"Sansa, I'm sorry. I love you, but I can't marry you." Aegon spoke sorrowfully.
After leaving Dragonstone, he flew straight to the Eyrie.
In the garden at dusk, the distant rumble of the waterfall known as "Alyssa's Tears" echoed faintly through the air.
The tall, handsome young man held the delicate, graceful girl's slender hand. His expression was conflicted, his eyes filled with reluctance.
"Why?" Sansa's exquisite little face turned pale. With a look of pitiful disbelief, she asked softly, "Is it because of the Dragon Queen? Did she refuse?"
"No, my aunt has no objection," Aegon shook his head and hesitated before saying, "It's Tyrion."
"The Imp?!" Sansa's beautiful face twisted in anger. "What does he want? My marriage to him was never voluntary. Septa Meribald himself is willing to annul it!"
"He doesn't oppose the annulment. In fact, he's always felt guilty toward you, and he genuinely wishes you happiness."
Sansa's expression shifted several times. She wanted to tell this naive prince not to be fooled by that deceitful Imp.
But when she thought carefully, she realized that aside from looking at her with indecent eyes when she was unclothed, the dwarf hadn't actually done anything terrible to her.
"Then what does he want?" she asked dully.
"He can bear to see you marry someone else, but not me," Aegon said bitterly.
"Why? It's only with you that I could ever be happy! Isn't he the one who wants me to live well?" Sansa demanded angrily.
"This is a matter of a man's pride. Tyrion and I are… friends, I suppose. If I were to marry you, the blow to his dignity would be far greater than if anyone else did."
Sansa raised her voice in indignation. "What kind of reasoning is that? You're a prince—his liege lord! If he feels hurt, that's his problem. Does a king have to cater to every irrational thought his vassals have? Or do you mean that, in your heart, your lover's place is below that of the Imp? Is your bond with him greater than that of husband and wife?"
"Tyrion isn't like other vassals. He's given me much help," Aegon said quietly.
He led Sansa to sit beside the flowerbed. Watching the orange-red afterglow of the sunset pour between the mountain peaks, he sighed. "Every land has its own beauty. No wonder Tyrion wishes to see the world."
"Then let him go," Sansa replied coldly. "Let him see it all."
Aegon smiled faintly, a touch of bitterness in his tone. "He's the only man at my side I can truly rely on. My cousin Quentyn, my direct vassals from House Velaryon and Celtigar… If I were to send him away, I'd have no one left but those from Slaver's Bay."
"You still have me," Sansa said earnestly. "You have my foster father, Bronze Yohn, countless lords of the Vale and the North."
Aegon shook his head gently. "Tyrion once told me that one should never deceive the person they truly love. So, I will not lie to you.
My cousin Quentyn, my cousin Arianne, and the Stormlands lords—they're all far less trustworthy than Tyrion. Apart from my aunt and my foster father, he is the most loyal man to me in this world.
I don't want to betray him… nor do I wish to bring you harm."
The first part made Sansa's expression darken slightly; the last left her confused.
"Harm me? How could you possibly harm me?"
"Do you know why Tyrion killed Tywin?" Aegon asked.
"Why?"
"Because his love for his father was too great, too passionate, and Tywin's return was too little, too cold. Tyrion was driven into a corner and took an extreme path."
"I still don't understand," Sansa said blankly.
"Tyrion has been kind and loyal to me. But if I repay that loyalty with coldness and cruelty, I fear what happened to Tywin could happen to me.
For instance, if we married, you would inevitably appear before him often.
And each time he saw you, it would be like a slap to his face—again and again, until the pressure became unbearable. I fear that one day he might snap and do to us what he did to Tywin, killing you and me both."
Aegon's tone was laced with helpless frustration.
Sansa gave him a strange look. Was this prince… a fool? What strange things was he imagining?
But Sansa was no longer the innocent twelve-year-old girl she once was. Though still young, she had seen the cruelties of the world. Seeing this sincere, honest young man before her—so much like the gallant prince she had once dreamed of—Sansa felt a bittersweet ache, like an aging madam unexpectedly touched by the affection of a pure-hearted youth.
Aegon was not stupid. He acted foolish only because he loved her.
And people in love always act foolish.
She thought of herself.
Back then, facing Joffrey—the cruel, childish brute—hadn't she too laid bare her girlish heart, naively and completely?
Sadness welled in her, but also a faint tenderness toward the young man before her.
A genuine, brave, noble, and handsome prince who truly loved her—wasn't that her wildest childhood dream?
She never imagined that after her dream had been murdered and thrown into the dung pit by Joffrey, the Imp, and Littlefinger, it could somehow revive—like the High Sparrow reborn in holy fire.
Perhaps her meeting with Prince Aegon was indeed the blessing of the Mother.
"You're overthinking it," she said softly. "Time fades everything. What I had with him was never as deep as you imagine."
Her voice was tender, filled with warmth—enough to melt any man's heart.
"He's a Lannister! Lannisters have excellent memories," Aegon said gravely.
How could a man who remembers nothing ever pay his debts? His logic seemed sound to him.
Sansa's face also grew solemn.
Indeed, one could never be too cautious of a Lannister.
"So you would abandon our love out of fear?" she asked.
Sansa clasped Aegon's hand and pressed it to her soft chest. With deep emotion, she said, "I can feel it—what we share is real.
Even though we've only known each other for a few days, it feels as if we were meant to be together."
"It isn't fear," Aegon said firmly, though his voice trembled. He gently pulled his hand away, rose to his feet, and looked out over the vast plains of the Vale. "I'm not afraid of Tyrion. I just don't want to kill him."
"Kill him?" Sansa exclaimed.
"My aunt once told me that when a king and his subject come into conflict over a woman, the proper course is to quietly send that subject to his death.
If I were to marry you, I would kill Tyrion before his hatred for us reached its peak.
That is the kind of decisiveness a king should possess, and I do not lack it.
But I don't want him to die.
So, to avoid conflict with him over a woman, I must say… I'm sorry."
Aegon made his decision swiftly. Without further hesitation, he called for the Black Death, climbed onto the dragon's back, and shouted down to the pale, tearful Sansa, "Sansa, even if we cannot be together, I will still consider you my dearest friend.
I swear, even without the help of the Vale, I will take King's Landing within three months. Then I will march north and help you reclaim Winterfell."
Watching the dark silhouette grow smaller against the crimson sunset, Sansa felt an aching emptiness in her chest. Her eyes reddened, and two tears rolled down her cheeks.
That night, after hearing of Aegon's decision, Littlefinger's face darkened as he cursed, "That boy is too arrogant! If I hadn't interfered, with two dragons, the Golden Company, and the Dornish forces, he really might have taken King's Landing quickly. But since he's rejected my goodwill, he can't blame me for tripping him up."
"What will you do?" Sansa asked, uneasy though her face betrayed nothing.
"It's simple," Littlefinger sneered. "We quietly inform the Iron Throne and have them invite allied forces to set up an ambush."
"An ambush?" Sansa's expression changed, and she cried out, "But the allies have dragons too!"
"Hmph. Dragons are considered high-class weapons in Westeros, but in the battle zones between the allied forces and Slaver's Bay, even a patrol squad has five dragons.
Just one such squad would be enough. There's no need for a pitched battle—set an ambush around Storm's End, and killing Aegon and Tyrion would be as easy as slaughtering chickens," Littlefinger said with a cold smile.
"This…" Sansa truly began to worry for the elegant and kind Prince Aegon.
"My dear, don't fret. Our plan won't fail."
Littlefinger assumed his sweet girl was upset only because Aegon had rejected her.
"You're going to have Prince Aegon killed—how is that not a failure?" Sansa frowned.
"Who said Aegon will die? If he dies, who will you marry?" Littlefinger chuckled.
"But didn't you just say you'd have the allies ambush him?" Sansa asked in confusion.
"Heh, I only said I'd give the Iron Throne a hint, let them invite an allied dragon squad to ambush Prince Aegon. But do you really think I'd let him die?
If he dies, I'll be forced to deal with that sharp and formidable Dragon Queen.
She's not easy to handle—nothing like our pliable young prince," Littlefinger said, shaking his head with self-satisfaction.
"What do you intend to do then?"
"Heh, we'll simply tip off our dear Aegon."
Littlefinger shrugged and continued in a tone of patient instruction, "For the weak who harbor ambition, the best environment for survival is chaos.
Order means stability.
In Westeros, under a stable, pyramidal hierarchy, the weak will always be oppressed and exploited by the strong, never having a chance to rise.
Only chaos can give us opportunity.
And the finest source of chaos comes from the clash between two powers of equal might at the top of the pyramid.
Now that Aegon has dragons, the balance between him and the Iron Throne is broken, which is why he can proudly claim he'll take King's Landing within three months without the Vale's help.
That is not to my advantage.
If I summon the allied dragon squad and Aegon is instantly slain, the balance will be broken again.
That's not to my advantage either.
So, at that point, I'll help Aegon—warn him about the allied ambush.
Once both the Iron Throne's and Aegon's dragons are neutralized, they'll have to rely on ground forces.
And the Vale possesses the finest cavalry in the Seven Kingdoms. With the North and parts of the Riverlands as our allies, we'll have the strongest army.
Then Aegon will come begging for our alliance.
In the space between victory and defeat, even if Tyrion is his uncle, Aegon will abandon him without hesitation."
Once again, Sansa received a revelation-like lesson from Littlefinger.
But that night, she declined her uncle's "physical enlightenment," citing illness.
Because the image of that upright young man kept flashing in her mind.
"Rooaaar—!"
The next morning, just before dawn, still restless from her thoughts, Sansa jolted awake at the sound of a loud dragon's roar.
As if drawn by instinct, she let her loose hair fall over her shoulders, slipped on a thin apricot silk nightgown, and ran barefoot straight toward the open garden by the Moon Door.
"Oh!" Aegon had just slid down from his dragon's leathery wing when he saw the girl running toward him. Unable to restrain himself, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
After a long half hour of passionate kissing and tender caresses, they finally parted reluctantly.
"Sansa, I want to marry you," Aegon said earnestly, holding her face, as delicate and flushed as a rain-kissed peony.
A day later, Daenerys received word—her dear nephew was getting married!
What did the Imp say to change his mind?(End of Chapter)
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