you for thorough research. But when you reach twelve or thirteen, your journey must lead you to the Citadel in Oldtown. It holds the most extensive and hidden records of lore, history, and secrets—many tied to dragons, Valyria, and ancient prophecies.]
Aemon smiled knowingly, a plan already forming in his mind. "I had the same thought. The Citadel has always been the goal. There's too much valuable knowledge there to ignore."
[Precisely,] S.E.R.A. affirmed. [The information there will be vital in understanding your family's legacy and potentially altering its future.]
Aemon's thoughts shifted as a question surfaced. "Speaking of knowledge… During the Dance of the Dragons, when our family nearly lost everything—do you think the Maesters had a hand in the extinction of the dragons?"
S.E.R.A. paused, processing the query before responding. [I don't have specific information on that, Host. However, the answers likely lie within the Citadel's archives. The Maesters may guard many secrets, particularly those tied to the events surrounding the Dance of the Dragons.]
Aemon's expression grew steely. "That only makes it more urgent to go to the Citadel. I need to uncover whether the Maesters were involved and if they had a hand in the dragons' extinction."
[Understood,] S.E.R.A. replied, her tone unwavering. [This will be a crucial step in your research. Once in Oldtown, we'll thoroughly investigate these events.]
S.E.R.A. paused, her voice grave and measured. [If you prove the Maesters' involvement, what will you do next?]
Aemon's jaw tightened, and his eyes gleamed with an unyielding resolve. "If I find that the Maesters had a hand in the destruction of the dragons, I will destroy them—completely. I'll make sure no one, not even the most powerful among them, can stand in my way. I'll expose their lies, their manipulation, and erase their influence over my family's legacy."
There was a brief pause as the weight of his words settled between them.
Aemon exhaled slowly, releasing some of the tension in his chest. Then, a small chuckle escaped him, the intensity of his tone softening into something more mischievous. "But can you imagine the look on the lords' faces when they see me, a Targaryen prince, heading to the Citadel to study—just like my great-uncle, Maester Aemon?"
S.E.R.A. responded dryly, a subtle hint of amusement threading through her voice. [They will be perplexed. But confusion among the nobility can often be a tactical advantage.]
Aemon laughed softly, nodding in agreement. "True. Let's hope their confusion lasts long enough for us to get what we need. It could work in our favour."
[Optimism noted,] S.E.R.A. replied, her tone calm and steady. [Initiating long-term strategy.]
Aemon's smile lingered as he stood a little taller, a renewed sense of purpose filling him. The path ahead would be challenging, but with S.E.R.A.'s guidance and growing resolve, Aemon felt ready for whatever lay ahead.
The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—he would be the one to shape it. The coming steps were crucial, and in the end, they would forge a new legacy for House Targaryen—one that would be written by his hand, not by the Maesters or any force that sought to control his family's destiny.
Aemon stood in the hatchery, his gaze fixed on the three dragon eggs resting in the ancient brazier. Their smooth surfaces glimmered faintly in the soft glow of the lava vein beneath, casting an ethereal light across the cold stone floor.
He hesitated, his voice tinged with doubt. "Do you think it's okay to bring the eggs to King's Landing, S.E.R.A.?"
[Negative,] S.E.R.A. replied immediately, her tone firm and resolute.
[The eggs must remain hidden. Their safety is best ensured here, sheltered by the lava's warmth. Taking them to King's Landing would expose them to unnecessary danger.]
Aemon exhaled slowly, the weight of her words settling into him. She was right. The political intrigue of King's Landing was a dangerous place for such precious secrets. Hiding the eggs in the heart of the capital would be far too risky.
"You're right," Aemon agreed, his voice tinged with resignation. "King's Landing would only put them in danger. It's safer to leave them here, at Dragonstone."
He stepped closer to the brazier, his gaze softening as he looked down at the eggs. His fingers brushed the smooth, ancient surfaces of the eggs, feeling a faint warmth stir beneath his touch.
Aemon's voice lowered, thick with emotion. "It seems I'll be leaving behind you three for a while." He gave a small, wistful smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm heading to King's Landing tomorrow. It may be a long time before we see each other again."
Aemon's voice dropped, thick with emotion. He paused, his resolve firming as his gaze locked onto the dragon eggs. "I promise I'll return—whether when I'm knighted or when fate calls me back to Dragonstone." His voice softened, becoming little more than a whisper as if the words were meant solely for the eggs. "Stay strong, little ones. Wait for me."
The silence of the hatchery enveloped him, the only sound the gentle hum of the lava beneath the stone.
Aemon stood motionless, his gaze fixed on the eggs for a final moment, silently vowing to return. The journey ahead would be long and uncertain. But the promises he made to these ancient symbols of House Targaryen would stay with him, guiding him through every challenge.
No matter the distance or the obstacles in his path, Aemon was determined to return. He would honour his promise, ensuring the enduring legacy of his family.
Aemon stepped out of the hatchery, the heavy door groaning as it shut behind him. For a moment, he lingered, his fingers grazing the cold metal of the key before he locked it with a decisive click. The sound of the bolt sliding into place rang through the stillness, sealing his decision with a finality that settled deep in his chest.
He stood there for a long moment, his hand resting on the lock, the weight of his family's legacy pressing down on him again. Leaving the hatchery wasn't just about the dragon eggs—it was about leaving behind his past, the fragile hope they symbolized, and the quiet tether to a life he was about to leave behind. A deep breath caught in his chest, the air heavy as he wrestled with the conflict between his duty and the ache of attachment.
His gaze drifted to the now-sealed door, the future beyond it feeling like an unfamiliar horizon.
Was he truly ready to face what lay ahead?
Was he truly ready to walk away from a place that held so many of his memories?
The thought of King's Landing—the uncertainty, the heavy responsibilities waiting for him—gnawed at Aemon. Yet, despite the looming pressure, there was no turning back. The past would remain here, untouched by time, but duty called, and he had no choice but to answer.
With a heavy sigh, Aemon tore his eyes from the door and turned toward the hall. His footsteps echoed as he moved away from the hatchery, each carrying him farther from the past and closer to the unknown future awaiting him in the capital.
Ser Barristan stood a few steps away, his presence unwavering and steady, a silent reminder of the duty ahead. "All well, my prince?"
Aemon nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the sealed entrance for a moment longer. He felt a quiet ache in his chest, the weight of leaving something precious behind, something unfinished.
"All is well," he answered softly. "It's just hard leaving them behind."
Barristan nodded understandingly, placing a reassuring hand on Aemon's shoulder. "They'll still be here when you return."
Aemon glanced back once more, his gaze fixed on the hatchery. The weight of loss tightened in his chest—not just from leaving the dragon eggs, but from the ties to his past, his hopes, and the uncertain future ahead.
With a deep sigh, Aemon turned away, facing Barristan. The journey to King's Landing weighed heavily on him, the unknowns of the capital stirring apprehension. But duty called, and the future, with all its uncertainties, could not be ignored.
"Let's go," Aemon said, his voice steady despite the turmoil beneath the surface. He didn't look back as they walked toward the castle, each step carrying him farther from the hatchery and closer to a future he wasn't sure he was ready for.
As they neared his chambers, Aemon's mind raced, thoughts of the road ahead crowding his mind. King's Landing awaited, with all its responsibilities, his family's legacy, and the looming uncertainties tied to the prophecy. He couldn't afford to wait any longer. The future was calling, and he had no choice but to face it.
With a final glance at Barristan, Aemon entered his chambers, closing the door softly behind him. He lingered a moment, gathering his thoughts before he began preparing for the journey. The dawn would soon break, marking the start of the long road to King's Landing.