Chapter 1
The sun dipped low over King's Landing, casting long shadows across the bustling streets of the Red Keep. A thick tension hung in the air, palpable and oppressive, as whispers of King Viserys I's death echoed through the stone halls. Lords and ladies shuffled about, exchanging furtive glances, their minds racing with thoughts of power and ambition. The realm stood at a precipice, and chaos threatened to engulf it.
In the shadowed corridors of the castle, Aemond Targaryen paced, the weight of his family's legacy heavy upon his shoulders. His violet eyes burned with determination, reflecting both the fire of his lineage and the storm brewing within him. He could feel the pulse of the city outside, its heart beating with uncertainty and fear, a reflection of his own inner turmoil. Aemond had always been driven by ambition, but now, with the throne so tantalizingly close, the stakes were higher than ever.
The Green Council had convened in the aftermath of the king's passing, a gathering of ambitious minds and hardened hearts. The council room, adorned with the vigils of House Targaryen, felt like a battlefield where the victor would claim the Iron Throne. As he entered the chamber, Aemond was struck by the sight of the assembled lords and ladies, their expressions a mixture of grief and opportunism. He noticed Otto Hightower, his grandfather, presiding over the meeting with a steely resolve, and the very air buzzed with the electric tension of a power struggle about to ignite.
"Aegon must be crowned," Otto declared, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "We cannot let the news of Viserys's death spread unchecked. The realm must have its king." The words hung in the air, a clarion call that sent shivers down Aemond's spine. He had always known his brother Aegon to be the favoured heir, but the responsibility now rested heavier than ever. Aemond’s heart raced as he contemplated the implications of their father’s demise. He had witnessed the struggles of succession in his family and the bloodshed it often wrought; he could not let history repeat itself.
“Aemond,” Otto's gaze shifted toward him, piercing and commanding. “You must find Aegon. We cannot allow him to remain hidden while the kingdom teeters on the brink of chaos. The longer he is missing, the greater the risk of dissent.” Aemond nodded, swallowing hard. He felt the weight of the task laid before him, the necessity of his brother's presence to solidify their claim to the throne.
As he stepped out of the council chamber, Aemond's mind raced with thoughts of his brother. Where could Aegon be? The streets of King's Landing teemed with life, but danger lurked beneath the surface. Aegon, always the reckless one, had a penchant for indulgence, something that had brought him both joy and trouble in equal measure. Aemond felt the familiar fire of determination igniting within him; he would not allow his brother's weakness to jeopardize their family's future.
The city was alive with noise as Aemond descended the steps of the Red Keep, the sounds of merchants hawking their wares blending with the distant laughter of revellers. He wove through the throngs of people, the vibrant colours of the marketplace swirling around him, but his heart raced with urgency. He needed to find Aegon before the council's machinations bore fruit.
The first place he considered was the dragon pit, a place of power and heritage. But as he approached, he found it eerily empty, the great dragons resting in their lairs, oblivious to the turmoil above. He pressed on, the alleys growing narrower and darker, shadows stretching like grasping fingers toward him. Aemond felt a thrill of anxiety but pushed it aside; he had a purpose, and he would not be deterred.
His search led him deeper into the city, past the noble quarters where the echoes of wealth and privilege could be felt, into the grimy underbelly where the desperate and destitute lurked. As he navigated the twisting streets, he encountered a series of characters, guards who eyed him suspiciously, merchants who offered him trinkets, and street urchins who scurried away at the sight of his Targaryen crest. Each encounter reminded him of the disparate lives that intertwined beneath the rule of a king, and he felt a fleeting sense of empathy for those who lived on the fringes of power.
After what felt like hours, Aemond’s instincts led him to a dimly lit brothel, a place where whispers of sin and excess thrived. He stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of wine and perfumed bodies. The atmosphere was heavy with the sounds of laughter and the clinking of goblets, masking the serious undertones of what lay beneath. He moved through the room, scanning faces, searching for any sign of his brother.
In a dark corner, obscured by shadows, Aemond finally spotted Aegon, his brother’s white hair a beacon among the dimly lit figures. Aegon reclined in his seat, a goblet in hand, laughing boisterously as a group of companions surrounded him. The sight ignited a mixture of frustration and anger within Aemond. Here, in the throes of revelry, Aegon seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil that awaited him outside these walls.
“Aegon!” Aemond’s voice rang out, cutting through the noise like a sword through flesh. Heads turned, eyes wide with curiosity and surprise. Aegon’s laughter faltered, and he blinked up at Aemond, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance.
“Brother, must you always be such a grim spectre?” Aegon replied, a slur evident in his words. He leaned back in his chair, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he surveyed Aemond’s stern demeanour.
“Grim or not, you are needed back at the Red Keep. The council is waiting for you. You must be crowned before dissenters take advantage of our vulnerability.” Aemond's voice was tense, urgency lacing every syllable. He took a step closer, his heart pounding with a mixture of worry and exasperation.
Aegon leaned back, his demeanour sulking and defiant. “The council? The throne? I am tired of all that. Let them crown whoever they wish. What does it matter now?” His words dripped with indifference, a contrast to the gravity of their situation.
Aemond felt a flash of anger at his brother’s flippant attitude. “It matters, Aegon! We cannot afford to lose our claim. If you are not crowned, the realm will be in chaos! You cannot hide from this!” The weight of his words hung heavily in the air between them, and for a moment, Aemond saw the flicker of realization in Aegon’s eyes. But that spark was quickly snuffed out as Aegon’s resolve hardened.
“Why should I care about a crown?” Aegon shot back, his voice rising. “You think they respect me? They just see me as a figurehead! I’m not ready for this!” His words were laced with frustration, and he turned away, unwilling to meet Aemond’s gaze.
Aemond stepped forward, a sense of urgency pulsing through him. “You are a Targaryen, Aegon! This is your birthright! You cannot simply choose to abandon it.” He extended a hand, trying to bridge the gap between them, but Aegon merely shook his head, looking away.
“No, Aemond. I refuse to play this game.” Aegon’s voice was firm, but Aemond could see the uncertainty lurking behind it. He couldn’t let his brother’s fear dictate their fate.
Without thinking, Aemond moved closer, grabbing Aegon by the arm and pulling him to his feet. “Come on, Aegon! We have to go!”
Aegon stumbled slightly, surprised by Aemond’s sudden insistence. “Let go of me!” he protested, his voice rising as he tried to pull away. “I don’t want to be king!”
“You don’t have a choice!” Aemond gripped Aegon tighter, unwilling to let him slip back into the haze of oblivion. “The council needs you. The realm needs you. If you don’t take your place, everything we’ve fought for will fall apart!”
Aegon hesitated, his resistance wavering as he searched his brother’s face for understanding. “What if I don’t want it? What if I don’t want to be that person?”
Aemond met his gaze, his voice lowering as he softened. “I know it’s not what you want, but it’s what we must do. We can’t allow our enemies to seize this moment. You are stronger than you think, Aegon. We need to stand together.”
Aegon’s expression faltered, and for a moment, Aemond saw the fear and doubt that lingered in his brother’s eyes. “I…” he began, but the words caught in his throat.
With a sudden burst of resolve, Aemond dragged Aegon toward the door, ignoring his brother’s protests and struggles. They pushed through the throng of revellers, the laughter and music fading into a distant echo as they stepped outside into the cool evening air. Aemond felt the weight of the world pressing upon them, and he refused to let go of his brother’s arm.
As they emerged into the dim light of the street, Aemond turned to face Aegon, his grip firm yet reassuring, despite the turmoil swirling in his chest. He could feel the tension of the night pressing down on them, thick with unspoken worries and expectations. The lanterns flickered overhead, casting ghostly shadows that danced along the cobblestones, while the murmurs of the city wrapped around them like a cloak.
But it was then, amidst the shadows, that Aemond’s gaze fell upon something, or rather someone, that halted him in his tracks. A small child stood alone, shrouded in the murky light, an enigma wrapped in dirt and dishevelled hair. The child’s long, messy black locks obscured almost all of his face, leaving only his left eye visible, an emerald, green eye that glimmered like a jewel against the gloom. There was a haunting quality to his gaze, filled with an unsettling blend of innocence and wariness that pulled at Aemond’s heart.
The boy wore the strangest of clothes, garments that seemed almost otherworldly in this medieval realm. They were ill-fitting and ragged, the fabric tattered and stained. Yet, upon closer inspection, Aemond noticed the stitching: the seams were neatly done, indicating a craftsmanship that belied their shabby appearance. The clothing was made from a material that was familiar yet strange.
Aemond felt a rush of curiosity as he studied the child. He had spent countless hours wandering the streets of King's Landing, familiar with the myriad faces of street urchins and waifs that populated the alleys and corners. But this boy was new, a spectre of sorrow and mystery that had appeared from nowhere, his presence unsettling the fabric of the night. The child’s wide eyes, so full of fear and exhilaration, seemed to hold secrets that Aemond longed to unravel.
As Aemond took a step forward, his voice reaching out to the boy, “Hey there, little one,” he began, but before he could say more, the child bolted. The sudden movement snapped Aemond's focus from his brother, and instinct took over. He dropped Aegon, who swayed unsteadily, too inebriated to comprehend the situation. Aemond raced after the boy, the echoes of the marketplace fading behind him as he pushed through the crowd.
The boy darted down the narrow alleys with a grace that belied his frail frame, his movements a blur of thin limbs and desperate energy. Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest as he chased after the fleeting figure. The child was like a wisp of smoke, slipping between stalls and weaving around bustling merchants. Each time Aemond thought he was gaining ground, the boy seemed to vanish, only to reappear just a step ahead.
The child’s gaunt frame told a story of hardship and survival, with hollow cheeks that hinted at severe malnutrition. He was a ghost among the living, and Aemond couldn’t shake the feeling that this boy had seen things that would haunt him forever. With every stride, Aemond felt a swell of determination rise within him, he had to catch the boy, to understand his story and perhaps offer him some semblance of kindness in a cruel world.
“Stop!” Aemond called out, pushing through the throng of people, his voice urgent. “I just want to help!” But the boy only darted faster, propelled by a fear that Aemond could only imagine. They turned down another alley, the shadows swallowing them whole, and Aemond was relentless, his instincts guiding him through the maze of King’s Landing.
Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, the boy turned a corner, and Aemond lost sight of him. He skidded to a halt, breathless, scanning the street with frantic eyes. The bustling market had transformed into a confusing labyrinth of stalls and shadows, and the child was nowhere to be found. Aemond’s heart sank, the realization hitting him like a stone. He had chased after a ghost, and now it felt as though the boy had vanished into thin air.
“Aegon!” he called out, turning on his heel and sprinting back to where he had left his brother. The urgency that had propelled him forward now morphed into a sense of dread. What if Aegon had wandered off in his drunken stupor? What if their mission had fallen apart due to his brother's careless state?
When Aemond finally found Aegon, he was leaning against a nearby wall, clearly struggling to maintain his balance, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. “What took you so long?” Aegon slurred, blinking as if trying to shake off the fog of alcohol.
“I saw a child,” Aemond replied, breathless with exertion. “He was unlike any I’ve ever seen before. I had to,”
“Just a child?” Aegon scoffed, dismissing the urgency of the moment with a wave of his hand. “Why do you care about some filthy street brat?”
“Aegon, he was different,” Aemond insisted, a frown creasing his brow. “He looked...lost. I couldn’t just ignore him.”
But Aegon shook his head, pushing away from the wall and stumbling slightly. “You always get too wrapped up in these things. We have more important matters at hand.”
Aemond sighed, the weight of his brother's indifference pressing down on him. “We need to go back to the Red Keep. The council will be expecting us, and we can’t let them think we’re weak.”
With a reluctant nod, Aegon pushed off the wall, and together they began the walk back to the keep, the shadows of the night closing in around them. Aemond’s thoughts lingered on the mysterious boy, the fleeting glimpse of something more than just survival etched into his emerald eye. Who was he? What stories did he hold?
As they walked, Aemond cast one last glance over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of the child, wondering if he would ever see him again, the lost soul whose path had crossed his own for just a moment in the vast, chaotic world of King's Landing.