Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast…
Months had passed since the crown's journey to Dragonstone concluded. But with the arrival of the Summer Festival, things in King's Landing were expected to become livelier. Entertainment, drink, food, guests from across the Crownlands and nearby lords and knights began to make the venture to the capital city for the celebration. Maids and servants lit candles within the lanterns, scattering to carry them to nearby windows and balconies.
Viserys spent time in his room making and adding to his model of Old Valyria, sculpting each piece, and creating specific Valyrian carvings into the model. Nearby, a weary Beatrice bounced a crying Helaena on her lap. No matter how hard she tried to quiet her daughter, the princess continued her ceaseless wailing.
"Viserys," Beatrice called out, "can you please give me a hand? Helaena won't stop crying."
The king did not answer but continued working on his model. Moving a scalpel left, the tip of the blade curved downward very slowly. Viserys wanted to get the exact details as accurately as possible.
"Viserys?"
Again, the king did not answer.
"Viserys!"
Finally, after another shout, Viserys got distracted, causing the model tower to receive a deep gash in the corner. To his significant irritation, the king finally broke from his concentration and looked at his second wife. "What?" he replied visibly annoyed.
Beatrice, now living a dreary married life, looked at him with contempt. "I'm very tired. Her crying will not cease. Can you at least stop with your model and assist me with calming our daughter down?" she again insisted.
Viserys turned to the maids. "Have my daughter brought to her cradle, and tend to her needs," he instructed. Firmly. The recent visit to Dragonstone hadn't yielded any results with his estranged heir, much to his disappointment. Once the servants were out of sight with a still crying Helaena, the king redirected his attention to Beatrice. "Why do you persist on the matter when there is… practically almost nothing left for us to discuss?" he asked. "I made a fool out of myself based on the reports you gave me, only to find out later they were devious, fabricated lies that drove us further apart."
"You know I've held my tongue on the matter, and I feel for you on the deterioration you have with your son, but continuing to hold that over my head is not only an insult but also a cruel one," Beatrice knew what the king was talking about. I need a good excuse to deflect the blame and shift it toward someone else. "Yes, I do regret not having them checked, yet if anything the messenger should not have been such an illiterate ingrate who couldn't even tell the difference between truth and a fantasy."
"And what exactly are you implying?"
"You know what I'm implying."
Viserys banged the table. "Regardless of who's to blame here, the consequences of an allegation like that would be direr than you'd imagine," he said. He rose from his seat. "Do you wish to have your blood on the Iron Throne so badly that you are willing to destroy mine own?"
Beatrice frowned. "Are you accusing me, Viserys?" she replied.
"No, I'm merely commanding you to never do that again. Aeonar is my son, my first son, and my heir since I named him when he was merely 10 years old. So do not speak of this again."
Beatrice suspected that Viserys appeared to indicate that the fiasco that led to the estrangement between the king and prince was somehow her own doing, but there was no proof of anything to back it up. Her benefactor worked wonders to pull the queen out of trouble and shift the blame onto someone else – a rapist, murderer, and traitor to the crown. When the king was given this report, Viserys immediately had all three men's tongues ripped out. For now, Beatrice remained in the clear, but she would have to work harder to cover her tracks.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," a servant approached. "Your son and his family have arrived."
Viserys's face lit up. "Huh? Oh, yes, yes, please send them in," he beckoned. The king's thoughts turned to his son, his daughter-in-law, and his grandson coming to see him. He knew the Summer Festival presented an excellent opportunity for him to mend the bridges and spend more time with little Jaehaerys. When they soon arrived, Viserys was in for a great surprise.
"Gampa! Gampa!" Jaehaerys hugged his grandfather's leg.
"Good evening, Your Grace," Alicent curtsied. She donned her long brown hair in a ponytail and wore an elegant light blue dress with golden linens across her upper torso and along her waist. Aeonar, meanwhile, donned a black Targaryen leather coat with crimson linen embroidered along his sleeves and collar.
However, that is not what caught the king's attention. In his daughter-in-law's arms, there was a baby, estimated to be at least two months old. But in his son's arms was another. Viserys glanced from Alicent to Aeonar, then back again, then again, back, forth, but it finally dawned on him that his new grandchildren… were twins. Twins! The king rubbed his eyes to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, yet the babies were still there! Pale silver hair, dark purple eyes, and rosy cheeks. One was small but robust, whereas the other was smaller and less robust. "A… Are… Are they…?" he was speechless, mouth agape with surprise.
"Twins, yes. Identical," Aeonar confirmed.
"Congratulations," Beatrice, adopting the stature of a doting stepmother, glanced at the couple as if unconcerned. "Do the babies have names yet?" she inquired.
Alicent smiled warmly. "Your Grace, this is Aegon," she turned to the child in her right arm. "And this," she turned to Aeonar holding the other child in his left, "is Viserys."
Viserys, upon hearing one of his grandsons had been named after him, was overjoyed. He then shuffled over to gaze fondly at his twin grandsons. "Aegon, Viserys… oooh," he brushed his hands against their cheeks fondly. "Now those are names fit for a king," he said jovially.
Beatrice grew wroth upon knowing one of the twin boys had named Aegon. Putting two and two together, the queen determined that it was Alicent who named one of the twins Viserys while Aeonar gave his brother the Conqueror's name himself, believing it to be a slight against her own firstborn, who had also been named Aegon. How dare you! Only my son is worthy to bear the Conqueror's name and legacy. This insult will not stand!
Aeonar said nothing but stared at his stepmother with contempt. You were right, Alicent. These malcontents have been running rampant throughout King's Landing unchecked. He knew she was internally fuming right now, which brought a small smirk to his face. Well, that is no longer an option.
"Was the labor easy?" Viserys asked.
Alicent shuddered. "I… never thought I'd give birth to twins, Your Grace," she admitted. "But I was told to take a rest for a while. It was... more exhausting than I thought. And painful. I apologize for not sending word sooner. But if I were well enough at the time―"
"Oh no, no, no. It is all right. Your safety and that of your children at the utmost priority. I know from experience. But glad that you may still come and bring my grandchildren. I trust dragon eggs were selected and placed in their cradles?"
Aeonar snapped his fingers and two Dragonkeepers brought in two heavy braziers. When they opened the lids, hot steam hissed before revealing the eggs resting on the burning coals. They were large with tiny scales, shimmering like polished metal in the sunlight. One dragon egg's outer shell was pale cream streaked with gold and bronze; the other was cobalt with cyan flecks and purple whorls. Once they were shown on display, the lids on the braziers were placed back over them to keep the temperature stable.
"Ah, yes. Marvelous," Viserys examined the eggs. "Well, now that you're all here, why don't we show you to your quarters? You must be tired from your long journey."
"Thank you, Your Gra– ah, I mean, father-in-law," Alicent corrected herself.
"Now that's better." The king turned to his son. "Coming Aeonar?" he asked.
Aeonar's eyes turned to his father. "No, not yet. I have some unfinished business in the capital I need to take care of," he replied. He then turned to Alicent. "You and our boys get tucked in. I'll catch up with you before supper tonight."
"Are you sure?" Alicent inquired.
"Yes, I'm sure. We will celebrate the Summer Festival together. Besides, you've shouldered the most burden with caring for three toddlers."
Knowing that his mind was already made up, Alicent and her sons accompanied Viserys out of the room to settle in one of their guest rooms. For Alicent, it felt good to be back home with the people she grew up with. But for Aeonar, the Red Keep felt close yet so far at the same time. It was not the same place he remembered. Wherever he went, whatever corner he turned, the Red Keep wreaked of scheming, treacherous, self-serving sycophants. Things changed yet stayed the same. And for the first time in a long time, Aeonar felt the nerves in his head twitching and tugging at him again. Without flinching, the prince remembered this was a warning, a sign of imminent danger, but kept his composure… now that he was face-to-face with Queen Beatrice Peake, his stepmother.
"What do you think you're doing here?" Beatrice inquired. "What is it you hope to accomplish, naming a child the same as mine?"
"I could ask you the same thing. And last time I checked, I do not recall ever asking for your approval when it comes to naming my sons," Aeonar retorted.
"Such a rude boy, aren't you? Forgotten your manners already? You will address me as 'Your Grace', or my lord husband will have to be informed."
"One, respect is not automatic. It must be earned based on the individual's performance. So far, you are off to an extremely poor start. Secondly, you already landed yourself in hot water whether you admit it or not. That little… fiasco with the High Septon? The Starry Sept? You weren't clever enough to do the deed yourself, but you were smart enough to bring in someone who would."
"I suggest you withdraw such vile accusations."
"Huh. A typical emotional defensive mechanism. A good spymaster would notice a suspect's change in body language, tone of voice, the look in their eyes, their motives…" Aeonar eyed Beatrice up and down, circling her like a shark drawn in by the smell of blood. "As I said, your work was sloppy, brazen even. But I am sure you remember that much. I only hope the next time you pull a stunt like that again you'll be a little less obvious."
Beatrice bit her tongue. "For your father's sake, I will pretend I didn't hear that," she grumbled.
"'For his sake'? How touching. I did not know you cared for my father that much. But then again, it doesn't take much to tell the difference between genuine affection… and being manipulative unless you're a lackwit. A simple tug can ruin the whole tapestry."
"You can't change him. You can't help him."
"Oh, I know him better than you. He might occasionally reconsider his decisions, but if it's important, he won't change his mind. So, if your endgame is to replace me as my father's heir with your spawn, then I'm afraid you're sadly mistaken, Beatrice." Aeonar towered over her. "I'm not going anywhere. Remember, you're merely a guest in someone else's home."
"Yet who's the one who chose to run away from home? I had done nothing. You made the conscious decision to leave King's Landing and settle on Dragonstone. But I suppose it makes sense. That little island is normally reserved for the heir apparent. Yet there have been rare occasions when one is… disinherited and passed over if a more suitable heir is found."
"And you think that replacement is your son?" Aeonar raised an eyebrow. "Our boys are the same age, but the time of conception was somehow off. They just did not match. If that were true, that would make your Aegon… a bastard. Am I correct?"
Beatrice felt insulted. "How dare you insolent little―" she angrily tried to argue.
Aeonar raised the tip of his finger under Beatrice's chin; each of the 'draconic' gauntlet's carbon steel blades was razor sharpened. The swift yet sudden touch of steel on flesh forced her to cease. "As I said," he calmly warned her, "you're merely a guest in someone else's home. The dragons rule this land. And I will be damned if I simply stand by and watch while an outsider threatens to ruin my great-grandfather's legacy. You'd do well to remember your place." Drawing back his hand, Aeonar turned to leave the room.
Beatrice, now allowed to breathe, raised her hand to brush her fingers under her chin. Smooth, yet the queen felt something warm. She pulled her hand away and saw a tiny red spot. Blood was drawn. Beatrice examined in the mirror, no scratch, but a small puncture in the skin. Know my place, huh? Well, House Peake does not bow to threats lightly, young one.
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Aeonar turned the halls until he reached his destination. His old room, though dusty, remained intact. Every document, every carving of Old Valyria's towers, books, everything he had in his possession was where he left them. The combination locks he kept on his old desk looked as if they were tampered with but remained. No doubt someone tried to uncover his secrets yet proved unsuccessful. His tenure as Master of Whisperers ensured that all his secrets were kept away from prying eyes.
"His Grace worked tirelessly to make sure everything in here was right where you left it," Gwayne approached. "If he's not busy ruling the Seven Kingdoms or in his room sculpting more of his models, he'd keep your room tidy."
Aeonar looked over his shoulder. "Gwayne," he answered.
"Still remember me, eh? Well, someone had to stay connected with us considering everything that has happened. Keep us in the loop." The second son of Otto Hightower, Gwayne was accepted into the City Watch under Ser Harwin Strong's leadership. Due to his father's role as Hand of the King, he eventually was promoted to the rank of lieutenant. "What do you think?" he showed the Watch's rank insignia on his shoulder plate. "Pretty cool, huh?"
"Congratulations on your promotion, lieutenant."
"Seven hells, time has changed you."
"Sorry if I sound less than enthusiastic, Gwayne. But the past three years have been... not kind at all."
"I hear you. Things have changed since you left. Alicent kept father and I informed on your status, but there has been suspicious gossip being spread among the recruits in the barracks. Says the queen's been replacing some of the men with members of Starkpike's garrison. Or were they from Dustonbury? Whitegrove? Honestly, I can't recall how many castles the Peakes own, but anyway, I know the rumors didn't sound reassuring."
Aeonar raised an eyebrow. An interesting observation. "What did they say?" he inquired.
Gwayne steadied himself. "I heard from my father and Lord Strong that the crime rate, though steadily maintained, saw a sudden 15% increase instead of a stable rate of 3%. Officers who made petitions to the crown had their gold cloaks removed, and the men who took their places were an incompetent bunch. Hired lackeys who kowtowed to whoever pays them the most coin from the treasury. Commander Harwin's been growing increasingly frustrated at his progress being hindered at every turn on top of being blindsided out of nowhere. Some say he might even be targeted next." He leaned closer to whisper. "I think the queen has something to do with it, but I have no proof. We've no Master of Whisperers, and our Master of Laws is being left unable to deal with the response."
"And you want my help to uncover the source."
"Yes, as a favor to the City Watch. You do that and the gold cloaks will repay whatever debt they owe."
Aeonar weighed his options. Gwayne was his wife's brother and a gold cloak answerable to his right-hand man, Ser Harwin 'Breakbones' Strong, son of Lord Lyonel Strong and commander of the City Watch. He had received reports from some of his contacts in King's Landing that Queen Beatrice's followers had set up residency in the city, doing whatever they wanted whenever they so pleased without regard for the smallfolk's protests. The City Watch was meant to enforce the king's laws and promote law and order, not bend or break them because it suits them. Without proper intervention, King's Landing would tear itself apart and descend into anarchy. Maybe it sounds dramatic, but time was not of the essence where even the most diligent individual could afford to waste it. "I'll do some digging around," he agreed. "Until then, keep your eyes peeled for any further activity and report your findings to me."
Gwayne exhaled. "Finally! Something is going to be done about this," he shook his head. "I'm going to see Alicent before I return to the barracks. I heard she's got a pair of twins. And I'd like to get a good look at them too."
"I'm sure you would."
As Gwayne turned to leave, the Hightower youth stopped to face his brother-in-law. "I meant what I said earlier. It is good to have you back, Prince Aeonar," he said with relief. "The place simply wasn't the same without you. Keep taking good care of my sister." With that, the knight left the prince alone.
Aeonar, now in solitude, directed his gaze to his desk and held the lock. The encryptions were garbled in the Common Tongue, High and Low Valyrian, Old Ghiscari, and Yi Tish. No matter how capable a spy is, hardly anyone in the Red Keep could decipher the security code the Young Dragon left as a safeguard against those who sought to uncover his deepest, darkest secrets. It would pose a national security risk if his intelligence reports were to fall into the wrong hands. Rolling the numbers and letters, he heard the mechanical gears in the locks crack open. Reaching into the drawers of his desk, he pulled out a series of detailed maps, X-marked locations, and a list of names. His eyes tracing each one, he soon raised his head to notice three Lykirī Mēre acolytes crouched by the window.
"Ti nakun yôr talabat, mou amir? (What are your orders, my prince?)" one asked in Old Ghiscari.
The Young Dragon looked at them all. "Steílete kalima pros malikna adelfoí. (Send word to our brethren.)" He replied. "Al kynígi ladayah árchise. (The hunt has begun.)"
King's Landing ― Street of Silk…
"And you're sure this is all you have?" a street urchin insisted.
"I swear. That is all I know," protested an elderly street vendor.
"For your sake, I hope so." The man's misaligned, yellow-stained teeth curled. "By the Gods, the queen will reward me handsomely for these findings." He turned on his tail and ran through the streets, knocking over old men, leaping over tables, and pushing aside anyone who got in his way.
"Stop! Thief!" a gold cloak spotted him.
The street urchin ran as fast as he could, his nimble feet providing him ample traction to outrun his pursuers. Glancing over his shoulder, he soon took shelter in a nearby alleyway. The gold cloaks chasing him stopped, looking left and right.
"Shit! Where'd he go?" one exclaimed in frustration.
"Keep searching!" the other replied.
The clanking footsteps soon disappeared in the distance. The street urchin then poked his head out of his hiding spot to be certain the coast was clear before proceeding. Once they were out of sight, he stepped out and turned in the opposite direction, acting as if nothing had happened. He looked back one last time, smirking. "Blood gold cloaks. They make it look all too easy―" He felt something sharp hit him. Turning back around, he saw a cloaked individual in a white hood before him. The street urchin could not see their faces as the hoods covered them. It was a Lykirī Mēre!
"Skoriot otāpā gaomi? (Where do you think you are going?)" they silently asked in a cold tone.
Before he could speak, the urchin began gargling up blood. His eyes lowered to see a hidden blade concealed in the hooded person's wrist piercing his chest. The urchin gargled once more, gripping the assassin's shoulder before slowly slumping to the ground.
"Nāqopsir. (Too easy.)" The Lykirī Mēre looked down and picked up whatever the street urchin was holding in his hands. Unveiling the letter, their eyes traced the words closely. "Sȳrī, sȳrī. Konir sȳz. (Well, well. That is interesting.)" They looked up at the Red Keep. "Dārilaros Aeonar ziksoso gūrēñis jāeltan nūmāzma ryptas. (Prince Aeonar will want to hear about this.)"