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Aegon “Egg” Targaryen, Training Field – Ashford

“COME ON, SER DUNCAN!” the young prince shouted, watching the enormous but good-natured man train alongside Ser Harrys and the rest of the Potter family guards.

The little prince grimaced in dissatisfaction as he saw Duncan take a clean blow to the chest, courtesy of Howard, who handled the training spear with skill. He was not the best Egg had ever seen, but he was certainly competent.

Duncan took a couple of steps backward, disoriented by the impact, giving Howard enough time to slip past his guard and sweep him down with a sharp strike of the spear.

“Enough, Howard,” Lord Harrys said, dressed not in the luxurious robe in which Egg had first met him at Lord Ashford’s castle, but in a simple outfit ideal for training.

Even so, he carried more presence than many knights Egg knew in service to his grandfather.

Egg smiled as Lord Harrys approached Duncan and extended a hand to help him up. Duncan answered with a grin, taking it and rising to his feet. Around them there were no jeers, no contempt. Everyone here sought to improve as warriors, helping one another.

Another mystery surrounding the elusive Potter family, Egg thought.

“Your stance needs a great deal of work, Duncan. You are large, and you must find a fighting style that suits your build. You fight like an old man,” Harrys said with a smile, drawing soft laughter from the guards—amused, but not malicious.

Duncan blushed, yet simply nodded, understanding there was no ill intent in Harrys’ words. His expression hardened with determination, more than ready to continue training.

“From now on, you will use this,” Lord Harrys said, as a servant arrived at the training field carrying something enormous and heavy.

Upon reaching them, Harrys thanked the young man and took the large object, placing it into Ser Duncan’s hands.

“Open it. It’s yours,” Harrys said, stepping back to give Duncan space.

Egg knew it was a sword, but he had never seen one so massive. It was gigantic, nearly as tall as Duncan himself, with a crossguard slightly angled forward. The blade was broad and straight, and the hilt was wrapped in black-dyed leather with emerald accents.

The colors of House Potter.

Duncan stared at the sword in absolute shock, opening and closing his mouth without knowing what to say.

“M’lord, I… this is too much… I…” Duncan looked from the sword to Lord Harrys, utterly at a loss for words.

“It is a Claymore, born in the clans of Scotland, my homeland—a symbol of resistance and struggle against oppression and injustice. A weapon worthy of any knight. Heavy, like your vows. A symbol of honor, Duncan. Bear it with pride,” Harrys said calmly, giving him a moment as Duncan held the massive sword with trembling hands.

Egg smiled, deeply moved. The moment was unexpectedly emotional. He even noticed Duncan’s eyes glisten, though the large man did everything he could to keep the treacherous tears from falling.

However, the heartfelt moment was interrupted by a sharp crack, followed by the irritated voice of a knight training nearby.

“Get up, Raymun. Do not disgrace our family further,” the arrogant man said, glaring down at a young man who had been thrown through a wooden fence.

A Fossoway, the young prince thought, recognizing the apple on the shield. Ser Stevron, if he remembered correctly—a knight who was not particularly skilled, if he was being honest.

Egg noticed Lord Harrys frown as he straightened and began walking calmly toward the scene. Before he could reach it, however, a soft female voice called from behind.

“Egg.”

That voice—the one that had filled his dreams for the past two days.

“Belle—ah, hello, what… what a pleasure to see you,” Egg said nervously, making the young woman laugh softly.

“Lady Lily requests your presence in her office,” the girl said with a gentle smile, then turned and began walking calmly toward the tent.

Egg cursed inwardly, especially when he saw Lord Harrys helping the fallen squire to his feet under Ser Stevron’s furious glare. But at this moment he was not Prince Aegon—he was Egg. And if Lady Lily had called for him personally, he was expected to answer.

So he quickly followed the beautiful young woman back to the shop that had been his home for the past few days.

As usual, the Potter businesses were overflowing. Knights and nobles conversed while waiting their turn to enter and attempt to acquire weapons or armor, while merchants, ladies, and even common women gathered outside the clothing tent, gazing longingly at the exquisite dresses and fabrics displayed for sale.

That was without even mentioning the White Tent, where the Potters sold medicinal remedies for various illnesses and injuries. Curiously, this was the one with the fewest nobles present, though the number of smallfolk waiting outside to purchase medicine was simply absurd, in the young prince’s opinion. There were children, elders, men and women alike, all watching the immaculate white canvas with hope in their eyes.

Such thoughts vanished from Egg’s mind the moment he reached Lady Lily’s office.

She sat behind an enormous wooden desk. The room reflected luxury—but in a subtle way. It was difficult to explain.

“You sent for me, my lady,” Egg said, bowing his head as he studied the office around him. There were a great number of books—apparently, the Potters were scholars. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings, though two in particular stood out.

One of them was Lady Lily with whom Aegon assumed was her husband, holding a laughing infant. The other was simply magnificent—a beautiful castle built upon a hill at the foot of a lake. There was something about it that drew Aegon like a moth to flame.

“My late husband James, and Harry’s father. A family portrait,” Lily said softly when she noticed the young boy’s attention fixed on the painting.

“What happened, my lady?” Egg asked gently. He knew it was not proper to ask a woman about her deceased husband, yet his curiosity was impossible to restrain.

“He died fighting. We lived through a dangerous war in our homeland, and James sacrificed his life to give me the chance to escape with Harry in my arms. Our family legacy, our knowledge, our history, and our treasures came with me. And even so, I would trade it all in an instant to have him back—if only for a moment,” Lily said quietly, lost in her thoughts.

Egg lowered his gaze, ashamed.

“I… I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to make you remember such a painful past,” the young boy said remorsefully.

Lily smiled gently, though the smile did not reach her eyes. It was more weary than joyful.

“No harm done, Egg. It is the past, and my husband will not return. That is a truth I have already accepted. As for the other painting—that is Hogwarts, our former home. Harry never knew it, and he promised he would build me one someday,” Lily said with a faint smile, lifting her cup delicately and grimacing at the now-cold liquid inside while Egg nodded slowly.

“But I did not call you here for that,” she continued. “House Targaryen arrived this morning, so the first jousts will be held tonight. Harrys will participate in the opening tilts, so the boys are preparing and brushing Arion. Take them this caparison and stay to learn from them. I am certain Dunk’s mares will thank you for it,” Lily said, gesturing toward the emerald-green fabric resting atop her desk.

Egg’s eyes widened with excitement as he nodded quickly.

“At once, my lady! Thank you!” the young prince exclaimed, taking the cloth, bowing his head, and leaving the office filled with enthusiasm.

However, seconds later he stopped, embarrassed by his behavior. Quickly, he turned and returned to the office, intending to apologize properly.

“My lady, forgive my lack of manners, I—”

Egg fell silent.

Lady Lily was not alone.

An enormous and majestic raven stood beside her, pecking rapidly at a bowl of fruit and meat. In her hand, the red-haired woman held a parchment, and in the other, a steaming cup—something that confused the young prince, as he had just seen the tea was cold.

“Do you need anything else, dear?” the beautiful lady asked calmly, as if nothing were unusual.

Egg shook his head quickly.

“No, my lady. I only wished to apologize for my abrupt departure. It was not courteous of me,” the boy said, glancing between the beautiful woman and the imposing bird, which had flown up to a perch high in the office and was watching him with obvious curiosity.

Lily laughed softly before replying.

“There is no offense taken, Egg. I will not be upset for you acting like a child. That is Huginn, by the way. Harry raised him from a hatchling and trained him to carry messages to our employees throughout Westeros. He seems to like you,” she said with a smile as the raven cawed toward the prince.

“Oh… hello, Huginn,” Egg said, staring at the intelligent and imposing bird.

Huginn answered with another sharp caw before suddenly flying down and landing atop Egg’s head, pulling a small startled yelp from the prince’s lips.

Lily simply laughed.

“It seems he wishes to go with you. Take good care of him, dear,” the beautiful lady said calmly, prompting another caw from the bird.

Egg was not sure whether she had spoken to him or to the raven.

But he had a mission—prepare Lord Harrys’ horse for tonight’s joust.

He could hardly wait.

Yet as he walked toward the stables, his mind returned again and again to that curious moment. There was something strange about Lady Lily—not necessarily bad, if he was honest. Egg could not imagine the beautiful woman as cruel or wicked.

But strange, yes.

And he would uncover what it was, sooner or later.

Baelor “Breakspear” Targaryen, Jousting Arena – Ashford

The trumpets sounded, announcing that the jousts were about to begin.

To his right stood his brother Maekar the sour, wearing his usual expression—though to be fair, Daeron and Aegon were missing, so his concern was understandable.

On the other side, Lord Ashford and his daughter prepared for the tourney with grace. The young woman appeared anxious, as if searching for something—or someone—among the knights who had already begun arriving in the arena, along with the smallfolk gathering to witness the spectacle.

“HERE COME THE KNIGHTS!” the herald shouted, as the nobles began to parade forward.

Baelor smiled faintly when he saw Valarr clad in his armor, posture solemn and prepared for battle.

“The bloody circus begins,” Maekar muttered under his breath, leaning forward as he observed the participants in the opening event, ignoring the sour looks that Lord Ashford and his daughter send him.

There were notable names among them. Baelor recognized several banners—Baratheon, Fossoway, Ashford, and Tyrell. Even some Dornish houses such as Dayne and Toland, much to Baelor’s disbelief.

“The audacity of those fools to show their faces here. You should order Valarr to humiliate that idiot Titus Toland for daring to raise that banner in our presence,” Maekar growled, staring at the sigil with a scowl.

Baelor was about to respond when something caught his attention.

A roar erupted among the smallfolk, shaking the arena as they cried out in euphoria.

Beside him, Lord Ashford straightened his back and lifted his chin, while young Gwyn smiled radiantly, rising to her feet and turning toward the source of the commotion.

“Oh, shit,” Maekar muttered heavily.

Baelor sighed as he saw the antlered lily banner entering the jousting field.

A second later, an imposing white stallion clad in silver armor and emerald cloth walked calmly into the arena.

And upon the majestic steed…

Harrys Potter in person.

Clad in armor as imposing as it was sublime—armor that made the royal family’s own seem like scrap metal in comparison.

The crowd’s cheers were deafening.

The reputation of House Potter was strong among the smallfolk—landless lords from a distant and alluring land, merchants wealthier than many highbirths, and yet noble and just toward the people, always offering a fair deal.

Dangerous people for the political order of Westeros, in Baelor’s opinion.

Even more so after the fiasco years ago in King’s Landing.

Everything in Harrys’ posture exuded absolute confidence. Unlike the other knights, he moved with total calm, his presence dominating the entire tournament, overshadowing the noble houses of Westeros.

He looked at them directly.

Challenging them with mere presence.

This would not end well, the prince thought.

“This tournament just became more interesting,” Aerion whispered behind him, rising to his feet and fixing his obsessive gaze upon the sight of Harrys Potter.

“You will not commit any stupidity, Aerion. The last thing I need is for you to give that man a pretext to kill you, especially after what happened,” Maekar snapped firmly.

Aerion scowled but sat back down.

Baelor, however, was not listening. His gaze had shifted to the young lord’s wrist, adorned with an orange-and-white favor.

Cleverly, the crown prince glanced toward his hosts—more specifically toward Lady Gwyn.

She appeared genuinely restless, smiling brightly, her eyes shining as they focused on Harrys Potter—or more precisely, on the favor wrapped around his wrist.

“I see Lord Harrys wears your favor, my lady. Is a union imminent between you? Should I offer my congratulations?” Baelor asked with courtesy and elegance.

The young woman blushed deeply and lowered her gaze in complete submission.

“No, Your Grace. Lord Harrys and I are not… not betrothed. My father has not made the offer.”

Yet, Baelor thought.

He nodded gracefully, turning his attention back to the field just as his son, as the highest-ranking noble present, rode forward to choose his opponent.

His gaze locked entirely on Harrys Potter.

“I understand, my lady,” Baelor said softly.

He sighed heavily as Valarr selected Harrys as his first opponent—to the surprise of no one in the royal family.

“Oh, my dear cousin wishes his former friend to kick his arse in front of half the realm. It seems he did not learn his lesson the last time,” Aerion said with amusement, only to be silenced by a sharp strike from Maekar.

Baelor could not help but agree with his nephew.

Valarr was acting impulsively.

He would reprimand him later.

Though, truth be told, being humiliated by Harrys would likely be punishment enough.

“Prince Valarr Targaryen has chosen his opponent for the opening of the tournament—Harrys Potter the Just! Let the joust begin!” the herald cried.

A thunderous roar followed as nobles and smallfolk alike prepared for a spectacle unlike any other.

Valarr and Harrys took their positions.

His son with his squire.

While a massive man and a diminutive young commoner assisted Ser Harrys.

Both with lances.

Both prepared.

And both watching him.

Baelor raised his hand calmly and commanded:

“Let the joust begin!”

The horn thundered.

The tournament officially began.

Valarr and Harrys charged at one another with ferocity and skill, making it clear that both were seasoned and expert riders.

A spectacle was guaranteed.

Poor Baelor did not suspect that this moment would mark the beginning of a new era for House Targaryen.

A new era of glory—and danger.

An era of magic.