111 AC.
The tourney celebrating the fifth anniversary of the King’s marriage to his Queen opened in grand fashion at King’s Landing.
Criston Cole rode wearing Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen’s favor, and quickly unhorsed Gwayne Hightower.
“Uncle lasted five passes before he fell.
Not bad.”
In the stands, Aegon Targaryen turned a page of his history book and smiled at his mother.
Alicent Hightower’s face tightened.
But as the King’s second wife, with half the court watching her, she could hardly complain in public.
Aegon said nothing more.
He did not care who won or lost.
He simply kept reading The History of the Targaryen Dynasty.
He was no ordinary child.
Inside that small body lived the soul of a twenty-four-year-old from Earth.
A transmigrator.
In his past life he had read Fire & Blood, the account of the bloody civil war that tore through the middle of the Targaryen dynasty.
It began when Rhaenyra, the firstborn daughter of Viserys I, and Aegon, the eldest son of his second wife Alicent Hightower, both claimed the Iron Throne.
The moment he learned he had become that Aegon Targaryen, any thought of coasting through this life vanished.
He was the eldest son of Viserys I.
Across the realm, many wanted him on the throne.
And the current heir, his half-sister, had supporters of her own.
The game of thrones had begun the instant the midwife shouted “A boy.”
In this game, it never ends until one side is gone entirely.
Amid the roaring of the assembled nobles, the tourney drew to a close.
Criston Cole took the champion’s crown, as expected.
But as he stepped forward to receive the crowd’s acclaim, a dragon’s shriek split the air.
“Skree!”
The piercing cry exploded over the tourney grounds.
A blood-red monster broke through the clouds and dove straight down.
“Caraxes, called the Blood Wyrm.
A vast, fearsome, battle-hardened beast.”
Aegon watched the dragon land before the royal dais and spoke softly.
Alicent began picking at her fingers.
The monster’s rider was Prince Daemon Targaryen, the King’s own brother.
More importantly, Daemon despised her father, Otto Hightower.
Calling them enemies would not be an exaggeration.
Two years ago, her father had been dismissed as Hand for overstepping on the matter of the succession.
Since then, she had lost her greatest shield, and House Hightower’s influence in King’s Landing had sunk to nothing.
But she was fertile, and fortunate.
In five short years she had given Viserys two sons and a daughter.
Her sons gave her standing, and she had satisfied Viserys’s obsession with having a male heir.
Her position in the Red Keep was far from weak.
Aegon noticed her tension.
He gently took her hand to stop the picking.
“Mother, do you know you pick your fingers when you’re nervous?”
Alicent blinked.
Of course she knew the habit.
What she could not understand was why her unnaturally clever son wanted her to stop.
Seeing her confusion, Aegon sighed inwardly.
His mother was still too naive.
“If I know your tell, others do too.
Grandfather has been dismissed.
You need to look strong.
Don’t let anyone think we’re easy prey.”
Alicent’s eyes widened.
She squeezed his small hand, grateful and relieved.
Then she straightened her back and put on her warm, practiced smile again.
While mother and son whispered, Daemon, a crown upon his head, approached Viserys.
Two Kingsguard drew their swords at once, blocking his path.
Viserys had entered middle age, but his slightly plump face still carried full royal authority.
“You wear a crown.
Have you come to declare yourself King?”
He studied Daemon calmly.
The crown did not anger him.
Daemon had caused too much trouble over the years.
Even this would not surprise him.
But Daemon had not returned to quarrel with his brother.
He tossed the weapons he had seized at Viserys’s feet and knelt.
“After I took the Stepstones, they named me King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones.
But I know there is only one true King.
You.
Allow me to offer you this crown and the Stepstones.
They are yours.”
Viserys looked down at his kneeling brother, and a smile broke across his face.
His brother had finally grown up.
Viserys rose and lifted Daemon to his feet, returning the crown.
He kissed his brother on both cheeks and welcomed him home.
For the reconciliation of the blood of Baelon Targaryen, the Spring Prince, lords and smallfolk alike sent up a thunderous cheer.
None cheered louder than Princess Rhaenyra.
Her beloved uncle’s return from the sky sent her into rapture.
She even begged him not to leave again soon.
Aegon clapped with enthusiasm.
But as he watched Viserys and Daemon, something cold flickered in his eyes.
Such brotherly devotion.
Pity that within half a year, Daemon would be exiled again, sent back to the Stepstones to keep fighting.
“He is your enemy too, Aegon.” Beside him, Alicent whispered.
Aegon did not answer.
He kept clapping until the applause faded, then lowered his hands.
Some things he did not know how to explain.
But when the moment called for it, you performed.
Everyone else clapped.
If you did not, they would call you petty.
Aegon felt a flicker of frustration.
He was still too young.
Show a little, and people call you clever, mature.
Show too much, and it backfires.
Especially cunning.
That could never be displayed too openly.