Aegon noticed the change at once.
King Viserys's expression faltered, the faint warmth in his eyes cooling as his brow drew together.
The old man leaned forward slightly, as if preparing to speak, his lips parting with effort. Whatever words he meant to offer were heavy ones, burdened with grievance.
Aegon lifted a hand.
The gesture was calm, unhurried, yet carried an authority that stilled the moment.
"I believe you have suffered an injustice," Aegon said evenly, his voice neither loud nor soft. "But this is not the place to speak of it. Wait for me."
The old man hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his lined face. Before he could insist, Aegon turned his gaze briefly toward Lord Otto Hightower.
No words passed between them. None were needed.
Otto reacted at once. He too had seen the tension gather in Viserys's features, the warning signs of an untimely outburst. With a measured nod, he signaled to the Hightower guards standing nearby. They approached the old man with polite firmness and guided him away, their escorts careful not to draw undue attention.
A faint smile touched Aegon's lips.
King Viserys exhaled slowly, the breath leaving him as if he had been holding it far too long. His shoulders sagged, and relief softened his lined face. He raised his arms, intending to draw his eldest son into an embrace.
But Aegon stepped past him.
Instead, he turned and wrapped his arms around Queen Alicent.
"Long time no see, Mother," Aegon said with a broad grin. "Did you miss me?"
Alicent stiffened for half a heartbeat, then allowed herself a small, restrained smile. She placed a hand against his chest and pushed him back just enough to look him over, her green eyes sharp and searching.
"I will settle accounts with you later," she said coolly. "You have been gone far too long, and not once did you think to ride a dragon home to see me."
Aegon laughed softly. "You are more beautiful now than when I left. Perhaps distance suits us. Or perhaps it is because I took Daeron away with me."
"Perhaps," Alicent replied without missing a beat. "With Daeron gone, you would not believe how much free time I have."
Daeron, standing nearby, froze.
For a long moment he said nothing. Then doubt crept into his expression, slow and unwelcome.
Was he truly that troublesome?
When the laughter faded, Aegon turned back at last and came to his father. This time, he embraced King Viserys without hesitation, his arms firm and respectful.
"I am proud of you, Aegon," Viserys said, his voice thick with emotion. Satisfaction shone openly in his eyes.
Though he had chosen to pave the way for Rhaenyra, that choice did not erase his pride in his firstborn son.
"Your praise honors me, Father," Aegon replied. "But you have aged greatly. You must rest more."
Viserys smiled, visibly comforted by the concern. For a brief moment, he looked almost at peace.
Lord Otto, standing at the king's side, watched Aegon with a thoughtful gaze, his expression unreadable.
Across, Prince Daemon had also taken notice.
His eyes remained fixed on Aegon, sharp and intent, like a blade pressed against flesh without yet drawing blood.
Aegon felt the weight of that stare and ignored it.
He turned instead toward Princess Rhaenyra.
"Long time no see, my dear sister," he said pleasantly. "When I heard news of your marriage, I was so excited that I could not sleep."
As his words settled, Aegon lifted a hand and beckoned.
Prince Aemond stepped forward.
For a fleeting instant, Aemond's mouth twitched upward, amusement threatening to betray him. He quickly mastered himself, schooling his face into composure as he drew a small, exquisitely crafted box from within his cloak.
Aegon took it and opened it before Rhaenyra.
Nestled within velvet lay a single pearl, large and flawless, its white surface catching the torchlight like frozen moonlight.
"Forgive me for my poor preparation," Aegon said lightly. "The news of your wedding came too suddenly. I searched the Stepstones far and wide and found only this. A pearl, symbol of purity."
Color rose in Rhaenyra's cheeks.
She heard the barbs beneath his courtesy all too clearly. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the pearl without reaching for it.
The silence stretched.
At last, Princess Rhaenys stepped forward and accepted the gift on Rhaenyra's behalf, her expression carefully neutral.
"My dear aunt," Aegon said warmly. "It has been too long. You appear younger than ever. Time seems to have left no mark upon you. Even your figure remains slender."
As he spoke, his gaze flicked briefly toward Rhaenyra, the implication unmistakable.
Rhaenys followed the look, then glanced toward King Viserys. A quiet sigh escaped her.
"You flatter me," she said. "But I am old, all the same."
No one could say why she sighed.
Perhaps it was the weight of years pressing upon her at last. Or perhaps it was the burden of truths that could never be spoken, secrets sealed in blood and silence.
With the courtesies concluded, Aegon turned away.
He did not spare Prince Daemon so much as a glance.
Surrounded by green-clad nobles, he walked toward the Red Keep's inner halls, leaving the Black faction behind amid forced smiles and sharpened eyes.
In the press of bodies, Otto Hightower allowed himself a small smile.
Alicent had not exaggerated. Her son possessed considerable skill.
From the moment of his arrival, he had struck the Blacks cleanly and publicly, yet in a manner beyond reproach. After all, Princess Rhaenyra's wedding had indeed been sudden.
Few had expected the king's daughter, newly widowed, to remarry so swiftly.
Back within the Red Keep, the feast resumed in earnest.
Laughter rose, cups were filled, musicians struck lively chords. Yet beneath the revelry, currents of tension flowed unseen.
Aegon took his seat, and nobles flocked to him like moths to flame.
"Your Highness," said Lord Humfrey with a hearty laugh, "I hear you crushed the Triarchy utterly in the Stepstones."
Aegon smiled, already preparing a modest reply that would magnify itself through restraint.
Before he could speak, Aemond set down his knife and fork with a sharp clink and laughed.
"I hardly understand what the First and Second Wars for the Stepstones were even meant to be," Aemond said loudly. "Playing at war, perhaps."
At first, the Triarchy's boasts shook the seas. And yet what became of them? My brother crippled Tyrosh in three months."
"And as for their allies," he continued with relish, "Myr and Lys were even more amusing. They did not dare utter a word in protest, terrified of drawing my brother's attention and becoming the next Tyrosh."
"To be honest," Aemond added, his grin widening, "my brother has not yet used all his methods. Cracks have already appeared among the Triarchy. Hahahaha."
His laughter rang through the hall.
The surrounding nobles joined in at once, whether they believed him or not. Praise flowed freely, each man striving to outdo the last.
Aegon inclined his head, humility personified.
"Luck," he said mildly. "Nothing more. I must also thank Lord Larys for his foresight. I propose a toast to him."
He raised his cup toward Larys Strong.
Larys startled, then quickly followed suit, lifting his wine with a practiced smile.
At once, the gazes upon him changed. Where once there had been quiet disdain for the so called Clubfoot, now nobles approached with raised cups and eager words.
When the toasts subsided, Larys slipped closer to Aegon.
"Thank you for your support, Your Highness," he murmured. "I am deeply grateful."
"Think nothing of it," Aegon replied pleasantly. "You are my eyes and ears in King's Landing."
Larys's breath caught. "It is my honor."
A bell rang.
Elegant music filled the hall.
The High Septon stepped forward to begin the ceremony.
"If His Majesty had not changed his mind at the last moment," Larys said softly, "you and Princess Helaena would be standing there now."
"Today is a good day," Aegon replied calmly. "Such changes are understandable."
"This was likely Prince Daemon's doing," Larys said, his gaze drifting toward the triumphant figure beside the High Septon.
Aegon tilted his head slightly.
"My uncle is no simple man," he said. "Have they not said he embodies both the greatness and the madness of House Targaryen?"
"They have," Larys agreed. "Yet I believe he falls far short of you. Your ambition and talent surpass them all. The Third War for the Stepstones will prove it. The Seven Kingdoms will know your greatness."
Aegon listened, unmoved.
My methods are ordinary enough, he thought. But if they achieve the goal, they are sufficient.
And so the wedding proceeded, beneath smiles that concealed sharpened intent.
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A/N:
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