Queen Alicent herself sought out King Viserys, bringing young Aegon with her.
Viserys rubbed his temple, the familiar ache returning. He had not expected Alicent and Aegon to come pleading on behalf of Ser Criston Cole.
"For this matter," he said evenly, "I require an explanation, and I must give Lord Corlys an account."
Yet when he thought on it, their reaction made a kind of sense. He simply wished it did not. Viserys still clung to the fragile hope that his wife and daughter might one day live in peace.
"Father," Aegon began, his tone measured, "Ser Joffrey insulted Mother and me in front of Ser Criston. It's only natural Criston lost his temper. Let us end it here, neither of us will press the matter."
Viserys studied his son in silence, then turned his gaze toward Alicent. The meaning in his eyes was plain enough.
"That is the truth," Alicent said calmly. "If Lord Corlys doubts it, he may ask Joffrey himself."
Aegon's lips curled in a quiet, unseen smile. If he lives long enough to be asked, he thought. And even if he did, words would mean little. In the end, each side would claim its own truth, and the realm would call for a trial by combat.
Seeing Alicent's resolve, Viserys could only sigh and lift his hand in weary dismissal.
"I understand. You may go."
He would speak with Corlys himself. After all, it was only Laenor's lover, no great matter, he told himself.
The Twelfth Moon of 114 AC
Both Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra gave birth that winter to healthy sons, Daeron Targaryen and Jacaerys Velaryon.
But their births stirred whispers through court and city alike. Prince Daeron had silver hair and eyes of amethyst, fair as any Targaryen babe. His beauty was plain even in the cradle.
Jacaerys, by contrast, bore brown hair, brown eyes, and a broad, flat nose, nothing of his father's aquiline features or Valyrian coloring.
Tongues wagged, and before long, the name most often whispered behind closed doors was that of Ser Harwin Strong, Princess Rhaenyra's sworn shield.
When such talk reached the streets of King's Landing, Viserys's fury was unmatched. He ordered the rumor-mongers sought out and punished, the city watch scouring Flea Bottom for any who dared repeat the slander.
Under the King's wrath, the gossip waned, though never wholly vanished.
To heal the rift, Viserys commanded that the two infants, Daeron and Jacaerys, be nursed by the same wet nurse, that affection might grow between them from the cradle.
A dragon egg was placed beside each babe, as was custom.
115 AC
Rhaenyra bore her second son, Lucerys Velaryon, again with brown hair and brown eyes.
The whispers returned, sharper than before. Yet when the egg in young Jacaerys's cradle hatched, producing a hatchling he named Vermax, the talk quieted… somewhat. Daeron's egg, a deep red one, lay cold and still.
That same year, tragedy struck in the Vale. Lady Rhea Royce, first wife to Prince Daemon, fell to her death from her horse. Rumor held that Daemon himself had a hand in it.
But Daemon was still at war upon the Stepstones, leading his men against the Triarchy and the Dornish raiders, and in time the gossip died away.
With Rhea gone, Runestone passed to her nephew. Daemon was left with nothing.
Leaving the Vale behind, he flew south and came to Driftmark, where he wed Lady Laena Velaryon, daughter of Lord Corlys, a girl of two-and-twenty. In the dueling sands, Daemon slew the son of the former Sealord of Braavos, who had sought Laena's hand.
Knowing well that his brother would not approve, Daemon took his new wife across the Narrow Sea. Together, they soared through the skies of Pentos, Myr, and Volantis, dragons blazing above the Free Cities.
When word reached King's Landing, Viserys's rage was great. Yet Corlys, ever cunning, sent a courteous letter inviting the King to Driftmark to discuss the matter of succession, namely, whether his grandson Jacaerys might one day claim the Iron Throne under the Velaryon name.
Viserys ignored the veiled challenge, And the court soon fell silent on the issue.
116–117 AC
In 116 AC, Laena bore twin daughters.
Daemon wrote to his brother seeking the King's blessing. Believing Daemon had repented, Viserys allowed his return, and the brothers were reconciled, for a time.
Daemon and Laena settled once more on Driftmark.
A year later, Rhaenyra gave birth to her youngest son, Joffrey Velaryon. Daemon brought his twin girls to court to pay their respects to the King.
119–120 AC
At the end of 119 AC, Prince Daeron begged leave to claim the aged dragon Silverwing, but Viserys forbade it. Instead, Daeron turned his heart toward a young she-dragon newly hatched, Tessarion, the Blue Queen, twin to Laenor's Seasmoke.
Three years passed, and 120 AC dawned.
On the third day of the new year, tragedy struck once more. Lady Laena delivered a malformed, stillborn child, and soon after died of childbed fever.
Corlys and Princess Rhaenys were broken by grief. King Viserys brought his family to Driftmark for the funeral.
As Lord Vaemond Velaryon read the eulogy, Laena's body was given to the sea, committed to the depths and the Merling King's embrace.
But beneath the solemn words, an unease stirred. When Vaemond spoke of blood never diluted, his eyes cut coldly toward Rhaenyra and her sons.
Viserys saw it. So did Daemon, and half the court besides.
The glances that followed were sharper still.
Sensing the tension, Daemon, weary of hollow ceremony, broke the silence with sudden laughter.
Gasps rippled through the mourners. He laughs, at his wife's funeral?
Daemon did not care. His reputation was already black; a shade darker made no difference. And if his laughter drew eyes from Rhaenyra, all the better.
When the long rites ended and the guests dispersed, dragons circled above the sea cliffs.
Sunfyre descended first, wings like molten gold, his landing shaking the shore in a burst of sand and wind.
Prince Aemond watched, eyes wide with envy. "Brother," he breathed, "Sunfyre grows so fast. He's magnificent… beautiful."
Indeed, the dragon's size now rivaled Caraxes's. In a few short years, he might even surpass Meleys.
Meleys, famed as the swiftest and fiercest of the third generation, was second only to the ancient Silverwing. Some maesters, however, called her of the fourth, for they counted Balerion apart, Vhagar as the first of the true Targaryen line, Balerion born in Old Valyria itself.
Aegon laughed softly and ruffled his brother's hair. "Two days past, the dragonkeepers measured him. Guess how long?"
Aemond thought for a moment. "Fifty meters? He looks nearly as big as Meleys."
"Exaggerator," Aegon teased. "He's forty, no more. Meleys is sixty at least."
Their father overheard and smiled faintly. "If you have the courage, Aemond," said Viserys, "go to Dragonstone. Choose an egg... or better yet, tame a dragon yourself."
At that moment, the air trembled with a deep, ancient roar, Vhagar's call, echoing across sea and sky.
Aemond's lips tightened; he nodded with fierce determination.
The Velaryons had lost Vhagar, their mightiest weapon.
And if Aemond could claim a dragon of his own, then House Targaryen would once more hold the balance of power in its grasp.
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