Work Text:
A silver-haired cunt sat in Aegon’s favorite seat, talking to his favorite dancing girl. Aegon scowled. Aemond did not visit the pillow houses as a rule. If he had made an exception, there could only be one reason, and certainly it was not Serala, the raven-haired Myrish beauty who was Aegon’s sometime paramour. No, he would have come looking for Aegon, either to drag him home or to vex him into leaving. Aegon shook his head. He was in no mood for his brother’s nonsense.
His father had called one of his family suppers, dreadful events meant to mend the rift between his side of the family and his half-sister’s. Aegon had spent the better part of it gulping Arbor Red. Afterwards, his father had attempted to corner him with questions about this and that, all meant to trap him into saying the wrong thing.
Perhaps it was because he was ever so slightly drunk that he did not notice until he had slid onto the seat across from his brother, draping an arm around the girl’s shoulder, that it was not his brother at all.
No, it was certainly not Aemond. Sitting across from him was Prince Daemon. Prince Daemon, looking no happier to see Aegon than Aegon was to see him. “Nephew,” he said, his mouth quirking into what might have been a scowl or perhaps a smile. It was hard to tell with Daemon Targaryen. “I believe you have your arm around my woman.”
His woman? Aegon raised a brow. “Oh? Forgive me, I did not realize. And what is your woman’s name?”
Daemon huffed a laugh. “Is that important? Unhand her and go find some other girl to curse with your attentions.”
“No, I don’t think I will.” Aegon tugged Serala to his side.
“Prince Aegon, you mustn’t tease your uncle,” Serala said, ruining his fun.
His uncle looked between them. “You know him?”
“This is my woman, Prince Daemon. I’d suggest you find your own.” There was a platter of honeyed dates upon the table, and Aegon plucked one from the plate and ate it in three slow bites, licking the sticky honey from his thumb. “My favorite. Thank you, Serala, you always prepare the table just how I like it. I apologize for my uncle’s rude behavior.”
His uncle lifted his cup with a wry smile. “I admit you did not seem the type to prey upon a green boy.”
Now it was Aegon’s turn to frown. “A green boy? I reckon I’ve more children than you do.”
At that Prince Daemon barked a laugh. “Bold to boast of bastards in this family. Boys have lost eyes for less.”
Aegon shrugged. “My bastards bear the name Waters, not Targaryen. They live as bastards ought.”
Daemon huffed a laugh but gave no response, and Aegon felt a smug sense of satisfaction at having shut up his insufferable uncle, until the man opened his mouth once more. “A wager. Match me round for round, the last of us standing gets the whore.”
“She’s no whore, she’s a dancer,” Aegon said, affronted on Serala’s behalf. “Show some respect, uncle.”
But Serala grinned, and kissed Aegon upon the cheek. “I like the sound of this wager. Surely, my prince, you do not think the your uncle able to outpace you?”
“Do you think it was for nothing that I was once called Lord Flea Bottom?” Daemon raised a brow. “This pup will be beneath the table whilst you and I are beneath the sheets.”
Aegon knew that it was probably unwise to engage his notoriously fearsome uncle in a drinking challenge. After all, Prince Daemon held no love for any of his nephews, least of all Aegon. Aemond did not remember the early days when Daemon had tormented them for sport, having been just a babe at the time, but Aegon did. He had vague recollections of playing nursery games with his half-sister, of sitting upon her lap and sharing lemoncakes. That had all ended when Daemon had returned to court. He had made his disdain for his nephews clear from the start.
Now Prince Daemon was married to Rhaenyra and had even more reason to despise them. Though getting rid of Aegon would not solve all his half-sister’s troubles, he would be one less obstacle in her way. And certainly, for a man such as Daemon it would be easy enough to arrange for an accident once Aegon was drunk and senseless.
Pride, however, stopped him from backing down. That and the fact that he had already planned on getting drunk and he was not about to allow his uncle to keep him from that noble goal.
“Agreed,” Aegon said, sticking his hand out across the table.
His uncle looked as if he were uncertain what foul substances might pollute Aegon’s proffered hand, but he took it nevertheless and gave it a firm shake before calling for ale. “The first round is on me.”
Aegon was more of a wine drinker than an ale drinker if he were to tell the truth, and ale would certainly not be his choice to begin a challenge. Strong wine or brandy would be more efficient and would not fill them up quite so quickly. But then, that was probably his uncle’s strategy. The man was not a hearty eater, preferring to glower at his mother and grandfather through supper.
There was nothing for it but to hope that his uncle would succumb quickly gulping ale on an empty stomach. He narrowed his eyes at his uncle and when the flagons were set down before them, drank its contents down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then slamming the flagon upon the table with a triumphant thud. “Drink up, uncle.”
He could tell his uncle was out of practice by how long it took him to finish. Sipping wine at the dinner table was not the same as emptying flagons in a tavern, and his uncle lived on Dragonstone most of the time. What manner of debauchery could one even get up to on Dragonstone, Aegon wondered. He doubted there was even one good tavern or pillowhouse in the whole of the village.
But as soon as Daemon finished, he immediately held up a hand. “Another round.”
Aegon frowned. He had not meant to follow up with another flagon. Two flagons of ale was not so much under normal circumstances, but it was no way to begin a drinking wager. “Shouldn’t this one be my choice?”
The barmaid set the flagons down in front of them. “You may choose the next two then, nephew.”
“Mine uncle is a gracious man,” Aegon said.
Serala touched his arm. “And here I have not finished even the first. Perhaps you ought to pace yourselves.”
“Indeed, the contest need not come to an end so quickly,” his uncle said. “I assure you, I can keep pace all night.”
Annoyed, Aegon took a deep breath and began to drink. His uncle was nearing fifty, and he had barely managed his first flagon. Aegon was twenty and accustomed to his revels. The old man would not get the best of him.
That said, when he finished the second flagon he had a moment of lightheadedness. He was, he told himself, at an unfair disadvantage having had several cups of wine at supper. To his great humiliation, he hiccuped. “Beg pardon.” Thumping his chest, he coaxed up some air, which helped. “I believe it’s my choice now.”
“As you say,” his uncle said, smirking as he set down his own empty flagon. “Your choice.”
“A bottle of your finest pear brandy and three cups,” Aegon called out.
The barmaid placed the brandy in front of them, pale yellow with a whole pear at the bottom of the bottle. Serala poured two cups and pushed the third back towards the barmaid. “I’ll keep to ale if it’s all the same?”
“Of course.” He did not particularly care what the girl drank or how much. He was more interested in distracting Daemon and giving himself a moment to recover. Aegon tapped the glass. “How do you suppose the pear comes to be inside the bottle?”
Daemon shrugged. “I could not possibly say.”
“I’ve seen it done, back home in Myr,” Serala said. “Can you take a guess? I’m sure you cannot.”
“Some glassblower’s tricks,” Aegon said, waving a hand. “I’ve seen them do marvelous things, bottles in all manner of outlandish shapes, glass animals, anything you can think of.”
“That’s true, my prince.” Serala lifted the bottle of pear brandy, examining it from all angles. “But the pear is unblemished. There is no hole from a skewer, no burn marks. No, the method is quite quaint. You see, in the orchards where brandy pears are grown, bottles are attached to the pears when they are still upon the branch, yet small enough to fit through the opening.”
“So the pear grows within the bottle,” Aegon said. He indeed could not have guessed. “Ingenious.”
“Just so. The bottles are clear, so the pears do not lack for sunlight. When they have grown to their full size, they pluck the pears from the tree and fill the bottles with brandy.”
“Fascinating,” Prince Daemon said, not sounding particularly fascinated. He picked up a cup. “To the pear growers of Myr.”
Aegon lifted his cup, pausing before he took a drink. He was still precariously full of ale and if he might postpone the brandy, just for a minute or so, he would have a better chance of winning the wager. “What brings you out to a pillowhouse tonight anyway, uncle? Did my half-sister banish you from her bed?”
“I might ask the same of you.” Daemon swirled the brandy in his cup and then drank it all in one gulp.
“Prince Daemon, you’re meant to sip it,” Serala said with a laugh.
“That’s right, uncle.” Aegon wagged a finger and sipped his own brandy. “Waste of good brandy if you drink it that way. And I asked you first. Tell me what brought you out, and I shall do the same.”
Aegon was delighted to see that his uncle’s cheeks had taken on a slight flush. Soon he would be as drunk as Aegon was, moreso even. His uncle must have realized the same thing, for he nodded to Aegon’s cup. “Drink it first. Or are you that close to giving up?”
Aegon scoffed. “I’m not even the slightest bit close to giving up.” He downed the cup, out of spite more than anything else, and leaned back in his seat, the warmth of the brandy settling in his belly. “Alright, out with it.”
Serala poured two fresh cups, giving Daemon a sympathetic look. “Was it a quarrel with your wife?”
“My brother,” Prince Daemon snapped, scowling into his cup of brandy. “Pig headed bore that he is.”
Aegon grinned. Of all the reasons for being here that his uncle might have given, this was perhaps the best. “You too?”
“Don’t look so surprised.” Daemon took another gulp of brandy and shook his head. “Must we truly sip this?”
Prince Daemon’s revelation piqued his curiosity and he had momentarily forgotten the wager. “Suit yourself. If you must gulp your brandy like a sea bass I will not stop you.”
Daemon gulped his brandy like a sea bass. “Now you. Why aren’t you in your sister’s bed tonight?”
“I’m never in my sister’s bed if I can help it.” Aegon finished his cup, invigorated now, and tapped the table for Serala to pour another. “At least not for that purpose.”
“What?” His uncle shook his head. “No, never mind. Why, then?”
Aegon had to laugh at the absurdity of it. “As it happens I’m here for the same reason you are. My father. Your brother. The—how did you put it? Pigheaded bore. I like that one. I think I shall use it myself.”
“Well it’s true, isn’t it? Infuriating man. He will not take Gerardys, no matter what I say to convince him. I told Rhaenyra it was pointless to ask, but she insisted that I try to talk him around. Of course Viserys thinks we only want Gerardys here to vex your mother and grandfather.”
Aegon rolled his eyes. “Is that not the reason?”
“Believe it or not, the sun does not rise and set with your mother. Gerardys is a good maester, but I’d just as soon keep him on Dragonstone. He’s wasted here. Viserys doesn’t listen to his maesters regardless.” Daemon shook his head and downed his brandy. “I should not be telling you any of this.”
“Oh? Are you divulging realm secrets to the enemy?” Aegon snorted. “I’m his eldest son. To some fathers that might mean something, as I’m sure you are aware.”
If Prince Daemon should not have remarked upon the matter of the maester, Aegon knew he certainly should not have spoken those words out loud. The brandy was loosening both of their tongues to an alarming degree. But Prince Daemon did not draw Dark Sister or mutter any threats, he only threw his head back and laughed. “Once being the king’s only brother might have meant something too. I suppose we both know a bit about disappointing Viserys. Had a go at you, did he? What was it, whoring? Drinking?”
“Only my mother and grandfather scold me for that. In fact…” Aegon leaned slightly closer, grinning at his uncle. “He asked my opinion on the matter of the maesters.”
“Bollocks he did!” Prince Daemon said, slapping his palm upon the table and startling Serala. “He’d ask your opinion but give me grief for offering mine?”
Aegon poured brandy for the both of them. “If you think it’s because he values my opinion, that’s where you’re wrong. It was merely a test, one of his many tests.”
“Of what?” Prince Daemon’s face was properly red now, his words starting to slur. “What is he testing?”
Aegon threw his hands up in the air. “Who knows? In all my years—not so great a number as your own, of course—I have not managed to figure out what it is he wants from me. But never mind, uncle. I have never once achieved a satisfactory mark.” He drank down the brandy and made a face, leaning against Serala. The bottle was nearly empty, and neither of them had yet passed out or vomited, although it was a near thing. “What did I say? We should have sipped it.”
His uncle did not seem to hear his last words. “A test. Of course. That’s what he does, is it not? Always testing.” he muttered those last words with no small amount of disgust.
It struck Aegon that perhaps Daemon had not known this about the king at all. Aegon had learned long ago that there was no use attempting to please his father, for the mark was ever shifting and ill defined. He almost felt sorry for his uncle. He lifted his cup. “Enduring him is easier once you stop caring. The likes of you and I can never pass his muster.”
“And what did you tell him, about the maester?” Serala asked. Aegon had not realized she was listening. Her flagon of ale remained mostly full.
“I told him surely there were better people to ask. What should I know about maesters? Of course my mother scolded for not advancing Alfador’s cause, but that wouldn’t have swayed him any more than my uncle speaking for Gerardys did. Difference is, I know better than to try.” He laughed and poured the last of the brandy, splashing some on his fingers. “Come, uncle Daemon, let us finish the bottle.”
His uncle’s mood had shifted. Aegon knew enough about shifting moods to recognize the signs, even drunk as he was. Daemon took the proffered cup, drank it down, and stood. “What about the wager?” Aegon asked.
“You win, this once,” his uncle said, already stalking away. He looked over his shoulder at Aegon, catching himself on the doorframe as he stumbled from the room.“I will grant you that. But take care that you do not become accustomed to it.”