First Meeting with the King
King's Solar
Viserys Targaryen sat in his chair, facing his nephew, who stood before him in full armor. The wings on Aegon's back remained curled behind him and to his side, their shadow stretching across the room, while the scales on his face shimmered in the light filtering through the window.
"Have a seat," Viserys said, gesturing to the chair in front of him.
After a moment, Aegon pulled out the chair and sat down with a heavy thud. The silence stretched on, only broken by the creaking of the chair struggling under his armored weight. Viserys stared into his nephew's eyes, searching for something only he understood, before finally speaking.
"Now, tell me, nephew—why?" the king questioned.
"Why?" Aegon repeated, his voice softer than expected. "I believe in family and justice. Many may think I'm naive, but for those of us who are different, all we seek is acceptance."
"Acceptance?" Viserys asked in a puzzled tone.
"Yes, acceptance," Aegon replied, a hint of sadness in his voice. "People like me, like you, and like Princess Rhaenyra—we only seek acceptance from those around us."
Viserys's brow furrowed. "What do you mean by 'people like me and my daughter'?" he questioned, feeling a tightness in his chest.
"My king, you are a learned man. You must know that my grandmother would have made a better ruler than you. The 'Queen Who Never Was'—even that title, meant to mock her, only serves to highlight how undeserving you were seen. The cycle is beginning again, but this time, it is your legacy that will be tainted. And the one who will steal your daughter's birthright will be your own wife and friend," Aegon said, his tone shifting from stern to derisive, then to sad.
"I allow you to speak freely because you are my nephew, but you are crossing a line," the king said in a stern voice.
"I do not hear you denying it," Aegon retorted. "But it seems you do not think it much of a problem, for soon you will be dead, and your daughter will ascend. You think she will have supporters. But remember how many lords swore fealty to my grandmother's father, your uncle, only to turn their backs on her the moment he was gone. They should have sworn loyalty to her, yet they did not. The same will happen again. The lords will see an opportunity to put one of their own on the throne. They will mask their ambition behind tradition, claiming Rhaenyra is unfit because she is a woman. Would that be just, my king?" Aegon asked, throwing a spear of truth at the sickly king.
"Just? No, it is not," Viserys admitted, his voice softer now. "But I have made it clear that Rhaenyra is to be my heir."
"The words of a dying man cannot be taken to heart," Aegon said bluntly.
Viserys let out a bitter laugh. "A dying man, you say? Perhaps. But I am still of sound mind, and my decisions are those of a king."
"You have failed your daughter and your family," Aegon pressed, his words like a knife. "You have allowed snakes to make their home in the House of the Dragon. The Hightowers and the Citadel—they have played with your life because even you do not believe yourself to be a worthy king. You have sold the kingdom to the Andals and the First Men. We are dragons, and yet you listen to a rat. You allowed snakes to birth dragons, and now they think themselves our equals. My father should have been your Hand. That position was never meant for outsiders."
Aegon stood up abruptly. "If you will excuse me, your grace, my armor grows hot, and I have yet to meet my cousin and her children. I will leave you to ponder my words—or not. The Hightowers and their grey rats will dismiss this as the ramblings of a misinformed child. By the way, have them remove your arm before the week ends. The necrosis is spreading, and soon there will be no going back. The maesters know this."
Aegon turned to leave. As he opened the door, three figures stood outside: the Grand Maester, Queen Alicent, and Otto Hightower. Aegon glanced over them with a smirk before whispering, "The vultures have come to feast upon the dragon. Your grace, I await your summons. And if they convince you to punish me, I will burn Oldtown to the ground."
The three newcomers looked terrified. Otto could not hide his frustration—he had met a foe who cared nothing for appearances or the rules of politics. Aegon acted first and explained later, a strategy that Otto knew could succeed because history is written by the victors. If Aegon acted on his threat, he would burn his enemies' homes to ash, then fly off to the Stepstones with all the dragons, leaving the realm in chaos.
A voice rang out, breaking the tense silence. "Grand Maester Mellos, is it true?" the king asked the aging man.
"Your grace, I do not understand the question," the Grand Maester replied, confusion etched on his face.
"Removing my infected arm—will it give me more time? Will it stop the infection?" Viserys asked.
The room went quiet. Otto looked stunned, while the maester stammered, "It... it would, your grace, but the disease has spread. Now that most of your arm and back are affected, it would do little good."
Viserys nodded slowly. "I see. Now, why have you all come here?"