The sun sank slowly toward the west, its dying light slanting across the towers of the Red Keep and staining the sky above King's Landing in gold and blood.
Within the great hall, the first feast of the evening had begun as scheduled. Musicians played softly, servants moved between tables with wine and roasted meats, and yet an unmistakable emptiness lingered in the air. Many seats stood vacant. The banners of noble houses hung heavy and still, but their lords were conspicuously absent.
King Viserys sat upon the dais, his brow creased with a growing frown. He glanced across the hall once more before turning sharply toward the Hand of the King.
"Why are there so few people?" Viserys demanded, his voice edged with irritation. "Were the nobles not notified? Where are they?"
Otto Hightower stood beside the king, hands folded within his sleeves. His gaze drifted, unfocused, as if his thoughts lay far from the feast hall.
"They were notified," Otto replied at last.
There was distraction in his tone, and something else beneath it, something barely contained.
After so many years, he would finally see his grandson again.
Viserys's frown deepened. "This is scarcely a third of the court. Surely they are not all late."
Otto inclined his head slightly. "Your Grace, Prince Aegon is returning to King's Landing. Those who have not come may have gone to Blackwater Bay to welcome him."
The corner of Otto's mouth curved upward in a faint, satisfied smile. He did not elaborate, but the implication was clear. The hint had been given.
What Otto had not anticipated was the scale of it.
Aegon's return had drawn nearly every noble aligned with the Greens to the harbor, leaving the Red Keep populated almost entirely by those loyal to Princess Rhaenyra.
Viserys said nothing at first. His gaze drifted downward, toward the hall below, where Rhaenyra stood with a cup of wine in hand, laughing quietly with Prince Daemon at her side. Daemon leaned close, murmuring something only she could hear. Rhaenyra's expression was warm, confident, untroubled.
Slowly, Viserys's eyes hardened.
He rose to his feet, coughing twice as he did so. The sound echoed sharply through the hall. Conversation faltered, then died altogether. All eyes turned toward the Iron Throne.
"My son," Viserys announced, his voice carrying clearly, "Prince Aegon Targaryen, is about to return to King's Landing. For this occasion, I have decided to go personally to welcome him. All of you will accompany me."
A murmur rippled through the hall as the nobles exchanged uncertain looks.
Daemon moved at once, striding to Viserys's side. He leaned in close, his voice low and sharp.
"What are you doing?" Daemon demanded. "And what of Rhaenyra and me? What are we meant to be in this farce?"
Viserys turned on him, annoyance flaring. Had more than half the court been present, he would not have resorted to this. But the absence was too blatant to ignore.
"Have you had too much wine?" Viserys hissed back. "Did you not notice that barely a third of the court is here?"
Daemon fell silent. He straightened and looked out across the hall, truly looking for the first time. The realization struck quickly. The faces before him belonged almost entirely to Black-aligned houses. The greens were conspicuously missing.
His expression darkened.
"Where are they?" Daemon asked.
Viserys let out a humorless breath. "You truly do not know?"
Daemon clenched his jaw, saying nothing more.
Viserys forced a smile, masking his irritation, and gestured for the court to follow. Surrounded by nobles and guards, the king led the procession out of the Red Keep and down toward Blackwater Bay.
The streets of King's Landing were alive with movement as the royal party passed. By the time they reached the harbor, the reason for the empty feast hall was unmistakable.
Blackwater Bay was already packed.
Nobles crowded the docks in fine cloaks and polished armor, banners held high. Beyond them stood a sea of smallfolk, many of whom had come of their own accord, drawn by rumor and excitement. The air buzzed with anticipation.
When Viserys arrived, the Kingsguard and City Watch immediately forced a passage through the mass of bodies.
"Your Grace," Tyland Lannister said, hurrying to the king's side with a practiced smile. "I did not expect to see you here."
Viserys gave him a cool look. "Must I give notice to welcome my own son home?"
Tyland's smile stiffened. "Of course not, Your Grace."
Taking the hint, the other nobles limited themselves to respectful bows rather than pressing forward.
Viserys moved on, stopping beside Queen Alicent, who stood at the very edge of the dock, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
"You told me you would be late to the feast," Viserys said quietly. "Was it only to come here for Aegon? Why did you not tell me plainly?"
Alicent did not turn. Her voice was calm, distant.
"It is of little importance. Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon are to be wed in the ancient Valyrian rite later tonight. That is where your attention should be."
There was no change in her expression, no warmth or reproach, only indifference, as though she spoke of the weather rather than her son's return.
Viserys sighed, weary and helpless, and followed her gaze out over the water.
"When will Aegon arrive?" he asked. "We cannot keep so many distinguished guests waiting upon the docks."
His tone was gentle, but his thoughts were less so. He did not wish Aegon's return to become a spectacle so grand that it eclipsed Rhaenyra entirely. This gathering was meant to balance appearances. Rhaenyra would be seen by the smallfolk as a dutiful sister, standing alongside her brother. No disparity, no slight.
If the crowd dispersed sooner, all the better.
Alicent offered no reply. She understood Viserys's intentions perfectly, and had no patience for them.
She was about to dismiss him with a curt answer when a sound rolled across the bay.
A dragon's roar.
It came before any shadow crossed the sky, deep and thunderous, sending a tremor through the crowd. Moments later, Vhagar's immense form emerged from the golden-red clouds of the setting sun, her vast wings blotting out the light as she descended with overwhelming presence.
Vhagar roared again.
Dreamfyre followed, her pale blue form cutting gracefully through the air. Tessarion appeared after her, sleek and cobalt, the three dragons circling high above the harbor.
The crowd erupted into gasps and cries of awe.
Daemon narrowed his eyes, scanning the sky for Sunfyre and the brown bulk of the Mud Dragon, but saw only sails on the distant horizon.
A fleet was approaching.
The lead ship cut through the waves at full speed, banners snapping violently in the wind as it bore down upon the docks.
Otto Hightower's eyes narrowed. A strange tension seized his chest as he stared at the oncoming ships.
The sea wind howled.
As the fleet drew closer, the banner became unmistakable. Black cloth emblazoned with a four-headed golden dragon.
At the bow of the foremost ship stood a silver-haired youth.
He stood tall, hands resting upon the pommel of a golden longsword planted before him. The wind whipped his hair back in shining strands, like silver foam upon a dark sea. The blade was etched with intricate patterns, ancient and precise, as though forged in another age. Sunlight glanced off its edge, scattering points of light like stars.
For a fleeting moment, Otto saw not a prince, but a king in his prime, filled with vigor and promise. The image of Aegon the Conqueror rose unbidden in his mind.
The tension broke.
Otto laughed, sudden and unrestrained. He turned deliberately toward Rhaenyra and met Daemon's gaze. His smile was shallow, proud, and unmistakable.
See, it seemed to say. This is my grandson.
Daemon's eyes were cold as stone. Around them, nobles and smallfolk alike stared in open admiration. The cheers grew louder as the ships closed the final distance.
Killing intent simmered in Daemon's chest. Aegon's reputation already exceeded his expectations. If this continued, once Viserys was gone, the realm would rally around the boy.
At that point, it would not be a matter of whether Rhaenyra ruled securely, but whether she ruled at all.
Viserys, by contrast, looked relieved. Too relieved.
"Prince Aegon!"
A shout rang out from the outer crowd, and in an instant the harbor erupted. Voices joined together, chanting Aegon's name over and over.
Viserys stiffened, the sound snapping him back to himself.
"Daemon," he said urgently, "for Aegon's safety, clear the smallfolk away."
Daemon reacted at once, barking orders to the Gold Cloaks. The City Watch pushed forward, forcing the crowd back as the fleet eased into the docks.
The gangplank dropped with a heavy thud.
Aegon descended first.
Behind him came Helaena, then Aemond and Daeron. Their steps were measured and unified.
Armored soldiers followed, forming ranks on either side behind Aegon, steel glinting in the fading light.
Aegon spread his arms, a smile breaking across his face as he moved toward Alicent, intent on embracing the mother he had not seen in years.
Before he could reach her, chaos broke through the order.
An old man burst past the Gold Cloaks, bare-chested, his clothes in tatters. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees before Aegon, tears streaming down his weathered face.
"Prince Aegon," the man cried, voice cracking. "You have finally returned. If you had not come back, the Stranger would have taken my grandson and granddaughter!"
Aegon froze, stunned. He glanced instinctively toward Alicent.
Her face twisted in open disgust. She shook her head sharply, signaling that this was no arrangement of hers.
Mother and son turned together toward Otto.
Otto stared back, equally shocked, and shook his head in frantic denial.
The hired voices were his doing. This old man was not.
As confusion rippled through them all, Viserys's expression darkened, something ugly and familiar stirring behind his eyes.
He remembered.
And his face grew grim.
-------
A/N:
Read ahead on Patreon, 22 advance chapters available, with the first 2 free.
patreon.com/Captain_Lag