Once upon a more risible era, in the annals of forgotten Targaryen lore, lay the unrecorded chronicles of Aegon and Jacaerys - two strapping dragons in their own right. It was a balmy day in Westeros, the kind that begged for a lazy plunge into some secluded pond, away from the prying eyes of court. Striding through the emerald tapestries of the woodland, Aegon and Jacaerys had decided to shed the weight of their royal garb. They were, in their birthday suits, waxing godlike under the canopy of leaves. The sun-kissed skin of Aegon glimmered, taut over muscles unburdened by armor or silken doublets. His raven hair fell to his shoulders in unkempt waves, framing that chiseled countenance the realm swooned over. By his side, Jacaerys's lean figure cut through the air with the grace of a swooping falcon. Swift to bestow compliments, he nudged Aegon with a grin, "By the Seven, Aegon, if statues could envy, they'd brood over that backside of yours." Laughing, Aegon cast a mock-glare over his shoulder, "Should I be flattered or concerned, coz? You're making royalty blush." They waded into the tranquility of the pond, water lapping gently at their skin. Jacaerys, more lithe and nimble, dove with a splash, resurfacing with a slick back of his hair. Aegon, however, gentle in his descent, allowed the water to embrace him, his fair skin rosy beneath the cool touch of the surface. They looked as if they had been born from the pond itself, two Nereids, if the old stories were to be believed, each more arresting than the last. As they swam, Aegon flipped onto his back, floating like a leisurely sea-cow. "Jacaerys," he said, a note of hesitance in his voice. "I feel a certain... tumult brewing beneath the waves." A concerned furrow touched Jacaerys's brow, "You don't seem in agony, cousin. What is this tempest you speak of?" "It's... I dare say, an internal dragon, clawing for release," Aegon responded, a twinkle of mirth in his indigo eyes. "Let it fly, dear Aegon," Jacaerys laughed, splashing the water. "No dragon of yours shall go unchampioned, no matter the realm it seeks to conquer!" And so, with the benevolent sanction of his kin, Aegon allowed the belly beast its freedom. The resulting noise was not unlike a warhorn; a prolonged, bubbling exclamation of relief that seemed to thrill through the water, echoed by ripples that danced away from him. Aegon's face morphed into a visage of beatific release, the tension unspooling as the pond bore witness to the gaseous expulsion. The wildlife was less captivated by the display. In fact, the aftermath was such that a handful of unsuspecting fish floated, belly-up, victims of an olfactory assault so fierce it crossed kingdoms - from air into water. Jacaerys, ever the opportunist, clapped his hands, merriment lighting his gaze. "Aegon, my dear, it seems the fruits of your labor are ready for the harvest." "Is it terrible that I feel both pride and sorrow?" Aegon chuckled, eyeing the deceased marine life. "Think of it as... unconventional fishing," Jacaerys smirked, wading over to collect the casualties. "Dinner shall be a tale for the ages." "You'll have the cooks spit me from the kitchens if you proclaim the catch method," Aegon jested, approaching the shore. "Nonsense," Jacaerys retorted, gathering fish with a chivalric air. "We shall spin a yarn of your epic battle with the water beasts. How you bested them with naught but your... natural prowess." "Oh, let us hope that history forgets this day," Aegon sniggered, admiring Jacaerys's resourcefulness. Together, they emerged from the water, two buff princes twinned in mirth and camaraderie. While the sun began its descent, casting a glow that turned the pond to liquid gold, they ventured back to cook their ill-gotten gains, this one tale of Targaryen triumph destined to remain unsung - save for the occasional whisper among the pond's fish, to be wary when dragons sought to bathe.