“BY DECREE OF KING AEGON TARGARYEN, SECOND OF HIS NAME, KING OF THE ANDALS, THE RHOYNAR, AND THE FIRST MEN! ALL UNLAWFUL AND TYRANNICAL TAXES LEVIED BY THE USURPER ARE HEREBY NULL AND VOID! THE CROWN RESTORES THE KING’S PEACE AND THE KING’S JUSTICE!”
The royal herald announced, his voice echoing over the crowded square, flanked by two dozen armored Hightower guards.
Roaring cheer erupted from the smallfolk.
“MOREOVER, FOR THEIR CRIMES AGAINST THE KING’S DOMAIN! FOR RAIDING HIS LOYAL VASSALS’ LANDS, BURNING VILLAGES, SLAUGHTERING THE INNOCENT, AND COMMITTING COUNTLESS ATROCITIES, THE NORTH IS HEREBY DECLARED IN OPEN REBELLION AGAINST THE IRON THRONE! CREGAN STARK AND ALL NORTHERN INVADERS ARE BRANDED COMMON OUTLAWS BEFORE GODS AND MEN SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE EXECUTION ANY HOUSE THAT OFFERS THEM FOOD, SHELTER, OR PASSAGE SHALL SHARE IN THEIR TREASON AND FEAL THE FULL WRATH OF KING AEGON TARGARYEN! ALL TRADE WITH THE NORTH IS HEREBY OUTLAWED, AND ALL GRAIN SUPPLY FROM THE REACH IS SUSPENDED! ANY LORD, MERCHANT, OR CAPTAIN FOUND AIDING THE NORTHERN REBELS SHALL FACE TOTAL FORFEITURE OF THEIR LANDS AND IMMEDIATE EXECUTION!”
A fierce roar swept through the crowd, dark and bloodthirsty.
The smallfolk raised their fists into the air, their earlier joy turning into bitter hatred for the Northern invaders.
“Burn the tree-worshippers!”
“Death to the heathen savages!”
The royal herald raised a gauntleted hand, signaling the Hightower guards beside him to strike their spear-butts against the cobblestones.
“MOREOVER!” the herald shouted, unfurling the parchment further.
“THE CROWN DECLARES A GENERAL REDUCTION OF ALL TAXES FOR THE REMAINDER OF THIS YEAR! FURTHERMORE, IN HIS GRACE’S MERCY, OPEN FOOD POTS SHALL BE ESTABLISHED IN EVERY SQUARE FOR ALL THOSE BROKEN BY THE PRETENDER’S TAXES!”
A wave of astonished, weeping relief washed over the smallfolk, but before the cheers could fully erupt, the herald voice hardened into a stern warning.
“BUT BE WARNED! DO NOT RETURN TO CHAOS AND ANARCHY! ANY WHO STIR UP RIOTS OR DEFY THE KING’S LAWS SHALL HANG FROM THE WALLS! THE CROWN WILL HAVE ITS PEACE, AND IT WILL HAVE ITS ORDER! LONG LIVE THE KING!”
“So you’re saying they will never respect me?” Ulf asked, looking at Aegon.
“Even with a dragon?”
Aegon sat across from Hugh and Ulf, taking a slow sip of his wine.
He needed this heart-to-heart with the two dragonseeds.
He had massive plans for them, and before squeezing them for every bit of usefulness they had, he needed to ensure they wouldn’t betray him.
“Yes,” Aegon said, setting his cup down.
“Because the problem is you are both commoners. Dragons or not, lands or not, the lords will look at you, smile at you, and flatter you to your face, but they will hate every second of it. All these noble houses have thousands of years of history behind them. To them, you will always be upstart commoners. Nothing more.”
Hugh sighed and said nothing, simply taking a deep gulp from his wine.
Ulf blinked, leaning forward.
“You would give me Spicetown and Driftmark?”
“Of course,” Aegon said.
“It’s the least you deserve. Besides, I want to see Corlys Velaryon’s face for myself when he realizes the man who killed his son gets to sit in his halls and name himself Lord of the Tides.”
“What about me, Your Grace?” Hugh asked from his seat, looking up at Aegon.
Aegon looked Hugh up and down, letting out an appreciative whistle.
“By the gods, you’re big.”
Hugh smiled, a faint blush creeping up his neck at the praise.
“Were you really a commoner?” Aegon asked, leaning back.
“Look at this build, those muscles.”
“I used to look like that when I was younger,” Ulf chimed in from the side, swirling his wine.
“But then I decided to live a little.”
Aegon gaze stayed locked on Hugh.
“To be honest, I’m unsure. I wanted to give you the Twins so you could have a gold revenue, and Riverrun so you could hold the Riverlands for me… but I fear the servants and guards will poison the two of you the second I turn my back. we need to win this war first”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Ulf asked eagerly, leaning forward.
“We’ve won the war! Let’s go now and burn the stubborn cunts!”
“No, we can’t,” Aegon sighed, rubbing his temples.
“We need the lords to arrive at court first so I can reassign titles, strip lands, and execute traitors with proper ceremony. Besides, if we could take Moat Cailin, the Northern army would have no way to cross. They would be fools to face us in an open field, so they’ll almost certainly turn to hit-and-run tactics, which is infuriatingly tedious, considering I’d prefer my kingdom unburnt while flushing out the rats.”
Aegon stopped, turning his gaze directly onto Hugh.
“I had hoped to send you, Ser Hugh,” Aegon said softly, letting a heavy silence settle over the room.
“But I have my reservations. You are, after all, my blood cousin. If I send you up north with a force to hold it, I fear you might get poisoned by those deceitful lords. So few of our true blood are left, after all.”
Hugh and Ulf exchanged a stunned look, the wine cups freezing halfway to their lips.
“Your Grace…” Hugh stammered, his usual gruff confidence wavering into genuine awe.
“When the war is over, I wish to legitimize the both of you as Targaryens, my cousins, and arrange noble marriages for you.”
Hugh and Ulf sat frozen, mouths hanging open.
“But… but you just said,” Ulf stammered, shaking his head in confusion.
“You just said the noble houses will never accept us!”
“That is true,” Aegon agreed with a nod.
“And most likely, you two would simply be used in their petty disputes. After you fulfill your role as breeding studs, you’d be quietly poisoned so the mother’s side could claim your lands and groom your children. Which is why you won’t marry women from Westeros. You will marry women from Volantis.”
“Volantis?” Hugh asked, his brow furrowing.
“Why Volantis?”
“Because Volantis has noble families of the Old Blood that trace their lineages back before the Doom,” Aegon explained, leaning forward.
“Most importantly, those noble families don’t care whether you were born a commoner or not. They will only care that you ride a dragon. But do you know what the best part is?” Aegon asked, looking over at Ulf.
“What?” they both asked eagerly.
“Their daughters are of such pure blood and beauty, they look like living goddesses. Now imagine this,” Aegon gestured toward Hugh’s massive frame.
“With a pure-blooded woman of Valyrian descent, your children will be born like gods among men.
And also,” Aegon turned his gaze toward Ulf, waving a hand at his face with mock disgust, “hopefully their beauty will prove strong enough to dilute…
this.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Ulf spluttered, throwing his hands up in outrage.
“Why do you hate me and like Hugh?! I toasted to you in the tavern!”
“Your Grace… cousin,” Hugh said.
“Please. Send me to take Moat Cailin in your name. I beg of you, place your trust in me. I will not fail you, and I will not die to some poison or dagger.”
——————————————————————————————–Before you come at me with pitchforks and torches, no, Aegon isn’t dumb enough to fulfill such promises.
The only reward they will reap is nightshade and six inches of cold steel in their backs once they’ve outlived their usefulness.