𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓭 𝓢𝓸𝓷

Chapter 4 Years ago

The air in the throne room hung thick with unease, the flickering light from the torches casting eerie shadows against the cold stone walls. Aegon stood before the Iron Throne, his posture rigid, but inside, his heart raced. The weight of King Jaehaerys' gaze bore down on him, and he fought the urge to fidget under his grandfather's piercing stare.

The court had fallen into an expectant silence, all eyes trained on the king as he rose from the Iron Throne, the sound of his movement echoing through the room. His voice, when it came, was as steady as a storm, commanding attention with every word. "I hereby announce that Aegon Targaryen shall be betrothed to Lady Sylvina Hightower."

The words struck Aegon like a hammer to the chest, and though his face remained impassive, his mind was thrown into turmoil. Lady Sylvina Hightower, he thought. He had seen her only a handful of times—each encounter fleeting, a polite exchange of pleasantries, nothing more. The idea of marriage had always seemed so distant, a duty he knew he would one day fulfill, but not like this. Not to her.

The court erupted into murmurs of approval, but the noise blurred into a dull roar in Aegon's ears. He turned his gaze downward, trying to mask the swell of dread rising in his chest. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, but the loudest of them all was a simple one: I need to get out of here. Without fully realizing what he was doing, Aegon pivoted on his heel and strode purposefully toward the door, his steps quickening with each stride.

He knew exactly where he was headed—his father, Baelon, would know what to do. Baelon always knew what to do. He burst into the prince's chambers without knocking, breathless from the storm of emotions that brewed within him.

Baelon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, sat at his desk, engrossed in parchment. He looked up as Aegon entered, concern flashing across his features at the sight of his son's troubled expression.

"Aegon," Baelon said, rising to his feet. "What brings you here?"

Aegon hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "Grandfather wants me to marry Lady Sylvina Hightower."

Baelon's brow furrowed in understanding as he listened to his son's words. He knew all too well the weight of duty that came with their bloodline.

"I see," Baelon said, his voice softening with sympathy. "It's not an easy burden to bear, but one we must carry for the good of the family and the realm."

Frustration surged in Aegon. "But I don't want to marry her, Father," he protested. "I barely know her. How am I supposed to spend my life with someone I do not love?"

Baelon placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder, his gaze steady. "I understand, Aegon. But love can grow in unexpected places. Lady Sylvina is a good match for you, and in time, I believe you will come to appreciate her."

Aegon sighed, feeling the weight of obligation pressing in from all sides. He knew his father was right, but it did little to soothe the turmoil in his heart.

Reluctantly, Aegon nodded. "I will do as Grandfather wishes—for the sake of the family and the realm."

Baelon offered a reassuring smile. "That's my boy. You are a true Targaryen, Aegon. You will handle this with grace and honor."

Yet as Aegon left his father's chambers, his heart remained heavy. The right path, though clear, was fraught with uncertainty and a deep sense of unease.

Three months had passed since the fateful announcement of his betrothal to Lady Sylvina Hightower. Now, the day of the wedding had arrived. Aegon stood before the mirror in his chambers, adjusting the intricate Targaryen sigil on his doublet, his hands trembling.

Though he prepared himself for the ceremony, his heart was filled with a dark foreboding.

Making his way through the Red Keep, Aegon's mind swirled with doubts. As he neared his brother Daemon's chambers, something compelled him to stop. With a deep breath, he pushed open the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

What he saw within sent a shockwave through him. Daemon and Sylvina were entwined on the bed, their bodies moving together in a frenzy of passion. Aegon's mind reeled, his breath catching in his throat.

"Daemon!" he roared, his voice shaking the walls.

Daemon and Sylvina froze, wide-eyed as they turned toward him. Daemon's smirk twisted into something cruel, his lips curving upward with malicious glee.

"Aegon," Daemon drawled, his tone mocking. "What a pleasant surprise." Sylvina fumbled for a cover, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"Aegon, it's not what you think," she stammered, but her words were like ash on Aegon's ears.

Aegon's fists clenched at his sides, his voice thick with betrayal. "How could you? You, my own brother, and you, Sylvina—the woman I'm to marry?"

Daemon's smirk deepened, malice dancing in his eyes. "You were always the weak one, Aegon," he sneered. "Too afraid to take what you want. But I am not so easily swayed."

Aegon's fury grew, his vision red with rage. "And what of your wife, Daemon?" he spat, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Rhea Royce, the Lady of the Vale—does she mean nothing to you?"

Daemon's eyes darkened at the mention of Rhea. "Rhea," he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "That bronze bitch is a burden, nothing more. I never cared for her, and if I had my way, she'd have been dead already."

Aegon recoiled at his brother's coldness. "You married her!" he retorted. "She is your wife, bound to you by vows, and yet here you are—"

"Vows," Daemon laughed darkly. "Vows mean nothing when your heart is chained to a woman you despise. I've been shackled to Rhea by duty, not desire. I've been waiting for the day I'm free of her."

The rage that surged in Aegon was unstoppable. In that moment, every ounce of his anger erupted, and he lunged at Daemon, his fists connecting with his brother's face in a flurry of blows.

Daemon fought back with equal ferocity, the two brothers colliding in a storm of curses and violence. Sylvina shrieked, scrambling to the far corner of the room, powerless to stop the clash of dragons.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though Aegon's righteous fury would overpower Daemon's cruelty. But the sound of approaching footsteps broke through the chaos, and Aegon knew he had no time left.

With one final, desperate push, he broke free from Daemon's grasp and staggered toward the door. His chest heaved with exhaustion, his mind whirling with betrayal and anger.

Without a backward glance, Aegon fled, his footsteps echoing through the corridors of the Red Keep. His heart thundered in his ears, the enormity of what had just transpired weighing down on him like a storm cloud.

Daemon's betrayal, Sylvina's disloyalty, the lies and deceit—it all served as a bitter reminder of the harsh realities of life in the Seven Kingdoms.

But as Aegon ran, one thought burned brightly in his mind: he would not be bound by duty any longer. No longer would he allow the expectations of others to dictate his life.

He would forge his own path—one free of lies, free of betrayal, and free of the suffocating obligations that had chained him for so long. Whatever the future held, he would face it with the fire and blood of a true Targaryen.

And no matter what fate had in store, Aegon Targaryen would not bow to anyone—not his brother, not his family, and certainly not to the whims of a realm that sought to control him.