The hunt and the oath

The air in Aegon's room had grown as still as a frozen sea.

Larys Strong already stood beside the hearth, leaning on his cane. His black coat blended into the shadows beyond the candlelight, leaving only his gray eyes gleaming in the firelight, as though they saw through everything.

His usual, perfectly measured smile remained warm, as if Aegon's earlier words-"I want to kill someone"-had been nothing more than a child's idle joke.

Garwin Hightower, standing opposite him, looked entirely different.

The young Hightower, Aegon's own maternal uncle, was deathly pale. His lips trembled, and his hand tightened and loosened around his sword hilt, again and again. He still had not recovered from those earth-shattering words.

When Aegon had summoned him that night, he had been delighted. He thought this nephew of his, who had clung to his elder sister Rhaenyra since infancy and insisted on sleeping in her arms, had finally grown up.

His own sister's eldest son had finally stopped clinging to his elder sister. If Alicent, far away in King's Landing and forever worrying that Rhaenyra would steal Aegon away, heard about this, she would be overjoyed.

As for why Aegon had summoned him, surely the boy was frightened of sleeping alone for the first time since he had become old enough to understand. Too embarrassed to admit it to anyone else, he had called his own uncle over to give him courage.

He had even decided to stand guard just inside his nephew's door like a true knight, shielding him from every shadow in the night. Then his sister Alicent, far away in King's Landing, would know that her son was closest to their Hightower family after all.

Garwin had not thought much of being asked to bring Larys either. His nephew probably wanted to hear stories. After all, Larys and Tyland had told Aegon plenty of them throughout their journey.

And ever since their visit to Casterly Rock in the Westerlands had spurred Tyland to apply himself, leaving him no time for such "trivial matters," the task had fallen entirely to Larys.

Yet he had never imagined that the first thing his eldest nephew Aegon would say upon seeing them tonight would be neither that he feared the dark nor that he wanted a story, but a casually spoken, "I want to kill someone."

Those words had struck him squarely on the head like a Valyrian steel sword, cleaving his mind into blankness. He had even forgotten to breathe.

He looked at the little child sitting in the chair, at those purple eyes so calm they bordered on cold, and suddenly felt that he had never truly known his nephew.

The child who usually nestled in Princess Rhaenyra's arms and wheedled, who secretly slipped sweets into his pockets, who teased Sunfyre with wide, innocent eyes, now radiated an unnerving majesty-the cold resolve of a true dragon, etched into the Targaryen blood.

"Your Highness..." Garwin's voice was as rough as though it had been scoured with sandpaper. Without realizing it, he had even adopted a formal address. "You... what did you just say? What blind fool dared offend you?"

Aegon did not answer at once.

He slowly raised his hand and gently stroked Sunfyre's smooth scales. The golden dragon narrowed his eyes in pleasure, a docile rumble rising in his throat.

His gaze passed over the deathly pale Garwin, then settled on Larys in the shadows. At last, he sighed softly, a trace of helplessness in his tone, though every word was clear.

"Uncle, Ser Larys, there's no need to be so tense." His voice was still childish, but carried unquestionable certainty. "It's only an ignorant smith's son on the island. A lowborn bastard, nothing more."

Garwin let out a sharp breath of relief. His heart settled at once, only for anger to surge in its place.

So it was just some lowborn bastard smith.

He had thought it might be some important noble, some vassal who dared disrespect a prince. Instead, it was merely a wretched commoner.

His eldest nephew was a true dragon prince of House Targaryen, second in line to the Iron Throne. Killing one bastard smith was nothing. Even if he killed every commoner on Dragonstone who dared disrespect him, it would be perfectly justified.

After all, as his uncle, he "understood better than anyone" just how precocious, sensible, "merciful and kind" his nephew was.

If matters had reached the point where his eldest nephew wanted someone dead, then that bastard smith surely deserved to die.

He immediately straightened, pressing his hand to the sword at his waist. His face took on the pride and sternness of House Hightower, the kings of the high tower, and his voice brimmed with righteous indignation. "So it's a bastard who has no idea what's good for him! Rest assured, Your Highness. Such a lowborn creature isn't worth your concern. Just tell me where he lives and what his name is. I'll take his head right now and bring it back to atone for his offense!"

He had, in truth, been itching to prove himself.

During their visit to Oldtown, his eldest nephew Aegon had grown very close to his cousin Mund Hightower. Mund had given the boy gifts, accompanied him on pony rides, and treated him with the utmost affection.

As Aegon's own uncle, he had watched his eldest nephew grow close to Mund, an uncle only through a cousin's kinship, throughout their stay in Oldtown, and fretted inwardly.

Now, for the first time since Aegon had become old enough to understand, his eldest nephew was asking him for something-and such a small favor, too. He had to carry it out flawlessly. As the boy's own uncle, he could never let Mund outshine him.

Beside him, however, Larys's smile faded a little, and a barely perceptible flicker of disappointment crossed his eyes.

When Aegon had said, "I want to kill someone," his heart had quickened-a rare occurrence.

In that instant, he had even worked out everything that would follow. He thought this four-year-old prince was finally about to take the most crucial step-far too early and far too dangerous, yet astonishing all the same. He thought Aegon wanted to eliminate Princess Rhaenyra in the room next door. After all, once Rhaenyra died, this prince would become the sole, rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

He had already been considering how to arrange the scene so that the princess's death looked like an accident, a tragedy caused by a dragon running wild. How to keep all suspicion away from the prince, and make House Hightower, the former Hand Otto, and the future master of the Iron Throne owe him an immense debt.

And from Aegon's perspective, while Garwin had stood there stunned, Larys had frozen for only an instant before regaining his composure.

Leaning on his cane, he had taken half a step forward and bowed slightly. There had been no surprise in his voice, only utter consideration and obedience, as though Aegon had asked not to take a life, but merely for a cup of chilled wine from the Arbor.

"Whom does Your Highness wish to kill?"

His voice had been steady and hoarse, but a barely discernible excitement had lurked in his gray eyes.

At that moment, he had been thinking, Was this four-year-old prince finally about to take that step?

Was he going to move against Princess Rhaenyra?

It was rather early, and rather hasty. With only the two of us, should we summon more men?

After all, Princess Rhaenyra always had a Kingsguard at her side.

He had kept those sinister thoughts buried in his heart, revealing none of them.

Naturally, Aegon had never imagined the absurd notions running through Larys's mind. Had he known, he would certainly have pointed at his nose and berated him. Why would he need such "underhanded methods" to keep Rhaenyra under his sway?

But Larys had never imagined that Aegon wanted to kill only a smith's bastard son.

So when Larys heard the answer, he could not help feeling a little disappointed. So he wasn't moving against Princess Rhaenyra...

Then he accepted it. Whatever the case, this little prince had finally torn away his gentle mask and revealed the ruthlessness in the Targaryen bones. As far as Larys was concerned, that was never a bad thing.

In any event, disappointed though he was, Larys let none of it show on his face.

He bowed slightly to Aegon, his voice as warm and considerate as ever, as though those thoughts had never crossed his mind. "Your Highness is merciful. For this bastard to have stirred murderous intent in you, he must have committed some unforgivable evil. How would Your Highness like him to die? Shall he be publicly executed as a warning to others, or... quietly disappear from this world altogether, as though he had never existed?"

He understood such matters all too well.

Killing was never the hardest part. The difficulty lay in erasing every trace afterward, avoiding all criticism, keeping the prince's hands clean, and still achieving the ultimate aim. Such dark, unspeakable dirty work was precisely what he did best.

Aegon looked at Larys, understanding perfectly.

Of course he knew that Larys was the best choice for this task. This "Clubfoot" Strong was the man most skilled at moving through the shadows in the Seven Kingdoms, the future spymaster who could turn King's Landing upside down. Dealing with two nobodies would take no more than a flick of his hand.

He had summoned Garwin because he was his own uncle, and currently the only person who would obey his commands completely and without reservation.

But Garwin, having fully recovered from his profound shock, swallowed angrily and stepped forward first, taking two strides straight up to Aegon.

His voice still carried that incredulous anger, and it was precisely because of that anger that he continued unconsciously using formal address:

"Your... Your Highness? Tell me! Tell your uncle which blind bastard smith dared offend you. Hurry and tell me. I'll drag him here and flay him!"

His voice brimmed with the urgency of a fiercely protective relative. He knew his eldest nephew so well: precocious, sensible, gentle, and merciful. Throughout their journey, the boy had even treated farmers by the roadside kindly. If he now wanted someone dead, that smith's bastard son must have committed some outrage that offended both gods and men, crossing Aegon's bottom line.

Damn him. He deserved to die!

Seeing him like this, Aegon pressed a hand to his forehead helplessly, then waved at both men and softened his tone. "One of you is my own uncle, the person my mother trusts most in this world, and the person I can rely on most. The other is something of a teacher to me, a trusted confidant I hold dear. I called you here tonight because I trust you. There's no need to be so up in arms."

At those words, Larys bowed even lower, his gray eyes filled with flattered reverence. All his painstaking efforts to please this little prince over the years had not been wasted. To be called a "trusted confidant" by a Targaryen prince was an honor countless people could never hope to obtain.

Garwin, too, finally calmed down completely. Looking at Aegon's childish yet composed face, he felt pride fill his heart-

This was his sister's son, a prince with the blood of their Hightower kings and the true dragons of House Targaryen flowing through his veins. Even at only four years old, he already possessed such kingly bearing.

He nodded firmly and said in a low voice, "Rest assured, Your Highness. We'll handle this properly for you. A lowborn bastard certainly isn't worth your trouble. Would you like me to summon a few more men? Perhaps Ser Alek and Ser Erryk Cargyll, the brothers guarding your door and the princess's? They're Kingsguard, exceptionally skilled. With them, nothing could go wrong."

He paused, then hurriedly added, a barely perceptible urgency in his voice, "Even if we don't call upon those two noble Kingsguard, we could bring in Ser Viry Fell and that lad Alyn Celtigar!

"One is Your Highness's swordsmanship instructor, and the other your personal attendant. Naturally, they should help ease your burdens. Your uncle alone is more than enough to deal with a bastard, but this is the first task Your Highness has given us. We must handle it thoroughly and properly, without the slightest mistake!"

That urge to prove himself truly was still burning within him.

Once again, he could not help thinking of his home in Oldtown, and how close Aegon had grown to Mund Hightower there. Mund had relied on his knack for coaxing children to make himself noticed by Aegon time and again.

Now that Aegon was asking him for something for the first time, he would do it flawlessly. He could never let Mund outshine him.

Hearing this, Larys nodded slightly and agreed. "Your Highness, Ser Garwin makes a sound point. When it comes to killing, the fewer people who know, the better, of course. But the person Your Highness wishes to dispose of is no important noble, merely a lowborn bastard who has angered you.

"Given Your Highness's past mercy, if you are personally ordering his death, the man must deserve to die ten thousand times over.

"Summoning a few more men would ensure that nothing goes wrong and not a whisper escapes.

"Moreover, the Cargyll brothers are utterly loyal to you and the princess, while Ser Viry and young Alyn follow your lead in everything. Rest assured, Your Highness. They will keep their mouths shut and devote themselves wholeheartedly to your service."

Aegon looked at them both, remained silent for a few seconds, and finally nodded slowly.

The fire in the hearth suddenly leaped, stretching his shadow long across the black stone wall like a young dragon about to bare his fangs. He raised his head, his purple eyes gleaming coldly in the firelight. His childish voice carried the unquestionable command of a king.

"Very well. Ser Larys, bring the Cargyll brothers inside. Remember to keep quiet."

"Uncle Garwin, sorry for the trouble, but go to the West Tower and bring Viry Fell and Alyn Celtigar here."

"Remember, do not alert anyone else in the castle tonight. Above all, you must not disturb Princess Rhaenyra next door."

The room emptied at once, leaving only Aegon and Sunfyre at his feet.

The candle flames still danced, and the sea wind still moaned outside the window. From deep within the Dragonmont, a dragon's low call occasionally drifted out, carrying far, far into the silent night.

Aegon went to the window and gently pushed open the heavy black stone casement.

The icy sea wind rushed inside at once, snapping the hem of his clothes.

He looked up. Candlelight still glowed in the room next door, and Rhaenyra's familiar silhouette showed against the paper covering the window.

His heart clenched, and an indescribable guilt welled up within him.

He remembered the ache he had felt that evening when he saw Rhaenyra turn toward her room with a dark expression. He remembered gathering his courage, calling her back, standing on tiptoe, and kissing her lips for the first time-their softness, their warmth, the fragrance of her.

He remembered Rhaenyra's body going rigid, her cheeks suddenly flushing red, her purple eyes filled with shock and confusion, and a trace of joy she could not hide.

He remembered his pounding heart as he ran back to his room. He remembered the oath he had sworn: to protect her, stay beside her, rewrite her tragedy, and let her live her whole life safely and peacefully, forever his queen upon the Iron Throne.

And everything he did tonight was for that oath.

Hugh Hammer. White Ulf.

Those two traitors, who would one day betray her, destroy her reign, and leave her head severed from her body, had to die.

They had to be snuffed out before they could grow powerful, before they had a chance to claim dragons, before they could unleash a storm of bloodshed.

He reached out and gently rested his hand on the windowsill, his gaze settling on the window next door, where candlelight still glowed. His eyes were filled with tenderness and resolve.

Sister, don't be afraid.

I'll shield you from all the darkness, all the filth, all the betrayal and blood.

I'll end this inevitable Dance of the Dragons with my own hands. Everyone who wishes to hurt you-I'll send them all to hell, one by one.

Because in this life, I stand beside you. Black and red, blood and fire, true dragon and true dragon, the golden-yellow dragon and the golden dragon.

The wind off the Narrow Sea swept the deep night's chill against his face. Sunfyre came to his side and gently rubbed his enormous head against his arm, a docile rumble rising in his throat.

Aegon lowered his head and stroked the golden dragon's head. A cold edge flashed in his purple eyes.

The night on Dragonstone was still long.

And this hunt had only just begun.