Chapter Text
He lay in his litter; the world around him blurring into a distant haze. He could taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, the poison in his wine had done its work well. He tried to move, to speak perhaps, but his body refused to obey. The venom had spread too far, too fast.
Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm has died, they will say.
It was ironic, really. He had been a drinker ever since his youth; he couldn’t remember the last day he hadn’t drank. He had survived assassins, bounty hunters and dragonfire, but his bad habit was the thing that had killed him in the end.
A drunk, killed by poisoned wine. Aegon wondered what viper that resided in the Red Keep had slipped the bitter poison into his cup. His money was on Corlys Velaryon, he had never really liked him; he should’ve seen it coming, honestly.
His eyelids grew heavy, a disgusting chill seeping into his bones, into his very being. As darkness crept in, enveloping him fully, Aegon couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of peace. Perhaps death would finally grant him the rest he sought, he would be reunited with Helaena and their two sons. Daeron and Aemond would be there too, he couldn’t wait to see them.
But just as he began to surrender to the void, a flicker of light pierced through the darkness.
He awoke with a gasp, eyes wide and heart pounding. This was not the afterlife he had imagined. This was his bedchamber, the same one he had known in his youth—the one he thought he had left behind forever.
This was impossible. He had died. He remembered the taste of poison on his tongue, the cold realization that death had finally come.
Was this one of the seven heavens?
He sat up quickly, not thinking about his injuries or the pain such sudden movements would cause. But to his surprise, he felt no pain, his body felt whole. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing the weight of his own limbs. Nothing hindered him; he was strong again.
Tentatively he stood up and he thought he was going to see stars. It was as though the years of suffering and decay had been erased in an instant. His legs supported him effortlessly… there was no pain, no weakness—just a renewed sense of life that surged through him.
He took a few cautious steps, feeling the smoothness of the floor beneath his bare feet—it was real. Everything around him was real, and yet it defied all logic.
He made his way to the vanity, each step feeling more surreal than the last. Drawing a shaky breath, he forced himself to look into the mirror. What he saw stole his breath away. Staring back at him was Aegon Targaryen, not as the broken, scarred king he had become, but the prince he used to be—strong-jawed, clear-eyed, and handsome beyond measure.
There were no remnants of the dragonfire that had once ravaged his body, no disfigurements to mar his features. Even his shoulder, once a twisted mass of scar tissue, looked perfectly normal— covered in soft, pale skin and without a hint of deformity.
Aegon reached out tentatively, tracing the outline of his face in the mirror. It felt real, solid. Tears welled up in his eyes as the reality of it all began to sink in. This wasn’t the afterlife, it was no dream, this was all real. The gods had granted him another chance, a second opportunity at life.
He stood there, transfixed by the reflection in the mirror, when the door to his chamber burst open with a resounding thud. Startled, Aegon turned to see his mother storm in, as she so often had during his youth.
“Aegon!” she exclaimed, her voice was as sharp as he remembered it to be. “What in the name of the Seven Hells are you still doing here? Your wife is in labor, and you’re not even dressed!”
Aegon blinked dumbfoundedly at his mother, who looked younger than he remembered—not happier, but certainly less burdened. For her, it seemed, this was just another day in the life of the royal family, albeit one where her son inexplicably refused to attend to urgent matters.
“Mother,” Aegon stammered, he struggled to find words to say; it was all too much. “I... I don’t...”
Alicent cut him off with an exasperated sigh, crossing the room to where his clothes lay neatly folded on a chair. “Honestly, Aegon,” she muttered, picking up his doublet and thrusting it into his arms. “If you wanted a day off, you could have at least chosen a more appropriate time. Helaena is bringing another Targaryen into the world, and you’re here lounging about like a child!”
His mother continued to lecture him while helping him into his clothes, but he wasn’t really listening to any of it anymore. Helaena was alive and well. His mother looked younger. He was younger.
The final realization hit him like a physical blow—he had been sent back in time. To a time before everything he knew burned to ash. He finally had a chance to make things right.
“Helaena?” Tears welled in his eyes anew as he spoke. “She’s... she’s really...”
His mother must’ve noticed the tears, as her tone softened slightly. “She’s in labor, yes,” she replied, fastening the clasps of his doublet with deft fingers. “Now hurry up, we do not have a moment to lose.”
Aegon felt as if his heart might burst out of his chest, and before he could stop himself, he pulled his mother into a tight hug. He felt her stiffen, evidently startled by his sudden display of affection, after a moment she awkwardly started to pat his back.
“Aegon, what has gotten into you?” The concern was evident in her voice, this wasn’t how he acted usually. “It's as if you've never hugged me before.”
He couldn’t help the tears from flowing freely now, wetting her gown. “Thank you, Mother,” he whispered, his voice choked. “Thank you.”
“Oh, Aegon,” she said, her tone tender now. “Whatever has come over you, I’m sure we’ll talk about it later. But right now, Helaena needs you.”
Aegon nodded, wiping his eyes quickly. “You’re right, I’ll go to her.”
With one last squeeze, he released his mother and rushed out of the room. He made his way through the familiar corridors of the Red Keep. He couldn't believe he had been given this chance—to see his family whole again, to save them.
As he approached Helaena’s chambers, he spotted a maid sitting outside the door, two small figures nestled beside her. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized them—Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. They were younger, perhaps four years old, and both alive and well. He couldn’t help but start to cry again as he dropped to his knees before them.
“Jaehaera, Jaehaerys,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “My sweet children."
Jaehaerys looked up at him with wide eyes, a smile spreading across her face. “Papa!” he exclaimed, launching himself into his arms.
Jaehaera, slightly more reserved but no less happy, followed suit, wrapping her small arms around her father’s neck. “Papa, why are you crying?” she asked, her innocent voice filled with concern.
Aegon held them tightly, afraid they’d might disappear if he let them go. “I’m just so happy to see you both,” he said, kissing the tops of their heads. “I missed you so much.”
Jaehaerys giggled, his voice like the sweetest music to Aegon’s ears. “But Papa, we just saw each other yesterday at supper! You’re being silly.”
Aegon laughed, a sound that had become so foreign to him in his previous life. The joy he felt was almost overwhelming. Jaehaerys was alive, and Jaehaera was home. Flashes of his son’s decapitated body, bloody and lifeless, haunted his mind for a moment, but he pushed them away. Jaehaerys was alive now, and Aegon would make sure no harm ever came to him again.
Just then, a scream pierced the air from the other side of the door—Helaena, no doubt. Aegon’s heart missed a beat, but he knew he had to be strong for her. He gently disentangled himself from his kids, placing a kiss on each of their foreheads. “Stay here, alright? I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay, Papa,” Jaehaera said, her small face serious with the importance of the task.
“Go help Mama,” Jaehaerys echoed, still giggling.
Aegon smiled at them one last time before turning and pushing open the door to Helaena’s chamber. Inside, the room was a hive of activity, midwives bustling around, preparing for the imminent birth. Helaena lay on the bed, her face flushed with effort and pain. The old Maester Orwyle was at her side, monitoring her closely.
“Maester Orwyle,” Aegon called, joining the older man by Helaena’s bedside. “How is she?”
The maester turned, looking up from his work. “Prince Aegon,” he greeted with a nod. “The labor is progressing as expected. She is strong, but it will still be some time yet.”
Helaena, eyes closed, muttered something under her breath. Aegon leaned in closer to hear her words. “The dragon dreams of shadows, but the sun will rise.”
Aegon couldn’t help but to smile. Gods, he had missed her ramblings, those strange, mysterious musings that only she seemed to understand. He sat down beside her, clasping her hand in his. Helaena’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at him with surprise but did not pull away.
“You’re here.” Her voice was raspy and weak, the strain of the imminent birth obvious.
“I’m here,” Aegon replied, squeezing her hand gently. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Helaena's brow furrowed as she looked at him more closely. “You seem... different,” she murmured, her gaze piercing through him.
Aegon was unsure what to say. Yes, he was different. He was wiser, no longer the foolish nineteen-year-old prince she had known. The one who drank away his sorrows all day and fucked his way through every pleasure house in the capital. No, he had seen what would come. He knew he had to act, be decisive. He was a changed man.
Could she see it?
Before he could respond, Helaena cried out in pain, he body tensing. Maester Orwyle, rushed to her side immediately. “Prince Aegon,” he said, “please step aside. The babe is coming.”
Aegon reluctantly moved out of the way as the midwives rushed to Helaena’s side. He stood back, watching with a mix of anxiety and hope. His mother entered the room then, her face tense. He felt her clasp hand tightly as they both watched the scene unfold.
Helaena’s cries filled the chamber, drowning out the calming murmur of the midwives’ reassurances. Time seemed to stand still— Aegon stood there, feeling like both hours and just moments passed. He held onto his mother’s hand as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded in this world.
Finally, the room fell into silence, broken only by Helaena’s labored breaths. And then, the sound that Aegon had been waiting for—the cry of a newborn. Tears filled his eyes as he watched Maester Orwyle lift the tiny, squirming baby, its cries strong and healthy.
“Congratulations,” the maester announced. “It’s a healthy boy.”
Aegon felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. He turned to his mother, pure relief and joy on his face, and she mirrored his expression, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Orwyle carefully placed the newborn in Helaena’s arms, and she looked down at him with wonder. Aegon moved closer, taking in the sight of his youngest son, whole and safe. He gently sat down beside Helaena, reaching out to gently touch the boy’s tiny hand. “He’s perfect,” he whispered.
Helaena smiled, a tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. “What shall we name him?”
Aegon thought for a moment, this was his little boy. The little boy who had been so cruelly robbed of his life by a mob of savages. He would honor him; he would protect him this time.
“Let’s name him Maelor.”
Helaena nodded, her eyes closing in exhaustion. “Maelor,” she repeated softly, the name rolling off her tongue like a promise.
Soon Helaena drifted off to sleep, her breathing turning slow and steady. Maelor was taken by the midwives to be cleaned and swaddled, and Aegon found himself reluctantly stepping back to let them work. He’d have ample opportunity to spend time with Maelor later.
He had other plans for today.
The sunlight felt warm on his face as he lay in the royal gardens, his arms behind his head, feeling a sense of peace he hadn't known in years. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys were with him, their sweet laughter filling the air. They clambered over him, their small hands poking and prodding, their giggles infectious.
“Papa, look!” Jaehaera exclaimed, holding up a tiny flower she had picked. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“It’s beautiful, my sweet girl,” Aegon replied, taking the flower and tucking it behind her ear. “Just like you.”
Jaehaerys, not wanting to be outdone, held up a blade of grass. “Papa, look what I found! It’s green and long!”
Aegon chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. “That’s a fine blade of grass, Jaehaerys. Very impressive.”
The twins settled down, snuggling against him, their small bodies warm and comforting. This was the life, he could stay like this forever.
Jaehaera laid her head on his chest, her fingers playing with the buttons of his doublet. “Papa, why are you so happy today?”
Aegon took a deep breath, he hadn’t seen her for so long—spirited away to Storm’s End when King’s Landing fell. He hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with her since. He felt the weight of his past and the promise of a new, better future at the same time.
“Because,” he said, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “I have everything I could ever want right here with me.”
Just then, Ser Erryk approached, Aegon’s smile faltered slightly as he remembered the knight’s betrayal; he had pledged himself to the pretender queen. He wanted to slit his throat right then and there.
The knight bowed, his expression neutral. “My prince, the children are needed for their lessons.”
Aegon felt a flash of irritation, his protective instincts flaring up. “Can’t they have a moment of peace?” he snapped. He quickly regained his composure though, taking a deep breath as he gazed into the twins’ curious faces. “Very well,” he said, his tone more measured. “Go on, my loves. Learn well and make your father proud.”
“Yes, Papa!” they chorused, giving him quick hugs before running off with Ser Erryk.
He could deal with the traitorous Kingsguard another time.
With a sigh, he stood up and began to walk around the keep. The freedom to move, to walk without pain, was wonderous. He passed familiar corridors and rooms, each one a reminder of the life he had been given a chance to reclaim.
As he neared the training yard, he heard the familiar sound of steel clashing against steel. Getting closer to the sounds he found his brother, Aemond, in the midst of a training session. Aemond moved with deadly precision, his sword slicing through the air perfectly.
As he watched Aemond, he remembered the kind of older brother he had been—cruel, mocking, always belittling Aemond to lift himself up. Aegon had reveled in making his younger brother feel small, and he could now see the resentment that had festered in Aemond’s heart because of it.
Memories of the fire and the screams haunted him. Aemond... he was complicated, and the rage he harbored was difficult to control. Aegon knew he had to find a way to make them a team. They needed to work together if they were to persevere.
Aemond noticed him standing there, a flicker of distaste crossing his eye. Aegon swallowed hard and stepped forward, forcing a smile.
“Aemond,” Aegon greeted tentatively, trying to keep his tone light despite the tension between them.
“Aegon,” Aemond replied coldly, not stopping his movements as he continued to practice his swordplay.
Clearing his throat, Aegon attempted to start some small talk with his little brother. “You look sharp with the sword. Your technique has improved.”
“It’s necessary,” Aemond shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. “We must always be prepared.”
“Yes, indeed,” Aegon replied, struggling to find the right words. “We… we should train together sometime. It’s been too long.”
He could see how Aemond’s gaze hardened. “Perhaps,” he said curtly, turning his back to him to continue his exercises.
Aegon stood there for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line, feeling the weight of their ruined relationship. This could have gone better, he thought. He would need to work on rebuilding their bond, to earn Aemond’s trust and loyalty.
He left the courtyard behind and walked back to Helaena’s chambers, to get a moment with Maelor, though his thoughts still lingered on Aemond. He had so much to mend, so many bridges to rebuild. It wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to do it.
It was then that he passed Otto Hightower, his grandfather and the Hand of the King. The older man did not greet him, ever the schemer, he was wearing his perpetual look of contemplation. Aegon’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, feeling a surge of determination. He knew of Otto’s role in what was about to come, and he felt a need to speak with the man.
“Grandsire,” Aegon called back to him.
Otto paused and turned, his expression one of mild surprise, a hint of stress evident in the lines of his face. “Yes, Aegon?”
“Do you have a moment to talk?” Aegon asked, his voice steady but his heart pounding.
Otto seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded. “I have a bit of time,” he said, gesturing for Aegon to follow him. “Let us talk in my chambers.”
They walked side by side to the Hand’s chambers, a place Aegon remembered well from his youth. The room was filled with scrolls and books, the smell of old parchment and ink hanging in the air. Candles burned on nearly every surface. Otto sat down behind his cluttered desk, gesturing for Aegon to take a seat across from him.
“I went to see young Maelor earlier.” A rare smile touched his grandfather’s lips. “Congratulations, my grandson. He is a healthy, strong boy.”
“Thank you,” Aegon replied, nodding. He appreciated the sentiment but he was too focused on the reason for his visit. His mind racing with all the things he wanted to say. Otto meanwhile poured two cups of wine and offered one to Aegon, but he shook his head.
“No, thank you,” Aegon said, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I’ve decided to swear off wine.”
Otto raised an eyebrow, his expression one of genuine bewilderment. “Swear off wine? You? This is certainly a change.”
Aegon nodded. “I need a clear mind,” he said simply. He felt the need, obviously, but the memories of his past life, filled with the haze of drink and regret, spurred his resolve.
Otto leaned back, studying him intently. “Very well,” he said, raising the wine cup to his lips. “What is it you wished to speak with me about?”
Aegon took a deep breath, summoning all his courage. Closing his eyes briefly, he saw the images of all the death and destruction that was about to come—the flames, the screams, the chaos wrought by the civil war. He opened his eyes, meeting Otto’s gaze with steely determination.
“I want to become my father’s heir.” He clenched his hands into fists. “I want to be king after him.”
Otto’s eyes widened in shock, and he spat out the wine he had just sipped, the crimson liquid splattering across his desk. He looked at Aegon as if he had seen a ghost.
“What did you just say?”
Aegon met his gaze steadily. “I know you’ve been scheming and planning for this, Grandsire. I want in on the plan. I want to be king.”
For a moment, Otto simply stared at him, his expression one of astonishment and suspicion. “Why now?” he finally asked, his voice wary. “What has brought about this sudden change in you?”
“I…” Aegon didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell him about the future he had seen and lived through, could he? No, he couldn’t. “Because… because I want the responsibility. I’m his son… I should be king.”
Otto’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him. “I don’t believe you,” the Hand said. “You’ve been content to drink and whore your way through the city for years, and now, suddenly, you want to be king? Tell me, what has truly changed?”
The old man was too good at reading people.
Aegon took a deep breath, his mind going to his father, the decrepit King Viserys. He never truly cared for him… he knew that now. He would never name him heir willingly—at least not if he didn’t do anything about it. The firstborn son, cucked out of his birthright.
He was ready to fight for that birthright now. To protect his family. He would be named as his father’s heir, and if not…. he would learn to be a king regardless and take the throne by force, if necessary. He had been ill prepared for the weight of the crown in his first life, he would be a better, stronger king in this one.
“Because I know that war will come once my father dies,” Aegon said, his voice filled with conviction. “We must act. The realm will be plunged into chaos, and countless lives will be lost. I can’t let that happen.”
Otto slowly nodded, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Aegon. He leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “If you are serious about this, Aegon, there is no turning back. You must be fully committed.”
Aegon met his grandfather’s gaze with unwavering determination. “I am. I swear it.”
Otto took another large gulp of wine, Aegon could practically see his mind whirring with possibilities and strategies. “Very well. We will begin by ensuring you are properly introduced to the happenings at court. You must be seen and heard, prove that you are ready to rule.”
Aegon nodded, understanding the weight of his grandfather’s words. He thought of the agony and destruction he had witnessed in his previous life. He wouldn’t allow it to happen again. He would make sure of it.
“Now that you have two male heirs—trueborn heirs,” Otto emphasized, his eyes sharp, “the lords will question Rhaenyra’s claim even more. We can work with that. Her support is not as strong as it once was. Doubts can be sown. We must gather allies, ensure loyalty, and present you as the more dutiful heir.”
Aegon felt a surge of hope. This was his chance to change everything. “I understand. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Good.” Otto’s gaze softened slightly, a rare sign of approval. “You must start attending council meetings, familiarize yourself with the matters of the realm, I’ll take you along tomorrow. Show the realm that you are more than a prince in name—you are a leader.”
“What about my father?” Aegon felt silly, his father did not want him to inherit the throne; he never did. But being named heir would make everything so much easier. He had to try, at least. “I believe… I believe I could sway him… make him name me Prince of Dragonstone.”
Otto’s face contorted in a pained expression. “Aegon, you must understand,” he began slowly, “your father has always favored Rhaenyra. He sees her as his rightful heir, despite her... indiscretions.”
“I know,” Aegon sighed, rubbing his temples. “I know he doesn’t want me to be his heir. He doesn’t like me very much, if we’re being honest. But it’s the safest route to the throne, I have to try, at least.”
Otto’s nod was slow, almost reluctant. “We can try, Aegon. But understand, the king’s mind is not easily changed, and his health is failing. His judgment may not be as sound as it once was.”
Aegon looked into his grandfather’s eyes, searching for any glimmer of hope. “You don’t sound very hopeful.”
“Hope is a luxury we can ill afford, my boy,” Otto said, his age showing in the deep lines etched across his face. “But we will make the attempt. For now, attend to your duties, present yourself as the capable leader the realm needs. We shall speak more on this tomorrow.”
With that, Otto stood, a silent dismissal. “I have other matters to attend to. Rest now, Aegon. Prepare yourself for what is to come.”
Aegon nodded, silently watching his grandfather leave the chamber. The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, leaving the prince alone. He took a deep breath.
This was it.