Dragon Princess || Aegon II Targaryen

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 24

Aegon Targaryen, firstborn son of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower, was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. The legitimate Prince of Dragonstone, chosen by the gods of Old Valyria to protect the realm. Destined to sit on the throne and rule the Seven Kingdoms.

At least, that's what his mother believed and tirelessly tried to make him believe as well.

Day and night. Every day.

Alicent Hightower did everything in her power to plant those thoughts in his mind. She worked relentlessly to make him care, to make him look upon the Iron Throne, to gaze upon the crown of his father's predecessor and desire it for himself.

But, it was simply not working.

Aegon didn't care about any of it. As far as he was concerned, his older sister could have it all. By the gods, even his insufferable idiot of a brother could take it. King Aemond Targaryen... It didn't sound right to him, not at all. But if it meant Aegon would be free... then he'd crown him himself if it came to that.

Moreover, as much as both Otto and Alicent were determined to make Aegon king, they had forgotten the most crucial part of their plan: to train him for that position. To prepare Aegon to lead, to govern, to rule. Or at the very least, to try and awaken some interest in him for such things. No. They were more concerned with plotting and commanding this one-sided, unspoken war against Rhaenyra than giving Aegon the attention he needed to perform the job they so desperately insisted upon.

It was ridiculous. It was pathetic. Foolish. Indecent.

It was a powder keg waiting for dragonfire. It was a wildfire spread across the Seven Kingdoms. And all because Otto Hightower fancied himself invincible, the wisest of all men. Because Otto thought himself the god behind the game he controlled, holding the most important pieces.

No. Aegon knew not a single bone or muscle in his body was suited to be a king, much less a good king. So, he didn't care that his father kept on insisting on making Rhaenyra his heir. Let her have the Iron Throne, with its dilemmas, risks, and sycophantic courtiers kissing her backside in hopes of securing the best position, the best rewards. Let her take the crown and the title, let her fawn over it, show it off to all.

Aegon had different plans. And none of them involved a chair made of swords or a hollow golden crown.

So, with some alcohol already coursing through his body—but not enough to make him stumble—he walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, already forgetting every word Otto and Alicent had said to him. As he glanced through the windows that revealed the blue skies of King's Landing, decorated with white clouds and blinding rays of sunlight, he had to admit it was a beautiful sight.

But nothing was as beautiful as the figure he saw at the end of the hall.

Near a tapestry bearing the Targaryen sigil stood a young woman, clad in a long, low-cut red dress, sleeveless, revealing her soft and fair skin. A dress the queen would surely deem scandalous, but the girl paid no mind. The garment contrasted sharply with her pale complexion and her long, flowing silver hair, which swayed lightly in the breezes that passed through the Keep's stone corridors. But most striking of all was her smile—radiant, loving, and warm as she spoke with a woman who appeared to be no more than a simple servant, one from the kitchens, if Aegon wasn't mistaken. Though he couldn't hear it from where he stood, that laugh, even at a distance, seemed the most captivating sound in the entire realm.

The beauty of the kingdom.

The flower of fire.

The delight of the realm.

The flame of Old Valyria.

The wife of dragons.

She was the most beautiful, the most loving, the most enchanting, the most memorable, the most unforgettable, the most worthy in the world.