Chapter Text
The room was stiflingly warm, the windows latched, covered tightly with heavy curtains, and a fire raged oppressively in the hearth. King Viserys I Targaryen sat beside it, in a cushioned armchair, wearing a crumpled, brocaded robe that seemed way too large on his withered frame. A tray of food and a cup of water waited next to him on a small, wooden table, untouched.
The king lifted his gaze and when his eyes fell on the young man who just entered the room, slowly his face broke into a smile.
“May I let in some light, your Grace?” Aegon asked, stepping forward.
“Just.. just a little, yes,” his father agreed.
Aegon smiled. The king seemed to be in good form today. It wasn’t always so. He was never sure what state he’d find his father in. King Viserys was usually very particular about the curtains. They weren’t there to keep the light out, they were there to make the room as insulated as possible. For some reasons, the ailing king feared the cold more than ever before in his life. The way he tried to avoid it made it seem that he was afraid the mere touch of cold could end his life.
Given the tentative permission Aegon gathered the curtains and pulled the heavy material aside. A thin shaft of daylight fell on him and across the room missing the king’s armchair by few inches. It created a bright line on the floor next to his feet.
Aegon approached the chair and knelt on one knee in front of his father and sovereign.
“I am here, my king,” he said, “You wished to see me.”
The king’s eyes softened with delight as he looked down on his firstborn son.
“My golden boy,” he murmured, “The sunlight follows you.”
The Crown Prince was indeed as stunning as sunlight with his large, luminous eyes, his pale skin, beautifully carved lips, and his white-blond curls framing his face. But - there were deep, dark circles under his eyes and, as often, he wore a serious and solemn expression on his face. He was now even more acutely aware of the weight of his duties, and the importance of his Talent.
His surcoat had the Targaryen three-headed dragon enveloped in a sunburst embroidered on the chest with a golden thread instead red to honour his sun-fire powers. Over the years his sun-fire took down many creatures. It was impossible to tell how many. What didn’t change was that Aegon did not feel any pride for killing them but he did come to accept it as necessity. Even more so since the king’s health began failing and since there were two more lives in this world he would do absolutely anything to protect.
The king lifted his gnarled hand and touched the prince’s cheek gently.
“My dearest son,” he said, “It’s good to see your face.”
Aegon took his hand and kissed his ring.
“Your Grace,” he said, “I am glad to see you too.”
He said that but in truth it was hard for him to look at his father in such state. The once powerful king was now an elderly man with wrinkled, blotchy skin and sad, wispy remains of hair clinging to his scalp. Some kind of illness was consuming him and no physician could find neither the cause nor the remedy. No one was able to determine the nature of this ailment. The king held on to life but he could barely walk and there were days when he would not recognise his wife and his children or utter a single coherent sentence. In fact, for the last three years it had been queen Alicent who ruled the Kingdom in his stead.
Today the king was frailer and than when Aegon had last seen him. His chest looked like it had caved in on itself. But the greatest change had been wrought his face, deep furrows formed around his nose and mouth, he seemed to have aged ten years in just a few weeks. His bright irises lost some of their natural shine.
After that warm welcome he gave his son he closed his eyes and fell silent for a long moment. Just when Aegon thought that he dozed off the king jerked his head up and shook it slightly, to chase the drowsiness away.
“There is something I need to tell you,” he said, “I thought that moment would not come so soon. But you need to know. You need to know.”
He nodded to himself as he talked.
“The years, they went by so fast. You’re a father now yourself. I thought I would have more time.”
“Your time has not run out yet, father,” Aegon said, alarmed by that statement.
He waited for the king to reply, noticing that the monarch’s eyes took on that steady, faraway look, which meant his thoughts were beginning to wander.
“I am here your Grace,” he said, gently, “I am listening.”
That worked and brought back the king’s attention. Again, Viserys shook his head, pulled himself upright drawing in a shaky but deep breath. When he spoke his voice was stronger, and he sounded more lucid.
“As you know, I have the gift of Dreamwalking,” he began, “It is not a strong in me as it is in your sweet sister but it is there. One thing that the Dreamworld used to show me repeatedly, for years, was a prophecy.”
A prophecy?
Aegon frowned.
The word itself annoyed him. It reminded him of all the absurdities the priests and oracles used whisper into the king’s ear. His opinion of those priests was that they were at best a nuisance, at worst dangerous fanatics ready to twist any innocuous thing into a portent of doom. Or cunning manipulators using the king’s trust and faith to their own benefit. They used to have way too much influence. Luckily, now they were no longer present at the court, since on most days the king didn’t even remember their names and didn’t ask for them, the queen forbade them from entering the Red Keep.
Aegon suspected that if the king told the priests about these recurring visions it was very likely that they managed to convince him that what he saw and heard was a prophecy. But why hadn’t he heard about this prophecy before?
“In the Dreamworld,” the king continued, “I saw a male child of my bloodline crowned with light. And I heard a voice saying that my son would bind and end the Endless Winter. My son wielding the light. You.”
Aegon listened to him with his eyebrows knitted trying not to show his distaste. He was aware that people believed his powers to be miraculous. As much as he loathed being treated as some kind of a saviour he could not deny people that faith – it gave them two things they needed the most – hope and the feeling that there was some sort of higher power guarding them.
But this talk of him being prophesied to be a saviour literally he hated even more. Since his early childhood his father insisted that he was meant for greatness and that he was going to save the world. Was that the reason? Some mysterious, vague prophecy that no one else other than the king seemed to have heard or know about. Helaena never mentioned it; she often sang a song about the winter’s heart and another one about three lights to their children as lullabies, but when asked about them, she smiled saying these were just rhymes she’d heard in the Dreamworld. Echoes, she called them. Aegon didn’t fully understand what she meant by that but if she said these songs weren’t anything important, he believed her.
In the present moment, despite his skepticism, Aegon didn’t voice any of these thoughts, he didn’t have the heart. The king’s faith might have been misplaced but it came from his genuine desire to change their world for better. He truly wished his people didn’t have to live in constant fear, locked away in fort-towns, fighting for survival. And in all fairness sun-fire powers were extremely rare and …useful, so it must have been easy for him to connect the words about ‘wielding the light’ to Aegon and his Talent. He wanted to believe his son was special, he wanted to believe that these visions meant something. So he did.
“I see…,” he said finally, “I understand now. Did the prophecy said anything about how…?”
King Viserys ignored the question. He stared down at his hands, now resting in his lap.
“And if that had been all… if only that had been all,” he mumbled.
“There was more?” Aegon pressed carefully.
“The voice said that my other son would walk in the darkness. Open the door to hell. I could not let that happen. I could not.”
Other son?
Aegon’s brow furrowed even deeper. His father’s mind was far more gone than it seemed. Clearly he was no longer able to tell what was real and what was not.
Suddenly, the king gripped the edges of his chair.
“My duty is to protect our people,” he said fervently with as much force he could muster, “I could not fail them. I could not let that happen”
His voice was pained, there was a note of anger and fear in it but also – guilt?
“You did not fail anyone father,” Aegon responded, “Our kingdom is stronger and safer than it has ever been.”
A cloud passed across the king’s face, and then he shook his head and said:
“I have done a horrible thing. What I have done no father should ever do. It’s on me. On my hands. But it had to be done.”
“What … what are you talking about?”
“My second son was cursed,” he said, “As the prophecy warned me.”
“My king, father… you only have one son,” Aegon replied, but his lips trembled.
For some reason, his heart began beating faster, and he grew anxious.
The king met his gaze.
“There was another one,” he said.
Aegon’s mouth fell open.
At first he thought – no. That wasn’t true. That could not be true. But then a distant memory, vague and brittle, lit up in the prince’s own mind like a tiniest flame in total darkness.
“Was?” he repeated.
The king nodded.
“You must know this… you must know that being the king calls for the greatest of sacrifices. I pray that you will never be faced with a choice I had to make.”
“What have you done father?”
“I ordered him killed,” the king confessed, his voice hollow, “My little son. Three days after he was born.”
Aegon stared at him shocked speechless. The memory … that memory he had buried so deep he had forgotten it entirely, that tiny pinprick of light came back to him and unfolded into a clear image from the past. The image of his mother, much younger, silent, with streams of tears dried on her face, rocking an empty cradle.
So it hadn’t been a dream? It really happened? There had been one more child. He had a brother. For three days. And his father, the father he so loved and admired, had him killed. Aegon felt something inside him break. He thought about his own tiny son, the moment he held him in his arms for the first time and the idea that he could even for a second consider the thought of ending his life was unimaginable to him. He would rather see the entire world burn.
Not knowing what else to say he asked – helplessly.
“Why?”
“He was cursed,” the king repeated as if that one word could be to blame for everything. And as if it could explain everything.
“Cursed?”
“By the Evil Winter.”
“Cursed how…? How could you tell?”
“On that night, the night he was born, the moon was large in the sky. Unnaturally large. Everything was smothered in thick fog silver in the moonlight. The moon turned icy blue.”
The king lifted his hand and gestured towards the right side of his face,
“One of his eyes was blue. Like mine. Like your eyes. But the other. He had one eye made of ice.”
One eye.
Aegon covered his mouth with his hand. If he weren’t kneeling he would have to sit.
“What I did is unforgiveable, I am aware of that,” the king read his shocked reaction as revulsion, “I do not ask you to forgive me. I ask you to keep it a secret. I revealed the truth to you, as you are the future king and the one of whom the prophecy speaks. No one else must now. Promise me.”
Aegon did not respond immediately. He was still too shocked to say anything. For the span of ten heartbeats he hesitated.
“Promise me,” the king commanded, despite his fragile form and his faltering voice affecting a regal countenance.
“I promise, your Grace,” Aegon forced the words out, “I will not reveal the truth about your second son to anyone.”
“It is done then,” said the king, and he leaned back in his chair. He appeared to be exhausted and his focus began fading again. Perhaps that was why he didn’t notice and didn’t remark on how specific Aegon made his promise. After just a moment he murmured.
“You may go son, I will rest now.”
Slowly, the prince got to his feet and realised he was shaking from all the emotions churning inside him. Before leaving he closed the curtains, walked over to the hearth, and extended both his hands towards it. The red flames turned golden and filled the room with a brighter, yellowish glow. Standing there, illuminated by his sun-fire, Aegon gave his father one more long, sorrowful look. A momentary pang of sympathy ran through him but it was quickly replaced by anger. He clenched his teeth and he left.
Outside of the oppressive warmth of the king’s chamber the air was cool and refreshing. Aegon took in a deep breath, responded to the Guard’s salute with a curt nod, and briskly walked away. He need to be alone with his thoughts, he couldn’t not let others see that all he wanted to do in that moment was to cry and laugh at the same time.
Unknowingly, his father revealed to him more than one secret. A secret kept in front of everybody’s eyes for over twenty years.
Somehow, thanks to someone the king’s infanticidal order had not been carried out. That shy, white-haired boy who wore an eyepatch on his right eye for as long as Aegon could remember was not Daemon’s illegitimate son. He was not an orphan whom Rhaenyra ‘adopted’ –
Aegon stopped dead in his tracks halfway through a long vaulted corridor.
Of course.
Why didn’t he think about that right away?
That was the answer.
Rhaenyra.
If she had somehow learned about their father’s decision, she must have been furious. Just like Daemon Rhaenyra was a force of nature and one of the few people in entire realm who had the guts to defy the king. She would not hesitate to do that if it meant she’d save her little brother’s life. And it all made sense… if the queen was about to give birth Rhaenyra would have come to the King’s Landing to be there for her friend.
The thought of his mother made his face twist into the expression of sorrow again. In his mind anger battelled with disappointment and disbelief. Twenty years ago, someone came to the queen to take her newborn child from her arms and carry him to his presumed death. What man would do that to the woman he loved?
Had he never really known his own father?
No prophecy in heaven and seven hells would ever compel him to do that to Helaena – the light of his life, his safe haven, counsellor and friend, partner in all things. Anyone attempting to part Helaena from their children would have to go through him, his fire, and his dragon first. Gods help them if they tried.
To calm himself he recalled that day from about ten years when Aemond took them down to the underground gardens to show them the Sunstones. But then he skipped ahead to the time after that visit, to the moment when he, Helaena and their mother were seating by the table talking, and they ended up telling the queen about the boy who lived at Dragonstone.
He remembered her response, each line.
Be sure to keep this away from the ears of your father.
Not a word of this can ever reach him.
Don’t mention it to anyone. Is that understood?
Whoever that boy's parents are, he did nothing wrong. So please be kind to him.
It all made sense now.
One thing about the queen that only her closest family knew was that she was terrified of leaving the safety of King’s Landing and even more terrified of flying over the Stillness. She barely travelled anywhere even before she was married, and before the king became so ill and indisposed.
However, despite that she allowed them – Aegon and Helaena – to travel all the way north to Dragonstone before their own dragons were large enough to carry them. She allowed other dragon-riders to take them there when they were both still very, very young.
He remembered her seeing them off, fussing with their fur-lined cloaks, making sure they were wrapped properly and snug around their necks. While doing that she was telling them to be careful and always stay close to one of the adult Rangers escorting them. But she would also say:
“You’re going there to spend time with your sister. I don’t want you to forget her, your father’s daughter, as dear to me as my own heart. Her children are your family, your cousins, who live there, are your family. You will all need each other.”
That was true. The queen wasn’t lying when she said he wanted her children to be close with their family living far in the North.
But that wasn’t the whole truth, was it?
No. That was never the main reason queen Alicent let them travel to Dragonstone, that was not the main reason she insisted they went there at least once a year.
Aegon fought back the tears that stung his eyes.
“It hadn’t been a dream,” he whispered to himself, and then still somewhat incredulous he added in the same hushed, soft tone, “My brother’s alive. I … I have a brother.”