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The nursery is quiet. Aegon walks on careful feet--he knows every creaking board here, every rattling curtain. He's been sneaking out of here since he was a toddler, after all, eager to explore the castle, even after Mother got cross and shouted, the dark circles she always seemed to wear vivid against her pale face.
A bit of covering paper scratches against his boot and Aegon hurriedly kicks it away. Right, Uncle Daemon had been in here giving gifts to his new niece, fine silks and glittering toys from across the Narrow Sea, offered with an expression close to worship.
He'd never looked at Aegon and his siblings that way. Never offered them gifts either, come to think of it. Never really had time for the "Hightower mutts," as he called them when they supposedly couldn't hear.
Daeron says, like Mother used to, that jealousy is unbecoming of a prince, that the Seven don't like it, but it's hard. If it was just Uncle Daemon Aegon wouldn't mind, but everything has been about the new queen and the new baby for so long now, with little attention given to him and their siblings, to their namedays, to Aegon's first wobbly, beautiful flight on Sunfyre's back.
The new baby's fifth in line for the throne--maybe not eligible to rule at all, depending on your opinions on the Great Council, which Aegon wasn't even born for, but no one ever shuts up about--although you wouldn't know from the way people talk about her. The Realm's Delight, they say, and her father, her uncle, the whole world dotes on her endlessly.
Daeron says they can't visit until they've been permitted, but it's been a month and no one's called them in, and Aemond's studying his books, and Helaena's with her bugs, and Daeron's off at Grandsire's ruling lessons, and Aegon doesn't care. He wants to see what makes the Realm's Delight so godsdamn special.
A coo rises up as he approaches her crib, or at least the one that must be her crib, considering it's draped in silks and finery. Aegon has to stand slightly on his toes, pants stretching (they haven't gotten new clothes in a while, even though he's pretty sure they're all entering growth spurts) to peer in.
There's no baby, though. Just a dragon, pale yellow scales like a lighter version of Sunfyre, cooing and fluttering leathery little wings. For a wild moment Aegon wonders if his sister is a dragon, if that's why everybody made such a fuss--but no, her egg had hatched, like none of theirs have since Daeron's. So where...
"Aegon?"
He starts and glances over his shoulder, feeling guilt twist in his stomach, even though he wants to protest he's done nothing wrong. His stepmother blinks at him from where she's sitting by the window, half hidden in the curtain's shadow, light glinting in her pale, unbound hair as the baby feeds busily at her breast.
"You're feeding her yourself?" he gasps, and immediately claps a hand over his mouth, stupid stupid stupid. "I'm sorry, your Grace, I didn't--"
"It's fine," Queen Aemma gives him a tired smile. There are circles under her eyes, like Mother's, but her eyes are relaxed, like what makes her tired also makes her happy. "She's a fierce little thing, won't take from any of the nurses."
"Oh." Aegon glances at his feet, cheeks flushing, about to run before he hears a wet little pop and rustling cloth. When he looks up again the Queen has tucked her bodice into place and settled the princess in her lap, dabbing milk off her squirmy little face.
She sees him looking and smiles. "Would you like to say hello?"
It doesn't sound like a command, but you never know-- Aegon shoves his hands in his pockets, willing himself not to start picking again, he doesn't want his hands to end up like Mother's, weeping with scabs and scars. The floor creaks beneath his feet as he approaches, a new board gone loose, or maybe one he's forgotten.
He comes to a halt at his stepmother's side, peering down at her daughter. Princess Rhaenyra is--small, is all he can think, small and with a squished little face, tiny eyes shut and a tuft of little silver hair peeking out from her hood.
There's nothing that seems particularly delightful about her, although you wouldn't know it from the way Queen Aemma smiles down at her. Maybe she's just relieved Rhaenyra's alive; Aegon knows her other babies from her first husband all died, and he's heard whispers another one bled out of her not long after she wed Father.
If the possibility of this one dying bothers her, too, she doesn't show it. There's no fear like Aegon sometimes used to see in Mother's eyes when she looked at them, like she was calculating all the ways they were flawed, vulnerable, full of spiderwebbing cracks that could break if the court pressed too hard.
It was well known, after all, that none of the king's children by his first marriage were quite right. Not Daeron, with his red hair and brown eyes unfitting for a Targaryen king. Not Aemond, shy, morose, dragonless for so long, and currently missing an eye after that training accident (or not-accident, according to Mother) with Uncle Daemon. Not Helaena, slow to develop and constantly in a world of her own even now.
Certainly not Aegon; lazy, messy, distracted and fidgeting. Aegon. drinking far too much for a boy his age and sneaking off to Flea Bottom, making Daeron fuss and fret and yell like Mother used to. Aegon, not a girl who could at least be betrothed to Aemond like Helaena is to Daeron, or married off to secure a decent alliance, but a third son who'd inherit less than nothing.
Aegon, the last child his parents had had, even they could have probably had more, but then Mother wasn't sharing Father's bed anymore, the tension between them rippling through their whole lives. And the years had ticked by, and when the shivers came again Mother wouldn't let them into her rooms as her voice grew hoarser and hoarser, and--
Well. Compared to all of that, maybe his baby sister really was perfect after all.
"Hello, Rhaenyra," he says softly, conscious of the Queen's eyes on him. He hasn't really spent a lot of time with his stepmother since the wedding; Helaena embroiders with her circle of ladies most afternoons, but hasn't said a lot except She doesn't touch me, and she doesn't let the others do it, either. Which, coming from Helaena, is the highest of praise. "It's nice to meet you."
Queen Aemma cocks her head, studying him curiously. "You've been properly introduced to her before, haven't you?"
"N-no, your Grace. I mean, I saw her..." From a distance, with his other siblings, Father beaming and holding his wife's arm as she showed their baby off to the court. Rhaenyra had been a silver speck in her mother's arms, too tiny and distant to make out details.
They might have met her if they stayed long enough, but Helaena had started rocking in a way that meant she'd spent too much time with other people today, and Aemond had been squinting in a way that meant he needed to be annoyed into lying down before the migraine hit. Daeron could have probably gotten them back on his own, but Aegon hadn't wanted to be left behind, a lone reminder of the old Queen's brood in the middle of the new Queen's special day.
"Oh dear, I was sure we'd--" Queen Aemma shakes her head, looking guilty. "I'm sorry, I'll speak to your father about it. Viserys and I, we've been so busy lately, it's impossible to keep it all straight."
Not sure what to say to that, Aegon just nods. Rhaenyra stirs slightly, the dragons embroidered on her blanket rippling, tiny pale lashes fluttering. Her chubby little fingers twitch, and Aegon wonders what she's dreaming about, if babes can dream that young.
"You can hold her, if you like," the queen offers. She says it so easily, like it's really nothing at all, and Aegon stiffens.
"I--I don't--" He digs his hands into his pocket lining, don't pick, don't pick. "I've never held a baby before, your Grace." His cheeks redden again, even though it's not his fault that he's never held a baby, he's always been the baby. He doesn't know any of this stuff, no one taught him.
But it's hard not to feel inadequate, a failure in the eyes of Good Queen Aemma (and he remembers when Mother was the Good Queen Alicent, he wonders if Queen Aemma does, too, if she feels that shadow when she walks the halls). Even, especially, when she's looking at him so tenderly.
"That's all right," she says, shifting forward slightly. "Just put your arms where mine are, like this, yes--careful, make sure to support her head. There you go, you've got it."
It doesn't feel like he's got it. It feels like he's a heartbeat away from dropping his sister, squeezing her too hard, doing something to break her like he breaks everything. She's so light in his arms, far too light, far too fragile, too delicate for someone like him.
Aegon's holding her as still as he can, but she still squirms, face screwed up, and for a terrible moment he's afraid she'll start crying; he might join in, if she does. Then her eyes flutter open and--
Oh.
They're violet, just like his own, but somewhat lighter, more Aemma's shade than Father's. And bright, so bright, like perfect twin flames, like the most beautiful stars he's ever seen. It dawns on him he might understand the name, now.
She gazes up at him and he doesn't even know what she sees, but her tiny hand curls over his sleeve like she recognizes him, somehow, like she knows. Like she feels him in her bones, as he does her.
"Hello," he repeats, mouth suddenly dry. "I--I'm Aegon. I'm your big brother."
Big brother. He's never been a big brother before. He has big brothers, he's not unfamiliar with the concept, but being one himself feels completely different. Beautiful and terrifying all at once, just like his baby sister is.
The baby gurgles and he stiffens, wondering if he's done something wrong, but Queen Aemma just laughs. "I think she likes you."
"Really?" He forgets to tag on your Grace, but she doesn't seem to mind.
"Well, she'd make it quite clear if she didn't." The Queen's eyes twinkle, bright as her daughter's. "She's a lady of strong opinions, but I like to think she's a good judge of character."
Before he can think up a way to respond, the nursery door creaks open. Aegon bites his lip, wondering if he should give the queen her baby back, but she isn't even looking at him, lips quirking into a smile as she sees who's arrived.
"Sorry, my dear, you know how the maesters like to prattle on--" Father stops in the door, blinking with a rather dumbfounded expression. "Aegon?"
Excuses and apologies leap to Aegon's lips, even though he hasn't done anything wrong. But Father clearly doesn't want him here, and he shouldn't be here, not with this happy mother and her beautiful baby, not--
"Your son was visiting his new sister," Aemma says, raising an eyebrow significantly at her husband. "We are lucky he took the initiative, considering how much difficulty we've had scheduling a visit."
"I--yes, yes of course." Father makes his way to their side, looking rather shamefaced. "Otto was saying something the other week...it must have slipped my mind. I'm sorry, son." He pats Aegon awkwardly on the back, his hand surprisingly warm.
"It's all right, Father." Aegon shuffles his feet, still feeling nervous, but no longer like he wants to run. Not that he could, anyway, with Rhaenyra so small and precious in his arms.
Viserys peers down at her next to her, eyes softer than Aegon's seen them. "What do you think of her then, eh?"
There's only one answer really. "She's perfect," Aegon breathes. He can feel the Queen smile at him, and he wonders suddenly if he'll feel the warmth of her daughter's smiles the same way.
"That she is." Viserys clears his throat. "Well, I--I suppose I'd better bring in your siblings, then. They ought to be formally introduced, too." Aegon nods, not taking his eyes from his sister's face.
He wonders what the others will think, meeting her. Whether Daeron will fuss the way he does with the rest of them, like Mother in miniature. Whether Aemond will be embarrassed about his scar, whether they'll have to work to remind him babies don't care about such things. Whether Helaena will make one of her odd little pronouncements, the ones that often come true in the strangest of ways.
Whatever happens, Aegon's sure they'll love Rhaenyra as much and as fiercely as he does. Because they're hers, and she's there's, and he doesn't think there's a force on earth that can change that now.