What should have been a welcoming feast, bright with lanterns, music, and the warm clatter of cups, was quietly reshaped into a farewell banquet by Aegon's subtle maneuvering.
Most at the table could not tell the difference. Food still arrived in silver platters, wine still flowed dark and sweet, and the banners of House Targaryen still hung proudly overhead, their dragons glaring down with embroidered flame. To the court, it was yet another night of feasting, one of many held beneath King Viserys's increasingly indulgent reign.
But for Aegon, every movement tonight was deliberate.
He raised his cup toward Vaemond, catching the older man's gaze across the table. "To House Velaryon," Aegon said, voice warm with respect. "And to its truest son."
Vaemond, already half-drunk and flushed by wine and long-nursed resentment, straightened in pride and clinked his cup eagerly against Aegon's.
"Your Highness is too kind," he said, voice thick.
Aegon offered a comforting smile and began to praise the man, his naval command, his uncompromising standards, his fierce pride in the ancient Velaryon bloodline. Each word was tailored to Vaemond's vanity, and Vaemond, hearing only affirmation, leaned in more and more.
At last, the floodgates of restraint collapsed.
Vaemond poured out his bitterness as though Aegon were the only confidant he had ever known.
He cursed the Seven for their injustice. He grumbled that Corlys had grown old and soft-headed, too consumed by ambition to see the rot beneath his own household's foundations. And then, emboldened by wine and wounded pride, he struck at the highest target of all.
He blamed King Viserys.
He blamed him for failing to marry Laena Velaryon, for choosing Alicent Hightower instead, for allowing Princess Rhaenyra to tarnish the noble Valyrian line with bastards not of Velaryon blood.
Aegon's mouth twitched despite his best effort to remain solemn.
Vaemond truly lacked any sense of caution. He insulted gods and kings with equal boldness, speaking as though consequences were the concern of lesser men.
Yet Aegon found himself oddly amused. Even if Viserys had married Laena, even if she had become queen, Corlys Velaryon would still have sought the same end- binding House Velaryon ever closer to the Iron Throne. He would have lobbied to marry Rhaenyra to Laena's brother or son. He would have bent rules and forged alliances until Velaryon influence reached the crown itself.
And if Laena had borne the king a son…
Aegon had little doubt that Corlys would fight with greater ferocity than Otto Hightower ever had to shift the line of succession. The Sea Snake would never allow a bloodline other than his own to sit above his grandchild. He was too proud, too ambitious, too certain of Velaryon superiority.
But the world allowed no "what ifs."
Laena perished in fire and childbirth. Corlys had married his son Laenor to Rhaenyra, heir to the throne. At first, it seemed a triumph.
Then came the bitter truth.
Laenor produced not a single heir of his own blood.
Whispers spread. The shame was deep, particularly for men like Vaemond, who placed their entire identity upon lineage and legacy. Yet despite the dishonor, hope remained.
Jacaerys Velaryon, though Velaryon in name alone, had been declared heir to the Iron Throne.
If Baela, Laena's eldest daughter, married him, Velaryon blood would still coil its way toward the crown.
And if Rhaena married Lucerys, Velaryon rule over Driftmark would remain unbroken.
Perhaps Laena died never knowing that her daughters would be expected to mend Rhaenyra's broken legacy.
Or perhaps she knew and simply bore the knowledge in silence, as many proud women of Valyria had done before her.
But she was gone now. And the realm moved forward, dragging her children into a future shaped by decisions they never made.
*
The night grew deep.
The moon, ordinarily rich with silver light, had hidden itself behind thick waves of drifting cloud. The torches in the camp flickered restlessly in the wind, their flames bending like blades in a storm.
Aegon, having slipped away from the feast, found Aemond seated alone on a wooden step beside one of the officers' tents.
The boy's silver hair was stirred by the breeze, his arms were crossed, his posture stiff with displeasure.
Aegon approached quietly. "Still angry, are you, little one?"
Aemond jerked his chin away, refusing to meet his eyes.
"I'm ten years old," he muttered. "And you still won't let me drink."
Aegon laughed softly, a warm helpless sound, and tapped the boy sharply on the head.
"You foolish brat. Do you know how much I rely on you?"
Aemond blinked in surprise but said nothing.
"I'm not keeping wine from you because you're young," Aegon continued, lowering himself to eye level. "I need you sharp tonight. I have an important task for you."
The boy's eyes lit instantly, excitement eclipsing the faint sting of pain.
For weeks, Helaena and Daeron had taken on small responsibilities, delivering letters, shadowing trusted courtiers, carrying quiet messages. Duties that made them feel part of Aegon's inner circle.
Aemond, though fiercer and far more eager than both, had been given nothing.
He had asked Aegon once, almost pleaded... to be included in something, anything. Even escorting Helaena or Daeron would have satisfied him. He only wanted to serve his brother, to prove himself worthy.
But Aegon had avoided giving him tasks for one simple reason-
Aemond was fire.
Little provocation was needed to ignite his temper. A wrong word, a mocking laugh, a slight against his honor, Aemond could go from calm to furious in a heartbeat. And if he ever mounted Vhagar in such a state…
He might burn a lord's castle to ash before he realized what he had done.
And no faction could survive such a stain.
But tonight was different.
Aegon placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You and I will carry out this task together. If you were drunk, you might ruin it before we began. Remember, little brother... wine spoils more plans than it mends."
But Aemond just nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes. Just tell me the task."
Aegon raised a brow. "My lectures bore you that much?"
Aemond grimaced. "Mother lectures for hours, but yours make me want to sleep."
Aegon flicked his ear. "Ingrate."
"ow!-Just tell me!"
Aegon leaned closer, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.
"We mount our dragons. And we raid Tyrosh tonight."
Aemond's breath caught sharp in his throat.
"Just the two of us?" He glanced toward the tents. "Where are Helaena and Daeron?"
"Asleep. This is for us alone. Brothers in arms. A secret mission. Do you have courage enough for it?"
Aemond stood at once, back straight, hand clenching around the hilt of an imaginary sword.
"Tonight, Vhagar will make the greedy Tyroshi choke on fire and blood."
Aegon smiled faintly. "Then why linger?"
He stepped into the darkness beyond the tent's edge.
"Come. Let us remind them of a Dragon's wrath."
*
The night sky was thick as ink, clouded and starless. A man could lift his hand before his face and see nothing but a black blur.
Yet Aegon felt Sunfyre's warmth beneath him, golden scales glimmering faintly even in the absence of light. Beside them, Vhagar crouched low, ancient and colossal, her breath steaming through the darkness.
With a single beat of mighty wings, the dragons rose.
They ascended quietly, their flight smooth and controlled, as if even the winds feared to rouse them.
The cold bit at Aegon's cheeks. He leaned low over Sunfyre's neck, feeling the dragon's powerful muscles shift with each steady stroke. Ahead, Aemond guided Vhagar with fierce confidence.
The two dragons climbed higher, then leveled out, gliding swiftly toward Tyrosh.
It took little time.
Soon the distant glow of the city appeared... a wash of pale gold against the horizon.
Aegon frowned. Are they celebrating? Had the Tyroshi already returned to their excesses? They had been struck by dragonfire only hours earlier. Surely they were not so foolish as to revel beneath its smoke.
But as Sunfyre swept closer, the truth emerged.
Those were not lanterns of festivity. They were torches held by overseers.
Their whips cracked sharply in the night as they drove exhausted slaves to rebuild the shattered walls.
"Vile slavers," Aegon muttered, lip curling in contempt. "Whipping their chattel even past midnight."
Sunfyre rumbled, a low, simmering growl of shared anger.
Around them, the wind shifted.
And the night, which had seemed so still, began at last to tremble.
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A/N: The world is moving in shadows, schemes brewing, alliances breaking, and every soul chasing wealth or survival. No one knows what comes next…
Who wins? Who falls? Only time will tell.
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