The air in the Great Hall of the Red Keep was suffocating, heavy with fear and political execution. Upon the Iron Throne sat King Aegon I Targaryen, his face cut from Dragonstone, flanked by Grand Maester Gawen and the silent, imposing white cloaks of the Kingsguard. In the centre of the floor stood Martyn Hightower, who had inherited Oldtown following his father Manfred's death in the melee barely a year ago, alongside his younger brother, Morgan.
They looked pale and desperate, cornered like beasts. Needless to say, they were nervous, but not as nervous as they should have been.
"Martyn of House Hightower, Morgan of House Hightower," Aegon's voice boomed, cold and devoid of any of his usual royal mercy. "You stand accused of high treason, of orchestrating the assassination of the Prince of the Realm via the poisoned cup of your dead sister, and of conspiracy. How do you plead?"
Martyn stepped forward, his jaw tight, his voice trembling but controlled with a mix of fury and fear.
"Not guilty, Your Grace! We are loyal servants of the Crown and the Faith! My sister was murdered, and my father was butchered in cold blood on your tourney grounds! This is a staged conspiracy to destroy House Hightower!"
The people in the room started to murmur among themselves.r Several gasps and shocked voices could be heard.
"You call it a conspiracy," Aegon replied, leaning forward, his eyes flashing with the dangerous memory of seeing his son almost dying of poison. "Yet your sister sat next to Maegor and served him wine that contained the Strangler. The evidence of Oldtown's greed and malice is etched into every corner of this plot. I already conceded that your father's death had been a tragedy. But to go and seek vengeance, that is unacceptable, especially since the death took place during a tourney."
"Why would we do that, Your Grace?! We had no reason to?" Martyn said.
"LIES! Our father was murdered deliberately. It had nothing to do with bad luck. Maegor Targaryen killed him in cold blood. I saw it with my own eyes!" Morgan shouted.
"Stop it, brother!! I beseech you, do not make this worse!!" Martyn hissed.
"I am sick and tired of holding my tongue when we all know it! Maegor Targaryen is a murderous bastard, and he picked out our father, the previous Lord of House Hightower, to kill him solely because he didn't want to marry our sister!!"
Shock made its way through the Great Hall. To think these things was one thing, but to speak them out loud in front of the King himself, that was almost fully delusional and suicidal.
Aegon's eyes narrowed.
Martyn swallowed hard, knowing that a trial by standard evidence was already a lost cause now. He didn't know what happened, but he was sure that it had to have been Maegor who did it. He knew as much; he was, after all, a skilled and smart individual. And yet, it didn't matter any more. Their fate now hung by a very thin thread.
He looked at his brother Morgan, then turned his eyes back to the King, pulling his heavy steel gauntlet from his hand and casting it violently onto the stone floor.
"Then we invoke the old laws!" Martyn shouted.
His voice echoed off the thick stony walls as he looked every bit the highborn lord he was.
"We demand trial by combat! Let the gods decide our guilt or innocence!"
A murmur rippled through the gathered lords and knights. It was true, this was their best bet. The reason was also rather simple. At this moment, Maegor Targaryen, whom they knew would kill them with a single thought, was not awake. Or so they thought. So by demanding a trial by combat, they could fight someone other than him.
That was their only chance.
A guard stormed into the room and knelt before the King.
"Your Grace! It's the Prince!"
"What happened?!" Aegon asked anxiously, fearing the worst.
.
Maegor, who had 'finally' woken up, didn't listen to the Grand Maester and walked out of Aegonfort before either of his parents could stop him. He had to be quick; otherwise, he wouldn't make it.
He knew two things. One, House Hightower would pay, and two, his father wouldn't allow him to just burn Oldtown to the ground as he wanted. Truthfully, Maegor wasn't as angry with the Hightowers as he was with this plot, but they had to go; that was certain.
So why did he leave then?
Because it was all leverage against his father, the King; at the end of the day, Smaug wasn't yet big enough to give him the absolute advantage geographically. Maegor could kill Aegon, but he wasn't going to do that for such a reason.
Not because he couldn't or wouldn't, but because this wasn't reason enough to kill his father. Something quite big had to go south for Maegor to kill his father.
By the time the word had spread through Aegonfort, he had already reached the old storehouse beneath the eastern wall.
Smaug waited beneath the open roof. No trace of weakness remained in him. The poisoned meat was eaten, and only scorched bones lay scattered across the black sand. When Maegor entered, the dragon rose onto all four legs and stretched his back.
"Oldtown," Maegor said.
Smaug's yellow eyes widened with understanding, and a grin appeared on the dragon's face.
"At last," the dragon answered.
Maegor climbed into the saddle between Smaug's shoulders. The dragon crouched, sprang upward and beat his wings hard enough to scatter black sand across the entire chamber. He passed through the open roof, cleared Aegonfort's eastern wall and climbed over Blackwater Bay before turning southwest.
The guards could only watch him leave, without being able to do anything.
Visenya, after having heard about it, had rushed out of Aegonfort as well and reached Vhagar before her brother had reached Balerion.
Giving the command in High Valyrian, she shouted, and they rose from the hill overlooking the city.
Aegon emerged from Aegonfort moments later to find both his wife and son gone. For several heartbeats, the King stood motionless. Then his anger intensified.
"Balerion."
The Black Dread had been sleeping beyond the unfinished western wall. He raised his enormous head at the sound of Aegon's voice. His wings unfolded, throwing half the nearby camp into shadow.
By the time the dragonkeepers arrived, Aegon was already in the saddle and had commanded Balerion to take flight as well and follow after his wife and son.
.
Smaug was fast and strong already despite his size, but he was still young and needed more experience and time to grow.
His smaller body allowed him to turn more sharply than the older dragons, and his six limbs gave him unusual control in the air. Still, every beat of his wings carried him only a fraction of the distance covered by Vhagar or Balerion. Carrying Maegor placed a further burden on his back.
King's Landing disappeared behind them. Blackwater Bay gave way to the northern reaches of the Kingswood, a vast field of green broken by rivers and occasional clearings, as he reached into Reach territory.
A shadow crossed over Smaug, and moments later, Vhagar descended from the clouds, settling beside them.
Her strong green wings beat hard enough to shake smaller dragons in the air. Smaug huffed and moved forward, but Vhagar matched him. Visenya leaned forward over the saddle, her silver hair lashing behind her.
"You need to pick up the pace. Your father is right behind us!" she shouted.
Maegor looked across at her.
"Not possible."
"Oldtown is hundreds of leagues away. We won't make it at this speed."
"I know."
"Then why are you even trying?" she asked.
"You already know. We need to tickle that dragon, or else he'll die a sheep."
Visenya's expression hardened, but she nodded. She was just as willing to burn Oldtown as he was. But she also knew what truly transpired and wasn't as angry with the Hightowers as she was with Maegor. The plan had been the pinnacle of recklessness.
"The Hightower will burn. Whether that will happen today or tomorrow... it will happen. The Starry Sept will soon enough."
Burning the Hightower would kill hundreds. Burning Oldtown could kill hundreds of thousands and destroy the centre of the Faith and the Citadel in a single afternoon. The realm would not forget such an act, and unlike Aegon, who was called the Conqueror, Maegor would have a terrible name.
But it didn't matter; Aegon wouldn't allow it. Still, they continued southwest together, for this was just as part of the ruse as the assassination attempt.
As Maegor had expressed it two years ago: if you want to truly destroy a high tower, burning it from the air wasn't going to be enough. You had to rip out the foundations and then the entire thing would collapse in itself.
House Hightower was far too powerful, connected, and old to just be finished after they burned Oldtown. And neither would the Faith of the Seven. Burning Oldtown today wouldn't achieve anything. It would only be counterproductive.
Roughly half an hour later, the sky darkened.
*RRROOOOAAARRRR*
A monstrous roar sounded far and wide, announcing the strongest and biggest dragon.
Birds burst from the trees in their thousands and deer fled beneath the canopy. Smaug's eyes turned to look at the Balerion, and Vhagar turned sharply toward the sound.
Balerion descended from above them.
The Black Dread had already overtaken both dragons. His wings stretched across the sky like vast black sails, each downward beat carrying his immense body farther than several strokes from Smaug.
Aegon sat between the ridges of his neck, his cloak snapping behind him. At that moment, he looked every bit the Conqueror as they said he was and not like the Faith's bootliker and politician he had become.
Balerion passed over Smaug so closely that the force of his wings nearly drove the smaller dragon downward. Seeing this, the intelligent fire drake rolled his eyes in annoyance. One shouldn't poke a dragon.
The Black Dread moved across their path and flapped his wings before them, his massive body forming a wall of black scales and old scars. His jaws opened slightly.
"Turn back!" Aegon shouted.
"Fuck off!" came the reply.
Vhagar came between them.
She spread her wings, bared her teeth and released a warning growl that shook the air. Visenya pulled hard upon the saddle chains, but Vhagar's attention remained fixed upon Balerion.
For one dangerous moment, three dragons faced one another above the kingswood.
Smaug's fire continued to glow inside his throat. Vhagar's claws curled beneath her, ready to strike. Balerion hung before them, larger than both dragons, his wings beating with slow and powerful swings.
Aegon looked at Visenya.
"Move her," he warned his sister.
"You nearly threw our son from the sky."
"Our son is trying to start a war."
"He was poisoned beneath your roof! Your weakness nearly killed him!"
"And I will answer it with strength!"
"You answered the murder of Rhaenys with fire. Is this different, because he didn't die?!"
Visenya spat.
The accusation cut deeper than any blade. Aegon's face changed when he heard his favourite sister's name. Visenya knew how to hurt her smaller brother; she had always known. But she was tired of his bullshit.
"That fire bought me nothing," he said. "Only more graves."
Vhagar moved another few feet in front of Smaug. Balerion roared as he felt the challenge. The sound was unlike anything Smaug could produce, and the pressure slammed into them. Smaug grew impatient with the imbecile Balerion.
"Down," Maegor said.
Smaug obeyed.