The Tourney Grounds, King's Landing.
On a scorching afternoon in King's Landing, in the center of the tourney grounds, Aegon Targaryen once again drove his lance into the edge of his opponent's shield.
The knight, a member of House Florent from the Reach, fell from his horse with an exaggerated tumble, his armor hitting the sand with a heavy thud.
"Prince Aegon is the victor!" the herald's voice rang across the field.
Applause instantly broke out in the stands as the nobles cheered for the Prince.
This was Aegon's sixth match; every knight he had faced had been "unlucky" enough to be struck by his lance in the first tilt and sent rolling.
Aegon raised his lance, basking in the crowd's adoration.
The sunlight glinted off his silver hair and his Qohorik silver-steel armor, draped in a black-and-red three-headed dragon surcoat.
He flashed a brilliant smile, and the commoner section erupted in genuine frenzy.
They didn't understand the nuances of jousting; they only saw their Prince unhorsing opponent after opponent while the herald shouted his name.
"Long live the Prince!"
"Long live Aegon!"
"Aegon! Aegon! Aegon!"
Aegon cantered around the field, waving to the crowds and following his wife's instructions to the letter, offering a look of sincere, kingly goodwill to the masses.
--------
The Prince's Box.
In the Prince's box, Aelyn Rogar sat poised on a brocade-covered seat.
Today, she wore a deep purple gown embroidered with silver flowers that wound up to a belt adorned with amethysts.
Her hair was styled in an intricate Lysene updo, with a few stray silver strands framing her face.
"The Prince was truly magnificent today," said Lady Layanne Rosby, fanning herself with peacock feathers.
"Was he not?" added Margot Stokeworth, a plump-cheeked young noblewoman.
"Six wins in a row, a perfect record. He is truly an exceptional knight."
Aelyn's lips curved into a slight, crescent-moon smile.
"Aegon has... indeed been working very hard."
Her gaze swept over the women, Rosby, Stokeworth, Caron, Bywater, all family members of the Crownlands' landed nobility.
Their husbands and fathers sat in the nearby men's section.
Margot Stokeworth lowered her fan.
"Hard work is one thing, but talent is another. Lady Aelyn, Prince Aegon's performance lately... It's as if he's a different person."
The noblewomen exchanged knowing glances.
Aelyn's smile didn't falter, but a faint hint of awkwardness touched her face.
She raised a hand, and her servants stepped forward, each holding a roll of fabric.
When they unfurled the cloth in the sun, the women gasped.
It was Star-Night Silk from Lys, a deep blue fabric woven with silver threads in the pattern of constellations, each star dusted with crushed pearl.
"My brother, Lysandro, sent these from the East," Aelyn said.
"He asked me to gift them to friends who appreciate true beauty."
As the servants distributed the priceless silks, the atmosphere grew even warmer.
"This is too generous..." Lady Layanne whispered, her eyes shining.
Aelyn waved a hand dismissively.
"It is just fabric. It is nothing compared to the friendship you have shown me."
Margot began measuring the silk against herself.
"You are truly generous, Lady Aelyn. I hear the Rogare family's trade reaches every Free City?"
Aelyn took a sip of honeyed wine from a crystal cup.
"The family has managed for generations; we have some small accumulations. But no matter how large the business, we are not like you ladies, descendants of the heroes who followed Aegon the Conqueror."
The remark was masterful; it simultaneously flaunted the Rogare wealth while inflating the egos of the local nobility. The smiles in the box became much more sincere.
"Speaking of heroes," Lady Layanne slowed the rhythm of her fan.
"My husband said yesterday that the state of the realm is... concerning. The King is unwell, and Princess Rhaenyra refuses to relinquish her claim."
"As my husband says," Margot offered politely, "it should follow the law of the firstborn son."
Aelyn waited for them to finish before speaking slowly.
"The situation is complex. But the King will soon announce that Aegon is the sole legal heir."
The women's eyes lit up. They had caught the "secret" Aelyn had intentionally leaked and were already mentally drafting messages to send back to their families.
"But Prince Aemond, " Lady Caron started, only to stop when she met Aelyn's gaze.
Aelyn's smile thinned slightly.
"Aemond is Aegon's brother. He will be utterly loyal to his King."
The women nodded fervently. In the field, Aegon threw his floral wreath into the commoner stands, sparking a fresh riot of cheers.
Aelyn watched, her heart less calm than her exterior. This was only the beginning, she thought.
She would make them used to standing with Aegon and used to receiving benefits from her.
-------------
Aemond's Box.
Across the arena, Aemond and Helaena sat in another box.
Aemond was not applauding. He leaned back in his wooden chair, watching his brother's victory lap with a neutral expression.
Helaena sat beside him in a pale blue gown, pearls in her hair.
An embroidery hoop sat on her lap. She was working on a black dragon, its eyes stitched with vivid crimson silk.
She looked at Aegon, then went back to her needlework.
"Brother seems very happy today," she noted.
"He enjoys the applause," Aemond replied.
"Aelyn has packaged him well. Shining armor, a magnificent cloak... how could he not be charming?"
Helaena paused her needle and looked at him.
"Are you unhappy?"
Aemond turned to her.
"I am not unhappy. Aelyn is building momentum for him, using these staged victories to craft an image. She is very clever."
Aemond's voice held a trace of coldness.
"But she shouldn't be too clever."
Helaena stiffened. "Do you think she is a threat?"
Aemond thought for a moment.
"I respect her position. But she fears you."
"She should be afraid," Aemond said directly.
Helaena fell silent, about to speak, when she suddenly stopped. She looked up at the sky.
Aemond felt it too, a vibration in the air, a low-frequency hum.
The stands began to stir. The noise in the commoner section died down as everyone looked toward the eastern sky.
At first, it was just a speck in the clouds. Then, it expanded rapidly into a shadow that blocked out the sun. The sound of wings beating the air became a roar.
A Dragon.
The people of King's Landing were used to dragons, but this one was different.
"It's blood-red," someone murmured.
Indeed, it was. The dragon flew through the sunlight, its scales reflecting the light like a mass of burning, bloody flame.
"Caraxes," Aemond whispered.
Helaena gripped his arm.
As the blood-red dragon banked toward the Dragonpit, they saw the rider.
A figure in black armor, his silver-gold hair whipping in the gale. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking him.
Daemon Targaryen.
A dead silence fell over the tourney grounds. The people who had been cheering for Aegon just a moment ago now stood with their mouths agape. The festive atmosphere evaporated, replaced by a murmur that spread like a plague.
"Prince Daemon..."
"How does he dare come to the capital?"
"During the tourney? What does he want?"
In the royal box, Viserys I stood at the railing, watching Caraxes land.
Alicent stood beside him, her voice accusing.
"He is here. You invited him?"
"At a time like this?" Viserys turned to look at her.
"Alicent, are you questioning me again?"
The Queen froze.
"I would not, Your Grace."
She lowered her head.
Viserys looked at her for a moment, then turned back toward the Dragonpit.
"Do not worry. This time, my mind is made up. I will not let the Seven Kingdoms fall apart."
-----
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