The Red Keep was undergoing a silent and thorough transformation.
Servants and Soldiers busily moved about, dismantling the crowned stag of Baratheon and the roaring golden lion of Lannister.
The tapestries, crests, and decorations that had hung for seventeen years were all torn down and piled in corners, waiting to be burned or melted down.
Brand new black flags featuring the three-headed red dragon were solemnly raised, unfurling in the winds of King's Landing, their dragon wings spreading wide to announce the full return of the Targaryens.
When Ghidorah descended, he had deliberately restrained his weight and pressure. Aside from a few inconsequential scuffs on the outer walls, the entire Red Keep was almost completely intact; even the carvings on the corridor pillars remained undamaged.
Aegon, clad in pitch-black valyrian steel armor with his silver hair tied back, walked slowly through the newly renovated palace paths.
His steps were steady, yet he was surrounded by an inescapable aura of cold solitude, as if the surrounding clamor had nothing to do with him.
Jon Connington followed closely behind, holding letters in his hands, his voice respectful:
"Your Highness, the battle report of the great victory at King's Landing has been sent by raven to the Narrow Sea King's Ridge. Triarch Luciana has replied that provisions and armaments from the Three Cities will continue to arrive in an endless stream."
"In addition, tens of thousands of craftsmen and commoners will be migrated to replenish the population of King's Landing and restore the capital's vitality as quickly as possible."
Having finished his report, Jon Connington's gaze fell upon Aegon's back, becoming complex as he hesitated to speak.
He had spent his life adhering to the honor of a knight, believing in law and order.
But Aegon's actions after entering King's Landing... abolishing noble privileges, executing old officials with an iron fist, and disregarding commoners during the siege, had long since shattered the morality he held dear.
However, the person before him was the only surviving bloodline of Prince Rhaegar, the true dragon he had failed to protect and owed half his life to.
That belated loyalty and guilt bound him tightly, making it impossible for him to utter even half a word of advice.
With his heart tormented as if by burning fire, the old general's expression darkened slightly.
Aegon never looked back, as if he had already seen through his thoughts, yet he asked nothing, simply stepping toward a secluded tower deep within the Red Keep.
Jon Connington followed in silence.
The two stopped before a dust-covered wooden door.
Aegon raised his hand and pushed the door open.
Thick dust floated and sank in the light streaming in. The furnishings were simple and dilapidated, no longer possessing their former elegance.
There was only one window, facing Blackwater Bay; the sea breeze blew through it, swirling the dust in the room.
Aegon slowly withdrew his gaze from the sea and turned to look at the confused Jon Connington. His voice was as flat as a calm sea, yet every word was like an ice pick:
"Do you know where this is?"
Jon Connington shook his head. Although he had been the hand of the king for Aerys back then, he had never stepped into the private royal chambers.
"This is the room of my mother, Elia."
Aegon stepped into the room. Each step felt like treading on the bloodstains of seventeen years ago.
"When King's Landing fell, Aerys listened to the slanders of Pycelle and let Tywin Lannister's army into the city without any defense. He thought he was welcoming Royalist reinforcements, but what came was betrayal and slaughter."
"Gregor Clegane... that beast, broke in with his men. He broke into this very room."
His voice remained calm, without shouting or trembling, only a numb coldness after experiencing extreme pain:
"He snatched me from my mother's arms. Then, grabbing my swaddling clothes, he smashed my head against this wall."
Aegon's gaze fell on the mottled stone wall beside him, as if he could still see the blood and brains of an infant splashed on the bricks all those years ago.
"With hands covered in my blood, he raped my mother and then brutally murdered her."
"And my broken body, wrapped in a Lannister red cloak, was given to Robert Baratheon as a trophy."
Jon Connington was shaken to his core, his face turning deathly pale instantly, and the hand holding the letters couldn't stop trembling.
He knew the general outline of the Red Keep massacre, but Varys had told him that the one who suffered that tragedy was a farmer's son used as a substitute. Therefore, he hadn't paid it much mind at the time, only mourning for that poor innocent child from afar, and instead focused on raising the Son of Rhaegar sent to him.
Now, knowing that the one who had experienced those atrocities was the real Aegon... he felt as if his heart were being gripped and repeatedly kneaded by an invisible giant hand. He wanted to speak, but the words were stuck in his throat, leaving only a wave of bitterness.
Aegon slowly raised his hand, his gloved fingers gently brushing against the cold, rough wall.
Where his fingertips touched, there was no warmth.
Only the deathly silence of centuries-old stone and the never-fading hatred that had long since seeped into the cracks.
"This world has never shown me a shred of mercy. So why should I show mercy to this world?"
His voice was as soft as a sigh, yet so heavy it made Jon Connington struggle to breathe.
"I was too young back then, too young to remember my mother's appearance, to clearly recall her features, or to remember her voice."
"The only remaining memory is her embrace... very warm, very reassuring. It is the only tenderness I have ever felt in this life."
"But even that small amount of tenderness was smashed to pieces by a Lannister blade."
"Mercy? In this cruel Westeros, mercy has always been a luxury for the weak, a fig leaf for the murderer."
He turned and looked at Jon Connington:
"Pass down the order: when the entire Red Keep is cleaned, this room is not to be touched at all. Especially this wall. Not a single brick or stone is to be damaged; it must be preserved permanently."
A ruthless ferocity that could burn everything surged in his purple eyes as he spoke each word clearly and resolutely:
"When I capture Tywin Lannister, I will personally grab him by the hair and smash his head against this wall. I will let him experience firsthand what it feels like to have one's skull shattered."
Looking at Jon Connington's shocked expression, he added calmly, his tone carrying a bone-chilling pain that only he could understand:
"You probably cannot imagine how someone whose skull was smashed could survive. But I survived. I remember that pain clearly."
As his words fell, the room descended into a deathly silence.
Jon Connington froze in place, his blood feeling as if it had turned to ice. A lump formed in his throat, and though a thousand words were blocked in his chest, he couldn't utter a single one.
Prince Rhaegar's own flesh and blood, the child of Princess Elia, had suffered such inhuman torture in this Red Keep... having his head smashed against a wall while still in swaddling clothes, his body thrown into a mass grave, barely surviving among the pile of corpses.
And what about him? He was on the other side of the Narrow Sea, holding onto a ridiculous sense of loyalty, doing everything he could to raise another boy, giving him fine clothes and food, and providing all the care, teaching, and expectations that should have belonged to the true dragon before him.
His heart felt as if it were being repeatedly sliced by a dull blade, the pain making it nearly impossible for him to breathe.
If Prince Rhaegar knew in the afterlife, if he were still alive and saw such an absurd mistake, saw the true prince struggling in hell while he was nurturing a fake, how disappointed and heartbroken he would be.
The immense guilt and regret almost crushed the old general.
Aegon did not look at his distraught state, but simply turned around calmly and adjusted the scabbard of Dark Sister at his waist.
"You don't need to follow me anymore."
His voice was steady, without a hint of misplaced anger, yet it made Jon Connington feel even more ashamed.
"King's Landing has just been settled, and everything needs to be rebuilt; someone with enough experience is needed here to lead the reorganization."
"Order within the city, city defense deployment, allocation of provisions, pacifying the people... these matters are left entirely to you to handle."
Having finished his instructions, Aegon walked straight out the door and commanded the guards in the corridor:
"Pass the order to prepare horses. Have Henry bring a squad of the Bloodsworn to escort me; I want to go out for a walk."
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