Introduction

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. All other concepts and ideas from other books or stories belong to their respective authors. No copyright infringement is intended.

Story Premise:

Aires of the House Baratheon, first of his name, is the second son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. In a world of fire and ice, he must carefully tread the waters of power as he strives to climb his way to the top. Surrounded by enemies on all sides, he must hide the truth of a past life to survive the great game and emerge victorious from the ashes.

Early Morning

10th Day of the Sixth Moon; 296 A.L.

The Red Keep

King's Landing, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms

The first ray of sunlight pierced the darkness over the horizon in the far distance.

Brilliant gold and orange hues bled like fire over the Narrow Sea. The first slither of the sun peeked over the skyline in a radiant, white form. Gradually it raised, a defined circle in a vibrant backdrop. Sparrows chirped an explicit melody as they began to wake. The ocean was liquid gold and silver, leaving the plain roofs of the houses of King's Landing dull in comparison. As the sun fully revealed itself it seemed to swell, losing its focus and spreading across the sky.

From atop stone balcony, standing tall and proud, a boy stared out on the horizon. He watched intently as the sun raised itself up into the sky and colored the grey skies of the morning.

Slowly, from the darkness, the sun rose higher and higher, revealing more of the young man's face to the light. He had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks. His emerald green eyes pierced through the shadows and the sunrise. His straight jet black hair lay neatly across his head. He had a plain jawline and high cheekbones, indicators of high birth.

All independent of each other, they presented characteristics of any man. But together, they formed something else entirely. Together, they showed a young man mature far beyond his years.

As the sunlight moved higher, illuminating more of his body to the day, his eyes remained steady, unblinking. His hands were crossed over each other behind his back and his upright posture was as unmoving.

He was but boy of but 14 years, yet his calm demeanor gave him the appearance of being well beyond his true age.

He was alone on the balcony, the only time of day he was completely by himself. It allowed him a much needed break from the petty squabbles and the harsh politics of his life. Up here, he could be himself. He could be relaxed, calm, and peaceful. He could ignore his life and instead reflect step back and reflect upon it.

It was times like these that made living here in King's Landing worth it. That one hour in the morning, with most of the city still asleep, where the sun rose and bestowed upon the capital its grace.

His Queen Mother would never understand the beauty, the utter perfection, of these simple moments. Her entire being demanded extravagance and entertainment, but this was far more pure. For her, the beginning of the day was just as plain and boring as the end of it. The truth could never be more different.

Life was a cruel thing, wasn't it. It was cut short far too often. It was wasted and abused far too often. Everyday though, was a new opportunity. A new opportunity to make something, to create something, to do something, to rise to become something better. The rise of the sun ushered the hope of living another day for so many millions.

So many of his fellows couldn't understand what was so magnificent about living every day. His grandfather would though. He would understand it better than anyone. Every day, he strived to create something better, for himself, and for his family. He himself wasn't quite so philosophical about it, but he well understood his grandfather and his quest for a legacy.

That was what all men dreamed of after all. Being rememberer. That was the ultimate dream.

You see he didn't fear death, or at least not in the way most men would. He feared being forgotten, just like all secretly did. The end, for him, was not death, but the passing of a memory. Such a thing was far more precious than a life.

Lives ended here and there. Tens of thousands a day. From here to the far east of Essos to the tip of the southern continent. Lives were inconsequential. Memories, though, those were treasure. And every day, he endeavored to make his own just a bit more powerful.

He closed his eyes, appreciating the various sounds that filled the city. He knew he didn't have much time left here. Shortly, he would be thrust back into the realities of life. Soon, he would be forced to grasp the responsibilities of his name and his title as he did every day of his life. For now, though, he stood perfectly still as he felt the heat of the morning's first rays caressed his skin.

The patterning of footsteps woke him from his thoughts. He could tell they were lightly dressed by the soft sound they made every time they placed another foot on the ground.

He looked backwards towards the corridor leading to the balcony. Recognizing the figure, he turned back to look at the sun, enjoying his last few minutes of peace for the day.

Soon enough, a young lad, his age, came to stand next to him, bowing his head as he did.

He turned to face the lad, his expression remaining completely neutral. The boy met his eyes and his mouth opened to express his wonder. He got used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile.

The laws of nature dictated that some stood over others. It didn't matter who or why they did, but that was the way it was. Whether it was money, power, faith, birthright, there would always be those who stood at the top of the pyramid.

Respect followed these lines. Nobleman often times commanded the respect they shouldn't, simply by right of their birth. It was a complex that covered all of Westeros. The weak bowed to the powerful, and the powerful stepped over the weak. Such was the way of life.

The lad extended his hand with a handwritten note in it. Deftly, he seized the letter with his right hand and brought it to him.

With but a slight smile, the boy nodded his head and hurried back towards the corridor, leaving him alone once more.

Slowly, he opened the letter and eyebrows furrowed as he read through it. He took a deep breath as he folded the letter back up.

He tightened his fist and crinkled the thin piece of paper in his hand. Then, barely noticeable, the inside of his hand flashed red. He opened his hand and ash fell from his palm onto the ground. With a wisp of air, the ash flew off into the sky, as if it had never existed.

The game didn't ever wait. One had to seize it in their hands and make their own destiny. It didn't discriminate on age, on gender, on wealth or on blood status. The great game was unavoidable and all consuming. He was but one player on the board, and in the end, there would only be one winner.

He looked over the thousands of houses of King's Landing one more time. His eyes drifted to the Great Sept of Baelor, the only other massive structure that stood out next to the Red Keep.

Soon, soon it would all be his. The Red Keep, the Sept of Baelor, the people, King's Landing, all of Westeros itself. He would have it be his, no matter the cost, and no matter the consequence.

His legacy would be one that would be remembered for millennia to come. All across the world, beyond the edges of Essos and the southern deserts, they would speak his name and remember his accomplishments.

For he was Aires of the House Baratheon; first of his name; son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister.

And he would rule all.