A/N: Originally, this chapter was supposed to be a long chapter detailing the war effort on multiple fronts with multiple POVs, but a bad case of writer's block, real life (and holy cow a LOT has changed in the like 3 months in between) and a lack of desire to write certain POVs (coughStanniscough) really hampered my ability to write this chapter, especially with a fun arc around the horizon. I know this isn't exactly my *best*, but I figured that it was better to put something out rather than keep this in a limbo perfecting a small chapter in the larger scale of things, so we can FINALLY move on to the fun part - the Great Council! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and get excited about the complex politics coming up soon!
INTERLUDE: The Young Dragon
A bed of roses lay before him, shining in the sunlight, as the magnificence of the field lay before him. Chief among them was the most beautiful winter rose he had ever seen, and he could not help but marvel at it, and the hints of red on its petals.
Suddenly, shadows covered the field, obscuring everything he could see, and he instinctively closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, he found himself amidst an ocean that began to entrap the field. As the water rose, he desperately attempted to save the rose, but he could not pluck it, and it was lost to the waters below, and when his hand touched the water, he found himself holding a blue eye. Horrified, he dropped the eye, but it was too late, for he was surrounded in a sea of blue eyes, staring at him and chilling his bones.
A section of the water parted, revealing Jon, who stared kindly at him at the center of the sea of blue eyes. Next to him, bathed in a halo of orange and red, was a man with silver hair and purple eyes, though taller, and a young man with the same build, though writ in dark hair and eyes that were a deep indigo. Jon smiled with the same fondness that he remembered when he had been seven and had fallen ill on the Shy Maid.
"A king's duty is to the realm, my Prince."
A raven flew overhead, cawing "failure!" over and over, and then he was in chains, next to a king with a circlet of ice. The king turned his gaze onto him, and the blue eyes arrested his movement and left him frozen as he stared at a broken realm, and the king laughed, morphing into Jon once more, with a sorrowful look.
"This is what happens when you fail."
And Aegon awoke, tears in his eyes and sweat dripping from his brow. The dreams were haunting him again, reminding him of his duty to his constituents, his kingdom, and his future. Reminding him of the frozen, broken realm that he was beholden to, a constant threat, an invisible dagger in the dark that kept him focused on his duty to the Sunset Kingdoms, to his home and birthright.
He knew naught when the dreams started, when he would fall asleep and see a premonition of the frozen realm of what he learned was his home, but any time he began to forget, the dreams rose again, warning him, cautioning him of his fate should he not do his duty to his realm. Of the dark whispers of failure, the triumphant smirk of the king with a crown of ice atop his head, but he knew, deep down, that he needed to do all he could to prevent that from happening, even if it meant taking the crown.
Truth be told, I could live a quiet life as a sellsword, along the Mother Rhoyne, and forget about my duty. But perhaps there is destiny that I must seize with my two hands and grasp, and use my knowledge to prevent the nightmarish world I have seen, even if it means dealing with daggers in the dark in the process. I owe that much to Jon.
Jon. His mentor, his teacher, his guardian, and truth be told, his fat–
No. He would not go there. The singular time he had asked Jon why he couldn't be Aegon's father, his guardian sternly lectured him of his true father, of his mother, his sister, and of the baby slain in Aegon's place so he could live. He had a knight, and a Hand that he loved, but he would not, could not, pretend that his Hand was someone he was not.
That was enough brooding, however. Perhaps the resources of the Sunset Kingdoms would help explain the frozen realm he had seen in what he knew deep down to be dragon dreams. The dreams of his ancestor, Daenys, that had given them the warning to flee Valyria before the Doom occured. He would follow her example, and figure out what he could do to prevent that eventuality, through any means possible.
With that note, he sighed, and proceeded to dress himself for the council meeting his main advisors had decided he needed, in order to keep abreast of the war effort. But before he could fully finish, he heard the hurried knock on the door.
"Your Grace! You are needed at the council meeting now! We have received important news!" He heard the messenger's shout. All sluggishness forgotten, he hurriedly dressed himself, and rushed to the meeting.
When he arrived, however, Jon's grimace told him everything he needed to know - something had gone wrong with their original plan. But he was never the sort of person to ignore harsh realities, and he would not start now.
"Out with it, Lord Hand. What news is there on the war front?"
"In good news, the Lannister force is split between the West and King's Landing," Jon briefed him.
"…and my birds sing a song of revolt and anguish in King's Landing, as their food supplies remain blocked," Varys interjected in a silken tone.
They are starving, it seems. Surely we must act soon, or risk losing even more favor with the populace of King's Landing.
Jon nodded, continuing on with his explanation.
"Stannis Baratheon's banners are camped outside of Storm's End, based on our last correspondence with our spy. It is like that he will reclaim the keep, though he has been adamant about attending the Great Council, as per his envoy's messages to Lord Tyrell."
"…what would the bad news be, then?" Aegon asked suspiciously. "Surely our war effort would benefit from the legitimacy of the Great Council in two moons, Lord Hand?"
"It is not that I am concerned of, Your Grace," Jon began heavily, "but rather the fact that a new king has been declared, one that threatens to unmake the promised alliance that would set you on the throne. Robb Stark has been declared King of the North by his bannermen, and his wife, Queen, with it."
"How does this threaten the alliance, if I just give the North to Robb Stark? I could also ma—" Aegon questioned, but was interrupted in the middle of his explanation.
"The meeting is adjourned." Jon's voice said quietly. "All members are dismissed. I will discuss this issue with the King alone."
After all of the other members of the meeting left the room, Jon Connington's hand closed the door, and he affixed Aegon with a Look that made him feel rather foolish, more like the boy of six-and-ten that he was rather than the king he was supposed to be.
"The alliance that would put you on the Throne is tenuous at best, basing itself almost entirely on your cousin, Princess Arianne's, marriage to Willas Tyrell, Your Grace." Jon's voice, in the familiar lecturing cadences that he was so used to, answered. "What is to stop House Tyrell from setting their only daughter atop a throne, rather than wait a generation for a Tyrell marriage? We have no incentives that would stop them from consolidating the alliance right under our feet."
"Uncle Doran would not be—-"
"Prince Doran is no fool, Aegon. If that eventuality occurs, he knows the forces of Dorne cannot stand against the forces of the Reach, North, and Riverlands combined. Arianne will not willingly fight House Tyrell, making the easier option simply be bending the knee."
"We have Sansa Stark, however." Aegon pointed out. "Surely there is something we can do with that." But even as he finished the words, unease and disgust filled his stomach, at the thought of the prim and proper red haired lady being used as his hostage.
Kings are supposed to protect innocent maidens, rather than harm them, or use them as hostages to their brother's right's to the Throne.
"I will not lie to you, we are entering this situation at a disadvantage." Jon noted. "However, there is a silver lining: the Stark delegation will arrive at the Great Council as planned, and there are reports that Robb Stark will be willing to negotiate his crown."
"Then I must prepare myself." Aegon declared. "Send some servants to the library to find tomes detailing the integration of Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms, as well as the history of the North. I will need them in the days to come."
