Magister Illyrio's manse was as it always had been, over the top in its grandeur, and home. They'd only been at the manse for a few days since returning from Braavos. Aegon liked to travel, to see unknown places that he'd only visited in stories. But he preferred the manse. He had his own chambers here, his own space. He didn't have to worry about re-dying his hair blue so frequently. Separate from the rest of the world with its twelve-foot walls, Aegon could be Aegon instead of Young Griff, and Jon could be Jon. It was only Septa Lemore who kept up her facade. Not that Aegon minded. He'd known her as Septa Lemore for so long it felt natural.
Aegon sat in his chambers with a book spread open in front of him, but his eyes were elsewhere. He watched the colorful birds flit from tree to tree in the gardens below. Gardens that he had spent hours upon hours exploring as a boy. They'd once felt as though they were jungles of their own, his alone to explore. Now, they felt as though they'd shrunk to half their size.
He mindlessly flipped another page before snapping the book closed, returning it to its shelf. Aegon ran his fingers along the spine, selecting another at random. Magister Illyrio had an extensive book collection, and he always switched out the books on his shelves when Aegon visited. Aegon asked him once what his favorite book was, but the magister hadn't an answer to give him. Septa Lemore later japed with him that he more likely wanted the novelty of owning such rare books.
The book flopped down onto his desk with a thunk, Aegon in the chair beside it. He flipped the cover back to an illustration of a dragon staring up at him. The garden below long forgotten, Aegon dove into the book. Illustrations of eggs, dragons in their stages of growth, saddles, he poured over it eagerly. He analyzed the chapter on dragon's eggs, but his heart fell. Nothing on how to hatch eggs.
Aegon glanced at his own egg, sitting on top of the lit brazier in his room. The brilliant, shimmering gold flickered in the flames, cut through with stripes of orange. If only there was red, he lamented. Then, it would truly be a dragon for House Martell. He turned instead to the chapter on dragons of days passed.
Time and time again he'd settled on a name, only to change his mind the next day. A hundred names must have passed his lips. Balerion was the first name he'd settled on, only to change his mind to Meraxes, and then Vhagar. For weeks he'd shuffled between the three. He'd moved onto different names as his lessons moved past Aegon's conquest. Vermithor, Meleys, Syrax, dragons from the Targaryens of old all came and went. Jon was the one to suggest that perhaps he should choose something new, as all of those names had flown the skys once before.
So Aegon turned to the gods of Old Valyria next. Or the few he knew, anyway. He'd considered Ancalagon more than once, as well as Gaelithox and Aegarax. Essovius was another Aegon favored, as it reminded him of the land that raised him. When he hadn't settled on one of the Valyrian gods, Septa Lemore suggested Vēzos. The word for sun in High Valyrian. Ancalagon, Essovius, Vēzos, the names danced around him, but he could not settle. A part of him suspected he wouldn't know for true what name he would choose until his dragon hatched.
If it hatched, that was. Jon didn't think it would, and had once thought him silly for wanting to name the egg. When Aegon was a boy, he'd told him it would never hatch. That the last dragon died hundreds of years ago, if not on the Trident. But then why did it feel so warm, he wanted to know. Why did it feel alive if it wasn't meant to hatch? Besides, Aegon dreamt it would.
He'd been abed, sick with a fever when he had the dream. Lemore claimed them to only be dreams wrought by fever, but Aegon felt them to be something different. He'd dreamt of sands so hot that fire burst from the ground, spilling forth a dragon to rival the sun. He'd dreamt of dragons roaring overhead, red, black, green, cream, and white. Aegon could still feel the heat of the flames, the horrifying roar of a dragon as it flew overhead.
A sharp knock on the door, and Aegon was pulled from his book. A servant informed him that dinner would be served shortly, and Aegon waved her away. He rifled through his chest to find something suitable. Illyrio had said dinner would be a slight affair that night, but Aegon doubted the man knew the meaning of slight. He settled on a black doublet with embroidered borders in red.
He arrived at the dining room to find no slight affair at all. The food laid out on the table would be enough to feed scores of men, let alone their small group. Aside from Jon, Lemore, and Illyrio, servants stood to the side, waiting to serve them. Like most rooms in the manse, open windows let in a soft breeze and delicate tapestries covered the walls.
One such breeze blew in through the open windows toward Aegon, carrying with it the smells of the feast laid before him. Mushrooms cooked in garlic and butter surrounded platters of honeyed duck, covered with orange snap peppers. Plates filled with crispy sardines slathered in pepper oil sat in front of nearly every place setting. A roasted lamb lay centerpiece on a bed of spiced rice, surrounded by flatbreads, cheeses, olives, and roasted tomatoes. Steam wafted from creamy stews filled with crab and lobster, next to them sat lamprey pies with golden crusts. Thick slices of bread surrounded the stews. And those were only the dishes he could see. No doubt, more dishes hid behind the others. Aegon could hardly see the dark wooden table beneath all the food.
Illyrio had brought forth casks upon casks of wine from his cellar, stacked against the wall, ready to be drunk. Tart persimmon wine from Pentos, along with sweet Volantene wine and pear brandy from Tyrosh. There were sour Dornish reds and Arbor golds, sweet wines from the Reach and plum wines from the Crownlands.
Jon, Septa Lemore, and Illyrio already sat in their spots, waiting on only him. Aegon took the seat next to Septa Lemore, with Jon and Illyrio across from them. Had he been as short as he'd been as a boy, Aegon doubted he could have seen Jon over all the food. He wasted no time in heaping food onto his plate. Green peppers stuffed with cheese and onion, a chunk of roasted lamb, cheeses and olives, a healthy portion of stew, a thick slice of olive loaf; Aegon wished to try it all. Perhaps not the honeyed locusts, though. They never ate half as well as this when away from the manse. Septa Lemore stopped cutting her slice of duck and looked sidelong at his plate, then up at him. Aegon shoveled lamb into his mouth and grinned, which only earned him a chiding look.
A servant poured some of the sour Dornish wine into his goblet. Aegon washed down the lamb and focused on the conversation between Illyrio and Jon. "We should be well on our way to meet with the Golden Company, Illyrio. Not wasting time here."
Illyrio wiped the remnants of stew from his bowl with a hunk of bread. "The Golden Company can wait. My own purpose cannot."
Jon attempted to spear a roasted tomato on his fork, but it rolled across his plate. Aegon snickered, and Septa Lemore gave his shin a light kick. "And what purpose do you have for calling us back here, Illyrio?"
"Word from Dorne," Magister Illyrio said, shoveling a heaping spoonful of spiced rice into his mouth. "Prince Doran wishes to act earlier than planned."
Aegon hurriedly wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Septa Lemore thwacked his arm and shoved a napkin into his hand. "Why does my Uncle Doran wish to change the plan?"
Illyrio gulped down wine before popping a tomato into his mouth. "Westeros is at war. There is a King in every corner. Stannis and Renly have both claimed a crown, and the northerners have named Ned Stark's boy their King. My friend at court says there are even whispers of Balon Greyjoy crowning himself once again."
Septa Lemore gently laid down her fork and knife. She raised a brow. "And Dorne wishes to put forth their own King?" she sounded skeptical.
Illyrio wiped the grease from his fingers and withdrew a folded piece of parchment from a pocket. "It's my understanding that Prince Doran would have been happy to wait, except that the Queen in the North has made multiple overtures to him in hopes of an alliance."
Jon scowled and snorted. "The Queen in the North? I'm not certain Westeros has room for all these kings."
Aegon took another sip of his wine, and Illyrio fixed him with a stare. "The Queen in the North is your own cousin, Alysanne."
Aegon choked on his wine. Septa Lemore slapped his back, and Aegon wiped the spit from his mouth. "Alysanne?" He looked at Jon and registered the lack of shock on his face. "You knew about this?" Aegon had long known a cousin on his father's side lived, but never exactly what became of her. He'd never thought to ask, thinking that surely Jon would have told him if something ill had befallen her. Aegon kicked himself for not caring to ask at all.
Jon wrinkled his nose. "I knew they planned to marry her to Ned Stark's get. Shame that they went through with it. In another life, you might have married her."
Septa Lemore hadn't removed her hand from Aegon's back. "Jon," she chided.
Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why would it matter? She's Tywin's granddaughter. Robert handed her right to Ned Stark. She was always out of our reach."
Aegon clenched his fork. Always out of our reach? Had he meant to abandon her? Septa Lemore rubbed soothing circles. The Queen in the North. The word they'd received from Westeros only a few weeks past said the Riverlands declared for Robb Stark as well. The North and the Riverlands, as well as Dorne… "If Uncle Doran agrees to ally with her, that would give us the North and Riverlands as well," Aegon said.
Illyrio handed Jon the parchment. "Your Uncle says he is ready to move. He wants to send one of his men and several of his ships to escort you to Dorne."
Aegon opened his mouth, only to close it when Jon waved the parchment wildly in the air. "We should continue as planned," he pleaded. "Volon Therys. And then meet with the Golden Company." Jon took one look at Aegon and continued speaking. "Alysanne doesn't rule, Aegon. Her husband does."
"She's my cousin," Aegon argued. "Marriages like hers are made for alliances. We're Targaryens, if she knew that I live-"
Aegon did not get to finish his thought before Jon interrupted. "She's a Stark by marriage, Aegon. Don't forget the harm that family brought yours. Ned Stark was always the usurper's dog." Septa Lemore withdrew her hand from Aegon's back and tensed. She folded her hands into her lap. "Robert rewarded the slaughter of your mother and sister. He butchered your father. Don't forget it."
What of my father? His father abandoned his mother, his sister, and him. His father had only left him a war. Aegon did not mention his father. Jon didn't like when Aegon spoke poorly of him. "Their war is with the Lannister's," Aegon said instead. "The Starks fight against them. We have a common enemy." Would Alysanne truly refuse to ally with him? They were family. The last of their family, along with their Aunt Daenerys.
Illyrio broke into the argument. "It is the King's choice," he insisted. "If His Grace wishes to sail now, it is his right." Jon sighed and rested his head in his hands. The King. Aegon had grown used to the title before he even knew what it truly meant. But now, on the cusp of a long awaited war, it felt entirely different.
Septa Lemore looked at him with wide eyes. "We have taught him all we can, Jon. Prepared him for this very moment. Our war will begin; whether we sail for Dorne now or after Volon Therys," she grasped his hand under the table. "I trust him to choose wisely." Aegon met her gaze and his heart swelled. Elia Martell was his mother. Septa Lemore would never dare let him think otherwise. But it was Lemore who raised him, who kissed his scraped knees and taught him his letters. He had always trusted her guidance, and now she looked to him.
Jon clenched his jaw. "What of your Aunt Daenerys?" Jon argued. "We were to march and meet her in Meereen, after joining with the Golden Company," he glared at Illyrio.
Illyrio, seemingly oblivious, picked meat off the wing of a duck. "Daenerys faces her own troubles with Meereenese nobles and the other slave cities," he interjected. "Let her come to you, as the rightful King."
His aunt would be a valuable ally, with her three dragons. But Aegon was the rightful king of Westeros, not her, Jon had always said. How long would it take for her to resolve her own conflicts? "Let her meet me in Westeros," Aegon decided. "It's as Illyrio said. I'm the King, she can come to me." Illyrio nodded with a proud smile.
Jon cleared his throat. "If you want to sail now, I beg you to not abandon the Golden Company entirely." Aegon argued, but Jon held up a hand. "If we send word now, perhaps the Golden Company can meet us there. It would be foolish to land in Westeros without an army." Aegon's mouth twisted.
That will take months. They would have Dorne, as well as the Riverlands and the North, if Alysanne and Robb agreed. But what if Jon is right? What if she refuses? They would certainly need the Golden Company then. Their numbers will only help. "Alright," Aegon reluctantly agreed. "Write to them now."
"And I'll write to Prince Doran," Illyrio said.
The change in plans required much work over the following days to account for. Illyrio wrote to Prince Doran and set about putting a household together for Aegon. He would not send him without servants, he said. Slaves, Aegon thought to himself. Servants were paid, at least they were in Westeros. Aegon wanted to argue, but Septa Lemore counseled him to accept the gift graciously. "You can always free them once we arrive," she said. "Free them, or allow them to stay and pay them a wage." Freed, but in a strange land, he'd nearly argued.
Septa Lemore was by his side more than usual. Aegon wondered if it had anything to do with Jon's attitude. He had said nothing to Aegon. He'd even helped him write the letters to the Golden Company. Still, to Aegon, Jon seemed more withdrawn. Was it because Aegon had abandoned the original plan that Jon had made? Or was it because of the comment Aegon made regarding his father later that evening after dinner? Jon approached him later that night, again warning him of the Starks and Lannisters; of which Alysanne was both by blood and marriage. Jon warned that Alysanne may have long abandoned her Targaryen family, and Aegon, tired and head pounding, snapped that Rhaegar had done the same.
And had that not been what his father—Rhaegar—had done? He left them to the mercy of his grandfather. Jon said the Stark girl seduced his father, Septa Lemore said others told it differently, but did it matter? His father still left him, his sister, and his mother. Rhaegar still started a war. Not my father, he thought bitterly. Rhaegar never raised him. Jon had. Jon, and Septa Lemore. Aegon didn't understand how Jon could forget that, how he could still claim to love his father, anyway.
Aegon thought it'd be months before the escort his Uncle Doran sent would arrive. He was proved wrong one afternoon, as he watched the ships in the Bay of Pentos. From the balcony attached to his chambers, Aegon could see nearly the entirety of the Bay of Pentos. There was not a cloud in the sky, and Aegon felt as though he could see for miles. He counted nearly a dozen fishing boats dotting the horizon, casting their nets or bringing the day's catch back to shore. He had no doubt that Illyrio would send his servants—slaves; he corrected himself—to the markets to buy from those same fishermen. Cod, whitefish or lampreys. Illyrio had promised him swordfish one night. Mayhap tonight will be that night.
Further across the bay, Aegon could see the fleet of twenty warships allowed to Pentos, pinpoints on the horizon. A holdover from the treaty signed after the last war between Pentos and Braavos, Aegon remembered from his studies.
Closer to shore were larger ships from beyond. Traders bringing wares from the other free cities. Glassware, lace, and carpets from Myr, tapestries from Qohor, pear brandy and armor from Tyrosh, perfumes and fine weapons from Lys. Slaves as well. Aegon wondered how many slaves they had brought to Pentos aboard those ships. It twisted his belly. Illyrio had slaves and saw nothing wrong with it, but Jon abhorred it. There were no slaves in Westeros, and it would not start with him.
The ships all flew a myriad of flags. A golden flag with a naked woman for the Lyseni ships, the standard of the Sealord for the Braavosi. For every flag he recognized, there were ten he didn't. Flags of independent traders, for cities far beyond where Aegon would ever travel. Pinks, blues, purples, reds, oranges, he studied each and everyone of them. From flag to flag, his eyes wandered until his heart jumped. There, at the far end, waved an orange flag with a red sun, a golden spear piercing the center.
My mother's house! He turned tail and tore out of his room. He hadn't expected his Uncle Doran to send a representative so soon. Magister Illyrio had only sent word the other day that Aegon agreed to his plans. Perhaps they thought he wouldn't agree and sent men to convince him. Or perhaps Illyrio decided for me, long before he shared the letter from my uncle.
Aegon asked a servant where to find Illyrio, and she pointed him to the room Illyrio used as a study. He walked as fast as he could without running, passing murals and statues and elaborate tapestries. He came to a stop before an enormous set of doors, carved intricately with flowers, trees, and exotic birds. Voices drifted through, and Aegon stopped to listen.
"It is not you we came to see, Jon," a heavily accented voice shouted.
Whatever Jon said back was muffled, and Aegon could not make sense of it. The same, heavily accented voice from before returned with, "if he is truly Elia's boy then I have every right to speak with him, Connington."
It is me they speak of. Aegon burst through the doors into the study. The room was less of a study than one would expect. Large open windows framed by gauzy curtains dominated the far wall. Thick Myrish carpets masked the pale, tiled floor, and paintings hung where the large windows weren't. There were only a few bookshelves, sat next to a plush chaise. In the middle of the room sat a heavy, oak table set with fruits and flasks of wines, as well as leftovers from the previous night's meal. Illyrio and Jon sat on one side, with a man and two women on the other.
Their heads whipped to Aegon upon his entrance. The man sat across from Illyrio, stood abruptly. He was tall and slender, with thick black hair. Illyrio hoisted himself off his chair as well. "Ah! Aegon, what a surprise! I have the profound honor of introducing you to-"
Illyrio's words were lost to Aegon as the man marched forward, orange and yellow silks floating behind him. His brows were pulled tight, and dark eyes narrowed in scrutiny. One woman followed behind him gracefully, a concerned yet curious look in her eyes. The man halted in front of Aegon, and the woman laid a delicate hand on his shoulder.
Jon stood from his seat and made his way to stand behind Aegon. "Oberyn," he warned.
Aegon snapped his attention to Jon, to Illyrio, and then back to the strange man in front of him. "Oberyn Martell?" Aegon questioned, to no answer. Jon never spoke often of his mother's family, but he knew the names of his uncles well enough.
Jon placed a firm hand on Aegon's shoulder. "He has her nose, Oberyn. The shape of her eyes."
Oberyn shot Jon a venomous glare. "I do not need you to tell me so." He returned his attention to Aegon. His lips pressed into a terse line and dark eyes traced the details of his face. Aegon shifted and studied Oberyn. He had a sharp nose and a widow's peak, thin eyebrows and lines etched by his eyes.
"He looks like you, father," the woman who remained seated said.
The woman behind his uncle hummed. She had brown hair and lighter eyes than his uncle; kind eyes. "His nose and his jaw, maybe. But everything else, that's Rhaegar." Aegon resisted the urge to shuffle his feet. He felt quite like the slaves he'd seen at the markets, brought from Slaver's Bay, inspected like cattle.
His uncle's eyes softened. "Elia and I had the same nose," he mused. He shifted his eyes over his shoulder to Jon. "Do you swear on your life, Connington? That the boy is who you say he is? If you are lying to me…" he trailed off, the threat not needing to be said. "It is cruel to deceive a grieving man."
Jon's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Rhaegar's son," he affirmed. "And Elia's."
The door creaked open behind them, and soft footsteps echoed through the silence. "It is as he says, Oberyn," Septa Lemore said softly.
Oberyn's head snapped to Septa Lemore behind him. His jaw slackened. "Ashara Dayne?"
Aegon started. He's recognized her. Ashara Dayne was his mother's closest friend, and those in Westeros thought she'd thrown herself from a tower just after the rebellion. "Elia placed him in my arms herself," Lemore—Ashara—said. Aegon tried to quell the panic. Was this not why she'd faked her death? To care for him, and to prove to those in Westeros he was who he claimed? She would not have shown herself to anyone who would recognize her without reason. She's smarter than that.
Septa Lemore—Ashara—stopped beside him. Oberyn's jaw clenched, and he eyed Ashara with suspicion. "My sister would never have saved one child over the other," he accused. Aegon squeezed his eyes shut. Rhaenys, his older sister who lived on in the memories of so few. Not a day went by where Aegon didn't wonder why he'd been saved and not his sister.
Ashara's eyes fell. "We could not find a child who looked like Rhaenys, not in time. There was a plan to spirit her away, but…" her voice broke. "But Tywin's beast got there first."
Oberyn's eyes danced between their trio. "And I assume Doran knew of your survival all along?" he accused. "And yet he did not tell me," he spat.
The woman behind his uncle laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Perhaps he was right to do so, my love," she soothed. "You would have set off to find him without a second thought."
"A Prince of Dorne does not go easily unnoticed," Jon broke in.
Oberyn released a shuddering breath. The hard line of his mouth softened, as did his eyes. A viper uncoiling. "Elia's son," he breathed. "The entire journey here I had not dared to hope. But I see her in you." The same face that had stared back at Aegon earlier, filled with suspicion and venom now lit with joy and love. Aegon put aside thoughts of family long dead. How long had he been waiting to meet his family that lived? His blood?
Aegon smiled tremulously. "It's wonderful to meet you, uncle." Jon removed his hand, and Aegon heard him take a step back.
Oberyn laughed and swept an arm out, gesturing grandly to the woman behind him. "This is my paramour, Ellaria." She smiled warmly at him and Aegon thought to embrace her, but Oberyn pulled Aegon forward still. "And this is my eldest daughter, Obara. Two of my other daughters accompanied me, Nymeria and Tyene, no doubt they are skulking about."
"Cousin," Aegon greeted. Cousin. He'd never met a cousin before. Or an uncle, or an uncle's paramour.
Obara still held a stern look upon her face, not dissimilar to her fathers. There was no doubt as to their relation. The same dark eyes and the same widow's peak. She appraised him with hard eyes, and Aegon wondered if she always appeared so stern.. "Nym will like you," she smirked.
"Where are your sisters?" Ellaria intoned, a suspicious lilt to her voice.
"Aboard the ship," her eyes roamed to Illyrio, who only lacked for response due to the food stuffed in his mouth, "they find the use of slaves to be distasteful. They'd rather stay aboard."
Ellaria did not look as though she believed Obara's answer, but she did not push the subject. "It doesn't matter. We're to depart on the morrow."
Aegon blanched. "So soon?" They'd arrived not even a moon ago. He'd thought he had another moon still, to mourn his old home. Westeros had always been inevitable for him, Aegon knew. But it had always seemed a distant dream, just beyond his reach and concern.
Illyrio hoisted himself to his feet, wiping his greasy hands on his silks. "I am afraid so, Young Griff." Aegon felt a tad melancholy at the old name. He would leave that behind in Braavos, along with the home he'd found in the manse. "Our friend Varys is not the only one with spies. Perhaps your Uncle Oberyn should have been more discreet with the colors flown on his ship."
Oberyn shrugged and popped a fruit from the table into his mouth. "I am known to travel. Why should I not want to visit Pentos with my daughters?"
Illyrio's expression pinched and Ashara jumped in before the argument could continue. "The sooner we reach Westeros, the better," she said.
There was no large dinner that night, as Aegon might have expected. It seemed the entire manse was in a hurry to pack and send Aegon on his way. He watched as servants packed his room into chests. They tucked away books from the shelves amongst his clothes, his sword and the armor Jon had made for him carried down to the ship. Various gifts from Illyrio were packed as well, a finely made dagger, a heavy silk cloak. They packed away his belongings with such speed, it was as though Aegon had never been there at all.
He took his evening meal with Jon and Oberyn that night. His other two cousins had yet to leave the ship, and Aegon wished he could dine with the entirety of the family he had present, but Jon had other ideas. We'll have the whole of the journey to plan, he'd wanted to argue. But on the same token, Aegon supposed he'd have the whole of the journey to dine with his family as well.
Aegon grasped the mug in front of him, with Oberyn and Jon at his sides around a small, round table. "Once we land," Jon started, "we'll need to march as soon as we can. Varys isn't the only one with spies."
Aegon voiced his agreement. "Uncle Doran will have sent word to Alysanne by then."
He did not miss the way Jon scowled. Oberyn, who had busied himself with rifling through the books Aegon hadn't packed, sprawled himself into a chair. "I've heard much of your cousin," Oberyn said.
Jon sat up and questioned Oberyn before Aegon could. "How loyal is she to the Lannisters? Will she be a problem?"
Oberyn quirked a brow. "She grew up among the Starks. I knew the mother, but not the daughter." Aegon's ears perked up at the mention of Shaera. Another member of his family stolen too soon.
"What was she like?" Aegon asked. "My Aunt Shaera." Was she like his father? Caught up in his own mind, uncaring about what became of the family he had? Or was she like his grandfather, overcome by a creeping cruelness that swallowed him whole. Maybe she was like her sister Daenerys.
Oberyn smiled fondly. "She was kind. A bit timid, but who wouldn't be with a father like hers?" he hummed. "Elia was fond of her."
Aegon leaned forward. "They were friends then?" Aegon knew little of his mother's life. Jon could tell him nearly every detail of his father's, but not his mother's. Aside from what Ashara told him, he knew little.
Oberyn picked at the platter of food sitting in front of him. He shrugged. "They shared meals. Shaera was fond of Rhaenys." Aegon smiled slightly. Would she have been fond of me as well?
"My cousin Alysanne," Oberyn tilted his chin forward, an acknowledgement of his words, "Illyrio said she's the one who sent the ravens to Uncle Doran."
Jon grumbled. "On behalf of her husband, no doubt." Oberyn grinned, sharp and dangerous.
"Not so," Oberyn stated. He appeared to take pleasure in disproving Jon. "She signed it on her own behalf. Alysanne of House Stark, Queen in the North and of the Trident, Lady of Winterfell," he said, her assigned titles with a flourish. He unsheathed a dagger and twisted it in his hands.
Jon narrowed his eyes at Oberyn. "Why ally with the Stark's, after the disgrace they paid Elia?" Aegon paid rapt attention. He'd be lying, to say he wasn't curious about his uncle's response. Aegon had his own reasoning for wanting to ally with the Starks. But Dorne had no blood ties to the North like Aegon did.
Oberyn stilled the dagger in his hands, body coiled. "Lyanna Stark was a foolish girl. I don't know if Elia could bring herself to truly hate her. Anger, yes," he clicked his tongue. "But she alone would not have started a war for that offense. Dorne would not have," he resumed playing with the dagger, the tip pressed lightly into his left index finger while his right hand twirled it. "They fight the Lannister's, Connington. An enemy of the Lannisters is a friend of mine. I have waited long enough for my vengeance."
"And if Alysanne chooses the Lannister's?" Jon directed his question at both Aegon and Oberyn. "If she stands in the way of your vengeance?
Aegon crossed his arms. She wouldn't. She's the one who reached out to Dorne. "She didn't murder my mother or sister," Aegon broke in. "She's innocent."
"Innocents die in war, Aegon," Jon muttered. "If it is necessary, it must be done."
Aegon's stomach sank. "My cousin won't be one of them." And Daenerys won't be either, he resolved. "I won't kill innocents just because that's the way of war." Jon's eyes were filled with sympathy, and Oberyn watched him carefully. Aegon scratched at his neck, rising from his seat. "I'm tired. I'll see the both of you in the morning." Aegon left without another word, leaving Oberyn and Jon to their own discussions.
He did not sleep well that night. His dragon egg had not been packed with the rest of his possessions. Aegon didn't trust it to strange hands. Instead, it remained in its place atop the lit brazier. He watched as the flames danced in the gold and orange, casting strange lights on the walls. Aegon must have fallen asleep at some point, because sooner than he'd have liked, Ashara was shaking him awake.
The ship made its way out of the Bay of Pentos early that morning, just after dawn. If Aegon closed his eyes, he could pretend that perhaps they were sailing to Braavos, or maybe Myr. But he didn't close his eyes. When will I set eyes on Pentos again? On Illyrio's manse? Aegon could only make out the high walls of the manse. Nothing else. A part of him ached for the gardens, for the lavish rooms and wide courtyards. Home. Illyrio's manse faded as the ship left the bay, and Aegon felt a part of himself fade with it.