Orys stands in the heart of Storm's End, in front of the towering Storm King, and wonders how he ended up here. He has never wandered outside of Dragonstone, Driftmark and Claw Isle before. Never did he once face a lord that isn't a Valyrian, not to mention a king…

It's all Aegon's fault, he decides. When in doubt, always blame Aegon.

Orys doesn't dare to look at the great king in his eyes, fearing that he'll strike at him for disrespect. Instead, he looks at his shoes. The leather is worn out and looks rather disgusting on Storm's End's clean, flawless marble ground. He grimaces, hoping he can just get out of the palace and stop embarrassing himself.

He can feel the gaze of countless knights and guardsmen and courters, judging his appearance and finding it wanting, all the way from when he appeared in front of Storm's End's gate as Aegon's envoy to when he arrived at this throne room. Some reacted with disgust, some with mocking laughter… just like the Storm King does. Why else is he laughing right now?

The boisterous laughter of King Argilac Durrandon lasts for an agonising ten minutes, before he cracks, "You, boy. Lift your head. Are you the 'Orys' mentioned in this letter?"

"Yes, Your Grace..." Orys obeys reluctantly, taking care not to meet the King's gaze.

He widens his eyes.

Argilac shakes, his long, silver bread trembles, a large smile on his lips, every wrinkle on his aged face full of joy. "This is the funniest shit I have seen in my whole life," he crackles, waving Aegon's letter in one hand, a drop of tear leaving his eyes, "Who wrote this? Don't tell me you wrote it yourself, boy. I have never heard about this 'Aegon' before, but common sense indicates that you aren't the same person."

"I, ah, penned it, but Milord Aegon designed the content of the letter. He told me what to write and I just… wrote it down…" Orys' voice was small and awkward. He told Aegon this is a bad idea! Visenya and Rhaenys both agreed! Yet Aegon insisted, and here he is. Now he's going to be laughed out of the Stormlands and be the laughingstock of a whole kingdom for the next decade.

King Argilac snorts, wiping his tears. "Does this 'Aegon' have no maester to serve in his household? He claims to be the Lord of 'Dragonstone', wherever that is, but he has to rely on a peasant boy to write his letters… And he wants me to marry said peasant boy to my daughter?"

Orys doesn't even feel insulted. He IS a peasant boy, and it'll be ridiculous for the Great Storm King to give him his daughter's hand based on a letter. But he has something he must clarify. "Lord Aegon would love to write the letter himself, Your Grace, but the quill is taller than him, so he has difficulty in doing so."

Argilac's laughter stops. He stares at Orys, a perplexed look on his face. "It must be my hearing. I heard that you claimed that this 'Aegon' is shorter than a quill."

"You heard it right, Your Grace." Orys braces himself for the punishment he'll surely receive for wasting a king's time. King Argilac won't want to ally with a lord shorter than a quill, no matter what Aegon claimed.

But instead, he hears laughter.

King Argilac is laughing again, his whole body shaking as he stomps and claps, nearly overthrowing himself in the process. "Gods, you're hilarious! A lord shorter than a quill… I have thought that we have no use for a jester in court, but you're clearly the best of them. Servants! Prepare a chamber for young Orys, and buy him whatever he will require to bring us more entertainment!"

How the heck do I explain that I'm not a jester?

It's all your fault, Aegon.

—

A month ago, on Dragonstone…

Orys has just finished loading off all the cargo from the ship when a voice calls, "Hey, Orys! ORYS!"

Turning around warily, Orys sees a young boy jumping up and down near the shore, his whole body covered in sweat. When their gaze meets, he cries happily, "I have been looking for you the whole morning, Orys! Lord Aegon has summoned you!" Task accomplished, he lays down in the sand, letting the water embrace his body.

Orys groans quietly. Aegon never has anything good for him.

Oh, Aegon means well, as always. They grew up together, and Aegon views Orys as his younger brother… sometimes literally, forgetting that they aren't even the same species. Despite that Orys' head is taller and larger than Aegon's whole body.

Briefly, Orys recalls the good old days when Lord Aerion was alive. He was a generous, good-hearted man: he blessed Orys' mother when she was too poor to pay for it, and when she still died he took Orys in, raising him in his own halls. If he's still around, he wouldn't let Aegon sit in his castle and send an errand boy to do his business. He'll force Aegon to ride out on Balerion and find Orys himself…

But there's no use in fantasising. Lord Aerion and Lady Valaena are dead, and Aegon took their place as Balerion's rider and Lord of Dragonstone. And Aegon takes his title more seriously than any Lord or Lady of Dragonstone ever did.

…Not in a good way.

Orys climbs the long stairs up the mountain and sighs as he sees the long line of men and women doing the same, paying tribute or seeking help. He just knows who will be receiving them.

Hint: Not Aegon.

As he has expected, he sees Rhaenys at the front of the Targaryen temple, recently expanded— and more importantly, rebranded— into a castle. She doesn't notice him, for she's busy redirecting the front of the waiting line to various places: presumably, to Aegon if they're here to deliver tributes and Visenya if they're here to seek help.

Orys would love to not interrupt her, but he can't get into the tem— castle with all the people blocking the entrance. So he calls out, "Rhaenys!"

"Oh, hello Orys!" Rhaenys shouts back. Moments later, the crowd around her parts as Meraxes flaps her wings and rises above the crowd.

Orys sees quite a few people giving him dirty looks, jealous of the attention he gets. "It's Orys again," he even hears someone grumbling, "Ungrateful Orys never gets into the line like everyone else."

This was where I lived until I was sixteen! My home! Orys wants to shout back, but Rhaenys already turns back to them and announces, "Rest time! I'll be back in five minutes, and I promise everyone's businesses will be sorted out within the day!"

Cheers, and they're finally left alone. As Rhaenys approaches, Orys sees her blinking rapidly so sweat won't fall into her massive eyes. He can't help but sigh, "Probably not a good idea to make promises you can't fulfill, you know."

Rhaenys' smile turns sly. She leans forward, making Meraxes lift her head towards Orys' head and whispers, "I'm just going to direct all those people to Aegon. About time he gets a taste of his own medicine. Anyway, Visenya wants to talk to you."

"Vis…Visenya? Not Aegon?" Orys is a bit distracted as Meraxes starts purring at him and rubbing her head against him, tickling his ears. Stroking her sides absentmindedly, he adds, "I thought it's Aegon who summoned me."

"Aegon did, but Visenya wants to talk to you first." Rhaenys casts a side-eye glance towards the tem— the castle. "She wants to warn you."

"Warn me what?" Orys feels dread rising in his chest.

—

"I need to warn you, Orys," crossing her arms, Visenya says solemnly, "Whatever Aegon wants you to do, don't."

Sitting on the chair for visitors— human-size visitors, Orys feels intimidated by her. Visenya doesn't even have her dragon with her, what with Vhagar busily working her magic on the patients outside, but Visenya tends to have that effect on people… when she wants to, that is.

"You don't have to use that face on me, Visenya, I will if I can," he sighs, not meeting Visenya's long, squeezed eyes and instead casting his gaze down to her long chair legs, "But you know how it is. We can never refuse his requests."

Comes Hissing noise, and Visenya jumps off her chair. Pointing Darksister towards his nose, she yells, "Have some guts, Orys, look at me! You can resist him! We have to!"

"It's not a matter of guts, Visenya…" Orys reluctantly raises his head and is greeted with a sight he expected: a pair of wet, glistening eyes right in front of him.

"Orys, please…" Visenya begs, blinking, tears threatening to drop, "Our tradition… our duty as the guardians of Dragonstone… Aegon is going to ruin it all! We can't let him!"

It's impressive, Orys will admit. It's Visenya's speciality to change the impression she gives from one extreme to another in a short period of time. Feeling a lump in his throat, he almost wants to give in and promise to fight Aegon. But…

"Only if you have managed to win the challenge and become heir," he mumbles, "then Aegon wouldn't be able to do anything. As it stands we can't resist him, sister." The succession of Dragonstone is based on one thing only: how much the challenger can charm the current holder of the title with their puppy dog eyes. In that aspect, Aegon is always far ahead of his sisters.

Making dissatisfied noises, Visenya pouts, the tears disappearing in an instant. "I tried my best, damn him," she curses, "But if I can't charm you, then I can't charm him either. He's talented enough to be the most beloved Lord of Dragonstone since Daenys the Charmer, but damn him and his delusions!"

"Don't… don't be so angry, Visenya," Orys says weakly, afraid that she will stab the table with Darksister. The sword might be no longer than a needle, but it's sharp… extremely so. "So far people seem receptive. They're surely eager to donate to the temple for the expansion, and as a result, more people come to us for help… that should be a good thing, right?"

"Don't you dare talk for him, Orys," Visenya's cheeks are puffed up, "I welcome people that truly need our help, but the workload for us has tripled because Aegon invited everyone to come to us, no matter how small the problem is! I don't have the slightest hint on how to find a missing bracelet, or to find a wife for that single man, or…"

"I get it, I understand," Orys quickly says, "It's not becoming the head of the Targaryens to exaggerate their magic for attention."

"Yes! And Aegon won't even help out!" Visenya nods vehemently, the motion of her huge, round head nearly throwing her off balance. "You know our history. Daenys the Charmer convinced her family and friends to leave Valyria with her puppy dog eyes…"

"When they arrived in Dragonstone, they chased away the tyrannical lords that oppressed the islanders, and thus the locals worshipped Daenys as the first Lady of Dragonstone, her line protecting them as long they reside on the island— Yes, I remember it well," Orys quickly says before the onset of Visenya's lecture. He can't possibly forget the island's history. He lives and breathes in it, after all.

"Throughout time we replaced the Seven as the local deities of the region," Visenya isn't satisfied, however, "We're closer and more real to them, so it's logical. But there's a limit to what we can do. Fertility magic, healing some sickness, manipulating the weather, forging the finest steel… well, we lost that magic as well," glancing at her sword, she sighs.

"Also dragons can burn things," Orys adds, "Can't have a yearly festival without a dragon setting up the bonfire." And they have their most powerful magic, their puppy dog eyes and the ability to give whatever impression they desire… but perhaps to Visenya, this isn't magic, just a trick.

Visenya rolls her eyes. "Thanks for the reminder. But anyway, those aren't large-scale magic, and they're not always reliable. There's a reason why none of our ancestors ever expanded outward and why we limited our trades to Driftmark and Claw Isle. What Aegon wants to do is foolish."

Orys blinks. "He wants to expand outwards?"

"Oh, he has plans and everything," Visenya shrugs, "I dare you, brother, not to laugh when he brings it up."

—

"You see, brother, here's the plan," Aegon says, pulling the piece of parchment with both of his arms, Balerion cheering for him in the form of howling and flapping his wings, "It has all been written down!"

"I can get it myself, Aegon!" Orys says hurriedly, "How about you just sit back on your, uh, throne and let me read it?"

Luckily, Aegon nods and lets go of the parchment, "You're a clever and sensible man, Orys. Unlike our sisters, you can surely understand my brilliance and offer me your full support." Patting his own chest, Aegon sits back down on the 'throne'— twice the size of Orys' head, this 'massive' throne is painted with the colour of iron to cover up the fact that it's made with a pillow.

Balerion also lies down on his pile of pillows. Orys swears that the dragon is nowhere as lazy when he's still Lord Aerion's mount. Did Aegon's laziness corrupt him as well?

"Ah, you notice that Balerion is getting bigger and more fearsome too?" Aegon asks, following Orys' gaze. "Soon, when we ride out together, we'll be unstoppable!"

"Uh, I guess," Orys mumbles, turning his gaze back to the parchment, "Let me see what it says—" Orys pauses. Then he blinks. This is…

He wipes his eyes and reads again. Still the same. What the heck?

All he can see is an abstract picture of… a dragon, maybe? If he has to describe what he sees, he'll say it's 'Balerion with four eyes and three tongues snoring and nearly drowning in his drool'.

Obviously, this can't be what Aegon intended.

"Aegon, I…" Orys finally admits, "I… can't read a thing it says."

"What?" Aegon shouts, "It's very clear! Here," using Blackfyre as a pointer, he points at the top of the parchment, "Step one, we ally with the Durrandons…"

After Aegon explains his plan, Orys manages to see some of the letters Aegon wrote. It's an 'e' there, an 'i' there… but Orys still shakes his head. "Aegon, brother… I don't want to upset you, but nobody can recognise what you write without you explaining."

Aegon looks like he is about to burst into tears. "That's because the quill is too tall! I have beautiful handwriting, you have seen it before…"

"Yes, yes, I did," Orys sighs, unconsciously extending a hand to stroke Aegon's head. He does vaguely recall a time when Lord Aerion's scribe praised Aegon when they were having lessons together… but that was a long time ago, and Aegon was praised for writing with his fingers.

Probably would have been an improvement of what Orys saw, when he thinks about it.

Aegon leans into his touch, letting Orys mess up his silver-white hair— then a second later he pushes Orys' finger away. "I'm the Lord of Dragonstone and future king of Westeros," he grumbles, more to himself than Orys, "I need to maintain my dignity."

But you seem to enjoy it— Orys swallows the words that have come to his lips. Determined not to comment, he moves on, "There are a few men who know their letters on the island. You can enlist their help." This is how Lord Aerion handled letters addressed to humans when he was alive.

Yet Aegon will have none of it. "Orys, this is important. It's my secret, secret plan," flashing a smug grin, he says, "I can't let anyone but those in my inner circle, my family, know this."

"Alright, I can write things down for you," Orys offers.

Aegon grins. "I know I can rely on you, little brother! Come, grab a new piece of parchment and carefully record my words…" Excited, Aegon stands up and walks towards a corner of the table, where a pile of new parchment, quill, and a bottle of ink are waiting for him. Balerion also perks his head up, eying Orys with interest.

"Uh." Orys feels that he's falling into a trap. "What exactly am I going to write?"

"The letter to Argilac Durrandon, of course! He's the king of Stormlands, just near us, he's not very strong and lacks reliable allies, he has no son but a daughter as heir… my proposal is going to be a godsend to him." Poking the pile of parchment with a finger, he urges, "The letter won't write itself, brother."

"…Fine, fine." Under pressure, Orys bends. He picks up the quill and unrolls a piece of parchment, while Aegon and Balerion look at him expectedly. "But, uhh, what proposal?" Aegon did say something about allying with the Durrandons, but Orys has no idea how Aegon means to convince the Storm King…

What Aegon wants to do is foolish, Visenya's warning comes to mind. But even if Aegon's letter fails to convince the Storm King, nothing bad should come to them… it's more likely that he'll ignore the letter of someone whose name he has never heard about. This should be fine…

"You're going to love it, brother," Aegon smirks, "Write this down: King Argilac…"

Thinking that nobody will ever see the content of this letter, Orys hurriedly scribbles down what Aegon says.

King Argilac,

Good tidings to you and your kingdom. I'm Aegon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone, Protector of the Narrow Sea, the Last Dragonlord, the Heir of Valyria, rider of the biggest dragon in the world, the mighty Balerion…

"Aegon," Orys cast a sideways glance towards the mighty Balerion, who is nodding approvingly at the title he has been given, "Balerion is as big as a hound."

"Yes, which makes him the biggest dragon in the world," Aegon repeats happily.

"You don't see a problem with this?"

"What problem?"

"…Nevermind," Orys sighs. No one will read this anyway, he thinks, "Let's continue."

…rider of the biggest dragon in the world, the mighty Balerion. I have heard that you're facing a fearsome enemy, the cruel mannerless Ironborn. I'm sure you're a formidable warrior in your youth, alas, your time has passed…

"Aegon, you can't insult the Storm King like that!" Orys cries out, which earns him a glare from Balerion.

"Chill, brother, I'm buttering him up. I said he's a formidable warrior," Aegon smiles confidently, "In truth, the old man can't be more than average."

"He's a king with thousands of men at his disposal. If we anger him, we're all dead," Orys begs, "Please, Aegon, this is a bad idea."

"We won't die, you have me!" Aegon steps forward and pats his hand comfortingly, which… does make Orys feel better. "Besides, I'm only speaking the truth. Argilac is old and he must know it. Even if he does feel insulted, he won't declare war on Dragonstone for a mere letter."

Somehow, Aegon's words sound convincing this time. And King Argilac won't read the letter anyway… Orys picks the quill back up.

…alas, your time has passed, and you have no son to succeed you. Princess Argella is your only heir, and she needs a worthy husband who can populate your house.

I cannot offer myself in marriage, for I'm a Valyrian and married besides, but my brother Orys is available. He's strong…

Orys bumps his head on the table. Aegon screams, jumping away from him, "Orys, what's wrong with you?"

"Aegon, I can't write a letter promoting myself to the Storm King for his daughter's hand," Orys sighs, "I'm a nobody. A peasant."

"You're my brother! A dragonseed!" Aegon looks angrier than Orys has seen him, his face flushes red and his eyes widen, covering half of his face. "We have the same eye colour, we grew up together. You're important."

Even Balerion flies towards him, rubbing his head towards Orys' legs. Orys sighs— how many times has he sighed today?

His eyes have the same shade of purple as the Targaryens, but that's because his parents had sought Lord Aerion's help for his fertility magic. Every baby born from such blessing has a bit of Valyrian in them, be it lighter hair or deeper eye colour. On Dragonstone, children like him are called dragonseeds… he has no blood relation with the Targaryen siblings.

The only reason he's special is that Lord Aerion brought him into his household after he failed to heal Orys' mother. Because of his kindness, the orphaned Orys got to grow up with Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys. Otherwise, he's nothing…

Nothing at all…

"Orys, you're my brother, blood-related or not." Having climbed on Balerion's back, Aegon hovers near Orys' face and attempts to wipe his tears with his hands, "If you think you aren't important, then I'll make you into someone who definitely is. Prince of Stormlands and heir to the Storm King, Hand of the Seven Kingdoms— you'll soon have as many titles as I do, you just have to write and deliver this letter."

"…Thank you, Aegon." Feeling touched, Orys nods to his brother. "This is a crazy idea, but if you are willing to fight for me, then there's no excuse to not fight for myself." Aegon smiles at him, his huge eyes glistening with proud tears, and Orys feels full of strength. Damn, so we're really doing this, huh—

Just when he starts to write again, Aegon's last remark sinks in. "Wait. Did you say there's something else for me to do after writing this letter?"

"You'll deliver the letter and meet with your future goodfather!" Aegon grins, "With luck, you'll be presented to your betrothed immediately, and who knows— next time we meet, it might be your wedding!"

Orys drops the quill. "I changed my mind. This is a bad idea."