Since the King had forced their hands by scheduling the ceremonies for the same day, Aegon saw no reason to give Viserys any face—much less Rhaenyra.
"You intend to target Rhaenyra on that day?" Helaena asked, her voice tinged with surprise. "Won't that make the royal family a laughingstock in the eyes of the realm?"
A clash on a day meant for celebration was a social disaster, but Aegon's expression remained cold and indifferent.
"Does the royal family have any dignity left to lose?" he countered. "We have long been a joke. Seven hells, she gave birth to three bastards in a row and expects the realm to bow to the eldest one as the next occupant of the Iron Throne!"
He paced the room, his disdain palpable. "She wants to be Queen, yet she acts like a common whore. Three children with brown hair, brown eyes, and flat noses. Forget the Great Lords of the Seven Kingdoms—even the smallfolk in the gutters of Flea Bottom are laughing behind their hands!"
Helaena fell silent. She knew he was right. After the births of Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, the "Velaryon" claim was a transparent lie that everyone was forced to tell but no one believed. She couldn't fathom Rhaenyra's thought process. As a female heir already fighting an uphill battle against tradition, why would she provide her enemies with such perfect ammunition?
"I don't care what goes on in her head," Aegon continued. "Her choices only make me look better. There's an old saying: you don't have to be perfect; you just need your rivals to be incompetent. Rhaenyra is making excellence look easy for me."
Despite his mockery, Aegon remained wary. Rhaenyra's Black Party held the most dangerous assets in the world: adult dragons.
Princess Rhaenys rode Meleys, the 'Red Queen,' the fastest dragon in history. Even against the monstrous Vhagar, Meleys stood a fighting chance. Then there was Daemon's Caraxes, the 'Blood Wyrm'—smaller than Vhagar, but a battle-hardened, terrifying predator. And waiting on Dragonstone were the riderless giants: Vermithor and Silverwing.
Aegon knew the history. In the world he remembered, Rhaenyra would eventually initiate the 'Sowing of the Seeds' to find riders for these beasts. He had already secured Hugh Hammer, who in another life had claimed Vermithor. He had even considered the drunkard Ulf, the future rider of Silverwing, but decided to leave him be. Ulf was a greedy, unreliable gambler; if Rhaenyra recruited him, she was merely inviting a liability into her ranks.
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. Helaena scrambled out of Aegon's lap as he called out, "Come in."
Ser Arryk entered, accompanied by a surprising guest: Ser Loren Lannister.
"Loren?" Aegon raised an eyebrow. "Back so soon?"
"Ser Hugh is... quite attentive to the Lannister Fleet," Loren reported, giving a half-amused thumbs-up. "Merchant ships don't even dare dock at Tyrosh anymore. Any unfamiliar sail near the coast is hunted down by that mud-brown dragon before they can even signal the shore."
Hugh had been using his escort duty as an excuse to conduct near-constant airstrikes on Tyrosh, teaching the Triarchy that their scorpions were mere toys against an eighty-year-old dragon.
"Are you complaining that Aemond was too lazy during his shift?" Aegon teased.
"Not at all, Sire. I just think Ser Hugh is perhaps too diligent. The Tyroshi must be praying for a storm just to get a moment's peace."
Aegon laughed. He had sent Hugh to the Stepstones specifically to master dragon-riding, and the blacksmith was proving to be a natural—and bloodthirsty—prodigy.
Turning to Arryk, Aegon noticed the dark circles under the knight's eyes. "And you? Why are you away from the East District?"
"Your Highness, more news from the dig," Arryk said, his voice rising with excitement. "We've found a second skeleton. There are two of them buried down there!"
Aegon's eyes lit up. "By the Gods. How large is the second one?"
"Similar to the first," Arryk said, though his expression clouded. "But it's... shattered. It looks like something crushed every bone in its body, despite its size."
Arryk looked puzzled. What could possibly break a hundred-meter-long dragon like a dry twig?
"Don't lose sleep over it," Aegon remarked casually. "It was the seawater."
"Seawater?" Loren and Arryk exchanged a look of disbelief.
"Think of the legends," Aegon explained. "Twelve thousand years ago, the First Men crossed the Arm of Dorne. The tales say the Greeseers of the Children of the Forest called down a Great Magic—the Hammer of the Waters. It shattered the land, turned the Arm into the Stepstones, and caused the sea to rise with the force of a falling mountain. If a dragon was caught in that surge, even a giant would be crushed against the cliffs."
Arryk blinked. "But Sire... Dragons only appeared five thousand years ago with the rise of Valyria."
Aegon shrugged, unbothered. "It's just speculation. Perhaps dragons are older than the Valyrians think. Perhaps they found them in the Fourteen Flames, but didn't create them. We will never know the truth of twelve thousand years ago; we can only make bold guesses."
He looked toward the window. The past was buried in the mud, but the future was his to forge. Two giant skeletons meant enough dragonbone to arm a legion.
"Get back to the pits," Aegon commanded. "I want those bones out of the earth before my sister arrives. I want her to see exactly what kind of power we are digging up."
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