Aegon found his father in the solar, seated by the window, light muted through the thick curtains. Viserys looked smaller here, his frame bent not only by age but by the weight of ruling a fractured realm. His eyes briefly lifted when Aegon entered but did not invite him to sit.
"Father," Aegon began carefully, "I hoped to speak with you alone."
Viserys nodded slowly, voice soft but firm. "Speak, then. The court moves too fast; here, we might find some quiet."
Aegon hesitated a fraction before continuing. "The succession—it's a trouble that grows with each passing day. The last council only made clear how divided our house truly is."
Viserys's gaze darkened. "The line is set. You know that. I chose Rhaenyra's sons to follow me."
Aegon met his father's eyes steadily. "I respect your will. But..." he paused, choosing his words, "the realm watches not just who stands tallest in shadowed halls. They watch who acts, who leads. And not all see the path you have drawn as just—or wise."
Viserys said nothing for a long moment. "Blood is blood, boy. You speak as if birthright could be altered by approval or opinion. It cannot. Rhaenyra's sons are of my bloodline, and their place does not change."
Aegon's voice softened, almost pleading. "I understand law and blood, truly I do. But I ask... whose blood carries the future strength of the realm? Does legitimacy mean anything if it comes without loyalty from great lords, from the people, from strength?"
Viserys gave a dry, humorless laugh. "You speak of strength as if it belongs to any one prince. Strength belongs to the crown, to the lineage—and it is mine until I die."
"I do not seek to step beyond you while you still wear the crown," Aegon replied carefully, "but to prepare it for the years ahead. A reign needs more than just right—it needs support."
Viserys looked at his son more fully now, weariness and disappointment mingling. "And what support do you have that Rhaenyra's sons do not? You gather whispers and favors as any claimant might, but the bloodline stands stronger than words or alliances."
Aegon straightened. "Perhaps. But a king who cannot hold his own house cannot hold the realm. I want only to serve the realm—and to bear the burden properly when my time comes."
Viserys's eyes narrowed: "Your time is not now."
"And maybe it never will be," Aegon said, voice low, "if the crown is held by fear of losing it rather than by will to keep it."
The king's silence was hard, and when he finally spoke, it was with a tired finality. "You speak dangerously, Aegon. Remember your place."
"I do," Aegon said quietly. "But I also remember the cost silence can bring. Do not mistake respect for weakness, or loyalty for blindness."
Viserys sighed deeply. "You are my son. You will inherit what I leave. But this talk of rivalry, of challenge—that is a path to ruin."
Aegon's jaw clenched hard as he turned away from the window and back toward his father's quiet figure. The restraint he'd held began to fray, hot frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Father, while I honor your choice, I cannot pretend Rhaenyra is the answer. She plays the part of the princess—the rightful heir—but behind that crown, she is cold, cruel, and selfish."
Viserys's eyes flicked sharply to him, but Aegon pressed on, tone edged with bitterness. "She cares little for the realm beyond her claim or the children she pushes ahead like pieces in a game, not heirs with duty. Her ambition blinds her to the needs of the kingdom, and worse, to the damage she leaves in her path."
"I am your firstborn—your son who has carried the burden of this house through fire and loss, who has worked to hold it together when her faction sought to tear it apart. I do not make threats or poison words, but I do not shy from saying that the crown should be mine in right and in deed."
Aegon stepped closer, voice lowering to steel. "My strength is built on more than birthright—it is earned every day through action and sacrifice. If the crown sits with her, it will crumble under her cold rule, and the realm will bleed more for it."
Viserys's hand tightened on the armrest. "You speak sharply of your sister, and that is dangerous."
"I speak only what I see." Aegon's gaze was unwavering. "She is not the ruler this realm needs. And if you continue to favor her and Daemon's reckless ambition over the future of House Targaryen, you risk not only your legacy but the kingdom itself."
The king's voice was rough and weary. "Family is complicated, Aegon. Blood binds us in ways words cannot undo."
"Blood," Aegon said bitterly, "binds, yes—but it also does not blind if a ruler chooses to see clearly. I have seen too much already—not just of her vanity but of the fractures in loyalty she causes with every step she takes."
Viserys looked at his son with a mix of sorrow and warning. "There is still time for peace—do not let anger guide you to ruin this house."
Aegon's breath hitched, but he forced calm over the fire in his chest. "I know what I risk. But I refuse to stand aside while those who care only for their own advantage threaten everything we are."
He bowed his head, voice low but resolute. "I am ready to fight for this crown—and for the realm that needs more than just a name on a throne."
Viserys's worn hands clenched briefly on the armrest, his gaze heavy with the burden of ruling a house torn string by string. "Aegon," he said in a low, gravelly voice, "you speak with fire and conviction, more than I recall from your youth. But this fire... it must be tempered. Our bloodline is more than strength or ambition. It is history, tradition, and duty. Rhaenyra is chosen, and Daemon stands at her side, sworn to the house and the realm."
He leaned forward, as if to impress the weight of these old certainties on his son. "You speak of fractures, but a family divided cannot stand. I will not see our house torn apart by a war between siblings. The realm has suffered enough."
Aegon met his father's gaze evenly. "Peace is not found by silence or ignoring rot beneath the surface. The cracks in our house run deep. If left to fester, they will break us all."
Viserys sighed, heavy and resigned. "Then do what you must, son. But remember—you are still my son. My blood. And this house… my burden to carry as long as I live."
Just as silence settled thick between them, a sudden loud knock at the chamber door shattered the fragile quiet.
A steward hurried in, breathless, pale. "Your Grace, I bring word from the ship in Blackwater Bay. Princess Rhaenyra—has... she been wed."
Viserys's eyes narrowed with sudden sharpness. "Wed? By whose authority?"
The steward swallowed. "To Prince Daemon, Your Grace. The knot was tied just yesterday on Driftmark."
The chamber fell into stunned stillness.
Viserys's lips tightened briefly, then loosened in a sigh.
Aegon's eyes caught a flicker of something different—a slow, deliberate grin spreading across his face.
The prince stepped away from his father, the tension in his shoulders easing as a cold satisfaction settled in.
"Married," he murmured, voice low but unmistakably pleased. "Very well."
Aegon let the words hang between them like a challenge wrapped in silk.