The wind over the Reach felt gentler than in the Stormlands, carrying a different fragrance and ambience. Aegon watched blooming fields and massive orchards on his travels so far.
Aegon soared through the morning sky upon Fiendfyre, the dragon's black scales glinting in the sunlight as fertile plains of ripe fields stretched out below. The Mander twisted through green and gold fields, dotted with villages and large septs. He noticed the villages and fields here were better maintained than most of the places he had visited. It was a beautiful sight from the clouds.
'The magic of Garth Greenhand, if myths are to be believed.' Aegon mused as he watched the Reach's ripe fields from the back of his dragon.
The sun shone upon the Reach, bathing the fields in gold. As time passed, he saw the endless farmlands disappear, and a city appeared before his eyes in the distance.
Oldtown appeared before his eyes with its white walls gleaming, its towers rising high, pointing toward the heavens. The Honeywine gleamed as it ran through the heart of the city, and from its banks rose the Hightower itself, crowned with its great beacon of eternal flame. Its beacon remained lit, shining from the top of the Hightower.
For all its majesty, King's Landing lacked the aged dignity of Oldtown. The sheer weight of the city's history hit Aegon then. This was arguably the first city of Westeros. Its foundations could be traced back thousands of years, long before Dragonlords even existed, and Valyrians were sheep herders. People had built homes and started farming these lands when the rest of the world was left depending on caves. This was the place where the spark of civilisation first lit in Westeros.
Fiendfyre descended on his urging, landing beyond the city's gates upon a broad field kept for visiting dragons. The Hightowers had graciously built great pens for the royal family's dragons. After all, his grandfather had visited the city many times during his processions. A company of Hightower guards was already waiting, their green-and-white cloaks against their steel armour. At their head rode a man of considerable age, his hair streaked with grey though his back was straight as a spear. Unlike the others, he wore no armour and bore the Hightower beacon stitched on his black doublet.
"Prince Aegon," the man said as he dismounted, bowing deeply as he could. "Oldtown welcomes you. I am Ser Bryndon Hightower, cousin to Lord Gunthor. My lord bid me escort you to the Hightower. The servants have been arranged to keep your dragon fed and watered."
Aegon inclined his head with a courteous smile as one of the men offered him a horse.
"Your house's courtesy is as famed as its tower." Aegon said after settling himself upon the white horse. "Lead the way, ser."
As they rode through Oldtown's streets, Aegon observed the city — the ringing of bells from the Citadel, the calls of fishmongers near the ever-busy markets, and the endless flow of people crossing the bridges over the Honeywine. Compared to King's Landing, Oldtown was calm, ordered, steeped in faith and the men of knowledge. People from across Westeros came to this city for the Citadel and trade. The people in the city watched his every move as he rode in with an escort. It was not the first time Oldtown had hosted someone of royal blood with a dragon, and he had sent a raven ahead to the Hightower to inform them of his arrival. Still, his hair and eyes were a dead giveaway of his identity, and people watched him when he passed by the streets.
He noticed the streets were all cobbled, unlike the muddy pits that served as roads in King's Landing. The city smelled of flowers, and the people looked clean and healthy. Four rows of Hightower guards flanked him as they escorted him into the city's interior, but the people enthusiastically waved and called out to him.
He gave the courtesy of waving back to the crowd with a smile. Though he remained friendly, Aegon was also cautious. This was the same crowd that once happily went along with the demonising of his family. It was long before his time, and he knew hardly anyone remained from that era.
Still, Aegon knows the hold the Starry Sept has over the populace.
As Master of Whispers, he was not ignorant of some of the rhetoric the Faith resorts to in places they think they are beyond his sight, even though they've outwardly accepted the Doctrine of Exceptionalism.
Therefore, it was with cautious optimism that Aegon rode into the city which served as the heart and mind of the Faith of the Seven.
The Starry Sept loomed across the river, its many towers capped with glass and marble, gleaming like a crown under the sun.
The Hightower itself dwarfed every other structure. When Aegon entered its halls, he was greeted by the scent of beeswax candles, leaving a lingering honeyed smell in the air. Tapestries of past lords and battles hung on the walls—proud men who had guarded the Reach since the days of the First Men. Aegon even noted murals depicting the Children of the Forest in some section of the walls. He stayed a bit longer, watching those murals as they reminded him of House Elves.
Lord Gunthor awaited him in a chamber overlooking the sea, where the light from the great beacon fell through coloured glass and bathed the room in hues of gold.
Gunthor Hightower was every bit more commanding than his brother Otto Hightower. His beard bore several streaks of white, and his eyes were brown in colour. He rose to greet Aegon, his movement slow but dignified.
"Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Aegon. The blood of dragons graces my hall once more."
Aegon nodded in greeting.
"Lord Hightower. I bring greetings from my grandsire, King Jaehaerys, who holds your house in high esteem."
Gunthor inclined his head ever so slightly.
"The King's wisdom has ever guided the realm through storms that might have broken lesser men. And now, it seems, the winds shift again." his gaze sharpened. "You've come to discuss the council at Harrenhal, do you not?"
Aegon met his eyes evenly.
"I do. My grandsire, in his wisdom, has left the succession of his throne in the hands of his vassals. Soon, the lords of Westeros must decide who shall rule them, Viserys or Rhaenys. I have come not to demand your allegiance on behalf of my brother, my lord, but to ask where your heart lies."
Gunthor gestured for him to sit.
"House Hightower seeks stability, Prince Aegon. Your grandsire gave us that, after long years of strife. I would see it endure."
He poured wine for them both, the crimson liquid catching the sunlight.
"Princess Rhaenys is valiant, and of royal blood. Yet she is a woman, and the realm has not bent to a woman except for the Conqueror's wives. Even then, King Aegon sat the throne, not his wives." Lord Guntor said, his reasoning flawless.
But he was not finished.
"I will not see Westeros divided anew by doubts and fears of a proxy rule by House Velaryon. We swore our vows to House Targaryen, and we believe there should be only a Targaryen from the male line on the Iron Throne. Prince Viserys has proven capable, mild-tempered, and is dearly loved among the people. House Hightower and our banners shall stand for him."
Aegon was slightly surprised by the open declaration of support, as well as the promise that Oldtown's bannermen would support Viserys' claim.
He raised his cup slightly, an unseen tension leaving his shoulders.
"I am glad to hear it." Aegon said with a nod.
Gunthor smiled faintly and nodded back.
"You shall find that Oldtown rarely acts in haste." Gunthor said, setting aside his cup. "We have seen kings come and go, but faith and reason must remain. If you seek to secure the realm, Prince Aegon, win not only the swords of lords but the heart of the Faith. The High Septon's voice carries farther than you might think and will lend your efforts more strength."
Now, Aegon became a bit wary. His grandfather had given him strict instructions to deal delicately with the Faith. Even before he left for the Reach, his grandfather had stressed the importance of keeping a respectful distance from the Faith. The Faith's support was valuable, but ensuring their neutrality was also a welcome outcome.
As Master of Whispers, he was privy to some of the whisperings going on within the Starry Sept. With the aid of Septon Barth, his grandfather had cultivated several sources within the Starry Sept. Using those contacts, he had already established a stable network of informants within the Starry Sept. Those same informants kept him apprised of a significant faction within the Most Devout that was hostile to his very existence. It was not surprising, considering he was a pyromancer and sorcery remains a sin in the eyes of the fanatics within the Faith.
However, the rhetoric was not at a level Aegon considered a mortal threat. The Most Devout hosted many proponents of the Targaryen Exceptionalism and had argued in his favour, stretching the ambit of the Exceptionalism to accommodate his sorcery. The fact that he 'helped' restore the old pilgrim paths into Andalos played well for his reputation in those circles.
Aegon inclined his head and looked closely at Lord Gunthor.
"Your counsel is sound, my lord. I had hoped to visit the Starry Sept on the morrow."
"Do so," Gunthor said with a satisfied look. "The Seven look kindly upon those who seek their blessings without pride."
"There is one other matter, Lord Gunthor. A son of King Jaehaerys still lives in this city. In these trying times, his counsel and presence will bring some comfort to his grace." Aegon said tentatively.
"I know whom you speak of, Prince Aegon." Gunthor nodded with an understanding look. "I shall send an invite to the Citadel and arrange a meeting."
That night, Aegon dined with the Hightowers in their feast hall. The courses were rich, but the talk light—music, trade, ships, even the matter of Ser Otto's position as Hand.
Yet beneath it all, Aegon sensed the political undercurrents. The Hightowers were loyal to themselves before all else, and their favour could turn tides in the Great Council. He kept his wits as he engaged with the extended Hightower family. He had an idea about their ambitions. They had first sought to make Oldtown the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, but the Conqueror had denied them then. When that failed, they tried claiming Highgarden. The Tyrells had so far averted that outcome. In parallel, the Hightowers tried to forge blood ties with House Targaryen. But Maegor proved a disaster for the Hightowers and the Seven Kingdoms.
This time, they enjoyed some measure of success with one of their own becoming the Hand of the King. Now, it'd be curious to see whether Ser Otto would retain his position when a new ruler sat on the Iron Throne. At the same time, he was interested to see what sort of man Ser Otto Hightower would become standing so close to absolute power.
As the saying goes, 'Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.'
When at last he retired to the room the Hightowers had graciously provided for him, he looked out his window at the city's many lights and thought of Gael's smiling face, the child stirring within her.
Duty had brought him far from her side at a time like this. Yet every choice he made now was for the betterment of the Seven Kingdoms, where their children would remain as princes and princesses.
******
At dawn, the bells of Oldtown tolled. Aegon rose early in the morning, donning a plain black cloak trimmed with small red dragon heads and a black doublet. He'd have gone without a sword, but he felt safer with it secured at his hip.
The streets leading to the Starry Sept were filled with pilgrims. Some bowed as he passed; others whispered prayers or pressed tokens of seven-pointed stars to their lips. But unlike King's Landing, the streets were cobbled and clean. Most importantly, the streets were wide, and there was enough space to travel safely. Small vendors lined the streets selling their wares. The city folk's homes were lined with flowers and small plant pots.
He crossed the Honeywine by the Bridge of Hammers with knights of House Hightower flanking him from all sides and climbed the wide marble steps of the Sept, where seven great statues loomed — Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone, and Stranger in order.
Inside, the High Septon awaited him — an elderly man in robes of glittering white silks.
"Prince Aegon," he said, nodding in his direction. "It gladdens my heart to see one of royal blood seek out the Starry Sept."
Aegon knelt before the altar on one knee and bowed his head before the effigies of the Seven.
"I come seeking the blessings of the Seven, your holiness. For myself, for my grandsire's health, and for my wife, who carries my child."
The High Septon smiled warmly.
"The Mother shall watch over you both. You do well to pray for the life that stirs within her. Every child is a spark of the Seven's light, and every mother the vessel of their blessing." the High Septon said with a gentle smile. "May the Seven bless the new life stirring within the princess."
Aegon bowed his head and closed his eyes, palms pressed together.
The High Septon motioned for acolytes to bring forth seven oils, anointing Aegon's brow with each in turn.
"May the Warrior grant you courage," he intoned. "May the Father judge you kindly. May the Mother's mercy shine upon your blood. May the Crone guide your heart and mind to the right path. May the Smith bless you to be the bearer of knowledge. May the Maiden bless your matrimony filled with love. And may the Stranger keep far from your door until your hour is truly come."
Aegon took the High Septon's hand and pressed it to his forehead.
"Seven blessings be upon you and your family." the High Septon blessed, then moved on to other duties.
When the ceremony ended, Aegon lingered in the prayer hall before the Mother's altar, praying for Gael and his unborn child. The septs in King's Landing were not up to par, and he was starting to feel far from peaceful inside the Starry Sept. He had often heard tales of the sept from his late aunt Maegelle and had admired it from afar.
But now that he got the chance to see and feel its majesty, he couldn't help but appreciate the conducive space. He could see why someone as tender as his aunt would appreciate the sept and be attracted to spend the rest of her life in service to the Seven.
For half an hour, Aegon spent before the altar in prayer alone, with his mind free from many matters that were weighing upon him.
The High Septon approached once more when Aegon was on his feet, resting a frail hand upon his shoulder.
"There is one more thing," the old man said softly. "I have not forgotten what you did in Andalos. The pilgrim roads there are safe again, thanks to the service you have done to the Faithful by ridding them of the barbarians harming them. Many have prayed for you in this sept, though you may not have heard it."
Aegon inclined his head though he didn't believe all of it.
"I did only what duty demanded from me as an anointed knight of the Seven Kingdoms." Aegon said, though that was the last thing on his mind when he waged war over the Khalassars plaguing Andalos.
"Duty, yes," the High Septon murmured, "but duty done in faith becomes service. The gods see such things, Prince Aegon. They shall see your devotion this day. Though some within these walls hold differing opinions on your abilities, I am of the mind that the divine will is incomprehensible to mortal minds."
"Your holiness, my abilities…" Aegon gently started to say, but the High Septon caught his hands in a gentle grip.
"My son, the fires of the Smith's forge have touched your soul. Please remember, when you wield such power, use it for the defence of those who can't defend themselves."
"Always, your holiness." Aegon said with a nod.
"Those with great power will face greater temptations and adversaries in life. Instil the teachings of the Seven and the wisdom of your teachers like Septon Barth. They shall guide you on the right path and in time; those who look upon you with wary eyes will look to you for deliverance." the High Septon said with a gentle smile.
They parted on a good note as Aegon left the Starry Sept. The bells rang once more as he came out of the sept with each step he climbed down. The people bowed as he passed, but Aegon's mind was far away.
Though his heart was lighter after the visit to the sept, a colossal task remained ahead. There were castles he needed to visit in the Reach to gather support for Viserys. But before that journey began, he needed to convince his elusive uncle Vaegon Targaryen to travel with him to King's Landing.
*******
The Citadel had always seemed to Aegon like a city within a city—a sprawling maze of towers, corridors, and massive halls. Here, men from across the Seven Kingdoms gathered and found influence not through sword or birthright, but through knowledge, measured by the links in their chains.
Yet even among them, only one man could claim to be from the House of the Dragon.
Vaegon Targaryen, son of King Jaehaerys, had long since renounced all claim to the crown or any royal titles. He had taken the vows of a maester and bound himself in the chain of service, leaving behind his kin, his name, and even his title as a prince. Instead of the prince, the sole living son of King Jaehaerys took the title of Maester.
Aegon found him in the highest chamber of the Ravenry Tower, where the wind whistled through open slits and the roofs echoed with the beatings of hundreds of birds. Scrolls and wax-sealed missives covered the tables, and cages hung in neat rows against the walls housing ravens.
"So," Vaegon said, staring at Aegon from the corner of his eye. "I never expected to see a dragon in my rookery."
"You are a dragon yourself, uncle." Aegon reminded the man as he strolled into the chamber.
"Do not call me that. I left that title when I forged these links and took these robes." Vaegon said with a snort, turning back toward the window while the chain clinked with his movement. "Here, in the Citadel, I am no prince. Only Maester Vaegon."
"As you wish," Aegon replied, watching the sole Targaryen son of his grandfather who never bonded with a dragon.
He stepped closer, his eyes drawn to the black and white birds fluttering in their cages.
"Still, it seems a fitting place for one of our blood — among wings and watchful eyes."
Vaegon gave a thin smile.
"Perhaps. And yet, these wings bear only words. Yours carry a certain power that can rain death upon friends and foes alike. I believe you've named it Fiendfyre."
Aegon nodded, taking the point.
"A strange name, but who am I to make such judgements?" Vaegon said with a sigh.
Vaegon gestured to a stool.
"Sit, Prince Aegon. I know you did not ride to Oldtown merely to see me."
Aegon seated himself.
"You are correct. I came at my grandfather's bidding. The Great Council approaches, and his grace wishes you to stand by his side as an impartial judge to conduct the process of counting votes." Aegon said forthright.
"But you also wish me to lend my voice in your brother's favour as well?" Vaegon's tone held only quiet curiosity.
"On the contrary, Maester Vaegon, I'm speaking to you in the capacity of a messenger of King Jaehaerys and the Small Council. I shall not ask you to support any candidate."
Vaegon watched him closely for any falsehood. When he was satisfied, he nodded.
"I bid you to return to King's Landing," Aegon said. "My grandsire grows weaker with each moon. Ser Otto has arrived to assume the duties of Hand. The Small Council runs the realm in the King's absence, and soon our focus will shift to the Grand Council. You alone might help steady the process, ensure a level of propriety and fairness in the process before the claimants meet at Harrenhal."
Vaegon's fingers drummed lightly against the stone sill.
"I left the Red Keep for a reason," he said at last. "I have no stomach for courts, nor for thrones."
"I do not ask you to fight on behalf of any claimant, uncle." Aegon replied. "I only ask you to protect what your sire built. The Citadel has a reputation for impartiality, and the blood of the dragon still flows in you. The lords will listen to your counsel and trust your impartiality."
For a long time, Vaegon said nothing. Then he reached for a raven's message, unrolled it, and scanned the contents briefly under a Myrish glass before folding it again.
"Very well," Vaegon murmured. "If I am to go, it will not be for the council, nor for your brother, nor for the throne. I will go because I owe my father that much, at least."
Aegon bowed his head deeply.
"Thank you, Maester Vaegon."
"Do not thank me yet," Vaegon said dryly. "You may come to regret convincing me during the Great Council."
He tied the scroll back to the raven's leg and released it through the narrow window. The bird soared into the mist, wings beating nosily in the air.
"You should go," Vaegon added after a moment. "Oldtown is no place for a dragon to linger. Though I do not have a beast like yours, I know their nature. They seek the great heights of the hills as their abode."
"When will you depart Oldtown, uncle? I shall arrange for a wheelhouse for your smooth travel. Or if you prefer, I can take you atop Fiendfyre." Aegon offered.
"I'll need two days to settle my affairs here in the Citadel. That wheelhouse you mentioned sounds splendid for my sore back. I have never been fond of dragons, and they feel the same regarding me." Vaegon said with a laugh.
"Then I shall ensure the best wheelhouse is ready for your travel, uncle." Aegon said with a grin. "I shall bother you no further."
When Aegon descended from the tower, the mists had begun to disappear. The sun rose over Oldtown, bathing the city in the bright rays of morning.
As Aegon climbed into the saddle of his horse with the guards flanking him, he looked once more toward the Ravenry Tower. A single black bird flew into the morning sky — Vaegon's message, perhaps, or merely another of the Citadel's countless maesters.
He turned away from the Citadel and urged his horse to move into the street. Before he left for the Hightower, he managed to hold a secret meeting with some among the Most Devout and some of his other spies in Oldtown. He passed it off as a religious gathering in a smaller sept where his aunt Maegelle used to serve as a healer to throw off his Hightower guards.
Aegon stayed in Oldtown for one more night, where Lord Gunthor threw a feast in his honour. During that time, they spoke more candidly, and Lord Gunthor Hightower provided valuable counsel to woo the Reach lords likely to support Viserys. When the night passed and dawn came anew, he was ready to continue his journey.
Fiendfyre waited in the meadow beyond the city wall with steam curling from his nostrils as he nibbled on the burnt bones of a bull.
He mounted Fiendfyre and took to the skies once more. From above, Oldtown gleamed like a white jewel set between land and sea, its septs and towers glowing under the sun. As Fiendfyre's wings beat against the wind, Aegon hugged close to the harness as the wind whipped past his body.
'Now, to our next destination.' Aegon mused, pulling the chains on the harness, guiding Fiendfyre further west to the islands that lay close to the Reach's shores.
AN:
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