"All hail His Grace Aegon of House Targaryen, the Sixth of His Name the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, and the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms!"

Aegon smiled as he walked on the red carpet towards the Iron Throne, knights, lords and ladies bowing and curtseying. It was much too early to feel triumphant, yet there was a sense of victory springing in Aegon's heart. All his successes with very little bloodshed – it felt too good to be true. It is true, a voice said in Aegon's mind. King's Landing is yours. You are the true king now. Well, almost. He needed to be crowned king by the High Septon. That would not be particularly difficult as the High Septon was a coward and could be bribed with ease.

In an excellent mood, Aegon sat on the Iron Throne and looked around. There were still hunting tapestries on the walls – they'd be replaced by dragon skulls of course. Once the quiet chatter in the throne room thinned away to silence, Aegon began to speak. "My lords and ladies," Aegon said loudly and clearly. "The time of the stags are over; House Targaryen rules once more." His violet eyes scanned at the sea of nobles in front of him. Half of them did not care who the king was; only a quarter – if not less – were true Targaryen supporters; and the rest with scowls on their faces were clearly Baratheon loyalists.

A plump, bald man stepped forward with an enigmatic smile. Aegon repressed a cough as the plump man's strong perfume drifted towards him. "You must have a small council of your own, Your Grace," he simpered with a bow. "Men that are true to your House."

Aegon looked at him with faint dislike. His good-grandmother the Lady Olenna, had already told him that the bald man was Varys, Master of Whisperers. I should not show a supporter such disdain, Aegon reflected. It was Lord Varys who spirited me away to the Free Cities for mine own safety at birth and he'd worked since then to restore me to the Iron Throne, but he did not appear at the Dun Fort…It was the last thought that had him pinning derision towards the Spider.

"Of course, Lord Varys," Aegon said at last. He tapped his fingers on one of the arms of the uncomfortable throne. "You will remain as Master of Whisperers and Lord Jon Connington who's currently at Dragonstone, will be my Hand." He paused for a moment as whispers broke in the crowd of nobles. To their knowledge, Lord Jon Connington was dead after drinking himself to death in Lys. That was the tale spun and spread by Varys the Spider after all. "Lord Celtigar will take his place as my Master of Laws," Aegon continued, "and I have decided to create a new office: Master of War. My uncle, Prince Oberyn Martell, will be the first Master of War in Westeros." He nodded at Prince Oberyn who bowed in response. For their effort, the Dornish deserved a place in the small council. If Prince Doran had lived, he'd be a suitable Master of Laws. However, Prince Doran was dead and the Red Viper was not the most…appropriate choice for that office. The Dornish had no navy, so the office of Master of Ships would not suit Prince Oberyn at all. No, war strategy and tactics would befit Prince Oberyn better.

Varys the Spider tittered. "Your Grace, an excellent idea, but what exactly will the Master of War do during the times of peace?"

Aegon frowned at him. "There is always city defences to look at, Lord Varys. It is my plan to improve the city defences soon." He looked at Lady Olenna Tyrell. "I also wish to appoint Lady Tyrell as Mistress of Ships." It would be better to give it to her son Lord Mace Tyrell, but Lady Olenna was both a Tyrell and a Redwyne – a more capable planner and strategist too. If needed, Lord Redwyne could take a spot as advisor on the small council.

"A woman on the small council?" said the Grand Maester, his sleepy eyes wide open in shock. "Your Grace, that is highly irregular-"

"It had been done before," Aegon cut in, fixing his eyes coldly on him. "You will lose your title and seat in the council, Pycelle. You had convinced my grandfather to open the gates for Tywin Lannister which led to my sister Rhaenys's death and that and the rape of my mother Elia Martell." He looked at his uncle Oberyn, who had an expression of rage and disgust written all over his face. "Throw him in the black cells, Uncle. The small council is in need of a more efficient grand maester." He met Lady Olenna's gaze and gave a slight nod.

It had been long agreed between the Targaryen restorers that the frail Pycelle was to be replaced by a maester from House Tyrell – one of many promises made to the Queen of Thorns by Varys, or so Lady Olenna had informed him.

"What of Master of Coin?" questioned Varys.

"I will bestow that office upon Lord Petyr Baelish." The murmurs grew louder in the mass of nobles. "Without Lord Baelish's help, we would still be outside the city gates, stuck in a long siege." He nodded at Petyr Baelish who smiled and gave him a bow in thanks. "The Targaryen banners wave again over the Reach and the Crownlands and Dorne – they will wave over the Stormlands and the Riverlands and then throughout the rest of the Seven Kingdoms!"

The lords and ladies echoed agreement, some genuine. Aegon rose, a smile on his face. No doubt his first court session was a success; the next one might not be so victorious or easy. Aegon descended the narrow steps and walked out, smiling and nodding at nobles with bowed and bobbed curtsies at him. Aegon slowed to a halt in front of the stairs that led to the gallery. He turned to Ser Rolly Duckfield, a knight of his Kingsguard. "I wish to speak with Lady Catelyn Baratheon."

Ser Rolly nodded. "Yes Your Grace." Aegon waited for the knight to usher Lady Catelyn down from the gallery and then proceeded to exit th Great Hall with Lady Catelyn reluctantly at his side.

"You wished to speak to me?" said Lady Catelyn icily.

Why else did I have Ser Rolly escort you from the gallery? "Yes my lady." Aegon decided to be courteous to the Usurper's widow. "Are you satisfied with your um, rooms, my lady?"

Lady Catelyn gave him a cynical look. "I know almost every chamber in here. I know the room you kindly bestowed to me were Lady Margaery Tyrell's rooms. I am also aware that my chambers have been reserved for Lady Margaery Tyrell. If it is not too much to ask, may the rose-embroidered covers be moved out? I'm no Tyrell and I would rather plain covers to golden roses."

"As you wish my lady."

Uncomfortable silence took hold between them. "You are still young, my lady," Aegon said finally. He almost shivered when Lady Catelyn shot him another look, one of irritation and anger this time. "Many lords and knights have already asked me about you," Aegon went on determined to push ahead with what he'd decided to tell her. "They asked for your hand in marriage."

The Usurper's widow stopped in her tracks, her blue eyes as cold as ice. "I'm a new widow, my lord. My husband is not yet buried and you wish to barter me off to the highest bidder? That is unchivalrous and cruel of you. So who do you want to sell me to? A lowborn knight?" Her expression turned into disgust. "Perhaps it is your intention to give me as a prize to one of those foreign sellswords? Though you refuse to see me as the queen mother, I'm still a Tully of Riverrun. Surely it is clear to even a man like you that sellswords and lowborn knights are beneath my rank." She looked away from Aegon. "I would rather die a Tully than be forced to wed one of your lowborn cronies. My children will never accept a lowborn knight or a sellsword as their stepfather."

"I won't marry you to a lowborn knight," said Aegon in exasperation, "and I'll not force you to wed. By the Seven, Lady Catelyn, can't you see that I'm not some foreign invader? I am the king by right. I'm not punishing you for marrying a man who claimed my throne over a decade ago! I only want to bring the other regions of the Seven Kingdoms back into the Targaryen fold!"

"Who are the highest bidders for my hand?"

"My uncle Prince Oberyn Martell, Jon Connington, Lord of Griffin's Roost, Lord Petyr Baelish and Ardrian Celtigar, Lord of Claw Isle." Only Lord Baelish asked to marry Lady Catelyn, but Oberyn Martell and Lord Jon Connington were loyal and deserved a reward for their efforts.

"Lord Baelish?"

Aegon said nothing. Though Lord Baelish was useful bribing the gold cloaks to betray Stannis Baratheon, there was something…something malicious about him. He didn't trust Petyr Baelish and to reward him with marriage to Lady Catelyn of House Tully, the widow of the usurper Robert Baratheon? No. It would be better for either Prince Oberyn or Lord Jon to control Lady Catelyn.

"Think about it," said Aegon, giving Lady Catelyn a polite nod. "You may have a few weeks to mourn for your late husband, but as long as I remain king, you'll be a married woman again soon, Lady Catelyn." Leaving Lady Catelyn under the eye of the Dornish and Tyrell men assigned to guard her, Aegon headed off to Lyarra Stark's chambers. For the last few days, Aegon had ordered Lady Lyarra Stark to be kept in her rooms. He had no desire to see the new Usurper's wife heavy with child whilst receiving no news of his own future heir from Dragonstone. It was a little petty for an excuse, but Aegon couldn't help it. He would not kill a pregnant woman even if she had a Baratheon growing that very second in her womb, but it would be foolish to allow the lady freedom in the Red Keep with men and women loyal to the stags lurking around.

Aegon nodded at the four soldiers guarding Lady Lyarra's door. "Has anyone – men or women – attempted to speak to Lady Lyarra?" The tallest of the soldiers, a Westerosi sellsword from the Golden Company, shook his head and grunted, "A maidservant came by an hour ago with food for the lady. A Dornish beauty. She is part of Prince Oberyn Martell's entourage I think, Your Grace. You did tell us that a servant will deliver the Lady Lyarra her meals. You said the last thing you want is for the lady to starve to death."

"So I did." Aegon waited for one of the guards to open the door. He entered the Lady Lyarra's chamber and found the Stark lady sitting and reading silently by an open window. Aegon cleared his throat. "Lady Lyarra."

Lady Lyarra looked up at him. "Your Grace," she said emotionlessly. She closed the book and stood up. "Is it time? Will it be a beheading for me or will I be burnt at the stake? That is the Targaryen way isn't it?"

Aegon was hurt that both Lady Catelyn and Lady Lyarra thought he would kill them. He was not his mad grandfather – he would never murder the innocent. He would execute pregnant women. It was one thing for Lady Catelyn to think him a mad king like King Aerys II as she was alive during his reign, but the Lady Lyarra too? She was not even born!

"I will not kill you," Aegon reiterated slowly, hoping his words sounded honest to Lady Lyarra. "I'm not a murderer."

"What about my future child then Your Grace? After I give birth will I be forced to watch you burn him or her before you ship me off to a motherhouse? I will tell you now that I am of the old gods, not the Seven."

"I do not kill children, Lady Lyarra."

"You say that now, but in a few months? A year? Three years? Paranoia will be taking hold of you and you will see pretenders and usurpers everywhere. Even if my husband is dead by then, you will think I have a claim to the Iron Throne and it won't be long before I am summoned to my execution."

Aegon sighed. There was no point reassuring obstinate women that they were safe here. Besides, there was the Tyrell luncheon he was expected to attend in an hour – well, less than an hour now. Might as well head there now. He suspected a luncheon with the Tyrells was not solely about eating. He could not wait for Lord Jon Connington to arrive at King's Landing. There was Ser Rolly Duckfield, Harry Strickland and the Tattered Prince, but Aegon couldn't help but feel a little alone without the familiar presences of Lord Connington, Haldon and even the septa he learnt the mysteries of the Faith from. Soon they will be here, Aegon told himself, as he bade Lady Lyarra good day. Soon Lord Connington will be here.


"You will meet my oaf son soon enough," the Queen of Thorns was saying. "He thinks he's leading men to fight against the Dornish when in truth his men will be fighting with the Dornish against the stag supporters."

"Is he aware of that?" Aegon inquired.

Lady Olenna snorted. "Pah, the oaf knows nothing. Only flattery. All the Tyrell women are clever; most of the Tyrell men have no brains." Sitting opposite her to Aegon's left, her grandson Willas coughed. "Except Willas and Garlan," the Queen of Thorns amended. "They inherited my brains. You'd met Loras – good with that sword of his, but no brains. Well, more brains than my Redwyne grandsons." She shook her head. "Those twins are fools."

"They are my brothers, Grandmother," ventured Lady Desmera Redwyne, who had sat silently near the other end of the table for most of the luncheon. "They're not as foolish as you think." Aegon looked at her. Lady Desmera was comely with orange hair and freckles. She was Lord Redwyne's sole daughter but she was also Lord Stannis Baratheon's new wife.

Lady Olenna sniffed. "You clearly do not have your mother's brains."

"How do you find King's Landing, Your Grace?" said Willas quickly.

Full of bloodshed and flattery. "Pleasant," said Aegon carefully, "I suppose. I've yet to walk the streets of King's Landing to inspect the businesses and shops and the markets and stalls."

"What of the Red Keep?"

"As impressive as I heard about it from Lord Connington and other Westerosi men and women who were with me in the Free Cities."

Willas Tyrell nodded, smiling at him. Aegon picked at the plate of food in front of him as he observed the other guests Lady Olenna had invited to luncheon. The majority of them were Tyrells or related to the Tyrells. Sitting on Aegon's left and right were Willas and Lady Olenna. Next to Willas was his brother Ser Garlan and Ser Garlan's wife Lady Leonette Fossoway. Beside Lady Leonette were about half a dozen other Tyrells that were cousins to Lord Mace Tyrell. Next to Lady Olenna were more distantly-related Tyrells, a few Hightowers, the ten year old Alysanne Bulwer, Lady of Blackcrown and Lady Desmera Redwyne. Aegon was astonished to see so many Tyrells present at King's Landing.

"Lady Margaery should be on her way here," Aegon found himself saying. "She will be accompanied by the finest knights and soldiers."

Lady Olenna nodded. "Good. The smallfolk already love her."

"They do?"

"Yes Your Grace," confirmed Ser Garlan. "Margaery would be part of the Lady Catelyn's party whenever she went on her rounds, distributing alms to the poor. The people will be delighted to have my sister as their queen. My sister Margaery always thinks of the smallfolk first. She confided in me when she was a little girl, that one of her dreams is to build a large building for smallfolk children to learn a trade, learn to read even, and always have a roof over their heads."

"That is quite a kind thought," said Aegon truthfully. "Who knows? Perhaps we might fulfil that dream in a year or two if all goes well."

The door opened and a Reach soldier ran in and said at once, "Your Grace, I've received word from the gold cloaks that Prince Or – I mean, the Baratheon traitor, is approaching the city accompanied by Lords Royce and Mallister."

Aegon rose. "Does the Usurper bring an army?"

"No Your Grace. There are other lords, but no soldiers. The standard bearer is holding a white banner."

Orys Baratheon must've received the message then. Excellent. Aegon was a bit keen to meet the Usurper Robert Baratheon's son. He is your cousin, Aegon could not help but remind himself. He's your enemy, but also your cousin. From memory, he and Orys shared a close ancestor in King Aegon the Unlikely.

"I will meet them at once," decided Aegon. He looked at Lady Olenna. "My lady good-grandmother, I-"

"Go, go, Your Grace," Lady Olenna cut in, her tone as sharp as a knife. "Only an oaf would think a luncheon more important than a parley." She stroked her chin. "Stay here Willas. You too, Garlan. Let the Red Viper accompany our king."

Aegon nodded. Everyone knew the Dornish supported him; the Reach? Better let them remain hidden until Margaery was safe here. Margaery was probably on her way to King's Landing that very moment. Hopefully Margaery's pregnant soon, Aegon thought as he left the Tyrell luncheon with Ser Rolly behind him. It is much too early to know if Margaery is with child. He strongly hoped she was. He needed an heir, a son of his own. Not only would it solidify the Targaryen succession, but it would bind the Tyrells to the Targaryen cause forever.

"Open the city gates," Aegon ordered.

"Is that wise, Your Grace?" questioned Lord Rykker, with a frown. "If the gates are opened, what if the Usurper and his men rush in?"

"Scared, are you, Lord Rykker?" said Prince Oberyn snidely, walking up beside Aegon. Lord Rykker flushed. "No need to fear," the Dornish prince smirked. "I can assure you that the nephew of Lord Stannis Baratheon and the good-son of Lord Eddard Stark will not even consider the idea of slaughtering the innocent whilst under the white banner of peace. Now if it was a Lannister at the gates…"

"Yes Prince Oberyn, but what if the Young Usurper's men urge him to attack? I am certain a young man barely out of boyhood-"

"I doubt it," Prince Oberyn interrupted. He turned to Aegon. "I've seen the two lords at the Young Usurper's sides: Lords Jason Mallister and Yohn Royce. One's a lord from the Riverlands and the other of the Vale. Both are as honourable as the honourable Lord Eddard Stark."

Aegon nodded. "Thank you Prince Oberyn."

"You know you can call me uncle," said Prince Oberyn as he and Aegon waited for the city gates to open. "You are my nephew after all."

Aegon was silent. Thinking of Prince Oberyn Martell as his uncle was easy; the idea of calling him uncle was…strange. For so long Aegon dwelled in Pentos, with Lord Connington as his surrogate father. He met one or two of his female Dornish cousins once a couple of years too, yet their relationship was never as familial as he had hoped.

The sound of approaching horses dragged Aegon away from his thoughts. The Young Usurper rode through the city gates, his expression one of calm fury. How calm fury could be achieved was a mystery to Aegon.

Orys Baratheon dismounted from his horse and walked up to Aegon. He was a head taller than Aegon. He also had the black hair and blue eyes that was quite a common trait in Baratheons, according to Lord Connington. Aegon stared at Orys Baratheon. The Usurper spoke first, his voice as cold as his mother, Lady Catelyn Tully's. "I expected to find my uncle Lord Stannis here," he said icily, scrutinising Aegon. "Instead, I was told your men slaughtered all the men here and claimed it – King's Landing – as your own. Quite bold, if I may say, but killing the men? Most of them had families of their own. It wasn't even a battle – a sacking. Only those a cowardly nature would sack a keep and kill every inhabitant in his path. As a sign of good faith, I want to see my uncle Lord Stannis."

"I am the rightful king, Baratheon," Aegon said, his voice steady. "You have no right to the Iron Throne. This is my keep. My city."

"If you are even a Targaryen, you have no claim now. Your grandfather was an insane ruler and your supposed father a thoughtless fool. This is the reign of the stags now, not the reign of the dragons."

"Let us not talk of the past. What is done, is done."

Orys Baratheon nodded. "If you surrender tomorrow, I'll grant your sellsword companies protection for them to leave Westeros and return to Essos. As for you, and all the Westerosi men who declared for you, I will be merciful. I give you my word that no one will be executed and you and your chief conspirators will serve in the Night's Watch till the end of your days."

Aegon could not help but chuckle. "I planned to offer you the same terms. Give up your claim and you can take the black. Your brother too. The rest of your men will be forgiven and can return safely to their lands."

"It seems neither of us want to see excess bloodshed." Orys mounted his horse and looked at Aegon. "Tomorrow morning, Usurper."

King's Landing is mine, Aegon wanted to say. What he did instead, was smile at Orys Baratheon, who looked slightly unnerved. Tomorrow morning will mark the end of any possibilities of peace and the start of war.

There was already a war between the stags and the dragons and it seemed so certain there would be another war, but one with a different outcome.

It would be a war the dragons win.


So war will begin in the south. There will be battle scenes as I plan to take the opportunity to practise writing them. Not 100% certain if they'll start in the next southron chapter or the one after. Any POVs you want to read from? :)