Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Aegon walked briskly toward the Small Council chamber, trying to keep up with his grandfather. The hallways of the Red Keep seemed to hum with anticipation, or perhaps it was just his own nerves.

“Remember, Aegon, listen more than you speak.” Otto’s voice cut through his thoughts, dispensing rapid-fire information. “The Master of Coin, Lyman Beesbury, is particularly fussy about expenditures—mention anything about the treasury, and he’ll talk your ear off. Jasper Wylde is boisterous and proud, always one to jest with. Larys Strong rarely speaks unless he has something crucial to share, so pay close attention when he does. Tyland Lannister is all bark no bite. And Maester Orwyle, well, he’ll drone on if you let him. Your mother is acting as the king’s proxy today, as your father is unwell.”

Aegon nodded, trying to absorb the information. It felt like he was cramming for an exam, but the stakes were infinitely higher. “Got it. Beesbury loves money, Wylde is the only fun one, Strong speaks only when necessary, Lannister is irrelevant, Orwyle drones, and Mother... well, she’s always watching.”

Otto gave him a sharp look. “This is serious, Aegon. Show them you are serious. This is your first step toward securing your position as heir.”

They arrived at the doors of the Small Council chamber, and the guards opened them with a solemn nod. Inside, the council members were already seated, their gazes shooting to the Hand and Aegon as they entered.

“Good morrow, my lords, Your Grace,” Otto greeted, moving to his seat. “Prince Aegon will be joining us today.”

The men looked Aegon up and down. Lyman Beesbury raised an eyebrow, his fingers drumming on the table. Larys Strong gave a slight nod, his eyes glinting with curiosity. Both Tyland Lannister and Jasper Wylde offered him smiles, and Maester Orwyle merely glanced up before returning to his book. Queen Alicent shot a questioning glance at Otto, her expression unreadable.

Aegon felt utterly naked under their scrutiny, but managed a respectful nod as he took a seat.

Otto started the meeting. “Let us begin with the treasury. Lord Lyman, any updates?”

Lyman Beesbury launched into a way too detailed explanation of the realm’s finances, discussing revenues from various regions, the costs of maintaining the royal household, and potential new taxes. Aegon tried to follow, nodding at appropriate moments, but his mind wandered as the Master of Coin continued to prattle on.

“...and if we increase the toll on the Roseroad, we might see a significant boost in our coffers,” Beesbury concluded.

“And what of the trade routes, Lord Lyman?” Tyland Lannister cut in smoothly. “We’ve had reports of piracy near the Stepstones.”

“Yes, yes, always the pirates.” The aged Master of Coin took a sip from his wine, Aegon fought the urge to call for the cupbearer. “We could allocate more funds to the fleet, but that would mean less for other crucial expenses.”

Tyland rolled his eyes. “As always, the treasury is a delicate balancing act.”

His grandfather spoke up again, his voice calm and authoritative. “We must ensure the realm remains stable. We cannot allow piracy to go on unchecked, any sign of weakness could lead to unrest. Aegon, do you have any thoughts on these matters?”

Caught off guard, Aegon hesitated. “Uh, well, it sounds like we need to balance our resources carefully for the coming moons,” he began slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. “We could increase patrols in the stepstones… I could also fly to the Stepstones myself and patrol the skies on Sunfyre. It would serve as a deterrent to the pirates and show the realm that we are taking decisive action.”

The men around the table exchanged a few glances and Aegon felt his cheeks heat up. Lyman Beesbury looked skeptical, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. “Patrolling on a dragon... It sounds impressive, but how practical is it?”

“It might just work.” Tyland Lannister leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. “The sight of a dragon would certainly make any pirate think twice.”

Larys Strong nodded slowly, his eyes calculating. “It’s a bold move, Prince Aegon. Boldness is often what is needed to keep the peace.”

Otto took the floor again, a hint of a proud smile playing on his lips. “Prince Aegon’s suggestion is a sound one. It shows leadership and a willingness to take action. We will proceed with reallocation of funds to strengthen our fleet and coordinate patrols with the prince’s flights.”

Otto cleared his throat before addressing the council anew. “Now, onto the next matter—relations with Dorne. They have been particularly difficult lately…”

The discussion moved on, with Aegon doing his best to keep up. Jasper Wylde made a jest about Dornish wine, prompting a few chuckles, and even Larys Strong offered a rare smile. The mood lightened slightly, and Aegon found himself relaxing a bit.

As the meeting drew to a close and the council members began to rise, Alicent motioned for Otto and Aegon to stay behind. Aegon felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach as his mother’s eyes fixed on him.

“What is the meaning of this, Father?” Alicent asked, her tone sharp. “Why is Aegon suddenly attending council meetings?”

Otto met her gaze evenly. “Aegon is preparing himself for a greater role, my daughter. He understands the responsibilities that lie ahead and wishes to prove himself capable.”

Alicent’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what brought this change about?”

Aegon took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. “Mother, I know that Father does not see me as his heir, but I want to change that. I want to be ready to lead, I want to become the king the realm needs me to be.”

His mother looked concerned, her brow furrowing as she studied him. Aegon recognized that look all too well. Sometimes he wondered if she blamed herself for his father’s behavior, for his neglect and coldness.

Did she think that Viserys saw only her in their children, the second wife, the replacement for his beloved Aemma? Did she believe that her mere existence had cast a shadow over his perception of their offspring?

His mother’s voice broke through his thoughts, wary and laden with unspoken fears. “Rhaenyra will not take kindly to any challenge to her claim. You know how determined she is. She has powerful allies and—”

“I do not care for what Rhaenyra thinks,” Aegon snapped, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Memories of her death at his hands, surged inside of him. Killing her had been a grim satisfaction, a final act of defiance that had marked him a kinslayer, but she had deserved it. “I will show Father that I am a more worthy heir. Rhaenyra's claim is a threat to the stability of the realm.”

His Grandfather and mother exchanged quick glances, their eyes filled with a mix of pity and concern. It stung Aegon more than he cared to admit. They saw him as the prodigal son, desperately trying to earn a place he believed should have been his by right.

Their pity was almost unbearable.

Aegon excused himself hastily, feeling the sting of unshed tears prick at his eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, Mother, Grandfather, I need some air.”

He walked out of the chamber, his steps hurried and uneven. He felt panic build inside of him, the walls of the corridors closing in on him. The weight of his past, the memories of such a horrible future… they were wounds that would never heal, wounds he will have to carry for the rest of his life.

Once he was alone, he allowed the tears to fall. He would prove himself to his father, to the lords of the realm, to everyone. He would protect his family, secure his birthright, and ensure that the realm did not descend into chaos again. He wiped away his eyes, straightened his back, and took a deep breath. The path ahead was fraught with peril, but he was ready to face it head-on.

The kitchens were a hive of activity, the staff barely noticing him as he entered. Aegon looked around for a moment before finally spotting the head baker, a rotund man with flour-dusted hair and a cheerful demeanor.

“Good morrow, my prince!” the baker greeted with a wide smile, wiping his hands on his apron. “What brings you to my humble domain?”

Aegon returned the smile, feeling a bit more at ease, the tension from the council meeting momentarily forgotten. “Good morrow. I need your help with a surprise for my wife. She loves lemon cake, and I’d like to celebrate the birth of our son with one.”

Their marriage had been a very… cold one, devoid of much passion, but she was his sister and the mother of the children he loved so dearly. She deserved to feel loved, and after her death, Aegon had often found himself missing her bitterly.

“Ah, lemon cake! A fine choice, indeed. We’ll make it the best lemon cake in all of Westeros!” The baker’s enthusiasm was just a bit grating, but Aegon kept his smile up. “Would you like any special decorations or a message on it?”

Aegon scratched his head, unsure. “A message… Hmm.” He paused, trying to think of something Helaena liked. His mind drew a blank except for one thing: bugs. “Could you, perhaps, draw butterflies on the cake with sugar glazing?”

“Butterflies?” The baker chuckled. “I can do that. I’m sure the princess will love it. It’ll be ready in about an hour.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Leaving the warm kitchens, Aegon made his way to the gardens, where he had tasked his twins with collecting flowers for a bouquet. He found them in the midst of a colorful array of blooms, their little hands busy picking flowers with varying levels of success.

As he got closer, he spotted Ser Erryk, his ever-present shadow and sworn protector. The knight stood near the entrance to the gardens, his eyes firmly on Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. Aegon couldn’t resist the urge to make the knight's day a bit more difficult.

“Ser Erryk,” Aegon called out, a smirk on his face.

The knight turned and bowed slightly. “My prince.”

“How's the flower-picking business treating you today?”

Erryk’s expression remained neutral. “The children are safe and enjoying themselves, my prince.”

“Safe, you say? Well, that's good to hear,” Aegon said, feigning deep contemplation. “But, you know, I've heard whispers of rogue squirrels in these parts. Vicious little creatures, riddled with diseases. I trust you’re on the lookout for any danger that might befall my children?”

Ser Erryk’s eye twitched slightly, but he maintained his composure. “I will keep an eye out, my prince.”

“Excellent. We can’t have rogue squirrels interrupting our royal flower-picking, now can we?” Aegon said, trying not to laugh as he heard his children giggle behind a large bunch of flowers.

He leaned in closer to Erryk, lowering his voice. “You know, I heard there’s a particular flower, very rare, somewhere in these gardens. It’s called the Golden Thorn. Quite elusive. Think you could find it for me?”

Erryk’s eyes narrowed slightly, Aegon noticed how his jaw clenched. Oh, Aegon could do this all day.

“I will do my best, my prince.”

“Good man,” Aegon said, clapping him on the shoulder with a bit more force than necessary. “I have complete faith in you. After all, a Kingsguard’s duty extends to botanical expertise, does it not?”

Erryk gave a curt nod. “As you say, my prince.”

“Off you go, then.” Aegon straightened up, looking pleased with himself. “I expect a full report on any and all squirrel- or flower-related threats by the end of the day.”

As Ser Erryk moved off to search for the nonexistent Golden Thorn, Aegon couldn’t help but chuckle. He turned to the twins, who were watching the interaction with wide eyes.

“Alright,” Aegon said, crouching down to their level. “How’s the bouquet coming along?”

Jaehaera held up a handful of wildflowers, beaming proudly. “Papa, look! I got so many flowers!”

Jaehaerys presented him a single, somewhat squished daisy. “I got this one, Papa! It’s the best flower!”

He gathered the flowers from them and started arranging them into a more cohesive bouquet. As he did so, he noticed the twins whispering to each other and giggling.

“What’s so funny?”

Jaehaerys looked up at him, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “We heard what you said to Ser Erryk. Are there really rogue squirrels?”

Aegon laughed, his cheeks hurt from the perpetual smile he had been wearing. “No, my dears, just a bit of fun. But it never hurts to keep our protectors on their toes, does it?”

They continued to pick a more flowers. Jaehaera was particularly devoted, her face was scrunched up in concentration as she added a few more flowers to the arrangement, making sure each one was perfect. “Do you think she’ll like it, Papa?”

“I know she will.”

Aegon, balancing the bouquet of flowers in one hand and the lemon cake in the other, made his way to Helaena’s chambers. He knocked gently on the door, and from within, he heard her soft voice beckoning him inside.

As he entered, a gentle breeze from the open window hit his face. Helaena was in bed, nursing Maelor, her face serene. She had refused the wet nurses, preferring to nurse the boy herself, just as she had with the twins, just as she did in his previous life. Her gaze lifted to him, but she said nothing.

Aegon approached the bed, carefully setting the cake and bouquet on the bedside table. “I brought you a little something to celebrate.”

Helaena’s eyes flicked to the cake and the flowers. “Lemon cake and flowers,” she said simply, her tone neutral. “Butterflies on the cake.”

Aegon chuckled, settling down beside her on the bed. “I thought you might like them. The twins helped with the flowers.”

She reached out to touch the bouquet, her fingers brushing the petals gently. “They’re lovely,” she said. “Like a dream I once had.”

“A dream about flowers?”

“About butterflies,” Helaena replied, her gaze distant. “They were everywhere, whispering secrets.”

Aegon nodded, though he didn’t fully understand. He had grown accustomed to Helaena’s cryptic remarks during his first life already. He even thought them to be somewhat cute. “Well, I hope these butterflies bring you sweet dreams.”

She looked at him, her expression softening. “You thought of me. That’s what matters.”

Aegon felt a warmth spread through him, he’d be a better man for her in this life. No more drinking, no more whoring. “Of course I did. You and Maelor deserve to be celebrated.”

Helaena shifted slightly, adjusting Maelor at her breast. “He’s a sweet one.”

“Yes, he is,” Aegon agreed, softly patting the boy’s head, completely transfixed by this little bundle of joy.

Helaena’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. “I wanted to show Maelor to Father today. Will you come with me?”

Aegon hesitated for a moment, a pang of anxiety flickering within him. He knew his father’s feelings towards him were complicated at best. Yet, he couldn’t deny the importance of this moment—taking his son to the king himself. Perhaps this could be a start, a start to bridging the gap between them.

“Yes, I’ll come.” Aegon replied after a beat, the decision firming in his mind. “Let me carry him for you.”

She handed Maelor to him and Aegon cradled the boy carefully, feeling the weight and warmth of his son in his arms. He had to hold back tears again, he had missed him so much. The sensation of his boy in his arms filled him with both awe and responsibility.

Helaena rose from the bed, smoothing her simple dress. “The halls are full of life today. It’s a good day for Father to meet Maelor.”

The corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast were indeed filled with life as they made their way through them. Courtiers and nobles bustled about, attending to their personal matters and gossiping about the latest news. Aegon, with Maelor cradled in his arms and Helaena by his side, felt the weight of countless eyes upon them.

“Prince Aegon! Princess Helaena!” a lady whose name Aegon could not remember called out, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Is this the new prince?”

Aegon nodded, smiling warmly. “Yes, my lady. This is Maelor.”

She cooed at the baby, who squirmed slightly in his father’s arms. “He’s absolutely precious. Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Aegon replied, forcing himself to engage in the polite small talk he had often avoided. “We’re very proud.”

The old Lord Lyman approached next. “Prince Aegon. Congratulations on the birth of your son.”

“Thank you, my lord,”

They were stopped many more times; courtiers laughed and nodded, clearly pleased with Aegon’s newfound charm and responsibility. He knew his reputation as a wastrel preceded him, but he was determined to mend it, to prove that he was more than just a drunken prince.

As they finally approached the king’s chambers, the guards stationed at the door bowed respectfully before stepping aside to let them in.

Inside, the smell of rot hit Aegon immediately. The windows were open, but the foul stench clung to everything. They passed the giant replica of the Valyrian Freehold. Aegon pressed Maelor a bit closer to his chest; father had always preferred to spend time with that thing than with his youngest children. He had really enjoyed crushing it to bits.

The king lay in his bed, the rot having eaten away at him, but his eyes still held a spark of life. Helaena sat down by his bedside, and softly clasped his hand; it surprised him. He had never really thought about Helaena’s relationship with their father, he just assumed he was as cold to her as he had been to him. Maybe not.

“Father,” Helaena said softly, squeezing his hand. “We’ve brought Maelor to see you.”

Viserys’ eyes brightened as he turned his gaze towards them. “Maelor…” he whispered, his voice was weak, but Aegon could make out a spark of affection in it. “Let me see my grandson.”

Aegon stepped closer, carefully placing Maelor in Viserys’ arms. The king’s hands trembled as he held the baby, his eyes welling up with tears. “He’s beautiful,” Viserys said, his voice choked with emotion.

Aegon smiled, trying to keep the conversation going. “We thought it was important for him to meet his grandsire as soon as possible. And I wanted to thank you, Father, for everything you’ve done for us.”

Viserys looked up at Aegon, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “Thank you, my son.”

Aegon clenched his jaw slightly, feeling a surge of determination. He would get closer to his father, he needed to get closer. Viserys was weak-willed and malleable, and Aegon knew he could sway him to his side.

“You’ve always been a good ruler, Father,” Aegon continued, trying to embed as much sincerity as he could in his voice. “Maelor is so lucky to have you as his grandsire.”

“You flatter me, my son.” The king let out a weak laugh, but it was a real one, too.

“I want to be more like you,” Aegon continued, also settling down on the edge of the bed now. “And I am ready to learn from you. I’ve attended the small council meeting today.”

Aegon noticed Helaena shift, her brow furrowing slightly as she watched the exchange. But he remained undeterred.

Viserys nodded weakly, clearly moved by Aegon’s words. “You’ve grown, Aegon. I’m very proud.”

“We should let you rest, Father,” Helaena said gently, though her eyes remained fixed on Aegon, as if trying to decipher something.

Aegon nodded, a smile still on his lips. He felt like he just had taken an important first step. “Thank you, Father. I will try to continue making you proud.”

Viserys nodded, his eyes closing as he held Maelor for a moment longer before handing him back to Aegon. “Go with my blessing,” he murmured.

Aegon carefully took Maelor, who had fallen asleep in his Viserys’ arms. He cradled his sleeping son gently as they bid their farewells and made their way out of the king’s chambers.

As they walked down the corridor, the oppressive atmosphere of the king’s chamber began to lift slowly. Helaena turned to Aegon, her voice tentative. “You speak with such conviction, Aegon. I can’t recognize you anymore.”

Aegon’s steps faltered for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. “Perhaps I’ve just finally realized what’s important,” he replied with a smile, forcing a lightness into his tone. “Our family, our future.”

“I just have this feeling.” Helaena’s eyes gleamed with a mysterious knowing; Aegon felt utterly naked. “A feeling…. as if you’ve lived this life before.”

Aegon stared at her, completely bewildered. But before he could respond, she smiled softly and continued walking. He glanced at her, as if trying to decipher her; his eyes moved from the gentle curve of her smile, to the way her silver hair fell in waves around her shoulders and the way she carried herself. He still didn't understand her.

He smiled to himself; she really was an enduring mystery, wasn’t she?

Chapter Text

The view from above was breathtaking. The vast expanse of the ocean stretched out beneath him, dotted with islands that formed those treacherous Stepstones. Waves crashed against rocky shores, sending up plumes of white foam. Seagulls cawed and wheeled in the air and small fishing vessels as well as traders navigated the waters below.

Aegon felt the wind whipping past him as he soared through the skies on Sunfyre. The sunlight gleamed off Sunfyre’s golden scales in every color imaginable, casting a dazzling array of reflections across the sea below. Gods, he could never grow tired of flying —the bond to Sunfyre, the feeling of freedom, the power he held… he loved all of it. He’d live on dragonback if he could.

Sunfyre moved with both grace and power, Aegon remembered how Sunfyre had fought so valiantly for him in his first life, how the dragon had given him everything he could muster up and more. The memory of his death was a painful one; Aegon had wept bitterly, it had felt like a part of his soul had died with his dragon.

He patted Sunfyre’s scales affectionately, feeling the warmth of the dragon’s body beneath his hand. He felt the dragon rumble in acknowledgement beneath him, a reminder that they were a team, ready to face any challenge together.

Suddenly, Aegon spotted movement below—a cluster of ships, flying no recognized flag, larger than the usual fishing and trading vessels. Pirates, he was sure; he had been patrolling the skies long enough to recognize the telltale signs. Aegon’s eyes narrowed as he considered his options. He didn’t want to kill them, but they needed to understand the consequences of their actions.

A little demonstration of power surely would suffice to deter them.

“Let’s give them a scare, Sunfyre.” He smiled as he urged Sunfyre downwards, angling for a closer look. The dragon responded instantly, wings tucking in as they descended rapidly towards the ship.

The pirates, noticing the approaching dragon, started to scramble in panic. Aegon couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride at their reaction. He guided Sunfyre closer, feeling the dragon’s excitement build. The ships’ decks were in a frenzy, with pirates shouting and pointing at the sky. The ships began to steer away, a desperate attempt to evade him.

With a firm grip on the reins, Aegon guided Sunfyre alongside the largest ship of the bunch, he was close enough to see the fear in the men’s eyes now.

“Dracarys!”

Sunfyre opened his jaws, and a torrent of golden dragonflame erupted, blasting the sea right beside the ships. The water exploded in a world of steam and flames as the fire touched the surface of the water, the heat searing the air around them. The ship rocked violently from the force of the blast, and the pirates were thrown into utter chaos. They scrambled to regain control, some diving overboard in sheer terror.

The men below scrambled to douse the flames and steer the ship away from the blazing heat. Aegon circled above, watching with satisfaction as the crew hurried to flee, their resolve clearly broken. He made a mental note of their group of ships, ensuring that if they dared to return, he would be ready to deal with them more harshly.

As they ascended again, Aegon felt a rush of pride. “Good job, Sunfyre,” he said, patting the dragon’s scales once more. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

Sunfyre let out a satisfied huff, and Aegon smiled. They continued their patrol the skies over the Stepstones until the sun started to set.

The day was wonderfully sunny and Aegon yawned, trying to shake off the weariness from the lack of sleep. The night had been a short one for him, his thoughts were so often haunted by terrible memories— memories of the war, of the pain, of the loss. He’d lay in his bed for hours, tossing and turning, trying to think of more peaceful things. When sleep did finally come, it wouldn’t last for long; the nightmares always found him.

He dreamt of blood and fire, of Sunfyre’s anguished roars at the end. He saw the faces of the fallen, his children, his siblings, their eyes accusing and full of sorrow. The worst were the dreams of his own death, the moment he realized he was going to die, the agony as he felt life slipping away. He would wake in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, breath ragged.

Sunfyre roared under him, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked ahead; King’s Landing was already in sight. Aegon had been helping with the piracy problem for four moons now, alternating his time between staying at a royal fortification on one of the many rocky islands and the Red Keep. For now, the piracy problem was mostly quelled, and he did not have to return for the foreseeable future. The sea air had been a welcome distraction, but it was good to be back indefinitely.

Soon he arrived at the Dragonpit, where the dragonkeepers moved quickly to tend to Sunfyre. He gave his dragon a kiss on the snout before heading off to the Red Keep. His efforts in the Stepstones had not gone unnoticed at court; the people were starting to see him in a new light; their gazes were no longer filled with disdain or disappointment. Instead, they were curious, even hopeful. As Aegon made his way through the halls, he was stopped several times by courtiers who congratulated him on his recent successes.

“Prince Aegon,” called out Lord Oakheart, a stout man with a booming voice. “Congratulations on your victories over the pirates! The Stepstones are safer because of you.”

Aegon smiled warmly. “It was a team effort. The fleet and the men stationed were excellent.”

Lady Lorra Redwyne, with her elaborate headdress and bright eyes, stepped forward next, lightly touching his shoulder. “Your efforts have brought much-needed stability to the trade routes, Prince Aegon. My family and I are grateful.”

“I'm pleased to hear that, Lady Lorra.” He offered her a slight smile. “It's important for the realm that our seas remain safe.”

He continued on, exchanging pleasantries and accepting well-wishes. Each interaction chipped away a bit more at his old reputation. It felt good to be needed, to be appreciated like that.

Finally, Aegon made his way to the gardens, as he turned a corner, he saw his father, seated in a chair under the weirwood. Helaena sat on the ground beside him, reading from aloud from a book. Maelor was on a blanket, happily playing with his toys, while the twins ran around, climbing trees and filling the air with their laughter.

The twins were the first to notice him. They let out delighted squeals and ran towards him, their arms outstretched. Aegon laughed and knelt down, scooping them both up into his arms. The force of their embrace made him lose his balance, and he playfully collapsed onto the grass with them, their giggles echoing through the garden.

“You’ve bested me!” Aegon laughed, hugging them tightly before carrying them both towards the blanket. “Let’s join your mother and grandsire, shall we?”

He carried the kids back to the blanket, setting them down gently before giving Maelor a quick kiss on the forehead, the little boy had grown so much in these past few moons.

“Father, Helaena,” he greeted.

Helaena looked up from the book she had been reading from, her eyes lighting up in a way that made Aegon’s heart flutter. “Welcome back.”

King Viserys turned his head slowly, his eyes focusing on Aegon. “My son.” His voice was weak. “Good to see you.”

Aegon walked over to his father and pressed a kiss to his hand. “Father, I’ve just returned from the Stepstones. We've made great progress against the pirates. The trade routes are safer, and the people can travel without fear.”

“Good… good.” Viserys nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve done well… I’m proud of you.”

In his first life, Aegon would’ve given everything to hear those words from his father’s mouth. But now, his words just felt hollow. He had longed for his approval for so long, desperate to believe that he had chosen him as his heir in the end. It had been a lie, of course, his father would never have thought of him. Aegon had a faint suspicion that he had completely forgotten about him.

Aegon Targaryen wasn’t one for false hope in this life. He did not feel the need for his father’s approval anymore. He knew who he was, his father’s affection was only a means to the end; to be named Prince of Dragonstone. He had to play along, for now.

“Thank you, Father,” he replied, mustering up a grateful smile before settling down on the blanket next to Helaena and Maelor. The twins had run off again, continuing their climbing adventure.

King Viserys looked over at Helaena “Please, my dear, continue reading,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Helaena nodded, clearing her throat as she continued reading from the tome. “The Dragonlords of Old Valyria built many roads across Essos, connecting their great cities and fortresses. These roads, paved with smooth stone, allowed for the swift movement of their armies and the easy transport of goods. They were marvels of engineering, stretching for miles across the continent…”

Aegon listened for a moment, but soon found his attention wandering away from the dull topic. He took Maelor into his arms, cooing at him, making gentle faces that brought forth delighted giggles from his son. Before long the boy started yawning, Aegon’s rhythmic rocking lulling him to sleep. Aegon settled back; his own eyes growing heavy, and soon he too dozed off too. The last thing he heard was Helaena’s gentle voice, still recounting tales of the ancient roads.

He was awoken by Helaena’s soft touch on his shoulder. The sun was starting to set, casting a golden glow over the garden. Maelor was still nestled against his chest, sleeping soundly. Aegon blinked, adjusting to the fading light.

“The twins have gone inside with Father,” Helaena said softly, her gaze set on Maelor. “They were getting restless.”

Aegon nodded, stretching slightly but careful not to disturb Maelor. “Thank you for waking me. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You looked so peaceful. And Maelor seems quite content.”

Aegon chuckled, looking down at his sleeping son. “He’s a good boy, takes after his mother.”

Helaena blushed slightly, her gaze dropping down to her hands. “You’re trying to be better, aren’t you, Aegon?” Her voice was unbelievably soft, almost ethereal. “Like a soul given a second life, striving to correct the mistakes of the past.”

This again. Sometimes there were moments, like now, where her words seemed to hold an unfathomable depth, as if she perceived truths beyond her reach. Every cell of his body screamed for him to tell her; to tell her what he had lived through… but the words died on his lips.

“You and musings, Helaena. You always did have a way with words.”

She tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “The threads of fate are intricate, brother. We weave our destinies with every choice we make.”

Eager to change the topic, Aegon stood up carefully with Maelor still cradled in his arms. “Speaking of choices, we should head inside. It’s getting late, and Maelor could use some rest.”

Helaena nodded, falling into step beside him. Just as they were about to reach the nursery, Ser Erryk stepped forward, his expression as stoic as ever. “Prince Aegon, the Hand has requested your presence for supper.”

Aegon felt a flicker of irritation at the traitorous Kingsguard, but kept his tone measured. “Certainly. I’ll be there shortly.”

He turned to Helaena, who took Maelor from his arms with a gentle smile. “Go on, Aegon. I’ll take care of him.”

He gave her a grateful nod, feeling the inexplicable need to kiss her. He didn’t. “I’ll see you later.”

Aegon approached the Hand’s chambers, his hand hovering over the door knob for a moment before entering. He took a deep, shaky breath, seeking courage. When he did open the door, he was greeted by the sight of a table set for dinner, the dim light casting a warm glow over the room. His grandfather and his mother were already seated, waiting for him.

“Aegon, welcome,” Otto said, gesturing for him to sit. “We’ve been eager to hear about your endeavors.”

Aegon took his place at the table, the scent of the food reminding him of his hunger. “Thank you, Grandfather. Mother.”

Alicent smiled, though her eyes held a hint of concern. “You’ve been away for some time. How are things in the Stepstones?”

As they began to eat, Aegon recounted his efforts, detailing the strategic moves they had made to curb piracy. He spoke of the alliances formed, the strengthened naval patrols, and the revitalized trade routes.

Otto listened intently, his sharp eyes never leaving Aegon. “You’ve done well, Aegon. Your efforts there have not gone unnoticed. Now, we must focus on consolidating our gains and ensuring our power base remains unshakable. Your successes in the Stepstones are just the beginning.”

Aegon nodded, feeling a surge of pride. “Thank you, Grandsire. I’ve been thinking about our next steps, I believe I could—”

Aegon did not get to finish his sentence, as his mother suddenly interrupted them, her voice laced with concern. “What is the actual plan here, Father? To have Viserys name Aegon heir? That will never happen.”

Her words cut through the air, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Aegon felt a pang of hurt, his mother’s bluntness stinging more than he cared to admit.

“Alicent, we must be patient.” Otto leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative. “The people are doubting Rhaenyra, meanwhile Aegon has proven his worth, and with the right maneuvering, we can ensure the king finally comes to his senses.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened. “Mother, do you not believe in me?”

Alicent sighed, her eyes softening as she looked at her son. “It’s not that I don’t believe in you, Aegon. I just know how stubborn your father can be. He clings to his decisions, even when they’re no longer practical.”

Aegon clenched his fists under the table, his mind racing. “Then we must make him see reason. I have changed, Mother. I’m not the man I used to be.”

Otto interjected, trying to defuse the situation. “Exactly. Aegon has shown his dedication and capability. We must present a united front, highlighting his accomplishments and the stability he brings to the realm.”

“And if Viserys still refuses?” Alicent looked between her father and son. “What then?”

Despite everything. Despite everything he had done, despite how much he had changed; his mother still doubted him. She still saw him as the same reckless, irresponsible son. The sting of her disbelief fueled a fire within him. He would prove her wrong. He would prove them all wrong.

Aegon leaned forward, his voice dangerously low. “We keep pushing anyways. We gather support from the nobles and demonstrate Rhaenyra’s lack of leadership. If all else fails, I’ll burn Dragonstone myself.”

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock, she leaned back slightly, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came out.

Otto cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. “We shan't think of violence now, Aegon. Our goal is to show the realm that you are a capable leader, worthy of the crown by merit, not by force.”

Aegon’s hands trembled slightly, a mixture of anger and frustration bubbling just below the surface. He took a deep breath. His grandfather was right; they needed to be strategic, not impulsive.

“To that end,” Otto continued, “I propose a royal progression. Highgarden is holding a grand tourney in a moon’s time. You and Helaena should attend in place of the king. It would be an excellent opportunity to not only connect with the Tyrells, but with the other great houses; the Tullys, the Starks, the Baratheons…. they’ll all be there. Garner their support and showcase your capabilities.”

Aegon nodded slowly, his mind already racing. Alliances will be crucial, he needed to have as many powerful allies as possible. “Highgarden… It’s a start. Who else should we visit?”

“We can plan visits to other influential houses around the Reach,” Otto suggested. “House Redwyne in the Arbor, House Tarly in Horn Hill, and House Florent in Brightwater Keep. These houses hold significant sway in the Reach. Securing their support would be crucial.”

Aegon could see the logic in his grandfather’s plan. A royal progression would allow him to demonstrate his newfound maturity and leadership. It would be a chance to show the realm the kind of king he could be.

Alicent finally spoke again, her voice soft and hesitant. “Aegon, this… this path you’re on, it’s dangerous. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Aegon’s gaze softened as he looked at his mother. Despite her doubts, he knew her concerns came from a place of love. “I promise, Mother. I’ll be careful. But I won’t back down. I will be king.”

“Very well.” Otto nodded in approval. “We shall make the necessary arrangements. The tourney at Highgarden will be our first stop.”

His steps echoed in the empty corridors of the Red Keep as he walked back to his chambers. The torchlight along the walls cast long, wavering shadows; sometimes Aegon thought the shadows looked just like ghosts.

His mother really knew how to hurt him like no one else did. Her doubt was a sharp reminder of his past failures, a past he was desperately trying to escape.

In his first life, he and his mother had been the last one left of their sorry excuse of a family. Well, her and Jaehaera, but the little girl had still been at Storm’s End when he died. The war had turned his mother even more bitter and hopeless, her spirit reduced to ashes. He wondered if she blamed herself for what had happened. Sometimes he had blamed her; during those nights he couldn’t sleep because of the overwhelming pain, or when he visited the crypts.

Turning a corner, lost in his brooding thoughts, Aegon stumbled into someone. He looked up, startled, to see Aemond standing before him. The two brothers stared at each other, surprise and tension hanging in the air.

“Oh, Aemond,” Aegon finally said, straightening himself. “I didn’t see you there.”

Aemond’s single eye scrutinized him, as if trying to read his thoughts. “Clearly,” he replied dryly. “You seemed… preoccupied.”

“Just had dinner with Mother and Grandsire.” Aegon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Plans for a royal progression through the Reach.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “A royal progression? Grandsire’s idea, I presume.”

Aegon bit his cheek, struggling to find the right words. “Yes, something like that. Highgarden is holding a tourney, and they think it would be good for me and Helaena to represent the crown.”

Aemond’s lips curled into a sneer. “How fitting. The drunken wastrel playing prince. Do you think fighting off pirates and a few visits will change what people think of you, Aegon?”

Ouch.

He looked at his brother, his jaw clenched tight. Aemond, always the warrior, always the one with a single-minded focus on honor and duty. But honor and duty had been twisted in their first life, perverted by ambition and betrayal. Aegon knew that better than anyone.

He wanted to say something, rebut him, tell him how wrong he was. I’ve changed, Aemond. I’ve seen where all of this will lead us to. I forgive you. Will you forgive me? But the words failed him.

Aemond scoffed, his sneer deepening. “Thought so,” he muttered dismissively before continuing down the corridor.

Aegon watched Aemond until he disappeared around the corner, his presence still lingering in the air, its taste bitter. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

He continued on his way, replaying the conversation over and over in his mind. Aemond would be a tough nut to crack, but he needed him firmly on his side if this was going to work.

Aegon had to sigh when he finally reached his chambers; Ser Erryk stood at the door, his expression as impassive as always.

“Ser Erryk,” Aegon said sharply, his tone tinged with sarcasm. “Always a pleasure.”

The knight’s only response was a curt nod, his eyes never leaving Aegon as he opened the door and entered his chambers. Aegon closed the door behind him with a bit more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

He crossed the chamber and plopped down on his mattress; Aemond's bitterness had dredged up memories of their first life, memories Aegon had tried to bury deep within himself. The fire, the bloodshed, the betrayal—it all haunted him still.

Closing his eyes, Aegon tried to banish the images that haunted him from behind his eyelids. But the harder he tried to push them away, the more vivid they became. The screams of the dying, the acrid smell of smoke, the heat of the flames licking at his skin—it was all too real, even now. He rubbed his temples, it all felt so heavy; he felt like his collarbones would snap any moment. He had changed, truly he had. But would anyone believe him? Could he ever escape the shadow of his future, of the mistakes he had made?

Yes. He had to. There was no other way.

He’d show his mother, he’d show the realm, he’d show Aemond, he’d show his father. It was his promise to make.

Chapter Text

The carriage rocked and jostled along the muddy Roseroad, rain drumming against the roof and windows. Aegon sat opposite Helaena, the cold dampness having seeped its way into his very bones despite the heavy coat he wore. He sighed, watching the droplets race down the fogged-up windowpane.

He had wanted to fly Sunfyre on this royal progression, he thought that the realm should see Helaena and him atop their dragons—it could’ve been an effective show of strength. But his grandfather’s reminder about the practicalities of dragon care had been firm—dragons needed to be housed and fed, and the logistics for their various hosts to care for Dreamfyre and Sunfyre have been too daunting.

And so, they were condemned to the slow, plodding pace of horse and carriage, a journey that had already stretched over three weeks. Today was the day they should finally reach Highgarden, and Aegon found himself yearning for the journey’s end.

Highgarden was only the first stop in their progression, but it was certainly the most important one. The kids hadn’t come along, it was just her and him—and their staff, obviously. He glanced at Helaena, who had been gazing out the rain-streaked window for most of the day. Her face was like a mask; her real thoughts hidden behind a veil, he was sure.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Aegon remarked, his voice breaking the monotonous sound of rain.

Helaena turned to him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Just thinking.”

Aegon nodded, not really understanding, as he always did.

“The weather isn’t helping,” he added, trying to lighten the mood. “I feel like I’ll never be dry again.”

Helaena chuckled lightly, a sound that warmed Aegon more than any fire. “At least it’s not snowing,” she offered.

“That would be the final straw,” Aegon agreed with a smirk, grateful for her attempt to lift his spirits.

As the conversation lulled, Aegon leaned back into the cushions, his mind drifting once more. He watched the landscape blur by in shades of gray and green. Highgarden’s white ring walls were drawing closer; he hoped that their arrival would mark a turning point, not just in this journey but in his path toward proving himself worthy of the title he sought—Prince of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne.

After a few more hours the sky finally began to open up and the rain ceased; even a few tentative sun rays were lighting up the landscape now. Aegon peered out of the carriage window, a surge of excitement coursing through him as he finally saw Highgarden. The grand castle, surrounded by lush, verdant gardens, was a sight to behold. He turned to Helaena, a wide smile on his face. “We’re here, Helaena. Highgarden.”

Helaena’s face lit up, moving to get a glance from the window herself. “I’ve heard so much about their gardens.” She turned back to him, an unusual twinkle in her eye. “Do you think there will be bugs there?”

“Uh, sure,” Aegon nodded, he didn’t understand her enthusiasm for critters, but seeing her like this was always sweet. “It’s said the roses here bloom year-round.”

The carriage came to a halt, and Aegon opened the door, practically jumping out of the carriage. The scent of fresh rain and flowers filled the air, a sweet, intoxicating aroma that was both refreshing and calming. The gardens were indeed magnificent, a riot of colors and scents, with pathways winding through neatly trimmed hedges and flowerbeds.

Aegon stepped out, then turned to help Helaena down from the carriage. “Welcome to Highgarden,” he said in a playful tone.

Ser Erryk, who had been riding beside their carriage, dismounted his horse and joined them. Aegon’s excitement was momentarily dampened by his presence, but he forced a smile. “Ser Erryk, ever vigilant,” he remarked, stretching his arms as he tried to shake off the stiffness from the long journey.

As they took in their surroundings, the welcome committee approached. Elyas Tyrell, the lord of Highgarden, was an older man with graying hair and lines of age etched into his face. It was obvious that he had been handsome in his youth, his sharp features still hinting at his former beauty, but time had softened him, giving him a more distinguished, if somewhat weathered, appearance. Beside him stood his wife, Willow Tarly. She was a striking contrast to her husband, young, radiant and beautiful.

“Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena,” Elyas greeted them warmly, his voice deep and resonant. “Welcome to Highgarden. It is an honor to have you both here.”

“Thank you, Lord Elyas,” Aegon replied, inclining his head respectfully. “We are honored by your hospitality.”

Willow stepped forward, her eyes bright with warmth. “We hope your journey was pleasant. Please, come and rest. Our home is yours during your stay.”

Aegon smiled, his gaze lingering on the beautiful gardens. “The journey was long, but the sight of your gardens has made it all worthwhile.”

Willow’s smile widened, clearly proud. “Highgarden is known for its beauty, and we are fortunate to call it home. Please, follow us inside.”

“Ser Erryk, look that our luggage is brought up to our chambers,” Aegon said, turning to his sworn shield.

“Of course, my prince,” Ser Erryk nodded and moved to attend to his duties.

Aegon and Helaena then followed Lord Elyas and Lady Willow through the halls of Highgarden. The corridors were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of lush gardens and noble tournaments, and the scent of fresh flowers permeated the air.

Lord Elyas turned to Aegon as they walked. “We are honored by your visit, Prince Aegon. The tourney will be a grand event, with many noble houses attending. The lords and ladies of the Reach will be present in full force, of course I’ve heard your uncle Ser Gwayne will be participating too.” The older man coughed into a handkerchief, Aegon noticed blood staining the white fabric. “There will be other noble houses from all over the realm attending too. Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell has already arrived yesterday. It will be a splendid opportunity to forge and strengthen alliances.”

Aegon nodded, trying to match Elyas’ enthusiasm. “It sounds like a wonderful occasion. I look forward to it. Such gatherings are vital for the realm’s unity.”

“Indeed. We have prepared various events aside from the tourney itself—feasts, dances, and hunts. Highgarden is eager to showcase its hospitality.”

They arrived at a pair of grand wooden doors, intricately carved with floral designs. Lady Willow turned to Aegon and Helaena, her expression warm. “These are your chambers, my prince, my princess. It is a shared chamber with one bed, but if you wish, we can arrange separate quarters.”

Aegon’s heart skipped a beat. He and Helaena had never shared a bed except for the purpose of producing heirs. The thought of sleeping beside her was both daunting and strangely intimate. He glanced at his wife, hoping for a sign, but she remained silent, her gaze unreadable.

Clearing his throat, Aegon managed a nod. “A shared chamber will be fine, Lady Willow. Thank you.”

Lady Willow smiled and opened the door, revealing a spacious and elegantly furnished room. The bed was draped in luxurious fabrics and surrounded by soft, inviting cushions. The chamber was filled with light, and the gardens that were visible through the windows seemed to stretch out endlessly.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Lady Willow said, her voice gentle. “If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask.”

As the door closed behind them, Aegon took a moment to compose himself. He turned to Helaena, who was already exploring the room quietly. “Helaena,” he began softly, unsure of what to say. “If this arrangement is uncomfortable for you, we can still ask for separate chambers.”

“It’s fine, Aegon.” She continued walking around the chamber, picking up a vase. “We are husband and wife, after all.”

Her calm acceptance surprised him. He had expected awkwardness or reluctance, but Helaena seemed at peace with the arrangement. Aegon nodded, fidgeting with his ring as he watched Helaena. There was something about her—her knowing, the way her eyes seemed to gaze into his soul… he couldn’t quite place his emotions. It scared him.

He turned to the window; choosing to look out at the sprawling gardens of Highgarden as a distraction. His eyes narrowed as he noticed a man standing alone near a fountain, his demeanor rough and unrefined compared to the polished nobles around him. Aegon recognized that northern stance immediately—that must be Cregan Stark, the young Lord of Winterfell.

Cregan was the same age as Aegon, both only nineteen. He had become Lord of Winterfell at the tender age of thirteen after his lord father died. Most importantly, Cregan had been a staunch supporter of Rhaenyra in Aegon’s first life. The memory of the Northmen marching under the Stark banner had been a constant headache in his previous existence.

Not this time, Aegon thought, He would have him on his side.

“Excuse me, Helaena,” Aegon said, his voice firm but kind. “I need to take care of something.”

She looked at him, a slight curiosity in her eyes, but she simply nodded and continued her exploration of the room.

Aegon made his way down to the gardens with determined steps, his mind racing with the possibilities of this encounter. He had to tread carefully; Cregan Stark was a man of honor and loyalty, but he was also fiercely independent and proud.

As Aegon approached the fountain, Cregan turned, his grey eyes assessing the prince. “Lord Stark,” Aegon greeted, extending his hand. “It is an honor to meet you. I did not expect to see the Warden of the North so far south.”

Cregan’s eyes narrowed slightly before he clasped Aegon’s hand with a firm grip. “Prince Aegon. Highgarden’s tourney is a rare opportunity for alliances and understanding. The North may be distant, but we are still part of the realm.”

“Indeed, you are right, unity within the realm is of utmost importance.” Aegon nodded, releasing his hand. “I heard you’re participating in the tourney?”

Cregan laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the garden. “Aye, much to my wife’s dismay. She’s not pleased with me for participating, but I couldn’t resist the call of a good joust.”

Aegon smiled, feeling the tension ease slightly. “I can understand that. The thrill of the tourney is hard to ignore.”

“Shall we walk, Prince Aegon? These gardens are a sight to behold, and I find walking helps clear the mind.”

“Of course, Lord Stark,” Aegon agreed, his goal of getting closer to the Northern lord firmly in mind. They began to stroll through the gardens, the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle rustle of leaves creating a serene atmosphere.

“Are you also participating in the tourney?” Cregan asked after a few moments of silence.

Aegon shook his head, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “No, my skills lie elsewhere, I’m afraid. I’ve always been better at dragons than swordplay or horses.”

“A wise choice, perhaps. Though I must admit, the idea of dragonriding is far more daunting to me than any joust,” Cregan chuckled. “But speaking of your skills, your efforts in the Stepstones have been commendable. The realm has taken notice.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” Aegon inclined his head in acknowledgment. “It was a necessary endeavor to ensure the safety of our trade routes. I must say, I enjoyed it quite a bit… the Stepstones are a wonderful place.”

“I appreciate your devotion to the safety of the realm.” Cregan seemed lost in thought as he continued. “The North has always valued loyalty and honor above all else. Our oaths are sacred, and we stand by them, no matter the cost.”

Aegon seized the opportunity to strengthen their bond. “It’s a quality I deeply respect. In uncertain times, the realm needs more leaders who uphold such values.”

“Trust is earned through deeds, not words. But your actions in the Stepstones speak volumes. Perhaps there is more to you than the whispers from court suggested.”

Aegon couldn’t help the dumb grin from forming on his lips; it was working, his hard work was paying off.

Their conversation continued as they meandered through the gardens, the two men were very different, but Aegon could feel a connection forming. There was a mutual understanding and respect that he hoped would blossom into a strong alliance.

Suddenly, a soft voice interrupted their discussion. “Cregan, there you are.”

Aegon turned to see a graceful woman approaching, her long dark hair cascading down her back, a hand resting on her pregnant belly. Her eyes, though kind, held a hint of impatience. Cregan’s smile grew even wider as his eyes met hers.

“Arra, this is Prince Aegon,” Cregan introduced, a hint of pride in his voice. “Aegon, this is my wife, Arra Norrey.”

Arra inclined her head. “My prince.”

“Lady Arra,” Aegon replied, bowing slightly.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but we were due to meet with the Tyrells,” Arra said, her tone gentle but firm.

Cregan nodded, turning back to Aegon. “It seems our conversation must come to an end, but I look forward to continuing it later.”

“As do I, Lord Stark. Thank you for the walk,” Aegon said, extending his hand once more.

They shook hands, a silent promise of future cooperation. As Cregan and Arra walked away, Aegon felt a deep sense of satisfaction and even hope. This was a good start.

Aegon made his way back to his chambers, his mind racing, not really focusing on his surroundings. As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with Ser Erryk. “Ser Erryk,” Aegon said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Always lurking, aren’t you? Seems like you can’t stay out of my way.”

“I apologize, my prince.” Ser Erryk blinked, momentarily taken aback. “My duty is to ensure your safety and be available to you. I was just coming back from your chambers, the princess said you were in the gardens, so I came to look for you.

He couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity. Ser Erryk had not betrayed him in this life yet, but the memories of his past life lingered, still festering resentment within him. Sometimes he felt almost sorry for the knight, but trust was a fragile thing.

“Available, yes. But not underfoot,” Aegon snapped. “I can’t move without you hovering like a shadow.”

Ser Erryk met Aegon’s gaze, his tone calm but firm. “My only intention is to serve you, my prince.”

Aegon took a deep breath, trying to rein in his frustration. He knew his outburst was unfair. “Just… give me some space, Ser Erryk. I need to think without someone breathing down my neck.”

“Of course, my prince,” Ser Erryk replied, inclining his head. “I will be nearby if you require anything.”

Aegon watched him walk away, a mix of guilt and lingering mistrust gnawing at him.

Aegon soared high above the fortress of Rook’s Rest, feeling Sunfyre’s gentle heat beneath him. A bitter fight raged below, a chaotic tapestry of bodies and steel. But the fight in the sky was one of fire and blood as he faced Meleys, the Red Queen. Suddenly the larger dragon attacked; her jaws closing around Sunfyre’s neck with a bone-crunching snap. Sunfyre yelped in agony, and Aegon’s heart sank.

He tried to steer Sunfyre away, but the dragon’s movements were sluggish, weakened by the savage bite, boiling blood seeping from the deep wounds. Just as all seemed lost, a dark shape descended from the clouds—Vhagar. The monstrous she-dragon, ridden by Aemond, joined their fight. For a fleeting moment, hope flared in Aegon’s chest. But that hope was quickly extinguished when Aemond’s cold, unfeeling eye met his gaze.

Without hesitation, Aemond turned Vhagar’s head and unleashed a torrent of flames. The searing heat engulfed Aegon, his screams echoing through the skies as the fire consumed him…

“Aegon!” A gentle shake jolted him from the nightmare. He blinked rapidly, disoriented, the vivid horror of the memory slowly fading. Helaena’s concerned face came into focus. “Aegon, what’s wrong?”

He wasn’t over Rook’s Rest, he wasn’t burned. He was in their bed, in Highgarden. The soft sheets were damp with his sweat, his heart pounding like a war drum. He struggled to steady his breathing.

Aegon waved a hand dismissively, trying to mask the turmoil inside him. “It was just a bad dream,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Nothing to worry about.”

Helaena’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of suspicion crossing her delicate features. “You’re hiding something. I can see it in your eyes.”

He didn’t expect her to be this straightforward; his heart skipped a beat at the way she could read him so easily. He buried his face in his hands, sighing softly. He wanted to tell her, to unburden himself of the haunting memories that plagued him each night, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he forced a weak smile. “Really, it’s nothing. Just a figment of my imagination.”

“You’re an enduring mystery, Aegon.” Helaena’s brows furrowed, evidently not happy with his response. “You seem to carry two lifetimes’ worth of burdens.”

Aegon felt a pang of guilt. She deserved to know the truth, yet he couldn’t bring himself to tell her. “I’m fine, Helaena. Truly.”

She sighed, her eyes searching his. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

For a moment, Aegon hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. It felt almost pathetic to ask. “Can you… hold me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt a twinge of shame, like a child seeking comfort from his mother, but he couldn’t deny the yearning for touch, for something to chain him in the present.

She did not speak, she only moved closer and wrapped her arms around him, Aegon felt a wave of relief wash over him as he felt her skin on his. Her embrace was warm and comforting, such a different kind of heat than the one he felt consume him over Rook’s Rest. He nestled against her, feeling her heartbeat, the steady rhythm grounding him.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax in her arms. Despite the shame that lingered, there was also a sense of peace. He wasn’t alone in this life; Helaena was still here. Gradually, the tension in his body eased, and his breathing slowed.

As he drifted off to sleep, the memories receded, replaced by her presence. This time, he did not dream. Instead, he sank into a deep, restful slumber, free from the shadows of his future.

The day of the tourney had finally arrived, bringing with it an air of excitement and anticipation. Aegon stood before a large mirror in their chambers, adjusting his doublet. He was dressed in red and gold, reflecting not only the colors of House Targaryen, but also the color of his beloved dragon. Beside him, Helaena was being laced into a gown of pale blue, her hair woven into braids adorned with delicate golden dragon pins.

The last few days had offered ample opportunity to bond with several key nobles. He and Cregan Stark had spent more time together, finding a surprising amount of common ground despite their starkly different backgrounds. Cregan’s honesty and strength had made an impression on Aegon, this budding friendship filled him with hope.

He had also bonded with their host Lord Elyas, the older man was surprisingly witty; their conversations had been lighthearted, filled with boisterous laughter and exciting tales. Ser Elmo Tully, the son and successor of Lord Grover Tully, had also proved to be an interesting ally. The man had a keen mind and Aegon had found himself in conversation with him into the early hours of the morning yesterday.

Lord Borros Baratheon was a key ally in his first life; Aegon’d hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to the Lord of Storm’s End yet. He’d have to try to get closer to him. Lady Jeyne Arryn’s arrival yesterday had been a point of concern. During last night’s feast, Aegon had felt her gaze on him, sharp and assessing. Kin to Rhaenyra, winning her over would be no small feat, if it was even possible at all.

“Are you ready?” Helaena's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Aegon replied, adjusting his collar. “Let’s hope today goes well.”

With that they made their way to the tourney grounds, Ser Erryk accompanying them, as always. The atmosphere was a happy one; filled with excited chatter and the sounds of clashing of steel as the knights prepared. Bright banners fluttered in the breeze, representing the various houses in attendance.

Aegon’s gaze swept over the stands, where most of the nobles were gathering. His mind was already churning with plans to get closer to specific nobles when a voice calling out to him caught his attention.

He turned to see Gwayne Hightower, his uncle, striding towards them, clad in shining armor. His presence commanded attention, the Hightower sigil emblazoned on his chest. The sight of him filled him with happiness; he had died too soon.

“Uncle Gwayne!” Aegon called back, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

Gwayne approached with a broad grin. “Aegon, Helaena,” he said warmly, pulling them both into a hearty embrace. “It’s good to see you both. Highgarden is even more splendid with the two of you here.”

“It’s good to see you too, Uncle,” Helaena replied. “Are you participating today already?”

“Indeed, I am.” Gwayne chuckled, a glint of pride in his eyes. “I’ll be participating in the melee today and, of course, the joust tomorrow. It was kind of a hassle to get here in time, we arrived in the dead of night.”

“Best of luck to you,” Aegon said. “We’ll be cheering for you.”

As they chatted, another familiar voice called out to them. “Aegon! Helaena!”

Aegon turned to see Daeron hurrying towards him. His heart leaped as he saw the boy; he looked so young, a bright smile on his face and short silver hair glinting in the light. He was clad in the attire of a squire, the Hightower sigil embroidered on his chest.

“Daeron!” Helaena’s voice was filled with emotion as she moved to embrace her brother. “It’s been too long.”

“Indeed it has,” Daeron replied, hugging her tightly before turning to Aegon. “Brother, it’s good to see you.”

“And you, Daeron,” Aegon said, pulling him into a hug. “How’s life in Oldtown treating you?”

“It’s been an education,” Daeron replied after pulling away. “Uncle Gwayne has been a stern taskmaster, but I’ve learned a lot.”

Gwayne laughed, placing a hand on Daeron’s shoulder. “He’s been a quick study. You should see him in the practice yard. Quite the swordsman.”

Daeron turned red at his uncle’s compliments, stumbling over his words while trying to downplay his skill. The conversation between the four continued on and Aegon had an ever-present dumb grin on his face. Oh, how he had missed all of this, how he had missed these people bitterly.

As the trumpets sounded to signal the beginning of the tourney, Gwayne straightened, his expression becoming a bit more serious. “I must prepare for my bout,” he said. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, Uncle.” Aegon clasped Gwayne’s hand. “We’ll be cheering for you.”

“And you, Daeron,” Helaena added, giving her younger brother an encouraging smile. “Do your best.”

“I will,” Daeron promised, his eyes shining with determination.

With a final hug and a wave, Gwayne and Daeron made their way toward the tourney grounds, leaving Aegon and Helaena to find their seats once more. The couple, accompanied by Ser Erryk, made their way back to the stands at last. They ascended to the elevated box where Lord Elyas and Lady Willow were already seated, the best view of the tourney.

“Lord Elyas, Lady Willow,” Aegon greeted them warmly as he and Helaena took their seats.

Just when Aegon had settled onto the cushions, a servant approached, offering him a goblet of wine. He waved it away. “Thank you, but not just now.”

Lady Willow, leaned in slightly. “I’ve heard the melee is to be quite the spectacle today. Many skilled warriors will be vying for the honor.”

Aegon nodded, his eyes scanning the grounds below. “Indeed. I’m particularly interested to see how my uncle fares.”

The trumpets blared again, signaling the start of the melee. Warriors began pouring into the field, a sea of armored men brandishing swords, maces, and shields. Aegon quickly found Gwayne standing among the fighters, his armor gleaming in the sunlight. Daeron stood at the edge of the field, his eyes glued to his uncle

The melee began with a roar from the crowd, and the field erupted into a flurry of motion. Warriors clashed with swords and shields, the sounds of metal striking metal ringing through the air. Aegon found himself unusually taken by the battle in front of him, his heart pounding in his chest with each strike.

Gwayne fought valiantly, his skill and experience evident in every move. He parried and struck with precision, each of his blows landing true. His opponents fell one by one, unable to match him. Daeron was like his shadow, moving quickly to assist him by handing him weapons and offering encouragement.

Helaena clasped Aegon's hand, her knuckles white. “Look at him go, Aegon. He’s doing so well.”

“Yes, he is.” Aegon’s eyes never left Gwayne, feeling both pride and a hint of worry.

As the melee progressed, the number of combatants dwindled. Gwayne continued to fight valiantly, his stamina and skill keeping him in the fray. When Gwayne signaled for a fresh weapon, Daeron was quick to fetch it; he was doing an extraordinary job.

Finally, it came down to the last two men standing: Ser Gwayne Hightower and a burly knight from the Westerlands, Ser Alister Reyne. The crowd’s cheers reached a fever pitch as the two warriors circled each other, sizing each other up. Gwayne and Ser Alister clashed, their swords ringing out with each blow. The Westerland knight was strong, but Gwayne was quicker, more agile.

Helaena squeezed Aegon’s hand tighter. “He’s got this. I can feel it.”

With a final, powerful swing, Gwayne disarmed his opponent, sending the knight’s sword flying. The crowd erupted into applause as Ser Alister conceded, raising his hands in defeat. Forgetting himself, Aegon sprang to his feet, clapping enthusiastically. Daeron rushed onto the field, beaming with pride as he helped Gwayne remove his helmet. Gwayne’s face was flushed but he raised his sword high in triumph and his gaze set on Aegon, a smile on his lips.

Chapter Text

“You’ve got a reputation, Prince Aegon!” Borros Baratheon slurred, spilling some of his wine as he gestured around. “Why aren’t you joining us? This is a celebration, after all!”

Cregan chuckled, clapping Aegon on the back. “Aye, the tales of your drinking prowess have reached even the North. Are you turning into a septon now?”

Aegon laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve sworn off wine, my lords. It doesn’t agree with me as it used to.”

Borros raised an eyebrow. “Sworn off wine? Now that’s a tale I’d like to hear.”

“It’s simple,” Aegon replied with a smile. “I need a clear head for the days ahead. Too much is at stake for me to be dulled by drink.”

Gwayne nodded approvingly, while Borros and Cregan exchanged a look of mild disappointment. “A wise choice,” Gwayne said, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “To clear heads and sharper minds.”

“Hear, hear,” the other two men echoed.

Aegon chuckled, his gaze wandering over the grand banquet hall of Highgarden. Helaena was seated with Lady Willow, their heads close together in lively conversation. The sight warmed his heart; Helaena seemed at ease, and that was a rare and precious thing.

Then his eyes fell on Lady Jeyne Arryn, sitting alone at a table near the edge of the room. She had a regal air about her, her piercing gaze scanning the room with mild curiosity. Aegon felt a spark of determination.

“Excuse me,” Aegon said, standing up and inclining his head. “There’s someone I must speak with.”

Gwayne, Cregan, and Borros nodded, and Aegon made his way through the bustling hall towards Lady Jeyne. As he approached, he could feel her eyes on him, sharp and assessing.

“Lady Arryn,” he greeted with a respectful bow. “May I join you?”

“If you must, Prince Aegon. Though I wonder what business you have with me.”

Aegon smiled, ignoring her jab as he took the seat opposite her. “I’ve heard much about you, my lady. Your reputation precedes you, and I thought it a shame not to make your acquaintance.”

Jeyne raised an eyebrow as she took a sip from her cup. “Flattery, is it? I’m not so easily charmed, Prince Aegon.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I simply seek conversation with someone as esteemed as yourself.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “And what would you wish to converse about? The weather? The tourney?”

Aegon hesitated, searching for the right words. What did he truly want to ask Lady Jeyne? Will you stand with me when the war comes? Will you stand with me over your own kin?

Finally he opened his mouth to speak, but before the words could come, a sudden hush fell over the hall. Conversations ceased, and all eyes turned toward the entrance. Aegon followed Jeyne’s gaze, confusion quickly replaced by a jolt of surprise.

There, standing in the doorway with his usual smug expression, was Daemon Targaryen. His presence commanded attention, the room almost vibrating with the tension that accompanied him.

What was he doing here? Aegon didn’t expect this, was he supposed to be here?

Lady Jeyne’s eyes were locked onto Daemon as she spoke again. “It appears your family has a way of making dramatic entrances.”

“Indeed,” Aegon forced a smile, trying to regain his composure. “My uncle does enjoy a grand entrance.”

Daemon’s gaze swept the room before settling on Aegon. A smirk played on his lips as he made his way toward them, the crowd parting to let him through. The hall, which had been filled with laughter and chatter moments ago, was nearly silent now.

“Dear nephew,” Daemon greeted, his tone almost mocking. “I see you’ve found a pleasant corner of the hall to hide in.”

Aegon clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. “Uncle. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Daemon’s eyes flicked to Jeyne, his smile widening. “Lady Jeyne. It’s been far too long.”

“Prince Daemon,” Jeyne replied coolly, not betraying any emotion.

“I couldn’t resist joining such an illustrious gathering,” Daemon said, his gaze returning to Aegon. “So, I thought I’d make things even more interesting. I’ve decided to join the joust tomorrow. A surprise addition to the tourney.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, masking his irritation. “You? Jousting? It’s been some time since you last competed, hasn’t it, Uncle?”

“Oh, I’m sure I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.” Daemon’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming. “It will be a grand spectacle, don’t you think?”

Jeyne’s gaze flicked between the two men, sensing the undercurrents of hostility. “I’m sure it will be quite the show,” she interjected dryly. “But if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to some matters.”

She stood, giving Aegon a pointed look before turning to leave. Aegon wanted to call after her, to escape this tense confrontation, but before he could, Daemon sat down where she had been, clapping Aegon on the shoulder a tad bit too hard.

“I must say, nephew, you’ve been doing well for yourself,” Daemon continued, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Fighting pirates, forging alliances… impressive.”

Aegon forced a smile, though his hands clenched into fists under the table. “Thank you, Uncle. I’ve learned that unity and stability within the realm are crucial.”

Daemon leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Valiant efforts, yes. But it is surprising, considering you were content just fucking and drinking your days away not so long ago.”

Aegon saw red. The memories of his first life flooded back, the pain of losing Jaehaerys still too raw. Daemon had been the one who sent the men that murdered his boy. It took all his willpower not to lash out, to keep his composure.

“People change, Uncle,” Aegon said through gritted teeth. “I’ve found purpose beyond the bottle and bed.”

“Did you now?” Daemon chuckled. “Or is this just a new game for you, nephew? Pretending to be something you’re not?”

The mocking tone, the patronizing look, it all grated on Aegon’s nerves. He felt the heat of his anger rising, but he forced himself to remain calm. He couldn’t afford to lose control, not now.

“You’d be surprised what people are capable of when they have something worth fighting for,” Aegon replied, his voice steady despite the fury bubbling beneath the surface.

Daemon chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Indeed. Let’s see how long this newfound dedication lasts.”

Feeling the panic rise within him, Aegon knew he needed to get away. The decapitated body of Jaehaerys haunted him, the memory as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Daemon had been responsible. Daemon.

“I need some air,” Aegon muttered, standing abruptly. He could feel Daemon’s gaze on him, but he didn’t care. He had to escape.

As he hurried out of the hall, Daemon’s voice followed him. “Run along, then, nephew. See you tomorrow.”

Aegon didn’t respond, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stumbled into a secluded corridor, Highgarden’s halls blurring around him. The walls seemed to close in, his vision narrowing as the panic fully took hold of him.

His heart pounded painfully in his chest; each beat a hammer blow. He couldn’t breathe. The room spun, his legs giving out as he slid to the floor, clutching his chest. He felt like he was dying, the memories of Jaehaerys, the guilt, the rage, all crashing over him in a suffocating wave.

Just then, a familiar voice broke through the ringing in his ears. “My prince!”

Ser Erryk knelt down beside him, his face a mask of worry. “Prince Aegon, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Aegon lashed out, pushing the knight away. “Leave me!” he shouted, the anger and fear spilling over.

Erryk looked hurt, but he didn’t back away. Instead, he bowed his head. “My prince, I only wish to help.”

Aegon’s vision was still blurred, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. He looked up at Erryk, his brow furrowed. What was this about?

“I’ve sensed tension from you, my prince.” Erryk spoke softly, careful not to enrage the prince further. “I don’t know what I’ve done to earn your distrust, but I swear on my honor, my duty is to protect you and your family.”

Aegon’s breathing began to slow, the genuine concern in Erryk’s voice cutting through the panic. He felt a pang of guilt for his harshness. Erryk continued, his tone painfully earnest. “If you wish, I can exchange posts with Ser Arryk. If you prefer a different sworn shield, I will respect your decision. But please, know that I am loyal to you, and I only want to serve you faithfully.”

Aegon trembled, Erryk was right; the knight had done nothing in this life to warrant such hatred. Maybe his betrayal wasn’t set in stone. Maybe Aegon could change things.

“No,” Aegon said, his voice shaking as he tried to steady himself. “I don’t long for a new sworn shield. I just...” He trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Thank you, my prince.” Erryk’s eyes softened with relief and understanding. “I swear on my honor, I will not fail you.”

Aegon nodded, the tension easing slightly. “Help me to my chambers, Ser.”

The knight moved closer, helping Aegon up and supporting him as they made their way through the corridors of Highgarden. Aegon leaned heavily on Erryk, his legs still weak.

As they reached his chambers, Erryk opened the door and guided Aegon inside, helping him onto the mattress.

Aegon sat, his hands still trembling. He looked up at Erryk, the knight’s expression one of genuine concern. The anger and distrust that had festered within him began to dissolve, replaced by gratefulness.

“Erryk. I... I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you.”

Erryk shook his head. “There’s no need to apologize, my prince. I understand that you carry heavy burdens.”

Aegon nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. Maybe he could really change the course of his destiny. “Thank you. I appreciate your loyalty.”

Erryk bowed his head. “Always, my prince. Rest now. Tomorrow is a new day.”

As Erryk left the room, Aegon leaned back, closing his eyes. The memories of his past life still haunted him, but he wouldn’t let his past define his future. Not this time.

The sun shone brightly over the field, making Aegon feel sick. The scent of hay and the cheers from the stand made it hard for him to focus. He looked down on the competitors from his seat; Gwayne and Cregan were facing off. This was the last round before the final, and the tension was palpable.

Across the grounds, Daemon Targaryen sat with a smug expression, having already secured his place in the final by unhorsing a knight from House Darklyn just before.

Helaena leaned closer to Aegon, her voice a soft murmur amidst the overwhelming clamor. “Who do you think will win, Aegon?”

Aegon’s gaze was distant, his thoughts still lingering on his past. He forced himself to focus, turning to Helaena. “Cregan has the strength and skill, but Gwayne is tenacious. It could go either way.”

“It will be a good match then.”

The trumpets blared, signaling the start of the bout. Gwayne and Cregan spurred their horses into action, the ground shaking beneath the hooves. The crowd roared, the sound deafening as the two charged towards each other, lances poised.

Aegon watched, the tension in the air mirroring the tightness in his chest. Gwayne’s lance struck Cregan’s shield with a resounding crack, but the Northern lord barely wavered. Cregan’s own lance found its mark, hitting Gwayne squarely in the chest. Gwayne reeled but managed to stay in the saddle.

The next pass was even more intense. Dust flew up as the horses galloped towards each other. Gwayne aimed lower this time, trying to unseat Cregan by hitting his midsection. But Cregan’s skill was undeniable; his lance struck true, hitting Gwayne’s chest with such force that Gwayne was fell from his saddle and crashed to the ground.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as Lord Cregan Stark reined in his horse, raising his visor to acknowledge the crowd. Aegon felt a pang of disappointment for his uncle, but couldn’t deny Cregan’s skill.

Helaena clapped her hands. “That was incredible!”

Aegon nodded, his thoughts briefly flickering to the final match. Daemon would be a formidable opponent for Cregan. He glanced over at Daemon, who was already preparing for his turn. Daemon’s eyes met his, and a cold smile played on his lips.

“Yes… impressive,” Aegon murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

The final match was over almost too quickly.

Daemon's lance struck the much younger Cregan’s chest squarely, unseating the Lord of Winterfell in a single, powerful blow. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, a roar of approval for Daemon.

Everybody there was celebrating him, yet Daemon’s eyes remained fixed on Aegon. Something in his gaze made Aegon feel as if he were the one unseated; It was a threat, a silent challenge. Aegon felt a wave of dizziness, the noise of the crowd becoming distant and muffled as that all-too familiar panic began to take hold of him again.

Helaena, seemingly sensing his distress, leaned closer. “Aegon, what’s wrong?” she asked, concern etched on her face.

Aegon couldn’t respond, his vision blurring as the panic threatened to overwhelm him. He felt Helaena's hand on his arm, grounding him slightly, but it wasn't enough. He needed to get away.

“Let’s get you somewhere quieter,” Helaena whispered as she helped him to his feet. Lord Elyas noticed them, his brow furrowed.

“What’s going on? Is everything alright?” Lord Elyas asked, his eyes darting between Aegon and Helaena.

Aegon felt Helaena’s grip tightenon his arm. “We’re just going to check on our uncle Gwayne,” she lied. “We want to make sure he is well.”

Aegon could barely manage a nod, his body shaking with panic. He was grateful as Helaena took control of the situation, leading him away from the crowded stands and toward the relative quiet of the gardens.

Once they were alone among the blooming flowers and chirping birds, Aegon felt a bit of respite; his heartrate returned to normal, his lungs filled with air again. Helaena led him to a secluded bench, where he sank down, burying his face in his hands. She sat beside him, her hand gently rubbing his back.

“Thank you,” he managed to say. He had thought his fear would eat him alive.

“Aegon, something has been going on with you for a while now.” Helaena looked at him, her eyes serious. “I’ve noticed it, and I’m worried. You need to tell me what’s happening.”

Aegon took a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs. He looked at Helaena, her expression completely resolute. This was the moment of truth. He couldn’t keep this from her any longer.

“I... I don’t know where to begin,” he started, his voice raspy and strained. “It’s all so complicated.”

“Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

Aegon nodded, taking another deep breath. “In another life, I lived through horrors you can’t even imagine. I was crowned after Father’s death… and war came.” A sharp pain shot up into his temple, blurring his vision for a moment. “Daemon... he’s responsible for so much suffering. He sent men to kill Jaehaerys. You saw him die, Helaena. I held his lifeless body in my arms.”

Helaena’s eyes widened, but she remained silent, letting him continue.

“So many others died. Maelor, Sunfyre, Aemond, Daeron …. you.” His throat felt impossibly dry. “I was poisoned and thought this was it, I was kind of relieved, I think.” He had never admitted it to himself; but his death had felt like an absolution; the thought that he didn’t have to fight anymore had been oddly comforting.

“But I didn’t die. I was given another chance… a chance to change things, to prevent the tragedies I witnessed. I’ve been trying to make different choices, to forge new alliances, to protect our family. But it’s not easy. The memories haunt me every night. And seeing Daemon... it brings everything back.”

For a moment, she said nothing, just staring at him with an intensity that made Aegon’s heart race with anxiety again. Did she think he was mad? He tried to salvage the situation, his words stumbling over each other.

“Helaena, I know it sounds insane. Maybe I am insane, but—”

Before he could finish, her expression softened, and her hand found his. Tears began streaming down her cheeks, but her gaze remained steady. “The weight of your past has made you the man you were always supposed to be,” said whispered, her free hand reaching out gently touch his face. “You are a good person, Aegon. You mustn’t carry it all alone.”

Aegon blinked, trying to comprehend her words. It felt as though she understood more than she let on, as if she had known of the coming storm. “Helaena… what do you know?”

Helaena just smiled through her tears, shaking her head slightly. “The dragons whisper, and sometimes, we listen.”

Before Aegon could probe further, they were interrupted by the cheerful voice of Daeron. He approached them with a wide grin, oblivious to the tension that had just filled the garden.

“Aegon, Helaena! You must come to the feast. It’s wonderful! There are actors, acrobats, musicians—everything you could imagine!” Daeron’s enthusiasm was infectious, his happiness radiating like the sun.

Aegon exchanged a glance with Helaena. Her tears had dried, and her grip on his hand remained. “Shall we go?” she asked softly.

Aegon smiled, a real smile that reached his eyes. “Yes, let’s join the others.”

As they emerged from the gardens, the sounds of laughter and music grew louder. The feast was in full swing, held in the open air under the azure afternoon sky. A wooden platform had been erected at the center of the clearing, where actors were performing ancient Westerosi tales clad in colorful costumes.

Daeron led them to a long table where several familiar faces were gathered. Gwayne, slightly bruised from the joust but in high spirits, sat with a goblet in hand. Beside him was Cregan and his wife Arra. Lady Jeyne Arryn was also there, her sharp eyes observing the fun around her. When her gaze landed on Aegon, she offered a tentative smile, which he returned.

“Look who decided to join us!” Gwayne called out, raising his goblet in a toast. “To Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena!”

The group echoed the toast, and Aegon felt a warmth spread through him. He took a seat between Daeron and Helaena, feeling a sense of belonging amidst the laughter around the table.

The conversations flowed easily; Gwayne was particularly talkative; recounting tales of his mishaps in his early days as a knight. Even Lady Jeyne Arryn seemed to be enjoying herself, occasionally contributing a jest that drew laughter from the table.

Aegon leaned back slightly, finding himself slowly forgetting his sorrows. The weight of his memories seemed to lift, replaced by the comfort of familiar faces.

As the actors took their final bows and the musicians began to play, Daeron suddenly sprung up from his seat, extending a hand towards both Aegon and Helaena. “Shall we dance?”

Helaena smiled and accepted his hand, try to pull Aegon up with them. “Let’s.”

Aegon hesitated, looking at the dance floor reluctantly. “I’m not much of a dancer,” he protesed, but Helaena and Daeron were very insistent.

“Nonsense, brother!” Daeron exclaimed, that ever-present grin still gracing his lips. “It’s a celebration! You must join us.”

Helaena nodded, her eyes sparkling with a rare levity. “Come on, Aegon. Let’s just have fun.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve convinced me,” he conceded. Their happiness was contagious, and he let himself be led to the dance floor

The three siblings made their way to the dance floor, joining the throng of dancers moving to the music. Their dance was wild and uncoordinated, a far cry from the formal steps they had learned at court. But that was what made it so liberating. They twirled and laughed, their movements completely unrestrained.

Aegon felt the tension and fears melt away with each step he took. Daeron spun him around, drawing a laugh from Helaena. The three of them formed a small circle, their hands linked as they moved in blissful chaos.

“See, Aegon?” Helaena’s voice was breathless from all the laughter. “This is what it’s all about. Being together, finding joy in the moment. Don’t dwell in the past.”

Aegon looked at his siblings and felt a deep sense of gratitude. He was surrounded by love and laughter; Helaena was right. There was no point in dwelling on the ghosts of his previous life. Aegon felt a lightness in his heart that he hadn’t experienced in what felt like an eternity.

Gwayne and Cregan, along with Lady Arra, joined their little dancing circle. Even Lady Jeyne eventually joined in, her movements much more graceful and poised theirs, yet also holding a hint of their playfulness.

Gathering his courage, he stepped towards the Lady of the Eyrie and extended his hand. “Lady Jeyne, may I have this dance?”

She raised an eyebrow but accepted his hand with a nod, letting him lead her towards the center of the dance floor, swirling her around as the music guided their steps.

“You dance well, my lady.”

“And you’re not the man I thought you to be,” she replied, her eyes locking onto his with surprising intensity. “I misjudged you, Prince Aegon.”

“And how did you judge me?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I expected to meet a man who indulged in excesses, more interested in pleasure than in duty. But I met someone different. Someone who cares deeply for his family.”

Aegon’s smile softened. “Now you’re the one flattering me, my lady.”

She nodded, a grin on her lips. “Maybe I am.”

They danced in silence for a moment, the music and laughter surrounding them. Aegon felt a connection forming, a mutual understanding between them. He swirled her again, and they both laughed.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars began to twinkle above, the music played on. Aegon was sure his feet would ache tomorrow, but he didn't care. The love, the laughter, and the shared moments of joy were worth every step.

Chapter Text

Aegon stood with Cregan Stark at the entrance gates of Highgarden, the morning sun casting a golden hue over the sprawling gardens and ancient stone walls.

Cregan, dressed in his customary dark furs, turned to Aegon. “It’s time we returned to Winterfell,” he said, a crooked smile on his lips. “Arra wants to have our child there, amidst the snow and the familiar comforts of home.”

Aegon felt guilt twist in his chest. He knew what was to come, the unavoidable tragedy that awaited them; Arra would die in childbirth. His gaze flickered to her, who stood nearby, her hand resting on her swollen belly. She smiled at Aegon, and he forced himself to smile back.

“Highgarden has been a rather pleasant stop,” Cregan continued, blissfully unaware of the grim future. “But Winterfell calls to us. Where are you headed next, Prince Aegon?”

Aegon cleared his throat, pushing aside his grim thoughts. “We continue our procession through the Reach. Our next stop is Horn Hill, then Brightwater Keep, Oldtown, and finally the Arbor. There is much to be done.”

“Always thinking of duty.” Cregan chuckled as he stepped forward and hugged Aegon tightly. “The crown can always count on the North.”

Aegon returned the embrace; he could feel the genuine friendship that had formed between them. It felt good. “And I am grateful for that, Lord Stark. Safe travels, my friend.”

Cregan pulled away slowly, moving towards the wheelhouse with Arra. As he helped Arra into the cushions and took his place beside her, Aegon watched them with a sense of helplessness. Some fates seemed inescapable. The carriage started to move, the wheels creaking on the cobblestones as it began its journey northward.

While the knowledge of what was to come aided him immensely in his plans, it was also a burden. There was nothing worse than knowing a tragedy was coming but being unable to do anything. At times, he felt like a silent spectator.

He tried to shake off those thoughts, his mind set on their procession. They would be leaving tomorrow at dawn; and there was still much to be discussed. He arrived at his chambers and the scent of freshly baked bread and bacon hit him as soon as he opened the door.

The room was bathed in light, the golden rays streaming through the open windows. The table was set with a lavish spread: pastries, fruit, and a variety of cheeses, all surrounded by cheerful chatter and the clinking of cutlery.

Helaena was seated at the table, picking at a plate of fruit and cheese. Across from her, Gwayne was recounting some tale, a half-eaten pastry in his hand. Daeron hung onto his uncle’s every word, munching on a piece of toast. To Aegon’s surprise, Ser Erryk was sitting among them, a plate of eggs in front of him. The knight looked somewhat out of place but still at ease.

“Aegon!” Helaena called out, her face lighting up as she saw him. “Come, sit. Eat.”

Aegon smiled, feeling a genuine sense of relief and contentment washing over him. He might not be able to change Lady Arra’s fate, but he was sure he was able to change all of theirs. He made his way to the table and Ser Erryk promptly stood up, offering him his own seat.

“Ser Erryk, please,” Aegon said, gesturing to one of the empty chairs. “Sit down, there are plenty of seats for me to choose from.”

The knight hesitated, his sense of duty obviously making him a bit reluctant, but Aegon’s insistence was clear. “As you wish, my prince,” Erryk replied, sinking back into his seat.

Gwayne grinned, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “Look at you, Ser Erryk. Eating with royalty. Just make sure you don’t get too used to the high life.”

Everyone laughed, and Erryk chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. Aegon settled next to Daeron, who immediately began bombarding him with questions about their next destinations.

“So, Horn Hill first?” Daeron asked, his eyes wide with excitement. “I’ve heard they have a library filled with ancient texts. Do you think we'll have time to visit?”

“Yes, Daeron. I’m sure we can make time for the library.” Aegon nodded, helping himself to a slice of bread. They had decided that Gwayne and Daeron would be joining them in their procession until they reached Oldtown. Aegon was grateful for it.

Gwayne nodded, swallowing a mouthful of eggs. “I’ve been there before. The food is as good as they say, though their ale can be a bit... potent.”

Daeron laughed. “That sounds like a challenge. I suppose we’ll need to brace ourselves. Next is Brightwater Keep, right?”

“Yes, the seat of House Florent,” Helaena interjected. “It’s located near the sea I’ve heard.” Her eyes were distant when she spoke, as if she was already imagining the waves crashing against the shore.

Aegon leaned back into his chair, feeling satisfied with himself. “Oldtown and the Arbor will be our last stops.” He took a sip from his tea. “A packed schedule, but one that I believe will be fruitful. The crown can use any support from the Reach it can get.”

“Speaking of support,” Gwayne said, looking at Erryk, “will you be joining us for the entire trip, Ser Erryk? I assume your duty as Aegon’s sworn shield keeps you by his side.”

Erryk nodded, clearing his throat. “Indeed. I am at the prince’s service, for as long as it is required.”

“Then let’s hope our travels are uneventful,” Aegon said, a smile playing on his lips. “Or at least, that we don’t encounter any unexpected challenges.”

Daeron snorted, raising his cup. “Here’s to a smooth journey and to not needing to use that armor more than necessary.”

“Agreed!” Gwayne raised his own goblet, his uncle really loved his toasts. “To good company, good food, and the promise of a prosperous tour.”

As the meal continued, Aegon looked around at the faces gathered. They had a long journey ahead, but for now, in the company of those he cared about, he felt truly at home.

Horn Hill was surrounded by a lush, dense forest. Birds scattered from the trees as dogs barked, their noses to the ground. Aegon rode alongside Gwayne, Lord Donald Tarly, and his son Samwell, the heir to Horn Hill. They had been guests of House Tarly for just over two weeks now, and it was their last day before their departure tomorrow. Aegon had been enjoying the Tarly’s hospitality; but had been avoiding crucial talks.

Aegon’s eyes scanned the forest, his hand resting on the hilt of his bow. The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, the morning mist still lingering in the shadows. Samwell, a young man with more enthusiasm than skill, rode ahead, his bow clutched awkwardly in his hands.

“Over there!” Samwell called out excitedly, pointing at a distant movement in the underbrush.

Lord Donald, a seasoned hunter, chuckled. “Easy, Samwell. You’ll scare off the game if you’re not careful.”

“He’s eager, isn’t he?” Gwayne’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Reminds me of myself at his age. Too much energy and not enough aim.”

Aegon smiled, appreciating his uncle’s jest. “Eagerness is good, but let’s hope it translates to skill.”

As they ventured deeper into the woods, a deer suddenly broke from cover, darting through the trees. Aegon reacted quickly, drawing his bow and releasing an arrow. It struck true, bringing the deer down.

“Nice shot!” Gwayne called out, clapping Aegon on the shoulder.

Young Samwell, watching with wide eyes, looked both impressed and a little envious. “Well done, Prince Aegon!”

Aegon dismounted, approaching the fallen deer. The knelt down next to the twitching animal; he drew his dagger and cut the deer’s neck cleanly, letting it bleed out.

“A fine shot indeed,” Lord Donald said, his tone approving. “You have a steady hand, my prince.”

“Father, can I try next time? I’ve been practicing,” Samwell interjected with nervous energy.

Lord Donald gave his son a patient smile. “Of course, Samwell. We’ll find another one for you.”

They secured their bounty safely on two horses, slowly making their way back to Horn Hill. Samwell, ever the talker, entertained them with tales of his “exploits” around the keep, most of which involved mishaps that had Gwayne in stitches.

“And then I tripped over my own feet and fell right into the pond!” Samwell recounted, his face turning red as the others laughed.

“You’re a natural, Samwell,” Gwayne laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “A natural at falling, that is.”

Back at Horn Hill, the group dismounted and began unloading their catch. The deer was lifted from the horses by a group of stablehands. Aegon moved to help them, a flutter of nerves filling his chest.

He had been seeking to talk to Lord Donald ever since they had arrived, but the opportunity had never seemed right. House Tarly was close to House Hightower; Ormund Hightower, the current lord of the Hightower and nephew of Aegon’s grandsire, was married to Lord Donald’s own daughter Samantha. The fact that she was only two years older than Ormund’s eldest son had always struck Aegon as odd.

And yet, House Tarly had done little to support him in the war in his first life. In fact, they supported Rhaenyra. He had to change that.

As the deer was unloaded, Aegon approached the aged Lord, his heart pounding. “Lord Donald, may I have a word with you in private?”

The man looked at him, a hint of curiosity flashing in his eyes as he nodded. “Of course, Prince Aegon. Follow me.”

They made their way to a quiet study within the keep, a room lined with books and decorated with hunting trophies, the scent of aged wood and leather filling the air. Lord Donald took a seat behind a sturdy oak desk, gesturing for Aegon to sit opposite him.

“What is it you wish to discuss, Prince Aegon?”

Aegon took a deep breath, steadying himself. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts at once, the weight of his knowledge pressing down on him. He clenched his fists momentarily, feeling the tension in his muscles, then released, trying to remain calm.

“My lord, we find ourselves in uncertain times,” Aegon began, choosing his words carefully. “The succession is unsure. My half-sister might not be accepted by the realm. There are factions that oppose her, and the stability of the throne is at risk.”

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying Aegon. “Rhaenyra is your father’s chosen heir… her claim is strong.”

“Indeed, but tradition weighs heavily.” Aegon nodded, biting the inside of his cheek; tasting blood. “The realm has not always been kind to those who would break tradition. I fear conflict may be inevitable. And in such times, the Crown must rely on its strongest supporters.”

Lord Donald leaned back, his gaze piercing. “And you, Prince Aegon, where do you see yourself in this conflict? What is it that you seek?”

The Reach had been split between various factions during the civil war in his first life. With House Tyrell choosing to remain neutral, their vassals were free to choose whatever side they supported. Now, Aegon was optimistic that he could count on at least a bit more support from the Tyrells.

Lord Elyas will die before the civil war breaks out, with his lady wife Willow taking over as Regent for their infant son. But he had bonded well with the aged lord, and Helaena had done the same with the future regent of Highgarden. That had to amount to something, right?

“I seek stability for the realm.” Aegon met Lord Donald’s gaze firmly. “I seek to prevent the chaos that could arise from a disputed succession. For that, I need allies I can trust. Allies who understand the need for a firm hand on the throne.”

The silence between the two men stretched out painfully as the lord considered Aegon’s words. “The Reach has always been a stronghold of tradition and chivalry. House Tarly is no stranger to the importance of strength and loyalty.”

“Precisely. The Reach is crucial.” Aegon felt a glimmer of hope. “House Tyrell’s support, along with the loyalty of houses like yours, could be the cornerstone of a stable realm. If war comes, I need to know I can count on Horn Hill.”

Lord Donald’s expression remained guarded, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “In times of turmoil, we must choose our alliances wisely. I believe an alliance with the Crown is the wisest choice that is to be made.”

“Thank you, Lord Donald.” Aegon felt a surge of relief as he leaned forward to shake the Lord’s hand. While nothing was said outright, the message was clear: he could count on Horn Hill. “Your support means more than you know to me. Please know that the Crown does not easily forget its friends.”

“I’ll hold you to that, my prince,” The lord chuckled, accepting the handshake. “May the gods guide us in the days to come.”

He left the study; feeling particularly pleased with himself. He had just planted the seeds of an alliance that could prove crucial in the future, a future that would turn out infinitely better.

Brightwater Keep rose majestically against the horizon, its tall stone towers silhouetted against the blue of the coastal sky. The tang of salt and the cries of gulls filled the air, mingling with the earthiness of the lush fields that surrounded the castle.

Their party had ridden hard for five days from Horn Hill, the had been long, but not unpleasant; he and Helaena had shared many stories in the wheelhouse that had become their most faithful companion. The evenings spent with Gwayne and Daeron were always filled with laughter and smiles. He had warmed up Ser Erryk too; the King’s Guard was surprisingly witty and well-read.

He really was enjoying this procession, despite his initial reservations.

At the gates, they were greeted by Alekyne Florent, the Lord of Brightwater Keep. He stood tall, his graying hair and beard giving him an air of elegance. Aegon noticed how Gwayne embraced Lord Alekyne tightly.

“It’s good to see you, Uncle,” Gwayne said, his voice filled with genuine affection.

Alekyne laughed, the sound hearty and welcoming. “And you, Gwayne. It’s been too long.”

Aegon watched them; longing stirring inside him. He had never known his grandmother, Alerie Florent, who had died before he was born. His mother had spoken of her often, painting a picture of a woman who loved singing and played the lute skillfully. She had long brown hair and kind eyes of the same color, a vision that seemed almost mythical to Aegon.

He imagined her now, standing in theses fields, her laughter drowned out by the music she played. The fever that had taken her in just four days. It had robbed his mother of her presence and Aegon of the chance to know his grandmother. It was a loss that felt incredibly distant yet profound, a part of his family’s history that he could only touch through stories.

Lord Alekyne turned his attention away from Gwayne, bowing slightly. “Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena, Prince Daeron. Welcome to Brightwater Keep. It is an honor to have you here.”

Aegon returned the bow with a smile. “Thank you, Lord Alekyne. The honor is mine. Your home is as beautiful as I’ve heard.”

Alekyne’s smile widened. “We strive to maintain it well. Please, come inside and rest. The journey from Horn Hill is not an easy one.”

As they entered the keep, Aegon took in the surroundings; the tapestries depicting scenes of the sea and local legends, the stone floors polished smooth by generations of feet. The air inside was cool, carrying a faint scent of wax and aged wood.

Lord Alekyne guided Aegon and Helaena to their chambers, leading them through the winding corridors of Brightwater Keep. Their chamber was spacious and elegantly furnished, with large windows with a breathtaking view of the coastline. Their bed was covered in deep blue cushions and blankets, a color that mirrored the colors of the sea and sky outside.

Aegon sighed as he plopped down onto the mattress. He yawned; the exhaustion of their journey had finally caught up with him. Helaena joined him, sitting down beside him without a word.

He glanced at her; at her serene expression, at her eyes that seemed to hold so many secrets. She knew about his first life now, but they hadn’t talked about it since the day of the tourney at Highgarden. Should they even talk about it? Aegon wasn’t sure.

Was there even something to be said?

“Remember when we used to make forts out of our bedcovers?” Helaena said suddenly, breaking the silence with a small, nostalgic smile.

Aegon chuckled. “How could I forget? Mine always ended up collapsing.”

“You were never very good at architecture,” Helaena teased lightly, the skin around her eyes wrinkling in a way that made warmth spread in his stomach.

“No, but I was excellent at demolishing your work,” Aegon replied with a grin.

Helaena laughed, the sound bright and free. “You were always the marauding dragon, wreaking havoc.”

She looked beautiful when she was happy like this and yet, Aegon’s smile faded slightly. He glanced at her, hesitating. “Helaena, about what I told you… the war. We… we haven’t really talked about it since.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Aegon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it helps, but other times… it feels like dredging up old ghosts.”

Helaena nodded, understanding. “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready. But know that I’m here, whenever you need to talk about it.”

Aegon reached out, taking her hand in his. “Thank you, Helaena. That means a lot.”

Helaena squeezed his hand gently, then stood up, walking over to the window. She gazed out at the horizon, where the sun was beginning its descent toward the sea. “I want to see the sunset on the beach,” she said softly.

Aegon blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. “Uh, sure. We can do that.”

The path from the cliff where Brightwater Keep stood to the sandy shore was steep and winding and Aegon couldn’t help but laugh as Helaena slid down the loose gravel and sand. He followed, skipping down the sandy slope quickly. Their laughter echoed off the cliffs as they tumbled and slid, much like children rediscovering a favorite playground. Helaena’s azure blue dress was soon muddied, but she didn’t seem to care as she urged him towards the water.

The beach looked like a painting; with the waves gently kissing the shore as the sun began its descent, painting the sky in a deep orange hue. Helaena walked towards the water, making quick work of her shoes and discarding them on the sand. She stepped into the waves, the water lapping around her ankles.

Helaena glanced back at him with a bright smile, her cheeks flushed, her hair tousled and her dress clinging to her legs.

Aegon watched her, mesmerized; her figure was illuminated by the setting sun, making her look like a being out of the heavens. He quickly took off his boots too and joined her in the water. The coolness of the sea felt fresh against his skin, revitalizing him somewhat.

To his surprise, she leaned her head against his shoulder, her hair brushing against his cheek. The sudden warmth of her closeness made Aegon’s heart race. He could feel the rapid pulse in his throat. His cheeks flushed slightly as he found himself caught off guard by his reaction to this moment.

They stood there, silent but for the gentle sound of the waves and the distant cries of seabirds. All he could think about was her presence; the feeling of her skin on his, her soft breathing, just her. The world seemed to narrow down to this one small, precious moment.

He realized how little they had truly shared in terms of affection and closeness. Their kiss on their wedding day had been a brief and chaste peck, nothing like the intimacy they seemed to share now. This closeness, this gentle comfort of her head on his shoulder, was new and unfamiliar, but he loved how it made him feel.

He couldn’t help but sling his arm around Helaena, pulling her closer. She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with the reflection of the last rays of the sun. Aegon’s heart thudded in his chest as he gazed at her; without overthinking it, he pressed his lips to hers, his hand cradling her cheek.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their faces mere inches apart. The first stars had begun to twinkle overhead as the sun bid its farewells. The world felt so quiet, so still, as if it was holding its breath for them.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you like this,” she said softly, her cheeks flushed from the kiss and the coolness of the water.

Aegon chuckled softly, his fingers still caressing her cheek. Life had been so unkind to her; he would protect her in this life. Nothing would hurt her.

“And what do you think?”

Helaena’s eyes sparkled. “It’s much better than I imagined. More... real.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Aegon laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to lighten his entire being. “I’ve always felt like we were missing something, but I didn’t know what it was.”

“Do you think this means we’ve found it?”

“Maybe.” He looked out onto the horizon, deep in thought. “Maybe it means we’re learning how to be closer, to share more of ourselves. It’s strange, isn’t it? How we can just go through life and not realize how much we need these moments until they’re here?”

Helaena did not speak; she didn’t have to. She only reached out, her fingers tracing a light pattern on his arm as the siblings gazed at the endless expanse of water.

Chapter Text

Their wheelhouse moved over the cobblestone streets of Oldtown, Aegon looked out to catch a glimpse of the ancient city. He had been there only once before, when he had been about ten years old. The city was alive; residents lined the streets to witness royalty passing through. The buildings were old but well kept, with a lot of greenery nestled between shops and townhouses. The Hightower loomed above, casting a long shadow over all of Oldtown.

Their visit at Brightwater Keep had been wonderful, but their schedule was packed, forcing them to leave after a mere week. Aegon sighed as he sunk into the cushions of the Wheelhouse again, thinking of his talk with Lord Alekyne.

The sept of Brightwater Keep had been dimly lit when he entered; the faint scent of the salty sea noticeable even there. Lord Alekyne had stood before the crowded altar, lighting a candle for his sister, Alerie Florent—Aegon’s grandmother.

The candle flickered gently, casting a warm light on Lord Alekyne’s face. Aegon had approached the altar, a candle in his own hand, and lit it beside Alekyne’s. He had not been particularly pious in his younger days, but the tragedies of his first life had changed him. The sept had become a place of solace in the end, a sanctuary where he could seek comfort and guidance.

As the flames danced, Aegon whispered a prayer for those he had lost in his first life—the people he was determined to save in this one.

Jaehaerys. Maelor. Helaena. Daeron. Aemond.

Alekyne had turned to him then, his expression soft yet serious. “Prince Aegon, I want you to know that I will stand with you steadfastly. You are family, and family stands together.”

Aegon had looked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. It all felt so real; the people of the realm were choosing already. “Thank you, my lord. Your support means more to me than you can imagine.”

Alekyne had nodded, his eyes reflecting the candlelight. “Your path ahead is fraught with challenges, but I believe in you. And you will not be alone, whatever may come. The Reach is your stronghold.”

The wheelhouse halted and Aegon’s thoughts turned to the present. Ser Erryk opened the door with a creak, nodding to Aegon and Helaena. Aegon took Helaena’s hand in his, offering her a reassuring squeeze. Together, they stepped out, the Starry Sept towering before them.

The Starry Sept was truly a marvel, its facade adorned with intricate carvings of The Seven. The stained-glass windows depicted scenes of the Faith’s history; Aegon thought them to be beautiful.

The importance of this visit was not lost on Aegon. The Starry Sept was not only a place of worship but also a symbol of the Faith’s immense influence over the realm. Gaining the High Septon’s favor was crucial; it could mean the difference between a unified realm and a divided one.

Heads turned as Aegon and Helaena entered, the murmurs growing as the worshippers recognized their royal visitors. Aegon felt the weight of their gazes but held his head high, his grip on Helaena’s hand tightening ever so slightly.

Aegon’s gaze quickly found the High Septon; he stood at the end of the grand hall, in front of the altar. The man had thick brown hair and he looked rather young. Aegon recognized him immediately—he was the very same man who had crowned him in his first life.

The High Septon gestured for them to join him at the altar. He could feel the eyes of the congregation following their every step as he and Helaena moved forward.

Once there, the septon greeted them with a smile on his lips. “Prince Aegon, Prince Helaena. It’s an honor to welcome you.”

Aegon bowed his head respectfully. “Thank you, Your Holiness. The honor is ours.”

Without missing another beat, they sank down to their knees in front of the High Septon. He needed to do this; a public display of support from the Faith was crucial for solidifying his position and securing the loyalty of the realm. The Faith's blessing could sway many hearts and minds in his favor.

The High Septon raised his arms, and the hall fell into a hushed stillness. “O Seven who are one, we beseech you to bless your faithful servants, Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena,” he began, the murmured echoing his words. “Guide them with your wisdom, protect them with your light.”

Aegon closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the prayer settle over him. He made his own silent plea to the gods; to whoever had brought him back. He vowed to do everything right this time.

The High Septon’s hands descended, gently resting on Aegon and Helaena’s heads. “Rise, my children,” he said softly. “May the Seven’s blessings be upon you.”

Aegon and Helaena stood, the High Septon leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to each of their cheeks. “May the Seven guide and protect you.”

As they turned to face the congregation, the people erupted in cheers. The thunderous sound of their adoration filled the sept. It made him remember how the smallfolk had cheered for him. He looked back at that moment with fondness—it was the first time he had felt truly appreciated and loved in so long.

A shame Rhaenys had to ruin it with her wretched dragon.

He felt a dull throbbing in his temple, closing his eyes for a moment to banish the dark memories. He felt Helaena’s hand grasp his again. He glanced at her; she was smiling, her eyes reflecting the resolve he was feeling himself. Her touch gave him strength. With a deep breath he faced the people again. This was more than a mere ceremony; it was a promise to the realm and to himself. A promise to lead with honor, to protect his family, and to forge a future where the tragedies of his past would not repeat themselves.

The pain was unbelievable.

Aegon gritted his teeth, tears streaming down his face as the knights carried him on his chair. His legs had been shattered beyond recognition after he had leapt from Sunfyre’s back when Daemon’s bitch daughter and her dragon had assaulted them.

Every jolt, every step his knights took, sent waves of agony through his broken limbs. Yet he urged them on; he had to be there. He had to see this through.

“Faster,” he cried out, his voice trembling. “Go fucking faster!”

The courtyard of Dragonstone came into view, and despite the torment, Aegon felt a flicker of triumph. His eyes locked onto Rhaenyra, who stood with her last remaining child clinging to her skirts. The sight of her looking up at Sunfyre stirred something in him—a strange sort of giddy.

Rhaenyra’s eyes, wide with fear, were locked onto Sunfyre. The dragon’s massive form loomed over her. She was completely entranced; she didn’t even seem to notice that he had arrived.

Aegon’s lips curled into a pained smile as he rasped out, “Sister.”

Rhaenyra’s head snapped towards him, her eyes widening in shock. She stumbled back, her hand clutching her child tighter. “Dear brother.” She tried to hide the horror in her voice; Aegon could tell. “I had hoped that you were dead.”

Even now, she was mocking him. It would be her last attempt at defiance. She was responsible for everything he had lost, everything that had been taken from him.

“After you. You are the elder,” he managed to say, his voice tinged with a twisted sort of politeness.

Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “I am pleased to know that you remember that,” she said, her voice steely despite the tremor in her hands. “It would seem we are your prisoners … but do not think that you will hold us long. My leal lords will find me.”

Aegon forced a laugh, the sound was devoid of any happiness; there was only retribution. “If they search the Seven Hells, mayhaps.” His voice was dripping with venom—the anticipation of his revenge was almost as strong as the pain that wracked his body.

Oh, he would be enjoying this.

“Waters.” Aegon’s gaze remained fixed on Rhaenyra’s frightened form as he gave his commands. “Bring the boy to me.”

Rhaenyra’s scream tore through the air, mixing with the boy’s frightened cries. Her attempts to protect him were futile, as Marston wrenched the child from her arms and brought him to Aegon.

The boy’s small form was writhing in terror as he looked at the king, trying to get away. Aegon reached out, gripping the boy’s face with a brutal intensity. He forced the child to face the scene before them.

“Watch, boy,” he whispered into the boy’s ear, his voice low and filled with a sickening satisfaction. “Broome. Cut the pretender. Let her blood rouse Sunfyre.”

Ser Alfred’s sword sliced through Rhaenyra’s flesh, the blood spilling onto the ground. Sunfyre, ever the creature of fire and wrath, even after his extensive injuries, responded immediately. The dragon roared, his eyes lighting up. Sunfyre’s golden flames consumed her, then the dragon stepped forward; his immense jaws snapping down. In six bites, Rhaenyra was gone.

He watched, almost entranced, as Sunfyre took her apart. She had wrought this upon herself; each bite of the dragon was a reminder of the pain he had suffered, now visited upon his sister.

The boy kept trying to slip away, but Aegon’s grip on him was strong. He was going to make him watch. He would never forget his day, Aegon would make sure of it.

Aegon awoke with a start, his breath ragged and his heart racing. Cold sweat drenched his brow and soaked through his nightclothes. He lay there for a moment, trying to calm his thoughts; he was not in Dragonstone, and Rhaenyra was not burning before him. It was only a memory of his first life, a nightmare dredged up from the depths of his mind.

The Hightower’s chamber was dim, the first rays of morning sunlight filtering softly through the heavy curtains. He glanced over at Helaena, who slept peacefully beside him, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath. She hadn’t stirred during his restless night. Good.

Aegon carefully slipped out of bed, making sure that he didn’t wake her. He decided to step outside, hoping the fresh morning air might help clear his mind. He pulled on a robe and made his way toward the door; his mind still tangled in the remnants of his dream.

The cool stone floor felt refreshing against his feet as he descended the steps towards the Hightower’s courtyard. He desperately needed to shake off the lingering darkness, to focus on the present and the choices he could make now.

As he arrived in the courtyard, he noticed that Daeron was already there, immersed in his morning training. The sound of his brother’s sword against the wooden practice dummy was oddly comforting, a reminder of simpler times.

The young squire looked up as Aegon approached, an earnest smile spreading across his face. “Good morrow, brother. Couldn’t sleep?”

“You could say that.” Aegon tried to return the smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Had a rather unsettling dream.”

“Nightmares can be troubling.” Daeron’s expression turned to one of concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The worry in his voice was sweet, Daeron was only ten and four; he could not burden him with such matters. He deserved to just be a boy.

Aegon shook his head slightly. “Not right now. I think I just need some fresh air to clear my head.”

Daeron nodded, accepting the answer. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sheathed his sword. “Well, you’re up early for it. Care to join me for a bit of training? It might help you shake off the cobwebs.”

Aegon hesitated for a moment, then nodded, realizing that perhaps a bit of movement might indeed help clear his mind. He stepped onto the practice field; Daeron, an eager smile on his lips, handed Aegon a practice sword. The weapon’s weight felt unfamiliar in his hand.

As they began sparring, Aegon quickly found himself on the defensive. Daeron’s strikes were precise and fluid, Aegon, on the other hand, was a bit rusty. His swings lacked the sharpness Daeron’s had, and his little brother’s practice sword consistently found its mark.

“Careful there, Aegon,” Daeron teased, his grin widening. “You’re looking like you’ve forgotten which end of the sword is which.”

Aegon managed a chuckle, blocking Daeron’s next strike with some effort. “You’re not wrong. It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I was never as good as you or Aemond anyway.”

As they continued, the clatter of their wooden swords and the rhythm of their footfalls being oddly comforting. Aegon’s mind drifted, thinking back to his first life. Daeron had fought fiercely for him, always a loyal and brave brother. He had fought for his throne until the very end.

And yet, they had seldom spent time together. Aegon couldn’t help but imagine what if—

Lost in his thoughts, Aegon’s guard slipped for just a moment. Daeron’s practice sword struck him squarely in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Aegon stumbled back, breathing heavily.

“Seven hells, Daeron,” Aegon said with a smile, catching his breath. “You don’t hold back, do you?”

“Are you alright?” Daeron looked strangely serious as he lowered his sword. “You seemed miles away.”

Aegon shook his head, trying to clear the haze that had settled over his thoughts. “I’m fine. Just a bit lost in thought, I suppose.”

“What’s on your mind?”

Aegon paused, his expression thoughtful. The idea had been forming in his mind over the past few days, and now, amidst the warmth of their morning practice and the soft rays of the rising sun, it felt more urgent. “Daeron, I’ve been thinking. Having you at King’s Landing would be a great asset.”

Daeron tilted his head. “An asset? How so?”

Aegon took a deep breath, his heart pounding with the gravity of his decision. “You’re skilled, loyal, and—more importantly—you’re family. Your presence there would mean more than just having another warrior. It would mean having the family together again.”

Daeron’s initial surprise gave way to a small smile. “I—well, I hadn’t expected this. I do miss being with you all. But I have duties here… I’ll need to speak with Ormund about it.”

“I’ll speak with Lord Ormund myself. I’m sure he’ll understand.” Aegon felt a rush of happiness, and without thinking, he pulled Daeron into a tight embrace. “Thank you, brother. This means more to me than you know.”

Daeron returned the embrace, his voice muffled against Aegon’s shoulder. “I’ve missed everyone so much. Oldtown has been a good place, but it’s not home.”

The thought of Daeron’s support in King’s Landing; it felt like another piece that had finally fallen into place.

Aegon approached the heavy oak door of Lord Ormund Hightower’s study, his heart pounding in his chest. He knocked firmly—moments later, a deep voice called from within, inviting him to enter.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room, taking a moment to observe the Lord of the Hightower. Ormund Hightower was a man of imposing presence, with a stern face framed by reddish brown hair and a mustache that lent him an air of authority.

“Prince Aegon,” Ormund greeted, gesturing for him to sit down.

Aegon inclined his head respectfully before taking the offered seat. “Thank you for seeing me, my lord.”

“Would you care for some wine?” Ormund asked, glancing to a decanter of wine on the table.

Aegon shook his head. “No, thank you. I prefer to speak plainly.”

Ormund’s eyes narrowed slightly, leaning back in his seat “Well, what is the matter?”

“I’ve come to request that Daeron be released from his squireship here in Oldtown.” He tried to imbue as much confidence as possible in his voice. “I want him to come to King’s Landing with me. His presence and skills would be a great asset.”

The request hung in the air between them, and Aegon could see the surprise in Ormund’s eyes. The lord’s expression quickly shifted from curiosity to something akin to irritation.

“Released from his duties? That’s a bold request,” Ormund said, a slight edge to his voice. “What has prompted this sudden need for your brother’s presence?”

“It’s not sudden. The situation in King’s Landing is becoming increasingly precarious. We need all the support we can get, and having Daeron there would strengthen our position.”

Ormund’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly is happening in King’s Landing that makes you think you need to pull Daeron from his duties here?”

Aegon’s jaw tightened, his patience growing thin. “The realm is on a knife’s edge. I need my family and allies close. Daeron is a dragonrider and a trusted brother. His presence could be pivotal.”

Ormund’s gaze was stern. “You speak as though you’re preparing for something more than a simple court intrigue. What’s really going on, Aegon? Are you planning to usurp the throne?”

The question hit Aegon like a cold splash of water. He blinked, momentarily taken aback. “What? No, that’s not—”

Ormund’s lips twisted into knowing smile, though there was no warmth in it. “Is this Otto’s plan? Your grandsire has always been a master of machination. Is he behind this?”

Aegon stared at Ormund. What did the man know? “Why do you think that?”

“Otto Hightower is my uncle.” Ormund took a long sip from his goblet. “I know how he thinks, how he operates. He has always sought to position himself favorably within the court, always scheming. And now you come here, demanding your brother’s return. It reeks of his influence.”

“This is my decision, not his.” Aegon’s jaw tightened as he spoke. “I want my family united, and I want Daeron with me in King’s Landing. Whatever you think of my grandfather, this is not about him.”

Ormund studied Aegon for a long moment. Finally, he sighed, a finger finding his temple. “You speak with conviction, Aegon. Perhaps there is more to this than I initially thought. But know this—I will not let you use your little brother as a pawn. If Daeron is to leave, it will be because it is in his best interest, not because of some grand scheme.”

Aegon felt a pang of guilt; he was attempting to use Daeron to strengthen his position, wasn’t he?

“I understand, my lord. And I assure you, this is what Daeron wants as well. He misses his family, and his place is with us.”

Ormund’s expression remained guarded, but there was a hint of resignation in his eyes. “Very well. I will speak to Daeron and consider your request,” he said, setting his goblet down with a decisive clink. “You may go, Prince Aegon.”

Aegon nodded, a tightness in his chest as he rose from his seat. “Thank you, Lord Ormund.”

Ormund gave a curt nod, watching him leave the study without another word.

Closing the door behind him, Aegon’s thoughts churned. Ormund’s accusations lingered, making him rethink his choices. He wasn’t using Daeron, was he? The idea that he was manipulating his own brother for his own gain left a sour taste in his mouth. Yet, Ormund’s words had struck a chord of doubt within him.

Aegon passed by a large window overlooking the city. The sunlight shined on the rooftops. He paused, gazing out at the quiet beauty of Oldtown. It filled him with something resembling hope.

What he was doing was not about power for its own sake. It’s about survival, unity, and the preservation of everything he had worked for to protect. He recalled the faces of the dead—the sacrifices they had made, the losses they had endured. Everything he did, every decision he made, was driven by a fierce, unyielding need to protect them.

He was doing this to save them all.

If bringing Daeron to King’s Landing would help prevent that, then it was worth the discomfort of feeling like a schemer. He would be the king; even if it meant being branded as an usurper, a kinslayer, or a monster in the annals of history, he would endure it all.

The morning sun cast a golden hue over Oldtown, Aegon stood at the edge of the bay, preparing to depart. The horses were already hitched, the wagon and wheelhouse ready to take them to the Arbor. Helaena had already settled into the wheelhouse, her figure barely visible through the window.

Tessarion stood nearby, her scales catching the light beautifully. She and Daeron would fly alongside them. Her rider was standing a short distance away, enveloped in a tight embrace from Gwayne. Tears shimmered in Gwayne’s eyes as he held his nephew close, saying something only they could hear.

Aegon approached, catching snippets of their conversation. “You be careful, Daeron. King's Landing is not like Oldtown; it's a different world out there.”

Daeron was sobbing; the farewell wasn’t easy for him either. “I will, Uncle. I promise.”

Aegon smiled, placing a reassuring hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “Daeron will be fine, Uncle. He’s strong, and he has us and Tessarion to keep him safe.”

Gwayne broke the embrace, his gaze settling on Aegon. Before Aegon could continue, Gwayne reached out and punched Aegon’s shoulder, not too hard but hard enough for it to bruise.

“I trust you, Aegon, but if anything happens to him… I’ll be the one to end you myself.”

There was a moment of tense silence, and Aegon couldn’t quite tell if Gwayne was joking or not. But the sincerity in his eyes told him that the threat, though light-hearted, carried a kernel of truth. He chuckled, though it was tinged with a hint of unease. “I understand, Uncle. But I assure you, Daeron will be well looked after. He’s my brother, and I’ll protect him with my life.”

Gwayne’s face softened, and he nodded, accepting Aegon’s words. He pulled Daeron into a last hug. “Remember everything I’ve taught you, Daeron. And trust in your family.”

“I will, Uncle Gwayne,” Daeron replied, offering him a smile. “I’ll miss you.”

With a final nod, Gwayne stepped back, allowing Daeron to move towards Tessarion. The horses were ready, and the retainers began to mount. Aegon moved towards the wheelhouse, while Daeron mounted Tessarion.

The dragon stretched her wings before she took off into the sky with grace.

Aegon smiled as he settled into the wheelhouse next to Helaena. The wheelhouse began to move, the horses trotting steadily. He watched as Gwayne and the Hightower faded from view, his thoughts already turning to their next destination. The road to the throne was long, but it was a path he was determined to walk.

Chapter Text

The Arbor truly was a golden gem of an island. Aegon sat at a beautifully carved wooden table outside one of the Redwyne estates. The estate sat on a cliff overlooking the beach, its gardens sprawling down towards the sand. Grapevines clung to the rolling hills like lush green curtains. The vineyards would soon yield the famed Arbor wines, rich and sweet, a taste he had enjoyed many times before; one he wouldn’t enjoy again, even if the need was strong.

Before him, the table was laden with an array of local delicacies—juicy peaches, fresh seafood, and, of course, the famed Arbor wines. The sun shone brightly overhead; its warmth felt comforting on his face. Above, the sky was dotted with wispy clouds, and Daeron’s laughter echoed as he soared through the air on Tessarion, the dragon’s blue scales shimmering in the sunlight. Aegon couldn’t help but smile; Daeron had so much spirit in him. He would fill the halls of the Red Keep with some much-needed life.

Across from him sat Lord Quentin Redwyne, a stout man with a rich mane of orange hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were sharp, a hint of shrewdness hidden behind his jovial mask of hospitality. The Redwynes were known for their overwhelming wealth; a fortune that perhaps overshadowed the coffers of the crown itself. And more importantly, their fleet was the largest and most formidable in Westeros—a crucial asset in any power struggle.

“Your hospitality is unmatched, my lord,” Aegon began, offering the lord a smile. “This table is filled with some truly magnificent produce.”

Lord Quentin smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “We take pride in our craft, my prince. The vines have been kind to us this year. A good harvest ensures a good vintage—which in turn fills our coffers.”

Aegon nodded, his thoughts drifting to the past; as they often did. In his first life the Sea Snake had been a staunch supporter of Rhaenyra for a long while, against all reason and sanity. The blockade he had enforced around King’s Landing had been a thorn in Aegon’s side, choking the city and cutting off crucial supplies.

He remembered the frustration, the helplessness, and the gnawing anxiety of knowing that his capital was vulnerable to enemy pressure. He couldn’t afford to repeat those mistakes. Aegon was determined to change the course of history in this life.

The Redwyne fleet would be the key to securing King’s Landing and preventing any such blockade from happening again. He wanted parts of the fleet stationed near the capital, well before Driftmark would be able to. If his father were to die at the same time as in his first life, Aegon estimated he had about a year and a few moons left—plenty of time, yet every moment counted. Preparations needed to be made with care, without arousing too much suspicion.

His gaze shifted back to Quentin Redwyne, who was now studying him, his brow furrowed. The jovial mask had slipped slightly, revealing the calculating mind behind it. It was time to discuss the terms of their alliance.

Aegon took a deep breath and began. “Parts of a fleet like yours, my lord, stationed near King’s Landing, would be invaluable. Not just as a deterrent against pirates, but as a means of ensuring the safety and prosperity of the realm. I am prepared to make significant concessions to secure this arrangement.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. “Indeed? What sort of concessions are you willing to offer, Prince Aegon?”

Aegon leaned forward, his voice dropping ever so slightly. “I am willing to discuss terms that would benefit both of us. Your fleet’s strategic placement would be of immense help, and in return, I can offer you certain privileges and assurances.”

“Privileges and assurances sound promising,” the lord said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “But they are vague. What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Perhaps an official alliance with House Redwyne, with tangible benefits. A pledge of support in matters both military and political.” Aegon’s mind raced through potential offers, but he knew he needed to be careful. “And if necessary, a marriage pact to further solidify our bond.”

Quentin’s eyes lit up at the mention of a possible marriage; yet, he said nothing, letting the offer hang in the air. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. “A marriage pact, you say?”

Aegon glanced at Daeron, who was descending from the sky, Tessarion landing with grace. He turned back to Quentin. “Does House Redwyne have a daughter?”

Quentin took a long, deliberate gulp of wine, his smile widening. “Indeed we do. My daughter, Olenna, is a remarkable young woman. She would be an excellent match for a prince.”

He couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty; he knew that marriage arrangements often came with the heavy burden of expectation. Yet, marriages were a time-honored way to secure alliances, and Olenna Redwyne was by all accounts a suitable match.

He wouldn’t make him marry too young, though. Not like they made him and Helaena marry too young. He wouldn’t hurt him in that way.

“Prince Daeron is only ten and four,” Aegon began, choosing his words carefully. “He is too young to marry. I would prefer to wait until he has come of age at ten and eight, at the earliest. That will give him time to mature and prepare for such a commitment.”

Lord Quentin nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “A prudent decision, my prince. Olenna is only ten and five herself. Waiting until they are both of age is sensible, allowing them both to grow into their roles.”

The tension eased somewhat, and Aegon felt a small sense of relief. The conversation was going as well as he could have hoped. Just then, Daeron approached the table, his steps light and carefree. He was beaming from his flight; his hair tousled from the wind.

Without hesitation, Daeron plopped down at the table, immediately reaching for a piece of fruit and some cheese. “That was incredible!” he exclaimed, unaware of the serious discussion he had interrupted. “Tessarion was amazing up there! Did you see, Aegon?”

Aegon smiled, though his mind was still partially on the conversation with Quentin. “I did. You and Tessarion looked spectacular.”

Daeron beamed at the praise, but Aegon knew he needed to steer the conversation away from the topic of marriage. The boy was still young, and there was no need to burden him with such concerns prematurely. He turned back to Lord Quentin, catching the slight gleam of curiosity in the man’s eyes.

“Lord Quentin and I were discussing the potential positioning of parts of Redwyne fleet near the capital,” Aegon said, smoothly transitioning the conversation. “It would be a significant boon to the security of the realm.”

Daeron, his mouth full of peaches, looked between the two men. “Oh, right. The fleet. That’s important, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Aegon confirmed, casting a sidelong glance at Quentin. “And we’re in agreement that such matters should be approached with careful consideration and timing.”

Quentin nodded, his smile returning, though there was a hint of calculation still in his eyes. “Of course. Timing is everything, as they say. Positioning our fleet near the capital is a sound endeavor, one that has to be carefully prepared, though.”

Aegon inclined his head in agreement. “Careful planning is everything. Thank you, Lord Quentin. Your support is greatly appreciated.”

The ballroom of the Redwyne was filled with music, laughter, and the gentle clinking of goblets. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm glow over the polished marble floor, where guests swirled around in a lively dance. Aegon sat at a table near the edge of the dance floor, alongside Helaena and Daeron. His eyes scanned the room, deciding which nobles he should talk to. Even when his duties were at the forefront of his thoughts; Aegon had to admit that it was a pleasant goodbye-celebration. The Redwynes were magnificent hosts.

Next to him, Helaena was explaining some obscure facts about beetles to Daeron. “Did you know,” she said, her voice soft yet animated, “that certain beetles can glow in the dark? They produce light through a various reactions in their body.”

Daeron nodded, trying to look interested, but Aegon could see his brother’s attention wandering. Aegon’s eyes followed Daeron’s, that’s when he caught sight of Olenna Redwyne, Daeron’s betrothed. Daeron had been informed of the arrangement a week ago, he had accepted it without saying much. But Aegon could tell,  he seemed taken with the girl.

Olenna was a striking young woman, with orange hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders and pale skin covered in freckles. She wore a gown of deep green, a bright smile on her face as she chatted with a group of other young women.

Aegon felt a spark of inspiration. He turned to Daeron, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he tapped his brother on the shoulder. “You know, Daeron,” he began, his tone light and teasing, “that lovely young lady you’ve been eyeing all evening looks like she could use a dance partner. Why don’t you go ask her?”

Daeron’s eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. “W-what? Me? Dance with her?”

Aegon nodded encouragingly. “Yes, you! Olenna Redwyne. She’s standing right there, looking like she’s ready to be swept off her feet. And I think you’re just the young man to do it.”

“Oh, Daeron, it would be such a lovely thing to see!” Helaena clasped her hands together with a smile. “Imagine how charming you’ll look out there, twirling around. I’m sure Olenna would be delighted.”

Daeron shot her a nervous look. He hesitated, then took a deep breath and downed the rest of his wine in one gulp. He winced at the taste, clearly not used to the strong Arbor red, and stood up somewhat unsteadily.

“Go on,” Aegon encouraged his little brother, laughing softly. “Show them how a Targaryen prince dances.”

Daeron squared his shoulders, trying to muster his courage, and made his way across the room. He watched him go, feeling pride for his little brother.

As Daeron approached Olenna, Aegon could see the young woman's eyes widen slightly in surprise. Daeron bowed awkwardly, and though Aegon couldn’t hear his words, he could imagine the stumbling, nervous request. Olenna smiled warmly, and to Daeron’s evident relief, she nodded and took his offered hand.

The two young people joined the other dancers; and as they started to move, it seemed like Daeron’s awkwardness melted away. Aegon couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction—Daeron had a natural charm, even if he didn’t always see it himself.

Helaena leaned in. “Do you think he'll tell her about the beetles?”

Aegon chuckled, shaking his head. “Knowing Daeron, probably. But who knows? Olenna might find it endearing.”

“It is rather unconventional to station the Redwyne fleet so near the capital, my prince,” Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships said, his tone tinged with thinly veiled skepticism. “The Arbor’s fleet is substantial, and having it so close... it’s curious, to say the least.”

Aegon resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but his irritation was evident for everyone at the council table. He had spent the past four moons on his progress through the Reach; it had been a pleasant change from the rigid and dull life in King’s Landing. He missed the open air, the freedom of movement, and the simpler pleasures they had enjoyed.

“I’ve already explained this,” Aegon began, his voice carrying an edge, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. “Having the fleet near the capital is a strategic decision. It strengthens our position, ensures the safety of our waters, and prevents any potential blockades from adversaries. A blockade could cripple the city; the fleet will provide a strong defense against any potential threats.”

Larys Strong, the Master of Whisperers, leaned forward, his pale eyes glinting. “A sound move, strategically speaking. Yet, it does raise questions about our relations with House Velaryon and their control over the Narrow Sea.”

Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws, nodded in agreement. “Indeed. The Sea Snake is a formidable figure, and he won’t take kindly to feeling his influence waning.”

“And what of the cost?” Lyman Beesbury, the aging Master of Coin, added, addressing the round. “The maintenance of such a fleet near the capital will not come cheap. Are we prepared for that expenditure?”

Aegon sighed internally. They bore him; this council was terribly boring.

Aegon opened his mouth to respond, but Otto Hightower spoke up, his voice immediately demanding attention. “Prince Aegon’s decision to station the Redwyne fleet near King’s Landing is a prudent one,” Otto said, his eyes sweeping across the room. “In times of uncertainty, it is vital to have our allies close. The fleet will not only protect our waters but also serve as a deterrent to any who might want to stir up conflict.”

At least he could count on his grandsire. Aegon shot him a grateful smile and Otto gave a faint nod in return. Before The Hand could continue, Queen Alicent interjected, her voice sharp with irritation.

“And what of the betrothal of Daeron to Lady Olenna Redwyne? Why was this decision made without consulting the council? Without consulting me, his mother?”

Aegon felt his temper flare, but he kept his tone even. “The betrothal was a strategic decision, Mother. It secures an alliance with House Redwyne, a powerful house with significant resources. It was a necessary move.”

“Necessary, perhaps,” his mother’s eyes flashed with anger. “But you are only a prince, Aegon. Who gave you the right to make such decisions without discussing it among us?”

Aegon clenched his jaw, feeling his frustration like physical pain in his chest. He had expected this kind of reaction—she had always been one to push back against decisions she hadn’t been part of.

The same mother who had forced him and Helaena into marriage at only ten and five and ten and three respectively, now questioned his judgment and authority. The memory of that time, the helplessness he had felt, ignited a fire within him. He could feel his heart pounding, his pulse quickening with anger.

He took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure, but his voice came out sharper than he intended. “Daeron is fine with the arrangement, Mother. In fact, he had the last word in accepting the betrothal.” He clenched his fists under the table, trying hard to keep his anger at bay. “He likes Lady Olenna. They seemed to be quite taken with each other. Besides, I’ve also made sure that he will only marry when he reaches his majority at eight and ten.”

His gaze locked onto his mother’s—and the floodgates opened. “You know, Mother, it’s curious how you’re so concerned about consultation now, when you were more than willing to force me into a marriage at five and ten without a second thought. Did you consult anyone before arranging that? Or was that decision solely yours?”

His mother’s face reddened, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and hurt. “That was different, Aegon. I was acting in what I believed was the best interest of the family. I was trying to ensure stability.”

“Family? Stability?” Aegon repeated incredulously, a bitter smile on his lips. “Don’t kid yourself. It was only about not letting Rhaenyra’s bastard marry Helaena. You didn’t care about my wishes or my happiness back then. Don’t pretend that this was about the family's well-being when it was all about your hatred for her.”

Alicent opened her mouth to retort, her voice sharp and high. “How dare you—”

Before the argument could escalate further, Otto interjected. “Enough. This quarrel is going nowhere and accomplishes nothing. Prince Aegon’s decisions, while perhaps unconventional, are made with the future of the realm in mind. Your Grace, your concerns are valid, but the matter of Daeron’s betrothal is settled. The alliance with House Redwyne strengthens our position, and young Daeron himself is content with it.”

Aegon cast a sideways glance at his grandsire, before he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and staring at the table. He had hoped that making bold decisions would lead to progress, but it often felt like he was only met with resistance from his mother.

Grandmaester Orwyle, thinking the matter to be settled, began droning on about some irrelevant topic, “...and thus, the alignment of celestial bodies at this time of year could theoretically impact the harvest in various ways...”

Aegon’s attention drifted as he tuned out of Orwyle’s monotonous lecture. He glanced at the council members, their faces reminding him of the roles they had played in his previous life. He recalled that Lord Lyman Beesbury had been staunchly loyal to Rhaenyra, a loyalty he had paid for with his life. Aegon wondered if there was any way to sway him; if not, the aged Master of Coin might face the same fate at the hands of Criston Cole.

Jasper Wylde and Grandmaester Orwyle had only ever been good to him. Wylde could be grating sometimes; but he had always looked after his duties faithfully. Orwyle had cared for Aegon after his life-threatening injuries; and he had cared for him well. They were good men, men he had good use for as king.

Larys Strong was a different matter altogether. Aegon knew that Larys was a masterful schemer, playing the game with an unmatched subtlety. He had saved Aegon more than once in his first life, though his motivations had always been shrouded in mystery. In this life, Aegon wouldn’t let himself be manipulated by the Master of Whisperers; but having him on his side was crucial.

Then there was Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships. Aegon had been surprised by Tyland’s loyalty in his first life; never betraying him even when faced with gruesome torture. The Lannisters were often seen as opportunists, but Tyland had shown a steadfastness that was unexpected. Aegon knew he could count on Tyland.

As the council meeting finally came to an end, Aegon stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the stone floor. His mother called after him as he moved towards the door. “Aegon, we need to talk about this. I’m not finished—”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand, not even turning to face her. “Not now, Mother,” he said, his voice flat and tired. “I’m tired and I need some rest.”

Ignoring her further attempts to speak, Aegon strode out of the chamber, his footsteps echoing down the stone corridors of the Red Keep. His patience had been exhausted, and all he wanted was to retreat to his chambers and find some semblance of peace. The day had been long, and the endless discussions and arguments had drained him.

Upon reaching his apartments, he found a maid waiting for him, a small piece of parchment in her hand. She bowed and handed him the letter. “A raven arrived for you, my prince,” she said, not daring to meet his gaze.

Aegon took the parchment, dismissing the maid with a nod as he recognized the seal of House Stark. He broke the wax and unfolded the letter. The words within were written in a neat, controlled script. The letter was brief but heavy with somber news:

To Prince Aegon Targaryen,

I regret to inform you that my lady wife,
Arra Norrey, has passed away from childbed
fever seven days after the birth of our son,
Rickon Stark. The North mourns her loss deeply.

Yours, in grief and duty,

Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell

Aegon felt a sharp pang of sorrow as he read the letter. He had known that her death would come; but a woman dying in childbirth was always a special type of tragedy. He hadn’t had the opportunity to get to Arra properly, but she had struck him as a strong and capable woman, well-suited to the harsh life of the North.

He sat down on his bed with a sigh. A visit to Winterfell might be order; not only to offer condolences, but to strengthen ties with the North.

Chapter Text

The cold northern air stung Aegon’s cheeks as he soared through the sky on Sunfyre. The landscape below was a vast expanse of moorlands, dotted with the occasional patch of frost-covered trees and snow-laden hills. Even with the dragon’s warmth beneath him, Aegon shivered, feeling the stark difference between the North and the warmer climes he was used to.

From the moment Cregan’s letter had arrived, Aegon had felt the urge to stand by him personally. Only a week had passed from receiving the grim news to his departure for Winterfell, the flight taking four long, frigid days. He could feel the exhaustion in his bones, but also the firm resolve to stand by the North. These next few days could make the difference in the civil war that may come.

As Winterfell came into sight, Aegon guided Sunfyre into a slow descent. The ancient fortress’ walls were thick and imposing, built to withstand the harshest winters and sieges.

Sunfyre’s golden scales shimmered even in the dull northern light as he landed just outside Winterfell’s walls. The air was frosty, a sharp, almost physical presence that made Aegon’s breath visible as puffs of mist. The guards at the gate stared at the dragon with wide, fearful eyes. Their shock was evident; Aegon realized that they had likely never seen a dragon in their lives.

He couldn’t help but smirk at their reaction.

“Greetings,” Aegon called out. “I am Prince Aegon Targaryen. I’m here to speak with Lord Cregan Stark. I sent a raven ahead.”

The guards remained rooted to the spot, the fear evidently making them forget their duties. Aegon chuckled softly as Aegon he dismounted, patting Sunfyre’s warm, scaled hide affectionately. “Be a good boy, Sunfyre. No eating the guards, alright? Just stay put and keep warm.”

The dragon snorted softly, a plume of steam rising from his nostrils, and settled down, his body radiating a comforting heat.

The guards, still visibly shaken, managed to rouse themselves from their shock and moved to open the gates. The massive wooden doors creaked as they swung open, revealing the inner courtyard of Winterfell.

Passing through the gates, Aegon took in Winterfell’s expansive courtyard; it was bustling with activity despite the chill. Servants were going about their duties, knights were sparring, stablehands were looking after the horses. A hall was visible from where Aegon stood, its hearths burning with roaring fires that sent flickers of warmth and light dancing in the air.

Inside the hall, the warmth of the hearth fires was a welcome relief from the cold that had found its home in his bones. The walls were lined with banners of House Stark and the smell of roasted meat filled the air. Aegon didn’t see Cregan among the few gathered in the hall, and his brow furrowed in concern.

A maid approached, bowing deeply. “Prince Aegon, welcome to Winterfell. Lord Stark has been in his chambers for the past few days. He grieves deeply for his loss.”

Aegon nodded, of course he was. “I understand. Please, take me to him.”

With a nod, the maid guided him through the winding corridors. As they approached Cregan’s chambers, Aegon’s thoughts were already turning to the conversation he would need to have.

Finally, they reached the door to Cregan’s quarters. The maid knocked softly and then pushed the door open without waiting for an answer. Aegon entered, his gaze sweeping over the room, noting the heavy, dark curtains drawn against the cold and the dimly lit space. That’s when he saw him; in an armchair by the window sat Cregan Stark, his face lined with grief and weariness.

Cregan looked up, his eyes meeting Aegon’s with a mixture of surprise and resignation. Aegon stepped forward, gulping down.

“Lord Stark,” Aegon said gently, “I came as soon as I received your message. I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

For a moment, Cregan remained seated. Then, to Aegon’s surprise, he rose from his chair and crossed the room in a few long strides. Before Aegon could react, Cregan pulled Aegon into a tight hug.

Cregan’s breath hitched, and Aegon realized the Lord of Winterfell was crying, silent sobs shaking his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Aegon,” Cregan managed to say, his voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for coming.”

Aegon was momentarily taken aback; he hesitated before awkwardly placing his arms around Cregan, softly rubbing his back. “No need to thank me.”

The two stood there for a moment, the only sounds in the room being Cregan’s quiet sobs and the crackling of the hearth. Finally, Cregan pulled back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked exhausted.

“I need a drink,” Cregan said, a faint attempt at a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I know you don't partake, but... I could use the company.”

Aegon bit his lip, remembering the promise to himself to never touch wine again. But seeing the pain in Cregan’s eyes… perhaps there were times when rules and vows had to be set aside for the sake of solidarity. “Just this once.” He nodded slowly, a resigned smile on his lips.

Cregan's expression brightened slightly as he reached for a flagon of wine and two cups. He poured the wine, filling the goblets generously. Handing one to Aegon, he raised his own in a silent toast before taking a deep drink. Aegon followed suit, the warmth of the wine spreading through him, easing the cold from the flight further.

They sat down, Cregan in his armchair and Aegon across from him. For a long while, they drank in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Cregan was the one to break that silence.

“Arra... she was so strong. She faced the dangers of childbirth without fear. But in the end...” His voice faltered, and he took another deep drink from his cup. “She sacrificed herself so that I might have an heir. And now... now I’m left with a boy who will never know his mother. It’s not fair. I feel guilty. So guilty.”

Aegon looked at the wine in his cup, swirling the crimson liquid around as he considered his words. He knew what Cregan was going through; he had gone through several lifetime’s worth of sorrow in just his first life. “It's not your fault, Cregan,” he said quietly, feeling the effects of the wine slowly take hold of him. “Arra’s death... it’s a tragedy, but it's not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for something that was beyond your control.”

He took another deep drink, feeling the wine dull his senses even further. “Loss... loss is something we can’t escape,” Aegon continued, his voice softer now, as if speaking to himself as much as to Cregan. “It’s a part of life. We lose people we love, sometimes in the most unfair and cruel ways. It never gets easier... but we learn to live with it. We remember them, we cherish the good moments, and we find a way to keep moving forward. That’s all any of us can do.”

Cregan seemed to absorb his words. Aegon took it as a sign to continue; emptying his cup before speaking. “Grief… it becomes part of you. But you can’t let it define you. You honor the memory of those you’ve lost by living the life they would have wanted for you.”

“You're right.” Cregan nodded slowly, tears threatening to spill over again. “But it’s hard. It’s so damned hard.”

Aegon offered the northerner a smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It is. But you're strong, Cregan. You have your son. He needs you. And you have your people, your house. They need their lord to be strong, even when it’s hard.”

Cregan nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the fire as if he wanted to draw strength from its warmth. He poured more wine for both of them, the dark liquid flowing freely as the day wore on.

They continued drinking, the wine loosening their tongues and easing the weight of their burdens. Aegon could feel the alcohol dulling the sharp edges of his painful memories. Their conversation drifted, touching on lighter topics—old stories, youthful conquests, and hunting escapades. They laughed, the sound of it filling the chamber; Aegon hadn’t felt this at ease in weeks.

Aegon poured another cup of wine, his movements a bit unsteady. “My half-sister Rhaenyra,” he began, his words slurring slightly, “She has bastards, Cregan. Everyone knows it, but no one says a thing. It’s like... some unspoken secret.”

Cregan, his face flushed with the effects of the wine, chuckled. “Bastards? You’re jesting, surely.”

Aegon shook his head vehemently, a crooked smile on his lips. “I wish I were. Their supposed father, Laenor Velaryon, had silver hair and dark skin. But those boys...” He paused, taking a deep drink from his cup, as if the wine could wash away the bitterness in his mouth. “Jace, Luke... the other one…. they have hair as brown as hazelnuts and skin as pale as ghosts. And their noses... like little piglets.”

Cregan burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Really? That’s quite a description. Do you have any proof of this?”

“Proof?” Aegon glared at him, some frustration seeping into his drunken speech. “Look at them! It’s obvious. But no one dares say anything. It’s a farce.”

“If it is that obvious, why does the king not say anything?” Cregan asked, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

“Because she is his favorite.” Aegon’s smile faded slightly, the topic hitting too close to home. “No matter what she does, what rules she breaks… she’s still the heir. Not me. The firstborn son of the king, and yet... I might as well be invisible.”

Cregan’s expression sobered, hearing the hurt in Aegon’s voice “It doesn’t make sense, Aegon. You’re his firstborn, his son. The rightful heir. Why hasn’t he named you?”

Aegon looked away, staring into the depths of his cup. His mind swirled with memories of his father. Of his indifference, the distance that had always seemed to stretch between them. He felt the familiar sting of rejection, the sense that no matter what he did, he would never be enough.

“He... he detests me,” Aegon muttered; he had seldom been this honest, even to himself. “Always has. I’m not the son he wanted.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Cregan said, the tone of his voice soft, almost soothing. “You’re doing great work, Aegon. You’ve made significant strides. You have allies, you’ve managed to strengthen the realm. It’s only a matter of time before your father sees that.”

“You really think so?” Aegon felt a flicker of hope at Cregan’s words. The encouragement was something he hadn’t received often, and it meant more than he cared to admit. “Sometimes I feel like I’m in the middle of a storm, and every decision I make is the wrong one.”

Cregan leaned forward, offering him a smirk. “Believe me, Aegon, it takes time for people to recognize greatness. The stepstones, your progress through the Reach, the strategic moves you’ve made—it’s impressive. Many of the lords that had gathered in Highgarden were impressed with you. They saw what you’ve done and appreciated it. The king will come to his senses eventually.”

“Thank you Cregan.” He leaned back in his chair, letting the words sink in.

“What you said about feeling like you’re in the middle of a storm,” Cregan began, taking another sip from his cup. “I think you’re weathering it very well. Better than most, I’d say. And in the end, it’s not just about surviving the storm. It’s about learning to navigate through it, finding your way even when the skies are dark.”

Aegon’s cheeks were hurting from the perpetual smile he had been wearing. He really hadn’t expected to feel so genuinely connected to Cregan. “Well, here’s to navigating the storm, then,” Aegon said, raising his goblet in a toast. “And to the friends who see us through.”

Cregan raised his cup in response. “To navigating the storm. And to friends.”

The morning sun streamed into the room, bathing his guest chamber in a golden light. Aegon groaned as he sat up, his head pounding from yesterday’s wine. He rubbed his temples and forced himself to stand, determined to push through the hangover. After a quick wash and a strong cup of tea, he felt slightly more human, though the dull ache behind his eyes remained.

He swore to never drink again. This time for sure.

He found Cregan in the hall, looking a bit worn but noticeably more composed than he had been the previous evening. Aegon approached him with a weary smile. “Good morrow, Cregan. How are you feeling?”

“Better than you, it seems.” Cregan chuckled, sounding far too chipper for someone who had drunk as much as Aegon remembered. “Starks have strong constitutions. It’s a survival trait up here.”

Aegon winced, nodding in reluctant agreement. “I believe it. Listen, I’ve been thinking... Can we visit the Wall today? I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“The Wall?” Cregan’s eyes widened slightly. “It’s a week’s horse ride from here, Aegon. And I don’t know if you’re aware, but it’s quite the journey.”

Aegon smirked. “Who said anything about riding on horses?”

“You mean... dragonback?” Cregan’s eyes widened as the realization dawned on him. He looked positively shocked; it made Aegon laugh. “Aegon, I don’t know about that. I’ve never ridden a dragon before. Besides, isn’t it... dangerous?”

Aegon chuckled, clapping Cregan on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun! Trust me, there’s nothing like it. Besides, you’ll be in safe hands.” He winked, trying to coax a smile from the gruff northerner.

“You really think it’s safe?”

Aegon nodded, his smile widening. “Of course. Sunfyre’s as gentle as they come—mostly. Just hold on tight, and you’ll be fine.”

With some more persuasion, Cregan finally agreed. They made their way outside, where Sunfyre awaited them, nestled by Winterfell’s wall. The dragon’s eyes followed their approach, intelligent and curious.

“Alright, so how do we...?" Cregan began, looking up at the daunting height of Sunfyre.

“Just follow my lead,” Aegon said, as he scaled Sunfyre’s side easily, extending a hand to help Cregan up. The lord of Winterfell was visibly nervous, his face terribly pale.

Aegon couldn’t help but tease him a little. “You look like you’re about to face an executioner, Cregan. It’s just a ride, not a death sentence!”

“I’m not used to flying on creatures, Aegon.” Cregan gave him a tight-lipped smile, clearly not entirely comforted. “Horses are more my speed.”

"Well, think of Sunfyre as a very big, very friendly horse," Aegon said, grinning as he settled into the saddle. “Now, just hold on to me, and whatever you do, don’t look down.”

Cregan hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around Aegon’s waist. “You better be right about this,” he muttered.

Aegon felt a thrill of excitement; mirroring Sunfyre’s own mood. “Hold on tight!” he shouted, giving the command to rise into the sky to Sunfyre. The dragon let out a low rumble, spreading his wings wide. With a powerful thrust, they were airborne, the ground falling away rapidly beneath them.

Cregan let out a startled yelp, gripping Aegon tightly. Aegon laughed, the sound lost in the rush of wind. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?” he called over his shoulder.

Cregan’s response was an incoherent mix of noises, somewhere between a shout and a laugh. Soon, Winterfell became a mere dot below them, the vast expanse of the North spreading out. Aegon could already see the giant form of the wall looming in the distance.

Sunfyre landed softly on top of the Wall, his massive talons scraping against the ice. The Night's Watch men who had been stationed at the top of the Wall greeted them with a mix of surprise and curiosity in their expressions. Their cloaks whipped in the cold wind, as they continued their rounds after greeting the visitors.

Aegon felt an unexpected wave of unease wash over him as he stepped onto the icy surface. It was a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced, a strange, unsettling feeling that seemed to pulse through the very air.

The Wall felt... different, almost alive with some ancient energy that made his skin prickle.

Sunfyre shifted uneasily next to him, his normally calm demeanor replaced by an unusual restlessness. The dragon’s head swiveled, nostrils flaring as if trying to scent something unseen. Aegon placed a reassuring hand on Sunfyre’s snout; his dragon’s strange behavior only added to Aegon’s growing sense of unease.

Cregan, seemed to notice his discomfort, looking at him with concern. “Are you alright, Aegon?”

Aegon nodded, though he felt far from alright. “Yes,” he said, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling. “Just... feeling a bit strange.”

Cregan frowned, glancing around as if searching for an explanation. “The Wall has always been said to have a power of its own. Old magic, they say. Perhaps you’re feeling the remnants of that.”

Aegon’s eyes were drawn to the vast, uncharted lands beyond the wall. The landscape stretched out endlessly; a desolate wilderness, a harsh and uninviting realm. The wind howled like a lament, sounding almost like mournful whisper. A shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the cold.

There was something out there, something he couldn’t quite name or understand. It was a presence, a sense of being watched, of standing on the edge of an abyss, looking into a great unknown. He felt a primal fear that whispered of danger and mysteries long forgotten. There are some things in the world that are so ancient, even the trees had forgotten them.

His thoughts were interrupted by Cregan’s voice, cutting through the eerie silence. “We should descent to Castle Black. The cold up here is enough to freeze a man’s bones, and you don’t look like you’re enjoying the view."

Aegon nodded absently, still caught in the strange feeling that pervaded the air. “Yes, let’s go inside,” he agreed, forcing his gaze away from the lands beyond; from that otherness.

They mounted Sunfyre again and descended, landing in the courtyard of Castle Black. The stronghold could not really be called a castle, Aegon thought. It was more of a loosely connected system of little keeps and towers.

Cregan led the way into the common hall, his heavy fur cloak trailing behind him. The hall was large and dark, with high ceilings supported by wooden beams and walls lined with the weapons and banners, with a large hearth roaring in the center. Aegon noticed the rough, utilitarian nature of the it all—it was built to endure, not to impress.

Cregan led them to a table near the fire; the men seated there eyed Aegon with suspicion, no doubt unsettled by the presence of a dragon and a prince so far from his usual haunts. A boy, no older than Daeron immediately walked over, carrying a tray with two goblets of wine. Aegon eyed the dark liquid, remembering his promise.

“If you have any warm tea, I’d prefer that,” he said, offering the boy a little smile. He wondered how old you had to be to go to the wall.

Cregan looked at him with an approving nod and signaled for the boy to fetch some tea. As they waited, he turned to Aegon. “You know,” he said, “when my father died I was too young to rule.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “My uncle Bennard took over as regent, ostensibly to guide me. But in truth, he sought to control Winterfell for himself.”

Aegon leaned forward, intrigued. He had heard whispers of Cregan's troubled youth but had never known the full extent of it. “He used your youth and inexperience against you,” Aegon said, more a statement than a question.

Cregan nodded, a bitter smile on his lips. “I had to seize my own destiny. I fought for what was rightfully mine, and I didn’t let anyone, not even my own family, dictate my future. I had to become a leader, not just by name but by action.”

Aegon absorbed these words, feeling their weight. Cregan had faced his challenges head-on, taking decisive action to secure his place. A reminder that sometimes, one had to take what was theirs rather than wait for it to be given. The lesson was clear: destiny favored the bold.

Cregan continued, his tone turning somewhat reflective. “Aegon, you have a greater destiny than I did. The Iron Throne is a prize many would kill for, and the crown is not something to be bestowed lightly. If you want it, you must be willing to take it, to fight for it, and to prove that you are the one to wear it. And I believe that you can do that.”

Aegon felt a flush rise to his cheeks at the sincerity in Cregan’s words. They touched a part of him that he so often kept guarded and weary. The longing for recognition and affection had always been a deep-seated part of him; to earn a type of love that seemed to come so easily to others… a need that had never quite been fulfilled in his previous life.

Maybe it was the honesty of the North that made him feel that way, the straightforwardness that Cregan represented.

“I appreciate that, Cregan,” Aegon said, his voice soft but earnest. “Your words have given me much to think about.”

The boy returned with the tea and Cregan poured it into two cups with a steady hand. Cregan leaned back in his chair, his eyes steady and thoughtful. “It’s clear to me that you’re a leader,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence, “the king would be a fool not to name you his heir.”

Aegon’s heart skipped a beat at the unexpected praise. He had spent so many years in his first life grappling with the uncertainty and paranoia that came from being sidelined, from watching others control his destiny. Cregan Stark had been one of Rhaenyra’s most fervent supporters, and his army had been a source of constant anxiety and fear for Aegon. The thought of Cregan aligning himself with Rhaenyra’s cause had always been a looming threat.

Now, in this life, Cregan’s words felt like a lifeline. Aegon found himself yearning to believe that this time could be different, that he could indeed count Cregan as an ally. The idea seemed almost too good to be true, but Cregan’s sincerity made it hard to dismiss.

Chapter Text

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a rosy glow over the capital. Aegon was sat at a table on a balcony; it was laden with an array of food and drink, with the centerpiece being a half-eaten cake adorned with colorful icing and sugar flowers. Today was Maelor’s first nameday, and the celebration was slowly winding down.

Helaena, who was sitting next to him, Maelor nestled in her lap. The little boy, barely understanding the significance of his day, gurgled happily, his chubby fingers reaching out for a bit of cake frosting.

The twins were singing a sweet, albeit slightly off-key, song for their baby brother. Daeron, seated beside Helaena, was trying to coax Maelor into reaching for a toy with a wide grin. While his grandsire was watching the twin’s performance with a uncharacteristic smile on his lips.

His mother was rather quiet; her expression one of slight worry as she helped his father, the king, eat. Most of the king’s face was covered by a golden mask; hiding the worst of the rot that was eating him alive. He seemed to be in pain, but tried to hide it as well as he could.

Aegon looked around at his gathered family. It had already been a year since he’d been reborn into this younger body now. A year of maneuvering, of preparing for the future, and of watching the ever-looming shadow of his father’s demise grow larger. His thoughts often wandered to what lay ahead—his father’s death was no longer a distant uncertainty, but an approaching reality.

And still, he had not been named as his heir. It was a fact that was becoming increasingly worrisome for Aegon—he had done much to prepare, setting alliances and strategies in place. He was getting ready for the civil war that may come would his father not name him.

Everything would be much easier if he would finally do it.

As he sipped from his tea, deep in thought, Aegon’s gaze wandered to the empty chair at the table. Aemond’s absence was more than just a bit glaring.

One year had passed. One whole, long year, and yet, Aegon thought he could count the times he had interacted with Aemond on his two hands. Every and each attempt of his to bridge the gap between them had been met with resistance. Aemond seemed determined to avoid any meaningful conversation.

Aegon’s eyes remained on the empty chair, his fingers tracing the rim of his teacup absentmindedly. He knew that without Aemond’s loyalty, any plans for the future would be precarious at best.

Aemond, blinded by his own rage and ambition, had nearly ended him over Rook’s Rest. The searing pain from the dragonflame, the smell of burning flesh, the sight of his own mortality so close—it still made his heart pound painfully. But Aemond’s actions had gone beyond mere physical harm—they had symbolized a deep betrayal, an unresolved conflict between brothers that had lingered like a shadow over them for too many years.

It had gotten even worse after Rook’s Rest; his younger brother had destroyed everything they had fought for. His obsession with chasing Daemon had left King’s Landing vulnerable; leaving it ripe for the taking. It had been a mistake, one that Aegon could not afford to repeat. Aemond’s was the strongest sword he had, and yet, it seemed poised against him rather than at his side.

A sudden yelp of pain broke through the air, jolting everyone at the table. King Viserys, frail and weary, clutched his side. Two servants rushed forward, checking on him as Alicent stood quickly, her face pale with concern.

“The King will make his goodbyes now,” she announced, her voice steady but strained. There was a ripple of concern around the table as everyone rose to their feet. Aegon’s father, struggling against the pain, managed to lift his head and offer a weak smile to those gathered.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave,” Viserys cuckled; it was a strained sound, only a thin whisper of what it once was. “But I thank you all for being here for young Maelor.”

The servants carefully lifted the chair he was sat on, carrying him out, Alicent after them. Aegon watched them go, hesitating for a moment before deciding to follow. He gave his all his kids a quick peck on the head before hurrying after his parents.

He fell into step beside his mother, who gave him a wary side-glance; she hadn’t expected him. “Oh Aegon,” she began, trying to hide the slight worry in her voice. “Were you pleased by the celebrations?”

Aegon forced a smile. “It was a wonderful day, Mother. I can’t believe how quickly time passes.”

“Indeed, it does.” She looked around the corridor as they made their way towards his father’s chambers. “Maelor’s first nameday feels like it came around in the blink of an eye.”

“It’s amazing to see how much he’s grown in just a year. He’s already so curious about everything.”

Their conversations quickly ceased as they reached the king’s chambers. Aegon hung back as his mother, ever the dutiful wife, directed the servants to prepare Viserys for bed. They carefully undressed the frail king, replacing his clothes with a loose nightshirt. Each movement elicited a small gasp or groan from Viserys, and Aegon found it difficult to watch.

Once his father was finally settled, the servants made their respectful bows and exited the room, leaving Aegon and Alicent alone with the king. Aegon approached the bed slowly. It was then that he made the decision to make an attempt; to ask him about the succession outright.

He had done so much, hadn’t he? He had been the dutiful son his father always wanted him to be. He had built alliances, made pacts, fought for the realm. That must be enough, right?

“Father,” Aegon said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

His father’s eyes, dim and weary, turned towards him. “I am just tired, Aegon,” he said, trying to muster up a smile. “Nothing to fret about.”

He’d been preparing for this moment, rehearsing his words in his mind, but now that he was actually here, everything seemed more daunting. He glanced at his mother, who stood quietly by the bed, her face a mask of calm concern.

“I’ve been thinking about the future… and the stability of the realm,” Aegon began cautiously. “I believe it might be time to consider the matter of succession.”

Viserys’ brow furrowed slightly, his gaze sharpening. “The matter of succession has already been settled,” he replied, his voice thin but firm. “Rhaenyra is my heir, as I have decreed years ago.”

Aegon felt a stab of frustration, but he forced himself to stay calm. “I am aware, Father. But I believe I’ve shown you that I am more than prepared and eager to become your heir. Especially since there are... questions about Rhaenyra’s sons. Questions about their legitimacy.”

His father’s eyes narrowed, his voice taking on a sharp edge. “How dare you question your sister’s honor? Rhaenyra’s children are trueborn, and I will not hear another word against them.”

Aegon's heart raced, panic setting in. He hadn’t meant to anger his father, but he couldn’t back down now. “Father, the realm whispers. They say her sons are not fathered by Ser Laenor. This could lead to instability, even war. I’m just trying—”

“You speak out of turn, boy!” Viserys’ face flushed with anger, his hand trembling as he pointed at Aegon. “Rhaenyra is my chosen heir, and her sons are legitimate! Your audacity is beyond belief!”

Oh no. He had pushed too far.

His father began to cough violently, the effort causing him visible pain. Alicent rushed to his side, her face pale with worry.

“Father, I’m sorry, I—” Aegon started, but his mother cut him off.

“Aegon, you need to leave,” she said, her voice tight with urgency. “You mustn’t upset him further”

He felt a crushing sense of failure; a feeling he was all too accustomed with. He had come here with the hope of securing his place as heir, but he had only succeeded in angering him. With a heavy heart, Aegon rose from the bed, casting one last glance at his father, who was now clutching his side in pain, before leaving the opulent chamber.

The corridors outside seemed colder and more oppressive, the laughter and warmth of Maelor’s nameday celebration already a distant memory. How couldn’t his father see? That all of their lives were in danger?

Daemon would never let any of Rhaenyra’s brothers live. They were threats to her shaky reign, it was obvious. Why couldn’t the king see it?

Was war truly inevitable?

Lost in his thoughts, Aegon barely noticed Ser Erryk approaching him. “My prince, there are visitors waiting for you in the courtyard. They say it’s urgent.”

Aegon blinked, momentarily disoriented. He nodded slowly, trying to push aside the thoughts. “Of course. Thank you, Ser Erryk.”

“Martyn!” Aegon called out, hugging the red-haired man in front of him tightly. The Red Keep’s courtyard, usually a place for knights to spar, was filled with the sound of laughter. It had been far too long since he’d seen them all together—companions from his youth, who had shared so many memories with him. The happiness from seeing them nearly made him forget the disappointment.

Martyn Reyne, with his unruly reddish hair and mischievous grin, was the first to break the embrace. “Aegon! It’s been too long, my prince.” He had always been the instigator of their wildest escapades, and Aegon couldn’t help but feel a nostalgic at seeing him again.

Next was Leon Estermont, his dark hair framing a face that was perpetually cheerful, even if a bit simple. Leon clapped Aegon on the shoulder, his grip firm and friendly. “Still the prince, I see. Heard you’ve been keeping things interesting in King’s Landing.”

“Trying to, at least,” Aegon said with a smirk, turning to the third man. “Ned, it’s good to see you. You’re looking well.”

Eddard “Ned” Waters was the one to hug Aegon now. With the dark skin and eyes to match, he stood out among them, both in appearance and demeanor. Ned, the most dutiful and serious of the group, was a bastard of House Massey, sired by Lord Maldon Massey with a merchant from the Summer Isles. Despite his seriousness, he had always come along on their adventures. “Aegon, it’s been far too long. It’s good to see you well.”

The group gathered, sharing tales of their latest accomplishments; Leon boasted about his victory during a tourney at Strom’s End, while Ned talked about his how he wanted to start a business by importing Arbor Gold to the Summer Isles.

Martyn, never one to miss an opportunity for jest, grinned. “I’ve brought along my new squire, lads. Can you believe he’s never bedded a woman? Thought we might rectify that.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, Martyn,” Aegon chuckled, shaking his head. “But as for me, I’ve left pleasure houses behind.”

Martyn raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “Oh, come now, Aegon. A little fun never hurt anyone. Remember the good old days?”

Leon, grinning, chimed in. “We could make a night of it. A little wine, a few laughs, maybe teach this young squire a thing or two about life.”

Aegon hesitated, his mind flashing back to the memories he made with his three friends. The nights spent in the dimly lit pleasure houses of King’s Landing, the laughter and the whispered secrets. But those days felt like a lifetime ago, a different person in a different life. He had responsibilities now, a sense of purpose that went beyond the pleasures of the flesh.

And yet, a part of him longed for it. To lose himself in the haze of wine and ale, to lose himself in another person. He thought back of his visit in the north a few moons ago; he had gotten weak then, had accepted Cregan’s wine. He had hated himself for it a bit, hated his weakness. But it had felt good.

He just wanted to feel good.

“Ned, what do you think?” Aegon turned to the quietest member of their group, hoping for some backup.

“You don’t have to partake, Aegon.” Ned, ever the voice of reason, smiled gently. “It can still be a fun night, just like old times.”

To reconnect with those simpler times, even if just for a night. He glanced around at their faces. They were his friends, his brothers in all but blood; their deaths had been painful losses for him in his first life.

“Alright,” Aegon said with a resigned chuckle. “I suppose one night won’t hurt.”

The group erupted in cheers, Martyn clapped Aegon on the back. “That’s the spirit! It’ll be like old times, I promise.”

With the decision made, they set off. First on their agenda was to collect Martyn’s squire, Theo, a lanky boy with sandy hair and wide eyes. He looked nervous, clutching the reins of his horse as they approached. Martyn introduced him with a grin. “Lads, this is Theo. Fresh off the farm and ready for his first taste of the big city.”

Their next stop was a lively tavern. Aegon took the lead, eager to forget it all. He threw the door open and made an announcement to the room, “Drinks for everyone! At the pleasure of the crown!”

The patrons cheered, raising their mugs in salute. The group found a table near the back, and Aegon ordered rounds for everyone. Theo sat between Martyn and Leon, still looking a bit overwhelmed. Martyn wasted no time in teasing the boy, leaning over to whisper something that made Theo turn even redder.

Aegon, trying to put the young squire at ease, leaned over to Theo with a grin. “So, Theo, ever been to a place like this before?”

Theo shook his head, his eyes darting around the room. “No, my prince. It’s... quite different from the village.”

Soon enough, tankards of ale and goblets of strongwine were placed before them. Aegon felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease as he took his first sip, washing away his sorrow. The temptation to forget his troubles was too strong to resist.

As the night wore on and the wine flowed, the conversation grew louder and more raucous. Soon, the matter of which pleasure house they should go to came up.

“Remember that place, lads?” Leon said, his voice slurring slightly as he raised his mug. “The one with that snake woman? I thought I was going to die!”

“Gods, I remember!” Ned had to pause for a moment, breathless from all the laughter. “It’s called the Menagerie. Though I think it’s a bit too extreme for Theo’s first time.”

Aegon was deep into his cups, the strongwine and ale having worked their way through his system, dulling his senses and loosening his tongue. The laughter and banter around him became a comforting blur. He clutched his mug tightly, feeling the weight of the drink in his hand, a desperate need to forget gnawing at him.

In a sudden burst of misguided enthusiasm, Aegon slammed his palm on the table, causing the tankards to clink and spill. “I know just the spot!” he announced loudly, his words slurred. “The Red Dragon! That’s where I went for my first time.”

The men erupted in cheers, standing up to leave the tavern. Theo, looking even more nervous but eager to fit in, tried to follow along as Aegon led the way. His arm was slung around the squire’s shoulders, a gesture meant to be reassuring but that only made him wobble a bit.

“Come on, Theo, let’s show you a real taste of King’s Landing,” Aegon said, dragging him towards the Street of Silk.

The Red Dragon was easy to spot; its crimson door was open wide; inviting them in and promising pleasures and escapes.

The brothel was dimly lit as the group stepped into it. Aegon pushed forward, past velvet curtains, revealing scenes of indulgence—couples entwined on plush couches, groups of men and women. But there was no sign of the woman he was looking for.

“There’s a woman here,” he muttered to Theo, who looked around wide-eyed and overwhelmed. “Selyse... or was it Selsie? She’ll show you the ropes.”

He moved through the brothel with a purpose, though his steps were unsteady. Pushing aside curtain after curtain, he revealed scenes of pleasure and debauchery. Each time he pulled back the fabric, he was met with the sight of intertwined bodies, but not the woman he was looking for.

His frustration grew, and with it, a desperate need to drown out the painful thoughts that clawed at the edges of his mind. The failures, the unspoken words, the looming shadows of his past life—they all pressed down on him. He pulled open one curtain after another, revealing scenes of debauchery and pleasure, but not the face he sought.

Finally, he yanked back another curtain and froze. There, sprawled on a plush divan, was Aemond. His oh so loyal brother, missing from Maelor’s nameday celebration, lay naked and entangled with the very whore Aegon had been searching for.

The scene was almost too absurd to believe; hadn’t this exact scenario happened before, in his first life? Hadn’t Aemond laid with this whore when Aegon and Helaena were mourning Jaehaerys?

Aegon felt a laugh bubbling up inside him, a bitter, pained sound that erupted from his throat before he could stop it. “Well, isn't this just perfect!” he exclaimed. “Here you are, brother, just as diligent as ever!”

Aemond jolted at the sound, turning his head sharply to see Aegon standing there, grinning like a madman. The whore, startled, tried to cover herself, but Aemond’s gaze was fixed on his brother. A mix of surprise and irritation flashed across his face for just a moment; quickly masked by his usual stoic expression.

Aegon’s laughter continued, harsh and mocking. “Missing your nephew’s nameday for this?” he taunted; he knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but the words spilled out before he could control them. “Is this some sick habit of yours? To fuck your first whore when I am at my lowest?”

Aemond’s face darkened, the calm mask slipping to reveal a flicker of genuine anger. He pushed the whore aside, rising to his feet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Aegon,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re always so quick to judge, aren’t you? Always the victim.”

Aegon’s laughter only grew, a bitter, hollow sound that echoed in the small room. He felt the irony of it all crashing over him, the absurdity of standing here, taunting his brother over sins not yet committed. This Aemond hadn’t killed Rhaenyra’s bastard at Storm’s End, hadn’t yet been the reason men were sent into the Red Keep to kill Jaehaerys, hadn’t burned him nearly to death at Rook’s Rest in a mad quest for a crown Aegon had never wanted.

But the memories, the pain, the betrayal—they felt as real and fresh as if they had happened yesterday. Aegon’s fists clenched, his vision blurred with wine and rage. “You think you know me?” he spat, stepping closer. “You think you know anything about what I’ve lost, what I’ve suffered?”

“What you’ve lost?” Aemond retorted, his voice rising. "You’ve never taken anything seriously, Aegon! You haven’t lost anything!”

The words hit like a blow; Aegon was beyond reason now. With a roar, he lunged at Aemond, fists swinging. The move was wild and uncoordinated, but it caught Aemond by surprise, sending them both crashing into the divan.

The woman shrieked, scrambling out of the way as the brothers fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Aegon swung again, a clumsy, drunken punch that Aemond easily deflected. They grappled, rolling across the floor in an undignified struggle, furniture toppling over as they thrashed about. Aemond, despite being bare, fought with a cold, calculated fury, his movements sharper than Aegon’s.

“You always were a selfish fool,” Aemond hissed, shoving Aegon away.

Aegon, breathing heavily, scrambled to his feet, his face flushed, the room spinning around him. “And you?” he shot back, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re a coward, hiding behind your own righteousness, blaming everyone else for your mistakes.”

Aemond’s eye flashed with fury. “You’re weak, Aegon,” he sneered. “Always were. Always will be. That’s why father will never name you his heir. Because he knows you can’t handle it.”

The words cut deep, deeper than Aemond could have known. Aegon’s face twisted in pain, the old wounds reopening, bleeding fresh. He launched himself at Aemond again, fists flying. “Shut up!” His voice cracked as he yelled, tears beginning to blur his vision. “You know nothing! You weren’t there, you didn’t see—”

Aemond caught Aegon’s wrist, twisting it painfully, forcing Aegon to his knees. “You’re pathetic, brother,” he hissed. “A drunk, a failure. Always wallowing in self-pity, never facing the truth.”

With one swift movement, Aemond kicked Aegon in the face, sending him sprawling backwards. Aegon’s vision exploded in stars as he tasted blood, the coppery tang filling his mouth. He lay there, stunned and disoriented, as Aemond stood over him, just coldly watching.

Aemond didn’t spare him another glance as he grabbed a robe from the nearby chair, hastily wrapping it around himself. He pushed past Aegon’s stunned group of friends standing by the entrance, their eyes wide with disbelief. Martyn and Leon exchanged uneasy glances, while Eddard, always the more compassionate of the group, rushed forward to help Aegon.

He felt Ned’s hands on his shoulders, gently helping him to sit up. The world tilted alarmingly, and Aegon’s stomach churned. He barely managed to turn his head before vomiting onto the floor, the acrid taste of bile mixing with the blood in his mouth. The room smelled of sweat, alcohol, and shame.

As Aegon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a bitter laugh escaping him. He looked at the mess before him; he had come here to forget, to drown his sorrows, but instead, he had only made things worse. The fight with Aemond, the cruel words they exchanged—it all felt like a twisted echo of his past life, a cycle he couldn’t escape.

Ned crouched beside him, the concern practically etched on his face. “Are you alright, Aegon?”

Aegon looked at his friend, his vision still swimming, and forced a bitter smile. “No,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “No, I’m not.”

He struggled to stand, his legs shaky, the room still spinning. His friends moved to support him. Aegon leaned heavily on Ned, as they made their way out of the brothel.

The cool night air hit him, sobering him slightly. He looked up at the dark sky, the stars a distant blur. He had made everything with Aemond so much worse, hadn’t he? The fragile thread of their brotherhood, already strained, had snapped tonight.

“Come on,” Martyn said, trying to lighten the mood as they made their way down the Street of Silk. “We’ll get you home to get cleaned up, and then we’ll figure out what’s next.”

Aegon nodded weakly, staggering along with his friends, Aegon couldn’t shake the feeling of despair that clung to him like a second skin. He truly was trapped; maybe he really was unable to change the future.