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He fucking hated the Red Keep. He hated everything about it.
He hated the stench of old stone that seemed to linger on everything. He hated the paintings and tapestries adorning the cold stone walls. He hated the memories he made inside these wretched walls.
The torches cast long shadows as he moved through the hallways, his footsteps echoing in the silence. Blood clung to his garments, smeared his hands, and marred his face. The metallic scent of it filled his nostrils, it was the smell of justice, for all he cared. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound of it travelling all the way up to his ears; he could barely hear his own thoughts over it.
He had a clear destination, a single place where he might find peace, or at least understanding. He stopped in front of a wooden door, his hand trembling pathetically as he raised it to knock. The wood felt rough under his knuckles.
No reaction from the other side. The silence was like a hot knife to his flesh, cutting deeper the longer he waited. For a moment, he wondered if she was even there, if she could sense his presence through the heavy wooden door.
He knocked again, harder this time. Still, there was no answer.
His throat tightened, and he felt a surge of panic build inside him. He couldn’t bear it if she wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t speak to him.
After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the door open. It creaked on its hinges, the sound loud and jarring in the oppressive and unnatural quiet of the chamber. The air inside was stale, heavy with the godawful stench of the Keep. The only source of light was a nearly burnt-out candle on the nightstand, its wax dripping slowly to the floor.
On the edge of the bed, he saw her—a woman, her form slumped and defeated. Helaena, his wife, his sister.
Her head was lowered, her silver hair hanging in loose, tangled strands that obscured her face partially. Did she want to hide from prying eyes, or just his? The sight of her like this made him bite the inside of his cheek raw until he tasted blood.
“Helaena.” His voice cracked with emotion as the words left the threshold of his lips. She didn’t stir, she didn’t even seem to hear him.
He took a tentative step forward, his boots dragging against the floor. “Helaena,” he repeated, more insistent this time. Still, there was no response.
Why couldn’t she offer him at least this? At least a reaction? These past two weeks had been the worst of his life. They hadn’t talked since. How hadn’t they talked since?
Aegon felt a tear slip down his cheek, mixing with the blood that stained his skin. He moved closer, desperate for anything. He wanted to touch her, he wanted her to hold him. He wanted to tell her what he had done, he wanted her to tell him that everything would be alright, even though he knew it was a lie.
“Helaena, please,” he whispered as he fell to his knees in front of her. “Look at me.”
She didn't move, didn't lift her head, didn't offer the slightest indication that she had heard him. The silence in the room felt suffocating, pressing down on him like the weight of the entire Keep. He needed her to acknowledge him, to show some sign of life, but she remained as still and silent as a statue.
Desperation clawed at his insides. He reached out and grasped her hands, smearing her pale skin with blood. “Helaena, I killed one of them. One of the men who took our son. He suffered, Helaena. For a week, he suffered greatly. I didn’t let him go easy.”
Her fingers were cold and limp in his grasp. She didn’t react, didn’t seem to notice the blood now staining her hands. She was far beyond his reach.
Frustration surged within him, and he tightened his grip on her hands, his knuckles turning white. “Helaena, please,” he begged her, not befitting of a king. “Look at me. Say something.”
Slowly, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. There was no recognition in them, nothing from the woman he had known. Just an empty void that mirrored the hollowness in his own soul.
“We will fall, Aegon. You will fall, and I will fall. Jaehaera will fall, and Maelor...” Her voice broke on the name, and she screamed, burying her face in her hands, her nails digging into her flesh.
“No!” Aegon cried, reaching out to stop her. He grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. “Stop, Helaena. Please, stop.”
She looked at him with wild, tear-filled eyes. “I see it,” she said, her voice shaking and frenzied. “I see our end. There is no escape.”
He shook his head fiercely, refusing to accept her words. This was all he had left, it would break him. “I will avenge Jaehaerys.” It was his promise to make. “I killed one of them. I will find the other, I will have all the rat catchers in the city hanged if I must. Then I will burn Rhaenyra. She will burn for what she did, rest assured.”
Helaena’s eyes were distant and unfocused again, she swayed and let her back fall on the mattress. “The rats will come again,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “They always come again.”
Aegon felt a sob rise in his throat, he climbed on top of her on the bed, hands cupping her face. “Please come back to me. I need you. Our children need you.”
He felt the weight of his grief, heavier than anything he had ever experienced. All his thoughts over the past weeks had been consumed by revenge. Cutting off the butcher's fingers and breaking his bones had offered some semblance of solace, a brief respite from the constant agony. But now, seeing Helaena unresponsive like this, it all felt futile. He started to cry, his hot tears falling onto her skin.
“We’re already dead, Aegon. You and I. Jaehaera, Maelor. We are all dead.”
“No,” he sobbed, shaking his head as he cradled her face in his hands. “Don’t say that. Don’t speak like that. We’re alive, Helaena. I can still fight. We can still—”
“We’re ghosts.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t.” Desperation clawed at his insides as he caressed her cheeks, his thumbs wiping away his own tears on her face, leaving smears of blood. “We are not dead yet. I will burn them Helaena I—”
“The flames will consume us all.” She didn’t seem to hear him anymore. “They will burn until there’s nothing left but ashes.”
It was all too much. The resignation in her voice, the stench of the fucking Keep in the chamber, the feeling of blood clinging to him like a second skin. Aegon leaned in, pressing his lips to hers, desperate to silence her. He couldn’t bear to hear any more of her prophecies, couldn’t endure it. He kissed her with everything he could muster up, trying to pour all his love and his pain into that single moment.
His soul was an ugly little thing, it had shriveled and shrunk from the years of neglect. His love was pathetic, he knew that, but it was all he had to offer her at this moment.
The kiss was a frantic attempt to drown out the crushing despair with something, with anything, that felt alive. He felt her hesitate, her lips cold and unresponsive at first. But then, after what seemed like an eternity, she began to kiss him back. It was tentative, a flicker of the warmth he remembered, and it ignited a desperate hope within him. His hands wandered down her body, tracing the familiar paths, seeking what they had once shared.
He thought of all the times he had fucked her. He needed this, needed to feel her, to remind her and himself that they were still here, still alive. He fumbled with the ties of her nightgown, freeing her from its confines. It was only now that he noticed how much weight she had lost. Where she was soft and inviting once, she was hard and angular.
“I will make you feel good,” he promised against her lips, his hands roaming over her bare skin. This was all he knew, the only thing he was truly good at. The only thing he could do to maybe make it better.
He stood up just long enough to remove his garments, discarding them hastily before returning to her. His fingers went between her legs, teasing her gently, trying to coax a response from her. His thumb drew slow circles around her sensitive flesh, and he felt a tremor run through her body. She needed this, he needed this. He needed to remind her of her warmth, her life.
For a moment, there was nothing, just the silence and her stillness. But then, slowly, she began to react. Her breathing hitched, her hips shifting slightly towards his hand. Encouraged, he slipped two fingers inside her, thrusting into her softly. Her walls tightened around his fingers— a small moan escaped her lips.
“That’s it.” His voice was low and reassuring, he wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure. “You’re doing good, Helaena. Just focus on me. Forget about everything else. Just focus on me.”
Her hands gripped the sheets, her knuckles turning white. He continued while her moans grew louder and more desperate. He felt his own arousal building, his hardness pressing against her thigh as he leaned down to kiss her neck and collarbones.
He trailed kisses along her skin, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive spots he knew so well. Her body responded to him, her back arching slightly as she pressed herself closer to him. She was trembling now, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.
“Just let go,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ve got you.”
With a shuddering cry, she came, her body tightening around his fingers. Fueled by her pleasure he positioned himself at her wet entrance. With a single, thrust, he entered her, a groan escaping his lips as he did.
She gasped, her legs wrapping around his hips. He started moving inside her, his thrusts deep and steady. She was tight and warm around him, her body welcoming him so perfectly, as if nothing had ever happened.
“You feel so good,” he breathed, his lips brushing against her ear. “We’re here, Helaena. We’re alive.”
Her moans mixed with his, the room filled with the rhythmic beat of flesh banging against flesh. He moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more insistent. He needed this, needed to feel her, to lose himself in her.
“We were made for each other.” He leaned in closer, capturing her lips. “Stay with me.”
Her arms wrapped around him, her nails dug into his flesh; the pain of it a welcome escape from the wounds that didn’t bleed. For a moment he felt a flicker of hope, maybe she wasn’t truly gone. They were broken, the had been broken long before that night. But they nearly were a real person when they were together, weren’t they? That was at least something, wasn’t it?
He moved faster, his movements driven by his need for release, his need to lose himself in the pleasure of her touch. Her cries grew louder, her body responding so perfectly. He felt the tension building within him, the pressure mounting until he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a final thrust, he came, filling her. He collapsed against her, his body still trembling from his orgasm. His breath was still ragged and uneven as he spoke.
“We’ll get through this. I swear it.”
She didn’t respond, but she didn’t push him away either. They just lay there, tangled in each other. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her skin on his skin. It wasn’t a solution, it wasn’t an idea either. Fuck, it was barely a distraction.
But it was something.