Aegon Targaryen-or rather, the being who had just taken possession of this infant's body-
Felt himself enveloped in warm amniotic fluid, then squeezed and shoved by a force until he finally burst into a world filled with light, sound, and cold air.
Suffocation.
Then came the first expansion of an infant's lungs. Air rushed through his throat, producing a cry that sounded unfamiliar even to him.
A jumble of sensations flooded his still-underdeveloped brain: blurred light and shadows, pungent smells, a woman's exhausted face, and a certain...
Indescribable sense of connection, as though an invisible thread stretched out from within him toward something vast and ancient.
Transmigration.
The word surfaced in the depths of his consciousness, carrying an absurd weight.
One second, he had been in his own world, watching House of the Dragon, lamenting America's political correctness while sighing over House Targaryen's melodramatic fate in the Dance of the Dragons;
The next, he had become this infant, held upside down by a midwife who was slapping his bottom.
Alicent Hightower, Aegon II, the Greens-for some reason, those names came rushing straight into his mind.
Fate had played a cruel joke. He had become the tragic king who, in the original story, ended up paralyzed on one side, lost all his children, and was finally poisoned. The Dance of the Dragons, the dragons' civil war, House Targaryen's self-destruction-
None of it had happened yet, but it already hung over his head like the sword of Damocles.
Someone gently lifted him and wiped his body with warm water. Rough cloth rubbed against his skin, provoking an instinctive struggle.
He wanted to speak, but all that came out were incoherent baby noises.
His vision gradually cleared. He saw that the woman holding him was middle-aged, with a kindly face and deep wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
"The little prince is quite strong," the woman said softly, placing him in a cradle lined with soft silk.
An egg already lay in the cradle.
A Dragon Egg, golden all over and gleaming brightly.
Aegon's consciousness jolted. He already had a fair idea of what this was-
The "gift" Rhaenyra had personally recovered, a symbol, a declaration.
In the original story, this very egg had hatched into Sunfyre, his future dragon, an extension of his body in the latter half of his life, and both the companion and shackle that ultimately left him paralyzed. Of course, Rhaenyra, who had recovered the egg, had also ended up in that dragon's belly.
He reached out a tiny hand, his fingertips touching the shell.
Warmth.
Not merely physical heat, but a pulsing, living warmth.
The being beneath the shell seemed to sense him, and that feeling of connection abruptly intensified.
Aegon felt his consciousness travel along that invisible thread and touch the slumbering form within the egg-
Curled wings, unopened eyes, a heart beating slowly and powerfully.
[Stable host consciousness detected...]
A cold voice rang out deep within his mind, neither male nor female, utterly devoid of emotion.
[Binding bloodline system... binding progress: 1%... 3%...]
A system? Aegon's spirits lifted.
The standard transmigrator package? But the voice quickly grew indistinct, as though cut off by a thick curtain.
He concentrated, trying to "call" that voice, but received only silence. Only his connection to the Dragon Egg remained clear, like a second heart beating within his consciousness.
"Look, His Highness seems to like this Dragon Egg," a maid said with a smile in her voice.
Aegon withdrew his hand. Now was not the time to investigate these things. He struggled to turn his purple eyes and survey the room:
Tapestries hung on the stone walls, apparently depicting Aegon the Conqueror riding Balerion the Black Dread as he conquered the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros;
Flames roared in the fireplace, the logs still crackling;
Outside the window, the sky was already brightening, heralding the approach of dawn.
The door opened, and several people entered.
The man in front looked only forty-something, yet his hair had already turned gray, seemingly aged by constant toil. His face was stern, his gaze hawklike.
Otto Hightower.
Aegon immediately recognized the face, which bore some resemblance to its counterpart in the show-
The true power behind the Greens, the ambitious man who would thrust his own daughter and grandson into the furnace of power.
Otto approached the cradle and looked down. There was no warmth in those gray eyes, only appraisal and calculation. He reached out a finger and touched the infant's cheek, his movements as stiff as though he were inspecting merchandise.
"A healthy boy," Otto said quietly, almost to himself. "Silver hair, purple eyes. The Targaryen traits are quite pronounced. Good."
Then he turned toward the weakened Alicent by the bed:
"You have done well, daughter. The Seven have granted us a prince."
Alicent managed a faint smile, but conflicting emotions flickered in her eyes-pride, exhaustion, and a trace of fear that was difficult to detect.
Aegon understood that fear:
She, too, seemed to know what this son meant, what kind of maelstrom he would be drawn into.
"Where is His Grace?" Alicent asked softly.
"Still on his way back," Otto replied evenly. "With Princess Rhaenyra."
The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly. The maids exchanged glances, and the maester and midwife began gathering their instruments more quickly. Aegon felt a surge of absurdity-
He had only been born a few minutes ago, yet he had already become a weight on the scales of power.
Footsteps sounded again, more jumbled this time.
When Viserys I entered the birthing chamber, genuine joy filled his face.
The king had actually only just turned thirty that year. Though his face remained handsome and gentle, his body had already begun to grow stout. He wore a sumptuous purple robe and a simple gold crown.
Following behind him was a girl-ten-year-old Rhaenyra Targaryen, her long silver-gold hair woven into elaborate braids, her purple eyes bright and sharp.
"My queen!"
Viserys hurried to the bedside and took Alicent's hand. "The Seven be praised, mother and child are safe! Let me see our son!"
When the king lifted Aegon, the infant distinctly smelled the faint traces of wine and perfume on him.
Viserys's smile was warm, but a shadow lingered deep in his eyes-
He, too, seemed worried that this son would upset the balance he had so painstakingly maintained.
Yet those worries were swept away by the joy of having a son.
"He is beautiful, Alicent, just as beautiful as you." The king turned toward Rhaenyra beside him. "Come, Rhaenyra, look at your little brother."
Rhaenyra stepped forward. She kept her expression well controlled, offering a proper smile and just the right amount of concern. But Aegon could feel her scrutiny-
Though people often criticized her, she had been sensitive since childhood and had repeatedly experienced disputes over the succession. Even now, she was immediately assessing this newborn rival, calculating the threat he posed to her inheritance.
"Welcome to the world, little brother."
Rhaenyra's voice was clear. She extended a finger and gently touched Aegon's tiny hand. "It seems you really do like this gift I recovered for you."
She pointed at the Dragon Egg in the cradle.
Seeing his daughter being so "considerate" today, Viserys's eyes instantly lit up. "Ah, yes! Rhaenyra insisted on putting it there. She said every Targaryen should have a dragon beside them from the cradle onward. What a thoughtful sister!"
Thoughtful?
Aegon almost laughed at the dark joke. Hopefully, Rhaenyra would never learn that, in the original history, she would one day die in the jaws of the very gift she had personally given him.
But all he could do was blink his purple eyes and make a vague gurgling sound.
"He seems very curious about the egg," Rhaenyra observed.
"Perhaps he will hatch it."
Viserys spoke enthusiastically. "Just as you hatched Syrax!
"Imagine it, both of you with dragons of your own. What a wonderful sight that would be!"
Otto interjected at just the right moment. "Your Grace, you should give the prince a name."
Viserys considered for a moment, his gaze moving between his son and Rhaenyra. "Aegon. The Conqueror's name, bearing glory and strength. May he be as great as his ancestor."
Aegon Targaryen. His name was settled, and the path of his destiny seemed to have been laid out as well.
But Aegon disagreed.
Deep within this infant's body, an adult's soul was awakening, making plans.
The Dance of the Dragons? A family civil war?
No. Now that I'm here, now that I have that still-locked system, now that I've touched the life waiting to hatch within that Dragon Egg-
Everything can change.
Over the next few hours, Aegon was settled in the nursery in Maegor's Holdfast. Maids took turns watching him, quietly discussing the latest court news.
From those fragments, Aegon pieced together a picture of Westeros in the year 107 after the Conquest:
Daemon's campaign in the Stepstones was causing quite a stir. His personal charisma had drawn large numbers of younger sons from noble houses and landless knights into his service;
Lady Jeyne of the Vale insisted on remaining unmarried, provoking discontent among her vassals;
The North was preparing for the long winter to come;
Small clashes had broken out along the border with Dorne; the Citadel was locked in endless debate over the choice of the new High Septon.
And within King's Landing, the nobles had already begun weighing the significance of this newborn prince.
Was Rhaenyra's claim to the throne secure?
Would the king change his mind?
Would House Hightower's influence revive as a result?
The Greens and the Blacks-
Though those names would not formally emerge until a tourney four years later-
Their beginnings were already taking shape in the shadows.
Aegon lay in his cradle, digesting this information. His body was weak, and he spent most of his time asleep, yet his consciousness remained unusually clear.
The system's voice never returned. Only his connection to the Dragon Egg grew stronger by the day.
He could clearly "feel" the changes inside the Dragon Egg beside him:
Life was growing, gathering strength, waiting for the moment to break through its shell.
Before you continue