The year 111 After Conquest was destined to be remembered in the annals of history.
A grand tournament was held to celebrate the fifth wedding anniversary of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower.
It should have been a time of joy, yet beneath the laughter and gallantry, whispers coiled like smoke.That was the day the court divided itself by color, the Queen's green and the Princess's black... the two women closest to the King, had worn different colors at the banquet.
Thus were born the factions that would one day plunge the realm into blood: the Greens and the Blacks.
At that same feast, the young Prince Aegon Targaryen stole the show, seated in his father's lap for much of the evening, laughing, playing, and basking in the King's affection.
Half a Year Later
By the middle of that same year, the fragile peace of the Red Keep had shattered once again.
Prince Daemon and King Viserys quarreled bitterly.
Too often, Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra were seen together, laughing softly in the gardens, whispering in the library, and once, riding their dragons over Blackwater Bay, close as shadows.
The King's temper, when it came, was thunderous.
"You will not see her again, Daemon!" Viserys shouted across the throne room. "You will not set foot in this city until I say otherwise!"
Daemon's reply was a mocking bow. "As you command, brother. But blood calls to blood. Even if you cage dragons, their fire still burns."
And so Daemon was exiled again, back to the Stepstones.
112 AC
Change came quickly thereafter.
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard died in his sleep, white cloak folded neatly beside him. His replacement was Ser Criston Cole, once a humble Dornish-born knight and now commander of the realm's most sacred brotherhood.
Not long after, Grand Maester Runciter also passed, replaced by Grand Maester Mellos, whose soft words and subtle counsel soon became fixtures in the Queen's chambers.
It was then that Queen Alicent made her boldest move yet.
With the politeness of a daughter-in-law and the cunning of a lioness, she approached the King in the garden one morning.
"Rhaenyra is of age, Your Grace," she said softly. "Perhaps it is time she weds. A union between her and Prince Aegon would unite the bloodlines, strengthen the realm and your legacy."
Viserys frowned, his cup halfway to his lips.
"She is Aegon's half-sister. He is but a boy."
"A Targaryen boy," Alicent replied. "And our ancestors wed brother to sister for centuries, to keep the blood of Old Valyria pure."
Her tone was honeyed, but her eyes burned with quiet resolve. She was no longer the timid girl he had married, she had become a queen, and a mother defending her son's birthright.
Viserys set the cup down.
"Enough. Rhaenyra will marry where I command... and it shall not be her brother."
And thus, by royal decree, Rhaenyra was betrothed to Ser Laenor Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, a match made for politics, not passion.
The Princess had no choice but to accept. Yet she did so with ice in her eyes.
The court whispered what everyone knew, Ser Laenor preferred the company of men.And some whispered even darker things, that Ser Criston Cole, her sworn shield, had once begged her to flee with him, and that when she refused, he turned against her heart and name alike.
By the year's end, King Viserys's family was no longer a family.
It was a court divided by gossip, power, and jealousy... the calm before the coming storm.
114 AC, The Training Yard
Morning light spilled across the training grounds of the Red Keep, glinting off helmets and wooden blades.
Clack! Thwack! Clack!
The sound of sparring filled the air as Prince Aegon, now seven years old, faced Ser Criston Cole in practice combat.
Sweat rolled down Aegon's neck, his silver hair matted, but his stance held. His small hands gripped the wooden sword tight, his movements precise for a boy, shockingly so.
A few knights paused to watch. Even they could see the boy's draconic talent.
From the shade of a pavilion, Queen Alicent observed, her face calm but her eyes alight with pride.Her son was strong, clever, and charming- every inch a prince.Every inch a king.
Criston feinted left, then swung low. Aegon dodged, barely. The impact sent him stumbling, but he steadied his breath and came forward again.
After a few more exchanges, Criston stepped back and raised a hand. "Enough. Well done, Your Highness."
Aegon dropped his sword and panted, a grin splitting his face.
"You're getting better," Criston said, surprise in his tone. "Soon, I'll have nothing left to teach you."
Aegon rubbed his sore shoulder.
"Then you'll have to find someone else to hit, Ser Criston. Maybe my uncle Daemon... if Father ever lets him return."
Criston coughed into his fist, half amused, half embarrassed. "You have your uncle's tongue as well, it seems."
From the sidelines, Ser Arryk Cargyll, one of the twin brothers sworn to the Kingsguard, laughed lightly.
"Your Highness, if Ser Criston strikes hard, it's only because he fears losing to you."
"Stop flattering me," Aegon replied, grinning. "Come, Ser Arryk, have you eaten?"
"Not yet, Your Highness."
"Then you'll dine with me. My father says a prince should always eat among those who protect him."
Arryk hesitated, but Aegon waved away his protest.
"That's an order, Ser."
And so, they ate together in the small dining hall reserved for the royal family's guards and attendants. Aegon tore into roasted fowl with a boy's appetite, occasionally glancing at the knight before him.
"You look nervous," Aegon said at last. "Do I frighten you?"
"No, Your Highness," Arryk said carefully. "Only… I recall the songs. The bards speak of you as if you were Aegon the Conqueror reborn."
The boy paused mid-bite. Then he laughed softly, not in joy, but in thought.
"Do they now? My sister would love to hear that."
He leaned back, wiping his hands with a napkin.
"You know... I don't like such talk, Ser Arryk. It brings only trouble. My love for my sister is beyond doubt."
Arryk nodded but said nothing more. The words were proper... but the smile that followed them was not.There was a cunning gleam in the prince's eyes, a faint amusement at how easily people revealed themselves.
After a long silence, Aegon spoke again, voice lower now.
"Ser Arryk, I value honesty. And loyalty. You may speak freely in front of me, but only in front of me. Understand?"
Arryk's throat went dry. He nodded stiffly, realizing he had stepped close to treason without meaning to.A single wrong word in the Red Keep could cost a man his white cloak... or his life.
Every knight of the Kingsguard swore to protect the King and his secrets, not to take sides in matters of succession.But some kings, like Viserys, trusted their knights to guard their wives and children too. It was at the King's command that Aegon had been allowed to choose one knight of his own.
Without hesitation, he had chosen Ser Arryk Cargyll, brave, disciplined, and, in another history, destined to die for the Greens.
As Aegon watched him now, he wondered about that destiny.
Perhaps things can be different this time, he thought.Perhaps even brothers need not kill each other.
He smiled faintly at the thought and returned to his meal, speaking of trivial things, the next tournament, the bards' latest songs, the sweetness of Dorne's oranges.
But behind that boyish laughter, something older stirred, ambition, sharp as Valyrian steel.
And in the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, the game for the Iron Throne had already begun.
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