The blizzard whipped at your skin, sharp and blistering. It stung your eyes as you looked back, watching your home become overrun by the dead.
Winterfell had fallen.
Clinging to Viserion's warm scales, you held onto all that you had now. Your dragon and direwolf. Your furry companion was nestled under you to the best of both your abilities as you gripped Viserion's spines, holding on tight as he flew further and further away, desperate to save himself and his beloved new rider.
Like you, he cried, letting out deep sounds of mourning as, in all likelihood, his brothers and mother were dead, just like the rest of the North's forces.
Gods know how long you flew for, but after what felt like hours, you began to feel off, eyes slipping shut.
And then, with a burst of light, you were gone.
Walking the beaches of Dragonstone, Aegon contemplated the future, plans slowly cementing themselves before his minds eye. His dream of a blue-eyed threat, of an endless night and a winter that encapsulated the whole world, haunted him. He'd had that dream since he was young and first bonded to Balerion. But then other dreams made themselves known.
Him, on a throne of swords. People with his features with crowns on their heads. And then a man's voice whispering that, "The dragon must have three heads."
Aegon knew it was about him. How could it not be? He, Visenya, and Rhaenys were the three heads of the dragon, which they made into their banner and sigil. His prophetic dreams could only be about them and their line, their descendants. After all, who else could it be? They were the last dragon riders in the world.
Or, at least, he thought so until the impossible happened.
A light caught his eye, and Aegon paused, hand on his sword. He watched, weary yet curious as the light expanded, air thick with something... magical. And then–
A roar of anguish and a loud crash. Aegon couldn't believe his eyes as a dragon with pale cream scales and golden horns crash landed in the sand, sending grains everywhere. The creature was unknown to him, as there were only three adult dragons they were aware of– that being his own Balerion, and Vhagar and Meraxes.
This dragon was bigger than his sisters mounts, yet only half the size of his own. A small mercy, he thought, in case this dragon was hostile.
But then something even queerer occurred.
A girl slid off the dragon's back (no saddle, he noted), a giant wolf in tow. He stared, awestruck, fascinated by this feat of... magic or godly intervention, taking you in. Oddest of all, he thought, was that you didn't have the Valyrian features he expected of a dragon rider. You looked like a Stark of all things!
But then you looked up, and Aegon felt his heart skip a beat.
You had his sisters features. His features.
How? Where did you come from? Who were you? Where'd you get a dragon?
Why did you have his features?
Standing taller, Aegon began to approach, mentally calling for Balerion for backup.
"You there!" He called, grabbing your attention. "You're currently in the presence of the Lord of Dragonstone. I am Aegon of House Tàrgaryen. And you are, my lady?" He gave your companions an interested look, the dragon especially. "Perhaps you can inform me why you're seemingly bonded to a dragon when you are not of my house." That he knew of. There's always a chance you were a dragonseed, one of his father's or grandfather's, even.