Dreams and the Council

Chapter 9: Dreams and the Council

The Dream

Aerion Targaryen lay deep in his sleep, lost in a dream that clung to his mind like smoke in the wind. The night was dark, thick with the weight of foreboding. He stood on the edge of a great sea, the waves crashing beneath him. From the depths, a kraken rose, its massive tentacles swirling violently, thrashing through the water as it sought to claim the shore.

But the kraken was not alone. A stag, noble and fierce, pierced the creature's heart with its sharp antlers. The kraken let out a great, tortured wail, but before it could fall, a wolf lunged, sinking its fangs into the creature's hide. It was not death that came for the kraken, but pain, agony that stretched beyond what seemed possible.

As the wolf tore into the kraken, a lion approached, its golden mane billowing as it stepped forward. The lion did not strike; instead, it licked its own wounds, healing its body with a strange, unsettling calm. The kraken struggled, but it did not die. Instead, it was caught between these forces, unable to escape.

Then, the dream shifted.

Two dragons appeared in the sky. One, pale and weak, with barely formed wings that struggled against the stormy winds. It was a false dragon, a mockery of what should have been powerful, a dragon that could not fly or fight.

The other was dark as stormclouds, massive and full of power. Yet it, too, was hiding. Not in shame, but in fear. It shielded itself from the gaze of the stag, its wings spread wide to block the light.

The vision was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving behind an eerie feeling that lingered in Aerion's chest. He did not understand the meaning of the dream, but he felt its significance, like a weight pressing against his soul.

"My Prince," a voice called through the fog of sleep, sharp and commanding. "Wake up, Aerion."

Aerion opened his eyes to see Ser Barristan Selmy standing over him, his ever-stern expression softened by concern. The knight's voice was low and purposeful.

"You must wake now. There are matters of great importance to attend to."

Aerion rubbed his eyes, the remnants of the strange dream still clouding his mind. He pushed the feelings aside, knowing there were more pressing concerns. He nodded, quickly throwing on his clothes and rising from the bed.

As they walked through the halls of the quiet chambers in Volantis, Aerion's mind continued to race, the strange dream circling back to him. Could it be a sign of what was to come? What did it mean for him, for the future of the Targaryens?

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The Council Meeting

The pair entered the council room, where several familiar faces waited. The long table was surrounded by those who had become part of Aerion's life over the last few years.

Monford Velaryon, now Captain of the Lost Legion, sat at the far end of the table, deep in conversation with Aurane Waters the Vice-Captain, his half-brother. Both men had grown in power and stature as they led the mercenary group. Their numbers had grown to 11,000 strong, and they had become a force to be reckoned with.

To their side was Clement Celtigar, now a man of ten years since the loss of his father. He carried himself with the air of someone who had seen the brutality of war firsthand. Kinvara, the high priestess of the Lord of Light, sat next to him, her eyes distant and filled with the mysteries of the fire she worshipped.

Thoros of Myr stood by the doorway, ever watchful, his eyes gleaming with the fire of prophecy. And beside him, there was Narion Qoherys, the commander of the Lost Legion, standing tall, his heritage as one of the last descendants of the ancient Valyrian nobility unmistakable in his bearing.

When Aerion entered, all eyes turned to him, their expressions a mix of respect and expectation.

Ser Barristan's voice broke the silence. "Aerion, come. We must discuss matters of great importance."

Aerion sat at the table, his eyes scanning each face around him.

Monford spoke first, his tone cautious but resolute. "We still cannot locate Viserys. Nor have we heard anything of Daenerys. The usurper grows stronger with each passing day. His alliances with the Lannisters, the Starks, and Arryns only increase his power. But we, too, are growing in strength."

Clement leaned forward, his brow furrowed with a mixture of concern and ambition. "We have 11,000 men, all of whom are loyal to the Lost Legion. We can take the throne when the time is right. But where is Viserys in all of this? Shouldn't he be leading us?"

Aerion stayed silent, the weight of his dream heavy upon him. Was the time really right for Viserys? Would the throne even belong to him, or was it meant for someone else?

Thoros spoke next, his voice calm and distant. "The Lord of Light has shown us that there is a path, though it is uncertain. We will wait for the flame to guide us. Viserys is the rightful king, but he is not yet ready. The flame whispers to us, telling us that the one who will rise will not do so until the time is perfect."

Monford nodded grimly. "That's true, but we cannot sit idly by while Robert Baratheon and his allies rebuild their forces. The time for action will come soon, and we need to be prepared."

Clement's voice cut through the tension. "I don't like the idea of Viserys sitting on the throne. He's mean, unfit to lead. I believe it should be Aerion who takes the crown."

A murmur passed through the room, but Barristan quickly responded, his voice firm. "The line of succession is clear. Viserys is the rightful heir, and that is what matters. It is not for us to decide who sits the throne. The laws of the realm dictate that Viserys must be the one to rule."

Aerion nodded slowly, his fingers drumming on the table. He had no desire to take the throne by force. His path would be determined by destiny, by whatever the gods—the Lord of Light, the Seven, and whatever else they might be—had in store for him.

As the discussion continued, Aerion's thoughts drifted back to his dream. The kraken, the stag, the wolf, the lion, and the two dragons—one pale and weak, the other dark and hiding. What did it mean? Could it have been a prophecy, one that spoke of his own future?

Was he the dark dragon hiding from the light of the stag? Or was he the pale one, weak and uncertain, struggling to find his strength?

He didn't know, but deep in his heart, he could feel the pull of something greater, something waiting for him to understand.

For now, he would continue to train, to learn, to grow stronger. He would become the man he was meant to be—whether it was for the throne, for his family, or for something entirely different.

The time would come when the truth would be revealed. Until then, he would stand ready.