111 AC
The tournament celebrating the fifth anniversary of the King and Queen's marriage opened in grand fashion in King's Landing.
Criston Cole, wearing Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen's favor, quickly unhorsed Gawen Hightower.
"Uncle is still impressive," someone remarked. "He lasted five rounds before being unhorsed."
In the stands, Aegon Targaryen sat with a history book in hand. He smiled faintly as he spoke to his mother while turning its pages.
Alicent Hightower looked displeased.
As the King's second queen, she was under constant scrutiny and could not show her feelings openly.
Aegon said nothing more. He did not care who won or lost. His attention remained fixed on The History of the Targaryen Dynasty.
He was no ordinary child. Inside his young body lived the soul of a twenty-four-year-old man from another world.
In his previous life, he had read Fire & Blood, the chronicle of the brutal civil war that tore the Targaryen dynasty apart.
That war began with the struggle for the Iron Throne between King Viserys I's named heir, Rhaenyra, and his second wife Alicent Hightower's eldest son—Aegon himself.
The moment he realized he had become Aegon Targaryen, he abandoned all thoughts of idleness.
He was Viserys I's eldest son, and many across the realm wished to see him crowned.
Yet his half-sister, the current heir to the Iron Throne, also commanded powerful support.
From the instant the midwife cried, "A boy!", the game of thrones had begun.
And in this game, there could be no end unless one side was completely destroyed.
Amid thunderous cheers from nobles and smallfolk alike, the tournament came to a close.
As expected, Criston Cole emerged as the final champion.
But just as he stepped forward to receive the crowd's acclaim, a dragon's roar split the sky.
"Screeech!"
A sharp, terrifying cry echoed above the tourney grounds as a massive blood-red dragon burst through the clouds and descended.
"Caraxes," Aegon murmured softly. "The Blood Wyrm—huge, fearsome, and hardened by battle."
The dragon landed before the central grandstand, its presence overwhelming.
Alicent unconsciously began picking at her fingers.
The dragon's rider was Prince Daemon Targaryen, the King's younger brother.
Worse still, Daemon and her father, Otto Hightower, were bitter enemies.
Two years earlier, Otto had been dismissed as Hand of the King for overstepping in matters of succession.
Since then, Alicent had lost her strongest support, and House Hightower's influence in King's Landing had fallen to its lowest point.
Fortunately, she had proven both fertile and favored. In five years, she had given Viserys two sons and a daughter.
With heirs to strengthen her position—and having fulfilled Viserys's lifelong desire for a son—her standing in the Red Keep remained secure.
Aegon noticed his mother's tension. He reached out and gently held her hand, stopping her from worrying at her fingers.
"Mother," he said quietly, "do you know you pick at your fingers when you're nervous?"
Alicent froze. She knew the habit well.
What she did not understand was how her young son knew—or why he cared.
Seeing her confusion, Aegon sighed inwardly. His mother was still too innocent.
"If I know this about you, others can too," he said softly. "Now that Grandfather is gone, you must stay strong. You cannot let certain people think we are easy to bully."
Alicent suddenly understood.
She squeezed Aegon's small hand, her eyes filled with relief and gratitude. Straightening her back, she regained her gentle, composed smile.
While mother and son whispered, Daemon—wearing a crown—had already approached Viserys.
Two Kingsguard knights instantly drew their swords, blocking his path.
Viserys, now middle-aged, still carried unmistakable royal authority despite his fuller face.
"You wear a crown," he said calmly. "Have you come to call yourself king?"
He showed no anger. During his reign, Daemon had caused enough chaos that even such a declaration would not have surprised him.
But Daemon had not returned to provoke his brother.
He tossed the captured weapons at Viserys's feet and dropped to one knee.
"After conquering the Stepstones, they named me King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones," Daemon said."But I know there is only one true king—and that is you.
"I return the crown and the Stepstones to you. They are yours."
Viserys looked at his kneeling brother, and a smile slowly appeared.
At last, Daemon had grown up.
The King stepped forward, helped him rise, and placed the crown back into his hands. He kissed Daemon on both cheeks, welcoming him home.
At the reunion of Prince Baelon's bloodline, nobles and commoners alike erupted into cheers.
The loudest voice belonged to Princess Rhaenyra.
Her uncle's sudden return filled her with joy, and she even begged him not to leave again so soon.
Aegon clapped enthusiastically as well.
Yet as he watched Viserys and Daemon, a strange glint flickered in his eyes.
Such deep and noble brotherly love.
Sadly, within half a year at most, Daemon would be exiled once more—sent back to the Stepstones to fight again.
"He is also your enemy, Aegon," Alicent whispered.
Aegon did not reply. He continued applauding until the cheers faded, then slowly lowered his hands.
Some things could not be spoken aloud.
When the time came, one had to act.
If everyone applauded and you did not, others would see you as petty.
Aegon felt a trace of helplessness. He was still too young.
Show too little, and you seemed dull.Show too much, and it became dangerous.
And when it came to schemes, nothing was more important than never appearing too clever.