50.Maegor XXIX / Aenys XII

Hello everyone! I am a few hours later than normal but that is better than a few days! This chapter was quite fun to write and I got to finally flesh out more of the children so I hope you enjoy it! It is a little shorter than I would have liked and I may go back and edit in a new scene at some point. If I do that, I will be sure to let you all know. In the meantime, please let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Maegor XXIX

3rd Moon, 39AC

“Wow,” Viserys said from behind me as we finally left the clouds and Pentos was made visible beneath us. He had never been here before so I could not blame him for marveling at the sight, especially because all he had known was the relatively tiny Dragonstone and drab King’s Landing.

“Welcome to Pentos, Cousin,” Daeron said from in front of me with what I knew to be pride. The tone of his voice caused me to smirk a bit, my mother was clearly having more of an influence on him than I had previously thought. 

“Where do you live? I don’t see a castle…” Viserys muttered, scanning the city as I brought Terrax down for a lighter landing than usual. I was normally rather impatient, bringing down my dragon quickly, but I had passengers with me this time, so I figured it would be better to go slowly. 

“Look for the gardens!” Daeron said excitedly, tracing the roads of the city with his outstretched hand before finally landing on our manse. There were dozens of palace complexes across the city but the central one belonged to our family. The complex was expansive, with lavish gardens and a rather open design to take advantage of Pentos’s mild seaside climate. 

The mansion of the Prince of Pentos had been built shortly after the Doom. Previously, the prince of Pentos simply lived in one of the mansions around the city, typically the one he lived in as a magister prior to becoming the prince. It was only after Pentos gained its independence that they thought it necessary that their figurehead live like a proper prince. 

“Wow… Hey Uncle, why don't you have a castle?” Viserys was awed for just a moment before his mind found a new inquiry to chase. 

“Is it not a castle?” I asked Viserys, hoping to get him to think some more. Viserys's brows furrowed as he studied the city beneath them, clearly unconvinced by my question.

“It's too open,” he finally muttered, his gaze sweeping across the sprawling manse and its lush gardens. 

“The castles in the Riverlands have real walls, real towers. This looks like... like a…a… not a castle!” he said after a moment's thought. It was strictly speaking incorrect, as while the mansion did have an expansive and open design, it still possessed formidable walls. Not sufficient to keep an army out but more than enough to keep out ravenous mobs should the need arise.

Daeron scoffed from in front of me, twisting around in his saddle to throw a look of superiority at his cousin. “That’s because you don’t understand, Cousin. This is Pentos, not some damp and dirty Westerosi city. We don’t need walls around our manse because we have big walls around the city,” Daeron’s sense of superiority was hilarious to see and better yet he was not entirely wrong in his answer. I would have to praise him and his teacher later.

Viserys pursed his lips, clearly unwilling to let Daeron win so easily. “But what about from inside the city?” Viserys asked, which surprised me greatly. It was interesting that he could perceive that city walls might not be enough to ward off threats. 

The more time I spent with my brother’s children, the more impressed by them I grew. He was certainly not an amazing parent but I was happy to learn that most of them could at least think rationally.

It would make warning them of future troubles and explaining the situation to them easier when they finally are war-ready. Viserys being the next war-ready child was just one of the reasons I took him on as a page. The boy was already ten-name days old and his dragon was growing rapidly, even if Silverwing was on the small side for her age and was still too small to make the crossing to Pentos.

I chuckled, tightening my grip on Terrax’s reins as we descended. “We have nothing to fear from inside the city, Viserys. Or did your father not tell you of the fall of the Faceless Men?” I questioned.

It was not entirely true, theoretically a mob could threaten us inside of our manse but that was precisely the reason that a dragon was always kept in the courtyard and a large detachment of the city guard was placed just outside of the manse. Both of those policies had been some of the first I had implemented and I would get my brother to implement them as soon as they moved back to King’s Landing. 

Viserys hummed to himself, but before he could argue, I brought Terrax into a final glide, his massive wings casting a long shadow over the palace grounds. The servants below scattered in anticipation of our landing, their movements practiced and efficient. I slowed our descent, making the landing smoother than usual for my young passengers.

The ground shook as Terrax landed in the yard. The Dragonkeepers I had brought over from Dragonstone quickly moved to guide my dragon toward the temporary stables set up in the expansive courtyard. The Dragonpit here was under construction still so the newly founded chapter of Dragonkeepers called my manse home for now. 

Daeron sat tall in his saddle, looking rather pleased with himself. Viserys meanwhile, swiveled his head around to look at the courtyard in fascination.

“It's so… different,” he muttered, taking in the tall columns wrapped in flowering vines, the shimmering blue of the fountains, and the white marble of the courtyard’s statues.

 “What are those?” he asked, pointing toward a group of trees as I ushered Daeron down the ropes clinging to Terrax’s sides.

“Pomegranates,” I said as I ushered Viserys down next. It was safer to have passengers dismount before the rider. A well-trained dragon would not lash out unduly but dragons would not allow just anyone to ride on their backs.

“We do things differently here in Pentos, food is more abundant and we can afford such luxuries. The soil is fertile, and the people have learned to make the most of it,” I explained as I climbed down the ropes myself. The wealthy lords of Westeros would also have their own plantations and groves of exotic fruits and vegetables but the magisters of Pentos had much wider margins. Viserys had been raised in the rather bleak and boring castle Dragonstone and the disgusting King's Landing, so I could understand his surprise at the splendor on display.

Viserys barely heard me, continuing to stare around the courtyard at the marvels before handing off the reins of my dragon to one of the Dragonkeepers and sending a mental command for Terrax to go and rest in his stable. We would not be in the city long, so he should get all the rest he could get before another long flight. 

Daeron, clearly bored standing around the mansion he spent most of his life in already, straightened his back and turned to me. “Shall we go inside, Father? There is much to do, and I am sure you have business to attend to,” he said proudly, clearly already knowing the answer.

I nodded, placing a firm hand on Daeron’s shoulder, pleased with his poise. “Yes. Pay attention, both of you. You may yet learn something.” I demanded as we made for the entrance to the manse.

We strode toward the palace doors, the scent of spice filling the air. Viserys hesitated, casting one last longing glance at the gardens before jogging to catch up. The world was much larger than the narrow halls of Dragonstone, and the dirty streets of King’s Landing. Pentos had already begun to open Viserys’s eyes, exactly as I wanted it to.

As we stepped into the cool shade of the palace’s grand entrance hall, a line of well-dressed Pentoshi nobles awaited us, their silk robes shimmering in the light streaming through the arched windows. The foremost among them, a plump man with an intricately braided beard, stepped forward and bowed low.

“Prince Maegor, welcome home,” Illyrio intoned in the lilting accent of Pentos. “We have prepared for your arrival. A feast awaits you this evening, and the delegates are eager to meet with you at your convenience,” he said ostentatiously, clearly trying to make a good first impression on the new princeling while still giving me the information that I needed.

I gave a curt nod. "Good. Tell them to meet me in the grand hall, I will be with them shortly. First, I want to rest a little from the journey," I said, leading Viserys and Daeron deeper into the manse while Illyrio marched in lockstep with me.

While Illyrio gave me the rundown of what had happened beyond our frequent letters, I heard Daeron and Viserys speak from behind me. "Cousin… is he the Hand of the King?" Viserys asked.

A small smirk crossed my lips as I eagerly awaited Daeron’s answer and tuned out my friend further. "No, that is Magister Illyrio, director of the conclave. My father doesn’t have a Hand of the King, he has the conclave and Uncle Aeron instead,"

Viserys paused, clearly thinking up a response. "So who rules while Uncle Maegor is in Westeros?" Viserys asked. 

Daeron laughed. “I just told you, Cousin. Uncle Aeron and the conclave rule. But Magister Illyrio is the one who leads them,” Daeron explained like it was the most obvious distinction in the world, even if the answer was a bit more nuanced here.

The typical duties that would be handled by the Hand of the King were split in two here in Pentos. Aeron was the master of armies, handling the foreign policy and military affairs of Pentos while I was away, while Illyrio handled the internal affairs as director of the Conclave.

Viserys huffed before starting once more, “So he is Hand of the King,” he said in a way only an annoyed child could. 

Daeron sighed, clearly growing impatient with Viserys’s stubbornness. “No, Cousin, he is not. The Hand of the King speaks with the king’s voice, and rules in his stead. Magister Illryio merely directs the Conclave to fulfill Father’s agendas,” Daeron explained curtly, just as my mother would. I resolved to tell him to watch what he says and where later, everyone around us knew that I was de facto king of Pentos but being so blunt could earn him the ire of people in the future.

Viserys furrowed his brows, his fingers tracing along the smooth marble railing as we ascended a flight of stairs. “So is Lord Aeron the Hand of the King then?” Viserys asked, earning a sigh from Daeron.

“Father doesn’t have a Hand of the King!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. 

“I do not need one, Viserys,” I finally butted in before they descended into a shouting match. I had bore witness to more than a few of those in my time on Dragonstone and I would rather stop one before it started. 

“Why not?” he inquired, picking up his pace to walk next to me. Daeron quickly followed and fell into lockstep with him. 

“Because Pentos is not like Westeros. The Conclave ran Pentos effectively before I got here and they do so even now. They help me implement my rule and can run things more than well enough while I am away,” I explained. I did not fault Viserys for being confused about the government of Pentos, he was raised in Westeros after all and the Pentoshi government was already Byzantine in nature before I took it over. 

“I thought you were the King? Don’t you need a hand?” Viserys asked as we neared our destination. I took the chance to stop Daeron and Viserys then, sending Illyrio and his aides ahead to ensure the delegates were there. We took the more scenic route but I didn’t want to wait for them to arrive.

“I am not the King, yet,” I began, not speaking in hushed tones at all. It was public knowledge by now that I was preparing a coronation and all of Pentos was excited for it. Well, they were more excited for the public celebrations I had planned but that was neither here nor there. 

“But like I said, Pentos is not like Westeros. There are no lords here. There are no knights and castles and smallfolk working their lord's land. Pentos is run by merchants and wealthy landowners and thus requires different things. Magister Illyrio directs the Conclave to not act against my interests while I am away and your uncle Aeron leads my armies while I am away,” I explained fully to Viserys. Daeron of course already knew this but I could not fault my nine-year-old son for failing to properly explain the differing governing styles of Pentos and Westeros. 

“...Alright,” Viserys said after a moment’s thought. It was clear that he had a lot to learn, but at least he seemed eager. His presence would also stoke Daeron’s competitive spirit more. He was already quite motivated but giving him a rival of sorts could be just the push he needs to work harder and learn faster. This was precisely why I brought the two of them with me. I wanted to personally oversee their education from here, or at least most of it. 

Daeron was of course my son and heir, and thus I needed to ensure that his development was exactly correct lest I end up with a fool of an heir. I had been overseeing Daeron’s education since he was born but I had allowed myself to get distracted with wars and rebellions in the last two years. Now I would bring him with me on campaigns and personally teach him how to rule, ensuring that he learned the correct lessons and gained the proper experience. 

This of course did not make my wife particularly happy, who was now deprived of one of her children, but she was more than understanding enough and she knew that I would take good care of him. My mother meanwhile was more upset at losing Daeron, the two of them had always been close and it was evidently clear who my mother’s favorite grandchild was. 

Of course, that paled in comparison to the nightmare that my brother was no doubt facing back in Westeros. I had basically pressured him into letting me take Viserys. He was fine with it of course, but his wife surely wasn’t. I was thankful that she had entered the later stages of her pregnancy and was mostly kept in her room. I left before he told her that Viserys was going with me, meaning that I had in all likelihood dodged quite the argument.

I would have forced the issue even if Alyssa had decided to cause problems, however. Viserys was one of the two children I was more than happy to break my family’s general non-interference rule for. Viserys was set to marry my daughter one day, after all. I would not simply entrust his education to my foolish brother and his bitch wife, or even worse, the backward Westerosi. 

Sure my brother had done a fine enough job with Aegon, who was shaping up to be a serviceable heir, even with his flaws. But his temperament was certainly problematic, the last thing I needed was Viserys turning into an emotional mess like his elder brother. 

I turned my eyes toward the doors of the grand hall to see what was almost certainly a messenger arrived with confirmation that my guests were awaiting my arrival. Before he even finished stepping out of the doorway, I turned to the two boys in front of me. 

“You two are to listen quietly and observe the happenings in the hall. I want no whispers and no mumbling until my meeting is complete, is that clear?” I explained to the two boys. It was an important meeting after all and while I would have loved to humiliate the annoying bastards by turning the meeting into a schoolroom, it was a little too important for that. 

“Yes, Father,” “Yes, Uncle,” the two boys said and just before the messenger arrived, another idea appeared in my head. 

“I want the two of you to pay close attention to what is discussed in the hall and what is said. I will ask you questions about it after and I expect you to give the correct answers,” I said and before they even responded, I moved toward the chamber. 

The hall doors were opened for me as the herald cleared his voice. “Rise for Prince Maegor the House Targaryen! Bane of the Dothraki! Slayer of the Faceless Men! Protector of his people! And Prince of Pentos!” he sounded and I was reminded that my titles were not clearly stated. 

That was another thing that was being worked on for my coronation. As of now the only formal title I had was Prince of Pentos but that would hardly do when my empire was far more expansive than just one Free City. 

My mother and I had already brainstormed a few. Namely, Lord of Dragonstone, resurrecting the old title that my ancestors held dating back to Aerion, and Protector of the Narrow Sea. But the Conclave had clearly been hard at work. 

I could only imagine the level of brown-nosing that was going on while I was away. Allowing a healthy amount of it was of course necessary but I did not need them to lavish me with titles to know they were loyal. I had magical guarantees and spies to tell me that. 

Regardless, the three delegates from the cities to Pentos’s south actually did stand. It only made sense of course, but part of me was expecting the delegates of the stubborn and proud cities to foolishly disrespect me before the discussions even began. 

The leftmost delegate was clearly Lyseni, judging from his silver hair and purple eyes at least. His beard was neatly trimmed to make him look noble and his purple clothing embroidered heavily with gold along with his extensive use of jewelry indicated his wealth.

‘Haughty, more than normal,’ I mused to myself. He must have been a nobleman from Lys to flaunt this level of wealth so easily. I noted anything I could about him before moving onto the other delegates. I was certain that they would be trying to take any advantage I allowed them, given I was planning to do the same, so I wanted to be prepared. 

The rightmost delegate was from Myr. His olive skin and black hair would make most people mistake him for a Dornishman had it not been for his equally extravagant clothing. The level of opulence on display from these three delegates would make all but the wealthiest lords in Westeros blush. But such was life in Essos, where trade flourished and the gold flowed freely. 

The final delegate was about as Tyroshi as Tyroshi came. His hair was bright pink and his hat was odd even to my rapidly expanding tastes. I could have sworn that I remembered him from somewhere before I realized that he was the former Archon of Tyrosh. The same one that I met with during my miserable campaign in the Stepstones to negotiate sales of supplies. The fact that they would send a familiar face to meet with me indicated that they were at least taking this meeting seriously. 

“Good evening, I apologize for the wait but I had prior business to attend to,” I said and left it at that. They had no need to know what I was up to, and so they would not know. As I took a seat, the guards that had followed me inside of the manse fanned out around the room while Viserys and Daeron took their positions near the rest of the delegates and scribes who were writing the contents of the meeting. 

I settled into my seat, my expression unreadable as the three delegates inclined their heads in deference. Their deference was expected, but not guaranteed. That they had the sense to observe propriety at least meant this meeting would begin with the illusion of civility.

Under any other circumstances, I would have refused to meet with them. I had designs on their territory after all, and they surely knew that. But circumstances forced my hand, I needed to secure a sustained peace in Essos so that I could return to Westeros to aid my kin. Once Westeros was mostly settled, I could return my full attention to Essos. 

The Lyseni delegate was the first to break the silence. “My prince,” he said smoothly, his words flowing like fine wine. “It is an honor to be welcomed into your esteemed halls. Pentos has flourished under your guidance, and we are grateful for the stability your rule has brought to the region,” the well-groomed nobleman spoke with the typical, musical accent of his homeland. 

His tone was practiced and rehearsed. A part of me wanted to laugh at how transparent it was. He must have spent hours with his advisors, preparing each word to ensure he struck the right balance between flattery and political necessity. Still, I held my tongue. He was playing the game well, and I would let him, even if his true thoughts were plain to see. 

‘A good question for Viserys and Daeron,’ I thought as I let a small smirk creep onto my face while the others gave similar pleasantries. The three whores to my south surely appreciated the removal of Braavos from the competition for sea lanes and trade, but they were certainly not grateful that a Dragonlord had established an empire in a few scant years. 

“The situation in Essos grows more uncertain with each passing moon. Volantis has grown more ambitious with each passing year, and now they are marching on one of our fallen sisters,” the former Archon of Tyrosh got right to the point, knowing from our previous meetings that I cared little for wasted time. 

I inclined my head slightly, acknowledging the seriousness of his statement. They were, indeed, in a precarious position, squeezed between the growing power of Volantis to the east and my own consolidation of Northwestern Essos to their north. I knew what they wanted, security. They weren’t asking for war; they were asking for guarantees, assurances that I would act to protect them should Volantis continue its expansion.

Their position was delicate, but they weren’t foolish enough to show any weakness outright. They had formed their own defensive alliance amongst themselves, but they clearly knew it was not enough. Volantis was able to wage war with the rest of the Free Cities combined after all, they were merely three whereas before it had taken seven and Balerion.

“What do you ask of me?” I said, cutting through the pleasantries with a directness that was expected of me. It was a reputation I had cultivated, which came with benefits and negatives, but it was mine and I would not betray it now.

The Myrish delegate, sitting slightly straighter, leaned forward. “We come as allies, united against a threat that grows more dangerous each day. Volantis, with its ambition, is a danger to us all. Surely, given the right amount of time, my, you could crush them beneath your heel. But allies would surely dissuade a fight that you doubtlessly do not desire,” he said, the words careful but pointed, meant to test my pride. 

His double meaning there went unspoken. He obviously knew of happenings back and Westeros and my time spent there. It was subtle but I noticed it all the same “right amount of time” was clear as day to me, and I would be sure to check if it was clear to my wards as well. 

“You seek protection,” I replied simply, cutting to the heart of the issue. Being read so openly annoyed me, and it made my own disadvantageous position clearer. I had all the power in the world to throw around but I had other priorities. 

“Indeed, my prince,” the Lyseni noble said again. “Your father rode out to protect my fair city over forty years ago, we would like to count on the protection of a dragon once more,” he said in his singsong voice. 

I gave them a moment to consider their words, then spoke again. “And what, exactly, will you offer me in return? Volantis is no small threat,” I said with a prolonged stare. If they had nothing to offer me, I would send them home. I would not protect them for nothing, even if I did not want to see Volantis expand further.

“Our fair cities have empowered us to negotiate a deal with Pentos. To resurrect the grand coalition that once humbled Volantis over forty years ago,” the Tyroshi delegate explained and I smiled in return. Not at the mention of a deal, but that I had a third question to ask my students. 

“Wonderful, I want lessened tolls for Pentoshi merchants and the slave raids on my territory to end,” I demanded. Those were the only two conditions I really wanted from them, that I wouldn’t eventually get from conquest. Tyrosh controlled the Stepstones for now, so they had complete control over the tolls through the second most important choke point in the known world. Securing cheaper trade for my merchants both earned me their favor but it would also increase my own base of wealth, as the trade companies I owned large stakes in, and taxed, would lose less coin to foreign governments. 

Then of course there were the slave raids. Tyrosh was a violent slaver city and their slavers had “wandered” into Pentoshi coastal villages and carried away free people more times than I cared to admit. Having to deploy soldiers and garrisons to all coastal towns was both expensive and annoying, it needed to end. 

It looked as if the Tyroshi delegate wanted to contest that last bit. The accusation that his city was in fact deliberately sending out slavers into my territory was true but it was also scandalous and I probably could have used it as an act of war if I really wanted to stretch it. But his hands were tied and they needed my support. 

“We can accommodate these requests,” my old acquaintance said after a moment of teeth gnashing. With those wonderful words said, I would give them their guarantee. A carefully worded guarantee, of course. 

“Then we have a deal, accommodate my requests and I swear that I shall defend the fair cities of Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr from any and all attacks from Volantis,” I proclaimed loudly and gestured toward my scribes in the room. They would post this declaration in the city and send out word to other cities. Thus making my announcement official. 

My declaration of course did not imply that I wouldn’t conquer them in the future, which meant that I could do so in the future without having to tarnish my reputation. I would have patted myself on the back more but I had to look regal enough as the delegation thanked me for my time and left the chamber. 

I sat at the table in silence for a while as I let the delegates and their attendants leave the hall and make their way toward the exit of my manse. Meanwhile, I prepared questions for my son and nephew. 

“Daeron, Viserys, sit,” I demanded and the two boys quickly ran up to sit on either side of me.

“Father, aren’t you going to go and fight Volantis anyway?” Daeron asked as he pushed his seat further in, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor being so terrible that a servant moved forward to finish the job for him.

“Hopefully not,” I said. I would rather not be sucked into a war right now. I had problems in Westeros to handle after all.

“But aren’t they dangerous? Wouldn’t it be better to deal with them now?” Viserys continued where my son left off.

“Indeed, but we do not have the time. Trouble stirs back in Westeros, or were you not there in the sept when your brother and sister got married?” I said to Viserys mostly. Daeron knew what was happening for the most part, even if he did not fully understand it. 

“Oh,” Viserys said dully before I drummed my fingers on the table, my questions finally prepared. 

“Were the two of you paying attention to the discussion?” I questioned and the two boys straightened their backs quickly. 

“Yes!” they both proclaimed. 

“Well then, was the Lyseni delegate being truthful when he said that he was grateful for the stability I provided?” I asked and the two boys looked stumped. 

“Uhm…” Viserys began while it looked like Daeron was starting to sweat. 

“The answer is no, he was not,” I said. I supposed it wasn’t quite fair to expect that much of them quite yet, but it would be a good lesson nonetheless. 

“How do you know?” Daeron asked, curiosity replacing the desperation that previously clouded his mind. 

“His tone, Daeron. The tone in which a person speaks can say more than even the words coming from their mouth. His speech was practiced and flowed too smoothly off his tongue,” I explained and it looked like both boys heard me but didn’t quite understand me. 

“Take context into account as well, I am a conqueror, are they grateful that they share a border with my kingdom?” I asked and the two of them quickly shook their heads. 

“Then why would he lie?” Viserys asked, scratching his chin in thought. 

“To get on my good side. Their goal was to earn my protection, if I found the delegates agreeable, I would be more likely to swear to protect them,” I explained and that seemed to be more understandable for them. 

“Now then, one more question. The delegates spoke of resurrecting a grand coalition that humbled Volantis. But who was it that actually humbled Volantis?” I asked the two and I could see them both quickly jump to answer. 

“Grandfather!” they both exclaimed excitedly. Daeron did not have a real relationship with my father but he was still inspired by his accomplishments. 

“Aye, but there is another piece of that coalition that is missing. A member that was not a Free City or my father,” I explained further, which caused the two boys to descend back into their thoughts. 

“Was it King Argilac?” Viserys asked after a while, which brought a smile to my face. 

“Yes! Yes it was!” I said, patting him on the shoulder. His Westerosi education likely helped him here, Argilac’s expedition out east was downplayed out here in Essos. Given the prideful nature of the Free Cities. 

“I… I would have gotten it too!” Daeron said suddenly, causing me to turn to my eldest son. I could explain away his lack of knowledge due to the biased view of my mother and the skewed worldview of the scholars I had brought in to teach him. But I resolved to teach him more on my own, this was not vital information but he needed more than just an Essosi view of history. 

“Daeron, you do not need to feel defeated when you do not know something,” I said, grasping my son by the shoulder just as I had Viserys. 

He looked down at the table, clearly his desire to impress me ran deeper than I thought. I would need to deal with this before it became a problem. I had clearly been spending too much time elsewhere and not enough with my sons. 

“You realized that you were lacking somewhere. That is a good thing Daeron, as now you can correct that lack of knowledge,” I explained while lifting Daeron’s chin to look at me. 

“You are smart Daeron. But do not think that means you must know everything. I learn new things every day, it is a natural thing,” I reassured my son, which seemed to have worked given his frown disappeared. 

“You do?” he inquired. 

“Indeed.”

“What did you learn today?” Viserys asked, just as interested as my son. 

“I learned that I will be very busy dealing with you two in camp,” I said and the two boys turned to look at each other. 

“In camp?” they asked in unison. 

“What, did you think that I would leave my pages here?” I asked with mirth. 

Both of the boys stared at me with slacked jaws before excitedly jumping out from their seats. 

“Yes!” They both cheered as they ran about the grand hall. Before they could damage anything or anyone, I interjected. 

“You will have plenty of time to celebrate and fool around in the camp. For now, Daeron, show your cousin to his room and prepare for dinner,” I said while my son excitedly ran up to me. 

“Thank you, Father!” he said with a smile as he hugged me tightly. 

“Run along,” I said after returning the hug and ruffling his hair a bit. I was glad that Daeron was old enough to bring with me. Going on campaign used to be far more miserable, I could tell that this time would not be so bad. Given I had two members of my family here to join me. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Aenys XII 

4th moon, 39AC

Aenys placed his head in his hands as he waited for the grand maester to read the next letter from the High Septon. He had been arguing with the stubborn old fool through letters for the better part of the last year and they grew more cruelly worded and harsh with every exchange. 

The grand maester cleared his throat before beginning. The light cough reminded him of the harrowing coughs he heard from his little girl just a few scant hours before. His mind kept racing back to Vaella. He let out a small prayer before the maester began. 

“Please save her,” he begged in a barely audible whisper. He did not know who or what he was praying to. He considered praying to the Father but given the High Septon’s current alignment, that may be a poor choice. Then he did not even know if praying to a dragon egg did anything, but he doubted it. 

“To the faithful sons and daughters of the Seven Kingdoms,” the grand maester began, his old, weathered voice sounding not unlike that of the High Septon. 

“By the grace of the Seven, I, the High Septon, do hereby declare, with righteous fury and holy conviction, that the false king, Aenys Targaryen, is an abomination before the Seven, a child of sin. His claim to the Iron Throne is nothing but a perversion of the true order that the Seven have set for us all.” The words did not sound real to Aenys, he was not even sure he was listening, so deeply confused and distracted as he was.

“House Targaryen, with its vile practices of incest and bigamy, has no rightful place among the noble houses of Westeros. Their bloodline is tainted, their very foundation built upon the desecration of the sanctity of marriage as ordained by the Seven. To allow such heathens to rule over the people of the Seven Kingdoms is to invite the wrath of the Seven themselves upon this land.” 

‘A direct challenge,’ Aenys realized. He should have taken his brother more seriously, all the way back when they were still children, when he was getting married back in Oldtown and he warned him that the Faith was dangerous, he couldn’t see it then. But he could now.

“It is not enough to stand idle as these abominations rule. I call upon every true-born subject of the Seven Kingdoms, every noble house, every knight of honor, every faithful soul, to rise and cast out this vile dynasty from our land. The Targaryens must be expelled, their reign ended, for their very presence defiles the holiness of this kingdom.”

“A call to arms,” Aenys muttered. His brother had told him to get his family out of King’s Landing, and he was more grateful to his brother than he had ever been in his entire life. 

The sound of Aenys’s pounding heart replaced the sound of the Maester’s voice in his ears. Illegitimate. His father’s bloodline, their ancestors, the very essence of who they were, now seen as a sin against the gods themselves. 

‘What do I do?’ he thought, his mind racing in circles, a blur of indecision. The Small Council chamber felt colder than it ever had. Aenys sat at the head of the table, his gaze unfocused, hands resting nervously on his knees as he breathed deeply. 

He glanced briefly around the room at his councilors. The faces staring back at him seemed to blur together, each one as anxious as the next. They were waiting for him to make a decision, to give them some direction. But he had none. He could feel the suffocating silence between them. They had asked for his leadership, yet here he was, unable to provide it.

He didn’t know what to do. His friend was dead, his daughter was sick, and the High Septon just declared war. Whispering erupted among the Small Council as his silence continued. Only the words of his new Hand of the King brought him back to attention.

“Your Grace,” his new Hand, Lord Aethan Velaryon, began. “Perhaps it is time to decide on a course of action. The High Septon’s call for revolt is a serious matter…”

Aenys held up a hand, signaling for him to stop. The words burned in his mind, but his tongue felt heavy. He thought of the soldiers, the common folk, the war that could tear the kingdom apart. He didn’t want it. He couldn’t stand the thought of marching against his people, his people, the ones who still, in his mind, loved him. They had to. Surely, they were just being misled. Surely, they didn’t hate him. They couldn’t.

He had decades of memories of cheering crowds and talkative nobles. He had gone on more than two dozen progresses through the Seven Kingdoms and he had never once received a cold welcome. Even when he went alone, without his father looking over his shoulder, the people were always more than welcoming.

"War..." Aenys whispered, his voice trailing off. His head dropped, his fingers pressing against his temples. Could he make the decision to wage war on his own people? No. He couldn’t. ‘But if I do nothing…’ he thought before a familiar voice spoke up in the room. 

“Enough dithering,” Aegon said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade cuts through flesh. 

“The dragons made us kings, not this doddering old fool.” His gaze flickered briefly to Aenys, but there was no warmth in it, only the cold fire of a man who had made up his mind. "I’m going to Oldtown. I’m going to burn the Starry Sept to the ground. As my Grandfather should have done forty years ago.” 

Aenys stiffened at the words. Aegon was not just speaking recklessly, he was ready to act. He was ready to burn it all down. And the weight of his words hit Aenys like a fist to the face. His son had grown more bold and hotheaded in the last two years but this… this was madness.

“You will do no such thing,” Aenys said, his voice suddenly firm. The rest of the chamber was silenced immediately.

“Aegon, you cannot. It’s... it’s a bad idea. We don’t need to make things worse. We need to hold Dragonstone, and protect our family. You can’t go off and start a war. You must stay here. I need you here, Aegon. We cannot tear this kingdom apart.” Aenys said, his tone far more resolute than he was. He couldn’t send his son off to war, not now. 

His friend had just died because Aenys did not bring him with him to Dragonstone. Septon Murmison, not Aenys’s best friend but a damn good one. One he shared numerous conversations with and one he even considered elevating to Hand of the King once Ser Osmund Strong died of an illness. 

He was gone now, torn to pieces by a ravenous mob in King’s Landing. Led astray by the words of the Warrior’s Sons and deluded septons in the city. If Aenys had been a little more forceful in getting his friend to join him on Dragonstone, he would still be alive now. 

He couldn’t let his son leave too. No, he needed him here at his side, where he was safe. Aenys had too many issues to deal with, his son burning the holiest place in all the Seven Kingdoms to the ground was not something he had the energy for now. It would plunge the Seven Kingdoms into a war the likes of which he could not even imagine.

“Tear the Kingdom apart?!” Aegon spat, rage replacing what had been resolute determination. 

“That just happened, Father! The High Septon declared war on us! He declared war, Father. War!” Aegon exclaimed, his face growing red with rage. 

“I will not let you make this worse,” Aenys declared, meeting his son’s tone with a false one of his own. He had no desire to challenge his son in this way, but he had grown far more used to disciplining his son over the last two years that it had become almost natural to him. 

“Argh!” Aegon declared as he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. The sounds of his heavy footsteps echoed through the halls before the Kingsguard closed the heavy doors to the chamber once more.

Aenys sat heavily in his chair, sliding further down as his body went limp. The silence in the room was suffocating. He could feel the walls of the room closing in. His son, his heir, was slipping further from his grasp with every passing day. The once-joyful child who looked to his father with admiration and excitement was now a bitter and angry young man.

Aenys let out a deep sigh, the burden of his rule pressing down on him like a heavy stone. His family was splintering before his eyes and he could do nothing to stop it.

His children, his two eldest, Aegon and Rhaena were pushing him and Alyssa away, their hearts hardening with every passing day. He had hoped that everything would return to normal after his Kingsguard told him of their emotional agreement before their marriage, but it had yet to happen, nor did it look like it ever would.

Aegon continued to be quiet and angry, spending all day locked in his room, in the yard, or atop Balerion. He regularly skipped family meals and would frequently only dine with Rhaena in his solar. Aenys had thought that mending his relationship with Rhaena would put him on the right path, but it seemed to only replace his anger with resentment. 

Rhaena was hardly any better. His cheerful, fun-loving, and bright young girl had hardened since her marriage. She spent most days in her room as well, that or in Aegon’s. She at least spoke to him regularly at meals, which was more than could be said of Aegon. Her cheerful and lighthearted demeanor that used to brighten even his darkest days was gone, and Aenys needed it more than ever.

Then Viserys too, Viserys was gone too. Out in Essos with his uncle as his page. Aenys was glad that his son would be learning from the best of the best but sending him away hurt. Especially knowing he was in a warzone without Silverwing. His son’s silver dragon was too small to make the crossing over the Narrow Sea and now Viserys was in Essos without a dragon.

And poor Vaella. The news of his daughter’s sickness still weighed heavily on him, a constant knot in his stomach. Vaella, so small and frail, with her delicate form wrapped in soft linens. Her condition had only worsened, and the maesters’ prognosis was grim. They had all but given up on her survival, saying it was only a matter of time before her body gave in to its weakness.

Aenys had tried everything. He had even contacted eastern healers, even if they were weeks away, weeks that Vaella likely didn’t have. Remembering his own experience with his beloved Quicksilver and heeding the advice of the Dragonkeepers, he had placed a dragon egg in her cradle, hoping that the old magic, the ancient power of the dragons, might awaken in her and grant her strength. But it felt like an empty gesture. The egg sat there, an unhatched symbol of hope, as his daughter’s breaths grew weaker every day.

As if on cue, a sharp, biting chill settled into the room. The weight of his thoughts, his guilt, seemed to hover around him like a storm cloud. He could not dispel them no matter what he did. The air felt heavy with an unspoken tension, a dread that had become far too familiar in the last few weeks. His family, his entire kingdom, was teetering on the edge of something unthinkable, and he couldn’t stop it.

“Dismissed,” Aenys muttered, just loud enough for the gathered counselors to hear it. The sound of chairs moving filled the air as Aenys was the first to depart. He had to see Vaella, he had to be with his daughter. 

She had to make it, she had to live. She was the blood of the dragon. In her flowed the same blood as her brothers Viserys and Jaehaerys, and both of them managed to hatch eggs. Surely the egg in her cradle would hatch too and her health would improve. Just like Quicksilver had saved his life two and thirty years ago.

He traversed the halls quickly. The Small Council chamber was placed annoyingly far from the nursery. His steps thundered almost as loud as the armored ones behind him, but suddenly, he was stopped.

A wail from his wife echoed through the halls like a sharp, piercing cry, pulling Aenys to a halt mid-step. His heart clenched in his chest, and he froze, the very air around him thick with dread. The wail echoed again, unmistakable in its anguish, and Aenys found himself running before he even thought about it, his feet pounding against the stone floors.

He burst into the nursery, his breath shallow and ragged. The sight that met his eyes was a living nightmare, Alyssa, his beloved wife, kneeling beside their daughter’s cradle, her face pale and streaked with tears. Vaella lay still, far too still, her tiny form cradled in her mother’s arms.

Aenys’s chest tightened, the room spinning as the reality of the moment crashed into him. He stumbled forward, reaching for Vaella, his hands trembling.

“No…” he whispered, his voice breaking as he touched her cooling skin. “No, no, no…”

Alyssa looked up at him, her eyes red and hollow. “She’s gone, Aenys,” she whispered, the words like poison on her tongue. “Our little girl… she’s gone.”

Aenys felt his legs weaken as he stumbled toward his wife and daughter. ‘She is wrong,’ he thought as he closed in and dropped next to her next to the cradle. 

His shaky hands reached out for his daughter, less than a fortnight old. She couldn’t be dead, she was the blood of the dragon, a Targaryen. His hand brushed over her skin, which was still warm but felt far too cold.

In an instant, his arms shot into the cradle, grasping for the dragon egg. ‘It will save her,’ he thought as his hands closed around the purple-scaled oval nestled in Vaella’s cradle. He hoisted the heavy object out of the cradle before he was halted dead in his tracks. 

It was cold, cold as stone.