"We know too little!" The Hand of the King was a picture of frustration. "War in our lands and we have no more the truth of it then the peasants do. Nothing but wild rumours and half-truths. This is your job, Lord Varys! Have all your little birds frozen up North?"

Aegon fingered the unseen words inscribed into the dagger absentmindedly. The King in the North tolerated no spies in his kingdom.

"Why, my Lord Hand…" Varys teetered. "You know as well as I that Lord Stark has little patience for anything with wings. Whispers are harder to hear in the North."

By the gods, but the man's voice was annoying. All high and false and grating, like long nails on stone walls. Aegon tried not to think about the memory that came unbidden, of the mad man with the mad eyes. Varys had been his creature, once. Then, he had been useful for the King – far too useful, if the stories were true.

"I refuse to believe a boy has a wolf the size of elephants. I refuse to believe a boy is leading their forces at all. We don't have a fucking clue what's happening North of the neck, we have no allies amongst the Northern Lords, we have no spies in the court at Winterfell, we have nothing. Nothing but rumours, and yet they know what's happening here." Lord Jon Connington took out the scroll which bore the direwolf seal of House Stark. "Stark writes to us again, to enquire after his nephew. Our enemies know more about us than we do about them. How can that be, Varys, how?"

"My Lord Hand, there are limits to even my abilities," Varys replied.

"You are the master of whisperers," Lord Velaryon's mocking tones rang out across the chamber. "Yet you hear no whispers. What do you master then, Eunuch?"

And yet you're supposed to the Master of Ships, Aegon thought, but we have no control of our coasts.

"And what of you, Lord Velaryon?" Ser Richard Lonmouth pointed an accusing finger. "You are the Master of Ships, are you not? And yet the Ironborn rape and pillage our coasts as they please. Where are your ships? What do you master, then?"

Aegon sighed. And yet the crown lives off Lion gold, and there's less coming in every year, and the merchants are complaining, and the roads….

"So says the so-called Master of Coin!" Velaryon blustered. "Under your watch, the crown has grown ever further in debt to Casterly Rock, our revenues are lower now than under Aerys, the merchants are almost in revolt, and the roads…"

"Enough about the fucking roads!" Lord Connington slammed his hand down on the table. "I am sick of hearing about the roads!"

What would be for dinner? Perhaps Aegon could get a roasted haunch. He looked over at his uncle. The Master of Laws, or the Red Viper of Dorne, as he was otherwise known, was watching the scene before him with an air of indifference, but Aegon knew that Oberyn Martell's black eyes saw all and judged all.

"I still say we should act. We know the Freys harry their borders. We can guess the Ironborn continue to pillage their coasts. And the rumours about the Wildlings… that's two fronts as it is, mayhaps even three. Now is the time for another sustained push, my Lords," Velaryon was saying. "The Vale is at peace-"

"-for now," Lonmouth interjected.

"-the Riverlands are quiet, and the Lannisters will support another strike North-"

"-For what price, this time?"

"-and we could use the opportunity to-"

"I swear to all the gods old and new if you mention rebuilding the fucking roads one more time I'll have your head." Connington snarled. Aegon held in his snickers. "That issue is settled. We have other priorities. You've been oddly quiet, Lord Oberyn. Do you not have thoughts on how we bring in our unruly lords to the North?"

"Several," Aegon's uncle said. He leaned forward. "None of which are possible now."

Partly because of the roads. Aegon held in his tongue, as amusing as it would have been to mention it. The Northern Lords had destroyed the King's Road on their way back to the North following the Rebellion, and any efforts to rebuild it were foiled by the intermittent battles and rebellions that had plagued the realm ever since.

"If not now, then when?" Lonmouth asked. He had once been the squire of Aegon's royal father.

"Perhaps never," Ser Arthur Dayne spoke for the first time that meeting. He looked around at each in the chamber, his eyes settling on Aegon for the longest. "To wage true war on the North would cost untold lives. The King does not wish it."

None spoke because it would be treason to speak at all, but Aegon saw the truth in all their eyes. The King of the Seven Kingdoms barely controlled six. For as long as the wolf refused to bend the knee to the Dragon, the Lion and the Rose and the Trout and the Falcon could all dream of doing the same. Even now, rebel knights of the Vale were surely plotting more battles, while the Tullys barely controlled the Riverlands, and the songs Aegon's father refused to ban were clear on this: for as long as Ned Stark bore a crown, the rebellion still lived, and for as long as the rebellion still lived, so too did the dreams of Robert Baratheon.

"I will speak to the King. I do not want to speak of war when our view of things is so hazy – but we know enough to be sure they will be preoccupied. That is enough, for now. To the next issue…" The Hand sneered as he reached to once more grasp the scroll bearing the mark of House Stark. "…The Prince of Summerhall."

Uncle Oberyn's easy smirk faded, and rustling broke out across the table. Aegon felt several eyes upon him, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Have we any further news into his attack?" Connington turned back to Lord Varys. "It troubles me that we still have no idea what happened, or how."

"None, I'm afraid," Varys replied. The plump, bald eunuch looked uncharacteristically frustrated, but only for a moment. "No whispers, no little songs, from no-one. It is as I first reported – as if the boy were attacked by ghosts."

"Or vipers." Arthur Dayne's voice was deathly quiet.

"Vipers kill their prey," Oberyn's voice was deceptively light.

Aegon looked between the two most dangerous men in the world and gulped. They were locked in a silent battle of wills, each of their eyes like steel. They had danced this dance before, every time the Small Council met to discuss the fate of Aegon's brother.

"No-one truly believes that this was anything other than an attack by our enemies," Connington planted both hands on the table. "Anyone in this city with any desire to kill the boy would have done it years ago. It's not as if it would have been difficult."

Well, that was certainly true. Aemon Targaryen spent his days in his cups and his nights in his whores, that was known to all. It would have been easy to kill him. Aegon knew that fact all too well.

"I still think the boy just got himself into a fight," Velaryon shrugged. "It wouldn't have been the first time. He survived. Let that be the end of it."

"It could have been the King, or the Crown Prince here." Connington ran a hand through his fiery red hair. His lined, bearded face was weary. "We still don't know what it was. It could have been some rebel, keen to strike a blow. Or a wayward noble from the North – there were some who came to resent the Starks, we know this. How are we to know whether it was accident or murder? We cannot take that risk. We must know. Varys, keep digging."

"As you command, my Lord Hand."

"The next issue: the celebrations of the 300th year…."

After the meeting, Lord Connington bid him to follow, and so Aegon found himself in the Tower of the Hand. Its innermost chamber was not as large as Aegon's own royal father's, but it was impressive enough, with its luxuriant Myrish rugs, Norvoshi tapestries and the golden round window.

Connington faced him opposite the desk, his lined, bearded face grim, as it often was. He waved a hand at the map before them both. "What do you see?

Aegon barely glanced at it. He was used to this game. "Westeros."

"Wrong answer, try again. What do you see?"

"The Seven Kingdoms, although it should be nine."

"No. Again."

"Lines on a map."

"The worst answer yet." Connington pointed towards the North. "Look at the map, properly, this time."

Aegon sighed. It was a map of Westeros, that much was true, though there were no place names, no rivers, no hills or mountains. Instead, there were animals. To the north, there was a wolf and a leaping fish, in the shadow of a looming Dragon. In the West roamed a Lion, and a smaller cub with the mark of a similar dragon. The Vale to the east was split in two, and where the Eyrie should be there was a Falcon too, again with the mark of the dragon. In the Riverlands, there was a lion with a fish in its mouth, while in the Stormlands the Stag was caged. In the Reach there grew two flowers, one with a dragon, and in Dorne the sigil of his mother's dominated Sunspear.

"You've missed out the Greyjoys."

"Fuck the Greyjoys, what do you see?"

Aegon often wondered if the men grown in his life thought him as foolish as he thought them. Clearly, they do.

"The Great Houses and their marriage alliances."

"Is that all?"

"My father's plans." Aegon grit his teeth. "He wants to knit back the kingdoms."

"Your betrothal brings us the West, and through their own ties, the Riverlands. Your Aunt Daenerys brings us the Vale. Your sister, the Reach. Your uncle Viserys, Dorne. Every kingdom, with ties to the Iron Throne."

Every kingdom, with claims to the Iron Throne. You throw me to the Lions while you condemn my Aunt to a blowhard, my sister to a loveless marriage, and my cousin to a monster. "Wars are not won on the battlefield but in the marriage bed. Is that your lesson?"

Connington made a face of distaste. "Not quite how I'll put it, but not completely wrong. The scars of the Rebellion run deep, but they can yet still be healed, in time. But you still don't see. Your father isn't just knitting back the kingdoms. He is securing your rule."

"If you say so."

"I know so. Your father inherited a rebellion. You will inherit a realm at peace. Your father had nothing but the loyalty he won. You will have the wealth of Casterly Rock and a Targaryen in every Kingdom."

"Except in the North."

"Even the North. One day we will bring down the Starks. And then we will have a Targaryen in Winterfell, too."

"A fool's dream. You heard my Uncle."

"Your Uncle is not always right."

Righter than you. Why did he have to do this? Aegon dreamed forlornly of rabbit haunch, and strongwine, and perhaps a nap. He could use a nap.

"Why do you bother coming to the meetings?" Connington shook his head despairingly and sat down opposite him. In this light, Aegon could see that Connington's red hair was fighting a battle with time, and the grey hairs that came with it. His face was becoming increasingly lined too, and there were crow's feet now at the corner of his eyes. Ruling a realm took its toll.

"You would rather I didn't?"

"I'd rather you contribute. I'd rather you say something." Connington frowned. "You are…not without wits, but who would know? Most of the council did not wish to permit your presence, but I allowed it, because you asked. I thought, perhaps, that you were beginning to grow up and realise your responsibilities. And yet you come to these meetings, and you say nothing. You ask no questions. You show no interest. You sit there and do little."

"I watch."

"Kings cannot just watch."

"I learn better by watching."

"Do you?" The Hand raised a red eyebrow. "I am not convinced you do. I am not convinced you watch, or learn, or even care. Do you care Aegon? Why do you come to these meetings?"

Why indeed? He considered it. Why did he come…because someone had to, and gods knew his father never would. "I'm the heir."

Connington sighed and raised a hand towards the map. "All this, for you – yes, for you, whether you believe it or not. You are the future of the realm. There will come a time when you must stop being a boy. Were it up to me, your father would live forever, but sadly he will not. And then his burden will be yours. Unless you'd rather your Uncle Viserys inherit the throne?"

Aegon said nothing. The idea of it was enough to frighten him.

Connington shook his head. "Off with you, my Prince. I'm to meet your father, to report from the Small Council. Unless you wish to join us?"

Aegon left.

Later that day, after he had his haunch, Aegon went back to his chambers, only to find his dreams of a nap denied. Instead, he found his sister sat on his bed, surrounded by letters. Many said Princess Rhaenys Targaryen was the most beautiful maid of the Seven Kingdoms. She was slender and graceful, with delicate features, oval black eyes, and long dark hair that bore strands of Targaryen silver-gold through its length. Lords and ladies like battled for her favour, and Aegon had seen many a simpering fool unman themselves in her mere presence.

Which was strange, because Aegon thought she was an ugly cunt.

"How goes the governance of the realm, sweet brother?"

"What do you think?" He grumbled. "A band of fools." He collapsed on the bed next to her and sighed dramatically. "I'll be lucky if there's a realm left for me to rule."

"Well, you'll always have Dorne." She spoke. Her eyes never left the letters she read.

"Am I to overthrow our uncle Doran?" Aegon glanced over at the letters. "Letters from the Riverlands?"

"I am ever your humble servant, brother. Someone must keep an eye on things."

"And who better than you?"

"Exactly. If only we were born Martells in Dorne, my talents would not be wasted, and I'd be the heir."

"Alas, we weren't." Aegon did not wish to go over old ground. He took one of the discarded letters on the bed and read it. "What's this? Someone reporting on Cersei Tully? Why do you give a fuck about her?"

"Because someone has to." Rhaenys took the letter back with a scowl. "Don't you have something else to do?"

"I do, but annoying you takes priority, sweet sister. And these are my chambers, not yours."

"Yours are bigger than mine, and I am far less like to be bothered here."

"Hmm. Shouldn't you be more concerned with your own husband rather than Lord Tully's lovely lady wife? Where is my goodbrother, anyway?

Rhaenys shrugged. "Somewhere, no doubt, but I've not seen him around here for a day at least."

"I imagine Lord Willas struggles to spend time with you, given you're constantly in your letters or surrounded by all the ladies of the court." Aegon unsheathed his dagger and considered his own distorted reflection. A younger, lesser Rhaegar Targaryen stared back at him. He grimaced.

"Not my fault. I told him he could watch."

"You reading your letters?"

"Me being surrounded by all the ladies of the court." She sent him a suggestive smile.

"Not something I care to hear about."

"You make a terrible Targaryen."

"At least I don't smell Dornish."

Rhaenys genuinely laughed, and for a moment Aegon was pleased. His sister's true laugh was a low rumble, completely unlike the high, pleasant tones she faked around civilised company. It was rare when Rhaenys truly laughed. "You didn't answer my question. What happened in the Small Council today?"

Aegon rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "Battles at the border. Arguments in the Small Council. Velaryon moaning about the roads."

"Haven't you ever wondered why the roads were never fixed?" Rhaenys asked. "It's not like the Tullys couldn't fund it."

Aegon shrugged. "Rebels."

"Funny, these rebels. Too strong to defeat and too weak to win."

"If you say so."

"Anything else?"

"Just the celebrations for the anniversary. But beyond that, nothing. We have nothing truly new to note about anything. Except strange rumours. Did you know Robb Stark is half-wolf? Or maybe he's got an elephant-sized wolf, or a hundred wolf-sized elephants."

"I'd rather have a hundred wolf-sized elephants."

"And something about the Wildlings. Rumours from Riverrun are that they might be attacking the Wall again. Apparently, there's more of them trying to break through than usual."

"Hmm." Rhaenys went back to her letters. "What about Lyanna's son?"

Lyanna's son. His stomach still squirmed with guilt. There was a time when Aegon would have protested that title. "They still don't know what happened."

"Nor will they. Whoever did it is clearly wise enough to keep low."

"Ser Arthur thinks-"

"Ser Arthur is wrong," Rhaenys scowled at him, then. "No doubt our uncles would have welcomed his death but do give them some credit. They would have done the job properly."

"Uncle Oberyn said the same, or near enough."

"Because if he wanted our bastard brother dead, he'd have been dead in the cradle."

"Mother would not have allowed it."

"Then as soon as she died, then," Rhaenys rolled her eyes. "It could be anyone. Maybe it was the Lannisters."

"You are oddly suspicious of the Lannisters."

"Nothing odd about it at all," She replied. Rhaenys put down the letters and sat upright. "You should take more interest in them. They are dangerous."

"They're all dangerous."

"Not like them. Here, read this –"

Aegon read it only for a moment. "So? Her brother visits Riverrun often. So what? They're twins. Some people love their siblings."

"Not like Targaryens do. Do you remember their children?"

Aegon did, for The Tully's had visited King's Landing only last year, alongside the Lannisters. The Tully heir was a strange child, moody and sullen, but the other two were nice enough. The girl had been pretty. They would be his family, soon enough, for Aegon was betrothed to their cousin, Joanna Lannister. "What of them?"

"All blond." Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. It was graceful, like everything else she did. It was infuriating. "All look like Lannisters."

"So? They take after their mother."

"Or their father."

"Their father's got red hair. Tullys have red hair, Rhaenys."

His sister's look was contemptuous. "You really do make a terrible Targaryen."

"Because I don't assume a sister is fucking her brother? For good reason. Most people find incest sinful, Rhaenys. The idea of fucking my sister does not come naturally to me."

"More's the pity, I could mistake you for a girl in the dark. You don't think it likely?"

"I don't think about it all. Who cares?"

"I do, and you should." Rhaenys shook her head and gave him the look that made him feel small. "They already control the west. And now they control the Riverlands, in all but name. Let's say I am right. There may no Tully blood in Riverrun, soon enough. That doesn't worry you?"

"Assuming you're right," Aegon said, stretching. "They'll marry some other family, and the Tullys might have blond hair rather than red. And life will on, and so too will the Tully name."

"Or we'll be ever more dependent on the Lannisters." Rhaenys jumped from the bed and shook the letter in his face. "Do you not see? Have your lessons not sunk into that thick skull? They are knitting their own kingdoms, just as we are. They are taking over the realm, coin by coin."

"And I am to marry a Lannister. So surely their advancement is our advancement."

"Of course not," Rhaenys scoffed. "They'll get a babe out of you and then get you out the way."

"I'm sick of this." Aegon collapsed back on the bed and ran his hands over his eyes. Marriages and kingdoms and Great Houses, he was sick of it all. First Connington, now his sister. He cared for none of it. Why could he not have been born in Dorne? His sister was made for this. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep. No-one expected anything of him when he slept. He took a deep breath.

"You are pathetic." Rhaenys's voice was full of scorn. "Weak and found wanting."

"And yet I will be your King. And if not me, then dear sweet uncle Viserys."

"If only Rhaenyra won the throne and not your namesake. Then I'd be the heir."

"If only," Aegon scoffed. "'If only' will be the epitaph on your tomb."

The Red Keep was better at night. This, Aegon had known for years, but he had only truly come to appreciate it as nearly a man grown. At night, when most of the Lords and Ladies were back in their manses or inns, when most of the servants and retainers and page boys were in their beds, when the walls had no eyes and the halls had no ears, the Red Keep was almost peaceful. It was almost enough for Aegon to pretend he was somewhere else, that he was someone else, far away.

It was therefore quite annoying to hear the song of steel as he walked the halls. He did not appreciate it. He turned towards the training yard, scowling, only to stop when he spotted the source of the sounds.

It was his brother in the yard. Aemon was practising at swordplay with Ser Aerys the Kingsguard and he was…. He was good. Aemon had never been awful, of course, but neither had he ever truly taken his training seriously. Yet now he dodged and weaved and fought like a man who knew what he was doing, his sword an extension of his arm, his face still and stoic, his form almost perfect, and his slashes strong and direct.

He wouldn't beat Ser Arthur anytime soon, but he'd certainly beat Aegon. Since when?

Aegon sneaked closer. His brother was different. That was undeniable. Not once had he gone to Fleabottom, or to his brothels, or to any of his other haunts besides. Not once had Aegon seen him drunk, or angry, or even at someone's throat. He walked the Keep, he went to the Godswood, he kept to his rooms.

And all the while, he had that frozen look on his face, as if his features were stilled into place like granite. He had never looked more Northern than in these past few weeks, and never more than now.

For all that many had scorned him, and called him Lyanna's son, and for all that his Uncles had warned Aegon of a bastard's cunning, and for all that Lords and servants alike whispered into their hands about the Starks and Jon Snow, Aegon had never doubted Aemon as a Targaryen. He was blood of the dragon. They shared blood, and a nose, and several other things aside. They were the same size, and the same shape, and they bore the same burden: to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryen.

Yet the man in the yard before him was no Targaryen; all Aegon saw was a Stark.

He did not wish to see more, and he turned back the way he came. His mother's face came to him, and his final memory of her. She smiled at him, bedridden, weak, and dying, but she had smiled the kind smile reserved only for him and grasped his hand.

"Your sister will protect you," She had said, kissing his hand. Even then, her hand had been clammy, and her lips cold, and her voice raspy. "And you, my Aegon, my sweet dear Egg, you must protect your brother. When I'm gone, they'll tell you it's wrong to love him. It's never wrong to love your family. No child is responsible for how they were born."

He still remembered how his mother's coughs shook her body, and how she wheezed, and how pain flashed across her face. "Love him, Aegon, because he's your brother, the only one you'll ever have. Promise your lady mother, Aegon."

Aegon had promised. He had done so because he was not yet ten, and it was his mother, and he barely knew what was happening. It was only when he grew older that he realised what his mother had done, that she had used her last moments to beg for the good of a boy not born of her body but born from his father's shame and betrayal of her.

When had they grown apart? Was it then, when he realised that his last moments with his mother was his promise to protect his brother? Or was it later, when he no longer had his mother to protect him from the scorn of his sister, or the lessons of his uncles? He could not remember. It was if one day they were running and laughing in the halls, best friends and brothers, and then the next they were strangers, and teenagers, and Aemon was always angry, or drunk, or both.

"You should not be here," said the voice from the darkness.

Aegon turned, stumbling wildly, and it was only the stranger's firm hand that kept him steady. He wanted to run.

The King came out of the shadows, face grim. "What are you doing out of your bed?"

"I couldn't sleep," He lied. "What are you doing out of yours?"

"I rarely sleep," The King replied. "I thought it wise to keep watch on your brother. He has made this a nightly pastime."

"You don't trust Ser Arys?"

"I trust him with my life, but I trust no-one with Aemon's."

"Or mine, I would hope."

"Of course," The King said simply.

Aegon gritted his teeth. He had forgotten, hadn't he? For one blessed moment, he had forgotten why he had stopped loving his brother. "May I take my leave?"

"No." The King turned, and Aegon had no choice but to follow. "Lord Jon told me of your meeting earlier. You were flippant to him."

"I took his lessons."

"You did not answer his question. You come to the meetings, but you say little. Why come at all?"

Because you don't. "It's important I learn," He parroted, instead. "I will be King, one day."

"Yes, you will. And yet I never attended my father's small council meetings."

Perhaps you should have. "Am I to do things as you did?"

The King smiled. It was a patronising smile, as it often was when directed at Aegon. "You will do things your own way, as all Kings do. But my old friend's question was a good one. Why go at all? What are you looking to get out of the meetings? What lessons are you looking to learn?" The King's words were to Aegon, but his eyes wandered back to the yard, where the song of steel on steel still echoed out towards them.

Everything was always a lesson to be had for Aegon's royal sire. "Perhaps I'm just interested in the governing of the realm."

"Perhaps, but you are not your sister." The King shook his head. "No, you have another reason. Why?"

Aegon was too tired to lie. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No. I go because I want to. I don't know why I want to. I just do. I'm the heir. I should go."

"Should you? Should a King rule just because he should?"

What did that even mean? "I don't know."

"What don't you know?"

Aegon felt like tearing his hair out. "I don't know!" He exclaimed. "I don't know what I don't know. Can I just go to bed? I am most sorry I'm out of bed. I shall rectify that right now, and you can go back to watching your favourite child."

"Aemon is not my favourite," His father said sharply. "I have no favourites."

"Of course, your grace."

The King stared at him for a moment, before a frown marred his royal face, and he waved a dismissive hand. "Off to bed, then. I do not wish to find you wandering the Keep at night again. You are not King yet."

Aegon looked back at his brother, dancing in battle with the Kingsguard. You have no favourites?

"As you bid, your grace."

The celebrations for the 300th anniversary of Aegon the Dragon's landing on Blackwater Bay were continuing at a pace. It was still yet half a year away, but already there were plans for a tourney and a great feast of all the Vassals, and recitals, and archery contents, and for the formal pronouncement of Aegon's own betrothal to the granddaughter of the Warden of the West.

Aegon dreaded it all, but they were positives. His royal sire had commanded his Lords Paramount or their representatives to come to King's Landing to discuss the arrangements, and so they did; Harold Arryn, the conceited Lord of the Eyrie had arrived only yesterday with his bride, Aegon's own aunt Daenerys. They had married last year, on Dany's last nameday, though none had been pleased at that bar Arryn himself. Dany had greeted Aegon warmly, and if he had held onto his aunt for a moment too long, she was too kind to mention it.

Lord Edmure Tully was here too, sans his family, which had caused Rhaenys to send Aegon a knowing look. Meanwhile Lord Tully's goodfather, Tywin Lannister had given his apologies but sent his second son, the dwarf, Tyrion Lannister, who waddled into the throne room with a smirk and witty remarks. Aegon's father had almost smiled; he had always appreciated the Imp's company and wits.

Willas Tyrell represented the Reach, which was no surprise; he haunted the Red Keep like a forlorn spectre. The King liked him too, for they shared a love of books. It was a pity the father liked him more than the daughter.

Aegon had wondered who would represent his own mother's kingdom, and he had feared it would be his cousin, Arianne, because where Arianne went, so too did the threat of her royal husband, the King's brother. Aegon did not wish to see the King's brother. It was therefore a happy surprise – albeit a shocking one - to find that it was not Arianne, or Oberyn, or even the Kingsguard Lewyn who would represent the southernmost kingdom, but the Prince of Dorne himself.

Aegon welcomed him in the yard. Doran Martell was a man in his fifth decade, reserved, quiet, and ill. He appeared older than he was, as gout had ravaged his body, often leaving him infirm and unable to walk. Even now, his body was getting softer and more shapeless with every passing year, and now, as he was carried out of his veiled box, Aegon saw he needed a wheeled chair.

No wonder the King had commanded all servants to leave today. Mother would have hated to see him like this.

"Aegon," His uncle's smile was warm, and his grip on Aegon's arm was surprisingly firm, all the same. His eyes bore no weakness, either. "It is good to see you, nephew. Your cousins send their love."

"And I send them mine," He responded. "It is good to see you nuncle. I did not expect you."

"I did not expect to come," Uncle Doran replied. He patted Aegon's arm and bid the servants to move. "But on a whim, I wished to see you and your Uncles. And my most beautiful niece, of course!"

"Uncle!" Rhaenys knelt before them and grasped the Prince's hand. "I hope you don't say that to all your nieces. It warms my heart to see you again. Though coming here was not wise."

"Probably not," Doran admitted. "And yet the sight of your face has already made it worth it. You are the picture of your mother; I see so much of her in the both of you. Come, and update me on your lives."

Together, they travelled to the apartments that Oberyn had long since commandeered for Dorne. Unlike the rest of the Keep, the insides were decorated exclusively with trinkets and tapestries from Sunspear and across their mother's country, and the Prince of Dorne laughed to see them all.

They feasted – to no-one surprise – to Dornish cuisine; sweet tender lamb, glazed with honey that dripped off the chin, grape leaves stuffed with raisins and onions and mushrooms and dragon peppers that made even Aegon's eyes water. There was delicious flatbread with chickpea paste to dip in, and purple olives, and stuffed green papers, and creamcakes and Dornish strongwine to go with it all.

It was wondrous, and for a brief time, Aegon was just a boy enjoying a meal with his family.

Then Rhaenys ruined it all, because of course she did.

"So, uncles," she said, stretching out, one hand on her full belly. "Do tell, what are we here for?"

Aegon shot her a glare, and she smirked.

"Is it not enough to be amongst family?" Doran asked. There was a fond, knowing smile on his face. Aegon felt unease at the sight of it.

"If only," Rhaenys replied. She smirked once more at Aegon. "You did not come to celebrate the Conqueror."

"Perhaps I came to celebrate to celebrate his namesake," Doran reached out to pat Aegon's arm. "Our future King."

"If only," Rhaenys said again. "Do not take me for my mother, Nuncle."

"I would never," Doran said. Something passed across his face. "You have your mother's beauty and your uncle's cunning. Fine enough, I am not here merely to see the two of you, lovely though it is."

"Then why?" Prince Lewyn, Kingsguard and uncle to Aegon's uncles, frowned at them. He looked at their uncle disapprovingly, and the siblings were graced with the strange sight of their uncle looking chided by his own elder. "Especially in your condition – what could be so pressing?"

"Viserys." Oberyn said darkly. Silence broke out across the table.

"Gods, I am sick of talking about him," Rhaenys shook her head, long hair falling like curtains across her face. "I'd thought he'd gone back to my brother's castle to lick his wounds again. What now?"

Viserys had married Arianne Martell, daughter of Doran and heir to the Dorne, some years back. It was a tempestuous marriage. Rumour had it that they each competed to kill the other, that the Faceless Men dined off their feuds, that the only blood their marriage bed saw was from bloody knives. Aegon knew not the truth of any of it and cared even less. Viserys was a fool if even half of what was said was true. Arianne was heir, in her own domain, surrounded by Oberyn's daughters, and Viserys was liked by no-one in Dorne, protected only by the fact he'd come from the same seed and womb as the King.

"Where is he now?" Aegon tried not to let his nerves show. The thought of Viserys was never a welcome one.

"Still at Dragonstone." Oberyn was watching him now, and Aegon sought to still his trembling fingers. A year previously, something had happened that forced Viserys to flee Dorne altogether, and now he was at the ancient Targaryen citadel, denying all royal commands to return to his wife. Aegon's royal father had washed his hands of the entire thing, deciding patience was the way forward, as he often did. Rhaenys was a hypocrite, for she often raged about the Viserys situation. Aegon did not want to care. He did not want to think about Viserys Targaryen at all.

"He is hiring sellswords and amassing men in Essos," Doran said lightly, as if they were still discussing dinner or childhood memories. "A great deal many men, I am told."

Aegon frowned. "I've heard nothing of this in the Small Council."

"Of course you haven't," Oberyn scoffed as he picked up an apple and chucked it in the air. It came down and landed on his knife. "Viserys might be mad, but he's not without his wits. They're not coming together under his banner. There's talk of another Blackfyre. The Golden Company are moving."

"The Blackfyres are dead." Aegon looked from one Uncle to another, frowning. "Ser Barristan killed the last one. And I don't understand why the Council wouldn't speak of it."

"They are dead in the male line," Doran corrected. "Though I do find it curious the Small Council have not discussed this at all."

"I thought it wise not to bring it up, and no one else has either." Oberyn's dark eyes glinted. "Which tells us much, in itself. Varys has many sources in the East, and yet he says nothing. He says little about anything, these days."

"But still," Aegon said. "The Blackfyres are gone."

"In the male line," Oberyn stressed. "But obviously, it's a ruse. Maelys was the last one with any chance, and he had little. But Viserys is second in line to the throne, with much to offer anyone with men. All that stands in his way is a King lost in his books and a boy not yet grown. And in the end, what does it matter, whether a dragon is black or red? A dragon is a dragon, and gold glitters regardless."

"Which is why I am here," Doran concluded softly. "How is your brother?"

The siblings shared a look. Rhaenys suddenly closed her eyes, and her face was pained.

"He is better." Aegon took out his blade underneath the table. It gave him solace. "And different."

"Good different or bad different?"

"Strange different, as I told you," Oberyn answered his brother. "Before he was like Brandon Stark reborn. Now he's quiet, and grim, and far more serious."

"Not a surprise. He suffered grievous wounds."

"He says little and does little," Rhaenys shook her head. "What you are proposing is madness. The Great Lords would fight it. Dorne would rise in rebellion at the mere thought of it. After everything, after forcing my father, now you would-?"

"I don't understand." Aegon had missed something. "What about my brother?"

"Your life is in danger so long as you are all that stands in the way of Viserys and his succession to the Iron Throne," Oberyn said simply.

Oh.

"It cannot happen. It is impossible." Rhaenys rose from the table and paced. "It was the two of you that forced my father to take Lyanna's son out of the succession. He gets the name, he gets the sigil, he gets the title, but he does not get the claim. That was the deal you made!"

"And we made that deal when your mother was alive, and war with the Starks looked far more likely."

"War with the Starks is always likely. There's war now, at the border!"

"There is always trouble at the Neck, these days," Doran dismissed. "But it was a deal made in error. We opened the door to this, because we were blinded by our outrage at your father's mistakes, and now we must fix our own. Think on this, my Princess. To kill one Targaryen Prince is difficult, but not impossible. But to kill two?"

"You think it was Viserys," Aegon frowned. He stared only at Doran, who did not avoid his gaze. "You think Viserys tried to kill Aemon."

"I think Viserys tried to kill you," Doran said softly. "No doubt, the tools he hired were blunt, and they erred. But you were at Summerhall that night, too, were you not?"

He had been. The entire royal family had been, for it had been one of those weeks when the King decided on a whim to drag the entire court to the ruins where he had been born.

"Say we accept this reasoning," Rhaenys continued to pace, hands behind her back. Aegon had seen his royal father do the same. "Ignoring that it means Viserys would have hired some catspaw dim enough to mistake silver hair for brown, and the Targaryen look for a Stark one. And say, even then, that they succeeded in killing Aegon. If you can jump to this conclusion that it was Viserys, so too could my father. What would he have done, then? Why would Viserys risk it?"

"Perhaps your father would have made you heir." Doran reached for an apple of his own.

"Of course he wouldn't," Rhaenys sniffed. "You know he wouldn't. Aemon would be Prince of Dragonstone before Aegon's body had even cooled, deal with Dorne be damned. Our father has always wanted to…restore Aemon's place in the succession. The only reason he hasn't is lack of pretext. Aegon's murder would give him just that. It makes no sense that Viserys would kill Aegon."

"Prince Aemon would not have been accepted. Not then, not with Dorne's rejection, and not without the Great Lord's blessings. Your father thought it wise to marry into each of the kingdoms, but nearly all would have cause to call for Viserys over a legitimised bastard."

"Then our father would marry Aemon to Jaime Lannister's daughter and be done with it," Rhaenys said. "That's what I'd do."

"Viserys has cause to put Arianne aside. They have not consummated the marriage, and she was foolish enough to be caught trying to kill him. He might be free to wed."

"Then why hasn't he done that already? Or you? You never wanted her married to him."

"Your father will not allow it."

"None of this makes sense." Rhaenys folded his arms, and suddenly Aegon saw her as she was ten years previous, when her cheeks were still chubby and her voice high. "Why would Viserys act, now?"

"Mad men do not see reason as we may do, niece."

"Viserys isn't a mad man, he's just a cunt." She replied archly. "But he's not a stupid one. You just said it yourself, Uncle Oberyn."

"If you push for Aemon to be put back, second in line, then he will need to be wed." Aegon closed his eyes as he sought to think through it all. The nuances of this did not come so easily to him as it did to others. "And he is already in line to succeed in the North."

"Ned Stark has three sons and two daughters, and a brother with two daughters besides. Your brother is so down in the line of succession for Winterfell he would likely never inherit the North. And he will never inherit the Iron Throne, either."

"Unless I die."

"You will not die." Oberyn's voice was all steel. "The point of this is to ensure you do not die. We must take every step to protect you. Before it was in your interests to have Lyanna Stark's son stripped of any inheritance, as to protect your own succession. Now it is not."

"You will be giving the Starks a marriage alliance as much as you are giving us one," Rhaenys protested.

"Hmm. If he marries."

Aegon stood up. "All my life, you told me he couldn't be trusted. All my life, that he was a threat. That if he were allowed to be a true Prince, he'd steal my throne, that he'd beget a new line of Blackfyres that would threaten my own line. Were those lies?"

"They were true," Oberyn replied. "They remain truths."

"Why have you not taken this to our father?" Aegon stood. He was done with plots for a lifetime.

"Why not just kill Viserys and be done with it?" Rhaenys asked at the same time.

"Viserys is too well protected," Oberyn said. "The Mad King's still has his supporters, and they see Viserys as his true heir. You think we haven't tried? We keep trying. He keeps surviving. But he must be lucky every time. We need only be lucky once."

"Rhaegar will not listen," Doran replied. "I have tried. He will not act against his brother's treason, no more than he acted on his father's madness, until it is too late to act at all. I will not wait to see you dead, Aegon."

"We strike first, and quickly," Oberyn said. "We will strike true, and deadly."

"We have spent ten and six years protecting you both, from your father as much as from Viserys and the Rebels and all others who would seek your station. You bear the name Targaryen, but you are children of Dorne, and you are Martells in spirit if not in name. Everything we do, we do for the sake of the two of you." Doran replied.

"Rhaegar will need to be pushed into action," Oberyn continued. "Viserys sits in Pentos, plotting rebellion and a thousand other things aside. For as long as he does, like a Maegor in waiting, you will never sit safely, Aegon. We must move against Viserys, and Pentos aside, if need be. The King will need to believe there is no other course of action, he will need to believe there is no other explanation but Viserys, and he must be driven to do what he must. And there is only one way that will happen."

"And there is no price not worth paying, to protect you both," Doran said softly. "No limit to how far we must go, as we have already come such a very long way. Do you understand?"

"No," Aegon frowned.

"Yes," Rhaenys said quietly. She was staring at the Prince of Dorne as if seeing him for the first time. "But our mother-"

"-is not here."

"I don't understand," Aegon said.

"Good," Doran said softly. He reached out to grasp Aegon's shoulder. "Good."

"I don't understand," Aegon finished lamely. His sister had dragged him out of their uncle's apartments, across the Keep, into Maegor's Holdfast and right into her own chambers. She dismissed the servants, checked for spies, and even opened one of the secret passageways. "I thought there weren't any in the royal apartments?"

"Be quiet, little brother," Rhaenys admonished. She spent another five minutes pacing and checking before finally reaching for a goblet of wine. "We are surrounded by enemies and even our allies are plotting," She whispered into her drink.

"Care to elaborate?"

"How do you even live, being so slow?" She snarled. "It must be terribly exhausting trying to do so much with so little."

"Yes, you are far more capable at all this than I. We both know it. But-"

"They don't know that it was Viserys, and they don't know that it was you who was the target of the attack," Rhaenys said. She sat down and stared up at the ceiling. "But they can't rule it out, and it's made them fearful."

Her hand was shaky. So was her voice.

"Yes, I got that much."

"This whole thing with the Blackfyres makes no sense," She shook her head, stood up, and started pacing again, running her hands through her hair as she did so. "They must be wrong about that. I can't see where that links, but it can't be Viserys. He's still at Dragonstone. I know this."

Lord Varys was the Spider, and he had his birds. Rhaenys had been trying to set up her own network of spies and servants and page boys and peasants, all across the realm. She went to great lengths to conceal it, but Aegon had always known. "You don't think he's capable?"

"He isn't," she replied darkly. "But maybe someone else is."

"I still don't'-"

"They're laying a trap," she said. "They think they're baiting Viserys – or someone else."

"With what?"

"With blood of the dragon." Rhaenys's usually graceful gait was frantic, her hair was uncharacteristically out of place, and there was something almost like panic in her eyes. "And why wouldn't they? Done just right, they'd kill two birds with one well-thrown stone. All our problems solved."

"Rhaenys, for fuck sake, just speak plainly!"

"What would father do if Lyanna's Stark son died? What would he do to the person who might have done it?"

The world stood still for a moment, and Aegon forgot to breathe.

"No."

"No," Rhaenys agreed. "They kill Aemon, they start a war, they kill Viserys, they free up Arianne to marry another. Your succession is secured. They create a cause that might even unite the Targaryens and the Starks. They even get to strike at Pentos. You know there's been trade disputes recently?" She closed her eyes.

Aegon had loved Aemon. He had hated Aemon. He had memories of them practising in the yard and running through the halls, of making his lady mother laugh and of riding down the King's Road. He had memories of shouting, and fighting, and Aemon's snarling, angry face, and his own resentment, and fury, and bitterness. Aemon represented the losses of the Rebellion, and the decline of Aegon's House, and most of all, their father's betrayal of his marriage. Aemon was the sadness in his mother's eyes, and the burden of duty on his shoulders, and the fear of a knife in his back.

"But Aemon is our brother." He hated how small his voice sounded.

"For all the fucking gods, they have no fucking right. THEY HAVE NO FUCKING RIGHT!" Her scream echoed throughout the chambers. She snarled and threw her goblet at the wall. It crashed into the stonework, and she screamed out in rage again.

"What do we do?"

His sister laughed, bitterly. "I don't know what you do, but I am condemned to do what I must." She shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. "I swore to mother I'd protect my brothers. You're both fucking useless and because the Gods are cruel, I'll be spending my life keeping you both alive. It should be me bearing the crown and you two chasing after me."

"I thought you hated Aemon? Lyanna's son?"

"Hate him?" She scoffed. "What is there to hate? It's Aemon. He didn't ask to be born. It's our fucking father I hate."

His sister collapsed onto a chair. For a moment, she simply laid there, barely breathing, and all Aegon saw was their mother.

"But he is my brother. He is a Targaryen. He is one of us." Rhaenys said, then. She stood up and covered the distance between them, grasping him by the shoulders. Her dark eyes were alight with something Aegon couldn't name.

"There is only us, do you understand? We can't truly rely on anyone else. Not Father, not our uncles, not the Small Council. They all plot and scheme as they see fit. Some might think they defend us, others might think they can defeat us, but none of them, none of them truly care for what we want. None of them. Not fucking one."

Aegon sat down slowly. "So, what, then?"

"There's only one thing for it," she said. "Do you remember if mother ever told you what to do, if you were ever in danger?"

"If there ever comes a time when your father can't protect you, go to Dorne, and nowhere else."

"She once told me there may be a time when someone might come for my brothers. She told me to send them to their uncles. You're to go to Dorne. And Aemon…"

Aegon sighed. "To the north, then."

"To the Starks," Rhaenys agreed.