Chapter Text
The sound of flesh rhythmically banging on flesh filled the stuffy servant’s chamber in the Red Keep. Golden sunlight, entering from the one small window in the room, landed on a woman’s neck. She was perched on a small mattress, on all fours. Her long auburn hair twisting between the fingers of the young man towering over her, taking her from behind.
“My Prince! I’m close!” the woman moaned in pleasure.
In response, the silver-haired man tugged on her hair harder, jerking his hips at gruelling pace. This earned more high-pitched moans from his partner. Women like her were easy, the young man thought. Bright-eyed ladies from minor families all over the continent, sent to King’s Landing by the social climbers they call mother and father. Sent here in hopes that they make valuable connections when acting as companions to the more important women at court. Maybe even get an advantageous marriage out of it. So eager to please and quick to trust. One look by the prince and a whisper in their ear was enough for them to forget the duty thrusted upon them. He wished her parents could see Claire (or was it Clara?) now, on all fours in some tucked away servant’s room, being fucked by Prince Aegon Targaryen.
Aegon felt his own peak build too, he let go of her hair, gripping her hips now, hard enough for them to bruise. He increased his pace even more, chasing his release. When he felt his partner shudder and clench around him, he felt himself falling over the edge too. In one quick stroke he pulled his cock out, finishing on her back. He wasn’t about to create an army of silver haired bastards running around the Keep, he thought, he was smarter than that.
“My Prince you were amazing,” the girl huffed, collapsing on the mattress.
“You were great too,” Aegon lied, already putting on his pants.
Once he had put on his clothes, he turned to look at his paramour, who had been watching him intently. He pulled out a rag and cleaned up Claire’s back.
“Look, Claire. I had a great time but it’s time for me to go,” he said. “I have… princely duties to attend to and…hmm... I wouldn’t make myself too comfortable here. This room belongs to some old hag who will soon be done with her shift, so I’d get dressed if I were you,” he continued, getting up to leave.
“My name is Cassandra m-”
“Oh right, my bad,” the prince cut her off, already halfway through the door.
Aegon made his way through the many hallways of the Red Keep. Greeted by every arse-licker under the sun while doing so. This had always irritated him about court, these unimportant losers trying to suck up to the ones that really mattered. The same empty words echoing again and again:
“How is the princess?”
“We wish the princess a safe birth.”
“My family is praying for a healthy son!”
As if they give a rats-ass about that kid. He wished he was invisible, especially today, where the Keep could only talk about one thing. How Rhaenyra Targaryen, the realm’s delight, heir to the Iron Throne and his wife has been in labour since the early morning hours. He felt sick.
This difficult of a labour was to be expected, frankly. Aegon remembers the day of her first birth. Nine moons to the day after their wedding her waters broke, and her torment began. For 26 hours the only sounds to be heard in the Keep were those of concerned whispers and the screams of the Queen-to-be. Aegon wasn’t there for the entire time obviously, he was a boy of just seven-and-ten back then and had other things to do. When one servant entered his chambers at midday to inform him of the labour, Aegon decided against aiding his half-sister. Rather, he sneaked out of the Keep, to drown out his sorrows in copious amounts of wine. It was late at night when his mother’s attack dog Ser Criston finally found him and dragged him back to the Keep.
“You are to support your wife and be here for your first child’s birth!” his mother hissed as a welcome, followed by a slap that made his cheek burn.
So, he was forced to sit by while Rhaenyra screamed out in pain, maesters and midwifes shuffling all around him. He was about to get sick. At one point he fell asleep, only to be woken by his mother, pointing him towards the bed, where a dishevelled and soaked Rhaenyra was holding two bundles in her arms.
“A girl and a boy, both healthy,” the maester said. “The girl came first, my Princess, just a moment later the boy followed.”
“Visenya,” Rhaenyra huffed, looking down to the slimy creatures in her arms and smiling. “I want her to be called Visenya. And him, Jaehaerys. What do you think, husband?”
That word hurt like a knife in his chest.
Rhaenyra, his mother, his grandfather and the maester all turned to him, as if it mattered what he had to say. As if he cared what their names were. He liked the names, though. A King’s name for a future King. A sister-wife's name for a future sister-wife. He still felt sick.
“I like the names.”
Rhaenyra handed Visenya over to him. She was somewhat ugly, but she and her twin-brother were the proof he needed. He had done his duty to the realm, secured the succession. He was free to do as he pleased.
A few days before their wedding, Rhaenyra had pulled him aside on a stroll through the gardens. The entire affair was bizarre, a boy of six-and-ten should marry a grown woman of thirty and put a child in her. His bride-to-be had told him about how they shall do their duty and consummate the marriage properly to secure the succession. When this was done, she said, they both shall pursuit whatever their heart desires, as long as it’s not disruptive. Aegon was more than happy to oblige. After Rhaenyra showed signs of being with child, Aegon never again graced her chambers with his presence, and he never needed to again. Or so he thought.
Last year Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, put forth the idea for the royal couple to have another child, a spare to Jaehaerys’ heir. You never know what might happen, his grandfather said. Rhaenyra agreed. And so, Aegon once again had to return to his sister’s bedchamber.
The ever so dutiful, refined, respectful, perfect Rhaenyra. Everything he was not, she was. Everything she had, he had not. How she mocked him any time they were together. Her lilac eyes scanning him so mercilessly. Letting him know this was worse for him than for her. After a few moons it was evident she was with child again. Thank the sevens, Aegon had thought. Now that child was to be born.
Aegon turned the curve to the royal chambers and entered. Rhaenyra was on the bed, half asleep and soaked in sweat.
“Aegon,” his mother waved him over to the other side of the room.
“Mother,” Aegon said, filling a cup of wine on the table and gulping it down. “How is she doing?”
“Better, they gave her some poppy. The maester said the babe should arrive within the next two hours.”
Aegon just nodded to that and filled his cup to the brim again.
“Do you mean to be completely out of your mind when the child is born?” his mother berated him.
To that Aegon again just nodded and wandered towards his half-sisters birthing bed. He had taken to drinking early in his youth. When he drank, he didn’t remember his many failings. How his mother was disappointed in him. How his father hated him so much he threw away generations of tradition. How his only role is to fill the glorious future Queen with his seed to birth the next King. How he will be known as only Prince Consort Aegon Targaryen after his death. Fuck, he needed another drink.
He sat down on the mattress besides his drowsy wife.
“Husband,” she said, turning to him. “I’ve been wondering where you were.”
He wanted to slit her throat right then and there. Instead, he just smiled.
“Well, I’ve been busy. In fact, after breakfast me and the children went to the pit to get an egg for the cradle.”
“How lovely. Have you found one?” she breathed, the strained pain in her voice clear.
“Visenya picked one from Syrax’ clutch from a few moons back. Jaehaerys agreed. So, we had it br-”
He was interrupted by Rhaenyra loudly screaming out in pain, startling him. He was quickly pushed aside by the midwives who came running to the bed. His mother closely behind them, eyeing their work. Aegon on the other hand returned to the table with the wine jug, filling his cup for the third time.
The maester was right, the babe arrived within the hour, a strong and healthy boy. Rhaenyra had already fallen asleep when Aegon stepped up to the bed and was handed the new-born. The child in his arms was asleep too, his head covered in delicate silver hair. Alicent softly patted him on the back, as if to say that the job was finally done. He wanted to cry.
The door opened and in came Otto Hightower quickly followed by two silver-haired menaces, a smile crept up on Aegon again.
“Father, let me see!” Visenya pleaded, already tugging on Aegon’s pants.
“I wanna see it too! Pleaaaaase!” Jaehaerys joined in.
“Don’t be so loud,” the Queen reminded her grandchildren. “Your mother is sleeping.”
The children therefore continued their pleading in whispers. Aegon had to chuckle, however much he hated the life he had found himself in, his children were a source of great comfort. He knelt to let the two four-year-olds look at their new baby brother.
“What’s its name?” Jaehaerys asked immediately.
“He doesn’t have a name yet; your mother has not decided on one.”
“You are the father,” Otto said, attracting Aegon’s attention. “It is your right to name your own son. You do not need her permission.”
The older man stared down Aegon intensely. Daring him to take initiative for once in his marriage. To show him that he was more than just a worthless drunk piece of shit. Aegon looked at his mother, softly nodding along to her father’s words, lips pressed tightly shut. Anger started bubbling within him. How dare his grandfather act like this now? As if he was not the one who planted the idea into the King’s head to have him married to Rhaenyra. Damning him to his existence as the future Prince Consort. A sad joke of a man. Fuck, he needed more to drink.
Aegon breathed in deeply, he was not about to lose his temper in front of his children. He looked down to the sleeping bundle tucked in his arms. His little chest rising and falling softly.
“Maelor,” he said, “his name is Maelor.”
“You could have at least waited for me to wake up,” Princess Rhaenyra said, now awake and nursing her new-born son on her breast.
The princess had awoken from her nap after the twins got bored and decided to conduct a very intense round of pillow fighting. Rhaenyra had then asked for the twins to be taken to their lessons and for the rest of the attendees to make their leave, leaving the royal couple and Maelor alone.
Aegon was leaning on the wall near her bed. Biting his lip, cup of wine in his hand, murder on his mind.
“It’s news to me that a man has to ask for permission from his wife when naming his own son” he hissed.
“I mean, I would’ve appreciated it.”
He wanted to smash her face in.
Rhaenyra continued, “but I like the name. I think it suits him.”
How she mocked him, Aegon thought, even now when being cordial. Look, I’m better than you, she signalled. I don’t hold grudges. Look I’m not some dumb fucking animal controlled by his emotions. He downed his cup.
“Are we done here?” he asked.
“Actually,” she shifted a bit in her bed, “I wanted to visit father later today, show him Maelor. I’d like you to come along too.”
He must be dead, and this is one of the seven hells.
The sun had started to set now, bathing the foyer to the King’s chambers in a warm orange. The couple was waiting for the Queen and maesters to finish their nightly care-routine with the King. Rhaenyra sat on one of the armchairs, softly rocking Maelor back and forth in her arms. Aegon noticed how the orange hue of the dying sunlight fell on her silvery hair. She looked remarkably well put together, he thought, as well put together you can look like after 14 hours of labour, that is.
The door to the private chambers of the King opened, the Queen emerged.
“He is ready for you now.”
The room was dimly lit, and the stench of ointments hung in the air. Aegon hadn’t been here in ages, everything was different but somehow nothing was. His father’s giant replica of the Freehold still stood where it had always been, but it was now covered by a thick layer of dust. Not even the maids cared to clean it. Decorative and historical pieces that used to be displayed on one of the many countertops were replaced by herbs and other ingredients for portions.
But the biggest difference was the King himself. Approaching his bed, Aegon saw just how decrepit his father had become. His once luscious blonde hair had nearly fallen out completely, the few grey strands matted. His left arm had to be removed completely, its rot unstoppable. His right eye had also fallen victim to the rot, the socket now sitting empty.
His father was more corpse than man, Aegon thought, now standing right beside his bed. The only thing pointing to him being alive was his laboured breathing.
“Viserys, Rhaenyra and Aegon are here,” the Queen said, tapping the King on his shoulder, “they brought their son along. He was born today, his name is Maelor. Your new grandson.”
“Ohhhh,” the King yelped. “Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra..”
With the one hand he had left, he grasped at Rhaenyra. The princess handed Maelor over to Aegon. Then she slowly sat down on the mattress and took hold of her father’s hand, softly pressing. He needs to get blackout drunk tonight, Aegon made a mental note.
“Yes father, I’m here. And look who we’ve brought along,” she gestured towards Aegon standing next to her. He couldn’t muster up a smile, he did try to attract attention to Maelor through, slightly rocking him up and down.
“How wonderful,” Viserys said, looking at the infant.
“His name is Maelor, he is a very strong and healthy boy,” Rhaenyra was now pressing her father’s hand to her heart. “The twins have already picked out an egg for his cradle too, one of Syrax’ own.”
“Ohh Rhaenyra, my only child…”
The air in the room changed. The Queen shifted uncomfortably, watching her firstborn with sad eyes. Rhaenyra stole a quick glance toward her husband but then returned to the sorry excuse of a conversation with her father, acting like nothing happened.
Aegon pressed the new-born closer to his chest. He just decided that he was going to say yes to every substance offered to him tonight.