THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

The Blackened Edges

Aegon Targaryen had been deep in a peaceful slumber, his mind drifting in the kind of dreamless rest only the truly unaware could experience. The moonlight filtered through the curtains of his chamber, casting soft patterns across the stone floor. But his tranquility was shattered when the door to his room slammed open with a force that rattled the wood, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing through the space.

Aegon jolted upright, disoriented, his mind sluggishly pulling him out of sleep. At first, his eyes couldn’t quite focus on the figure standing in the doorway. But as James dashed toward him, Aegon finally registered the blood on his hands. The dark streaks and patches were unmistakable, and the wild, panicked look in his younger brother’s eyes was enough to knock the rest of Aegon’s sleep-induced fog away.

“James?” Aegon’s voice came out hoarse, almost a whisper. His heart skipped a beat as he quickly moved to grab the first aid kit, thinking James must have injured himself somehow. But James shook his head frantically, his breath coming in fast, short bursts.

“No, no, it’s not me!” James exclaimed, his voice tight with panic, his eyes wide. He grabbed Aegon’s shoulders, shaking him with a force that was unusual for the usually composed boy. “It’s Kepa—he’s been poisoned, Aegon. Poisoned, with a dagger!”

The words hit Aegon like a cold wave. Poisoned? Kepa? His mind raced, trying to grasp the full meaning of the situation. He instinctively moved to rise from the bed, but James’s hand on his chest stopped him.

“Stay here,” James pleaded, his voice cracking slightly, though he was trying to keep it together. “Mother… she said you need to stay with the younger ones. Keep them away from all of this. They shouldn’t see—”

“Of course, of course I will,” Aegon responded quickly, the weight of his brother’s plea settling on his chest like a heavy mantle. He was still trying to process the shock of it all, but he nodded firmly. His voice softened as he added, “But James, calm down. Tell me what happened. We need to be clear about everything.”

James’s shoulders trembled as he exhaled a shaky breath, attempting to steady himself. Aegon placed a hand on his brother’s arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew. His brother nodded, drawing in a deep breath as he began to speak. His words came slowly at first, and Aegon listened carefully, though the urgency in James’s tone made it hard to keep his mind clear, then he narrated everything that had happened in that one evening.

Aegon took a slow breath, steadying himself as a thought struck him. Without hesitation, he grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, his hands already in motion. “Tell me more about the dagger,” he urged, his voice becoming more methodical, more focused now that he understood the gravity of the situation. James described it in detail—its shape, the markings on the hilt, the way the poison was stored in the blade. As he spoke, Aegon’s mind worked furiously, and then, with a sharp intake of breath, the realization struck him.

“The House of Black and White,” Aegon whispered under his breath. His eyes widened as everything clicked into place. “It’s their mark. I’ve seen it before.”

James blinked at him, confused. “What?”

Aegon straightened, his tone serious. “Brother, I’ll watch over the others, but you need to tell Mother that this dagger belongs to the House of Black and White. It’s their preferred method of assassination. They coat it with Braavosi scorpion poison—it’s even more lethal than the poisons used by the Dornish. And… there’s only one known antidote for it.”

James’s gaze softened with gratitude and respect. Without another word, he threw his arms around Aegon in a quick embrace. “Thank you, brother,” he said, pulling back with a look of relief mixed with admiration. But curiosity sparked in his eyes again as he asked, “But… how did you know all this?”