It had been three days since Aegon’s presentation, and the Red Keep still buzzed with excitement. The firstborn son of King Viserys and Queen Aemma had presented as an omega, just as the prophecy had whispered generations ago — an omega with dragon’s blood, rare and revered.
Alphas from every great house had flooded the Keep since sunrise that first day — Baratheons with stormy scents, Velaryons smelling of sea salt and wind, even Lannisters drenched in lion’s musk and gold perfume. But not one had stirred the smallest spark in the young prince.
Aegon sat in his chambers that night, tense and restless. His scent — rich with dragonfire and honey — had begun to turn sharp with frustration. His instincts screamed for an alpha, for his alpha.
Queen Aemma noticed. She’d been an omega long enough to recognize the signs: sleepless nights, constant pacing, the faint tremor in his hands. It was dangerous for unmated omegas, especially royal ones — every beta and alpha in King’s Landing could scent the vulnerability.
At supper, Rhaenys leaned toward her cousin and asked lightly,
“Aemma… have you heard from your brother lately? The one who bonded with that wild dragon — Ghost, was it?”
Viserys looked up curiously.
“Rhaegar Arryn,” he murmured. “I thought he’d vanished into the Vale’s skies.”
Aemma smiled faintly, though her heart stirred.
“He writes, sometimes. He’s been training Ghost near Dragonstone, I believe. Why do you ask?”
Rhaenys’s violet eyes glimmered with mischief.
“He’s an alpha, isn’t he? A dragonrider, untamed and strong. Perhaps your son should meet him.”
Viserys chuckled — until he noticed Aegon’s expression. The boy’s lilac eyes were wide, lips parted just slightly, as if his instincts had caught wind of something before his mind did.
“Uncle Rhaegar,” he whispered, as if testing the sound of it. “Mother, send a raven. Please.”
The raven flew that very night.
And barely a day later, the skies above King’s Landing thundered.
The guards cried out as a massive pale dragon descended from the clouds — white as moonlight, eyes glowing like embers. Ghost, they whispered, the dragon no man could tame… except one.
You dismounted before the gates. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the silver-gold hair of Old Valyria and eyes like the deep violet of dusk. Your presence filled the courtyard — calm, commanding, alpha.
Aegon stood on the balcony above with Rhaenyra and Alicent, his breath catching. He could feel the scent even from that distance — storm and smoke and mountain wind. It rolled over him like a physical touch, made his heartbeat stutter, made his dragon stir in recognition.
Rhaenyra nudged him with a teasing smirk.
“You’re drooling, brother.”
He didn’t even hear her.
⸻
That evening, when the family gathered in the great hall, you knelt before the King and Queen.
“Your Grace. My Queen. I came as soon as I received your message.”
Your voice was smooth, low, commanding — and the sound alone made Aegon’s skin flush.
Aemma smiled warmly.
“It is good to see you again, brother. You’ve missed much… including my son’s presentation.”
Your eyes flicked toward Aegon, and something in the air changed.
The young omega’s scent bloomed instantly — honey and fire and fear — and Ghost, waiting beyond the walls, roared in answer.
Your violet pupils dilated.
Every dragon in the Keep stirred in their pits.
Viserys blinked in alarm as heat and scent filled the hall — the unmistakable pull of bonding instinct awakening between two dragons of the same blood.
Later that night, when Aegon wandered into the dragonyard — unable to sleep, drawn by something primal — he found you there, standing beside Ghost’s luminous form.
The alpha turned as if he had been waiting.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone, little dragon.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Aegon murmured. “You smell like… home.”
Your eyes softened, but your voice was careful, restrained.
“You’re too young to understand what that means.”
“I understand enough,” Aegon whispered. “You make my dragon restless.”