Golden shadow

As the year 107 AC slipped into late autumn, rumors began circulating through the streets and alleys of King's Landing.

In the brothels on the Street of Silk, drinkers spoke in hushed voices about the war in the Stepstones.

Daemon Targaryen had captured another island. He now controlled Gallowsgrey, Widow's Island, and Blackstone Island, and his self-appointed titles were growing longer.

"Future King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones, Scourge of Pirates, Punisher of the Kingdom of the Three Daughters."

These titles spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms on the lips of sailors and merchants.

In the taverns of Flea Bottom, people were more concerned with grain prices and the coming winter.

Of course, some also gossiped about the royal family:

"Have you heard?

The little prince's dragon can already fly above the castle, though only for a short distance."

"Nonsense. A dragon needs at least half a year before it can fly that high, doesn't it? Back when the princess's dragon..."

"But this isn't an ordinary dragon. It hatched in three days..."

Within the Red Keep, the talk was more veiled, but more deadly.

At a meeting of the Small Council, Otto Hightower laid a report on the long table.

"Prince Daemon requests that the Iron Throne formally recognize his rule over the Stepstones."

The Hand of the King's voice was steady, but every word had been carefully weighed. "He promises to eradicate piracy in the region and secure the trade routes. In return, he wishes to receive the title 'Prince of the Stepstones,' with those lands granted to him and his future heirs in perpetuity."

Silence settled over the table.

The young, hotheaded Master of Ships, Ser Tyland Lannister, spoke first. "That would mean recognizing a traitor who has proclaimed himself king. If we grant Prince Daemon's request, tomorrow a second lord might follow his example, then a third."

"But he is doing what the Iron Throne ought to do," Earl Lyonel Strong said slowly. "Pirates in the Stepstones have plagued trade in the Narrow Sea for decades. Successive kings have tried to resolve the problem and failed. Prince Daemon has accomplished it with private forces."

"With the Iron Throne's influence and Corlys Velaryon's money and fleet," Tyland countered.

"That is still an achievement," Lyonel said. "The question is, are we prepared for open conflict with Prince Daemon?

He and his allies now have four dragons:

His own Caraxes, and Meleys, ridden by Earl Corlys's wife, Princess Rhaenys;

Then there are Earl Corlys and Princess Rhaenys's two children. Young Laenor's Seasmoke hatched while he was still in the cradle, just like the dragons of Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aegon...

Even if we leave aside the still-young Seasmoke and Princess Rhaenys's Meleys, Lady Laena tamed Vhagar, the largest living dragon, three years ago."

"But Lady Laena and her younger brother Laenor are both still children," Grand Maester Runetell said, striving for optimism.

"But Lady Rhaenys can fight," Otto picked up the thread. "Even if the 'Uncrowned Queen' does not enter the war, are we to send Princess Rhaenyra, who is younger than both Laena and Laenor, against Daemon's Caraxes?"

Rhaenyra, serving as cupbearer, froze at his words, nearly letting the wine jug slip from her hand. The question hung over the council chamber.

Viserys had remained silent throughout, his fingers tapping unconsciously against the table.

"Daemon will not take up arms against me," the king finally said, but everyone could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

"Of course, Your Grace."

Lyonel led the others in a slight bow. Though reluctant to expose the truth, he still chose his own direct way of reminding his close friend. "But Prince Daemon is very skilled at... influencing others. We must consider the possibility."

The meeting ended in deadlock. There was no decision, only more concern.

Fragments of these discussions passed through the mouths of attendants and maids, eventually reaching Aegon's ears.

His information network was still primitive-

It consisted mostly of things the maids caring for him inadvertently revealed while chatting.

But for an infant with an adult mind and knowledge of history's course, these fragments were enough to piece together a picture of the situation.

Daemon was gathering strength. Otto was pushing for confrontation. Viserys was avoiding a decision. Rhaenyra was wavering between the two sides.

And time continued to pass.

One afternoon in the final month of 107 AC, Aegon was carried to the Solar Gallery.

It was one of the few rooms in Maegor's Holdfast that caught the winter sunlight.

Alicent sat embroidering beside the window. Rhaenyra was there too-her father, Viserys, had told her to "spend more time with your brother."

Sunfyre lay beside Aegon's cradle, dozing in the sun. The dragon had already grown to the size of a small foal, and with wings spread, almost filled one corner of the room.

Sunfyre rarely left Aegon's side, an attachment highly unusual between dragon and rider. Dragons were generally more independent in their youth, until their riders were old enough to establish a formal bond.

Rhaenyra was reading a letter, her brow furrowed.

"Bad news, Rhaenyra?" Alicent asked, her needle still moving.

"A letter from Daemon," Rhaenyra said. Then, realizing she might have said too much, she paused. "He sends his regards to Father, and... me."

Alicent's needle paused for a moment. "What else did he say?"

"That the scenery in the Stepstones is beautiful, and the sea breeze reminds him of Dragonstone."

Rhaenyra folded the letter. "He hopes I'll have a chance to visit."

"That is no place for a princess." Alicent's voice cooled. "It is a battlefield, not somewhere a noble lady should go."

"Laena is there."

Rhaenyra retorted, "And Daemon says in his letter that she's doing well, happier than ever."

Alicent set down her embroidery. "Rhaenyra, you must understand that what Daemon is doing is extremely dangerous. He is challenging the authority of the Iron Throne. That could lead to war."

"He's clearing out pirates for the realm-"

"He is building a kingdom for himself," Alicent interrupted. "Listen, I have no wish to disparage your uncle, but you must face reality. Daemon has only ever acted for himself. He treats you well now because you are useful. You are the heir. Through you, he can gain power."

Rhaenyra rose, clutching the letter tightly in her hand. "You don't understand him."

"I understand ambition." Alicent stood as well, and the two faced each other from a few feet apart. "I understand what men will do for power.

Believe me, Rhaenyra. After what I have lived through, I understand better than anyone."

The air grew tense.

Sunfyre raised that golden head with a low rumble, golden eyes fixed on the two women.

At that moment, Aegon made a decision.

He began to cry-

Not an infant's unconscious wailing, but a deliberate cry designed to draw attention.

Both women turned at once. Alicent immediately came over and picked him up.

"What's wrong, darling? Are you hungry?"

Rhaenyra approached too, the anger on her face giving way to concern. "His face is a little red. Does he have a fever?"

The argument was interrupted, their attention shifting to the infant. Aegon kept crying until Alicent summoned a maester to examine him. It proved to be a false alarm, but the tense conversation could no longer resume.

Afterward, when Aegon was returned to his cradle, Sunfyre leaned close and gently nudged his face with a nose.

Through their draconic resonance, Aegon sensed a vague emotion:

Approval.

Clever Sunfyre knew he had done it on purpose.

That night, the system interface flashed again.

[Intervention in a key relationship detected...]

[Analysis: Successfully interrupted the escalation of conflict between Alicent Hightower and Rhaenyra Targaryen]

[Reward: Bloodline purity +1%]

His progress became 28%/35%.

Aegon understood-

The system rewarded not only his interactions with dragons, but also his intervention in and guidance of relationships between key figures in his task.

This was a game, one with lives as the stakes and a kingdom as the board.

And he, a player trapped in an infant's body, had just scored his first point.

Outside the window, the first snow drifted over King's Landing.

The year 107 AC was drawing to a close, while the story of Aegon Targaryen II had only just reached its first paragraph.

In the city's shadows, in the corridors of the Red Keep, in every corner of Westeros, the loom of fate was turning.

The threads were in place, the shuttle lifted, and a bloody, magnificent tapestry was being woven.

At the center of that tapestry was a purple-eyed infant, and beside him, a golden dragon growing ever more dazzling.