The People's Prince [Rewrite]

Prologue

History tells us that when Aegon the Conqueror and his two sister-wives looked across Blackwater Bay, he saw the future—a realm united under one house and one King—his house, House Targaryen. Aegon was not just a wielder of swords, but a master of dragons. With his sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys, he tamed the might of three dragons, subduing seven fractious kingdoms and establishing a new order atop the Iron Throne. This was the birth of the wheel and the Westeros we know today, marking a pivotal split in history: before and after the Conquest.

Aegon began the reign of House Targaryen, ruling over the land with their mighty dragons. However, he did not consolidate the realm into a single state; that would come in the reign of my great-grandfather, Jaehaerys.

After Aegon's rule, his son Aenys took the throne. Aenys, a king of gentle nature, aimed for peace. However, his reign was riddled with challenges. Uprisings from the Faith Militant and the Vale tested his rule, proving overwhelming for the gentle king.

This led to the ascension of his younger brother, Maegor, later known as Maegor the Cruel, who contested the throne against his nephew, Aegon.

The struggle culminated in the Battle Above the Gods Eye, where Maegor, riding Balerion the Black Dread, slew his nephew Aegon and his dragon Quicksilver. After this, Maegor was crowned King, forever earning his moniker. Extreme cruelty marked his reign, including the construction of the Red Keep and the murder of its masons to keep its secrets.

His tyranny ended when the high lords of the realm rallied behind my great-grandfather, Jaehaerys, at Storm's End. Maegor was found dead on the Iron Throne, pierced by its blades on the sixth day of the sixth month of the sixth year of his reign.

Despite Maegor's cruelty, he achieved one significant feat: the suppression of the Faith Militant, a victory not reversed until the reign of a child king centuries later.

Jaehaerys, known as the Conciliator, ascended the throne after the tumultuous reign of Maegor. With his dragon Vermithor and the support of his lords, he was crowned king. Despite his youth, Jaehaerys was determined to make his voice heard. His reign was a period of unity and consolidation, during which he established laws, the small council, and the King's Road, fostering a peace that lasted over half a century.

With his sister-wife, the Good Queen Alysanne, Jaehaerys issued the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, allowing House Targaryen to be exempt from the laws of marriage in the Seven Kingdoms, thus maintaining their dragonlord bloodline.

However, their reign was not without personal tragedy. They had thirteen children, but only nine survived past infancy, and none outlived their parents except Maester Vaegon. The lives of their daughters were tumultuous. Saera and Viserra were the most rebellious, with Saera fleeing to Lys to escape punishment and Viserra dying in a drunken horse race. Their other daughters, like Magelle and Daella, faced tragic ends, with Daella dying in childbirth despite Queen Alysanne's protests.

Their sons also met tragic fates. My great-uncle, Aemon Targaryen, was a perfect heir—modest, dutiful, and beloved. He died heroically while defending Tarth from pirates, causing a realm-wide discourse on succession. My grandfather, Baelon, succeeded him, though the decision sparked conflict, particularly with Queen Alysanne, who supported Aemon's daughter, Rhaenys.

Greatness and sorrow, triumph and tragedy marks the history of my house. These events shaped the legacy I now inherit, a legacy born of fire and blood.

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In the year 100 AC, the Red Keep—the heart of House Targaryen—held its breath. The very walls seemed to tremble with anticipation. Lords, ladies, servants, and guards moved quietly through the halls, their faces drawn with worry. There was a heaviness in the air, a weight of something uncertain, something that threatened to crush hope itself. But they could not know, not in the way I would come to understand, how much more this moment meant to my mother, Lady Aemma Arryn.

My mother had known too many losses. Miscarriages, stillbirths... each one a dagger to her heart. She had carried hope through countless heartaches, and each time, the world had stolen it from her. But with my birth, I was to be more than just another child. I was to be in the future. The heir. The one who could carry House Targaryen into a new age, or so they hoped.

In those moments, though, the halls of the Red Keep were filled with uncertainty. My father, Prince Viserys, was there, pacing relentlessly outside the chamber where my mother labored. I could hear his footsteps from inside the room, each one a reflection of the storm inside him. His heart was torn between hope and fear—hope that I would be the one to survive, to be the son he had longed for, and fear that the gods would not be merciful this time either.

Amid my mother's cries—each one raw with pain and desperation—my grandfather, Prince Baelon, who held the title of Hand of the King, stood by my father. I could hear their voices through the thick walls, though their words could not fully reach me.

"Have faith, Viserys," Baelon said, his voice a steady balm, even if I could hear the worry beneath it. "Aemma is stronger than you know. She will bear this child."

But my father, desperate and filled with doubt, could not find solace in those words. "But father," I could hear him say, "you know what we've lost. What if... what if this child is not meant to live?"

My grandfather, steady in his years, did his best to calm my father. "This child, Viserys. This child will live."

And as if those words were a prayer, the air seemed to shift. My mother's pain reached its peak, and then—suddenly, miraculously—a cry pierced the silence. It was not a cry of sorrow, not the silence of death, but the cry of a newborn, of life.

Even now, I can still feel the echoes of that moment. The maesters, the midwives—they all knew the risk, the fear that had clung to my mother's womb like a shadow. But I had survived. I had fought to take my first breath.

When my father entered the room, I could sense his relief before I even saw it. His tears, his joy, as he knelt beside my mother and gazed upon me—the son who had finally lived. The heir.

"Aelor," he whispered, as though my name alone could fulfil the hopes of House Targaryen, could right the wrongs of the past. "A prince of the realm."

And so, I was named. I had lived. And in that moment, something shifted within the walls of the Red Keep. Aelor. The Just I would later be known. I had arrived, carrying not only my family's hopes, but the weight of a legacy that would one day define me.

But in that moment, I was simply a son, born into a legacy heavy with expectation. The People's Prince. And so it began. The future, uncertain as it always is, had taken its first step in the world, and with it, a glimmer of hope. For House Targaryen. For the realm.