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Rhaenyra I
Late 107 AC
Her little brother might be the ugliest baby she’s ever seen.
That’s what Rhaenyra thinks as she stares down into little Aegon’s cradle. With his chubby face and sullen lips, the small prince doesn’t look very regal. The murals in the septs always portray babies as picturesque, with an almost heavenly glow around them. Every baby is a gift from the Mother, or so the septons say. But there’s nothing divine about Aegon, always fussing and crying out for attention. If anything, Aegon is dreadfully ordinary. Perhaps the loss of her last baby brother set her expectations too high.
Aegon waves his hands and starts to babble, and Rhaenyra is unsure what her brother is asking for. Slowly, she reaches a hand down into Aegon’s crib and wiggles her fingers in front of his face. Aegon grasps onto her hand with his own. “You like my fingers, is that it? Well how about now!” says Rhaenyra as she starts tickling Aegon on his tummy. The baby laughs shrilly, and Rhaenyra thinks Aegon’s not so ugly when he smiles.
Would Baelon have laughed like this? Would he have been so happy to see me?
Rhaenyra tickles Aegon until he starts gasping. The princess lifts her brother from his bed, cradling him in her arms. Aegon coos adorably and resumes his babbling.
“What are you trying to say? Think you can say my name? Rhae-nyr-a.”
Instead of her name, Aegon says more nonsense. Rhaenyra knows it’s a longshot, but she sounds out her name again. “Rhae-nyr-a.” Again, more babbling. Rhaenyra was about to give up when a small “Nyra” escapes Aegon’s lips. Aegon squeals with delight as his sister spins him around the room.
“You better grow up soon, Egg. I’ve got so much more to teach you.”
Rhaenyra II
110 AC
Rhaenyra was a girl on a mission. After finishing her riding exercises with Syrax, the princess made a beeline for Maegor’s Holdfast, where the royal apartments were. Aegon had made quite a scene when he was told he couldn’t follow his sister to the Dragonpit, as that was a place for dragon riders only. Rhaenyra had Aegon’s tears on her mind during her practice, and decided to check up on him.
A maid was standing outside the prince’s room. She had tired eyes and an exasperated look on her face. The maid stood up straighter when she noticed the princess approaching, still in her riding clothes.
“My Princess, the prince is in a foul mood. He does not wish to see anyone.”
“He’ll want to see me. Be on your way.”
When the maid had left, Rhaenyra gingerly opened the door to Aegon’s room. It looked as though an actual dragon had stomped through. Toys and pillows were discarded haphazardly around the room, and the sulking three-year-old in the center gave a clear image of the tantrum that had taken place while Rhaenyra was flying.
“Go away!” shouted the prince, his head facing the other wall.
“Is that any way to greet your elder?” Rhaenyra teased.
Aegon turned around. His cheeks were red and puffy, with glassy eyes and snot dangling from his nose. His pouty brow softened at the sight of his sister.
“Go away,” he repeated, quieter this time.
Rhaenyra pulled a hand out of her pocket and presented a fistfull of sugar plums.
“Look, Egg! I brought sweetmeats from the kitchens.’”
Aegon’s eyes grew the size of saucers, but he immediately restored his scowl and crossed his arms.
“I don’t wanna,” he pouted.
Rhaenyra highly doubted that, but she put the treats on a nearby table and sat down near her brother.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t come to the Dragonpit, but there’d be nothing for you to do anyways.”
“I wanna fly too!” Aegon pouted.
“You will, once you have your own dragon,” Rhaenyra replied calmly.
“Why can’t I have a dragon now!”
“Bonding with a dragon is a difficult process. You’ll have to wait for the right. . .”
“That’s not fair!” Aegon interrupted.
Rhaenyra sighed. In truth, she was lucky Syrax had bonded to her when they were both young. Some dragonlords of old had failed to mount a dragon until well into adulthood. She hoped Aegon wouldn’t be such a case. Rhaenyra wanted to reassure her brother that his time would come, but there was no guarantee when it came to dragons. As Rhaenyra search for the right words, and idea hatched in her mind.
“Alright, Egg. You can ride a dragon right now.”
Aegon turned around so quickly Rhaenyra was worried he’d get whiplash. “Really?”
Rhaenyra got down on her hands and knees, “Climb on.”
Aegon looked confused, but climbed on top of his sister’s back. “Do you remember the word for ‘up?’” she asked.
Aegon scrunched his face for a minute, then said, “vēzot.”
Rhaenyra did her best impression of a dragon roar and lifted herself up, making Aegon burst into giggles.
“Forward, Nyra!” Aegon ordered. Rhaenyra crawled across the room, making her best attempt at flapping wing noises with her mouth.
“Dracarys!” Aegon shouted, and Rhaenyra obeyed, blowing air from her lips while knocking over a stack of blocks.
Aegon squealed in delight, all sadness from the morning forgotten. “Higher, Nyra! Higher!” Rhaenyra arched her back upwards, continuing to roar as Aegon cheered. “Higher! Higher!” Rhaenyra tried to rise to her feet, but wobbled as she struggled to keep her balance. Her heart stopped when she noticed Aegon no longer had his arms around her neck and a rough “plunk” sounded behind her.”
Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay!
Rhaenyra spun around and saw her brother was crying. But her fear turned to relief when she saw they were only tears of laughter. Rhaenyra joined in, and pulled Aegon into a hug.
When you have a dragon, we’ll fly together every day. We’ll be inseparable, like Father and Uncle Daemon used to be.
Rhaenyra III
111 AC
Aegon giggled as Rhaenyra carried him over her shoulders across the grass. The little prince was growing up faster and faster, but his demands for “dragon rides” never slouched in their frequency. Rhaenyra didn’t mind most days, but it became more burdensome as Aegon grew heavier with age. Still, having Aegon’s weight on her back was far easier than spending another minute helping to plan the celebrations for her father’s fifth wedding anniversary. The king had decreed there would be a grand tournament, followed by several days of feasting and dancing. As princess and heir, Rhaenyra was expected to help oversee the servants as they prepared the tourney grounds, set up decorations, prepared outfits, and stockpiled food. After a week of constant preparations, Rhaenyra needed a break. And that led her hear, to a quiet green space away from all the hustle and bustle of the Red Keep. After setting Aegon down, Rhaenyra spread out a blanket and opened a basket. She withdrew a pair honey cakes, causing Aegon’s mouth to water.
“Aren’t those for the tourney?” he asked.
“Yes, but no one will miss them,” Rhaenyra winked.
As the pair chewed on their cakes, Aegon turned towards his sister.
“Wiff I geth to thee the thourney?” he asked, spitting out bits of food.
“Egg, remember not to talk with a full mouth. And I don’t see why you couldn’t watch the lists, but you should ask Father just to be safe.”
Aegon swallowed his bite. “I wanna to joust too!”
“I’m sure you’ll be a great knight when you’re old enough.”
“Really?” Aegon asked, eyes sparkling.
“Sure! You’ll win all the lists, and all the ladies will want you to carry their favor.”
“Could I have your favor?”
Rhaenyra laughed, thinking of how she planned to give her favor to Ser Criston. “You don’t want my favor. You’ll have lots of ladies to choose from.”
Aegon pouted, clearly unsatisfied with the answer.
“How about this: when I’m queen, I’ll host lots of tourneys where you’ll be the champion for our house.”
“Mummy said I might be king instead.”
Rhaenyra froze partway through taking a bite.
“Why might that be,” she asked, trying to keep her expression neutral.
The prince shrugged and looked away, sensing a change in the atmosphere.
“Aegon, why did your mother say you might be king?”
“Because it’s more truh-dish-on-al,” he replied, struggling through the large word.
“I see. And what do you want?”
Aegon was quiet for a minute before whispering, “I saw Father cut himself really bad. The Iron Throne scares me.”
Rhaenyra exhaled in relief. “You want to know a secret, Egg? The throne scares me too.”
It was silent for a long while as the siblings finished their cakes. As Rhaenyra began to pack up, Aegon spoke.
“I know! I’ll be your Hand of the King, just like Grandfather!”
Rhaenyra smiled. “I’d love to have you as my Hand, although it’d be Hand of the Queen.”
“Yes, and when you’re old, tired, and covered in scabs, I’ll be there for you!” Aegon smiled.
“Well how generous of you,” Rhaenyra laughed.
Aegon’s words had reassured her, but she couldn’t shake the fear that Queen Alicent was poisoning her brother against her. Her mind involuntarily went to her uncle Daemon, who took every opportunity to express his distaste for the Hightowers.
Grasping Andals who don’t know their place, he had called them. They’ll never be satisfied. They’d steal the throne out from under us if they could. Alicent’s boy may be sweet now, but give it time. His Andal blood will show itself. Blood always tells.
Rhaenyra had laughed at her uncle’s jabs at Ser Otto’s expense, dismissing Daemon’s more loaded accusations as a jealous desire for more of the king’s attention. But now she wondered if she should have taken them more seriously. For the first time in her life, Rhaenyra feared for her future.
Rhaenyra IV
119 AC
The years that followed the grand tournament changed everyone in the house of the dragon. For Rhaenyra, they brought and unwanted marriage, a desperately wanted paramour, and the highs and lows of motherhood. For Aegon, the years brought a growth spurt, an early bloom, and an increasing awareness of court politics. Whispers surrounded both siblings regarding the uncertain future of their house. The king made his preference known, but it was a preference unsupported by precedent or consensus. Who could say which face of the coin would come up when it finally dropped? Under different circumstances, perhaps the siblings might have navigated the brewing storm together. But Rhaenyra’s title as Princess of Dragonstone required her to move to her new fief, the ruling of which left little time for visiting family. One rare exception came in the year 119 AC, when the king invited his eldest daughter to share a meal with the family.
The atmosphere at the dinner table was fraught with tension, and Rhaenyra had overheard enough servant gossip to piece together why. Aegon had sprung up like a weed since Rhaenyra had last seen her brother. He had begun styling his hair differently, cutting it short in the front while letting it grow long in the back. His upper lip was sporting a thin line of peach fuzz that would certainly grow into a mustache before long. It was hard for Rhaenyra to connect the adolescent in front of her with the toddler that used to beg for dragon rides. Although, Aegon still kept the pouty expression from his childhood, so some things never change.
Speaking of pouting, Alicent was shooting Aegon sour looks in between courses, and Viserys was ignoring his eldest son outright. After a meal filled with awkward small talk, the various Targaryens slowly trickled out of the dining hall until it was only Rhaenyra and Aegon left. After seeing Aegon refill a goblet with his favorite wine, Rhaenyra poured a cup for herself. As soon as the Arbor red touched her lips, Rhaenyra recoiled at the potency of the vintage.
“A little strong, isn’t it, Egg?”
Aegon shrugged. “I guess. And don’t call me Egg. Egg’s a name for a baby.”
“. . . as you wish.”
A brief silence passed between them before Rhaenyra cleared her throat.
“I heard about what happened this morning, at the Dragon Pit.”
“I’ve already gotten an earful from Mother and Father. I don’t need a lecture from you.”
“I just feel bad for the maid. What was her name?”
Aegon narrowed his eyes. “Taena.”
“I heard Father had her whipped and dismissed from her job.”
Aegon scowed at Rhaenyra’s accusatory tone. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“You brought her to see Sunfyre, hoping she’d be impressed enough to spread her legs for you! You know only family and dragon keepers are allowed in there!”
“She could have said no!”
“Aegon, you’re a prince, and she was a servant! You need to start thinking of how your behavior affects others!”
“And what of your behavior, sister?”
Rhaenyra clenched her fists. “What do you mean?”
Aegon made an insufferably smug smirk, “Who was it you gave your maidenhead to? Uncle Daemon? Ser Criston? Ser Harwin? Father would have killed either of those men if he believed any of it. So don’t lecture me about how a prince should act!”
Rhaenyra recoiled. “Aegon, that’s not. . . where did you hear such vile slander?”
“You won’t even admit it!” Aegon shouted, working himself into a tizzy. “Why is it only wrong when I have a little fun? I fool around and Father says I shame him! You do the same and he calls you his pride!”
“Aegon! These accusations are treason!”
Aegon stared into his sister’s eyes. “Tell me, are any of your sons even Ser Laen—”
Smack
Rhaenyra regretted it as soon as she felt the sting in her hand. Aegon gingerly touched his reddening cheek before grabbing the wine flagon and storming off.
Rhaenyra was left in the dining hall, completely alone.
Aegon I
120 AC
Aegon did not wish to be here.
The king was shouting something at the Kingsguard, but Aegon couldn’t hear any of it. His attention was captured by the sight of Aemond, writhing in pain while the Maester sewed his eye shut, the eyeball itself lying bloody in a dish.
Aemond, his twat of a baby brother. The sulky, angry, boy who always looked at Sunfyre with naked envy, would now struggle to look at anything. Aegon had heard the fight was over some nonsense about Vhagar. Was this about the Pink Dread? Was Aegon partly to blame?
“Where were you?” asked a voice that shook Aegon from his dissociation.
“Me?” he answered dumbly.
Smack
“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” Mummy hissed.
The Velaryons, along with Rhaenyra and Daemon, stormed into the room demanding explanations. The kids all began shouting accusations and blame while Viserys screamed for silence. Aegon tried to go away inside his mind again, until Rhaenyra’s voice stood out amongst the cacophony.
“It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves! Vile insults were levied against them. The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was loudly put into question.”
“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys helpfully added.
The room fell silent as the gravity of the accusation soaked in. Everyone had whispered about the boys’ perfect resemblance to Harwin Strong, but it had never been said openly in court before, certainly never in front of the king.
“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace,” Rhaenyra insisted. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”
Aegon’s blood froze. Everyone knew that to “sharply question” was the polite way to say “torture.” Aemond was only ten years old. Rhaenyra would have him tortured, for what? For speaking aloud what everyone already knew to be true? Nyra could be a hypocrite and a shrew, but Aegon would have never thought to call her cruel. The prince searched his sister’s face for any sign that she didn’t mean it, or that she regretted the suggestion. But Rhaenyra’s face may have been carved from granite for all the emotion it bore. Mother’s warnings about how Rhaenyra would do anything to secure her claim, even harming her own brothers, all came back to Aegon at once. Each time, he had dismissed them as a mother’s over-protectiveness. He couldn’t dismiss them anymore.
“You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?” asked the king.
How could he ask this now? Can this not wait til half of Aemond’s face isn’t covered in blood?
“Aemond, look at me.”
With what? The eye his nephew carved out?
“Your king demands an answer.”
Not his father, his king.
“Who spoke these lies to you?”
Aemond’s head turned to face Mummy, and the entire court began staring at her as well, including the king.
“It was Aegon,” Aemond blurted out.
“Me?”
Viserys turned toward Aegon with venom in his eyes.
“And you, boy,” he hissed. “Where did you hear such calumnies?”
Aegon racked his brain for someone he could name, someone he could point to without getting Mummy in trouble. So many people had talked about the boys’ paternity that it would be impossible to guess who was first. He might as well have named every midwife who helped deliver the boys.
“Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!” Viserys roared.
“We know, father. Everyone knows. Just look at them.”
Aegon’s eyes caught Rhaenyra’s, and he saw hurt fill her face. That Rhaenyra would have the nerve to feel aggrieved filled Aegon with rage.
How dare you! How dare you think yourself the victim! After what your son did to my brother, after what you wanted to do to him yourself! You have no right!
From that day forward, Aegon understood that he was no longer safe with his half-sister. He would only put his trust in his family from now on.
Aegon II
Late 129 AC
Everything hurt. His skin burned. His bones ached. His head pounded. But the worst pain came from his heart, knowing it was his own brother who had done this to him.
Aemond. His brave brother. Aegon had done his best to support Aemond during his recovery after the loss of his eye. He cheered Aemond on in the training yard and backed him up during confrontations with the Strong boys. Sure, Aegon still teased his overly-serious brother from time-to-time, but there was never any malice. What had he done to make Aemond hate him so much?
As Aegon wallowed in his misery, the doors to his bed chambers swung open. In walked Aemond himself.
“I’ll speak with my brother. Alone.”
All the surgeons and attendants slipped out of the room, leaving Aegon alone with his tormentor. Aegon’s breathing became frantic as Aemond casually sauntered over to his bed.
“What do you remember?”
“Nothing,” Aegon wheezed.
A darkly playful smirk grew on Aemond’s face as he took his stone from the Small Council chambers and pressed it into Aegon’s burned flesh.
Aegon could only whimper in agony as he felt he was being burned anew. All the while his brother whispered to him in venomous tones.
“You challenged Meleys. It was foolish.”
“I remember nothing,” Aegon pleaded.
Seemingly satisfied, Aemond withdrew the stone and strolled out the door.
Aegon couldn’t believe that monster had ever been his brother. Aemond had tried to kill him. Daeron was far away in the Reach. Heleana had retreated into her mind ever since the murder of their son. Had all his siblings abandoned him?
Later that night, Grand Maester Orwyle gave the king wine laced with milk of the poppy to dull the pain enough for him to sleep. As Aegon tried to drift off, he caught movement in the corner of his eye. His heart skipped a beat, fearing Aemond had come to finish him off. But instead of his brother, a teenage girl stepped out of the dark and next to his bed. Aegon squinted his eyes, trying to recognize the girl’s features. As her face became clear, Aegon gasped upon realizing that it was Rhaenyra herself that stood at his bedside. She wasn’t Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone, but Nyra, the Realm’s Delight. Somehow, his sister had reverted to the age she had been when they used to steal sweets from the kitchens and pretend they were dragons.
“Egg, have you fallen ill again?” Nyra asked, moving her hand towards Aegon’s forehead.
“Get away from me!” Aegon hissed with as much strength as he could muster. “You murdered my son!”
Nyra froze, giving him a confused look. “Did I?”
Aegon tried to summon the anger he had felt when word of Jaehaerys’s death first reached him. He had hated Rhaenyra in that moment, and would gladly have killed her with his bare hands had she been in the room then. But no matter how hard he tried, Aegon could not connect the face of the girl standing in front of him with the woman who was trying to destroy his family.
It’s the poppy—the poppy clouds my mind so I can’t hate her.
Nyra took Aegon’s silence as an answer and felt Aegon’s forehead. As much as it hurt to admit, his sister’s featherlight touch calmed Aegon in a way the medicine couldn’t.
“You’re burning up. Remember when I used to feed you broth whenever you took ill? Would you like that?”
Aegon scoffed. “What does it matter? You’re not even here, not really.”
“Oh Egg, haven’t we promised to always be there for each other?”
Nyra lightly kissed the top of Aegon’s head. As her lips brushed his hair, Aegon felt his eyes grow heavy. “Sleep well, little brother,” she whispered before disappearing back into the shadows.
Rhaenyra V
130 AC
Taking the Iron Throne proved easy. Holding it was another matter. When Rhaenyra had returned it King’s Landing, it had been as a triumphant conqueror. But when the Red Keep’s door were opened, her half-brother and his children had vanished, along with three quarters of the royal treasury. Rhaenyra’s treasury. The queen had traded her silk gowns for steel plate armor to give an image of strength, yet the smallfolk still dared to challenge her. Mysaria, her ever-loyal spymaster, had kept Rhaenyra informed of every treasonous tongue that slandered her in the city’s winesinks and pleasure houses. “Maegor with teats” they called her over every petty inconvenience. It wasn’t her fault taxes had to be raised, it was Ser Tyland’s for stealing her treasury. It wasn’t her fault so many had to be executed and fed to Syrax, it was their fault for questioning her in the first place. A strong queen acts boldly. The rabble who challenged her would never have dared disrespect her father, or her husband, or her half-brother.
Rhaenyra seethed at the unfairness of it all while sitting the Iron Throne. Lord Bartimos Celitgar was standing next to her, rambling on over the details of some new tax he had devised. The particulars didn’t interest Rhaenyra, she knew she’d sign it into law anyways. Mushroom capered around and told ribald jokes to others attending the court. Others laughed, but Rhaenyra couldn’t find it within herself to even smile at the fool’s antics. The queen slumped further into the throne, trusting her armor to prevent any cuts.
Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall opened. In walked one of her household guards. The man approached the Iron Throne and knelt. “Your Grace, Lady Caswell of Bitterbridge sends a message regarding Prince Maelor Targaryen, son of the usurper."
“Very well, bring me her message.”
Rhaenyra expected a letter, perhaps explaining that the boy had been spotted somewhere in the Reach. Instead, the men brought her a small box.
Is this some kind of jape?
“What are you waiting for, open it!” she ordered.
One of her guards gingerly opened the box. Nothing could have prepared Rhaenyra for what was inside. The small head was unmistakably a child's, and even rotting could be recognized as belonging to a Targaryen. For a moment, Rhaenyra wasn’t just looking at a murdered child. She was looking at a young Aegon’s head.
A horrified sob forced its way passed the queen’s lips. “Get that out of my sight!” she roared. As the guards hastily closed the box and took it away, Rhaenyra stormed back to her private chambers. The queen paced the floor as a series of frantic thoughts battled in her mind.
I shouldn’t have sobbed, I shouldn’t have left. They’ll all think me weak.
Damn the Caswells, they’ve made a kinslayer of me!
It wasn’t my fault! I told everyone I wanted the children taken alive.
He was just a baby! What have I done?
Why should I mourn Aegon’s boy? I’m sure he never mourned any of my children.
“Your Grace?” came a voice as soft as silk and sweet as honey.
Rhaenyra turned and saw Mysaria hovering in the door frame.
“The court asks what is to be done with the prince’s remains?”
Rhaenyra stiffened herself and put on a mask of calm. “The boy is blood of the dragon. He shall be honored with a traditional Targaryen cremation.”
“I will see it done. And who shall inform the boy’s mother?”
Helaena. Rhaenyra felt sick imagining how the broken woman would react to the loss of yet another son. Perhaps it was weakness, but Rhaenyra could not bring herself to face Helaena right now.
“You shall inform Helaena, but do so gently. My sister is a delicate woman.”
Mysaria smiled in a way that made Rhaenyra feel uneasy. “Of course, Your Grace. I shall treat Helaena with the kindness she deserves.”
“Good. Away with you, then.”
As Mysaria left, Rhaenyra looked at her hands, imagining how terrifying and painful the last moments of Maelor’s life must have been. My hands are clean. My hands are clean. My hands are clean, she repeated to herself, hoping eventually she’d believe it.
Rhaenyra VI
130 AC
The queen’s home had become her prison. Marched at spearpoint, Rhaenyra kept a reassuring hand on her trembling son. Aegon the Younger, Rhaenyra’s last boy, clung to his mother’s leg as if she was driftwood and he was lost at sea. Leading the procession was Ser Alfred Broome, the traitor who had sold his honor over a denied promotion. The turncloak knight had been sporting a mocking grin ever since he revealed to Rhaenyra that he had stolen Dragonstone out from under her. Rhaenyra knew the danger she was in, but refused to give Ser Alfred the satisfaction of seeing her afraid or enraged. She needed to keep calm and use whatever leverage she had left to protect her son.
But as the party reached the castle ward, Rhaenyra’s stoic mask cracked as she saw the last dragon she expected to meet again. Lounging on the black stone floor was Sunfyre, Aegon’s dragon. Sunfyre was still the color of beaten gold, but he was hardly recognizable as the creature that had once been called the most beautiful dragon in the world. One of his wings was bent at an unnatural angle, and hung as if the slightest pull would tear it completely from the rest of the body. His right eye was missing, the socket filled with dried blood. Worst of all was his belly and neck, which were more scab than scale. Sunfyre had been Rhaenyra’s enemy, but a dragon was still the symbol of her house. Seeing the golden dragon broken and torn made her heart ache as it conjured memories of her long-dead dragon, Syrax. Despite the danger around her, Rhaenyra had to fight the urge to run up to Sunfyre and comfort him.
“How has it come to this?” Rhaenyra whispered. For the first time, the true cost House Targaryen would pay for the Dance weighed on her.
“Sister!” called a voice from above.
Rhaenyra gasped as she looked up and saw Aegon seated on the balcony. However, the broken man sitting on a wheeled chair bared little resemblance to the strong, energetic, image Rhaenyra had associated with her brother. Aegon was bent awkwardly at the hips, giving him the appearance of a stooped old man. His legs were mangled and misshapen to the point where it was hard to believe he had once used them to run all around the Red Keep as a child. His once beautiful face was warped by burns that covered half his body. Crippled and broken, Aegon bore a horrible resemblance to their father Viserys, in the last months of his life.
Rhaenyra wanted to hate her brother. He had stolen her birthright. Her sons had been killed in his name. Most of her did hate him. But another part, the small girl that used to give her brother dragon-back rides, that once thought her brother’s laughter the sweetest sound in the world, wanted nothing more than to weep for what the war had turned them into.
But that girl was a weakness Rhaenyra could not afford. So she locked that girl away deep inside her and glared at her brother with hardened features.
“Dear brother, I had hoped you were dead,” she spat.
Aegon laughed, as though it was all a joke. “After you, you are the elder.”
“I am pleased to know you remember that. It would seem we are your prisoners, but do not think you will hold us long. My leal lords will find me.”
“If they search the seven hells, mayhaps,” Aegon replied before nodding at his men.
Ser Alfred seized Rhaenyra by her arms as another man dragged her son off to the side.
Please, not my son! I’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t take my last boy!
Rhaenyra bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out. She wouldn’t show weakness, not in front of him.
Ser Alfred drew his dagger and pricked Rhaenyra’s breast. Content at the sight of blood staining her clothes, the false knight leapt away as Sunfyre drew near. Rhaenyra refused to acknowledge the dragon’s presence, instead keeping her eyes fixed on her brother.
Aegon took a deep breath. “Sunfyre, dracarys!”
Aegon III
130 AC
Aegon didn’t want this.
He thought he wanted it. He thought taking vengeance on the murderer of his children would please him. This wasn’t just for him. It was for Jaehaerys, and Maelor, and Heleana, and Daeron, and even Aemond. But as the fire clung to his sister, Aegon’s heart stopped. At first, Rhaenyra’s features were twisted with rage, screaming some unintelligible curse at him. But then the flames washed over her head like a veil, and for a moment her face reverted to the girl who used to sing to him when he had nightmares, who he once looked up to as his perfect big sister. For a moment, Aegon wasn’t killing the pretender. He was killing Nyra.
Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop, screamed the little boy inside Aegon’s heart.
As if sensing his master’s distress, Sunfyre opened his maw and bit down on Rhaenyra, ending her suffering. As the fire smoldered into nothingness, the only sound that could be heard in Dragonstone was the wailing of Rhaenyra’s son.
XXX
“So long as the boy lives, so too does the false queen’s claim,” bluntly stated Ser Alfred. For his role in taking Dragonstone, Aegon had appointed him the King’s Justice. “Lord Cregan marches with all his strength from the North. In the east, Lady Jeyne sails with the knights of the Vale. Even the surviving armies of the Riverlands stand against us, but a stone’s throw away from King’s Landing. It is folly to expect Lord Borros to defeat them all.”
“What would you have me do?” snarled Aegon, as though he didn’t already know the answer.
“Let me kill the boy. Without someone to crown, Rhaenyra’s allies will return home.”
Aegon knew Ser Alfred was right. The surviving blacks may hate him, but they wouldn’t throw their lives away without a claim to fight for. Although the thought of executing an innocent child churned even his stomach, Aegon could think of no other way to turn back the three armies moving against him.
“Send for him,” the king muttered.
After waiting in erie silence for what felt like hours, Ser Alfred returned with Aegon the Younger. The last time Aegon saw his nephew, the child was crying for his mother. Now, the boy carried himself with a dignified silence that both impressed and unnerved the king. The boy was chained hand and foot, struggling to walk in the heavy fetters. Ser Alfred forced the boy to his knees and looked expectantly at the king.
Clearing his throat, the king spoke. “Prince Aegon, son of Rhaenyra the Pretender, I, Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, sentence you to die for treason against the crown.”
Aegon felt ridiculous even as he spoke the charges. The boy was just a child, innocent of his parents’ crimes. But this wasn’t about guilt or innocence. This was about securing his future. This was about protecting his mother and daughter. And Aegon saw no other path that didn’t end in this boy’s death.
“Do you have any last words?” the king asked.
To his credit, Aegon the Younger did not beg. Nor did he cry. He simply turned his head and looked his uncle in the eye. The king flinched at the look in the boy’s face. It wasn’t fear or even hatred. It was judgment. You murdered my mother, his eyes seemed to say. You forced me to watch. The boy was judging him with those dark purple eyes. Rhaenyra’s eyes.
Accepting his silence as an answer, Ser Alfred drew his sword and raised it high. In a moment, the false knight would snuff out the last ember of Rhaenyra that remained in the world. Just as his sword began to fall, a cry of “Stop!” burst from the king’s lips. Ser Alfred froze. “Your Grace?” he asked confusedly.
“I’ve changed my mind. Rhaenyra’s son will serve our purposes better as a hostage than a corpse. Return him to the dungeon.”
Ser Alfred looked disappointed, but did as his king bid. Aegon knew his men would take this for weakness, but he didn’t care. He would just have to find another way.
Aegon IV
131 AC
After leaving the small council chambers, Aegon ordered his litter-bearers to carry him to the Red Keep sept. There he would beg the god’s forgiveness for his upcoming sin: the maiming of a child. Lord Borros had fallen to the Riverlords, and soon the three black armies would fall upon Aegon’s defenseless city. Reluctantly, the king had ordered that Aegon the Younger lose an ear, with threats to take more parts unless the armies turned around.
He can live well with only one ear, and the blacks will not force me to take more.
Soon it would all be over, or so Aegon told himself.
As the litter slowly made its way towards the sept, Aegon filled his cup with sweet Arbor red, his favorite vintage since childhood. As soon as the wine touched his tongue, the king drew the cup back. Aegon had enjoyed this vintage almost every day of his life and knew well how it ought to taste. So when Aegon sipped from his cup, he knew instantly something had been added to the wine. Aegon was no fool. There was only one thing someone would want to add to a king’s drink. Aegon knew the wise thing to do would be to stop the litter and have the keeper of the wine cellar seized. But the king thought again. Exactly what was he afraid of losing? His throne? If the blacks didn’t take it from him, another would sooner or later. His family? Without his dragon, Aegon’s ruined body couldn’t protect what little remained of his family. His life? This was not living, it was just existing. After Rook’s Rest, Aegon had sustained himself solely with thoughts of revenge. Now he had it, and it was the only thing he could hope to keep. Everything else he had seized the throne to protect was now slipping through his fingers.
Having made his decision, Aegon gulped down his cup before pouring another. Then another. After finishing his third cup, Aegon lay back against his pillows and waited. Soon, the king’s chest began to tighten as he felt his heartbeat slow to a crawl. As his eyes became heavy, Aegon wondered which of his siblings he’d meet again in whichever of the seven hells the gods sent kinslayers.
Leaving the confines of his body, Aegon entered a daydream. He saw Aemond, now possessing both his eyes, practicing swordsmanship with Daeron. He saw Heleana chasing bugs in the bushes, bearing a brighter smile than he ever remembered her having in life. And all around him he saw the children, both his and Rhaenyra’s, laughing and playing underfoot. Aegon turned his head and saw Rhaenyra, looking as she had in the days when they ate sweet cakes in the grass. Wordlessly, Rhaenyra extended her hand. Taking it in his, Aegon wondered if they might be a real family this time, wherever they ended up.
And so, the boy who had followed his sister everywhere in life, followed her again in death.
The End