Chapter Text
The air was cool against Aegon’s face and neck as he sat on the edge of his window, overlooking King’s Landing. His rooms, high up in the central keep of Maegor’s Holdfast, faced south out over the Landing, and he could see the city stretching before him, hundreds of stone buildings spread out over rolling hills, spiderwebbed by twisting roads and a few grand highways. If he focused, he could just make out the crowds of smallfolk, looking almost like ant swarms at this distance, as they flitted from building to building, trying to stay out of the merciless sun.
Down below he knew the city was sweltering with the sudden onset of summer, but this far up in the Red Keep, with a cool wind blowing in off the Blackwater Aegon could barely feel it. That, he suspected, was the real reason his ancestors had built their castle so bloody tall: to escape the boiling heat closer to the ground, as well as the smell that came with it.
Aegon knew the Maesters were troubled by the sudden shift in the seasons: spring had only lasted a short two years before turning sharply to summer. Servants and learned men alike were muttering all throughout the Red Keep about ill omens and growing evil. Brief springs heralded long winters, the old saw went, though Aegon wasn’t really sure how true it was. He had heard as often that long springs meant longer, bitterer winters. Sometimes he thought that everyone just wanted an excuse to expect the worst, so they could feel superior when it happened, and be delighted when it didn’t.
Still, it was unnatural: a spring lasting only two years and ending without warning. Helaena would call it a dark sign from fate, and his mother would say it was a warning that it was time to mend their wickedness, and repent their sins. It had worsened the tension in the air of the keep, already thick since the funeral of his Aunt Laena and the return of Vhagar to the Dragonpit. The whispers of coming war, of judgment, of how the land would be rent in fire and blood like never before.
Those whispers would not leave Aegon alone: they left a sickly feeling bouncing around his chest, and twisting in his stomach, in a way he struggled to ignore. Normally he would try to find ways to distract himself, but his usual vices: pretty servants and wine, were out of reach.
Earlier that week, grandfather had once again caught him passed out in his cups, this time behind the Keep stables. As usual he had chosen to wake Aegon with the tip of his boot, and he had followed it up with one of his more impressive beatings. For a time, Aegon had been convinced that his grandfather intended to exhaust himself so completely that Ser Willis Fell, Aegon’s Kingsguard protector, who always watched with an impassive grim approval when this sort of thing happened, would have to step forward and take over. Though another part of him, tiny, irrational and traitorous, had hoped that maybe Ser WIllis would instead step in to intervene, deciding at last the Hand of the King had gone too far.
Neither thing had happened of course. Instead his grandfather had finished his beating, and then Ser Willis had dragged Aegon back to his room under strict orders that Aegon was not to be let outside until his bruises healed, as was usual after his grandfather’s punishments. Bad enough for him to have been caught deep in his cups, no need to compound it by flaunting the fact with evidence of his weakness.
The Court had been told that Prince Aegon had ‘gone into seclusion’ so he could ‘properly pray and meditate on virtue’, a polite lie that no one but the King would believe, and that no one would dare question for fear of arousing the Queen’s wrath. It was not the first time.
Aegon was on the third day of his seclusion now, and his chest was no longer so bad that he needed to keep to his shirt sleeves and smalls in order to avoid pain. The day before he had managed to don a plain green shirt and trousers without much issue, and had succeeded in moving about his apartments relatively easily, only having to stop to catch his breath twice. He also was no longer sleeping as erratically as he had the first day: managing to stay awake for more of the morning without trouble.
Unfortunately that meant that he was also feeling the full bite of his isolation.
Twice a day, servants that should have long been retired and living on their pensions were let into his room in order to clean and clear away dishes, and thrice a day meals of plain bread and water- Septon’s rations- were presented to him by a stone faced Septa, so old that it would not have surprised Aegon to learn she had given scoldings to Maegor the Cruel, and that he had sat straight afterwards. Not that she ever spoke to him. None of them ever spoke to him, and Aegon had learned long ago that any attempt to befriend Ser Willis was futile. Fell regarded his charge as an unruly wastrel who needed a firm hand to be kept in line, which, in his defense, was probably true.
His family was allowed to visit him of course: The King had not and Aegon had not expected him too, but his mother had been by several times already, her disapproval radiating off her in a wave while she pretended he really was in seclusion, for prayer and meditation, and also that she could not see the bruises decorating his neck and peaking out from beneath the collar of his shirt. Aemond had arrived and immediately begun a hour-long lecture about the evils of indulgence, and the importance of their duty and station, of demonstrating virtue to prove the worth of their cause, and how Aegon, as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, had the largest duty of all.
Helaena had brought him several pieces of disturbing embroidery and murmured about storms of fire and cracking swords in her usual manner of nonsense. However she had also brought him fresh bread from the kitchens, a jar of soothing ointment from the Maester, and a flask of Arbor red, all hidden neatly in her sewing basket, which Ser Willis never bothered to check. There was a reason why, of all his siblings, he liked Helaena best.
He only wished he liked her well enough to not mind marrying her.
He loved his family. He didn’t love their company too much, but he didn’t mind it either. Except for maybe Aemond’s. But it wasn’t…
It wasn’t Jace.
It was times like this when Aegon felt the full bite of Jace’s absence. It had been almost three years since Rhaenyra had removed her family from Court and gone back to Dragonstone, and Aegon couldn’t help but feel like he should be past it. And he was. For the most part.
It was only times like this: where he had nothing to fill his hours but his own company, and nothing to push back against the dark thoughts that crowded the edges of his mind, that he felt that ache in his chest. It made him miss the pranks they had plotted at Aemond’s expense, or the hours spent exploring the hidden passages of the Keep, or the adventures sneaking out to the city, Aegon’s hair dirtied with ash from the fireplace and Jace’s face hidden by a heavy hood, to take in the street performances, or maybe creep into the Dragonpit for a midnight flight on Sunfyre. He would have been able to talk with Jace in those moments, to share his fears and his doubts, and to have them soothed, the burden eased a little.
He had always been closer to Velaryon boys then he was to his own siblings, but Jace especially. They were only a few years apart in age, and while Aemond and Helaena’s eggs had never hatched, Jace’s had hatched early. Most of their childhood had been spent in the Dragonpit, training Vermax and Sunfyre together, with Aegon showing Jace the ropes in the beginning: how to mount a dragon saddle, the voice to use for commands, and the places to scratch and stroke a dragon’s scales where they would feel it and understand their rider’s approval.
The Dragonkeeprs claimed that Aegon was the best rider of his generation, and Jace had taken that to heart. While Aegon’s own younger siblings had always looked at him with a measure of trepidation and doubt- even Daeron from what little Aegon recalled of his youngest brother- Jacaerys had admired him, smiled brightly at him, trusted and followed his lead. They had been inseparable, much to mother’s frustration, always getting into trouble together. And when Luceryes had hatched his Arrax, he had become their tag-along. Not on all their adventures- he and Jace agreed that Luke was far too young for sneaking around the city, or midnight flying over the Blackwater, but a trip down to the catacombs to play cards, or a prank played on Aemond was fine.
Back in those days, the beatings of his grandfather hadn’t been so bad either. Maybe he had worried about doing permanent damage when Aegon had been younger, or maybe he had just increased their severity when they failed to produce results. But the bruises had been easier to hide and quicker to fade, so his confinement had been measured in weeks and days based on how severe his grandfather felt his offense was, rather than by how long it took him to be presentable again.
If Jace where still in the Red Keep, he already would have appeared in Aegon’s room, either climbing up from his own chambers, or sneaking in through the secret passage hidden in the bathing room: to spend a few hours talking of events at Court, or else to help Aegon sneak out for a walk around the city, and a relief from isolation. Aegon supposed he could sneak out on his own if he truly wanted to, but without the promise of familiar company, it didn’t hold the same appeal. And there was always the risk that grandfather would find out. How bad the ensuing eruption would be, was anyone’s guess, but it would not be pleasant.
Tipping his flask of Arbor Red back and taking another drink, Aegon sighed. No. There was no point in sneaking out if all he was going to do was wander alone in a crowd. The bruises would finish healing in a few more days, with the aid of Helaena’s cream, and then he would be allowed back at court events.
Where you’ll pretend not to think Aemond is a prick and that Helaena’s stories about bugs are interesting while trying not to get sloshed enough that you end up locked away again.
But what was he supposed to do? He could still remember that night- the night of Aunt Laena’s funeral with startling clarity. All his life his mother had told him to be afraid, to be ready. That Rhaenyra would do whatever it took to secure her power and her throne, including slaughtering her younger siblings. A part of him hadn’t really believed her though- there was a distance between him and his eldest sister sure, seventeen years of distance to be exact. But he and Jace were friends, despite the best efforts of Ser Criston and everyone else.
Besides, he didn’t even want the throne, though he knew better than to say that aloud anymore. Not that he needed to: everyone with eyes could see he’d be a terrible King. Even his own family clearly knew him to be deficient. What reason did Rhaenyra have to fear him? To hate him? To think him a challenger to her crown?
But that night? Standing in the great hall of High Tide, with Aemond’s eye socket freshly stitched closed, and Luke still holding a bloody knife? Aegon had not been so sure. Stealing Vhagar the same night as her old rider’s funeral had been a prick move, as had been hurling out the accusations of bastardy at Jace and Luke. But then Aemond was a prick. Had he deserved to lose his eye for it?
And then there had been the way Jace had stared at him, after Aemond had named him as the person who had shared the rumors of Jace and Luke being bastards. Jace was always even tempered, the calm and practical one to Aegon’s wild and foolish ways. But he hadn’t been cool or even tempered then. He had been icey with rage, fury, and betrayal.
You could have told the truth. A tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind. You could have named those who told you, when given the chance by the King. He could have. It would have been passing the buck the same way Aemond had, but he could have named his mother or grandfather as the source of the rumors. They spoke of ‘Rheanyra’s bastard sons’ at every opportunity after all, though never in the King’s hearing.
Part of him had wanted too, both to answer his King truthfully as was right, and to try and begin making amends. But he had looked at his mother and grandfather, and known that if he did he would break something beyond repair. Shatter something in a way that could never be put back together again. Their lives, or their trust, or their love. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t fail them anymore then he already had.
“What was I supposed to do?” Aegon demanded, while staring down at the flask. When it failed to answer, he sighed and tipped it back again, only to find no more than a few drops of the Arbor Red remained. Seized by sudden fury, he stood balancing on the window sill and ignoring the pain that shot through his torso at the motion, and hurled the flask off the balcony with all his might. It flew into the distance, a blur of leather and steel, and vanished. He hoped it hit someone on the head when it landed. Hard.
When the knock came at Aegon’s door a moment later, he was half tempted to shout at whoever it was to go away. But there was only one person it could be. Mother, Aemond, and grandfather all just barged in as they pleased, and servants or other visitors would be announced by Ser Willis if they came. Only Helaena knocked, and she did not deserve his anger.
“Come in!” Aegon called out without turning around. He heard the door scrape open, and the clatter of armor as Ser Willis admitted his sister, then the firm slam of it snapping shut again behind her.
“Dare I hope-” He said in a softer tone as he lowered himself to sit back down on the window’s edge, letting his legs dangle out of it, putting his best smile for her. “That you brought more wine?”
Helaena clicked her tongue in soft disapproval as she stepped to the window and lowered herself to sit, pulling a chair from a nearby table. Unlike the rest of their family, who seemed to dress in nothing but Wildfire green these days, Helaena had largely maintained her prefered gold and silver gowns.
She had come into her beauty in the last few years, Aegon had to admit. Her face had filled out, no longer making it seem quite so long, and her intricate braid made her seem imperious instead of drawn. And there was something else too, a strength and a confidence that had come with her bonding Dreamfyre. She still rambled incessantly of insects and dreams, and spoke in riddles given the chance, but on appearance alone she seemed every inch the Targaryen princess.
She would cut the image of a Queen well. If he could only do the same for the image of a King.
“Well?” He asked as she set her sewing basket down on her lap. Yarn and thread were stacked atop each other, beneath her embroidery hoop. Last time it had been a mangled body at sea, this time it was a woman wreathed in golden flames, her body turning to ash. Aegon knew better than to reach into her basket without permission. More than one lady in waiting had gotten needles driven into their hand that way.
“I shouldn’t indulge you.” She muttered, but all the same she shifted aside her embroidery hoop and several skeins of yarn to reveal a cloth wrapped bundle and another flask..
Aegon couldn’t help but grin as he took them. “Why, dear sister! Why do we suffer in this life, if not so that we may indulge without guilt?” He asked, unfurling the cloth to reveal several slightly squashed lemon cakes, still warm from the kitchens. For reasons that Aegon didn’t quite understand, all of the cooks adored Helaena, and gave her anything she asked fpr, while all they ever gave him when he turned up in the kitchens was the stink eye and lecture about not distracting serving girls.
“Mother would say.” Helaena said softly, straightening her golden skirt as she turned her gaze out towards the city. “That suffering is sent by the gods to test our faith and virtue.”
Aegon shook his head as he took a bite from one of the lemon cakes, feeling the warmth spread from his body down to his toes. “And what good is a test if you aren’t rewarded for passing it?” He asked gently. He expected the answer he would have gotten from mother: that virtue was its own reward. That if there was more it came at the judgment of the Gods in the next life. But Helaena surprised him.
“I don’t know that it’s really about rewards.” She said softly, reaching into the basket to take out her thread and needle. “I think it’s about balancing the scales, as best we can. Answering harm with healing, pain with relief. Evil with good.”
Aegon blinked. For Helaena that bordered near lucid. But it also made something twist tight in his gut. “Is that what you're doing?” He asked, gesturing with the lemon cake. “Balancing out the harm in my life with a little good?”
Helaena shrugged and began to press her needle into the hoop, pulling a stitch taught. This one truly would be gruesome when she was done with it. “…I am a dragon.” She said instead of answering. “And dragons are not good at inaction. I don’t like seeing you in pain, big brother.”
Aegon forced a smile. “In pain? Me? Bah. I’ve gotten worse beatings from Ser Criston in the training yard.” Of course, he had armor for those, and had been allowed to fight and hit back. “Grandfather is trying to set me straight, that’s all. Toughen me up.” For what’s coming , went unspoken. It always did between them.
At Helaena's look he let his tone grow more serious. “He’s doing it out of love. That’s all. Like mother, he just wants to make sure we’re strong enough. I don’t begrudge him for it.”
Helaena shook her head and more sharply than was strictly necessary, made another stitch on her embroidery. “Maybe. But a sword need not love the fire that forged it.”
Aegon frowned. “…I’m not a sword, Helaena. And I do love grandfather, and mother.” Abruptly he didn’t want to talk about this anymore and so he gestured at her hoop. “Where on earth do you come up with the designs for those things? I swear they give the ladies at court night terrors.”
Helaena glanced at him, clearly unimpressed by his diversion, but she answered, looking down at her hoop as she did.
“Glimpses in my dreams. Shimmering not-quite there. Like heat haze. Almosts. I make them real to get rid of them. A blade creeping in the dark towards innocent blood, a boy drowning in the sea his body mangled and twisted by dance. Fire consumes all, till bone turns to vapor, and the order of things is kept, but the past is shattered beyond repair.” She made another stitch and then shrugged “They stop troubling me when I make them real.”
There was nothing for Aegon to say to that, so instead he popped the top off the flask and took a swig to wash down the lemon cake.
For a while they sat there in somewhat awkward silence, Aegon eating, and Helaena working her needle while the cool sea breeze kept them from growing too hot. This was about as comfortable as it got with his sister and wife-to-be. A bizarre conversation, then a shared slightly uncomfortable quiet. He knew that was supposed to be wooing and courting her- pretending that they were actually smitten with one another instead of betrothed mainly as an excuse to keep the King from bethroting her to Jace instead.
But he couldn’t find it in himself to engage in the artifice. Jace could have done it: he was brilliant at making people feel at ease, listened too, and charmed. But Aegon didn’t have the warmth or the temperament for that sort of thing. He always had to fall back on his title and name when it came to charming people, neither of which would ever impress Helaena.
“You are troubled.” His sister said suddenly, turning to look at him. “What by?”
“Nothing.” Aegon lied, taking another swig from the flask. The first flask he had carefully rationed to help with the pain, but today….today he felt like being numb for a little while. Not that a single flask would do much. After a moment, of Helaena staring at him, unflinchingly he sighed and added. “Just….feeling the weight of everything. More than usual I guess.” He laughed suddenly. “Maybe grandfather really is getting through to me.”
Helaena pursed her lips at that and shook her head, but said nothing.
Aegon snorted and brought his knees up to his chest. “…What? It never weighs on you? You're never scared of the future?”
Helaena sighed. “No. I accept that what will be, will be. Besides, a sword does not need to feel the burden of the future. We-“
“Stop saying that.” Aegon snapped, suddenly furious.
“It is the truth-“ Helaena began but Aegon shook his head, anger boiling up in his belly.
“I’m not a sword!” He snapped, trying to tamp down his anger.
“We are all of us swords.” Helaena snapped right back, true annoyance leaking into her voice. “Forged for tasks set us before we were ever-“
“ I am not a sword! ” He shouted, gesturing with the flask. The anger boiling in his belly slammed forward and he brought a furious fist down against his thigh. “And neither are you! And neither is Aemond or Daeron or-“ He cut off and drew in a deep breath, trying to moderate his tone, and failing. “We want things, we breathe and think and….and are ! We’re not just….tools.”
He trailed off, as he spoke, before spitting the last word. His anger gave way suddenly to shame and regret. A prince was not supposed to yell at a lady, much less his betrothed, or sister. Or to balk at his duty, or think of himself before his people and his House. For a savage moment, he wished grandfather was there, to snap at him, to beat him for his weakness again. Maybe to push him out the window, so that Aemond could carry the cause of the Greens instead. Certainly he would be better at it.
For a while Helaena was quiet, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder gently squeezing, comforting him.
“Tell me.” She murmured.
“…It’s been getting to me okay?” Aegon muttered. He took a deep shuddering breath. “All of it. The bloodshed and the anger and the….the fighting. Ever since Aunt Laena’s funeral… I know it’s going to get worse. I know the realm will burn before this is done. But I don’t want that. I don’t want any of this. But there isn’t a way out and I’m just so-“
He cut off, unable to put the thought forward. That lesson, to never say aloud his doubts, had been driven deep into him long ago. It didn’t matter that everyone in their family, everyone in the Red Keep knew it. He still couldn’t bring himself to give it voice.
That I’m too weak to lead us .
“You said…” Helaena began slowly, stroking his back. “That you are not a sword. That you love. That you want. What do you want?”
Aegon frowned, staring down at the city. “….I want to protect the people I love from war.” All of them. “I want to stop this somehow. But I don’t know how. I don’t know if there is a way. Mother…..mother is right.” He sighed, not understanding why those words tasted bitter in his mouth. She usually was.
He looked up, and found Helaena staring at him, right into his eyes but….not really seeing him. Instead she seemed to be gazing at something more. Something beyond him.
“….Helaena?” Aegon started to ask, but she raised a finger and pressed it to his lips.
“Dragons.” She murmured, still looking at him without seeing him. “Dragons of flesh, weaving dragons of thread. Spools of black. Spools of green.” Aegon felt the urge to sigh. He had heard this ramble before. But this time, she kept going. “A cloak of black. A cloak of green. A turned cloak. A dagger flashing. A fire upon a beach. A blade of rippling midnight. A storm and a dance and a leg twisted.” She shivered as if suddenly cold. “Fire burning away lies. Fire laying bare what is hidden. Shimmering almost. Glimmering maybes. The future balanced on the tooth of a dragon. A way out from a fall. A new order of things.”
“Hel- '' Aegon began suddenly worried. This was more than her usual rambling. This was something much more.
“….Is it inevitable?” She asked softly. “Why must the dragon turn on the dragon? Kin against kin?”
Aegon blinked in confusion. “You know it is Helaena.” He said slowly. “Rhaenyra will do whatever she has to to secure her claim, crush any threat, any challenge. Even one that’s just perceived.” The last stung his tongue badly. It came dangerously close to admitting something he had been told to never speak aloud again.
Helaena shook her head. “…and if she perceives no threat?” Helaena asked, slowly, as if feeling out the words.
Aegon’s smile was bitter. “Just by living I’m a threat.”
Helaena shook her head, staring down at her hoop again. “That’s not right.” She said quietly. Aegon blinked in surprise, but before he could ask what she meant she continued. “….You should go see Jace.”
Aegon recoiled, feeling as if she had pushed him off the tower, his middle feeling like it had abruptly just vanished. “What- why would I- Jace? But-“ He spluttered, all composure having fled him.
“On Dragonstone.” Helaena clarified as if that were in any way the question. “You should go to him. I know you miss him.” Aegon felt his throat begin to convulse as he spluttered. “And he can help. Maybe he can convince his mother that you're not a threat.”
“But I’m- But you’re- But-“ Aegon forced his mouth to close and took several deep, steadying breaths. “Helaena. I’m not going anywhere. I’m secluded in my rooms for ‘prayer and meditation’ remember?”
Helaena stared at him as if he were particularly dim. “…Tell them you're going into the wilderness to think and pray.” She replied.
“Grandfather-“ Aegon tried.
“Won't care as long as no one sees what he’s done.” Helaena said calmly. Aegon blinked- that wasn’t right- he had been confined because of the shame he had brought his mother and grandfather, the damage he had done to their cause. Helaena was making it sound like grandfather was the one who should be ashamed.
And yet…as long as he was out of the public eye for a while, would grandfather care where it was done? A part of him rebelled at the thought of so openly defying his family’s wishes. But the thought of seeing Jace again, of maybe talking this out…
“I’ll cover for you.” Helaena said. “….Just….think about it okay? We are threads, weaving in and out of this tapestry, but its design is not yet set. We can yet change the outcome, if not always in the ways we would want.”
Aegon sighed and shook his head. “….You are very strange.” Oddly, instead of becoming annoyed, Helaena smiled. It was the first time he could recall her doing that at something he said. “….Why would you help cover for me? If mother or grandfather finds out…”
Helaena shook her head. “….What will be will be. I also want to protect our family. All of our family. But…” She shrugged, and pulled on her thread. “….I also want to protect the future.”
Aegon didn’t understand that answer, and knew he was not meant too. But he nodded as if he did, and sat there, beside his sister until her allotted time was up, and she had to make her leave.
Nothing remained of the lemoncakes or the wine by the time she did.
<X>
That night Aegon lay in bed, with all the windows of his chambers thrown open to keep the cool breeze flowing into his rooms, the blanket and sheets tossed aside so he could feel the fresh air against his skin. Tanged with salt, the sea wind made him tingle faintly, sending jolts of pain through his body where it was still bruised.
“It’s a terrible idea.” He told the canopy of his four-poster bed, whispering the words. It was green of course. It always had been, as long as he could remember. A coincidence surely.
Green is the color the beacon of the Hightower burns, when Oldtown calls its banners to war.
Had his mother truly been waging war his entire life?
“It’s irresponsible and dangerous.” He told himself as he sat up in bed, staring out over his empty room. Outside, Willis would be standing guard. Any attempt to pass him would be firmly shut down.
But Aegon had other ways of leaving this room if he wished too.
Wasn’t his whole family always telling him how irresponsible and dangerous his actions were? What was one more?
“It won't do any good.” Aegon whispered as he walked into his bathing chamber, running his hands over the walls, searching for that niche he had long ago stumbled on by accident. The place in one of the murals where a dragon’s eye gave under his touch instead of staying firm.
It might not do any good. It probably wouldn’t. He had heard all his life how war was inevitable. How if they were not making ready for it, they were ensuring they would lose. Helaena was right- he needed to accept that what would be, would be, and that he couldn’t change that.
But even if that was true, a part of him, deep in his ribcage, ached to see Jace again. To talk to him, to explain, and make right what had happened at High Tide. Or at least to try.
His fingers found the dragon’s eye and he pressed, and just like that the entire mural seemed pop free of the wall, a faint barely audible grinding filling Aegon’s ears as whatever held the false section in place unlatched. The panel was heavy, but not as hard to move as it had been when he first opened it by accident. For a moment he stood there, feeling cold, rather than cool air billowing up from the darkness of the passageway.
He should go back to bed. Forget this foolishness. Maybe actually spend some time tomorrow praying and meditating on virtue.
Instead, he crept forward, and began descending the stairs into the bowels of the Red Keep.
The wooden trunk was just where he and Jace had left it: a thick chest of oak banded in steel that they had brought down ages ago, and hidden beneath the stairwell. The clothes inside no longer fit: he had grown in the last few years even if he didn’t feel like it sometimes. But he wouldn’t need them tonight: not if stayed in the shadows and the backstreets, where no one would look to closely at a man in his shirtsleeves and a pair of sleeping trousers. Instead he drew out a dusty satchel, and threw it over his shoulder, then pulled out and lit the lantern nestled in the corner of the chest.
Abruptly he realized that he had forgotten to dirty his hair- not that he had any ashes in his fireplace to use at the moment, with the blasted heat ragging all day. Instead he pulled a pale green cloak from the chest as well: it was tight in the shoulders, and the hem barely fell past his knees, but as long as he kept the hood down it should keep people from seeing his hair.
I must look ridiculous. Aegon thought in disgust as he fixed the hood in place. Well, what he was doing was ridiculous, so he might as well look the part. It wouldn't have to last for long- just long enough to reach the Dragonpit.
Lifting his lantern Aegon snapped the chest shut again and pressed it back into its hiding place, then set off down the tunnels. All around him the shadows danced on the stone work, making the arches and tunnels seem twisted and strange, but he felt no fear. This was the Red Keep, and he was a Taragaryen Prince. He had no more to fear here then a dragon did in its own lair.
He was surprised at how well his feet remembered the path, even three years later. Yet he made not one wrong turn as he found his way out into the catacombs, and from there, out into the city proper.
Keeping to the shadows and out of sight proved more difficult than Aegon had thought. The sudden summer might be troubling everyone in the castle, but the people of King’s Landing took any chance to celebrate, particularly in the relative cool of evening that followed a long blistering day. Laughing drinking crowds were spilling out of taverns, toasting warm ale to the coming of summer, while hawkers and vendors cried wares despite the late hour, clusters of street performers plied their craft on what seemed like every corner, from singers to acrobats to so-called pyromancer's, juggling fire to amuse drunken louts.
It was a mess, loud and vicious and bawdy, and Aegon had to wade through it to reach the Dragonpit. He dared not go along one of the Highways, where a Goldcloak could recognize him and see him dragged back to his room, so instead he kept the slums and back alleys where the civil watch seldom dared tread. That meant passing by brawls and sneaking around dark corners where footpads were often in the process of either plying their trade, or enjoying their spoils.
It made Aegon sick to see. It hadn’t been like this when he and Jace had used to sneak out, but back then Harwin Strong had managed to keep something like order in the city. His Goldcloaks had not been tender footed or afraid to come to the rescue of the innocent and victimized, even in Flea Bottom. But since Harwin’s death that had clearly changed, and order had eroded into chaos. Clearly, the man his grandfather had appointed to fill the post of Commander of the Watch had yet to restore it. If he even could.
Twice Aegon had to flee drunken attempts to mug him, once having to break a man’s nose to manage it, and another time he had to pull a knife in order to break free of a street brawl that had erupted around him for seemingly no reason. After that he worked twice as hard, to keep to the fringes and the shadows, his shoulders dropped and his head lowered so he appeared to be nothing more than another ratty youth, with nothing worth stealing. It seemed to work, at least long enough to get into the shadow of The Dragonpit.
The crowds dwindled and vanished as he approached the Dragonpit, the massive dark arena looming ever larger the closer he drew to it, seeming to enforce a silence around itself. No one celebrated here, or brawled or cried wares. Maybe no one dared. There had never been an incident, to Aegon’s knowledge, of the dragons who resided at the Pit becoming annoyed and roasting common folk for their revelry and noise, but maybe that was because they did not chance it.
The climb up the hill to the huge castle was not a short one, but it was quiet, without a single other living soul in sight. If not for the flicker of the city lights, and the ever fainter roccus noise of Flea Bottom to the east, Aegon could have believed he was the only living soul in King’s Landing.
You can still go back , a voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother whispered in the back of his mind. It’s not too late to end this nonsense. You’ve had your chance to clear your head, and flouted your grandfather. Now return and make amends.
He ignored it, instead knocking sharply three times on the gate house. There was the sound of shuffling inside, and then the door creaking open, golden light spilling out into the evening. A bald man holding a quarterstaff appeared in the crack, braced as if expecting to crack skulls.
Aegon felt himself breathe slightly easier. Pelerian was usually who the Dragonkeepers put on night duty, mostly because of his sour temper, and Aegon had dealt with him before. Part of him had worried the man might have been moved or replaced since the last time Aegon had done this.
“ My Prince ?” Pelerian muttered, squinting in the darkness. The words were spoken in that oddly accented High Valyrian all the Dragonkeepers used. “ I thought you were -“
“I want to fly.” Aegon said quietly, pulling out a dusty bottle from his satchel. “Open the north skygate, and let me in. I will rouse Sunfyre myself.”
He very much hoped that the wine had not turned to vinegar in its years sitting in the bottom of that chest. A bitter white from somewhere in the Stormlands, it was swill compared to the Arbors that Aegon enjoyed, but it was swill that Pelerian had a profound weakness for. Aegon still wasn’t sure how Jace had uncovered that fact about the man, but it had been the trick to surmount the final barrier between them and their midnight flights.
For a moment, Aegon thought that Pelerian would refuse him, but instead the bald man licked his lips and snatched the bottle out of Aegon’s grasp, moving aside so that Aegon could step into the guard house.
“ The other Prince, is he with you?” Pelerian asked as he closed the door behind Aegon.
“No.” Aegon replied curtly, lowering his hood.
Pelerian grimaced. “ I shall aid with the saddle then, my Prince .”
“That will not be necessary.” Aegon said as he moved for the inner door, that would lead out into the main run towards the great dome. Pelerian followed, grunting sourly.
“ The saddle, For a dragon as large as Sunfyre, it is a two person task at least. You will not be able to -“ Pelerian said, keeping his voice low, likely to avoid waking the other Dragonkeepers.
“ Your aid will not be necessary, Keeper .” Aegon repeated, this time in High Valyrian, using the most formal wording he knew. He had never had the gift for commanding people, though the Gods knew he had tried to develop it. Pelerian’s mouth twisted but he gave no further protest so Aegon left it at that.
Making his way out to the great domed arena at the center of the pit, Aegon began his descent down the long winding tunnel at the far end, handing his lantern to the Dragonkeeper who veered off to seek the pulleys and winches that would open the large northward facing skygate, which starred out over the Blackwater. Aegon had chosen it both because it faced his destination, and because it had the least chance of him being seen, since he would only have to fly over a small stretch of the city before getting out over the water: the span surrounding Iron Gate. In all the times he and Jace had snuck out for midnight flights, the north sky gate was the one they had taken and no one had ever reported them to the Keep, at least not to Aegon’s knowledge.
More than a century of dragons making their home beneath the arena, digging out caves and melting through bedrock with their breath, had left the hill beneath the Dragonpit a warren of tunnels and passages some large as castles in their own right, smelling of the rank spicy scent of dragons. There were no torches on the walls and Aegon did not need them. He could feel Sunfyre, now that he was close enough, a faint thrumming in the back of his mind. A pulsing warmth, like a coal starting to warm and catch fire again, brighter the closer he drew to his dragon.
Aegon moved without fear through the tunnels: he could hear the others shifting in the darkness, passing him by, some drawing close enough to scent the air and see who was intruding on their lairs, but he paid them no mind. Not even mighty Vhagar would harm him. What Aemond hadn’t understood all those years ago, was that the Targaryen claims of being Dragonblood were not boasts. The dragons felt no threat from their presence. Why should they? They were kin.
He found Sunfyre curled against a melted alcove, bedded down among ash that failed to cover his glittering golden scales. Though still a young dragon, he was already massive. Nearly thirty feet from nose to tail, and he would grow bigger if he kept growing at this rate the Keepers said: bigger than Vhagar, maybe even as big as Belarion in time. Though they had also said that it had slowed, recently.
Aegon reached out a hand, running it over Sunfyre’s side, willing the dragon to feel his presence. Sunfyre shifted, his pale wings curling tighter around him as he turned his head, refusing to stir.
“None of that.” Aegon muttered, moving his hand up the dragon’s neck, to scratch directly behind the crest of pale horns. Begrudgingly, Sunfyre opened a single eye, and the coal in the back of Aegon’s mind exploded with flame. Aegon grinned, scratching a little to the right, and watching Sunfyre twist, trying to suppress the soft screech of pleasure.
At swords Aegon could admit he would only ever be passable. At books, sums, and histories he was below average, and at people he was a dismal failure. But at dragons? There was no one better. Not Aemond with his stolen legend, or uncle Daemon with his nimble Blood Wyrm. Not even Jace, for all he loved Vermax. Here, and here alone, was Aegon unchallenged in his mastery.
It helped when you got lucky and hatched the best dragon to ever take flight.
“Come on.” Aegon murmured, stepping back and spoke in High Valyrian. “ Rise! We fly Sunfyre!”
Sunfyre regarded him with one, skeptical amber eye, until Aegon repeated the command, and then, shaking loose his ashes, the dragon stood back on his hind legs, pushing himself up with his clawed wings. Another command in High Valyrian brought Sunfyre’s neck down, offering it for Aegon to climb.
Aegon reached out to begin mounting Sunfyre and hesitated, suddenly aware of the way his heart pounded wildly, his breathing short and quick, his skin clammy and sweat slick. This was it: the last chance to turn back and abandon this madness. Past here, there was no return, he knew it. Past here, he moved from flouting grandfather, to open rebellion against him. The moment he set out for Dragonstone, he was defying and betraying his family.
You can still go back . That voice whispered in his mind. It’s not too late.
For the first time, Aegon was tempted to listen. He could tell Pelerian he changed his mind, or else, go for a quick circle around the bay and come back, claiming he had just needed to clear his head. No one would ever have to know he had contemplated more. He could commit himself fully to his family, to their cause, as penance. He could marry Helaena, and force himself to like Aemond, and….well not give up drinking, he wasn’t mad, but he could hold himself in better check. He could try, really try, to be the Prince, the King that everyone wanted him to be.
He started to let his hand fall.
And then he thought of Jace, and that ache deep in his chest throbbed. Would it really be so bad to see him again? Would it really be a betrayal, to try and find a way out of this, without bloodshed, without having to tear the realm, the House , apart? His mother was wrong about Jace, though he could never bring himself to say it aloud and never to her face, he was kind and good and….and Aegon missed him so much .
One visit, that was all. A quick jaunt to Dragonstone, a talk with Jace, an apology for what happened at aunt Laena’s funeral, and all would be well again. And if that was a sin, well, the Gods would just have to forgive him or smite him.
Seizing hold of one of Sunfyre’s scales, Aegon climbed up, ignoring the way his heart slammed against his chest like a battering ram making the bruises on his chest flare.
Swinging one leg over Sunfyre’s neck, he slid down, to where his legs could catch on the crook of Sunfyre’s wings. He had ridden Sunfyre bareback before, but it had been a long time, and it wasn’t something that dragon riders did very often, usually not without great need. He shifted for a few minutes, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t agitate his bruises too much, until finally, giving it up as a bad job.
“ Forward .” Aegon murmured, kicking his heels against Sunfyre’s body. He doubted strongly that Sunfyre could feel the impact, but then he also doubted that the dragons could hear or understand his shouted commands, especially in the air. It was about the intention, he knew, the will behind the actions.
Sunfyre moved, slowly at first and then faster, faster, feeling Aegon’s urgency, his fear. The air started to howl around him, whipping his hair around his face as Sunfyre raced down the warren of tunnels, taking turns and twists with barely a shift from Aegon’s hands to guide him. Sunfyre knew the way they were going even better than he did.
All at once they were in a massive squared tunnel, instead of the rough melted and burrowed rock of the proper dragon lairs, racing towards a far wall, where a huge panel had been slid aside to allow them passage. He could see Pelerian as a vague yellow blur beside the winch that controlled the skygate, but Aegon dared not pause or slow Sunfyre in order to tell Pelearin that he would not be coming back tonight, and to close the skygate after he was through. Aegon was sure that if he stopped now, he would lose his nerve, and courage would fail him.
Instead he urged Sunfyre forward, kicking his heels against his dragon’s body, feeding his panic and fear into that inferno in the back of his mind, willing his dragon for more speed. Sunfyre answered him and shifted from just his back legs to racing along the ground on all fours, propelling himself forward. A lesser rider would have commanded flight then, but Aegon knew better, and waited until they were inches from the skygate, inches from racing straight out of it, and then he shouted with all the air in his lungs.
“ Fly! ”
Sunfyre spread his wings and let out a single strident cry as he leapt from the gate’s edge into the air in a single motion. As always when he took flight, Aegon felt his world fall away: all the fear and the pain, the anger and the weight, all lost suddenly, left behind on the earth where they belonged.
Cool night wind struck him like a physical thing and he gripped tight to Sunfyre’s back as the dragon went soaring out, over the city, past the tiny blurring buildings of Iron Gate, and out over the Blackwater. The clouds had receded, and the moon shone both above and below, reflected in the water of the bay, white light making Sunfyre glow pale gold in the evening. To the west, across the bay, the Red Keep stood, a huge castle dominating the entire city. If anyone chanced to look out a window at that moment, they would see Aegon, mid-flight, in open defiance of his family, as surely as they could see the moon itself.
Euphoria like nothing Aegon had ever felt suddenly seized him, a feeling of joy so intense it turned to pain. Without thinking, Aegon threw back his head and laughed until tears were running down his cheeks.
By the time his laughter trailed away, and his vision cleared, King’s Landing was nothing more than a blur behind him, and as far as the eye could see, there was only open ocean water, and the moon for company.
Gripping himself tight to Sunfyre’s back, Aegon willed his dragon to a steady pace, as they flew for Dragonstone.