Alicent packed in silence, her movements brisk and controlled.
There was little to bring with her. A few gowns, some personal effects, nothing more. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms had learned long ago not to grow attached to possessions.
As she closed the final chest, a faint, brittle smile touched her lips.
"Are we being driven from King's Landing now?" she asked lightly.
Prince Aegon, leaning against the doorframe, snorted despite himself. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Driven out?" he said. "That is a poor way to put it."
He straightened, his expression sharpening.
"We are not being cast aside. We are leaving a puddle for the open sea. A fish does not grow in shallow water."
Alicent studied him in silence.
King's Landing was a battlefield of whispers and shadows. Power there was borrowed, contingent, easily taken back. Aegon understood that better than most. Whatever influence he grasped within the Red Keep would mean little once swords were drawn. When war came, it would be the great houses and their banners that decided the realm's fate.
But the Stepstones were different. There, he could build something of his own. Soldiers sworn directly to him. Ships that answered to his command alone. Strength that could not be stripped away by decree.
As if on cue, the door creaked open again. Aemond and Daeron shuffled in, hair uncombed, eyes half-lidded with sleep.
"Still dreaming?" Aegon asked, amused. He reached out and rapped Daeron lightly on the forehead. "You were awake before dawn every day on Drakoncrest."
Daeron yawned, rubbing at his eyes. "I slept too well. I could sleep again."
"I have openly broken with the Blacks," Aegon said calmly. "We are leaving. Wake yourselves."
He pinched Daeron's cheek.
Both boys jolted fully awake.
Aemond's single eye gleamed. "Broken with them?" His lips split into a fierce grin. "Good. I will ride Vhagar and burn her."
Before he could take another step, Helaena caught him by the collar and hauled him back.
"Do not be foolish," she said sharply. "This is only the truth laid bare. It is not war. Not yet."
She met Aemond's gaze, unblinking.
"When it becomes war, you will know. Until then, you will do as you are told."
She turned briskly to Aegon. "We will go to the harbor. Aemond and I will wait there. Daeron can remain outside the Red Keep."
Aegon nodded once. "Go."
Helaena did not linger. She ushered Aemond and Daeron out at once.
Aegon then turned to his guards. Twenty men, handpicked, hardened veterans. He began issuing orders in a low voice. None of them would be left behind.
Not this time.
It did not take long for word to reach King Viserys.
He was in the midst of demanding explanations from Otto Hightower when the news struck him like a blade.
"They are taking my Queen?" Viserys surged to his feet. "No one takes Alicent from me."
He turned sharply. "Daemon. Summon the Gold Cloaks."
Prince Daemon, his right hand still bound in linen, obeyed at once. He barked commands, and runners scattered. This time, he was not caught unprepared. A squad of Gold Cloaks was already close at hand.
Within moments, Viserys was hurrying toward Maegor's Holdfast with armed men at his back.
It was empty.
Panic flared. Then relief, thin and fragile.
He caught Queen Alicent at the final gates of the Red Keep, moments before she departed. When she turned to face him, there was no warmth left in her eyes, only naked disgust and a cold, settled hatred.
"Alicent?" Viserys reined in sharply, breath unsteady. Guilt pricked at him, quickly followed by irritation. "You are the Queen. Leaving King's Landing, going to your son's seat, do you not think that will invite trouble?"
Alicent did not bow her head. She looked at him as one might look at a stranger.
"Am I not even permitted to spend time with my eldest son?" she asked. She pressed hard on the last words, her mouth tightening as she spoke them.
Viserys stiffened, his expression locking in place.
He had believed that once he openly sided with Rhaenyra, Alicent would rage, argue, perhaps weep. He thought a few placating words would mend the breach. He had never imagined she would simply leave King's Landing altogether.
Daemon stood just behind him, eyes sharp and restless. He leaned in, voice low.
"She cannot leave," Daemon murmured. "If the Queen goes, Aegon slips entirely beyond your reach."
Across the yard, Otto Hightower watched the exchange. The instant Daemon spoke, Otto's jaw tightened. He stepped forward.
"Your Grace," Otto said smoothly, inclining his head, "the Queen merely intends to reside at Drakoncrest for a time. Prince Aegon will not suffer for it."
Viserys looked from Otto to Daemon, his hands tightening on the reins. In the space of a heartbeat, he made his choice.
Alicent could not be allowed to leave King's Landing. Better still if Aemond and Daeron remained as well.
"Alicent," Viserys said, forcing calm into his voice, "Aegon is burdened with duties every day. You should not add to them by following him. As for Aemond and Daeron, they are of an age to serve as squires. Is it not better that they remain here, at court?"
A soft, mocking sound cut through the air.
Prince Aegon laughed.
Viserys turned sharply, his face darkening as he assumed the stern posture of a father.
"Aegon," he said, voice heavy with authority, "your brothers are at the proper age to be squires. Following you to the Stepstones will only hinder their growth."
Aegon lifted a hand dismissively, his smile lazy but his eyes keen.
"A squire serves where he serves," he replied. "I have already made arrangements. They will lack for nothing."
He shifted his gaze, meeting Otto Hightower's eyes across the yard.
Otto straightened, his back rigid, and gave a single, measured nod.
Aegon's smile deepened.
"And as for Mother," he continued lightly, turning toward Alicent, "I am only taking her to Drakoncrest to rest and enjoy herself for a few years. You need not trouble yourself. Your Highness."
He extended his hand to Alicent.
"Come, Mother."
Alicent hesitated only a moment before moving toward him.
Viserys's breath caught. He shot a sharp look at Daemon.
Daemon responded at once, lifting his hand in command.
The Gold Cloaks moved.
Steel scraped as Aegon's personal guards reacted instantly, compact crossbows appearing in their hands, bolts leveled and ready.
Then the sky screamed.
A dragon's roar tore through the courtyard, raw and piercing. Wind and dust exploded outward as Tessarion descended from above, blue wings beating the air into chaos. She struck the ground before the Gold Cloaks, loosing a blast of dragonfire that rolled across the stones.
The flames were not the all consuming inferno of Vhagar, but they were more than enough. Men screamed as heat swallowed them, pain searing flesh before death could claim it.
"Daeron!" Viserys shouted, horror twisting his features.
Prince Daeron sat astride Tessarion, looking entirely unrepentant. He leaned forward slightly and stuck out his tongue at the king, grinning like a mischievous boy rather than a prince facing his father.
Tessarion reared her head and roared again, the hot, fetid wind slamming into Viserys and forcing him to shield his eyes.
When the roar faded, Viserys's face had gone crimson.
"I am your father, Daeron!" he bellowed.
Daeron shrugged atop the dragon's neck, his voice carrying easily across the yard.
"So what? I know you are anxious," he said, tone careless, "but do not be anxious yet. I am only warning certain people not to overstep themselves. I am not threatening you."
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A/N:
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