The wind that swept across Dragonstone carried the scent of salt and smoke. In the dying glow of the afternoon, the black banners of House Targaryen rippled above the castle towers like restless shadows.
Hugh Hammer knelt before the boy prince, his rough hands pressed to the cold stone floor. His heart pounded like a war drum. For years, he had hammered swords for knights and lords who never looked twice at the man who forged their blades. Now, for the first time, a dragon's heir was looking at him.
Prince Aegon stood tall for his age, his silver-gold hair catching the sunset light. His eyes, a deep violet like molten amethyst, studied Hugh in silence. When he finally spoke, his tone was calm, deliberate.
"You have strength," Aegon said. "And maybe even courage, enough to stand before a dragon's fire. Tell me, Hugh Hammer, are you willing to serve?"
The words hit Hugh like a spark striking dry tinder. Without hesitation, he sank lower on one knee.
"I am willing, Your Highness! With all my heart, I swear it."
Aegon unsheathed his longsword. Its blade gleamed pale as moonlight. He rested it lightly on Hugh's shoulder.
"I accept your fealty," the prince said solemnly. "I name you my sworn shield, to serve and protect me until death or glory."
The blade lifted away. Hugh's chest felt as though it would burst. This was it, the moment his life turned from iron and smoke to the shimmer of silver and fire.
Aegon's expression softened for a heartbeat. He could see the hunger in the man before him. Ambition, burning like the forge that had shaped him. And Aegon did not despise it. No, he welcomed it.
For what was power, if not desire forged into will?
Those without ambition were like cold iron, useless, unshaped, lifeless.
"Go," Aegon said finally. "Pack what you need. My men will take you to King's Landing at dawn. I will see to the arrangements."
Hugh rose, his limbs trembling. He bowed deeply and turned to leave, his heart racing faster than any horse.
Behind him, Aegon watched in silence, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips.
The thought of returning to King's Landing made his stomach twist. Dreamfyre's wound was still healing, and the Maesters' gossip would reach his mother and grandsire soon enough. He could already picture the scolding, the lectures, perhaps another beating for his recklessness.
He sighed. "When will I grow up?" he murmured under his breath. "It's impossible to do anything useful when you're treated like a child."
Sometimes he wished he had been born as someone else. Laenor Velaryon, perhaps... handsome, carefree, with his own dragons and no weight of destiny on his shoulders. Even his fondness for men would have been an easier burden than this endless scrutiny... I'm just kidding!
But really... fate had chosen him to be Aegon Targaryen. The crown's heir. The one destined for dragons and thrones and fire.
And so, he would play his part.
For now, there was little he could do. His father, King Viserys, still ruled in his prime, while his grandfather Otto had been sent away to Oldtown in quiet disgrace. Aegon was seven years old, clever enough to scheme, but far too young to act.
Still, the seeds of power were already taking root.
Under his guidance, Helaena had grown bright and cheerful instead of shy and withdrawn. Dreamfyre, his dragon, now obeyed his commands more readily. Small victories, perhaps, but every ember counts before the fire.
When the year 120 AC arrived, the Year of the Bloody Spring, the Black Faction would suffer terrible losses. Laena Velaryon's death. Laenor's fall. Their dragons lost or left riderless.
And in that chaos, opportunity would bloom.
He imagined it vividly. Vhagar, the mighty she-dragon, soon to be tamed by Aemond. Dreamfyre, healed and fierce beside her. And himself, Aegon Targaryen, rising above them all like a crown of fire.
The thought made him smile.
By the time evening cloaked Dragonstone, the courtyard was alive with torchlight. Ser Arryk arrived with a small retinue of sworn shields. The sound of their boots echoed across the stone as they came before the prince.
"Your Highness!" Arryk called, breathless from haste. "Are you unharmed? Where are Prince Aemond and Princess Helaena?"
"They're safe," Aegon replied with a casual wave. "In the garden. Playing, as they always do."
He could tell Arryk was anxious, but he said nothing more. The fewer who knew of the Cannibal, the wild dragon that had nearly killed them, the better.
"So," Arryk said hesitantly, "you plan to return tomorrow?"
"Yes," Aegon said. "And I'll need you to bring a few people back with me."
"People?" Alec frowned. "Did you come to Dragonstone to find someone?"
"Something like that," Aegon replied with a small smile. "He'll meet you tonight. See that he's taken care of."
Alec hesitated, then nodded. "As you command."
*
That night, long after the castle had quieted, Hugh returned, his wife Martha at his side. They stood at the foot of the Stone Drum Tower, looking small against its looming walls.
"My lord," Hugh said softly to the guard, "Prince Aegon sent for me."
The sworn shield at the door gave a curt nod. "The prince informed us. Come inside."
As he led them through the hall, the guard gave Hugh a knowing look. "You are fortunate. His Highness does not often take interest in common men. The Seven must be smiling upon you."
The words should have pleased him, but they only made Hugh's stomach twist tighter. The higher you climbed, the harder the fall.
He drew a deep breath as they entered the chamber. Arryk waited there in full armor, the white cloak of his order flowing behind him. The sight made Hugh's throat go dry.
"My lord," he stammered, "I am Hugh, and this is my wife, Martha."
Martha curtsied nervously. Her husband had been beaming with excitement all day, speaking of noble titles and royal favor. She had thought it a dream until he brought her here.
Arryk's stern face softened slightly. "Do not be afraid. His Highness sees promise in you. Tomorrow, you'll sail for King's Landing under my escort."
He ordered servants to prepare a chamber for the couple and assigned two maids to attend to Martha.
When the door closed behind them, the silence felt heavy. Hugh turned to his wife and smiled faintly.
"Martha, we've been given a chance. A real one."
She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers clutching his hand. "I'm scared, Hugh," she whispered.
He knelt beside her and kissed her hand gently. "I know. But think of what this could mean. We can't waste it."
"But the smithy… we were doing well enough," she said. "We had food, a roof, peace."
"Yes, we did," Hugh admitted. "But what about our child?"
He placed his hand on her rounded belly, eyes burning with fierce determination.
"If it's a boy, I want him to be more than a blacksmith's son. A knight. A lord. A man of name and honor."
His voice grew thick with emotion. "Even the lowest knight lives better than a smith. And Prince Aegon promised that service and loyalty will be rewarded, with gold, land, perhaps even a castle."
Martha sighed softly. She knew her husband's heart was restless. Ambition had always glimmered in his eyes like the glow of a forge.
He kissed her forehead. "Rest now. Tomorrow our lives begin anew."
But before she could reply, she grasped his arm and whispered, "Promise me one thing, Hugh. No matter how high you climb, remember your place. Do not forget who you are."
He smiled faintly and nodded. "I understand."
Outside their window, the sea roared against the cliffs, as if echoing his unspoken dreams. Somewhere beyond the walls, a dragon stirred, its low rumble blending with the sound of the waves.
Aegon Targaryen stood at his balcony above, watching the dark waters glitter under the moonlight. His thoughts drifted toward King's Landing, toward thrones and dragons, toward the storm that was yet to come.
Soon, he thought. Soon, all the pieces will move.
And the game of fire and blood will begin.
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A/N: Enjoying the story so far? Want more? There are already 16 advance chapters waiting on my Patreon, and the first two are completely free! ⚓
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