The Seventh Day of the Second Moon, 114 AC
The day shimmered with the kind of brilliance that begged to be remembered. The air over King's Landing carried the brine of Blackwater Bay and the hum of anticipation. From the balcony of the Red Keep, Prince Aegon Targaryen stood beside his siblings, his golden attire gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. Helena lingered quietly at his side, while Aemond, tall and sharp-eyed, stared at the horizon as if daring the sea to surprise him.
And it did.
A vast fleet cut across the waters like a moving wall of silver and white sails. The banners of House Velaryon snapped in the wind, their seahorse sigils glimmering in the light. And then came the sound. A low, distant roar rumbled through the sky, heavy and ancient, like thunder rolling in a cavern.
Vhagar broke through the clouds.
The great she-dragon was monstrous in size, wings blotting out the sun for a moment. Her scales glinted in shades of old bronze, and her roar made even the stones of the Red Keep seem to tremble.
Two smaller dragons followed her descent. One was a sleek creature with scarlet scales and wings the color of blood-tinged gold. The other was pale and young, silver-grey and bright-eyed, trailing behind like a squire struggling to keep pace with knights.
Aegon whistled softly. "Terrifying family strength," he muttered under his breath. "Fleet, dragons, gold, influence. What else do they lack?"
He already knew the answer. They lacked only a crown.
Viserys had long declared that Rhaenyra's firstborn son with Laenor Velaryon would inherit the Iron Throne. Yet he had never said whether the heir would bear the name Targaryen or Velaryon. That single uncertainty had been simmering beneath the court's civility for years.
If the day came when his father passed and Lord Corlys still lived, would the Iron Throne itself bear a new name? Aegon could almost picture it, the royal banners changed from dragon to seahorse, the songs rewritten.
The thought twisted his gut with irritation.
"The throne," Helena murmured suddenly. Her voice was soft and strange, as if she were talking to something unseen. Then she turned and walked away.
Aegon sighed and followed her. "Come on," he said to Aemond. "We should greet them properly."
Aemond blinked, always a step behind when the topic was subtle, but he nodded and hurried after his brother.
Down in the courtyard, the Sea Snake's flagship eased into the harbor with regal slowness. The Velaryon banners flapped wildly, as if declaring victory before battle. Viserys himself descended the steps to greet his in-laws, his face bright with forced cheer.
Outside the city walls, Vhagar, Meleys, and Seasmoke landed with a thundering crash of wings. Dust rose in great plumes. Even from a distance, their power could be felt.
Sunfyre stirred from his nap near the Dragonpit, cracked open one molten-gold eye, and decided they were not worth the trouble. He coiled back into his gleaming rest, scales glinting like polished coins.
Laenor Velaryon leapt down from Seasmoke and approached his mother. His eyes went straight to Sunfyre. "It looks much bigger than Seasmoke," he said in disbelief. "And yet I remember Sunfyre hatched six years later."
Rhaenys frowned, studying the golden beast. "They say that dragon is the most beautiful creature alive," she said, half to herself. "And it grows faster than any recorded before it. Twice as fast, perhaps."
"Perhaps it will even surpass Balerion the Black Dread," she added with a small, amused smile.
Aegon noticed the way she said it, light and teasing, as if the thought of a young dragon surpassing the might of Balerion was a child's fantasy. He clenched his jaw but kept his expression smooth.
Rhaenys turned away. "Come," she said to Laenor. "Your father and the King await."
From the balcony above, Aegon watched his father and Corlys meet. Their smiles were sharp, their laughter too polished. To any common eye it was a reunion of great allies. To Aegon, it was two men fencing with words instead of swords.
Corlys spoke of unity, of the proud bond between their houses, of how Rhaenys, Laena, and Laenor had each ridden dragons, proving the purity of their Valyrian blood. "It is a sign of harmony," he said loudly, "to keep the kingdom strong, to deter those who would sow discord."
Aegon nearly snorted aloud. That's rich, he thought. Call it what it is- a show of power. But dress it up as peace and duty.
Corlys's eyes drifted toward Alicent when he said "discord," his smile like a knife sheathed in silk.
"If only Grandfather were still Hand," Aegon murmured. "He'd have found a dozen clever insults for that old sea snake."
Alicent's hand squeezed his sharply. Her face was composed, her knuckles white.
The marriage of Rhaenyra and Laenor was more than a wedding; it was the declaration of an era. The Blacks were rising. The Velaryons now commanded three dragons, a fleet, and wealth beyond measure...
When Corlys approached Alicent, the air grew tighter.
"Lord Corlys," she said smoothly. "Welcome to the capital. I trust your voyage was safe. I'm certain Ser Laenor will make a fine husband."
Her tone was pleasant, but her words carried an edge known only to those who understood court language.
Corlys smiled, eyes glinting like dark water. "It is his greatest honor to wed the Princess. And I believe she will make a fine Queen."
The emphasis hung in the air.
Viserys shifted awkwardly. "Ah yes," he interjected. "Lady Rhaenys, will she be joining us soon?"
"She will," Corlys said. "Meleys flies swiftly, but Seasmoke is still young. They may have paused to settle him."
Aegon caught the twitch at the corner of his father's eye. Corlys was repeating the word "dragon" the way a miser repeats "gold." Every mention was a boast, every casual remark a reminder of who held the stronger hand.
And yet, Corlys soon turned toward Aegon. "This must be Prince Aegon," he said warmly. "I hear your dragon grows at a remarkable pace. Some even whisper it may one day rival the Black Dread himself."
Aegon straightened his back, schooling his features into polite humility. "Please, my lord, no dragon could rival Balerion. He was a legend. My father would know best, he was his last rider."
He looked to Viserys as he spoke, his tone deliberately reverent.
Viserys's eyes softened. Pride bloomed in his face like warmth after rain. "Indeed," he said, lifting his chin. "Balerion was vast beyond comprehension. He could swallow a mammoth whole."
"Truly?" said Corlys, feigning awe. "My daughter claims Vhagar is nearly her equal now."
The words landed like stones dropped in a still pond.
Corlys offered a quick smile, a half-hearted apology. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I meant no offense. I am no dragonrider. My knowledge is limited."
Viserys forced a chuckle. "It is no matter. Vhagar hatched before the Conquest and has lived a hundred and sixty-five years. She may well have reached her elder's size."
His tone was calm, but Aegon saw the tightness in his jaw, the flicker of something behind his eyes...envy, perhaps, or the sting of memory.
Vhagar. The mightiest living dragon. And ridden by Laena Velaryon, a girl barely into her twenties.
It was almost cruel.
In that moment, Aegon saw the thought pass through his father's mind as clearly as if it had been spoken: What if Aegon had been wed to Laena instead?
The match would have united the families, dragons and fleets both. Laena was older, yes, but that could be forgiven. It might have prevented everything that followed.
Viserys took a deep breath and pushed the thought away. His gaze turned to his son again, lingering with a rare tenderness.
Aegon met it and, for once, did not look away.
For all his teasing and irreverence, there was a quiet understanding between them. The King wanted peace. The son wanted to be seen. And between them lay the Iron Throne, bright as fire, sharp as a blade.
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