Maegor's Holdfast
By the time Lord Otto Hightower raised his hand to knock, the chambers within Maegor's Holdfast were already awake.
Prince Aegon sat at a heavy desk of dark oak, a thick tome of history open before him. He turned its yellowed pages with measured patience, searching for some deeper truth behind the rise of dragons and the dominion they had brought to his House.
Across from him, Princess Helaena reclined against a cushioned chair, her chin propped in one hand. In the other she held a thin, strange volume bound in dark leather, its pages filled with cramped glyphs and diagrams. The book had come from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, or so the merchant swore.
"This kind of book should be kept on Drakoncrest," Helaena said idly, her voice muffled by her hand. "Somewhere quieter."
Aegon did not look up. "It will be. Just not yet."
Helaena tilted her head. "Why not?"
"I intend to build a great upper library," he replied, turning another page. "A place to gather books from every corner of the world. After that, a tower set apart for sorcery and the higher mysteries. Magic does not belong beside ledgers and court histories."
Before she could answer, a firm knock struck the door.
"Enter."
Otto stepped inside, his gaze immediately drawn to the two silent guards flanking the door. From the moment he had arrived in the corridor, they had not spoken or shifted, their hands resting near concealed weapons. They looked less like men than carved sentinels.
For a fleeting instant, Otto recalled of Lorent Marbrand being held at crossbow point within these walls. He found he did not doubt them.
At the desk, Aegon closed the book and rose to his feet.
"Grandfather," he said with a courteous inclination of the head. "This should be our first true meeting. It has been many years. Please, sit."
He reached for a chair, but Otto lifted one hand.
"I can manage." Otto drew a chair back himself and lowered into it, studying the young prince as he did.
"Grandfather," Helaena echoed softly, setting her book aside and folding her hands in her lap.
Otto smiled at her at once, warmth flickering across his stern features.
"When I left King's Landing, you had barely been born," he said. "Prince Aegon was not yet two. A blink of an eye, and now you stand grown before me. At the time, I feared whether your mother could endure the weight placed upon her. It seems my worry was unnecessary."
He turned to Aegon. "You have done well."
Aegon's expression did not change. "The one who bore the true burden was my mother. When I knew nothing of the world, she carried everything alone. That is the truth."
Otto noted the words carefully. His regard for the prince rose another measure.
His eyes drifted to the book resting on the desk. "You enjoy history, Your Highness?"
"I do."
Otto nodded approvingly. History had always been his refuge. It was full of lessons, even if men so rarely learned from them.
He thought of the Greens and the Blacks, of rival claims and gathering storms. History warned clearly where such roads led. Still, he knew as well as any man alive that warning alone never stayed ambition's hand.
Aegon folded his hands atop the book. "My mother often speaks of your learning, Grandfather. I hoped to ask you something."
"If I know the answer, I will not withhold it," Otto replied, confidence coloring his voice.
Aegon ran his fingers across the cracked leather cover. "These books record the deeds of kings, conquerors, and empires. When you open all the histories of the world, what do they truly say?"
Otto frowned, the question catching him unprepared. "All histories are many things. War, faith, law, lineage."
Aegon's lips curved faintly. He reached for a small carving resting nearby, a delicately worked likeness of Sunfyre with wings half-spread. He set it down on the desk between them with a soft thud.
"From the First Men to the rise of House Targaryen," Aegon said calmly, "every chronicle can be reduced to a single truth. Men contend to be king."
He straightened, his gaze sharp and unyielding.
"And of all the royal bloodlines in the world today, only one has the right and strength to sit the Iron Throne. Me."
For a heartbeat, Otto could not speak.
Pride surged in his chest, fierce and undeniable. Yet with it came unease. The boy possessed ambition, confidence, and no small measure of ability. He lacked nothing.
And that made Otto feel, for the first time in many years, strangely unnecessary.
Aegon broke the silence himself.
"His Grace sent you," he said lightly. "Did he not?"
Otto blinked. "You already know?"
"Of course."
Otto glanced toward the door. "Then you also know what your guards said to me."
"I know what they said," Aegon replied. "And I know why my father summoned me."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"So it truly was you?"
Aegon's smile did not reach his eyes. "I have no idea what you mean. Come. Let us see His Grace. I am pressed for time. Drakoncrest awaits."
The walk from Maegor's Holdfast to the Throne Hall was short.
When Prince Aegon entered, Lord Tyland Lannister rose at once, his face breaking into a relieved smile.
"Your Highness, at last."
Otto felt a prickle of unease.
Tyland quickly explained what had transpired. As he listened, Aegon glanced toward King Viserys, faint surprise flickering across his face.
So now he chose to stand fully behind Rhaenyra. Late, Aegon thought. Very late.
"I dislike standing," Aegon said mildly. "Have a chair brought."
Tyland nodded and turned to obey.
Viserys shifted uncomfortably. "There is only one seat in this hall," he said, forcing a thin smile. "The Iron Throne."
Aegon lifted his gaze to meet his father's. He did not bow his head.
"Is that so?" he asked. "Then I will add another. What say you?"
Before Viserys could answer, Lord Corlys Velaryon stepped forward, his voice sharp.
"Are you threatening His Grace, Prince Aegon?"
Aegon turned to face him, unhurried.
"No, Lord Corlys. This is not a threat."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"House Velaryon's fleets so closely resemble warships that they endanger the security of the Stepstones. Therefore, Driftmark will pay a deposit of five hundred thousand gold dragons, and triple passage tax for all traffic."
Corlys stiffened.
"Fail to do so," Aegon continued evenly, "and Velaryon merchant ships will be barred from the Stepstones entirely."
He tilted his head. "Now, Lord Corlys, do you understand what a threat is?"
Color drained from Corlys's face. Only now did he grasp how tightly Driftmark's wealth was bound to those waters. The sums named were exact and, impossible to dismiss as bluster.
"His Grace entrusted the Stepstones to you to safeguard the realm," Corlys said, though his voice trembled.
Aegon laughed softly, without mirth, and turned away from him.
At last Corlys looked to the throne. "Your Grace."
Viserys leaned forward. "Aegon, you cannot toy with passage taxes. Who would dare sail there at all?"
Aegon did not bow. "I am Lord of the Stepstones. I decide what is dangerous. Those who fear it may sail elsewhere. Those who sneak through will answer to Vhagar."
"Aegon," Viserys warned.
The prince's patience snapped.
"This matter is finished. I no longer require the chair."
He turned to Lord Jasper Wylde. "Lord Jasper, will you accompany me to Drakoncrest? My Round Table lacks a learned voice in law."
Jasper did not hesitate. "It would be my honor, Your Highness."
"Then make ready."
Aegon strode from the hall. After several steps, he halted and looked back at Prince Daemon.
"Uncle," he said calmly, "I hear your right hand is ruined. You have my sympathy. A sword in the left hand can still kill. Do not despair."
Daemon's face remained impassive, but his left hand trembled at his side.
No one moved to stop Aegon as he departed.
"Go to Mother," Aegon said quietly to Helaena. "Tell her to prepare. We return to Drakoncrest today."
When the two entered Queen Alicent's chambers, she was midway through her morning meal, sunlight slanting across the table laid with bread, fruit, and honeyed pastries.
Alicent swallowed and looked up at them, momentarily startled. She reached for an apple tart and lifted it toward Helaena."Would you like some?"
"Thank you, Mother. I have eaten," Helaena said politely, though she accepted it all the same and bit into it with quiet delight.
Aegon showed no such restraint. He took a slice of blueberry cake for himself and ate as he spoke, his tone calm but unyielding.
"You should pack your things and come to Drakoncrest with me."
Alicent froze, the tart still in her hand."Does your father know of this?"
"He does not," Aegon replied. "Nor is it his place to decide where my mother chooses to live."
There was a chill beneath his words that made Alicent's brow crease.
"What has happened?" she asked carefully.
"What was bound to happen," Aegon said. "Nothing more."
He explained, briefly and without embellishment, the decision Viserys had made and the manner in which it had been carried out. By the time he finished, Alicent's face had gone pale, then flushed with anger. She pushed back her chair as if to rise.
"I will speak to him," she said sharply. "This cannot stand."
Aegon reached out and caught her wrist before she could take a step. His grip was firm, not harsh."Do not," he said. "Use that time to pack. It will serve you better."
Her eyes flashed."And why should I not go to him?" she demanded. "Am I nothing more than a kept woman, to be dismissed when inconvenient? Rhaenyra is his daughter," she seethed. "And are you not his son."
Alicent inhaled sharply, wounded pride and long buried bitterness rising at once.
Aegon glanced sideways at Helaena. She caught the look at once and stepped closer to their mother, placing a gentle hand over Alicent's own.
Together, with patience and soft insistence, they drew her back to her seat.
"Mother," Aegon said, lowering his voice, "the dead are always easier to love than the living. You need not measure yourself against a ghost."
Alicent's composure finally cracked. Her eyes shone, and tears gathered despite her effort to hold them back.
"I cannot accept this," she said hoarsely. "You are his eldest son. By all rights, the Iron Throne should one day be yours."
In her heart, she had always known the truth. Viserys's favor for Rhaenyra was born of guilt, a debt he could never repay to the woman he had loved before her. Yet Alicent was his lawful queen, crowned before the realm. She had borne him sons and a daughter. What justice was there in denying Aegon for the sake of an old sorrow?
It was an injustice not only to her, but to her children.
Aegon crouched slightly so they were eye to eye. His voice softened, but his certainty did not.
"Do not harm your health over this, Mother. Crowns are not claimed with words alone. Time decides who truly rules."
Helaena brushed away her mother's tears with careful fingers."Aegon is right," she murmured. "Do not let this consume you."
She smiled faintly, earnest and unshaken."We believe in him. You should as well."
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A/N:
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