The Last of the Dragons

Chapter 1: The Passing Spring

"Was Robert Baratheon a bad man?"

"I did not know the man, your Grace. Not well anyway."

"Why did he start the war?"

"It was Jon Arryn that truly started the war."

"Then why was Jon Arryn spared, but not Robert?"

"Jon Arryn never proclaimed himself king . . . and he bent the knee. Besides, Robert was slain in battle. Though whether Rhaegar would have pardoned the man? I know not."

"Everybody says he hated my father, was my father a bad man?"

"No," The grizzled old knight started, before settling into a frown. "Rhaegar Targaryen was the finest man I ever had the pleasure of knowing. Robert was furious, he loved Lyanna Stark and yet she did not love him. She ran away with another man."

"But my father . . . he had my mother, didn't he love her? Why did he leave her?" The young boy said, with a quiver to his voice. "Why did he leave u-us?!" The tears started flowing "He left m-"

"Come here," He pulled the boy into a tight embrace, muffling the boys sobs, "shh, quiet now." After a pause, the old knight pushed him away to stare into the lad's eyes, "Always know that your father loved you, he cared for you and your sister deeply. I know it." As he pulled the boy into another hug he thought for a moment, not for the first time, of that damned prophecy. "He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders . . ."

". . . Ser Barristan?"

"Yes?"

"Why did he have to die?"

"The Seven only know, Aegon."

It was late morning when the peace summit began. The summer rains had fallen during the night and now the day's heat had left the air almost unbearably humid. The sun had driven away the clouds and was now beading down on the peace delegation. More than a few were sweating in the sweltering heat.

Aegon and the others had taken refuge in the shaded gardens overlooking the sea. The wind blew through his fair silver hair, a welcome relief from the heat. He breathed deep, enjoying the earthy smell that had followed the morning rain. He opened his deep blue eyes, eyes so dark they bordered on purple. Aegon gazed over the ocean, the sun blazing across its surface. He raised a hand to shield himself from the glare. Ships dotted across the bay, sailing into and out of the port.

Aegon wondered what journeys those ships had taken. Perhaps they sailed from Dragonstone, that black volcanic island which had provided his family refuge for generations. Or maybe they were traders from Gulltown, that bustling port laying on the northern tip of the Bay of Crabs. Mayhap the ships hail from yet further North, the frigid White Harbor perhaps? Perchance the ships sail from southerly Oldtown or the Arbor? Or even from the distant and strange lands of Essos.

"You're distracted again. You haven't forgotten why we're here, have you?"

The Princess of Dorne was slender, with dark hazel eyes and olive skin much like her mother's. Though her hair was lighter, like a dark amber.

"No." Aegon lied, somewhat impetuously, he was quick to collect himself though. "This war must end, your armies are beaten, it is time you bend the knee. You and your people are at my mercy." Aegon declared imperiously.

"Dorne shall never surrender, we did not bow to the Conqueror and his sisters. We will not bow to you," Princess Rhaenys shot back haughtily, "you do not even have dragons." She added with a laugh.

"We have a dragon." Aegon could not help but break into a grin. "He stands before you." He added spreading his arms wide.

"I see no dragon." An auburn-haired youth, cut in. "Only snakes."

"You question our honor, Robb?" Another countered. His dark hair marked him for who he was, and what he was if Uncle Viserys is to be believed. The lad could be none other than Jon, Aegon's own brother. Brushing a dark brown lock from his eyes the youth continued, "We should settle this, with a duel!"

"Have at you!" Robb brought his sword to bear, and with that the peace summit dissolved into shoves and shouts.

Rhaenys brought Aegon to the ground with a quick push while Jon declared himself Aemon the Dragonknight, crossing swords with Robb who in turn proclaimed himself as the Sword of the Morning. Darksister clashed with the legendary Dawn, though in truth the "swords" were no more than sticks the children had gathered.

They ran, laughing and chasing each other until they were out of breath. They reenacted what they could of the Young Dragon's conquest of Dorne. Though for the most part their battles devolved into grappling and tumbling in the quickly drying mud.

"Careful now children, you wouldn't want to hurt yourselves." Called out a voice from the entrance of the shaded grove. There, atop a bench, sat a man wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard. Tall and broad of shoulder, he wore a brilliant suit of shining enameled scales, white with silver clasps and chasings. A belt of white leather at his waist and a sheathe at his side, his sword was drawn and laid upon his knee to sharpen as he watched over his charges. He was one of the most respected knights in the Seven Kingdoms. Though the lines of his face were deepening and his light hair turning white with age, his keen eyes whispered of the same spirit that had earned him his moniker, Ser Barristan Selmy "the Bold."

"Sorry Barry, we'll be carefu-oof." Rhaenys was cutoff when Aegon and Jon cheering together swept Rhaenys off her feet, bringing her to the ground. "Ow, that hurt!" She shouted in indignation.

Jon laughter died with a guilty look flashing upon his face, but Aegon kept his cocky smirk and boasted. "It would appear the Dornish cannot withstand the Dragon's might. Do you yield?"

"Alright fine, I give up." Rhaenys conceded with a huff. "But I get to be King next!"

"You can't be king." Robb blurted out.

"And why not?" Rhaenys growled testily.

"Because you're a girl!" Robb piped out.

Rhaenys seethed and pushed Robb down into the mud, igniting yet another wrestling match.

"Serves you right." Jon chuckled, his cheer reborn.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Shouting startled the children, Rhaenys and Robb scrambled to their feet. Their dispute, and now the game, forgotten. "The royal family brawling in the gardens like common rabble!" The voice could belong to none other than Viserys Targaryen. Five years Aegon's senior, he was taller, more mature, with long flowing hair that made him so much more . . . regal. They always said Viserys was the kingly one.

'Regal and princely, even when he shouts.' Aegon thought, his mood dampening. He turned to address his uncle.

It was Princess Rhaenys that spoke first however. "We're reenacting the conquest of Dorne." Rhaenys said forcing a smile upon her face though even that was fading fast. "I'm the Princess of Dorne and Aegon is King Daeron, "the young dragon."" She added.

"Dorne was ruled by a Prince during Daeron's conquest, I doubt you could rule anyone." Viserys mocked, a snarl marred his normally elegant features. He turned on Aegon. "And you?! The young dragon? Look at yourself, you are covered in dirt. Daeron never wallowed in the mud like swine."

"Please Uncle, we were only playing." Aegon broke in.

"Playing? A king does not play! You're acting like a fool." Viserys raged.

A hand landed upon Viserys' shoulder, halting him. "My Prince, they are merely children, as are you if I'm not mistaken. Why not play the part?" Ser Barristan questioned. "You won't be young forever."

"Aegon is our king, he needs to be ready now." Viserys countered. "Tywin says-." Barristan seized his arm pulling the young prince aside, though not far enough that Aegon could not hear.

In a stern and hushed tone Barristan began to lecture Prince Viserys. "These children have been worried sick about their mother for days, let them have this chance to forget their troubles. Be patient, and take comfort in that Aegon has eight long years to prepare for rule."

At the mention of his mother, a dark cloud enveloped Aegon's thoughts. 'It seems like she is only ever sick lately.' The Dowager Queen Elia Martell had often been of fragile health, but this sickness had come so suddenly and she had been bedridden for so long. This sickness was different, it frightened Aegon. It worried even Grandmaester Pycelle. The old man had taken charge of her caretaking, he would trust no other with the queen regent and such a serious malady.

Aegon was drawn from his thoughts when Viserys wrenched his arm free, with a sneer. "Fine then, but Aegon should be a part of this. He needs to witness the Greybeard's death."

"Very well then." Ser Barristan relented, though the disapproving look upon his face told another story. "I'll see to it that a litter and a proper escort are prepared."

"Aegon, if your Grace would allow, you must be made presentable. Come, come." With that Prince Viserys turned and began to make his way out of the garden.

'I do not want to go, why must I leave?' Aegon thought to himself, frowning he looked back towards everyone. Jon looked scared, cowed by Viserys' outrage, Robb upset that the games had ended, and Rhaenys, her arms crossed and looking quite pointedly to the side. . . had a complicated expression. Anger? Frustration? Or something else? Aegon did not have time to dwell on that as Barristan laid a hand upon Aegon's shoulder and gently prodded him onward.

At the end of the garden Viserys looked back over his shoulder, waved a hand in the air, and called out. "Quickly now, the execution shan't wait."

Aegon was quickly ushered into the royal apartments where servants stripped him of his soiled clothes and then replaced them with appropriate garments. Aegon took short note of the crimson doublet, trimmed in black, that a manservant quickly pulled down over his head. The young King wished he was doing anything else, the prospect of some formal event did not excite him.

"Is there any news of my mother?" Aegon questioned, hoping that there had been some improvement after the night. His attendants had heard naught however, in fact by all accounts Elia's headache and fever had only grown worse. "I should like to see her tonight."

"I -erm, I'm not sure we could do that your Grace." The servant shuffled nervously. "We would not wish for you to catch her sickness." He shot a glance towards the door. Towards Viserys leaning against the wall or the ever-vigilant Ser Barristan standing beside him, Aegon was unsure.

"Oh, enough of this. That will be fine, Pycelle has already determined the illness is not contagious, you need not worry." Viserys waved away the servant's concerns.

"Of course, my Prince." The servant bowed towards him and turned back to Aegon, he looked quite relieved. "In that case, upon your return from the execution we will have your supper prepared. You may take it with the Queen Regent if it please you?"

"It does, thank you." Still, Aegon frowned. He had not seen his mother for days. Since the sickness had taken her they had not allowed him to visit her. 'I hope she gets better soon. I want to go swimming again.' Aegon thought back to the last time they had all visited the beach together. They had swum in the cool waters of Blackwater Bay and sunned themselves on the warm sands. 'Jon and I can build another sandcastle, just like last time.' The castle had been a stout simple little thing, consisting of no more than a few mounds of sand connected be a shorter ring. They'd built a larger hill in the middle to act as the keep, Jon crowned it with a shell and called it complete. Mother would always tell them how impressive it was and from time to time she would join them. She was good at building sand castles. 'Mother can tell us all her stories from Dorne. We can watch the sunset and stay out until it gets dark.'

Since the sickness had taken his mother Aegon did not have nearly as many chances to leave the keep. Lord Tywin would never give them leave to enjoy the beach, or ride through the Kingswood, or hike through the fields outside the city, or even to explore the city itself. Tywin was always stern and almost always sent Aegon to lessons instead. Usually with dusty old Pycelle, but sometimes with the much more exciting Barristan. Aegon liked learning the sword under Barristan in the yard, but his stories were the best. Pycelle knew a lot, but he was always so ponderously dull. Pycelle's stories would just drag on, he could even make dragons boring. Barristan though, Aegon learned a lot from him. Of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, of the Kingswood Brotherhood, of the Stag's Rebellion, of his father's younger years. Those ones were few and far between however. Most of the Aegon's time was spent learning his words and numbers, old family histories, and the basics of war.

'Always so much to do, I wish I could be free of it all.' With a heavy sigh, he wiped the frown from his face and settled into a kinglier visage. "The mask of a king" Rhaenys had teased him once, but Aegon's mother had approved and Jon thought it looked very serious, so it can't have been bad. 'I need to appear strong, now more than ever. A King must be presentable before his subjects.' Aegon reminded himself. 'Or at the very least, I must not give Viserys cause to be wroth.' Aegon glanced to his young uncle, who studied him from the door. 'He can find the smallest thing to quibble about.'

Viserys having apparently made up his mind and found Aegon's appearance acceptable pushed off of the wall and stepped forward. "Good, good, that's enough. You are dismissed." Viserys waved off the servants, grabbing a black cloak from one he motioned Aegon to turn around as he helped Aegon don the cloak. "You must stand tall, you will be seen, you must act the part of a king."

"But I am King." Aegon asserted.

"Not as you are," he all but spat. "You must emulate and surpass your father. You will need to work hard to prepare yourself for your reign. Your mother may not always be there for you." The cloak's clasp clipped into place.

"What was he like?"

"Who?"

"Rhaegar, my father. What was he like?"

"He was the greatest warrior the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. On horseback with a lance or on his feet with a sword he was unbeatable. So unparalleled was his prowess with the blade that Rhaegar slew the Demon of the Trident in personal combat, ending the would-be usurper's war in a stroke." Viserys paused, his gazed had strayed to the window overlooking the city. "Though even Rhaegar, in all his glory, did not come out of that battle unscathed."

"Everyone says he was noble and just."

"That he was, so noble and so just that he defied the orders of his lord father, his king, in order to protect the daughter of a traitor." Venom began to drip into the Prince's speech. Aegon did not like the turn this conversation was taking. "Though even for all that honor he could not keep faith with his wife. Your mother could not hold Rhaegar's eye. He abandoned his responsibilities and allowed the rebellion to spiral out of control."

"Viserys." Ser Barristan attempted to interject. A stern look set upon his features.

"You can't sa-"Aegon began to protest, but halted at the knock on the door. In entered another knight of the Kingsguard, gleaming silver and white. The black bat that blazoned upon his helmet made it clear as to the wearer's identity.

"The escort is ready, your Grace." Declared Ser Oswell Whent, the Black Bat of Harrenhal, as he lifted off his helm. "We are ready to leave whenever you are sire."

A smirk threatened to sprout upon the Black Bat's face. "Though I'm sure Grandison and Cafferen wouldn't mind waiting a while longer. Shall we depart, your Grace?"

"We shall." Viserys answered for Aegon, putting an end to their discussion. Already making his way through the door.

The royals and their escort descended down from the royal apartments and made their way through the pale-red stone corridors of Maegor's Holdfast. Rays of light shown through great windows, illuminating skillfully crafted tapestries depicting all the Targaryen King's. Here the indecisive Aenys, there the beloved Baelor. And beyond them Daeron the Good followed by his sons the bookish Aerys, that is the first Aerys, and the stern Maekar. Finally, at the far end of the hall, Aegon's grandfather Aerys II who was betrayed by the ambitions of the Starks, and Aegon's father Rhaegar who had brought the realm to a fragile peace before succumbing to wounds received at the Trident. This was the history of the Seven Kingdoms from Aegon the Conqueror, whose reign had lasted decades, to the short-lived Rhaegar, whose reign had lasted mere weeks. So short was his reign that he had never even had a coronation, some claimed that since the High Septon did not crown Rhaegar in Baelor's Sept then he had never really been king. None argued so in the presence of the queen however, not anymore.

'Had any of those Kings faced the challenges I will.' Aegon wondered. 'Jaehaerys the Conciliator and the Young Dragon were fourteen when they gained their crowns, Aegon the Dragonbane was only eleven.'

"And I am younger than them all." Aegon mused.

"Pardon?" Viserys questioned, shooting a look behind him.

"It's nothing." Aegon replied as they exited the passage into the entrance hall. An ornate affair with great red dragon banners draped across every wall, and above every door. An extravagant Myrish carpet led through the room towards the entrance where a layered, heavy Oakwood, iron banded door was found flanked by two intricately carved black dragons with green emeralds in place for eyes. They passed a knight at the door, he wore a blue and white striped surcoat and embroidered upon his chest a spotted leopard wielding a golden axe. He bowed low whispering a courtesy for Aegon though the King paid him little mind as they made their way to the doorway.

'I wonder what kind of King I will be?' Aegon pondered. 'Will I grow wise and aged like Jaehaerys? Will I be a great warrior, a conqueror like Daeron? Or will I be likened to Aegon Dragonbane and see the strength of House Targaryen waste away?'

"The Dornish, they hold too much influence at court." Viserys grumbled, interrupting Aegon's contemplation. "You would do well to send them all away when the regency ends."

"But they are mother's men." Aegon protested, confused at the sudden topic.

"They're Dornish." The older Prince grunted, as if that explained it. Though after seeing Aegon's questioning look he continued. "Lord Tywin told me all about them. Whimsical and changeable, unreliable and treacherous, they abandoned your father at the trident, they cannot be relied on. . . or trusted."

"I would not be so quick to disparage the Dornish, my prince." Ser Oswell Whent interjected from beneath his black bat helm. "Prince Lewyn Martell was my sworn brother, and he gave his life in the service of your father, despite the old king's. . . indiscretions. He was loyal to the end."

Viserys did not respond to that.

As the great doors were opened before them, they exited the hall into the Holdfast's courtyard to be met by a number of knights, men at arms, and various servants and retainers. Individuals dressed in their best finery, most bore the red and black colors of House Targaryen. Though others wore with pride the colors and heraldry of their own houses or those they were sworn to. Sigils of black crossed warhammers, of silver fish and rams, of silver seahorses. Aegon recognized those from his lessons with the Grandmaester, men of the crownlands sworn directly to capitol. Still there were others Aegon did not recognize quite so well such as a golden hand on red and black, black leopards, and a green dragon biting its own tail. Those men waited lazily at the front of the column, enjoying the shade below the fortress's high walls. Beside them, resting upon one's shoulder, the banner of a speared sun the symbol of house Martell.

'My mother's people.' Aegon noted the Dornishmen absentmindedly.

Bringing up the rear of the column was the banner of the Golden Lion of house Lannister. The house of Aegon's Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister. Beneath the banner of the West there were a half a dozen knights. Two wore the black and white boar of the Crakehalls, one the purple unicorn of house Brax, another a black manticore, a red ox, and finally a blue rooster.

They all snapped to attention when Aegon's herald declared the King's presence. In shining steel plate with bright and colorful raiments of all the colors of the rainbow and more, they made for a wondrous sight. These knights were the pride of the Seven Kingdoms. But they all paled before Aegon's own Kingsguard. Ser Oswhell Whent had taken his place beside his swornbrothers as they knelt before their king. The bold Barristan Selmy, the daring Daemon Jordayne, and of course the artful Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning. They all bowed before their king. Aegon made his way to his palanquin as his herald bid them all rise. The palanquin was an ornate affair of prized wood; intricately carved, painted black, with great gold gilding lining its borders alongside designs of red metal dragons. The inside was designed to seat two in snug comfort atop plush feather filled velvet cushions.

Aegon stepped into his palanquin taking a seat on the rear bench, his Uncle Viserys following close behind took the bench across from him. Ser Barristan grabbed a Targaryen banner and spurred his horse forward to lead the column, the remaining Kingsguard flanked their king.

The palanquin was lifted and the royal progression made their way through the immense curtain walls of Maegor's Holdfast.

'The main gate is more like a tunnel.' Aegon thought, peering through the checkered shutters of the litter. 'Twelve feet thick, how could anything get through these walls?'

Past the tunnels they crossed the drawbridge which hovered over a dry moat. A moat filled to the brim with large, wicked, sinister looking spikes. The moat where the old King Aerys had met his end.

"Off to see the evening's entertainment then?" Came a loud jape from the end of the bridge.

"Aye, it'll be a grand showing." Snickered a Dornishman with a thick accent. A few chuckles broke out at the head of the column as the two parties exchanged words.

As they drew up alongside the knight at the end of the bridge Aegon could now see him clearly to be another knight of the kingsguard, if his brilliant armor and white cloak where any indication.

"Your Grace." The knight bowed low as Aegon passed in his palanquin.

Aegon thought to reply, but Ser Arthur Dayne, sidling up alongside the knight, blocked his view.

"A true knight should not make japes at the expense of those about to die."Ser Arthur declared to his sworn-brother. "You best keep a respectful tongue, Ser Jaime."

Aegon could not see the knight's face nor could he hear any response, but he did hear a short murmur from the rear of the column.

Some of the men seemed to take issue with Arthur's declaration, but Aegon did not understand.

'It's the chivalrous thing to do, is it not? What knight would take issue with that?'

"Come now Arthur, let's not lose our heads." Oswell Whent interjected. Another round of laughter erupted across the procession. After a few words, which Aegon could not make out, the two knights spurred their horses forward. Leaving behind Ser Jaime, who looked determined not to meet anyone's gaze. Aegon had not thought anyone could look quite so dejected in a suit of armor.

'Why had the knight taken so much offense? Arthur's words had not been too harsh.' Aegon did not care to ponder long, not when he was getting a chance to leave the castle.

The sun was now high in the sky and the air inside the palanquin was growing stiflingly hot, but Aegon didn't mind. He liked the heat. They took the serpentine steps out of the lower bailey until they reached the courtyard of the middle bailey. They past the royal sept and just past that the Maidenvault, where Baelor the Blessed, the Septon King, had confined his sisters to protect their innocence from the wickedness of the world and the lusts of men. Onwards they neared the Tower of the Hand and its small hall before passing under the walls of the Red Keep, the shade a welcome relief to the party that had barely begun its journey. They passed through yet another set of gates, entering the outer yard. There was more traffic here as nobles and individuals of import came to court. Many stopped to shout out well wishes, some merely watched, other continued about their business.

Before long they were at the main gate. Those immense walls and massive drummed towers crowned with iron were all that separated them from the city of King's Landing. Beyond the walls lay a sprawling city filled with rich manses, timbered inns and taverns, businesses and market stalls, and some unfortunate slums.

Large bronze gates opened before them and the portcullis was raised. The party rode forth from the massive barbican onto the cobbled square before taking Shadowblack Lane down Aegon's high hill. A twisting winding road made the journey down unbearably long. Though Aegon did not mind the day's warmth, Viserys appeared quite uncomfortable. Even with the wind's occasional reprieve, Viserys' tunic was beginning to look worse for wear. The older prince picked at it unceasingly and fanned himself furiously. He complained, and loudly, of his growing thirst. On the way down Viserys called for drink not once or twice, but on three separate occasions. It got to the point that Viserys angrily bid the cupbearer to leave the skin of wine.

Aegon tried to take the Prince's mind off the weather by pointing out the Great Sept high on Visenya's hill. Aegon marveled at the impressive marble structure, domed, with seven crystal towers each holding bells of their own, a white marble plaza surrounded the structure and beyond that brilliant gardens. Upon its completion, the building had replaced the Starry Sept in Oldtown as the seat of the High Septon and the center of the Faith. Below it, lay entombed the Targaryen kings of Westeros. It amazed Aegon to no end, Viserys spared it but a glance.

When Aegon wondered aloud what the Starry Sept must be like Viserys responded with a halfhearted "You'll see it one day, I'm sure."

As the party turned yet another bend in the winding road, Aegon turned to the North, to where the Dragonpit sat menacingly atop Rhaenys' hill. An immense and dominating structure that towered above Fleabottom. It had once been domed but had long ago collapsed into ruin. No one used it now, but in the distant past it had housed the royal dragons that Targaryens had ridden and used to forge the kingdoms of Westeros into one.

"I wish I could fly." Aegon said faintly.

"Fly?" Viserys questioned, distracted wiping his brow.

"On a dragon, like the old kings before the Dance. It would be wondrous." Aegon answered with more enthusiasm. "I could go on great adventures and see all the world-"

Viserys barked a harsh laugh. "And go on to fight the Others, Snarks, and Grumpkins alongside giants and the Children of the Forest." Viserys guffawed, diminishing Aegon excitement. "The dragons are dead and gone. Stop dreaming and dedicate yourself to your lessons."

Viserys' words did little to discourage Aegon. He did not break his gaze from the Dragonpit until they had reached the bottom of Aegon's hill and his view was blocked by buildings and the trees lining the Street of Seeds.

Aegon found the street to be rather pleasant, tall maple trees loomed over them, shading the road, and below there were flowers to line their way. There were not near so many as the gardens at the Red Keep, but the lavender, lilac, and bellflowers provided a charming scene all the same.

Shade spared them from the brunt of the day's heat but even so they had to pause the procession after a knight near the back had fallen from his horse.

Aegon was somewhat surprised when it happened. He had not thought it was hot enough for one to faint. Though when Aegon saw him he began to understand how the man could have succumbed to the heat. Aegon thought the man was a tad portlier than a knight ought to be.

'And that's being kind.' Aegon thought to himself. Indeed, the man had a pale and pinched face so plump that it almost appeared to be spilling from his helm. The man looked to be stuffed into his own armor.

Viserys did not seem surprised. "The man ought to have had more to drink before we set out." He explained, taking a swig out of his wineskin. "Not having enough water will do that to you on a hot day like today. And one so clearly unfit must be burning up under all that fat."

Aegon spotted a hint of black upon his chest before a servant rushed in front of the man to give him water. Ser Arthur quickly sent the man back to the castle alongside one of his fellows, the knight with the purple unicorn embroidered on his raiment.

Ser Arthur called for the party to begin to move once more. As they neared the great square the crowds grew thicker and their progress began to slow. Soon shouts were heard from Ser Barristan at the front of the column.

"Clear a path! Make way, make way for King Aegon!"

It was not long before they finally reached the main square. It lay between the great hills of King's Landing at the intersection of the Street of Silk and the Street of the Sisters. It was cobbled stone much like the square outside the Red Keep, only here it was far more worn and muddier. Aegon could not tell if the people had tracked dirt over the stones or if the weight of the crowds had pushed the stones into the mud. It was normally a busy market square filled with merchants peddling goods, Septons preaching the Faith, and mummers putting on shows. Today however it had been cleared for a different kind of show.

A raised pavilion lay near the center of the square, facing away from Aegon's Hill. Constructed so that the royal party could watch the proceedings in comfort and shade. Just in front of it was a raised platform atop of which lay the chopping block with a basket before it. The King's Justice, that is the royal executioner, sat beside the platform sharpening a large axe. His black hood already covering his face.

Aegon took the high seat at the pavilion, it was made so that his feet would not hang in the air. Viserys quickly took the seat to his right. Two of the Kingsguard stood vigil behind their King while the other two stood guard at the steps up into the pavilion.

"Thorne thought it would be best to hold the execution here in the main square." Viserys leaned in, raising his voice in order to be heard over the gathering crowd. "He wanted to make a show of it. You know, to deter any more traitors."

"The conventional decision." Arthur Dayne spoke up from behind them. "Though I find that making a show of men's deaths loses its effectiveness quickly."

"Let them come I say, no need to beat around the bush about it." Viserys carried on. "Better to have them out in the open so that we may destroy them and be done with it."

"It is good to be decisive, but one must do what they can to avoid provoking foes unnecessarily." Ser Barristan responded.

"There certainly are a lot of them." Aegon survived the crowd, growing somewhat nervous at the many looks that were centered on him. "Will I have to say anything to them?"

"To the people? Or to the traitors?" Viserys grunted.

"Either."

"No need to be nervous, your grace. Lord Commander Thorne will bring them out, list their crimes, then they will be executed." Ser Barristan advised. "You need only bear witness and see that justice is done."

A horn sounded to announce the arrival of the prisoners, momentarily quieting the throng of smallfolk before they erupted once more into cry's and shouts. A parade of goldcloaks entered from the opposite side of the square, escorted between them were the two prisoners. The foolhardy fawn, Ser Barth Cafferen, and the sleepy lion, Ser Hugh Grandison.

The fawn certainly did not make a fierce appearance. The beginnings of an unkempt fuzzy red beard had sprouted down his neck and his tunic was torn and soiled. He certainly didn't appear like much of a warrior, he looked to be on the verge of tears. The old man, however, looked even worse.

'Nearly about to die on his feet by the looks of it.' Aegon was sure. Indeed, two guards were holding him up more than escorting him. As if to emphasize his feebleness, Hugh's age shown clearly in his brittle, tangled grey hair, and the deep grooves lining his face. What might have been a proud beard was now torn and messy, what was left of it could not hide the terrible bruise erupting across his face for all to see.

'What fight could this old man offer?' Aegon thought, questioning his beaten appearance.

The prisoners were marched through the angry crowd, the guards shoving their way passed. Insults and refuse both were hurled at the traitors as the goldcloaks shoved and dragged them through the square. At the head of the procession, Ser Alliser Thorne, the Lord Commander of the goldcloaks. He was a slim and sinewy man, with a hard look about him as his hand rested upon his sheathed sword. He wore ring mail below the gold wool cloak that distinguished every man of the city watch. Officers in the city watch would normally wear a black breastplate adorned with four golden disks, however as Lord Commander, Ser Alliser had elected to mark his with a silver flail on red with black rayonne, the symbol of house Thorne.

He walked up the steps of the platform followed closely by two goldcloaks who dragged up stumbling prisoners with them. The executioner was last, his axe glinted, blinding sunlight on black iron. Their escort surrounded the executioner's platform and pushed the smallfolk back.

"There's Lord Ronald Connington and his sons." Viserys said pointing to three men standing at the foot of the platform, distinguished by their fierce red hair. "He along with his cousin, Lord Jon Connington, were the ones that foiled this plot and arrested the traitors."

"Ronald arrested the man whose home he currently resides in." Ser Arthur observed. "The sleepy lion has fallen low. Ser Jaime replaced Harlan Grandison, the Greybeard's own uncle."

"They say Ronnet, that is Ronald's heir," Viserys said gesturing towards the tall youth standing beside his father with a far too proud look upon his face. "they say he dueled the Greybeard himself."

"The boy dueled this old man? That must have been a sight to see." Ser Barristan commented dryly. "He looks to be quite proud of his achievement."

Indeed, Ronnet was positively beaming. Standing tall and proud with a grin from ear to ear. Beside him stood another red-haired youth, when Aegon asked of him Viserys explained that the lad was Ronnet's younger brother Raymund.

"He doesn't look near as proud by half, and perhaps more than a little nervous." Aegon said, feeling that he could more than relate.

A trumpet sounded. "People of King's Landing." Ser Alliser began, bringing his hands up to quiet the crowd. "Your Grace." He gave a respectful bow to Aegon. "we are gathered here to bear witness to the execution of these vile treasonous outlaws. To witness the death of those who have committed the most heinous of crimes." He gestured to the two men shackled beside him. "These wretches, Barth Cafferen and Hugh Grandison have broken their sacred vows of knighthood and tainted their once noble blood." Ser Alliser unrolled a scroll and began to read.

"Their crimes are many and the judges, ministers, and royal officers of the court of our good King Aegon, the sixth of that name, all agree there is no doubt as to the guilt of the two men before you. Ser Barth Cafferen and Ser Hugh Grandison conspired to break the King's peace." Cries flared up from the crowd, shouts calling them traitors and fools. "They, alongside Ser Richard Fell, gathered all manner of outlaws and traitors and, having done so, began to assault representatives of the crown. Upon several occasions they stole taxes intended for the King's own treasury." At the mention of attacks on tax collectors a small wave of cheers clamored out from those assembled.

"To attack representatives of the King is an attack on the Kingdom, an attack on you! An attack on the King himself!" Ser Alliser shouted them down. "And the reach of this conspiracy did not end with banditry. These two and their fellow cohorts plotted to usurp titles and lands belonging to house Connington. These two planned to foment rebellion against their rightful sovereign. The conspirators even attempted to recruit the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Stannis Baratheon, in a bid to usurp the throne of their blessed king. Stannis Baratheon refused and informed Lord Jon and Raymund Connington of the plot against them. Thanks to the efforts of the Lords Connington, the plot was foiled." Ser Alliser gestured to the three standing before the stage. The Conningtons straightened up even further. Ronnet in particular seemed to be swelling up from praise, so much so that Aegon thought he might burst.

"That leads us to the business of the day. What is to be done with these traitors?" Ser Alliser questioned the crowd, he was answered with shouts of death. "For these most grievous crimes there can be only one punishment. Death." The crowd cheered ever louder. Ser Alliser raised his hands once more. "Silence now, silence!" He waited as order was restored. "In light of their. . . once noble birth, it has been decided they will not hang as any common outlaw, instead the method of execution shall be beheading!"

Another roar erupted from the assembled crowd. Ser Cafferen appeared to be breaking down into tears, he was saying something that Aegon could not make out over the crowd. Ser Alliser raised his hand once more to calm the crowd.

"Ser Barth Cafferen, have you any last words."

Barth fell to his knees sobbing, the chains binding his hands clanging as he clasped his hands together and begged. "Your Grace!" He choked out. "Please! I beg you, have mercy! Please! I merely wanted to see my rights restored, my father was the real traitor and he paid for it with his life. I never intended to see any harm come to you. Please spare me!" His eyes pleaded with Aegon.

Aegon froze, all eyes were on him. The traitors, the goldcloaks, the Connington's, and the crowd all looked to a boy for his judgement. Aegon withered under their gaze.

'What do I say?' Was the only thought that came to Aegon. He did not know what to say or what to do, other than stare dumbly back. Now he felt the day's heat.

Ser Alliser looked to him for a moment before glancing to something behind Aegon. Then he turned and, with a short word to one of his guards, they dragged Barth to the chopping block. Hugh could only stare at his feet.

Barth screamed, he was shoved down onto the block and held there as he struggled to get free. The axe was raised. "Oh, gods have mercy! Father protect me!" His breath was coming out in gasps now. "Please, please, please! I don't want to di-" Then the axe fell.

Aegon jerked, but did not turn away. He could not turn away from the disturbing sight. A man so suddenly stilled. The crowd roared its approval, cheering the traitor's death, but all Aegon could think of was how sick he felt.

When the cries began to die down Ser Alliser began again. "Ser Hugh Grandison, have you any last words."

"Oh, I have words." Old Ser Hugh began with a rasp, raising his head and shakily straightening up. "It's true, I broke my vows to the King. When the great war was done and King Rhaegar had finished stripping me of my castle and near all my lands I did swear to serve him loyally and to uphold his peace." Hugh barked bitterly. "Aye, I did. But they were vows said at the point of a sword. Don't any of you forget what the war was fought over!" Hugh's words began to ring louder and louder. "You all shout at me and call me traitor? The Mad King was the real traitor, a traitor to his own people!"

"Grandison, you will watch what you say!" Ser Alliser attempted to interject.

"Yes, I followed him, he was my king, but when I spoke with Robert Baratheon, I knew he was the better man." The crowd erupted, hurling insults, obscenities the likes of which Aegon had never once heard. Someone threw a rock, striking Hugh on the brow. The crowd pressed in on the ring of guardsmen surrounding the platform. "So, I turned my cloak to follow a true King and my father died for him! Aye, I swore to the dragons when the war was done, but what is left of the dragons now? Mewling little hatchlings! They're more serpents than dragons now!"

Someone in the crowd was shouting. "Shut him up, shut him up!"

"Hugh! You will be quiet!" Ser Alliser began yelling over the Greybeard. "Slynt bring him down!"

The goldcloak behind Grandison kicked at his knee forcing him down before the block. But Grandison would not be silent.

"A woman rules us now, a damned dornish woman!" Ser Hugh could barely be heard over the crowd.

Shouts of, "kill him!" and "take off 'is head" all but drowned out the Greybeard's words.

A large cut bled profusely over his left eye. Red covered near half the man's face, but he did not lessen in his shuddering outrage. "Or is it the Lion of Lannister? The man that hid away from the war like a fucking coward!" The axe was raised, Hugh turned his head. Aegon did not hear what else he said, before the axe fell. Aegon flinched once more.

The crowd was silent for a moment before a shout rang out. "Good riddance." And a murmur of chuckles passed through the audience.

"That's quite enough of that then." Viserys said from Aegon's side. The crowd surrounding them began to disperse, their entertainment over.

"Thus, end all traitors." Ser Alliser stepped forward raising a roll of parchment. "Now then, hear this! A number of their fellow conspirators are still at large. Ser Richard Fell, known more commonly by the moniker Silveraxe, along with Ser Ulmer Cafferen assisted these rebels that now lie dead before you. The crown has offered a reward of a hundred gold dragons for any information that leads to the capture of Richard Fell and another sixty gold dragons for information on Ser Ulmer Cafferen."

"It's time we returned to the keep." Viserys talked over the rest of Alliser's speech and rose to his feet. "Best gather the men, Daemon."

"Right away, my Prince." Ser Daemon hopped to it, rousing the men. "Form the column men. Come on, get up! Are Crakehall boys taught to keep their king waiting? Move it, move it, form the column and raise those banners!"

A few knights of the Westerlands scrambled to their feet, one knocked over the stool he had sat on. Their escort mounted their horse and formed lines as they pushed their way into the crowd. Aegon and Viserys stepped down from their platform and entered their palanquin once more.

"There was more blood than I thought there would be." Aegon said after they had begun moving. "It was gruesome."

"It's a sight you'll see far more of I'll wager." Viserys smirked. "Just earlier you were pretending to be Daeron, you think he ever shied away from the sight of blood? If you want to be a warrior, you'll need to grow accustomed to it."

After a pause Viserys continued. "Do you know why you were brought out to see that?"

"So I may be familiar with killing?" Aegon questioned.

"No, with justice."

There's the first story I've published and it's an idea I've been mulling over for more than a few years. Great timing now that the show is ending, right? At least the books will remain ongoing for some time. With luck we'll get some spinoff series.

I've always liked the idea of what Westeros would be like if the Targaryens were victorious during Robert's Rebellion. We'll be following Aegon for the most part, but I think I'll be splitting off every now and then to follow Ned or the other Targ children. I'll be skipping through Aegon's childhood a bit, but I will need to establish a few things before we get to relatively grown up characters. We'll see how it goes.

Enjoy the final season premier tonight!