Well this is just bloody brilliant.
Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of his name had fully ruled for a year, his equally loved and hated uncle stepping down the day Aegon turned sixteen, but this was the first true trial he had to face. And truth be told, had had no idea what he was going to do.
A blow to the head was perfectly legal in a joust, though it was discouraged due to the dangers involved; dangers Bryce Caron proved were very real indeed. In terms of the law, Viserys had done no wrong. But his youngest uncle had intentionally killed the young Lord of the Dornish Marches, it was plain to see, all over the love of his sister. Ser Rolland was being stoically silent about the death of his brother, Daenerys loud and wailing about it. Several lords, friends of Lord Caron, had demanded Viserys be punished. As for his uncle himself, Viserys resided in his rooms in the Dun Fort, Barristan Selmy and Borran of the Bramsfort posted outside his chambers.
He'd argued viciously when the Kingsguard had converged on him at the tourney grounds, but he'd relented when the Dragon of Duskendale had descended from the box. Viserys was eccentric and entitled, but he was also terrified of his brother, and they had been able to avoid any more of a scene than it already had been.
And now Aegon had to do something about it.
The Infant King, as many still called him despite his venomous protests, leaned forward in the head chair of that table in Aelor's private quarters, rubbing his temples. The tournament was set to resume in less than an hour—deaths happened, and while Bryce Caron's was particularly saddening due to the effective it had on Daenerys it was something they must move on from—and the lords assembled would be expecting a decision. Aegon couldn't afford to look weak; too many nobles already viewed Aelor as the true ruling power, and the lack of a firm response from their true king would strengthen that conviction.
But it was Viserys.
While his youngest uncle was eccentric and arrogant, he was still his uncle, and the two had been raised together. One doesn't spend their entire lives in close contact with another and not feel the slightest bit attached. Viserys must be reprimanded—accidental tourney deaths were one thing, intentional murders quite another. But Aegon was appalled with the idea of killing his uncle or sending him to the wall, for no matter what he did he was still his uncle. Aelor had instilled many things in Aegon Targaryen, some the King was happy for and some he wasn't, but dedication to one's family was chief among them all.
"Have you made your decision, Your Grace?" Aegon didn't look up as he heard the steady strides approaching him, the voice one he had heard nearly every day since he had been born. A wave of the jealousy he so often failed to curb rushed through him as his uncle Aelor, the infamous Dragon of Duskendale, strode to and took a seat at the table. Aelor would know what to do; his uncle always seemed to know what to do. All of his life Aegon had heard the stories of his uncle's greatness, and now when he should be working to create a mystique of his own he was falling short.
"No, I have not." Aegon leaned back in his seat with a sigh, looking across the table to meet Aelor's calm eyes.
Aelor nodded. "I didn't think you had."
Aegon's lips curled up. "Do you believe me incompetent?"
His uncle's face didn't change, nor did his calm even tone. "No, I believe you to be faced with a complicated decision, one every man would struggle with."
Aegon grunted, a tick he realized with no small amount of annoyance he had picked up from the man sitting across the table from him. "It was Viserys' intent to kill Lord Bryce, and he succeeded. Some are calling for his head, others for him to be sent to the Wall, and still a few think nothing should happen."
"And what do you think is the correct path?"
Aegon threw his hands up. "I don't know! Viserys intentional killed a man because he had eyes for Dany, and for that there must be justice. But he is also my uncle, and whatever his eccentrics he is the blood of the dragon. Sixteen years ago that was a death sentence; do I do now what Robert Baratheon failed to do and kill Viserys?" The King of the Iron Throne shook his head in disgust. He knew being a King wasn't lemon cakes and wine, but he had hoped he wouldn't be faced with something this significant until he was more established. He grunted again, shaking his head. "Dany doesn't want Viserys in the way he wants her. He knows this. Why does he not accept this and move on?"
Aelor leaned back, mimicking Aegon's slouch into the chair. With another shake of his head Aegon realized he'd picked that physical tick up from the Dragon of Duskendale as well. "Love can make a man do many things that do not make sense to others. Hell, it can make a man do things that he himself doesn't understand."
The Infant King cocked a brow. "You speak from experience."
Aelor shrugged, though his eyes had flashed for a moment. "You will learn much during your time in this world before you make the journey to the next. The ability of love to turn a sensible man into a drooling fool is something I myself did very early."
For a moment Aegon wished to ask the question that had plagued his mind for years; to ask about Aelor and his mother. Rumors abounded about their forbidden love, of how the second son had lusted and desired for the first's wife. But, as he always did, Aegon refrained, instead switching back to his other Targaryen uncle. "All my life I have heard about the madness that plagued my grandfather and maybe even my father…and that once plagued you."
Aelor smirked slightly. "Once?"
The King charged onward. "Is that what I see in Viserys? This obsession with a woman who doesn't want him, his feelings that he is above all the world, that he has a right from the Gods to do whatever the Seven hells he wishes…can I expect it to happen to me one day?"
Aelor was silent a moment, violet eyes meeting violet eyes across the small table. Suddenly the Dragon leaned forward, peering intently at his nephew as his voice dropped lower. "The madness is in us all, Aegon. Your sister, your brother, your cousins. Me. And you. At some point in each Targaryen's life they will face it, and only the strongest of us will walk away. And even they won't walk away whole."
His uncle leaned back again, though he never looked away from his King. "Our family has withstood every threat against us for three centuries, be it from the outside or from within. At first we held our rule together with dragons, but they have long been gone from this world. After the last of them died, we resorted to ruling by what they had once inflicted in others; fear. Fear that anyone who crosses our dynasty, even if they are our dynasty, will feel the dragon's wrath."
"So you are saying I should execute Viserys."
"You did not let me finish. I ruled your Kingdoms for you for sixteen years, all of them peaceful ones. But I am not loved, Aegon, and I am fully aware of it. I ruled with the sword that is fear. Those years were peaceful because men were too afraid of my retribution to make them anything but, not because all men were happy under Targaryen command. Even in this very city, the city that has thrived under me, some call me the Cruel or the Demon or the Bloody. Half of the realm wants me dead, and the only reason I am not is because they are too afraid of the things I have done in the past to try and make me so."
Aegon furrowed his brow in confusion. "What does any of this have to do with Viserys?"
"I'll tell you. If it were still my decision, men would be calling me kinslayer already, for they would believe it all but a certainty that I would kill my brother, even if everything I have ever done has been for the safety of House Targaryen. But I am not loved, Aegon. You can be." The Dragon of Duskendale rose. "You are trying to be me. That is the only reason you have yet to arrive to a conclusion; as much as you despise the respect I command, you wish for nothing more than to have it for your own. You know the correct decision; you have from the moment we watched Viserys couch his lance upwards. Yet you hesitate and you wait, because you are trying to do what Aelor the Burner of Lannisport would do, not what Aegon the Sixth of his name would."
Aegon had his jaw clenched in rage, though he kept his voice calm. "What are you saying, uncle."
Aelor kept his eyes perfectly calm. "I am saying stop. You are not me, nor should you be. You have the potential to be the greatest Targaryen to have ever lived; better than your father, better than me, better than even Jaehaerys the Conciliator. You know the correct decision, because the correct decision is whatever you, Aegon Targaryen, deem it to be, not what Aelor son of Aerys would do. I am not loved, but you can be if you rule as Aegon, not as Aelor. I held the family together, aye, but I have made more than my fair share of mistakes that have caused as much damage as good. It is within your power to fix them, if you grasp the chance. You want so desperately to escape my shadow? Do it. Be the man you were always meant to be."
Without another word the Dragon of Duskendale turned and left, leaving the most powerful man in Westeros in his wake.
Aegon didn't know if he hated or loved his uncle in that moment, but he knew what he needed to do.
The King walked to Viserys' chambers with a fire in his stride. "Borran," he commanded of the smaller of the two Kingsguard standing vigil. "Go to the docks and find a ship for the Free Cities; I don't care which one. Tell them they are about to have another guest, one they had best treat as the royalty he is or I will bring the might of Westeros onto their necks."
"At once, Your Grace." The white cloak rushed to do as he was told.
"Barristan, find Ser Manfred and Ser Rolland and bring them here."
A few minutes later Viserys Targaryen was dragged from his chambers by Rolland Storm and Manfred Darke, shouting in outrage the entire time as the King of the Iron Throne watched on. By the time they had reached the docks—going through the small back gates instead of through the entire city to avoid the eyes of the court—Viserys had lost most of his voice, and Aegon the Sixth had found his.
"Viserys Targaryen, your actions at the Tournament of Duskendale have brought dishonor to your name. For intentionally killing Lord Bryce Caron in a tournament meant for sport, I, King Aegon Targaryen, sentence you into exile in the Free Cities of Essos for five years, after which and only after which you may return to Westeros to reclaim your seat of Summerhall. Any attempt to return before that time without the pardon of myself will result in your death."
Viserys was indignant, trying desperately to shake off the two burly men gripping both his arms. "I am the blood of the dragon! You cannot do this!"
Aegon ignored him, turning to the well-built, middle-aged man with a forked green beard. Tyroshi or Pentoshi, I would imagine. "You, Captain. Your name and home port?"
"Aleqou Garantis, Your Grace, of the Free City of Tyrosh."
Aegon nodded. "You will take Prince Viserys to Tyrosh with you, after which you will return to Duskendale every three months to be given gold to take to him as well as update the crown on his doings. The failure to do so will result in the entirety of the Royal Fleet tracking you and your ship down and putting to sword every man aboard. You will be paid well for loyal service, and killed for treachery. Am I understood, Captain?"
The man nodded, clearly having no intention of denying the dragonking before him. "Of course, Your Grace."
Aegon looked back to his uncle, reaching to his belt and untying the bag of dragon he had taken from the Dun Fort. With a snarl he tossed it at his uncle. "There is your first allowance. Do not squander it for it is all you will receive from the Crown for three months, and do not forget my command. Uncle or not, you will be killed should you disobey my order."
The King nodded to his two men of the Kingsguard, who bodily hauled the Prince of Summerhall up the gangplank and onto the merchant ship, Viserys shouting in indignation all the way.
Aegon turned away after one last nod at Aleqou Garantis, Barristan close beside him, and began to make his way back towards the Dun Fort and the tourney that should have started a while ago but that would wait as long as necessary for the king.
Standing a few feet behind him was Aelor Targaryen.
Mentor and student held eyes for a moment, violet on violet. And then, very subtlety, the Dragon of Duskendale nodded his head.