Chapter Text
i.
“There have always been Targaryens who dreamed of things to come, since long before the Conquest.” – Brynden Rivers, to Duncan and Aegon Targaryen.
He dreams of her first.
In small fragments, a mosaic of colored and patterned possibilities set artistically together to form a whole completed picture. Only, Aegon doesn’t see the whole picture – can’t see the whole picture. Not yet at least. He wakes just as his eyes meet hers; a half forgotten memory fading with each lucid blink.
What Aegon remembers are precious remnants that slip like liquid through his fingers.
The pale skin of her thigh, her long dark hair, the slope of her neck and her eyes. Aegon always remembers her eyes. A dusky, deep purple like the otherworldliness of the nebulas. Shattered, incomplete parts of him want to gaze into those eyes for the rest of his life.
The Shy Maid docks in Bravos and Aegon is off the ship faster than Connington can lecture him about the importance of keeping the secrecy of his heritage and ancestry. He hears Ashara’s sigh behind him and catches her uneasy look when he glances back over his shoulder.
Aboard the Shy Maid for weeks with the people he’s grown up around his entire life isn’t awful but he’s tired, he needs to stretch, to explore – to get those damn dreams out of his head because whenever he looks into the sea he swears he hears her laugh, and whenever he looks to the sky he swears he sees her eyes.
Perhaps the sea is finally getting to him.
Lulling and luring him into madness for a woman he cannot have. A siren from the deep.
His feet carry him across the docks and into the heart of Bravos. Bright cloths of various colors and patterns paint the people. Workers from all sorts of backgrounds cast him curious glances but nothing more than that as he walks with clear familiarity of the streets.
“Would you like to spend the night with me, handsome?” A courtesan steps in his path, Bravosi words sweet with her voice. She tugs the low neckline of her dress further and places her hand on top of his shoulder dragging it slowly down, intention clear in her eyes.
She is beautiful, he admits. But her hair is too light, her eyes too blue and her skin not pale enough. In his mind’s eye the half-forgotten memory of last night’s dream plays in his head; full, pink lips part just so and breathed out so softly is a name, his name – Aegon.
“I thank you,” Aegon takes her hand into his before she can drag it any lower. Places a light kiss on the back of her hand, “I am afraid I don’t have much to spend on such a beauty as you. I’m sure you fetch a high price, someone much worthier than I shall have you tonight.”
She is appropriately flattered.
Aegon is no fool. In Bravos those who carry swords present an open invitation to a duel at any moment and his is strapped in expensive leather to his waist; raven caught, seal broken, open invitation detailing an itch in his muscles he needs to scratch. He’s seen many a duel start because of a rude denial of a courtesan. Aegon is crafty and knows when to fight and dealing with duels after having just docked is not very smart so if that means having to flatter a courtesan to avoid any fool who wishes to duel him then he will.
“Well when you do find the money, come find me. For that face,” Her finger traces the edge of his jaw, “I might even lower my price.”
“I shall try my best to procure the money then.” Aegon says inclining his head, false smile slipping off his face as he walks away from her and to the market.
He likes Bravos, but on some days it feels like the city is trying to suck his soul out of him.
He stops next to the first stall of fresh fruits he sees. An old woman with a baby strapped to her hip and an array of brightly colored fruits, oranges and peaches and pears, smells wafting and mingling mouthwateringly delicious. Aegon negotiates with the owner of the stall on the prices when out of the corner of his eye is a flash of dark hair and tug in his heart that makes him pause.
“Three. Three orange.” Aegon hears behind him, attention caught. The words are spoken softly and self-consciously in broken Bravosi, the girls Westerosi accent shinning clear through the words.
Nothing of the situation should be striking. Many Westerosi travel to Bravos, many buy food or clothes or whores. But there is something – there is something that compels him to turn around, to see who is speaking.
Aegon is not one to deny fate.
He turns.
A hooded feminine figure greets him. And Aegon walks closer, leaving the negotiation for his own fruits behind him, watching and listening to the negotiation that happens in front of him. The vendor increases the price swindling more money from the woman, unsurprisingly. And when they settle on a deal the vendor leaves to collect her goods and Aegon approaches.
“New here?” He asks in the Common tongue and watches her body still and tense beneath the hooded cloak.
“Yes.” She says low and strained.
There is something about her voice that is irritatingly familiar. Aegon can’t place his finger on it, whether it’s the tone or the accent he hasn’t a clue. Aegon tilts his head, leaning slightly, tries to catch a glimpse of this stranger’s face. But she turns her head, the round of her cheek and the curve of her jaw is all he sees before her face is covered with her hood and that too strikes him as familiar.
It blooms something frustrating under his ribs. To see something that is familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time.
“Well as someone who was once unfamiliar with Bravos as you, I feel as if it’s my duty to tell you that you paid too much for what you’re going to get.” Aegon’s voice is smooth and friendly, trying to instill in her a certain trust, at least enough for her to allow him to see her face.
She sighs despondently, “I’m aware.”
“Perhaps you should learn some more Bravosi. I could teach you if you’d like.”
She pauses for a moment. There is a certain hesitancy about her movements like she’s debating the thought in her mind. For an opportunity like this to present itself is rare and Aegon knows that, knows that there’s something about her that he has to find out, something about her that lights in his mind like the first successful strike of a match. He knows that he’ll have her playing into his calculated move sooner or later.
“And what is it you’re after exactly, with your generous offer to teach me? My money or something else?” Her voice dips low and angry. A heavy weight, a meaning most young women who are alone encounter at the end.
Laughter tumbles from his lips before he can control himself. He doesn’t want to fuck her and he most certainly doesn’t think she’s a whore. All covered up like that? A whore’s attire consists of two things, leaving little to the imagination or nude. A lesson in the Bravosi tongue for a night in the sheets with her is not what he’s looking for.
She must take his laughter the wrong way however because Aegon sees her shoulders bristle in ire.
“I do not need any lessons, My Lord.” She articulates firmly before he can explain himself, “It seems the only words I really need to know are valar morghulis.”
Aegon’s eyes narrow at the words. Having both heard and said them himself, those jarring words settle over his skin like rough sand. Grainy and grating and swirling in an upwards spiral, Aegon tenses ready to defend himself.
“All men must die.” He translates aloud, faux amusement flickering across his features, “Is that a threat, My Lady.”
She wavers at the tone in his voice, at the subtle power and the strength as easily seen as the sword on his hip. She tilts her head and he spies the tip of her nose.
She breathes in slow and measured.
“If it has to be, My Lord.”
What an interesting creature, he thinks, a grin involuntarily pulling at his lips. A tiny little slip of a girl, standing up to him. There is something significant about this moment, he can feel it down in his bones.
It excites him.
The vendor returns handing her the goods she paid for.
She turns to leave, conversation clearly over and yet something in Aegon makes him step forward. Makes him open his mouth to continue the conversation, he feels like he won’t ever get enough of the girl. Will never be satisfied until he has her unfurled, secrets inked out for him to read on the richest parchment in Essos.
“And what is your name, My Lady? Should this threat ever surmount to anything I would like to know the name of the person whom I shall fight.”
She stops. A slight twitch in her hand, another internal debate. The hood of her cloak slides off and Aegon stands straighter in anticipation. Her hair is as dark as night, and there’s a phantom feeling that spreads across his hands, residue from last night’s dream that he can’t shake off. Hands sparking with familiarity of running them through her hair dozens of times. Twirling strands of inky black curls through his fingers as she lay nestled to his side.
His heart races.
When she faces him, she wears the face of the woman from his dreams. Pale skin, dark hair, deep purple eyes. And he knows her.
He knows her, Aegon steps forward intent melting into his muscles. He wants to be closer to her, he wants to kiss her, wants to place his mouth over hers like he’s done too many times to count in his dreams. Wants to fulfil every dream he’s ever had about her.
He wants to open his mouth and say her name over and over and over again like worship; Visenya.
Full, pink lips part just so and breathed out so softly is a name, “Joanna.”
There is something in him that aches with the memory of dreams that still linger in his mind. She turns and leaves without another word.
“Joanna.” He repeats but she is gone, lost in the throngs of the people.
He says her name with desperation and a thousand memories of their future together linger in the air.
ii.
“Is there something wrong, Aegon? You seem distracted tonight.” Ashara peers at him concerned as they eat upon the Shy Maid.
Aegon does not answer.
Haldon gives him a significant look when he flickers his eyes upwards briefly. Ashara nervously shifts her gaze between them.
“After I visit the Iron Bank we’ll leave immediately to Pentos.” Connington announces setting his cup down, “Illyrio will be waiting for us as usual. He says he has exciting news that he cannot put in a letter and –”
“No.” Aegon’s voice is soft but Connington stops all the same and silence fills the air.
Aegon can feel their eyes staring at him. Four pairs peering at him with curiosity, confusion, frustration and he knows they will not be happy but he doesn’t care. This isn’t about them nor is it about him; it’s about the future of Westeros and this subtle shift in the air that he consciously aware of.
Connington purses thin, wine stained lips and stares him down, “Aegon, if things are to go according to plan then we must leave.”
“No.” Aegon reiterates, not any louder nor firmer but he looks up from the table his gaze steady, his eyes pinning like knives sinking into their flesh to make them pay attention and listen to him, “We are not leaving until I say we leave.”
“Aegon –” Connington tries again.
“Connington. You are teaching me to be a king, are you not? You’ve raised me and I respect that – I respect you but as I come into my own you cannot undermine me. I am a boy no longer.” Aegon stands, spine unfolding and lengthening, muscles taut, a child raised to a be a king; a king placing his crown on his head, “We leave when I say we leave. Plans be damned, things have changed.”
Aegon is halfway across the docks before Rolly catches up to him.
“If you’re here to make me go back on Connington’s orders, you will fail.” He says as Rolly falls into step with him.
“Make you go back?” Rolly snorts rolling his eyes, “I’ve trained you well and good to know that I can’t make you do nothing you don’t wanna do no more.”
Involuntarily a smile tugs at his lips.
Rolly catches it from the side of his eye and grins, claps a hand to his shoulder, “So, I’m assumin’ we’re going out to find something to fight eh? There’s nothing quite like a good fight after a meal.”
Rolly pauses.
“Well, a good fucking might come a close second.”
Aegon’s laugh bounces across the ancient stone streets of Bravos and the night begins.
He’s watching a particularly aggressive fight when a small, thin man slinks up to him.
“Want to make a bet, young Griff?” The small, thin man asks voice high and nasally.
“Not tonight.” He says, eyes lingering on one of the fighters.
The man is slender, clothed in black from head to toe. He has a cloth looped around his head leaving only his eyes exposed which appear black in the night.
“This man clothed in black new? Don’t reckon I’ve seen ‘im around before.” Rolly tilts his head, a focus Aegon’s familiar with during their own sparring sessions, “He’s good. Very Westerosi, you know some say the Bravosi water dancing is the best but I’ll tell you now, young Griff, the Westerosi style has never let me down.”
Rolly nudges Aegon with his arm, flashes a lavish grin at him, “Three gold dragons on the new boy.”
Rolly hands his coins over and the small, thin man nods writing on a parchment of names and numbers.
“You’re wasting your money on gambling.” Aegon says amusement flickering at the sides of his mouth.
The new man in black strikes his opponent hard and fast on his side with the flat of his sword before ducking and spinning to strike him in the back with a hard slap of the flat of his sword as his opponents arm aims to strike for his head and misses, overreaching.
“I’m not wasting money, young Griff; I’m winning me some money.” Rolly laughs deep from the belly with unrestrained mirth as his expectation comes true.
In seconds the new man in black has his opponent on the ground, sword poised at his neck breathing heavily. Unlike others whom Aegon’s known to strike and kill, he does not carry through with his sword. Instead, a hand reaches out, fingers stretched long and delicate. Odd hands for a warrior, he thinks.
His opponent grasps his hand and is swiftly pulled upright.
“Good job, my friend. You’re a fast learner.” The man mutters kindly to the new man in black. The man in black nods acquiescently.
For a moment, their eyes lock.
Aegon knows who it is instantly. He knows because he’s looked into those eyes a thousand times, he’s felt them haunting him, staring at him even though he is alone.
He walks quickly while Rolly moves to collect his gold dragons. And although she tries to evade him, she fails when he swiftly catches up to her and grasps her by her arm.
She halts, as if petrified, caught in the jaws of a formidable dragon. She blinks, gaze unyielding and as still and steady as the rivers in the Shadow Lands. Her hand tightens around her sword, poorly made and not as sharp as it should be but a decent weapon when she wields it with ease.
“My Lady.” He says hushed so that no one can hear them.
A smirk pulls at his lips, Aegon can feel it. It’s strange, he thinks, after having learned for so long how to act and how to smile and the different smiles to use in front of the right people and here he is, smiling of his own free will because she does something to him. She invokes something, a feeling he can quite understand but wants to know more of.
“I am no Lady, My Lord.” She says at last, eyes narrowing and tugging her arm which he refuses to let go of.
“And I am no Lord, yet you call me that anyway.” He counters.
“Only because you act like one.” She says and Aegon feels his spine lengthening in pride because his grueling lessons have taught him that if he wants to be king he has to act like one, then she adds, “Prideful, arrogant, thinking he can take whatever he wants whenever he wants, and most of all stupid.”
“Stupid?” He echoes amused at this little slip of a girl standing up to him, “What makes you say I am stupid?”
“For one,” She begins, eyes narrowed and he can imagine her lips turned down under the black cloth covering most of her face, “You are still speaking to me even though I have clearly expressed that I do not want to speak to you.”
“Well now,” Rolly chuckles coming up behind him, figure looming and full of mirth as he had clearly been listening to their conversation. “What do we have here? A lover’s quarrel?”
Aegon almost says, not yet.
Because they are not lovers, but they will be. Sooner rather than later if he has any say.
“No.” She says tone venom sharp.
Rolly slings his arm over Aegon’s shoulders and there is a tight, heavy pull, a subtle indiscriminant warning to let her go. Aegon’s jaw ticks, just once, Joanna’s eyes follow it before he lets her go.
“You are a very good fighter.” Rolly says, interest peaked only because it is clear how much Aegon’s own interest shows, “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
“Not here.” She replies shortly.
“Obviously.” Rolly laughs but it is clear she will not give any more.
Her body shifts, a shoulder tilted back, eyes looking off to the side, legs ready to flee.
“Come with us.” Aegon says and she pauses turning incredulously to him.
“What?” A breathy light laugh of disbelief.
“Come with me.” Aegon reiterates, slower, more meaningful. He stares into the depths of her eyes and part of him wants to tell her of all the times he’ll be able to do that while they lay side by side in the morning sun, sleep fading; together.
“You won’t want for anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, you are important, I’ve seen it. Come with me and everything will come true.”
Rolly stills beside him and although Aegon does not look at him he knows that Rolly is trying his best to refrain himself. To not grab him by the shoulders and shake sense into him, moons ago – before the dreams began Aegon could never have fathomed himself doing such a thing. Offering everything he has for a young woman whom he does not know.
She laughs once more, “You’re crazy. You don't even know me, I don't know you.”
“I’m not. I’m sane, and I know what I’m offering.” He counters; she does not know all that he offers in between his words.
He offers:
A lifetime together. Pure happiness, sleep warm skin in the early sun, hot open mouthed kisses over hearts, a crown, a kingdom, a legacy.
Most of all he offers his love.
She sniffs, shifting her eyes between him and Rolly, tensing under his gaze.
“I do not trust boys with blue hair.” She says at last a strange hardness mixed seamlessly with the sadness and grief already lurking in her eyes.
She turns, body following effortlessly, walking away from his offer, walking away from him.
“The offer will always be open to you.” He calls to her back, then adds because he feels like it is the right moment, “The dragons have three heads, Joanna.”
She pauses, feet faltering. For a moment he thinks she might turn back, might come back to his offer, might come back to him. But she does not, a resolve set in her shoulders and she deliberately continues on.
“What was tha’ about?” Rolly asks low and grim, teeth clenched and eyes shifting every which way.
He knows Aegon would never say something as precarious as that in a crowd surrounded by people.
“The future, Rolly.” He says, eyes light for the first time in years.
She is my future.
Goes unsaid, but it is instead spoken in his every heart beat.