"Come, ser!"
On the Grafton family's training ground in Gulltown, Aegon raised a black, lead-weighted practice greatsword, signaling for Ser Harrold to take up his weapon.
Ser Harrold looked a little surprised, then switched to a blunted blade of his own.
Aegon wore leather suited for riding and hunting, with a studded vest over it, proper garb for a warrior.
Unless born a dwarf or crippled, boys of noble houses were trained as knights from childhood. A master could show the way, but mastery depended on the individual. These highborn youths enjoyed abundant resources, yet talent and achievement were matters of fate. Still, sons of great lords, piled high with men and money, could usually secure a place among competent common warriors.
Traditionally, certain houses were famed for producing exceptional fighters, House Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Martell. Others, like Tully, Lannister, or Tyrell, tended to lag behind.
"Prince, you'll need to be serious," Ser Harrold said after a brief hesitation, then began to swing his sword.
Two black blunted blades clashed in the air, ringing with solid, forceful impacts. The two figures circled and struck.
With his strength enhanced and his flame sensitivity awakened, Aegon felt utterly different from before. The sluggish resistance he used to feel was gone, replaced by ease and clarity. With his new awareness, even simple techniques could be anticipated and countered in advance.
If I keep training like this, Aegon thought, I can reach the level of a top tier swordsman, perhaps even brush against the extraordinary. But true transcendence lay in magic, that was power beyond mortal limits. Allocate points.
Aegon truly was different now. Ser Harrold could feel it. The prince's strength had increased, and so had his alertness. Vigilance and speed, those were the marks of a dangerous swordsman. Aegon's technique itself had not changed much, but his power and awareness were on an entirely different level.
"Your progress is astonishing," Ser Harrold said, genuinely surprised. In the past, he had never thought Prince Aegon possessed any particular talent for swordplay, nor much passion for it. He had been a gloomy boy, brutalized too early by war, willing to fight, yes, but destined to become little more than an ordinary soldier.
But today… something was different.
"Again!" Aegon urged, demanding harsher, fiercer, more aggressive attacks, everything Ser Harrold had. Ser Harrold no longer held back. Sweat poured as they fought, moving on from swords to spears, flails, and morningstars.
Let the sweat burn, Aegon thought. That's how skill leaps forward.
They fought until both were gasping for breath. Strength and flame sensitivity alike demanded constant tempering, forcing the will through the body. War was bloodshed rehearsed; training was war without blood. If he was to be a warrior, he had to reach at least the level of his father, Prince Daemon, an extraordinary fighter.
Ser Harrold is loyal enough, Aegon reflected, but what about the other Queen's Guards? Their talent and ceiling feel limited. Training with dull blades made one dull in turn. I must learn from them, and surpass them quickly. I need true masters.
He knew of only a few living legends: one was the Wolf of the North, Cregan Stark; the other, the shadowed blade of House Rogare of Lys.
"You've really changed, Aegon!"
A delighted voice carried across the training ground. Aegon signaled Ser Harrold to stop and turned. He saw his sister, Rhaena. Like her twin Baela, she had delicate features, silver-white hair, and violet eyes. Rhaena was slender, graceful, and loved to dance.
"Sister!" Aegon cried out, dropping his blunted sword.
"Ser, we'll end today's bout here. We continue tomorrow."
He strode forward and embraced her, heedless of the sweat-soaked scent clinging to him. She was among the few family he had left. Though not long had passed, it felt as though the world had turned upside down.
"What have you done to my little brother?" Rhaena demanded after they parted, seeing the marks of combat on his armor as she looked at Ser Harrold.
"It wasn't them," Aegon said quickly, waving it off. "I asked for this myself."
"I've heard of all the terrible things that happened," Rhaena said softly. "It's enough that you're safe." She paused, then added, "I only hope my grandfather in King's Landing is well…"
The words made things awkward at once. Rhaenyra had all but ruined her relationship with the Sea Snake, fleeing King's Landing and leaving his forces behind. His fleet no longer served them, they did not even have ships.
"Lord Corlys will be fine," Aegon said. With the Velaryon fleet at sea, few dared cross him. He remained powerful, secure. When they fled in disgrace, the Sea Snake had become an honored guest of the pretender king, untouchable.
"I hope so," Rhaena sighed. "May this dreadful war end soon."
War had taken everything. First Rhaena's betrothed, Lucerys, died outside Storm's End. Then Prince Joffrey perished in the riots of King's Landing. She likely did not yet know that her twin sister had been seized by King Aegon. Among the surviving Black Targaryen children, Aegon, Baela, Rhaena, Viserys- Rhaena was, for now, the most fortunate.
As Lady Jeyne Arryn's ward in the Vale, she lived in comfort, attended by maids, praised by singers, and surrounded by knights competing for her favor.
"Everything will pass," Aegon said with confidence. "Once the Vale and the North march, we'll return to King's Landing."
Rhaena was startled. Her little brother was nothing like before, decisive, ambitious, growing into something like their father, Daemon: a splendid and dangerous warrior.
She felt the contrast keenly. Aegon was young, yet already mature and independent. The Vale knights who circled her now seemed clumsy and simple by comparison.
"Where is Lady Jeyne?" Aegon asked.
"She's coming behind me," Rhaena smiled. "I was too eager to see you, so I rode ahead."
"Have you paid your respects to my mother?" Aegon asked.
Rhaena's expression stiffened slightly. The air turned awkward, but she nodded.
Her relationship with the queen was… complicated. Rhaenyra had thrown the Sea Snake into a dungeon, an unforgivable insult. Rhaena and her sister still carried Velaryon blood.
"I knew you'd all be here!"
Queen Rhaenyra arrived with her ladies and the Queen's Guard.
"Yes, Your Grace," Rhaena replied coolly. "I came to see my brother."
"Swords show no mercy, my child," the queen said, ignoring the tone. "You're far too devoted to combat, neglecting history, letters, and numbers." There was reproach in her voice, but pride as well. Aegon had grown defiant lately, and she dared not push too hard, he was her last son.
"That's how warriors are, Mother," Aegon said.
When queen and stepdaughter faced one another, the tension was unmistakable. Corlys Velaryon stood like a wall between them. In Rhaena's heart, the Sea Snake had sacrificed everything for their cause, was this not enough to chill one's blood?
"Aegon is nearly as tall as you now," the queen said lightly to Rhaena. "He's growing fast. I've heard all about your life in the Vale, girlish games and little dramas. It's time you put those aside and think of your future."
Aegon blinked. "Ah?"
A strange thought crept into his mind. Surely she doesn't mean… that?
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A/N:
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