Prologue - The Legacy
Prologue
The air was thick with the hum of festivity as the grand banquet unfolded beneath the open sky, the scent of roasting meats and sweet wine mingling with the fresh summer breeze. The field was alive with the clatter of goblets and the laughter of lords and ladies, from the highborn to those of more modest station. Music swirled through the crowd, the joy of the occasion infectious as it rippled from one table to the next, until the very earth beneath them seemed to vibrate with the harmony of a shared triumph.
King Jaehaerys I sat at the head of it all, his face split by a rare, beaming smile that tugged at his features until it almost hurt to wear. The past year had been fraught with burdens—challenges that seemed to rise in endless succession—but here, today, in the heart of his court, he could feel the weight of those struggles lift, if only for a moment. His realm, so long threatened by unrest and division, was united once more, and he and his Queen had weathered a storm that had threatened to break them both.
His eyes found hers across the crowd. Queen Alysanne sat beside him, poised and radiant, her beauty undiminished by the trials she had endured. There was a calm in her now, a quiet strength that only time could have shaped, and it filled him with pride. Together, they had faced the abyss—and had emerged stronger for it.
Jaehaerys rose to his feet, lifting his goblet in one hand as he extended the other toward the crowd, his fingers splayed wide in a silent gesture for silence. The murmurings of the guests faded, the flicker of torches casting long shadows across the revelers’ faces.
“Friends,” he began, his voice carrying across the field, “thank you for joining us today to celebrate the future.” The crowd’s cheer was deafening, but Jaehaerys held up his hand, steadying the mood. He glanced briefly to his right, where Alysanne sat, regal and unshaken. “You’ve stood with us through a year that might have been filled with infamy and sorrow. A year in which the very foundations of our family and realm were threatened, not by fire or war, but by treachery from within.”
A shiver seemed to run through the crowd as the memory of the Faith Militant’s attack on the queen stirred. That dark day at the Pool of Jonquil had nearly taken the life of Alysanne and their unborn son, Aegon—a son who, by all accounts, should not have survived. Yet, by some miracle of the Gods, their child had fought on, clinging to life with a tenacity that matched the flame of his bloodline.
Jaehaerys’ gaze drifted to the corner of the feast, where his son, barely a year old, rested in the arms of his wet-nurse. Aegon, born prematurely at just seven moons, had been the source of so many fears, yet now the babe was fat and healthy, his chubby cheeks rosy with life. The maesters had warned them both that their son might not last the night, and yet here he was, a living testament to the strength of his mother’s will, and to the power of Targaryen blood.
His heart swelled as he looked out over the gathering. The flames of hope had not been extinguished.
“The Gods have blessed our union with a strong son, a future worthy of this great house, and a realm that shall endure for many years to come,” Jaehaerys continued, his voice firm with conviction. “It is through him—through Aegon—that the legacy begun by my grandsire, The Conqueror, will carry on. And it will be his blood that binds us all, from the Iron Throne to the farthest reaches of our lands.”
The crowd cheered again, but Jaehaerys’ eyes never left his son. There was more at stake now than simply the survival of his line. This child, this boy, would shape the future of the Seven Kingdoms.
They had emerged from the darkest of trials—this was their triumph.
But the road ahead would be fraught with challenges of a different kind. A challenge not just of survival, but of legacy.