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Aegon wasn’t sure what it was that had urged him into his father’s chambers so early in the day.  The early morning light cast a white glow through the tall windows of King Viserys’ study, and it illuminated the sprawling cityscape of Old Valyria that was cast in stone across a wide table.  Aegon eyed the open wings of a perched dragon relief and drew his finger along its delicate spine.  It reminded him of Sunfyre.  Unbeknownst to the prince, a small smile twitched at the edge of his mouth as he looked across the model city.  It was beautiful, intricate, painstakingly assembled.  It occurred to Aegon that he was staring down at physical proof of his father’s capacity for passion and love.

A part of Aegon was glad to be reminded that King Viserys could commit himself to something so wholeheartedly, even if it was but a shadow of the distant past.

Aegon blew a puff of air from his lips, pushing back a slim lock of pale hair that had drifted in front of his eyes, and straightened back to full height.  His eyes drifted through the empty chamber and his shoulders dipped to still find it empty.  He’d hoped to have a moment, he realized, to speak to the king privately.  Aegon had pushed aside the seductive lure of his bed, the familiar call of his half-full decanter, and dodged the early-risers Aemond and Jacaerys, in the hopes of catching his father before the queen fastened herself to his side, as she was want to do.

No such luck, however, as he now stood alone in a room he had rarely ever visited.

A creak of wood broke Aegon from his melancholy stare as Ser Arryk pushed open the chamber door and stepped inside.  “My prince,” he said, and Aegon felt his shoulders stiffen at the sympathetic twist that grew on the Kingsguard’s mouth as he took in the otherwise empty room.  “I’ve received word from Queen Alicent.  You are summoned to the small council chamber.”

Aegon sighed.  “I think not.  If my mother wishes for a word, she can find me in my chambers,” he said.  If she wished to take issue with whatever it was he had done this time, she could do it on his terms.  Aegon turned his back on the king’s chambers and made to shoulder past his sworn shield when a gauntleted hand caught his arm.  The skin prickled on the back of Aegon’s neck and he jerked himself away, nearly cracking his head on the open door frame.

Ser Arryk flinched and raised his hands away, although he did not remove himself from Aegon’s path.  “Forgive me, Prince Aegon, we must report at once.  It’s a matter of utmost urgency.”

Aegon frowned.  He did not like the concerned set to Arryk’s shoulders.  His sworn shield had grown more relaxed as of late, more liable to aid Aegon in his attempts to slip his mother’s yoke than reign him in.  But this morning, it was as though all that familiarity was gone.  Aegon’s hands balled into fists at his sides.  “What’s going on?” he asked.

Arryk shook his head, and even glanced once over his shoulder before looking back to Aegon.  “I can’t say, my prince.  Please, just follow me.”

Without waiting for Aegon’s stuttered nod, Ser Arryk swept his arm around Aegon’s shoulder and began ushering him down the hall.  Aegon went willingly, noticing for the first time the increased activity that seemed to be swelling inside the Red Keep.  Most noticeably, there seemed to be guards stationed at every juncture, and patrols sweeping each and every hall.  Aegon swallowed and wished in that moment that he hadn’t forgone everything but his shirt and trousers when he’d dressed that morning.  He felt exposed in his loose shirt, and was uncomfortably aware of the heavy armor that resounded with every step as they passed men by.

“Ser Arryk?” he asked as they climbed the steps leading up from Maegor’s Holdfast and up towards an unfamiliar portion of the Red Keep.  It occurred to Aegon that he’d never actually been inside the small council’s meeting chamber.

Arryk shook his head, hand pressing firmly against Aegon’s back as he ushered the prince upward.  “It’s best I do not say outside of the small council,” he said.

Thankfully, it was not much longer before they arrived at a sealed door flanked by two Kingsguard.  Ser Arryk nodded to both men and they responded in kind before pulling the door open and ushering them both within.

Aegon was swept inside, both surprised and not to find his father seated at the head of a long table, looking bent and haggard as he supported his head in the palm of his hand.  Queen Alicent stood by his side, her arms carefully framing the king’s shoulders and a familiar, unhappy downturn to her lips.  Her eyes snapped to Aegon and something tense in her posture seemed to ease.  Her eyes fluttered in relief and she waved them towards an empty seat to the king’s left.  Aegon went, Ser Arryk his ever present shadow as he took his seat.

“Where have you been, Aegon?” the Queen asked, accusal sharp on her tongue though it blunted against Aegon’s well worn shields.  He leaned heavily against his high-backed chair and let himself slouch. 

“I didn’t realize I had been confined to my chambers,” he said, picking idly at the flaking varnish of the small council table.  He didn’t look up to see what expression flashed across his mother’s face, and instead took in the pair of individuals situated opposite him at the table.  “Sister,” he said, greeting the Princess Rhaenyra with a nod.

“Aegon.”  Rhaenyra was difficult to read at the best of times.  His elder sister was understandably cautious whenever he or Aemond were present, and though she was rarely hostile, especially in the last few years, it was as though she wasn’t sure how to conduct herself around him.  Aegon doubted the matter was helped any with his mother’s hovering presence.  

Rhaenyra sat straight-backed and proper, hair intricately braided and dressed in a gown of the deepest red and black.  She looked fierce and ready for anything, so unlike the rumpled demeanor Aegon presented.  The distinction brought an embarrassed flush to Aegon’s cheeks and he quickly looked away from Rhaenyra to the man standing guard over her shoulder.

Ser Harwin, unlike any of the others present, offered him an unabashed smile, his face kind behind the frame of his darkly curled hair.  Aegon cleared his throat and forced himself to sit up straight, fighting down the urge to return the soft expression of the princess’ sworn shield.

“I’m relieved to see you safely arrived, my prince,” said the knight.

“Your concern is appreciated, Ser Harwin,” King Viserys said, his voice a familiar rattle as his face stretched in a painful smile.  He did not see the pinch in his queen’s expression, or the way she shot a glare across the table towards the hovering Hand of the King.

“Where is Prince Aemond?” Alicent demanded.

Lord Strong cleared his throat into a clenched fist and then folded his hands behind his back.  Ever the consummate professional, he dipped his head towards the queen before responding.  “The young prince was in the training yard with Ser Criston, your grace.  A messenger has been sent, but it will take time for them to arrive,” he said.

Aegon’s eyes widened fractionally and he shot a glance towards Rhaenyra.  For the first time he noticed the slight tremble in the hands she had folded on the table.  So, not only were Aegon and Rhaenyra called, but Aemond too?  What of Jace and Luc?

No sooner had the thoughts entered his mind, did the doors to the chamber open once more, this time letting in a trail of dark-haired children.  “Mother!”  Jacaerys broke off from his siblings as soon as his mother came into view.  Rhaenyra opened her arms and took her eldest into an embrace, her stoic mask slipping as she carded a hand through his dark curls.  Aegon swallowed and tried not to sink into his chair as he watched her press a kiss to her son’s forehead.

“Are you alright?” she asked, glancing up at Jace from her seated position.  Her hands curled into his as they separated.  “What about your brothers?”

“Everyone’s fine, Rhaenyra.”  The room’s occupants looked over towards the small group still shuffling into the chamber on Jacaerys’ heels.  Ser Laenor stepped inside, little Joffrey propped in one arm while the other was wrapped around Lucerys’ shoulders as he clung to his father’s pant leg.  Ser Laenor bowed once towards the king before guiding his brood towards Rhaenyra.  He took the seat to his wife’s right and settled Joffrey onto his lap while keeping a hand on Lucerys’ shoulder where his son stood hovering between his parents.  Jacaerys stepped back from his mother to stand at the shoulder of Ser Harwin.

A small grin overtook Aegon’s face as he noticed his oldest nephew was beginning to develop the same broad shoulders of his father.  Give it a few years and no doubt Aemond would finally have competition in the training yard once again.  Personally, Aegon couldn’t wait.  His little brother had grown a bit insufferable since sprouting a head taller and growing far more adept at the sword than Aegon.

Rhaenyra smiled gently at her children and ran her hand down Lucerys’ arm.  “You smell of the dragonpit,” she said, glancing over Luc’s head at Laenor.

Laenor chuckled.  “We were practicing our Valyrian with the dragons.  Weren’t we boys?” he asked his sons.

Lucerys nodded, a small smile peeking out at his father.  Aegon’s heart went out to the young boy who was clearly picking up on the heavy tension of the room without understanding why it was present.  At least the Princess and her consort were trying to assuage his anxiety.

Queen Alicent scoffed, and Aegon shot his mother a frown in time with Rhaenyra’s affronted scowl.  His mother hardly seemed to notice as she rolled her eyes.  “Yes, yes, we understand you enjoy your beasts,” she said.  Laenor’s grin faded slightly, but he refused to let it fall completely when he had the attention of his sons.

“It’s their birthright,” he said.  “And their responsibility as dragon riders to become adept handlers.”

To his wife’s chagrin, King Viserys nodded.  “A wise philosophy, Ser Laenor,” he said.  The king then turned to his son and Aegon nearly jumped as he became the focus of his father’s attention.  “And you, Aegon?  How is Sunfyre?”  There was a brightness to the king’s voice, and an eagerness in the slight sway of his shoulders as he turned in his chair.

Aegon felt something small in his chest warm as he offered the king a smile.  “He’s beautiful,” said Aegon.  “And nearly a match for Seasmoke in the air.”

“So, the prince claims,” said Laenor, a laugh hidden in the back of his throat as he interjected.

“Are you calling my son a liar?” said the Queen.

King Viserys sagged, looking as though his lady wife had just dropped a sack of stones upon his shoulders.  “A jest, Alicent,” he said, setting a trembling hand on his queen’s wrist.  “Merely a jest, made in good spirits.”

Aegon watched his mother snatch her wrist away.  “It is hardly the appropriate time for jokes, Viserys.  Today of all days.”  She ignored her husband’s weary sigh as she circled the table and approached Aegon’s chair.  Aegon backed against the wood frame, at once feeling caged by the chair’s wooden arms as he gripped them tight.  He managed to restrain himself to a small twitch as his mother cupped his cheek.  Her palm felt cold and her nails sharply curved as she slid her hand down to his chin, held it for a moment, and then dropped away entirely.  “Why are you not dressed?” she asked, her voice a quiet hiss that only Ser Arryk and perhaps Rhaenyra could hear.

Aegon turned away only to feel a sharp crack against the side of his head to direct his focus back.  “Look at me, Aegon!” the queen demanded.

A hot shame flooded Aegon’s face as he forced himself to look up at his mother despite the way his body instinctively hunched in on itself.  He tried to ignore the stares of his young nephews  who were watching the interaction with parted mouths.

“Alicent!” Viserys brought the palm of his hand down against the table, though the action was mostly quiet except for the clatter of his rings against the wood.

“I-I was not expecting to be called,” said Aegon.

Alicent glanced across the table at Rhaenyra’s family, all dressed and groomed, and her face twisted into something ugly.  Aegon flinched, bracing himself for some kind of violent reaction, when Ser Arryk stepped forward.  “Apologies, your grace,” he said.  “The king’s summons were of the utmost urgency, I did not give the prince time to prepare himself before departing.”

Aegon released his breath in a whoosh.  He peeked over his shoulder at Ser Arryk, who had pressed himself as close to Aegon’s chair as possible and had a hand laid carefully across the pommel of his sheathed blade.  

“Leave the boy be,” said the king.  “It was your decision to demand his presence here anyways.  What does it matter if he is not dressed for court?”  

At the king’s words, Aegon frowned.  His mother’s decision?  He glanced over to Rhaenyra who lifted an elegant shoulder and then let it drop at his silent question.  Even Ser Harwin had a confused pinch to his brow.  It seemed whatever urgent matter had called them all here was known only to the king and queen, and most likely Lord Strong as well.

Aegon shifted up in his chair and gathered his resolve.  “Father,” he said.  “What’s going on?  Why are we-”

“Forgive my tardiness,” Aemond’s voice cut through Aegon’s like Valyrian steel through a training doll.  The doors to the small council chamber were thrown open one more time to admit Aemond as he stepped inside and strode purposefully to the empty seat at Aegon’s left.  Aemond’s silver hair fluttered like a banner against the dark leathers of his training gear, and he pulled the sword belt from his hips and let it drop on the table with a loud clatter.  Ser Criston followed a beat or two later and shut and barred the chamber doors behind.

Rhaenyra’s side of the table stiffened at the Kingsgaurd’s arrival and Aegon couldn’t help but follow suit.  He shot his brother a frustrated glare as Aemond settled comfortably in the chair beside him and dropped his chin on the palm of his propped up hand.  Aemond winked in his brother’s direction and drummed his fingers against his cheek.  “What?” he asked.

Aegon shook his head and crossed his arms.  He didn’t like how close Cole and Aemond had become of late, nor the way they spent hours training in the yard as if for war.  Flashes of a dark night beneath the castle of High Tide, of his screaming cousins and nephews as they confronted Aemond’s theft of Vhagar, filled Aegon’s eyes and he avoided his brother’s look.  Something had been broken between them that night, and Aegon didn’t think it was something that could ever truly be repaired.

“Apologies for interrupting your training, Aemond, Ser Criston,” said Viserys, drawing everyone’s attention back to the king.  “But I’m afraid there is a concerning matter which must be addressed.”

Rhaenyra leaned forward in her chair, setting her weight forward on the arm she had braced on the table.  “What’s happened?” she asked.

Lord Strong stepped forward, pulling a bundled cloth from a side table which had hitherto gone unnoticed.  “A threat to the Heir to the Iron Throne,” he said, and set the bundle down.  He threw back the cloth to reveal a Targaryen standard with one of its three dragon heads carved out.  A curled piece of parchment was sitting at the center of the banner, which Lord Strong plucked up and handed into Rhaenyra’s outstretched palm.

Her eyes darted quickly as she read whatever was written there, and though she kept her expression even, Aegon didn’t like the way Jace’s face paled as he read over his mother’s shoulder.  Rhaenyra scowled and tossed the paper down when she finished.  Aegon made to pick it up, but was beaten out as Aemond darted forward and swept it up first.

Rhaenyra settled back in her chair and lifted a hand to meet the one Ser Harwin dropped on her shoulder.  Aegon didn’t miss the way Lord Strong the elder grimaced and tried valiantly to ignore the display.  Rhaenyra sighed.  “It’s written in High Valyrian,” she said.

King Viserys nodded.  “But the threat is clear, my daughter,” he said.  “We must take action.”

“Who would dare make such a threat?” asked Ser Laenor.  He reached over to take his wife’s free hand and held it firmly, rubbing his thumb against the back of her palm.  Rhaenyra squeezed his hand in return.

“We suspect the Triarchy,” said Lord Strong.

Laenor shut his eyes and looked as if he’d been punched in the gut.  “Seven hells,” he cursed.  “Will we never be free of the damned Stepstones?” he asked.

“A sentiment I assure you, we all share,” said Viserys.  “But for now, we must ensure Rhaenyra’s protection until this threat is lifted.”

To Aegon’s left, Aemond hummed and lowered the missive, though he did not let it free from his hand for Aegon to take.  “There is reference to the Faceless Men of Braavos,” he said.  There was a sparkle of intrigue in Aemond’s eyes, one which Aegon and his now queasy stomach did not share.

“A bluff.  Surely,” said Ser Harwin, though the concerned twist to his mouth said he felt otherwise.  Aegon felt a cold sweat beginning at the back of his neck.

“That’s a risk we cannot take,” said Ser Laenor.  He and Harwin shared a look that ended with the men trading a shallow nod.  “What steps have already been taken?” he asked.

“I think we’re all being premature in our assumptions,” said the queen.  The attention of the room swept to Queen Alicent as she plucked the parchment from Aemond’s hand, rolled it up tight, and slid it into the sleeve of her gown.  She inserted herself between Aegon and Aemond’s seats and curled her hands around both of their arms.  “There is an equal chance it is Prince Aegon who is being threatened,” she said.

Oh.  Aegon felt his stomach twist and he had to press a fist against his mouth to stifle down the urge to vomit his nonexistent morning meal.  That was why his mother had demanded he and Aemond be brought in as well.

King Viserys, however, did not seem to take his wife’s meaning.  “I think you misunderstand Alicent,” he said.  “The threat was clear, an assassin would be sent for my heir.  Rhaenyra,” he said, as if the queen needed further clarification.  Aegon wasn’t sure if he should feel better or worse that his father considered his own life so little under threat that he hadn’t even been an afterthought.

“Actually, your grace, I feel I must side with Queen Alicent on this matter,” said Lord Strong.

Viserys blinked up at his Hand, confusion evident in his weathered face.  “How so?” he asked.

Without missing a beat, Lyonel Strong nodded in Aegon’s direction.  “You’ve made your decision to name the Princess Rhaenyra as heir clear, your grace.  But the Triarchy might not assume as much given the tradition of the Seven Kingdoms.”  Lord Strong gestured between Rhaenyra and Aegon.  “You’ve named Rhaenyra,” he said.  “But tradition would say Aegon.  The missive did not specify gender, only that your heir would die.”

Alicent lifted her chin.  “As the Lord Hand says, husband, we cannot know the mind of those madmen,” she said, begrudgingly accepting the support of Lord Strong.  “We must take precautions.  For both of them,” she said.

Viserys seemed to consider their words for a moment, and Aegon found himself made center of his father’s attention for once.  “I do not wish to see any of my children harmed,” he said.  “Even as a result of misunderstanding and mistakes.”

Aegon flinched, and this time could not hide the violence of his response.  He caught a flash of Aemond’s eyes and saw a glimmer of concern there that reminded him of days passed.  For a moment Aegon dearly missed the closeness they once shared and mourned the part he played in bringing them to an end.  Aegon drew his arm away from his mother and hid what he could of his face by dropping his chin in the far heel of his palm.  

“We should place them both under guard,” said Ser Harwin.  “Ser Laenor and I will not allow them to come to harm.”

Alicent tutted.  “I’m sure that’s unnecessary,” she said and motioned to where Ser Criston had not moved from the doorway to the chamber.  At her gesture he straightened his spine and lifted his chin.  Aegon stifled a gag behind his fingers and heard Aemond give a quiet snort in response.  Alicent cleared her throat.  “Ser Criston is unmatched in swordsmanship and a member of the Kingsguard.  He will guard Prince Aegon and my step-daughter,” she said.

Ser Harwin’s grip tightened on his sword hilt and he stepped closer to Rhaenyra’s side.  “You grace, I must object.  I am the princess’ sword shield-”

“You are Commander of the Goldcloaks,” said the queen.  “Your duty, ser, is to root out this threat to my son’s life that has somehow managed to make its way to the Red Keep under your watch.”

Harwin staggered as if struck, and Aegon felt a pang as he watched Jacaerys quietly grip the knight’s hand.  As always, the young prince’s touch seemed to ground Ser Harwin and help bring his emotions back under control.  Lyonel Strong wiped a hand across his brow and looked as though he would rather fling himself from the Red Keep than remain in the room.

“I believe Sers Criston and Harrold should both be stationed as guards while Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aegon take refuge in Maegor’s Holdfast,” said Lord Strong.  

“And what of my children?” asked Rhaenyra.  She swept a hand through little Joffrey’s hair and tossed a look at the Hand of the King.

“Storm’s End,” said Laenor, stealing whatever words Lord Strong might have had.  “Ser Qarl and I will escort them to Storm’s End to visit their grandfather’s family.”

“Closer to the Stepstones?” asked Rhaenyra.

Laenor shook his head.  “It is said that Storm’s End is protected against magic,” he said.  “If the Faceless Men attempt an approach they will not go unnoticed.”  

Lord Strong nodded in agreement.  “We can say the boys have gone to learn sailing from their father,” he said.  “We already know the princes are not the main target of the threat.  And if the assassin believes they are at sea, it will put them well beyond easy reach.”

“A good choice, Ser Laenor,” said Viserys.  “You’ll leave at once.  Rhaenyra, you and Aegon will go to Maegor’s Holdfast with Ser Criston.”  With that, the decision was made.  King Viserys took hold of his cane and struggled to his feet.  “Say farewell to your mother, boys,” he said to Jacaerys and Lucerys.  “You’ll see each other again soon.  I swear it.”

Jacaerys looked like he was struggling to put on a brave face, but Aegon could see equal parts of frustration and worry bubbling beneath the surface.  Luc, meanwhile, did not even try to hide the wobbling of his chin as he tucked his head against his mother’s shoulder.  “I don’t want to go,” he said.

Laenor shared a pained look with Rhaenyra before pulling his son away.  “Ser Harwin won’t let anyone hurt your mother,” he said.  Harwin nodded from where he was giving Jacaerys a firm hand to the shoulder.  “He’ll keep such a close eye out, no one will even make it to Ser Harrold.”

Lucerys nodded, and turned to hide his face instead against Laenor’s chest.  Aegon watched the tearful display with a deep curdle of envy, but was pulled away as Aemond suddenly stood and took his sword from the table.  “While the women and children weep,” he said and bent forward to cut into Aegon’s view.  “Come brother, I’ll escort you.”

Aegon grimaced, but followed as Aemond ushered him up and towards the door.  They made it out to the hall and Aegon spied the hunched form of their father hobbling towards the Tower of the Hand.  “Father,” Aegon called out and started wheeling towards the king, only to be waved away.

“Not now, Aegon,” said the king, breathing wheezy.  “I’m sorry.  I must retire for the moment but we'll talk later.”  Ser Harrold cast the princes an apologetic look before beginning to help the king make his ascent up the winding stair.  Aegon simply stood at the base a moment, not sure what to do with the adrift feeling in his chest before Aemond took his arm.

“Never fear, brother,” he said.  “I’ll not let you be skewered by some high flung mummer.”  

“I’d hardly call the Faceless Men ‘high flung mummers’,” said Aegon.

Aemond rolled his eyes and snorted.  “Think of it this way, they’re probably not even after you.”

“Mother seems to think so,” said Aegon.

“Our mother,” said Aemond.  “Is in the unique position of both fearing for your well-being and also hoping it is in danger if only to have her ambitions vindicated,” he said.  “Hers is not an unbiased opinion.”

“What about Lord Strong?” Aegon asked.

Aemond considered a moment, then nodded.  “The Hand I would agree with.  It’s unlikely, but best to take precautions,” he said.  

“Is it?” asked Aegon.  They approached the moat leading to Maegor’s Holdfast and Aegon drew them to a halt part way across.  Aegon looked up into his brother’s smug gaze and frowned.  “This is a good opportunity for you.  By the morning Rhaenyra and I could both be dead, and you would be the new center of our mother’s attention,” he said.

Aemond’s hair blew in the slight breeze.  The twist of mirth that always seemed to be present on his brother’s lips faded and Aegon was suddenly very aware of the spiked pit that lay below them.  Aemond sighed and slapped Aegon across the back, shoving him forward towards the safety of the end of the drawbridge.  “You truly think so little of me?” he asked.  Aegon could not see his brother’s face, but could have sworn he heard a touch of hurt in his voice.

Aegon didn’t answer as they entered the heart of the holdfast.  Aemond led them into the deepest set of apartments and opened the door for Aegon to enter.  Aegon stepped inside and turned.

“I used to think you were the only person I could trust,” he told Aemond.  Aegon looked anywhere but in his brother’s eyes as he wandered deeper into the apartment and took a seat beside a collection of goblets and decanters strewn across a decorative table.  Aegon sunk into the cushioned chair and let his head fall back to stare up at the vaulted ceiling.  “You were my best friend,” he said, voice tight.

Out the corner of Aegon’s eye he saw the dark shape of his brother wander a step or two into the room.  “You had a funny way of showing it,” said Aemond.  “Did you never think of what your taunts did to me?” he asked.

Aegon dropped a hand across his face and groaned.  “Gods preserve me from one bad joke.  Really?”  This time he did look up to scoff in his brother’s face.  “The pink dread?  All this over that stupid- you stole Rhaena’s birthright!”

“You knew what having a dragon meant to me!” Aemond spat back.  He took two heavy steps in Aegon’s direction, and threw an accusing finger in his older brother’s direction.  Aegon shrunk deeper into his chair.  “And when I finally, finally had the chance to claim one of my own, you sided with them!?”

“It was their mother’s funeral, you heartless shit!”

“Fuck you, Aegon,” said Aemond, voice dropping low and acidic.  “You’ve never understood how lucky you are.  You’re nothing but a spoiled, ungrateful brat.”

“Am I interrupting something?”  

Aegon and Aemond both jerked as Rhaenyra’s calm voice cut through their argument.  Aegon whipped his head to the side to see their sister enter the chamber with calm steps and her hands folded neatly before her stomach.  She lifted a brow at the brothers’ obviously hostile postures.  Aegon watched as she made her way steadily over to the table beside him and poured herself a cup of wine.  “By all means,” she said, gesturing to the pair of them with her full cup before finding a seat for herself.  “Don’t stop on my account.”

At the doorway, Aegon could see Ser Criston watching them with quiet interest a moment longer before ducking back out and shutting the doors.

Aemond grimaced at Aegon before smoothing his features into something much more even-keeled.  “There’s no need,” he said.  “I was just leaving.  I’ll be joining the patrols around the holdfast tonight.”

Rhaenyra slouched back into her seat and saluted with her cup.  “Good hunting then,” she said.

Aegon watched his brother’s tense back as he made for the doors and only called out as Aemond reached for the handle.  “I’m sorry, alright?” he said, and felt the slightest bit of relief as Aemond looked back.  He ignored Rhaenyra’s silent presence and swallowed as he met his brother’s cold stare.

“For all of it,” said Aegon.

Aemond sighed.  The anger didn’t fade, but Aegon did see another flash of concern dart across his features as Aemond pursed his lips.  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, and Aegon chose to take it as a promise that there would, in fact, be a tomorrow.

Aemond took his leave, and Aegon found himself alone with Rhaenyra as they settled in for what would no doubt be a very, very long day.

Rhaenyra blew air from her lips and sank deeper into her chair, letting her neck roll as if trying to work out a stiffness in her shoulders.  Aegon blinked, surprised.  He’d never really seen his half-sister drop her formality in front of him before.  She opened her eyes half-lidded and swirled the cup in her hands before bringing it to her lips.

“Should you really be drinking that?” he asked, causing her to still before the cup touched her lips.

Rhaenyra considered the glass before shrugging.  “Probably not.  But it promises to be a long day without something to dull the senses,” she said.  Then she offered the goblet out towards Aegon.  “Unless you would rather do the chivalrous thing and take the risk upon yourself to test it.”

Aegon felt ice travel down his spine and tugged at the short hairs at the back of his head.  He swallowed nervously before standing and reaching forward.  Rhaenyra blinked and jerked the cup away.

“Gods, it was a jest, Aegon,” she said.  “You weren’t really going to drink it, were you?”

Heat reddened Aegon’s cheeks.  “No,” he said.

Rhaenyra rubbed a delicate finger against her temple.  “You’re a terrible liar,” she said.  “Sit down.”

Aegon sat.

“Alicent’s really done a number on you,” Rhaenyra muttered, quietly enough it was an equal chance Aegon wasn’t meant to hear it as was.  “Believe me, if I wished to risk someone’s life to test for poison, I’d much rather shove this goblet down Ser Criston’s throat than yours,” she said, and took a heavy sip.

“Rhaenyra!” Aegon hissed, on his feet and striding forward even though he knew it was too late to stop her.  Rhaenyra ignored him, and simply set the cup to the side as she stared up at him, unimpressed.  They watched each other for a tense minute before Rhaenyra shrugged. 

“I guess I live,” she said.

“Seven hells.”   Aegon reached over and took the same glass she’d drunk from and downed the rest of its contents in one go.  A drop or two of red wine splattered across his white shirt, but he hardly cared as he glared down at his half-sister and then trudged back to his chair.  He sat down and tried not to feel sick.

Rhaenyra must have read his fear, because she snorted.  “Dramatic,” she said.

“Couldn’t you have waited for someone to bring us something?” asked Aegon.

“And you would trust something brought by a maid more than what was left here?” she asked.

Aegon considered a moment, and remembered who it was that had been contracted to kill one of them.  He suddenly felt rather like a child.  “I suppose not,” he said.

Rhaenyra nodded.  “I’d rather not spend the day in fear,” she said, standing to her feet.  She wandered over to the wine and poured herself another glass while filling a second goblet for Aegon.  “And wine will certainly help.”  She offered him the cup and then went back to her chair.  

Aegon watched his sister take another sip.  She hummed appreciatively.  “I didn’t know you had a taste for wine,” he said.

Rhaenyra huffed and shifted in her chair.  “I need my wits about me in court, so I don’t drink often,” she said.  “And the maester’s have a word or two to say about drinking when with child so, I’m taking the opportunity while it presents itself.”  She lifted her glass as if in a toast.

Aegon laughed despite himself, a bit strained and a bit mad, and toasted back.  “And so our watch begins,” he said.

Rhaenyra chuckled.  “And so our watch begins.”  

Chapter Text

“May I ask you something, Aegon?”

Aegon blinked and turned away from the thinly arched window that opened up to the towering ramparts surrounding Maegor’s Holdfast.  The night had grown quickly dark, and with it, a sense of confinement as he continued to count the hours until dawn.  Aegon spied the bobbing torchlights of the passing sentries and then shifted the angle of his shoulder to look towards his sister instead.

“What?” he asked.

“You must first promise not to be offended,” said Rhaenyra, a small smirk twisting on her mouth as she continued her idle pacing of the open apartment.  A half-empty goblet sat in the cradle of her hands, but she had not gone to it more than once or twice in the last hour.  She seemed to be growing restless, and had already nearly picked apart a hanging tapestry by pulling at its loose threads.

Aegon supposed it could not hurt to amuse her, though his caution was peaked by her condition.  He opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted as their chamber door opened for only the second time since their arrival.  An unfamiliar maid skittered inside, a tray of steaming bread and various fruits held in her shaking arms.  Rhaenyra raised her hand, just a simple motion of her wrist, but it bade Aegon hold his tongue.

“Forgive the intrusion, princess.”  The girl curtsied as well as she was able and set her tray on a low table.  She made as if to serve them, setting plates and silverware, but Rhaenyra stepped forward and shooed her off.

“There’s no need,” she said, and with a stern look the maid retreated.  Rhaenyra watched her leave, as did Aegon from his window perch, and found Ser Criston’s eyes as he held the door open for the girl to make her exit.  There was a moment of silent hatred communicated with nothing but held attention until the door swung shut once more.  It would not open again before dawn.  

Aegon cleared his throat and stepped down towards the table.  “I’ll do my best not to take offense,” he said to Rhaenyra’s stiff back.  Standing at the table, he lifted the back of his hand towards the bread and felt the lingering heat of the kitchen fires.  He eyed the bundle of grapes that had also been presented and then dug his fingers in to split the loaf in two.  It was easy enough to ignore the prickling heat that bit at his hands.

He held one half of the bread to Rhaenyra, who took it without complaint and then sat herself down in the chair opposite Aegon’s side of the table.  She considered the bread in her hands for a moment, turning it between her fingers, then looked to Aegon.  “Tell me,” she said.  “If our would-be assassin were to burst through that door an hour from now, how likely is it you would be able to fight them off?”

Rhaenyra canted her head towards the door and Aegon followed her direction.  He stuffed a piece of crust into his mouth and only once he had chewed and swallowed did he answer.  “You realize if they’re coming through that door, they’ve gotten through Ser Criston and Ser Harrold,” he said.

Rhaenyra shrugged.  “Are you telling me I’d have better luck throwing you at them and taking my chances out the window?” she asked.

Aegon snorted and reached for his own abandoned glass.  “Maybe,” he said.  He didn’t look towards the sheathed sword resting against the low-burning fireplace as he took a drink.  “There’s a reason Cole decided his time would be better spent giving Aemond private training.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aegon could see one of Rhaenyra’s thin eyebrows lift.  “Ser Criston’s opinion means less than nothing to me,” she said.  Her expression turned sour as she glared across the room at nothing.  “That man would see my sons incapable of defending themselves.”

True enough.  “They’ve made a lot of progress under Ser Harwin,” said Aegon.  

It was surprisingly satisfying to watch a smile curl on Rhaenyra’s face at the mention of her sons.  She propped her elbow on the arm of her chair and set her chin in the crook of two fingers.  “Harwin seems to think you’ve the makings of a fine swordsman.  Or you would, given a measure of focus and sobriety,” she said.

“He does?”  Aegon felt himself snap to attention at the mention of Ser Harwin’s assessment of him.  His spine straightened and his feet planted themselves flat as he leaned forward, hands grasping at the arms of his chair.  At Rhaenyra’s smug grin he looked away.  “I mean, Ser Harwin is rather generous with his compliments,” he said.

Rhaenyra nearly choked as she balked with her cup lifted to her lips.  She set her goblet aside and coughed into the back of a wrist before turning back to Aegon.  “Harwin is not one to be easily impressed,” she said.  “If he says you have skill then rest assured, you have it.”

She seemed so convinced.  Aegon bit his lip and leaned forward, weight carried through his elbows onto his knees.  He stared down at his limp hands hanging between his legs and watched as his fingers faintly trembled, whether from drink or fear, he didn’t know.  He fought the urge to kindle the small flame of contentment that bloomed at the thought of holding the knight’s esteem.

“Have I ever told you about the first time Ser Harwin ever truly acknowledged me?” asked Rhaenyra.  Aegon blinked and looked up at her.  He shook his head. 

 A soft smile overtook the princess’ face and she began to run her fingers absentmindedly through her loose hair.  “It was the day after your second name day,” she said.  Her hands found the end of one of her thin braids and she flicked it over her shoulder.  “I was maybe, six-and-ten?  Gods, I hated you then.”

Aegon flinched and he sat himself back, letting the familiar drag of his shoulders pull him into a careless slouch.  He looked away from his sister and chose instead to focus on the cracking paint of the walls.  Even still, it didn’t stop his ears from straining as she continued to talk.

“I was furious.  At you, Alicent, my father; so I ran, took a horse and bolted in the middle of a hunt.”  

“Let me guess, Ser Harwin went after you?” said Aegon.

Rhaenyra chuckled to herself.  “It was Ser Criston, actually.”

That drew Aegon’s focus back to her.  He stared, mouth agape and eyes darting between Rhaenyra and the chamber door.  “You’re kidding,” he said.

“He wasn’t always such an insufferable prick,” she said with a small shrug.  “Saved my life that night, if I’m to be honest.  There was a boar.”

“Fuck,” said Aegon.  He didn’t mean to become riveted by the story, but it wasn’t turning at all like he’d expected.  He strained to imagine it.  A time, a world even, wherein Ser Criston stood by Rhaenyra’s side instead of his mother’s.  

“Yes, ‘fuck’ would be an appropriate evaluation,” said Rhaenyra and she gave a closed-mouthed laugh.  “The thing might have skewered me if Ser Criston hadn’t been there to run it through.  But even after I’d pushed it off it wasn’t dead.”  She shuddered and her face twisted as if she were hearing something Aegon’s ears couldn’t.  “I had a knife with me, and I stabbed it.  Again and again and again until it was dead.”

Rhaenyra shook herself and schooled her face into something a bit more even.  With her right hand she drew back her hair from her shoulder and then took a deep breath.  “We brought back the boar on the back of my horse.  And I walked into camp absolutely covered in blood.”

Aegon grimaced to imagine it.  Rhaenyra, no older than Helaena, drenched in blood and marching through a camp mid-hunt.  “That must have been a sight,” he said.

“I’m sure,” said Rhaenyra.  “All those petty lords ready to vie for my hand.  They all looked at me that morning like I had the pox.”  She smiled then, and leaned her cheek against a closed fist.  “All except for Harwin.  He stood to his feet and gave me the largest, most ridiculous smile you could imagine.”

Aegon bent his head to hide his own stretching grin.  “Of course he did,” he said.

“Toasted my ferocity the whole rest of the hunt.  His poor father, on the other hand, looked ready to faint; the man probably thought me mortally wounded,” said Rhaenyra.  She fell into a comfortable, contemplative silence, and Aegon didn’t try to spur her from it.  “My point,” she said at last, “is that Ser Harwin is not one to let what everyone else thinks determine the course of his own mind.  A lesson, I believe, you would benefit from as well.”

Aegon considered Rhaenyra’s words, rubbing at the shallow calluses along his palms as he did so.  “I don’t know that I could do much,” he said.  “But if they come, the Faceless Men, I’d defend you.”  Aegon lifted his head to meet his sister’s eyes as he spoke, and did his best to hold her gaze when all she met him with was silence.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked.

Rhaenyra’s eyes slid shut and she took a breath.  “I don’t know,” she said.  Aegon nodded.  At least she was being honest.

Rhaenyra took a bite of the cooled bread in her hands.  “Do you want it?” she asked.

“Want what?” asked Aegon.

“The Iron Throne.”

Aegon went still for a moment, then laughed quietly to himself.  “You know, I think you’re the first person to ever ask me that question,” he said.  “Do you?” he asked.

Rhaenyra sat forward, mirroring Aegon’s posture with her elbows on her knees and her hands wrung together around a half-eaten piece of bread.  Her hair fell in a pale waterfall over her shoulder and she looked down at the platter of food between them.  “I didn’t,” she said.  “Not until Father told me he intended to name me heir.  Now?”  She shrugged.  “Let’s just say I’ve grown accustomed to the idea.”

“It doesn’t terrify you?” Aegon asked.  He’d had nightmares of that chair, of being torn to pieces by its countless swords.  He dreamt of being trapped, strangled and puppeted before the masses by the strings of his mother and grandsire.  He saw the hollow shell of a man his father was, how he rotted from the inside out.  All the while his own councilors looked on hungrily, waiting for the Stranger to take their due.

“I’d be a fool if it didn’t,” said Rhaenyra.  “But our father was- stronger, once.  He helped me see that despite whatever fears I had, greater still was our duty to the realm.”  Her nails dug into the soft flesh of the bread in her hands, and Aegon watched as pale crumbs fell to the ground beneath her grip.  “I’d sooner let the Iron Throne bleed me dry than fail in the mission our father set before me,” she said.

Aegon withered under the force of Rhaenyra’s gaze.  He felt the muscles in his jaw lock and he sucked air between clenched teeth as he dropped his head into his hands.  Shaking fingers tangled in his newly shorn hair and he squeezed his eyes shut.  “Fuck.”  The curse barely made it from his lips.

“Aegon?”

“I hate him,” said Aegon and he hissed when his eyes began to sting.  He buried them into the palms of his hands  “I don’t want to.  But, I think I do.”

He sensed more than felt Rhaenyra’s hand hovering over his shoulder.  Near, but not quite daring to touch.  “Who?” she asked.  

“Father,” said Aegon.  “I just, I hate him for what he’s done to us, to me- that he doesn’t see the fucking mess he’s made!”  Aegon sniffed and threw himself onto his feet, nearly shouldering Rhaenyra away as he started to pace.  “Sorry,” he said, looking anywhere but at Rhaenyra.  “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine,” said Rhaenyra.  “I-I think I understand.”

Aegon scoffed and threw his arm vaguely between them.  “Really?  Father practically worships the ground you walk on.”

Rhaenyra laughed, loud and bitter.  “Oh, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Don’t pretend like he doesn’t turn a blind eye to everything you do that could besmirch the image of the Realm’s Delight,” said Aegon.  “He’d burn the world for you.”  And if the Hightowers had anything to say about it, the world would.

Rhaenyra shook her head.  “And he wouldn’t for you?  Or Aemond, or Helaena?”

“Father doesn’t even see me!” Aegon shouted.  Rage he did not know what to do with bubbled in his chest and he took the nearest thing he could grasp, an ornament from the fireplace, and flung it across the room.  Stone shattered against the wall.

“Prince Aegon?  Princess Rhaenyra?” came the muffled voice of the Kingsguard outside the chamber door.  The sound of a lock being turned echoed through the room.  Aegon flinched, but Rhaenrya held firm.

“Leave that door shut, Ser Harrold!  Or I will have your head!” she demanded, not looking away from Aegon.  Then to him, she said, “Are you finished?”

Aegon’s breath came ragged.  “Why?” he asked.  “How can he just decide when and where to care about tradition and law?  Doesn’t he realize his own hypocrisy?”  A sudden exhaustion rocked him and Aegon let his back fall against the chamber wall.  He slid to the ground.

Slowly, so that Aegon would have ample time to voice his objection or move, Rhaenyra lifted her skirts and made her way across the room.  With a quiet exhalation of air she settled down beside him.  “Viserys is, a deeply flawed man,” she said, a heavy sigh on her lips.  “I could not tell you which things he turns a blind eye to and which he is ignorant of.  But, I do know that he loves all of us, deeply.”

“I know,” said Aegon, and his head fell back against the wall.  Rhaenyra was staring out across the room, pretending not to notice as Aegon worked to control the reddening of the skin around his eyes and nose.  “I know.  It’s just- how can he not see?”   

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, more like a sigh, that rattled deep inside her chest.  Aegon watched, focus pinned to the deep pinch between her shoulder blades and the stiff way she held her hands together, like she was a string pulled taut across a bow.  “Viserys is blind to consequence,” she said, “because in the end his most damning quality is that he is selfish.”

Aegon blinked, completely nonplussed.  It was perhaps the harshest thing he’d heard Rhaenyra say towards their father, at the very least to him.  Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder and gave Aegon a grim smile.

“Alicent wasn’t always the woman you know,” she said.  “Time was, once, that she was my dearest friend.”  The bleak edge faded from the curve of Rhaenyra’s lips and turned into something softer, with a touch of mourning.  She reached out and took one of Aegon’s hands, drawing it between them.  He watched her run her thumb across the back of his palm and held completely still, as if any move could break the odd mood that had compelled Rhaenyra to share.

“We used to spend hours in the Godswood.  Alicent would read to me as I climbed trees or braided flowers in her hair,” said Rhaenyra with a quiet chuckle.  “I was the bane of my septa, but Alicent made sure I committed her lessons to heart.”

Aegon resisted the urge to ask what had happened, sure that he could probably make a fair guess.

Rhaenyra sniffed and visibly shuttered her expression into something even. “I was well aware that my father would be expected to marry, after my mother’s death.  He’d named me heir to slight Daemon, but it was his duty to secure his line.  I made my peace with this.”

She spoke of the young Laena Velaryon, of the reasoned council of Lord Lyonel to secure Driftmark’s loyalty.  Aegon could find no fault with the reasoning, though he could understand why Viserys would find the idea distasteful.  He and Helaena weren’t even so far removed in age.

“I was ready to do my duty to the best of my ability,” said Rhaenyra.  “I would accept Laena as my lawful mother because it would stabilize the realm.  What I was not prepared for, was to have my father announce that rather than do his duty, he would marry Alicent Hightower.”

Aegon shook his head.  “Why?” he asked.  He’d never wondered about his mother’s marriage to Viserys before, never cared to decipher the reason why the Hightowers had been elevated so suddenly.  Now though, he could not understand it.  He turned to his sister for the answer.

Rhaenyra shrugged.  “I don’t know the details.  But she was kind, and she helped us both through our grief in those days,” she said.  “Viserys did not marry your mother for peace or power.  He married Alicent because he wanted to be loved, and he ignored the cost his own happiness would bring upon anyone else.”

Aegon thought of Laenor and knew it could not be coincidence that Rhaenyra had wed the heir to Driftmark, regardless of what peace their family may have found.  “I don’t think she is capable of love,” he said.

“If so, then it was stolen from her; replaced by bitterness and hate,” said Rhaenyra.  “I wish you could have known her then.  In those days, her love seemed the brightest thing in the world to me.”

For a moment, Aegon wished the same.  He wondered what his life could have been like, if his mother had been the kind of person to read to him beneath the trees and give him counsel when his heart was heavy.  He envied Rhaenyra the chance to know that Alicent Hightower.

“Thank you,” said Aegon.  “For telling me.”

Rhaenyra nodded and took her hand back.  Aegon pulled his own back into his lap.  “You have a right to know,” she said  “I never dreamed that our interests would be set against each other in such a way.  And I don’t think she did either.”  Rhaenyra stood to her feet and then turned to cast her eyes down at Aegon.  He wondered how much hatred his sister must surely bear towards him.  She’d admitted to some, earlier, but he could not imagine it had faded.

Aegon was everything that had torn her and Alicent apart.  Maybe he was the reason his mother had no love left in her heart.  Aegon swallowed and followed his sister to his feet.  Maybe Alicent was right to despise him.

“Whatever foul thing you’re thinking, stop it,” said Rhaenyra.  She frowned at him and then made her way swiftly over to their abandoned cups, refilling one and handing it towards him.  “You’re not to blame for Alicent’s unhappiness.  If you want to lay the fault at anyone’s door, look no farther than your bastard of a grandfather Otto Hightower.”

She would get no argument there.  Aegon took the cup from Rhaenyra’s hands with a grateful hum, not trusting his voice to carry any sort of stability.  Rhaenyra touched her hand to the side of his arm and then wandered away with a cup of her own.  “When I am queen,” she said, tipping her head up as if to admire one of the room’s tapestries, “Aegon, you will have nothing to fear from me.”  

Aegon could not see her expression, only watch the sway of her silver hair as she continued to give him her back.  “Assuming either of us lives through this night, I have no intention to rule through bloodshed.  We are the house of the dragon and we will stand together.”  At last, she turned.  “Will you help me?”

Aegon put his cup to his lips to stall his answer.  It was perhaps the kindest way of asking someone to bend the knee he’d ever heard, but despite what his mother and even Aegon himself might sometimes think, he was not stupid.  This was no formal ceremony, but Rhaenyra was asking for his loyalty.  He already knew his answer, but found it harder than he would have thought to give it.

“I-”

Wood creaked and the doors to their chamber opened just wide enough for a maid to slip through.  She wore a deep, red dress and Aegon thought perhaps she might look familiar.  His mouth snapped shut.

The maid curtseyed.  “Beg your pardon, princess.  I was sent to collect your meal,” she said, nodding to the barely touched bread and fruits abandoned on the table.

Rhaenyra frowned.  “This chamber is meant to be sealed.  Where are Ser Harrold and Ser Criston?”

The girl shrinked in on herself and stepped quickly to the table, pulling dishes and silverware into her arms.  “Just outside, m’lady.”

Aegon set his cup down on the lip of the fireplace and blinked. Ah, he realized, she was the same girl who had brought their food in earlier.  Curious, he thought.  The servants had been commanded to send a different maid each time, but he supposed the girl’s face was plain enough, maybe no one had paid too close a mind.   He watched as Rhaenyra eyed the girl and then waved.  “Then finish quickly and leave,” she said.  

A bell began ringing from outside the chamber’s window.  All three of the room’s occupants shook and the platter of dishes and food went spilling from the maid’s hands.  Aegon ignored her fervent apologies to Rhaenyra and rushed to the window.

He could hear shouting, rushing footsteps through the continuous ringing, and he saw the once rhythmic torchlights rushing across the ramparts.  Aegon felt something in his chest loosen and he sighed.  If they’d found the assassin elsewhere, they were not here.  “They must have found the assassin,” he said.

Rhaenyra visibly relaxed, letting her breath out in a grateful whoosh, hand to her chest.  “Excellent.”

The chamber doors opened again and the Kingsguard stepped inside.  Ser Harrold scanned them each for injury before looking to Rhaenyra.  “Princess Rhaenyra, the guards are in pursuit.  We must-”

“Go, Ser Harrold,” said Rhaenyra.  “Cut this Faceless Man down.  Whoever they are, they must not escape to make good on their mission.”

Ser Harrold bowed swiftly.  “Yes, Princess.  Ser Criston, bar the door.”  The old knight rushed from the chamber, and the last Aegon saw of him was his billowing cloak as Ser Criston resealed the chamber, leaving Aegon, Rhaenyra, and the maid inside.

Rhaenyra’s shoulders heaved with her breaths as she set her cup down on a table.  “I must admit, I am the slightest bit disappointed,” she said.  “From the stories I’d heard, I expected the Faceless Men of Braavos to be a craftier lot.”  There was a strained humor in her voice as she directed her words to Aegon.

There was a new and growing stress to her that Aegon could understand.  Their assassin had been found, yes, but not caught.  And the fact that the guards were in pursuit meant that there had been no idle threat made against one of their lives.

One of them was meant to die that night and they still did not know who.

“I’m glad you both are safe,” said the maid.  She was still crouched to the floor, her spilled items once again collected in a neat pile, but she made no move to pick them up.  “It was good of King Viserys to make sure you were both protected.”

Aegon turned to the girl, stepping out of the window’s view to make his way back over to the fireplace.  Rhaenyra was hugging her arms tightly and did not seem to be paying either of them much mind.  Her focus was strictly for the dancing lights she could see out in the darkness even from across the room.  He wondered if her thoughts had turned to Ser Harwin, out there somewhere and likely part of the ongoing pursuit.

Something tickled at the back of Aegon’s mind.  It quickly began to take shape as the maid’s small hand moved over the loose silverware atop her piled plates and circled around the grip of a knife.  Aegon’s eyes widened.  “Rhaenyra-!”

Pain lanced through his shoulder.  Aegon gasped and just barely caught himself on the lip of the fireplace before the shock of impact could send him stumbling into the flames.  His breaths shuddered, and his head snapped to the silver sticking from just beneath his collarbone.  Not fatal in the least, but gods did it hurt.

“Aegon!”  Rhaenyra jolted, and for a moment all three of them were still before his sister turned her glare down at the maid whose arm was still outstretched towards Aegon.  “You!” she shouted down at the girl.

The girl’s face was disturbingly even as she assessed Aegon for a moment, and seemingly satisfied by the way his legs shook, bent to pull another knife from the pile of silverware on the floor and lunged for Rhaenyra.

Aegon wished his sister were the type to scream.  He groaned as he fell to his hands and knees and tore the makeshift weapon from his shoulder.  Blood splattered across the ground and he looked over to see Rhaenyra pressed against the wall, face red as she struggled to hold the maid’s knife at bay.  

“Guards!” he shouted.  He considered going for the sword he had left standing beside the fireplace, but his body moved before his mind could catch up.  Rhaenyra looked to be struggling and Aegon threw himself at the assassin.  White flashed before his eyes as the maid’s stomach impacted against his bleeding shoulder, and they fell to the ground in a heap.  A knee was pressed against Aegon’s chest and he was being shoved aside as the girl rolled to her feet.

“Prince Aegon!?”  Ser Criston’s voice never sounded so sweet.

“In here!  The assassin!” he shouted.

The maid scowled and rushed to the door.  Aegon could hear Criston working the lock, but before he could unlatch it, the girl shoved her knife hilt deep into the keyhole.  Aegon could hear Criston’s muffled shouts and curses and then a banging could be heard as the knight began throwing himself against the weight of the door.

Skirts obstructed Aegon’s vision as Rhaenyra ran to his side, and her hands shook as she helped him to his feet.  Aegon gripped her hand thankfully and then maneuvered himself in front of her.  It seemed they had their answer, as the maid’s eyes narrowed on Rhaenyra.

“It’s over,” Rhaenyra said.  “You’ll never make it out of King’s Landing alive.”

The maid nodded and reached for her sleeve.  A sleek dagger fell into her palm.  “Valar morghulis,” she said.  The girl advanced and Aegon pressed Rhaenyra back and towards where he could still see his sword waiting by the wall.

“Rhaenyra, the sword!” he said, and then ducked as the maid swung her knife for his head.  

She growled as he dodged her attack and then Aegon wasn’t thinking anything as his head cracked to the side.  The maid’s skirt fluttered from her swift kick and Aegon stumbled and nearly fell. He could hear the sound of his sheath clattering to the ground.

“Step away from him!” Rhaenyra demanded.

“He is not the chosen,” said the girl.  The maid’s knife flashed and Rhaenyra was barely able to lift the sword in time to keep its sharp edge from her neck.

Ferocity swallowed terror as Rhaenyra lifted a foot and kicked the maid away, pushing off the wall to rush away from the stumbling assassin and towards Aegon’s side.  Aegon opened his hand and felt the cool metal slide into his palm.  “Be careful,” said Rhaenyra as she stepped back and allowed Aegon to put himself between her and their attacker.

Aegon gripped the sword with both hands and grimaced.  The knife spun in the assassin’s hands, flipping between palms in a silver blur and she stalked on bent knees across the ground like a predatory cat.  Aegon held his sword out in a defensive guard.  He had the advantage of range as Ser Harwin had taught him, and it was imperative that he keep it.  The girl was quicker than him and likely had far keener reflexes, if she made it inside the reach of his sword, there would be nothing he could do.

“Rhaenyra-” he started when a hand fell steadily on the center of his back. 

“Don’t talk to me.  Focus,” said Rhaenyra.  Aegon swallowed and bobbed his head, taking comfort from the heat of his sister’s presence at his back.  Her voice was steady and confident, like she believed in him.

Another shuddering crash fell against the chamber door and the assassin lunged in the moment after.  Aegon jerked, swinging his sword in a rushed parry to head the girl off before she could slip behind him.  Her brows pinched in a frustrated frown.  “You need not die this night, prince,” she said.  

“Aegon!” Cole’s shout pierced through the creaking wood.  Cracks were beginning to form through the seams of the wood, but it would be time yet before the Kingsguard had any hope of breaking through.

The girl darted forward again but this time, as Aegon swung to deflect her slashing blade she feinted, and Aegon saw nothing but a flash of red before his left leg collapsed beneath him.  Aegon screamed as he felt cold metal sink into the flesh of his thigh.

“Aegon!”  Rhaenyra was calling his name but he had no words for her, only breathless moans as he lost hold of his sword and went down to his hands and knees.  Pain bloomed anew as the dagger was ripped free the same way it had gone in.

Aegon’s brow met the rough thread of the chamber’s braided carpeting and he turned just enough to see the dead-eyed expression on the assassin’s face as she lifted up from her crouch to bear down on Rhaenyra.  “Don’t,” he managed to breathe through his locked jaw.  If she heard, she did not acknowledge it.

Aegon fought for his feet but it was a losing battle.  Desperation shallowed his breathing and no matter how hard he tried he could not find the strength to lift himself higher than one knee with his weapon dangling limply from his hand.  “Rhaenyra, run!” he said, although he knew there was nowhere she could go.

Rhaenyra dashed to put the chairs and tables between herself and the assassin.  The girl simply kicked the chair aside.  “Make your peace, princess,” she said.

A sudden crash brought everything still.  Aegon whipped his head around in time with Rhaenyra and the maid as one of the hanging tapestries was flung to the side.  An impossible door, otherwise hidden seamlessly in the stonework of the walls was thrown open and out stumbled Aemond, fury on his face and a nameless gold cloak at his heels.  He lifted a bloodied blade towards the assassin.  “You!” he shouted.

Aegon didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to see his brother so incensed.

The girl’s face twisted sourly and she backpedaled, adjusting her grip of her dagger.  “I’m out of time then,” she said.

“Oh, I’ll say,” said Aemond.  He cast a side eye at Rhaenyra and then to Aegon and somehow his visible rage doubled.  “Protect the princess,” he commanded the watchman.

Aemond didn’t wait to see if his words were heeded.  He rushed the assassin with a terrifying swiftness and swung as if to sever her body in two.  The assassin fell back, landing flat and then rolling to avoid the heavy heel Aemond brought slamming to the ground.  She was on her feet in an instant and as she lunged towards Aemond he stepped aside, gripping her knot of brown hair tied up in a bun and using it to toss her towards the still-burning fireplace.  Aegon watched as her head collided with hard stone and she collapsed to the ground, screaming as her hand fell into the heated coals.

She cursed in a tongue only the Targaryens in the room could understand and then forced herself upright, blisters already breaking across her hand and blood trickling from her brow and down the side of her nose.

Aemond flourished his sword, bringing it up again in a ready stance as he stepped between the cornered assassin and Aegon.  “How bad?” he asked.

Aegon swallowed and let his weapon fall from his loose fingers.  “I’ll live,” he said, impossibly calm now that Aemond was present.  He let exhaustion pull him from his kneeling position and all but collapsed with his legs sprawled forward and his weight caught on his shaking hands.  

Across the room, the assassin shuddered on her feet.  “Valar morghulis,” she said again, taking a steadying breath before digging her already burnt hand once more into the flames.  She screamed and Aegon flinched, as did Aemond.  Shock stilled their reactions and the girl spun and flung a palm of burning coals out towards the brothers.

Aegon threw his arm up, but felt nothing land.  Aemond cried out, swinging his empty arm to dash the hot embers off his head and shoulders and did not see as the girl rushed towards him.  “Aemond!” Aegon cried out, but his brother’s name was swallowed by a horrible scream as the assassin slashed her blade upward and blood splattered up from the side of Aemond’s face.

“Fuck!” Aemond cursed.  His hand flew up to grasp the left side of his face but as the assassin tried to use his new blindspot to dart around he pivoted on his heel and drove his sword down.

Aegon turned away, trying desperately not to hear the wet squelch of metal sliding through flesh and bone or the thud of a limp body being pinned to the floor.  He did not look again until he heard Aemond’s knees hit the ground and his brother let out a stuttering moan.

“Aemond!”  Aegon dragged himself across the ground, taking Aemond by the shoulders as he pressed his head into the crook of Aegon’s shoulder.  Aegon bit his lip and buried the noise of pain that wanted to erupt as Aemond collided with his wound.  He glanced down and tried to see the extent of his brother’s injury, but found he could view nothing but the streak of blood staining Aemond’s silver hair.  

“Let me see.”  Rhaenyra was there a moment later, falling to her knees, skirts billowing beside them as she pried Aemond away by the shoulders.  Aemond lifted his head, and Rhaenyra recoiled at the sight of the angry red slash bisecting the left side of Aemond’s face from cheek to brow.  “Fuck.”  She turned to the stunned gold cloak still standing against the wall.  “You, get Cole the fuck in here and then fetch the maester.  Now!” she demanded.

With a grunt, she turned and snatched the assassin’s dagger from her limp hand and then turned the weapon on her dress.  An uneven wad of black skirt was sawed off and bunched in her hand.  She pressed it into Aemond’s bloody palm and then directed him to press the material against his eye.  “Hold pressure,” she said, then turned to Aegon.  “Where are you hurt?” she asked.

Aegon shook his head.  “I-I’m fine,” he said.  He could not look away from his brother’s face.  There was so much blood, it was already soaking the dress material and making its way in a thin stream down Aemond’s wrist.

“Seven hells, idiots- the pair of you,” she said and then began hacking away at her dress once again.  Aegon found himself prompted to hold a second wad of cloth against his shoulder while Rhaenyra slipped the stocking from her right leg and then used the long material to wrap his thigh tight.

“What of the second assassin?” she asked, although her face was turned towards the door where the gold cloak struggled to pull the jam from the door.  She looked pale, and her face shone with sweat as she replaced Aemond’s bloody wad of cloth with another.

Aemond hissed before responding.  “Harwin dispatched him.  He’s on his way,” he said.  Then, upon hearing the slight hitch in Rhaenyra’s breath, elaborated.  “He’s unharmed, sister.”

Rhaenyra nodded.  “That’s good to hear,” she said.

All of a sudden the banging at the door became much louder.  The wood split down its center and the gold cloak quickly backpedaled away.  Aemond scoffed, though the sound of it was thin through his grimace of pain.  The door rocked on its hinges.  “Rhaenyra!” came a familiar shout.

At the next impact the door gave way, collapsing off a torn hinge and split wood as the burly form of Ser Harwin all but fell through, followed closely by the white cloak of Ser Criston.  Dark curls swung as Harwin’s eyes found the three Targaryens huddled together.  Aegon’s chest did something odd when the knight’s focus stayed on him a moment, taking note of his injuries before moving back to Rhaenyra.  “Rhaenyra,” he gasped in relief before tossing his drawn sword to the side and racing towards them.

Rhaenyra sank into Ser Harwin’s ready embrace, all but melting into his chest as he pressed his face into her hair and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  His second hand fell on Aegon’s head, gently threading through his hair to cup the back of his head.  “You alright lad?” he asked, turning his face so that he could look Aegon’s way.

Aegon felt his chin shudder and he nodded.  “Y-Yes, sir,” he said, soaking in the sight of Ser Harwin’s relief.  Aegon pressed his head against the palm of Harwin’s hand.

“Prince Aegon!  Aemond!”  Ser Criston shoved Harwin’s arm away as he inserted himself between the princess and the princes.  Aegon flinched as Harwin’s touch was replaced by Cole’s assessing grip on his arm.  Ser Criston looked aghast as he saw Aemond's injury.  “Where is the maester!?” he shouted.

“It’s fine!” Aemond bit out.  There was an angry flush on his brother's cheeks and his good eye glared at Cole hovering above him.  “Some Kingsguard you are,” he said.  “Let some bitch walk right in and murder my fucking brother.”

“I-” Cole’s mouth flapped, slightly stunned by Aemond’s vehemence.  Aegon knew the feeling.  Aemond was Ser Criston’s favorite and they all knew it.  And their disapproval towards Aegon’s- well, everything, was one of their most shared traits.  Aegon wasn’t expecting him to lash out at Cole either.

“Yes, yes, held at bay by fucking cutlery- just shut the fuck up and watch the door.  You can manage that now that the work is done, correct?” asked Aemond, although he did not wait for a response.  With a tight breath Aemond forced himself to his feet, hooking a hand under Aegon’s arm to haul him to his feet as well.

“Aemond?” Aegon struggled to keep upright as his feet were suddenly beneath him.

“We’ll meet the maester on the way to his chambers.  You are unhurt, Rhaenyra?” he asked.

Now that he was standing, Aegon could see that Rhaenyra was on her feet, being held in the circle of Harwin’s arms.  Her face was once again composed though her dress was a ruined mess, and Ser Harwin tugged the long, shimmering gold cloak from his shoulders to offer her some returned modesty.  She dipped her head toward the brothers.  “Thanks to you, brother,” she said.  

A muscle ticked in Aemond’s jaw.  “Good,” he said.  “C’mon, Aegon.  I need you to lead the way.”  

Aegon nodded and took his brother’s arm.  Together they began making their way towards the door, partially shouldering each other’s weight.  They passed the ruined door and into the empty hall.  “Mother is going to murder someone,” Aemond muttered.  His face was turning paler by the moment, and Aegon could see the tight lines of pain becoming more and more pronounced with every step.

“As long as it’s Cole, I couldn’t give a shit,” said Aegon.

Aemond chuckled.  They traveled then in silence, only stopping once they made it to a passing bench.  “Fuck it, I’m not making it any farther.  The maester can well meet us here,” he said, before bundling them both over and collapsing into the cushioned chair.  Aemond’s head fell back against the wall and he groaned.

“Aemond-” Aegon started.

“Don’t,” said Aemond.  “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m still sorry,” said Aegon.  He could hear a collection of frantic murmuring down the hall that was growing louder by the moment.  The maester, he suspected, and likely his mother and a few household guards as well.  “And thank you, for saving me,” he said.

Aegon was sitting to Aemond’s left, so he could not see his good eye to try and read his brother’s reaction.  He could only watch as his Adam's apple bobbed with a tight swallow.  “I’m glad you’re not dead,” said Aemond.  

Aegon slipped his hand into his brother’s and settled in to wait for the maester’s arrival. "I'm glad you're not dead either," he said, and considered that those were probably the kindest words they'd exchanged with one another in far, far too long.