The Dragon Winged Prince Of Fire In GOT/ASOIF

Red keep Maegors Holdfast Aegon the winged chambers

Fear has always kept men from overreaching. The dragon lords of Valyria had lost that fear and suffered mass extinction. When men forget their weakness, they forget how fragile they truly are. The Targaryens had always been cautious—well, too much time had passed. One would guess diversity is strength; that much was obvious in human history. Incest had never worked out, and even the Targaryens were not spared. Madness was almost guaranteed for at least half the family.

Aegon the Winged One, born of the gods, could see the madness in his father's aura, the utter depravity in his namesake's aura, and the lack of wit in his liege queen. He knew his family had weakened themselves in the worst way possible—through inbreeding. He himself was a product of it, but the only difference was that his body was made superior by the manner of his birth and gifts. Oddly enough, his cousin, the queen, had somewhat curbed the madness with his bastards—to hell with that word. The boys were dragons. "True dragons," a voice whispered.

A large mirror reflected a towering figure covered in purple scales over eighty percent of its body. Standing well over seven feet tall, the being had long silver hair that cascaded down his back, partially covering a thick, rigid-scaled tail. The once-small horns atop his head now measured twenty centimeters. Yet, even with all these inhuman features, nothing was more imposing than the large, leathery wings extending from his back. Now that he had grown taller, they had gained surprising dexterity. 

In the reflection, a deceptively human face stared back—a handsome face, to be sure. His father's son. But those reptilian eyes were utterly unfathomable, void of doubt. 

"You truly are beautiful," a low, seductive voice murmured.

Turning from the mirror, he saw a bed where two women lay. One was a tall, dark-skinned beauty, the other a petite, fair-skinned woman with white hair—more like a fairy than a human. A deep chuckle escaped his lips as he turned fully, a wide, unnatural smile exposing his sharp teeth. 

"Beautiful, yes?" he questioned. 

The smaller woman, undressed, slowly left the bed, careful not to wake the other sleeping figure. She walked toward him, pressing herself against his chest. 

"Yes, you are beautiful and warm," she repeated in a low, seductive voice. 

The words sent a jolt through the man's body, causing an immediate reaction in his lower half. The woman felt it against her stomach. With the ease of a man handling a child, he lifted her, and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. His reptilian eyes bore into hers as he spoke in his most charming voice. 

"You would know of beauty, my Halaena," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her deeply. 

As their lips met, he carried her effortlessly to a nearby wall, breaking the kiss just as the stiffening limb between his legs pressed against her entrance. From the dazed, eager look in her eyes, she wanted this just as much. 

"My Halaena," he growled possessively before lowering her onto him. 

The massive length pushed deep into her, filling her with warmth and undeniable arousal. This was not her first ride on this man, and the bulge in her stomach had become a feeling of true ecstasy. She was about to scream in pleasure, but he caught her lips once more, muffling the sound as he began thrusting into her against the wall. 

The wet noises were low enough that the other woman in the room remained undisturbed. Entwined in their passion, the large man was gentle—but to the woman, his "gentle" was what other men would consider their best efforts. His rapid pace sent her into bliss, her moans muffled by his lips. As her pleasure reached its peak, she bit down hard on his chest, but he felt nothing; his scaled flesh was tougher than leather armor. The bite intensified, signaling how close she was. 

Sensing this, his thrusts grew faster, more intense. Halaena's body trembled, her walls tightening and loosening in rhythmic contractions. Overcome with pleasure, she passed out mid-climax, her limp body still bouncing in his grasp. The man continued for another ten minutes before unleashing an ungodly amount of seed inside her. With a few final grunts, he looked down at his unconscious partner, an awed expression still on her face. 

He had come to realize something—he was the dream of all women. Not only could he bed them to multiple completions, but they never had to walk themselves to bed afterward; he would always carry them. Unsheathing himself from her, his seed escaped, trickling from her entrance as he gently laid her beside the other sleeping woman. 

Muttering to himself, he said, "Beautiful. As long as you see me as such, I will wear whatever moniker the rabble put onto me."

Titles ran through his mind—the Dog of the Queen, the Hidden King, the Dragon Dog, the Pirate Prince, the Sky Serpent. 

"I quite like those last two," he mused.

The others were recent additions, spoken by rebels who had now gone into hiding. By hiding, he meant they had called off whatever they were attempting after his men took control of the docks, gates, and castle within hours. They had tried to make a political call for a great council. Now, some small noble family needed a new head. 

He had made it clear to every noble family in the kingdom that those not linked to the Targaryens by blood had no right to speak of succession. His exact words had been: 

"If you are a rat of rat blood and rat origin, you speak not of the House of the Dragon. And if I hear you speak on a dragon's legitimacy, always remember—there are knights who need castles and new lands to start their legacy."

Then, before the gathered nobles and his family, he had declared his marriage to Halaena and his plans to take another wife. The uproar was immediate. His family and the other nobles had directed their outrage at him, but he didn't mind. He needed their anger focused on him while Rhaenyra and his father secured favorable alliances through his siblings. 

He had suggested they find suitable spouses in all directions to dissuade foolish ambitions—except in the West. No, the West needed an example. The blonde cunt would serve as that example, watching as every great family gained a royal marriage. There had been enough inbreeding for a while.

Authors note 

ladies and gentlemen i had a stroke of genius or a stroke either way i woke up at 3 Am from a dream of the ages in this dream i saw it the perfect way to move forward with this story yes i saw it clearly "plot holes " that i can fit in later as i continue my god it was so simple just move forward and figure shit out as you and i did it then i wrote and wrote then yes then as i was at the apex of my writing it came that dreaded call "Ah you coming back to bed" and my fellow brethren i rose to the call for one who was maidenless for many a moons you know when the sleepy sultry voice calls in the morning and hour from your alarm you go to that voice and you tune it hoping the neighbours hear everything and thus i regret to inform you my stroke of genius no pun intended ended prematurely unlike my strokes in the sheets my writing stroke comes sporadic nowadays but as many nerds and otaku have wished i have someone to fill and if that means losing a little momentum i would think you would understand 

ps; Maidenless i am not

ps; that weird old school pen is a quill i forgot that word completely