The seventh day of the seventh moon, 120 AC
Early morning
The docks of King's Landing were already choked with traffic, and the great city gates groaned beneath the weight of arriving processions. Banners snapped in the summer breeze as nobles from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms poured into the capital, their wagons heavy with finery, their retinues swollen with guards and servants.
All had come for the same purpose: to attend the engagement feast of Prince Aegon Targaryen and Princess Helaena Targaryen.
Yet beneath the polite greetings and carefully measured smiles, the visiting lords had already divided themselves.
Among them, a clear majority spoke loudly and often of Prince Aegon's deeds in the Stepstones. Wherever they went, they praised him without restraint, insisting that it was his campaign that had restored safety to the narrow sea lanes and allowed trade to flow once more without fear of pirate sails.
"The realm owes him dearly," they declared. "Without Prince Aegon, our ships would still burn in the Stepstones."
Some went further still, lowering their voices only enough to sound conspiratorial as they shared what they claimed was the latest news from the war. According to these tales, the thirteen-year-old prince had personally led charges against the pirates, cutting down dozens with his own hand in a single furious assault.
Had Aegon been present to hear such stories, he would have flushed with embarrassment. Riding a dragon into battle was one thing, but hacking through enemies with a sword like a tourney knight was pure invention.
A smaller faction, no less earnest in its certainty, told a different story altogether. These nobles reminisced about Princess Rhaenyra's youth, about the days when she had been called the Light of the Kingdom, beloved by the people and radiant with promise. In the same breath, they whispered rumors meant to dim Prince Aegon's rising reputation.
They claimed he had been driven from the Stepstones by the combined pressure of the Triarchy and Dorne. Dornish raids along the southern coast of Westeros, carefully avoiding dragons while striking at vulnerable settlements, were twisted into proof that Aegon's position had become untenable.
Each group repeated its version of events with absolute conviction, firmly believing that the truth lay entirely on its own side.
Amid the press of bodies along one of the broader avenues, two noble parties collided.
One bore banners marked with a scarlet warhorse upon a golden shield, set against a field of brown. The other displayed a black shield adorned with a dead weirwood tree, encircled by a flock of ravens upon a red field.
House Bracken and House Blackwood. Ancient rivals of the Riverlands, bound together by centuries of bloodshed and grievance.
Lord Humfrey Bracken had thrown his support behind the Greens. In response, Lord Samwell Blackwood had aligned himself openly with the Blacks, opposing House Bracken without hesitation. Their enmity was no secret. Even smallfolk knew that where a Bracken stood, a Blackwood would not be far away, sharpening his tongue or his blade.
Sensing trouble, nearby nobles quietly withdrew, forming a loose circle at a safe distance. A few sharp-eyed vendors quickly pushed carts of wine and pastries toward the spectators, recognizing the chance to profit from an impending spectacle.
As expected, the quarrel began the moment the two lords locked eyes.
Humfrey Bracken sneered, his voice carrying clearly through the street. "Well, if it is not Samwell Blackwood. Today is Princess Rhaenyra's wedding day. Did you come crawling here to offer her your blessings?"
He paused, lips curling. "Ah, forgive me. How careless of my memory. A remarriage hardly calls for congratulations, does it? Blessings seem rather unnecessary."
Samwell's face darkened. "You foul-mouthed idiot. I will remember every word you have said. I shall repeat them all to Princess Rhaenyra, and to His Majesty as well. I hope your tongue remains so sharp when they hear it."
Humfrey's expression flickered, irritation flashing across his eyes. Then something cold settled over his features, and he smiled.
"As you wish," he said softly. "Do so, and you will become a sinner in the eyes of House Blackwood. I look forward to that day."
With that, he turned his horse and rode away, leaving Samwell glaring after him.
A murmur of disappointment rippled through the onlookers. Many had hoped for blows, or at least drawn steel, and the lack of blood left them unsatisfied. Only after Humfrey departed did the gold cloaks finally push forward to restore order.
The City Watch itself was no longer a unified force. It had split cleanly into two camps.
One answered to Ser Gwayne Hightower, its ranks filled largely with men tied by blood or loyalty to Oldtown. The other obeyed Prince Daemon Targaryen, the newly appointed Commander of the City Watch, and drew its strength from those aligned with the Black faction.
On the very day Prince Daemon returned to King's Landing, King Viserys had announced a sweeping reform. The City Watch would be expanded to six thousand men, and two commanders would share authority. As many had expected, Daemon was named the second.
With his reputation, his ruthlessness, and his talent for command, Gwayne Hightower found himself steadily overshadowed. Without Lord Otto's timely intervention, offering counsel and firm support, Gwayne would have been pushed aside entirely.
King Viserys had even entertained the notion of appointing Corlys Velaryon as Master of Ships through similar means, but Tyland Lannister and Otto had opposed it, citing the absence of any naval war.
As the sun climbed higher, preparations within the Red Keep intensified. The engagement feast and wedding celebrations would not begin until evening, but the castle was already alive with servants and guards. By nightfall, the halls would blaze with torchlight.
King Viserys rose early, donning his royal robes and personally reviewing the day's schedule. Satisfied that nothing had been overlooked, he summoned the assembled nobles into the throne hall.
His words overflowed with warmth as he spoke of Rhaenyra and Daemon, and of Aegon and Helaena, blessing both unions with equal enthusiasm.
"Your Grace," one lord proclaimed, "the marriage of Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon will surely usher the realm into an age of prosperity."
Another followed quickly. "Prince Aegon secured the Stepstones and safeguarded the seas. With such heirs, House Targaryen will endure forever."
Viserys beamed at the praise. In their words, he glimpsed a vision of a strong and flourishing kingdom, united beneath dragon banners. In that moment, it seemed to him that House Targaryen's rule would last until the end of the world.
And the world, surely, would never end.
The doors of the throne hall opened once more.
Queen Alicent entered in a gown of deep green, her bearing elegant and composed. The nobles immediately shifted, many abandoning Viserys to surround her instead.
"Your Grace," Humfrey Bracken said eagerly, bowing low, "please accept my sincerest congratulations. The union of Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena is a blessing upon the realm, preserving the pure blood of the dragon."
His smile was radiant, as though he himself were the one being betrothed. In truth, the engagement of Aegon and Helaena delighted him more than his own had ever done. The stronger the Greens became, the greater his satisfaction. In his private fantasies, House Blackwood lay in ruins, its lands and castles absorbed by House Bracken. The thought filled him with quiet joy.
Nearly half the nobles who had surrounded King Viserys drifted away at once. The king felt a moment's awkwardness, but he concealed it behind a smile. Crossing the hall, he embraced Alicent and kissed her cheek.
"My queen," he said warmly, "you look beautiful today."
"Truly?" Alicent replied lightly. "Does that mean I was not beautiful before?"
Viserys laughed, briefly caught off guard. "You are beautiful every day, my dear. More so with each passing year."
The nobles seized upon his words, offering lavish praise in quick succession. Alicent accepted it all with practiced ease, smiling and responding graciously, until Otto Hightower's arrival finally dispersed the crowd.
"I have had quite enough," Alicent murmured to her father once they were alone. "You cannot imagine how obsequious they were. It was unbearable."
"You did not used to complain," Otto replied, a rare smile touching his lips. "Once, you enjoyed such attention."
"That was then," Alicent said, lifting her wine cup. "Now, as Aegon grows, the flattery only increases. There is hardly anyone left I can speak to freely."
Otto's expression turned thoughtful. "If Aegon takes the Iron Throne, it will only grow worse."
She sighed, swirling the wine. "I wonder where he is. His letter said he would return today, yet there is still no sign of him."
Otto exhaled slowly. "How long have you been awake?"
He shook his head. "If you miss him so dearly, why not reside in the Stepstones? Aegon could protect you easily."
"Viserys would never allow it," Alicent said with a faint smile. "He has not grown old enough to lose interest, and besides, his queen remains quite charming."
She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear with quiet confidence.
Otto chuckled softly. "Your charm has not faded. Still, compared to your mother, you fall just a little short."
Alicent laughed, the sound light, even as the weight of crowns and futures pressed invisibly around them.
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A/N:
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