Chapter Text
Aegon was woken by a not so gentle nudge to his ribs, and he jerked upwards as his eyes flew open, anger and fear warring; anger that anyone would wake him, the king, so roughly; and fear because that’s how his grandfather oft did so when he was younger.
But it wasn’t his grandsire looming over him, an angry, disgusted expression on his face. No, it was a solidly built man with short, pale hair and a fierce scowl on his face.
“Get up, namesake,” he spat crossly, thick arms crossed over his broad chest.
Aegon scrambled to his feet, utterly baffled. Not only because of the unfamiliar man calling him namesake, but because his body did not ache as it usually did, from the burns he had recieved and wounds taken throughout the war.
He looked down at himself, gaping at the burn free flesh he saw, the young, hale body he had not seen in years. He clenched his hands and marvelled over the smooth, ache-free joints and flesh.
How...? He did not know where he was, or how he had ended up in the throne room. Last he remembered, he had been in his litter on the way to the Sept...
“You’re dead,” the man said bluntly, and Aegon’s head snapped up.
“What?” he demanded, aghast and confused.
“You were poisoned,” the man continued blithely. “Likely by Larys Strong. He always was a snake.”
Aegon gaped at the man, thoughts whirring through his mind. He’d been poisoned by Larys Strong? One of his mother’s closest advisors and supporters?
The man stared at him, cross and unimpressed. Aegon straightened. “Who are you?”
“Aegon Targaryen,” the man said simply, brow raised.
“Aegon the Conqueror?” Aegon queried, voice high pitched with disbelief.
“Yes,” his ancestor said, nodding. “I asked to be the one to greet you, so I might do this.” Aegon yelped as Aegon smacked him upside the head roughly, a deep sneer on his stern face. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you, boy?”
Aegon backed up. “What’s wrong with me? What did I ever do to you?!”
“Let your foul Hightower mother and grandfather fill your head with lies and manipulate you into destroying House Targaryen, for one,” the Conqueror snarled, furious.
Aegon blanched. “I was trying to save our house from being destroyed by my sister! She’d have let the Rogue Prince become Maegor, or worse, and would have killed me, my siblings and my children!”
Aegon the Conqueror scoffed derisively. “You idiot. Rhaenyra would never have allowed Daemon to run roughshod over her or the realm, if he had been so inclined! Nor would she have harmed you or your siblings and her nieces or nephews.”
Aegon gaped at the man, rational thought warring with a voice in his head that sounded terrifyingly like his mother’s. “Daemon had my son slaughtered, and he killed Aemond!”
“Because Aemond killed Lucerys,” Aegon remarked bluntly. “And, if you haven’t forgotten, the betrayals of Alicent and loss of her son and father led Rhaenyra to losing her daughter.”
Aegon flinched. He remembered hearing word of Luke and Visenya’s deaths. It had made him almost regret letting Cole crown him, but then his grandfather had muttered something about it being war, and mother...
“Now you begin to see,” Aegon said, gentler this time. “You spent your life allowing your mother and grandfather poison you against your Targaryen kin, allowed them to keep you from getting to know Rhaenyra and your cousins and Uncles beyond face value...you let their poisonous lies turn you paranoid.”
“Rhaenyra,” Aegon began haltingly, voice tumultuous. “She wouldn’t have killed any of us?”
“No,” Aegon said sternly, coldly. “She always wished to know you, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron better but was blocked by Alicent and Otto at every turn, kept from you as children. She oft lamented her inability to bond with you all.”
Aegon felt as though he had been slapped across the face and punched in the gut. “I killed her,” he said, bile rising in his throat. “I forced Aegon to watch, gods...”
“Wondering why you did that, aren’t you?” Aegon asked gruffly, pale brow raised.
“I – cursed is the kinslayer,” he whispered, face pale.
“Aye,” Aegon muttered, nodding. “You’ve been twisted and manipulated your whole life, boy, but those with ambitions and schemes larger than their brains. Though, they did win in the end. House Targaryen will end up Usurped by a Baratheon lord in the future.”
Aegon stared at his namesake, horrified. “How? With dragons –”
Aegon snorted. “Your successor, Aegon the Younger, will happily let the dragons die out, hateful of the creatures because of how you killed his mother. Of how Joffrey died.”
“What have I done?” Aegon lamented, burying his face in his hands.
“Nothing the gods won’t allow you to fix,” Aegon announced, smirking, and he looked at his ancestor in stunned disbelief. “It’s why I’m here, Aegon. To inform you of what you must do differently to ensure Rhaenyra ends up Queen and the House of the Dragon not only survives, but thrives.”
“What will I be able to do?” Aegon demanded, bewildered.
“You’re to be sent back into your two year old body, on your nameday hunt, with your memories of the future in your head,” Aegon explained seriously, and Aegon II listened intently. “As a babe, you won’t be able to do much, but you can start by getting closer to Rhaenyra.”
Aegon nodded, imagining his two year old self toddling up to her and demanding to be held, a small smile on his face. How many times had he, himself, wished to be closer to his half sister? To break down the walls he thought she had put between them? To beg her to spare him and his siblings and practically throw her the Iron Throne?
But, against his will, he was poisoned against her. He’d never wanted the crown, but hearing Eustace and Cole and Mother state that Rhaenyra would kill him, his siblings, and children had terrified him into complacency.
“She will be receptive of my attempts to bond with her?” Aegon asked the Conqueror.
The man nodded. “Rhaenyra has been an only child for some time, and has always yearned for siblings. When she lost her mother and Baelon, she gave up all hope of ever knowing what it feels like to have a brother or sister. Your mothers betrayal of marrying Viserys made Rhaenyra angry, but she never blamed you or your siblings.”
Aegon smiled faintly, angry and pained by what he had missed out on. But now he had a chance to have it; to ensure his mother and father wouldn’t ruin the possibility of he and his siblings having a relationship with Rhaenyra and her future children.
Aegon met his namesake’s gaze and nodded. “I’m prepared to do what it takes to ensure House Targaryen survives.”
Aegon’s grim expression brightened into one of pride and triumph. “Good lad,” he said, clapping a huge hand on Aegon’s shoulder. “There will be events you cannot change as a babe, but you must do all you can to unite your Targaryen kin once more. I have every faith you will succeed, Aegon.”
Aegon stifled the urge to blubber like a babe. No one had ever expressed such pride and faith in him before, and it was made even more special that it was Aegon the Conqueror to express it.
Aegon met his eyes and brought to fingers to his forehead. “Good luck, namesake. You’ll need it.”
And with that, Aegon collapsed into unconsciousness.
***
He woke in the arms of a servant, eyes blinking furiously as his mind was inundated with memories of his past life. It took some time for him to get his bearings, but once he did Aegon wanted to screech in triumph; it had worked, and he was once again a babe of two years.
Then, he grimaced. His nursemaid smelt of cheese, and he remembered that his mother rarely had much to do with he or his siblings when they were small; she’d always palmed them off to handmaidens or nursemaids like the noble woman she was, letting others raise her children.
Helaena had never done that. She’d always been a good, attentive mother despite her being somewhat airheaded. After Jaehaerys...well, they’d both ended up terrible parents and people after their son was killed.
This time around, though, he wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t sink into his cups to drown his emotions and pain of having an emotionally, and occasionally physically, abusive mother and grandsire. He would be stronger this time around, facing his troubles head on.
He was escorted to the feast by his nursemaid, her nattering on in a baby voice about the feast to be held in his honour, then the hunt. He stifled the urge to tell the woman to shut up, knowing that as a two year old he could barely string two comprehensible words together let alone an irritated rant.
Aegon was handed to his father – healthy, whole, and happy – and praised to the heavens. His mother, heavily pregnant, plastered a stiff smile on her face as she rubbed her belly, eyes glassy and vacant. She, too, was a victim of her own father. Aegon knew that; but it did not excuse her actions later in life.
He hoped he could save her, but he knew not to be an idiot about it. Perhaps it was already too late for his mother; she had spent eighteen years being under Otto’s thumb, and he remembered her being all too happy to dance to grandfathers tune before.
When Rhaenyra was mentioned, Aegon began to fuss and put on the act of his life, reaching for his mother and crying; she took him reluctantly with her, and he internally cheered when they excited the feast and into the godswood, where Rhaenyra sat reading in her riding leathers as a bard played.
Aegon squirmed in his mother’s arms, gut dropping as she nearly dropped him, but internally cheered when he was put on the ground safely. He turned and, with determination, stumbled over the weirwood roots to Rhaenyra.
She looked at him, eyes wide, as he smiled toothily at her. “Ny’wa,” he said, purposely butchering her name as any normal two year old would.
“Hello, Aegon,” she said hesitantly, discarding her book in favour of picking him up.
He glanced at his mother, noting that she had paled some as she watched them like a hawk, then turned his attention back to Rhaenyra, putting his admittedly chubby hands on her cheeks and squeezing, acting the adorably, brainless babe.
Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes shone with amusement and pain. “Happy nameday, little brother,” she murmured, and he beamed at her, giggling.
“Tank you,” he garbled, patting her cheeks as gently as possible.
Rhaenyra’s smile widened some, and she held him firmly as she stood, glancing at Alicent, whose entire body at tensed. Honestly, did his mother think that his sister would dash his head against the weirwood and cackle madly all the while?
What in the gods name had Otto said to his mother to make her so wary of her former best friend?
“I can take him,” Mother said hurriedly, reaching for him.
Aegon made a show of fussing and clinging to Rhaenyra, hugging her about the neck. They gave up trying to separate them, sharing tense, false smiles as they went to the feast.
Father was overjoyed to see Rhaenyra and Aegon together, beaming like the proud father he was. Otto, however, looked ready to snatch Aegon from Rhaenyra’s arms and flee.
“My heir and my son,” Viserys greeted warmly, kissing their cheeks.
Rhaenyra’s smile was genuine, though small, and Aegon leaned his head on her shoulder. “Heir, heir, heir,” he mumbled, patting Rhaenyra’s cheek.
Viserys chuckled, chucking Aegon under the chin. Even Rhaenyra looked amused, though slightly surprised. “You love your big sister, don’t you, my son?”
“Yeth,” Aegon lisped, nodding. “Love sissy.”
Aegon could practically feel Rhaenyra melt, and he internally cheered even as he saw Otto and Hobart's shared, troubled look.
Mother, though, had slowly relaxed and had a small, unsure smile on her face.
***
Despite what many may assume, Rhaenyra didn’t hate her brother. Aegon was innocent of Alicent and their fathers betrayal, and he was quite cute. She had wanted to hate him, to remain distant and unaffected, but seeing him crawl to her in the godswood and butcher her name so cutely, then cling to her and fuss whenever someone tried to separate them, well.
Rhaenyra didn’t mind. She held him on her lap throughout the journey through the Kingswood, entertaining him with a wooden dragon carved for him as their carriage rattled over bumps in the road.
“You’ll have a son, sooner or late,” Viserys said, smiling proudly at them.
Rhaenyra met her fathers eyes, and seeing the love and affection in them softened her slightly. It seems Aegon had set a precedent of softening her to all the men in her family today.
“Yes,” she said quietly, brushing her fingers through Aegon’s fine, pale hair. He turned and beamed at her and she smiled back. “He’s quite calm, for a babe.”
“Oh, he does fuss,” Alicent piped up, rubbing her huge belly. “Today he’s been quite good, though.”
Rhaenyra looked at her former friend, heart lurching painfully. “Should you be travelling like this?”
Alicent looked surprised at her concern, and Rhaenyra stifled the guilt that niggled at her. It hadn’t been her who ruined their friendship. She had naught to be guilty about. “The maesters say I should, that the fresh air will be good for me and the babe.”
“Sissy,” Aegon burbled.
Rhaenyra turned her attention to him, “Yes, valonqar?”
Aegon leaned towards Alicent. “Nuh, sissy.” He pointed to her belly, beaming innocently.
Viserys stared. “You think the babe is a sister, Aegon?”
“Yuh, sissy,” Aegon babbled, nodding.
Rhaenyra looked at Alicent, who was smiling slightly. She then met fathers eyes and noted the Look he had. Did he think Aegon could sense the babe was a girl, or that he’d dreamed it? Perhaps there was more to her little brother than they had assumed.
“Ny’wa sissy, Hel sissy,” Aegon mumbled decisively, nodding firmly.
“Hel?” Rhaenyra queried, amused. “Helaena?”
Aegon nodded happily, lifting his toy dragon. “Sy’wax!” he cheered.
Rhaenyra looked at her father and Alicent, both looking shocked. Aegon had never met Syrax, nor had he ever heard her name before.
***
Aegon delighted in his parents and sisters confusion and shock as he blurted Helaena’s name – butchered as many two year olds did – and Rhaenyra’s dragons name. He knew his father believed in dragon dreams, and the Conqueror had told him of his own prophetic dream that led him to conquering the Seven Kingdoms.
Helaena had possessed some sort of foresight in their past life, so Aegon had decided to manufacture his own. Well, he did have foresight, but not because of dreams or any sort of magic, but it would make his father and sister listen to him. They were believers in dreams.
Now, too, was Aegon.
The first day of the hunt went as well as it could have despite Rhaenyra and Father arguing over Jason Lannisters terrible wooing attempt; she fled on horseback with Criston Cole and remained gone, so Aegon acted the part of fussy, two year old brat who’s new favourite person bad vanished.
“Sissy find hart,” he babbled to Viserys, having crawled over to the kings dais.
Viserys lifted him into his lap, abandoning his wine – thankfully. “What do you mean, my son?”
“Ny’wa find white hart,” he nattered on, fiddling with the buttons on his father’s tunic.
Viserys stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “She will?”
“Yuh,” Aegon grunted, leaning against Viserys’ chest. “Ny’wa qween.”
Aegon fought the urge to cackle when he heard his grandfather choke on his wine. Viserys, however, beamed at him and patted his back.
The next morning, Rhaenyra and Cole strutted into camp with a dead boar and white hart. Aegon cheered from where he perched in mother’s arms, beaming at Rhaenyra.
The Conqueror had told him that Rhaenyra had let the heart loose in their first life, but assured him that she would be...encouraged to not do so this time, proving she was the rightful heir at the same time to any and all doubting lords and ladies.
“Ny’wa!” he cried, reaching for her. Mother tried to stop him, as his sister did have blood crusted in her hair and clothes, but he fought until he was passed to Rhaenyra.
“Valonqar,” she said in Valyrian, smiling.
“You get hart,” he said happily, “I saw.”
Rhaenyra stared into his eyes. “You did, did you?” she murmured softly.
“Ny’wa qween,” he said seriously, heart full of the budding affection he’d been robbed of in his past life.
Rhaenyra smiled and kissed his forehead, saying nothing, and Aegon’s heart swelled with love and guilt.
***
Viserys and Rhaenyra began looking at Aegon in a new light after Helaena was born. Not only had he ‘predicted’ Rhaenyra’s capture of the White Hart, but the birth of his little sister. Even his mother had begun listening more closely to his rambles that, to any other, would be nonsense, but to the Targaryens were prophetic.
It was, in Aegon’s humble opinion, a stroke of genius on his part and brought he, Father, and Rhaenyra closer.
“Crab man bad,” Aegon announced to Father and Mother during the breaking of their fast a week after Helaena’s birth.
Viserys dropped his fork. “Aegon?”
He looked up from his thoroughly mushed breakfast. “Crab man bad,” he repeated. “Red dragon beat bad crab man.”
Viserys stared. “I should send word to the Stepstones. Lord Tyland informed me that Corlys and Daemon’s forces were depleted, their provisions lowering alarmingly.”
“Send aid, husband,” Mother said, wrenching her gaze from Aegon. She still looked at him oddly, as though she didn’t recognise him; he knew she would never full accept his ‘premonitions.’
“Or more dragonriders,” Rhaenyra said.
“Rhaenyra, you are heir,” Viserys said patiently, moving to the desk in his rooms, hurriedly scratching out a letter for Daemon. “I cannot send you into a warzone.”
Rhaenyra pursed her lips, annoyed, but subsided. Aegon shoved some fruit into his mouth. He’d assured Viserys and Rhaenyra that Daemon would triumph over the Triarchy, so his work was done in that regard.
Rhaenyra and he were growing closer; she had proven herself capable when she had killed the boar and hart, Cole insisting she had slain both beasts to all who would listen; Viserys had assured her she remained heir and she had the authority to choose her husband.
Now, Aegon mentally sighed, I have to somehow convince Father to annul Daemon and Rhea’s marriage and betroth Rhaenyra to his brother. Joy.
***
When Rhaenyra’s procession to find a husband was announced, Aegon, admittedly, panicked slightly. He knew what was coming, Aegon having informed him of everything he’d missed the first time around; but he knew he had to somehow convince father to wed Rhaenyra to Daemon and offer a betrothal contract between their first born and Laena Velaryon's first born.
Being a babe and trying to save his family was utterly fucking aggravating, but Aegon was determined to make the Conqueror and gods proud.
When the day came for Rhaenyra to leave, Aegon clung to her and tried not to weep. Grown man in a babe’s body he may be, but he did have the rather lacking emotional instincts and range of a baby; he and Rhaenyra had grown much closer in the passed several moons, and she positively doted on he and Helaena.
“I have to go, Valonqar,” she murmured, rubbing his back soothingly.
Aegon sniffled and leaned back, rubbing his eyes crossly. “Don’ want Ny’wa go.”
Father and Alicent looked fondly amused, and Rhaenyra melted and kissed his cheeks. “I must, Valonqar. I have to find a husband.”
“Nuh!” Aegon protested. “Ny’wa mawwy red dragon. I see.”
Rhaenyra looked startled and glanced at their father, who looked as though he’d been clobbered over the head. They knew ‘red dragon’ meant Daemon, so for him to announce that he’d ‘seen’ them wed would, undoubtedly, shock and confuse them.
“Prince Daemon is already married, Aegon,” Mother said haltingly, frowning. She’d never agreed with the Targaryen’s ‘queer’ practices...until it came to marrying him to his sister, of course, to strengthen his claim to a throne not legally his.
“Nuh, bwonze lady go ‘way,” he babbled, forcing himself to butcher his words. “She twaitor. She uncle twaitor.”
Rhea Royce had been long dead by the time Aegon had died, but her uncle had taken her lands and titles and worked for him in his past life, loathing of the Targaryens because of Daemon’s roguish escapades. Gerold Royce blamed Daemon for Rhea’s death even though he’d been in the Stepstones when she’d perished in a hunting accident.
Likely Gerold killed her himself to claim her titles and seat.
Viserys stared at him, blinking rapidly. “Say good-bye to Rhaenyra, Aegon; her ship is waiting.”
Aegon sighed and sloppily kissed Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Bye, sissy,” he mumbled, letting father take him.
Once Rhaenyra was safely seen off from the capitol, Cole her currently loyal kingsguard, Aegon was taken to his father’s rooms and Mother went to spend time with Helaena.
“What did you mean the Royce’s are traitors, my son?” Viserys asked gently.
“Bwonze man kill bwonze lady,” he said absently, peering at the model of Old Valyria, acting the easily distracted toddler. “Bwonze lady don’ love red dragon; red dragon love Ny’wa!”
Father stared at him, flabbergasted. “Daemon loves Rhaenyra?”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, giggling. “Ny’wa love Da’mun.”
Father huffed softly and hugged him, sitting by the model city. “It seems that Aemma was right...as usual.”
“Uh-huh, a’ways wight,” Aegon said, reaching for one of the model dragons. Father held him tightly and passed it to him, kissing his head.
Mother entered with Helaena, and Aegon beamed. He may not have ever loved Helaena as he should have, but he had a chance, now, to do so.
“Do you think Rhaenyra loves Daemon? That she wishes to marry him?” Father asked Mother.
Mother sat across from them, Helaena cradled in her arms. She looked torn for a moment. “Rhaenyra has always been very fond of Daemon. I do not know him well enough to say if he loves her more than a niece...”
Father huffed a faint laugh. “He has always been adoring and attentive of her, ever since I put her in his arms as a babe. Aemma always claimed that Daemon would only ever love one woman in his life: Rhaenyra.”
Mother looked briefly uncomfortable at the mention of the late Queen Aemma, but it was swiftly masked. “Perhaps she was correct, husband. But Daemon’s reputation...”
“Yes, I know,” Father murmured, bouncing the leg Aegon was perched on. “Aemma always said that Daemon only ever wanted my attention and approval and he only recieved the latter when he acted out.”
“Yep,” Aegon said, twisting to pat his father’s whiskery cheek. “Da’mun love daddy.”
Father smiled, though pain lingered in his eyes. “He always followed me about like a duckling.” Mother smiled, her discomfort showing faintly. Aegon couldn’t picture the Rogue prince toddling about after his older brother, but it was amusing to imagine. “Begging to play and spar, but I was always inundated with politicking and my duties.”
“Perhaps, once the war in the Stepstones is over, you might invite him back to court...rectify your differences?” Mother suggested hesitantly, fussing with Helaena’s dress.
Father hummed, nodding absently, and Aegon silently played on his father’s lap, warmth filling him at the domestic scene.
***
Time moved both too quickly and annoyingly slow with Rhaenyra gone, and Aegon found himself genuinely missing his older sister. Helaena was growing every day, but still too young to do much. He was, in short, bored; even though he oft spent his days blurting things that made his parents cautious and surprised, it wasn’t all that fun.
Then, of course, Sunfyre hatched. His beloved dragon had been put in his cradle as a babe – like many Targaryen’s – but had taken his sweet time in hatching. The day he did, Aegon nearly screeched the Keep down.
Sunfyre was as he remembered, gold and gleaming, and was swiftly moved to the Dragonpit for safety reasons. He was upset, but knew it was for the best. He wouldn’t be using his dragon to kill his sister this time around, that was for sure.
The weeks passed after Sunfyre’s hatching, and Aegon tried not to throw tantrums when the boredom became too much, almost praising his mother when his lessons began two moons after Rhaenyra’s procession began. He knew she would return three months early, thank the gods, but that was still three weeks away.
In the meantime, Aegon was sat in lessons to learn his letters and numbers and colours and other such rot. He was taught to read books and maps and tell time via the sun, the maester patient – he was wary of the little rat, though, the Conquerors warning of the Citadel and Faith echoing in his head – and gentle with him.
He babbled more nonsense to father, who jotted most things Aegon said down, and observed him whenever he wasn’t busy with matters of state.
His grandsire had spent time with him, too, Aegon purposely shying away and positively wailing whenever the man tried to touch him. He’d even argued with Otto when he’d idly mentioned to Mother making him king.
“No,” he’d insisted forcefully. “Ny’wa queen!”
Otto had smiled condescendingly, patting his head – Aegon fought the urge to bite him – before shooting Alicent a glare and leaving.
“I no want be king,” he’d told Mother after, lip wobbling. He truly didn’t. “Ny’wa queen, mama.”
Mother had cuddled him tightly, warmly, and kissed his head. She didn’t say anything, merely stared blankly ahead.
After that, his grandsire dropped not-so-subtle hints around he and Mother about grooming him to be king, and Aegon argued every time by crying and insisting Rhaenyra would be queen, until one day, shockingly, mother argued back, though hesitantly.
“Rhaenyra will be a good queen,” Mother said, somewhat unsure, holding a crying Aegon close. “And she loves Aegon, she wouldn’t do anything to harm him.”
Grandfather had been furious, storming from the nursery stiffly with parting words that made Mother tremble. “His so loving sister will kill him and Helaena should she inherit the throne, daughter; do not be fooled! The realm will bleed with a woman on the throne.”
Aegon had shaken his head and insisted ‘his Ny’wa’ wouldn’t harm a hair on his nor Helaena’s heads, and Mother had quietly agreed, kissing Aegon’s head.
Mother’s attitude toward her father and Rhaenyra was slowly changing though she was still unsure and her usually anxious self. He didn’t know if she truly believed her fathers words anymore, but he had noticed her annoyance whenever Otto mentioned preparing Aegon to be King.
Perhaps there was hope for his mother yet.
Aegon really tried not to be smug but, well, he was.
***
Aegon had managed to fuss enough that Mother took him to court the day Rhaenyra and Daemon were set to return, and he stood straight and proud, dressed like the Targaryen Prince he was, by his mother’s side; he’d chosen a black doublet with the Targaryen sigil stitched over his breast and a red cloak, tossing the green monstrosity his mother had wanted him to wear on the floor, scowling.
Daemon was much younger than the last time Aegon had seen him, hair shorter but expression as roguish as ever. He also wore a crown of driftwood that he willingly and gladly gave up to Viserys, who accepted with a smile and a hug.
Then Aegon saw Rhaenyra in the crowd and broke the nearly suffocating tension by crying her name and hurrying to her side.
“Ny’wa!” he bellowed, making the court laugh, as he bolted to her and collided with her legs. He grinned up at her.
Rhaenyra laughed and swung him into her arms, kissing his cheek. “Valonqar, I missed you, too!”
Aegon giggled and hugged her, honestly pleased to see her. “Unka Da’mun back, too, Ny’wa!”
Father, Mother, and the Prince approached as the courtiers trickled out, all amused and charmed by him and his love for his big sister.
“I can see that,” Rhaenyra said, amused, as she shifted him to her hip.
Daemon was staring at him, so he beamed and waved. “Hi, unka Prince Da’mun,”
Father grinned and laughed, mother’s expression pure fondness for him. Daemon lips twitched with amusement, brow twitching. “Prince Aegon, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” he greeted formally.
Aegon beamed. “I peased to make your akwaint’ce, too, unka Prince.”
Daemon laughed, genuinely amused. “A good effort, little prince,” he drawled, gaze darting to Rhaenyra. “Princess,”
“Uncle Prince,” she greeted, lips twitching.
Mother looked deeply uncomfortable by Daemon’s presence, but managed a polite, tense smile. “Welcome home, Prince Daemon,”
Daemon inclined his head somewhat stiffly. “Thank you, your grace. Congratulations on the births of your son and daughter.”
Mother smiled. “Thank you.”
They moved to the courtyard shortly thereafter, Rhaenyra still holding him as she went to one of the buffet tables, sneaking him a slice of candied orange, a mischievous smile on her face.
“Don’t tell your mother, valonqar,” she whispered, and he nodded giggling. “Good boy.”
They joined the rest of their family, Daemon and Viserys chatting lightly about the Stepstones war and how the crabfeeder had been dealt with.
“May I speak with you, Rhaenyra?” Mother asked quietly, her expression tense.
Rhaenyra nodded, confused, and was led away with Aegon in her arms. They paused by one of the doors, and Mother wrung her hands anxiously before speaking, the words falling almost desperately from her mouth.
“I’m sorry, Rhaenyra,” Mother blurted. Rhaenyra stared; so did Aegon. “I never meant to cause this rift between us, I assure you, and I don’t want it to be there anymore. My father forced me to comfort the king, and I couldn’t –”
“Alicent,” Rhaenyra interrupted, placing a hand on Mothers arm. Aegon’s eyes widened. “I did a lot of thinking while on my procession, and I know now that you could not have defied your father...or mine.”
Tears swam in Mother’s eyes. “Oh, Rhaenyra. Thank you. Seeing Aegon, Helaena, and you become so close...it made me realise that, no matter how unconventional, we are family now. I do not want us to be at odds with one another.”
Rhaenyra smiled brightly and gave Alicent a half hug, and Aegon internally rejoiced. “I do not wish to be at odds, either, Alicent. I was angry...but more betrayed, I suppose. I thought we told each other everything...”
“I’m truly sorry, Rhaenyra,” Mother said softly. She leaned forward, hand grasping Rhaenyra’s, who stiffened slightly. “I hope we can put this past us and move on.”
Rhaenyra looked at him, smiling softly, though her eyes were tense. “Me too,” she murmured, glancing around surreptitiously; Otto stood with lords of the court, beady eyes glancing at them occasionally; Father and Uncle Daemon were chuckling together, though Daemon’s gaze was oft drawn to Rhaenyra.
Alicent sighed heavily, expression brightening slightly.
Aegon tilted his head, taking note of the suspicious glint in his mother’s eyes. What was she up to?
***
Daemon was shocked to see how close Rhaenyra was to her half-siblings. He knew that she would never take her anger and frustration out on innocent children, but he’d imagined that she would be forcibly kept from Aegon and Helaena by the cunt of a hand, the man most likely wishing to see Aegon made the Heir due to his having a cock.
It was quite obvious that Otto had schemed for his daughter to become Queen after his beloved cousin Aemma had died. He may have been away from the Keep, but he had his spies in the city. He wasn’t a fool to see which direction the winds had been blowing for some time, even from the Stepstones.
After he’d finally killed the crabfeeder and the rest of the Triarchy scum, he’d been ready to go back to Kings Landing; then, however, he’d recieved word that the new Hightower Queen had given birth to another child, a Princess, so he had delayed his departure.
Then, word had come about his Bronze Bitch’s unfortunate hunting accident. Rumour already swirled in the city that he was responsible, but Daemon merely scoffed. He’d been thousands of miles away at war; more like her cousin had become impatient and offed her himself.
Gerold had always coveted Runestone, jealous that a woman had inherited before he, a man, had.
Daemon wouldn’t sully Dark Sister with his wife’s blood either way. He may have greatly disliked her and despised that his grandmother had wed him to a lowly lady of the Vale that had never even liked men, let alone him, but he’d never abase himself to kill her.
He’d known of Gerold’s coveting of Runestone and waited until the man had become desperate and impatient enough to do the dirty work for him.
Despite being a newly widowed man, however, things in Kings Landing surprised him greatly. Rhaenyra seemingly adored her younger siblings, Alicent wasn’t as insufferable as he’d imagined she’d be, and even Viserys seemed a different man somehow.
Prince Aegon, however, was fascinating. That eve at family supper – Daemon had been tempted to not show up – the boy of two and a half years babbled what was seemingly nonsensical nonsense...but it made sense.
Daemon knew of the dreamers in his family. Knew that Daenys had foreseen the Doom and had acted accordingly. The goddess Tessarion had likely taken pity and shown Daenys what was to come, sparing House Targaryen. He even knew of Aegon the Conqueror’s dream after eavesdropping on Father and Viserys many years ago.
“Unka Da’mun kill bad crab man,” Aegon remarked, thoroughly slaughtering his peas.
Daemon raised a brow at the boy, ignoring the Looks Rhaenyra, Alicent, and Viserys were sharing. Had he done this before? The cunt was rolling his eyes, obviously unimpressed.
“Indeed,” Daemon said to the boy, earning a toothy grin. He would not soften to the prince. He would not. “Did your father tell you?”
“Nuh,” the boy said casually, now massacring his carrots and potatoes. “I saw it. In the cave.”
Daemon looked at Viserys, utterly flabbergasted. He had told no one he’d cornered the crabfeeder in a cave save for those in the battle.
Viserys looked unsurprised, though he was smiling slightly at Daemon’s shock. “Aegon’s a little dreamer.”
Otto scoffed lowly, though not low enough. Daemon heard him and turned a glare in his direction. Rhaenyra and Alicent ignored the tension, both feeding the babes.
“G’andfather no be mean,” Aegon said loudly, scowling mutinously at Otto.
Daemon swallowed laughter. The Hand being chastised by a toddler. It was the most amusing thing he’d seen in a while.
“Do respect your elders, Aegon,” Otto ground out, staring the prince down, who was unaffected. “It is impolite and unbecoming for a boy of your station.”
“You no be mean, I be ‘spectful,” the child argued, and Daemon dissolved into laughter.
Hightower shot him a venomous, contemptuous glare before pinning an unaffected Aegon with a glare, but was thankfully unable to speak when Viserys interrupted.
“Aegon is a boy, Otto,” the king said sternly.
Hightower subsided reluctantly, muttering about ravens to attend before excusing himself.
Daemon relaxed greatly once the Hightower cunt was gone, sipping his wine. Rhaenyra was helping Aegon eat, laughing when he scrunched his face up at the beans and squash.
“It will make you big and strong,” Rhaenyra said, regurgitating the lies her mother once told her.
Aegon eyed the vegetables sceptically. “It’s yucky, Ny’wa.”
“It’s all right, Rhaenyra,” Alicent said, amused. “He’ll merely spit them out.”
Aegon beamed when Rhaenyra gave up forcing him to eat the ‘yucky’ vegetables, but happily devoured his roast beef, carrots, and peas.
Viserys watched with a proud, pleased expression as he sipped his wine. He looked healthier, Daemon observed, not as drawn and hunched in on himself the last time they’d seen one another. His face was flushed with good health, and not so pale.
Rhaenyra, too, looked happier. The last time he’d seen her on Dragonstone, she’d seemed wan, as though much of the life had been drained from her.
“You look happier, brother,” he said quietly to Viserys, who smiled at him.
“Yes,” Viserys replied in Valyrian, surprisingly. He rarely spoke their mother tongue. “Rhaenyra has forgiven Alicent and is bonding with Aegon and Helaena. It has lightened my heart.”
“Has she forgiven you?” he queried.
Viserys sighed. “Not openly, brother. But she is not so cold toward me. Did you hear she caught the white hart on Aegon’s nameday hunt?”
Daemon’s brows rose, and he glanced at his niece, who was uncaring of the food dropped onto her dress by Aegon. “Truly? Herself?”
“That is what Criston Cole says, who was with her, and he does not seem the untruthful sort,” Viserys explained, smiling at his daughter proudly. His expression turned apologetic. “I was sorry to hear about your wife.”
“Don’t be,” Daemon said briskly, almost scoffing. Viserys gave him a knowing look, and he smiled innocently. “I never liked her, brother, let alone loved her. I do not mourn her loss.”
Viserys tilted his head, accepting his words. Rhaenyra looked up, meeting Viserys’ gaze. “I’m sorry for cutting my procession short, father, but the Lords, gods, they were insufferable,” she lamented.
Viserys sighed, though he did grace Rhaenyra with an indulgent smile. “You will have to chose a husband soon, Rhaenyra.”
Her eyes met Daemon’s then skittered away, a light flush covering her cheeks, and he quirked a brow, amused and intrigued.
He had always adored her, ever since Viserys had placed her, a squalling babe, into his arms years ago. The moment he’d met her lilac eyes he’d been lost. Aemma had seen it, smiling in fond amusement every time he snatched Rhaenyra away as a babe or brought her baubles from all over when he would return from his ventures.
Rhaenyra had always followed him about like a duckling. As a child she would crawl into his bed after a nightmare or during a storm or demand to be toted around in his arms. She’d cry when he would announce his departures, bottom lip wobbling.
So many times he had cut his adventures short to get back to her quicker, indulging her beyond reason.
Now, however, she was a woman grown and as beautiful as any woman of Valyrian descent. Their family intermarried all the time, but he felt more than ever like a rogue for noticing her beauty and maturity. She was seven and ten, a woman grown.
He, however, was five and thirty. Matches had been made with larger age differences, though, and theirs was the Blood of the Dragon. They were different to other men and women.
Rhaenyra’s gaze caught his again, and he smirked at her, delighting in the widening of her eyes and the flush on her cheeks. Perhaps her feelings for him had matured with her.
“Gods be good, have I truly been so blind?” Viserys queried, glancing between he and Rhaenyra in disbelief.
Even Alicent looked amused, hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Aegon was beaming, a knowing glint in his young eyes.
“Ny’wa mawwy unka Prince Da’mun,” he said decisively, nodding.
Daemon met Viserys’ resigned gaze, shrugging. “You know I would treat her better than any other man in the realm, and I would not wed her for her title. Just for her.”
Viserys looked at Rhaenyra, who was fighting a pleased smile. “Is that what you want, Rhaenyra?”
She glanced at Alicent, who smiled at her, them turned back to meet Viserys’ gaze. “Yes. I want to marry Daemon.”
Aegon cheered.
***
Daemon was preparing for bed when a knock came at his door, and he frowned. “Come!” he called impatiently, brows raising as Rhaenyra entered his rooms, smile on her face. “Niece, what can I do for you?”
“Uncle, I’m sorry to interrupt you so late. I just wanted to ask if you would teach Aegon High Valyrian?” He stared, lips curving into a smirk. She huffed at him. “You taught me, and I’m fluent. I won’t let my brother be denied his heritage.”
“I believe I would enjoy that, niece. Would you like to sit in on our lessons, too?”
Rhaenyra beamed. “Yes, thank you, uncle. I was going to take Aegon for his first flight tomorrow.”
“Ah, and how does your dear stepmother feel about that?” he asked sarcastically.
“She doesn’t need to know,” she retorted, scowling. “She apologised to me...but I don’t entirely trust it. She spent six moons sneaking about with my father...Aegon was born only seven moons after their wedding.”
Daemon’s brows flew up, lips twisting. He had loved Aemma greatly; she had never treated him like the Rogue so many painted him as. To find out that his brother had been entertaining the little Hightower and fucking her so soon after Aemma’s death, well, it made him feel sick to his stomach.
“Trust your instincts, Rhaenyra,” he told her, taking her hands in his.
She peered up at him, smiling sadly. “She could have told me, but she knew how hurt I would be, and kept it hidden. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully forgive her, or accept her friendship as it once was.”
“Then don’t,” Daemon said simply. “You’re under no obligation to accept what she did. You can remain neutral with her. I know you care for your brother and sister.”
“For so long I wanted siblings,” she said softly, an old pain in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping his arms around her as she buried against his chest. “Aegon and Helaena are innocent, and they are of my blood. If I don’t love them, who will? Alicent palms them off to handmaidens whenever she can. Father does try, but I think he sees my lost siblings when he looks at them; what he could have had with mother.”
Daemon kissed her hair. “I must admit that your brother is quite intriguing. Is he truly a dreamer?”
Sadly, Rhaenyra pulled out of his embrace to meet his eyes. “He knew Alicent was pregnant with a girl, even called her Helaena. He knew I’d capture the white hart...I truly do think he’s a Dreamer, the first since -”
Daemon’s lips twitched when she abruptly stopped talking, staring at him. “Aegon the Conqueror?”
“You know...about the song of ice and fire?” She asked, looking relieved.
“I was your father’s heir apparent for nine years,” he said, nodding. She blinked and nodded, realising that Viserys must have told him. “After Aemma’s second miscarriage, he took me to Balerion’s skull and informed me, though I had discovered it by eavesdropping some years before. At first I didn’t believe it. Dreams didn’t make us Kings, dragons did...but if not for Daenys’ dreams House Targaryen would have been destroyed in the Doom.”
Rhaenyra smiled slightly. “I didn’t entirely believe it either, but I had the same realisation as you. And there is magic in our blood; how else could we connect and ride dragons?”
“Indeed,” he murmured, smiling faintly at her. “Aegon’s first lesson begins on the morrow, dear niece, after your flight.”
Rhaenyra nodded and beamed, pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaving his rooms.
Daemon huffed, trying to ignore the tingling of his cheek.
***
The day after she returned, Aegon was woken up by an excited Rhaenyra who seemed to be almost vibrating with excitement as she held up very familiar leather clothes.
Flying leathers.
Aegon stifled his excitement and let his sister bathe and dress him, stifling his embarrassment. He may be only three years old physically, but mentally he was a man grown.
Once bathed and dressed, he was hauled into Rhaenyra’s arms and smuggled from the Keep, Ser Harwin escorting them to the Dragonpit with an amused smile. Daemon was already there, patting a saddled Caraxes.
Aegon had been terrified of the legendary Blood Wyrm in his past life. While not nearly as large as Vhagar, or as muscular, Caraxes was just as deadly as any dragon. Syrax, though smaller than her red counterpart, was equally as terrifying.
Rhaenyra approached Syrax, cooing to her beloved dragon in Valyrian. “Syrax, this is my little brother, Aegon.”
Syrax eyed him suspiciously, and Aegon forced himself to remain still as her huge head loomed closer, nostrils flaring as she scented him. He couldn’t help the mortifying giggle that erupted when she snorted a huff of warm air over him, seemingly accepting him.
Daemon approached, Syrax warbling at him lowly. His uncle held his hands out for him, and Aegon warily let the Rogue Prince take him over to Caraxes, who eyed him with eerie yellow eyes.
“Caraxes,” Daemon murmured, running his gloved palm over the Blood Wyrm’s lower jaw. “This is Aegon, my nephew.”
Caraxes lowered his head – much larger than Syrax’s – and sniffed him, nose brushing over his hair. Aegon slowly raised a hand and pressed his tiny fingers to the blood red scales of Caraxes’ cheek, marvelling at the warmth.
Caraxes loosed a soft, crooning whistle and nudged gently into his hand. Syrax and Rhaenyra approached, his sister seated in her dragon's saddle. She and Daemon had agreed quietly at he was more experienced taking passengers on flights, and she didn’t want to hurt Aegon.
A furious shriek echoed throughout the pit, and Aegon’s head whipped around at the familiar sound. The dragon keepers ducked as Sunfyre flew towards them, shrieking angrily.
“Sunfyre!” Aegon crowed, wriggling in Daemon’s arms to get down. His uncle placed him on the ground, and he hurried to the golden dragon’s side.
Sunfyre landed and preened, nuzzling against Aegon’s hands and chest, crooning lowly. The golden creature had grown, and was the size of a pony. Still too little to ride, but able to burn a man.
“This is your dragon?” Daemon asked, approaching slowly.
Sunfyre hissed at Daemon, the horns on his head rising slightly. Aegon frowned. “Daor, Sunfyre,” he said firmly, grateful that the maesters had ‘taught’ him the basics. “Ñuha Kepus.”
Sunfyre snorted, but subsided. Daemon crouched beside Aegon and held a hand out to Sunfyre, smiling when his fingers were sniffed and, once begrudgingly accepted, nudged for pets.
“He’ll be large enough to ride soon,” Daemon said, standing. “For now, you’ll have to come with me.”
Aegon scratched Sunfyre’s jaw one last time before letting Daemon pick him up again. Caraxes shifted and lowered himself some so Daemon could grasp the saddle and haul them up. Sunfyre screeched, offended, but a low, whistling hiss from Caraxes put the fledgling dragon in his place.
Aegon had never ridden Caraxes before, or any dragon bar Sunfyre and Vhagar, and the difference was starling. The Blood Wyrm was more snake-like than any dragon, with an extremely long neck and body and slim but powerful wings, and two extra wings on his back legs to make up for his odd body.
Daemon strapped them in, Aegon sitting in front of him, and bracketed Aegon in with his arms, reigns wrapped around his gloved hands. “Sōvēs!” Daemon shouted, and Caraxes loosed a loud, piercing whistle of excitement before his large wings spread.
Aegon shrieked in delight as the Blood Worm writhed his way into the sky, wings cracking through the air. A moment after them, Syrax and Sunfyre followed, roaring their excitement.
***
Alicent’s hands trembled slightly as she reread her fathers note. Anxiety and anger swirled in her stomach, especially after she had discovered Aegon gone from the nursery that morning, the maids stammering useless excuses of “the Princess Rhaenyra wished for Prince Aegon to experience his first flight upon dragon back” making her heart leap into her throat, which in turn made images of Rhaenyra or Daemon tossing her infant son from the skies flash in her mind before the Maester dropped her fathers note off.
Her fathers words swirled through her mind, haunting her every waking moment. Rhaenyra will cut off any challenge to her succession. But would she? She wasn’t sure anymore, the princesses harsh, angry words coming back to her after Viserys announced their marriage.
“Did you crawl into my mother’s bed while her lifeblood still stained the sheets? Before her and my brothers ashes were even cold? I can’t believe you, Alicent! I thought that I could trust you at least in this vipers nest, but it is clear to me that you’re the most poisonous of them all. You’re dead to me!”
Alicent had wept bitterly once alone in her rooms. Only for her father to find her and chastise her for being so emotional; she was to become queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her son King after her, he had said. She should be grateful he had gone to such lengths for her. A childhood companion lost was a fair price to pay.
She looked at the note again, lips trembling. She didn’t want to go to him, to hear him yell and chastise her once again. She was queen, she didn’t have to answer to her father anymore. Did she?
Alicent rose and tossed the letter into the roaring hearth and wiped the tears from her eyes, forcing a pleasant expression onto her face.
She knew not if Rhaenyra truly forgave her, or if she could trust her old friend. Surely not, now she was to marry Prince Daemon. She knew the kind of man he was, her father had not spared her womanly sensibilities when informing her of who the Rogue Prince truly was. A deviant and a monster wearing human skin. He would undoubtedly kill her children for Rhaenyra to ensure her claim of the Iron Throne.
Perhaps her father was right. Even if Aegon and Helaena were given Rhaenyra’s affections, their mere existence would be a challenge to her succession, and the lords may rise up for Aegon and force Rhaenyra’s hand. And if the Princess willed it, Alicent knew that her Rogue husband-to-be would take her son and daughters lives. Her unborn child’s life.
Straightening her shoulders, Alicent nodded to herself. She had to be strong, to ensure her son’s birthright was not stolen. That her children were not slaughtered like animals by their half-sister. She knew her path forward now, and no childhood companion would soften her heart for what was necessary.
***
Aegon knew, the moment he saw his mother, that his wish to save her from Otto Hightower’s grasp would fail. There was a hardness in her gaze that he had not missed, a firmness to her grasp on his hand as she, without a word, swept him away from Rhaenyra and Daemon, clearly furious about the secret dragon ride.
Aegon wanted to rage, to scream at the gods. What good was he if he couldn’t save his own mother? He knew that, in the grand scheme of things, she was pretty well insignificant. It was his grandfather he had to be leery of, but he hoped that he could get rid of the man and have father name Daemon or even Rhaenyra as Hand.
Otto Hightowers schemes and plots had begun during his tenure as Jaehaerys’ reign. The Conqueror was exceeding clear in who and what were threats to House Targaryen, sometimes visiting Aegon’s dreams. The first time he’d seen his namesake in his dreams, he’d demanded to know if he was dead again, already having failed, only for Aegon to snort and assure him that he had not.
Apparently the gods wanted Aegon to know of the grand conspiracy began over a century ago that his grandfather was in on, assisting not only the Faith – who decried Targaryens often and loudly as abominations – but the Citadel and Hightower family in destroying the Targaryens completely.
House Hightower and Oldtown had once been the greatest family and city in all of Westeros, the Faith the uncontested leading religion until the Targaryen’s conquered and introduced their own faith: the old gods of Valyria, and their ‘queer’ custom of intermarriage and dragon riding.
The only other region in Westeros to not have buckled under the Faith was the North, who proudly remained worshippers of the old gods of the Children of the Forest.
Aegon wondered if their old gods and the Valyrian gods were one and the same.
Mother had always been fanatically pious, wearing her seven pointed star and praying twice daily and at meals. She had, in his past life, stripped the Red Keep of any and all Targaryen heraldry and replaced it with seven pointed stars.
The Valyrian Freehold had been one of religious tolerance, accepting a thousand or more different gods within their walls. Aegon had never been particularly religious, but he’d never bought unto the Seven. Aemond, he knew, had worshipped the Valyrian gods of their ancestors, putting on a facade for mother when it came to her gods.
Aegon wondered if Rhaenyra and Daemon worshipped the Valyrian gods. Most likely they did, as they had wed in a Valyrian ceremony in their previous life.
Aegon wanted to stamp his foot like the child he was when he and Mother reached his nursery. He had wanted to go to his lessons with Uncle Daemon, but she had dragged him away before he could protest.
“I forbid you from spending time with those beasts,” mother told him sternly, her hand an iron band around his upper arm.
“What about Sunfyre?!” he demanded, utterly furious.
Mother squeezed his arm tighter, and Aegon barely withheld a whimper. “I care not for those ungodly creatures, and nor shall you. You are my son, and I won’t allow you to become as godless as the rest of the Targaryens.”
“But I am a Targaryen,” he snapped, yanking his arm from her grasp. He, annoyingly, felt tears welling in his eyes. “I wanted to fly with Nyra and Uncle Daemon!”
Mothers face twisted. “You will stay away from Prince Daemon. He is a terrible influence, a deviant and a rogue.”
Aegon felt his lower lip trembling and rage building in his stomach. He spun on his heel and bolted from the nursery, ignoring his mother’s angry yelling. He sprinted down the hall, dodging servants and guards, and barged into his father’s rooms, heaving for breath.
“Aegon?” he nearly wept in relief as Father picked him up. “What is it, my son?”
“Mother w-wants to keep me ‘way from Sunfyre, Nyra, and Uncle Daemon,” he stammered out between panting breaths. I don’ wanna!”
Viserys’ brow furrowed with anger, and Aegon was placed in Daemon’s waiting arms. He curled his arms around his uncles neck, emotions all over the place.
“It seems that your wife is not a fan of our heritage, brother,” Daemon drawled sarcastically.
Viserys exhaled a sharp breath. “I shall speak with her. Aegon, you don’t have to stay away from Sunfyre, Rhaenyra, and Daemon.”
Aegon peered at father through bleary eyes. “I don’?”
“No, my son,” Viserys said, lips pursed angrily. He nodded at Daemon. “Remain with your uncle whilst I speak with your mother, Aegon.”
Aegon watched, sniffling, as Viserys swept angrily from the room. He looked up and met Daemon’s eyes, blinking at the simmering rage in his eyes that turned to fondness as he realised Aegon was looking at him.
“It will be all right, nephew,” he assured, taking a seat. He ran a gentle hand over Aegon’s head, and Aegon marvelled at his uncles oft unseen gentleness. He had never seen this side of his uncle often in his past life, only briefly whenever he was around Rhaenyra and their children.
A vice of grief gripped his heart. Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey would be unlikely to exist in this life, because he had ensured Daemon and Rhaenyra would marry. He had never cared for their bastard status, in truth, and had been fond of his nephews. He had been too deeply into his cups and haunted by the expectations heaped upon him to truly bond with Jace and Luke, and then Aemond’s eye had been lost and the rift between their family’s wider and deeper than ever.
There were many things Aegon regretted from his past life, and the fate of his nephews and niece were at the top of his list, after taking his sisters rightful throne, allowing his grandfather and mother to make a monster out of him.
Not that he had fought very hard, selfishly hoping that, if he obeyed, he would be spared the pain and abuse suffered. If anything, it had only gotten worse after he was crowned; grandfather had strung him along like a puppet, smacking him around whenever he drowned himself too deeply in wine.
When the war truly began after Lucerys’ death at Aemond’s hands, Aegon had acted how he thought his grandfather wished, throwing his brother a feast. He had been a fool. Aemond hadn’t even meant to kill Luke, admitting to him while drunk and filled with grief, that he had lost control of Vhagar.
But Aemond had worn his title of Kinslayer like armour, ignoring the scorn and disgust of all around him. But Aegon was determined to ensure that his little brother wouldn’t be raised a killer to secure his reign, to frighten their ‘enemies’ into compliance.
Aegon knew that Otto had worked hard to make him subservient and willing to comply, Helaena the perfect wife and Queen, browbeaten to submissive, popping out heirs, and Aemond a feared and respected killer and enforcer. They had been naught but puppets of Otto’s thirst for power, unwittingly playing into his – and others – schemes and plots.
Aegon refused to let his grandfather do so again in this life. He would kill the man himself if he had to, claiming the title of Kinslayer proudly if it meant that House Targaryen would survive.
***
That night, after Viserys had chastised Alicent and sent him off to High Valyrian lessons with Daemon and Rhaenyra, Aegon fell into a dream of naught but horror, Aegon I and the gods showing him the future that would come if the Dance of the Dragons wad allowed to occur again.
His nephew, Aegon III, who let the dragons die out and would be, to put it mildly, a miserable king. He would marry Aegon’s own daughter, Jaehaera, who would kill herself two years after marrying her cousin. That made Aegon feel sick to his stomach, watching his daughter throw herself into the spiked moat of the Keep.
Aegon the Younger would go on to remarry Daenaera Velaryon, granddaughter of Vaemond, and have several children; two would become kings: Daeron I and Baelor I. Both would die without issue, Daeron killed during his failed Dornish Conquest, and Baelor dying after foolishly fasting for forty days and nights after his sister and former wife, Daena, gave birth to a bastard.
Baelor would be a terrible king, more Septon than ruler, and Aegon wanted to scream. A Targaryen so feverishly devoted to a faith that decried them as abominations? It was as saddening as it was infuriating.
Viserys, Aegon III The Dragonbane’s brother, inherited the throne as the Second of his Name and would rule for little less than a year before his son, rumoured to have killed his own father, Aegon IV the Unworthy inherited and sent the realm into turmoil when, upon his death, legitimised all of his bastards.
Aegon wanted to be sick as he watched the Blackfyre rebellions that followed, the oldest of Aegon the Unworthy’s bastards, Daemon, claimed the name Blackfyre and warred for the throne against his half-brother Daeron II, but ultimately failed. Daeron would be the Targaryen king who brought Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms officially, through marriage.
Daeron’s two eldest sons would die, leaving his third son Aerys to inherit the throne. After Aerys would be Maekar, who fought in and helped crush two Blackfyre rebellions. Yet another council was called to discuss Maekar’s successor, and his son Aegon V was chosen, and dubbed Aegon the Unlikely.
So many bloody Aegon’s, he thought, amused and exhausted. The amusement fled when the Tragedy of Summerhall occurred right before his eyes, Aegon the Unlikely’s foolish attempt to bring back dragons killing most of the living Targaryens.
What none but he saw was the Maesters compromising the wildfire used to warm the eggs, and Aegon grit his teeth as he watched his would-be distant kin die.
Aegon’s son, Jaehaerys, became king for a mere three years after Aegon the Unlikely’s death, and then his son, Aerys, was crowned Second of His Name.
Dread filled Aegon. Aerys was not mentally well, that was for certain, but he was sure it was not a normal madness that overtook him.
“It’s not,” the Conqueror said, appearing beside him. “Why do you think that Targaryens bond with dragons? Not merely for the power they grant us; they temper us as we do them, namesake, the magic within our souls balancing one another.”
“Aerys is a Dreamer,” he breathed, watching as the ‘Mad King’ dissolved further into incomprehensible ranting, screaming ‘burn them all!’
“Without the magic of a dragon-bond to stabilise the intensity of the dreams, Aerys’ own mind has begun to betray him. The prophesy has been lost, forgotten, the gods forsaking House Targaryen and refusing to bring dragons back because of what happens in your time,” Aegon I explained softly.
“And the maesters and faith sabotaging us at every turn,” Aegon said bitterly.
Aegon I hummed softly. “Yes.”
A small kernel of hope bloomed only to die a grisly death when Rhaegar, Aerys’ heir, discovered the prophesy and completely botched the interpretation and ignited a war; seducing the Stark girl, Lyanna, and shaming his current wife and children. Robert Baratheon, furious, rebelling and winning and being crowned king; a terrible, abusive king.
Jaime Lannister choosing to kill Aerys, the king he vowed to protect, rather than let the mad man and his pet Pyromancers blow the city up with wildfire, earning the epithet ‘Kingslayer.’
Cersei fucking her own brother, something that didn’t bother Aegon, he was a Targaryen, and cuckolding the king. The War of the Five Kings, Daenerys’ travels in Essos and her bringing dragons back and conquering Slavers Bay.
The hope continued to die as Daenerys failed to truly bond with her dragons, Rhaegar and Lyanna’s son dying and returning to life and the pretender Aegon VI invading, truly believing himself to be Rhaegar and Elia’s son and not the Blackfyre puppet he was, wedding Cersei Lannister and proclaiming himself king.
The Second Long Night, Aegon I’s prophesy coming true, and the realm remaining divided between Daenerys, Aegon VI, and Jon Snow’s legitimacy as monarchs when they should have been focusing on the literal end of the world.
The fucking wall collapsing and beasts long dead carrying men who were not men but demons from the deepest of the Seven Hells.
“Stopping the Dance will stop this?” Aegon asked, tears in his eyes as the last Targaryens were slaughtered.
“Much knowledge shall be lost during the Dance, namesake, and many dragons. Daenerys was never taught how to bond with her dragons, and they were far too young and untested to be of any true help against the Others,” Aegon I murmured softly.
Aegon’s resolve hardened. He had witnessed the end of House Targaryen due to their own folly and the conspiracy of the Faith, Citadel, and Hightowers. It was like the Doom all over again, but this time the whole world would be utterly destroyed.
“What are they? The Others?” Aegon asked.
Aegon’s expression tightened. “The foul sorcery of House Targaryen’s ancient enemy. His soul lives on, unfortunately, and controls them like puppets. The truth was hidden on Dragonstone by my wife, Visenya. She was a sorceress and collector of our histories. You will find her hidden rooms within the castle.”
With that, Aegon woke.