As usual, the night in Old Town was as beautiful as ever.
As the kingdom's second-largest city, foreign ships sailing into Old Town's port came and went without end. Merchants hustled, sailors gathered in taverns, little girls holding oysters eagerly hawked their wares, and street performers from Lys conjured sparks that drew cheers from the crowd.
Not far from this bustling port stood a towering, snow-white tower, its pinnacle blazing with fire. It sat above the bay like a sentinel.
This was the residence of the ancient noble family of Hightower, rulers of this prosperous city for thousands of years.
Unlike the lively and bustling scene below, the conference hall at the top of the tower was shrouded in a delicate atmosphere.
The head of the Hightower family, Lord Hightower, sat uneasily in the chair.
In his hand, he held a letter with some instructions from the king.
Scattered across the table were two more letters: one from his younger brother, Otto Hightower, the former Hand of the King, and the other from Otto's eldest daughter, the current Queen.
"The letter says that Prince Aegon has received the king's approval to come to Old Town for his upbringing," Lord Hightower muttered.
The white candlelight flickered, casting shadows over Lord Hightower's face. "Otto even went to King's Landing to personally plead for this, but he couldn't change the situation; as for the queen, she has always been weak, and her pleas were in vain. She could only reluctantly send her eldest son out of the capital."
He scoffed and turned the gemstone ring on his finger. "The king seems to be deliberately abandoning Aegon, stripping him of his inheritance rights, and paving the way for our prince to marry his noble daughter."
"Well, it couldn't be helped."
A young man sitting in the middle of the long table spoke. He had light blonde hair and a pale, handsome face. His features resembled the queen's to some degree.
"The princess just gave birth to the king's grandchild, and the king is delighted. Father's actions have clearly displeased the king, so he won't be rewarded."
As soon as he finished speaking, a middle-aged man sitting beside him sneered.
"The silver-haired parents have a black-haired son. The father insists it's his bloodline, the mother swears the child is the heir to the throne, and the grandfather is overjoyed, forbidding anyone in the castle from discussing the child's lineage."
"Coincidentally, the child looks strikingly similar to the princess's personal guard, almost like a father-son pair. If no one had said anything in advance, everyone would have thought the guard was the father!"
The nobles at the long table burst into laughter.
"By the way, how will Prince Aegon arrive in Old Town?"
The young man did not join in the laughter.
His tone remained soft and elegant, with the gentle drawl typical of the southerners. "Did my sister arrange a guard for him?"
Lord Hightower paused for a moment.
"No."
"Prince Aegon has tamed a golden dragon named 'Sunfire.' He will be riding the dragon south and will reach Old Town in the coming days. His guard is still on the road and has probably not yet left Tenth Stone." He said.
"But we've already received a raven's letter."
The young man casually remarked, "A dragon can't fly slower than a raven, can it?"
–
Indeed, this was the case.
To escape the original plot's royal succession conflict and preserve his life, Aegon had always been proactive in such matters.
In fact, he had already arrived in Old Town three days ago and had sent Sunfire ahead before entering the city, letting it go off on its own to hunt at sea.
As for Aegon himself, he and his personal guard had already changed into commoner clothes, removed all signs of royal attire, and looked like any other young merchant's son.
His guard, Adam, had even transitioned into the role of a servant, attending to Aegon's daily needs.
"Your Highness, are you truly content abandoning the bustling life of King's Landing?"
As the firewood crackled in the hearth, Adam sighed, poking the fire with a long iron rod.
"Of course."
Aegon responded quickly, almost without thinking, "I have no interest in the duties, and I am not fit to inherit the throne."
He answered so quickly because the words weren't his own but the lines of the original owner of this body, Aegon Targaryen, spoken before he was forcibly taken to the throne.
Yes, he had transmigrated.
Aegon had entered a world based on the Westeros from the "Game of Thrones" series.
It was a fantastical world filled with dragons, magic, and otherworldly creatures, where gods from dark cults also roamed the land.
He found himself on the continent of Westeros, divided into seven kingdoms.
After the Conquest War a hundred years ago, the seven kingdoms pledged fealty to the Targaryen family, who had arrived riding three dragons. Aegon's father was now the king of the land, and Aegon was the king's firstborn.
Any normal person seeing Aegon's identity would say: "Wow, this is like a golden legend!"
But Aegon only wanted to scream.
Because the original owner of this body was the villainous tyrant in the show.
Not only did he usurp his elder sister's throne upon reaching adulthood, but he also showed no interest in ruling once in power.
The original was obsessed with pleasure, spending his days in indulgence, ignoring state affairs. When the civil war came, he rode his dragon into battle, but was backstabbed by his younger brother, burned by dragonfire, and fell from the sky, breaking who knows how many bones.
By the time the grand maester arrived to treat him, all he could do was solemnly tell the Queen: "Your Majesty, the armor has melted into molten iron and sunk into the flesh, if you wish to treat it… please be mentally prepared."
…Just thinking about it was terrifying.
He certainly didn't want to end up as a burn victim with a ninth-degree burn!
But just when the original thought his dragon had died, lying helplessly on his bed, tears streaming silently, Aegon had been watching the series late into the night when he saw a cruel message in the comments: "I can't stand it, how hasn't this guy died yet?"…
Ah.
He must be a failure at life to be seen this way.
Aegon retorted, "What about you? Following a prince who might lose his inheritance at any time, far from King's Landing, don't you think your future is bleak?"
Adam Rivers, his personal guard, now pretending to be his servant, was a young man of eighteen years from the fertile lands of the Riverlands.
The name "Rivers" indicated his illegitimate noble heritage.
A bastard looked down upon by others, who fought desperately to improve his martial skills, enduring the malicious mockery of those around him, practicing day and night, all for the chance to enter King's Landing, fulfill his dream, and become the royal guard who protected the king.
But now, everything had fallen apart with the queen's light-hearted remark: "Protect Prince Aegon on the road."
Surprisingly, Adam answered quickly, "No. There's less work now, no captain's constant insults, life is easier, no shortage of money, and more importantly, I'm still riding dragons with you, Your Highness."
"Dragons!"
Adam's eyes lit up with a fanatic yearning: "I've been riding for days! It's amazing! I mean, heavens! Seven Gods, that's a dragon!"
In the eyes of the people of Westeros, dragons were living gods.
Ever since King Aegon the Conqueror and his two sisters rode three dragons to swiftly defeat the seven kingdoms, it was understood that these flying, sky-covering creatures capable of sustained fire-breathing were the ultimate weapon, the equivalent of nuclear bombs in this world.
And the Targaryen family, with their dragon-riding bloodline, had silver hair, ethereal beauty, and were a high, majestic royal family. To the peasants of Westeros, who lived in medieval-like conditions, they seemed like gods.
But the royal family members were generally arrogant. To put it bluntly, they were "dragonlords."
They almost always rode dragons alone, never sharing them with anyone.
Dragons—how could a commoner ride one?
Did they deserve to?
Therefore, for a common guard to be lucky enough to ride a dragon with the prince was a story Adam would boast about to his grandchildren.
Adam turned the roasted chicken on the stick, and the honey glaze on the skin sizzled as it cooked.
This was their dinner for the day—a chicken that had probably not been plucked properly, nor seasoned with ginger and garlic, lightly brushed with honey, and sprinkled with some coarse, slightly bitter salt…
On the table was a piece of rye bread, hard enough to be used as a weapon.
It sounded like a typical medieval dark cuisine.
But this was the best food a commoner could get, so despite the poor taste, Aegon could still bear it.
Just then, the wooden door was knocked on nervously.
Adam was about to get up when he saw the six-year-old prince walk over to the door and deftly undo the latch.
Aegon was slightly surprised when he saw who it was: "Is something wrong?"
A little girl, a few years older than him, stood outside. She had black hair and had clearly worked in the fields, as her skin was slightly tanned, but her face was rosy.
Aegon didn't know her name, but he had seen her briefly when he first arrived in Old Town; she had only glanced at him before shyly hiding behind her mother's apron.
She was the daughter of a local miller.
The little girl was a bit shy, holding a clay pot but never daring to look Aegon in the face.
"Sir, this… this is from my father, for you…" she murmured.
Though Aegon didn't know what it was, he could smell the fragrance coming from the jar. He guessed it might be some local stew from the river bay…
Aegon understood.
The miller was bribing him, probably knowing that a young child, accompanied only by a servant, had enough gold dragons to buy the best farm outside the city.
The servant was also young and appeared to be of higher stock, judging by the fine iron sword he carried and his muscular build.
Aegon had silver hair, a royal hallmark, but his eyes were blue, not the purple ones described in the old women's stories.
The Hightower family, from the Dawnlands, had many members with silver hair. Having grown up in the Old Town territories, the miller wasn't surprised to see a Hightower person.
Thus, it was likely the miller had assumed he was the illegitimate son of the Old Town lord, a distant relative of the Hightower family, and had come to make early contact.
"Thank you. It's late, please convey my gratitude to your family."
Aegon didn't refuse.
Though it wasn't exactly food he could enjoy, it was still the miller's gesture, and refusing would have been rude. The next time he saw the miller, he would ask him to stop sending gifts.
"The day is already dark. Let my servant escort you home." He said.
The little girl immediately blushed, embarrassed. She quickly shook her head, waved her hand, and ran off toward a certain direction.
Clearly, she was familiar with the area and had no fear of getting lost.
Just as Aegon was about to bring the jar inside and close the door, he heard a short, terrified scream from outside.
It was the little girl.
Then, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground reached Aegon and Adam's ears.
Aegon's eyes widened in shock.
…She was killed?
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