Chapter 141: Aegon Targaryen
"Your Majesty still has… room for improvement," Ian said reluctantly. "If we hope to shape him into a wise king, we have a great deal of work ahead of us." He shot a fearful glance at Illyrio and quickly added, "Of course, I am prepared to spend my entire life advising His Majesty."
"You need not be so nervous, Ian," Illyrio said, his tone reassuring. "His Majesty has lived under my roof for many years. I know him better than you do, and so I know you speak the truth." Illyrio repeated the phrase Ian had used for Viserys. "Aegon the Conqueror reincarnated… He will never be Aegon the Conqueror. You know that, don't you?"
"No," Ian retorted, the defiance in his voice unexpected. "He *will* be. When we restore the Targaryen dynasty, the histories will record him as the second Aegon the Conqueror—greater, even, than the first. For Aegon had three dragons, and Viserys began with nothing."
"And you believe it is possible? To restore the Targaryen dynasty under the leadership of Viserys?" Illyrio pressed.
Ian's face darkened as if the question had struck a raw nerve. He was speechless for a long moment.
Illyrio did not speak, merely watching Ian with a quiet, penetrating gaze.
Under that intense scrutiny, beads of cold sweat broke out on Ian's forehead. He began to fidget, his hands making small, restless movements on the table. He appeared irritable, agitated.
Finally, Ian set down his knife and fork with a clatter and met Illyrio's eyes.
"I fail to see the point of these questions," Ian said, his voice laced with impatience. "If it were possible, I would of course rather serve Prince Rhaegar. But we have only Viserys, do we not?" As he spoke, his agitation grew.
"I must be loyal to a king—either the Usurper or a Targaryen. The Usurper murdered my family. What choice do I have but to aid His Majesty Viserys in his restoration?"
Ian's voice rose, his feigned composure shattering completely. "Yes, that's right," he spat, leaning forward as if to say, *the game is over, here are my cards.* "I doubt His Majesty's ability. I doubt his character. Did you know, Magister Illyrio, that when I first met him, he was digging his nails into the princess's arm?
"And just last night, he tried to beat his defenseless sister—a girl who had no intention of resisting him—simply because he was angry. What kind of king does such a thing?
"My knowledge is limited, but I can think of only one other man who behaved that way." Ian paused for effect. "Aerys the Second. The Mad King. And he just so happens to be His Majesty's father.
"Of course I know Viserys cannot become Aegon the Conqueror! I spent all last night praying he does not become the second Mad King! But there is no choice, is there? I want to take back Castle Darry. I want to revive my house. And as we all know, the plowman of Darry can only rise again under the banner of the red dragon! Viserys is the last true dragon! He—"
"He's not," Illyrio said softly, cutting through Ian's snarling tirade.
The word hung in the air. "He is my only…" Ian trailed off, his rant cut short. "I did not hear you clearly. What did you just say?"
"Prince Rhaegar's son is still alive," Illyrio repeated.
*Crack!* Ian's hands slapped the table as he shot to his feet.
"Aegon," Illyrio continued, his voice calm. "His name is also Aegon. Aegon Targaryen, the only son of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia Martell."
"A lie!" Ian said, his voice raw. "Prince Aegon was brutally murdered in his nursery by Gregor Clegane during the war. My father told me the story a hundred times. He warned us never to forget that hatred!"
"The child killed by the Lannister dog was a common peasant's babe. The real Prince Aegon was hidden away beforehand by a loyal servant of the crown. I am sorry, but I cannot yet tell you his name."
*Sorry, but I already know it,* Ian thought. *Varys.*
"Prince Aegon was then sent here, to Essos, to be raised by men as loyal to the cause as you."
"How is he?" Ian demanded, unable to contain himself. He seemed to realize his impropriety and turned his face away, but the furtive glances he kept stealing at Illyrio betrayed his desperate hope for an answer.
"They say he is the very image of Prince Rhaegar. As handsome, as kind, as skilled with a sword. I believe that in many respects, he is even his father's superior. In matters of duty, for example, he is not nearly so… willful. He will be a perfect monarch."
*Willful is one word for it,* Ian thought with a flash of scorn. *The man had a wife and children, yet he ran off with the daughter of one great lord and the betrothed of another. Rhaegar's contribution to the fall of his dynasty was no less than his mad father's.*
But outwardly, Ian's eyes shone with a brilliant, dawning excitement. A smile touched his lips against his will.
"Seven Gods be praised," he murmured, then seemed to catch himself, his expression hardening as he tried to cover his gaffe.
"But what can this change? Prince Rhaegar never proclaimed himself king. As the Mad King's son, Viserys comes before Prince Aegon in the line of succession! Viserys is our legitimate king."
Illyrio smiled, pleased. He had seen Ian's true reaction.
Ian was asking, *What does this change?* which was another way of saying, *How can it be done?* And one only asks how to do something when one believes it *must* be done. Though his words still paid lip service to Viserys, the detail revealed that his heart had already declared for Aegon Targaryen. He was already plotting how to place the sixth of his name on the throne.
Of course, Illyrio did not know that every detail of Ian's performance—from the nervous sweat to the final, desperate loyalty—had been rehearsed countless times. He had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.
"Do you care for the so-called law?" Illyrio asked slowly.
"I, personally? No. But the law is the law. A nephew cannot be king before his uncle. It has been the rule since ancient times." Ian's voice lacked conviction.
"But does the law also state," Illyrio continued, slowly lifting a glass of red wine, "that you can become the new king by murdering the previous king's eldest son, and then pardoning the kingslayer and the villains who helped eradicate his line?"
"What are you suggesting? That is absurd," Ian said, feigning confusion.
"You have no such provision in the laws of Westeros?"
"Absolutely not, Magister."
"Then why," Illyrio asked, taking a sip of wine, "is Robert Baratheon sitting on that iron chair?"
Ian's mouth fell open. He stared at Illyrio with an expression of shattered certainty, and then his eyes began to glow, as if a veil had been lifted, revealing an entirely new world of possibility.
"So," Illyrio said softly. "Your final choice? Viserys… or Aegon?"
"Your choice is my choice, Magister," Ian said without a moment's hesitation. "Without you, we can do nothing."
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