Chapter Text
Dying the way he did was not something he had planned. But it happened. Being poisoned by his own was something he didn’t expect but many around him did. It was inevitable as Aemond would say. Aemond always had something to say.
Aegon didn’t think it natural to be able to have an inner monologue after death, but then again it was his first time in the abyss. Maybe it was natural.
“It is not,” A voice, deep and grainy. The voice was regal and powerful, swaying the ground around him with no effort. Maybe he wasn’t dead and just horribly drunk.
“You are not,” The voice said. He wanted to see who it was, who was reading his mind, but Aegon had no energy to open his eyes. No care for his safety, not anymore.
“Open your eyes, namesake. Open them now,” He did not want to, he wanted to sleep—“I said fucking open them!” Aegon's eyes flew open, the light harsh on his deep, purple eyes. His hand went up to his head as if to pull the hand at his head away, to make the pain stop.
“Who—who are you?” Aegon cursed the shakiness of his voice, he cursed how raw his throat felt for he had not talked in what felt like decades.
“Did I not give you enough clues, namesake?” There were many Aegons before him—“None that had been king,” No, none that had been king. Only Aegon the Conqueror.
Aegon the Magnanimous twisted his head the best he could to face the man with his hand in his hair. Low and behold, a dead man. He was certainly drunk, and if not, hallucinating. Dreaming maybe.
“This is no drunken dream or hallucination, no this is real life,” Aegon thought real death would be a more suitable phrase if the man was to be trusted. The hand softened and Aegon's roots thanked the Gods for the relieved tension. “I am Aegon the Conqueror. I am here to guide you,” There was a considerable amount of disgust in the man’s voice, Aegon thought, as if to question “Why am I to lead such a coward?”. Aegon wanted to kill the man for insulting him and the man he was named after. How dare an imbecile pretend to be such an honourable man?
“I am no fake, Aegon. I am as true as they come. You are dead, dead as can be. And you have sinned greatly, so you must atone,”
“Are you fucking crazy?” Aegon II sneered. “How dare you hold a King by his hair and make false accusations!” The hand at his head tightened its grip, so tight Aegon was sure a couple strands came out of the root.
“Look around you, do you see anyone, anything? It is black, save for me and you. Look at your hands, do you see the atrocious burns? No, they are gone. Do you think I am lying now? Do you not think I look like myself?” Aegon just wanted to sleep.
“You will not. You will have no rest until you repent and fix your mistakes,”
“What fucking mistak—AHG!” It felt like the world spinned around in continuous circles. The black was slowly fading away to become a whirlwind of different colours. Scenes from when Aegon was alive and after were presented in front of him as if to say that he, and only he, was responsible for the tragedies.
It was Rhaenyra at first, then Aegon the III and the doom of dragons, then it was what came after. The decline of the Targaryans, the last Mad King, his daughter with the three dragons, the bastard in the North, the betrayal of the two. The scenes kept continuing, one after another, all showing the consequences of Aegon usurping the throne. But Aegon didn’t care. Losing people and things was life, calamity was life, he would know. Why does the Conqueror think he cares? Why does he think his namesake could change it, even if he tried?
“There are many things people can do, even if they themselves cannot see the potential. You can and will save the Targaryen dynasty, you will save the dragons from eternal doom,”
“You—“ Aegon wasn’t a complete fool, he knew denying the man who conquered the seven kingdoms was dangerous, but then again he was already dead, “You have the wrong person for the job. No matter what I do, things go left, you should choose Aemond. Even Helaena would be better. Or my half sister, she would do whatever you wanted in a heartbeat. My father—“
“But they wouldn’t be better. The Gods are not foolish, they are not wrong. They have given you this mercy because they know that you can change the destruction of greatness. And you will,” The last sentence was distant to Aegon. He didn’t want to acknowledge anything the man said anymore, he didn’t want this burden.
“You have no choice, no say in this matter, boy,” Aegon felt like he couldn’t catch onto the last few words as his world had shifted from seeing a dead Daenerys Targaryen and a guilty Jon Snow, to feeling the warm fire of the hall in Driftmark.