After his coronation, Maegor wasted no time in issuing a royal decree: all lords were to put down the rebellions in their own lands before coming to the capital to pay homage and swear fealty.
The thirty-seventh year of the Conquest would be remembered across Westeros as a year of turmoil and chaos. The vast realm of the Targaryen dynasty was wreathed in smoke and fire.
Newly crowned, Maegor mounted Cannibal and personally led his host across the kingdom to crush the uprisings.
In the Vale, Lord Allard Royce of Runestone rallied more than forty loyal vassals and marched on the Eyrie, swiftly defeating the usurper who had crowned himself King of Mountain and Vale. But when the victors demanded that their rightful liege be freed, Janos Arryn's answer was to throw his own elder brother out the Moon Door.
Thus perished Ronnel Arryn, the duke who had once flown thrice around the Giant's Lance on dragonback.
The Eyrie, by ordinary means, was unassailable, so "King" Janos and his cronies dared to hold out, hurling mockery at the loyalists below. That was until King Maegor appeared in the skies astride Cannibal—the Conqueror's second son and the dread dragon of House Targaryen returning once more to the Eyrie.
The garrison, unwilling to be bathed in Cannibal's dragonfire, seized their "king" on the spot, flung open the Moon Door, and cast him down to Lord Royce. The kinslayer met the same fate he had given his brother.
His followers, though spared the flames by turning their cloaks, still faced death.
At the Eyrie, Maegor decreed that no traitor would be spared, and that betrayal did not merit the honor of a clean beheading—every last one would hang, highborn or low. The captured knights were stripped bare, legs kicking helplessly as they were slowly strangled on the castle walls.
With Lord Ronnel Arryn dead and without issue, Queen Sharra and King Maegor together chose a healthy boy from among the sons she had borne the Conqueror, Aegon, to be adopted into House Arryn and inherit the title of Lord of the Vale.
Hubert Arryn, cousin to the late brothers, fiercely opposed the decision.
He was beheaded in the great hall of the Eyrie by Maegor's command.
Thus, the survival of House Arryn was secured—brutally, but decisively—by King Maegor's hand. With the Vale subdued through iron and fire, Maegor cemented a close alliance with Queen Sharra, the Conqueror's former lover, winning the Vale's support.
But as the saying goes, misfortune rarely comes alone.
While Maegor was away quelling the Vale's rebellion, Queen Rhaenys—Mother of the savior Aenys and wife to the Regalus and Pope—summoned all the bishops of the Faith of the Seven to King's Landing.
Within the Sept of the Seven, she called for a vote to make herself the next Pope.
By reopening the Devouts' Council, Rhaenys won the favor of every bishop in the realm, and with unanimous approval was crowned in the Sept as the Faith's first female High Septon.
When word reached Maegor in the Eyrie, his anger was white-hot. He had left King's Landing for the safety of the realm, only for his aunt to seize the moment for her own gain.
Returning to the capital, he was met with even worse news.
The Regalus' eldest grandson, Prince Aegon, and his eldest granddaughter, Princess Rhaenys, had robbed the Targaryen vault. Rhaenys had used her bond with Dreamshade—the vault's guardian and the offspring of her own dragon, Dreamfyre—to lure the beast away from the Dragonpit.
Then Aegon, with Quicksilver's talons, tore open the gates of the vault and emptied it of every last seed of life.
On hearing this, Queen Visenya set out at once in pursuit of the prince and princess, and had yet to return to the capital.
Reeling from this cascade of disasters, Maegor could only curse inwardly. To his mind, every kinsman of Aunt Rhaenys' line was as ruthless as the next—and nearly all had driven a dagger into his back.
...
Aegon watched the mounting crises Maegor faced and couldn't help but feel a knot of worry tighten in his chest.
With the separation of crown and faith, Maegor had lost any claim to the throne of the Regalus. And now, in the midst of the realm's chaos, his two grandchildren had stolen the Seeds of Life.
Aegon knew all too well the terrifying potential of those seeds—mishandled, they could spell doom for all humanity in Westeros. Back on the Valyrian Peninsula, he had accidentally created the Seeds of Life while performing Blood Sorcery. At the time, fearing the negative effects of the [Life Code] that afflicted Tiamat, he hadn't dared touch something capable of shattering the limits of any species.
Now, he knew he could no longer stand aside.
He opened the system's item panel and selected [Heroic Item: Living Saint].
[Function: You may reincarnate within your own bloodline. The extent of memories retained after rebirth depends on the amount of Destiny invested. Usable only by Guardian Spirits.]
[Note: Through the endless years, you will forever shine in the flow of time!]
Aegon poured in every last point of Destiny to preserve as many memories as possible, then activated the Living Saint.
Instantly, his soul was enveloped in white light. It flickered several times before vanishing entirely from the Emerald Dream.
...
Year 48 of the Conquest.
Morning in King's Landing was cool and refreshing, dew clinging to every branch. The sky was a flawless blue, cloudless, and hung low like a pale-gray veil.
Aegon stood with his eyes closed, head tilted back, letting the memories of his childhood settle into place. Now and then, cold flecks brushed his cheeks. Large, diamond-like dewdrops quivered on the leaves of potted trees, scattering rainbows in the light.
He exhaled deeply, a quiet sigh in his heart.
"I never imagined I'd become my own son's son."
The sharp chill of the Long Winter lingered in the air. Then a rich scent of cream and fruit drifted toward him.
"Your Highness, the king has sent you a plate of cream salad," came the sweet, girlish voice of Little Luna, his personal maid.
Aegon turned his head and opened his eyes.
Little Luna, only twelve, was petite and clad in a green cotton dress. She held the plate of cream-tossed fruit salad with steady hands, though her gaze had already gone soft. The amber brilliance of Aegon's eyes had caught her again—just as it always did.
No matter how many times she saw him, those jewel-like golden irises drew her in. Unlike King Maegor's bestial golden eyes, Aegon's were round, human pupils, with fine golden threads radiating outward, shimmering like tiny sparks of light.
Aegon picked up a piece of fruit and tasted it. The tartness, mellowed by the cream, was perfectly balanced.
"The Long Winter is here, Your Highness. Please take care not to catch a chill."
Little Anna set the fruit plate gently on the stone table in the pavilion, then stepped forward to drape a thin fur shawl over his shoulders.
"My constitution isn't troubled by a bit of frost," Aegon replied, though he accepted the shawl anyway. His body was as strong as steel.
He opened his system status panel, scanning the readout:
[Aegon Targaryen:
Base Attributes (Growing): Politics…; Mental Power: 89; Vitality: 90/99; Magic: 199.
Talents: [S-Rank – Outerworld Chip], [True Dragonblood – Dragonlord], [C-Rank – Apocalypse Dreamtrace], [C-Rank – Dragon Demon (Unawakened)].
Skills: …
Destiny Points: 0.
Items: …]
At just ten years old, his vitality had already reached 90—a crushing force that surpassed 99.999% of humankind. Even Maegor, famed as a born warrior in his youth, could not compare.
The cause lay in the mysterious [C-Rank – Dragon Demon (Unawakened)].
Born as Maegor's son in this life, Aegon—perhaps frail at birth or for some other reason—had been implanted with a Seed of Life by Queen Visenya while still an infant. But unlike his previous life, he felt no seed beating in his heart.
Instead, the source of the demonic energy lay in his eyes, constantly radiating power that reforged and strengthened his body. Perhaps because of this, he still retained a human sense of taste despite possessing the Dragon Demon talent.
It astonished him that in just ten years, the Targaryens' mastery over the Seeds of Life had advanced so far. He was certain it traced back to the theft committed in his previous life by his great-grandson Aegon and great-granddaughter Rhaena.
After all, in this life, his mother was Rhaena herself.
He suspected that after stealing the Seeds, the two had been intercepted by Queen Visenya, leading to Rhaena's capture—and, for reasons unknown, her forced marriage to her uncle Maegor.
Brushing his bangs aside, Aegon revealed the pair of black dragon horns on his brow.
From birth, he had been something unique—almost monstrous—long horns atop his head, a few dragon scales across his back. Yet he bore the same otherworldly beauty that ran through House Targaryen's line.
At 1.6 meters tall, his form was sleek, powerful, and handsome to the point of perfection. Large golden eyes shone like stars, and his skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, like fine mutton-fat jade. His delicate, doll-like features and shoulder-length platinum hair lent him a gentle, refined air, even as his physique rivaled that of a warlord.
His appearance now reminded him of a popular anime figure from his previous life—Nezha.
Because of his unusual features, the servants of the Red Keep addressed him with respect as the Dragon Prince.
At that moment, a maid came hurrying from the direction of Maegor's Holdfast—one of Queen Rhaena's own attendants.
"Prince, the Queen says it's time for you to return to your chambers for breakfast," the maid said with a respectful curtsey.
Aegon gave a small nod and walked with his young maid Anna toward the carriage waiting outside.
His mother, Queen Rhaena, now lived in the Visenya Palace.
Once Aegon climbed in, the coachman snapped the reins, and the carriage sped off toward the palace.
The wheels clattered over the cobblestones, and before long they rolled into the square before Visenya Palace.
The massive iron sword seat—once a gift from the Conqueror Aegon when Maegor was born—was no longer there. After Maegor's coronation, he had Cannibal haul the heavy seat to the outer hall of Aegon's High Keep, making it the symbol of Targaryen royal power. From that day forward, with Maegor on the throne, the name "Iron Throne" spread fear across the known world.
In a side hall by the palace, Queen Rhaena was waiting quietly when she saw Aegon step down from the carriage.
"Little Aegon," she chided, "I told you not to run about. You're still too young."
As she spoke, she picked up a towel and gently dabbed the dew from his shoulders.
"Don't call me Aegon. My cousin's the one they call Little Aegon. Mother… I'm nearly grown now. You don't need to spoil me so much," he replied with a grin.
But Rhaena only swapped the towel for a fresh one and began washing his face, cutting him off before he could say more.
"You're still just a boy," she teased, "pretending to be a man in front of me."
Rhaena was only twenty-nine, but perhaps the years after being forced to wed her uncle Maegor I had left her looking a touch worn. Compared to Maegor's former wife, Lady Ceryse, she was far more fertile.
She had borne Maegor three children: Aegon, Aerea, and Rhaella.
Yet whispers swirled through the realm—rumors that she often rode Dreamfyre to Harrenhal under the cover of night to meet with Aegon, Aenys's eldest son. Many claimed that, aside from the Dragon Prince, her other two children were his. The gossip pointed to the fact that only the Dragon Prince bore draconic traits, while his sisters looked like ordinary Targaryens.
Everyone knew Maegor had sired many bastards—twisted dragon-born infants with scales and horns, none of whom survived past infancy. Only the Dragon Prince had been born with golden eyes and grown up strong.
"I just woke up early and went to Maegor's Pavilion to watch the sunrise," Aegon said, his golden eyes curving into crescent moons.
Rhaena's amethyst eyes softened. Her long silver hair fell loosely over her shoulders, bound midway by a golden ribbon. She wore a white silk gown embroidered with soft pink flowers, the white and pink blending to lend her an air of quiet elegance. The hem fell just so, covering her ankles.
She smiled warmly and gave her son's nose a playful flick.
"Big brother! Big brother, hold me!"
The joyful cries rang from the side hall—his little sisters.
Two girls came skipping out, one leaping at him from the front, the other from the side, clinging to him like a pair of koalas.
Aegon's solid frame didn't budge under their combined weight.
"Big brother, I want to ride the big horse!" Rhaella squealed, clinging to his neck.
"I'm first! I'm riding first!" Aerea shot back, scrambling for position.
Both tried to climb onto his shoulders at once.
They had just turned six—the age of boundless energy and endless squabbles. As twins, they were near mirror images: silver hair, purple eyes, plump rosy cheeks.
Hands on her hips, Queen Rhaena sighed at the sight of them hanging off Aegon. "You shouldn't indulge them like this. What will you do when they're older and still this wild?"
Aegon only grinned and, without effort, gripped each girl by the waist.
In one smooth motion, he set them both on his shoulders and held them steady with his arms to keep them from slipping.
"Let's go!" he laughed, jogging toward the dining table in the side hall.
The little princesses shrieked with delight, waving their arms.
Rhaella clutched his dragon horns like reins. "Yah! Faster, big brother!"
Not to be outdone, Aerea waved from the other side.
"Alright, hold on tight!" he called, picking up the pace and charging inside.
Behind them, Rhaena followed, torn between laughter and exasperation. "You three, be careful! Don't fall!"
Aegon reached the table and gently set his sisters down in their chairs before taking his own seat.
"Mother, you don't need to worry. I've got them."
She walked over and tapped him lightly on the forehead. "Always spoiling them, aren't you?"
Then she turned to her daughters, putting on a mock frown. "You two little rascals—no more of that next time, understand?"
The twins glanced at each other, stuck out their tongues, and chorused, "Yes, Mother."
...
[Upto 20 chapters ahead for now]
[email protected]/BlurryDream