The midday sun poured through the tall, arched windows of Maegor's Holdfast, gilding the room in a soft, honeyed glow.
A rich lunch was laid out upon the long oaken table, platters of roasted duck gleamed beneath a drizzle of golden glaze, fresh bread still steamed from the hearth, and goblets of milk and wine stood like sentinels beside polished silver knives.
Aegon Targaryen, firstborn son of King Viserys, waved away the maid who tried to serve him. "That won't be necessary," he said lightly.
He reached for a loaf of bread, tearing it open with his own hands.
Steam curled up, carrying the scent of wheat and butter. He placed inside a thick slice of steak, crisp on the outside, pink and tender within, topped it with a fried egg, and finished it off with a generous smear of honey jam.
The first bite filled his mouth with warmth and flavor. The tender meat melted on his tongue, the rich egg coating it like silk, while the honey brought a sweetness that danced between indulgence and balance. He let out a satisfied sigh.
There was no web to browse, no spectacles of light or sound here. Only the simple joys of taste, flame, and flight.
Food, in this world, had become one of Aegon's few earthly entertainments, besides, of course, riding a dragon or watching dancers move like firelight in the Red Keep's halls.
When the last bite of bread was gone, he wiped his mouth with the corner of a cloth and turned to his mother, who sat in quiet dignity across from him.
"I plan to go to Dragonstone," he said. "After I finish eating, I'll take my dragon and ride there. I might stay a few days. I'll ask Father for permission first."
Queen Alicent's brow furrowed faintly. "Dragonstone?" she asked, voice calm but edged with concern. "What business do you have there?"
"Just a small matter," Aegon replied, the faintest of smiles curving his lips. "Nothing dangerous, I promise."
He reached for his milk, took a sip, and turned to Ser Aric standing nearby. "Ser Arryk, go ahead by ship. I'll follow shortly."
The knight gave a crisp nod and left without question, his cloak brushing the floor like the whisper of steel.
Alicent watched him go, then looked back at her son.
Her sigh was soft, but heavy with years of worry. Once, Aegon had told her everything, his thoughts, his mischief, his dreams. But as the boy grew into a young man with the blood of dragons in his veins, he had grown distant, his heart shuttered behind the mask of princely confidence.
"Be careful," she said finally.
Thousands of words, unspoken, folded into that one phrase. Be careful.
Aegon gave her a smile, gentle, reassuring, and rose. "Of course, Mother."
As he turned to leave, Alicent called after him, "And Aegon, go see Helaena and Aemond before you depart."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment.
The bedchamber door had barely opened before something small and soft launched itself into his chest.
Aegon laughed, catching the tiny body midair. "Did you miss me, my lovely little Helaena?"
His sister, barely five, said nothing. She only clung to him tightly, small arms wrapped around his neck, face buried against his shoulder. Her silver-blonde hair smelled faintly of lavender.
"What's this?" Aegon murmured, stroking her back. "A bad dream again?"
She shook her head, lips pressed tight, refusing to let go.
From behind the table, another voice chirped, bright, determined. "I missed you too, Brother! I did!"
Aegon glanced down. Aemond, four years old, stood with both arms raised, a tiny soldier demanding to be picked up. Aegon chuckled and ruffled his brother's hair, pulling him close.
"Good lad."
In another world, the world Aegon remembered—their story would have gone differently.
The eartly books had not been kind...
The original Aegon, spoiled by indulgence, had grown cruel and careless. He had taken mistresses even after marrying his sister, Helaena. He had watched Aemond mocked and beaten by Rhaenyra's sons and done nothing.
Years later, Aemond had claimed mighty Vhagar, yet even then his elder brother had mocked him still. It wasn't until the world burned in civil war that Aegon the Second had begun to respect his brother's strength.
But this Aegon... the one who remembered another life, would never make those same mistakes.
"Brother," Aemond said suddenly, voice small. "My dragon egg still hasn't hatched. Rhaenyra said it's a dead egg… and that I'll never have a dragon."
The words hit like a spark to kindling. So that was it, Rhaenyra had mocked him again. Aegon's smile faded. He crouched to meet Aemond's eyes, his tone gentle but firm.
"There's a chance every egg might be dead," he said. "That's not your fault. Do you want a dragon, Aemond?"
The boy blinked, taken aback by the question. Then he nodded, solemn as a knight taking vows. "I do."
Aegon leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "I'm going to Dragonstone soon. There's a dragon there, female, gentle, but powerful. I think she'll like you."
Aemond's violet eyes widened with awe. "Can I come?"
Aegon smiled. "Of course you can. But first, I'll need to ask Father."
He rose, smoothing Helaena's hair, and left the chamber.
*
Aegon found King Viserys in his solar, bent over the scattered pieces of his beloved model of Old Valyria.
The scent of melted wax and wood dust filled the air.
"Father," Aegon said without preamble, "I wish to go to Dragonstone."
Viserys looked up sharply.
When Aegon had been but five, he had taken his dragon and, tried to fly, north as far as the Wall, nearly frightening both his parents to death. Since then, Viserys had given strict orders that no dragonkeepers were to let the boy fly without royal leave.
The King frowned and set down the tiny spire he'd been carving."And what business have you there?" he asked. "Your sister's wedding draws near. You will remain in the capital. You are not to go."
Aegon's mouth twitched in mild frustration. "Only for a few days, Father, half a moon's turn at most."
"Dragonstone is nothing but stone and smoke," Viserys said sternly. "You only wish to ride your dragon and lose yourself in mischief again. I know you, boy, you are not to go."
He pointed a finger for emphasis. "Do you remember last time? You swore the same, and ended up beyond the Wall itself! You could have been killed."
His voice softened then, heavy with memory and something darker.
Beyond the Wall… The words carried a chill even in the warm air of the chamber.
There were things beyond that frozen expanse, things the realm had forgotten. Viserys remembered the old dream passed down from Aegon the Conqueror himself:
A song of ice and fire.
A vision of winter unending, and a darkness rising from the North to swallow the world. It was that dread which had driven Aegon I to unite the Seven Kingdoms, to forge one realm strong enough to stand against the coming night.
That secret prophecy was for the Kings alone. Viserys had shared it only with Rhaenyra, his chosen heir. Aegon, as second-born, was never told.
So Viserys could only look at his son now with weary love and forbidding caution.
"You are not to go," he repeated. "That is my final word."
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