The trunk sat open at the foot of the bed, already half-filled with his belongings. Aegon stood over it, a shirt in one hand, staring at the rest of the belongings in confusion.
It wasn't until he needed to fit his belongings within a trunk that he finally realised just how much he owned. He stood there for a moment and then shook his head. This is too much.
He did not need to take it all on his journey. And could not, as he won't have a horse to carry his luggage. He let out a quiet breath and then, with a single motion, he tipped the trunk over, spilling out its contents across his bed.
He took out a bedsheet and started filling that one instead. This time, he chose carefully and packed only the most basic of items. A single change of clothes, a waterskin, a flint, a pouch of coins, and a few other necessities.
Everything else, he would leave behind.
It felt… cathartic, to let go of so many material items. He felt as if an invisible burden he hadn't even known he'd been carrying had suddenly been put aside.
Huh… I can see why the Buddhists go on and on about being wary of material possessions if this is how good it feels to let go of them.
He tied up the bedsheet and lifted it to check its weight. Light. Even if he had the strength of an ordinary teen, he would still be able to carry it with no difficulty.
A part of him still wanted to pack more. To carry another change of clothes, a book to read while he's idle, or another pair of boots. But he ignored that part of his. Reminding himself that even in the worst-case scenarios, he had a far higher chance of survival than an ordinary man.
Should he feel cold, he could burn his body fat and increase his body temperature. Should he go hungry, he could adjust his digestive system to consume grass or even bark. Should he be injured, he could heal himself. Should he be chased by slavers or even Dothraki, he could run and leave them behind with his nigh limitless stamina.
All in all, the odds of him dying in Essos were far lower than those of an ordinary man. Not to say that he couldn't die. His Shaper was still pretty weak in that regard. But even a weakened Shaper power had infinite uses.
Finally, he set down the bundle and reached for his leather armour. It was a bit small on his frame, as he had been given the armour as a gift a year ago and had since outgrown it. But it still protected him well enough.
The best part was that it wasn't needlessly ostentatious. Yes, it did look like high-quality work, which it was. But aside from that, it was pretty unremarkable. No ornamentation, no sigil that screamed Targaryen. Unlike Daemon's
Aegon fastened it around his form before wearing his boots. And finally, he placed the sword and scabbard on his belt. He was not used to carrying his sword at all times, but he was well aware that Essos would not be as safe for him as Westeros was, especially if he hid his true identity.
With all his preparations made, there was only one thing left to do.
He went in front of a mirror and looked at his features. Silver hair. Pale eyes. Such features were not so uncommon in Essos. Especially if you went to Lys, but he would rather not give away his identity if possible, lest someone tries to kidnap him for ransom.
With a thought, his hair started to grow, but unlike his usual hair, his newly grown hair was filled with Melanin, and thus looked muted brown. Once it reached the desired length, he took a blade and cut off the tell-tale silver, leaving only the common brown behind.
Good.
He gathered the discarded silver and cast it into the hearth. As the flames took hold, Aegon watched the strands shrivel and vanish, a final, flickering end to the life he had known. It was time to shed his identity as a Targaryen prince and discover the real him, whatever that meant.
He supposed he would find his answer on the road ahead.
A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts. When he opened it, he found Baelon Targaryen standing outside.
His father's gaze went first to his face, then lingered on his hair.
"I dyed it," Aegon said, "Didn't want to bring further shame to the family with my actions." Nor do I want to be targeted for ransom.
His father gave a slow nod. "May I?"
Aegon stepped back, letting his father in. The man's presence felt unfamiliar in his room. And he realised then that he couldn't remember the last time the man had actually come to visit him here.
Baelon stopped near the bed, eyes falling on the small bundle he'd prepared. "So little?" He asked, frowning.
Aegon shrugged. "I've seen sellswords travel with far less."
"You are not a sellsword," Baelon replied.
'Not yet.' He wanted to say, if only to needle his father about his exile. But he chose not to.
"No, I'm not," he said instead.
Silence settled between them. His father looked around the chamber, appearing uncharacteristically lost for words, until at last, he found his voice.
"I have not been a good father."
Aegon raised an eyebrow, not expecting that.
"After Alyssa passed away… I thought…" Baelon exhaled quietly. "I thought time would… fix things. That I would… find my footing again." His jaw tightened. "I did not."
Aegon remained silent, waiting for Baelon to continue.
"Alyssa—" Baelon's voice faltered, just slightly. "When she died… I felt so lost. It felt as if life had lost its meaning. I was not there for you. Nor for your brothers. But… Viserys and Daemon had each other. You did not."
"I told myself you were strong," Baelon continued, quieter now. "That you did not need me as much." A humourless breath left him. "I can see now that it was just a convenient lie I told myself."
Aegon remained silent, though he felt a flicker of respect for Baelon's self-awareness. Most men live and die without ever acknowledging their faults; that Baelon had done so was admirable, even if the realisation had come far too late.
Baelon reached into his belt and drew out a dagger. He held it for a moment, gazing at it fondly, before offering it to him. "This was your mother's," he said.
Aegon took it, marvelling at how light it sat in his palm. As he raised it, the steel caught the light, revealing a dark smoky pattern on the metal.
Valyrian Steel.
"I thought…" Baelon cleared his throat. "You should have it."
Aegon slid it back into its sheath and looked at his father again. "…Thank you." It was not enough to mend their relationship. Not even close. But it was… something.
Baelon nodded once. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he placed a hand on Aegon's shoulder.
The touch felt unfamiliar.
"If it becomes too much," Baelon said, meeting his eyes properly for the first time, "you can return to the Red Keep. I will speak to the king. The punishment—"
"I won't," he said before his father could continue.
Baelon paused and held his gaze for a moment longer. Then nodded again. "…I thought you might say that."
Another pause. Then, without warning, Baelon stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace.
Aegon froze. For a second, his body didn't respond. Then, slowly, awkwardly, his arms came up to return the hug.
Too late.
As they pulled apart, Baelon turned his head, but not before Aegon caught the glimmer of moisture in his eyes. His father quickly brushed it away, hiding the lapse in his composure.
"We'll meet in seven years then," Baelon said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Make them count."
Aegon inclined his head. "I will."
Baelon gave him one last look, a flicker of something like regret in his eyes, before he turned and departed. The door clicked shut with a soft, final thud, leaving Aegon alone in the sudden silence with the new dagger heavy in his hand.
Then, he reached for his bag.
Time to start his new journey.