Chapter 28: Aunt and nephew

Aegon's POV

I observed the sea ablaze, the sounds of men's screams filling the air, as I gazed in wonder at a dragon of jade and bronze soaring through the sky. Its beauty was breathtaking, and I watched it for what felt like an eternity.

The dragon unleashed jade-green and yellow flames, setting a few more ships alight, while smoke billowed into the air. The soft neighs of my horse indicated its desire to escape this place, a wish it would soon fulfill.

"Come, my prince, we should meet the queen quickly," Jon urged in an urgent tone. I briefly felt annoyance, but it was quickly replaced by anticipation and a dizzying sense of excitement.

Urging my black stallion forward by kicking my spurs into its fur, it reared on its hind legs. The wind whipped through my silver hair as it surged forward, hooves tearing through the earth. We rode past golden-colored rock walls.

The echoing sounds of Dothraki screamers filled the air as I watched the army decimate men wearing harpy masks. It was an awe-inspiring sight as they cut down their foes, their curved arahk blades slicing through them effortlessly. It was almost hard to believe that my aunt had conquered three cities and had such a formidable army at her command.

It left me astounded, but I stood my ground. She would have no choice but to marry me. I was the last male heir of our bloodline, and my claim was stronger. She might have the army, but my father had been beloved by the people, whereas her father had been hated by both smallfolk and lords alike.

I wondered if she was as mad as her father, or if she possessed the kindness of my grandmother. Jon had told me stories about her from his childhood, but now I wasn't so sure. My aunt couldn't be entirely cruel if she risked her army to fight for the slaves of these cities.

Taking a deep breath, I noticed a looming pyramid coming into view as two Unsullied guards, dressed in black leather, stared back at me. I addressed them in High Valyrian, hoping to make them move, but it was only when I mentioned my name that they allowed us entry.

"Brōzio ñuha iksis Aegon Targārien byllie hen zȳhon brōzi iksan kesīr navjot ūndegon ñuha dodji sto Daenērys Targārien se dāria hain Meereen," I spoke in a commanding tone at first, but their almond-shaped eyes remained cold and blank until they moved their thick wooden shafted spears aside.

I exchanged an annoyed glance with Jon before ascending the stairs with Rolly and the half-maester trailing behind me, and Septa Lemore following quietly. The steep and winding stairs proved challenging for my aching knees.

The oppressive heat of Meereen caused sweat to stream down my back, and the humid air felt like walking in a swamp. I made my way up the steps and into the throne room, where a woman sat gracefully on the throne.

Though dressed in Dothraki attire, she exuded an unmistakable regal presence. Her chin was held high, and as she looked down at me, her lilac-colored eyes widened, as did those of a man with wispy silver hair and sparkling blue eyes.

He stood in full armor and, as his gaze shifted to Jon, his breath seemed to catch for a second time. Jon smiled gently at him, speaking in a calm yet respectful tone.

"Ser Barristan, it has been a while. Your grace, it is an honor to meet you and to present your nephew, His Grace Prince Aegon Targaryen the Sixth of his name, the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell."

Loud, booming voices reverberated off the walls and filled my ears as I noticed a boy with dark brown eyes studying my face intensely, his body growing rigid.

Though his face reminded me of a frog or some other unsightly creature, his mocha-brown skin marked him as Dornish. Did he know my mother?

Impatience gripped me as I spoke in High Valyrian, my tone clear and concise, demanding answers. "Gōntan ao gīmigon ñuha muña dornishman." Even as I spoke, confusion and doubt seemed to cloud his eyes.

"I don't speak fluent Valyrian, but I can assume that you are asking about my aunt. If what you say is true, then we would be cousins. My father was your mother's elder brother."

His tone was suspicious, and his eyes held doubt and hostility. He wasn't the only one to doubt me; my aunt regarded me with a mixture of amusement and skepticism.

"I heard you died, your head smashed in by the Mountain, and your body was presented before the usurper." Her amusement quickly faded, replaced by a questioning expression as she cocked an eyebrow upward.

Varys chose that moment to enter, a plump man with a gleaming bald head and powdered cheeks. He wore a cunning and sly smile as he spoke with a knowing tone.

"No, that was some other babe, your grace. I paid a man his weight in Arbor gold wine for his newborn son. He had plenty of others. With Elia's permission, I switched Aegon with the false babe after the siege ended and the new king was crowned. I took your nephew across the Narrow Sea and placed him with your father's closest friends and allies. If not for your father banishing him, he might have been able to save your brother as well."

His sly and all-knowing tone sent shivers down my spine as I turned to look at my aunt. Her eyes widened as she listened, doubt still lurking behind them.

"Ser Barristan, do you believe this? You were there on the day when the babe was placed at the usurper's feet," she inquired, gazing at him with affectionate eyes.

He smiled warmly at her before turning to me, watching my face as a small smile slowly spread across his lips.

"Without a doubt, he looks much like your brother, not just in terms of hair and eye color. He has the same handsome features as his father, your brother."

His strong and assured voice resonated as a grin formed on my aunt's face. I could only look on, my heart racing, as Jon and Rolly glanced at me with pride and satisfaction. Even Ser Jorah's pale blue eyes seemed to shimmer with a hint of approval, though a touch of resentment lingered beneath the surface.

"You indeed have the better claim," my aunt conceded, her tone light but with a touch of arrogance. "But I have everything else. I will rule, and you will rule with me as King Regent until I marry. After that, you will be my heir until a son is born. If you wish to press your claim independently, I understand, but I won't provide you with the army and allies to do so. The choice is yours, dear nephew."

Her voice was sly and amused, and I couldn't help but feel frustrated. She might be the queen of Meereen, but in Westeros, she had no rightful claim. She would be merely a woman to bear children and nothing more. But I decided to bide my time. She was the last of our bloodline, and eventually, she would marry me. Until then, I would go along with her plans.