A lavish lunch covered the long table, the silver dishes gleaming softly beneath the light filtering in through tall windows. Fresh bread, still warm, sat beside roasted meat, fruit, and small bowls of honey and jam.
Aegon waved away the maid who stepped forward to feed him.
He preferred to do this himself.
With careful hands, he sliced a piece of bread, placed a steak inside—crispy along the edges, tender and pink within—then added a fried egg. Last came a thin layer of honey jam, its scent faintly sweet. He pressed the bread together and took a large bite.
The meat burst with flavor. The egg was rich and soft. The sweetness of the honey balanced it all perfectly.
Aegon let out a quiet, satisfied sound.
There were no distractions here—no songs played on demand, no endless amusements to pass the time. Pleasure had to be found in simpler things: good food, the thrill of flying on dragonback, or watching dancers move beneath torchlight. He had learned to savor each of them.
After finishing the last bite, Aegon wiped his fingers and turned to Alicent.
"I plan to go to Dragonstone," he said calmly. "I'll ride there after this and stay for a few days. I'll ask Father for permission first."
Alicent's brow furrowed at once.
"Dragonstone?" she asked. "What for?"
"Just something I need to take care of," Aegon replied lightly. "Nothing dangerous."
He lifted his cup and drank some milk before continuing.
"Ser Aric, please depart by ship. I'll follow shortly."
Ser Aric rose at once. He did not ask questions—he never did. A respectful nod, and he left the hall without delay.
Alicent watched him go, then turned back to her son.
Aegon had always been sharp, far more aware than children his age. When he was younger, he shared everything with her—his thoughts, his fears, his small victories. Lately, though, he had grown distant. Thoughtful. Guarded.
She sighed quietly.
In the end, all her worries condensed into a single sentence.
"Be careful."
Aegon smiled faintly.
As he stood, Alicent added, "Before you leave, go see Helaena and Aemond."
He nodded and headed toward the bedchamber.
The moment he opened the door, a small figure rushed out from beneath the table and threw herself into his arms.
Aegon laughed softly. "Did you miss me, my lovely little Helaena?"
Helaena, only five years old, said nothing. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and buried her face against his chest, clinging as if afraid he might vanish.
Aegon's laughter faded into something gentler.
"Another bad dream?" he asked quietly, patting her back.
She shook her head, still refusing to let go.
Then a smaller voice cut in.
"I did! I missed Brother!"
Aemond, barely four, stood nearby with both hands raised, eager for attention.
Aegon beckoned him closer. When Aemond shuffled forward, Aegon ruffled his hair with exaggerated force, earning a small protest.
For a moment, the room felt warm. Safe.
Then Aemond's face fell.
"Brother," he said, voice trembling slightly, "my dragon egg still hasn't hatched. Rhaenyra said it's dead. She said I'll never have a dragon."
Aegon's expression hardened.
He crouched to Aemond's level and looked him directly in the eyes.
"Half of all dragon eggs never hatch," he said firmly. "That has nothing to do with you."
Aemond swallowed.
"Do you want a dragon?" Aegon asked.
Aemond nodded at once, solemn and fierce despite his age.
"I do. But Mother won't let me go to the Dragonpit. And she won't let me go to Dragonstone either."
Aegon's voice lowered.
"I'm going to Dragonmount," he said. "There's a dragon there. Female. Old. Very large. Very strong."
Aemond's breath caught.
"I want to go," he said immediately.
Aegon placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Wait here," he instructed. "I'll speak to Father first."
---
Viserys sat at his worktable, carefully assembling a detailed model of ancient Valyria. Towers, bridges, and walls of stone and gold rose beneath his hands—memories of a world long turned to ash.
Aegon entered without ceremony.
"Father," he said plainly, "I need to go to Dragonstone."
Viserys stiffened.
Years ago, when Aegon was barely five, he had flown north on dragonback—straight to the Wall. The memory still chilled Viserys to this day. Since then, he had ordered the Dragonkeepers to deny Aegon access to a dragon without royal approval.
He set the model aside and frowned.
"Why?" Viserys asked. "Your sister is to be married next month. You are not to wander off."
Aegon tried to smile.
"Only a short visit," he said. "A few days. Two weeks at most."
Viserys snorted.
"Dragonstone is nothing but black rock and wind," he said sharply. "You only want to fly off again. You are not allowed."
He saw through Aegon too easily.
Last time, Aegon had said the same thing—and vanished north. Beyond the Wall lay dangers no one fully understood.
Darkness. Cold. Ancient fear.
Viserys's thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the prophecy known only to kings.
Aegon the Conqueror's dream.
The Song of Ice and Fire.
A vision of winter swallowing the world. Of shadows moving from the North. Of a threat so vast it would end all life unless the realm stood united.
That dream was why the Seven Kingdoms had been forged into one.
Viserys had entrusted the prophecy to Rhaenyra, the heir he had chosen. But Aegon was not meant to bear that burden.
So Viserys only shook his head.
"You will not go north," he said firmly. "And you will not leave the capital without my leave."
Aegon fell silent.
But his eyes remained steady.
---
Outside the chamber, plans were already forming.
Dragonstone was not a whim.
Dragonmount was not curiosity.
And Aemond's future would not be decided by mockery or chance.
Some things could not be delayed.
Some things required fire.