"Does this fit, my prince," asked the tailor as he tightened the fabric.

Aegon inhaled and moved his shoulders, having a feel for the new doublet. "Feels a little tight around the chest." The prince looked into the polished silver mirror at his reflection. Earlier that morning, servants had washed and cropped his hair. It felt strange, seeing it as silver and not blue. He had regularly woke up to see the hair of Young Griff, not Aegon Targaryen. It worked, for both of us. Hopefully it's not for much longer. He looked back at the memories of it first being applied, which were still clear to him. Both Jon and Lemore had to force him down as they rubbed the foul smelling dye all over his hair, all the while the prince had struggled and resisted, but ultimately failed. After a point, it just became a routine part of his life.

The tailor asked a few more questions and adjusted it so it would be perfect. It had to be perfect, he was going to married on the morrow. In many ways, Aegon didn't know how to feel about being wedded to his aunt. She was certainly beautiful and will grow to be even more so, she was also kind and rarely shied away from what she believed. But he feared that this path could alienate useful alliances. The prince shook his head. No, the last two dragons need to stick together. Just like what Magister Illyrio said. If they didn't believe him to be the true Aegon and saw him as a simple pretender, the powerful houses wouldn't even want to have their daughters marry him. This will be the best path.

The prince looked in the mirror at his black doublet with the three headed dragon adorned with crimson myrish lace. He wore black breeches and high leather boots polished to a high sheen. On his shoulders he wore a half cape which draped over one shoulder, blood red on the inside and black on the outside. Around his neck he wore a chain of black iron, with three finely cut rubies. All of it a gift from Magister Illyrio.

"You look like a proper prince," came a gentle voice. Aegon quickly turned around and saw Septa Lemore under the doorway.

"Does a proper prince get nervous?"

"Everyone gets nervous. I would be concerned if you weren't." Aegon looked down. "Mind if I ask what it is about? The wedding in general, or it being to Daenerys?"

The boy nodded. Both. The tailor took his leave and Aegon removed part of the elaborate clothing, putting it to the side for the morrow. "Is Daenerys nervous?" He was curious because she seemed to take the news fairly well. Or she could have just hid it well. He was surprised when he heard Illyrio mention it. Aegon knew about the Targaryen tradition, but he always expected to be put into a marriage alliance with a high-lords daughter.

"She is," the septa said with a slight smirk. "But remember Aegon, your family has been doing this for generations, marrying close family members. There is nothing to be worried about, at least you two know each other and care for each other. Many marriages don't have that. Be thankyou you're not marrying a total stranger."

"I know," Aegon sighed. Many times, the prince wondered what would have happened if the civil war didn't happen, or if the crown loyalists won. Would he have been married to Rhaenys or would he be married with a daughter or another house? Aegon doubted Dany would be considered. He'll be the prince of Dragonstone, the ancestral home which he'd never been but heard tales of. When he was younger, Jon had regularly told Aegon stories of Dragonstone and his father, with the exiled lord saying how much he was familiar to Rhaegar in various ways. Aegon had once took it as a compliment, but as he got older and heard stories like the tourney of Harrenhal, the prince began to despise his father for what he had done. Abandoning his children and the women who loved him with all her heart. Aegon found himself get angry with the thought, his nails digging into the skin of his palm. Calm down, he had to warn himself, knowing the outbursts he was capable of. He breathed in and out slowly, for that seemed to work best.

Septa Lemore showed a slight smile, a mix of both concern and affection. She was the closest thing to a mother that both Aegon and Daenerys had. When he was younger, the septa helped him, cleaned his cuts when he fell and kissed him on the forehead before he fell asleep. "You'll be fine, Aegon." She then embraced him. She regularly did that when he was a child, but as he got older it became rarer and always in private if she did. She gave him a light peck on the forehead and pulled her head back, looking into his eyes. "Any girl will be happy to have you."

That made the boy smile as well as blush slightly. "I don't need anyone else." She's going to be my queen and she's the one who will have my heirs. No one else.

The Septa nodded. "Being committed to your vows is a virtue, remember that." She laughed softly. "Not that I think it'll be hard with her." She took his chin and Aegon stared into those dark eyes of hers. "No need to worry, Aegon. Your children will be princes and princesses. All beautiful like the dragon lords of old." She grinned and gave him a quick pat on the cheek before leaving so he could get changed.

Their wedding was in the pillared courtyard of Illyrio's manse. Aegon waited by the small altar, feeling his hands – which had quickly became sticky with sweat – shake. Lemore was serving the role of Septon due to Illyrio's mistrust of the small Sept chapel deeper within Pentos, or the Septon who served there. Septa Lemore reassured him with a quick glance. It worked, if only slightly. Aegon tried to resist fidgeting, yet he continued.

A quick scowl from Haldon in the crowd ended that.

The prince didn't have to wait long when his betrothed approached. If anything, he just got more nervous. Dany was wrapped tightly in a dress of ivory – the same as what she wore during the first feast when they arrived – with dragons made out of the myrish lace, and atop her head she wore her mother's crown, as well as bracelets and jewels; on her shoulders were a maidens cloak with the colours of House Targaryen. Aegon swallowed as she walked beside Jon Connington, who was in a doublet split in half with his house colours as well as a heavy cloak.

When she stood beside him, Daenerys showed a slight blush and a shy smile. Her nephew wondered if she was as nervous as he was. Daenerys was beautiful, even with the blue dye. But without it – and showing her silver hair, with her eyes looking purple and not blue – she was the most stunning women he had ever seen. Septa Lemore began with praising the Seven and saying the words of their union, where he took his aunts hands. Aegon didn't pay attention to most of what was said. His head swimming like it was a dream. With no other family members, Jon was taking the duty of her father, the exiled lord removing the clasp of her maiden cloak and it was removed only to be replaced by an identical cape.

When the septa's words finished, Daenerys's face was a deep red. "W-with this kiss I pledge my love, and take you as my lord and husband."

Aegon replied, "With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you as my lady and wife." For now and always. Then he cupped her soft cheek, feeling her warmth and brought his lips to hers. It was his first kiss, and while it was clumsy and dry, it felt good. When he broke away, Dany had her eyes closed and somehow turned a darker shade. Aegon smiled nervously, but he worried whether it was good enough and if she enjoyed it.

Septa Lemore rose her hands and declared, "Here in the sight of gods and men, I solemnly proclaim Prince Aegon of House Targaryen and Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen to be man and wife; one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever and cursed be the one who comes between them." That was when Dany opened her eyes, her shy little smile got rid of any doubts in his mind.

After the wedding ceremony, servants brought out platters of food and drink for the guests – not that there were many. Besides their party, there were a few men and women in bright silks and others in full armour. Sellswords Aegon guessed. Hairy warriors from Ibben; brightly clothed Bravos and men from the Summer Isles, all tall and with skin as black as ebony. Lyseni, Tyroshi, Myrmen and Pentoshi, he saw and heard their own dialects and even some Volantenes. For all the different people which filled the courtyard, talking to each other and drinking the magister's wine, one caught his attention more than the others. He wasn't clad in the bright and flamboyant colours or had dyed hair, but instead clothed in a simple woollen tunic, dark green and with a black bear on its hind legs; the man was tall, old and bolding but looked strong. A knight . . . what's a knight doing here?

Aegon didn't have long to think about it before Magister somehow sneaked up on him. "My prince, how's the wedding, enjoying it I hope?"

He shot a glance at Dany who was talking to a brightly dressed man with a bright red beard. He planned to keep an eye on that one. "I am indeed, Magister. I am thankful for that you have done this for us. On behalf of House Targaryen, we are in your debt." Illyrio seemed to like that. "May I ask who some of these people are? I must say that I'm quite unfamiliar with them."

The cheesemonger accepted that and gave brief information of who each individual was. "See that person there," he gestured to a green haired man of slender build; dressed in robe of bright green, blue and red, patterned with cloth-of-gold. "That there is the brother of the Archon of Tyrosh. A powerful man with a powerful voice, but one who owes me a few favours, you could say. He will very much like to see you when you have the time. Beside him is captain Cossomo the Golden, a distinguished pirate prince from Lys and with a powerful fleet behind him, another potential ally of considerable power." The pirate was a grey haired man with a thick beard and he was clad in as much gold as Aegon imagined Casterly Rock had stored in its vaults. Illyrio brought Aegon to look at a row of columns were a man was flirting with one of the serving girls. A sellsword was Aegons first guess. A young man, clad in black plate with a dark purple surcoat and half cloak. His hair was black and his eyes appeared seemed as such. "This one is the captain of the Lost Legion. Valarr, his name is. Westerosi born. He's here to see if you're worth fighting for." Aegon nodded and he was told each of the others, before finally it was the bear. "That is Ser Jorah Mormont."

"Mormont? He's a knight . . . from the North?" The North sided with the usurper, why is he here?

"No less. Anointed by with the seven oils by the High Septon himself, after the Greyjoy Rebellion."

"What's he doing here?" The knight's eyes met his.

Illyrio smiled smugly as he twirled his beard. "The usurper wants his head, as does Lord Eddard Stark. Some minor incident with the knight selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. Pugh. A man should have the right to sell chattel. The Westerosi are backwards, in more ways than one."

"So does he hate them?"

"Very much so. He came recommended by Varys and my friend knows who to use. Faced with exile from his homeland, he should be a loyal servant if you give him what he wants: a pardon and his island back."

Mormont did look strong, even if old. But that would also mean that the knight had a good deal of knowledge and skill. "I'll talk to him when I'm done with the others." Illyrio accepted that and wondered off to converse to some of the guests as Aegon did likewise. A few were easier to talk to than others. Some looked down on him, besides smiles they didn't look convinced to support him when the time came. None seemed too thrilled only to be offered empty promises, yet it was all Aegon could hope to offer.

After a few, Aegon approached Valarr of the Lost Legion. The sellsword captain was taller than most in the courtyard. "So you're the dead prince," he said with mocking tone. "Must say that for a dead boy, you look fairer then I would have thought."

Keep calm. Yet Aegon felt his face get warmer. The others didn't say anything about it. Yet he knew they wouldn't care in the least as long as they got coin. The prince doubted this Valarr cared either. "I'm not dead. The one who died was a boy from Pisswater. I was switched."

"Just happened to be switched just in time and too die in such a way where the original was unidentifiable." The captain showed a smirk. The sellsword did have Valyrian heritage, with his eyes dark violet, almost black. He then just shrugged. "Not like I care. You have powerful friends. Aegon Targaryen. I'm just a sellsword and I'll take work where I can find it. You need swords to get a crown. I have the swords which can be yours, but what do I get for my troubles?"

"Gold," a standard offer, "and titles and castles of your choosing when I take back my throne."

The captain put a finger to his chin like he was deep in thought. "You will have many enemies. The Crownlands, Westerlands, the Vale, the North, Stormlands and Trident. What makes you think that you'll win this war?"

When you put it like that, it makes it sound worse. Aegon swallowed and looked up at the man. Just doing so made him feel younger and a mere princeling. "I am Princess Elia Martells son. The Dornish will rise up for me. I'll have friends in the Crownlands and Reach as well."

"Small houses, weak and scattered. You need Lord Paramount's to aid you, but Dorne is not enough. You have yet to land with your army and once that happens, you will be crushed by the combined armies of the Seven Kingdoms. Only . . . only around two hundred thousand men you'll be fighting against. Give or take. I only have five thousand under my command. I may not be a maester, yet I know one greatly exceeds the other."

"The lords and the smallfolk will rise for their rightful king." As much as he didn't want to admit it, the sellsword seem to have a point. For all the talk that Illyrio made, he would still have to fight an army which greatly exceeded his own, with more allies and much more support on the mainland of Westeros. But Aegon didn't want to look defeated.

The sellsword wiggled his hand slightly. "Perhaps, but will it be enough, lad? Many consider Robert Baratheon their rightful king. He has a claim, his grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen. That claim may not compete with yours or your young aunt, but it is still a claim which his allies will support." He paused. "But what about your allies, my prince? The ones you claim will rise up when you land. The Tyrells surrendered, the Dornish surrendered and Dragonstone surrendered, with the latter willing to hand your family over to the usurper."

The words made a chill go down his spine.

The sellsword continued, "Where were they to support Viserys and Daenerys?" Aegon didn't know what to say. He desperately wanted some wine to moisten his parched mouth and throat. "Remember lad, you could promise all the Lannister gold in the world to someone, but words are like wind. Promises are empty on their own, and life is always more important. Sellswords are paid to fight, not die." Valarr smiled whilst his eyes didn't. "Think on that, boy. The cheesemonger tells me you're a smart kid. Let's hope so. Come up with solutions to these dilemmas and come back to me. See if you can persuade me then." The captain then took his leave with the rattling of armour.

Curse him to the seven hells. Once again Aegon was getting angry. The people will rise for their rightful king. He was sure Jon Connington should tell him how to do it. He trusted his foster father with everything he had. After getting a cup of wine and downing its contents. He turned to see Dany conversing with Magister Illyrio. She turned at him and gave him a warm and reassuring smile, a gesture he returned.

When the sun went down, Illyrio called that it was time for the wedding gifts. Few of the guests had presents to offer. Ser Connington brought him a Lyseni dirk, with an ivory handle and engravings on the blade. With a bow of the head, Aegon politely thanked his foster father for the gift. Septa Lemore gave him a book about the faith as expected, and Halfmaester presented him with a book about dragons with the book titled: 'Dragonkin, Being a History of House Targaryen from Exile to Apotheosis, with a Consideration of the Life and Death of Dragons'. Aegon almost laughed at the title, Haldon scolded him and warned that he expected a summary of what the book contained. Aegon accepted the challenge.

Daenerys meanwhile was given a handmaiden by the name of Doreah, a fair haired and blue eyed Lyseni girl by Illyrio. Haldon, Jon and Lemore had given her books. The books both received would likely be read by the other sooner or later. Other guests gave her silver and gold rings, jewels, dresses, soft furs and cups of Myrish glass which were said to shatter if the drink is poisoned.

Ser Jorah Mormont bowed before presenting the both of them with a small gift, apologising. "I acknowledge is little thing, but it's all an exile like myself could afford." He laid out a small stack of books, all thin and grubby. They were the histories of the Seven Kingdoms and a collection of songs. Both thanked him for the gift. When that done, the knight said, "I would like to offer you, Prince Aegon Targaryen, my sword to serve you. I fought against your father in the battle of the Trident, I will admit so, and I served as Lord of Bear Island under service of Lord Stark. But now I offer my loyalty to you. The rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms."

Aegon bowed his head. "Provide me with your sword and your undying loyalty and your past crimes against the crown are forgiven and you will be granted Bear Island to once again be your own." Ser Jorah accepted. "Now rise, Ser Jorah Mormont." Three knights in fifteen years. Within a few thousand years I may have an army with the speed this is going.

When no other people were offering, Magister Illyrio bellowed a command and four burly men hurried forward, each carrying a cedar chest richly engraved with various creatures and monsters. "This is the final gift I present to you," he stated, stroking his golden beard as a crowd formed around the chest to see what was inside. The magister opened it himself, where three eggs were sitting on soft velvet.

Everyone just stared at it, with Aegon losing all thoughts as he gawked. Dragon eggs. It has to be.

While he just stared, Daenerys slowed walked forwards, her fingers trailing the rim. She looked up at the magister as if asking permission before holding one up with both hands. They were like jewels with how brightly they were coloured. Each was covered in small scales, with the corners reflecting the light of the torches. After some caution, Aegon followed his aunt's actions, picking up the black one. It was much heavier than he expected. Three eggs there were, one a deep green, with burnished bronze flecks; another was pale cream and streaked with gold; the last was black with scarlet ripples.

Dany put the cream egg back down before turning to the magister. "Where did you get them?"

The merchant let out a soft chuckle. "The Shadow Lands beyond Asshai, to the Far East. "They are ancient, with the eons turning them to stone. For their age, they still look a beautiful as they did when they were laid."

Daenerys looked back at the three. "We'll treasure them always. It is a magnificent gift, one which we'll both always remember."

Three eggs for three Targaryen's, was Aegons thought as he looked back at them. He remembered Viserys, the late uncle who didn't see him as true and was reluctant to acknowledge his existence. If you were still here, you could have had one. "I agree with my dearest wife. They are a wonderful gift. We thank you."

Illyrio bowed his head. "I am thankful you appreciate it. The dragons may have died out, yet the shells of their offspring still remain, fossilised, yet beautiful and worth a lot of coin. They are yours to do as you wish."

Aegon wondered what for. Dragons were dead and they wouldn't be able to hatch. On their own, eggs were more precious than jewels, with three being worth a fortune and enough for an army. Is that what Illyrio wants? For us to use this as currency for an army? In the corner of his eyes he saw Valarr eyeing him with a slight smirk.

The gifts were taken away by the slaves and then everything was prepared for the dance. Tables were put to the side and pairs grouped up. Aegon went to his wife, held his hand out and offered her the first dance. She accepted without hesitation. "Enjoying our wedding," he asked as the musicians played a slow song called Dance of the Rhoyne.

Dany smiled a sweet smile. "It was wonderful. But I will admit that I was unsure about it at the beginning."

"How come?"

Daenerys shook her head. "I just was . . . I can't explain it."

A gentle kiss to the forehead silenced her and she smiled timidly. "I can say I was nervous as well, my princess. Being married to the most beautiful women in the world." His wife then gently pressed against his chest. Dany had always been smaller then him, but with him beginning to go through a growth spurt, the difference as only getting greater.

They danced the rest in silence. A few times they switched partners, but there was more than twice as many men as women, so even the serving girls were asked for a dance. A few times he and Daenerys found themselves in each other's arms again. Aegon much preferred that, with him getting a bit jealous when he saw her dance with others. But he kept those thoughts to himself.

When the dancing ended, one merchant prince shouted for the bedding ceremony, his voice in a cruel tone of jest. Dany blushed when that was said, with others – obviously drunk on wine – agreed and called for her to strip in the custom of Westeros before carrying her to her chambers.

With a quick look at her face, it was obvious that his wife didn't want to be involved and he didn't want to make something she hated, so Aegon refused the bedding.

A Lyseni pirate lord laughed, spilling wine over his tunic. "I thought you Westerosi all do this bedding ceremony. Follow your forefather's, boy. Let us strip her down and we'll carry her in for your pleasure." A few others started laughing. "We won't be too rough."

I promised to protect her. Her honour included. "No," Aegon snapped, stepping forward. "There will be no bedding ceremony." He wanted to say more, but they were potential allies and he was walking a thin line.

Ser Connington stepped forward. "If the prince refuses the ceremony, it's his calling. It is his wedding after all." Which Illyrio and Septa Lemore supported, though the former was more indifferent. There were a few annoyed grumbles from who wished it was so, but nothing besides. Although the Lyseni pirates eyes didn't leave the prince.

I've lost him. Aegon inhaled and felt the warmth creep from his face. He then turned around to an uneasy Daenerys and offered his hand. "Shall me and my dearest wife head to our chambers." It was like all the happiness got sucked out of her. She took it and they left the others to their jests and drinks. When they left the courtyard and walked through the marble corridors, he asked, "Are you alright, Dany?" His voice was soft and gentle, the same one he usually used when she was upset.

"I-I thank you for that . . . during the dance . . . the way some of them looked at me." She shuddered. "I don't want their hands near me."

He had seen some of the men leer at her, sellswords, captains or merchants. He didn't want to think of what they would have done if they stripped her. She's a Targaryen princess, she deserves better. "They won't. I'll make sure of it." He smiled and planted a light kiss on her forehead once again. "Shall we forget them?" Dany agreed and they walked to their chambers.

Their footsteps getting slower as they neared the door.