Aegon sat silently on the rough wooden chair, his fingertips idly stroking the hilt of the sword laid across his knees.
The oil lamp flickered on the wooden table, casting shifting light and shadow over his sharply defined face. Deep within his violet eyes, currents seemed to surge beneath a layer of ice.
He weighed the advantages and risks rapidly in his mind, like two armies facing off.
If Governor Antaryon of Lys and the other nobles had simply minded their own city-state, leaving him, Aegon Targaryen, alone...
He might have watched coldly from the sidelines as Hayne and Rogare waded through the murky waters of restoration, then sailed away to build his own power once he had obtained the armor.
But instead, they had chosen to collude with Blackfyre.
That impostor who bore his name, that puppet painstakingly crafted by Illyrio and Varys.
He would soon arrive in Lys with the Golden Company at his back, accept the title of "Prince of Lys," and turn this wealthy city-state into a springboard for an invasion of Westeros.
There would be trouble either way.
Wait for the false Aegon to grow powerful? No, that would be digging my own grave.
Aegon understood better than anyone that in this game of power, strength was the only truth.
Once the impostor consolidated the strength of Lys, the military might of the Golden Company, and the wealth of Pentos, the name Aegon Targaryen would become firmly and entirely his.
Then, even if Aegon revealed his true identity, who would believe a dead man in the face of overwhelming power?
Who would choose an isolated, powerless true dragon and betray a "true dragon" who seemed better able to serve their interests?
With enough power, even a falsehood would become "truth" in the eyes of the