"As you wish," Larys nodded, the shadows of his cowl hiding the calculating glint in his eyes.
"Go prepare first, and while you're at it, help me summon Hugh," Aegon added, waving a dismissive hand.
Larys bowed and limped away, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone. He found Hugh in the barracks, hunched over a heavy tome of history, his brow furrowed in concentration. To the casual observer, Hugh was merely a towering blacksmith with a penchant for brawling, but Larys knew better.
"Lord Hugh, His Highness wishes to see you," Larys said, his voice smooth and unassuming.
Hugh looked up, his massive frame unfolding like a rising siege tower. He nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Lord Larys. I'll go at once."
Larys watched him leave. In the Red Keep, everyone knew that Hugh Hammer was Aegon's shadow. Even the Small Council treated the man with the caution usually reserved for high-born lords. To cross Hugh was to cross the Prince, and Aegon's memory was as long as a dragon's tail.
A Father's Grief
Hugh arrived at Aegon's chambers to find the Prince sitting by the hearth, while Helaena stood by the wardrobe, quietly folding tunics.
"Princess," Hugh greeted her with a deep bow.
"There is no need for such formality, Hugh," Helaena said, offering a soft, radiant smile. Since the betrothal, the clouds of her "dragon dreams" seemed to have parted, replaced by a cheerful resolve.
"You are the future Queen," Hugh insisted firmly. "Respect for you is respect for His Highness. It is my duty."
Aegon gestured to a chair. "Sit, Hugh. I hear Lady Martha has given you a daughter?"
Hugh's rugged face softened instantly. "Marchery. She is healthy and beautiful. I am a lucky man to have both a son and a daughter."
But the light in his eyes dimmed as he spoke of his son. "The boy, Shocker... his heart is weak. Archmaester Mellos says it is a miracle he has seen his eleventh year. He doubts the boy will make it to sixteen."
Aegon remained silent. He remembered the grueling flight to the Citadel to find healers for the boy. "I will provide whatever is needed, Hugh. Spend time with him. The realm can wait; a father's time cannot."
"Thank you, Highness," Hugh whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
The Pact of Blood
"Let's speak of the future," Aegon said, leaning forward. "How long have you been with me, Hugh?"
"Six years, Highness. You gave me literacy, tactics, and a life for my family. I owe you everything."
"In those six years, I have given you no title. No lands. Do you resent me for it?"
Hugh shook his head without a second's hesitation. "Without you, my son would be in the ground and I would be pounding cold iron for coppers. I am content."
Aegon looked at Helaena, who had moved to his side. "Good. Because I have a proposal. When I have children, I want your daughter, Marchery, to marry my second son."
The silence that followed was absolute. Hugh looked as though he had been struck by a warhammer.
"Highness... she is the daughter of a bastard blacksmith. She is not worthy of a Prince's blood."
"Status is a stroke of a pen," Aegon countered. "When I ascend the throne, I will legitimize you. I will restore your mother's name. You will no longer be Hugh of the Forge; you will be a lord in your own right."
Legitimization was the ultimate power of a King. In a world where a surname like "Hammer" or "Flowers" was a brand of shame, the name Targaryen was a godhood.
Hugh dropped to one knee, his massive forehead touching the floor. "I swear, by the Old Gods and the New, I am yours. My life, my steel, my children—all belong to the true King."
Aegon smiled, but it was a cold, sharp thing. "I accept your oath. And now, I have a task that requires your particular... strength."
"I am being sent to the Stepstones," Aegon whispered. "A gilded exile. While I am gone, I need someone to be the 'Shield of the Greens' here in the city. I need you to organize the new 'servants' we've brought in. If the King's health fails while I am at sea, the Red Keep must be ours before Rhaenyra can even mount Syrax."