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The king was dead.
And Aegon wished to return to bed.
Being awakened before the sun had even risen and ushered to his mothers’ chambers was not how he’d intended to begin his day, but when a gentle knock had dragged him from slumber, he’d been unable to simply ignore it.
The only people who knocked on his door at such an early hour were family.
And his muña had taught him to always answer when family called.
So he’d stumbled from bed and yanked the door open to find Helaena standing on the other side with a placid expression on her face.
Which could have meant nigh anything.
“Mother and Muña need us,” was all she’d said, but that was all Aegon had needed to hear.
They’d been the last to arrive in their mothers’ chambers—officially Mother’s chambers, but they all knew that Muña rarely ever slept in her own bed—and once they were seated, their muña had not minced words.
Aegon had almost laughed aloud when he heard the news.
He’d wanted to laugh. He’d wanted to make some jape about how Viserys had been dying for nearly twenty years now. He’d wanted to offer some cutting remark about how the king should have done them this courtesy over a decade ago.
But he’d held his tongue.
Because the king had been his muña’s father, and because his mother’s eyes had been wet with unshed tears.
And while he didn’t think that his mother should waste her grief on the old man who had wedded and bedded her before she was even a woman grown, he knew that it was not for him to dictate how she felt about Viserys’ long overdue passing.
Now, as he and his siblings returned to their chambers—their mothers had gone to inform the Small Council of the king’s death—he squinted at Helaena. “Did you know that he was going to die?” Was that why you made us kiss his rotting cheek before he retired last night?
His lips twisted with disgust at the memory.
For a long moment, Helaena only stared at him with her haunting, violet eyes.
Aegon forced himself not to squirm.
“I saw,” her brow scrunched, “the time was right for Father to leave us.”
That man was not our father, Aegon wanted to snap, but he knew that it would hurt his sister’s ears if he raised his voice at her.
And their mothers had taught him to protect his siblings.
Viserys Targaryen was no father of ours.
∞
Aegon was four, the first time that he saw his mother flinch away from him.
He now knew that she’d probably done so before then, but he didn’t remember any of those earlier times.
While he no longer recalled what exactly he’d been doing before his mother had entered the nursery, he remembered being excited to see her, for she did not visit as often as Muña did.
Leaping to his feet, he charged towards her, wanting to wrap his arms around her legs, wanting her to scoop him up and place him on her hip as Muña usually did, wanting her to smile at him and ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek.
His mother flinched.
Aegon stumbled to a halt.
For a moment, they only stared at each other.
Then he felt tears beginning to well in his eyes, not understanding why his mother was staring at him as if he was about to attack her. He would never hurt his mother. So why did she seem afraid of him?
“Mama?” His voice trembled.
His mother didn’t move.
He wanted to cry, but he was no longer a babe, and only babes like Aemond cried.
But he didn’t understand.
Suddenly shaking her head, his mother smiled brightly at him, carefully knelt on the floor, and opened her arms.
Aegon hesitated, but then he felt a warm hand on his back.
“Go on, Aegon,” his muña whispered. “Your mother wants a hug.”
Did she?
This time, Aegon approached more cautiously, but when his mother didn’t flinch again, he grinned and threw himself into her arms.
The hug that his mother gave him was tight and fierce. “My Boy,” she murmured. “My Aegon.”
He smiled happily and wrapped his arms around her.
Years later, as Aegon began to better understand his mother and piece together her past, he would think back on that day when she flinched away from him.
He would think back on it, and he would silently rage against the king.
∞
Aegon had never enjoyed the godswood—he found the carved face of the heart tree unnerving—but his mothers adored the “peace and quiet” that it offered, so he’d endured for their sakes. Because there was little he’d loved more as a child than spending time with his mothers.
“Why don’t you come over here and join us, Aegon?” His mother’s voice was gentle and coaxing, but he didn’t want to sit and listen to her read from another boring history book.
He loved his mother, but all of the things that she was fond of were so dull.
“Let him play, My Love,” his muña chuckled. “Surely you remember the fun we used to have in the godswood playing Knights and Maidens when we were his age.”
“I recall you beating poor Ser Harrold about the head with a wooden sword.”
“Exactly. Great fun was had by all.”
Aegon’s ears pricked, and he hurried back over to where his mothers were sitting together beneath the weirwood. “Will you play Knights and Maidens with me?”
His mother hesitated, glancing at his muña.
“Of course, My Sweet Boy.” Muña rose to her feet and brushed off the skirts of her dress. “Ali, will you play the maiden?”
His mother’s eyes twinkled as she looked up at his muña. “May I read while you and our son beat each other with sticks.”
Aegon and Muña both made affronted sounds.
“We’ll be dueling, Mother,” he cried.
“We’ll be using swords, Alicent,” Muña huffed.
He looked over at his muña, who grinned back at him.
His mother snorted. “He is certainly your son,” she murmured, but she was smiling softly.
Aegon bounced on his heels. “So will you be the maiden, Mother?”
“Well,” she looked between them, “I suppose if you both insist—”
“We do,” they said together.
His mother laughed as she closed her book and set it aside. “Very well then.”
Grinning, his muña leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek, which made her blush. “You are a marvel, My Good Wife.”
“Rhaenyra,” his mother chided, though Aegon wasn’t sure what his muña could have done to deserve a scolding.
His muña didn’t seem bothered though as she turned to him. “Do you want to be the knight or the bandit, Aegon?”
He considered for a moment, glancing at his mother. “I want to be a knight,” he decided, “like Uncle Laenor.”
“Ah, I see how it is.” His muña wagged a finger at him. “Very well, Ser Aegon, but remember, the lovely Queen Alicent was my maiden first.”
His mother’s cheeks reddened further.
Aegon reached out and patted her shoulder. “I’ll protect you, Mother,” he promised.
A small smile curled his mother’s lips. “Of that, I have no doubt.” She squeezed his hand. “You are your muña’s son.”
∞
Aegon’s cradle egg hadn’t hatched for him, but he’d never much cared, and he now knew that his mother had been secretly relieved that his, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron’s cradle eggs hadn’t hatched. Their mother’s nervousness around the dragons had always been a source of great amusement for him and his siblings in the years before she’d finally agreed to join their muña on Syrax.
The day that he and Sunfyre chose each other was the same day that he’d learned why the dragons unnerved his mother so.
“Please slow down, Aegon,” his mother called after him as he bounded down the steps of the wheelhouse.
His muña laughed behind him. “All is well, Ali. The sands won’t hurt him even if he falls.”
He didn’t hear his mother’s response, too busy staring around the massive Dragon Pit in awe. His muña had been telling him stories about the place where the dragons dwelled for years, but this was the first time that he’d been allowed to visit. His mother had always insisted that he was too young before.
But today was his sixth nameday, and his muña had declared that it was time he have a dragon of his own.
Excitement gripped his whole body, and he was almost trembling with anticipation.
He was going to claim a dragon.
“Aegon?” His muña offered her hand, which he immediately accepted.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he frowned when he saw that his mother remained standing on the steps of the wheelhouse. “Mother? Aren’t you coming with us?”
His mother swiftly shook her head. “I’m quite content as a spectator, thank you.”
He pouted, but his muña laughed and ruffled his hair. “That is simply your mother’s way, Aegon. But don’t worry. Once you’ve claimed your dragon, we can bring him or her out here to meet your mother.”
Aegon perked up at that. Good. He wanted his mother to meet his dragon. He wanted his mother to like his dragon. Perhaps he could convince her to come riding with him one day. Muña often sighed that she’d never been able to coax Mother onto Syrax’s back. But perhaps he would succeed where she had failed.
As his muña led him down to where the dragons nested, he listened attentively as she told him about the first time that she’d ridden Syrax when she was but seven. He wished that he could ride his dragon when he was seven, but he knew that wouldn’t be possible. The only unclaimed adult dragon in the Pit right now was Dreamfyre, and his mother had sworn by the Seven that she would never forgive him or Muña if they even thought about approaching Dreamfyre.
Syrax greeted them with a warm puff of air and a soft rumble that made Aegon smile. And her green eyes seemed to be glowing as she watched them approach.
She was just as beautiful as Muña had always described. And she was regal like his mother as well, as if she too was a queen. Her golden scales gleamed in the torchlight, and he longed to run his hand over them, but he knew better than to approach a dragon without permission. And he knew that Mother would be very cross if he injured himself claiming his dragon.
His muña smiled at Syrax, crooning softly to her in High Valyrian. While he didn’t know most of what she was saying, he recognized the words “hello,” “thank you,” “hatchling,” “my son,” and his own name.
With another snort, Syrax shifted slightly and raised her wing to reveal three little dragons no bigger than cats.
Aegon’s eyes widened with awe, rocking forward in the hopes of seeing them better.
“You can come closer, Aegon. Syrax won’t harm you.”
Grinning, he scampered over to where his muña stood beside her dragon and peered at the hatchlings.
One of them was golden like Syrax.
Without thinking, he squatted down and scooped up the little golden dragon with pink wings.
“Aegon, wait—”
The hatchling screeched, but it didn’t attack, instead sliding from his arms and crawling up to coil around his shoulders.
His muña’s delighted laughter filled the cavern.
When they emerged back out onto the sands several minutes later, his mother’s eyes widened when she saw that his dragon was still perched upon his shoulder.
Aegon approached her as swiftly as he dared, remembering his muña’s warning not to frighten his mother. “Mother, look! He’s golden just like Syrax!”
His mother’s smile was tight. “I can see that.”
“I’ve named him Sunfyre,” he told her proudly. He could hardly wait to take to the skies on dragonback and soar above the clouds with Muña. She’d always told him that nothing compared to a person’s first flight, and he was already longing for the day when Sunfyre would be large enough to ride.
“That is a lovely name, Aegon.” His mother eyed the hatchling warily. “Perhaps you should return him to his mother now?”
Aegon shook his head. “Muña said that I can bring him to the Keep with me, so we can strengthen our bond.”
“Did she now?” His mother frowned, but it was directed towards his muña.
“Sunfyre won’t be able to breathe fire for a few more moons yet, My Love,” Muña assured her. “There’s no danger of—”
“And what happens when he breathes fire for the first time, hmm? Do you think I’ve never heard the story of how Syrax nearly destroyed your mother’s prized winter roses?”
“Mother.” Aegon coaxed Sunfyre off of his shoulder so that he could hold him in his arms. “He’s harmless.” He offered the hatchling to her. “See?”
His mother shook her head. “He’s small, Aegon, but that does not make him harmless.”
Aegon pouted.
Rising up, Sunfyre stretched his head towards Aegon’s mother, making a high-pitched squeaking noise.
“He likes you!” Aegon crowed.
His muña lightly nudged his mother’s side. “Come now, Ali. He won’t bite.”
“You said the same thing about Syrax when we were children,” his mother hissed.
“It was a love bite!”
“It was a bite.” Despite her words, his mother hesitantly extended her hand towards Sunfyre, following his muña’s quiet instructions on how to pet a hatchling.
Sunfyre nipped her finger.
His mother yelped, stumbling back a step and glaring at his muña. “I swear by all the gods, Rhaenyra Targaryen, if you laugh—”
“I’m not laughing, Ābrazȳrys.” But his muña’s eyes were bright with amusement, and she was biting her lower lip.
Aegon couldn’t help but giggle at his mother’s expression, and even when she gave him a chiding look, he couldn’t stop laughing.
∞
For as long as Aegon could remember, Rhaenyra had always been his muña. He now knew that she hadn’t actually been around much the first two years of his life, but he had no memories of her absence, only of her warm and comforting presence. He knew that his mother remembered his muña’s absence though, and he knew that, even now, it sometimes brought a sadness to her eyes.
He’d always hated seeing his mother sad.
“Mother was often sad,” Helaena had told him once, “before she and muña reconciled.”
Aegon was glad that he didn’t remember those years.
What he did remember was the day that he’d learned the realm considered Viserys to be his father.
Aegon’s brow scrunched with confusion as he tried to understand his muña’s words, but they made no sense. He’d always thought that the old man he sometimes saw with his mother and muña was his grandsire, for he’d heard him call Muña “daughter” multiple times. But then why had Lord Tyland called him the king’s firstborn son? “I don’t understand, Muña. Is the king my father?”
His muña—Rhaenyra?—hesitated a moment before nodding slowly. “Yes. The king is your father.”
“But I thought he was your father.” How could the king be both his father and his muña’s father?
“He is.” Muña sighed, eyes closing for a moment. “Aegon, it’s all rather complicated, and I promise to explain better when you’re older.”
Aegon pouted, hating when adults told him that he wouldn’t understand things until he was older. He was already older!
“My Sweet Boy.” His muña reached up to gently ruffle his hair. “I know you dislike being told to wait.” She smiled wryly. “I’ve always been much the same.” She took his hands in hers. “For now, Aegon, you need only remember one thing. Can you do that for me?”
Aegon nodded at once, squaring his shoulders the way the men in the training yard always did. “Yes, Muña.”
His muña smiled warmly. “You, Aegon, are my son, my blood. And your mother and I both love you very much. That is all that matters.”
Aegon cocked his head slightly. “That is two things, Muña.”
Chuckling, Muña pressed a kiss to his brow. “So it is, Aegon.”
When he later went to his mother to ask how it was that the king was both his father and Muña’s father, her eyes grew sad even as she scooped him up and placed him on her lap.
“The king is my husband,” she explained quietly, “just as Uncle Laenor is your muña’s husband.”
“But the king is so old.” How could such an old and sickly man be wed to his mother? Uncle Laenor was not that old, nor did he hobble around the Keep and stink of death and rot.
His mother stiffened slightly, though her voice remained steady. “Some husbands are older than their wives, Aegon. That is simply the way of things.”
“But you don’t kiss him the way you kiss Muña.” It was gross, whenever his mother and muña kissed each other, but it also always made them smile. “And he doesn’t laugh with you the way Uncle Laenor laughs with Muña.” Uncle Laenor’s japes weren’t as funny as Uncle Daemon’s. “And, and he never talks to me or Helaena or Aemond.” He couldn’t remember the last time that the king had so much as looked at him.
If the king was his father, why did they never spend time together?
Why had the king never taken him to the Dragon Pit or asked to meet Sunfyre or told him stories about Old Valyria?
Muña did all of those things for him.
Why had the king never hugged him or kissed his wounds or praised him when he did well or ruffled his hair or given him gifts on his nameday.
Mother did all of those things for him.
How could the king be his father when he did not even seem to even like him?
His mother sighed as she rested her chin atop his head and wrapped her arms around his waist. “It’s . . . it’s all rather hard to explain, Aegon. I was wed to the king long ago, and sometimes, the years can . . . lessen the affection between a husband and a wife.”
Aegon twisted in his mother’s arms, horrified. “Will that happen to you and Muña? Will you stop kissing each other and laughing together? Will,” his stomach clenched, “will she stop talking to us?”
“Oh, no, Aegon, no.” His mother took his face between her hands and kissed his brow. “Your muña will always love you, no matter what. Even if,” she swallowed, pain flashing in her eyes, “even if she stopped loving me, she would never stop loving you.”
“You, Aegon, are my son, my blood. And your mother and I both love you very much. That is all that matters.”
But he was also the king’s son, wasn’t he?
And the king didn’t seem to love him at all.
“I’m sorry, Aegon. I, I didn’t mean to upset you.” His mother’s eyes closed for a moment, and when they opened, her lips curved into a smile.
But it was a false smile.
The kind of smile that he’d seen her use when talking to Grand Maester Mellos once.
“Why don’t we visit the kitchens, hmm? A fresh shipment of apples arrived from the Reach yesterday. Perhaps the cooks have baked some tarts.”
Aegon wanted to ask more questions, but he didn’t want to make his mother sad, and he did want tarts, so he nodded and offered a false smile of his own. “That sounds nice.”
It was during the following year, when the maesters began teaching him arithmetic, that he realized his mother had been wed when she was but four and ten to a man thrice her age.
He’d been disgusted at the time.
Later, he’d been furious.
∞
Aegon didn’t remember helping Helaena to her feet the first time that she fell, though his sister had always insisted that it had been him, rather than their mothers, who had reached her first. There had been a time when he hadn’t believed her, but after their mothers told him and his siblings that Helaena was a dreamer like Daenys, he’d begun to listen to her ramblings more closely.
As had everyone else in the family.
But that had come later.
For much of his life, Helaena had been no more than his odd little sister who oft spoke in riddles and was obsessed with bugs.
Despite her peculiarities, however, she was still his sister.
And the House of the Dragon protected its own.
“What were you thinking, Aegon?” His mother was lacing and unlacing her fingers as she stared down at him with an expression that was both stern and exasperated. “You know better than to strike other children. Lord Rowan is rightfully incensed, and you’re lucky that Ser Harwin pulled you off of that Celtigar boy before any real harm was done.”
Aegon knew that he was expected to bow his head and apologize, but he would not. He’d done nothing wrong. It was those poxy-faced boys who should be on their knees and begging forgiveness. “They were teasing Helaena, Mother. You told me that it’s my duty to protect my family, and Muña always says that a good knight defends those who can’t defend themselves.”
His mother’s face softened at once. “What were they saying?”
“They called her touched in the head.” His fists clenched at the memory of those stupid boys looming over Helaena when she’d been doing no more than playing with some kind of spider. “And the Celtigar boy crushed her spider.”
Anger briefly flashed in his mother’s eyes. “I see.” She beckoned him closer, and once he was within reach, she pulled him into a tight hug. “You were right to protect your sister, Aegon. Those boys did wrong. But please, in the future, find me or your muña or one of your uncles. We will handle such problems.”
“But—”
“Aegon.” His mother drew back enough so that they were looking at each other. “You are a good brother, and I am proud of you for defending your sister, but you are only nine. What if those other boys had hurt you? Or what if you’d hurt them even more than you did? Children can be cruel, and that will not be tolerated, but in this instance, it is not for you to handle. Do you understand me?”
He sighed loudly, but nodded all the same. “Yes, Mother.”
∞
As his muña had once promised, Aegon never forgot his first flight on Sunfyre.
The day was bright and perfect, the clouds fat and white and fluffy, and the sky was blue and clear.
He’d been awaiting this day for years.
When his muña, Uncle Laenor, and the dragon keepers had at last declared Sunfyre large enough to ride, he’d wanted to take to the skies at once. But his mother had refused, insisting that they wait for better weather.
Aegon wouldn’t have minded flying in the rain, but Muña had bowed to Mother’s wishes.
As she oft did, he’d come to realize.
His muña had similarly sided with his mother on the matter of returning Sunfyre to the Dragon Pit when he’d begun to breathe fire. He’d begged them to allow his dragon to remain by his side longer, but Mother had not wanted a “dangerous fire-breathing lizard” roaming free within the Keep, and Muña had reluctantly agreed that it wasn’t safe.
Aegon had refused to forgive that particular betrayal for nearly two weeks, though his muña had eventually earned his clemency with sweets and a ride on Syrax.
“You’ll make certain he doesn’t fall?” his mother asked for the tenth time as the wheelhouse rolled towards the Pit. She was picking at her fingers, which Aegon knew meant that she was anxious.
Muña took his mother’s hands in her own, bringing them to her lips and kissing her fingers.
Aegon made a point of looking away.
His mothers could be so gross.
“Syrax and I will be there should anything happen,” his muña assured her.
Again.
“I’ll be fine, Mother. I’m a Targaryen.” His chest puffed proudly. “We’re the Blood of the Dragon.”
“No burns,” Helaena murmured quietly from where she sat beside him. “No final flight. The sun and moon shall not dance this time.”
Not for the first time, Aegon wondered why Helaena had been allowed to come with them. She could visit Dreamfyre whenever she wished.
This was his first flight.
When the wheelhouse finally arrived in the Dragon Pit, Aegon leapt down the stairs, even more excited now than he had been the day that he and Sunfyre had first bonded.
His and Muña’s dragons were already saddled and waiting for them, and he couldn’t help but admire how their dragons both shone in the sun. Their golden scales flashed brilliantly, and Sunfyre’s pink wings were practically glowing.
While still much smaller than Syrax, Sunfyre was growing swiftly, according to the dragon keepers. His muña had told him that Syrax had been much the same, proudly declaring that her dragon was now even bigger than Uncle Daemon’s Caraxes.
“Certainly large enough to saddle two,” she had added while pointedly looking across the dinner table at Mother, who had pretended not to hear her.
Aegon hoped that his mother would one day change her mind about flying. His very bones were practically vibrating with anticipation, and through their bond, he could sense Sunfyre’s excitement as well. They both knew what today was, and he wondered if Syrax had somehow communicated some of the same warnings that his own muña had been giving him.
“You must make sure to hold on tight,” his muña reminded him as they approached their dragons. “Sunfyre will keep you safe, but the winds are strong and cold that high up.”
“You’ll catch me if I fall though, won’t you?” He looked up at his muña, who smiled at him and ruffled his hair.
“Of course, but if you were to fall, I suspect your mother would ban all of us from the Dragon Pit for a year.”
Aegon’s eyes widened with horror at the thought. “I won’t fall,” he promised.
“I know you won’t.” His muña paused walking just long enough to pull him into a swift hug. “But even if you were to fall flat on your face, I would still be so proud of you, Aegon.”
His heart swelled with warmth, and his chest puffed with pride—even if he was slightly offended by the very implication that he might fall flat on his face.
His muña offered to help him climb up onto Sunfyre’s saddle, but he waved her off. “I can do it myself.”
Sunfyre rumbled softly beneath him, puffing out clouds of hot breath as he shifted slightly in preparation for their first flight.
Aegon’s heart thundered in his chest, but he wasn’t afraid. He couldn’t recall ever being afraid when Sunfyre was near. He stroked his dragon’s smooth scales, feeling their warmth even through his riding gloves.
Glancing over at his muña, he saw that she had also settled in her saddle. He then looked back towards the wheelhouse, where his mother stood on the steps and watched them with a worried expression. Beside her, Helaena smiled slightly and offered him a small wave.
He couldn’t remember her ever having done that before.
“Whenever you’re ready, Aegon,” his muña called.
Taking a deep breath, Aegon gave Sunfyre one final stroke before taking a firm hold of the reins. “Sōves, Sunfyre.”
With a bellow, Sunfyre took three lumbering steps forward and then launched himself into the air.
Aegon didn’t scream, but his heart plummeted down into his stomach as they rose higher and higher, the wind howling around him and tearing at his clothes. He hung on tight, just as his muña had instructed, exhilaration racing down his spine as Sunfyre roared and flapped beneath him. He could hear an answering roar behind him and knew that his muña and Syrax were following them up into the clouds.
By the time Sunfyre leveled out, Aegon was whooping with excitement, and it was only the threat that his mother might forbid him from visiting the Dragon Pit should he fall that prevented him from releasing the reins and spreading his arms wide to embrace the cold air blowing in his face.
“Well done, Aegon,” his muña shouted, her voice almost lost on the wind. She and Syrax were flying beside him and Sunfyre, so close that the golden dragons’ wings were almost touching.
Aegon’s chest puffed with pride.
He’d done it.
He was a dragon rider now.
∞
It was his fault, the first time that Aegon ever saw his muña cry.
His words that reduced his muña to tears.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her.
He would never intentionally hurt his muña. He adored her and admired her more than anyone. She was kind and funny and stubborn and not as fussy about decorum as Mother. She’d always been the one to scoop him up into her arms when he’d fallen as a child, the one to wipe away his tears, the first to ruffle his hair and praise him when he did well. She’d clapped and cheered the first time that he’d won during a practice session, had kissed his brow and told him that he would be a good and brave knight one day.
He knew that his muña loved him more than his mother did. He’d learned to accept that fact when he’d begun to piece together why his mother used to flinch away from him. He didn’t begrudge his mother for favoring Aemond and Daeron, not truly, especially once he’d realized that, between him, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron, Muña loved him best.
So no, he hadn’t meant to make his muña cry.
But he had.
Because he’d thought it was funny to watch her lips twist into a grimace every time that he called her “sister,” had thought it funny when she would give him an exasperated look, had thought it funny how she would grumble under her breath about “troublesome firstborns.”
But then he went to see his muña after a training session with Uncle Laenor and Uncle Harwin, intending to ask for her help in escaping his practice gear because Aemond—the little brat—had tied the knots too tight.
When he entered his muña’s chambers, the sound of his mother’s voice reached his ears first.
“You know that Aegon adores you, Nyra. He doesn’t mean any harm.”
He frowned slightly. Had he done something wrong?
Moving as quietly as he could, he crept towards the door leading into his muña’s bedchamber, which was slightly ajar.
His eyes widened with shock when he peeked through the crack.
Sitting on the edge of the bed—wrapped in his mother’s arms—his muña was weeping.
He’d never seen her cry before.
Not once.
“I know he doesn’t mean any harm, Ali,” his muña sniffled, “but it still hurts.”
What hurt?
What had he done?
He wanted to run into the room and apologize and beg his muña’s forgiveness, but he didn’t know what he’d done wrong.
“I’m sure he’ll stop sooner rather than late,” his mother soothed, kissing his muña’s brow.
“But what if he doesn’t?” Muña sat up, roughly wiping her eyes. “He’s nearly four and ten, Ali. What if . . . What if I’m never more than his ‘sweet sister’ from now on?”
Aegon’s jaw dropped.
That was why his muña was crying? Because he’d been calling her “sister”?
I didn’t realize it hurt her so.
Without thinking, he burst into the room and ran over to his muña, whose eyes widened with surprise at the sight of him.
“I’m sorry.” There was a lump in his throat, and his chest felt tight as he threw his arms around his muña and buried his face in her shoulder. He was too old to be behaving like a child—Aemond, Daeron, and Jace would tease him mercilessly if they could see him now—but he didn’t care. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I thought calling you ‘sister’ was funny, but I should have known better. I should have known that it would hurt you.”
He should have known that it would make her sad the same way that reminders of her marriage to the king made his mother sad.
His muña immediately wrapped her arms around him and lightly rubbed his back. “I know you weren’t meaning to be cruel, Aegon,” she assured him. “And I understand that sometimes you must call me sister for appearance’s sake. But I,” she sighed, giving him a tight squeeze, “you are my son, Aegon. No matter what anyone else believes or thinks, you are my son as much as you are Alicent’s.” She drew back enough to press a warm kiss to his forehead. “You know that, don’t you?”
He nodded. He’d always known that. For as long as he could remember, he’d known that his muña loved him and that he was hers. “I know, Muña.”
“Good. Then we need speak no more of this.” His muña cupped his cheek. “You are a good son, Aegon, and I will always be proud to call you mine, even if I can’t say as much to everyone that I would wish.”
The tightness in his chest eased at his muña’s words, replaced by a warm swell of pride.
He was her son.
And she was proud of him.
∞
As Aegon watched the king burn, he knew that he ought to be feeling something other than grim satisfaction. Viserys Targaryen had been his muña’s father, so he ought to care for him as a grandsire, if nothing else.
But he didn’t.
Viserys had been no more a grandsire to him than he’d been a father.
Beside him, Jace leaned against his side, and Aegon draped an arm around his brother’s shoulders. He knew that Jace, Luke, and Vic had been fond of the king, who had doted upon them as the sons of his favorite child.
Perhaps it should have made him bitter, made him jealous.
But he’d never much cared for Viserys’ approval or affection.
He had his siblings, and he had his uncles, and he had his mothers.
They were his family.
Nothing else mattered but that.