Young Griff stormed toward the afterdeck, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The river wind tugged at his fading blue hair, but it did nothing to cool the rage burning in his chest.
Keep your dragon close.
The dwarf's words echoed in his mind like a mocking laugh. How dare he? How dare that twisted little monster speak to him, to Prince Aegon Targaryen as if he were a foolish child playing at war?
Behind him, he heard Griff's heavy footsteps.
"Aegon," Griff called, voice low and urgent. "Wait."
The boy stopped but did not turn around. "He knows too much," he said tightly.
"And he speaks as if he has the right to counsel me. As if my aunt would cast me aside for… for some stillborn monster who somehow survived."
Griff placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Tyrion Lannister is dangerous. Clever. But he is also broken. He wants chaos. Do not let him plant seeds of doubt in your mind."
Aegon finally turned, violet eyes blazing. "He said Rhaego lives. That my aunt already has a dragon prince at her side. That I would be begging for scraps if I sail east."
Griff's jaw tightened. "We have planned this for years. Varys. Illyrio. The Golden Company. Everything is in motion. We do not change course because a drunk dwarf spins tales."
"But what if it's true?" Aegon asked, voice cracking with frustration. "What if there really is another? What if I am… second?"
The silence that followed was heavy.
Meanwhile, on the forward deck, Tyrion sat with his back against the cabin wall, a cup of watered wine in his hand. He swirled the liquid slowly, a small, sharp smile playing on his lips.
Well, he thought.
The boy has fire in him after all. The question is whether he'll burn himself with it… or the world.
Haldon Halfmaester approached, arms crossed. "You took a great risk today, Lannister."
Tyrion shrugged. "Risk is the spice of life, Halfmaester. Besides, someone needed to tell the boy the truth before he sails across the world to kneel before a queen who may not want him."
He took a sip, eyes distant.
"Especially when there's already another dragon prince growing strong at her side."
He swirled the wine again, eyes distant.
"Rhaego Targaryen," he said at last.
He shrugged, as if the matter were of little importance.
"Of course, it's all rumors and sailor's tales. Scaled babes, flying boys… who knows what's real? But even the possibility is enough to make the boy wonder. And wonder is a dangerous thing for a would-be king."
Haldon's sharp face tightened. "You play a dangerous game."
Tyrion smiled, small and sharp.
"All the best games are dangerous."
The Shy Maid drifted onward down the Rhoyne, but the air between the passengers had grown far heavier than the river mist ever had. Somewhere downstream, decisions would have to be made.
And somewhere far to the east and west, a silver queen and her living son unaware that the game had just become far more complicated.
On the Shy Maid, the silence that followed Tyrion's words stretched thin and dangerous.
Young Griff stood frozen on the afterdeck, shoulders rigid, violet eyes burning with a mixture of fury and something far more fragile… doubt.
The boy who had been raised to believe he was the last true dragon now had to face the possibility that he might be only the second.
Griff, Jon Connington stepped forward, his scarred face carved from granite. "Enough," he said, voice low and final.
"You have spoken your piece, Lannister. Now hold your tongue before I cut it out."
Tyrion lifted his cup in a mock salute. "As you command, my lord Hand. But the truth has a way of stinging worse than any blade."
Aegon turned sharply, his hands still trembling at his sides.
"Is it true?" he demanded, voice cracking with barely contained anger.
"Is there really another? A boy greater than my blood, beside my aunt while I hide on this rotting boat with blue dye in my hair?"
Connington's jaw clenched so tightly the scar on his cheek pulled white. "We do not know if the rumors are true. Eastern tales grow taller with every league they travel. The boy was said to be stillborn and monstrous. Most likely he died years ago, just as the world was told."
"But what if he didn't?" Aegon pressed, stepping closer.
The word hung in the air like smoke.
Duck shifted uncomfortably, looking between them. Haldon Halfmaester's sharp face remained impassive, but his eyes were narrowed in calculation.
Lemore stood quietly by the rail, her septa's robes fluttering in the river breeze, saying nothing.
Tyrion watched the scene with half-lidded eyes, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
He had planted the seed. Whether it would take root… that was another matter. Now he only needed to wait and see which way it would grow, perhaps into doubt, into rage, or into something far more useful.
Connington placed a firm hand on Aegon's shoulder, steering him away from the dwarf. "Come," he said quietly. "We will speak of this in private. Lannister has said enough for one day."
As the two moved toward the cabin, Aegon cast one last burning look over his shoulder at Tyrion.
The Imp raised his cup once more in a lazy toast.
"Sweet dreams, Your Grace," he murmured. "Try not to dream of dragons… unless they're flying west."
The small forward cabin closed the door firmly behind them.
The space was cramped, a narrow bunk, a single lantern swinging from a hook, the faint smell of damp wood and old wine.
Only the two of them.
Jon Connington approached him quietly, his scarred face set in its usual grim lines.
"We need to talk," he said.
Aegon didn't turn. "About the dwarf?"
"About the plan," Connington replied.
"Tyrion Lannister is a liar and a kinslayer. His words are meant to sow discord. We have followed the path laid out for us for years. East to your aunt. That has not changed."
The boy finally looked at him, violet eyes troubled.
"But what if he's right about Rhaego? What if my aunt already has a son who flies at her side? What if I sail to her only to be… tolerated?"
Aegon whispered, voice cracking with frustration and something dangerously close to fear.
"Then I am not the last dragon. I am simply a spare with nothing to offer but a name."
Griff's hand tightened on the rail.
"Then we prove our worth. We bring the Golden Company. We bring legitimacy. We bring the promise of a united front. Your aunt is a conqueror, not a fool. She will see the value in you."
Aegon was silent for a long moment, watching the mist drift over the water.
"I don't want to be the spare," he said finally, voice low.
"I was raised to be king. Not someone's nephew. Not someone's second choice."
Griff studied the boy, the set of his jaw, the fire in his eyes and felt a pang of something close to pride mixed with worry.
The dwarf had done his work well.
"Then act like a king," Griff said quietly.
"We will reach Volon Therys soon. There we will meet with the Golden Company's representatives. We will hold to the plan. East. To Daenerys. Anything else is madness."
The Shy Maid continued down the Rhoyne under the gathering dusk, the water whispering secrets against the hull.
But aboard the modest riverboat, the game had shifted. Alliances that had once seemed certain now felt fragile.
On the forward deck, Tyrion finished his cup and set it aside. He could hear fragments of the conversation carried on the wind, but he didn't need to hear every word.
He had seen the boy's face. He had planted the seed.
Haldon Halfmaester still stood nearby, arms crossed. "You realize Connington may kill you for this."
Tyrion gave a lazy shrug. "He might try. But killing me won't make the rumor disappear. And it certainly won't make the boy forget it."
He leaned back against the cabin wall, eyes half-lidded as he watched the last light fade from the sky.
"Let the boy rage. Let him doubt. Doubt is a far better teacher than blind faith. Sooner or later, he'll have to choose, sail east to kneel before a queen who already has a dragon son… or go west and claim what he believes is his by right."
Tyrion's smile was small and sharp in the gathering dark.
"Besides," he murmured, almost to himself.
"If the boy truly is Rhaegar's son, he'll eventually realize that begging for a throne is beneath him. And if there really is a living dragon prince flying beside Daenerys… well. That just makes things far more entertaining."
Far downstream, the Rhoyne stretched into the twilight, carrying the Shy Maid and all its secrets toward whatever fate awaited them.
But for the first time since the stone men attacked, the carefully laid plans of Varys and Illyrio felt just a little less certain.