111 AC
The air in King's Landing was thick with the smell of roasted meat and the sweat of horses. High above the tourney grounds, the red-and-gold banners of House Targaryen snapped in the wind. It was a day of celebration, marking five years since the King had married his second Queen, but beneath the music and the cheering, the air felt heavy with tension.
Ser Criston Cole, the handsome knight with hair as black as coal, rode with Princess Rhaenyra's favor tied to his arm. Across from him sat Ser Gawen Hightower. When the two horses charged, the sound of the lances hitting was like a crack of thunder. Gawen was thrown from his saddle, crashing into the dirt in a mess of steel and dust.
"Our uncle is a brave man," Aegon Targaryen said, his voice surprisingly calm for a young boy. "He fought well for five rounds before he fell."
Aegon didn't look at the fallen knight. He sat in the royal stands, a heavy book titled The History of the Targaryen Dynasty resting on his lap. He turned a page, a small, knowing smile on his face.
Beside him, his mother, Alicent Hightower, looked pale. She was displeased to see her brother defeated, but as the Queen, she knew everyone was watching her. She kept her face still, hiding her frustration behind a mask of royal dignity.
Aegon said nothing more. He didn't care about the games or the knights. Within his young body lived the soul of a twenty-four-year-old man from another world. He was a traveler who had read the history of this family before he was even born into it. He knew that a bloody civil war was coming—a war fought between his half-sister Rhaenyra and himself over the Iron Throne.
From the moment the midwife shouted "It's a boy!" his life had become a game of survival. In this world, you either won the throne or you were destroyed by it.
A sudden, terrifying scream ripped through the sky.
It wasn't a human cry, but the roar of a monster. A shadow fell over the arena as a giant, blood-red dragon broke through the clouds. It dove toward the ground, its wings beating like drums.
"Caraxes," Aegon whispered, finally looking up from his book. "The Blood Wyrm. A fierce beast with many battles behind it."
The dragon landed right in front of the King's stand, its scales glowing like fresh blood. Alicent's hand went to her mouth, and she began to nervously pick at the skin around her fingernails.
The man climbing off the dragon was Prince Daemon Targaryen, the King's younger brother. He was a dangerous man, and an enemy to Alicent's father, Otto Hightower. With her father recently sent away from court, Alicent felt alone and unprotected.
Aegon noticed his mother's shaking hands. He reached out and gently took her hand in his, stopping her from picking at her fingers.
"Mother," he said softly. "Do you know you do that when you are nervous?"
Alicent looked at her son, surprised. She knew she had the habit, but she didn't expect a child to notice—or to care.
"If I can see it, so can others," Aegon warned her. "Grandfather is gone. You must be strong now. Do not let them see that we are afraid, or they will think we are easy to bully."
Alicent stared at him for a moment, seeing a strange wisdom in his eyes. She took a deep breath, straightened her back, and put on a regal smile. She squeezed Aegon's hand in thanks.
Down on the field, Daemon Targaryen approached the King. He wore a crown of his own, and the Kingsguard immediately drew their swords to block his path. King Viserys looked down at his brother, his face tired but stern.
"You come before me wearing a crown," the King said. "Do you mean to call yourself a King?"
The crowd went silent. Daemon looked at his brother, then slowly dropped to one knee. He threw his crown and his heavy axe onto the ground.
"I conquered the Stepstones, and they called me King of the Narrow Sea," Daemon said, his voice echoing. "But I know there is only one true King. I give my crown and my lands to you."
Viserys let out a long breath. A smile broke across his face—he was overjoyed to have his brother back. He stepped down, helped Daemon up, and hugged him tightly. The crowd erupted into cheers, the loudest coming from Princess Rhaenyra, who looked at her uncle with pure adoration.
Aegon clapped along with the rest of them. He watched his father and uncle embrace, but his eyes remained sharp. He knew this peace wouldn't last. In less than a year, Daemon would be sent away again.
"He is your enemy, Aegon," Alicent whispered, leaning toward her son.
Aegon didn't stop clapping. He knew he had to play the part of a loyal, innocent son. He was still too young to reveal his true thoughts. If he showed too much intelligence, people would fear him; if he showed too much ambition, they would kill him. For now, he would watch, wait, and learn.