Chapter Text
Aegon remembered, over the gauzy haze of childhood memory, Rhaenyra. The thing about being the golden egg (ha) in your mother’s lap was: you tended to be turned away from your mother. Set facing outward, so as to impress upon your enemies and allies that you were just perfect. And so, unlike Aemond or Helaena his earliest memories were mostly of their elder sister.
She once taught him how to say her name, when his tongue was too loose with youth to form it well. “Rhae-nee-rah!” she would insist, and Aegon would spit back with a childish giggle, “Nee-rah!”
He pondered often on it, now. How when he was younger, he would dream about marrying Rhaenyra, ruling the Seven Kingdoms at her side. But now, Rhaenyra was in a dogfight with his mother over his own claim to the throne. Which frankly, he did not much care for.
And so, Aegon wrote the first letter.
—
Rhaenyra Targaryen,
This letter may seem strange to you. Perhaps you expect it to be from a regular correspondent of yours, but are instead shocked and disheartened at the name you now see signed at the bottom. Be not afraid. It is only your brother, Aegon the drunkard.
I would start by apologising. I hold a reputation of little remorse, but I hasten to reveal it is untrue, and a poor representation of my character to state as such.
In fact, I would argue I am rife with it. Remorse. Over near every thing. Over my children: how I do not know them. Over my mother: how she hates me. It is that very remorse that keeps me up at night, awake in my canopied bed — surely you understand it too, Rhaenyra? Someone of your class ought to. Pleasure is the only thing that drives it away, that incessant gnawing, the incessant pity for oneself. All that keeps away the hatred for mine own skin is hedonism, the ability to lose oneself in (not necessarily sexual, though often in my case) memories of better days.
I think of you, strangely. We have not spoken individually for many years, but I remember the last time we were alone in a room together. I was four, Aemond two. I hated him because he screamed constantly for our mother, and I had begun to hate her already (what a prodigy I was) and it irritated me that she was so beholden to Aemond’s whims, and wilfully ignorant to mine. He was the new shiny toy, and I the first child born of necessity quickly forgotten in favour of the spare, who already seemed so much better than me. But I remember you, sister. You were young, with no children yet. You would come into the nursery and play with me, and you and I and the nursemaids would all laugh along together. I would pretend we were a family.
You taught me your name, because I said it wrong. I said a lot of words wrong, at first — scholarly, I struggled (and still do) with words. The earliest memory I have of my mother is her hitting me for saying something wrong. The funny part is, I cannot remember what I did say wrong. Now, I feel as though my grip on our language is as strong as my grip on something physical — but then it slipped through my grasp. The only word I can remember saying wrong was your name, because it did not feel wrong to me. It was what you were. Nyra, my sister. And that is what I think of, to lull me to sleep, to drive away the memories of all I have done wrong. I think of you, teaching me how to say your name — exasperated. And yet, you paid more attention to me with that action than anyone else in my life had. Ever has.
Alas, the hour draws late and the wine bottle dwindles. I do not expect a reply — think of this as a confession before death, a dying soldier’s last penitence. Before this war, I want my soul to be bared. I want to die a man with no regrets.
I wonder what you think of, at night.
Aegon II Targaryen.
—
Aegon,
It is strange, to receive a letter from you. But I am in no way disheartened. You think too highly of me, brother — for I was ecstatic to see I had received a missive longer than a few words. Such correspondence is sorely missed in days like these. The last true letter I have ever received was from you mother, Alicent, when we were but playing children.
I have heard of your character, but surely not one of a remorseless nature. The rumours say you are a… promiscuous, but bright boy. Fit for kinghood with your authoritarianism, despite your hedonism — as you call it. I am only ashamed our blood dictate we fight over the title of ruler.
I do understand it. More than you might expect. For years after my mother died, I could not drift off peacefully to the land of dream. I fought, tooth and nail, for a moment of serene sleep. Even then, my dreams were haunted by her face. But to answer your question — I think of nothing. In the literal sense. Oblivion. How fantastical would it be: to not be anything at all? To cease worrying about these earthly desires?
I had forgotten that moment, me teaching you. It did annoy me, I’ll admit, endlessly. That you could not say it right, my name. I thought: this boy prince, born to usurp me, cannot even do me the decency of saying my name properly? And then I remembered — you were exactly that, a boy, a babe. A blank slate. And so I taught you. And now you say my name right, I hope? I have not heard it from you in many years, as you say. All these titles bore me. I much prefer your address: Rhaenyra Targaryen. The most basic form, my Mother given name. And you, Aegon Targaryen. (Though secretly, I found Nyra endearing. Do not tell your mother).
I worry for your words, Aegon. Do not wish to die. While I speak of oblivion — it is important to remember without life there would be no conception of such a thing. It is life that makes us so afraid of death, so weary and yet desiring of oblivion. So enjoy it! Be a hedonist, be resplendent. You are alive, Aegon, alive with youth! Please enjoy it, and pay no mind to this war before it ever occurs. Hug your sister and brothers. Enjoy it, I beg of you. Because it disappears far too quickly.
You are much matured, Aegon. I remember how you struggled with schooling — but all boys (and some girls) do. But look at you now, you are an eloquent and well written boy. Please do not speak so poorly of yourself. I praise you for even having written this letter, something even my sons might have struggled with. You are well spoken. You would make a great king.
Nyra.
—
Rhaenyra,
I thank you for your reply, for I did not expect it. After I read your letter, I must confess, I wept. It is unkingly of me, my mother would say. I am always trying to be the best. And yet I cannot achieve that elusive title, instead preferring to sob like a boy over a letter from his favourite sibling. How do you do it, stay so perfect? Sister: I am jealous.
It is strange for me, to hear you speak of my mother. I know you were close before she married our father. What was she like? I yearn to know of her beyond violence. Always, (perhaps righteously) she has been so. Was she kind to you? It is something like that I dream of, you and my mother, at peace. Once, I even dreamt in some miraculous turn you were both my mothers. How strange is that?
Regretfully, I do wish to die. Every day. Is that so wrong? That someone as rotten as me might dream of the release of death? I imagine you have wished for it too. Though we do not know each other well, my sister, I believe you understand me in a way my other siblings do not. For we are both firstborn, both beholden to the duty of the Realm,the legacy of our mothers. And yet, I remember you as Nyra. Do you know you once called me Egg! How miraculous. You were the only one who called me as such. Not even Aemond or Helaena ever dared. I dream of that, too.
And thank you. I would not make a great king, but it is certainly great to hear you say so. Preferably, you would be Queen and I a beggar, so I could drink and fuck my life away without guilt.
And I do not believe I am well spoken, though you say so. Aemond and Daeron were always quicker learners than I. I was always jealous of your Lucerys for his poetic tongue, also. Do tell him hello for me? He was so comedic in childhood. It was rather funny (though gory) when he took out my brother’s eye. Do not tell Aemond I said as much.
P.S. I will not tell my mother anything. She hates me, I confess. So I do not confide in her. Truthfully, this is the most honest I have been in years.
Aegon.
—
Aegon,
I am sorry to hear about your feelings toward Alicent, and the way she has behaved toward you. It always frightened me, how she bitter she became after childbirth. To answer you, in our youth she was a bright and joyful girl. And she was kind. We dreamed of travelling the world on dragonback. But you must understand, she was younger than you are now when she gave birth to you. While you may not forgive her for what she has done, you may realise the reasons behind her actions — as I would hope my sons do, however I have wronged them. The world is not kind to women, Aegon. I hope if you learn anything from me (beside my own name) it is that. And so you would treat any woman you encounter with decorum.
It brings me sorrow to hear you feel this way, Aegon. It is not right, that such a boy should feel so hopeless. You are king, in your mother’s eyes — regardless of how I feel on the matter, exiled on Dragonstone as I am. You should be proud, at least of the station your mother views you worthy of.
I remember that name, Egg! Sometimes I still call you that, in my mind. Our father swore me off it — claiming it would emasculate you. I am pleased to hear it brought you some happiness.
How is Aemond? I fear I do not know him well, following his incident with my Luke. Moreover, how is Helaena? I do miss her. She was such a sweet, intelligent girl. And your children, the twins — how do they fare? Are they safe? Children are our most precious assets, Aegon. Even if you resent them for how they were got, you must realise they are the future. As I have said, life for women is difficult. Helaena likely feels much the same as you. An honest discussion could fare you both well. Sorely, I wish for a quiet room where you mother and I could discuss our woes. But I fear we are far beyond that.
That life seems ideal — where you fuck and I am Queen, I mean. I jest, I jest — and laugh as I write this, the truest laugh I have allowed myself in a long while. Truthfully, I secretly wish it was the other way around — that you were King and I could fuck my life away. But my father entitled me with a duty, which I intend intend to see through, as I am sure you think of the title your mother has bestowed upon you.
Again, you speak ill of yourself Aegon. It is reductive. It makes me sad. You are an intelligent boy. Do not claim to be otherwise — it is unbecoming. You are Aegon II Targaryen, son of our Father Viserys. My (Nyra’s) brother! If you are anything, be proud! With your letters, you have revealed this vulnerability to me. Before, I had thought you were all too accepting of your birthright. But now I shamefully pity you, and your fear of your own duty. I could take it from you, if you wished, as easily as anything. You would not have to worry about ruling. (I understand this is disrespectful. In part, I jest. But in seriousness, I wish you a happy life, even if this is what it takes).
Luke says hello back. He has always been such a sweet, receptive boy — much like your Helaena. I read him your joke about Aemond, and he did find it funny too, though he still feels horribly guilty about the matter. We all do. Please say sorry to Aemond for us.
P.S. I am your favourite? Not Daeron or Aemond? I am partial to Helaena, for she is a sweet girl. Though you were my first favourite, Egg.
Nyra.
—
Nyra,
I had a dream of you last night (and no, it is not what you think, before you begin your laughter). You were teaching me your name again.
Do you believe in monuments of memory? Moments so important to us we cannot help but return to them daily. For me, it is that day in the nursery. Perhaps also the moment Sunfyre hatched. The first time my mother hit me. The moment Luke knifed out Aemond’s eye. These moments define me. And still do.
Aemond is well enough, though he despises me. I will say hello to him for Luke. However, Aemond is currently besotted with being a cunt, and refuses to speak to me. Helaena is well — I promise we speak. I treat her kindly, as in so much as I can. I have never raised a hand to her. Insolently, I ignore her. I wish I did not have to marry her. She deserves a better husband than I, our children a better father. Selfishly, I wish I could have married who I wished to. I wish that I had the choice.
It appears all beholden to such a duty as marriage wish for such debauchery. After all, Aegon the Conquerer had two sister-wives — which my mother would be (and is) aggrieved at. I believe it is a feature of our circumstance. Those of such birth must have an outlet, a pool in which to revel in their own pleasure lest it incorrectly fester in their professional lives. I confess, for me, it is whores. Of all kinds. Men, women. It is my most hidden secret, my desire of all people. And yet I reveal it to you. Reminiscing on your mention of oblivion — indeed, how strange it is to be anything at all. To be King, and to have secrets such as mine.
I thank you endlessly for your kind words. I have been told I am a bitter man, but you rescind that notion with one assurance. Thank you, my sister.
P.S. I am not proud. But sister, With your insistence, perhaps I can learn to be.
P.P.S. You were always my favourite. Similarly, though they would never admit it, Helaena, Daeron and Aemond also favoured you. You were our unobtainable half sister, beautiful and worthy. Of course we favoured you! Who did not? What was it they call you, the Realm’s Delight?
Hesitantly,
Egg.
—
Egg,
Dreaming of me already? How sweet. (I did think of something lecherous at first, apologies, brother).
You letters are so full of melancholy. I worry for you. As if I needed more of that, on top of so many other children to worry for! Look after yourself, Egg. Perhaps an afternoon with Sunfyre — I know when I was younger, the only thing that cheered me up after an argument was riding on Syrax.
I was much the same as a child. I did not wish to marry. Once upon a time, I wished for no children (though I dearly love the ones I have now, and the one I am carrying). I dreamed of travelling the world on dragonback. Embarrassingly, your mother featured often in these fantasies — though when I once genuinely proposed the idea to her, she scorned me for it. If you speak to her at some point (though from what you tell of her relationship with you, I know it is unlikely) please ask her if she remembers. It is a foolish desire, so feel free to not entertain it.
It is brave of you to reveal such an inclination in a letter to me, of all people. Know I will guard the secret like it was my own. You are right, Aegon, that we Targaryens are known for our unusual proclivities — but this is not one of them. All around the world there are people who feel this way. People who feel desire for the same sex. I can count myself among them, alongside you. You are not as alone as you might think.
P.S. I was always so afraid of you all, you and your siblings. I did not speak to you often in fear you would shun me. Now you tell me I was admired! How changed the world would be if only I had sat down and spoken to you all. Again, send Helaena my love.
Your sister,
Nyra
—
Nyra,
Was that you I ran into over the Riverlands? Your Syrax has a peculiar tone to her (? Shamefully I am uncertain on whether your Dragon has laid a clutch) cry. It sounded so ghostly, over the fog of the Riverlands, I almost thought I had died then and there, and ascended to the place beyond.
I am off to a melancholy start already, as you say. Apologies! I will try my best to jolly up. Though when I am attempting to be jolly, my mother often calls me a fool. I feel like I do not know how to truly be “merry’, as they say. I seem to do it wrong. Hence my hesitation. If we were speaking in person, I would likely have said something suitably foolish and ruined any chance at further correspondence. It is why I enjoy this type of method, though it is taxing on the mind. It gives that same mind time to think, which I am not well versed in.
I did not know you were pregnant. Congratulations. Is it safe to ride on dragonback when with child? I would assume not, but if it was you I saw then it appears it must be alright. Female issues scare me so, I am like a boy in face of the birthing chamber. I threw up when Helaena gave birth to the twins. Do you wish for a boy or a girl?
Helaena says hello. I expected her to be confused at the notion of our communication, but our sister has always been unusual — as I am sure you are aware — so she took no notice. She asked after your womb prior to your previous letter, which I took for inane female babbling before I read your letter and realised she must have meant your child. You are right in your insistence I should talk to her more, she surely has her moments of brilliance (though sometimes she can be a bit stupid). But here I am, complaining about my sister like a child.
Helaena always wanted to talk to you more thoroughly, but mother warned us against it. Aemond could have cared less, unfortunately. But I, and my sister, always hoped you would come and talk to me again. In this, you have achieved one of my dreams already.
P.S. Thank you. You are the first I have told of my proclivities. It is heartening to know it is not some… affliction, like mother would put it. I remember the horrible things people would say about your Laenor, and it was from then on I knew it would have to be a secret. No longer! Huzzah!
I am growing increasingly drunk. It has always been a vice of mine, the drink. I heard similarly it was one of your own.
Much love,
Your Aegon.