The confrontation in the halls of High Tide was no longer a scuffle between children; it was a cold, calculated dissection of legitimacy.
Six-year-old Jacaerys was old enough to feel the sting of the word "bastard." His face flushed a deep, humiliated crimson. "My dragon egg hatched! I am no bastard!"
Aemond didn't even blink. He leaned down, his silver hair shimmering like a blade in the torchlight. "Is that so? Do you truly believe that, or is it just what your mother whispers to keep you from crying at night?"
The tension snapped. Jacaerys let out a guttural yell, but before he could lunged, a dry, rhythmic cough echoed from the shadows.
Aegon stepped into the light, flanked by a sleepy, messy-haired Daeron and the ethereal Helaena. He didn't look at the Velaryon boys. He walked straight to Aemond and pulled him into a fierce, proud embrace. "You did it, brother. The Queen of Dragons is yours. I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."
Jacaerys and Lucerys shrunk back. They weren't afraid of Aemond's taunts, but they were terrified of Aegon. Aegon didn't just argue; he retaliated. He was the one who had taught them that for every complaint made to the King, there would be a "sack over the head" in a dark alley later.
"Are we fighting?" Daeron asked, rubbing a drowsy eye. "I'm so sleepy. Can we just finish so I can go back to bed?"
Aegon looked at the "Strong" boys with a gaze of pure, unadulterated disdain. "Fighting? Why would we fight them, Daeron? Is it fun to swat at flies?"
The insult broke Jacaerys. He charged Aegon with everything he had. But Aegon had spent his years training with Criston Cole and the master-at-arms. With a casual, almost bored motion, he planted a boot into Jacaerys's midsection. The boy was sent sprawling back, gasping for air at Lucerys's feet.
The arrival of the Kingsguard twins, Erryk and Arryk (Alec), didn't diffuse the situation—it highlighted the rift. While Erryk moved to help the fallen Jacaerys, Arryk stepped immediately to Aegon's side.
"Your Highness, are you injured?" Arryk asked, ignoring his brother's darkening expression. The lines were being drawn even within the White Cloaks.
The gathering in the main hall was a theater of the absurd. Viserys was internally jubilant—Aemond had claimed Vhagar, the greatest power in the world, and Aegon had shown "restraint" by not maiming his nephews. In the King's delusional mind, peace was still possible.
"Aegon, Jacaerys is my blood!" Rhaenyra's voice was a whip-crack of fury. "Questioning royal blood is high treason!"
Viserys sighed, preparing to play the mediator. "Rhaenyra, it is but a spat between boys—"
"Did I use a heavy hand?" Aegon interrupted, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. He reached out and began to stroke Helaena's long, silver-gold hair. "Look at this, Father. Such beautiful silver hair. It is a gift from the Gods to the true blood of Old Valyria."
He turned to Aemond. "Did you receive this gift?"
Aemond's smile was predatory. "I did. The blood of the Dragon flows in me."
He then rubbed the messy hair of little Daeron. "And our Daeron, too. The Gods were generous to us."
Then, as if choreographed, the four Green siblings turned their heads in unison to stare at the three brown-haired, flat-nosed Velaryon boys. The silence that followed was deafening. Aegon hadn't said the word "bastard" in front of the King, yet he had shouted it with every fiber of his being.
Even Alicent had to look away to hide her smirk. Viserys had always viewed Aegon as a passive, obedient child. He was realizing, too late, that his eldest son was a wolf in silk.
"Silver hair is indeed a gift," Daemon Targaryen's voice rumbled as he stepped forward, his purple eyes fixed on Aegon like a predator marking prey. He was now Rhaenyra's protector, and he intended to crush this boy's spirit. "But sometimes the Gods are careless with their gifts."
Aegon didn't flinch. He stood up and met the Rogue Prince's gaze—eye to eye, dragon to dragon.
"Is that so, Uncle? I don't think they were careless. Perhaps they simply didn't recognize the recipient. Or perhaps..." Aegon's smile turned razor-sharp. "The Gods were too busy dallying with an old lover to notice who was sneaking into the nursery. What do you think?"
The implication hit like a warhammer. Daemon's hand twitched toward Dark Sister, and Rhaenyra's face contorted in shock.
"ENOUGH!" Viserys roared, his voice cracking. "We are family! I will hear no more of these baseless rumors!"
"Of course, Father," Aegon bowed with practiced grace. "We are a loving family. Goodnight, Sister. Goodnight, Uncle."
As Aegon led his siblings and mother out of the hall in a perfect, unified column, the heavy silence remained. Viserys watched them go, a cold chill settling in his bones. He realized he was no longer the one holding the leash.
And in the shadows, Corlys Velaryon watched Aegon with a newfound dread. He had thought the "Greens" were led by the bumbling Alicent or the exiled Otto. He was wrong. The core of the opposition was a seven-year-old boy who had just outmaneuvered the Rogue Prince.