Year 87, Dragonstone Jaehaerys Targaryen arrived at Dragonstone on a clear morning.
When the ship docked, Baelon and the three children were standing on the pier.
Viserys stood by his father’s side, his silver-gold hair neatly combed, his back held very straight.
The collar of his dark blue formal doublet was buttoned up to the topmost button, making him look at least three years older than usual, as he tried his best to prop himself up into a qualified eldest grandson.
Daemon was held by the hand by his wet nurse; at over four years old, he was already rather restless, standing on tiptoe to gaze out at the sea, endlessly asking, “Are we there yet, are we there yet?” “Why is Grandfather’s ship so big?” “Are there dragons on the ship?” The wet nurse could not hold down his shoulders and could only let him jump up and down.
Aegon stood by the wet nurse’s legs, wearing a dark red little doublet, his silver-gold hair neatly combed down and pressed behind his ears by the nurse.
He kept his hands at his sides, quietly watching the royal cog currently docking.
The white sails were embroidered with the three-headed dragon sigil of Targaryen, the hull was painted black, and the prow was carved with a spreading dragon’s head, casting a long shadow in the morning light.
The sea breeze was strong, blowing his hair fluttering up again.
He raised a hand to press down the stray hairs flying before his forehead, then continued to stand quietly.
Quite a few people stood on the pier—maesters, attendants, the castle steward.
Everyone kept their heads down, and no one spoke, save for the sound of the waves striking the stone shore and the cries of seagulls circling above the masts.
Viserys looked down at him, and Aegon returned his older brother with a very slight nod, after which Viserys withdrew his gaze—the ship had docked, and the gangplank was lowered.
When Jaehaerys Targaryen walked down the gangplank, everyone on the pier lowered their heads.
Not kneeling, merely bowing their heads in salute.
Baelon bowed deeply, with a great magnitude, almost bending his waist in half.
Viserys followed with a bow of equal depth, his movements standard to the point of being rigid.
Daemon was pressed by the wet nurse to lower his head a bit, still muttering something in his mouth, and only quieted down after being gently patted on the back.
Aegon imitated his brother’s appearance and lowered his head, his vision seeing only the seawater-wetted flagstone in front of the tips of his shoes, a thin layer of moss crawling across the dark grey stone surface.
“Father,” Baelon straightened up, “Mother.
Dragonstone welcomes you.” Jaehaerys nodded, his gaze lingering on Baelon’s face for a fraction of a second, before he reached out and patted Baelon’s shoulder—a very light touch, as if saying “I know”.
That movement was brief, but several people on the pier saw it.
A father’s comfort to his son, silent and restrained.
Then his gaze swept across the three children.
It paused on Viserys for a moment, looking at the eldest grandson’s straight spine and standard greeting posture, and he slightly nodded.
That single nod had already made Viserys’s eyes light up.
Then he looked at Daemon, who was tilting his head back and glaring at him, his violet eyes wide and round, like a little beast evaluating whether the newcomer was worthy of his respect.
Jaehaerys’s mouth twitched—that was a suppressed smile—and then he shifted his gaze to the youngest child on the very edge.
Aegon was just lifting his face from his lowered posture, his silver-gold hair blown messy by the sea breeze again, a few strands of stray hair clinging to his forehead and the corner of his mouth.
He was raising his hand to brush those stray hairs aside; halfway through this action, his hand stopped mid-air because he discovered that he and his grandfather had locked eyes.
Jaehaerys bent down—a movement that caused everyone present to slightly pause in surprise, as a king rarely bent down in public—he leaned in closer, looked at Aegon’s face, and then spoke a sentence: “With the wind so strong, why bring the youngest out as well?
Looking just like a little seal, his hair has been blown straight up.” Aegon blinked, at a loss for a moment as to how to respond to this remark.
Jaehaerys straightened up, the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth not yet entirely cleared away.
He turned to Baelon, his tone returning to its usual composure: “Let us go see Alyssa first.” Baelon nodded: “The sanctuary is ready, Father.” Jaehaerys turned and walked toward the direction of the castle, his pace steady, followed closely by two members of the Kingsguard.
Alysanne walked down the gangplank, her footsteps slower and lighter than her husband’s, wearing a dark grey gown covered by a black cloak, her silver-gold hair gathered at the back of her head by a hairnet, her face thin, her eye sockets slightly sunken, with a faint circle of dark grey-blue around her eye rims.
As she passed by Aegon, her steps paused for a moment, then she bent down, reached out, and tucked Aegon’s wind-blown stray hair behind his ear.
Her fingers were warm, the fingertips rough, trembling slightly when they touched his cheek.
“You look like your mother,” Alysanne said, her voice very soft, “Especially the eyes.” She straightened up, without waiting for Aegon to answer, and continued walking forward.
Aegon stood in place, reaching out to touch the cheek that had just been touched; that warm tactile sensation still lingered there.
Viserys walked to his side and whispered: “Grandmother said you look like mother.” Aegon gave a soft hum of acknowledgment.
He had heard it.
There was no probing in those words, no scrutiny, only a grandmother who, two years after her daughter’s death, had finally found her daughter’s shadow upon the face of her youngest grandson.
He remembered that tremble, and he also remembered those words, “Especially the eyes.” Daemon had already broken free from the wet nurse’s hand and run into the castle, shouting, “Where is Grandfather, where is Grandfather?”, with Baelon striding in close behind him.
Viserys patted Aegon’s shoulder and then followed as well.
Aegon looked down at the patch of seawater stain splashed on the hem of his doublet, looked up at the direction of the castle, and then took strides with his two short legs, slowly and steadily, walking toward that gateway.
Sunfyre flew across the skies above the castle, circling low for a lap, its golden wings looking as though they had been ignited in the morning light, before turning and flying back to the courtyard only after confirming that he was walking over.
— Jaehaerys and Alysanne stayed in the sanctuary for a very long time.
The sanctuary of Dragonstone was deep within the castle, a windowless stone chamber with walls carved full of Valyrian text, and Alyssa’s stone urn placed upon a stone dais.
Aegon did not go inside, but when he was carried past the corridor by the wet nurse, he heard the sounds coming from within—Jaehaerys chanting something in a low voice, an ancient Valyrian dirge, its syllables coarse and long-drawn.
Alysanne’s voice was even softer, mostly blocked by the stone walls, with only a few syllables leaking through the crack of the door, broken and suppressed, sounding like something tightly bitten down upon.
Baelon accompanied them standing for a long time.
Viserys and Daemon were left outside to wait, both of them silent, even Daemon having quieted down.
Sunlight shone obliquely in from the window at the end of the corridor, casting a rectangular patch of light on the floor, within which dust slowly drifted.
Aegon was seated on a bench on the other side of the corridor, swinging his two legs that could not reach the ground, gazing at the tightly closed stone door at the end of the corridor.
He had never seen his mother; all his awareness of his mother came from the name mentioned by others’ mouths—Alyssa.
Yet the person being mourned in that stone chamber was his mother.
He could feel no sorrow, for he had no memories with which to feel sorrow.
But he could sense something heavy emanating from behind that door, like summer muggy thunder pressing down upon the roof, yet to fall.
About an hour later, the stone door opened.
Baelon came out first, his expression calm but his eye rims slightly red.
Jaehaerys followed behind him, his spine still straight, his expression as usual.
Alysanne came out last, her steps slower than when she had gone in, one hand supporting herself against the wall, the other hand clutching the cloak at her chest.
She glanced at the people in the corridor, her gaze lingering on Aegon for a fraction of a second before withdrawing it, turning her head aside to press the corner of her eye with her sleeve.
That evening, a long table was set in the great hall of Dragonstone, and a banquet was held.
Jaehaerys sat in the seat of honor, with Alysanne seated at his side.
Baelon sat to Jaehaerys’s right, and Viserys sat next to Baelon.
Aegon was arranged to sit at the very end of the long table, facing Daemon.
Daemon was hitting the table with a silver spoon, stopped three times by the wet nurse; on the fourth time the spoon was taken away, leaving him no choice but to continue hitting it with a fork.
The long table was very long, easily a dozen steps in distance from the seat of honor to the end.
Aegon sat in his overly oversized chair, with a silver bowl larger than his palm placed before him, filled with fish mush, alongside a small piece of soft bread and a cup of warm water.
He lowered his head to eat a bite of the mush, chewing slowly, chewing for a long time before swallowing it down.
His movements were very slow, as if deliberately controlling something, occasionally looking up to glance at the seat of honor at the far end of the long table, and occasionally lowering his head to continue dealing with the food in his bowl.
Halfway through the banquet, Jaehaerys suddenly set down his goblet and looked toward the end of the long table.
“Aegon,” he called out.
Aegon raised his head.
“What is the name of your dragon?” “Sunfyre,” Aegon said.
His voice sounded light and thin in the cavernous hall; a two-year-old child’s voice could not suppress any echoes.
“Sunfyre,” Jaehaerys repeated, nodding.
“A good name.
Who gave it?” “I did.” Jaehaerys smiled slightly—the corners of his mouth curving upward, unlike the restraint at the pier earlier, more like the natural reaction of a grandfather upon hearing his grandson say something amusing.
“You are only two, yet you are quite prompt at naming your own dragon.” He picked up his goblet and took a sip, not pursuing the matter further.
Alysanne sat beside him, listening quietly all the while.
Once Jaehaerys put down his goblet, she spoke up: “The last time we came, you were still this small.
Lying in the cradle, before I even had the chance to take a good look at you, you were carried away.
Now you can even sit by yourself and eat.
Children truly grow fast.” AI Model: gemini-3.5-flash Aegon looked at his grandmother.
At that moment, he suddenly felt that Alysanne was not testing him or trying to confirm any abnormality with these words—she was simply regretful.
Regretful that she had missed two years of his growth, and regretful that it had taken her so long to find the courage to face this child after her daughter had passed away.
As the banquet drew to a close, Alysanne put down her fork.
She whispered something to Jaehaerys, and the Old King glanced at her and nodded.
Alysanne stood up, walked around the dining table, crossed the long aisle, and came before Aegon.
Everyone at the long table watched her, and Aegon looked up at her as well.
Alysanne squatted down, very slowly, her knees making a slight cracking sound as they bent.
Her gaze was level with Aegon’s.
Those violet eyes were close at hand; he could clearly see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the thin ring of gold at the edge of her pupils.
She reached into the inner pocket of her cloak and pulled out an object.
It was a neatly folded handkerchief of dark gray fabric, its edges sewn with fine silver thread, forming the pattern of a dragon—the stitching was not delicate, crooked in some places, clearly hand-sewn.
“I embroidered it myself,” Alysanne said, placing the handkerchief into Aegon’s palm.
“My craftsmanship isn’t very good.
I haven’t held a needle in a long time.” Her hand lingered on his small hand for a moment.
“It’s just an ordinary handkerchief, not some treasure.
Keep it with you.
Or you can take it back to play with.” Aegon looked down at the handkerchief.
The silver thread shimmered slightly under the candlelight.
The dragon’s wings were uneven, and the line of its tail broke off and started again.
It was indeed not delicate.
It was indeed handmade.
It was indeed something a grandmother had spent several nights slowly sewing while sitting before a candle late at night.
He clutched the handkerchief in his palm; the fabric was soft and still carried a hint of warmth—the warmth brought from Alysanne’s embrace.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” he said.
Alysanne smiled slightly, a faint expression that vanished as soon as she pursed her lips.
“Two years old, and you speak better than before.” She stood up, walked back to her seat, and never looked in his direction again after sitting down.
That night, Aegon returned to his room and folded the handkerchief, placing it by his pillow.
After lying down, he turned his head to look at it.
The dark gray fabric was barely visible in the darkness, with only the reflection from the silver thread on the edges occasionally flashing.
Before closing his eyes, he thought: when he grew a bit older, he could use this handkerchief to wrap other things, like the book pages he had copied from Hogwarts, or some small item he might use in the future.
This handkerchief was his now, the first truly warm and human thing he had received in this world.
— Jaehaerys stayed on Dragonstone for five days.
During those five days, Aegon saw him a few times.
The first was receiving the ship at the docks, the second was at the banquet, and the third was in the courtyard—that day, Aegon was sitting on the stone floor soaking in the sun while Sunfyre dozed at his feet, his six-meter-long golden body coiled into a large mass.
Jaehaerys walked out of the castle and stood on the steps.
He did not approach or call out to him, but simply stood there watching for a long time, as if confirming something.
Aegon felt the gaze but did not look up, continuing to sit with one hand resting on Sunfyre’s back, the warm scales shimmering slightly under his palm.
Jaehaerys stood for a moment, then turned and left.
The fourth time was the morning before his departure.
That morning, Aegon was carried into the room where Jaehaerys was temporarily staying.
The room was not large.
A white porcelain teacup sat on the windowsill, containing half a cup of cold tea.
The sea breeze from outside squeezed through the cracks in the window, making the papers on the table rustle softly.
Alysanne was also in the room, sitting on a small chair by the window with a book in her hands, though the pages had not been turned for a long time.
Jaehaerys sat in another high-backed chair, with half a cup of tea on the small table in front of him.
The wet nurse placed Aegon on the opposite chair, bowed, and retreated outside the door.
The room was quiet for a moment.
There was only the rustling sound of the sea breeze blowing through the window cracks and the distant cries of seagulls.
Jaehaerys stared at Aegon for a long time before speaking, “I was not on Dragonstone when you were born.
The storm was too great for the ships to cross.
By the time I arrived—” He paused.
“Your mother was already gone.
I stood by the cradle and took a look at you.
You were sleeping very peacefully.” Aegon listened quietly without responding.
He did not know why his grandfather was saying these things, so he simply sat there and let him finish.
“Later, when I returned to King’s Landing, your grandmother cried for a long time,” Jaehaerys continued.
“She said she didn’t even have time to memorize her grandson’s face.
You were so small back then; she didn’t even dare to touch you.” Aegon did not answer.
He sensed Alysanne beside him turning a page, but the book was held upside down.
She placed the book on her lap, her fingers pressing against the edge of the cover.
“You are two years old,” Jaehaerys said.
“I came this time just to see what you have grown into.
Some say a dragon egg hatched the day you were born; some say Sunfyre is growing faster than other dragons of his age.
People have told me many things about you.
After hearing them—” He paused.
“In the letters my son Baelon wrote to me, he said you started looking at books as soon as you could sit up.
A two-year-old child reading books.
Do you know how to read?” Aegon was silent for a moment, then said, “I know some.” “Who taught you?” “I…
learned them myself,” Aegon said.
This answer was not a lie; he had indeed learned to read on his own.
Those letters and symbols had run through his mind countless times, and by looking at them over and over, he eventually understood them.
Jaehaerys nodded, not pressing him on how he had learned on his own.
He merely shifted his posture, leaning forward slightly, and lowered his voice a bit.
“Your grandmother said your eyes look exactly like Alyssa’s.
Having watched you these past few days—she was right.” After saying this, he did not mention anything more about magic or abnormalities.
There was no testing, no questioning—it was just like a grandfather speaking to his grandson, asking his name, asking if he could read, and telling him that his eyes were just like his mother’s.
The room fell silent again for a moment.
Alysanne shifted slightly in her chair, as if she had finally figured out what to say.
She looked up and said to Aegon, “Your father said you are very quiet, not as noisy as other children.
At first, I was worried—afraid there was something wrong with your health.
But after watching you these past few days, you eat well, you can run and walk, and you ride your dragon quite well.” She paused here, a very faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“So I think you are just…
a bit quiet.
Everything else is quite fine.” Aegon sat on the high-backed chair, his legs dangling in midair and swinging slightly.
He did not know what he should say, but he felt he ought to say something—after a moment of thought, he whispered, “Grandmother, I put that handkerchief by my pillow.” Alysanne was stunned for a moment, then gave a soft “mm-hmm.” She looked down and reopened the book, finally turning a page this time.
The sea breeze poured in from outside, rustling Aegon’s hair and the hem of his clothes.
Jaehaerys stood up and walked over to Aegon.
He reached out and placed his hand on top of Aegon’s head, stroking it gently and slowly.
That hand was wrinkled and large-jointed, with two rings on his fingers, one of gold and one of black iron.
It lingered on his hair for a moment, then withdrew.
“You are not very much like your father,” Jaehaerys said.
“Nor are you like Viserys.
Daemon is not like you either.
You are like yourself.
There is nothing wrong with that.” He turned and walked back to the window, saying with his back to Aegon, “The next time I come, you tell me—what you want to do in the future.” Before the wet nurse carried Aegon out of the room, he glanced back.
Alysanne sat by the window watching him, her lips moving slightly—the mouthing was very light, like a silent exhortation.
Aegon did not see it clearly, but he felt it was something like “eat well.” He nodded to his grandmother, and was then carried out of the door by the wet nurse.
— On the day Jaehaerys left Dragonstone, a mist rose over the sea.
VOTE for me!