Prologue
The screams tore through the dawn air around a small village near the Bloody Gate of the Vale of Arryn, followed by the desperate stampeding of feet and the roar from ravenous throats.
“Attack! Clan raiders attacking!”
Women made for the safety of their homes. Mothers clutched babes close and barred the doors. Men ran to protect their families. Yet, what could smallfolk do against savages with rusted swords and axes? Against bows and arrows?
Some reached for farming flails and pitchforks, yet such instruments were not weapons of war.
And before long, those too slow, infirm, or fearful were cut down, dragged away, or became the victims of unrestrained lust.
Not all is lost, however.
From out of the morning mist came the galloping of hooves. Then, swift steeds bearing warriors in armor of black and red came barrelling through the remote town, and began quickly dispatching the rampaging clansmen.
Yet, these were no knights of The Vale. No mere men in plate armor.
They moved too quickly, their blows too strong, and their weapons… their weapons were too large. Almost comically so.
Attackers clad in thick furs and leather were bisected by axes, polearms, and greatswords much too big to be swung so fast. Strikes did not lose momentum when blocked, either by wood, iron, or flesh. Bodies parted with such ease that some of the raiders were still aware when their heads fell from their shoulders or their torsos toppled away from their legs.
The knights created a mesmerizing dance of blood and death.
Witnessing this, the previously panicking villagers stood in awe. Many of them had seen contests of chivalry in tourneys from up close or at a distance. Yet, the prancing displays were incomparable to the breathtaking deeds of martial might before them.
Once the last of the slavering savages fell, none of their gallant saviors stayed long enough for cheers, praise, or words of thanks.
Much like the rumors said, they wheeled about and vanished into the fog, capes fluttering behind them. Capes that featured the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.
Only then could the rescued find their voices, and whispers began.
“It’s true.”
“I thought they’s a myth!”
“Their graces, they sent them to save us!”
“Knights came!”
“Knights of the Dragon!”
~~~
King’s Landing, Small Council Chamber
“We’ve received word of more sightings, Your Grace.”
“These mysterious knights?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
King Jaehaerys I sat on his ornate chair and read the message his Hand, Septon Barth, had just given him. It was only the latest among many that were sent to King’s Landing over the past few moons.
The tales depicted warriors of such prowess and combat capability that they never failed to stop an attack, save the innocent, and punish the guilty. Nor were there reports of them losing anyone while performing these brave, yet dangerous acts.
By all accounts, they were unlike anything that the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen, not least because they never stayed long enough to receive rewards or recognition. The only details that remained consistent in the telling were their swiftness, leaving no attackers alive, and the unsanctioned use of his house’s heraldry.
Much like the reports of dead reavers from the Iron Islands, Wildlings from Beyond the Wall, and even pirates from coastal areas, this new development from The Vale left the king feeling ill at ease. Oh, he was pragmatic enough to see the value of nameless figures saving smallfolk and spreading word of House Targaryen’s commitment to protecting its subjects.
Yet the fact remains that no one knew anything about these so-called Knights of the Dragon. Not even him.
What truly shook his nerves, however, was the speed and range of their responses. Even if there were discrepancies in the reports, it remains clear that these warriors had somehow spread through his domain without his leave or knowledge.
How could a band of knights become this large with no one the wiser? And they would have to be large. How else could they respond to raids from one end of Westeros to the other when the attacks were merely days, or in some cases hours, apart?
“What do you make of this, my lords?” he asked, addressing his closest advisors.
Many words were spoken, and thoughts shared that day, but none of them could provide a concrete idea as to what could be done about these new pieces in the game.
~~~
King’s Landing, Maegor’s Holdfast
In a certain room within the royal apartments of the Red Keep, a young boy awoke from a nap with a splitting headache. A state of affairs that he had quickly become accustomed to.
With a groan, he got off the soft bed and reached for a cup of clean drinking water.
“Ugh,” he let out before muttering to himself. “How the fuck is this place still standing with so many bandits, pirates, slavers, and raiders picking off hapless peasants?”
No one answered him, because he was the only one in the expansive room. Before he could grumble any further, there was a knock at the door.
“Pardon the interruption, Prince Vaegon.” The voice was contrite but steady. “Queen Alysanne requests your presence.”
“Tell mother I will be there shortly,” he called back. “I’ve just woken.”
“Understood, My Prince. Would you like me to fetch servants to help you?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very good, My Prince. I will relay your reply to Her Grace.”
The boy, Vaegon, was finally left alone to stew in his irritation. Speaking with anyone while suffering a throbbing headache was the last thing he wanted, but needs must.
Just as he was getting ready to set out, however, he felt another pulse. Someone was crying for help. Purple eyes glowed with power, and upon tracking the source, it was thankfully by the King’s Wood. The distance shouldn’t pose much of a challenge.
“Lancelot,” he intoned.
From out of thin air, a tall figure in shining white armor appeared and knelt on the stone floor. “My King,” rumbled a deep voice.
“You know what to do,” Vaegon said while looking up at the face fully covered by an unnecessarily elaborate helm. Even with him standing and the knight kneeling, the latter still towered over the former.
“As you command,” came the acknowledgement before the armored man disappeared.
Vaegon could already feel the drain of summoning multiple knights in multiple places so close together. Despite knowing deep down that the cost was worth it, he sometimes wondered if he made the right choice.
A potentially limitless army of extremely powerful, nigh-unbeatable soldiers might have sounded good on paper, but developing it is a pain in the ass.
“I should really claim a dragon soon,” said the eight-year-old before finally walking out the door.
Chapter 1
When I agreed to this deal, I made the deliberate choice not to have any preconceptions. The very nature of the arrangement ensured that all I knew of the source materials wouldn’t matter. Then again, I didn’t really know all that much.
Aside from knowing that the TV show and one throwaway book by the author existed, I had no additional context to bring to bear.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for the rather generous compensation package provided in exchange, I wouldn’t have given the offer a second look. Guaranteed safety, happiness, and prosperity for those I left behind, though? It wasn’t a choice at all.
So, waking up in the body of a three-year-old product of an incestuous union wasn’t particularly jarring, except for the obvious shift in perspective. Everything looked bigger, and I couldn’t suppress the feeling of caution that washed over me at being surrounded by giants. I quickly got over that as practically all of them kept cooing, pinching, carrying, or hugging my diminutive form.
I’d almost forgotten what genuine love and care felt like.
Near the end of my previous life, affection became rarer than daffodils in the depths of winter. A state of affairs that had become far too common among those who were in similar positions as myself, from my understanding.
But, by dint of cosmic interference, those aren’t my concerns anymore. Instead, I now have to prepare an entire continent for an invasion that would dwarf the one depicted in canon.
Lovely.
Fortunately, I was well-equipped to succeed. Unfortunately, that success was far from guaranteed and will only come to pass if I work at it.
Choosing an ability that grew over time, and which promised to be quite formidable, made sense when my mandate was first explained. Yet, the downfall of this world had never been due to a lack of power, influence, or ability. At least, not as it was depicted in both the shows and the books.
No, it was always the people who caused the most problems.
Unchecked ambition, pride, arrogance, hubris, ignorance, and narrow-mindedness. These and more created conditions that practically guaranteed one’s downfall.
They made for good entertainment, I’ll say that much. Watching fictional characters flail in an endless cycle of war, conquest, political intrigue, and murder in the comfort of your own home, far from the danger? Good stuff!
In real life? Where you had to actually contend with these same people? Not so much.
Case in point, the gathering of highborn ladies around my mother, Queen Alysanne. The sight created a near-unbroken tapestry of colorful silks of varying coverage and topped with intricate hairstyles.
“Sweetling!” the Good Queen announced upon seeing me. “Come, join us. My ladies have been dying to hear you sing again.”
A beckoning hand, fingers sporting rings of intricate designs on multiple fingers, gestured for me to approach. The gentle smile upon her lovely face, framed by smooth locks of pale blonde hair, and eyes of burning amethysts conjured a perfect picture of motherhood.
I obeyed, as any good son should, and allowed her to engulf me in a warm embrace. Say what you will about the woman, but she never fails to express her affection to me and my siblings. Once released, I greeted the assembled perfumed brownnosers with impeccable grace.
“My ladies, it would be an honor to perform for you.”
And so began an afternoon serenade of ballads and love songs that brought tears to many an eye and a sigh of longing from many lips. My voice, a pure, crisp tenor that could stretch out syllables like a crystal bell, was perfect for accompanying the soft rays of afternoon sunbeams cascading from the windows and rafters.
I made sure to stick to the classics and a few folk songs, as the lyrics are more generally applicable, and I didn’t have to try too hard to make them understandable.
By the end, Elvis Presley, Luther Vandross, and Bryan Adams had once more received well-deserved accolades, even if it was by proxy.
Of course, none of the songs of old could have elicited such emotions from the audience if I couldn’t carry a tune. It’s just my luck, then, that Targaryens were also blessed with perfectly serviceable voices. As if dragon riding and ethereal beauty weren’t enough of a sign that someone up there was playing favorites.
Not that I should complain, overmuch. There wasn’t a single dry eye in the seaward-facing balcony, where the queen liked to hold her tea parties. Enthusiastic clapping filled the air, and the smiles were actually genuine, instead of faked or forced.
“Once more, my prince, once more!”
“May I request a rendition of The Parting Glass, Prince Vaegon?”
“We would ever be so grateful if you could sing at my daughter’s nameday, Prince Vaegon!”
I went through the motions of expressing humility, princely decorum, and magnanimously addressing requests and invitations before I was finally allowed to leave.
All empty platitudes and meaningless commitments, of course. It wouldn’t do to give answers that would bind me to concrete actions.
“You will all have to forgive him, my ladies.” The Queen, probably noticing the sweat beading my forehead, finally chose to intervene. “He was feeling rather ill this morning. You can rest, sweetling. I can have the Grand Maester sent to your room, if you wish?”
“My thanks, Your Grace, but that won’t be necessary. I may have overextended myself in the yard. Nothing a little rest won’t fix, according to Ser Giles.”
She seemed to accept this and sent me off with a kiss on the cheek.
The pleasant demeanour didn’t slip from my face until I reached my room, where I promptly dropped onto the bed with a groan. Maintaining the facade while six summoned knights laid waste to bandits accosting a merchant caravan had been brutal. It was like doing calculus while suffering from a persistent migraine.
If it wasn’t for the warm feeling of yet another milestone reward lighting up inside me, I would have just blown the whole thing off from the start. And to think, I intentionally chose this path for the mistaken belief that it would make my goals easier to achieve.
On the one hand, it did. Everything from speaking my first words to playing the perfect prince elevates my reputation, and thus, the scope of my abilities.
My range gets wider, the forces I can call on get bigger, and my ability becomes more potent.
Thank whatever gods exist that there are no large-scale battles within my power’s reach. While it was up to me whether or not to send out my warriors, I would’ve been compelled to do so, if only to maintain the people’s confidence in House Targaryen.
What was I thinking, literally tying my fortunes to this disaster of a royal family?
Relying only on my personal fame and renown would have slowed my growth, but at least the side effects would’ve been a lot more manageable.
Then again, the Targaryens are exactly why I was sent here in the first place. Not for any one member, but the house as an entity. If Westeros, or the whole world as a whole, is to survive what’s coming, these silver-haired, sibling-fucking, common sense-lacking dicks needed to stay in power.
No matter my personal opinion of these idiots or their vile practices, I couldn’t let them crumble.
Who was going to replace them?
The reality of my situation is that no other house could hold this entire continent together better than the one with literal dragons. House Stark wouldn’t be able to project much power below The Neck. Tully and Tyrell couldn’t even control their own bannermen. The Lannisters were cunts whose arrogance has earned the enmity of everyone else. And the Baratheons are blockheads who would put diplomacy and duels to the death in the same category.
I never even considered the Martells. Hedonistic, back-stabbing freaks that they are.
So, the Targaryens it is.
Being born as the third son of Jaehaerys was ideal because it gave me time to develop. The Dance hasn’t happened yet, my siblings were still fairly young, and the realm was at peace. I could take my time to lay down the backbone of my long-term strategy.
And with less than two centuries to prepare, I had to make that backbone as strong as possible.
First on the list was to make the house as popular as possible. Kind of obvious and, from a certain point of view, unnecessary. After all, it’s the royal family. In a feudal society like this one, it would be nearly impossible to find anyone who didn’t at least know the name.
But fame and popularity are not the same. Not when viewed through the lens of politics, and certainly not as far as my power was concerned.
The more genuine trust, loyalty, and love is directed at my house, the more powerful I become in practically every sense of the word. I can send out more knights, expand my range, and react more quickly to threats regardless of distance. Everything I’ve done, been doing, and still need to do is a balance of perception and irrefutable fact.
So much so that no one, and I do mean no one in this world, knows who I really am.
To my mother and father, I am the perfect child.
To my siblings, the perfect brother.
To our subjects, the perfect prince.
I could never be allowed to express distaste, anger, or sadness. At least, not in the way that would hurt my standing in the eyes of anyone, and by extension that of House Targaryen. I was still young enough that a show of vulnerability was seen as adorable, and could tug at the heartstrings of certain crowds.
Not in front of the more martially-minded members of court, though. No, for those guys, I could only ever be steadfast, stable, and strong.
To the knights, men-at-arms, guards, and lords, Vaegon Targaryen must be a prince of valor and strength. A credit to King Jaehaerys, First of His Name, and the blood of the dragon.
And I have been and continue to be all of those things.
That’s the only reason I was able to increase my range from the piddly few meters from my body to encompass pretty much all of The Seven Kingdoms. Yes, that includes Dorne and the Iron Islands, though I haven’t sent knights to those two places yet.
I simply couldn’t justify doing so.
There was a huge difference between keeping these people guessing and jumping at shadows from a band of powerful fighters slowly growing their influence to outright declaring that there was sorcery afoot.
Mortal men can cross from one tip of the continent to the other in that time frame, and the reports of my actions over the last few months should reflect exactly this. It’s gotten to the point that even my brothers have heard the tales and were pestering our father over it.
So far, the king was keeping mum on the whole affair, seemingly deciding that his silence served our house’s interest more than denouncing the heroics of these mysterious figures. However, the detail that was truly noteworthy was his refusal to say whether or not these knights were acting on behalf of House Targaryen.
“All is well,” he had told lords, ladies, and courtiers who had asked him about them. “The realm and our subjects are safe.”
No one was stupid enough to call him out on his bullshit, of course. All the while, Jaehaerys instructed the Small Council to discreetly find out as much as they could about my knights. Ha! Good luck following armored men that could just vanish into thin air.
All in all, my progress over the last five years has been encouraging. I still had a long way to go, but I could afford a few hours’ nap.
I hardly finished that thought before I was snoring.
~~~
“... and so they lived happily ever after. The end.”
“Ooh, ooh, tell us another love story, Vaegon!”
“Don’t listen to Daella! Tell us the one about the frog!”
“Alyssa! You always ask for the frog story!”
“Vaegon, can you tell us about the giants and the beanstalk again, please?”
“That’s for babies, Maegelle!”
“You’re being mean, Alyssa!”
“Daella’s right, you’re being mean, Alyssa!”
“No, I’m not! Tell them, Vaegon!”
I could only chuckle fondly as my sisters argued over which story I should tell next. The morning sun bathed the chamber that served as the royal children’s play area, providing plenty of light to see, while the high windows allowed the sea breeze to cool the air during the height of summer.
Toys, dolls, and all kinds of child-friendly knickknacks were scattered about. Left forgotten as soon as I sat down for our morning storytime.
This is a tradition I began with Alyssa and Maegelle, both girls older than me by some years. Yet, as I was the one with the store of ready-made fairy tales, they had no choice but to humor me in the beginning. Since then, they’ve become enthralled. It helped that the children’s stories from Earth were significantly more imaginative and age-appropriate than what was available here.
Aemon and Baelon did join from time to time, but as the two eldest, they couldn’t always get away from their responsibilities and lessons.
When Daella was born four years ago, I made sure she grew up with these stories right from the crib. Now, I’m doing the same for baby Saera.
As with everything I’m doing these days, regular storytime is done for multiple reasons, one of which is about to pay off.
“Do you really think that, Alyssa?” I asked, meeting those outraged eyes with my own. “Think for a moment, sister. What would Thumbelina think of your words?”
She paused, brows scrunching for a moment, before nodding in resignation. She then turned to Maegelle and Daella. “I’m sorry. I was being mean.”
True to form, both girls were quick to respond.
“It’s all right, Alyssa!” Daella cheered without hesitation.
“I forgive you,” Maegelle affirmed before adding, “Vaegon can tell us about the Frog Prince, if you want?”
“No, it’s all right. I want to hear about the giants again.”
Eventually, they all got what they wanted, as I intentionally made the stories short and concise enough for these exact scenarios. Children will argue over every little thing. As soon as you accept that inevitability, it’s only a matter of preparing countermeasures.
In this case, they all wanted different stories, not realizing that I could easily accommodate them in the time that we had.
Which is yet another reason why this new tradition existed.
Choices aren’t born out of free will in the way many people believe. They are shaped from a young age, influenced by upbringing and personality. Raising my daughter the way I did in my previous life prevented the worst impulses usually attached to adolescence. She was still a kid, but wasn’t a brat with no self-control.
The same principles apply here, and the most important aspect is allowing them to make choices that incorporate both empathy and understanding.
Fairy tales impart these lessons from one angle, while the act of listening and how the tales are told do the same from another. Every act of compassion and kindness is rewarded with a new story, a longer storytime, or both.
As they grow older, these rewards will also become more complicated, but I’ve already accounted for that.
Then there’s the final reason why spending hours every morning catering to my sisters is worth doing. Standing before Jaehaerys Targaryen in his private solar, the king simply listened as I relayed what happened in the playroom.
“Well done, Vaegon.” The praise came after I concluded my report. “Getting Alyssa to apologize for anything had proven a monumental task before. That she’s done so multiple times since your morning tales began, and of her own free will at that, is more than I could have asked for. You’ve performed a miracle, my son,” he finished in good humor.
Contrary to what I expected, my father wasn’t nearly the overbearing douche that I somehow pictured in my head. He was, in fact, quite the cheery fellow. Oh, he takes his duties seriously, but he wasn’t some hardass who just barked orders all day long.
Maybe it’s just my adult mindset, but I could see that he and the queen were doing all they could to serve the realm and be good parents at the same time. Expecting the same results for both is an utter failure on their part, but that intention still counts.
“Hardly, Your Grace.” I felt comfortable enough in his presence that I didn’t have to hold back my eyeroll. “As I told you before I even got started, children need to be taught as children, not as grown men and women. Letting Maesters and Septas only fill their heads with sawdust scooped from parched pages is stupid, no matter what traditions say about it. I truly hope that I won’t have to humiliate yet another Grand Maester to prove my point.”
That got a chuckle out of the king. Honestly, what was Benifer even hoping to accomplish by tattling to Jaehaerys? So what if the kids start asking more questions after hearing fairy tales? That’s a good thing!
It’s been months since I had to put him in his place, and he’s done his best to stay out of my way since. However, it also forced me to show a few cards that I wasn’t quite ready to reveal. Literally.
“That won’t be necessary, Vaegon.” Alysanne tittered beside her husband. “Grand Maester Benifer and his acolytes are still marveling over your – what did you call them? Flashcards?” At my exasperated nod, she continued. “Roping in your brothers to show him up was a stroke of genius, sweetling. He isn’t likely to challenge your brilliance any time soon.”
Right. My brilliance. That’s exactly what I wanted.
Not!
That particular trick was dropped two years too early. I got a ton of milestone points out of it, but I should’ve gotten more!
It was supposed to be part of a bigger package that would revolutionize how highborn children are taught without antagonizing either the Citadel or the lords. Who would be against methods that would make both teaching and learning take a fraction of the time and be just as effective?
Maesters would have more time to dedicate to whatever they wanted, and impatient students wouldn’t have to spend hours in dusty rooms memorizing dry texts. It would’ve been perfect!
Yet, it all got ruined because the shrivelled prune threw a hissy fit over Jack and the Beanstalk of all things!
If I wasn’t committed to maintaining good relations with a group of self-imposed guardians of knowledge, Benifer would’ve been shoved from the Red Keep’s tallest tower. As things stood, I had to settle with blowing his mind over something as simple as condensing information into manageable bites.
Oh, I was going to eviscerate the order of grey rats. It’ll take decades, but I was going to do it. Nobody gets between my points and me!
“Speaking of your wondrous invention, My Prince.” Septon Barth, who sat on a chair at the royal couple’s side, spoke up. “Would it be possible to use it for learning The Seven Pointed Star?”
I blinked at the man. “I don’t see why not, but would the faith accept such a thing? Reading the good book is meant to be a form of communing with The Seven, is it not?”
The grey-haired preacher-cum-advisor chortled. “Certainly, but many would appreciate effective means of reminders or keeping track of obscure passages. If your flashcards could help Princes Aemon and Baelon memorize every house in The Reach in less than a week, it could help the faithful just as well.”
My response didn’t come immediately. This request might appear simple on the surface, but it was anything but.
There was a reason why I wanted to wait a few more years before introducing the flashcards. The process was supposed to be gradual, with the organic spread starting from the top to the bottom.
It was never going to be restricted only to those at the top.
Merchants, tradesmen, scribes, stewards, and anyone else who could read would eventually see the value of this trick. The method was meant to jumpstart innovation by the simple introduction of a new way of absorbing and processing information. I wouldn’t even need to do anything.
By that point, years or decades would have passed, and the flashcards would have proven too useful for anyone to object without massive pushback from lazy heirs and Maesters who now had more free time.
Naturally, I knew that the faith would be involved, at some point. However, it was meant to be in the vein of weighing in on the rights of the smallfolk to learn or to curry favor with the rising merchant class.
Septon Barth’s request threatens to upend all of that while, at the same time, potentially providing me with a ridiculous amount of milestone points.
For the first time in a long time, I found myself stuck, unable to make a decision.
I didn’t like the feeling at all.