I could see in the eyes of the guard that it wasn't just that he thought I wouldn't make the journey but rather that he was afraid my escape would go back to him.
The guard opened his mouth surely preparing another suggestion, but I waved my hand dismissively, cutting off his protests. "I'm not asking for a royal escort. Just get me out of the Red Keep with enough food and water to reach the docks. I'll find my own way to Dragonstone."
The guard stared at me for a long moment. The silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of his choice. He wasn't doing this out of the goodness of his heart he was doing it because I had spoken to him like a man, and because the prospect of a future reward from a prince who might one day hold power was worth more than the loyalty he felt for a king who treated his own children like refuse.
"It won't be easy," he finally muttered, his voice rough. "The patrols are tight after the training incident. I can't just walk you out the front gate." He turned toward the door, his hand already on the latch. "It will take a few days to arrange a route and find a ship captain dumb enough to take a child without questions. I will bring you food every night."
I nodded once, a silent pact sealed in the gloom. "Good."
The door creaked shut, and the metallic thunk of the lock followed. I was alone again, but this time the darkness felt different. It wasn't a tomb anymore; it was a cocoon.
I sat back down on the floor, the taste of stale bread still lingering in my mouth. The plan was desperate, bordering on suicidal, but staying here was a guaranteed death sentence. Dragonstone was abandoned, a relic of a different era, and that was exactly why it was perfect. In the Red Keep, I was a failed prophecy. On that lonely rock, I could be whatever I wanted.
I spent the next few hours listening to the sounds of the castle the distant shouts of guards, the ringing of bells, the muffled laughter of courtiers in distant halls. Every sound reminded me of the world I was about to leave behind. I closed my eyes and began to mentally map the Red Keep's layout, recalling every secret passage and servants' stairwell from memory.
The first night is the hardest, I thought, bracing myself. Then comes the escape.
***
An hour later, I sat in the dim light, staring at the peeling plaster on the wall, unable to stop myself from tsk ing. The sheer incompetence of it all made my blood boil.
"So dumb," I whispered to the empty room. "Even if you hate someone, they can still be useful."
The Targaryen dynasty was built on dragonfire and ruthless pragmatism, yet here they were, wasting a royal asset however unwanted by rotting him in a cupboard.
If they truly wanted to neutralize the threat of a second son, they could have done it with dignity and strategy. They could have sent me to Storm's End as a politically useful hostage, binding the Baratheons closer. They could have raised me among the soldiers, turning me into a hardened commander who would serve as Aegon's iron fist.
Or better yet, they could have sworn me to the Kingsguard; I would have been bound by oath never to claim the throne, and in return, I would have been given purpose and protection.
Instead, they chose the path of least effort. They chose to pretend I didn't exist, which was the most dangerous mistake of all. By treating me like a shameful secret rather than a political variable, they had left me with nothing to lose and a boy with nothing to lose is the most dangerous creature in the Seven Kingdoms.
The silence of the room felt heavier now, charged with the implications of my own exile. I wasn't just escaping a prison; I was escaping a failure of imagination. They thought they were hiding a problem, but they were actually cultivating a survivor.
I pulled my knees to my chest, my small fingers digging into my shins. I needed to conserve my energy.
Tomorrow night, the guard would return with more food, and perhaps the first crack in the Red Keep's armor. Until then, I would sit in the dark and plan, mapping out every step of my journey across the Blackwater.
At one point, I crawled toward the small, cracked basin where a few inches of stagnant water remained in the bowl. Leaning forward, I peered at my reflection.
"Seven hells," I breathed, the sound catching in my throat.
I hadn't expected this. I expected something pale and sickly, a child broken by neglect. But the face staring back at me was striking. My hair was black as raven feathers, thick and straight, but it was my eyes that froze me.
They weren't the violet of the Targaryens, nor the grey of the Starks; they were a startling, piercing blue bright as a summer sky after a storm.
Lyanna's eyes.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. I was a walking contradiction, a living piece of evidence of Rhaegar's betrayal and Lyanna's choice. While Aegon carried the silver hair and violet eyes of Elia's Dornish heritage, I was the undeniable image of the North married to Valyria.
My bone structure was fine, my nose straight and aristocratic, and even at seven, there was a symmetry to my features that spoke of ancient bloodlines. The Valyrian features the sharp cheekbones and the unnatural clarity of my skin were there, but the color palette belonged to Winterfell.
Anyone who saw me would know exactly whose blood ran through my veins. I couldn't hide behind a commoner's face for long.
"At least I'll grow handsome," I muttered, a bitter chuckle escaping my lips as I wiped the water from my chin. "That's one silver lining in this shitshow."
The irony wasn't lost on me. Lyanna Stark had abandoned her family for a prince, and in doing so, she had created a child who bore her face but carried none of her protection. She had left me to be a ghost, but my own flesh and blood made me impossible to truly conceal.
I pulled away from the basin, the cold stone floor biting into my knees. The reflection reminded me of the stakes. I couldn't just be any boy escaping a castle; I was a prince with a face that could start another war. Dragonstone couldn't just be a place to hide; it would have to become a fortress.
A distant horn sounded somewhere in the city below, its mournful note echoing through the Red Keep's walls. The night was deepening, and the reality of my situation settled back over me like a shroud. I had to be careful. Every person I met, every guard I passed, would see the Stark in my eyes and the Dragon in my bones.
I need to learn how to hide in plain sight, I thought grimly. Before someone recognizes the face they've been taught to forget.