NOVEL NEXT Chapter 19: Talking Like A Lord
Monologue for the Ages
Old Town, House Hightower's Great Hall
After spending a few hours with my cousin, Aegon the Winged, and the rest of the royal family, we were directed to the great hall. A few nobles had managed to gather here on such short notice, though most were minor lords. However, the Septon of the Starry Sept was present, along with the conclave of the Citadel—a group of old men with unsettling masks and chains hanging from their necks. The royals were seated at the paramount lords' table, but unlike during feasts, no food was served. Just some wine and fruit; it is the Reach, after all.
Prince Aegon, with a voice as loud and melodic as a song, began to speak:
"My lord Hightower and the lords and ladies of the Reach," he announced, his voice carrying through the hall. "I am Prince Aegon Targaryen, son of Daemon Targaryen and Laena Velaryon, born of fire and blood. So says my father, so say the maesters' records of my birth on Bloodstone Isle—a fitting place for one such as me. I have survived no less than thirty attempts on my life, even as a babe in the cradle. I know this because I have been aware of myself since the day of my rebirth, when dragon flame and my grieving mother's sacrifice brought me back."
The room grew quiet as he continued, his wings flexing, his gaze sweeping over the nobles.
"The Seven have blessed me with a body far healthier than most, stronger than most, and a memory that never forgets. And I have come with a grievance, my lords, for it seems you have forgotten your place."
Lord Hobert Hightower tensed, sensing that Aegon's words hinted at something dangerous.
"Ah, how quickly you forget yourselves. My great ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, rider of the Black Dread, did exactly as his title promised: he conquered. You either knelt or perished. No one dared defy him; you knew your place then. When Maegor Targaryen, cruel though he was, took the throne with his bastards, you still knew better than to question him, for he was a king."
Aegon paused, his eyes burning with intensity.
"Then came my great grandsire, Jaehaerys the First, the Conciliator, who brought peace and prosperity. He did not just earn respect; he earned your love and trust. Even the maesters speak fondly of him, as does my father. Back then, you lords knew your place, for the king's word was law. The firstborn son was the rightful heir, and his line would inherit. That was the way of things."
The lords exchanged uneasy glances as the young prince pressed on.
"Then came the Great Council—a council, mind you, that was nothing short of pretentious. A king held it, but it was his divine right, not yours, to decide such matters. And yet, you lords saw fit to meddle in royal affairs, forgetting your oaths of fealty. You failed the king who had given you peace. Was it because he was old? No, it was because he dared give you a choice in matters you had no right to influence."
Daemon's usual pride faltered, and the queen and Rhaenys exchanged unreadable looks as Aegon continued his tirade.
"The word for princess and prince in High Velaryon is the same, my lords. But history has repeated itself. King Viserys declared Princess Rhaenyra as his heir after the death of his beloved wife. Yet what did you do? You allowed a man like Otto Hightower, a man who the king trusted, to turn the king's grief into his own opportunity. I speculate, of course, but the queen is here with her little dragons, and I have no quarrel with that. What I take issue with is this: who are you to cast judgment on royal blood? Who are you to say we are wrong?"
The tension in the room was palpable.
"We are the victors, you are the defeated. Do you see the dragons that roam freely in this city? They are gentle only because I will it. The Citadel, with all its knowledge, stands unburnt because I choose to spare it. This beautiful castle and the lives within remain untouched, for now. But my grievance, Lord Hightower, is with your blood. Your brother has overstepped his bounds one too many times."
Aegon's voice grew cold, almost whispering now.
"I have read many books written by the maesters of the Citadel and the Faith, and it seems that these two great institutions have begun to forget themselves. My lords, I may be but a boy, and those beasts outside may be but dragons, but make no mistake—when I return to the Reach once I come of age, I expect you to remember your place."
With that, Aegon turned and strode out of the hall, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. The nobles, eyes wide with shock, turned to the queen and her brown-haired children. The smart ones understood this was not a speech inviting debate. It was a warning. The heir was chosen, and they would kneel—either willingly or under the shadow of dragon wings.