Sword of Kings

Aegon I

"Is it still working?"

Aegon turned and gaped at his younger sister, wide-eyed. Rhaenys grinned innocently. "What?" she said. "I was only asking. This pile of old steel…"

"Rhaenys," the boy interrupted. "This is a Valyrian sword."

Rhaenys, however, was not impressed. She sat down and started braiding her hair, looking at him askance. "But it is Dragonstone here," she said. "And no one has wielded Blackfyre since Aenar the Exile. I wonder whether anyone ever wielded it, truly."

The sunlight in the small chamber made the sword glint with hard light, clear and unyielding. Aegon's eyes hurt from staring for so long but it was absolutely worth it. "That's because Blackfyre was meant for special things," he said with all the certainty an eleven-year-old could muster. "Great things."

Rhaenys shrugged. Personally, she thought that there might have been some defect in the initial workmanship that prevented the sword from being an effective weapon. Aegon and Visenya disagreed. Still, she could not deny that she quite liked looking at it. The pure lines appealed to her eye and the rubies on the hilt shone like sunset, like the clearest of blood.

"I am going to see Meraxes," she announced, and Aegon frowned.

"I thought you already saw him today," he said. "Aren't you done with your training?"

She nodded and inspected her reflection in a small copper mirror before heading for the door. "We are," she said, giving him a look over her shoulder. "I am just visiting him, that's all."

"You should take a lapdog," Aegon cried in her wake. "A dragon is not…"

But she was too far away to hear. He shook his head and brought his attention back to the family heirloom. He knew Rhaenys was wrong. There was no defect about Blackfyre. It had been just preserved for greater things. For Aegon. Rhaenys laughed each time she heard that but Visenya almost looked as if he could convince her. Almost.

"A sword of kings," he said aloud. "One day, I will be King," he informed the weapon. "And I'll be your wielder."

Aenys I

The pyre died with a last hiss of breath, like a dragon meeting its end. From the Dragonpit, a dragon did roar, keening his loss to the world. All around the pyre, the assembled lords and courtiers exchanged nervous looks. They had been afraid of Aegon the Dragon to the last man but Balerion was even more fearsome – and now his rider was no longer around to control him. They had a cause to be afraid.

On the other hand, while Aegon lived, they had been forced to bow to the dragons. A dragon blood the new King might have but he was no dragon. Not like his father had been. Everyone knew that.

The new Queen shuddered in her magnificent mantle of red and black. Aenys touched her hand encouragingly. By now, she was used to their dragons but it did not mean she liked them or had stopped fearing them. She simply wouldn't run away at the sight of them as she had when she had first come to court. Even as gentle a soul as Quicksilver had not merited her affections. Of course, Aenys was well aware that his wife and his dragon were not glad of sharing him. They were… jealous of each other.

Still, Quicksilver would never harm her. The same could not be said about Balerion who had recently lost his rider. They would have to restrain him somehow… unless…

"Maegor," Aenys said in such a low voice that no one else heard. "Go and calm down your dragon."

His brother glared at him. "What?" he whispered back, fiercely.

"You heard me," Aenys said. "Do you think me a fool? Go and calm him down as soon as we are done here. Every moment he spends without a rider is a moment you lose us."

By now, some people had noticed that something was going on. Maegor's scowl, though, was clear enough even in the starlight to ward them off.

"Us?" Maegor hissed back. "Balerion is your responsibility, brother, as well as the kingdom and the Seven help you, those dogs of the Faith. You can as well…"

Aenys held out a hand to shut him up. He was not going to have this argument here, in front of their father's funeral pyre. Especially with what he intended to do right now.

He stepped to the pyre. It was still too hot for most people to go near but Targaryens tolerated heat better than most people. He reached in the hot ash that had once been the Conqueror and heard the collective gasp of the crowd as he took out the Valyrian blade – unharmed.

He turned back to face them.

"This is the sword of the Conqueror," he announced. "The sword that won us the kingdom. I now bestow it upon the one who is best suited to wield it – the one who is a better warrior than I can hope to be."

"You're mad," Maegor said in low voice even as he bowed and accepted the gift. "Do you have any idea what you did? People already think you…"

"I am well aware of what people think of me," Aenys hissed back. "Make no mistake, I expect you to defend my throne with it."

His brother's glare was something he did not appreciate but neither did it scare him. Unlike most people, Aenys had never feared Maegor. He knew what people whispered, how Maegor should have been the one to mount the Iron Throne and not Aenys. Maybe he would try to take it, one day. But not by treachery. Maegor took what he wanted without bothering to disguise his intentions. And if he made a bid for the throne, Blackfyre would not save Aenys. Maegor could beat him with a cudgel without breaking a sweat. And he would cut a far more impressive figure with Blackfyre than Aenys.

The realm needed a compromise. Alas, it also needed some cruelty. And the Valyrian steel did make a fine gift.