Chapter Text
•••
Somehow, within a day of returning, Aemond has him drinking water instead of wine and applying a balm to his burns. The latter he doesn’t mind - it is similar to what Aemond uses on his eye and the smell is comforting - but breakfast without wine is a travesty. He only does it to appease Aemond and already has the feeling it won’t be the only concession he makes.
While Aegon eats, Aemond takes in the items displayed on the mantle, his own lost and found belongings. He curls his fingers around the hilt of his sword and begins to lift it, then hesitates and sets it back down again. Instead he turns his attention to the sapphire, which sits on a black velvet pillow. Aemond picks it up and turns it over in his fingers, letting it catch the morning light.
Aegon gives up on his meal. It’s impossible to focus on anything but Aemond. He stands and stretches out his stiff limbs then goes to Aemond’s side and puts a hand on the small of his back.
“Would you like it put back in?” He asks, motioning to the sapphire.
“No. No, I don’t think so.” Aemond sets it back on the cushion. “I’ll choose something new.”
“Oh?” That surprises Aegon. “Did you have something in mind?”
Aemond turns to fix his gaze on Aegon. “What stone would you like? You will see it more than I.”
There’s something thrilling about the offer, to choose a part of his brother. Aegon considers gold, like Sunfyre, but nothing will ever compare to the luster of his dragon’s scales.
“I have always been partial to violet,” he decides. “A rare and exquisite color. It will suit you.”
Aemond hums, pleased. “An amethyst it is, then.”
•••
Aegon finds himself tasked with reintroducing Aemond to their home. Much has changed - not the castle itself, but who and what occupies it. There are new Kingsguard, new council members, new servants. Cats have replaced the rat catchers, dozens of them that wander King’s Landing pestering or befriending Highborn and smallfolk alike.
Most glaring is the absence of dragons. No shadows pass overhead, no cries in the distance or rumbles from the dragonpit. Without their presence this great red castle on the hill feels like little more than a pile of bricks, and he looks pitiful residing over it. Half a dozen eggs sit incubating on coals but none have hatched. Aegon fears they never will.
While walking the Keep together, Aegon holds onto Aemond’s arm. Their combined impairments are at least good for that much: an excuse to touch outside the privacy of their quarters. Aemond is his crutch and he is Aemond’s eye.
They are walking a long hallway when Alicent emerges from a doorway at the end, hand-in-hand with Jaehaera and Maelor. She meets her sons’ gazes from across the distance and something passes between them that goes beyond words. This is it - what is left of their family. Aegon knows if she could have chosen two children to survive it would not have been them, but she offers a gentle smile and they answer with nods.
Alicent says something to the children, who wave to their father and uncle. Aegon returns the wave, feeling Aemond’s eye on him as he watches them turn and walk away.
“You are a better father than ours ever was,” Aemond tells him.
Aegon scoffs. “That is no great feat.”
“Perhaps not. But you love them, and that is more than he could say.”
“I hope that you will come to love them, too.” Aegon looks up at him.
“That will be easy,” Aemond responds. “They are yours, and Helaena’s. They are the future of our line.”
“You are already a better uncle than ours.”
“Our uncle was an arrogant old cunt.”
Aegon grins. “And now he is an arrogant dead cunt, thanks to you.”
“Thanks to Vhagar,” Aemond corrects. “It was she who defeated Daemon and Caraxes, not I.” That is exactly how Aegon feels in regard to defeating Rhaenyra. It was Sunfyre’s victory, not his.
“We have her skull,” Aegon realizes aloud. He can’t believe it took him this long to tell Aemond. “It took a dozen horses and twice as many men, but we brought her home.”
Aemond looks out to the sky as if picturing his dragon in flight.
“May I see her?”
•••
The statues of Daeron, Helaena and Aemond are only recently completed. Each stands tall on a pedestal overlooking the main courtyard. At their feet are the skulls of Tessarion, Dreamfyre and Vhagar. Aegon expects Aemond to go directly to his own, but instead he lingers on their youngest brother.
“Daeron the daring, they called him,” he remarks. “A shame we could not know him better.”
Aegon hums his agreement. Aemond moves on to Helaena.
“Our dear sister.” He stands with her for a moment as well.
With some amount of reluctance, Aemond continues forward until he stands before his own likeness carved in stone. He pays it little attention, focusing instead on the large skull beside it. Aegon releases his arm and steps back, providing his brother a moment of solitude. Aemond puts his hands on either side of Vhagar’s jaw and touches his forehead to the end of her snout. He speaks softly to her in Valyrian. Aegon takes another step back. The words are not his to hear.
After some time Aemond pulls back, letting his hands fall from the skull. Aegon can’t see his face, can only hear his breathing steady out as Aemond gathers himself. When he turns there is more raw sorrow on his face than Aegon has seen since they were children.
Aegon holds his hand out and Aemond returns to his side, allowing his older brother to hold and squeeze his arm, an inadequate substitute for the consolation he needs and that Aegon so desperately wants to give.
“Should there not be a place for your statue?” Aemond asks. “For Sunfyre?”
“I thought Sunfyre might join me in the throne room for now, lest the people forget what put us there in the first place.” Aegon knows he won’t get away with avoiding the first question. “And it will be up to another to decide whether I am worthy of a statue.”
“Hm. Then I will begin impressing the idea upon young Maelor.”
Aegon can glean nothing from the look on his brother’s face, but he would not put it past him. If such a sculpture were to exist one day, it would most likely be placed beside Helaena, his wife and queen. But just for a moment Aegon allows himself to imagine it built next to Aemond, the two of them side by side for generations to come.
•••
By late afternoon they return to Aegon’s chambers where they sit together on the balcony overlooking King’s Landing. The sight is so familiar Aegon could describe it with his eyes closed, yet he and Aemond are so changed that it seems new.
“It’s strange,” Aemond says, as if echoing Aegon’s thoughts. “I imagined it would feel very different.”
“To be home?”
“To win.”
Though Aemond is sitting calmly as he always has, Aegon can tell he’s troubled. There is a distant look in his eye and a slight tremor runs through him. Aegon puts a hand on his thigh.
“I find myself…unmoored,” Aemond confesses. He absently traces the backs of Aegon’s fingers. “All my training and now I cannot wield a sword. I rode the largest and oldest dragon and now she is gone. What use am I? What use is a weapon of war during peacetime?”
It unnerves him to see Aemond like this. Aemond has always been his sure and steady shelter in life’s raging storms. Now the tables are turned and Aemond needs him.
Aegon almost argues that they grew up during peacetime, but it would feel like a lie. For them the war began long before banners flew and armies formed. They have never known true peace. Perhaps they never will. Perhaps war has seeped into their very bones.
“Peace must be upheld,” Aegon reminds him. “And you are not a weapon. You are a Targaryen prince. Your use is whatever you choose. Though I have found being useless to be quite relaxing,” he adds, trying for levity.
Aemond settles his hand atop Aegon’s. “You are not useless. From what I hear you are taking to your role better than expected.”
Aegon’s own sudden laugh surprises him. “That is not the flattery you seem to think it is!”
A smile creeps upon Aemond’s face, shining in his eye and tugging at the corners of his mouth. It sets Aegon’s heart ablaze.
“Be my Hand,” he blurts out.
That renders Aemond uncharacteristically speechless. Aegon can’t look at him.
He has been thinking about this since first thing this morning but he intended to make the request more formally, with the pin in hand. It is the closest thing they can ever have to a proposal of marriage. Stay by my side forever . Is it not enough? Is it an insult, to ask after so long, when it should have been Aemond from the moment of his coronation?
Aemond stands and the world blurs around Aegon. He clutches Aemond’s hand and stares pleadingly up at his towering brother, searching for the words to keep him from leaving.
Then Aemond slowly sinks to one knee, Aegon’s hand clasped in both of his. “Are you certain?”
Aegon has never been more certain about anything in his life. “There is no one else I want. No one I trust more. If I must do this, I need you by my side.”
Aemond searches his face. Whatever he is looking for he must find it, because the tension he has carried all day dissipates. He kisses the back of Aegon's hand. “It would be my honor, my King.”
The title lacks any of its usual hint of teasing on his brother’s lips. For the first time since his coronation, Aegon actually feels like a King, and for the first time in his life he can see a future with himself in it.
He grasps Aemond’s face and pulls him in to kiss him as if they have just been wed.
And now our reign begins .