Hoofbeats trotted steadily across the broken streets of King's Landing.
Aegon sat atop a snow-white steed, clad in black armor, his silver hair fluttering slightly in the wind. A squad of Bloodsworn Soldiers surrounded him, the crisp clatter of their armor the only sound in the deathly silent long street.
Henry, once bloated and stout, had long since shed his excess weight through the bloody battles of Valyria and the campaigns across the Narrow Sea. His figure was now upright and tall as he guarded the side of the horse closely.
His gaze swept warily across the alleys on both sides; the rough brashness of a Mercenary had faded, replaced by the steadiness of a military commander.
Aegon looked straight ahead, seemingly blind to the surrounding ruin.
Henry, however, couldn't help but look aside. The roofs of entire blocks of houses had been blown away by the wind pressure from Ghidorah, broken wood and rubble were scattered everywhere, and dark brown bloodstains were congealed on the bluestone road.
Commoners huddled behind broken doorframes, their eyes numb and fearful.
Soldiers were dragging away debris and clearing corpses. This King's Landing had just experienced a cataclysmic disaster.
Looking at the widespread mess, a flicker of complex emotion passed through Henry's eyes.
His thoughts drifted back to the shores of Dragonstone.
That old man who had taken the initiative to find him, with hair as white as snow yet a back held perfectly straight...
The two had shared a brief conversation by the reef.
Henry had categorically declared his undying loyalty to Aegon. The old man, however, looked out at the waves of Blackwater Bay, his voice aged and heavy:
"It is precisely because of your absolute loyalty to him that you must ensure he does not go astray. Child, I can see your character; you will become a great knight. Go and persuade your sovereign to wake up, do not let him be consumed by hatred, do not let him become a second Mad King."
The old man's words were filled with bone-deep remorse: "I was once a Kingsguard of the Targaryens, but later I served Baratheon. I have defiled the White Cloak and have no face to meet that true dragon prince. I hope you can shoulder this responsibility for me."
Henry abruptly pulled his drifting thoughts back, his fingertips tightening slightly.
How could he not know who that old man was? That was the white knight he had idolized since childhood, Barristan the Bold.
He was originally a bastard of The Reach who had harbored dreams of knighthood since youth. However, due to his lowly birth, he suffered endless ridicule and cold stares. In a fit of anger, he chose to leave his homeland, wanting only to find a path to knighthood for himself.
After drifting to the other side of the Narrow Sea and meeting Aegon amidst the blood and fire of Valyria, he had sworn an oath from then on, willing to die for his lord.
But now, looking at Aegon's indifferent back, a sense of unfamiliar bitterness welled up in his heart.
This person he had sworn to serve unto death was becoming increasingly inscrutable.
In the Valyrian Ruins, he would save mercenaries he didn't know and protect those around him.
But now, sitting upon the iron throne with a great army and dragons in hand, only a bone-chilling coldness remained. Could power truly erode a person's heart and turn them into a completely unfamiliar version of themselves?
The journey was silent.
The horses' hooves trod over the dirt road in the outskirts. After the party had traveled several miles out of the city gates, they stopped before a low-lying hillock.
This place was adjacent to the walls of King's Landing; one could see the towering spires of the Red Keep by looking up.
Yet compared to that magnificent royal city and its high towers, this hillock was pitifully small, humble to the point of being tragic. This was the mass grave for the commoners of King's Landing.
The paupers who had no money to purchase a burial plot, executed criminals, and unclaimed bodies were all buried here haphazardly.
Wild grass grew thick, white bones were faintly visible, and as the wind swept through the grass, only a sobbing sound remained.
Aegon dismounted and slowly stepped into this field of desolate graves.
This was the place where he and his sister Rhaenys had been dumped as corpses years ago. It was the place where his skull had been crushed while in swaddling clothes, where he had struggled on the verge of death in a pile of bodies—the darkest starting point of his childhood.
It wasn't until he was saved by old Hain and sent to the other side of the Narrow Sea that he finally managed to keep his life.
The two small, crudely piled mounds of the past had long since been leveled by time, leaving only a desolate patch of flat ground.
Under the magnificent reflection of the Red Keep, this land appeared exceptionally pitiful and small, much like the two small lives that had been discarded like worn-out shoes back then.
Aegon stood in place, a very faint trace of complexity finally flickering in his purple eyes, no longer entirely cold.
He raised his hand, signaling the Soldiers behind him to come forward, his voice low and clear:
"Send men to clear this place, level the graves, and organize the land. No more mass burials are permitted."
After a pause, he looked at that patch of flat ground, his tone softening slightly yet remaining exceptionally firm:
"Build a sept here. Use it to commemorate my sister, Rhaenys Targaryen."
The Soldiers bowed to receive the order and stepped aside.
Aegon slowly turned around, his gaze falling directly on Henry. Those purple eyes were calm and waveless, yet they carried a sharp insight as if he had already seen through all the secrets in Henry's heart.
"I know Barristan Selmy found you."
Aegon spoke with a flat tone, yet it caused Henry to tense up instantly.
"Tell me, what did he say to you?"
Henry froze, his heart feeling as though it were being squeezed by an invisible hand.
Once, he had viewed Aegon as a close friend he could stand beside; even knowing the other possessed the noble blood of the true dragon, he had kept that closeness hidden in his heart.
But he knew that his lowly status as a bastard meant he was not worthy of standing on equal footing with a true dragon, so he could only bury those sentiments deep.
And the Aegon of today was no longer the comrade-in-arms from Valyria. He was the Dragon King who held a great army and dragons, sitting upon the iron throne; the pressure surrounding him made it hard to breathe.
Under Aegon's gaze, Henry's Adam's apple bobbed, and for a moment, he didn't know how to speak.
His back was pulled taut and straight, his fingertips gripping the sword hilt tightly, his knuckles turning white.
Aegon's gaze held no sharp interrogation, yet it was like cold-quenched Valyrian Steel, probing directly into his heart.
His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty twice. First, he lowered his head to avoid those bottomless purple eyes, his voice carrying lingering tension, yet he gritted his teeth and spoke honestly:
"Ser Barristan found me by the shores of Dragonstone." His voice was dry, carrying the innate awkwardness of a bastard facing a true dragon, but also hiding genuine concern for Aegon. "He said... he was once a Kingsguard of the Targaryens, and he failed the late King and the Princess by being unable to protect the royal bloodline."
"He asked me to persuade you... to persuade you not to let hatred cloud your mind, not to let dragonfire harm too many innocents, and especially... not to follow the old path of the Mad King."
By the end, Henry's voice had softened.
He looked up to steal a quick glance at Aegon before hastily lowering his head again. In his heart, he both feared offending this Dragon King and did not want to betray his own conscience by hiding anything:
"I never thought you would become like that, but following you back to King's Landing and seeing your methods, I... I am just a little uneasy. But my loyalty to you has never wavered in the slightest."
Aegon listened quietly, his face showing no ripples of emotion, as if he had already anticipated these words.
He turned back to look at the patch of desolate graves that were about to be cleared. The wind swirled with wild grass, brushing past his silver hair. A trace of coldness that merged with this desolation passed through his purple eyes. He spoke slowly, his voice not loud, but every word was clear, striking Henry's heart:
"The Mad King? The world says he was insane and tyrannical, and perhaps in your eyes, everything I have done seems no different from him, or even equally mad. But I know better than anyone the meaning behind my actions."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the silhouette of King's Landing in the distance. His tone held no remorse, only an indisputable firmness:
"You speak of those innocent commoners who died under dragon wings or in the chaos of the city's fall... they were indeed innocent."
"If I had followed Jon Connington's strategy—a long siege, taking King's Landing step by step and playing it safe—I could naturally have preserved most of those innocent lives. That would be the most secure method, the one most in line with worldly morality."
"But I will not do that."
Aegon's voice suddenly turned sharp, carrying a bone-deep resoluteness:
"And I can tell you plainly... it's not that I cannot control the power of the dragon, nor that I accidentally harmed civilians. I did it intentionally."
"I wanted to unleash that deterrent force. I wanted this bloodshed to happen in reality. I wanted to tell the whole of Westeros without reservation..."
His gaze was like an ice blade, piercing through the air:
"What I want is never to safely take a capital. What I want is thoroughness, leaving no room for doubt."
"I want the whole of Westeros, every noble, and every power to see clearly... that with the return of Aegon Targaryen, there is no room for maneuver in what I do, no possibility of compromise, and especially no weakness that can be exploited... even if it means innocent commoners."
"Mercy, consideration, retreat, and leaving room—in the eyes of these Westerosi nobles, these have always been seen as weakness to be exploited."
"Seventeen years ago, they were able to slaughter my kin without hesitation because the Targaryens had once hesitated, had once given them an opportunity."
"Now, I have taken King's Landing with the most resolute methods and deterred everyone with an iron fist. It may seem like I sacrificed the innocent, it may seem cold and heartless, but it will save countless disputes and wars in the future. It will make those with ulterior motives dare not make another move."
He turned to look at Henry, his purple eyes devoid of warmth, yet hiding a clarity born from crawling out of a sea of corpses:
"I never intended to be a benevolent monarch praised by the world. I am here to take back everything that belongs to the Targaryens, to ensure all blood debts are repaid."
"Mercy does not buy submission; compromise only repeats past mistakes. From the day I survived in this mass grave, I knew that for this world, I have no need to yield an inch."
As his voice fell, the wilderness lapsed into silence, with only the faint rustling of the wind through the wild grass.
Aegon looked at the shock and trepidation that had yet to fade from Henry's eyes. After a moment of silence, his tone suddenly softened slightly, losing the previous ruthlessness and gaining a bit of a leader's certainty and composure.
"I am naturally aware of your loyalty, Henry."
Aegon's voice was light, yet it accurately struck the most secret conviction in Henry's heart:
"Your kin was executed by my order, yet you never wavered. I have always seen this devotion."
Henry looked up in sudden shock, his eyes full of disbelief, his lips slightly parted, unable to make a sound for a moment.
Aegon looked back at him calmly, his gaze waveless, without a hint of testing, only total insight:
"I know you are a bastard of House Florent, a flower of The Reach. And Selyse Florent, whom I ordered to be executed, could be considered your sister by blood."
Henry's whole body shook, a storm surging in his heart. He knew. Aegon actually knew everything. His origins that he had deliberately buried, the kin he was unwilling to mention—before this true dragon, there was no room for concealment.
"As the leader of a power, I must naturally understand the identities of the people under me." Aegon's tone was indifferent, entirely the matter-of-factness of a ruler. "At the beginning of the founding of the Narrow Sea Realm, I had already given this task to Luciana."
"Including you, Karl, Luke, and everyone else who follows me, I must be clear about your backgrounds. Only then can I feel at ease leaving my back to you, and only then can I have no worries on the battlefield."
He paused, his gaze softening by an imperceptible margin:
"When you have time, you can go see the child Shireen. After all, in a sense, you are also her uncle, her only remaining relative in this world."
"I know you have been avoiding contact in this regard lately. There is no need; I do not mind."
Henry stood frozen in place, his chest heaving violently. It took a long while for him to recover from the massive shock.
So his life story, his secrets—this young Dragon King had known them all along.
Yet even knowing he was blood-related to the executed Selyse Florent, Aegon still kept him by his side, still allowed him to serve as the commander of the Bloodsworn, and still entrusted his life to him.
A hot current suddenly rushed to his eyes, but he forced it back.
He, a bastard discarded by House Florent, struggling to survive in the Narrow Sea, had thought his life would be nothing more than a useful blade in a chaotic world. He never expected to be seen so thoroughly by the true dragon, and trusted so completely.
He suddenly dropped to one knee, his heavy palm pressing firmly against his chest, his voice carrying an uncontrollable rasp and burning determination:
"Your Highness..."
"This servant shall serve unto death, with absolute loyalty and no second thoughts!"
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