Ravens flew. Dozens. Hundreds. They rode storm winds, frost gales, and desert heat. The Cartiface, sealed in black wax and marked with a sigil thought lost — the three-headed dragon. It reached every keep, from Dorne to the Twins.
The realm read. And the realm stirred. Tyrion read the scroll once. Then again. Then a third time, lips pursed. He poured himself a goblet of Arbor gold and sat before the fire. No one disturbed him. Bran had not spoken in hours. The boy—no, the king—sat in his wheeled chair, unmoving. Eyes clouded.
"Your Grace?" Tyrion asked softly. Bran blinked. A deep breath. "It's him."Tyrion swallowed. "So the rumors are true. "He lived. He changed. And he is no longer ours."The maester trembled near the door. "Shall I alert the court?" Bran turned his gaze to the fire. "Let them whisper first. We must see who stirs — and who runs."
The Eyrie
Lord Yohn Royce stood in the solar, the scroll in hand, armor half-donned. He said nothing as his bannermen argued behind him."He's Stark! But he's not!" "He's Targaryen. He'll burn us all! "He flew over the Vale on a dragon just weeks ago! We saw it!"Royce raised a hand. Silence fell. He spoke without turning. "He's blood of the North. Of the First Men. But he brings fire. That fire may cleanse — or consume. "Will you fight him?" asked a younger lord. Royce turned. "I fought beside him at Winterfell. When the dead walked. And he did not flee."His fingers tightened on the parchment. "We will watch. For now."
Riverrun
Edmure Tully read the scroll with trembling hands. He looked at his wife. "Do you believe it?"She nodded. "I do."He leaned against the window, watching the water flow past the ramparts."I failed him once. We all did. "Then don't fail him again."
Dorne
The new Prince of Sunspear sat with his advisors beneath red silk canopies. The raven's message lay open on a gold table. Aegon's words were simple, unyielding."You may join in peace, or resist in fire."The prince laughed softly. "At least he's honest."One of his sisters leaned close. "He is blood of Rhaegar. "Then he is the blood of Elia."The prince smiled. "Then perhaps... Dorne owes him a hearing."
The Reach
At Oldtown, the maesters whispered. At Highgarden, the new Tyrell claimant — a cousin of the fallen line — read the scroll with shaking fingers."Aegon," he said. "A true king. Not a queen of fire and ash. Not a boy on wheels. A dragon... with a wolf's heart."Some lords nodded. Others stared.
Beyond It All — In the Red Keep, Visions came in fire and stars. Aegon upon a throne not of swords, but of fire and memory. Beside him — Arya, cloaked in shadow and blood. The child between them — a star. Bran wept."I will not stop him," he whispered. "But I will bear witness. He should we been the king, not me."
Dragonstone
Aegon stood at the edge of the cliff, wind pulling his silver hair.
He had heard every whisper before it reached him. The Warp carried voices on thought and fear.
Arya stepped beside him, her hand slipping into his.
"They're stirring," she said.
He nodded. "Good. Let them. Let them feel the old blood rising."
They were silent for a while. Then Arya spoke again.
"If I may ask... have you thought more about the others?"
He turned his gaze to her.
"The wives."
She smirked. "Yes."
Aegon exhaled. "Only if you choose them with me."
"I intend to."
"Then yes. There will be two more."
Arya's eyes glinted. "Then let's begin."