Chapter 300 285: Balerion

Leaving the stone bridge, Aegon led his guards through a quiet gate and returned to King's Landing.

He did not take the shortcut through the heart of Flea Bottom, instead bypassing it via relatively cleaner streets.

But returning to the Red Keep meant eventually passing the edge of Visenya's Hill. It was still not far from Flea Bottom. The sun was nearing its zenith.

The sunlight brought warmth, but it also illuminated more of the filth in the corners of the alleys.

Passing through a narrow lane called Dancing Corridor, a burst of children's laughter reached his ears. Aegon saw the little girl he had encountered earlier in Flea Bottom. She was currently surrounded by several other equally ragged children, her face filled with excitement and a touch of pride. The pearl hair ornament Margaery had given her gleamed in her sallow, dry hair.

The children chased after her, reaching out to touch it, while she nimbly dodged them, giggling. This was a rare moment of childhood joy for her in Flea Bottom.

Aegon's gaze did not linger on the joy. He looked toward the shadows of the alley, the corners of the walls, and behind the half-open doors, where several greedy gazes were fixed on the pearl. An old beggar slumped by the sewage stared with murky eyes; a vagrant leaning against the wall wore a rascally grin; faces in the darkness watched with eyes like vultures.

Margaery Tyrell might have truly wished to show kindness, or perhaps she was just shaping her image, but she was, after all, a flower grown in the most delicate greenhouse of Highgarden. She could see the surface-level poverty and would offer alms, but she could not necessarily perceive the naked darkness and bestiality beneath this mire of misery that could swallow a person whole at any moment.

She had placed an ornament that would be considered immense wealth in Flea Bottom onto the head of a child with no ability to protect herself. In the eyes of some, that was not a gift.

Aegon had crawled out of the lowest mire. He knew the rules here too well.

During the day, with important figures passing by with guards, these people might not dare to act recklessly. But time would pass, and night would fall.

It would not be long before that hair ornament vanished from the girl's head, appearing on the gambling table of some underground den, or becoming payment at some low-class brothel. And the girl herself, having lost her value...

Flea Bottom never lacked missing children, and the ingredients for brown stew were always in high demand.

He withdrew his gaze, his face expressionless, and slightly tilted his head to whisper to the captain of the guard walking at his side: "Find a pretext to get that girl out of here. Keep it clean."

The captain of the guard was one of the veterans who had followed Aegon back from across the Narrow Sea, and he was momentarily stunned by the order. Following Aegon's gaze, he saw the still-playing girl and the incongruous glint of light on her head. He understood instantly.

"Yes, Your Grace." He lowered his head to accept the command, pondering for a moment. "Lord Jon Connington is in need of a nimble-handed cupbearer. What do you think?"

A cupbearer, especially at the side of the Hand, was a position that countless noble youths dreamed of. More importantly, it was inside the Red Keep.

Aegon nodded imperceptibly: "That will do. Go do it now."

"Yes!" The captain of the guard did not delay, immediately saying in a low voice to the other guards behind Aegon, "Protect His Grace." Then, he straightened his armor, tried to force a not-too-menacing expression onto his face, and walked toward the group of children.

Aegon did not linger further and continued toward the Red Keep with the remaining guards. He could hear the captain of the guard's voice, deliberately softened, coming from behind, as well as the slight commotion of the children who had instantly quieted down in fear. He did not look back.

Near noon, Aegon returned to the Red Keep, passed through layers of guards, and stepped into the dining hall. On the long ebony dining table, delicious delicacies were laid out according to royal standards.

Snails stewed in honey and garlic were served in porcelain bowls; a whole peacock, roasted to a golden brown, held its head high, its feathers re-decorated; quails were coated in thick cream. There was also the most famous "live pigeon pie."

Of course, it was not that pigeons would actually fly out when cut open; rather, whole white pigeons were stuffed into the pie and baked, a "spectacle" that showcased the wealth and culinary skill of Westerosi noble banquets.

These were common "delicacies" among the noble class in Westeros, especially in The Crownlands and the Vale. But looking at them, Aegon truly could not muster much of an appetite.

It was not that he was picky, but rather that in the nearly twenty years he had spent across the Narrow Sea, his palate had long been influenced by the more diverse cuisine of the Free Cities. Tyroshi grilled sausages with chili, garlic, and honey were quite good.

The only things he found acceptable were a grilled trout and a large, sliced venison pie with hearty filling and a crispy crust.

Aegon sat at the head of the table. A servant stepped forward and used a silver pitcher to fill the goblet in front of him with deep red Summer wine.

He raised his goblet— "Meow!" A sharp, abrupt cat's cry shattered the silence. A shadow as fast as lightning darted out from the shadows behind a tapestry, leaping onto the dining table in a few bounds and knocking over a silver candelabra, which clattered noisily.

"Protect His Grace!" The guards reacted quickly, immediately drawing their swords and stepping forward, while the servants cried out in alarm, attempting to block it.

Aegon's hand holding the goblet was steady as a rock; he did not even stand up, merely raising his violet eyes to look at the uninvited guest that had disrupted the table full of delicacies. It was a black cat.

It was pitch black all over, with a pair of eyes glowing with a ghostly green light in the dimness. It was somewhat thin, but its movements were astonishingly agile. Most noticeable was that a small piece of its left ear was missing, as if bitten off by something, adding a touch of wildness.

At this moment, it crouched beside the roasted peacock, ignoring the gleaming swords around it, lowered its head, and snatched the most succulent piece of meat from the peacock's leg.

"Stop it!" a guard hissed. The black cat was faster.

Carrying the roast meat, which was larger than its head, it twisted its body and darted between two closing guards, jumped off the table, landed silently, and bolted toward the huge tapestry hanging on the other side of the dining hall.

"Over there!" The guards rushed over and yanked aside the tapestry depicting Aegon the Conqueror riding the "Black Dread," Balerion.

Behind the tapestry, where there should have been a stone wall, there was now a bizarre, pitch-black, narrow opening that allowed only one person to crawl through. The scent of aged dust and damp cold drifted out from within.

The black cat was nowhere to be seen. "How… how is there a hole here?" a young guard exclaimed in disbelief.

Only then did Aegon bring the goblet to his lips and take a light sip. Then he set the goblet back on the table with a crisp sound.

His gaze swept across the messy dining table; the roasted peacock was missing a leg, the cream-covered quail had rolled onto the floor, the pie was knocked askew, and sauce was splattered everywhere. The maids turned pale, rushing forward to clean up and asking if they should serve the meal again.

Aegon waved his hand, indicating it was unnecessary. After such a commotion, his already limited appetite was completely gone.

Several guards bent down to examine the suddenly revealed hole, and one lowered his body, intending to crawl in and give chase. Aegon spoke, his voice calm but carrying an unquestionable prohibition: "Do not pursue. Within the Red Keep, there are countless secret passages and hidden chambers."

"They were left behind when Maegor I built the Red Keep; these secret passages are interconnected, with countless mechanisms and traps. To enter rashly is to court death."

He thought of "The Spider," Varys, who relied on these unknown passages to weave his intelligence network. These secret passages, built by Maegor Targaryen for his own protection, were perhaps now better suited for… assassination.

"As for that cat…" Aegon paused. He certainly recognized it, or rather, guessed who it was.

In the original story, the one-eared black cat that Arya chased in the Red Keep was the beloved childhood pet of his sister, Princess Rhaenys, named "Balerion."

He had not expected it to still be alive in the Red Keep, and to be so… ferocious. He did not explain further and turned to leave the chaotic dining hall.

After a few steps, he suddenly changed direction, not heading toward his study or bedchamber, but turning toward a deep, cold, spiral staircase leading to the lower levels of the Red Keep. "Your Grace?" the guards asked, confused.

"We are going below to take a look," Aegon said briefly, not stopping his pace. He was thinking of the other "Balerion."

That cat was still alive, weaving through the shadows and secret passages of the Red Keep. But the other one, the "Black Dread" that once made the continent of Westeros tremble, had long been dead for over a hundred years, leaving behind only… withered bones.

The staircase continued downward. The light grew dimmer, and the air became cold and damp, carrying the heavy scent of dust and stone. The torch sconces on the walls were empty, clearly having been neglected for a long time.

This place had once been where the Targaryens kept dragon bones, but under the rule of the Baratheon dynasty, these remains had long been forgotten and abandoned. The servant took out a tinderbox and lit the remaining tallow candles on the walls.

The dim, flickering candlelight lit up one by one, struggling to dispel the heavy darkness, slowly illuminating this long-sealed underground space. As the light spread, huge shadows danced on the walls.

Then, the sight that existed in legend and history gradually appeared before Aegon's eyes—in the center of the cavernous underground hall, amidst piles of dust and tattered tapestries, a skull, so massive it was breathtaking, was quietly displayed there.

The ferocious dragon snout was taller than the largest warhorse, and the hollow eye sockets were as deep as wells. Even without flesh and flame, its winding, ferocious outline and those still-sharp giant teeth still radiated a heart-stopping majesty and an aura of death.

The "Black Dread," Balerion.

Aegon stopped before the skull. The candlelight cast his shadow and that of the dragon's withered bones onto the towering stone wall behind, interweaving into a silent, enormous picture. He looked up at the hollow eye sockets.

A living cat, named Balerion. A dead dragon, also named Balerion.

Aegon reached out his hand; his fingertips did not touch the cold bones, but hovered in the air. Deep within his violet eyes, the candlelight was reflected, as was the eternal silence of the dragon.