The din of the banquet swelled as the wine flowed, the hall growing louder with every cup poured. What began as measured praise soon slid into excess, flattery laid on so thick it bordered on farce. Laughter rang too loudly. Smiles lingered too long.
Before the night was done, a few voices, emboldened by drink, went so far as to jest that Prince Aegon ought to march on King Viserys at dawn and force him to abdicate.
Aegon met such words with an easy smile. He lifted his cup, nodded in mild amusement, and said nothing in return. Yet his eyes moved constantly, slipping from face to face, weighing each man who spoke, each man who laughed too quickly.
What he saw brought him a measure of relief. Beneath the excess, there was no hesitation, no hidden dread. Only eagerness, ambition, and naked approval.
This feast had never been meant as mere celebration. It was a test, simple but necessary.
He needed to know where these lords truly stood.
If banners were called and swords drawn, if he chose to act before the realm was ready, would they follow him into open defiance?
From what he had seen tonight, the answer among the lesser and middling houses was clear enough. Their support would not be hard to claim.
That knowledge settled something in him. Certain paths now felt less perilous to tread.
The banquet ended in laughter and clattering cups, the hall still buzzing as servants cleared the tables. Aegon excused himself early and retired to his study, where Humphrey awaited him, pacing like a caged hound.
The man bowed stiffly when Aegon entered, his impatience barely contained.
"Your Highness," Humphrey said at once, hands clenched behind his back. "Have you found a way forward?"
House Bracken and House Blackwood had warred for so long precisely because neither could crush the other outright. Had one possessed overwhelming strength, the feud would have ended generations ago, in blood and ashes.
Aegon moved past him, setting his goblet aside before turning back. His voice was calm, deliberate.
"I will send a detachment of trained men to Raventree. Their task will be simple. Remove the head, and the body will falter. While they move, you will quietly gather your banners, cross the Red Fork, and wait on the edge of Blackwood Vale for my word."
Blackwood Vale was broad and rich, a sprawl of damp fields and low hills beside the river. Raventree lay at its heart, the ancient seat of House Blackwood. Despite its name, no great forest stood there now. Only sodden ground, clustered villages, mills, and timber halls rising from the mud.
Humphrey's brow furrowed. He shook his head slightly.
"Your Highness, their lands crawl with Blackwood eyes and ears. Raventree is guarded day and night. A strike like that will not be easy."
Aegon held his gaze without blinking.
"You need not concern yourself with how it will be done," he replied. "Only with when. The blow will fall at dawn, three days hence."
There was a long pause. Humphrey studied him, searching for doubt, for uncertainty. He found none. Whatever misgivings he held, the chance before him was too great to refuse. Perhaps it was the only one he would ever have.
At last, he bowed his head.
"Very well," he said, voice low and resolute. "I will have the men called at once."
Aegon inclined his head in return.
Had armies been quicker to gather under the feudal order, he might have acted the next morning. Still, fortune favored him. The feast had already drawn Bracken's sworn men beneath one roof. Orders would spread swiftly.
Torchlight flickered in the corridors as the night wore on. When Humphrey departed, he knelt briefly before Aegon.
"Thank you, Your Highness. If House Blackwood falls, House Bracken will stand with you to the end."
"It will not come to that," Aegon said lightly. His smile held no warmth. "When the Blacks and Greens clash, the advantage is already mine."
In his mind, those who opposed him were obstacles, nothing more. Temporary. To be cleared aside.
His ambitions reached far beyond one river feud. The North, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Stormlands, even Dorne in time. He envisioned a realm where much of Westeros answered directly to the Crown, where the great houses were broken or bound, their power stripped and reordered.
Dragons alone were not enough. Rule required foundations.
War would give him that. War would tear out roots that had grown too deep.
It was almost a shame that so many had declared for him so early. When true war came, he doubted he would achieve even a third of what he intended.
At first light, Aegon mounted Sunfyre and took wing for Drakoncrest, the golden dragon's shadow racing across the sea.
Upon landing, he wasted no time. Messengers were sent at once, and before the day was done, Hugh, Skaði, and Prince Aemond stood before him.
Aegon did not bother with pleasantries.
He turned to Hugh, studying the man closely.
"How fares the elite force I ordered you to train?"
The elite force numbered only fifty men.
Each of them had been selected and trained personally by Aegon, drilled according to methods drawn from memories that did not belong to this world. He could not say with certainty how well those lessons would hold under steel and blood. No book or rehearsal could answer that.
Only battle could.
Now that such a chance lay before him, anticipation stirred in his chest, sharp and keen.
Hugh stepped forward and dropped to one knee, fist to breastplate. When he rose, his eyes shone with barely restrained fervor.
"Your Highness," he said, voice firm, "the fifty of the Gold Dragon Group stand ready. At any hour. For any special task."
The Gold Dragon Group existed outside the usual chains of command. They trained apart from the levy and household knights, under routines few others understood, all of it overseen directly by Hugh. If Aegon was eager to see the results, Hugh was doubly so.
"Good," Aegon replied. "Then we proceed as planned."
He paused only briefly before continuing, his tone even.
"We will strike House Blackwood with a decapitation assault. The men will be delivered by dragon, under cover of night."
The words had barely settled before Hugh stiffened. His brows drew together, and he spoke at once.
"Your Highness, the dragon compartments crafted by the artisans have not yet been tested."
Until that moment, Hugh had assumed this force would be blooded in the Disputed Lands, perhaps along the fringes near Tyrosh. Dangerous, yes, but distant.
Aegon looked at him calmly.
"And what better test is there than battle itself?"
Hugh fell silent.
Skaði, who had been standing with arms folded, let out a breathy laugh and scratched the back of her neck, her grin lopsided.
"His Grace speaks true," she said. "And I trust the compartments. Old man Babu knows his craft."
Babu was past sixty, his back bent by years of labor. Born a slave, he had survived long past the age most of his kind did, saved by steady hands and a carpenter's eye so precise it bordered on artistry.
Aegon inclined his head.
"So do I," he said. "We will inspect them ourselves."
He rose, already moving toward the exit.
"We ride at once. The compartments will be fitted on-site."
He stopped at the threshold and glanced back.
"Who will carry Skaði?"
Before Hugh could answer, Aemond spoke up.
"I will," he said quickly.
He crossed the chamber without hesitation and reached for Skaði's hand, clasping it as though the act required no thought at all.
Skaði blinked, then laughed awkwardly. "Ah. Thank you," she said, squeezing his fingers before following his lead.
Aegon remained where he was, eyes narrowing by a hair's breadth.
He watched the two of them, the way Aemond stood just a fraction closer than necessary, the way Skaði's usual confidence had dulled into something uncharacteristically shy.
Something was amiss. Of that he was nearly certain.
For Aemond, proud and sharp-edged as Valyrian steel, to so readily call someone a good friend was no small thing. This was unlikely to be a matter of simple companionship.
Still, Aegon turned away.
He had learned enough to know when not to interfere.
The so-called Black faction had revealed itself to be brittle, strong only in appearance. There was no longer any need to bind Aemond or Daeron to powerful houses through marriage, no need to barter blood for banners.
If Aemond's preferences truly lay in this… unexpected direction, Aegon neither understood them nor judged them.