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Aegon was woken by a not so gentle nudge to his ribs, and he jerked upwards as his eyes flew open, anger and fear warring; anger that anyone would wake him, the king, so roughly; and fear because that’s how his grandfather oft did so when he was younger.

But it wasn’t his grandsire looming over him, an angry, disgusted expression on his face. No, it was a solidly built man with short, pale hair and a fierce scowl on his face.

“Get up, namesake,” he spat crossly, thick arms crossed over his broad chest.

Aegon scrambled to his feet, utterly baffled. Not only because of the unfamiliar man calling him namesake, but because his body did not ache as it usually did, from the burns he had recieved and wounds taken throughout the war.

He looked down at himself, gaping at the burn free flesh he saw, the young, hale body he had not seen in years. He clenched his hands and marvelled over the smooth, ache-free joints and flesh.

How...? He did not know where he was, or how he had ended up in the throne room. Last he remembered, he had been in his litter on the way to the Sept...

“You’re dead,” the man said bluntly, and Aegon’s head snapped up.

“What?” he demanded, aghast and confused.

“You were poisoned,” the man continued blithely. “Likely by Larys Strong. He always was a snake.”

Aegon gaped at the man, thoughts whirring through his mind. He’d been poisoned by Larys Strong? One of his mother’s closest advisors and supporters?

The man stared at him, cross and unimpressed. Aegon straightened. “Who are you?”

“Aegon Targaryen,” the man said simply, brow raised.

“Aegon the Conqueror?” Aegon queried, voice high pitched with disbelief.

“Yes,” his ancestor said, nodding. “I asked to be the one to greet you, so I might do this.” Aegon yelped as Aegon smacked him upside the head roughly, a deep sneer on his stern face. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you, boy?”

Aegon backed up. “What’s wrong with me? What did I ever do to you?!”

“Let your foul Hightower mother and grandfather fill your head with lies and manipulate you into destroying House Targaryen, for one,” the Conqueror snarled, furious.

Aegon blanched. “I was trying to save our house from being destroyed by my sister! She’d have let the Rogue Prince become Maegor, or worse, and would have killed me, my siblings and my children!”

Aegon the Conqueror scoffed derisively. “You idiot. Rhaenyra would never have allowed Daemon to run roughshod over her or the realm, if he had been so inclined! Nor would she have harmed you or your siblings and her nieces or nephews.”

Aegon gaped at the man, rational thought warring with a voice in his head that sounded terrifyingly like his mother’s. “Daemon had my son slaughtered, and he killed Aemond!”

“Because Aemond killed Lucerys,” Aegon remarked bluntly. “And, if you haven’t forgotten, the betrayals of Alicent and loss of her son and father led Rhaenyra to losing her daughter.”

Aegon flinched. He remembered hearing word of Luke and Visenya’s deaths. It had made him almost regret letting Cole crown him, but then his grandfather had muttered something about it being war, and mother...

“Now you begin to see,” Aegon said, gentler this time. “You spent your life allowing your mother and grandfather poison you against your Targaryen kin, allowed them to keep you from getting to know Rhaenyra and your cousins and Uncles beyond face value...you let their poisonous lies turn you paranoid.”

“Rhaenyra,” Aegon began haltingly, voice tumultuous. “She wouldn’t have killed any of us?”

“No,” Aegon said sternly, coldly. “She always wished to know you, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron better but was blocked by Alicent and Otto at every turn, kept from you as children. She oft lamented her inability to bond with you all.”

Aegon felt as though he had been slapped across the face and punched in the gut. “I killed her,” he said, bile rising in his throat. “I forced Aegon to watch, gods...”

“Wondering why you did that, aren’t you?” Aegon asked gruffly, pale brow raised.

“I – cursed is the kinslayer,” he whispered, face pale.

“Aye,” Aegon muttered, nodding. “You’ve been twisted and manipulated your whole life, boy, but those with ambitions and schemes larger than their brains. Though, they did win in the end. House Targaryen will end up Usurped by a Baratheon lord in the future.”

Aegon stared at his namesake, horrified. “How? With dragons –”

Aegon snorted. “Your successor, Aegon the Younger, will happily let the dragons die out, hateful of the creatures because of how you killed his mother. Of how Joffrey died.”

“What have I done?” Aegon lamented, burying his face in his hands.

“Nothing the gods won’t allow you to fix,” Aegon announced, smirking, and he looked at his ancestor in stunned disbelief. “It’s why I’m here, Aegon. To inform you of what you must do differently to ensure Rhaenyra ends up Queen and the House of the Dragon not only survives, but thrives.”

“What will I be able to do?” Aegon demanded, bewildered.

“You’re to be sent back into your two year old body, on your nameday hunt, with your memories of the future in your head,” Aegon explained seriously, and Aegon II listened intently. “As a babe, you won’t be able to do much, but you can start by getting closer to Rhaenyra.”

Aegon nodded, imagining his two year old self toddling up to her and demanding to be held, a small smile on his face. How many times had he, himself, wished to be closer to his half sister? To break down the walls he thought she had put between them? To beg her to spare him and his siblings and practically throw her the Iron Throne?

But, against his will, he was poisoned against her. He’d never wanted the crown, but hearing Eustace and Cole and Mother state that Rhaenyra would kill him, his siblings, and children had terrified him into complacency.

“She will be receptive of my attempts to bond with her?” Aegon asked the Conqueror.

The man nodded. “Rhaenyra has been an only child for some time, and has always yearned for siblings. When she lost her mother and Baelon, she gave up all hope of ever knowing what it feels like to have a brother or sister. Your mothers betrayal of marrying Viserys made Rhaenyra angry, but she never blamed you or your siblings.”

Aegon smiled faintly, angry and pained by what he had missed out on. But now he had a chance to have it; to ensure his mother and father wouldn’t ruin the possibility of he and his siblings having a relationship with Rhaenyra and her future children.

Aegon met his namesake’s gaze and nodded. “I’m prepared to do what it takes to ensure House Targaryen survives.”

Aegon’s grim expression brightened into one of pride and triumph. “Good lad,” he said, clapping a huge hand on Aegon’s shoulder. “There will be events you cannot change as a babe, but you must do all you can to unite your Targaryen kin once more. I have every faith you will succeed, Aegon.”

Aegon stifled the urge to blubber like a babe. No one had ever expressed such pride and faith in him before, and it was made even more special that it was Aegon the Conqueror to express it.

Aegon met his eyes and brought to fingers to his forehead. “Good luck, namesake. You’ll need it.”

And with that, Aegon collapsed into unconsciousness.

***

He woke in the arms of a servant, eyes blinking furiously as his mind was inundated with memories of his past life. It took some time for him to get his bearings, but once he did Aegon wanted to screech in triumph; it had worked, and he was once again a babe of two years.

Then, he grimaced. His nursemaid smelt of cheese, and he remembered that his mother rarely had much to do with he or his siblings when they were small; she’d always palmed them off to handmaidens or nursemaids like the noble woman she was, letting others raise her children.

Helaena had never done that. She’d always been a good, attentive mother despite her being somewhat airheaded. After Jaehaerys...well, they’d both ended up terrible parents and people after their son was killed.

This time around, though, he wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t sink into his cups to drown his emotions and pain of having an emotionally, and occasionally physically, abusive mother and grandsire. He would be stronger this time around, facing his troubles head on.

He was escorted to the feast by his nursemaid, her nattering on in a baby voice about the feast to be held in his honour, then the hunt. He stifled the urge to tell the woman to shut up, knowing that as a two year old he could barely string two comprehensible words together let alone an irritated rant.

Aegon was handed to his father – healthy, whole, and happy – and praised to the heavens. His mother, heavily pregnant, plastered a stiff smile on her face as she rubbed her belly, eyes glassy and vacant. She, too, was a victim of her own father. Aegon knew that; but it did not excuse her actions later in life.

He hoped he could save her, but he knew not to be an idiot about it. Perhaps it was already too late for his mother; she had spent eighteen years being under Otto’s thumb, and he remembered her being all too happy to dance to grandfathers tune before.

When Rhaenyra was mentioned, Aegon began to fuss and put on the act of his life, reaching for his mother and crying; she took him reluctantly with her, and he internally cheered when they excited the feast and into the godswood, where Rhaenyra sat reading in her riding leathers as a bard played.

Aegon squirmed in his mother’s arms, gut dropping as she nearly dropped him, but internally cheered when he was put on the ground safely. He turned and, with determination, stumbled over the weirwood roots to Rhaenyra.

She looked at him, eyes wide, as he smiled toothily at her. “Ny’wa,” he said, purposely butchering her name as any normal two year old would.

“Hello, Aegon,” she said hesitantly, discarding her book in favour of picking him up.

He glanced at his mother, noting that she had paled some as she watched them like a hawk, then turned his attention back to Rhaenyra, putting his admittedly chubby hands on her cheeks and squeezing, acting the adorably, brainless babe.

Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes shone with amusement and pain. “Happy nameday, little brother,” she murmured, and he beamed at her, giggling.

“Tank you,” he garbled, patting her cheeks as gently as possible.

Rhaenyra’s smile widened some, and she held him firmly as she stood, glancing at Alicent, whose entire body at tensed. Honestly, did his mother think that his sister would dash his head against the weirwood and cackle madly all the while?

What in the gods name had Otto said to his mother to make her so wary of her former best friend?

“I can take him,” Mother said hurriedly, reaching for him.

Aegon made a show of fussing and clinging to Rhaenyra, hugging her about the neck. They gave up trying to separate them, sharing tense, false smiles as they went to the feast.

Father was overjoyed to see Rhaenyra and Aegon together, beaming like the proud father he was. Otto, however, looked ready to snatch Aegon from Rhaenyra’s arms and flee.

“My heir and my son,” Viserys greeted warmly, kissing their cheeks.

Rhaenyra’s smile was genuine, though small, and Aegon leaned his head on her shoulder. “Heir, heir, heir,” he mumbled, patting Rhaenyra’s cheek.

Viserys chuckled, chucking Aegon under the chin. Even Rhaenyra looked amused, though slightly surprised. “You love your big sister, don’t you, my son?”

“Yeth,” Aegon lisped, nodding. “Love sissy.”

Aegon could practically feel Rhaenyra melt, and he internally cheered even as he saw Otto and Hobart's shared, troubled look.

Mother, though, had slowly relaxed and had a small, unsure smile on her face.

***

Despite what many may assume, Rhaenyra didn’t hate her brother. Aegon was innocent of Alicent and their fathers betrayal, and he was quite cute. She had wanted to hate him, to remain distant and unaffected, but seeing him crawl to her in the godswood and butcher her name so cutely, then cling to her and fuss whenever someone tried to separate them, well.

Rhaenyra didn’t mind. She held him on her lap throughout the journey through the Kingswood, entertaining him with a wooden dragon carved for him as their carriage rattled over bumps in the road.

“You’ll have a son, sooner or late,” Viserys said, smiling proudly at them.

Rhaenyra met her fathers eyes, and seeing the love and affection in them softened her slightly. It seems Aegon had set a precedent of softening her to all the men in her family today.

“Yes,” she said quietly, brushing her fingers through Aegon’s fine, pale hair. He turned and beamed at her and she smiled back. “He’s quite calm, for a babe.”

“Oh, he does fuss,” Alicent piped up, rubbing her huge belly. “Today he’s been quite good, though.”

Rhaenyra looked at her former friend, heart lurching painfully. “Should you be travelling like this?”

Alicent looked surprised at her concern, and Rhaenyra stifled the guilt that niggled at her. It hadn’t been her who ruined their friendship. She had naught to be guilty about. “The maesters say I should, that the fresh air will be good for me and the babe.”

“Sissy,” Aegon burbled.

Rhaenyra turned her attention to him, “Yes, valonqar?”

Aegon leaned towards Alicent. “Nuh, sissy.” He pointed to her belly, beaming innocently.

Viserys stared. “You think the babe is a sister, Aegon?”

“Yuh, sissy,” Aegon babbled, nodding.

Rhaenyra looked at Alicent, who was smiling slightly. She then met fathers eyes and noted the Look he had. Did he think Aegon could sense the babe was a girl, or that he’d dreamed it? Perhaps there was more to her little brother than they had assumed.

“Ny’wa sissy, Hel sissy,” Aegon mumbled decisively, nodding firmly.

“Hel?” Rhaenyra queried, amused. “Helaena?”

Aegon nodded happily, lifting his toy dragon. “Sy’wax!” he cheered.

Rhaenyra looked at her father and Alicent, both looking shocked. Aegon had never met Syrax, nor had he ever heard her name before.

***

Aegon delighted in his parents and sisters confusion and shock as he blurted Helaena’s name – butchered as many two year olds did – and Rhaenyra’s dragons name. He knew his father believed in dragon dreams, and the Conqueror had told him of his own prophetic dream that led him to conquering the Seven Kingdoms.

Helaena had possessed some sort of foresight in their past life, so Aegon had decided to manufacture his own. Well, he did have foresight, but not because of dreams or any sort of magic, but it would make his father and sister listen to him. They were believers in dreams.

Now, too, was Aegon.

The first day of the hunt went as well as it could have despite Rhaenyra and Father arguing over Jason Lannisters terrible wooing attempt; she fled on horseback with Criston Cole and remained gone, so Aegon acted the part of fussy, two year old brat who’s new favourite person bad vanished.

“Sissy find hart,” he babbled to Viserys, having crawled over to the kings dais.

Viserys lifted him into his lap, abandoning his wine – thankfully. “What do you mean, my son?”

“Ny’wa find white hart,” he nattered on, fiddling with the buttons on his father’s tunic.

Viserys stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “She will?”

“Yuh,” Aegon grunted, leaning against Viserys’ chest. “Ny’wa qween.”

Aegon fought the urge to cackle when he heard his grandfather choke on his wine. Viserys, however, beamed at him and patted his back.

The next morning, Rhaenyra and Cole strutted into camp with a dead boar and white hart. Aegon cheered from where he perched in mother’s arms, beaming at Rhaenyra.

The Conqueror had told him that Rhaenyra had let the heart loose in their first life, but assured him that she would be...encouraged to not do so this time, proving she was the rightful heir at the same time to any and all doubting lords and ladies.

“Ny’wa!” he cried, reaching for her. Mother tried to stop him, as his sister did have blood crusted in her hair and clothes, but he fought until he was passed to Rhaenyra.

“Valonqar,” she said in Valyrian, smiling.

“You get hart,” he said happily, “I saw.”

Rhaenyra stared into his eyes. “You did, did you?” she murmured softly.

“Ny’wa qween,” he said seriously, heart full of the budding affection he’d been robbed of in his past life.

Rhaenyra smiled and kissed his forehead, saying nothing, and Aegon’s heart swelled with love and guilt.

***

Viserys and Rhaenyra began looking at Aegon in a new light after Helaena was born. Not only had he ‘predicted’ Rhaenyra’s capture of the White Hart, but the birth of his little sister. Even his mother had begun listening more closely to his rambles that, to any other, would be nonsense, but to the Targaryens were prophetic.

It was, in Aegon’s humble opinion, a stroke of genius on his part and brought he, Father, and Rhaenyra closer.

“Crab man bad,” Aegon announced to Father and Mother during the breaking of their fast a week after Helaena’s birth.

Viserys dropped his fork. “Aegon?”

He looked up from his thoroughly mushed breakfast. “Crab man bad,” he repeated. “Red dragon beat bad crab man.”

Viserys stared. “I should send word to the Stepstones. Lord Tyland informed me that Corlys and Daemon’s forces were depleted, their provisions lowering alarmingly.”

“Send aid, husband,” Mother said, wrenching her gaze from Aegon. She still looked at him oddly, as though she didn’t recognise him; he knew she would never full accept his ‘premonitions.’

“Or more dragonriders,” Rhaenyra said.

“Rhaenyra, you are heir,” Viserys said patiently, moving to the desk in his rooms, hurriedly scratching out a letter for Daemon. “I cannot send you into a warzone.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, annoyed, but subsided. Aegon shoved some fruit into his mouth. He’d assured Viserys and Rhaenyra that Daemon would triumph over the Triarchy, so his work was done in that regard.

Rhaenyra and he were growing closer; she had proven herself capable when she had killed the boar and hart, Cole insisting she had slain both beasts to all who would listen; Viserys had assured her she remained heir and she had the authority to choose her husband.

Now, Aegon mentally sighed, I have to somehow convince Father to annul Daemon and Rhea’s marriage and betroth Rhaenyra to his brother. Joy.

***

When Rhaenyra’s procession to find a husband was announced, Aegon, admittedly, panicked slightly. He knew what was coming, Aegon having informed him of everything he’d missed the first time around; but he knew he had to somehow convince father to wed Rhaenyra to Daemon and offer a betrothal contract between their first born and Laena Velaryon's first born.

Being a babe and trying to save his family was utterly fucking aggravating, but Aegon was determined to make the Conqueror and gods proud.

When the day came for Rhaenyra to leave, Aegon clung to her and tried not to weep. Grown man in a babe’s body he may be, but he did have the rather lacking emotional instincts and range of a baby; he and Rhaenyra had grown much closer in the passed several moons, and she positively doted on he and Helaena.

“I have to go, Valonqar,” she murmured, rubbing his back soothingly.

Aegon sniffled and leaned back, rubbing his eyes crossly. “Don’ want Ny’wa go.”

Father and Alicent looked fondly amused, and Rhaenyra melted and kissed his cheeks. “I must, Valonqar. I have to find a husband.”

“Nuh!” Aegon protested. “Ny’wa mawwy red dragon. I see.”

Rhaenyra looked startled and glanced at their father, who looked as though he’d been clobbered over the head. They knew ‘red dragon’ meant Daemon, so for him to announce that he’d ‘seen’ them wed would, undoubtedly, shock and confuse them.

“Prince Daemon is already married, Aegon,” Mother said haltingly, frowning. She’d never agreed with the Targaryen’s ‘queer’ practices...until it came to marrying him to his sister, of course, to strengthen his claim to a throne not legally his.

“Nuh, bwonze lady go ‘way,” he babbled, forcing himself to butcher his words. “She twaitor. She uncle twaitor.”

Rhea Royce had been long dead by the time Aegon had died, but her uncle had taken her lands and titles and worked for him in his past life, loathing of the Targaryens because of Daemon’s roguish escapades. Gerold Royce blamed Daemon for Rhea’s death even though he’d been in the Stepstones when she’d perished in a hunting accident.

Likely Gerold killed her himself to claim her titles and seat.

Viserys stared at him, blinking rapidly. “Say good-bye to Rhaenyra, Aegon; her ship is waiting.”

Aegon sighed and sloppily kissed Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Bye, sissy,” he mumbled, letting father take him.

Once Rhaenyra was safely seen off from the capitol, Cole her currently loyal kingsguard, Aegon was taken to his father’s rooms and Mother went to spend time with Helaena.

“What did you mean the Royce’s are traitors, my son?” Viserys asked gently.

“Bwonze man kill bwonze lady,” he said absently, peering at the model of Old Valyria, acting the easily distracted toddler. “Bwonze lady don’ love red dragon; red dragon love Ny’wa!”

Father stared at him, flabbergasted. “Daemon loves Rhaenyra?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded, giggling. “Ny’wa love Da’mun.”

Father huffed softly and hugged him, sitting by the model city. “It seems that Aemma was right...as usual.”

“Uh-huh, a’ways wight,” Aegon said, reaching for one of the model dragons. Father held him tightly and passed it to him, kissing his head.

Mother entered with Helaena, and Aegon beamed. He may not have ever loved Helaena as he should have, but he had a chance, now, to do so.

“Do you think Rhaenyra loves Daemon? That she wishes to marry him?” Father asked Mother.

Mother sat across from them, Helaena cradled in her arms. She looked torn for a moment. “Rhaenyra has always been very fond of Daemon. I do not know him well enough to say if he loves her more than a niece...”

Father huffed a faint laugh. “He has always been adoring and attentive of her, ever since I put her in his arms as a babe. Aemma always claimed that Daemon would only ever love one woman in his life: Rhaenyra.”

Mother looked briefly uncomfortable at the mention of the late Queen Aemma, but it was swiftly masked. “Perhaps she was correct, husband. But Daemon’s reputation...”

“Yes, I know,” Father murmured, bouncing the leg Aegon was perched on. “Aemma always said that Daemon only ever wanted my attention and approval and he only recieved the latter when he acted out.”

“Yep,” Aegon said, twisting to pat his father’s whiskery cheek. “Da’mun love daddy.”

Father smiled, though pain lingered in his eyes. “He always followed me about like a duckling.” Mother smiled, her discomfort showing faintly. Aegon couldn’t picture the Rogue prince toddling about after his older brother, but it was amusing to imagine. “Begging to play and spar, but I was always inundated with politicking and my duties.”

“Perhaps, once the war in the Stepstones is over, you might invite him back to court...rectify your differences?” Mother suggested hesitantly, fussing with Helaena’s dress.

Father hummed, nodding absently, and Aegon silently played on his father’s lap, warmth filling him at the domestic scene.

***

Time moved both too quickly and annoyingly slow with Rhaenyra gone, and Aegon found himself genuinely missing his older sister. Helaena was growing every day, but still too young to do much. He was, in short, bored; even though he oft spent his days blurting things that made his parents cautious and surprised, it wasn’t all that fun.

Then, of course, Sunfyre hatched. His beloved dragon had been put in his cradle as a babe – like many Targaryen’s – but had taken his sweet time in hatching. The day he did, Aegon nearly screeched the Keep down.

Sunfyre was as he remembered, gold and gleaming, and was swiftly moved to the Dragonpit for safety reasons. He was upset, but knew it was for the best. He wouldn’t be using his dragon to kill his sister this time around, that was for sure.

The weeks passed after Sunfyre’s hatching, and Aegon tried not to throw tantrums when the boredom became too much, almost praising his mother when his lessons began two moons after Rhaenyra’s procession began. He knew she would return three months early, thank the gods, but that was still three weeks away.

In the meantime, Aegon was sat in lessons to learn his letters and numbers and colours and other such rot. He was taught to read books and maps and tell time via the sun, the maester patient – he was wary of the little rat, though, the Conquerors warning of the Citadel and Faith echoing in his head – and gentle with him.

He babbled more nonsense to father, who jotted most things Aegon said down, and observed him whenever he wasn’t busy with matters of state.

His grandsire had spent time with him, too, Aegon purposely shying away and positively wailing whenever the man tried to touch him. He’d even argued with Otto when he’d idly mentioned to Mother making him king.

“No,” he’d insisted forcefully. “Ny’wa queen!”

Otto had smiled condescendingly, patting his head – Aegon fought the urge to bite him – before shooting Alicent a glare and leaving.

“I no want be king,” he’d told Mother after, lip wobbling. He truly didn’t. “Ny’wa queen, mama.”

Mother had cuddled him tightly, warmly, and kissed his head. She didn’t say anything, merely stared blankly ahead.  

After that, his grandsire dropped not-so-subtle hints around he and Mother about grooming him to be king, and Aegon argued every time by crying and insisting Rhaenyra would be queen, until one day, shockingly, mother argued back, though hesitantly.

“Rhaenyra will be a good queen,” Mother said, somewhat unsure, holding a crying Aegon close. “And she loves Aegon, she wouldn’t do anything to harm him.”

Grandfather had been furious, storming from the nursery stiffly with parting words that made Mother tremble. “His so loving sister will kill him and Helaena should she inherit the throne, daughter; do not be fooled! The realm will bleed with a woman on the throne.”  

Aegon had shaken his head and insisted ‘his Ny’wa’ wouldn’t harm a hair on his nor Helaena’s heads, and Mother had quietly agreed, kissing Aegon’s head.

Mother’s attitude toward her father and Rhaenyra was slowly changing though she was still unsure and her usually anxious self. He didn’t know if she truly believed her fathers words anymore, but he had noticed her annoyance whenever Otto mentioned preparing Aegon to be King.

Perhaps there was hope for his mother yet.

Aegon really tried not to be smug but, well, he was.

***

Aegon had managed to fuss enough that Mother took him to court the day Rhaenyra and Daemon were set to return, and he stood straight and proud, dressed like the Targaryen Prince he was, by his mother’s side; he’d chosen a black doublet with the Targaryen sigil stitched over his breast and a red cloak, tossing the green monstrosity his mother had wanted him to wear on the floor, scowling.

Daemon was much younger than the last time Aegon had seen him, hair shorter but expression as roguish as ever. He also wore a crown of driftwood that he willingly and gladly gave up to Viserys, who accepted with a smile and a hug.

Then Aegon saw Rhaenyra in the crowd and broke the nearly suffocating tension by crying her name and hurrying to her side.

“Ny’wa!” he bellowed, making the court laugh, as he bolted to her and collided with her legs. He grinned up at her.

Rhaenyra laughed and swung him into her arms, kissing his cheek. “Valonqar, I missed you, too!”

Aegon giggled and hugged her, honestly pleased to see her. “Unka Da’mun back, too, Ny’wa!”

Father, Mother, and the Prince approached as the courtiers trickled out, all amused and charmed by him and his love for his big sister.

“I can see that,” Rhaenyra said, amused, as she shifted him to her hip.

Daemon was staring at him, so he beamed and waved. “Hi, unka Prince Da’mun,”

Father grinned and laughed, mother’s expression pure fondness for him. Daemon lips twitched with amusement, brow twitching. “Prince Aegon, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” he greeted formally.

Aegon beamed. “I peased to make your akwaint’ce, too, unka Prince.”

Daemon laughed, genuinely amused. “A good effort, little prince,” he drawled, gaze darting to Rhaenyra. “Princess,”

“Uncle Prince,” she greeted, lips twitching.

Mother looked deeply uncomfortable by Daemon’s presence, but managed a polite, tense smile. “Welcome home, Prince Daemon,”

Daemon inclined his head somewhat stiffly. “Thank you, your grace. Congratulations on the births of your son and daughter.”

Mother smiled. “Thank you.”

They moved to the courtyard shortly thereafter, Rhaenyra still holding him as she went to one of the buffet tables, sneaking him a slice of candied orange, a mischievous smile on her face.

“Don’t tell your mother, valonqar,” she whispered, and he nodded giggling. “Good boy.”

They joined the rest of their family, Daemon and Viserys chatting lightly about the Stepstones war and how the crabfeeder had been dealt with.

“May I speak with you, Rhaenyra?” Mother asked quietly, her expression tense.

Rhaenyra nodded, confused, and was led away with Aegon in her arms. They paused by one of the doors, and Mother wrung her hands anxiously before speaking, the words falling almost desperately from her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Rhaenyra,” Mother blurted. Rhaenyra stared; so did Aegon. “I never meant to cause this rift between us, I assure you, and I don’t want it to be there anymore. My father forced me to comfort the king, and I couldn’t –”

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra interrupted, placing a hand on Mothers arm. Aegon’s eyes widened. “I did a lot of thinking while on my procession, and I know now that you could not have defied your father...or mine.”

Tears swam in Mother’s eyes. “Oh, Rhaenyra. Thank you. Seeing Aegon, Helaena, and you become so close...it made me realise that, no matter how unconventional, we are family now. I do not want us to be at odds with one another.”

Rhaenyra smiled brightly and gave Alicent a half hug, and Aegon internally rejoiced. “I do not wish to be at odds, either, Alicent. I was angry...but more betrayed, I suppose. I thought we told each other everything...”

“I’m truly sorry, Rhaenyra,” Mother said softly. She leaned forward, hand grasping Rhaenyra’s, who stiffened slightly. “I hope we can put this past us and move on.”

Rhaenyra looked at him, smiling softly, though her eyes were tense. “Me too,” she murmured, glancing around surreptitiously; Otto stood with lords of the court, beady eyes glancing at them occasionally; Father and Uncle Daemon were chuckling together, though Daemon’s gaze was oft drawn to Rhaenyra.

Alicent sighed heavily, expression brightening slightly.

Aegon tilted his head, taking note of the suspicious glint in his mother’s eyes. What was she up to?

***

Daemon was shocked to see how close Rhaenyra was to her half-siblings. He knew that she would never take her anger and frustration out on innocent children, but he’d imagined that she would be forcibly kept from Aegon and Helaena by the cunt of a hand, the man most likely wishing to see Aegon made the Heir due to his having a cock.

It was quite obvious that Otto had schemed for his daughter to become Queen after his beloved cousin Aemma had died. He may have been away from the Keep, but he had his spies in the city. He wasn’t a fool to see which direction the winds had been blowing for some time, even from the Stepstones.

After he’d finally killed the crabfeeder and the rest of the Triarchy scum, he’d been ready to go back to Kings Landing; then, however, he’d recieved word that the new Hightower Queen had given birth to another child, a Princess, so he had delayed his departure.

Then, word had come about his Bronze Bitch’s unfortunate hunting accident. Rumour already swirled in the city that he was responsible, but Daemon merely scoffed. He’d been thousands of miles away at war; more like her cousin had become impatient and offed her himself.

Gerold had always coveted Runestone, jealous that a woman had inherited before he, a man, had.

Daemon wouldn’t sully Dark Sister with his wife’s blood either way. He may have greatly disliked her and despised that his grandmother had wed him to a lowly lady of the Vale that had never even liked men, let alone him, but he’d never abase himself to kill her.

He’d known of Gerold’s coveting of Runestone and waited until the man had become desperate and impatient enough to do the dirty work for him.

Despite being a newly widowed man, however, things in Kings Landing surprised him greatly. Rhaenyra seemingly adored her younger siblings, Alicent wasn’t as insufferable as he’d imagined she’d be, and even Viserys seemed a different man somehow.

Prince Aegon, however, was fascinating. That eve at family supper – Daemon had been tempted to not show up – the boy of two and a half years babbled what was seemingly nonsensical nonsense...but it made sense.

Daemon knew of the dreamers in his family. Knew that Daenys had foreseen the Doom and had acted accordingly. The goddess Tessarion had likely taken pity and shown Daenys what was to come, sparing House Targaryen. He even knew of Aegon the Conqueror’s dream after eavesdropping on Father and Viserys many years ago.

“Unka Da’mun kill bad crab man,” Aegon remarked, thoroughly slaughtering his peas.

Daemon raised a brow at the boy, ignoring the Looks Rhaenyra, Alicent, and Viserys were sharing. Had he done this before? The cunt was rolling his eyes, obviously unimpressed.

“Indeed,” Daemon said to the boy, earning a toothy grin. He would not soften to the prince. He would not. “Did your father tell you?”

“Nuh,” the boy said casually, now massacring his carrots and potatoes. “I saw it. In the cave.”

Daemon looked at Viserys, utterly flabbergasted. He had told no one he’d cornered the crabfeeder in a cave save for those in the battle.

Viserys looked unsurprised, though he was smiling slightly at Daemon’s shock. “Aegon’s a little dreamer.”

Otto scoffed lowly, though not low enough. Daemon heard him and turned a glare in his direction. Rhaenyra and Alicent ignored the tension, both feeding the babes.

“G’andfather no be mean,” Aegon said loudly, scowling mutinously at Otto.

Daemon swallowed laughter. The Hand being chastised by a toddler. It was the most amusing thing he’d seen in a while.

“Do respect your elders, Aegon,” Otto ground out, staring the prince down, who was unaffected. “It is impolite and unbecoming for a boy of your station.”

“You no be mean, I be ‘spectful,” the child argued, and Daemon dissolved into laughter.

Hightower shot him a venomous, contemptuous glare before pinning an unaffected Aegon with a glare, but was thankfully unable to speak when Viserys interrupted.

“Aegon is a boy, Otto,” the king said sternly.

Hightower subsided reluctantly, muttering about ravens to attend before excusing himself.

Daemon relaxed greatly once the Hightower cunt was gone, sipping his wine. Rhaenyra was helping Aegon eat, laughing when he scrunched his face up at the beans and squash.

“It will make you big and strong,” Rhaenyra said, regurgitating the lies her mother once told her.

Aegon eyed the vegetables sceptically. “It’s yucky, Ny’wa.”

“It’s all right, Rhaenyra,” Alicent said, amused. “He’ll merely spit them out.”

Aegon beamed when Rhaenyra gave up forcing him to eat the ‘yucky’ vegetables, but happily devoured his roast beef, carrots, and peas.

Viserys watched with a proud, pleased expression as he sipped his wine. He looked healthier, Daemon observed, not as drawn and hunched in on himself the last time they’d seen one another. His face was flushed with good health, and not so pale.

Rhaenyra, too, looked happier. The last time he’d seen her on Dragonstone, she’d seemed wan, as though much of the life had been drained from her.

“You look happier, brother,” he said quietly to Viserys, who smiled at him.

“Yes,” Viserys replied in Valyrian, surprisingly. He rarely spoke their mother tongue. “Rhaenyra has forgiven Alicent and is bonding with Aegon and Helaena. It has lightened my heart.”

“Has she forgiven you?” he queried.

Viserys sighed. “Not openly, brother. But she is not so cold toward me. Did you hear she caught the white hart on Aegon’s nameday hunt?”

Daemon’s brows rose, and he glanced at his niece, who was uncaring of the food dropped onto her dress by Aegon. “Truly? Herself?”

“That is what Criston Cole says, who was with her, and he does not seem the untruthful sort,” Viserys explained, smiling at his daughter proudly. His expression turned apologetic. “I was sorry to hear about your wife.”

“Don’t be,” Daemon said briskly, almost scoffing. Viserys gave him a knowing look, and he smiled innocently. “I never liked her, brother, let alone loved her. I do not mourn her loss.”

Viserys tilted his head, accepting his words. Rhaenyra looked up, meeting Viserys’ gaze. “I’m sorry for cutting my procession short, father, but the Lords, gods, they were insufferable,” she lamented.

Viserys sighed, though he did grace Rhaenyra with an indulgent smile. “You will have to chose a husband soon, Rhaenyra.”

Her eyes met Daemon’s then skittered away, a light flush covering her cheeks, and he quirked a brow, amused and intrigued.

He had always adored her, ever since Viserys had placed her, a squalling babe, into his arms years ago. The moment he’d met her lilac eyes he’d been lost. Aemma had seen it, smiling in fond amusement every time he snatched Rhaenyra away as a babe or brought her baubles from all over when he would return from his ventures.

Rhaenyra had always followed him about like a duckling. As a child she would crawl into his bed after a nightmare or during a storm or demand to be toted around in his arms. She’d cry when he would announce his departures, bottom lip wobbling.

So many times he had cut his adventures short to get back to her quicker, indulging her beyond reason.

Now, however, she was a woman grown and as beautiful as any woman of Valyrian descent. Their family intermarried all the time, but he felt more than ever like a rogue for noticing her beauty and maturity. She was seven and ten, a woman grown.

He, however, was five and thirty. Matches had been made with larger age differences, though, and theirs was the Blood of the Dragon. They were different to other men and women.

Rhaenyra’s gaze caught his again, and he smirked at her, delighting in the widening of her eyes and the flush on her cheeks. Perhaps her feelings for him had matured with her.

“Gods be good, have I truly been so blind?” Viserys queried, glancing between he and Rhaenyra in disbelief.

Even Alicent looked amused, hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Aegon was beaming, a knowing glint in his young eyes.

“Ny’wa mawwy unka Prince Da’mun,” he said decisively, nodding.

Daemon met Viserys’ resigned gaze, shrugging. “You know I would treat her better than any other man in the realm, and I would not wed her for her title. Just for her.”

Viserys looked at Rhaenyra, who was fighting a pleased smile. “Is that what you want, Rhaenyra?”

She glanced at Alicent, who smiled at her, them turned back to meet Viserys’ gaze. “Yes. I want to marry Daemon.”

Aegon cheered.

***

Daemon was preparing for bed when a knock came at his door, and he frowned. “Come!” he called impatiently, brows raising  as Rhaenyra  entered his rooms, smile on her face. “Niece, what can I do for you?”

“Uncle, I’m sorry to interrupt you so late. I just wanted to ask if you would teach Aegon High Valyrian?” He stared, lips curving into a smirk. She huffed at him. “You taught me, and I’m fluent. I won’t let my brother be denied his heritage.”

“I believe I would enjoy that, niece. Would you like to sit in on our lessons, too?”

Rhaenyra beamed. “Yes, thank you, uncle. I was going to take Aegon for his first flight tomorrow.”

“Ah, and how does your dear stepmother feel about that?” he asked sarcastically.

“She doesn’t need to know,” she retorted, scowling. “She apologised to me...but I don’t entirely trust it. She spent six moons sneaking about with my father...Aegon was born only seven moons after their wedding.”

Daemon’s brows flew up, lips twisting. He had loved Aemma greatly; she had never treated him like the Rogue so many painted him as. To find out that his brother had been entertaining the little Hightower and fucking her so soon after Aemma’s death, well, it made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Trust your instincts, Rhaenyra,” he told her, taking her hands in his.

She peered up at him, smiling sadly. “She could have told me, but she knew how hurt I would be, and kept it hidden. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully forgive her, or accept her friendship as it once was.”

“Then don’t,” Daemon said simply. “You’re under no obligation to accept what she did. You can remain neutral with her. I know you care for your brother and sister.”

“For so long I wanted siblings,” she said softly, an old pain in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her as she buried against his chest. “Aegon and Helaena are innocent, and they are of my blood. If I don’t love them, who will? Alicent palms them off to handmaidens whenever she can. Father does try, but I think he sees my lost siblings when he looks at them; what he could have had with mother.”

Daemon kissed her hair. “I must admit that your brother is quite intriguing. Is he truly a dreamer?”

Sadly, Rhaenyra pulled out of his embrace to meet his eyes. “He knew Alicent was pregnant with a girl, even called her Helaena. He knew I’d capture the white hart...I truly do think he’s a Dreamer, the first since -”

Daemon’s lips twitched when she abruptly stopped talking, staring at him. “Aegon the Conqueror?”

“You know...about the song of ice and fire?” She asked, looking relieved.

“I was your father’s heir apparent for nine years,” he said, nodding. She blinked and nodded, realising that Viserys must have told him. “After Aemma’s second miscarriage, he took me to Balerion’s skull and informed me, though I had discovered it by eavesdropping some years before. At first I didn’t believe it. Dreams didn’t make us Kings, dragons did...but if not for Daenys’ dreams House Targaryen would have been destroyed in the Doom.”

Rhaenyra smiled slightly. “I didn’t entirely believe it either, but I had the same realisation as you. And there is magic in our blood; how else could we connect and ride dragons?”

“Indeed,” he murmured, smiling faintly at her. “Aegon’s first lesson begins on the morrow, dear niece, after your flight.”

Rhaenyra nodded and beamed, pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaving his rooms.

Daemon huffed, trying to ignore the tingling of his cheek.

***

The day after she returned, Aegon was woken up by an excited Rhaenyra who seemed to be almost vibrating with excitement as she held up very familiar leather clothes.

Flying leathers.

Aegon stifled his excitement and let his sister bathe and dress him, stifling his embarrassment. He may be only three years old physically, but mentally he was a man grown.

Once bathed and dressed, he was hauled into Rhaenyra’s arms and smuggled from the Keep, Ser Harwin escorting them to the Dragonpit with an amused smile. Daemon was already there, patting a saddled Caraxes.

Aegon had been terrified of the legendary Blood Wyrm in his past life. While not nearly as large as Vhagar, or as muscular, Caraxes was just as deadly as any dragon. Syrax, though smaller than her red counterpart, was equally as terrifying.

Rhaenyra approached Syrax, cooing to her beloved dragon in Valyrian. “Syrax, this is my little brother, Aegon.”

Syrax eyed him suspiciously, and Aegon forced himself to remain still as her huge head loomed closer, nostrils flaring as she scented him. He couldn’t help the mortifying giggle that erupted when she snorted a huff of warm air over him, seemingly accepting him.

Daemon approached, Syrax warbling at him lowly. His uncle held his hands out for him, and Aegon warily let the Rogue Prince take him over to Caraxes, who eyed him with eerie yellow eyes.

“Caraxes,” Daemon murmured, running his gloved palm over the Blood Wyrm’s lower jaw. “This is Aegon, my nephew.”

Caraxes lowered his head – much larger than Syrax’s – and sniffed him, nose brushing over his hair. Aegon slowly raised a hand and pressed his tiny fingers to the blood red scales of Caraxes’ cheek, marvelling at the warmth.

Caraxes loosed a soft, crooning whistle and nudged gently into his hand. Syrax and Rhaenyra approached, his sister seated in her dragon's saddle. She and Daemon had agreed quietly at he was more experienced taking passengers on flights, and she didn’t want to hurt Aegon.

A furious shriek echoed throughout the pit, and Aegon’s head whipped around at the familiar sound. The dragon keepers ducked as Sunfyre flew towards them, shrieking angrily.

“Sunfyre!” Aegon crowed, wriggling in Daemon’s arms to get down. His uncle placed him on the ground, and he hurried to the golden dragon’s side.

Sunfyre landed and preened, nuzzling against Aegon’s hands and chest, crooning lowly. The golden creature had grown, and was the size of a pony. Still too little to ride, but able to burn a man.

“This is your dragon?” Daemon asked, approaching slowly.

Sunfyre hissed at Daemon, the horns on his head rising slightly. Aegon frowned. “Daor, Sunfyre,” he said firmly, grateful that the maesters had ‘taught’ him the basics. “Ñuha Kepus.”

Sunfyre snorted, but subsided. Daemon crouched beside Aegon and held a hand out to Sunfyre, smiling when his fingers were sniffed and, once begrudgingly accepted, nudged for pets.

“He’ll be large enough to ride soon,” Daemon said, standing. “For now, you’ll have to come with me.”

Aegon scratched Sunfyre’s jaw one last time before letting Daemon pick him up again. Caraxes shifted and lowered himself some so Daemon could grasp the saddle and haul them up. Sunfyre screeched, offended, but a low, whistling hiss from Caraxes put the fledgling dragon in his place.

Aegon had never ridden Caraxes before, or any dragon bar Sunfyre and Vhagar, and the difference was starling. The Blood Wyrm was more snake-like than any dragon, with an extremely long neck and body and slim but powerful wings, and two extra wings on his back legs to make up for his odd body.

Daemon strapped them in, Aegon sitting in front of him, and bracketed Aegon in with his arms, reigns wrapped around his gloved hands. “Sōvēs!” Daemon shouted, and Caraxes loosed a loud, piercing whistle of excitement before his large wings spread.

Aegon shrieked in delight as the Blood Worm writhed his way into the sky, wings cracking through the air. A moment after them, Syrax and Sunfyre followed, roaring their excitement.

***

Alicent’s hands trembled slightly as she reread her fathers note. Anxiety and anger swirled in her stomach, especially after she had discovered Aegon gone from the nursery that morning, the maids stammering useless excuses of “the Princess Rhaenyra wished for Prince Aegon to experience his first flight upon dragon back” making her heart leap into her throat, which in turn made images of Rhaenyra or Daemon tossing her infant son from the skies flash in her mind before the Maester dropped her fathers note off.

Her fathers words swirled through her mind, haunting her every waking moment. Rhaenyra will cut off any challenge to her succession. But would she? She wasn’t sure anymore, the princesses harsh, angry words coming back to her after Viserys announced their marriage.

“Did you crawl into my mother’s bed while her lifeblood still stained the sheets? Before her and my brothers ashes were even cold? I can’t believe you, Alicent! I thought that I could trust you at least in this vipers nest, but it is clear to me that you’re the most poisonous of them all. You’re dead to me!”

Alicent had wept bitterly once alone in her rooms. Only for her father to find her and chastise her for being so emotional; she was to become queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her son King after her, he had said. She should be grateful he had gone to such lengths for her. A childhood companion lost was a fair price to pay.

She looked at the note again, lips trembling. She didn’t want to go to him, to hear him yell and chastise her once again. She was queen, she didn’t have to answer to her father anymore. Did she?

Alicent rose and tossed the letter into the roaring hearth and wiped the tears from her eyes, forcing a pleasant expression onto her face.

She knew not if Rhaenyra truly forgave her, or if she could trust her old friend. Surely not, now she was to marry Prince Daemon. She knew the kind of man he was, her father had not spared her womanly sensibilities when informing her of who the Rogue Prince truly was. A deviant and a monster wearing human skin. He would undoubtedly kill her children for Rhaenyra to ensure her claim of the Iron Throne.

Perhaps her father was right. Even if Aegon and Helaena were given Rhaenyra’s affections, their mere existence would be a challenge to her succession, and the lords may rise up for Aegon and force Rhaenyra’s hand. And if the Princess willed it, Alicent knew that her Rogue husband-to-be would take her son and daughters lives. Her unborn child’s life.

Straightening her shoulders, Alicent nodded to herself. She had to be strong, to ensure her son’s birthright was not stolen. That her children were not slaughtered like animals by their half-sister. She knew her path forward now, and no childhood companion would soften her heart for what was necessary.

***

Aegon knew, the moment he saw his mother, that his wish to save her from Otto Hightower’s grasp would fail. There was a hardness in her gaze that he had not missed, a firmness to her grasp on his hand as she, without a word, swept him away from Rhaenyra and Daemon, clearly furious about the secret dragon ride.

Aegon wanted to rage, to scream at the gods. What good was he if he couldn’t save his own mother? He knew that, in the grand scheme of things, she was pretty well insignificant. It was his grandfather he had to be leery of, but he hoped that he could get rid of the man and have father name Daemon or even Rhaenyra as Hand.

Otto Hightowers schemes and plots had begun during his tenure as Jaehaerys’ reign. The Conqueror was exceeding clear in who and what were threats to House Targaryen, sometimes visiting Aegon’s dreams. The first time he’d seen his namesake in his dreams, he’d demanded to know if he was dead again, already having failed, only for Aegon to snort and assure him that he had not.

Apparently the gods wanted Aegon to know of the grand conspiracy began over a century ago that his grandfather was in on, assisting not only the Faith – who decried Targaryens often and loudly as abominations – but the Citadel and Hightower family in destroying the Targaryens completely.

House Hightower and Oldtown had once been the greatest family and city in all of Westeros, the Faith the uncontested leading religion until the Targaryen’s conquered and introduced their own faith: the old gods of Valyria, and their ‘queer’ custom of intermarriage and dragon riding.

The only other region in Westeros to not have buckled under the Faith was the North, who proudly remained worshippers of the old gods of the Children of the Forest.

Aegon wondered if their old gods and the Valyrian gods were one and the same.

Mother had always been fanatically pious, wearing her seven pointed star and praying twice daily and at meals. She had, in his past life, stripped the Red Keep of any and all Targaryen heraldry and replaced it with seven pointed stars.

The Valyrian Freehold had been one of religious tolerance, accepting a thousand or more different gods within their walls. Aegon had never been particularly religious, but he’d never bought unto the Seven. Aemond, he knew, had worshipped the Valyrian gods of their ancestors, putting on a facade for mother when it came to her gods.

Aegon wondered if Rhaenyra and Daemon worshipped the Valyrian gods. Most likely they did, as they had wed in a Valyrian ceremony in their previous life.

Aegon wanted to stamp his foot like the child he was when he and Mother reached his nursery. He had wanted to go to his lessons with Uncle Daemon, but she had dragged him away before he could protest.

“I forbid you from spending time with those beasts,” mother told him sternly, her hand an iron band around his upper arm.

“What about Sunfyre?!” he demanded, utterly furious.

Mother squeezed his arm tighter, and Aegon barely withheld a whimper. “I care not for those ungodly creatures, and nor shall you. You are my son, and I won’t allow you to become as godless as the rest of the Targaryens.”

“But I am a Targaryen,” he snapped, yanking his arm from her grasp. He, annoyingly, felt tears welling in his eyes. “I wanted to fly with Nyra and Uncle Daemon!”

Mothers face twisted. “You will stay away from Prince Daemon. He is a terrible influence, a deviant and a rogue.”

Aegon felt his lower lip trembling and rage building in his stomach. He spun on his heel and bolted from the nursery, ignoring his mother’s angry yelling. He sprinted down the hall, dodging servants and guards, and barged into his father’s rooms, heaving for breath.

“Aegon?” he nearly wept in relief as Father picked him up. “What is it, my son?”

“Mother w-wants to keep me ‘way from Sunfyre, Nyra, and Uncle Daemon,” he stammered out between panting breaths. I don’ wanna!”

Viserys’ brow furrowed with anger, and Aegon was placed in Daemon’s waiting arms. He curled his arms around his uncles neck, emotions all over the place.

“It seems that your wife is not a fan of our heritage, brother,” Daemon drawled sarcastically.

Viserys exhaled a sharp breath. “I shall speak with her. Aegon, you don’t have to stay away from Sunfyre, Rhaenyra, and Daemon.”

Aegon peered at father through bleary eyes. “I don’?”

“No, my son,” Viserys said, lips pursed angrily. He nodded at Daemon. “Remain with your uncle whilst I speak with your mother, Aegon.”

Aegon watched, sniffling, as Viserys swept angrily from the room. He looked up and met Daemon’s eyes, blinking at the simmering rage in his eyes that turned to fondness as he realised Aegon was looking at him.

“It will be all right, nephew,” he assured, taking a seat. He ran a gentle hand over Aegon’s head, and Aegon marvelled at his uncles oft unseen gentleness. He had never seen this side of his uncle often in his past life, only briefly whenever he was around Rhaenyra and their children.

A vice of grief gripped his heart. Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey would be unlikely to exist in this life, because he had ensured Daemon and Rhaenyra would marry. He had never cared for their bastard status, in truth, and had been fond of his nephews. He had been too deeply into his cups and haunted by the expectations heaped upon him to truly bond with Jace and Luke, and then Aemond’s eye had been lost and the rift between their family’s wider and deeper than ever.

There were many things Aegon regretted from his past life, and the fate of his nephews and niece were at the top of his list, after taking his sisters rightful throne, allowing his grandfather and mother to make a monster out of him.

Not that he had fought very hard, selfishly hoping that, if he obeyed, he would be spared the pain and abuse suffered. If anything, it had only gotten worse after he was crowned; grandfather had strung him along like a puppet, smacking him around whenever he drowned himself too deeply in wine.

When the war truly began after Lucerys’ death at Aemond’s hands, Aegon had acted how he thought his grandfather wished, throwing his brother a feast. He had been a fool. Aemond hadn’t even meant to kill Luke, admitting to him while drunk and filled with grief, that he had lost control of Vhagar.

But Aemond had worn his title of Kinslayer like armour, ignoring the scorn and disgust of all around him. But Aegon was determined to ensure that his little brother wouldn’t be raised a killer to secure his reign, to frighten their ‘enemies’ into compliance.

Aegon knew that Otto had worked hard to make him subservient and willing to comply, Helaena the perfect wife and Queen, browbeaten to submissive, popping out heirs, and Aemond a feared and respected killer and enforcer. They had been naught but puppets of Otto’s thirst for power, unwittingly playing into his – and others –  schemes and plots.

Aegon refused to let his grandfather do so again in this life. He would kill the man himself if he had to, claiming the title of Kinslayer proudly if it meant that House Targaryen would survive.

***

That night, after Viserys had chastised Alicent and sent him off to High Valyrian lessons with Daemon and Rhaenyra, Aegon fell into a dream of naught but horror, Aegon I and the gods showing him the future that would come if the Dance of the Dragons wad allowed to occur again.

His nephew, Aegon III, who let the dragons die out and would be, to put it mildly, a miserable king. He would marry Aegon’s own daughter, Jaehaera, who would kill herself two years after marrying her cousin. That made Aegon feel sick to his stomach, watching his daughter throw herself into the spiked moat of the Keep.

Aegon the Younger would go on to remarry Daenaera Velaryon, granddaughter of Vaemond, and have several children; two would become kings: Daeron I and Baelor I. Both would die without issue, Daeron killed during his failed Dornish Conquest, and Baelor dying after foolishly fasting for forty days and nights after his sister and former wife, Daena, gave birth to a bastard.

Baelor would be a terrible king, more Septon than ruler, and Aegon wanted to scream. A Targaryen so feverishly devoted to a faith that decried them as abominations? It was as saddening as it was infuriating.

Viserys, Aegon III The Dragonbane’s brother, inherited the throne as the Second of his Name and would rule for little less than a year before his son, rumoured to have killed his own father, Aegon IV the Unworthy inherited and sent the realm into turmoil when, upon his death, legitimised all of his bastards.

Aegon wanted to be sick as he watched the Blackfyre rebellions that followed, the oldest of Aegon the Unworthy’s bastards, Daemon, claimed the name Blackfyre and warred for the throne against his half-brother Daeron II, but ultimately failed. Daeron would be the Targaryen king who brought Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms officially, through marriage.

Daeron’s two eldest sons would die, leaving his third son Aerys to inherit the throne. After Aerys would be Maekar, who fought in and helped crush two Blackfyre rebellions. Yet another council was called to discuss Maekar’s successor, and his son Aegon V was chosen, and dubbed Aegon the Unlikely.

So many bloody Aegon’s, he thought, amused and exhausted. The amusement fled when the Tragedy of Summerhall occurred right before his eyes, Aegon the Unlikely’s foolish attempt to bring back dragons killing most of the living Targaryens.

What none but he saw was the Maesters compromising the wildfire used to warm the eggs, and Aegon grit his teeth as he watched his would-be distant kin die.

Aegon’s son, Jaehaerys, became king for a mere three years after Aegon the Unlikely’s death, and then his son, Aerys, was crowned Second of His Name.

Dread filled Aegon. Aerys was not mentally well, that was for certain, but he was sure it was not a normal madness that overtook him.

“It’s not,” the Conqueror said, appearing beside him. “Why do you think that Targaryens bond with dragons? Not merely for the power they grant us; they temper us as we do them, namesake, the magic within our souls balancing one another.”

“Aerys is a Dreamer,” he breathed, watching as the ‘Mad King’ dissolved further into incomprehensible ranting, screaming ‘burn them all!’

“Without the magic of a dragon-bond to stabilise the intensity of the dreams, Aerys’ own mind has begun to betray him. The prophesy has been lost, forgotten, the gods forsaking House Targaryen and refusing to bring dragons back because of what happens in your time,” Aegon I explained softly.

“And the maesters and faith sabotaging us at every turn,” Aegon said bitterly.

Aegon I hummed softly. “Yes.”

A small kernel of hope bloomed only to die a grisly death when Rhaegar, Aerys’ heir, discovered the prophesy and completely botched the interpretation and ignited a war; seducing the Stark girl, Lyanna, and shaming his current wife and children. Robert Baratheon, furious, rebelling and winning and being crowned king; a terrible, abusive king.

Jaime Lannister choosing to kill Aerys, the king he vowed to protect, rather than let the mad man and his pet Pyromancers blow the city up with wildfire, earning the epithet ‘Kingslayer.’

Cersei fucking her own brother, something that didn’t bother Aegon, he was a Targaryen, and cuckolding the king. The War of the Five Kings, Daenerys’ travels in Essos and her bringing dragons back and conquering Slavers Bay.

The hope continued to die as Daenerys failed to truly bond with her dragons, Rhaegar and Lyanna’s son dying and returning to life and the pretender Aegon VI invading, truly believing himself to be Rhaegar and Elia’s son and not the Blackfyre puppet he was, wedding Cersei Lannister and proclaiming himself king.

The Second Long Night, Aegon I’s prophesy coming true, and the realm remaining divided between Daenerys, Aegon VI, and Jon Snow’s legitimacy as monarchs when they should have been focusing on the literal end of the world.

The fucking wall collapsing and beasts long dead carrying men who were not men but demons from the deepest of the Seven Hells.

“Stopping the Dance will stop this?” Aegon asked, tears in his eyes as the last Targaryens were slaughtered.

“Much knowledge shall be lost during the Dance, namesake, and many dragons. Daenerys was never taught how to bond with her dragons, and they were far too young and untested to be of any true help against the Others,” Aegon I murmured softly.

Aegon’s resolve hardened. He had witnessed the end of House Targaryen due to their own folly and the conspiracy of the Faith, Citadel, and Hightowers. It was like the Doom all over again, but this time the whole world would be utterly destroyed.

“What are they? The Others?” Aegon asked.

Aegon’s expression tightened. “The foul sorcery of House Targaryen’s ancient enemy. His soul lives on, unfortunately, and controls them like puppets. The truth was hidden on Dragonstone by my wife, Visenya. She was a sorceress and collector of our histories. You will find her hidden rooms within the castle.”

With that, Aegon woke.

Chapter Text

The announcement of Rhaenyra and Daemon’s betrothal was beyond amusing; the majority of the court was confused as to why Viserys had named his daughter heir, disinheriting his brother, only to marry them. The other half, though they tried to disguise it, was clearly put off that they or their heirs weren’t to marry the Realm’s Delight.

Then, to everyone – and Aegon’s – astonishment, Daemon knelt to Rhaenyra and proclaimed her the Princess of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne, and his future queen.

The ladies of the court tittered and cooed, making Aegon want to snort. Then, he saw it for the opportunity it was and internally cackled as he approached his sister with a beaming grin and he, too, knelt.

Aegon stifled the manic giggles that wanted to erupt from his mouth when he heard his mother’s choked spluttering and grandfathers quiet curses.

To the court, it merely seemed as though the Princess Rhaenyra’s loving little brother wanted to copy their uncle’s actions, but Aegon knew damn well what he was doing. Publicly kneeling and swearing to honour Rhaenyra as heir, no matter how young he was, would go a long way in killing the rumours of usurpation quite early.

Daemon looked amused, eyes darting behind Aegon every so often. Rhaenyra’s expression was warm, soft, and full of an unconditional love Aegon had always hungered for; something he had been denied once.

Viserys, however, looked proud. That nearly made Aegon falter in disbelief. He’d never seen his father look at him with anything but a blankness that used to terrify him. Now, Aegon felt strengthened by that pride as he knelt, purposely wobbling as any normal toddler would do.

“Sissy my princess of Dwagonstown!” He said, beaming at Rhaenyra. The courtiers laughed and cooed at his ‘cuteness.’ “You be my qween!”

Rhaenyra lifted him and kissed his cheeks. “Thank you, my gallant little brother,” she said, chuckling. “I shall be the most protected princess to ever have existed with you by my side.”

Yes, he thought, basking in the freely given affection. You will.

Aegon hugged Rhaenyra, happily perched on her hip, and giggled – which was still mortifying, he couldn’t wait until he was older – when Daemon tapped his nose with a wry, devious grin.

He turned and met his mother and grandfathers eyes in turn, internally basking in their terribly veiled panic and anger. He didn’t know what father had said to mother, but she had been even more distant ever since she’d tried to ban him from spending time with Rhaenyra and Daemon several weeks ago.

His dream had made him steer clear of them, too. The horrors he’d witnessed all because of Otto Hightower’s hunger for power and the conspiracy that had festered for so long...it was enough to make a grown man tremble.

Court was dismissed shortly after, and Aegon was all too pleased with himself. He knew there would be repercussions of his actions, but he also knew that Mother and Grandfather were being closely watched by Daemon and Father. He knew that of they tried to ‘punish’ him, his new protectors would be utterly furious.

***

Aegon’s lessons with Daemon continued even as Rhaenyra and her ladies’ maids seemed to descend into chaos as they planned the upcoming wedding. They would marry in the Light of the Seven as needed to placate the Faith, but they also planned to travel to Dragonstone and wed in the way of their ancestors.

Daemon was thorough and relentless in his teachings. He was fair but firm, seemingly determined to make a proper Targaryen of the blood of Old Valyria out of him, which Aegon was pleased by. It also helped that Aegon’s sheer determination – and prior education – meant that he endeared Daemon to him quite thoroughly.

Aegon also made sure to spend time with Father, Helaena, and Rhaenyra. He wouldn’t let his family – his true family – be torn apart by outside forces. He worked through plans to get rid of Otto and discarded most of them, annoyed that Daemon hadn’t taken Rhaenyra into the city like Before, Otto’s spy catching them in a brothel.

But Aegon had changed things enough that Daemon didn’t have to force Fathers hand, not that it had worked before. Rhaenyra had been married to Laenor Velaryon and forced to find a man actually interested in women to father her children.

Guilt swamped him when he thought of his nephews. He had been cruel to them, mother and grandfathers words pushing him into distancing himself from them. They had been his friends, but he knew it was unlikely he’d be able to fix things with them as they’d never be born in this new life.

Aegon had also been horrible to Helaena and Aemond, shoving his own insecurities and anger onto them. Teasing Helaena for her now clear prophetic abilities and Aemond for his lack of a dragon, pulling pranks that were cruel. He vowed he would be better, do better, by them.

When mother informed father that she was pregnant with Aemond, Aegon beamed as excitement filled him. His brother would also have a second chance, not having to be Otto’s trained killer and forced to bear the title Kinslayer.

Despite all that, though, Aegon was trying to figure out a way to get to Dragonstone. He had to find Visenya’s hidden rooms and the information on House Targaryen’s ‘ancient enemy’ as the Conqueror had been frustratingly vague and refused to show himself in Aegon’s dreams again.

Daemon had mentioned Dragonstone in his lessons several times, teaching him the name in High Valyrian and how it had been a Valyrian Outpost for several years before the Targaryen’s made it their home.

But Rhaenyra and Daemon wouldn’t inhabit the island until after they wed, which wasn’t for some moons.

Being a toddler tasked with saving his family was utterly fucking exhausting, and Aegon often found himself thirsting for a cup of wine, desperate to take the edge off, but knew that he couldn’t become the drunken lecher he been before. He refused to let himself be whom he was before.

He hated the man he had been; he wanted to be better this time around, and he had that opportunity at his fingertips. He would not waste it.

***

Viserys could not have predicted his son Aegon being a dreamer, but pride filled him whenever he thought of his son. His son had achieved what so few Targaryen’s had; not only would he be a dragon rider, but he wad also a dreamer.

It was clear that Aegon had some knowledge of the future. He had seen Rhaenyra felling the white hart, proving to the Lords at the hunt that she was the rightful heir, and he had seen Daemon’s victory over the crabfeeder.

Viserys wondered what else his son had seen. Aegon’s words were cryptic and needed much deciphering, but they had clear meaning. His little journal was full of Aegon’s little ramblings, violet eyes full of knowledge and wisdom far beyond that of a toddler.

He looked away from the journal and couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. It lightened his heart that Rhaenyra had become close with her siblings. Aegon adored her, and Helaena seemed to only calm for her and, surprisingly, Daemon. 

He hadn’t expected Rhaenyra to get along with her younger siblings. He understood that he had hurt her upon taking Alicent to wife, and he often found himself regretting it in the wee hours of the night. But he couldn’t find it within himself to regret Aegon, Helaena, and the unborn babe.

“Mama have A’mund,” Aegon said cheerfully, hurrying to Viserys’ side.

He lifted his son onto his lap, ruffling his soft, silver hair. “What’s that, son?”

“Little brother,” Aegon said, kicking his little booted feet. “Mama have little brother A’mund in belly!”

Viserys hugged his son, heart warming and feeling as though it may burst. Aegon may not be the son of his beloved Aemma, but he was his son, and he did love him. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh!” Aegon uttered, twisting to beam up at him.

“What else have you seen, my little seer?” Viserys wondered idly, freezing when Aegon pinned him to the spot with intensely serious eyes.

“Dwagons dance if gween towers a’wowed to pwot,” his almost four year old babe said seriously, placing tiny hands on Viserys’ cheeks and peering intently into his eyes. “Dwagons dance and dwagons die. Hu’man and beast dwagons die if gween towers allowed to pull the stwings of fate.”

Viserys stated, utterly stunned. He looked at Rhaenyra, whose eyes were wide. Aegon had retuned to kicking his feet and fiddling with Viserys’ rings, clearly unaware of the gravity of his words.

***

Aegon knew he had to be careful with his ‘prophesies’, but he was nothing if not absolutely impatient. Subtlety had never been one of his strong suits, and he wanted Otto Hightower out of the capitol sooner rather than later. If he had to reveal the ‘green towers’ plots through cryptic words then so be it.

He knew that Father and Rhaenyra had understood his words, but they weren’t aware of just how deeply Otto’s deceptions ran. He hadn’t been either, but Aegon had finally deigned to visit his dreams and tell him of one plot that made bile rise in his throat.

“They what?” he asked hoarsely, covering his mouth with a hand.

Aegon’s expression was solemn, though his eyes burned with rage. “Otto Hightower schemed with the Grandmaester to kill Aemma and Baelon to create an opening for your mother to become queen.”

Aegon turned and vomited – how could he do that in a dream? – stomach revolting intensely. He shuddered and spat, breath shuddering and rasping up his throat. How utterly despicable and without morals was his grandfather? Did mother know? She couldn’t, surely. She was cruel and abusive, but to help murder –

A gentle hand brushed through his hair, and Aegon straightened, confused. Since when was the Conqueror gentle?

It wasn’t Aegon touching his hair, but a beautiful woman with shining azure eyes. He knew her – he’d seen a painting of her hidden in an abandoned room in his past life.

“Queen Aemma?” he rasped, blinking rapidly.

“Hello, Aegon,” she said softly, brushing a kerchief over his mouth gently. Is this what motherly love felt like?

“What – what are you doing here? Oh, gods, I’m so, so sorry,” he said hastily, words almost jumbled together with how swiftly he’d spoken.

Queen Aemma merely smiled. “You’ve no need to apologise, young prince.” He stated at her, utterly aghast. She smiled wider, amused. “You have proven yourself to be a better man than any believed, and the gods are pleased they chose you to fix this mess.”

Aegon swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry for what they did –”

Aemma’s eyes shuttered. “Their scheme would not have worked if my husband had not agreed to it, dear prince. Fret not. You are not at fault. I merely requested a moment to meet with you so you might pass a message on to my Rhaenyra.”

“Of course, anything,” Aegon said eagerly, fingers trembling when Aemma grasped his hands.

“Tell Rhaenyra,” Aemma began, voice trembling and eyes shining with tears. “That I love her. And that she will make a magnificent queen. And tell Daemon to look after my little girl.”

Aegon nodded, tears stinging his own eyes. “I will,” he choked out.

Aemma beamed and cupped his cheek, grief in her eyes. Was she imagining that, if her sons had lived, Aegon was what they’d look like? It made him want to weep, for some inexplicable reason. Viserys had never spoken of Aemma, and Aegon knew it was because she had been his true love.

“Tell Viserys I forgive him,” she whispered. “He needs my forgiveness to move on, to be the king the realm needs at the moment. To be the father you, Helaena, and Aemond need.”

“I will, your grace,” Aegon murmured, bowing his head.

Aemma laughed, and Aegon woke.

***

The repercussions of Aegon kneeling and proclaiming Rhaenyra his queen come two days after Queen Aemma visited him in his dreams – he was still trying to figure out how to pass on her messages. He had been entertaining Helaena with a soft doll, smiling at her happy giggles – a part of him hoped she was not plagued by dreams in this life, so she might be happier – when Otto stormed into the nursery and grabbed his arm, yanking him up from the ground.

Aegon shouted in pain, writhing in Otto’s grasp, and Helaena began to wail. “Let me go!” he snapped, yanking futilely against Otto’s grasp.

Otto shook him, hard, and loomed over him like some terrifying vulture demon. Aegon shrank away, mentally cursing himself for the show of weakness. But he was only three years old, nearly four, and his grandfather was much larger than him.

“You little fool,” Otto hissed malevolently, fingers tightening on Aegon’s arm viciously. “It seems that your mother is as useless as any other woman, despite the lessons I have drilled into her, so I must take over your education in preparing you to be king.”

“No!” Aegon screamed, scratching at the hand holding his arm in a vice grip. “Nyra queen!”

Otto sneered and grabbed his face, fingers cruelly digging into chubby cheeks, nails biting into soft, young skin. Aegon stilled, eyes widening as memories flashed – “You are the challenge, Aegon!” – through his mind mercilessly.

Helaena was still screaming.

Otto shook his head, eyes black with anger. “Do not speak back to me, boy. Your whore of a sister and her foul uncle shall never rule these Kingdoms. With any luck, the disgusting blood you share shall be bred out within a few generations –”

Aegon shifted and tucked his head, sinking his teeth into Otto’s hand between his index finger and thumb. He bit down as hard as possible, feeling skin and muscle part under his teeth, coppery blood flooding his mouth.

Otto bellowed in pain and released him. Aegon took the chance and whirled, grabbing Helaena, and bolted from the nursery. He knew he must look a fright, blood staining his face and the front of his doublet. But he didn’t care. He had to get away.

The nursery wasn’t too far from his father’s rooms, but it felt like miles. He also wondered where all the fucking guards were?!

Aegon turned a corner and stumbled as he smacked into someone’s legs. He peered up, terrified that Otto had somehow managed to get in front of him, only to burst into tears of relief when he met Uncle Daemon’s bewildered gaze, that swiftly became frosty when he clearly noted the blood.

Daemon knelt and scooped Aegon and Helaena into his arms, holding them gently but firmly, and hurried them the rest of the way to fathers rooms.

Ser Harrold was guarding the kings rooms, and went white upon seeing the state of Aegon. He pounded on the door and opened it before being granted leave to do so.

Father stood, brow furrowed with annoyance, only for terror and anger to replace it when he saw Aegon, bloody and weeping, and Helaena’s tear streaked, red face.

“What in the hells happened?” Father all but roared.

“I do not know, brother,” Daemon said, placing Aegon on a chaise. He eyed Aegon’s face. “Is it your blood, nephew?”

“G-grandfather,” Aegon hiccoughed, cursing the tears. “H-he g-gwabbed my arm and face,”

Daemon’s expression hardened, and Father looked ready to execute Otto himself. “Breathe, nephew. Pass me Helaena,” his uncle said softly.

Aegon slowly loosened his grip on his sister and tried to ease his hitched, panicked breathing. He was safe. Uncle Daemon wouldn’t let Otto near him, and Father was barking orders to Ser Harrold, whose expression was a snarl of anger.

Daemon cradled Helaena in one arm and smoothed a hand over Aegon’s hair, murmuring soothing nonsense. “That’s it,” he encouraged, once Aegon’s breathing evened out some. “Tell us what happened, nephew.”

“I was playin’ with Hel,” he said slowly, sniffling. “Grandfather came in and gwabbed me, pullin’ me away. He showted at me, tellin’ me that he was gonna edu-educate me to be king. I don’ wanna, uncle. Nyra be queen. I told him, but I gwabbed my face and shaked me.”

Daemon’s eyes were dark with anger, nostrils flaring with every hard breath he took. He leaned forward and kissed Aegon’s forehead, and Aegon wanted to weep once more.

Father had listened to the explanation and was red in the face, anger burning in his gaze. “Ser Harrold, find Otto Hightower and take him to the throne room. Immediately.”

“At once, your grace,” Ser Harrold ground out furiously.

Daemon stood and placed Helaena in Fathers arms. Father cradled Helaena close, as though Otto would appear and snatch her away and hurt her, too. Aegon watched, still trembling and arm and face aching – he was sure to bruise – as Daemon grabbed a cloth and a ewer of water.

Aegon sat still as his uncle cleaned his face and had him wash his mouth out. He winced as water ran over the cuts on the insides of his cheeks. Daemon noticed, of course he did, and inspected the injuries.

“He goes too far,” Father ground out furiously.

Daemon finished cleaning Aegon up of the blood and removed his tunic to inspect his arm, cursing colourfully in High Valyrian when Aegon’s bruised upper arm was revealed.

Aegon stared at the already darkening bruise on his arm with an odd sort of detachment. He was used to Otto leaving bruises on his person, but he had never harmed him so young Before.

He just hoped this was enough to see Otto banished from Kings Landing.

***

Daemon stood by Viserys’ throne as Otto was marched into the Throne Room by Ser Harold. He wanted to cut the man in half with Dark Sister, but it was not his place. Viserys was Aegon’s father and king.

He hadn’t imagined himself growing close with Aegon and Helaena, but Rhaenyra’s words had struck a cord in him. They were innocent of their mother and grandfathers crimes and slights. If his near niece could love the children of the girl who had betrayed her, then he could find it within himself to do the same.

He hadn’t imagined Aegon and Helaena would endear themselves so thoroughly to him, though.

Otto shot him a fierce glare that made Daemon smirk. Honestly, kittens were more ferocious than Otto fucking Hightower.

“Would you care to explain why my son came running to me, covered in blood and bruised, and told me that you harmed him?” Viserys ground out furiously.

Daemon spotted the bandage around Otto’s right hand and fought the urge to cackle. His nephew would be a fierce fighter one day, he would ensure it.

“I was merely disciplining my grandson, your grace,” Otto murmured, and Daemon’s grip tightened on Dark Sister’s pommel.

“My son,” Viserys thundered, straightening on his throne. “Is a prince of the realm before he is your grandson, Otto. To raise a hand to him means you forfeit that hand.” Daemon grinned as Otto paled. “Prince Aegon also informed me that you wish to educate him to become king. As my daughter was named heir, this is treason.”

Otto opened his mouth, likely to spew lies and manipulate his way out of the charge, but Viserys gave him no chance. “Ser Harrold, remove the Hand pin from Ser Otto.”

Ser Harrold did so, ripping the pin from Hightowers chest. Sers Erryk and Arryk who stood either side of the throne shifted, hands grasping the pommels of their swords, as Harrold approached.

“Give it to my brother, Prince Daemon,” Viserys said, and Daemon only just managed to control his utter shock. “For he shall be the new Hand of the King.”

Ser Harrold handed Daemon the pin with a nod and grin. He accepted it and placed it on his doublet, spine straightening with pride.

“Your grace, I must protest –”

Viserys stood, shutting Hightower up, and stalked down the steps of the throne. Daemon had never seen his brother so furious. “You don’t seem to be grasping the gravity of your situation, dear Otto,” Viserys all but snarled. “Not only have you harmed a prince and admit to treason you have harmed MY SON!”

Daemon basked in his brothers rage, the words echoing throughout the throne room. It had been an age since Viserys’ dragon’s fire was stoked hot enough to show itself this way.

Otto had gone a sickly grey colour and stared at the king in shock. Daemon’s lips curled as Viserys stalked closer. “You are henceforth banished from Kings Landing from this day, until the end of your days. You may never see my children again, lest you harm them further. Yours and your kin’s ravens to Alicent shall be read and monitored. If any further whisper of treason is discovered, your life shall be forfeit.”

Otto stared at Viserys, mouth agape. Daemon stepped forward, smirking. “That means get out,” he said idly, cocking his hip.

“Ser Harrold, take Ser Steffon and monitor Ser Otto as he gathers his things and leaves my city. Ensure he does not speak to Queen Alicent or my children,” Viserys ordered, head held high as Otto, slack and obedient with shock, was all but dragged from the room.

Daemon slung an arm around Viserys’ shoulders. “It’s good to know that your dragons blood still runs hot.”

Viserys snorted, but it was not an amused sound. “Do you still have contacts in the city, my Lord Hand?”

Daemon grinned ferally. “But of course, my king.”

Viserys nodded. “Put them to use, brother.”

***

Rhaenyra was absolutely furious when she was told what Otto had done, looking capable of spitting fire like Syrax as she cuddled Aegon to her chest and peering periodically at Helaena sleeping in her cradle.  

It made Aegon feel all warm inside, his stomach all soupy. He basked in Rhaenyra’s affection, head resting against her shoulder. When Daemon appeared wearing the Hand of the King pin, he wanted to cheer the Keep to the ground, but managed to remain calm.

Daemon brushed a hand over his back, eyeing him worriedly. Aegon blinked slowly, trying not to fall asleep. “How is he?” his uncle asked softly in Valyrian.

“Exhausted,” Rhaenyra replied in kind, turning her head to kiss Aegon’s forehead. “I knew Otto Hightower was a cunt, but to assault his own grandson?”

Aegon closed his eyes and pretended to doze, internally gagging at Daemon’s next words. “You suit holding a babe in your arms, little dragon. Soon you might hold our own son.”

Rhaenyra chuckled, and Aegon wanted to flee when he felt the heat of his sisters blush against his face. “Soon, uncle,” she murmured, and Aegon really wanted to die when he heard the tell-tale sounds of kissing. Blegh.

He lifted his head and shoved at Daemon’s face blearily. “Yucky,” he mumbled.

Daemon and Rhaenyra laughed and thankfully stopped kissing. He blinked blearily at Rhaenyra, wondering if she would hate him for mentioning her mother. But Queen Aemma had asked him to pass along the message.

“Nyra’s mama say she love you,” he said, blinking slowly.

Rhaenyra’s smile fell, and she stated at him with tears steadily filling her eyes. “What?” she breathed.

“Qween A’mma say she loves Nyra,” he said, patting her cheeks. Even Daemon looked stricken. He turned to him. “Qween A’mma ask un’ca Da’mun to pw’tect Nyra.”

“When did she say this, Aegon?” Daemon asked softly.

“Dweam. I see Qween A’mma in dweam and she ask I tell you,” he said, shrugging.

“What?”

Aegon turned to beam at Viserys, who was pale. “Qween A’mma say she f’give daddy, too.”

Viserys looked like he was about to keel over, unconscious. Daemon helped father into a seat and handed him a goblet of wine, a concerned crease between his pale brows.  

“I do wrong?” he asked quietly, genuinely worried they now hated him.

Rhaenyra kissed his cheek. “Of course not, little brother. You did good.”

Viserys stood and took him from Rhaenyra, pressing a kiss to his hair. “My good boy,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Does your arm and face hurt?”

Aegon shook his head and cuddled into father, sighing softly. “Gway wats kill Qween A’mma for gween tower,” he mumbled, unable to fight the exhaustion that flooded his body.

***

Viserys stared at his son’s pale head, eyes wide and tears forming. He raised his gaze and met Rhaenyra and Daemon’s equally as stunned eyes.

“Did...did he just say that the maesters...killed Aemma?” Daemon ground out furiously.

Viserys felt as though he may be ill, bile rising in his throat. Not only had his son just announced that his beloved Aemma had visited his dreams and she forgave him, but she had been murdered?

He had always trusted the maesters that served their family. He was clearly wrong to have done so, but then again he had trusted Otto...and the man had assaulted his son. Aegon had not uttered a lie yet; he had seen Rhaenyra capture the hart, knew Daemon had killed the crabfeeder in a cave, had foreseen Helaena’s birth...it was painful to realise that men he had trusted, not just the maesters, but Otto, had betrayed him – his family – so thoroughly.

Who else, in their family, had the maesters done away with? His father, Baelon, had died of a supposed burst belly. But a maester had been the one to autopsy his father’s body, no one else had seen the proof; everyone believed a man they trusted, a man of knowledge. His mother, too, had died in childbirth...had that been natural, or had she been compromised? His grandparents? Great-grandparents?

Viserys was not blind, he knew that many did not agree with the Targaryens for their conquering of Westeros, or their customs and traditions. Aenys I had been named abomination for marrying his son and daughter...only to die of a bad belly some time later.

Viserys met Daemon’s wrathful gaze and swallowed with difficultly. “Find out if this is true, Daemon. Send spies to Oldtown...”

“Oldtown,” Rhaenyra interrupted when Viserys trailed off, her voice as hard as Valyrian steel. “Where the Hightower and Starry Sept is.”

Daemon pulled Rhaenyra into his arms and ran a hand over her long hair, soothing her. Viserys wished Balerion was still alive, so he might carry out Visenya’s wishes and make Oldtown another Harrenhal.

“Oldtown was the largest and most prosperous city in Westeros before the Conquest,” Daemon said, voice tight with sheer, impotent rage. “Maegor warred with the Faith Militant and only Grandfather managed to placate them. But Jaehaerys the Conciliator is dead, my king. Perhaps those vows sworn died with our grandfather.”

Viserys crossed his rooms and placed Aegon on his bed, gently tucking his son in. He returned to Daemon and Rhaenyra’s sides, hands trembling. “We must discover how deeply this treason, this poison, runs. Who else in our family has been killed on the maesters orders? Who is working with them? The Hightowers, evidently. The Faith, most likely.”

Daemon’s jaw ticked uncontrollably. “The Faith has never held any love for our house, brother. Maegor was not wrong to war against them. His execution left much to be decided, but his intentions were not entirely wrong.”

“Father,” Rhaenyra said, lifting her head from Daemon’s chest. Her damp eyes met Viserys’, and his chest tightened. “We must make amends with Corlys and Rhaenys Velaryon. Write an agreement to wed Daemon and mine future first born to Laena’s first born.”

Viserys frowned. “Why not Laenor’s?”

“Brother,” Daemon began, fondly amused. “Laenor would sooner bed you than any woman.”

Viserys’ brows rose, and he huffed. “Well, I’m glad I did not suggest him as Rhaenyra’s possible husband, then.”

Rhaenyra snorted. “Indeed.”

“I will write Rhaenys and Corlys, invite them to Kings Landing,” Viserys muttered, wiping a hand down his face, only for his hand to be grabbed by Daemon.

He raised a brow at his brother, who was staring at the two nubs where fingers used to be. “What happened?” Daemon demanded.

“Infection, from a cut on...the throne,” Viserys said, brows furrowing at the look on Daemon’s face. “What is it, brother?”

“If legend is to be believed, Aegon and his sister-wives didn’t just forge the throne in dragonfire, but also their blood,” Daemon murmured.

Rhaenyra stared. “Blood magic. Father, when did you get the cut?”

Viserys glanced between them, brows furrowed. “The – the night I exiled Daemon last.”

“Legend also says that the throne cuts those it deems unworthy or making a mistake as a warning,” Daemon said, releasing Viserys’ hand.

Viserys stared. “You’re saying that the Throne cut my hand because I exiled you?”

“You sent your brother away,” Rhaenyra said, brows furrowed. “Because of the ‘heir for a day’ comment, discovered by Otto Hightower.”

Daemon’s mouth tightened, and Viserys glanced at his younger brother. “Did you say it, brother?”

“Yes, but not in the way Otto made it seem. I truly was mourning. You know me brother,” Daemon said softly, expression remorseful.  

Viserys groaned. “Why didn’t you defend yourself?”

“Would you have listened? Believed me?” Daemon asked calmly, releasing Rhaenyra. “You only ever thought the worst of me, just as Hightower wanted you to. He deemed me a spendthrift as Master of Coin, so you made me Master of Law, and Hightower deemed me a tyrant, so you sent me to the city watch, and I decided to ensure that your city was something you and your subjects could be proud of, ridding the streets of crime, and he deemed me Maegor the fucking second!”  

Viserys flinched. “I’m sorry, brother,” he breathed.

Daemon shook his head. “What’s done is done, but I hope going forward you’ll remember that it was I and I alone who gathered an army to back your claim at the Great Council, even when Rhaenys begged me to support her, not because I wanted the throne one day, but because the blood of the dragon runs thick, brother, and I would gladly wear the title of monster and do monstrous things if it meant my family and its legacy was safe.”

Viserys watched as Daemon stormed from the room, heart in his throat. Rhaenyra took his hand and squeezed before she followed her uncle, and he was left to wallow in his shame.

What have I done?

***

With Otto gone and his mother being heavily watched by those who knew of her fathers treason and assault of him, Aegon was much less tense as he went about his business. He was kept away from the maesters and taught by father, Daemon, and Rhaenyra when they weren’t busy.

With Daemon as Hand, Aegon knew things were going to change. His uncle wouldn’t let anyone trample over father or their family. Rhaenyra was mostly left in charge of planning her wedding, which would happen at the end of seven days of feasts and tourneys. He was shadowed around the Keep by Ser Arryk, father having assigned him as his guard.

Several days after Otto was sent away, the Velaryon’s arrived in the capitol. Aegon stood on the balcony with Rhaenyra as Seasmoke, Meleys, and Vhagar flew over the city toward the Dragonpit.

The last time he’d seen the latter two dragons had...not been good times in his life Before. Because of him and Aemond, Rhaenys and Meleys had died. The last he saw of Vhagar was when Aemond flew off to the Riverlands to draw Daemon out and kill him.

He forcibly shook those memories away and raised his arms to Rhaenyra, who huffed as she lifted him into her arms. “You'll be too big to carry soon, valonqar.”

Aegon didn’t not pout, he truly didn’t. He had found that he liked when people carried him, as humiliating as it had been at the beginning, he was a grown man, but it was...comforting. Before, he’d been palmed off to handmaidens and ignored except when mother and Otto wanted to ‘educate’ him and drill the necessity of him taking the throne into his mind...or he’d drunk too much wine.

Rhaenyra carried him through the castle, servants and guards smiling at the now common sight of their princess holding her brother and murmuring to him in Valyrian, and to father’s solar where they would receive the Velaryon’s and have supper with them.

Aegon knew that Rhaenyra and Daemon had convinced Viserys to draw up a contract to betroth their future first born with Laena’s first born. It was a good plan; Corlys’ grandchild would one day be the Consort ruler, his great-grandchild a ruler in their own right. He hoped that Corlys and Rhaenys would accept, to ensure their loyalty for everything to come.

Daemon and Father were already in the solar, an informal table set for supper. Helaena was held in Father’s arms, her doll being gummed to death. Mother was there too, her smile a rictus of discomfort. She hadn’t been allowed around Aegon or Helaena without a guard present, something she had argued against quite fervently.

She hadn’t even showed worry for the bruises on Aegon’s body that still lingered.

Daemon smiled at their entrance, standing to greet them. He giggled loudly when his uncle swept him into his arms; his mother had gone pale, eyes wide as she watched Daemon toss him into the air and catch him, hand tightening into a fist atop the table.

“Dear nephew,” Daemon murmured, perching Aegon on his hip. He gently ran his thumb over the superficial cuts on his face from Otto’s nails, and the livid bruises that were slowly healing. “Are you well?”

“Yes, Uncle Daemon,” he said, kissing his cheek.

Daemon’s grin softened. “I’m glad, little dreamer.”

The doors opened, Ser Harrold announcing their cousins. “Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Princess Rhaenys, Lady of Driftmark, and their children, Laenor and Laena Velaryon.”

Aegon blinked at their entrance, feeling weirdly shy. He had never truly interacted with the Velaryon’s bar Laenor briefly, and they truly cut an impressive image in their house colours.

Corlys and Rhaenys looked unimpressed.

Viserys rose and approached. “Lord Corlys, cousins, thank you for coming,” he murmured, nodding.

“Of course, your grace,” Corlys said blandly, and Aegon fought a wince.

Princess Rhaenys looked even less impressed by Viserys. “We thank you for the invitation, though your raven was quite vague as to why we were asked to the capitol.”

Viserys straightened some, and Aegon curled his hand into the collar of Daemon’s doublet. Seemingly done with courtesies, father bluntly stated why the Velaryon’s were there.

“I know I slighted you when I did not take the Lady Laena to wife,” he began, glancing apologetically at the now five and ten year old, who merely nodded at the king. “I seek to rectify that.”

“How? I would suggest betrothing Laenor to Rhaenyra, but you have already betrothed her to Daemon,” Rhaenys said coolly, glancing at Daemon.

Laenor looked entirely too relieved, and Aegon stifled the hysterical giggle that bubbled in his throat.

“That your first born grandchild from Lady Laena marry mine and Daemon’s first born child,” Rhaenyra announced, approaching their cousins lightly. “Your great-grandchild would one day rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

Corlys and Rhaenys shared a look, and Aegon bit his lip nervously. Laena had a faint smile on her face as she and Rhaenyra seemed to speak through glances and twitched brows. How did women do that?

Corlys and Rhaenys looked away from one another, small smiles breaking across their faces. “I believe that would be satisfactory,” Corlys said, bowing his head much more respectfully. “There would, of course, be an agreement in ink?”

“Of course,” Viserys agreed, nodding. “I would also ask you to retake your place as Master of Ships, Lord Corlys.”

Corlys’ lips curved into a smirk. “I would be honoured, your grace.”

Daemon huffed. “Fucking politics.”

Aegon stifled another giggle.

***

Supper went well, if one ignored how awkward and stilted Alicent was being. Rhaenyra truly did enjoy her cousins’ company, and she even spoke with Princess Rhaenys without the tenseness that had underlined their previous interactions some years ago.

Aegon charmed the Velaryon’s quite thoroughly by being his usual bubbly, adorable self. She noticed Rhaenys and Corlys eye his bruised face with dark eyes, mouths tightening as they likely wondered who had harmed her brother.

Rhaenyra truly had wished to feed Hightower to Syrax, but she didn’t want to give her beautiful girl indigestion.

Laena leaned toward Rhaenyra, voice pitched low. “What happened to Aegon?” she asked.

“Otto Hightower,” Rhaenyra ground out, jaw clenching.

Laena’s eyes narrowed. “Where is he?”

“Banished from Kings Landing and ever seeing his grandchildren again,” Rhaenyra explained, smirking at Laena’s satisfied expression.

“Good. If he was still around, Vhagar would be more than happy to devour the prick,” her cousin said, and Rhaenyra laughed.

She glanced around the table, noting that father was conversing with Corlys and Rhaenys intently, Daemon was entertaining Laenor and Aegon, who’d sneaked his way onto Daemon’s lap, and Alicent looked tense and angry as she stared at her son and Rhaenyra’s betrothed.

“Your stepmother looks ready to leap across the table and bury her knife in Daemon’s chest,” Laena murmured, laughter in her voice.

Rhaenyra looked at Laena, stifling the urge to grimace. “I can only imagine the lies her father fed her about Daemon. She has showed a marked disgust for our Valyrian traditions and cultures.”

Laena rolled her eyes. “Let her. Does she not realise that she is now a Targaryen?”

Rhaenyra eyed Laena pointedly, her cousin scoffing lightly. She reached for a lemon cake and tore a piece off, chewing slowly. “Would you like to remain in the capitol, cousin? Become one of my ladies?”

Laena’s eyes brightened, and she nodded. “And perhaps I shall find a suitable husband here in the capitol,” she said, glancing at Rhaenys, who had clearly overheard their conversation.

“A good idea,” Rhaenys murmured, nodding. “His grace as offered for us to remain in the capitol until after Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon’s wedding, but if you wish to remain as Princess Rhaenyra’s lady, you may.” 

Laena perked up, beaming. “Thank you, mother. Thank you, cousin,” she said, squeezing Rhaenyra’s hand.

Rhaenyra bumped her shoulder against Laena’s, a warm smile on her face. She met Princess Rhaenys’ eyes over Laena’s head and nodded deeply to her elder cousin, who smiled in approval and returned the nod.

***

Aegon had truly been terrified of Princess Rhaenys Velaryon in his previous life. When she had interrupted his coronation, Meleys roaring in he and his Mothers face, the threat of dragonfire hanging over them...he had held a healthy, fearful respect for her ever since.

It did not change in this life.

The morn after the family supper in which mother looked about to shatter her teeth with how hard her jaw was clenched, he found himself in the godswood with Rhaenyra, Laena, Daemon, Laenor, and Laenor's not-so-secret lover for lessons and a picnic to break their fast.

Laena held Helaena, a doting expression on her face as she entertained his sister. Aegon was focused on Uncle Daemon as he taught him about the Valyrian gods when Princess Rhaenys arrived.

“Meleys?”

Aegon turned and beamed, waving. “Hello, Princess! Meleys is the goddess of...love?”

Rhaenys smiled approvingly and sat beside Laena, peering at Helaena curiously. “Indeed. She is also the goddess of fertility, little cousin.”

Aegon beamed at the term of address and accepted the little bowl of berries Rhaenyra handed to him.

Rhaenys leaned forward and gently touched his cheeks before glancing at Daemon, eyes narrowed. “Viserys told Corlys and I what Hightower did. What Aegon is.”

Aegon pretended not to understand them and popped several berries into his mouth.

“I’m glad you’re with us, cousin. Our family needs to be united in the coming years,” Daemon murmured briskly.

“Is it true? Did the grey rats kill cousin Aemma?” Rhaenys bit out furiously.

Daemon raised a pale brow at Rhaenys pointedly, and the Queen Who Never Was snarled wordlessly. Laena and Laenor looked unbothered, likely used to their mothers fierce temper. Rhaenyra looked momentarily surprised, but that swiftly turned into anger.

“It all goes back to Oldtown,” Rhaenys murmured thoughtfully. “Hightowers, Citadel, Faith. The latter openly decried us during Maegor’s reign, calling us abominations for our traditions and culture. You are not wrong that the vows sworn to grandfather Jaehaerys likely died with him, Daemon.”

Laenor hummed. “Did the Hightowers not bow to the Andal invaders oddly quick? History says that the Lord at the time claimed wars were bad for trade.”

“Yes,” Laena said, straightening. “Lord Dorian, who said that – his son, Damon the Devout, was the first Hightower to accept the Faith. Damon died of a bad belly and his son, Tristan, was raised by Septon Robeson for twenty years. Lord Tristan raised the Starry Sept in his honour.”

“Why would a Septon be Regent for twenty years when boys come of age at four-and-ten?” Rhaenyra asked, eyes darting between those gathered.

“A bad belly,” Daemon said derisively, hand clenching into a fist.

Rhaenys looked at him sharply, an odd light in her eyes. “It’s said that King Urrigon Hightower raised the Citadel in his sickly brother, Peremore’s, honour. The first maesters were First Men, but after the Andal invasion it was inundated with Andal second and third sons.”

“The Faith made the Hightowers and maesters what they are today,” Laenor said, a sardonic little smile on his face. “Pious cunts who use their faith as a weapon and conspire against the rightful ruling family.”

Aegon didn’t know if the maesters had killed the Targaryens who’d perished of a ‘bad belly’ or suspicious circumstances. Aenys had died of a bad belly, but under Visenya’s care he had gotten better until the maester informed him that his children were besieged and in danger. Maegor was found with one of the Iron Throne’s swords in his throat, and left no issue...the children born to him were deformed and twisted.

His first wife was the niece of a Septon, too.

Aegon desperately hoped that the Conqueror visited his dreams that night. He needed answers.

Desperately.

***

When Aegon woke in his dream that night, it wasn’t the Conqueror waiting for him. It was a woman with a sharp, angular face and deep, indigo eyes. He stared at her, taking in the armour and very familiar sword strapped to her waist.

“Visenya,” he gasped, and she smirked.

“Hello, princeling,” she drawled, voice oddly deep and husky for a woman’s, but not unpleasant. “You have changed much already. The gods are pleased.”

Aegon straightened proudly. Knowing that the gods of his ancestors, his gods, were pleased with him and the changes already made was the highest of praise. “I’m glad. May I ask why you are visiting me this night?”

Visenya nodded, eyeing him. “Already our kin discovers for themselves the conspiracy that began in my time. Aegon knew the importance of placating the faith, but no matter what he did it would never work; he knew that. It was only a matter of time before war broke out between the Targaryens and Faith.”

“Why do they hate us so much?” Aegon demanded. “Who are we truly harming by following our traditions and culture?”

Visenya smiled sardonically. “Have you ever heard of the Church of the Starry Wisdom, princeling?” He shook his head slowly. She hummed. “It was founded in the far east during the Blood Betrayal. You will find the truth of it in my rooms on Dragonstone. They’re behind the three headed dragon. Information our kin needs is there.”

Aegon nodded, brows furrowed slightly. “Did the maesters kill Aenys, Maegor, and Baelon?”

Visenya’s nostrils flared, her indigo eyes burning with rage. “They didn’t only kill human dragons, princeling. The maesters have knowledge of poisons and weapons not even we are aware of. Tonics that could kill even dragons.”

Aegon stared, mouth agape, but his vision went fuzzy, and the dream around him faded.

***

Aegon hated carrying the knowledge the gods believed he had to know. He had thought that carrying the knowledge that his mother and Otto wanted him to usurp Rhaenyra had been heavy...but knowing that the maesters and Faith had actively worked to destroy House Targaryen and their dragons before they had even conquered?

It was...inconceivable, but not entirely a surprise. The Faith did not agree with anything they did not deem proper or in accordance with their beliefs. Aegon knew how the Faith of the Seven had begun in Andalos, forced to read the Seven Pointed Star in his past life until his eyes blurred.

There were many things about the Andals and their Faith that didn’t make sense. The Andals had written their own histories, so how had they managed to write it so inconsistently? One maester wrote that the Andals thrived in Andalos for hundreds of years, another wrote thousands...and a third wrote that they were highly migratory and moved around, never truly settling.

The Seven Gods also said that slavery was inhumane and went against the will of the gods, but Andals were said to have swept across the Free City of Lorath clad in mail and weilding swords of iron, slaughtering the native ‘hairy men’, akin to those of Ib, and enslaved their women and children.

Yet another discrepancy Aegon had discovered was the Pentoshi legend of the seven Swan maidens. Legend claimed that the Andals slew the swan maidens who lured travellers to their deaths in the Velvet Hills that lie to the east of the Free City. A hero whom the Pentoshi singers call Hukko led the Andals at that time, and it is said that he slew the seven maids not for their crimes but instead as sacrifice to his gods, something the seven preached as immoral. Many Septons and Septas disavowed that any sacrifices have ever been made to the Seven Who Are One.

Many scholars also claimed that the ancient Andals founded Norvos, another Free City, because of the similarity of the zealots of the Faith carving axes and seven pointed stars into their own flesh like the Norvoshi priests did.

The discrepancies discomforted Aegon. What else had the Andals hidden. Was the story of the Seven walking among them true, and had they crowned Hugo of the Hill their king, promising him sunset Kingdoms and four and forty sons as the Seven Pointed Star said?

The gods of Valyria were much more simple to understand. The Seven made Aegon’s head hurt, especially all the rules and regulations and conditions. According to records, the Valyrian’s denied the Andals the Seven in Essos, but in Westeros they would be free to worship their chosen faith.

Aegon frowned, staring at the messy scribbles he’d done of the Valyrian glyphs Daemon wanted him to copy.

Why would an Empire such as the Valyrian Freehold, who were widely known to have been religiously tolerant and accepting, not accept the Seven?

Perhaps my ancient kin knew something lost to history, Aegon thought, chewing his lip. I need go get to Dragonstone and find Visenya’s rooms. I need to figure out why she wants me to know of the Church of the Starry Wisdom.

***

Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding caught up to them so swiftly Aegon felt dizzy the morn of the first of seven days of festivities and frivolity. A tourney was to begin that morning, a feast held that eve, and Aegon was buzzing with excitement, his concerning thoughts of the previous moons forcibly shoved from his, seemingly, perpetually aching head.

One thing, other than Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding, that made Aegon smile uncontrollably was his mother’s pregnancy. He knew she was carrying Aemond, and he was excited to have his brother around again, to make amends by being a better brother.

Already he found himself adoring his sisters, older and younger both, as he let himself open up to them. Even Viserys and Daemon had become two of his favourite people. He had wondered if his being a ‘dreamer’ led to father caring more about him, but it seemed that it wasn’t. His father truly did care, often holding either Aegon and Visenya and murmuring to them in High Valyrian, more so after Aegon passed on Queen Aemma’s messages.

Daemon had surprised Aegon. He was a lot softer and gentler with his family and behind closed doors, less a rogue and more of a gallant knight from the songs. Aegon had even caught him singing to Helaena in Valyrian when his sister wouldn’t settle for father or Rhaenyra.

Aegon had been stupefied, but Viserys had merely smiled and told Rhaenyra that Daemon would sing the same Valyrian lullaby to her when she had been fussing as a babe.

The Rogue Prince has a heart, Aegon thought, amused. Who would have thought.

Mother had been very cold and sharp ever since Otto had been banished. She spent only short, compulsory periods of time with he and Helaena, her eyes cold and glaring as they darted to the required guard, usually Ser Harrold or one of the twins, so she did not look like a bad mother.

Ser Arryk was a good man and patient guard for Aegon, following him all over the castle and easily picking him up when Aegon inevitably tired. At first the knight had hesitated when Aegon held his hands up to him, but after some moons he now easily scooped Aegon into his arms.

The tourney began mid-morn, and Aegon happily perched on Rhaenyra’s lap and valiantly ignored his mother’s icy staring as the joust began after father stood and welcomed everyone to the seven days worth of celebration for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding.

Daemon was, as usual, competing in the tilts. Aegon almost took a page out of his mother’s book and began picking at his nails, nervous and worried about his uncle. Men died in jousts, and he knew that many Lords wouldn’t mind getting rid of Rhaenyra’s betrothed to take his place.

But Aegon needn’t have worried about Daemon or the joust. No, he should have been more focused on his mother throughout the morn and afternoon. Her expression grew icier and icier as the day went on, and by the time of the feast she was conspicuously absent as Viserys welcomed the feasters and congratulated his daughter and brother on their coming nuptials.

Aegon sat between Rhaenyra and Daemon, legs swinging happily as father spoke, a beaming grin on his face.

Then, father faltered.

Silence fell.

Aegon turned, mouth dropping open in disbelief, as his mother entered the hall in a gown of very familiar green, the swell of her stomach obvious.

“How dare she,” Daemon breathed, utterly furious. Rhaenyra’s happy smile had fallen, and Aegon was sure he was witnessing his sister lose any regard or affection she’d ever felt for his mother.

Aegon, too, felt his heart hardening. He had, of course, heard of his mother doing this in his past life during Rhaenyra’s betrothal feast to Laenor, but he hadn’t been present then.

Mother reached the table, and everyone bar Daemon, Rhaenyra, and Aegon stood out of respect. The Velaryon’s, who’d been given places of honour as kin to the royal family, looked cold and reluctant as they stood.

Mother sat without speaking to anyone, ignoring father quite rudely, and glanced at her uncle amongst the crowd. Aegon followed her gaze, dread pooling in her gut as he saw the vicious pride on his grand-uncle’s face.

The beacon atop the Hightower turns green when they call their banners to war.

It was a statement, a declaration, and it made Aegon anxious. He knew that his mother was revolting against father, Rhaenyra, and Daemon. Revolting against her fathers permanent banishment. And now all the noble lords and ladies knew it.

He scanned the guests as Daemon and Rhaenyra began their dance. Many did not look impressed, especially Lord Tyrell, the Lord Paramount of the Reach and Oldtown. His gaze was heavy and cold as he glanced between mother and Lord Hobert’s smug, arrogant expression.

Aegon wanted to scream, especially when he saw Larys Strong – his likely killer – eyeing mother calculatingly, a gleam in his eye that made Aegon uncomfortable.

It was unlikely that father would ever bring Otto Hightower back to the capitol as he had before due to the man’s crimes. Viserys knew now that Otto had designs to seat Aegon on the throne, and mothers very loud statement that eve only compounded it.

Daemon and Rhaenyra returned to eat and Aegon crawled onto Daemon’s lap so he could eavesdrop on he and fathers whispered conversation in Valyrian.

“It seems that your wife has declared war, brother,” Daemon all but breathed.

Father cut viciously into his chicken. “She will rue it, brother. For her to do this, and tonight of all nights –”

“Tonight is the most impactful, in front of her cunt of an uncle, the Lords of the realm.” Daemon scoffed derisively, helping Aegon cut up some roast boar. “What shall you do?”

“Something Daemon-like,” Father said wryly.

Daemon grinned sharply. “I look forward to it.”

Aegon fought the urge to smack his face against the table.

Repeatedly.

***

Aegon was the first to notice the dark looks Criston Cole had begun to shoot Daemon and Rhaenyra’s way on the second day of the tourney. The kingsguard had grown to loathe his sister Before, and it seems that would not change, but why had he turned this time?

Before, Criston had been ashamed that he had broken his vow and blamed Rhaenyra for it, as though he wasn’t a grown man and a knight who could have...not fucked the Princess? The gods had – unfortunately – showed him the whole truth of the matter; Cole had begged Rhaenyra, quite pathetically, to run away with him to marry.

Rhaenyra had refused, knowing that the throne was more important than either Cole or her. She had been told of Aegon I’s prophesy and, despite duty, she had wanted the throne. And why shouldn’t she have? If his sister had been born a man, her ambition to sit the throne and have that power would be seen as admirable and not greedy as it had been perceived.

Cole’s recent change of attitude worried Aegon. Why was he angry? Did he harbour feelings for Rhaenyra and was jealous or thought himself somehow better than Daemon, a Targaryen Prince? Or had he heard them together one night, because Aegon was sure they had been together already if the Looks they sent one another indicated anything, and thought Rhaenyra somehow corrupt or something as foolish?

It was as laughable as it was pathetic, and Aegon knew he had to do something about it.  

A chance didn’t present itself swiftly, and before Aegon knew it he was stuffed into a doublet of black and red silk and breeches of the finest quality for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding.

Aegon was getting ready with Daemon, Father, Laenor, and Corlys while Rhaenyra was being primped and preened by Laena, Rhaenys, and her maids. He had seen his sisters dress and knew that Daemon would positively drool over her. His uncle was truly a fool for Rhaenyra, eyes going all soft whenever he looked at her.

It was sweet and nauseating in equal measures.

Once ready, Aegon was lifted into fathers arms and carried to the carriage with the rest of their family. Rhaenyra would arrive after, so Daemon wouldn’t see her until the ceremony.

The Sept was packed with nobles and smallfolk, the streets lined with men, women, and children calling their well wishes for the Prince of the City and his Princess. Little girls tossed petals before the carriage, waving when Aegon peeked out the window.

Once at the Sept, Aegon was handed to Lord Corlys, who he had managed to quite thoroughly charm by begging to go sailing with him one day; the legendary Sea Snake had softened considerably to him after that.

Viserys accepted a soft, covered package and handed it to Daemon, an emotional cast to his face. “I had the servants pull this out of storage to clean for you, brother.”

Daemon frowned, accepting the package. He opened it, face going slack with shock. Aegon nearly toppled from Corlys’ arms at the tears in the rogue prince’s eyes.

“The cloak father used for mother,” he breathed, and Aegon turned to gawk at the black silk cloak embroidered with the red three headed dragon of their house. Daemon ran his fingers over the delicate stitches. “Grandmother made this.”

“So they might be here,” Father said, voice tight with emotion as he squeezed Daemon’s shoulders. “to see you marry the woman you love, brother.”

Daemon leaned down and pressed his forehead to Father’s shoulder, using the moment to gather himself before straightening. He opened the cloak and slung it over his left arm. “Thank you, brother.”

Father nodded, smiling tumultuously. “I best go see if Rhaenyra has arrived. I’ll see you all shortly.”

***

The ceremony was beautiful, and Aegon tried extremely hard not to blubber like the babe he was. He stood just in front of father, Viserys’ hands on his shoulders, as Rhaenyra and Daemon swore themselves to one another, uncle removing Rhaenyra’s maiden cloak that had made Father even more emotional.

The cloak was black silk and it didn’t only have House Targaryen’s sigil, but House Arryn – a nod to Queen Aemma. The sigil was quartered, the proud falcon of House Arryn and the three headed dragon of House Targaryen looking quite beautiful together.

Mother looked murderous.

Aegon ignored Alicent, though, and focused on trying not to cry as Rhaenyra and Daemon shared a kiss and the crowd erupted into applause.

Then, to everyone’s shock, a thundering crack and shouts echoed outside of the Sept. Through the stained glass dome of the Sept Aegon could see Syrax, Caraxes, Meleys, Seasmoke, Vhagar and Sunfyre swooping over the Sept and city.

And all the dragons roared as one.

Chapter Text

Three days after Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding, they – along with Aegon, Viserys, Laena, and Laenor – were to leave the capitol in Corlys and Rhaenys’ capable hands and head to Dragonstone for a Valyrian wedding ceremony.

Aegon couldn’t help his excitement. He had rarely been to Dragonstone Before, and the times he had been there...weren’t the best. He hoped he didn’t step foot in the courtyard where It had happened, but he knew he had to come to terms with what had happened sooner rather than later.

He had to find Visenya’s rooms and the secrets hidden within. She had been quire emphatic about that, and truthfully Aegon wanted to know the secrets within; secrets brought from the Valyrian Freehold.

Aegon tried to convince Daemon to take him on Caraxes, but Mother had interrupted and all but dragged Aegon onto the ship. He had seen Father and Daemon’s irate expressions at mother’s fierce grip and promptly wriggled from her hold and fled to the other side of the ship, not pouting.

The trip didn’t take too long, even on a ship. The dragons flew overhead, guiding them to their ancestral island home. Vhagar was huge and blotted out the sun whenever she flew overhead.

Whenever she did, Mothers expression darkened.

Aegon leaned against the side of the ship, watching as Sunfyre – now the size of a horse – frolicked through the air and terrorised the older dragons. He would fly low, parallel to the water, and dip his tail and wings into the sea, spraying water.

Father joined him halfway through their trip, Helaena in his arms. Aegon beamed and stood on his toes to peer at his sister, nose crinkling when she grabbed at his hair; he gently removed her hand, father chuckling softly.

“Did your mother grab you too tightly, Aegon?” father asked softly, gently rocking Helaena when she began to fuss.

He shook his head. “No, papa. How much longer until we reach Dragonstone?”

“Hm,” Father hummed, turning to look at the horizon. “Not too long now, son; the winds have been kind.”

Aegon watched as Caraxes swooped over the sea ahead of them, Syrax following with a roar. “I wanna fly Sunfyre,” he said, suddenly missing it more than anything.

“Unfortunately, Aegon, you’re still a little too small,” Father said gently, stroking his head with a fond smile. “I’m sure Rhaenyra, Daemon, or your cousins would be more than happy to take you flying.”

Aegon pouted, huffing. “I know,” he mumbled, eyes widening as Seasmoke did a barrel roll in the air, Laenor whooping loudly.

Father sighed. “That boy is entirely too reckless,” he muttered. He eyed Aegon sternly. “You’ll not be doing anything like that.”

Aegon grinned. “Nope.”

“That smile is all Daemon,” Father lamented, a put-upon expression on his face.

Aegon giggled.

***

Dragonstone island was one of mystery and magic. The castle itself had been built with dragons and, if rumours were to be believed, blood magic. After Aenar the Exile believed his daughter Daenys’ prophetic dream of the Doom, he and brought his entire household to Dragonstone, then a mere Valyrian Outpost, and commissioned the castle.

Generations of Targaryens had lived in the ancestral castle before Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys had been born. It was where the Conquest was planned, where Aegon had foreseen the Second Long Night.

Without everything being ruined by war and debilitating pain, Aegon could appreciate the haunting beauty of the island and mist and smoke shrouded castle that looked like a dragon curled atop a hill. Behind the castle, the Dragonmont loomed and belched smoke.

A shadow moved swiftly through the smoke, almost as large as Vhagar.

Aegon was carried by Daemon, who met them at the docks after landing Caraxes not far from the fishing village. The people turned and watched and waved as they passed, heading toward the carriages and horses that waited for them.

Daemon mounted a huge, black warhorse with Aegon sat in front of him, arms bracketing him in, and nudged the horse into a steady trot.

“I’ll give you a tour of the castle once we get there,” Daemon murmured, reins looped around his hands.

“How far is it, uncle?” Aegon asked, peering at the winding, steep road towards the castle. He knew there were heavy gates at the top, and a stone bridge from the gates to the castle proper.

“Not too far,” Daemon said, glancing behind them. “The carriage will take longer.”

Aegon settled against his uncle for the remainder of the ride up to the castle, legs feeling like jelly when he was pulled from the saddle by Ser Harrold at the top by the gates. They were open, and Rhaenyra had landed Syrax on the bridge between them and the castle to dismount.

Syrax crooned at he and Daemon, accepting brief pats, before she leapt into the air with a thrust of her wings to join the other dragons.

“How was the sea, little brother?” Rhaenyra asked, taking him from Ser Harrold's arms.

“I wanted to fly,” he muttered, scowling (not pouting).

Rhaenyra chuckled and began to stride toward the castle, her castle, where Laena and Laenor waited for them. “I will take you flying on the morrow, sweet boy.”

Aegon almost burst into tears. She used to call Lucerys that. Sweet boy. He’d overheard Rhaenyra murmuring that to his nephew more than once, and his sheer jealously of the love in Rhaenyra’s voice and eyes had stopped him from teasing Luke for it.

But Luke wouldn’t exist in this life.

They entered the castle and were greeted by the maester/steward, Geradys. He wondered if he was trustworthy.

Aegon eyed the man suspiciously as he bowed to Rhaenyra and Daemon and the Velaryon’s, a bright grin on his face. He truly looked overjoyed to see them.

“My Princess, my Prince,” he greeted, “Welcome home.”

Rhaenyra smiled tensely. “Thank you, Maester Geradys,” she murmured.

“I have had the servants prepare the castle for your stay, and the cooks are quite happily preparing a feast for this eve,” Geradys went on happily, a smile on his face.

Aegon zoned out as the maester led Rhaenyra and Daemon through the castle. He took the time to peer around, eyes wide at the beauty of the stonework.

Many claimed that dragonfire was destructive and a weapon, but Aegon had to disagree. Dragonstone castle was a testament to how wrong those people were, the stone having been heated into near liquid by dragonfire and moulded into the Targaryen ancestral home.

There was a haunting beauty to it all, and Aegon loved it. He made sure to keep an eye out for a three headed dragon, but they were, obviously, fucking everywhere. It was a Targaryen castle.

Could Visenya not have been more clear in her instructions?

Aegon huffed and made plans to continue later, refocusing on Geradys’ words. He blinked at the room they were in, Aegon’s painted table before them with scrolls atop it.

“The Lords of the Narrow Sea have sent congratulations on your marriage, princess,” Geradys said, hands clasped in front of his stomach. “They have also sent gifts. Many have accepted the invitations to the feast in two days time.”

“Good,” Rhaenyra said, placing Aegon down when he indicated his desire to explore.

Daemon kept a watchful eye on him as Aegon padded about the room, peering at the tapestries. One depicted a young, pale haired woman upon a ridge watching tall towers being engulfed by flame...Daenys the Dreamer. Another was of Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys. The last in the room was clearly of Maegor and Aenys, the brothers standing side by side.

Aegon continued to circle the room, peering into every nook and cranny, hoping to find the illusive three headed dragon.

“The ceremony shall begin at dusk,” Rhaenyra said, glancing at Daemon.

“I will speak with the priest,” Geradys said, a giddy grin on his face.

Rhaenyra nodded and dismissed the man, turning to Daemon. He wrapped his arms around her, and Aegon watched from beside the hearth.

“Do you think Geradys is part of it?” Rhaenyra asked quietly.

“We cannot be sure. I will speak with him after the ceremony.” Daemon kissed her hair.

Aegon pulled a face and peered around them and the fifty foot table, eyeing the wide, stone stairs on the opposite side of the room. He hurried over to them and rushed up them, huffing and puffing by the time he reached the top.

He trotted town the torch-lit corridor, eyes wide. The end of the hall led to a large, open set of rooms that overlooked the sea. He entered slowly, peering around curiously, only for his gaze to snag on the right wall.

A dragon was carved into the stone, its mouth open mid-roar. At first glance it looked to have only one head, but as he stepped closer Aegon could see two other heads, carved fainter into the stone, and excitement bubbled in his stomach.

He stepped closer, eyeing the wall critically. It didn’t seem to house a secret door, but the eye of one of the more faintly carved dragons looked...odd. He approached and touched the eye, yelping as something pricked his finger.

Blood smeared on the stone, and a deep grinding thunk echoed throughout the room. He looked around as he stuck his finger in his mouth, only for his jaw to drop open as the larger, more detailed dragon slowly swung away from the wall.

“Aegon?”

He turned and stared at Daemon and Rhaenyra, both looking shocked. “Senya’s secret rooms,” he said, pointing at the door.

Daemon approached slowly, dragging the bed away from the wall easily. He pushed the dragon-door open further and peered inside, coughing lightly as dust gusted from the dark corridor hidden behind the carvings.

Rhaenyra picked Aegon up and joined Daemon, who grabbed a torch from the wall. “Senya? Visenya, little brother?”

“Uh-huh,” he hummed, craning his neck to see inside.

Daemon stepped into the narrow door-way, straightening once inside. He peered around, slowly lowering the flaming torch against the wall. The flame seemed to leap onto the wall, the fire travelling against the stone.

Rhaenyra stepped inside, following Daemon as he hurried forward, following the flames that travelled swiftly along the groove in the wall.

At the end of the corridor, they turned sharply to the left and abruptly stopped. Fire burst to life in the room, and Aegon gaped incredulously.

The rooms weren’t large, but they were filled to the brim with books and scrolls. Armour sat in the corner, the Valyrian Steel gleaming darkly as flames licked against the walls atop fourteen peaks carved into the stone. The fourteen flames of Valyria.

A stone table was shoved against one wall, a thick book open on its surface, pages yellowed with age. Little phials and bowls sat around the book, Valyrian glyphs marking the stone in dark, dried liquid. Blood. The skull of a small dragon lay on its side, old, dark blood crusted on its surface.

“Rumours state that Visenya was a sorceress,” Daemon whispered, approaching the table. He peered at the book and phials. “This is an altar.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra breathed, and Aegon’s neck almost cracked with how hard he turned. Rhaenyra was holding a slim, feminine short sword in hand, the scabbard encrusted with dragonglass and rubies.

Daemon reverently took the blade and unsheathed it, eyeing the Valyrian Steel, untouched by age. “Rhaenys’ lost sword. Visenya found it.”

“Rhaenys had a Valyrian Steel sword, too?” Rhaenyra asked, eyes wide.

“She was as much a warrior as Aegon and Visenya despite loving her silks and mummers,” Daemon murmured wryly, brushing a thumb over the cross guard of the sword, the Valyrian glyphs. “Ānogar Jelmāzma. Blood Storm.”

Rhaenyra huffed a disbelieving little laugh, turning to peer around the room curiously. “We need to go through everything that’s here. Father will love it.”

Daemon smirked, setting Rhaenys’ sword down gently. “After the ceremony. I want to marry you properly, niece, in the tradition of our house.”

“Blegh,” Aegon complained, nose scrunched up.

Daemon guffawed. “You’ll find yourself wanting the same one day, little dragon.”

Aegon huffed, offended, when Rhaenyra laughed.

***

Aegon had never seen a Valyrian marriage ceremony before. He stood with Father, Laena, and Laenor – mother wasn’t allowed to be present due to her not being the blood of Old Valyria, something that had angered her – as the priest began to speak and Rhaenyra and Daemon were given dragonglass daggers.

“Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows, two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light,” the priest murmured strongly, fourteen candles burning brightly around Daemon and Rhaenyra to represent the fourteen flames.

They cut one another’s lips down the middle with the dragonglass and used the blood to draw glyphs on one another’s cheeks and foreheads; fire and blood. They then cut their palms and clasped hands, the priest holding a black goblet beneath their hands as blood poured into the wine.

Aegon smiled as Daemon and Rhaenyra drank from the goblet. It was a beautiful ceremony; the robes they wore, the hems of the sleeves and robes themselves stained with blood. The ceremonial headdress Rhaenyra wore, their hair loose and flying in the sea breeze.

Once the blood wine was consumed, Daemon and Rhaenyra kissed to seal their union.

Aegon scrunched his face up, stifling an amused giggle when father groaned beside him. He looked up and saw the disgruntled expression on Viserys’ face, his averted gaze.

Rhaenyra and Daemon were still kissing.

Laena giggled, leaning against Laenor, who seemed to be biting his lip to keep from guffawing at Viserys’ plight.

***

Daemon watched as his wife danced with Aegon in her arms, his nephew – now brother-by-law – cackling gleefully as Rhaenyra whirled him around in her arms. It made his heart lurch; he hoped they would have a son soon, or a daughter. His little wife was amazing with children, much better than her step-mother.

Those gathered for the feast were alight with happiness. Viserys was chatting amiably with Laenor and his not-so-secret lover Joffrey. Laena was holding Helaena, who was gnawing at her favoured doll. Alicent’s expression was bland, but Daemon could see the distaste on her face as she looked at either he or Rhaenyra.

Custom required them to keep the blood glyphs on their faces until after the consummation. Their Valyrian guests didn’t care for the blood, but Alicent’s disgust was clear. He wondered what she’d do on the day Aegon performed the ceremony. The boy was a Targaryen; he would either wed Helaena or perhaps one of Laena or he and Rhaenyra's future children.

That day would be quite amazing.

Daemon had never really had much of an opinion about Alicent. She’d always been a nervous, flighty little thing. He’d tolerated her for Rhaenyra, when they had been friends, but now he saw her in a new light. He had been prepared to bare steel at the feast she had worn the green dress to, declaring his own war, but Rhaenyra’s stricken, heartbroken expression and Viserys’ clear furry had stopped him.

Any love and affection Rhaenyra held for Alicent had died that night, and he was absolutely certain Viserys was entertaining the idea of setting the woman aside once the babe was born, shaming her and House Hightower further.

Daemon hadn’t seen this side of his brother for years, since before Balerion’s death. Something had seemingly broken in his brother when the Black Dread died. It wasn’t uncommon that dragonriders suffered from a broken bond when their dragons died, but because dragons oft outlived their riders it was extremely rare.

Even more rare was a dragon rider claiming a second mount. Allegedly, Queen Rhaenys’ hatchling had been sickly and died not three moons into life and she had claimed Meraxes a year after. She was the only rumoured dragonrider to have done so, but Daemon wondered if Viserys would entertain the idea of claiming another dragon.

If there was any good time to do so, it was now. Daemon would feel a lot better if his brother had the protection of a dragon by his side while they fought this shadow war against those who dared to conspire against them.

Daemon stood and approached Viserys, who was at the buffet table perusing the food. “Brother. I have a suggestion,” he murmured.

Viserys raised a brow at him. “Oh?”

“You need to claim another dragon,” Daemon said bluntly.

Viserys all but gaped at him. “Daemon...”

Daemon exhaled sharply. “It would offer you another layer of protection and defence against those who would harm us, brother. I know your broken bond with Balerion is still raw, even after all these years, but please, brother...think about it.”

Viserys looked thoughtful, a flash of grief going through his eyes at the mention of Balerion. He nodded slowly. “What dragon would you suggest, brother?”

Daemon smiled. “The Bronze Fury.”

***

Viserys understood where Daemon was coming from, but the thought of claiming a second dragon...it pained him, truth be told. He had spent a year as Balerion’s rider before the ancient beast had succumbed to old age. The broken bond had killed something inside of him, and it had never fully healed.

To claim grandfather’s mount, though...it would send a message. Viserys flying the Bronze Fury, Jaehaerys’ own mount so beloved by the smallfolk and nobles, remembered even today. It would show the realm that their king was a true dragon despite losing Balerion.

Viserys knew he hadn’t been the best king. He had never imagined becoming king, but now it was clear why and how he had. If Aegon was right and the maesters killed his father, certain men of the realm wouldn’t have wanted Rhaenys as queen; she wasn’t mouldable like he had foolishly been. Otto would have been the first to go if Rhaenys had become monarch.

Viserys huffed and climbed from his bed, lips pursed. Daemon’s words reverberated through his mind, an annoying earworm that wouldn’t let him rest.

Perhaps Balerion would want Viserys to claim another mount, to be protected. To protect and defend his House.

Viserys dressed swiftly in plain breeches, boots, and a doublet. He grabbed Aegon’s dagger and a torch and exited his rooms, Ser Harrold eyeing him oddly.

“Your grace?” the loyal guard queried, falling into step behind him.

Viserys huffed and remained silent, stalking through the quiet castle. Guards eyed him and Ser Harrold oddly, but remained silent and merely bowed. They exited the Keep, ser Harrold muttering beneath his breath, likely cursing odd Targaryens for making him grey.

Viserys had heard it before.

Vermithor and his mate, Silverwing, nested in the caves of the Dragonmont. Viserys made his way there, feet remembering the way quite well; he and Daemon had sneaked about Dragonstone many times in their youth.

Ser Harrold cursed emphatically when they came to the entrance to the volcano. “Your grace...”

“Wait here, ser,” he said, amused at the resigned acceptance on Ser Harrold’s face.

Viserys inhaled a fortifying breath before plunging into the cave. Usually he would take a moment to marvel over the dragonfire-hewn cave, but something was tugging incessantly below his heart, as though the gods themselves were urging him onward.

The cave led to an even larger cavern where a hulking shadow curled. He paused before Vermithor and gulped, breath catching when the dragon unfurled. He was almost as large as Vhagar, head thrice the size of a carriage and bearded with spines as long as he was tall.

The Bronze Fury had always been a magnificent beast.

Vermithor loosed a growl, maw opening to reveal a glowing gullet, likely incensed that his slumber had been interrupted.

“Lykiri, Vermithor,” he breathed, the command falling from his lips easily.

The glow slowly diminished, and Vermithor turned his head to peer curiously at him. Viserys wondered if the Fury remembered him. He had met him before, as a boy, when grandfather still flew daily.

Viserys placed the torch on the floor and approached, extending a hand. “Dohaeris, Vermithor. Dohaeris.”

The bronze beast loosed a rumbling purr, amiable as Viserys came closer. He pressed his hand against the warm scales below Vermithor’s eye, a shuddering breath leaving him. He leaned his forehead against the orbital bone of Vermithor’s face, feeling a curious nudging in his mind

Viserys swallowed thickly, mentally murmuring an apology to Balerion, and let the fledgling blond unfurl in its entirety.

Vermithor pulled back and loosed a roar that sent the cave trembling. Viserys couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from his lips, his new mounts glee mingling with his own.

He watched as Vermithor shifted, lowering his shoulder. Viserys approached and grasped warm scales beneath his hands, lifting his left foot onto Vermithor's forelimb. He pushed himself up and onto the dragon’s back, settling at the base of his huge neck.

He had ridden Balerion without a saddle, the ancient beast far too large and mercurial to allow it. Vermithor was much smaller than Balerion had been, and it was far easier to find purchase. He gripped two dorsal spines and settled in, heart thundering.

Vermithor turned in the cave, nearing the rear entrance carved out years ago. Viserys’ heart thundered in anticipation. It had been years since he had taken to the skies, denying Daemon and Rhaenyra’s invitations to fly out of respect for Balerion.

But things were different now, more dangerous.

Vermithor perched on the edge of his nest, head turning and molten eye peering at him in anticipation.

Viserys laughed. “Sōvēs!”

***

Daemon was trailing curious fingers over Rhaenyra’s bare back when a familiar roar echoed across the island. He jerked and sat up, glancing at Rhaenyra with a smile spreading across his face.

“He did it,” he breathed, amazed.

Rhaenyra’s grin was just as giddy. She jumped from their bed and shrugged a robe on, tying it about her waist. He followed her, slipping his own robe on.

Hand in hand, they rushed through the castle and out the side entrance that led to the dragons’ dens and Dragonmont. They looked up, eyes wide, as Vermithor swooped over the castle, wings cracking thunderously.

Rhaenyra laughed, elated, and cheered for her father. Vermithor answered with a gout of flame and a roar. Daemon’s heart lightened considerably as he watched the Fury circle the castle and Dragonmont once more before landing before them, lowering himself to reveal a very windswept Viserys.

Daemon grinned as Viserys slid from Vermithor’s back and stroked the dragon’s neck fondly as he approached them, a beaming grin on his face.

“It seems you heeded my words,” Daemon said smugly.

Viserys rolled his eyes. “Don’t be smug, brother.”

Rhaenyra released Daemon’s hand and threw her arms around Viserys’ neck, hugging him tightly. “I’m happy for you, father.”

Daemon’s smug grin softened as Viserys hugged Rhaenyra back just as fiercely, kissing her head.

“Papa?” a sleepy voice asked, and Daemon turned to see Aegon standing behind them. He picked his nephew up and grinned when he saw Vermithor. “Papa get dragon?!”

Viserys released Rhaenyra, chuckling. “Yes, my son. Would you like to meet him?”

Aegon extended his arms to Viserys, beaming. “Yes, papa,” he said eagerly.

Viserys took Aegon in his arms and clasped Rhaenyra’s hand, leading them to Vermithor. Daemon trailed close behind, wary despite having met Vermithor before.

“Vermithor, these are my children,” Viserys murmured to the great beast, who trilled curiously and sniffed at Aegon and Rhaenyra before turning to Daemon curiously, head tilted.

Daemon grinned cheekily. “I’m his son-by-law.”

Viserys heaved an exhausted sigh as Rhaenyra cackled.

***

Viserys nearly fell flat on his face when Daemon and Rhaenyra showed him Visenya’s hidden rooms. He stared at the history lined on stone shelves and felt his fingers twitch, desperate to devour the tomes and scrolls.

Daemon held Rhaenys’ sword aloft, a boyish grin on his face. “Blood Storm. Sword of Queen Rhaenys.”

Viserys ran his fingers over the sword reverently, head shaking slightly in amazed disbelief. “Remarkable.”

Aegon was peering at Visenya’s armour in the corner, marvelling over the workmanship of the Valyrian Steel while father cooed over the sword and scrolls. He looked up and peered at the leather bound tomes, blinking at the High Valyrian titles embossed on the spines.

One stuck out to him in particular. A thick book bound in dragon leather and scales. He tilted his head to read the title and stifled a gasp.

The Betrayal of Blood.

Aegon stood and yanked the thick book from the shelf, nearly toppling over under its weight, and turned to present it to Father and Daemon.

“Senya want papa to read,” he insisted, almost sighing in relief when father hastily grabbed the book that was almost as large as Aegon was tall.

“The Betrayal of Blood,” father mused, brushing a hand over thr scaled cover of the book. He opened it to the first page, eyes widening. “An account of the first Kinslaying, the Rise of Valyria, and the Birth of Gods by Amaeryllis  Targaryen.”  

“This would have been written during the height of Valyria’s power,” Daemon breathed, glancing between Rhaenyra and Viserys, both of whom looked just as shocked.

Viserys turned another page, eyes widening even further. “It began in the oft disputed Great Empire of the Dawn in the far east where Yi-Ti now stands. First there was the God-On-Earth, son of the Lion of Night and the Maiden-made-of-Light, who ruled for ten thousand years of peace and prosperity.”

Aegon’s brows rose incredulously. Ten thousand years of peace and prosperity? Was that even feasible?

“The God-on-Earth, after ten thousand years, returned to the stars with his forebears and passed the Empire to his son, the Pearl Emperor,” Viserys continued, voice hushed with awe. “This Emperor ruled for a meagre one thousand years, compared to his father’s ten thousand. He was succeeded by his brother, the Jade Emperor. Each Emperor that followed ruled for less time than the previous as corruption, war, and greed began to poison the hearts of man, until came the first female ruler of this Empire, the Amethyst Empress.”

Aegon seemed to have the same realisation as everyone else. Amethyst like our eyes.

“The Amethyst Empress was wed to the Opal Emperor’s son, the Emerald Prince, but was coveted by another; her twin brother, the Bloodstone Prince. Jealous and covetous of the Empress’ Empire and throne, two and twenty years into her rule the Bloodstone Prince slew his sister when she, once again, refused his advances. Enraged, he sent warriors to bring him the Emerald Prince’s head, and those of the Amethyst Empresses children...but they were never found.”

Daemon took over reading when Viserys’ voice became hoarse. “Accounts vary as to what happened next. The Bloodstone Prince crowned himself Emperor and took to wife a tiger-woman and began practising the foulest of arts; torture, necromancy and black magic. He enslaved his people, feasted upon human flesh, and cast down the gods of the Empire to worship a black stone that fell from the heavens; the church that followed was named the Church of the Starry Wisdom, a sinister religion that some claim worship demons and fell beasts.”

Aegon’s heart leapt into his throat and a cold sweat broke out over his body.

“This Blood Betrayal caused the Maiden-made-of-Light to turn her back on the world and her husband, the Lion of Night, to plunge the world into darkness to punish the wickedness of man. This Long Night, in which foul beasts awoke from the Bloodstone Emperors doings – creatures of darkness, cold, and ice – would only end when a virtuous warrior rose and fought the darkness of the Emperor with the sword Lightbringer in hand and slew the Bloodstone Emperor. Light was restored, but the Great Empire was for ever destroyed and its like will never be seen again.”

Rhaenyra peered over Daemon’s arm, eyes wide. “In the wake of the Emperors death the Ghiscari Empire rose, having learned slavery and savagery from the Bloodstone Emperor. Unbeknownst to the Ghiscari, however, the former Emperors and Empress of the Empire foresaw the Doom of man, for the Bloodstone Emperor was not truly gone, his black soul tethered to the world through the black stone he worshipped.

“So these gods came together, all fourteen of them, on a smoking peninsula where fourteen mountains stood and brought forth protectors of the world; dragons. But these primitive beasts were not the intelligent creatures we know today and the gods, now known as Valyrians, heeded the God Arrax’s sympathy and created a race of man with the blood of the dragon to bond and temper these beasts, and be tempered in turn; the magic used turned these people’s hair as pale as the moon and eyes the colour of amethysts. The first Valyrian to bond and temper one of the dragons was Aerion.”

Aegon breath caught as Viserys began reading, excitement in his voice. “Aerion was a brave and adventurous boy and discovered a dragon egg in one of the fourteen flames and spent every moment with it. When the dragonling hatched, he was charmed and awed by the creature, and the creature sensed their shared blood, and an unbreakable bond was formed between man and beast. Karnax, for that was the name Aerion bestowed his dragonling, grew swiftly and strong as the years passed and the two friends hunted and lived together. In time, Karnax grew too large. Afraid and not wanting to lose his friend, Aerion climbed upon Karnax’s back and Karnax, who loved Aerion greatly, allowed this: thus the first dragonlord was born.”

Daemon laughed breathlessly, almost elated. “One day while flying Karnax, Aerion saw a great army host approaching the fourteen flames and landed before them. The soldiers fell to their knees and praised Aerion as Arrax on earth. The place Aerion landed was thereafter known as the city of Valyria, where the mightiest ever seen civilisation would soon lay.”

“My gods,” Rhaenyra whispered, glancing between Viserys and Daemon. “How has this not been passed down in our family? The Long Night, Aegon’s dream...it began so long ago, and our ancestors were part of it.”

Viserys gently rifled through the pages, almost trembling as he read. “Many claim that the Emerald Prince perished at his nephews hand, but the Valyrians know differently. The Emerald Prince was an intelligent man, and knew that if he and his children remained in Essos their lives would be forfeit, so they crossed a land bridge into new lands inhabited by a strange people’s. The Emerald Prince, fond of growing things, took the name Garth and bestowed new names upon his children. Settling in fertile lands in the south of their new home, Garth used the godly powers he possessed to make the land bloom. Soon, he became known as Garth Greenhand.”

“Garth Greenhand?” Rhaenyra demanded, utterly bewildered. “But he was the first king of the First Men. Does that mean...?”

“The First Men were kin to the first Valyrians,” Daemon whispered. “They may not have had the blood of the dragon, but they were kin. It says that some of Garth’s children remained in Essos, near the smoking peninsula.”

“So much of our history lost,” Viserys lamented, peering around the room sadly.

“Listen: Garth’s children, with the blood of the gods in their veins, created their own family’s and houses in this new land, marrying one another to further their bloodline. They first warred against the strange, small people of the land but once the world was plunged into darkness and creatures of the foulest and darkest arts emerged from the wintery far north, they swore a pact to cease their hostilities and work together to destroy their common enemies; hauntingly beautiful creatures that spoke no known language of man and controlled the dead, that did not tire or hunger.

“The last stand against these creatures happened in the North in the small peoples’ great godswood where the man known as Bran the Builder swore to build a castle so they might remember where winter fell...” Rhaenyra trailed off, mouth hanging open. “Winterfell...and Bran founded the House of Stark with words of said house a grim reminder and grim portents of things to come. Winter is Coming.”

“Do you think that’s why Torrhen Stark knelt?” Viserys mused quietly. “The Starks and Targaryens over a hundred years ago remembered their shared history and blood?”

“Perhaps,” Daemon said, glancing at Aegon. “We may have to meet with Lord Stark.”

“Yes,” Viserys murmured, closing the book gently. “For now, let us break our fast.”

***

It was strange to sit at the table and eat as though their lives hadn’t been entirely shaken. To learn that their history was tied to intricately to the Great Empire and the First Men...it was almost unbelievable. But Amaeryllis Targaryen had written the accounts centuries ago, after the Long Night and before the Doom. She had been closer to the events she spoke of...likely living during the times they happened.

Aegon’s head felt stuffed full of knowledge, and his stomach was in knots, but he forced himself to eat the food father put on his plate. He hoped that one of his ancestors visited that night, so he may verify the truth of the matter.

The rest of the day was spent in lessons with Maester Geradys – the man was his usual happy self but he eyed Daemon warily as his uncle observed the lessons – and training with Sunfyre. After the midday meal, father took him flying on Vermithor, who’d allowed a saddle to be put on his back for the first time in decades.

The Bronze Fury was a marvellous beast, and Aegon couldn’t help but think about Aerion and Karnax, the first dragonlord and bonded dragon. It must have been exhilarating for the man, taking to the skies for the first time.

After flying, supper was served and Aegon really tried not to fall asleep in his soup, but it was hopeless. He may mentally be a man grown, but his body was young and tired easily.

Father carried him to bed and tucked him in, pressing a kiss to his forehead before leaving. Aegon smiled and rolled over, immediately falling into a dream.

***

The man staring at him wasn’t...entirely a man. He was tall, with Valyrian white hair and violet eyes...but wings sprouted from his back, and horns grew from his temples, curling away from his face. His pupils were slitted and narrow like that of a dragon. Pale green scales framed his eyes like a mask, and wickedly sharp black claws tipped his pale fingers.  

“Hm,” the not-man hummed. “I am Arrax.”

Aegon’s eyes widened, and he immediately knelt. “My lord,” he breathed, utterly stunned to be in the presence of an actual God.

Arrax chuckled, clawed fingers twitching. “Stand, child. We Valyrian gods need not have our patrons kneel to us. You, too, have the blood of gods in your veins.”

Aegon stood and stared, a faint, embarrassed blush on his face. He cleared his throat. “Right. Uh...may I ask why it is you that is there?”

“My brothers and sisters are less sympathetic than I,” Arrax admitted, fondly exasperated. Aegon’s lips twitched. “They know you desire confirmation, so I am here to tell you that yes, Valyrians and First Men are descendant from the Amethyst Empress and Emerald Prince. Three of the children remained near Valyria and were amongst those gifted with the blood of thr dragon, while the others went with their father.”

“Is the Bloodstone Emperors soul truly tethered to the world?” Aegon asked, mouth pinched.

Arrax looked irritated. “Unfortunately. The magics he dabbled in thwarts even our attempts to destroy him,” the God muttered, huffing.

Aegon narrowed his eyes. “If the gods can’t kill him, how do you expect a human to be able to?”

“He is arrogant,” Arrax said, smiling faintly. “He underestimates the strength of a unified people. The will of free men. He thinks humans easily swayed. A certain race of man was swayed quite easily by his demon children once. It was all the proof he needed to continue underestimating those races that have not bowed beneath his power.”

“Demon children? He had children with his tiger-wife? What even is a tiger-wife?” Aegon asked, bewildered.

“She was called such because of her striped skin,” Arrax muttered, brows furrowed deeply. “In actual fact, she was a demon. The Emperor didn’t care about that, however. Her offspring with him, all seven of them, were equally as demonic. She had three daughters before the seven with the Emperor. They had wings and clawed feet; their legacy remains in the east.”

Aegon huffed and threw his hands up. “Why are you all ao cryptic?”

Arrax grinned, revealing white, sharp teeth. "I'm a God, princeling, and your ancestors are dead. We need to find entertainment somewhere." 

Aegon huffed, offended, then realised what Arrax had said. "Wait. The Seven Gods are demons?!"

Chapter Text

After the discovery of Amaeryllis’ account of their history, Viserys spent the majority of his time in Visenya’s rooms while he remained on Dragonstone, Daemon and Rhaenyra joining him when they could.

Aegon was considered too young to hear the majority of what was found, which was annoying, but he understood. Their family’s history wasn’t all roses and sunshine, and he was believed to be a mere four year old boy.

So Aegon spent his days on Dragonstone exploring the castle with Ser Arryk or with Sunfyre and Helaena. Some days Rhaenyra would take him flying to avoid his mother’s increasing iciness, or Cole’s growing anger and dislike.

Aegon was both baffled and annoyed by Cole, who he had seen speaking with his mother several times, just like Before. He’d never liked the man in either life. He’d been unnecessarily cruel to Jace and Luke, muttering insults about Rhaenyra under his breath.

He was convinced there was something seriously wrong with Criston Cole. For his mood to take such a plunge and his opinion of Rhaenyra to die so swiftly...perhaps he was mad, like so many claimed of the Targaryens. Or perhaps he was a man who realised that his affections would not be reciprocated.

One morning, Aegon was woken by Daemon and helped into training clothes. He was beyond excited; Uncle Daemon was a renowned warrior, and to be taught how to fight by him was an honour. Aegon also had a chance in this life to be a better fighter, as Before he had rarely put any true effort into it in a bid to stop mother and Otto from wanting him, a terrible warrior, to be king.

It hadn’t worked.

This time though, he had a reason to want to learn properly. To defend his family and Rhaenyra’s claim on the throne. To fight against those who conspired against House Targaryen.

Daemon led him to the tiltyard, huge hand holding his, and Aegon tried to control his excitement when his uncle knelt in front of him and held out a practice sword made of wood that suited his size.

“Now,” Daemon began, smiling at Aegon’s excitement. “Learning to fight is every young prince’s right. I was your age when my father gave me a similar practice sword. Today we will merely begin with the basics, such as footwork, but it’s important for every young man to learn to fight, so they may –”

“Pwotect their family,” Aegon said firmly, beaming at Daemon’s proud expression.

“And themselves,” his uncle murmured, ruffling Aegon’s hair.

Footsteps to the left made Aegon turn, and he grinned at the sight of Rhaenyra and father, the former wearing similar clothes to his. She held a wooden practice sword in her hand, a determined expression on her face.

“Unfortunately, the Andals of Westeros do not agree with their women learning how to fight,” Daemon said wryly, standing. “But Valyrians...we have always treated men and women as equals.”

Aegon beamed and bounced on his toes. “Nyra’s gonna learn wit’ me?”

Rhaenyra bent down to kiss his forehead. “Yes, valonqar. Father has gifted me Blood Storm, Rhaenys Targaryen’s sword. I must learn how to wield it if I might do her and father proud.”

Father placed his hands on Rhaenyra and Aegon’s shoulders. “You make me proud every day,” he murmured, glancing at all three of them. “All of you do.”

“That’s enough of that,” Daemon said, voice suspiciously thick. “Time to train.”

Aegon cheered.

***

After a moon of celebrations on Dragonstone and politicking between Rhaenyra, Daemon, and the Lords of the Narrow Sea, everyone returned to Kings Landing with many shouts and cheers for Viserys as he flew Vermithor over the capitol, the smallfolk old enough to remember the Bronze Fury absolutely delighted that their king had claimed such a famous beast.

Others were less pleased, namely Alicent Hightower. The fact that Viserys, formerly quite useless and amiable Viserys, had not only claimed a dragon but banished her father and had her watched closely made her furious. She wasn’t allowed to spend time with her children without guards eyeing her suspiciously and breathing down her neck.

Another point of contention was how close Aegon and young Helaena were to Rhaenyra and Daemon, both of them ungodly deviants. Cole had been quite forthcoming with how they had copulated before joined as man and woman in the sight of gods and men. Targaryens and their queer customs had always disgusted Alicent, but to know they had joined out of wedlock?

Their first babe would undoubtedly be a bastard, and Alicent knew what bastards truly were. Without the blessing of wedded parents, of the gods, at the time of conception, they were corrupted and deviant...as Rhaenyra and Daemon’s child would undoubtedly be, with parents such as them and their Valyrian ceremony corrupting the blessing of the Seven.

Alicent knew what kind of man Daemon was. Rumours swirled about the Keep and City, and Father had been quite forthcoming in revealing the kind of man he was. He had likely corrupted Rhaenyra, and she too young and naive to realise likely fell into his trap, thinking herself in love and loved in return.

The kingdom would burn with them as its rulers one day, their bastard heir furthering such destruction with its ungodly existence. She couldn’t allow it. For centuries the Seven Kingdoms – bar the savage North – were protected by the Andals and the Faith of the Seven, men and women who truly knew their godly duty and what sacrifice meant for the good of the land, for the good of its people.

House Hightower had seen that centuries ago, when her ancestor set aside his ungodly First Man wife and took an Andal Princess to wife, purifying the bloodline. Then, unfortunately, the queer Targaryens had, with their foul beasts of the darkness sorceries, sought to claim their pure, godly realm and drown it in blood and fire and pagan false gods.

The Faith had tried during Aenys and Maegor’s reigns to do away with the Targaryens, but the unnatural bond between man and beast and proved the virtuous’ downfall. Jaehaerys the Conciliator’s agreement with the Faith had never meant to be lasting, and when father had become Hand upon Viserys’ reign, it had been a moment of pure triumph.

Alicent had been raised pious and dutiful. She knew her duty to her home country, her gods. She was now in a prime position to do what others had failed to do before her. She had been reluctant at first, Rhaenyra likely using some foul arts to corrupt her heart and make Alicent fond of her, reluctant to work against her.

But now, after many moons of separation, Alicent’s mind was once again her own. She was clean of tampering, of corruption. Once the babe in her belly was born, she would refuse to birth anymore. There were only so many Targaryen babes she could bear without feeling dirty and unclean.

Perhaps the babe in her belly was her salvation, the chance she needed to carry out her gods’ plans. The Septons of Oldtown had been clear in her and her brothers’ teachings. The Targaryens, like their dragons, felt naught but a hunger for deviancy and destruction. But perhaps with her blood in the babes veins, she might endear him to her...so they may carry out her plans and be her champion.

Hightower blood was pure and true and godly; hopefully it was enough to scourge the darkness from her children and bring them back to her, save them from damnation in the Seven Hells.

***

Aemond was born at the same time he was in Aegon’s past life, and he was impatient in his excitement. When father had told him that Mother had begun her labours, he had begged off his lessons with Uncle Daemon – who still made time for him as Hand and Prince-Consort – and went to wait with Father, anxious to see his little brother.

Rhaenyra and Daemon joined them after the midday meal, easing he and fathers worries while also looking quite anxious themselves. He knew they didn’t care for his mother, but the babe they shared blood with.

Viserys, Daemon, and Rhaenyra all had bad experiences with childbirth. Daemon and Viserys’ mother, Queen Alyssa, had died from complications that arose from their younger brother, Aegon’s, birth (he idly wondered if those complications had been natural or created), and Viserys had unwittingly played into the maester and Otto’s schemes by ordering his wife butchered, Rhaenyra’s mother and Daemon’s cousin and sister-by-law.

So the kings’ rooms were understandably tense as they waited. Daemon puttered around fathers model of Valyria, peering at the buildings to distract himself. Rhaenyra was browsing a scroll from Visenya’s rooms, and father had his nose buried in Amaeryllis’ book, valiantly trying to ignore the faint screams of pain that reached them from mothers rooms.

Aegon played with Helaena at Rhaenyra and fathers feet, entertaining her with her doll and a metal rattle Daemon had commissioned for her in the shape of a dragon. She loved it, giggling adorably whenever he shook it and the beads inside rattled loudly.

The door abruptly opened, a midwife standing by Ser Harrold with a bundle in her arms. Blood stained her apron and she looked exhausted but was beaming.

“A boy, your grace!” she said happily.

Father put his book aside and all but leapt toward the midwife, gathering Aemond in in his arms, a soft expression on his face. “A boy,” he breathed.

Daemon and Rhaenyra crowded around him and peered at Aemond, so far unnamed, and cooed over him; he wanted to laugh hysterically at the sight, but managed not to. His sister and brother-by-law cooing over the boy who, in another life, accidently killed their son.

“I wished to name him after you, brother,” father said softly, and Aegon gaped.

“Your wife won’t like that,” Daemon muttered dryly, his finger firmly grasped in Aemond’s tiny hand.

Father snorted. “Indeed not. His name shall be Aemond.”

Rhaenyra giggled. “Just a letter and Alicent will think him named for Uncle Aemon.”

Father winked. “Do you think you got all your mischievousness from your mother?”

“Oh, you truly didn’t, little dragon. I remember a certain prince smuggling several ewers of wine into our rooms as boys and getting so drunk he tripped and ripped a priceless tapestry from the wall,” Daemon muses tauntingly, a grin on his face.

Father rolled his eyes. “I remember a princeling who terrorised the kitchen staff to steal his favoured pastries and had the audacity to lie and say it was another while covered in the flower he knocked over and jam smeared around his mouth.”

Rhaenyra positively cackled, leaning against Daemon for support as her whole body shook with the force of her laughter. Aegon truly wanted to hear more of his father and uncle's childish antics, but he also wanted to see Aemond.

“I see baby?” He called, beaming when father approached with Aemond.

Rhaenyra was too far gone in her laughter to pick Helaena up, so Daemon did with an amused huff. Aegon stood and hurried to fathers side, peering into the blankets at Aemond, eyes brightening. He could vaguely see features on his brothers face that he had as an adult.

“Baby brother?” he asked, gently touching Aemond’s pale hair.

“Yes, your brothers name is Aemond,” Father said, shifting the babe so Aegon could see him better.

Aegon kissed his forehead, grinning when purple-blue eyes opened and peered at him blearily. “I pwotect little brother,” he vowed.

***

A moon after Aemond’s birth, Rhaenyra was confirmed to be with child by one of the midwives in the keep. She promptly paled and burst into tears, her fears of child birth rearing their ugly heads. Daemon and Father comforted her, and Aegon hugged her legs as she cried, hand pressed against her flat stomach.

Then mother had to open her mouth. “It isn’t so difficult,” she said, clearly not understanding – or caring – why Rhaenyra was so afraid.

Four sets of eyes turned to her and stared in disbelief and anger. Fathers face was growing increasingly red, Daemon looked ready to skewer mother with Dark Sister, and Rhaenyra looked both heart broken and infuriated.

Mother slowly realised she had said the wrong thing, and began stammering, clearly trying to figure out what to say, but was abruptly stopped when Rhaenyra stood and stormed from the family solar, Daemon swiftly following her.

“That was wrong of you to say, Alicent,” Father said gravely, a thunderous frown on his face.

Aegon stared, wide eyed. Aemond snuffled in his arms, clearly sensing their fathers anger.

Mother shifted uncomfortably. “I merely meant –”

“I do not care what you meant,” father interrupted. “Rhaenyra’s fear of childbirth is understandable. For you to say such a thing so carelessly...”

Mother flushed in embarrassment and anger. Aegon held Aemond tighter. “Pregnancy is a gift from the Mother. It shall be swift and easy if Rhaenyra prays for it as I did.”

Aegon bit back his sharp response. Ever since Arrax had told him that the Seven were the demonic offspring of the Bloodstone Emperor and his tiger-wife sent to corrupt the Andals, he had tried to figure out a way to subtly drop hints...but he wasn’t known for subtlety. He hoped Amaeryllis had written about them in her book.

Father shook his head and scoffed. “While Rhaenyra respects the Seven Gods, she does not follow them, Alicent. She follows the Old Gods of Valyria, as most of us Targaryens do.”

Aegon’s eyes darted to mother’s face, brows furrowing at the badly veiled disgust on her face. Father seemed to have noticed it too, for his hand clenched into a fist atop the table where it rested.

“It is far too early to have such a discussion,” father said tersely, rising to his feet. He leaned over and gently took Aemond from Aegon’s arms. “Come on, son, let’s go start your lessons before my Small Council meeting.”

Aegon slipped from his seat and took father’s hand, glancing back as they exited the solar to see mother glaring at fathers back in disgust and hatred.

Aegon’s heart dropped.

***

The next six moons seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Aegon spent his days with either father, Rhaenyra – whose belly was growing swiftly – or Daemon and his siblings learning and training.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had been hard at work on the council in their new positions as Hand and Crown Princess respectively, and the city thanked them for it profusely, the smallfolk’s love for them sky-rocketing as the streets were cleaned, orphanages sponsored, buildings fixed, and crime lower than it had ever been.

Rhaenyra’s household had grown, Princess Rhaenys’ advice of adding the sisters, daughters, and cousins of high lords being sound. Laena Velaryon was made the head lady-in-waiting of his sisters household, but a plethora of other ladies from houses across the realm now attended Rhaenyra and had become her friends.

From the Vale came the Lady Jeyne Arryn’s cousin Orla, a cousin also to Rhaenyra; from the Riverlands came Elmo Tully’s sister, Celia; Rhaenyra’s aunt Amanda, the lady Tyrell, sent her daughter Amelia; Lord Jason Lannister sent a cousin, Joanna; Lord Baratheon, kin to Rhaenys, sent his daughter Marlene; Lord Westerling, brother to Ser Harrold, sent his daughter Beatrice.

Aegon liked all of Rhaenyra’s ladies despite how they cooed over him. They treated him well, amused and charmed by how much he adored Rhaenyra. Helaena and Aemond were also near-permanent fixtures in the gardens, godswood, or Rhaenyra’s rooms when she was entertaining.

Daemon had brought a seasoned midwife to the capitol to ease Rhaenyra’s fears, and though she remained anxious about the birth of her babe, she was not so terrified anymore. Aegon marvelled over her belly and feeling the babe kick; mother had never let him do so, but Rhaenyra was all too happy and proud to let people feel her unborn child move in her stomach.

Daemon was seemingly even more smitten with his wife now she carried their child. He would lay with his head on her lap and sing to the babe in High Valyrian, making Rhaenyra’s face go all soft and soppy. Father thought it the sweetest thing he had ever witnessed, thoroughly embarrassing Daemon when he was caught mid-song.

Mother had become even more distant, rarely spending time with he or Helaena but doting on Aemond. He knew that if he let it continue that Aemond would once again become blindly and mindlessly devoted to mother, raised to believe all of her words.

Aegon understood that mother was too devoted to her own father to change. Perhaps, in the future, it may be possible.  But after so long listening to Otto’s rhetoric she likely believed every word he said.

Alicent had become even more devout to her gods, too, like she had later in life Before. She wore naught but green gowns and seven pointed stars, removing all Targaryen heraldry from her rooms and replacing them with motifs of her false gods.

Father had nearly finished Amaeryllis’ book and Aegon often heard him muttering curses in Valyrian whenever he was in the room as he read, the contents clearly troubling. After those moments father would take Aegon flying on Vermithor for over an hour, clearly needing time to clear his head.

Aegon was visited regularly in his dreams by his ancestors. Aegon I had returned several times, and on one memorable occasion he had met Daenys the Dreamer, who vividly reminded him of Helaena.

Helaena had begun to show signs of being a dreamer as she grew. She often stared into space, eyes glazed, and babbled nonsense that, to everyone else, sounded like a babe learning to speak; but Aegon knew better. Would she know about him being sent back? The crimes he had committed Before?

He hoped not. He often found himself remembering what he had done and feeling as though he was unworthy of the opportunity the gods had given him. He had been a terrible person, a drunkard and, in the end, a kinslayer. Aemond had been made into the same by their mother and grandfather, shunned when he began relying on killing to feel anything. Helaena had become a shell of a woman, broken beyond repair after Jaehaerys...

But that was then. Unworthy he may think himself, but the gods had chosen him to do this. Perhaps they saw something within him that was worthy. Perhaps they knew that, deep in his heart, he had never wanted to be what he had become in his past life. That he had loathed himself and...everything that occurred.

Aegon didn’t know why they chose him, but he would not squander the opportunity he had been given to save his family.

***

Rhaenyra’s labours woke half the castle when they began. Aegon was confused when he was woken, the screams echoing, before realisation slammed into him and he scrambled from his bed and hurried to fathers rooms. He had no desire to see his sister giving birth, but he did want to be with Father while I happened, knowing that Viserys would be beside himself with worry.

Aegon was right. Father was pacing across his rooms, fingers smoothing over a gold ring almost obsessively. “Papa?”

Father turned. “Oh, Aegon. Come here, my boy.”

Aegon padded over to Viserys, smiling when father sat and pulled him onto his lap. “Nyra having baby?”

“Yes she is,” Father murmured, voice shaking slightly.

Aegon twisted slightly on fathers lap and kissed his cheek. “Sissy be okay,” he said softly, unable to stop himself from snuggling into fathers arms; Viserys was far more attentive and affectionate than he had been, and Aegon loved it. “Sissy strong.”

Viserys huffed a laugh. “That she is, my son.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as time crawled by agonisingly slowly. Rhaenyra’s shouts and curses echoed down the hall from her rooms, making Aegon’s stomach twist. She had given birth many times Before, and he was sure the gods were not so cruel as to take her away when she was so important in the future.

When an hour passed with no babe, Father grabbed a book and began reading aloud to Aegon to distract them. It was a tome from Visenya’s rooms and clearly meant for children, as it was full of fables.

Aegon leaned his head against fathers chest and listened while dozing, eyes closed. He felt the rumble of fathers voice through his chest, the sound lulling him into light slumber. He didn’t know how long he had been sleeping when the door burst open and jolted him awake.

Daemon stood there, tears in his eyes and a beaming grin on his face. “I have a son,” he said.

Father stood, Aegon in his arms, and followed Daemon down the hall to Rhaenyra’s rooms. Midwives bustled about inside, not a maester in sight, and a sweaty Rhaenyra sat on her bed, her eyes pinned on the bundle in her arms.

“Nyra?” he called, father gently placing him on the bed next to Rhaenyra.

She looked up and smiled brightly, though she looked exhausted. “Valonqar. Come meet your nephew.”

He shifted closer and leaned over to peer at the babe, shock reverberating through him as he met blue-purple eyes. Despite the change in colouring, he knew the babe he stared at. It was impossible, wasn’t it? But the face was almost identical, save for some changes.

“What’s his name?” Father asked, hushed and teary.

“Aerion,” Rhaenyra murmured, and Aegon wanted to laugh hysterically.

“A good name,” father said, beaming.

The babe in Rhaenyra’s arms was his nephew, all right, though this time around he did not have dark hair and eyes. This time he was all Targaryen with purple eyes and pale hair, and Aegon’s heart felt as though it may burst as he observed his nephew.

Had the gods decided to let Jacaerys - Aerion - return, too? Or was Rhaenyra meant to always, in any life, give birth to Jace, even if his name was different? Did he have his memories, or was this a clean slate for his nephew?

Aegon didn’t know, but he did know that he would be a better uncle than before.

***

The night after Aerion's birth – second birth? – Aegon met his second Valyrian God, this time a goddess, whose dragon-like attributes were a beautiful scarlet. He knew immediately whom she was.

“Meleys,” he breathed, bowing his head.

“Princeling,” she murmured, her voice oddly smooth and deep for a female. “You are confused as to how Jacaerys has been born and wonder if he has his memories?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding.

“He has no memories of his past life, but he is the same Jacaerys. All of Rhaenyra’s children shall be born again in this time, all without their memories and new names. Arrax, ever soft at heart, requested we allow this so the children may have a chance to grow up,” Meleys explained briskly. “She will have her past children and more.”

Guilt squirmed in Aegon’s stomach, but vanished when he realised that Rhaenyra would have more children. “Visenya,” he whispered.

Meleys smiled slightly. “Yes. She and other children will come. Rhaenyra and Daemon may even outdo Jaehaerys and Alysanne.”

Aegon laughed. “That would be quite the feat.”

“Your beloved shall come of their line,” Meleys said suddenly, and Aegon gaped. Meleys’ grin widened. “With her at your side, princeling, all shall be well.”

“I won’t marry Helaena?” he asked.

“That union will not come about this time,” Meleys assured. “You love your sister, but not as a man should his wife. No, she shall be queen once again.”

“Ja - Aerion,” he said, smiling at the thought of his nephew and sister. He would be good for Helaena and treat her well.

Meleys smirked. “Indeed. It is time for me to go princeling.”

Aegon bowed his head, eyes closed, and when he opened them he was in his bed, a grin on his face.

***

Rhaenyra and Daemon were completely besotted with their son. They toted him everywhere, even to court and Small Council meetings, uncaring if it wasn’t proper. Two weeks after Jace’s birth, Rhaenyra took him flying for the first time on Syrax, who seemed just as charmed by the babe.

Daemon collected an egg for his son, a familiar green and peach colouring to the egg, and placed it in Aerion’s cradle. Aemond had been given an egg, too, but this time it was warm and lively. Aegon hoped the egg hatched this time, so his brother might know how it felt to be bonded to an egg from childhood.

Helaena’s egg didn’t hatch, but Aegon knew she was destined for Dreamfyre. It had never bothered Helaena that her egg hadn’t hatched, and now he thought about it she had always claimed that a ‘fiery dream’ was waiting for her.

Gods, he truly had been a blind idiot.

Father was equally as taken with Aerion, spiriting him away whenever they gathered for a family supper. Aegon liked those evenings, but not when mother was in a mood. She had grown even more cold and bitter toward, well, everything; he knew she had befriended Larys Strong and Cole, having seen her with the latter in the godswood, talking. Cole had been reassigned as mothers sworn sword after Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding, and Aegon was desperately trying to figure out a way to get rid of both of them.

It would be simple to get rid of Larys, merely ‘bump’ into him at the top of a staircase and let him fall. It would be cruel, taking advantage of his disability like that, but Larys was a cruel and cold man, and he had killed Aegon once.

Cole would be a lot more difficult. Perhaps if he goaded the man into harming him? Father and Daemon would surely feed him to their dragons bit by bit.

Aegon didn’t know what to do about mother. Yes, she was cold and bitter but in Kings Landing he had a chance, no matter how miniscule, to save her from Otto. If she was set aside, she would return to Oldtown and likely be punished for failing...he didn’t know what to do in that regard, because despite all she had done, Aegon loved his mother. He may not particularly like her, but he did love her.

Being a child was getting on his nerves. He was anxious to be older, to be useful to his family beyond blurting out increasingly unsubtle ‘prophesies.’ He knew they had helped thus far, Rhaenyra marrying Daemon first rather than after Laenor, who hadn’t been able to give Rhaenyra legitimate heirs; Visenya’s rooms being discovered and the Oldtown Conspiracy; Viserys not being as ill – Aegon just knew that his father had been poisoned Before, something within him solidly certain of that – and a better father and king; Daemon becoming Hand, Rhaenyra stepping into her role as Heir and gathering high born ladies to pass on the good she was doing to their lordly kin.

Things were changing, and that made Aegon nervous. He didn’t know what the future held, but he hoped it was better than the alternative he had seen.

The House of the Dragon would stand tall against their enemies, united and stronger than ever.

Chapter Text

Aegon slowly woke to very badly hushed whispers and giggles. Hiding a grin against his pillow, he slowly cracked an eye open to see his nephews, niece, brothers and sister standing by his bed. They did this nearly every morn, creeping into his rooms to discuss who would wake him, all of them knowing he detested mornings.

“I did it last time,” Aemond muttered, nudging Lucerys, who huffed. “It’s your turn.”

Baelon, who was holding two year old Visenya’s hand, pouted. “But uncle Egg gets cranky when we wake him up.”

Helaena hummed softly, eyeing the long-legged spider currently crawling over her hand. “Aegon’s already awake.”

Aegon reached for Aerion, heaving his five year old nephew onto his bed. The boy squealed, dissolving into giggles when Aegon tickled him.

Daeron and Visenya, the babies of the group at two, giggled and clambered awkwardly onto the bed. Aemond and Baelon helped them, Helaena smiling serenely as she watched.

“Uncle Egg!” Aerion complained, batting his hands away.

“Good morn, dear nephews, niece, brothers, sister,” he greeted, beaming.

Jaehaerys, who in his past life had been Joffrey, latched onto Aegon’s arm and kissed his cheek sloppily. “Happy nameday, uncle Eggie.”

Aegon scrunched his nose, amused. He kissed Jaehaerys’ nose. “Thank you, nephew.”

Aemond and Helaena – once she freed the spider on the window ledge – climbed onto his bed and grabbed the babies, perching Daeron and Visenya on their laps. It was the usual for them to congregate in Aegon’s rooms, as he was usually the last of them to wake.

“Happy nameday, brother,” Aemond said, smiling. Aegon was pleased that his little brothers were there, as mother tried – and largely failed – to keep them to herself and likely whispered poison in their minds.

Aegon ruffled Aemond’s hair and leaned over Aerion and Baelon to kiss Helaena’s cheek. “Thank you,” he said fondly.

“Muña wants you to break your fast with us,” Baelon said, lisping his words adorably.

“You have to get dressed,” Aerion said, jumping from the bed and bouncing happily.

Aegon groaned dramatically and flopped back onto his pillows, making the babes laugh. Visenya crawled onto his chest and lay down, beaming. “Un’ca Eggie!” she cheered, “Be’fast!”

Aegon had nearly wept when Rhaenyra gave birth to Visenya, remembering Before that she had died before she lived. But the princess was the apple of her parents and older brothers eyes. Aerion, as the oldest, was fiercely protective of his three younger siblings.

Aegon was viciously protective of them all.

Aegon wrapped his arms around Visenya and rolled from his bed, smiling when she giggled madly. The door to his rooms opened and Rhaenyra was proceeded inside by her swollen belly, a bright smile on her face.

“Ah, I should have known you’d all be in here,” she said fondly, beaming when Visenya held her pudgy hands out. She crossed Aegon’s rooms and took her daughter. “Happy nameday, little brother.”

Aegon smiled brightly as she kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Nyra,” he said, “Baelon said something about breaking our fasts together?”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra confirmed with a nod, an amused smirk on her face as Aegon ducked behind a dressing screen to throw some respectable clothes on. “Father will be there. Her grace is...unwell.”

Aegon stepped out from behind the screen, lacing his doublet, and raised a sardonic brow at Rhaenyra. “How unfortunate,” he said dryly.

The tension between Alicent and the rest of the family had not eased in the past five years. He had hoped that by seeing how happy he, Aemond, and Helaena were would soften her. But then she had become pregnant with Daeron, and all softness seemed to vanish within her, and the life almost seemed sucked from her very soul.

Aegon had overheard father and Daemon talking about annulling the marriage, but father had decided that keeping Alicent close was better than sending her back into Otto’s clutches. He knew that they both pitied her, and Aegon did, too, but after he caught her hurting Helaena he had wanted to loose Sunfyre on her.

Aemond had saved himself, in the end, too. He had witnessed how mother treated their nephews and niece and even Aegon himself and realised that it wasn’t normal. His brother had always been intelligent. Helaena’s bruised wrist and cheek had been the last straw, as it were, and Aemond refused to be alone with their mother.

Aegon worried because, despite Aemond’s realisation that their mother wasn’t a good woman, he relentlessly tried to change her mind and ‘save’ her. He visited her with a member of the kingsguard by his side, but always left disappointed.

Aegon had tried for several moons after Aemond’s birth to get through to his mother, but she was stubborn and firm in her beliefs. She refused to see reason, to free herself from the manacles her father had placed on her. The more years that passed, the worse it got.

With Father’s health better than ever, he worked closely with Rhaenyra, Daemon, and other trusted lords – namely Lords Strong and Beesbury – to dismantle the Oldtown conspiracy and plots. Lord Strong had been aghast when informed, face reddening alarmingly. Lord Beesbury had nearly fainted, only Rhaenyra stopping him from collapsing completely.

Four years ago Aegon had joined Rhaenyra and Daemon on a trip north that had been quite enlightening. They had taken Amaeryllis’ book with them to show Lord Benjen Stark who had been amused and relived by the visit.

After the revelation that the Targaryens and Starks were distant – very distant – kin, they had been shown a secret room in the Stark crypts that held a signed pact between Torrhen Stark and Aegon I and his wives.

The Pact of Ice and Fire.

Sworn between Aegon the Conqueror and the King Who Knelt with Visenya and Rhaenys as witness for their brother-husband, and Torrhen’s bastard half-brother for him, they vowed that a Stark must always remain in Winterfell, and a Targaryen as king of the Seven Kingdoms, lest the world of man be consumed by the terrible winter that one day would come. Another clause in the pact was for a Targaryen Prince or Princess to marry a Stark daughter or son in the future.

Lord Benjen had reaffirmed the Pact with Rhaenyra as heir and Daemon as witness. Lord Benjen’s son Rickon had stood as witness for his father.

Aegon had never visited Winterfell Before, and he had become enamoured with its ancient, haunting beauty. It almost reminded him of Dragonstone. The rich history and magic seeped into the very ground it stood upon, where winter fell thousands of years ago...it was humbling, in a way.

The godswood of Winterfell had enchanted him, too. It was a hushed, sacred place that echoed with the ghosts of thousands of dead Stark ancestors. He had wondered if the old gods the Northerners worshipped were the same as his Valyrian gods.

With the North and the Crown much more closely aligned, Aegon knew that they would have fierce fighters on their side when it came to war, because it would. Otto Hightower was nothing if not incessant, like a particularly irritating mosquito, and the Citadel and Faith had worked for over a century to destroy the Targaryens, it was unlikely they would give up any time soon.

For five years Aegon had worked in the shadows to dismantle his mother and grandfathers known allies while father worked with Rhaenyra and Daemon and their allies to dismantle the conspiracy.

The day Aegon had quite impulsively tripped Larys Strong down the stairs had been glorious. At only six namedays, no one had suspected him. The death of Larys Strong had been declared an unfortunate accident, the man’s disability being blamed for his harsh tumble down dozens of stone steps.

Seeing Larys Clubfoot’s brains splattered on the floor had been brilliant, as had seeing the man’s horror and fear as he realised a six year old was his killer.

Other than Larys, Aegon had done away with several guards and servants that were loyal to his grandfather from what he remembered in his past life. Some...special herbs from the gardens had been utilised, and many thought a freak illness had spread through the Keep after seven household members had unexpectedly perished.

Aegon had felt quite accomplished. He had even managed to get Criston Cole sent away, shamed and stripped of his white cloak he had loved so much. Some innocently mentioned looks shot between he and Mother, clandestine nightly meetings mentioned, some not so subtle sneers at Rhaenyra and Daemon, a bout of brilliant acting on his part after Cole had disarmed him quite harshly, and father had furiously and publicly sent the lowborn Dornishman away.

Aegon did feel guilty that his mother was now even more isolated, but she had brought it upon herself by cloaking herself in righteousness and piety and refusing to be a part of their family.

Father and Daemon awaited them in the informal dining room, where they usually spent family meals together, and both rose to welcome them.

“Good morn, my children,” Father greeted warmly, and Aegon unashamedly basked in his father’s embrace and open affection.

Helaena kissed fathers cheek before rounding the table to kiss Daemon's. She wasn’t fond of too much physical touch, but mostly allowed cheek kisses and brief hand squeezes. Aemond hugged father, beaming, and did the same with Daemon.

Aerion, Baelon, Jaehaerys and Visenya were gathered before Father and hugged and kissed before Daemon bullied his way into the circle and scooped his two youngest into his arms.

“Kepa!” Visenya cheered, her favourite word by far. Daemon was her favourite person, but that wasn’t surprising. He was utterly wrapped around his beloved daughter’s finger.

“My littlest dragons,” the widely feared Rogue Prince cooed, making Aegon snicker.

Rhaenyra placed a hand on Aegon’s shoulder, fondly exasperated by her mercurial and contrary husband. He leaned into her, placing a hand on her belly. Pregnancy had always fascinated him, and his sister let him marvel over her stomach whenever she was heavy with child.

“I think it’s a boy,” she said softly, brushing her fingers through his hair.

“I think so, too,” he said, knowing for certain it was likely to be Aegon the Younger she birthed next.

They gathered around the table, Aegon sat between Aerion and Aemond, Baelon practically hanging off Aemond on his other side. His little nephew was positively besotted with Aemond, something he hadn’t noticed Before but in retrospect could remember vaguely taking note of.

Perhaps that’s why Aemond had been so furious with Baelon about the eye thing. Their infatuation had been mutual. Aemond had been extremely distraught over Baelon’s death, far more than what was normal for an uncle who accidently killed his nephew.

Aegon shook off those thoughts, his brother was currently six and his nephew barely four. Far too young to think of such things.

“Laena has returned to Driftmark,” father said, smiling as Aerion and Helaena helped Daeron eat and Aemond and Aegon helped Visenya and Baelon.

“Oh?” Rhaenyra queried, highly amused.

Laena Velaryon had sent Corlys into fits when she eloped with her now husband, Jordyn Celtigar, the second son of Lord Bartimos Celtigar, who had quite gladly taken her to wife; according to Laenor, Jordyn was besotted with his sister. They had lived these past five years between Crackclaw Point and Pentos, Laena giving birth to two children: Rhaena, the eldest, and Laenys.

“Yes, Rhaenys is quite glad to have her daughter and grandchildren home, though Corlys remains ever unimpressed with his good-son,” Father explained, thoroughly amused.

Daemon snorted. “I’m sure it was Laena’s idea to spirit Jordyn away. The boy would quite gladly do anything she asked.”

“Laena did inherit the Targaryen wilfulness,” Rhaenyra said, highly amused. “Perhaps we should extend an offer for Laena and her family to reside in the capitol so Rhaena and Aerion may grow closer?”

“I have already extended the invitation, daughter,” Viserys said, browsing his children and grandchildren protectively.

Aegon had decided to be unashamed with his need and love of affection. He had been denied such in his life Before, but in this life he recieved it un abundance by father, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and his siblings and nephews and niece.

Mother was still stiff and harsh and cold, but that was to be expected. She had only ever known such twisted affection herself, Otto not knowing how to show affection and her mother having died years ago.

Aegon himself ensured that his nephews, niece, brothers, and sister knew they were loved. And he did love them, as he had Before but been unable to show it so deeply did he drown his own sorrows in wine and whores.

Then the Dance happened.

Aegon shoved those thoughts away and turned to focus on his brother, who was chatting to Aerion about fathers promise to fly him to Dragonstone to claim a dragon.

He smiled, happiness and warmth blooming in his gut.

***

Aegon had dedicated himself to becoming a proficient swordsman and dragonrider far more in the past five years than he ever had in his previous. Daemon and, ironically, Ser Harwin Strong had become he, Aemond, and Aerion’s foremost instructors in the tiltyard.

Where Daemon was exacting and demanding that they put their all into learning to wield a blade as well as he did Dark Sister, Ser Harwin was firm but a lot gentler. They spent several hours each morning and noon in the yard when they weren’t in lessons with Maester Geradys, the only maester their family now trusted.

Geradys was a good man and patient teacher. He praised them for their triumphs and soothed their annoyance if they made a mistake. He wasn’t like the maesters from Before, smacking their knuckles with a switch when they made a mistake or misremembered information.

Because of this, Aegon actually enjoyed his lessons. But other than swordplay and lessons with Geradys, he spent most of his time in the Dragonpit with Sunfyre, ensuring their bond was strong and his dragon obedient and loved unlike before.

He knew that Mother had only allowed he, Helaena, and Aemond dragons Before because they were an asset like none other. She had very rarely let them fly unless necessary, or even spend time with their mounts; but Father, Daemon, and Rhaenyra insisted on them spending as much time as possible with their dragons.

Helaena and Dreamfyre had a gentle bond and the dragon often sat curled around his sister as she played with one of her favourite bugs. Sunfyre was a menace Aegon was immensely fond of, the ten year old dragon mischievous and playful, always nipping at Caraxes and Syrax only for the older dragons to roar and smack him with a wing.

Aerion’s Vermax was the same as Before, but their bond was nurtured a lot more by Daemon. Baelon had little Arrax, the pale dragon as affectionate and needy and sweet as Baelon. Jaehaerys’ dragon was Tyraxes, who was the youngest and smallest besides Tessarion, Daeron’s beloved Blue Queen.

Aemond and Visenya didn’t have dragons yet, but father had promised that their mounts likely awaited them on Dragonstone. Many wild dragons inhabited the island, Silverwing, Alysanne’s mount,  Sheepsteeler, Grey Ghost, and the Cannibal.

Visenya was a little young to be claiming a full grown dragon, so Father took Aemond alone atop Vermithor while he and his nephews and brother spent their afternoon in the Dragonpit working with their dragons.

Aegon ended up taking his nephews, niece and brother for short flights as their dragons were too small, and Daemon and the tamers all trusted his ability to keep them all safe.

As Aegon directed Sunfyre back to the pit with Visenya giggling madly in front of him, a familiar roar echoed throughout Kings Landing, followed by a less familiar roar.

Aegon twisted in Sunfyre’s saddle and grinned widely as Vermithor flew around the Red Keep, closely followed by a pale mist-grey dragon that resembled Laenor’s Seasmoke eerily, though much paler and quite a bit larger.

The Grey Ghost.

Aegon turned and urged Sunfyre to land, swiftly dismounting with Visenya in his arms. Shortly after, father landed Vermithor and slid from the Bronze Fury’s back with a grin.

Grey Ghost landed almost silently, shying away from the other dragons as they turned to sniff him curiously. Aemond slid to the ground, a beatific smile on his face.

“You did it!” Baelon cheered, bounding forward to embrace Aemond. “I knew you would, uncle!”

Aemond flushed, brightening under the praise and fathers proud grin. “Grey is shy, but so am I. I think we’re a perfect match.”

The pale dragon rumbled, eyeing Arrax intently as the little hatchling toddled forward, chirping happily. Aegon held his breath, tightening his grip on Visenya, as Grey Ghost lowered his huge head and sniffed at Arrax, who screeched happily and bopped his nose against the shy dragon’s.

Baelon giggled madly, clutching Aemond’s hand. “They like each other.”

Father looked pleased. “I’m glad. I worried that Grey Ghost would be adverse to the other dragons.”

Aegon released his tense breath, rolling his eyes when Sunfyre began nudging at Vermithor insistently. The ever patient older dragon merely rumbled and huffed smoke from his nostrils.

Vermax, Tyraxes, and Tessarion ambled over to Grey Ghost slowly, intrigued by the new, older dragon. The shy wild creature showed a remarkable patience at the hatchling’s curiosity and let them sniff at him and nudge his face and neck.

Sunfyre, ever jealous, bullied his way in and earned a warning hiss from Grey Ghost. Aegon handed Visenya to father and marched over to Sunfyre. “No, Sunfyre! Don’t bully Grey Ghost. Leave him be!” Sunfyre’s head drooped and he whined. Aegon rolled his eyes, shooting a snickering Aemond a long-suffering look. “Grey is shy, Sunfyre. Be nice!”

Sunfyre huffed and leaned down toward Aegon for pets, molten eyes wide and pathetic. He gave a rueful chuckle as he smoothed a hand down Sunfyre’s face, between his eyes and nostrils.

Father chuckled. “You spoil him, Aegon.”

Aegon huffed, wrapping his arms around Sunfyre’s snout. “I can’t help it. I love him.”

Sunfyre lifted his head, purring, Aegon’s feet dangling, and he laughed at his dragon’s antics. “Put me down!”

***

With Aemond now having a mount, Daemon worked with him and Grey Ghost daily. A saddle was fitted to the uncommonly docile wild dragon, and he obeyed Aemond’s commands easily once he got the hang of their meanings. It seemed as though Grey Ghost learnt by observing the other dragon’s obedience and actions after a command.

The most surprising thing about Grey Ghost was that his flames were as pale as he was, white shot through with mist-blue.

Aemond had never been happier now he had his own dragon, a grin on his face from morn to sundown. He spent all of his free time in the pit with Grey Ghost though the dragon had nested on the rocky hill behind the Red Keep, often seen snatching food from the bay.

It made sense that Grey Ghost refused to nest in the pit. He had been wild his entire life, and despite being quite docile he was still a wild dragon. Aemond had learned to whistle loudly, and his dragon came flying whenever he heard the piercing noise.

Laena, her husband, and children arrived in the capitol a week after Aemond claimed Grey. Vhagar, Meleys, and Seasmoke flew over the capitol toward the pit, roaring their riders’ approach, and carriages and horses were swiftly dispatched by father.

Aegon was exited to see Lady Laena again. She had been Rhaenyra’s lady for four years before she eloped with Jordyn Celtigar. She had been a permanent fixture, and he truly adored her. She was kind and fun and had taken him flying on Vhagar several times throughout her tenure as Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting.

Jordyn Celtigar he hadn’t known well prior to the elopement. He was of Valyrian descent, and had the pale hair, but his eyes were hazel and, like the Velaryon’s, wasn’t a dragonrider. He was of an age with Rhaenyra, and he had been put forth as a suitor in their childhood.

Laena, her family, and the Velaryon’s arrived at the Keep shortly after, and Aegon beamed at Laena and waved. She grinned and hugged him once she had greeted the king and queen (the latter of whom looked quite pinched).

“Little cousin, how you’ve grown!” she crowned, a little girl with wildly curly pale hair and dark skin in her arms. “This is my Rhaena.”

Aegon took her hand and kissed the four year old’s knuckles. “Hello, cousin,” he said, grinning when Rhaena blushed and buried her face in Laena’s hair.

Laena chuckled. “She’s going through quite the shy phase, little cousin.”

“That’s okay,” he said, still smiling. “She’ll get to know us all while you’re here.”

Laena ruffled his hair fondly and turned, beckoning a somewhat familiar man over who held a babe of two. “Jordyn, this is my little cousin Prince Aegon; Aegon, this is my husband, Jordyn, and son, Laenys.”

Laenys, much less shy than Rhaena, reached for Aegon. He glanced at Lord Jordyn for permission, and his cousin-by-law smiled and handed Laenys to Aegon.

“It’s a honour to meet you,” he said to Jordyn, expertly dodging Laenys’ hands that had promptly gone to grip his hair.

Jordyn grinned and bowed. “The honour is mine, Prince Aegon.”

Aegon beamed and turned his attention to Laenys, who babbled half nonsense at him happily. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, little sea crab,” he said, making Laena and Jordyn laugh.

“C’ab,” Laenys babbled, clutching the collar of Aegon’s maroon doublet. “Egg!”

A servant appeared and mentioned luncheon being served shortly, so the Targaryen, Velaryon, and Celtigar group shuffled into the Keep and was led to what Aegon had dubbed the ‘family solar’ where less formal meals were taken.

He and Helaena as the oldest of the children corralled them with Aemond’s help and sat by the youngest of the group. Aegon kept Laenys on his lap and helped he and Visenya eat as neatly as possible.

The adults sat at the table and chatted about grown-up things, likely Laena and Jordyn remaining in the capitol so Rhaena and Aerion could bond, having been betrothed since before they were born.

Mother remained stiff and cool, hand intermittently fiddling with the Seven Pointed Star necklace around her neck. She wore her customary green and gold, an insult as well as her personal rebellion. He had overheard father insisting she desist doing so, but his mother was as incessant as her father.

The meal passed without incident, Aegon somehow ending up with Laenys and Visenya on his lap. He didn’t mind, and even Helaena offered to take Visenya despite her aversion to touch.

By the end of the luncheon, he had two toddlers sleeping on his chest and adults cooing over what a good uncle and cousin he was. He felt himself flush with both embarrassment and pleasure.

Rhaena soon opened up to their family, head bowed with Aerion and Helaena’s as his sweet sister murmured about her favourite insect of the moon, a truly huge caterpillar with hundreds of legs that admittedly creeped him out, but Aerion and Rhaena looked honestly fascinated.

He had been baffled when Meleys had told him that Helaena and Aerion would be married when he was betrothed to Rhaena, but then he’d nearly smacked himself when he remembered Aegon the Conqueror and his two wives. It wasn’t common for Valyrian’s to take two spouses, and the last time a Targaryen king had a polygamous marriage was Maegor.

Aegon wondered how the Faith would take it, and swiftly decided he didn’t care. The Faith was bothering him a lot, especially with how much his mother seemed to rely on it. She and many of the faiths followers were unaware of what they truly worshipped. It made him feel sick, but he hoped that he could reveal it at some point in his life.

After luncheon, the babes were taken to nap under the watchful eyes of several nursemaids. Aegon, Aemond, and Aerion went to their lessons and Helaena, shocking everyone who knew her aversion to touch, tangled her fingers with Rhaena and Visenya’s and led them to their ‘womanly’ lessons with a governess rather than a Septa.

Father looked happy. He knew Helaena was considered odd and strange by all (Aegon stifled the guilt when he remembered that he had been one of those people Before) and worried for his youngest daughter. But to see her opening up to Rhaena and Visenya clearly eased his concerns.

Their lessons passed swiftly, maester Geradys ever patient, warm, and full of praise and encouragement. He usually spoke only High Valyrian, one of the very few non-Valyrian’s to do so, but Aerion was still learning and sometimes struggled with it.

After their lessons, they were free to play as the younger children had woken from their nap. They converged on the royal nursery, Aegon and Helaena helping the nursemaids corral their wild, young kin.

The afternoon passed as it usually did, full of bright laughter and love.

***

Rhaenyra watched her boys spar from her seat next to her father. Visenya and Daeron were perched happily on the kings lap as they cheered for Aegon, Aemond, Aerion, and Baelon. Jaehaerys was sprawled on a blanket at their feet, chin resting on his hands.

Daemon and Ser Harwin were instructing the boys against straw men, helping them when needed and adjusting their footwork. Usually Rhaenyra would have joined them, but Daemon blatantly refused to let her train whilst pregnant.

It was as endearing as it was infuriating, and she couldn’t help but love her husband for it. His overprotective nature had only grown after Aerion was born, expanding to include their other children and nephews and niece.

Visenya, though, remained the apple of her fathers eye. She had quite thoroughly wrapped her father around her tiny little finger and took advantage of it daily, sweetly asking for more desserts or another story at bed time.

It amused her and Father to no end, the infamous Rogue Prince brought to his knees by his two year old daughter.

Aegon had paused his own training to help Baelon, her sweet boys beaming and giggling at one another. It never failed to warm her heart to see how much her siblings loved her children, how well they got along despite how hard Alicent had tried for the past five years to ruin their close bonds.

Rhaenyra had been shocked and moved near to tears when she heard Aegon’s fervent defence of her, Daemon, and their children two years ago. He had even taken the issue to father, and Viserys had looked ready to shout the Keep down.

It pained Rhaenyra to see her old companion and friend like this. She had changed so much, her warmth vanishing under a veneer of iciness and righteous anger. Alicent wasn’t the same girl she had been when they were young, but neither was Rhaenyra; she, according to many, had stepped up as Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne with poise and grace.

Alicent had slithered into her position as queen-consort with hands stained with Queen Aemma’s blood and her brothers ashes.

Well, that’s what her Arryn kin proclaimed. They still loathed her, even if they had softened considerably to Rhaenyra’s siblings after she had...firmly chastised them.

Rhaenyra, despite having been heir for so long and carrying out her duties to the best of her abilities, often felt as though she were lacking, and not just a cock. Daemon had spent many a night reassuring her, holding her as she cried and struggled.

Being a woman in a man’s world was hard, but being a woman in a man’s world with power was a whole different story. Many thought her undeserving based on her sex, others saw her as greedy and grasping for a power not rightfully hers.

Her ladies and close allies believed in her, she knew that. Her work in the city had made many people’s lives easier. She had seen how bad it was when Daemon had sneaked her from the Keep years ago, wanting to lighten her load and let her be free, not the heir or a princess.

It was the night their sweet boy, Aerion, was conceived. She knew it in her blood that her first born had been made the night after she steeled herself and fully accepted the responsibility she now had; not to merely uphold her family’s honour and traditions, but to serve her people and protect them as any monarch should.

It was symbolic, in a way, that her heir was made that night.

She shook herself from those somewhat maudlin thoughts and focused on her boys, smiling as Aemond and Baelon worked together. They were sweet together, Baelon always trotting after his uncle and Aemond doting on Baelon without complaint.

She paused, eyes narrowing slightly as she observed her brother and son, and not for the first time, as they interacted. They were a little young to suspect anything untoward, but it was clear that their affection could end up being more.

It wouldn’t bother Rhaenyra if one of her sons, or her daughter, ended up liking only the same sex. Valyrian’s were much more liberal about these things. For the gods sake, they wedded brothers and sisters. She herself was married to her uncle; if, in the future – very far future – Baelon and Aemond ended up more than mere friends, she wouldn’t mind (entirely, Baelon was still her sweet boy).

“They are progressing well,” father murmured, smiling fondly when Daeron and Visenya cuddled against his chest. They were more like siblings, what with them being of an age with one another.

Rhaenyra’s lips quirked. “Yes, they are. Aegon is doing well, and Aemond has begun to show a marked proficiency for the sword. Aerion prefers daggers and a bow, but Baelon is still too young to know.”

“They’re good boys,” father said, and Rhaenyra leaned her head against his shoulder.

Her smile widened when the boys, as usual, began needling Daemon and Harwin to spar together, cheering when her husband and the Commander of the City watch caved and grabbed two blunted swords and faced off, the boys backing away to a safe distance.

“Ser Harwin is doing well in his position,” father said, kissing her head softly.

“Mm. He was trained by Daemon and upholds his firm rules,” she murmured, irritated that she was tired. This pregnancy, like all of her others, was taking its toll. She truly hoped her son came on time, unlike Visenya, who had been all too happy to linger within her womb.

“A good, honourable man,” father hummed.

Rhaenyra snorted when Aegon began jeering Daemon, who’d been hit first. Harwin grinned at her husbands disgruntled look. “Getting slow, old man?”

Daemon loosed an indignant noise, making the boys cackle uproariously. “Old man?! Impudent, Ser Strong!”

Harwin laughed, and Rhaenyra snickered softly. Even father was laughing.

“Apologies, my prince,” Harwin said, sounding not at all apologetic.

Daemon narrowed his eyes. “First to three?”

Rhaenyra cackled, swiftly stifling the sound in her palm. Daemon whirled and stared, eyes wide with mock betrayal. “My own wife laughing at me?”

Rhaenyra struggled to hide her smile. “Apologies, my love. Father merely told me quite the humorous jape.”

Father snorted, shoulders shaking.

Baelon was giggling madly into his hands, making Daemon gasp theatrically. “My son, too.” Aerion guffawed openly, completely unashamed.

Rhaenyra truly loved moments like this. She especially loved seeing this side of her husband, the side he only showed to family and his trusted friends, like Ser Harwin.

Daemon dropped his practice sword and scooped Baelon into his arms, tickling their son. Jaehaerys shouted and scrambled to his feet, hurrying to join in on the fun.

Rhaenyra didn’t bother to hide her laughter as her husband was buried beneath the cheering, cackling children as he playfully shouted for mercy.

***

Aegon moved around the small council room easily, very familiar with interior, and placed cups at every seat. Father had named him his cupbearer six moons ago, and he enjoyed being in the council meetings in order to eavesdrop.

Mother had thought it beneath him as prince and, in her mind, Heir.

He had also been made Daemon’s squire for whenever there was a tourney in the city or if his brother-uncle needed assistance in his capacity as Hand, such as running letters to people in the Keep or to Maester Geradys in the rookery.

It gave him something to do, and Daemon also used the tasks as a way to teach him how to read ravens without breaking the wax or tampering with the letter in any way, quizzing him on the contents of the letters – the harmless ones, Daemon would inform him of the ones he truly couldn’t read – once he returned.

The doors of the council chamber opened and Rhaenyra entered with Father and Daemon, all of them looking somewhat troubled. Daemon mostly looked irate.

“What happened? Is everyone okay?” he asked, truly worried.

“Everyone is fine, Aegon,” Father said, face softening.

Aegon heaved a relieved sigh and hugged his family before the other council members trickled in; he nodded in greeting to Lords Strong and Beesbury, smiling to Lord Corlys, Maester Geradys and Princess Rhaenys, who had been named Master of Laws.

The meeting was started shortly thereafter, and Aegon began to pour wine, avoiding Rhaenyra, Corlys, and Rhaenys’ cups and only giving father and Daemon watered wine; they all liked to have clear heads while at the meeting.

“Lord Tarth as sent a concerning letter,” Daemon announced as Aegon busied himself refilling his ewer. “His men reported movement on Bloodstone. The Triarchy seem to have reinhabited the islands, likely killing the men stationed there.”

Aegon scowled. The Triarchy, how in Balerion’s name had he forgotten about them?

“Tarth’s men also saw House Martell’s sigil among those on Grey Gallows,” Daemon informed the council.

Corlys looked irate when Aegon turned and stood behind father, ewer of fresh wine in hand. “What is to be done?”

Aegon glanced at father, who looked troubled but thoughtful. “We must tread cautiously. If Dorne has allied with the Triarchy, we risk invasion from the Dornish Marches as well as war in the Stepstones. We must discover how many men are in the Stepstones and how deeply allied Dorne is with the Triarchy, or if any other houses from the mainland have allied with them.”

Aegon’s gut twisted, and a truly horrible thought went through his mind. Would Otto ally with the Triarchy and Dorne? He had reached out to the Triarchy, enemies of Daemon, in his past life. It wasn’t in the realm of impossibility. Otto was sly and, well, a cunt like that.

Aegon looked at Daemon, who seemed to have had the same thought, jaw tightening.  

The rest of the meeting was quite bland, though the threat of resurgence from the Triarchy loomed like a black cloud. Aegon lingered when the council dispersed, his kin remaining.

He still occasionally spouted ‘prophesies’, but the more he changed things the more nebulous the future came. The gods and his ancestors helped, as they truly wanted House Targaryen and their allies to flourish in order to ensure the prince who was promised would have an easier go of ending the others, but he truly hadn’t foreseen this, though he likely should have.

“Is it possible that House Hightower has allied with the Triarchy and Dorne?” Rhaenys asked, voice sharp.

Father grimaced. “It is a possibility. Otto is desperate to have his blood on the throne, as is Alicent.”

“Still, after all these years?” Corlys demanded, flummoxed.

“Otto was shamed when his grace banished him. We have ensured that no word reaches Alicent from her father and kin in Oldtown that is not first read by father,” Rhaenyra explained, smoothing an anxious hand over her belly.

“He may seek more allies outside of Westeros,” Corlys murmured, rubbing a finger over his lips thoughtfully. “Volantis has never gotten involved in the Triarchy’s battles, but sells words and other armies in Essos may bow to the right price.”

Aegon’s stomach dropped. He looked at Daemon, who seemed to be thinking furiously. “The Unsullied in Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen.”

The tiger-woman had three daughters prior to those with the Bloodstone Emperor, and their legacy lives on, Aegon thought with dread. Did the remnants of the Ghiscari Empire remember their old hatred of the Valyrians?

“The Hightowers certainly have the coin to purchase such an army,” Rhaenys murmured, lips pinched in a tight line.

Father sighed softly. “We have no way of knowing Otto’s plans lest we found a spy worthy enough to ferry word between Oldtown and Kings Landing.”

Rhaenyra looked thoughtful, and glanced at Daemon. “Did you not employ Mysaria to be your eyes and ears in the city? Could she get someone into Oldtown to do the same?”

Daemon grimaced slightly, as he did whenever he was reminded of the previous paramours he’d surrounded himself with before settling with Rhaenyra. “I can meet with her, yes. She has sworn to be loyal after I ensured she had a reputable business in the city.”

Rhaenyra looked amused. “She is good at what she does, husband. She would be the safest option to infiltrate.”

Daemon heaved a sigh and nodded, tangling his fingers with Rhaenyra’s. “I will send for her.”

“Father,” Aegon piped up, swallowing when all attention turned to him.

“Yes, my son?” Viserys asked softly.

“The Unsullied are slave soldiers,” he began slowly. “They won’t have a choice but to fight for whomever their Masters sell them to. I’m sure that when faced with a dragon and the chance of freedom they would lay down their spears.”

Daemon and Father smiled proudly. “A good idea, Aegon,” Father said, nodding. “Let us hope that Otto Hightower is not so foolish.”

Aegon wasn’t so sure about that. His grandfather was indeed very foolish.

***

Mysaria ended up agreeing to Daemon and Rhaenyra’s offer, which came with a hefty bag of cold as payment for her and whomever she sent to Oldtown as spy. It eased Aegon’s nerves somewhat, but also the mere thought of the slave masters getting involved made him feel sick to his stomach.

He had seen, thanks to Aegon the Conqueror, what slavers bat was like. He had watched as Daenerys conquered the three cities and freed slaves. How the Masters of Meereen crucified one hundred and sixty three children in an attempt to ward her off.

He vividly remembered learning how the Unsullied were trained, and it made him want to be ill and cry at the same time. He almost hoped they did get involved, if only so he could destroy the foul bay and free the slaves.

With how he was changing things, Daenerys was unlikely to become an exile with the opportunity to war against the slavers. He hoped, actually, because her life had not been sunshine and roses. She had been sold into sexual slavery by her mad brother and abused her entire childhood.

He wanted his family’s descendants to avoid the fate he had been shown. Perhaps he would conquer the slave cities in her honour, abolishing slavery across Essos for the young girl he had seen find common ground more so with slaves and smallfolk than with other nobles.

At eleven, he couldn’t do much. He may be an accomplished dragonrider and efficient swordsman, but he knew his family would lock him away in some tower of the Keep if he mentioned his desire to conquer Essos.

He would have to wait for word from Oldtown to discover if Otto truly had sunk so low as to get into bed with the Triarchy and slavers. His religion decried slavery as an abomination, likely a ruse to separate itself from what it truly was.

He felt for those who relied on the Seven and truly believed in them as gods. They truly had no idea whom and what they worshipped. He hoped that the truth would one day be told, and that the men, women, and children who prayed to the Seven Gods would know they had been lied to.

Aegon forcefully shoved those thoughts from his head and pushed the door to the royal nursery open, stomach dropping when he saw his mother looming over Aemond, her hands hooked into his upper arms; a brief survey of the room shows that no one else is inside – where is the fucking guard? – and Aemond has tears in his eyes as mother hisses at him.

“Mother,” Aegon said coldly, and Alicent jerked as though slapped. Aemond stepped back swiftly, out of his mother’s reach, and Aegon took his brothers hand protectively, comfortingly. “What are you doing?”

Alicent’s entire face pinched with irritation and dislike. “Am I not allowed to speak with my son?”

“Not alone, by order of the king,” Aegon retorted firmly.

“You are my children, I should not have to ask permission to spend time with you,” Alicent ground out furiously.

Aegon laughed bitterly, humourless and sharp. “Your version of spending time with us is a foolhardy attempt to poison us against our family.”

Alicent’s eyes light with anger, and a ruddy flush came to her face that made her look quite unhinged. “Your so beloved family will put you all to the sword the moment your father dies. Rhaenyra will cut off any challenge to her succession.”

“She has no challenge,” Aegon said coldly.

Alicent stalked forward and grabbed Aegon’s face, and his mind flashed back to before as she spewed the same words. “You are the challenge, you fool!” She hissed, nails digging into his face. “You and your siblings mere existence is a challenge to her and her foul children. I’m sure her monster of a husband will do the deed, slitting your throats in your bed as you sleep!”

“Daemon would never hurt us,” Aemond said forcefully, voice hoarse from crying.

“You’re an idiot,” Alicent said in contempt. “Your uncle is sin personified, and naught but deviance and debauchery fills him. He would relish the opportunity. All he wants is the Throne and more power. He cares not for anyone but himself!”

Aegon wrenched his face from mothers hand, feeling her nails slice his flesh open harshly. He glared at her, eyes blazing. “Watch yourself, mother,” he said softly, dangerously. “Your position here is precarious. You have the goodwill of no one, have endeared yourself to no one.”

Alicent flinched, and Aegon felt a trickle of guilt he forced away. “Rhaenyra would never harm us because she loves us, and we love her. I would never challenge her for the throne. It would suit me ill. Nor does Aemond want it. Rhaenyra is heir and one day she shall be Queen and I will gladly kneel to her.”

Aemond shook his head beside him, hand clutching Aegon’s so hard it hurt. But he didn’t care; if it comforted his little brother he would let him squeeze it until it broke.

Alicent stared at him as though he was a stranger, disgusted and disappointment warring on her face. “You are no son of mine,” she breathed, and Aegon shoved his hurt and pain down deep.

Aemond trembled beside him as their mother swept from the room, and Aegon swiftly turned to inspect his brother. “Did she hurt you?”

“S-She told me that Rhaenyra and her family would have us killed, that I had to convince you to become king. To ensure it. To be a better swordsman so I might become the kings justice and defend you. That the gods willed it to be so,” Aemond stammered.

Aegon hugged his brother tightly, resting his cheek against Aemond’s temple. “Don’t listen to her, brother. You need never do anything you don’t want. Rhaenyra would sooner fall on her own sword than harm us, little brother.”

Aemond nodded against his shoulder, and Aegon felt determination and rage fill him as his brother cried against him.

Mother would regret this.

Deeply.

Chapter Text

Aegon couldn’t remember ever being so angry before. His hands trembled with the force of his anger, his vision going weirdly blurry. He could barely see as he stormed down the hallways, boots slapping the floor loudly. 

Aemond followed behind tearfully, still shaken up by their mothers words and actions. It only made him angrier.

There was still no guards, and he knew there should have been at least two posted outside the nursery, one inside. But there hadn’t been; why? Had mother gained the sympathy of one of the Kingsguard? It was highly unlikely that one of the Gold Cloaks, ever loyal to Uncle Daemon and now Ser Harwin, would have allowed this.

He rounded the corner and stepped into the corridor that led to fathers rooms and snarled wordlessly. Ser Arryk stood there looking slightly nervous, face paling when he saw Aegon. 

“Did you allow my mother entry to the nursery unsupervised?” he demanded. 

“My prince –”

“Ser Harrold!” he bellowed, knowing the older knight was posted outside fathers rooms, and sure enough the loyal man was there in moments, approaching swiftly. 

“Your grace?” Ser Harrold queried, frowning at Arryk’s pasty face. 

“Your sworn brother has disobeyed his Kings orders and allowed my mother to be alone with Aemond,” he hissed furiously, grabbing his little brothers hand protectively.

Ser Harrold straightened and levelled Arryk with a glare that would make lesser men piss themselves. He grabbed Arryk’s arm and yanked him down the hall to the kings rooms, Aegon and Aemond following. 

Erryk was guarding the kings’ door, eyes widening when he saw his pale brother being dragged by their furious Lord Commander. He remained silent as Ser Harold knocked on the door sharply. 

It opened and Daemon raised a brow curiously. “What is it?” 

“Ser Arryk abandoned his post and left Prince Aemond alone with her grace,” Ser Harrold ground out, his voice hard and cold. 

Daemon’s expression darkened as he glared at Arryk. “Come in,” he said silkily, dangerously, and stepped back. “Your grace.” 

Aegon pulled Aemond into the room and they hurried to fathers side, Viserys’ expression naught but anger. He gathered them against his chest and stroked their hair and kissed their brows. “Are you all right, my boys?” 

“Mother grabbed Aemond’s arms and my face,” Aegon said in Valyrian, glancing at Aemond.

“Show us your arm, little brother.” 
Aemond sniffled but obeyed, removing his doublet with a wince, revealing a plain, long sleeve tunic beneath. He pulled that off, too, revealing bruises circling his upper arms. 

Aegon inhaled sharply and turned to glower at Arryk, who was kneeling and had a look of supreme guilt and horror on his face. “Look at what your actions have wrought!” he snapped, lurching forward. 

Daemon grabbed him. “Easy, little brother.” 

Aegon wanted to fight Daemon’s hold, but he knew it was up to father to punish the knight. 
And father looked absolutely furious, stalking towards where Arryk knelt. “I made my orders perfectly clear, Ser Arryk. What were they?” 

“To guard the princes and princess at all times,” Ser Arryk gasped out, panicked. “Especially when her grace was present.” 

“You disobeyed a direct order from your king and Commander,” father all but snarled, a dull roar echoing from outside; Vermithor likely felt fathers anger. 

Aegon slipped from Daemon’s arms and gathered Aemond in his arms, helping him put his tunic back on.

They watched as father glared down at Arryk. “My sons are injured because of your actions, Ser Arryk, and as such I can no longer trust you with my family’s protection. You are to be stripped of your cloak and sent to the Wall.” 

Arryk shuddered and bowed his head, but Aegon felt no sympathy.

“How can we trust his brother?” Daemon asked, glancing at Erryk. 
Erryk knelt, head bowed. “I swore to protect the king, his secrets, and kin. I shall do so for the rest of my days, and die for my charges if need be.” 

“Take Arryk away, Ser Harrold,” father said, disgusted. “Remove his cloak and see him from the city immediately.” 

“At once, your grace,” Ser Harrold said, dragging Arryk to his feet and yanking him from the room. 

“Ser Erryk, you may prove your loyalty by collecting the Queen and bringing her here,” father explained to the man. “Do not tell her why, and do not make her suspicious. Go, now.” 

Ser Erryk stood and bowed deeply. “Yes, your grace.” 

Once they were alone, Aegon slowly released Aemond and huffed. “You should let me feed Arryk to Sunfyre.” 

Daemon chuckled and ruffled his hair. “So protective, little brother,” he said fondly. 

“Daemon, would you take Aemond to see Geradys for some salve?” Father asked, sighing softly. “I must speak with my wife.” 

“I’m staying,” Aegon declared, crossing his arms. 

Daemon snorted and easily lifted Aemond into his arms, his little brother blushing but clearly not so embarrassed to fight being carried like a babe, head resting on Daemon’s shoulder. 

Father sighed and nodded, kissing Aemond’s temple before Daemon left. He pulled Aegon into a hug. “I’m proud of you, Egg, for protecting your brother. You’ll need salve for your face, too, once this is over. Your mother has scratched you deeply.” 

Aegon made a surprised noise and padded over to a polished mirror by a basin of water, staring at his bloody cheeks in surprise. He’d barely felt the pain. He dunked a cloth into the water and briskly cleaned his face, wincing at the slight sting. 

The door opened a moment later, Mother sweeping in importantly. “You called for me, my king?” 

Aegon turned, realising mother couldn’t see him, and watched as father stated at her for a long minute, clearly making her uncomfortable. 

“Ser Arryk has been removed from the kingsguard for disobeying his king and commander when he allowed you to be alone with Aemond and Aegon, which has resulted in grievous injuries on both of my sons,” Father informed mother coldly. 

Alicent stiffened. “They are my sons, too.” 

Father’s smile was sardonic. “Are they? You surely do not treat them as such, certainly not Aegon or, more recently, Aemond. You have with Daeron, but only perfunctorily. I wonder why that is, Alicent. I wonder why my daughter is more a mother to them than you –”

“She is not their mother! I am! I am their mother and the Queen and treated like a common criminal in my home!” Alicent shrieked. “Eyed suspiciously and sneered at by the guards and courtiers and your brother!” 

“You behaved abominably at my brother and daughters betrothal feast,” Viserys said quietly, sounding just as dangerous as Daemon. “You have behaved abominably, shaming not only House Targaryen but myself, these past years. I refuse to allow it any longer.” 

Alicent flinched. “What – what do you mean?” 

“I banished your father because he schemed to have me name Aegon heir. He abused my son, a prince, and thought to use him to usurp Rhaenyra as heir. He committed treason, Alicent; banishment was a light sentence, and many thought – and still do think – I should have executed him,” Father explained coldly. 

Mother trembled. “Am I not allowed to mourn my father’s departure? Am I not allowed to spend time with my children?” 

“You all but declared war, Alicent!” Father shouted angrily. “Insulting Daemon and Rhaenyra in front of half the Lords of Westeros. Many thought I should have set you aside for that alone but I, ever the soft hearted fool, did not.” 

“You cannot set me aside!” Alicent gasped. 

“No,” father said heavily, regretfully. “But you are to be confined to the north tower in Maegor’s holdfast indefinitely. You will be allowed two hours morn and eve to walk the gardens, guarded, but will spent the rest of your time in the tower, guarded at all times.” 

“You cannot do this,” mother said icily. “I am the queen.” 

“You have harmed my children, have spent these past years trying and failing to turn Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron against Rhaenyra, Daemon and their children. It would not surprise me if you were plotting to crown Aegon king upon my death,” Viserys snapped. 

“It is the will of gods and men that a first born son inherit after the father,” Alicent hissed, clutching her seven pointed star necklace. “It is Westerosi law, and you flaunt it by naming Rhaenyra. She and her husband would destroy the realm and House Targaryen. They will kill my children to cut off any challenge to her succession!” 

Father looked disgusted. “You are delusional, Alicent. Rhaenyra and Daemon love our children as though they were their own. Rhaenyra and Daemon will be good rulers; already they have done much to make this realm a better, safer place.” 

Alicent gasped a sob, shaking her head. “No – they will kill them, I know they will. They flaunt duty and tradition; Daemon is a monster and Rhaenyra is a –”

Aegon stepped out of his hiding spot, Alicent’s gaze snapping to him and widening. “I dare you to finish that sentence,” he said softly, eyes narrowed. 

Alicent visibly gulped, glancing fearfully at Viserys, who looked utterly livid. “Have care how you speak of my brother and daughter. Ser Erryk will escort you to your new rooms. Meals shall be delivered there, as will books and other entertainment.” 

Aegon felt naught but satisfaction as his mother was led away.

 
***

Daemon had never been good at showing his emotions in a healthy way. More than once his parents or grandparents had had to sit him down and force him to emote in a healthy way, making him angry when it worked and he’d either shout or cry. 

Daemon hadn’t cried since his mother’s funeral, at least where people could see him. After Aemma and Baelon he had taken a brief moment to himself before sauntering into the city to do as expected of him, and he had made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. 

Now, however, with his weeping nephew curled on his lap Daemon wanted to rage and weep for the boy, especially when he lifted his head and asked the most heartbreaking question he thought he had ever heard a child utter. 

“Why doesn’t mother love us?” Aemond cried, breath hitching. 

“Oh, little dragon,” he sighed softly, kissing Aemond’s head. “My grandmother told me something once; all children deserve parents, but not all parents deserve children. I think your mother follows the only way she knows how to parent, and your grandfather...is not the best role model.” 

Aemond nodded, seeming to have understood what he was saying. “I wish mother was more like Rhaenyra. She loves Aerion, Baelon, Jaehaerys, and Visenya a lot.” 

Daemon smiled softly, brushing a hand through his nephew's hair. “Your father loves you, all of you, so much.” 

“I know,” Aemond mumbled, “and we have you and ‘Nyra and Cousin Rhaenys and Lord Corlys. But I wish mother was different.” 

“Unfortunately, little dragon, some people are unable or unwilling to change,” he said, looking up when the door to Geradys’ solar opened.

The one maester they trusted bustled inside with Rhaenyra and Aegon, having gone to collect the latter when Daemon told him of his older nephew’s injuries, a glare on the usually benevolent man’s face.
Rhaenyra’s expression softened considerably when she saw them, leaving Aegon in Geradys’ care to cross the room. She sat beside them, brushing a hand down Aemond’s face, the boy leaning into the gentle touch.

“Are you well, valonqar?” she asked softly. 

Aemond nodded. “Yes, mandia. Maester Geradys said the bruises weren’t so bad, and he gave me some salve.” 

“I’m glad,” she murmured, leaning forward to kiss her brothers forehead.

Daemon smiled at his wife, heart warm and full. “How is Viserys?” 

“He has ordered Alicent to be all but imprisoned in the north tower. He wishes to annul their marriage but does not want the Hightowers to use her as a bargaining chip for more allies. He is organising servants and guards loyal to us to watch her,” Rhaenyra explained softly. 

Daemon smiled grimly, releasing Aemond so he could join his brother. He watched the boys, remembering how he and Viserys were many years ago. “Good. I am heartily sick of watching her hurt my nephews and niece with her words and lack of care.” 

Rhaenyra smiled at him and laced her fingers with his, kissing the back of his palm. “I’m glad they have you as a protector, husband.” 

Daemon huffed and kissed her, savouring the taste of her. “They are my kin,” he said lowly, glancing over at them. 

Geradys was cleaning Aegon’s face, who was clearly reassuring Aemond that it didn’t hurt, his shy nephew’s expression concerned. 

“Your greatest strength has always been your love for our family,” Rhaenyra remarked, squeezing his hand. Daemon slanted a look at her, making her chuckle. “You may fool the masses, my love, but you cannot, and shall never, fool me. The Rogue Prince has a heart.” 

Daemon snorted softly. “It has ever belonged to you.” 

Rhaenyra kissed him. “I love you.” 

“And I, you,” he murmured. 

“You two are disgustingly adorable,” Aegon grumbled, eyeing them with mock distaste. 

Aemond was giggling into his hands, and Geradys was clearly trying to hide his own amusement. 
Daemon rolled his eyes. “You’ll find a lady love one day, my dear nephew, and when you do I shall make it my life’s mission to embarrass you.” 

Rhaenyra laughed lightly at Aegon’s disgruntled expression, and Daemon smiled smugly. “Have you not noticed how he dotes on Visenya, husband? How she toddles after him and worships the ground he walks on?” 

Daemon’s smile fell. “Absolutely not!” 

Rhaenyra cackled. 

***

Over the next several days, Viserys was bemused by how his brothers eyes tracked Aegon whenever he played with Visenya, reminding him of another uncle and niece. Rhaenyra merely looked amused, eyeing her husband with fondness. 

It was true that Aegon had always adored Visenya, and she him. But Aegon adored all of Rhaenyra’s children, something that warmed Viserys’ heart greatly, and they adored their uncles and aunt. 
Aegon was the oldest of the children, and he had taken to protecting them like a mother dragon. It was adorable and sweet, easing Viserys’ worry that they wouldn’t get along. Helaena, the second eldest, was gentler in her protection, ensuring they were warm enough and ate their fill at breakfast, lunch, and supper.

Aemond merely glared at people who got too close, fierce and silent.

Aegon and Visenya reminded Viserys of Daemon and Rhaenyra themselves. His son brought Visenya trinkets and read aloud to her, letting her trail after him and pester him with questions, all answered calmly. 

Oh, he realised, amused, as Daemon’s lips pursed when Aegon pulled Visenya into his lap to read to her. Ah, yes, I see it; though it is merely innocent now, perhaps later it shall become different like Daemon and Rhaenyra. 

Viserys grinned, feeling somewhat vindicated. Rhaenyra noticed his grin and raised a brow at him, half admonishing and half amused. 

Daemon scowled at him. “Do not look so smug,” he groused, arms crossed petulantly. “She is three!” 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “Daemon, I’m quite sure that there is no inappropriate feelings on Aegon’s part. He is a good boy, and shall be a great man. He merely loves his niece and nephews immensely.” 

“The gods are punishing me,” his dramatic little brother lamented. 
Viserys snorted into his wine and shared a commiserating look with Rhaenyra. “He’s your problem now, daughter,” he said airily.

“Thank you so much, father,” Rhaenyra retorted sarcastically. 

Daemon looked affronted. “Excuse me, I am not a problem.” 
Viserys guffawed. “Of course not,” he soothed.

 
Daemon heaved a sigh and shook his head, peering over at the children. His expression softened some at Visenya’s delighted giggles as Aegon did silly voices as he read. 

The door to the family solar opened and the Velaryons, Laena and Jordyn entered with their children, Rhaena and Laenys hurrying over to their cousins swiftly. 

“What in the gods name?” Laena demanded, spotting Aegon’s injured face and hurrying to his side. 

He offered a small, reassuring smile. “I’m okay, cousin.” 

“She did this?” Rhaenys asked calmly, taking a seat at the table.
“She has been suitably punished, cousin,” Viserys murmured wearily, watching as Laena fussed over the children. 

Rhaenys nodded firmly in approval. “Good. To harm one’s own children...it is inconceivable.” 

“Have you received word from your informant in Oldtown?” Corlys queried, glancing at Daemon. 

“She has been brought into the Hightower’s employ in their tower and works to gather information,” Daemon explained, taking a sip of his wine. “It will take time, but Salina is one of Mysaria’s best.”  

“Good,” Corlys murmured, scowling. “Those Triarchy scum and whomever their allies are must be dealt with.” 

“They will be,” Viserys assured, nodding. “Once we have a clear understanding of who has allied with them, we shall act. Salina will keep us abreast of any information she discovers.” 

“Would Hightower truly stoop so low to purchase the Unsullied?” Rhaenyra asked, face twisted in disgust at the thought of Hightower using slaves. 

“It’s a possibility we must prepare for,” Rhaenys said softly, glancing at the children and Laena.

“Hightower has lost much of his power here in Kings Landing, he will scour the known world to recover it.” 

Viserys sighed and swiped a hand down his face. “I should have executed him,” he groused, jaw clenched. 

“Yes, but hindsight is always a bitch,” Daemon said sardonically. 

Viserys levelled his little brother with a droll look. “Indeed. It is unsurprising that Dorne is against us; but whom else would fight for Dorne? They have ever been enemies of Highgarden and the Tyrell’s.”

“The Lannisters were slighted when I did not accept Lord Jason’s rather pathetic attempt at wooing,” Rhaenyra said, rolling her eyes. 

“Jason Lannister is so prideful he would be slighted if it rained on the day he decided to go hunting,” Rhaenys remarked dryly. 

Daemon snorted. “They will have to be dealt with. Tyland is much more level headed. Casterly Rock may be impregnable with an army, but the dragons have no such limitations.” 

“Tyland has the same pride as his brother, but is more pragmatic. It may be worth ensuring his loyalty,” Rhaenys agreed, nodding in approval. 

“Grover Tully is an old man and reported to be bedridden, relying on his grandson, Lord Elmo, to rule his lands,” Viserys mused, scratching his beard thoughtfully. 

“The Tullys only have their power because of House Targaryen,” Rhaenyra reminded him pointedly. “Peace is a sweet notion, but we must be realistic. Many Lords will chafe against my ascension in the future. If we show them now the ancient power of House Targaryen it will end rebellion before it begins.” 

Viserys pursed his lips but agreed. He knew now, after years of Aegon’s warnings and his once friends’ betrayals – and that of his wife – that peace was a fantasy he could not afford to believe in any longer. The great council had set a precedent when the Lords chose him as Jaehaerys’ successor, and he had obliterated that when he named Rhaenyra his heir. 

Many accepted Rhaenyra as heir, but there were those who still expected him to name Aegon. But his son had no interest in being king, and his little dreamer had already confirmed that he’d seen Rhaenyra as queen of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Viserys wasn’t blind to the wars coming. He knew Otto wouldn’t give up, and if what he, Rhaenyra, and Daemon had discovered was true...the Hightowers had worked with the Faith and Citadel to destroy their family since they had arrived on Westeros’ shores. 

House Targaryen had mostly conformed to Westerosi customs, traditions, and religion when they became the one true rulers. Many, like himself and his kin, worshipped the Fourteen Flames behind closed doors and paused lip service to the Faith to keep them placated...but Maegor had had no choice but to war against them. His actions left a lot to be desired, and he had been monstrously cruel, but perhaps he was not wrong to have fought the Faith Militant as he had.

Daemon was correct in the fact that the oaths sworn during their grandfathers rule had likely died with Jaehaerys. Aegon had confirmed that their father, Aemma, and many more of their ancestors had been killed by the Faith and maesters...it infuriated him beyond belief. 

House Targaryen may not have been the most prominent house in Old Valyria, but here in Westeros they were above usual men, and not just because of their dragons. They had magic and power in their blood, the actual blood of gods, setting them apart from usual men. 

Viserys had always balked when Daemon insisted they were closer to gods than men, thinking his brother impossibly narcissistic and arrogant. But it was true. Amaeryllis’ accounts confirmed it. They were descendants of the Lion of Night and the Maiden-made-of-Light, the fourteen changing their blood to ensure their ability to bond with dragons. 

Visenya had been a sorceress, dabbling in magic once thought to be lost to time. But they had found her writings in books she called grimoires. Rhaenyra was fascinated by the magic, as was Daemon, and Viserys had begun to browse the many grimoires. He was intrigued and wished to try the rituals and spells in the books, but he was hesitant. 

One ritual in Visenya’s grimoire had made him pale. According to her entry, she had called upon Arrax, the God of justice, and sacrificed a goat in his name. She didn’t explicitly say whom she had wanted punished, but the next entry spoke of Aegon’s ascension as Lord of Dragonstone. 

It didn’t take a genius to know whom she had prayed to Arrax to kill. Aerion Targaryen, father of the Conquerors, had died suddenly and mysteriously. Why had Visenya killed him? What crime had he committed for her to beseech Arrax for justice? He knew that Aerion had fathered a bastard son, Orys, but surely Visenya hadn’t truly cared about that. Had he harmed her, or one of her siblings? 

In all accounts of Visenya, she was a brusque, harsh, and unforgiving. And perhaps she was, to those outside of her family. She had burned Dorne in her wrath after Rhaenys’ death. Had Aerion harmed Rhaenys, making Visenya vengeful and angry enough to perform a blood ritual for him to die? 

It was likely that the answers lay in one of the many, many scrolls and tomes still in her hidden rooms. He would have to wait until his next visit to Dragonstone to figure it out, but for now he had possible wars to plan for.

***

The next year was a test in patience. Information trickled in from Oldtown, sent by Salina, and Aegon spent his days either in the tiltyard or flying over the city and to Dragonstone on Sunfyre. Rhaenyra’s fifth child came smoothly, easing everyone’s worries. It was a boy she named Aegon, nicknamed the Younger, making him teary. 

With two Aegon’s now inhabiting the Keep, his nephews and siblings had taken to calling him ‘Egg’ more, which always made him emotional. 

After yet another week of being visited by the gods and his ancestors, Aegon had decided to tell father, Rhaenyra, and Daemon the truth of his being sent back by the Fourteen to save not only their family but the entirety of Westeros. 

It was nerve-wracking, and he spent the morning flying to ease his nerves. Sunfyre was a comfort, and the freedom of being in the air eased him considerably. 

Aegon knew that his past life had been an utter tragedy. He had been an abominable person. He had done and said things he now regretted. He was so unbelievably thankful that he had been given a second chance, but he also worried that his father, sister, and Daemon would see him differently.

They had had committed atrocious crimes Before, but he had eased his own anger and pain by constantly reminding himself that his family here and now had not done those things they were absolutely capable of the same crimes, but things had changed beyond belief. His children with Helaena would no longer exist, and Baelon wouldn’t be harmed by Aemond...

What if they shunned him? Turned against him for what he had done? Hated him for the people he had killed? 

Aegon inhaled a fortifying breath and leaned away from Sunfyre, who purred soothingly. “Wish me luck, boy.” 

Sunfyre loosed a soft warble and nudged him gently. He heaved a sigh and turned to leave the Dragonpit, the dragon handlers herding Sunfyre back to his cave. 

He felt tense the entire ride back to the Keep, knuckles white he gripped the reigns of his horse so tight. He managed to wave and smile tensely at the smallfolk who stopped to wave and greet him, but his heart wasn’t entirely in it. 

Ser Harrold kept shooting him worried looks throughout their ride, and Aegon managed to muster a reassuring smile but it was clear Ser Harrold didn’t believe he was truly okay. 

Once back at the Keep, Aegon nervously made his way through the halls. He knew his siblings, nephews, and niece would be at their lessons and father, Rhaenyra, and Daemon were likely in father’s rooms discussing the morning’s council meetings. 

Aegon paused outside fathers rooms and inhaled deeply. He clenched his hands into fists before exhaling sharply and opening the door. 

Father, Rhaenyra, and Daemon sat by the fire chatting lightly. Aegon the Younger lay sleeping in Daemon’s arms, one tiny hand loosely wrapped around one of his brother-by-law’s fingers. 

“Egg?” Rhaenyra asked, worried. She stood and approached him, placing her hands on his cheeks. “Are you all right? You’re white as a sheet.” 

Aegon swallowed dryly. “I, uh, I haven’t been entirely honest with you all.” 

Rhaenyra frowned, glancing back at their father and Daemon. “What do you mean?” 

He bit his lip and cracked his knuckles anxiously. “I’m not dragon dreamer, exactly,” he said, glancing nervously between father, Rhaenyra, and Daemon’s faces.

They looked utterly flummoxed. “I didn’t dream the things I told you, not really. I lived them.” 

“What?” Father breathed, staring at him in bewilderment. 

Aegon licked his lips and crossed his arms. “I lived my life until I was a man grown and I died. I woke up to Aegon the Conqueror kicking me and berating me for bring an idiot.” 

Daemon stared at him, brows furrowed and a sceptical expression on his face. “Why would the Conqueror deem that important?” 

“Because I let my mother and grandfather use me and manipulate me and my siblings,” Aegon explained hesitantly. 

Rhaenyra gently steered him to the chaise Father sat on, and Aegon sank gratefully into the cushions and pillows. She retook her seat and eyed him closely. “What do you mean?” 

“First of all, you and Daemon never married...Before,” Aegon began, holding Rhaenyra’s gaze. She and Daemon shared a Look, and father made a small, strangled noise. “Rhaenyra was married to Laenor Velaryon.” 

“Gods be good,” Daemon uttered, staring. 

Aegon smiled sardonically. “Laenor, of course, had no interest in women.” He looked at father, whose brows were furrowed deeply. “Father insisted on it, however, to placate the Velaryons. This was after Otto had had spies follow Rhaenyra and Daemon into Kings Landing and lied about their escapades in a brothel.” 

Viserys heaved a weary sigh, slanting a glance at Daemon, who smirked slightly. Rhaenyra merely rolled her eyes. “Otto lied?” 

Aegon screwed his nose up. “The gods showed me quite a bit. Daemon couldn’t dishonour you in a brothel no matter how much he may have wanted to.” He gave Daemon a shit-eating grin, making his brother-by-law snort. “So Rhaenyra decided to take matters into her own hands and...lay with another.” 

Rhaenyra’s brows rose, Father made a pained noise, and Daemon scowled deeply. “Who?” Daemon demanded. 

“Criston Cole,” Aegon said, barely stifling his amusement. 

Daemon’s eyes widened and his entire body tensed, face flushed with anger; he glanced at his son sleeping in his arms and loosed an aggrieved sigh.

Rhaenyra merely grimaced, very clearly disgusted. “I would never,” she said vehemently. 

Aegon’s expression was pinched at the memory of seeing his sister like that. “Moving on,” he said loudly, rolling his eyes. Father’s face was buried in his hands, but he straightened at Aegon’s words. “Criston had the audacity to demand you abandon your duty and position and run away with him, but you refused. This turned him bitter, and at your betrothal feast Criston beat Laenor’s lover Joffrey to death and was saved from the noose because mother spoke for him. He became her loyal guard dog and grew to despise Rhaenyra.” 

“He demanded Rhaenyra run away with him?” Daemon laughed mockingly, shaking his head.

Even father looked flummoxed. “Fool,” the king murmured. 

Rhaenyra shook her head, sighing, and motioned for Aegon to continue. “You and Laenor were hastily wed after the failed feast, and the next year went by swiftly. Rhaenyra and Laenor did try to have children, but it didn’t work. So Rhaenyra had no choice but to seek out another to give her children.” 

Rhaenyra stared, brow raised. “Whom did I chose?” 

“Harwin Strong,” Aegon said, frowning when Rhaenyra and Daemon affected innocent looks and peered around, lips pursed. He levelled them with disgruntled looks. “You haven’t.” 

“Hm?” Daemon hummed, feigning innocence quite badly. 

“What?” Father queried, brows furrowed in confusion as he looked at them all. 

Aegon heaved an exasperated sigh. “They’ve fucked Ser Harwin.” 

Rhaenyra bit her lip to hide a grin, glancing at a cackling Daemon.

Father glanced between them, a pinched expression on his face. “Truly?” 

Daemon smirked, the roguish expression on his face entirely ruined by how tenderly he cradled his son. “I don’t think you truly wish to know Rhaenyra and I’s nightly escapades.” 

“No,” Father said loudly, raising a hand. “Absolutely not!” 

Aegon snickered at the horror on fathers face. “Anyway,” he said, rolling his eyes at the look Rhaenyra and Daemon shared. “Rhaenyra had three sons that Laenor accepted as his own, but they were born looking like Harwin and mother spread rumours that they were bastards and Rhaenyra was a...well.” 

Daemon’s eyes widened, and Aegon knew that if he wasn’t holding his son he’d have exploded in rage. He was quite thankful that his little namesake was unknowingly keeping his father from going on a slaughtering spree. 

“It came to a head after Rhaenyra’s third son was born, and she Laenor, and their sons left for Dragonstone. Harwin was sent away for attacking Criston Cole, who constantly dropped digs at him about being the boys’ father. He, Lord Lyonel, and many others were killed in a conflagration in Harrenhal, the fire started on Larys Strongs’ orders.  Daemon had married Laena Velaryon and had twin daughters,” Aegon explained, lips twitching when Daemon looked stunned. “Six moons later, Laena died in childbirth and we all gathered on Driftmark to say farewell. It ended quite badly, with Aemond claiming Vhagar and losing an eye. Mother attacked Rhaenyra with the Conquerors dagger, cutting her arm open. It was clear then that there was a divide between the family; mothers, the Greens. And Rhaenyra, the Blacks.” 

“Gods be good,” Father muttered. “What about me, son? Did I do anything to stop this divide?” 

Aegon bit his lip and sighed. “You were ill, father. The maesters were slowly weakening you with poison, ensuring that mother and grandfather could manipulate your reign.”

Father pursed his lips, nostrils flaring with rage. “I see. What happened after?” 

“Rhaenyra and Daemon helped Laenor fake his death,” Aegon said, glancing at Rhaenyra, who had been quite silent for a while. “She and Daemon then married on Dragonstone and spent six years together, happy and free of the politics of court. But of course nothing ever remains peaceful for long.” 

“I remained away?” Rhaenyra asked, bewildered. “I did not consolidate my power as heir?” 

“Mother and grandfather made it impossible for you to do so. They had allies everywhere. They spread rumours and lies about you,” Aegon explained, cracking his knuckles. “I spent those years trying my hardest to be the worst candidate for king. I drank and whored and was basically the worst sort of person. I refused to learn more than the basics in swordplay, I abandoned my lessons...but Mother and grandfather were adamant I become king.” 

“A puppet king,” Daemon muttered, a thunderous scowl on his face. 

“I realize that now,” Aegon said, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Mother and grandfather managed to convince me that Rhaenyra would kill us all. Me, Helaena, Aemond, Daeron. Mine and Helaena’s children.”

“You were married to Helaena?” Rhaenyra asked, shocked. He grimaced and nodded. “A way to solidify your power as a Targaryen.” 

Aegon nodded. “Helaena and I never cared for one another. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to care about anything else, and it made it so easy for them manipulate me. The Conqueror was very clear that I fucked up big time.” 

Father sighed. “Alicent and Otto Usurped the throne from Rhaenyra? How?” 

“Well, Vaemond Velaryon contested Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark. With you, father, so sick it was Otto sitting the throne and hearing petitions.  Vaemond thought he would be named Lord of the Tides. Corlys had received a wound in battle on the Stepstones and was clinging to life. But father managed to drag himself to the hearing and confirmed Luke as Corlys’ heir, Rhaenys backing Rhaenyra and Luke. That night we had a family dinner that went to shit and Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their brood returned to Dragonstone,” Aegon explained in a rush, swallowing thickly. “Father died that night, and Mother misconstrued what he said prior to his dead; Rhaenyra had asked if he truly believed in Aegon the Conquerors dream, and he thought mother was Rhaenyra and confirmed it.” 

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Daemon ground out, massaging his temple. 

Rhaenyra groaned softly.

“Grandfather had been plotting ever since I was born to install me as king upon your death,” Aegon said to father, who was white with rage. “He wanted to send assassins to Dragonstone to kill Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their family. Mother argued against it. Ser Criston killed Lord Beesbury for remaining loyal to Rhaenyra.” 

“Fuck,” Father hissed lowly. 

Rhaenyra shook her head slowly, utterly enraged. “He wanted to kill my children?” 

“He would have, had I allowed it,” Aegon said, smiling humourlessly. “I refused to let him order your deaths. I had planned on playing to their tune and abdicating to you, but things happened that changed those plans. Aemond was sent to treat with Borros Baratheon, and so was Luke. They had a contentious relationship, since Luke took Aemond’s eye. While there, Aemond demanded Luke remove his eye, and Luke refused. So Aemond chased Luke on Vhagar and, well...you can imagine how bad an idea that was.”

“Luke died?” Father breathed, a wretched expression on his face. 

Aegon nodded. “And Daemon sent word. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Helaena was made to chose which of our sons would die.” 

Daemon stared at him, jaw hanging opening. “Poetic of me,” he said, voice strangled.

Rhaenyra smacked his arm. “Daemon!” she hissed. 

Aegon smiled blandly, ignoring fathers muttered curses. “Your men, Blood and Cheese, beheaded my son, Jaehaerys. I was never much of a father. It broke Helaena. She and I were never the same, and any hope of peace died with Jaehaerys, and the Dance of Dragons began in earnest.”

Chapter Text

After taking a short break to eat and have baby Aegon taken to the nursery by his nursemaids, Aegon sat and inhaled a fortifying breath, hands clenched into fists on his knees. 

“I knew, when Aemond returned, that any thought of peace had died with Lucerys,” Aegon began, sighing. “I drank myself into a stupor that night, and the following day when Otto suggested a celebratory feast...I didn’t disagree. I knew then that I had to go through the motions, to fight in this war. To do what was expected of me...as king.” 

Father squeezed his shoulder, expression a deep grimace of pain. Daemon shook his head, an utterly livid expression on his face. Rhaenyra reached for him, tangling their hands together to comfort both him and herself. 

Aegon swallowed. “Daemon had taken possession of Harrenhal, and when he learned of Luke’s death he sent word to a former sergeant of the city watch, known as Blood, and a former rat-catcher known as cheese. They entered the keep through Maegor’s secret passages and watched for several days, learning Helaena’s movements. They cornered her in Mothers apartments and made her choose between our sons, Maelor, the youngest, or Jaehaerys, the eldest. She chose Maelor, as he was too young to understand. Cheese cut Jaehaerys’ head off and they fled.” 

“Gods,” Rhaenyra breathed, tears in her eyes. 

Daemon’s jaw was tense, hand pressed over his mouth, and his gaze averted.

Aegon cleared his throat. “After that, I sank even further into my cups and my own sort of madness. I had never wanted to be king, yet there I was forced into the role and I decided that everyone had to be as miserable as I was. The riverlords rose up in civil war, both Blacks and Greens, fighting one another for vengeance for Luke and Jaehaerys.” 

“Gods be good,” father whispered. 

Aegon smiled humorlessly. “I was unsatisfied with Otto’s decision to constantly send ravens and dither over politics. I wanted the war over. So I dismissed him as Hand and appointed Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of my Kingsguard, as Hand of the King. Cole’s first suggestion was to treat those who did not offer me fealty as traitors; all prisoners loyal to Rhaenyra, high-born or low, were executed.” 

“Fucking Cole,” Daemon hissed, mouth twisted in a scowl. 

“Quite,” Aegon said, faintly amused. “I realised how swiftly we were losing the war and sacked Duskendale, who had sworn to Rhaenyra. Lord Darklyn was executed. Cole went to Rooks Rest, but Lord Staunton called for aid and Princess Rhaenys arrived on Meleys. Aemond and I ambushed her on Sunfyre and Vhagar. She didn’t survive the battle, nor did Meleys.” 

Father drew in a shuddering breath, head slowly shaking.

Daemon was as tense as Aegon had ever seen him, entire body locked up and face thunderous. 

He continued wearily, knowing that the truth would forever change his relationship with all of them. “I did not escape unscathed, however, and suffered serious burns and broken bones. I was taken to Kings Landing a doped up on milk of the poppy. Sunfyre lost one of his wings and was too large to move.

“The next major battle was that of the Gullet. Otto had reached out to the Triarchy and many of Daemon’s enemies.” His uncle rolled his eyes and snorted, making Aegon’s lips twitch. “Your two youngest sons were sent to safety in Pentos with Daemon's friends there, but they were waylaid by ninety warships coming from the Stepstones. Aegon the Younger managed to escape on his mortally wounded dragon, but your youngest was taken captive. Jace, your eldest and heir, went to fight them and was killed.” 

Rhaenyra was white, her jaw trembling. Aegon wanted to hug her, to offer comfort, but he knew it would be hollow.

So he continued. “Jace’s death seemed to reinvigorate you,” he said, meeting Rhaenyra’s eyes. “And your anger fuelled you. You took Kings Landing several weeks later, and Otto was executed. Many battles occurred all over the country, Aemond – who had confessed to me that he had lost control of Vhagar and never meant to kill Luke – had buried himself so deeply in his grief and rage and self-loathing that he began to burn the Riverlands without care.” 

“What did he think would happen, using his war-dragon to chase another?” Daemon demanded, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“We were never taught how to be proper dragon riders,” Aegon retorted, shaking his head. “Not like we have in this life.” 

Daemon’s expression flickered with momentary contrition, and he inclined his head slightly. Rhaenyra squeezed his hand lightly. 

“I had been spirited away from the Keep by Larys Strong, and we captured Dragonstone. Meanwhile, Daemon was successful in drawing Aemond out and they met at Harrenhal,” Aegon murmured, biting his lip. “They fought on dragonback above the Gods Eye. Once high enough, Daemon leapt from Caraxes’ back and drove Dark Sister into Aemond’s blind eye.” 

Rhaenyra and father looked utterly wretched at the mention of Daemon’s death, the man himself merely gazing at the flickering hearth, mouth a hard line.

“In Kings Landing, a man calling himself the Shepherd had roused a riot against the Targaryens, and the smallfolk stormed the Dragonpit and butchered all the dragons inside. Even Syrax was killed.” Rhaenyra inhaled sharply, jaw clenched. “Rhaenyra and Aegon the Younger fled to Dragonstone, where I and Sunfyre waited. I was doped on milk of the poppy, in agony, and beyond reason. I had Sunfyre burn her while her son watched.” 

Father loosed a pained moan, face buried in his hands. Daemon and Rhaenyra had paled, and were staring at him, mouths agape.

“My rule,” he said scornfully, “did not last long after that. On my way back to the Keep from the Sept, I was poisoned in my litter by Larys Strong. Aegon the Younger was crowned after me, and during his reign the last dragon died. And House Targaryen’s downfall began.” 

“What?” Father rasped, lifting his head. “The dragons died?” 

“Yes,” he said, pained. “House Targaryen went on to rule for a further one hundred and seventy odd years until Robert Baratheon, in the year two-eighty-two, rose in rebellion against the last Targaryen king, Aerys II The Mad King, because Aerys’ son, Rhaegar, allegedly kidnapped Robert’s betrothed, Lyanna Stark.” 

They stared at him. “How do you know that?” Rhaenyra asked faintly. 

“The gods showed me,” Aegon revealed. 

“The gods,” Daemon said slowly, slightly dubious. 

“Arrax,” Aegon murmured, lips twitching. “The more sympathetic of the gods.” 

“Indeed.” 

Aegon looked up, breath catching, and met the mischievous, amused gaze of Arrax. Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Father stood and gaped at the god before them, moving to kneel.

“That is not necessary,” Arrax said, waving a claw-tipped hand. “Our loyal and devoted need not prostrate themselves before us. I am here to confirm Aegon’s story, as I understand it may be somewhat unbelievable. But it is true.” 

Daemon stared at Arrax, eyes shining. “You sent Aegon back to stop House Targaryens fall?” 

“Yes,” Arrax confirmed, tilting his horned head. “Tessarion showed him the future that would come about if things remained as they were. The end of House Targaryen, Aegon I’s dream coming true and wiping out our House as well as many others.

“Aegon has surpassed our expectations,” Arrax continued, bestowing Aegon a proud smile. He flushed and shifted, embarrassed and pleased in equal measure. “Continue on this path and House Targaryen shall remain a dynasty that will last a thousand years.” 

With that, Arrax vanished in a swirl of smoke and flame. Aegon slumped onto the chaise, staring at his father, sister, and uncle with no small amount of trepidation. “Do you...” he trailed off and cleared his throat. “Do you all hate me now?” 

Rhaenyra whirled and stared at him. “Egg,” she said, shaking her head. “We could never hate you. You returned to save our family. You...you are my brother. And I love you, no matter what.” 

Aegon bit his lip as tears pricked at his eyes. Father sat next to him and pulled him into a side hug, kissing his head. “My dear son,” he murmured. “We do not hate you. You are so brave, so strong.” 

Daemon ruffled his hair, a fond smile on his face. “You’re a different person, Egg. You may have committed atrocities in your...past life, but by the sound of it so did I. So did Rhaenyra.” 

Aegon leaned against Father and wept. 

***

Rhaenyra cradled her newborn son and stared out the window of she and Daemon’s rooms, her heart firmly lodged in her throat; Aegon’s tale had shaken her deeply, and the visit of Arrax, one of her gods. She had always believed in the Fourteen, but to truly see evidence of their existence...to know that they held her family in such esteem that they would send her brother back to save them...it made her head spin. 

Daemon had gone to spar with Harwin, desperate to expel all of his anger and stress. The tale had not been easy to hear, to learn how easily Aegon had been manipulated, how all of her siblings had been manipulated, to hate her and her family...how she had married Laenor and had no choice but to seek another to father her children. 

It was a tale of woe she was glad Aegon had averted. 

She felt for her brother, who had worked tirelessly since the age of two to save them. It made her heart ache to think of Egg alone, trying to stop a civil war. To work against men and women several times his age, dismantling what was likely years of hard work and schemes to save the Targaryen family. 

Rhaenyra sighed softly and looked down at her Aegon’s peaceful, sleeping face. In another life, her youngest son would cause the death of dragons, all because he witnessed her execution by dragonfire. She kissed his forehead, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the Fourteen for sparing her children, and beseeched them to continue doing so. 

The door to her rooms opened, and she turned to see Daemon. He was dishevelled, sweaty, and breathing hard. His face softened as he met her gaze, eyes falling to their son in her arms. 

“Feel better?” she asked, raising her face as he stalked towards her. 

He kissed her softly. “Much. Where are the other children?” 

“With father,” she murmured, positively melting when he brushed a hand over Aegon’s soft, pale hair and kissed his cheek. Whenever she saw her husband with their children, his softness and affection, she fell even more in love with him. “Egg went to his rooms for a nap. He’s exhausted.” 

Daemon nodded and began removing his leathers. “He’s a brave boy,” he said absently, watching as she put Aegon in the crib by their bed. 

She turned and looked at him, noting his tense shoulders and clenched jaw. “You’re angry,” she said. 

Daemon looked at her. “You’re not? How long have people schemed and plotted to bring our house down? Since Aegon the Dragon and his wives conquered? Before?” 

Rhaenyra crossed their rooms and cupped his face, smoothing her thumbs over his sharp cheekbones.  “Daemon, we have the advantage. We know there are those who seek our downfall. We wont allow it.” 

He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, exhaling softly. “I cannot lose you or our children. I will feed any who try to Caraxes.” 

She smiled softy and kissed him. “I love you. Our children are safe, I am safe. We will not allow anyone or anything to tear the House of the Dragon down. We have the Fourteen on our side, my love.” 

Daemon pulled her into his arms, and she went willingly. She wrapped her arms around his waist, uncaring that he was damp with sweat, and pressed her cheek over his heart. “I love you, too, my little dragon.” 

***

Aegon opened his eyes slowly, blinking blearily at his father, who sat on his bed with a small smile, a hand on his shoulder. “Kepa?” he mumbled, pushing himself into a sitting position. 

“Sorry for waking you, son,” Viserys murmured, brushing a hand through Aegon’s hair. He leaned into the touch, sighing. “Do you feel better after your nap?” 

“Mmhm.” He stifled a yawn behind his hand. “Yes. How – are you all alright?”

Viserys leaned forward and kissed Aegon’s forehead. “Yes. It was...troubling to hear of your past life, son, but we needed to know. Rhaenyra and Daemon are well, spending time with their children. I wish to do the same. Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron are waiting with them so we might sup together.” 

Aegon smiled slightly and nodded. “Okay, let me dress and we can go together.” 

Viserys’ smile widened, lilac eyes shining, and he stood.

Aegon climbed from his bed and stretched before padding over to his dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out a black and red doublet and a pair of breeches. 

“I want to apologise.” 

Aegon turned, brows furrowed, and stared at his father. “Why?” 

Viserys sighed. “It’s clear to me that you omitted some details in your tale, son. I wasn’t a good father, before, was I?”

Aegon pursed his lips and busied himself by tying his doublet. Father sighed again and approached, lifting Aegon’s head with a finger beneath his chin. 

“I’m sorry, my son. But know this: you are my son, and I am so proud of you. I love you, and your siblings, so much,” Father murmured earnestly. Aegon bit his lip as tears flooded his eyes, easily falling into his father’s arms. He hugged him tightly, sniffling. “You have saved us, Egg. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Thank you, kepa,” he mumbled, stepping back and smiling. He wiped the tears from his face and smiled. “Shall we go to supper?” 

Viserys smiled. “We shall.” 

They left Aegon’s rooms and made their way to the family solar, meeting Daemon and Rhaenyra on the way, both of them having had put baby Aegon down and sent the rest of their children and Aegon’s siblings to the solar with Rhaenys, Corlys, Laena, and Jordyn. 

Aegon beamed when Rhaenyra clasped his hand and gave him a warm smile, Daemon ruffling his hair fondly. They turned the corner onto the balcony that led to the family solar and all abruptly stopped walking. 

Standing before them were seven men dressed in rough, dirty clothes with swords in hand. Aegon lifted his right foot and subtly reached for the dagger he kept sheathed there, gripping the pommel hard. 

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister, and either side them Sers Harrold and Steffon did the same. Aegon’s heart pounded as the silence seemed to stretch for an inexplicably long time before the men exploded into movement. 

Daemon clashed with two of them, smoothly cutting open one’s stomach and punching the other in the throat. The kingsguard knights engaged two more, and the last three eyed Aegon, Viserys, and Rhaenyra with yellowed smiles.

“Give us the prince,” one said, leering at Aegon. 

His blood ran cold, and he twirled his dagger in hand. Rhaenyra’s skirts shifted, and Aegon noted a glint of steel. Father was armed with the Conquerors dagger, but wasn’t much of a swordsman. 

“No,” Viserys all but snarled, unsheathing his dagger. 

Aegon grasped the blade of his dagger and shifted his right foot back, and threw it through the air. It lodged in one of the men’s throats, and he went down spitting blood and gurgling. 

“Y’little shit!” 

Rhaenyra leapt into action, grabbing the man’s arm and jabbing her dagger up into his gut when he went for Viserys, twisting her dagger viciously. 

Aegon turned and swiftly surveyed the scene. Daemon had taken one of his adversary’s down, the man very much dead, head split in half, the other bleeding from several wounds. 

Ser Harrold’s cloak hem was drenched with blood, and it was clear why; Ser Steffon lay dead in a pool of blood, throat slashed deeply. 

Aegon shouted as pain exploded in his gut, and he looked down to see one of the men, a gash across his chest, holding the handle of a dagger that had been plunged into his side. He stumbled back, the blade slipping free of his flesh with a wet slurping sound.

He hit the balustrade of the balcony and slid down, blood gushing down his front. He looked up blearily, eyes widening as father intercepted one of the men going for Daemon’s unprotected back, only for the soldiers sword to cut right through his left arm, severing it from the elbow. 

Father collapsed.

Rhaenyra shouted in sheer fury, and lunged. Aegon blinked, dark spots swimming across his vision. He tried to stand, to help, but his limbs felt like wet parchment, unable to hold his weight. 

Daemon shifted and turned at the sound of father and Rhaenyra’s shouts, distracted.

Aegon garbled an unintelligible warning, flinching when a dagger was thrust into Daemon’s shoulder, his uncle having moved at the last moment.

A screeching, furious roar met Aegon’s ears and he smiled. 

Father crawled to his side, face white from blood loss, and used his remaining hand to put pressure on Aegon’s wound, making him whimper.

The far corner of the balcony roof collapsed inward, and Daemon grabbed Rhaenyra and yanked her back as Sunfyre roared viciously, furiously. 

“SUNFYRE!” Aegon yelled as loudly as he could, smirking when Ser Harrold and Daemon shoved the last remaining men toward his dragon, the soldiers screaming. “DRACARYS!” 

Sunfyre’s head reared back, maw opening, and he bathed the men in flames. 

Aegon slumped, panting, and smiled feebly at Father before darkness claimed him. 

***

Rhaenys skidded to a stop, gasping, as she beheld the chaos just around the corner of the family solar. Sunfyre perched on the balustrade, emitting worried chirps and whines; a pile of smouldering bones, dead bodies...was that -?

“Get the fucking maester!” Rhaenyra screamed, turning to Ser Harrold, who whirled and sprinted down the hall, obeying his princesses command. 

“Viserys!” Rhaenys gasped, bolting to his side. Then, she saw what he hunched over. “Oh, gods, Aegon...” 

Daemon stood, doublet a bloody, torn ruin at his left shoulder. His face was thunderous, more angry than she had seen him in recent years. “The children?” 

“They’re safe,” Rhaenys assured, heart pounding. “We knew naught was wrong until we heard Sunfyre. What -?” 

“Seven soldiers got into the keep,” Rhaenyra interrupted, trying to staunch the bleeding of Viserys’ amputated arm. She herself had a deep cut to her face, blood smeared down her cheek and neck. 

Rhaenys knelt and checked Aegon’s heartbeat at his throat and for breathing, sighing softly in relief when she felt them – weak, but they were there. 

“Viserys?” she queried, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He leaned into her, and her heart clenched. 

“I cannot lose another child,” he whispered. 

Rushing feet heralded the arrival of Geradys and his several apprentices, all of them carrying supplies. He promptly moved to help Viserys, but her cousin shook his head. “Treat my son, first. Now.” 

Geradys paused unsurely but nodded and promptly began barking orders, his apprentices helping lay Aegon flat on the floor, head pillowed on Ser Harrold’s hastily removed cloak. 

The prince was pale, too pale, the wound in his side steadily leaking blood. Rhaenys held Viserys as Geradys and his apprentices worked, checking to ensure no major organs were hit and flushing it thoroughly with boiled water and wine. 

“He’ll be okay, cousin,” she murmured to Viserys, who was staring at Aegon. “Your boy is strong.” 

“Princess Rhaenys is correct,” Geradys said, holding a needle over a flickering candle to sterilise it. “The blade did not pierce any organs, and it bleeds little; his grace lost consciousness due to shock.” 

“He subconsciously called Sunfyre,” Daemon said, grimacing as an apprentice, a dark haired girl with steady hands, worked on his shoulder. 

Sunfyre chirped, loosing a worried croon. Rhaenyra, the least harmed, stood and slowly approached, hands out. The golden beast lowered his head and warbled softly, accepting her comforting touch as he was familiar with her. 

“Good boy,” she murmured, “Aegon will be okay, Sunfyre. I swear it.” 

Rhaenys looked back to Aegon, inhaling deeply.

Geradys had finished stitching the wound and was now slathering a light green paste over it. 

“Your grace,” Geradys said, turning to Viserys. “Your wound will have to be cauterized.”

Rhaenys helped Viserys stand and with Ser Harrold’s help they assisted him to Geradys’ rooms, Daemon and Rhaenyra following with Aegon being carried by two male apprentices. 

Aegon was laid out on a cot in the corner, blankets tucked around him, and Viserys eased into a seat and his sleeve cut open to reveal his severed limb.

She bit back a curse, lips pressed into a thin line. “How did this happen?” 

“One of the men went to attack Daemon from behind,” Viserys said, grimacing as Geradys poked at his limb.

One of the apprentices gave him some poppy, and Viserys downed it, shuddering. 

Daemon gripped Viserys’ uninjured shoulder. “Thank you, brother.” 

Viserys patted Daemon’s hand and leaned back in his seat, groaning as Geradys set to cleaning the wound, another of his apprentices preparing the cauterizing knife. 

“Who were they?” Rhaenys asked, scowling.

“They wore green,” Rhaenyra all but snarled, wincing as her wound was dabbed gently. 

“Hightower,” Daemon growled, clenching his hands into fists. “We should have fed the cunt to Caraxes when we had the chance.” 

Viserys groaned as the white hot knife was pressed to his arm, shoulders held down by Geradys’ apprentices. “Fucking hells,” he swore viciously. 

Rhaenys’ lips twitched. “Did they say what they wanted?” 

“Me.” She glanced over Rhaenyra’s shoulder to see Aegon struggling to sit up. He was pale still, but some colour had come back to his cheeks. “They wanted me.” 

Daemon stiffened. “Ser Harrold!” he shouted, the knight promptly slipping into the room. “Go ensure Alicent Hightower remains in her rooms.” 

Rhaenys cursed. “How could they know where she is being kept?” 

“I’m sure her father has his spies,” Rhaenyra muttered bitterly, fussing over Aegon. “Lay back down, Egg.” 

He slumped down, groaning. “Ow.” 

Daemon eyed him in concern. “You need to take it easy, Egg. You could pull your stitches.” 

Aegon sighed and nodded. “I will. Kepa, are you okay?” 

Viserys mustered a smile, nodding to his eldest son. “I shall be, son. Do you feel well?” 

“Yes, its just a dull ache in my side,” Aegon murmured, yawning. 

“Sleep, Egg,” Daemon said, brushing Aegon’s messy hair from his face. 

Rhaenys smiled slightly at the sight. “I will go inform Corlys of what has happened. Might I have approval to double the guards, my king?” 

Viserys nodded, grimacing deeply as Geradys spread a thick, viscous paste over his cauterized wound. “Of course, cousin.”

“Find Ser Harwin Strong and have him gather some of the Gold Cloaks,” Daemon ordered, dipping his head to her. 

“I will do so,” she said, nodding. 

Rhaenys exited Geradys’ rooms and took a moment to breathe. Four of her family members had nearly died tonight. One kingsguard had died, even if it was his duty to protect the royal family. 
She would ensure that House Hightower ceased to exist herself if she had to.

***

Viserys accepted the folded white cloak from Rhaenyra, ignoring the blood stains, and turned to place it on Ser Steffon Darklyn’s chest. He stepped back and joined his family, glancing at Vermithor perched on the hill. 

Behind him, the kin of Ser Steffon stood garbed in mourning black. Even Aegon had stubbornly insisted he come, even if only four days ago he’d been stabbed. He leaned heavily against Laenor, who supported him.

Viserys raised his chin and stated at the pyre built by Daemon and Corlys for the knight who had given his life in service to his family.

He swallowed and met Vermithor’s gaze once again. 

“Dracarys!” he called, and Vermithor turned his huge head and opened his mouth, gullet burning, and a gout of orange and bronze flames swirled from his throat, engulfing Ser Steffon’s body.

All of the kingsguard to die protecting their royal charges since the order was established by Visenya were honoured thusly. They were sworn to protect their Kings and the king’s kin, and to die doing so earned them Targaryen funeral rights – something not honoured to many others. 

In the days after the attack, it had become clear that Otto had somehow managed to get a spy into the Keep. The soldiers, once their bodies had been removed, were found to have axes and seven pointed stars branded into their flesh; the one survivor was languishing in the black cells, obsessively reciting the Seven Pointed Star. 

And Alicent was missing. 

The Faith Militant had once again risen in opposition to his family, and Viserys was utterly furious. How dare they infiltrate his home and harm his daughter, son, and brother? He cared not for his own wounds; he would give up his very life for his family.

The children had been nearly inconsolable when they saw their wounds. Visenya had burst into tears when she learned her uncle Egg had been stabbed, only calming once she was tucked against Aegon’s uninjured side and assured he would be fine. The others, bar Helaena, who’d frowned sadly and hugged herself, had been furious. 

Viserys had been a fool to believe his reign could remain peaceful. He knew now that war was brewing, and only one side would come out victorious.

Their enemies had drawn first blood, and he would answer with fire. 

Chapter Text

The smallfolk clustered around the steps to the Dragonpit and stared up at him, those who would clearly see him with wide, astonished eyes. He wore no regal finery, merely a sleeveless tunic to showcase his amputated arm. 

Daemon, Rhaenyra, Aegon, Rhaenys, Corlys, Laenor, Laena, and Jordyn stood fanned out behind him, their expressions likely as furious as his own was. 

He raised his remaining hand, and the whispers slowly died down; thunderous silence fell over the city, the smallfolk staring up at him in anticipation. 

“Several days ago, seven soldiers infiltrated Maegor’s Holdfast and attacked myself, your Crown Princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Prince-Consort Daemon Targaryen, and my son Aegon Targaryen!” Viserys all but bellowed. 

Silence reigned for a moment longer before infuriated hisses and shouts echoed, the smallfolk utterly enraged. It made sense; they adored his brother and daughter. They had worked tirelessly to make the city safer, cleaner. Daemon and Rhaenyra were known as the Prince and Princess of the City.

His least favored epithet of Rhaenyra’s was The Rogue’s Delight. 

He raised his hand again, and silence fell. “Six of the criminals were killed, one extensively questioned!” Cheers echoed thunderously. “It was revealed that the men were Faith Militant...working on the orders of House Hightower!” 

“Fuckers!” 

“Scum! Burn Oldtown t’the ground!” 

“KILL ‘EM!” 

Viserys’ raised hand once again quieted the angry crowd. “This attack shall not go unpunished. It will be answered, this I promise you.” 

“ALL HAIL THE SEVEN!” a voice bellowed, screams echoing as the crowd suddenly shifted and moved, panicked people fleeing men garbed in green tunics and hairshirts. 

Thunderous, furious roars echoed through the air. Viserys glowered at the crowd as the dragons burst forth from the Dragonpit behind them, Vermithor landing on the roof and roaring furiously, feeding off Viserys’ own rage.

Caraxes and Syrax landed on the roofs of the buildings either side of them, their own roars sending chills down the spines of everyone gathered. Sunfyre, Seasmoke, and Meleys swooped the crowd, several people ducking, and rose to circle. 

A guttural, vicious, snarling roar made the ground positively tremble. 

Viserys smiled faintly as Vhagar’s shadow blotted out half the city. The ancient beast of Old Valyria landed beside Vermithor, her head hovering over them. 

She reared back, huge maw opening, and shrieked a roar that made Viserys’ ears ring. 

It had the desired effect, and the crowd silenced. The Gold Cloaks patrolling hauled green clad men and women to the base of the stairs and threw them down, holding them at sword point. 

“The Seven shall prevail and wipe your monstrous, abominable selves from the earth!” one of the women shrieked, trembling. 

The dragons hissed and growled. 

A man in the crowd stepped forward, a sneer of epic proportions on his face. “What have your gods ever done for us, woman? Your septons and septas sit cozy and warm in castles and septs, draped in fine clothes and jewels, while we commoners starve and die of disease, our children dressed in rags or nothin’. You beg for coin to ’elp us and we never see none of it! Fuck you and your gods!” 

“Yeah!” A young girl screamed, darting forth to kick one of the kneeling men in the face, blood spraying. “Your beloved septons rapes us girls and boys! Fuck you! Cunt!” 

Viserys’ lip curled. “Ser Harwin.” The knight looked at him, revulsion on his face. “Bring me the septons. Take the girl – what is your name?” 

“Elle,” the girl said, suddenly shy. “Your grace.” 

Viserys offered a small, reassuring smile. “Take Ser Harwin to the septons who harmed you.” She looked at Harwin, fearful. He turned and nodded at Rhaenys, who dipped her chin and made her way down the stairs, holding her hand out to Elle. 

Elle smiled shyly and accepted it. “Thank ye, your grace,” she called, curtseying. 

Viserys nodded, watching as Harwin and several Cloaks, along with Rhaenys, made their way toward the Sept. He faced the crowd, gazing at their hopeful, awed faces; he felt a pang in his stomach. Regret, that it had taken him this long to protect them. 

They were his people to protect, to ensure had a good life. What good were Kings if not to dispense justice? To serve and protect? 

“I vow on this day, before you and my gods of Old Valyria,” he began, voice slightly choked. “That those who have wronged you and harmed you shall die screaming.”

Vermithor roared, echoing the cheers of the crowd. Moments later, Harwin, Rhaenys, and Elle returned; septons fought against the Gold Cloaks, faces red with fury. 

An odd calm settled over Viserys, and he stared as Harwin and his men tossed the babbling septons down on the stairs, uncaring if they were harmed. 

His family moved as Vermithor crawled down off the roof of the Dragonpit, Vhagar shifting out of his way with a low snarl. The Bronze Fury settled behind him, head looming above and sharp, black teeth sharp. 

“Release us at once! We are men of the Faith!” One of the septons gibbered. “We have done naught wrong. All we do is in the name of the gods.” 

“Do your gods demand you rape innocent children?” Viserys snarled, Vermithor loosing a rumbling, furious growl.

“Outrageous, vile lies!” the septon shouted, though his eyes were wild and rolling with fear, darting to Vermithor anxiously.

“You fucker!” Elle snapped, tears tracking pale lines on her dirty face. “You raped me last eve.” 

Caraxes and Syrax shrieked, and the Blood Wyrm’s head snaked down over the crowd to hover over the septons and militant, snarling viciously. Viserys stared at the attained men and women, hatred curling in his gut. “Ser Harwin, castrate the rapists.” 

Ser Harwin looked only too pleased to obey, his men leaping into action at his signal. He heard Daemon’s low, bloodthirsty laugh and stifled his own amusement. The septons were gibbering and babbling as they were hauled up, Elle swiftly joined by several other girls and boys. They all watched avidly as their rapists’ robes were hauled off and smallclothes yanked down.

Harwin glanced back at him, and Viserys nodded; satisfaction curled in his gut as the septon’s soft, withered cocks were severed from their bodies, blood splattering on the stairs to the Pit. The dragons growled and roared, smelling the blood, yet remained where they were. The children wept and cheered, the adults shouting insults.  

“Take them to the black cells,” he ordered, and the Gold Cloaks happily obeyed, dragging the limp, unconscious men away. He turned his attention to the Militant, who stared at the blood in shock and horror. “You conspire against the House of The Dragon; you should have known better. You remember what happened to your order the last time you took up arms against House Targaryen, do you not?”

One trembling woman looked at him with loathing. “You’re just as monstrous as Maegor ever was.” 

Viserys laughed, and it was not a nice sound. “For defending my kin, my kingdom? When the militant swept across this realm it was the smallfolk, whom you preach to protect, that suffered the most.” The crowd roared in agreement, and Viserys had to raise his hand to silence them. “You condemn us for our traditions and culture and yet we leave those of the Faith to their own. When Aegon the Dragon came to Westeros, he put an end to the ceaseless wars between the Seven independent kingdoms; he threw down Harren the Black’s reign of terror and slavery, something your religion condemns but did naught to end. Aegon and his queens brought peace and prosperity to Westeros.”        

“Aegon the Conqueror brought monsters, foul sorcery and abominable practices,” one man hissed, baring broken, yellow teeth. “Foreign, false gods and incestuous monsters born of sin -”

Viserys leveled the man with a dark look, and he abruptly silenced when Vermithor snarled in warning. “Whom have we truly harmed, practicing our cultures, traditions, and religion? If House Targaryen were truly the tyrants many decry us as, you all would be worshiping the Fourteen Flames of Valyria…”

“Was it not the zealot Faith Militant who slaughtered the First Men and burned their sacred weirwoods?” Daemon queried, stalking forward to stand indolently next to him, brow quirked. “Was it not the Andal zealots who slaughtered the Children of the Forest? I do not recall the Valyrians doing such a thing when we arrived on these shores.”

“Tis true, uncle,” Aegon announced, a small smirk on his face. “Twas the Andal king Erreg the Kinslayer who cut down and burned the weirwood trees and slaughtered the Children, who desecrated their sacred grove at High Heart.” 

“Interesting,” Viserys mused. 

The crowd murmured, sharing glances, and looked speculative. Likely they knew not of the history they spoke of due to their lack of education, the maesters seeing the smallfolk as little more than sheep. That would have to change, too, he decided. 

“Your order has broken the peace treaty signed and sealed by the late king, Jaehaerys Targaryen,” Viserys announced, glowering down at the militant members kneeling before him. “The treaty states that no Faith Militant may take up arms against House Targaryen lest they forfeit that peace and be thrown down and humbled once again. Seven of your order infiltrated the Red Keep and attacked my kith and kin.” 

“If only they succeeded in ridding this world of your filth!” the woman screamed, becoming completely unhinged. Her companions began to scream insults, too, struggling against the Gold Cloaks that held them back. 

Viserys shared a look with Daemon, who raised a brow and dipped his chin, stepping back as Vermithor shifted. He turned back to face the ranting militant, stepping silently to the side to let Vermithor pass. 

The crowd fell silent, watching with bated breath. He raised his voice to be heard over the screeching militant members.  “So long as I rule the Seven Kingdoms, those who would seek to overthrow the House of the Dragon and harm my people will be punished most severely. I shall not allow these zealots to harm my people or my kin.” 

“ King Viserys!” 

“ Long live the Dragons!” 

Viserys nodded at the Gold Cloaks, and they swiftly moved away. So lost in their mad ravings, the militant did not even realize they had a small chance to flee; the crowd, however, did, and all moved back as Vermithor drew himself up and growled. 

Viserys rested his hand against Vermithor’s neck and stared at the madmen and women kneeling before him. “ Dracarys !” 

***

The ashes of the militant were placed in a plain chest and put in the custody of a rider headed for Oldtown, the hands of the seven soldiers that infiltrated the keep placed atop the charred bones and ashes; a warning to the Faith that the House of the Dragon knew they had risen once more and would once again answer their crimes with Fire and Blood. 

Shortly after the announcement in the city, Viserys called a council meeting and perused the faces of his council members, wondering whom he could truly trust amongst them; word had spread about his show of force in the city earlier, and many of his councilmembers looked at him with newfound respect; namely Lords Lyonel, his son, Ser Harwin, and Beesbury. The others, especially Maester Mellos, looked at him with thinly veiled disgust and fear. 

Also in the meeting were Rhaenys, Corlys, Laenor, and Laena. He needed his kin - and the dragonriders - with him; for this was a war council. 

“Thank you all for coming so swiftly,” he began, nodding. “The first order of business is a slight reshuffling of the roles of my councilors. Prince Daemon shall become Master of War; adding to his title of Master of Law, Lord Lyonel shall also take the post of Justicar.” The Lord of Harrenhal stood straighter and nodded gratefully, bowing his head slightly. “To replace Prince-Consort Daemon as Hand will be Princess Rhaenys Velaryon.”

Viserys smiled slightly as his usually hard to ruffle cousin nearly gaped at him, eyes flicking to Daemon who approached with a grin to place the hand pin on her bodice, bowing his head. Corlys looked utterly chuffed, a proud, beaming grin on his face. 

Mellos spluttered. “A woman? Your grace -” 

“Yes, a woman,” Rhaenyra interrupted cooly, glaring at Mellos. 

Geradys, whose inception to the council had irritated and offended Mellos he’d refused to attend for several moons - there was still no evidence of his crimes, and as such Viserys couldn’t merely feed him to Vermithor, even if he wanted to - merely smiled and shook Rhaenys’ hand. “Congratulations, Princess.” 

“Thank you, maester,” she replied warmly. 

“Is it truly war, your grace?” Lord Beesbury asked, wringing his hands. 

“I am afraid so, my lord,” Viserys replied gently. “The one soldier who survived the attack on my family confessed that he was sent by the Hightowers…and they were all Faith Militant.”

“What is to be done?” Lyonel Strong asked seriously, brows furrowed. 

Viserys knew that House Strong were descendants of the First Men and openly and proudly worshiped the Old Gods of the forest. He, too, likely knew the constant scorn and persecution of the Faith of the Seven. “Ravens are to be sent to every lord, great and small, of the Seven Kingdoms. Any found to be harboring or supporting the Faith Militant will be condemned as traitors alongside the zealots. I am no Maegor, but I am a king, a father, a grandfather…I will protect those who dare to threaten my family and my people. The Faith Militant have broken the treaty signed by them and my grandfather, King Jaehaerys, and thus forfeit the protection of the crown.” 

“Surely these alleged Militants were a small faction, rebels?” Mellos asked, withered face creased with skepticism. 

“Oh, of course, and they attacked the Targaryen royal family for fun,” Laena snapped, looking irritated. “His grace has lost half an arm, the Princes and Princess were nearly killed. And you think this an isolated event? This morn several militants decried those with Valyrian blood as abominations and openly declared war, maester. Do not be a fool.” 

Mellos puffed up indignantly, a condescending expression on his face. “I’m sure you don't understand the ways of these things -”           

“Continue to speak to my cousin thusly, Mellos, and you shall be sent from this council immediately.” Viserys slammed his hand on the table, effectively silencing this room. “Brother, Ser Harwin, please take to the city with the Gold Cloaks and ensure no more Faith Militant reside in our city. If found, see them imprisoned in the black cells. They are to be questioned extensively.”

“At once, my king,” Daemon said, bowing at the waist. 

“Yes, your grace,” Ser Harwin murmured politely, bowing. 

Once Daemon and Ser Harwin had gone, Laenor stepped forward. “Your grace, if i may?” 

Viserys nodded, slightly puzzled, especially when Rhaenys and Corlys shared amused, proud looks. “Of course.” 

“I humbly petition to be part of your kingsguard,” Laenor announced, and Viserys glanced at Corlys, who nodded slightly. 

“This coincides with mine own petition, your grace,” Corlys spoke up, moving to stand beside Laenor. “My wife and I agree that my seat as Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides go to my eldest born child, and theirs, no matter their sex. I would name my daughter, Laena Velaryon-Celtigar, my heir.” 

Viserys smiled slowly, noting the shocked delight on Laena’s face. “If these are your wishes, Laenor, Corlys, then I most ardently accept.” 

The council continued after the slight interruption, and Viserys’ rage did not lessen. He wanted the Hightowers, the Faith, the maesters involved with this conspiracy to burn… and soon enough , he soothed himself, they shall .

***

The rider arrived the day after Alicent, and Otto ignored her fussing over his handless right arm until he ended up snapping at her. He was furious and sick unto death of the women in his life, daughter and good-sister alike, fluttering about him like a harried flock of hens. The lost hand galled him, of course it did, the wound his imbecilic grandson had bestowed him festering until the maester had no choice but to amputate. 

Otto was just glad he was left-handed. 

His useless daughter had utterly failed at her own task; perhaps he had been a fool to let the girls’ mother raise her to be soft and useless. All women were. He should have raised her to be more like her brothers - cunning, intelligent, and knowledgeable of their true duty to the seven kingdoms and the seven gods. 

He had been lax, but he would not make the same mistake again. He had long ago hardened his heart; his wife was testament to that.

The rider wore no house sigil, but he and Hobert both knew he was a Targaryen loyalist - the way he looked at them, a contemptuous sneer on his face, was all the evidence needed. Once the rider was gone, Hobert opened the wax sealed chest, a truly disgusting smell wafting from within. 

Rotted, maggot covered hands and ashes fell from the chest, a scroll sitting innocently by his foot. Hobert grabbed it and broke the seal, lip curling even as he paled considerably. He lowered it. “They know.” 

Otto clenched his teeth. “How?” 

“The seven Warriors Sons failed to kill the king, whore, and monster. Aegon was stabbed, but lives. One of our men was imprisoned and tortured into spilling the truth. Our House has been branded traitors to the realm,” Hobert said, disgusted. “If you had not failed so fucking miserably in your role, brother, then we would have a Hightower king on the throne primed to do what we and our forefathers have planned for over a century.” 

Otto bit his tongue to keep the insults he wished to levy at his brother behind his teeth. It would do no one any good for them to become even more divided than they already were. “Honor, duty, and goodness shall prevail, my lord.” 

“Only one can hope,” Hobert muttered, ordering a servant to dispose of the ash and rotted hands. “Mellos remains in the capital, as does he who tends our flock; they shall prevail where you so miserably failed, boy.” 

Otto swallowed, staring hatefully as Hobert stormed from his solar. 

***

Aegon grinned as Sunfyre wove about Caraxes and Meleys, the two older dragons barely blinking as the adolescent flicked his tail in their faces. Below, snowy moors and hills spread as far as the ice could see. It was his first time flying north, and he had begged father to allow him to join Daemon and Rhaenys on their journey to help Cregan Stark deal with his usurping uncle. 

The raven from Lord Cregan had come a week after Geradys had sent word of the coming war between the crown and the faith militant. The young lord of Winterfell had sworn to stand with House Targaryen but was currently imprisoned by his usurping uncle and needed aid to take his rightful seat as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, a loyal maester having smuggled the letter to him; father had immediately agreed and dispatched Daemon and Rhaenys.

Aegon shifted in his saddle and peered over Sunfyre’s shoulder, mouth dropping open as he spied the castle of Winterfell below; in truth, it looked more like a city than a mere castle. Caraxes and Meleys circled, their roars echoing through the wintry air. Sunfyre, not to be outdone, loosed his own shrieking roar as they began to descend. 

The three dragons landed before the gates of the castle, ground shuddering beneath them. Daemon and Rhaenys dismounted, and Aegon remained atop Sunfyre, as he had been told to do. He watched with bated breath as the gates opened and a tall, solidly built man stalked out. He had shoulder length dark brown hair, a bristly beard, and cold, hard eyes. Two guards flanked him, their hands on their swords.

Aegon despised him at once. 

“Your graces,” the man greeted, voice thick and drawling with a northern accent. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“We’re here to see the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North,” Daemon replied, his tone as frigid as the air around them. 

“I am the Lord of Winterfell,” the man growled, who Aegon knew was Bennard Stark. 

“The true Lord of Winterfell,” Daemon said, smiling sharply as Caraxes and Meleys growled, Sunfyre hissing. “Lord Cregan Stark.” 

Bennard stared, nostrils flaring. “I am regent until my nephew comes of age -” 

“Which he did, several moons ago,” Rhaenys interrupted coldly, Meleys drawing herself up and baring her teeth, which were as long as Aegon was tall. “You have usurped your own nephew, and we are here on his behalf to put an end to your treason.”

“How dare-” Bennard blustered. 

But Daemon was clearly quite sick of the entire situation, Caraxes emitting an unholy, shrieking, whining roar that had chills skittering down Aegon’s spine. Usually the Blood Wyrm merely loosed whistling, happy roars. This one was full of anger and impatience. And it had the desired effect; one of Bennard’s guards pissed himself, while the order dropped into a dead faint. 

Then, to no one but Bennard’s surprise, guards flooded out of Winterfell and surrounded him. A tall, stocky young man with the startings of whiskers strode through the guards, who all parted for him. “Arrest my uncle,” he said, voice quite deep. “Immediately.” 

Aegon looped Sunfyre’s reigns around the saddle and dismounted, stroking his dragon’s neck as he approached Daemon and Rhaenys, who were speaking to Lord Cregan as his uncle was escorted away, red faced and spitting insults. 

“The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword, my prince,” Cregan said, bowing his head to Aegon. “Your grace. I truly thank you all for coming to my aid.” 

“Would the north not see you as a kinslayer should you execute Bennard yourself?” Rhaenys asked, worried. 

“Nay, my princess,” Cregan responded. “Tis justice. I shall spare my nephews and aunt, and they may have the hospitality of Winterfell, but my uncle has shamed my father's memory and committed treason. He shall die by my hand.” 

“Very well, my lord,” Daemon said, with respect in his eyes and voice. “We shall remain as witnesses.” 

“Please, let us dispense justice and speak of this war with the Faith Militant,” Cregan remarked, leading them into the castle courtyard. Bennard knelt with guards holding him, one either side. 

One guard approached, a truly huge sword in hand. Aegon started, realizing that it was Ice, the Stark’s famous Valyrian Steel sword. Cregan accepted the sheathed blade and nodded, face working as he pulled it from its scabbard to inspect the steel. “Take him to the godswood.” 

Aegon remained quiet as he followed, Rhaenys glancing at him with a small smile. The godswood of Winterfell was unlike that in the Red Keep; it was much, much larger - and there was something about it, a certain weight that made him want to hold his breath and ensure no one was watching from the trees. His eyes darted about nervously, brows furrowing slightly. 

Bennard was shoved to his knees several feet from a huge, pale weirwood; its red leaves looked like fresh blood, as did the sap falling from the eyes of its carved face. It was a solemn face, long like all the Starks’, and held an air of melancholy. A headsman's block was placed before Bennard, and with loathing, he glared at Cregan, who looked unaffected.

“You forfeited your life when you usurped my place as Lord of Winterfell,” Cregan stated coolly. “You shamed my father's memory, your own brother. Do you think he would be proud?” 

Bennard flinched, glancing away. Without speaking, he lay his head on the block and went still. Cregan nodded and unsheathed Ice, the Valyrian steel glinting darkly in the dappled light of the dark godswood. 

“In the name of Viserys of House Targaryen, King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm I, Lord Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die.” 

Aegon didn’t flinch as Cregan brought the greatsword down, the Valyrian steel cutting through Bennard’s neck smoothly and efficiently. His head thumped to the snowy, leaf strewn ground, blood spraying. His legs kicked slightly, twitching for several moments, before he lay still, dead. 

Cregan inhaled deeply and planted the tip of Ice in the ground, nodding at the guards. They grabbed Bennard’s body and head and carried them away, one hauling the block under his arm. “I thank you, your graces, for coming to my aid. House Stark shall stand with House Targaryen.” 

“Of course, Lord Stark,” Daemon said, bowing his head respectfully. 

Aegon stiffened and turned. Why did it feel as though he was being watched by a thousand different pairs of eyes? He scanned the woods, jaw clenched. Who or what was watching him?

The trees rustled, a branch snapping. Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister, Cregan lifting Ice. Aegon unsheathed his own sword, Rhaenys smoothly moving behind him and Daemon, her eyes on the woods.

Aegon’s breath caught as an extremely tall, extremely large wolf trotted out of the woods. Its fur was blond with streaks of light brown and russet across its back, and its eyes were a cool gray. It stared at them for a moment before its gaze flickered to Cregan, who had lowered his sword and was all but gaping at the pony-sized wolf. 

“A direwolf,” Cregan breathed, and Daemon and Aegon lowered their swords. The new lord of Winterfell stepped forward, the wolf doing the same, until they were a mere foot apart. He lifted his hand, the wolf sniffing his fingers curiously, before nudging its snout into Cregan’s hand. The young man chuckled lightly, petting the wolf gently. “No Stark has had a direwolf in decades.” 

“Well, one does now,” Aegon said, sheathing his sword. 

“Aye, one does now,” Cregan murmured. 

***

Aemond ran his hand over Grey’s neck, trying to calm his nerves. Mother had been spirited away from the castle, Aegon, Uncle Daemon, and Cousin Rhaenys had gone north to help Lord Cregan Stark with his usurping uncle, and according to father and Rhaenyra war was coming. It made him nervous. 

Grey trilled and tuned his huge head, nudging him softly. “I know,” he whispered, feeling Grey’s emotions through their bond. He sighed and rested his forehead against his dragon’s jaw, as he’d seen Uncle Daemon do before. “I can’t help but be scared, though. War might not be scary for you, Grey, as dangerous as you are…but I’m just a boy.” 

Grey shifted and curled around him protectively, making Aemond smile. He leaned against Grey’s side and slid down until he was sitting, curled up under Grey Ghost’s wing, protected. The pale dragon rested his head on the ground, loosing a happy rumble. 

“What if one of my family gets hurt?” he asked, voice hushed. His eyelids drooped. “Father has already lost an arm, Uncle was stabbed, so was Daemon. Nyra was cut across the face…I don’t want them to get hurt.”

One of Grey’s huge eyes watched him, nostrils flaring as he snorted and chittered. “Mhm,” he hummed, leaning against the dragon’s side. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” 

Grey grumbled and nudged his knee, making Aemond chuckle. “Maybe a short nap, then. You’ll protect me won’t, you?” 

Grey snorted smoke at him making him giggle. He rested his head against Grey’s side and closed his eyes, sleep crawling over his mind swiftly. 

He was woken shortly after by Grey Ghost’s chittering, eyes cracking open to see father smiling at him, relieved. He stumbled to his feet and into fathers arm, snuggling against him. “You had us worried, son,” father said, steering him away from Grey, who crooned softly. 

“Sorry, Kepa ,” Aemond mumbled, a yawn cracking his jaw. “I haven’t been sleeping well.” 

Father paused and crouched before him, his hand on his shoulder. He looked at him concerned, and likely saw the dark smudges under his eyes. “Why is that, Aemond?” 

“I -” he shifted, feeling embarrassed. 

Father cupped his cheek. “Are you frightened?” 

Aemond blushed and nodded, biting his lip. 

“Hm,” Father hummed. “How about this, then, hm? What if you were to sleep in my rooms with me this eve?” 

Aemond smiled shyly. “Really?” 

“Of course,” father said with a smile, rising to his full height. “I would enjoy your company, my son, and together we will both be a little less frightened.” 

Aemon slipped his hand into fathers. “You’re frightened?” 

“Yes,” father told him, nodding, as they approached a carriage. Ser Laenor stood by it, in his new kingsguard armor and white cloak. “I am frightened that I might not be able to protect my family, my kingdom, and the people in it. I may be a king, your father, but I am a man, Aemond. Being scared does not mean you’re not brave. It simply means that you must persevere through the fear.” 

Aemond leaned into his father once they were seated in the carriage. “Father, I have an idea.” 

***

Rhaenyra stared into her father's rooms, bemused, as Aemond, Aegon, Aerion, and Daemon moved about shifting mattresses on the floor with a plethora of pillows and blankets. She gently rocked Aegon, blinking as father beamed and approached her. 

“What is going on?” she asked, handing Aegon to him. 

Father cradled Aegon in the crook of his arm, a bright smile on his face. “It was Aemond’s idea. He’s been having trouble sleeping and I offered to let him sleep with me, but he has come up with a rather brilliant idea of all of us sleeping in here.” 

Rhaenyra smiled widely, turning to meet her husband’s eye. He smirked and winked. He, Rhaenys, and Aegon had returned as the sun set; the flight to and from Winterfell not taking them too long, with dragon’s as swift as Caraxes, Meleys, and Sunfyre.

Aerion, Baelon, Jaehaerys, Visenya, Daeron, and Helaena piled onto one of the mattresses together, Rhaena and Laenys joining them happily. Aemond and Aegon crawled into another, and Rhaenyra smirked as Daemon beckoned her to a third; the fourth was between her children and brothers, and father happily climbed into it; she lay next to Daemon, placing Aegon between them. 

“Father, can you tell us a story of Old Valyria?” Helaena asked sweetly, curled up between Rhaena and Visenya. 

“Of course, I can, my sweet girl,” Viserys said. 

Rhaenyra met Daemon’s eye and smiled, leaning over their son to kiss him softly, heart warm and full of love. 

***

Otto inspected the chests for the seventh time, heart in his throat. This was truly a gamble, and he knew many would be disgusted with his and Hobert’s plans, but it was a necessary evil. They needed evil to fight evil, ungodliness to fight ungodliness. 

He was escorted from the ship by a young woman wearing sheer linens, a collar about her throat. She stared emotionlessly at him, her eyes blank and dead. It sent chills up his spine, making sweat drip down his spine. 

The Plaza of Pride smelt of shit, blood, and piss. The Unsullied lined up for his perusal stood in straight, disciplined lines. The dead-eyed slave woman translated for the Master; her voice just as dead as her eyes. He felt sick, but it was necessary. The gods had willed it and Hobert had agreed, giving him several chests full of gold and the Redwyne fleet to ferry their army back to Westeros. 

The deal was struck swiftly, Otto not wanting to linger in Slaver’s Bay any longer. Half of the army would be ferried back to Oldtown with his nephew Ormund and he would march the rest west to Lys to meet with the Triarchy and Dornish. 

Their plans of subtlety had long since failed, ever since Otto was dismissed as hand, and now it was time to fight fire with fire

Chapter Text

Saera stared at the city growing ever larger before her, the wind whipping her pale hair about. She had never entertained the idea of returning to Westeros, but when her son had burst into her home in Volantis and informed her that their spies had seen an army heading West with an Andal leading them; further investigation revealed that the Andal was Otto Hightower. 

Saera had placed her businesses under the control of her most trusted woman and packed her belongings, sons, daughter, and three grandchildren onto a ship headed for Kings Landing. 

Now, several weeks later the city she had grown to loathe was before her. It stirred mixed feelings within her. The last time she had been in Westeros, her father had been her greatest adversary, sending her to the Faith that loathed them so much for crimes she knew would be lauded if she were born a man; but Jaehaerys was long dead, as was her beloved mother and the majority of her siblings. Jaehaerys may have been a good king, but he had been a terrible father. 

Bowing to the stifling, patriarchal societal hierarchy of Westeros rather than remaining true and loyal to their Valyrian roots and traditions. Saera had studied extensively while in Volantis, and she knew that her Valyrian ancestors had bowed to the Andals' ways of inheritance. Her daughter, Alysanne, was a purveyor of history and had studied Old Valyria extensively. Not only had their ancestors honored the eldest child, no matter their sex, inheriting, they had never accepted the Faith of the Seven. 

For a civilisation known for their religious tolerance to not tolerate the Seven Who Are One, well, Saera knew something was not quite right. Perhaps Maegor had been right to war so brutally and cruelly against the Faith Militant. His methods, however, left a lot to be desired.

Saera had built a life for herself and her children in Volantis. There she was free from the expectations that came with being a Targaryen Princess. Her sons and daughter were free to choose what they wished to do with their lives, and they had. Her eldest son, Valarr, had become a guard within the Black Walls of the city, earning great prestige. He had met his wife, Carys, when he was two and twenty and wed her a year later; unfortunately, Carys had perished giving birth to their second child, a daughter he named Shaera. Their son, Aerys, was the picture of his father and just as good with a weapon. Her daughter remained unwed and childless, far too much a scholar to care for pleasures of the flesh. Her youngest, Gaemon, was the most like her. He operated one of her many establishments in Volantis, bringing in quite a bit of coin. He had fathered three children, their mothers giving them up easily; Naerys, Rhaella, and Visenna adored their father, and he doted on them quite happily. Saera adored her children and grandchildren, but they were not her only kin in the world. 

A deep, chilling roar echoed and Saera looked up with a heavy heart as a very familiar bronze beast burst through the clouds above them. Vermithor, her fathers mount. She had not seen the creature in years, and he certainly had grown. 

“May we have dragons, grandmama?” 

Saera turned and smiled tightly at her eldest female grandchild, Shaera being of an age to wed by Westerosi standards. She would have to guard her fiercely. “Perhaps, my darling. We would have to ask King Viserys.” 

Shaera nodded, eyes wide and full of awe as she watched as Vermithor was joined by several other familiar dragons; Caraxes, Aemon’s former mount and now her nephew Daemon’s. Meleys, Alyssa’s beloved Red Queen, now claimed by her niece Rhaenys. Two unfamiliar golden yellow beasts, smaller than the latter three, frolicked with them happily over the city. 

A very familiar guttural roar echoed, and Saera gripped the ships railing, lips pressed together as Vhagar rose from outside the city, her green-bronze scales dulled from age. She was positively gargantuan compared to the other dragons. 

“Gods. Is that Vhagar?!” Gaemon asked as he approached, Visenna and Rhaella perched on his hips. Naerys trotted along at his side, eyes wide. 

“Yes,” Saera breathed, throat tight. 

The captain approached, bowing shortly. “We’ll be dockin’ soon, m’lady.” 

“Thank you, captain,” she murmured, stomach churning at the thought of seeing her kin for the first time in over a decade.

***

The past two and a half moons had been full of war preparations and tension buzzing throughout the Keep and City, so much so that even the children could sense it. Aegon spent most of his time in the yard with Daemon, Aemond, and the other officers. The City Watch numbers had been boosted by determined smallfolk, and their training had become even more rigorous. Daemon was in charge of the men that were trickling in from their allies; hardened, incensed northmen and women, Vale Knights sent by Lady Jeyne, Reachmen sent by the Lord of Highgarden, the man furious that a vassal house of his had committed treason and were going to war against their king. 

A war camp had sprung up outside of the city, and the men were policed by the City Watch under Ser Harwin to keep the peace. Several brawls had broken out, but the presence of the dragons and Watchmen had stopped them before they could escalate. Aegon had witnessed one brawl in which a fearsome Mormont woman broke a Reachman’s jaw for claiming she’d better return north and be a proper lady; Aegon had fought to stifle his amusement when the man had gone down screaming like a babe. No southern knight dared badmouth the northern women again. 

Aegon and Aemond had also begun working with Sunfyre and Grey Ghost with Daemon and Rhaenys whenever they could, perfecting their aerial maneuvers and agility in the air, strengthening the bonds they shared with their dragons; they were likely to be needed in the future, depending on the force the Militant and House Hightower had. 

The Targaryens and Velaryons spent their evenings together if their busy schedules permitted it, sharing meals and taking comfort in one another. It was during one of those meals when a messenger appeared and informed father that his aunt, Princess Saera Targaryen, was in the city with her children and grandchildren with dire news. 

Everyone was rightfully flabbergasted. Saera Targaryen had not sent word - let alone visited - in over a decade. She kept to herself in Volantis, not even returning for her parents and siblings funerals. She had all but wiped her hands of her Targaryen kin, preferring to remain in Volantis. The last time anyone had heard of her was during the Great Council. For her to be in Westeros, voluntarily, was alarming. 

Father ordered for Saera, her children, and grandchildren to be brought to the family solar, and they were promptly. 

Saera Targaryen, despite her advanced age, held the innate beauty and regality of all Targaryens. She was tall and willowy despite having three children, her expression bland but her eyes full of tension. She curtseyed before Viserys, expression softening when he embraced her.

“Nephew,” she greeted in a heavily accented voice. “Tis good to see you, Viserys.” 

“Why are you here, aunt Saera?” Viserys asked, ignoring the woman’s worried glance to his amputated arm. 

“My son, Valarr, was informed of very troubling news, nephew, and I thought it best delivered in person,” Saera explained, motioning to the tall, handsome man beside her. 

Valarr dipped his head. “Your grace, Otto Hightower approaches Myr with an army of Unsullied soldiers.” 

Aegon’s eyes widened. He looked at his family, all of whom looked angry but unsurprised. “How many?” he asked, flushing when all attention turned to him. 

“He purchased all the fully trained Unsullied of Astapor,” Valarr said gravely, making Aegon’s stomach drop. 

“How many is that?” Daemon asked impatiently. 

“Twenty thousand,” Valarr said gravely. 

“By the Fourteen,” Rhaenys whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. 

Viserys’ lips were pursed angrily. He inhaled deeply and forced a smile. “Please, Aunt, won't you join us and introduce your family?” 

Saera smiled softly. “My son, Valarr, and his children Aerys and Shaera; Alysanne, who is a scholar; and Gaemon and his daughters, Naerys, Rhaella, and Visenna.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, cousins,” Viserys said, smiling. “Please be welcome to Kings Landing. I will have rooms set aside for you all in the family wing.” 

Saera looked faintly surprised, but pleased. “Thank you, your grace.”

"You are kin, aunt Saera," Father said softly, taking one of her hands in his. “You needn’t address me so formally. “Welcome home.” 

Everyone pretended not to see Saera’s tears as she bowed her head. 

***

Aunt Saera’s children smoothly fit into their group, and after several days of getting to know one another, it was as though they had grown up with them. Aerys and Shaera were older, but they were warm and kind and curious about everything in Westeros; their mother had, of course, told them of their royal kin, but their curiosity was insatiable and they asked about the high lords and customs of their grandmother’s birth country. Gaemon’s children, Naerys, Rhaella, and Visenna were instantly welcomed by Helaena, Rhaena and Visenya and spent most days with them in lessons or playing in the royal nursery. 

Aegon, used to being the oldest of the children, was relieved that children closer his age were around to share the care of the little ones. Aerys and Shaera were clearly used to caring for their little cousins, and seemed happy to help Aegon do the same when the adults were busy. When they were relieved of caring for the little ones, Aerys and Shaera joined him in his lessons with Aemond or the tiltyard. 

Valarr joined Daemon in teaching them in the yard, warm and encouraging with a stern streak that echoed Daemon’s own. Alysanne had shut herself away in the library and showed an intolerance for children that amused Aegon greatly; despite being named for the Good Queen, cousin Alysanne could not have been less like her namesake. Gaemon was not glorious like his namesake, but always happy and cheerful; he doted on his daughters and swanned about the keep in colorful clothing and hair twisted into elaborate updos and braids, smelling of sweet perfumes and oils. 

It was always amusing to see Gaemon and Daemon together; they were the complete opposite, but somehow got along better than Daemon and Valarr did. 

Aunt Saera was the quietest of their kin that had come from Essos. She seemed uncomfortable in the keep, glancing around as though she could see ghosts no one else could. And perhaps she did. Everyone knew of the contempt King Jaehaerys and Aunt Saera had had for each other; she had been born a free spirit loathing the chains of royalty that had held her down. 

But while Saera had loathed her father, she had adored her mother, Queen Alysanne, and had never had the chance to say good-bye. She had also outlived the majority of her siblings, many of whom had died young. Aegon felt for her, but was glad that cousin Rhaenys and Rhaenyra had seemingly banded together to ensure Saera was made as comfortable as possible in the Keep that held so many bad memories. 

A moon after their arrival, Aegon was in the dragonpit with Sunfyre when Silverwing arrived; his great-grandmother’s dragon had taken to flying to Kings Landing to be with Vermithor, her mate. His cousins and aunt Saera were there, the latter’s breath catching when she saw her mother’s dragon, the silver she-dragon eyeing them curiously. 

“She’s grown,” Saera murmured to Viserys. 

“Did grandmother take you for flights?” Father asked. 

Saera smiled faintly. “All the time.” 

Silverwing, curious, crawled forward and chirred. Aegon held his breath, staring as Saera approached the silvery-blue beast. She raised a hand, snippets of High Valyrian sounding over Silverwing’s curious chirps and growls. 

Aegon glanced at Father, who was smiling slightly, then back at aunt Saera, who’s hand was pressed to Silverwing’s cheek under her pale eye; the she-dragon was slimmer than others, but no less deadly. Built for speed and agility, she was longer than dragon’s the same age as her. 

King Jaehaerys had forbidden Saera from claiming a dragon as a young woman, but the old king was now dead and father did not seem to be stopping her. 

Silverwing shifted and lowered herself, chirping insistently. Saera glanced back at father, who nodded encouragingly. She straightened, smiling, and turned back to the dragon before her. She rounded Silverwing’s shoulder and mounted her, settling on her bare back. 

Aegon hurried to Sunfyre’s side, swiftly mounting the excited dragon. He buckled himself into the saddle and ordered Sunfyre into the sky, cheering happily when Aunt Saera and Father joined him shortly after. 

***

The excitement of aunt Saera claiming Silverwing did not last long. Barely the remainder of the day, as word came from House Florent of Brightwater Keep and Uncle Daemon’s spies in Oldtown. 

The Faith Militant had armed the Warrior’s Sons and Poor Fellows and they had not only attacked Targaryen loyalists in Oldtown, but had poured forth from the city and begun attacking any loyalists they came across as they traveled north along the Mander. 

Word of the Faith Militant had spread quickly, and more of their order had sprung up in Fairmarket, Gods Eye town, Lord Harroway’s town, Pennytree, and the Stoney Sept. Lords local to the towns and settlements had sent detachments to deal with the rebels, but support for the Militant was only growing despite Fatherhaving burned several in the capitol. 

Aegon wanted to go deal with the religious zealots himself, but he was reminded of his age - constantly. 

Uncle Daemon was to be sent to end the uprising in the God's Eye town with Caraxes, Lord Strong sending him off with permission to use Harrenhal as his base; father sent word to loyal houses, ordering them to call their banners to war. Houses close to Harrenhal were ordered to send their armies to the castle for Prince-Consort Daemon to take charge of.

Before uncle Daemon’s departure, a war council was called. Aegon was allowed in, as was Aemond, and they stood with Rhaenyra and Daemon as a map of Westeros was spread across the table, carved seven pointed stars placed on the map to indicate where the uprisings were currently happening. 

“Prince Daemon will use Harrenhal as his base,” Father began, nodding to Lord Strong. “Lord Strong has sent word to the castellan to prepare for war.” 

"House Tyrell has responded to the ravens sent, and they have begun mustering their men and gathering supplies," Rhaenys continued, placing a carved Tyrell rose on the map. 

"The Lannisters have risen for House Hightower," Rhaenyra murmured, scowling at a scroll in her hand. She tossed it on the table, furious. "Other houses of the westerlands have as well, though we have allies." 

Viserys' lips pinched. "Daemon, you will see to the uprisings at Harrenhal. Rhaenys, you shall meet the Tyrell bannermen and head south to Oldtown to lay siege." 

"Yes, your grace." Rhaenys nodded, standing tall in her armor. 

"According to Aunt Saera's informants, Ormund was speaking with a Dornishman; it's safe to assume the Dornish have allied against us and will use the Prince's pass to launch an attack," Daemon murmured, narrowing his eyes at the map.

"Send word to Lord Boremund," Viserys said, glancing at Daemon with approval. His little brother had always been a brilliant tactician. "He will be able to block off the pass and report if any movement comes from the south." He eyed the map for several moments. "Laena, Corlys, I shall have you patrolling Backwater Bay. If Otto has allied with Dorne and purchased the Unsullied, he would have no qualms about allying with the Triarchy. Their ships will not get past Dragonstone."

"Of course, your grace," Corlys and Laena echoed, both bowing at the waist. 

"What of the westerlands?" Rhaenyra asked, crossing her arms. "They shall have to be stopped from assisting their fellow rebels in the Riverlands and Reach." 

"Father," Aegon piped up, trying not to let his nerves show. "Allow me to assist. Aunt Saera has only just claimed a dragon and is not yet experienced enough. I have been flying Sunfyre since I was a boy." 

Viserys stared, lips a thin, white line. But he knew as well as anyone that Aegon was more than capable, and not just because of his experience with dragon riding. 

"Very well," Father finally murmured. "You and Rhaenyra shall stall the westerland armies from joining with the other rebels. Our allies there can help you on the ground." 

Aegon bowed. "Of course, father." 

Aemond shifted closer to him, mouth turned down. Aegon grabbed his brother's hand and squeezed, trying to reassure him. 

They would be fine. 

He hoped.

***

It was decided that the children and babes would be sent to Dragonstone with Gold Cloaks and two kingsguard - one of which was Laenor - loyal to Daemon and Rhaenyra to guard them with Aemond, Helaena, and Aunt Saera to patrol the skies. The wild dragons on the island, too, would protect their home viciously if they sensed any outsiders there. 

Aegon tried not to show his fear when he said goodbye to his siblings, niece, nephews, and new cousins. They stood on the docks sharing hugs and well wishes before it was time for Lord Corlys to ferry them to Dragonstone. 

Aegon stood back and watched as the Sea Snake sailed away, the dragons flying overhead. He leaned into Rhaenyra when she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, swallowing the urge to cry. 

"They will be safe, little brother." She kissed the top of his head and steered him around. "Come, let us prepare for departure." 

Back in the Keep, Daemon surprised he and Rhaenyra both by presenting them with lightweight, maneuverable armor he'd had made for them weeks ago. It was clearly modeled after his own, black with red accents, though both he and Rhaenyra's had gold and yellow accents for their dragons. 

Daemon helped them into their armor, face set and cool. Once they were garbed, he stepped back and nodded fiercely. "Good," he said, melting slowly when Rhaenyra kissed his cheek. "Be safe, my love." He looked at Aegon, and the love and concern in his uncle's eyes had Aegon hugging him tightly. "Both of you. Do not take unnecessary risks. Come home, both of you." 

Aegon stepped back and nodded firmly. "We will, kepus." 

Rhaenyra smiled faintly and kissed him, so Aegon rolled his eyes and stepped out of the room to wait with Ser Erryk, who shared an amused smile with him. 

"Be safe, my prince," Erryk murmured, bowing his head slightly. 

"You as well, ser," he replied, extending a hand.

Ser Erryk paused momentarily before grasping Aegon's wrist firmly, a determined expression on his face. 

They would win this war, or die trying. 

***

Sunfyre glided through the air beside Syrax, the two golden-yellow dragons intent and silent as they flew above the clouds. They could sense Aegon and Rhaenyra’s wish for them to remain silent, and so they did. 

Rhaenyra signaled for them to fly below the cover of clouds, and Aegon swiftly tugged Sunfyre's reigns. The golden dragon silently obeyed, diving below the clouds. Below, a sea of red tends and cook fires lit up the night. 

Jason and Tyland Lannister had managed to gather quite the army to oppose them, and it made Aegon's stomach roll nervously, especially when he spotted something that made his heart leap into his throat.

A scorpion. 

Rhaenyra must have seen it too, as Syrax snarled and dove toward it, roaring furiously and loudly enough to wake the dead. Sunfyre followed at Aegon's urging, and they dove toward the sleeping army. 

Dishonourable, perhaps, but all is fair in love and war.

Sunfyre snapped his wings out and glided over the tents. Aegon snarled, "Dracarys!" And the night was lit by dragonfire. 

The army began to scramble futilely, horses screaming and bolting as flames surrounded them. The tents went up like kindling, burning to death the men inside.

The scorpion burst into flame, Syrax's fire no match for the wood and iron of the weapon, and began to spew flames over the army alongside Sunfyre.

Aegon hunched in the saddle, leaning to the left as a barrage of useless arrows fired from the ground. They plinked and scraped harmlessly against Sunfyre's scales, only enraging his temperamental boy. 

A loud thunk echoed in the night, and Aegon peered over Sunfyre's shoulder to see a second scorpion aiming at Rhaenyra and Syrax. His heart leapt into his throat, and he tugged Sunfyre's reins. 

In retrospect, it was foolish of him to take his young dragon towards a weapon that could harm him. But all Aegon thought of in that moment was his sister, who loved him as though he were her own son; who had accepted his past life and forgiven him.

The scorpion turned and thunked again, and Sunfyre loosed a screaming roar and twisted in the air. Aegon faintly heard Rhaenyra shout in alarm as Sunfyre struggled to keep himself airborne with a scorpion bolt in his leg, likely consumed with pain. 

Aegon held on as best he could as Sunfyre thrashed and screamed, but it was useless. His dragon hit the ground in an ungainly sprawl, roaring and spewing golden flames that would have kept any sane person away. 

But the Lannister men, it seemed, were not very sane.

Aegon slid from the saddle and hurried to Sunfyre's wound, grimacing as steaming black blood leaked from his leg. He grabbed the bolt and yanked it from his dragon's flesh. 

"Step away from the beast!" A somewhat familiar voice bellowed, and Aegon turned to see Tyland Lannister approaching, the scorpion behind aimed at Sunfyre's head. "Move and the dragon dies." 

Aegon froze, staring. "Sunfyre, fly! Go!" 

Sunfyre whined, shifting, but obeyed. His large wings spread and thrust down. Aegon grabbed the straps of the saddle and held on for dear life, but it was useless. Pain spread through his back, and his hands loosened around the saddle straps and he fell into a heap on the ground.

Glancing over his shoulder, Aegon grimaced to see an arrow protruding from his shoulder. He looked up, heart breaking as Sunfyre loosed a mourning roar as he joined Rhaenyra and Syrax.

Hands grabbed him, and Aegon allowed the Lannister men to take him.

At least Rhaenyra and the dragons were safe

Chapter Text

Daemon was amused at how easily the rebels threw down their weapons in the face of imminent death by dragonfire, Caraxes putting the fear of the Fourteen in them with his sheer size and chilling roar. 

It was easy to secure Harrenhal after that, throwing the lead rebels - who were, unsurprisingly, Warrior's Sons - into the dungeons to await execution. Lord Lyonel's castellan welcomed him warmly and with no small amount of relief, leading him to the lord’s solar. Inside, they spread maps across the table and surveyed them, marking off where they knew rebels had made their stand. 

Shortly after Harrenhal was taken, Daemon was relieved to hear the roar of Syrax returning. Then, making his heart skip, he heard the loud, furious mourning roar of Sunfyre.

Grabbing Dark Sister, Daemon bolted from the solar and into the lichyard, where Syrax had landed. On the wall of the castle, Sunfyre sat with an empty saddle and black blood dripping down his leg. Aegon was nowhere to be seen. 

Rhaenyra dismounted inelegantly, hurrying towards him. Her eyes were red and puffy and burning with fury. “The Lannisters took Aegon,” she announced. 

Daemon stared, heart firmly lodged in his throat. “They what ?” 

“They had scorpions and shot Sunfyre, whose scales are not as hard as Syrax’s. He couldn't stay aloft, and had to land. Aegon dismounted to pull the bolt out, but he was swarmed by Lannister men. They had the scorpion aimed at Sunfyre’s head. They were too close to Aegon for me to burn them.” Rhaenyra’s eyes were lined with tears, and Daemon drew her into a hug, holding her tightly. “We have to get him back, Daemon.”

“We will. We have to write Viserys,” he murmured. “Come.” 

Daemon knew his brother would not allow this to stand, and perhaps the realm would finally see the dragon his brother truly was.

He could not wait. 

***

The letter crumbled in Viserys’ grasp, the parchment crinkling loudly in the deathly silence that had followed the reading of the letter. His council sat, shocked and pale, at the news that Prince Aegon had been taken captive, his dragon injured. 

“My king-” Mellos began, voice nervous.

“This must be answered with force, my king,” Rhaenys interrupted, her face so stony it looked to be carved from granite. “A prince has been taken hostage.” 

Viserys slowly stood, leaving the letter crumbled on the table. Rhaenyra’s shaky words glared up at him, and his heart thundered, blood roaring in his ears - or perhaps that was Vermithor, who was heard clearly roaring his fury to the skies, feeding off Viserys’ own anger. 

“They may harm the prince-” Mellos began, shaking his head.

“Prince Aegon is their figurehead.” Lord Lyonel spoke over the maester, who looked increasingly angry at being interrupted. “They would not dare harm him. They shall try and use him, yes, but not harm him. Can Sunfyre not sense where they are taking him?” 

“Sunfyre has been injured,” Rhaenys explained, lips pursing. “He is a juvenile dragon, and must heal some before he can fly. He shall heal swiftly, as all dragons do, but it shall take at least a fortnight.” 

Viserys looked up from the letter, peering at his councilors. “I shall not allow this to go unanswered. They have my son.” 

“Of course, your grace,” Rhaenys said, nodding. “How do you wish to proceed?”

“Rhaenys,” Viserys said, straightening his spine. “You have governance of the realm.”

Rhaenys nodded firmly. “Yes, your grace.” 

Mellos spluttered. “Your grace, you cannot possibly-” 

“Be silent,” Viserys snarled, leaning his hand on the table. Mellos went white, especially when Vermithor flew over the keep, roaring. “My son has been taken, my child, Mellos. I understand you have no children and could not possibly understand, but you will be silent. I am your king, and I have decided how this treason shall be answered. This is the moment you say ‘yes, your grace’ and obey .”

Mellos trembled, whispering, “Yes, your grace.” 

Rhaenys looked proud and impressed. “Meleys and I shall guard the capitol, your grace. Laena and Vhagar shall also be vigilant.” 

Viserys nodded firmly and straightened, stalking from the room; his hand shook faintly from the fury coursing through his veins. 

He would get his son back, no matter the cost. 

***

First week of capture 

Aegon was blindfolded the moment Rhaenyra flew off, Sunfyre barely managing to stay aloft. The blindfold remained for the gods’ knew how long, and he internally stewed in his anger as he was pushed and shoved around like a doll, making him snort at how these men treated their so-called ‘chosen heir.’ 

He wasn’t aware of the passage of time. He was fed and given water - which he soon discovered was laced with milk of the poppy to keep him compliant and sleeping most of the time - and kept blindfolded and gagged. It was shameful, how Tyland treated him, but also predictable. He wondered constantly, when he wasn’t fuzzy headed from the poppy, where they were taking him. 

Aegon knew it was far, as the bond he shared with Sunfyre became tighter and more taut the further away they got from his dragon. He knew his family would look for him, but finding him while he was drugged would be hard as it blurred his bond with Sunfyre. Whenever he had the chance, he focused on that bond, urging his boy to stay away for now; he felt faint disapproval from the ornery dragon, smiling around his gag. 

Aegon wasn't surprised when he was dragged onto a ship after days on a horse. He’d heard the bustling sounds of a city, smelt the sea; Lannisport. But where were they taking him? South, clearly, as that was where most of his grandfather’s supporters were. Were they taking him to Oldtown? No, that was too obvious. 

But where? 

Aegon had never enjoyed sailing. It made him feel sick to his stomach, which became clear to his captors, though it had the added benefit of cleansing his system of the poppy milk. He felt more clear headed than he had in days, which allowed him to listen in on his captors hushed words.

They tried constantly to make him talk, but he remained stubbornly silent, which clearly annoyed Tyland Lannister, but he was never harmed, which was a small relief. 

He knew that wouldn't last, especially if they were taking him to his mother and grandfather.

***

Week Two of capture 

Aegon’s stomach settled after the third day on the sea, thankfully, though that meant he was able to be drugged again, which he loathed. He’d never been fond of the taste or feeling milk of the poppy gave him. It reminded him too much of his last years in his past life, doped so frequently he’d barely remembered his children’s names.

He felt listless, body heavier than it truly was. He knew he had been given too much poppy milk when he began craving it almost, awaiting his next dose a little too eagerly. 

He was becoming addicted, which did not bode well for him. If he consumed too much, it would completely blur the bond with Sunfyre to the point he wouldn’t be able to call on him.

Despite having his hands bound and a blindfold, everytime he was given milk of the poppy, Aegon made himself ill. He feigned sea illness, or mere illness, and trembled through the sweats caused by withdrawal. He loathed the feeling, but it was necessary; he would never rely on poppy milk again. 

He refused. 

His captors became annoyed with him, and thankfully stopped giving him milk of the poppy. The fever, shakes, and cravings made him feel ill and disgusting, but he persevered. He was the blood of the dragon, named for a legendary conqueror, he would not let mere poppy milk ruin him again. 

Days blurred together and Aegon slept fitfully, worried his captors would become sick of his silence and illness and begin torturing him for information. 

They didn't, but Tyland was relentless. 

Aegon was exhausted, but refused to break. “I won't tell you anything, Lannister, so you may as well give up.” 

Tyland growled faintly. “What are the plans of the king?”

Aegon sighed explosively. “Why would he tell me, Lannister? He merely told me to join Rhaenyra the day you captured me. Why would I be privy to a king’s council? I am not the heir.”

“You will be,” the man snapped, sounding petulant. “It goes against the laws of men and the gods that a woman was named heir over a legitimate son.” 

“Your gods and men,” Aegon drawled boredly. “House Targaryen is Valyrian, we do not follow the ways of Andals.” 

“You yourself hold the blood of Andals, boy,” Tyland snapped. “And thank the Seven for that. In a few generations, the blood of abominations shall be bred out of your descendants.” 

Aegon tilted his head. “That is your plan? Plant me, half Hightower, unfortunately, on the throne and wed my descendants to Andal houses? Force the blood of the dragon from the royal family? Kill off the dragons?”

Tyland remained silent. 

Aegon smiled. “It is, isn’t it? I wonder how you believe you shall prevail over my so-called abominable family when you have no dragons.” 

“We have faith,” Tylan snapped. 

“Does your faith armor you against dragonfire, Ser Tyland?” Aegon mocked, chuckling. “I would truly like to see that.”

The door to Aegon’s cabin slammed, and he chuckled to himself about Tyland’s petulant exit. It was the most entertainment he had had for the gods’ knew how long. 

***

Week Three of Capture 

Aegon yawned and stretched his legs out across his bed, musing on where and what his family were doing. Were Daemon and Rhaenyra burning swathes of their enemies? Was his father riding into battle? What of his niece and nephews? His brothers and sister? He prayed to the Fourteen that they were safe. He would burn the realm to the ground if anything happened to them. 

He was sick unto death of sailing, though, and prayed they were close to their destination. He wished for proper food, not salt fish and beef. He wished for a feather bed rather than the straw monstrosity he’d been forced to sleep on. 

He was also bored. He was still blindfolded, though they had stopped gagging him, thank the gods. He couldn't stand the feeling of rags against his tongue and teeth.

Groaning when muffled shouts came from the deck, Aegon dragged himself into a sitting position qnf stretched, wincing at his sore muscles and how loudly his spine popped. He'd lost an alarming amount of weight while captured, and he could imagine Rhaenyra's fussing and Daemon's conniption about the muscle he had lost. 

It made him smile, thinking of his family. He hadn't lost hope that they were coming for him; he knew they were. He could feel it in his bones. 

His cabin door opened, banging against the wall, and Aegon sighed, suddenly exhausted. A hand grabbed his upper arm roughly, and he was yanked to his feet and dragged towards the door. 

“We've docked,” Tyland ground out, likely still smarting from the mocking Aegon had done. It made him smile in remembrance. 

“Ah,” Aegon mused, stumbling slightly when they came to the stairs to the deck. “I suppose my mother shall be there to greet me? How wonderful .” 

“You should show your mother some respect, boy,” Tyland snapped. “She gave you life.” 

Aegon snorted inelegantly, but remained silent. Lannister had no clue of what he spoke of. He would only respect those deserving of his respect, and his mother had never deserved it. Not once, in either life. 

Tyland dragged him from the ship and onto land, Aegon's legs wobbling slightly. He was unceremoniously shoved into a carriage, and the blindfold was removed from his face at long last.

Pain speared his head as his sensitive eyes were barraged by light, though it was faint thanks to the curtains drawn in the carriage. His eyes watered and leaked, and he blinked rapidly to rid his vision of blurriness. 

His mother sat across from him, garbed in green and seven pointed stars. “My son,” she sighed, looking sad and disappointed. 

Aegon wiped his eyes and rolled them, ignoring her. She cut the rope about his wrists, tutting at the chafing. He massaged his limbs, wiggling his fingers. 

“You do not greet me after so long apart, Aegon?” She asked, sounding hurt, of all things.

Aegon looked at her, eyes aching. “I am here against my will. Why would I greet you? You and your allies have abducted me and taken me hostage. Am I supposed to rank you?” 

Predictably, Alicent slapped him. His head jerked to the side, and Aegon ground his teeth. “Show me respect, Aegon. I demand it as your mother and Queen.” 

Aegon snorted. “Queen? Truly? You are mad if you think father won't annul your marriage and disgrace you for your treason.” 

Alicent grabbed his face. “I am doing the gods’ work, Aegon. You should have been named heir the day of your birth, but that whore-” 

Aegon wrenched his face from her grasp, teeth bared in a snarl. “Do not call my sister a whore,” he snapped. “She is a better woman than you have ever, and will ever, be, Alicent .” 

She flinched, shaking her head and grasping at the Seven Pointed Star about her throat. “What have they done to you? They have corrupted you, my son.” 

Aegon shook his head, sneering. “You are delusional, Alicent.” 

Alicent slapped him again, nostrils flaring. Aegon, fed up, slapped her back. She sat in stunned shock, mouth agape. He ignored the slight guilt in his gut and glared. “How do you like being slapped, mother ?” He asked, thoroughly disgusted with the woman who called herself his mother. 

“The gods will punish you for this,” she whispered, hand tightening around the star at her throat. Blood welled from where the points dug into her flesh and dripped from her hand. “You are no son of mine.” 

“Good,” Aegon said blandly, sitting back. “I don't wish to be your son.” 

***

Three weeks earlier 

The army below screamed and scattered as the Bronze Fury fell upon them, King Viserys on his back, and flames burst forth from his gullet; the men screamed and burned and died, some falling to ash the second the scalding flames of Vermithor touched them, others lingering before they died.

The king and his beast did not let up, wheeling about in the sky, Vermithor's wings cracking like thunder, roar like a landslide of boulders, flames bathing everything in death and ruin.

The army barely had any time to process the usually gentle King Viserys unleashing his dragon upon them when he was joined by the dreaded Blood Wyrm and Princess Rhaenyra's Golden Lady. 

The flaming ground was akin to that of the legendary Field of Fire as men and grass burned; horses fled screaming from the conflagration, men prayed and begged for mercy, but there was none. 

The Targaryens had come with fire and blood, and there was no respite. 

***

Two weeks earlier 

Viserys rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the beard on his face. He had barely stopped since word came of Aegon's capture, let alone shaved. Rhaenyra and Daemon had had to urge him to bathe, but shaving was the last thing on his mind. 

Now they sat in the makeshift war room they had turned Lyonel Strong's solar into, all of them covered in soot and dried sweat but none of them willing to stop when Aegon's whereabouts were still unknown. 

Word had come from all over the kingdom of their allies searching for Aegon, but so far there was no definitive answer as to where he was. Surely Oldtown would be the obvious answer, but perhaps too obvious; Otto was no fool, no matter how it rankled.

But Viserys had learned the hard way to never underestimate an enemy. 

Rhaenys had written to inform him of a small Militant uprising in the city she and Laena were dealing with; she had informed him of Saera being dispatched to Riverrun to take the castle, as it had become clear that the Tully's were working with the Hightowers. Her mission had been successful, and she now resided with Silverwing there and several dozen guards.

One blow that had come was the death of Boremund Baratheon against the Dornish and Borros turning his cloak to the Hightowers side. He, Rhaenyra, and Daemon were discussing the best course of action currently.

Boremund had been killed by an Unsullied soldier, reports said, in the Dornish Marches, and Borros had joined with the Dornish and Unsullied and were making their way into the Reach. 

“I shall deal with Borros,” Viserys announced. Daemon and Rhaenyra looked at him, expressions as exhausted as he felt. “I will leave immediately.” 

“Rest first, father. We have only just returned from the Westerlands,” Rhaenyra told him, grasping his hand. 

Viserys sighed and nodded, knowing she was right. He would be a liability if he was too tired to focus. “I shall go to rest. Wake me in three hours.” 

“We will,” Daemon said, nodding. 

Viserys made his way to his chambers, Ser Harrold following; he had flown to Harrenhal with Viserys, braving dragonback to protect his king; Viserys appreciated his loyalty. 

He all but collapsed into his bed, body aching. He lay there, staring at the blackened ceiling, and wondered where everything had gone wrong. The moment he wed Alicent? Or before that, when he had pushed Aemma too hard to give him a male heir? When his grandfather Jaehaerys had trusted Otto? 

Or even before that, when Ceryse Hightower was wed to Maegor? He knew not, but he did know they were paying for whatever mistake was made. He merely hoped they survived it.

***

One week earlier 

Viserys had never imagined himself flying into battle on a dragon and burning rebels, but there he was strapped to Vermithor's back, flying over the combined army of Dorne, the Stormlands, and Unsullied from Essos preparing to give the order for Vermithor to burn them.

He felt guilt for the Unsullied, who truly had no choice but to be there after Otto purchased them. They were slaves, unable to go against their masters. It had been tortured into them from the time they were children stolen from their homes.

It made Viserys feel sick. 

He hunched in the saddle, strapped in tightly and grasping the reigns, he shifted to look over Vermithor's shoulder. The army was split into three clear factions, the Unsullied a ways away, likely being sneered at by thr Stomlanders and Dornish.

That made Viserys sigh in relief. He wouldn't have to harm the Unsullied. He could save them from the foolishness of Otto. 

“ Dracarys ,” he shouted, and Vermithor roared and dove towards the Stormland and Dornish armies, bathing them in a wash of bronze flame. 

The Unsullied snapped to attention, though they seemed frozen, indecisive. Viserys communicated with Vermithor, who roared his agreement, and wheeled about in the air and began to land before the Unsullied; Aegon’s words echoed in Viserys’ mind.

Vermithor landed in front of the disciplined lines of the Unsullied, a wall of flame separating them from the Stormlanders and Dornish. He sat up in the saddle, Vermithor lowering hid head and growling.

“ Unsullied! ” He shouted in Valyrian, all of them staring through their helms. “ You were brought here as slaves to fight in a battle not your own! I am king of these lands and offer you freedom from the chains you have lived in your whole lives. You need not fight in this battle, Unsullied. You may lay down your weapons and be protected by me and my kin until this war is over!” 

The Unsullied remained silent and stone faced. Viserys frowned, wondering if they even knew the concept of freedom; if they even wanted it, or if they had grown comfortable in their chains. 

Then, one Unsullied dropped his spear. Slowly, one by one, the rest began to do the same. Viserys breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the Unsullied, now and forever free men, would not face consequences for Otto's actions.

***

Present day  

Aegon tried and failed to hide a grin as Otto raged over the lost Unsullied and gold he had spent on them. Wasted , more like. It was hilarious and he truly wanted to laugh in his grandfather's face. 

Mother nervously wrung her hands, one of them still bandaged from where she had squeezed her seven pointed star too hard. Aegon lay indolently on a chaise, sipping watered wine. 

“Viserys has to die,” Otto announced, pacing. Aegon's gut clenched. “As do Rhaenyra and Daemon and their spawn.” 

“No.” Aegon set his wine aside and stood, glaring. “If you touch my family, it will be the last thing you ever do.” 

Otto laughed coldly. “And what will you do, boy ? You are trapped here on this island with no dragon, no way of sending word.” 

Aegon smiled, truly enjoying Otto's utter cluelessness. “Oh, am I?” He queried, strolling around the cramped room he'd been thrown into upon his arrival. He paused by the window, staring over the Redwyne Straits toward Oldtown before facing his grandfather. “An interesting thing about dragonriders, grandfather . No matter the distance between a dragon and their rider, a bond exists between them.” 

Otto sneered. “What has that got to do with anything?” 

“Many are under the misconception that dragons are merely deadly beasts with little intelligence,” Aegon explained slowly, delightedly, as though speaking to a child. It still made him grin when he saw his father's handless right arm. “This is incorrect.” 

“They are mindless, monstrous beasts,” Alicent declared righteously. “Ungodly creatures that should be dealt with.” 

Aegon tilted his head, grinning eerily. Alicent shifted uncomfortably, and even Otto looked wary. “Uncle Daemon taught me a lot about dragons and the bond they share with their riders. Do you know it is possible to call one's dragon to their side from long distances?” 

Otto's face fell, flesh paling like a corpses, as roars echoed loudly outside the Keep they resided in. The Keep in which Otto had stooped to abusing and torturing Aegon for days for information and for him to fall in line; the fool had even sent word that the true heir to the Seven Kingdoms was fighting for his birthright.

Fool.

Rhaenyra was the true heir. 

Aegon's grin turned maniacal as the door burst open and two guards tumbled inside. “They're here! All of them!” One panicked, panting harshly. 

Aegon laughed delightedly, clasping his hands together. “Fire and Blood has come, mother, grandfather . Prepare to burn! ” 

Alicent and Otto bolted from the room, leaving Aegon alone. He smirked and knelt by the chaise, reaching underneath for the dagger he'd managed to bribe a servant to bring him, the young woman more than sympathetic to his plight. 

Striding to the door, he listened intently for a few moments before pulling it open slowly and silently. He'd diligently tested the door for days, and when he discovered it squeaked when opened, he'd liberally applied honey to the hinges that came with his morning meals. 

The door opened silently, the guard before it not realizing anything was amiss until Aegon had his pilfered dagger buried in the man's spine. He grunted as he fell, sprawling across the floor.

Aegon adroitly stepped over him and hurried down the hall, remembering the layout of the Keep from the map the servant had brought him with the dagger. She truly was a sweet girl, he hoped she got out in time.

He hurried to the end of the hall and headed up to the battlements. He felt Sunfyre's closeness, his eagerness. It made him grin, giddiness welling in his gut. 

Aegon burst from the door onto the battlement, breathing a sigh of relief as fresh sea air battered him in the face, his long hair whipping about. Above the castle Vermithor, Caraxes, Syrax, Vhagar, and his beloved Sunfyre flew and dove and burned the army surrounding the Keep and the ships at anchor.

Aegon grinned and ran across the battlements.

“ HALT !” A sharp voice commanded.

Aegon paused climbing onto the wall and turned, groaning as his mother and grandfather pushed their way past the guards. “What?” He asked, annoyed. 

“Come, Aegon,” Alicent said sharply. “You have a duty and responsibility.” 

“Fuck off,” Aegon said boredly, turning to climb on the wall. 

“ Boy , get down this instance !” Otto shouted, furious. 

Aegon balanced, turning to grin at them. He winked and let himself fall, laughing wildly at Alicent's scream. He feel freely for several heartstopping moments before he landed awkwardly in the saddle on Sunfyre's back. 

Sunfyre roared, delighted, as Aegon strapped himself in all the while patting his shoulder. “ Good to see you, too, boy .” 

Sunfyre rose in the air, landing on the battlements Aegon had just jumped from, and roared. The guards dragged Alicent and Otto back, brandishing their swords and crossbows. 

Aegon snorted. “ Dracarys !” 

***

Aegon hated that he felt tears pricking his eyes when his father, sister, Daemon, and Laena all engulf him in a slightly awkward, but wholly warm, group embrace. He all but fell into fathers arms, burrowing into their warmth.

“Oh, my son,” Father murmured, tears streaming into his beard.

Aegon touched his beard, laughing through his tears. “Father, you need to shave,” he managed. 

Father beamed, eyes glowing. Rhaenyra chuckled and dragged him into her arms, pressing kisses to his temple almost maniacally. “I'm so glad you're safe,” she murmured. 

Daemon ruffled his hair. “You did well, nephew, calling Sunfyre to you.” 

He smiled, squeezing the hand Laena held out to him. “Thank you, kepus ,” he murmured.

“What is this?” Father asked, furious. Aegon looked at the hand father held, grimacing at the missing fingernails. 

“Otto,” Aegon said simply. “He thought torture would loosen my lips.” 

“I will kill him,” Father snarled, Rhaenyra and Daemon looking just as livid. 

“We should return and burn the whole keep to ash,” Rhaenyra snapped. 

“No,” Aegon said, suddenly exhausted. “I just want to go home.” 

Father brushed his hair away from his face and kissed his brow. “Okay, my son. Let's go home.” 

Aegon could have wept at those words, beyond relieved. He was finally going home, where he belonged

Chapter Text

Prince Aegon's rescue from the clutches of his Hightower family marked the beginning of the end for the rebels. The war had been brewing for years, but would end so swiftly it was almost comical. 

Tyland, Hobert, and Otto were captured in the keep Aegon had been held in. They were shackled and tossed onto the back of Caraxes, Daemon looking thoroughly disgusted that he had to take the men to the capitol for justice, but gleeful that Caraxes wasn't the smoothest of fliers because of his deformities. 

Aegon walked over to where Sunfyre awaited him, his boys’ molten eyes pinned to him as though Aegon would vanish at a moment's notice. He reached up and ran a hand over Sunfyre's nose, smiling when the dragon lowered his head and purred, leaning into his touch.

“ I missed you, too, boy ,” Aegon whispered, tears pricking at his eyes.

Sunfyre grumbled low in his throat, the sound like rocks sliding against one another. Aegon cupped the golden dragon's face as best he could, pressing his forehead against warm, smooth scales. “ They would have killed you, Sunfyre. I couldn't let that happen .” 

Sunfyre huffed, gently leaning into the touch. Then he began nudging Aegon incessantly, corralling him around to his side. The adolescent dragon shifted impatiently, eyeing Aegon intently; he snorted and climbed onto Sunfyre's back, settling into the saddle and strapping himself in. 

Viserys approached, looking amused. Sunfyre sniffed and nudged him in welcome, allowing father to pet his neck gently. “Ready to leave, son?” 

“More than,” Aegon replied, finishing the last buckle on the saddle. 

Viserys smiled and nodded firmly, turning to approach Vermithor, who crouched low to the ground with a rumble of welcome. Aegon watched as his father, with only one arm, climbed up and into Vermithor's saddle, strapping himself in tightly. 

“ Fly ,” Aegon murmured, a giddy smile crossing his face as Sunfyre roared and began to run across the ground, feet and forewing claws thumping loudly. Pink wings spread, and his boy launched himself into the air with a loud, joyful roar.

Aegon closed his eyes, ignoring the tears that slid from beneath his lids, and spread his arms as the wind buffeted him. It was like coming home, one again being upon Sunfyre's back, and it was clear Sunfyre enjoyed it too, their bond pulsing with molten warmth and joy and relief. 

Aegon Targaryen was home.

***

In his past life, Aegon had come to despise Kings Landing. Now, however, he felt nothing but relief as Sunfyre flew over the city with a loud, happy roar. Below, the smallfolk cheered their homecoming, warming Aegon’s heart; though they cheered loudest when Viserys and Rhaenyra flew over, Vermithor and Syrax’s roars much louder than Sunfyre’s. 

The three of them landed in the Red Keep’s outer bailey, guards all stepping back to give the dragons room. Aegon dismounted and went to inspect Sunfyre’s leg, where paper thin, pale gold scales were growing back. He stroked his boy’s side, Sunfyre all but purring.

With one final pat, Aegon looked up as Caraxes circled, writhing chaotically through the air, which made him laugh, especially when he heard Otto and Tyland’s shouts and screams. 

The Blood Wyrm landed, whistling cheerfully, and Daemon swiftly dismounted, turning to untie Otto and Tyland from the saddle, which dumped them in a heap on the dirty ground. Tyland, hilariously, turned and emptied his stomach, shuddering. Otto looked quite pale, though also flushed with humiliation, which made a very pretty picture. 

“Take them to the black cells,” Father ordered the guards, who promptly grabbed the two men and hauled them away. “Come, Aegon, let’s have you seen by maester Gerardys.”

Aegon hugged Rhaenyra, who kissed his forehead and smiled warmly at him, then fell into step with father. Daemon gripped his shoulder briefly as they passed, nodding to father. “It’s good to be home,” Aegon sighed in relief as they entered the keep, servants and guards bowing to them both. 

Father wrapped his arm around Aegon’s shoulder. “It is good to have you home. What happened while you were…captured?” 

Aegon raised his hand, flashing his nailless fingers. “This, as well as some slaps and shouting. Nothing I could not handle, father.” 

Father’s hand tightened on Aegon’s shoulder. “Otto will regret hurting you, son. As will Lannister.” 

Aegon leaned his head against father’s shoulder, smiling faintly, as they made their way to Gerardys’ rooms. Before they could even get halfway there, Aegon was ambushed by Aemond, who hugged him so tightly Aegon worried his ribs would crack. 

“ Valonqar, I'm okay,” Aegon assured him, hugging him back just as tightly, a hand cupping the back of Aemond’s head. He could feel his shoulder growing wet, but did not say anything about his brother’s tears. 

Aemond stepped back, hastily wiping his face. “I’m glad you’re back, Aegon… I missed you.”

Aegon smiled and kissed Aemond’s forehead. “ I missed you, too, little brother.” 

***

Before Otto and Tyland were to be executed for treason and the abduction of a Prince of House Targaryen, father ordered for his marriage to be annulled; the septon’s in Kings Landing dithered and babbled about how there was no grounds for the dissolution of the marriage. 

“My mother is a confessed traitor to the crown,” Aemond, surprisingly, snapped. He eyed the septon with utmost contempt. “She assisted in the abduction of Prince Aegon, and spent three weeks trying to convince him to take the throne, to commit kinslaying to do so. She is a traitor and has committed treason, Septon; if that is not grounds for annulment, I do not know what is.”

Aegon hid a proud smile, though father was not so subtle. He outright beamed at Aemond, whose cheeks flushed with embarrassed pride. The Septon had all but pissed himself at the dressing down, and hurriedly signed the annulment, which while removed Alicent from House Targaryen, left the children of the union as Targaryens, though Aegon and Aemond had both insisted that all of father’s children from Alicent should be removed from the line of succession, legally, unless they wed into the main line, Rhaenyra’s line; he had agreed, seeing the wisdom of doing such a thing. 

Aegon relished the look on Otto’s face when the annulment agreement was read out before he and Tyland were executed. “... the children of the former union of King Viserys, the First of His Name, and Lady Alicent Hightower, are henceforth removed from the line of succession lest they wed into the main branch of the family. They are granted the name Targaryen, and the titles of Prince and Princess, but have no legal rights to the throne.” 

Otto was so red, his lips pressed together so hard, it was a wonder his head had not actually exploded. Tyland merely looked defeated, as though he regretted all the choices he made up until that point in time. “This is blasphemy! An insult to gods and men! Only a king’s trueborn son may inherit after him, not a daughter! And especially not this - this whore !” otto screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. 

Stunned silence followed the man’s unhinged screaming. Aegon glanced at father and uncle Daemon, both men looking utterly furious. Vermithor and Caraxes’ roars could be heard outside the throne room, loud and thunderous, full of fury shared between rider and dragon. 

Rhaenyra, however, looked calm; amused, even. “Where is that law written, Hightower?” she queried, looking very much like the queen she one day would be in her gold, black, and red armor. “I scoured the laws of inheritance of Westeros, and nowhere does it say that daughters cannot inherit before sons. In actuality, there is such a law called the Widow’s Law, perhaps you have heard of it?” Otto went white so swiftly Aegon was amazed he didn't faint. “Widow’s Law reaffirms the right of the eldest child, son or daughter, to inherit before any children of a new union. The law similarly prevents men from disinheriting the children from an earlier marriage in favor of children from a later marriage, dear Otto. This law was written by my great grandmother, Alysanne, the Good Queen.”

Father looked amused, and uncle Daemon was outright smirking at Otto, whose lips quivered in his fury. “You have no ground to stand on, hightower. You have committed treason, plain and simple, twice over and the sentence of such actions is death,” father announced, “Ser Harrold, please escort the criminals to the courtyard.” 

Aegon and Aemond stood with Rhaenyra and Daemon in solidarity as Ser Harold forced Otto and Tyland to their knees. Otto was stone faced and seemingly calm, whereas Tyland wept and snotted all over himself, begging for mercy, for forgivess. When Vermithor alighted on the walls of the inner bailey, Tyland fainted dead away. 

Uncle Daemon snorted, standing indolently with his hip cocked, hand resting on Dark Sister. “ Craven cunt ,” he muttered, making Aegon smile faintly. 

“For the crime of treason,” father announced, glaring at Otto and Tyland, who had been roughly woken by Ser Harrold. “I, Viserys Targaryen, First of my name, sentence you to die. Dracarys .” 

Vermithor inhaled deeply, gullet glowing a menacing bronze, before a deluge of flame engulfed Otto and Tyland both. They screamed for a brief moment in sheer agony before they were silenced, bodies flaming, and collapsed, dead.

Aegon’s tense shoulders relaxed as he watched the body of his greatest tormentor die a fiery death.

***

The Unsullied freed by Viserys were split into three groups and sent to Dragonstone, Kings Landing, and Harrenhal. The three leaders of those groups renamed themselves, something Aegon insisted on. He remembered vividly from his dreams how the Unsullied were named - how they were trained - and wanted them to choose their own names, their own futures. The leader of the Dragonstone group called himself Bronze Dragon, after Vermithor and father, who had freed them; the Kings Landing faction leader called himself Red Wing, after Meleys, which made Rhaenys smile. The Harrenhal group, led there by Rhaenyra, named himself Mīsio, which was High Valyrian for ‘protector.’ 

Despite the death of several figureheads, there were still those who supported the Hightowers rhetoric that Aegon should inherit, and so those with the largest and most formidable dragons were gathered. 

Father, Laena, and Rhaenys were to fly to Dorne and put an end to the Dornish's support of the Hightowers, bending, bowing, and breaking them once and for all. 

Aegon remained in the capitol with Rhaenyra, who was named Regent, and Aemond; they patrolled the skies and ensured peace was kept in the city, assisting the Unsullied who had remained behind.

Daemon flew to Riverrun to join Saera, who was preparing for the execution of several rebel leaders. His uncle had looked gleeful at the chance to burn several dozen traitors alive, something that had made Aegon laugh.

His uncle was ever bloodthirsty.

Saera's grandchildren were all granted permission to claim dragons, of which they did with gusto. Aerys, the eldest, claimed a three moon old, midnight black hatchling he named Nightfyre; Shaera chose a gold and blue egg that she doted upon until, four days later, it hatched a midnight blue and gold hatchling she named Meraxes. Naerys, Rhaella, and Visenna were also given eggs, though they had yet to hatch. 

Aegon ensured to spend time with his cousins, helping them bond further with their dragons. Their parents, too, were granted the opportunity to claim dragons for themselves and did so; Valarr claimed a nearly pure white egg which hatched swiftly, a she-dragon he named Gaelithox emerging. Alysanne shocked everyone when she claimed for herself the elusive and deadly Sheepstealer, whose name she did not change. Gaemon's egg, a deep, emerald green, had yet to hatch but remained warm. 

Things were looking up for the House of the Dragon, and Aegon could not have been more pleased. 

***

The Breaking of Dorne, as history books would later call it, took barely a week to finish, the fight culminating in Viserys himself burning half of Sunspear after Rhaenys and Meleys were nearly killed with a scorpion bolt.

After that, the fight ended rather anticlimactically and Dorne was absorbed into the Seven Kingdoms, Prince Qoren's daughter Coryanne bending the knee but retaining her title of Princess. She also accepted a betrothal of Father's choice, seeing the wisdom in agreeing.

With Valarr's agreement, Aerys would wed Princess Coryanne and become the Prince-Consort of Dorne. Valarr would act as regent until the Princess came of age.

In the Riverlands, the smallfolk had risen against the lingering Faith Militant, arming themselves with farming tools and ousting or outright killing those who preached against the Targaryens; at Riverrun, Lord Tully was executed by Saera, as was Lord Bracken, for their support of the Hightowers. 

In the West, after Lord Tully was disposed of, Daemon finished off the Lannister rebels and bestowed the title of Lady of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West to Joanna Lannister, the sister of Jason and Tyland Lanniater.

She was astute enough to graciously accept Daemon's offer, handing over her six year old son to become the future king-consort's squire. The Lannisters would never again rebel against House Targaryen. 

The last of the Faith Militant were utterly destroyed by the Northern forces ambushing them in the Riverlands, near the Whispering Wood. Cregan Stark himself led the force of two hundred northmen, and naught but blood remained when they were done with the Warriors sons.

With the rebels being put down all across Westeros, the war that had been brewing for so many years was extinguished rather swiftly and brutally, though Alicent still remained free, her whereabouts unknown.

But she would not be for long. 

Chapter Text

“Dive, Sunfyre!” 

With a glad roar, Sunfyre obeyed and dove through the misty clouds toward the bay below, pale pink wings tight to his body. Aegon hunched in the saddle, eyes narrowed and a wide grin across his face as Sunfyre neared the choppy waters. 

Right before they slammed into Blackwater Bay, Sunfyre unfurled his pale wings with a roar and coasted over the surface of the water, the tips of his wings dipping into the cool sea, spraying them both with a fine, refreshing mist. 

A roar echoed, and he and Sunfyre glanced up to see the pale Grey Ghost slipping through the clouds, very nearly invisible against the pale blue of the skies. Suddenly, he dove down and into a barrel roll, roaring, and Aegon chuckled at the sound of his brother's wild, cackling laughter that echoed. 

Sunfyre snorted and shook his head, lurching up and over the Red Keep with a trill, wings flapping languidly. Grey Ghost followed, warbling in near amusement. From the left, Caraxes and Syrax joined them, twining around one another, cooing and trilling. 

Aegon shook his head, amused, and pet Sunfyre's shoulder. His dragon roared and circled the Red Keep, his father waving from the balcony of his rooms. Vermithor was perched on the roof of Maegor’s Holdfast, and roared upon seeing them all, wings flaring.

The dragon handlers awaited them in the Pit, several bleating, terrified goats waiting tied to posts for the Dragons. Aegon smoothly dismounted from Sunfyre's back, snorting as his gluttonous beasts’ eyes tracked one of the goats. He glanced at him, a pleading expression in his molten eyes. 

“Hmm,” he hummed, snickering as he dodged Sunfyre’s harmless nipping. “Okay, okay; dracarys, Sunfyre.” Even before he'd finished the command, Sunfyre's flames were engulfing the fidgeting goat. He pet the dragon's gold scales, amused. “Ipradagon.” 

Sunfyre dove into his meal, tearing the roasted flesh from the goats bones, settling in to feast. Grey Ghost was doing the same, Aemond having landed a ways away; Daemon and Rhaenyra landed, commanding their own dragons to feast. 

Aegon joined them in the carriage awaiting them. He tucked his gloves into his belt and grimaced when Daemon ruffled his hair, which he'd allowed to grow longer than usual. “Kepus!” He grumbled, righting his hair. 

Daemon snorted, a mischievous grin on his face. He reached for Aemond, but he darted away and smacked their uncle's hand, pointing at him warningly. “Don't,” he said, lips twitching as he fought a grin.

Aegon leaned back with a pleased smile on his face, for why wouldn't he be pleased? The war was all but over, a few hundred stragglers bleating about the Kingdoms about how it was an affront to the gods that Rhaenyra remained heir over Aegon, but they were swiftly dealt with whenever discovered. 

The war, in truth, had been a rather pathetic attempt by the Greens, and had died out before it could truly begin. The House of the Dragon was thriving, and they were all happier than ever.

The only hiccough was Viserys’ waning health. He had ever indulged in wines and sweets and now that was, according to Maester Gerardys, affecting his heart, and as such he was to take it easy and eat only the healthiest of foods. Despite the king's health scare, however, Gerardys said that, gods willing, he would live for several more years, even decades. 

Alicent was still at large, but the damage she could do on her own was negligible, and no one was truly afraid of her doing anything significantly terrible against them, and she would get no aid from House Hightower, who was now lead by Aegon's own cousin, who had aided him during his captivity, Lynesse Hightower; she had come to the capitol and petitioned to become Lady of House Hightower due to her being the last legitimate Hightower in the main branch, which Viserys approved. He also approved her marriage to Lord Tarly's second son, a studious young man named Samwise. 

Aegon had sent a wagonful of gifts for their nuptials, and thanks for her aid. She was very appreciative, and extended an open invitation for him and the rest of his kin to visit whenever they pleased.

Word trickled throughout the Seven Kingdoms, rumors begun by Aegon himself, about who the Seven Gods truly were. The last of the Faith Militant tried, and mostly failed, to stifle those rumors - truths - being shared, and Lord Blackwood had reported a significant amount of smallfolk approaching him about converting to the old gods.

According to Lord Strong, droves of smallfolk were also visiting the Isle of Faces, leaving with pale faces and whispering about visions and children of the forest and green men. 

Several Septs across Westeros had been burned, the structures torn down and repurposed into orphanages or mother houses, one had even been dubbed the House of Syrax, in honor of Rhaenyra's Golden Lady.

Even the new Lord Tully, who had been an avid follower of the Seven his entire life, had reportedly begun to visit the Sept less and less, and was spending more time in the Godswood. 

Aegon was pleased that so many people were forsaking the worship of literal demons, which in turn would limit their and the Great Others' power. 

“What are you thinking so hard about, valonqar?” Rhaenyra asked, smiling warmly at him. 

Aegon smiled at her. “Just these past years, and how peaceful they’ve been.” 

Aemond groaned suddenly, grasping Aegon’s arm and shaking him. “Now you’ve done it, brother. You mentioned peaceful, and now that peace will be broken.”

Aegon truly hated it when his brother was right. 

****

The letter was from one of Aunt Saera’s contacts in Volantis, warning Viserys that the slave Masters of Astapor, Yunkai, and Mereen were not happy with the Unsullied being freed and given lands to live upon, because as it turns out Otto and Hobart had made a deal with the slave Masters to return the Unsullied for their gold and jewels back at the end of the war, as well as an agreement for trade once Aegon was made king. 

And a dragon egg, which Otto and Hobart had not delivered on. 

“Of all the stupid-!” Daemon cut himself off and strangled the air, likely imagining it was Otto himself. “We should have made them suffer more, brother. Drawn out their executions, removed limbs and forced them to watch the dragons consume them.”

Viserys nodded, a deep, severe scowl on his face. “Yes, we should have.” 

Aegon barely heard them, too busy thinking deeply, especially about the visions he had been shown of Daenerys Stormborn, and how she had subdued Slaver's Bay and ended slavery. He rubbed his slightly bristly chin, grimacing slightly. He'd begun to grow whiskers last year, and the patches of hair were a hindrance on a good day. 

“I have an idea,” he began, meeting father’s eyes. Father gestured for him to continue, so he did. “Give me leave to fly to Astapor with a dragon egg-”

“Are you mad?!” Rhaenyra protested, looking horrified by the mere thought. 

“I will not actually give them the egg, Nyra!” Aegon reassured. “I will make it look like I have sailed to Astapor, leaving Sunfyre behind, as a show of good faith, and give them the egg - and burn their cities built on slavery to the ground.” 

Daemon looked proud as he gazed at him. “A fine idea, Aegon.”

Father eyed him worriedly. “And why do you think burning the cities is imperative?” 

“They’ll never stop.” Aegon threw his hands up. “Our dynasty is becoming something that people will want to stand against, to fight against, and the Ghiscari and Volantene have every desire to do so. The Volantene claim themselves the last true Valyrian scions, and the Ghiscari despise us on principle because our ancestors destroyed Old Ghis. Now, we have freed thousands of Unsullied and allowed them to be people again, and that is besmirching the reputation of Slaver’s bay.” 

Father’s worry morphed into pride. “A well put argument.” 

“Father, you cannot be seriously entertaining this idea,” Rhaenyra argued, fists planted on her hips. “Aegon is only four and ten, he cannot-” 

“Nyra,” Aegon began, taking her hands into his. “Let me do this. I will secure the east for our family, carve out an inheritance for me and my descendants, in order to protect your future reign. Please, let me do this.” 

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened, and she gently disentangled their hands to cup his face. She had listened to his worries about never truly finding a place in their family, securing a legacy, because now he wasnt being forced into a position he didn't want - kingship - he was free to wed anyone he wished and settle down somewhere. 

Where better than Essos, conquering the lands in the name of a girl who did not yet exist, for he was sure that Daenerys Stormborn would not again be exiled in the future, not free to end slavery as she would have otherwise. He would conquer the lands for her, for the exiled princess cum queen.

“Okay,” she murmured, glancing at Daemon. “You’re not going alone, though.” 

Daemon eyed her, as though asking if she was sure, and she nodded. “You will both come back, do you understand me? Or I shall find some Valyrian magic to bring you back just to kill you both myself.” 

Aegon shared a look with Daemon, knowing his sister was being absolutely serious, and if anyone could do it, it would be her. So they nodded and agreed, making father guffaw at their half terrified expressions. 

****

Preparations for Aegon and Daemon's trip east began immediately. Only trusted servants and guards were employed, as well as Lord Corlys, to sail them East upon his ship, the Sea Snake. 

Aemond was not pleased he wasn't able to join them, but agreed to take care of their family in Aegon's absence, something Helaena had already readily agreed to, promising in her absent way to even use Dreamfyre if necessary.

His nephews were utterly devastated, especially since Aegon and their father were leaving at the same time, with several of their favored guards and Lord Corlys, whom they were fond of. But after Rhaenyra sat them down to explain, they began to understand why it was necessary several of the people they loved once again went to war. 

A second letter, tied to a bedraggled raven, arrived two weeks before their departure, once again sent by Aunt Saera's woman, letting them know that the Triarchs of Volantis were readying the warships and foot soldiers and meeting with emissaries from Slavers Bay. 

“You were right,” Father told him, looking grim. 

Corlys looked annoyed. “We shall have to sail south then east,” he muttered, hunched over a map. “We shall have to restock elsewhere. The Voltantene shall surely attack if we were to make port.” 

“I can have some men from Dragonstone patrol the sea,” Rhaenyra said, gently bouncing her youngest daughter, Aemma, who was two years old. It was after Aemma’s birth that she insisted she was done having children, only to have young Daemon a year later. 

Daemon had wept upon meeting his namesake, openly and without shame. It had been a very touching moment to see.

“I can add to your patrols, Rhaenyra,” Laena offered, now the new Master of Ships while her father was away. 

Rhaenys nodded. “I can also do patrols up and down the eastern coast on Meleys, as she is the swiftest dragon. I'm sure Saera shall wish to help, too?” 

Saera nodded, straightening in her seat. She held an advisory position on the council, which had made her actually hug father in gratitude. “Of course, Silverwing would be glad for the flights. We can organize a schedule between ourselves, niece.” 

“We will be taking a non-viable egg, warmed prior to handing it over,” Aegon explained, the dragon keeper beside him holding up a petrified egg the color of blood. “We shall also be taking two keepers and a warming pot, to ensure the slavers do not know we are, essentially, tricking them.” 

Viserys nodded, pleased with their thorough plans. “Very well. Have you selected the men going with you?” 

“Yes.” Daemon nodded and slid a piece of parchment across the table for fathers perusal. “All the men are trusted and good in combat.” 

Viserys patted the parchment, nodding. “Good, very good.” He eyed them, a serious expression on his face. “You will all return home whole and hale. Do not take unnecessary risks.” 

“We won't, father,” Aegon assured, glancing sharply at Daemon, who grumbled, but nodded, acquiescing to fathers order. 

“Then let us prepare.” 

****

On the last night before Aegon, Daemon, Corlys, and the men were to set sail, the family gathered for supper together, even the children, and enjoyed one another's company. Aegon's heart was fuller than it ever had been, and he indulged in every dish available, and several goblets of watered wine. 

Visenya seemed to be glued to him, as well as his nephews and siblings, but she blatantly refused to leave his lap, pouting with teary eyes whenever he tried to remove her. 

“I will come back, Vis,” he told her, hugging her close. She nodded miserably. “I'll bring you presents, hm?” 

Visenya perked up, nodding so rapidly her pale, curly hair bounced. “Oh, please!” 

Aegon laughed, kissing her forehead. “Of course, anything for you.” 

Daemon eyed them from across the table, eyes narrowed. Was this how Viserys felt whenever he would shower Visenya in affection and trinkets from his travels? When her affections for him matured and turned into something more, when his for hers did, too? 

He turned to Viserys, who was watching him with amusement. “Oh, shut up, brother.” 

Viserys snickered like a boy. “Now you understand how it feels. Just wait until she has grown and falls in love with him.” 

“No,” Daemon insisted, shaking his head. He gulped down his wine almost desperately. “That shall not happen.” 

“Oh, yes it will, brother. Visenya adores Aegon the same way Rhaenyra does you,” Viserys goaded, grinning mischievously at Daemon. “And he adores her the same.” 

Daemon huffed, pouring himself another cup of wine. “Gods be good,” he groaned. 

Viserys petted him on the back mockingly. “There, there, brother.” 

Daemon scowled deeply, and Rhaenyra laughed, as she had overheard their conversation. “Don't fret, kepus, Aegon isn't half the Rogue you are.” 

Rhaenys chuckled at the look on Daemon's face. “Oh, cousin, they're still young; Aegon won't touch Visenya until she's beyond of age.” 

“Because he's terrified of me?” Daemon asked, perking up.

“No,” Aegon called down the table, grinning widely. “I'm terrified of Rhaenyra.”  

Rhaenyra smiled demurely, but her eyes were sharp. “Good,” she all but purred, making Aegon's grin slip slightly. 

Aerion and Baelon giggled madly at their uncle's fear of their mother. Aegon kind of wanted to take the attention off of himself by teasing Aemond for the besotted look he gave Baelon, but managed not to. 

He merely huffed, but Visenya, all of five years old, scowled at her parents. “Don't be mean to Eggie,” she insisted adorably.

Laena cackled, highly amused by Visenya's protectiveness. “You tell ‘em, Senya,” 

Visenya smiled, and it was only slightly diabolical. 

****

The family said farewell at dawn before Aegon, Daemon, and Corlys made their way to the docks where the Sea Snake lay at anchor, two other ships - the Lady Rhaenys and Lady Laena - full of provisions and men. They did not want to draw too much attention, even though Sunfyre and Caraxes flying above surely drew hundreds of curious eyes. 

As the princes and captain boarded the ships, he turned to watch the raven flying east and buried any guilt he may feel beneath the righteous anger that filled him.

Chapter Text

Members of the House of the Dragon 

King Viserys I of House Targaryen

Rider of Vermithor, The Bronze Fury

Age 45

Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rider of Syrax, The Golden Lady

Age 26

Prince-Consort Daemon Targaryen

Rider of Caraxes, The Blood Wyrm

Age 40

Prince Aegon Targaryen 

Rider of Sunfyre

Age 14 

Princess Helaena Targaryen

Rider of Dreamfyre

Age 12

Prince Aemond Targaryen 

Rider of Grey Ghost

Age 9

Prince Daeron Targaryen

Rider of Tessarion 

Age 5

Prince Aerion Targaryen, the Heir's Heir

Rider of Vermax

Age 8

Prince Baelon Targaryen

Rider of Arrax 

Age 7

Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen

Rider of Tyraxes 

Age 6

Princess Visenya Targaryen 

Currently Dragonless

Age 5 

Prince Aegon “The Younger” Targaryen 

Rider of Stormcloud

Age 3

Princess Aemma Targaryen

Currently Dragonless 

Age 2

Prince Daemon Targaryen

Currently Dragonless 

Age 1

Princess Saera Targaryen 

Rider of Silverwing 

Age 55

Valarr, son of Saera 

Rider of Gaelithox

Age 36

Alysanne, daughter of Saera 

Rider of Sheepstealer

Age 34

Gaemon, son of Saera 

Rider of Jehar Perzys 

Age 32

Aerys, son of Valarr 

Rider of Nightfyre

Age 15

Shaera, Son of Valarr 

Rider of Meraxes

Age 14

Naerys, daughter of Gaemon 

Rider of Aegerax

Age 13

Rhaella, daughter of Gaemon 

Rider of Brightflame

Age 11

Visenna, daughter of Gaemon 

Rider of Bloodwing

Age 10

Members of House Velaryon 

Corlys Velaryon, Lord of The Tides, Master of Driftmark, “The Sea Snake” 

Age 68

Princess Rhaenys of House Targaryen, Lady of the Tides, Lady of Driftmark 

Rider of Meleys, the Red Queen

Age 47

Laena Velaryon, Heir to House Velaryon

Rider of Vhagar, The Queen of Dragons 

Age 23

Laenor Velaryon, Knight of the Kingsguard 

Rider of Seasmoke 

Age 20

Lord-Consort Jordyn Celitgar, husband of Laena

Age 26

Lady Rhaena Velaryon, the Heir's Heir

Rider of Morning

Age 6

Lord Laenys Velaryon 

Age 4

Lady Larissa Velaryon 

Age 2

The Kingsguard

Ser Harold Westerling, Lord Commander 

Ser Axyl Estermont

Ser Erryk Cargyll 

Ser Laenor Velaryon

Ser Lorent Marbrand 

Ser Rickard Thorne

Ser Martyn Waters 

Officers of the City Watch Gold Cloaks

Ser Harwin Strong, Lord Commander 

Ser Luthor Largent, Captain of the Kings Gate

Ser Hugh Hammer, Captain of the Mud Gate 

Ser Walys Waters, Captain of the Lion Gate 

Ser Joffrey Monmouth, Captain of the Gate of the Gods

Ser Harman Beesbury, Captain of the Old Gate

Ser Cayn Darklyn, Captain of the Dragon Gate 

Ser Damien Rosby, Captain of the Iron Gate 

The Small Council 

King Viserys, King of the Seven Kingdoms 

His cupbearer, Prince Aerion Targaryen

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Crown Princess 

Maester Gerardys, Grandmaester 

His assistant, Aelyx Waters

Lady Laena Velaryon, Mistress of Ships 

Lord Lyman Beesbury, Master of Coin 

Lord Lyonel Strong, Master of Laws, Lord Justiciar 

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Hand of the King 

Princess Saera Targaryen, Master of Whisperers 

Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard 

Prince Daemon Targaryen, Master of War

Chapter Text

She knelt before the effigy of the Mother, her knees aching and hands clasped so tightly together they throbbed in time with her heart beat. She knew she was dreaming, but the dream brought her comfort and warmth. Being in the Starry Sept, the Sept of her childhood, where her mother would bring her for daily prayers, was a balm to her soul. 

Her fingernails dug into the backs of her palms, blood dripping down her pale skin and onto the marble floor before her knees. She prayed, repeating the same words over and over again. She was alone now, with only her gods to comfort her. She knew that the abominable husband she had been forced to endure would have likely sentenced her father to death, likely having that bronze beast of his burn him alive. 

Otto was lost to her, and the gods knew how many other family members, including her children. They had betrayed her first, allowing Rhaenyra and her godless beast of a husband to pollute their minds.

Tears rolled down her face, and she looked beseechingly up at the Mother. “Give me guidance, Mother. Please.” She bowed her head, shoulders trembling from the force of her sobs. 

A warm, gentle hand cupped her chin, and Alicent’s eyes snapped open, a gasp wrenching from her throat. “Do not weep, daughter,” Alerie Florent, her mother, murmured softly. The effigy of the mother was gone, in place of it was her mother, and Alicent knew this was the work of the gods themselves. 

A sign from the Seven Who Are One themselves, for her, Alicent Hightower, their loyal and faithful subject. 

“Mother,” she breathed, awed and humbled. 

Alerie smiled warmly. “We have heard your prayers, daughter, and have a sacred mission for you.” 

Alicent straightened, eyes wide. “What would you ask of me, Mother?” she asked, desperation in her voice. 

The mother smiled widely, almost too widely, but Alicent did not notice - nor did she notice the cold, dull gleam in the Mother’s black, black eyes. 

***

Despite her brother and husband having only left for Slavers Bay a week prior, Rhaenyra missed them more than she believed possible. The children, too, missed them, and their father, but she - and they all - knew how important it was for Aegon and Daemon to be gone - well, the older children did. 

The journey to Slavers Bay would take moons, close to six, and only the gods knew how long it would take for them to subdue the foul Slavers there. Daemon had promised to fly home, which would more than halve the journey, but it was still a significant amount of time. 

Rhaenyra pushed the thought from her mind and refocused on the papers spread before her, outlining Rhaenys and Aunt Saera's flying schedule. She scrawled a line through the former's latest trip down the eastern coast and back, sighing softly as she noted no suspicious movements seen. So far, there hadn't been a sign of the Volantene or Ghiscari, but they remained vigilant. 

Father was spending his time not at court with the children, helping her and Laena distract them from missing their kin. He had the older children helping him with his model of Old Valyria, and was regaling them with folk tales from the books they had discovered in Visenya's secret rooms. 

Westeros, at the present, was stable, and the rebels who had tried - and hilariously failed - to force Aegon into becoming king, had been dealt with. There were those who still grumbled about a female heir, about those killed due to their treason, but their individual power was negligible. 

Rhaenyra had met with Luthor Largent and Harwin Strong of the Gold Cloaks and hand picked twenty men to travel south in a bid to find Alicent, but wasn't overly optimistic. It was likely that she was being protected by allies of her father, or her faith, and they legally could not drag her from the Sept if she had demanded sanctuary. 

She looked up, smiling slightly as Syrax flew past her balcony, roaring. Her father had declared that the dragons be allowed to roam free, the chains that once imprisoned them all melted beneath Vermithor's flames, and despite the worries of the smallfolk and lords near to the capitol, the dragons had not harmed any person or animal they were not supposed to, often hunting in the Kingswood or returning to the pit to beg for a cow or sheep from the keepers.

She snickered as the younger dragons, significantly smaller than Syrax, trailed behind, shrieking indignantly at being left so far behind, their little wings pumping furiously. 

A loud knock pulled her attention from the balcony. She turned and cleared her throat. “Come!” she called. 

“Lord Caswell, your grace,” Laenor announced, holding the door open for the castle's steward. 

“Thank you, cousin,” she said, smiling at Lord Caswell, who bowed deeply. “How may I assist you, my lord?”

“A review of the spoils from the rebels, your grace,” Lord Caswell told her, holding a thick ledger in his arms. “The fines, resources, and other such things. Lord Beesbury told me you might like the accounts.” 

“Of course.” She gestured for him to sit across from her, gently stroking her hand over her stomach. She had told Daemon she wished to stop having children, but one of their last nights together, it seemed, had bore unexpected fruit. Her husband would return from war in Essos to yet another child. 

“The rebel Houses have finished sending the gold his grace fined them,” the castle’s steward told her, opening the ledger. “As well as wagons full of barley, wheat, potatoes, carrots, and wine.” 

Rhaenyra accepted the piece of parchment from Lord Caswell, detailing the incoming gold and resources. “Very good. How are our…guests?”

Lord Caswell’s lips quirked. “King Viserys is very pleased with his new squires and grooms, and Prince Daemon took several of his squires with him to Essos. The lads, apparently, volunteered, and they are of an age to participate.” 

She smiled at the man. “Good, I'm glad. I will, in a short while, have to visit Dragonstone to do an accounting, as a white raven came from the Citadel. Summer is officially over, and spring has begun. I’m sure winter will be here soon enough.” 

“Ah, indeed. I myself have been taking account of our larders and granaries. We have more than enough to feed the castle’s inhabitants and then some, so I made a note to send half of the excess food into the city for the smallfolk, city watch, and Unsullied. His grace signed off on the idea,” Lord Caswell explained, showing her that accounting. 

She briefly perused the sloping calligraphy of Lord Caswell and the blocky, sharp letters of the castle cook, nodding slowly. She trusted them both to do what was necessary. “With the dragons hunting for themselves, we may even have more livestock,” she murmured, making a note on a piece of parchment. “I will go to the dragonpit myself and find out how much livestock is going to the dragons. I know I saw Grey Ghost with a whale yestereve.” 

Lord Caswell looked amused. “Yes, word of fishermen near the mudgate reached our ears. Ser Hugh, the Gold Cloak officer of the gate, reported that a fisherman told all who would listen that he nearly toppled overboard when the Grey Ghost swooped down to catch a shark right next to his boat.”

Rhaenyra snickered, highly amused. “Grey is a gentle beast, for all he is a dragon, and would never harm anyone. Perhaps I might speak to Ser Hugh and the other officers and have him reassure the smallfolk.” 

“A most prudent idea, your grace,” Lord Caswell murmured. 

Rhaenyra smiled, nodding, and bent her head back over the ledger, Lord Caswell murmuring and pointing at the pages. 

***

Hugh’s life hadn’t gone the way he had assumed. When he was a boy on Dragonstone, learning under his father, a blacksmith, he’d often believed he’d remain in that fishing village until he died, but that had changed shortly after Princess Rhaenyra was named heir and he had decided to move his Smithy to the Street of Steel in Kings Landing after word came of the City wide clean up and better patronage. 

It had not gone well, but Hugh couldn't find it within himself to regret it, because it had led him to the Gold Cloaks, to meeting Prince Daemon, and finding a better purpose in life than toiling away in a steaming hot room on weapons for the wealthy that never truly appreciated the work he did. Now, he protected those who could not protect themselves, and he witnessed for himself daily the gratitude of those he defended. 

Prince Daemon had given him a gold cloak, and he had also given him purpose, something far more than the threat of destitution he’d had as a mere blacksmith. Due to being a Gold Cloak, Hugh had also met his wife, his Elya, and had his daughter, Lysa, both of whom he loved more than anything. 

Hugh hadn't been able to explain why he'd had the desire to move his Smithy to Kings Landing other than the possibility of more coin, but by the gods he was glad he had. He'd found a family in Kings Landing, and not just with his wife and daughter, but the men under his command as Officer of the Mud Gate; he earned fair coin, and he and his family had food on their table, and a roof over their heads. 

So when word came from the Keep that Princess Rhaenyra wished to meet with the officers of the Gold Cloaks, Hugh gladly went to the meeting, taking with him the bunch of flowers Lysa had insisted he give to her grace.

Princess Rhaenyra met them at the Red Keep’s barracks, Ser Laenor of the Kingsguard at her back, and her two oldest children, Princes Aerion and Baelon, as well as her brother Prince Aemond. 

The officers, all seven of them, including their Lord Commander, Ser Harwin, bowed deeply to the Princess and Princes, all of whom smiled at them. “Thank you for coming, good sers. I wished to talk to you of the dragons, and to reassure you that they will not harm anyone. If you could spread the word, it would be greatly appreciated.” 

“O’course, y'grace,” Ser Luthor grunted, the tall knight bowing his head. 

Princess Rhaenyra nodded gracefully. “I would also like a report on the Unsullied who have been granted homes here in the city. Are they being treated well? Are there any problems?” 

“Not that we have heard,” Ser Harwin told her, shaking his head. He glanced at the officers. “What say you, men?” 

“Nay, m'lord, princess,” Walys Waters, Captain of the Lion Gate, said. “One'a the washerwoman ‘as taken it upon ‘erself to teach a group o'them the Common tongue, y'grace.” 

Rhaenyra smiled. “I can send some people to help continue doing so, to help them along.”

“I'll let her know, your grace,” Ser Harwin said with a smile.

Shortly after, as the officers were dispersing, Hugh approached the princess and princes with a bow. “Your grace, my daughter, Lysa, picked these for you.” 

Princess Rhaenyra smiled and accepted the flowers. “You will have to thank her for me, Ser…” She looked up from the flowers, blinking in shock when their eyes met. “What…what is your name, ser?” 

“Hugh Waters, your grace, though many call me Hugh Hammer, as I was a blacksmith before I was a gold cloak,” he explained. 

“Who are your parents?” she queried, eyes searching his face thoroughly.

Hugh frowned slightly. “My father was a blacksmith before me, on Dragonstone, and I never knew my mother.” 

“You look very familiar,” she murmured, smiling apologetically. 

“My father said my mother was a Targaryen bastard,” he said, shrugging awkwardly. 

“You certainly have the hair,” Princess Rhaenyra said, amused. 

Hugh chuckled, nodding. “Aye, princess.” 

“I shall let you return to your duties, Ser Hugh. Thank your Lysa for the flowers, they are beautiful.” 

Hugh bowed, then left the barracks to return to his men, knowing that Lysa would be gleeful to hear that the Princess Rhaenyra loved the flowers, and Hugh knew he had made the right decision in becoming a Gold Cloak under Prince Daemon.

***

Aegon leaned against the side of Lord Corlys’ ship, watching fondly as Sunfyre and Caraxes played above them, snapping harmlessly at one another and chasing each other. 

As the ship sailed smoothly across the sea, he couldn't help but remember why he wanted so badly to destroy the slaving cities of Essos, and for whom .

Daenerys Stormborn, if he was lucky, would not become an Exiled Princess, begging for scraps and finding her strength through becoming a broodmare slave to a Dothraki Khal. But that made him feel guilty, because who, if not the Breaker of Chains, would free the slaves from their fetters?

Aegon would do so in her name, and leave behind a journal of some sort, for Daenerys. Explaining why he had done what he did, in her name; the gods had confirmed that she would exist, but hopefully not in the same conditions as before: sold by her mad brother to Khal Drogo, her child murdered by the maegi , a childhood of constant running from the Usurper Robert Baratheon’s hired knives.

He admired the woman she became, though mourned for the life she could have had. Events culminated against her, an innocent babe in the womb, blamed for her brother and fathers sins her whole life.

Aegon jolted from his thoughts as Sunfyre shrieked and swooped by the ship, incessantly tugging on their bond to pull him away from such morose thoughts.

Daemon approached, clapping him on the shoulder. “All will be well, nephew.” 

“I hope so.” He huffed a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “The Slavers may expect some form of treachery.” 

“Our plan is solid, Aegon,” Daemon assured him, meeting his eyes with confidence in his own gaze. “As is our back-up plan.” 

Aegon grinned, amused. “Aye, both plans are good. I just hope the dragons will listen.” 

“They will. Your bond with Sunfyre is strong. He will understand what you need from him.” Daemon rolled his eyes as Caraxes nipped at Sunfyre, who roared and barrel rolled around him teasingly. “He's a little shit, but he will listen.”

Aegon frowned, affronted. “Sunfyre is an angel, kepus , I don't know what you're talking about.” 

Daemon snorted. “Yestereve, he set two ships sails alight.”

“He wasn't aiming for them,” Aegon protested weakly. 

“No, he was just trying to hit Caraxes.” 

“He was playing !” 

“Like I said, a little shit.” 

“Well, Caraxes is, too, then. He dumped that shark carcass in front of me on purpose! I had intestines in my hair, uncle,” Aegon complained, throwing his hands up.

Daemon guffawed at the memory, though grimaced as he remembered the stench of the shark's innards. “That was revenge for you calling him a stupid lizard for biting at Sunfyre.” 

Aegon fought the urge to cackle. “You've called him worse,” he said.

“Yes,” Daemon agreed, smirking. “Out of earshot.” 

With a sharp whistle, Caraxes flew by the side of the ship, his tail dipping into the sea and swiftly rising, sending a wave of cold water over them both. 

Aegon's mouth dropped open, and he stared at Daemon, who was drenched and slowly wiping sea water from his eyes.

Aegon snorted, swiftly dissolving into raucous laughter as Daemon yelled at Caraxes, whose clicking and whistling sounded suspiciously like laughter.

****

The gods themselves had shadowed her steps, for how else had she managed to secret herself amongst those travelling to the capitol, undetected? She surely would have been seen, been captured, if the gods had not been on her side, guiding her and ensuring she would arrive unencumbered. 

The words of the Mother reverberated in her mind. She knew her Holy Mission, and she would not fail; Alicent would kill the false heir and her spawns, and crown her son as King Aegon, the Second of His Name, to usher in a new order in Westeros. 

It was the gods’ will.

Chapter Text

For as long as Helaena could remember, she had dreamed. She dreamed of things that would never come to pass, due to Aegon's interference. She dreamed of children that would not exist, a marriage that would never take place.

It was all for the best. She knew that. She mourned the children she would not have, and giddily awaited those she would, but part of her did grieve for those who would not exist. 

In all her dreams, there were rats. In the time that never was or would be, they were bloody and smelt of death and cheese. In this time, they were green and hungered for the dragon's blood, coerced into carrying out the will of demons with black eyes, sharp teeth and a deep hatred for those of the dragon’s blood. 

Helaena was scared of rats. She always had been, and this merely compounded her fears. She knew the rats were in the walls, heads full of false destiny and a mission set by the false demon gods. The rats should have been family, but instead they wished those she dearly loved dead.

Rhaenyra sat with the children, her nephews, nieces, and cousins. Lady Laena was there, too. Helaena was glad she had not perished in this time. She loved Laena, and believed that she deserved to live. Her death before could have been prevented, but they had needed Vhagar, the largest dragon alive, on their side, and so they had rid themselves of Lady Laena.

“Sister,” Helaena called, smiling as Visenya scampered over to her, violet eyes full of mischief. The little girl scarcely knew what was awaiting her. A life of luxury and opulence, doted upon by her husband; the queen and king of a land in the far east. 

She knew the futures, as well as the possible futures, of all her kin. She remembered what could have been and felt her flesh crawl. But then she would think of the new futures for all, and she would smile. She hated thinking of the Before.

She did not like thinking of her falling. 

Dragons were not meant to fall; they were meant to fly. 

Helaena bent down to kiss her niece's brow. When she looked up, Rhaenyra was smiling at her. She ushered Visenya away and padded over to her big sister, her future queen. “ Sister ,” she said again, this time in their mother tongue. “ There are green rats in the walls of our home .” 

Rhaenyra paused, staring intently at her. Helaena knew that she knew what she was. She waited patiently. “ And what do these rats want?” 

“To feast on your flesh. On the flesh of your children ,” Helaena said bluntly.

Rhaenyra's eyes flashed with fury. “ I see.” She smiled, then, and leaned forward to kiss Helaena's brow. “ Thank you, little sister. I shall deal with these rats post haste.” 

Helaena smiled brightly. “ Thank you, sister. ” 

Rhaenyra returned the smile, watching as Helaena went off with Rhaena and Aerion, joining them and the other children in play. 

Rats, hm? She would deal with them quite thoroughly. Rats were no match for dragons.

***

Viserys had never been an overly healthy man. He had imbibed deeply in food and wine, and scoffed at training or any other forms of exercise, so it was no surprise when he began paying for his sedentary life. Maester Gerardys was kind in his assessments, but very clearly disapproving. The diagnosis was not a pleasant thing; his heart was weak due to his weight, and his breathing had grown increasingly labored over time. 

Gerardys encouraged light exercise, and less indulgence in foods and wine. He insisted that Viserys begin to water his wine, and drink more water, as it would help in prolonging his life, though quite a bit of damage was already done, and he was not likely to ever be the pinnacle of health.

“I’ll make sure he listens, Maester,” Rhaenyra assured, shooting her father a gimlet glare. He huffed, sipping the water she had thrust at him, an imperious expression on her face. She had squeezed some lemon in it, and placed a sprig of mint, but he much preferred arbor gold. 

Gerardys tried, and failed, to hide a smile. “Of course, my princess. I will ensure the kitchens know not to serve his Grace his late night desserts.” 

Viserys huffed again, and did not pout, but it was a close thing. The maester left them, and he eyed Rhaenyra closely, warily. She perched in the seat across from him, eyeing him intently. “Please listen to Gerardys, father. I want you here for…quite a while longer.” 

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” he murmured, putting his goblet of water down. “Of course, my dear. I will listen. I do not wish to die any time soon.” 

She smiled, looking so much like her mother it stole his breath. “Good. You can join Laena, the children, and I for our daily walks in the garden.” He gave her an amused, though exasperated, look, but she ignored it. “The children would love it, father.”

Viserys chuckled at her. “Using my children and grandchildren against me, Rhaenyra, is not fair play.” 

Rhaenyra smiled cheekily. “All's fair in love and war, father.” 

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “You sound like your husband.” 

“Well, he is my uncle,” she quipped. 

“Cheeky as ever, my dear,” he said, picking up his goblet of water. He would do as the Maester ordered for his children and grandchildren. The death of a king and ascension of a queen right now may very well cause Westeros to implode, no matter that the rebels had been dealt with. Enemies still lingered. 

Rhaenyra’s smile slowly dropped, and she sighed softly. “Father, Helaena has had a dream. She insists there are green rats in the walls of the keep who desire to feast upon the flesh of our family.” 

Viserys grew serious, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Green is clearly indicative of House Hightower’s war banners.” Rhaenyra nodded in agreement. “ Perhaps we should bar the entrances of the secret passages, and have traps placed within them. ”

Rhaenyra nodded, brow slightly furrowed. “ I’m not entirely sure how any of our enemies would have discovered the passages, but it is better to be safe than sorry. I will have men begin setting the traps. I will also caution the children on wandering the Keep without guards or alone.” 

“ A good idea. Perhaps we should inform the Gold Cloak captains of our concerns?” 

“I met a gold cloak recently who holds a startling resemblance to our kin, father,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “He calls himself Hugh Hammer; he was a blacksmith before he moved his smithy to Kings Landing then decided to become a Gold Cloak officer.” 

“A dragonseed, perhaps?” Viserys mused, looking thoughtful. “You should speak to him, find out if he is our kin.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “I will.” 

Viserys smiled, knowing that despite being ill, things were beginning to look up for the House of the Dragon.

***

Aegon was abruptly woken by the shouts of men and the roars of dragons. He rolled from the hammock he had claimed in the bowels of the ship, sleepily praising the advice from one of the crew to remain dressed with his boots on, since trouble didn't wait for you to dress when on the seas. 

He all but fell up the stairs and onto the deck, glancing around wildly. 

A ball of fire catapulted over the ship, slamming into one of the other ships in the fleet. He spotted Daemon wielding a bow with flaming arrows and dodged the crewmen to reach him, spotting Caraxes diving for one of the enemy ships. 

“What’s happening?” he shouted over the yelling and screams of dying men. 

“They’re from Volantis,” Daemon replied, watching as Caraxes obliterated the ship, bellowing a roar. Sunfyre was circling the Seasnake , bristling with fury and anger. Aegon could feel it. 

“Fuck,” Aegon blurted. 

“Quite,” Daemon said, amused. He loosed another arrow, the flaming tip catching alight the closest enemy ship’s sail.

“How many ships?” he asked, glancing around for a bow and arrows. He spotted one perched against the side of the ship and grabbed it. He wasn't the best archer, but good enough. 

“Six,” Daemon grunted, an arrow flying true through the skill of a Volantene man. 

The sun was slowly rising, giving them enough light to see their enemies and shoot straight and true, but the wind was unforgiving; as were the seas, sending their ships rocking. Aegon paused, glancing up at the crow’s nest, and abandoned the bow. He whirled and began to climb, scurrying up as fast as he possibly could. 

Sunfyre shrieked, wings beating hard. One of the straps attached to his saddle hung over his shoulder, and Aegon crouched low in the nest, then sprung upward as high as he possibly could, grunting as he grabbed hold of the strap. 

A flaming arrow flew past his head, alarmingly close. Aegon cursed and began to pull himself up the strap and into Sunfyre’s saddle, eyes widening when he saw one of the ship’s catapults turning in his direction. 

“ Sunfyre, flee! Go, go, go!” he screamed, yelping when he was tossed about as Sunfyre lurched forward. He scrambled into the saddle, swiftly tying himself in, and exhaled roughly in relief. His heart was thundering in his throat.

“ Angos, Sunfyre!” he shouted, tugging the reins, and Sunfyre flared his pale, pink wings and redirected himself toward the enemy ships. He bellowed a  roar, dodging arrows and flaming catapults. 

He dove, roaring.

“ Dracarys!”  Aegon shouted, smiling grimly as Sunfyre’s golden flames engulfed the ship, and the men aboard, sending them screaming. A few leapt overboard, braving the choppy sea in order to put out the flames, but most died.

Caraxes leveled out beside Sunfyre, roaring. 

Pain exploded in Aegon’s shoulder, and Sunfyre loosed a wailing, shrieking roar he had never heard before. He glanced at his shoulder, cursing when he saw an arrow lodged just beneath his collarbone. Fury not entirely his own flooded him, and Sunfyre shrieked again, diving toward the closest Volantene ship with a roar of pure, unadulterated rage. 

Caraxes followed, aiming for a different ship. Their flames lit the dawn, and made kindling out of the Volantene ships. Aegon reached for the arrow and snapped it, groaning in pain, as Sunfyre made quick work of the ship and men aboard it. 

Blood poured down his chest and arm, but Aegon ignored it and yanked at Sunfyre's reins, directing him to another ship; golden fire lit the dawn as he gave the command for Sunfyre to burn it to ash.

Soon enough, the six enemy ships had been burned to ash, and the Volantene men who had survived were fished from the tumultuous sea and bound in irons by Daemon and Corlys. Aegon managed to dismount Sunfyre, landing on the deck of the Sea Snake with a thump, feeling more than a little woozy from the bloodloss.

Daemon headed toward him, looking cross when he saw the bleeding wound in his shoulder. “Go see Aron,” he ordered, gesturing to the healer Corlys employed during his voyages. Aegon nodded tiredly, not even uttering a protest before he made his way over to Aron, who finished bandaging up another sailors wounds. 

Aron tutted at him once he removed his boiled leather armor. “Good thing you did not rip the arrow out fully, my prince. I shall have to cut around it to remove it without harming you any further.” 

Aegon paled a little, and happily accepted the milk of the poppy Aron handed him with an amused huff. He downed the poppy, leaning back against the side of the ship, and braced himself to have the head of the arrow cut from his shoulder. 

***

Rhaenyra had worked with her most trusted servants and guards to have all the known secret passage entrances barred and several of the passageways fitted with traps. The rat catchers were informed of the possibility of someone utilizing the passageways to harm the royal family, and were outfitted with daggers once their loyalties were gleaned by her and her father. The children were warned of possible danger, and all of them promised not to take part in their favorite pastime of running from their guards. 

Aemond promised her that he would ensure they behaved themselves, and did not purposely sneak away from their kingsguards and gold cloaks. She kissed his brow, smiling warmly at him. “Thank you, valonqar . I appreciate your help in this.” 

Their conversation was interrupted when Maester Gerardys bustled over to them, his expression grave. Rhaenyra faced him, frowning. “What is it, Maester?” 

“Princess, the king has collapsed,” he informed her, and Rhaenyra felt fear seize her chest. 

“What? How? Is he alright?” she demanded, throwing a grateful smile at Aemond when he grasped her hand tightly in his, his expression as concerned as she was sure her own was.

Gerardys sighed, frustrated. “I do not know, princess, but I suspect poison. His grace, despite his poor health due to his sedentary life, should not have collapsed like this. My acolytes, as we speak, are running tests to discover what poison the king was given, if any.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “I shall visit with him now.” 

After sending Aemond off to be with Helaena, Daeron, and her children, Rhaenyra made her way to her fathers chambers with Maester Gerardys, who promptly went to join his assistants who were bent over vials and small fires, muttering to one another. She hurried over to her father’s bed, her throat closing as tears pricked her eyes when she saw how pale and wan he looked. 

“ Kepa ,” she whispered, taking his hand. 

Viserys’ eyes cracked open, and he managed to smile at her. “Rhaenyra. I’m fine, my dear. Gerardys has given me a common antidote to most poisons. I will be fine, Rhaenyra.” 

“You had better,” she muttered, wiping her damp eyes. Viserys chuckled at her. “ Perhaps the rats in the wall are to blame for your poisoning.” 

Viserys nodded; eyes lit with anger. “That was my thought. I had the passageway next to my wardrobe sealed.”

Rhaenyra leaned forward and kissed his brow. “I have a plan to catch these rats, father.” 

Concern lit her father’s lilac eyes. “Rhaenyra-”

“I will be careful,” she interrupted, squeezing his hand. “But I will not allow these people to make us fearful in our own home. They have stepped foot into the dragon’s den, father; they should prepare to be burned.” 

Viserys smiled proudly. “I knew…” he panted, breath labored. “That you would make an excellent queen. I am sorry it took me so long to realize it, my dear girl.” 

Rhaenyra blinked tears from her eyes and leaned forward to kiss her father’s cheek. “I love you, father. Rest and get better.” 

Viserys’ eyes drooped tiredly. “Mhm,” he hummed, weakly squeezing her hand. 

Rhaenyra stood, an unholy, furious fire burning in her eyes. She stormed from her father’s rooms, her plan solidifying in her mind, and sent servants who saw her skittering out of her way; they had never seen the Crown Princess look so furious before.

They almost felt sorry for the fool who had become the focus of their ire. 

***

It was easy for him to buy passage to Essos. All he’d had to do was shave his very noticeable hair and switch out his lavish clothes for something a peasant would wear, and the captain accepted his gold with nary a frown. 

He was not fond of how itchy and uncomfortable the clothes were, or how pathetic the food was, but he had to do this. The honor of his house was in question, and his father had been very emphatic on what had to happen. His…co-conspirator had her mission, and he had his. 

He had every faith that they would succeed in their mission…or die trying. 

***

Alicent peered through the peephole she had arduously carved over the course of several days. Inside the room in which she peeked into, the whore was braiding her sweet Helaena’s hair as they spoke the tongue of heathens, smiles on their faces. 

Fury bubbled in Alicent’s stomach as she watched them, her hand clenching over and over around the dagger she held in her hand. 

It was almost time, and she knew it. The sun was setting, and soon enough Helaena would leave and Lady Laena would join Rhaenyra with her foul son, Laenys. It would be killing three birds with one stone. She had to be rid of the whore as well as Laena and her heir, for him. He had found her in the city, informing her that he too knew the will of the true gods, and would carry out their holy mission in the east, getting rid of Lord Corlys and the Rogue monster. 

Alicent’s heart was light and full of warmth. She settled in to wait, remembering her dream from the night before, in which she was met by the Father, who passed on a message for poor Ser Otto.

Her father was proud of her, for following the gods’ mission to seat a true and worthy heir upon the throne. She had been flush with triumph; finally, after so many years, her father finally knew her worth and was proud of her. 

She refocused when the thump of the door reverberated. Helaena was gone, and in her place was Laena Velaryon. Her son, however, was nowhere to be seen, which made her grind her teeth furiously. 

She would have to find the boy later. 

Alicent stood, grimacing as her knees cracked from being seated for so many hours, and slowly pushed open the passageway door. As silently as possible she tiptoed her way across the Princess’ rooms, Rhaenyra and Laena so far unaware of her presence, as they were faced away, their backs to Alicent. 

How arrogant and foolish of them to believe they were safe. 

The gods were ever watchful. 

Alicent raised the dagger, heart racing in her chest from anticipation, and went to bring the blade down into Rhaenyra’s back when cold steel was pressed against her throat from behind. 

Alicent froze, lips quivering as Rhaenyra and Laena calmly stood and turned to face her, expressions full of hatred and scorn. 

“Release the blade,” the gravelly, hateful voice of Ser Harrold Westerling demanded. How had she not seen him? Where had he hidden? How had they known? 

The door opened, and Alicent gasped when Helaena and Aemond stepped inside, looking at her with sad, but angry eyes. 

“Release the blade, Alicent,” Aemond spat, making her shiver at the fury in his voice. What had they done to her boy? To her children? 

“I have to do this, Aemond, don't you see? It is the will of the gods-”

“Ser Harrold will kill you, mother,” Helaena said, staring at her with wide, purple eyes. Gods, she looked like her , like the whore who had stolen her son’s birthright. “If he perceives you as a threat to the royal family.”

“I am the queen!” she shouted, uncaring that Ser Harrold’s sword nicked the delicate skin of her throat. Blood trailed down her neck and between her breasts, a dark red. 

“Not anymore. Father annulled your marriage.” Rhaenyra stared at her with cold eyes. Hatred burned in those queer, purple eyes. “Drop the blade, Alicent.” 

Alicent knew she was caught. The mother had been clear. She could not fail this mission. She had poisoned the king, to get him out of the way, but the maester had caught it sooner than she thought he would. She had to be rid of Rhaenyra and her children, of Laena and her children. 

She had a godly mission, and she would not fail. 

With a scream, Alicent lunged.