Chapter 3

"I'm concerned about Aegon," Lyanna said softly after the dining room doors had closed behind her son and his betrothed. She stared at the empty seat her son had just vacated. "He seems… troubled. Stressed."

Rhaegar set down his cup and regarded her with his lilac eyes. "Lyanna," he said gently but firmly, "I know how deeply you care for him. I do as well. But Aegon is not a boy anymore. He is a man, and it is time he takes on the responsibilities that come with his name and his birthright."

"But this engagement…" Lyanna hesitated, her brows drawing together. "He isn't ready for marriage, Rhaegar."

Rhaegar sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he leaned back in his chair. "That's because we've both allowed him too much leniency. You've shielded him from the world's sharper edges, and I've let him concentrate on indulgence when he should have been learning to rule."

Lyanna looked away, her expression pained.

Rhaegar's voice softened. "Don't mistake me, my love. I'm as much to blame as you. I have always struggled to deny you anything, and when it comes to Aegon, I have been no different."

He reached across the table, his fingers lightly brushing hers. "But he must rise to meet his destiny, Lyanna. He must. For the sake of our house, for the realm… and for himself."

Lyanna's lips pressed together, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I only want him to be happy, Rhaegar."

"So do I," Rhaegar replied, his voice heavy with unspoken words. "But I fear we have done him no favors by shielding him from his burdens. A marriage, a purpose beyond himself, it may steady him."

Lyanna was quiet for a long moment before she spoke again. "He deserves a wife who loves him. Someone who will see him for who he truly is, not just his crown or his name."

Rhaegar offered her a small, knowing smile before placing his hand over hers. "You are looking at Aegon through the eyes of a mother who adores her son, and I cannot fault you for that. But we must also see him as he is, a young man with flaws."

He paused, his lilac eyes searching hers. "Lady Faye is a good match for him. She is clever, steady, and softspoken. More than that, this union brings with it the strength of the Vale and the loyalty of the East. It is a match that secures our son's future and the realm's stability."

Lyanna's brow furrowed slightly, her fingers curling around Rhaegar's hand. "Do you truly believe this marriage will make him happy?"

"I believe it will give him a foundation to build upon," Rhaegar said softly. "The rest… the rest will be up to him."

"Thank you for the honor of your company, Your Grace," the girl stated coolly as she curtsied outside the dining room. "I am looking forward to meeting you later in Her Grace's quarters."

"Wait," Jon said as the girl turned to leave.

She paused, turning back to face him. Her posture was stiff, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"How can I be at your service, Your Grace?"

Jon stared at her, searching desperately for the right words. Say something. Anything. He knew nothing about her, not even her name, but it was clear she knew enough about him to dislike him.

"Did you… did you enjoy the breakfast?" he managed to ask.

The girl tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "I did, thank you. I hope my eating was graceful enough for you, Your Grace."

Jon blinked, taken aback. "What?"

Her smile was tight, her words carefully measured. "I have done my best to follow your… instructions, Your Grace. I can only hope my efforts have met your satisfaction."

Jon's mouth went dry. There was hurt behind her composed exterior, hidden but unmistakable. He felt the weight of her words settle in his chest like a stone.

"I…" he started, but no words came.

The girl stood before him, her posture tense, her hands clenched tightly in the folds of her gown, as though bracing herself for a blow, not physical, but something sharper. Her sharp blue-grey eyes met his, unflinching.

Jon cleared his throat, struggling to force out the words that sat heavy on his tongue.

"I… Whatever I've said to you…"

"Yes, Your Grace, you've made yourself quite clear," she said, cutting him off with a sharp edge to her voice. She dipped into a curtsey, lower this time, but there was something biting about it, mockery hidden beneath layers of politeness. "And do not worry, I will obey. I will not be a bother. That is why I am here, after all."

Jon swallowed hard, shame clawing at the edges of his chest as he stood frozen in place. Before he could find his voice again, the girl turned on her heel and walked away, her shoulders squared but stiff with tension.

The echo of her footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving Jon in silence with only Ghost by his side.

Jon let out a shaky breath and looked down at the direwolf, whose eyes were fixed on him with quiet intensity.

"What did your master do to that poor girl?" Jon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good morning, Your Grace," came a polite male voice from behind him.

Jon turned sharply to see a man bowing respectfully. He was probably a little older than Jon, dressed in a finely tailored tunic that spoke of nobility, though not high-born. Not a servant, Jon thought. Perhaps a low-ranking noble or a trusted aide?

"Good morning," Jon replied stiffly.

"The tailor is ready for the fitting, Your Grace," the man said smoothly.

"The fitting?" Jon echoed.

"For the tunic for the wedding, Your Grace."

"Right… Where is this fitting supposed to happen?"

The man hesitated for only a fraction of a second before answering, "In your chambers, Your Grace."

"Then I suppose I should head there," Jon murmured, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

The man fell into step beside him, glancing briefly at the parchment in his hand.

"You asked me to remind you of the council meeting today, Your Grace. I've prepared a summary of the topics as you requested, along with some observations you might find useful. I also arranged for a gift to be sent to your sister, as per your instructions."

Jon stopped walking, frowning. "Wait… my sister?"

The man blinked, clearly caught off guard by Jon's confusion but recovered quickly. "Yes, Your Grace. You asked me to send a gift to the Princess now that she is expecting her second child with Lord Tyrell."

Jon felt his stomach tighten. A sister? A Princess married to a Tyrell? His mind raced, trying to piece together a family tree that didn't exist in the world he knew.

"I… right," Jon said finally, forcing a curt nod. "Good work."

"Thank you, Your Grace." The man bowed his head slightly, his eyes returning to the parchment.

"Additionally, Lord Tyrion inquired whether the… companions he arranged for you last night were to your satisfaction, or if you would prefer your usual girls? He also asked if you would like to meet some of his new girls."

Jon stopped walking. The words hung in the air like a blade poised above his neck. Lord Tyrion? Usual girls? His stomach churned, and his throat felt tight.

"Tyrion… Lannister?" Jon murmured, his voice low.

"Yes, Your Grace," the man replied cautiously, glancing at Jon as though trying to gauge his reaction. "He wanted to ensure your needs were… met adequately."

Jon's mind reeled. Tyrion Lannister. In this world, they were… what? Allies? Friends? Jon had no answers, only more questions piling on top of each other, threatening to crush him under their weight.

"I won't need anyone tonight," Jon said stiffly, his voice sharper than he intended.

The man blinked, visibly taken aback, but quickly recovered. "As you wish, Your Grace. I'll inform Lord Tyrion."

Jon nodded curtly and resumed walking, his steps brisk, his mind a storm.

What kind of man was Aegon Targaryen? Jon thought bitterly. What kind of life did he live? What sort of friendships, alliances, had he forged?

Ghost, Jon refused to call him Ser Fury, padded silently at his side, his red eyes flicking up at Jon as if sensing his unease.

He clenched his jaw as fragments of last night's encounter with the two women resurfaced in his mind. The confusion, the discomfort, the realization that this life, this man, was someone entirely foreign to him.

The aide spoke again, his voice measured, carefully polite. "Shall I also remind you of your sparring session after the fitting, Your Grace? Ser Arthur has returned to the capital and expressed his eagerness to see how much you've improved."

Jon froze mid-step.

"Ser Arthur?" His voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Ser Arthur Dayne, Your Grace," the man said, giving Jon a puzzled look.

Jon felt light-headed, his vision tunneling for a brief moment. Arthur Dayne. The greatest knight who ever lived. A man Jon had heard about in tales, who had died at the Tower of Joy… who had died at his father's hand.

"Right…" Jon said faintly, his voice cracking. "I… I'll meet him after the fitting."

The aide inclined his head respectfully. "Very well, Your Grace."

Jon forced his legs to move, each step heavier than the last as they made their way toward his chambers. What kind of world had he woken up into?

"Anything else I can assist you with?" the man asked politely.

"Yes," Jon replied, a thought suddenly sparking in his mind. "Could you bring me some books about my family and its history?"

"Books, Your Grace?" The man's brow twitched slightly, though he quickly composed himself. Apparently, Aegon wasn't known for his love of reading.

"Yes. Anything you can find." Jon hesitated briefly before adding, "And… I'd like to send something to my… betrothed. A gift of some sort."

The man nodded. "Of course, Your Grace. Do you have anything specific in mind for Lady Faye?"

Lady Faye. At least Jon knew her name now.

"Something… thoughtful," Jon said slowly, trying to sound confident while his mind raced. What would Aegon Targaryen give his betrothed?

He glanced briefly at Ghost, who was watching him with sharp red eyes, as if the direwolf understood just how lost Jon felt.

"What would you send her?" Jon asked finally.

The aide blinked, clearly surprised by the question. "Well, if I may suggest, Your Grace, perhaps jewelry of some kind would be appropriate?"

"Yes, that sounds good. I trust your judgment."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I'll ensure something suitable is selected and sent to Lady Faye's chambers with a personal note from you."

Jon let out a quiet breath of relief. "Thank you. And the books… I'll need those as soon as possible."

"Of course, Your Grace. I'll have them delivered to your chambers before the council meeting."

The aide bowed and stepped back, letting Jon continue on his way.

As they reached his chambers, Jon pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside. The grand room still felt alien to him, the silken sheets, the polished wood furniture, the towering canopy bed. Everything screamed of wealth and privilege, yet it felt suffocating.

Ghost padded in behind him, settling down near the hearth. Jon rubbed his temples as he sat down in a chair by the window.

Lady Faye… He repeated the name in his mind. The hurt in her voice earlier still lingered in his ears. What had he, what had Aegon, done to her to make her so guarded, so bitter?

"Thoughtful," Jon murmured to himself. "I hope that's enough."

The weight of everything pressed down on him: the council meeting, the sparring session with Ser Arthur Dayne, the tangled relationships of a life he didn't understand.

Ghost let out a low, rumbling sound, and Jon reached down to scratch behind his ears.

"One step at a time, old friend," Jon said quietly. "One step at a time."

He glanced toward the door, waiting for the books to arrive, hoping they'd offer him some answers. Some glimpse into the life of Aegon Targaryen, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.