Oldtown Courtyard
The day before we departed Oldtown, a ship set sail for Driftmark. Among its passengers were an Archmaester and five others, much to the Citadel's reluctance. Their departure left a heavy mark on the city. As the ship disappeared into the horizon, the Red Queen soared to the lord's castle, and the dragons followed suit, circling the skies. They roared and displayed their might, a show of power impossible to ignore. Many citizens flocked to the Sept in prayer, while others locked themselves indoors. One thing was certain: Oldtown would never forget the day Aegon the Winged came to lay his grievance.
In the courtyard, Aegon stood, gripping a massive wooden club. Before him, his cousins and nephews, armed with wooden swords, panted heavily. "To think I've seen Oldtown before Driftmark, my sisters, or even my grandfather's seat of power. Well, I have sailed on the Sea Serpent with him. Perhaps it's time I learned to temper myself," Aegon muttered.
Aegon the Elder gasped between breaths. "H-how are you not tired? You just sparred with the knights—and your father!"
"Yes, how?" Jace chimed in, snorting with disbelief.
Aegon the Winged smirked. "Since I left my sword in the capital, no weapon here is heavy enough to challenge me. I'm far stronger than most. And you four? You flail around like headless chickens. What are the White Cloaks teaching you? Fight to win—honor comes to the living."
Aemond, his face unreadable, spoke up. "Is that why you crippled Ser Criston Cole?"
Aegon's smirk twisted into a sneer. "No. That was a statement. The idiot stood in my way as I sought my family and paid for it with his hand. A lesson for the nobility: actions have consequences. Now, guards up! I'll push you over whether you like it or not. This club? Merely to slow myself down for your sake."
Before anyone could respond, Aegon lashed out with a swift palm strike, sending Aegon the Elder stumbling. Nearby, knights and ladies watched in awe.
"He's truly gifted," Halaena murmured, her voice tinged with wonder.
"Yes," Rhaenys replied, her gaze fixed on the scene. "Everything he does is exceptional. But his blood runs too hot. He's ruled by his emotions."
"Isn't that his strength?" Halaena countered, a soft smile forming. "I'd love to visit Bloodstone one day."
Rhaenys chuckled, drawing glances from Alicent, who sat quietly nearby. "There aren't walls high enough to stop him when he sets his sights on something—or someone. By the time you two come of age, he'll have rebuilt Bloodstone into something remarkable."
The women shared a knowing laugh. Alicent, still adjusting to being regarded as family by the fiery prince, grew uneasy. The bond between her daughter and Aegon was undeniable. Halaena had once cryptically said, Two has turned nine. When Alicent asked her to explain, she had giggled and said, Nine new dragons.
Now Alicent understood: Targaryens and their gifts were beyond mortal comprehension. As Aegon dominated the sparring match, she couldn't help but imagine the chaos he could unleash if a war broke out. She had seen the fear he inspired—and how effortlessly the dragons followed his intentions. Yet, he remained candid with his family, though his demeanor turned icy when questioned by outsiders.
The Capital
Returning to King's Landing was fraught with tension. Rumors of Oldtown's near devastation had reached the capital, followed by ravens detailing the events. Letters from Hobert Hightower demanded explanations for what he called a "hostage situation."
Viserys, incensed at his nephews defiance, nearly ordered his exile. Only Daemon and Rhaenys managed to calm him, arguing that the boy's actions, while brazen, were in defense of the princess's honor.
Instead, Viserys begrudgingly provided Daemon with 3,000 gold dragons to reclaim the Stepstones, an unspoken reward for Aegon's loyalty to his family. The small council was divided. Corlys Velaryon, however, remained unbothered. When pressed about his grandson's conduct, he merely said, "I might give him a ship for his name day," leaving the room stunned.
Driftmark
Off the coast of Driftmark, Corlys's Sea Serpent sailed steadily, trailed by a "floating island"—the massive Vhagar swimming in the waters. Aegon lay sprawled on his mother's dragon, gazing at the sky.
"Boy, land's in sight! Come aboard and make yourself presentable," Corlys called, his tone amused. "I have new armor for you—the smiths outdid themselves this time."
Aegon sat up, waving a hand lazily. "Aye. What color is it?"
"Velaryon colors," Corlys replied with pride. "You have your Targaryen hues. Now it's time for your mother's."
Landing gracefully aboard the ship, Aegon smirked. "Blue? I can make that work. Does it have a cape?"
"A mane of blue horsehair. No cape to hide your wings, just enough to frame them," Corlys replied, opening the door to his quarters.
Inside stood a masterpiece: armor adorned with engravings of sea monsters and ships. A shoulder guard bore a carving of Vhagar, while the helm featured serpent scales. Every detail reflected the balance of Targaryen and Velaryon heritage.
When Aegon emerged fully clad, one of the crew handed him his massive greatsword, its engraved blade glinting in the light.
"You look ready for a tourney," Corlys teased.
Aegon grinned. "This beauty could cleave a horse and rider in half. Besides, no Northman could carry it with such flair."
As the ship docked, Corlys led Aegon down the plank to meet his sisters, Rhaena and Baela. The twins stood poised, their distinct braids framing their Targaryen features.
"My sisters," Aegon whispered, his voice softening. Without hesitation, he embraced them, his broad wings casting a shadow over the dock.
"See me, Driftmark," he declared, his showman persona returning. "Son of the Dragonlord, heir to the blood of the sea!"
The twins exchanged startled but delighted glances, understanding at last the rumors of their brother's charisma—and his penchant for spectacle.