Chapter Text
“Is it like this,
In Death’s other kingdom?“
He quoted mantra-like in quiet tones, and looked into the mirror. Aegon regarded his reflection with detached curiosity, as if it were a stranger’s body he was merely observing.
“Waking alone
At the hour when we are-“
Gilded black steel glistened in the dim daylight like a dark ocean, undisturbed. Thin bands of silver decorated the surface, engraved with Valyrian symbols of good fortune. A roaring three-headed dragon sat proudly on his breastplate, made of rubies that glistened like drops of blood.
”Trembling with tenderness-“
Every piece of metal had been crafted to fit this body, every glittering jewel dripping with luxury. As if sculpted from the skin of a dragon itself, blazing with ferocity. Aegon stared in the mirror and at the perfect face with the perfect armour, searching for a moment of imperfection, the shadow of the prince beneath.
But only his father, the perfect king, stared back at him, as he always did these days. A ghost of his future, carved into his skin.
“Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.”
Aegon had always found little to admire in perfection, and that was in part why he did as much to disturb it as possible. Life, nature itself, was a wildness that defied definition. Oh, and people were so like nature, deliciously imperfect and changing with all the sudden chaos of the universe: dynamically, passionately and occasionally breathtakingly.
“For Thine is the Kingdom.“
So with the casual devastation of a tsunami, he had swept through his years chasing that fascinating rawness he knew lay beneath the impeccable surface, never quite knowing what he’d find yet savouring the challenge.
“For Thine is...” he repeated.
And he had found such wonders already: from stiff upper-lip lords with a raging libidos to the indigenous tribes he’d encountered whilst lost in the sands of the Dornish sea, who cared not for silks and courtly manners but for the skies and seas and the worlds in-between.
But that was all behind him now. He was but a prince, a would-be king, an heir to a dynasty. Perfection was all that was to be expected of him, now and always - so once again, Aegon found himself dangling by a thread, stifled in tedium.
“Life is...” he frowned, searching for the last line to finish with a flourish.
Existing in this timeless abyss, his heart slipping through his fingers and melting into stone.
“For Thine is the-“
An ill-timed cue: the sound of a blaring horn filled the tent and cut him off, followed by a wave of applause. Like a hidden orchestra, laughter and excitement clashed together over and over in a ragged symphony. A quieter, albeit no less enthusiastic, applause erupted within the tent.
“That was beautiful, Your Grace!” gushed a young woman’s voice.
Aegon blinked, waking from reverie. He glanced over his shoulder with a frown. “It wasn’t finished,” he told her.
The courtesan blushed prettily and raised a sheepish hand to her face. The beads in her intricately braided hair clicked as she looked down. “I-well, forgive me, Your Grace, I-I didn’t know. I’ve not heard this song before.”
“Of course you haven’t, my dear,” Aegon declared mildly and turned away from the mirror. “It was only written this morning.”
“Oh! Who’s the bard? Are they famous?”
“Of a sort. One may even call him royalty.” He sauntered across the tent and towards the chaise his guest had sprawled herself over. Outside, the clash and jeers of the first jousts fell into background murmur. He had time before his debut on the field, so Aegon sought one of his favourite ways of soothing his nerves.
Taria, one of his best girls from Chatoya’s, beamed as he drew closer. Black curls fell about a round face, velvet in its softness. She had large, wide eyes that lent an innocent charm despite her exceedingly un-innocent silk dress, which fell open to reveal enough dark flesh that could drive a man wanton with desire.
Is it like this,
In Death’s other kingdom?
Aegon tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and lifted her chin with a single gloved finger. Her gaze smouldered and he enjoyed the sight tremendously. “Handsome too, if I may say so myself,” he purred, winking at her.
Taria’s blush deepened and she exclaimed innocently, “Oh, the King! How wonderful! I’ve heard the Gods envy his singing!”
Aegon dropped his hand as if scalded, frowning. “My father hasn’t sang a note in years. He hasn’t written one for even longer.” His voice was flat.
His companion’s face fell and she looked puzzled, before something clicked in place and her dazzling smile returned. “Then it must be Prince Jon!” Her eyes drifted dreamily as she sighed, “He’s so romantic.”
A clank of metal resounded around the tent as Aegon took a step back in disbelief. “You’re joking,” he said bluntly with a little chuckle. “My brother is as romantic as a dead fish.”
“Oh no, not at all!” Taria protested, placing a hand dramatically against her heart, “He’s so-so-“ she floundered for the right word.
“Dreary?” Aegon offered helpfully.
“So gallant! Knows how to make a girl feel special! I bet he’s a poet as well. He has that look about him.” She nodded with firm assurance.
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
He couldn’t help it, Aegon burst out laughing. Bending down, he planted an affectionate kiss on her head and moved to take a seat at the table in the centre of the tent. He reached over for a flask of water. “I think you have my dear brother confused for another, Taria,” he told her with a smile and poured himself a cup, “given his disposition to avoid girls at any cost. He finds the business of pleasure all terribly distasteful, unfortunately.”
“Oh,” she blinked at him, pouting, “he didn’t seem so bothered when he danced with me a few days ago.”
Aegon paused in the middle of a sip. “Come again?”
“Dancing!” Taria jumped up excitedly and raised her arms, as if held by a spirit. “Down by the fish markets. He danced with all of us! Made us feel like fancy ladies, he did.” She giggled as she twirled about the tent, spinning round and round in circles. Aegon grinned at the sight. “Oh,” she sighed, “I hope he comes back. We all miss him terribly. Him and his lady friend. I liked her too, she was nice to everyone.”
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone
Aegon shook his head in pity. “I think someone’s fooled you rather spectacularly. I assure you, I know my brother. So chaste, he makes the High Septon look like a cheap whore - pardon my language.”
Taria stopped and looked as if she wanted to argue further, but stopped herself short. Instead, she blushed and bit her lip, smiling coyly at him. Clasping her hands behind her back, she stepped lightly towards him, her soft curves framed by the dim sunlight in the tent.
“I’m only teasing you, Your Grace,” she giggled, tracing a finger along the grooves of the table. She looked at him through her eyelashes. “Your bard is gullible as he is dashing.”
Aegon leaned back in his chair and licked his lips as she drew near. “Mocking a prince is high treason, you know,” he laughed.
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
Reaching for her hand, he gently pulled her towards him and into the closest chair. Taria rested her elbows on the wood to lean in close and he smelt faint traces of cheap perfume and sweat off her skin. She looked up at him with wide eyes, lips parted expectantly.
He reached over and grabbed a cup sitting by her hand. “How is your daughter doing?” Aegon asked formally, pouring another cup of water for his guest. “Has Chataya granted you any time off as we’d discussed the other night?”
Taria sighed and accepted the offered cup with a grateful nod, “Not yet, no. Jayde is doing well, Your Grace. Got her first tooth and everything.” She forced a smile. “It’s not so bad. Chataya lets me nurse her between visitors. Some aren’t even allowed that much. Men don’t like seeing it. Turns them off, they say.”
Aegon scoffed, a crease between his eyebrows. Idly, he ran a finger along the edge of his cup. “Weak men, perhaps. Love having tits in their face, but still clutch their pearls at the sight. It’s outrageous that you were put to work mere days after giving birth. Dangerous and stupid.”
“I needed the money.”
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
“Precisely why we’ll have a new policy that grants time with full wages for new mothers. It’s preposterous that you’re all punished for a motherhood you’re forced into,” Aegon grumbled, shaking his head. “It need not be years but perhaps some months, and I’m sure establishments such as Chatoya’s can handle the expenditure. She’s hardly hurting for business.”
Taria gazed at him as if he’d hung the moon for her, “That would mean more than we can ever say, Your Grace.”
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
He sighed and rubbed his hand tiredly over his face, feeling a thousand years old. “There’s just...so much I want to do,” he admitted sadly, “so much I want to change.” He thought of the list he kept under his bed, all his daring dreams for the world he’d one day inherit. Dreams they may remain, he thought morosely.
His friend patted his arm gently. “You’re the heir to the King. You can do anything you want. They’ll listen to you.”
For Thine is the Kingdom
Aegon smiled without humour. “One would think, but not quite. I am both free and imprisoned. Indispensable, yet utterly invisible. I am not so much myself as I am a character, a performer in a play whose lines have already been written....” He trailed off, staring at a spot on the table.
“But you’ll be King,” Taria frowned, “the most powerful man in the world. Who could deny you anything you desire?”
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Aegon played with his gloves, eyes cast downwards and chest tightening. He opened his mouth to respond when a rustle of a tent flap caught his attention.
Taria bolted upwards and lowered herself in a deep curtsy. “Your Grace,” she mumbled with a bowed head.
Rhaenys gave a short nod, glancing over the courtesan’s revealing sheer dress. Her lips pressed together tightly and she cleared her throat. “Your services are no longer required,” she announced. “Leave us.”
With a quick glance towards him, Taria curtsied once more, mumbled courtesies, and bolted from the tent.
Aegon watched her go with a sigh, turned towards his betrothed, and froze.
Rhaenys stood like dark desire, silent with her hands clasped in front of her, staring at the floor. Her hair was long and loose, tumbling about her naked shoulders; she was so golden now, her skin a sun-kissed brown against her red dress, as if she had set the sky on fire to wrap herself in it.
The simplicity and the beauty of the image – of her – struck him hard.
Life is very long
Dark eyes suddenly flicked up to bore into him, unreadable as always.
And as always, Aegon felt like a child being admonished for breaking something.
“She wasn’t here to service me,” he quickly said, moving around the table. “I asked her here to...to talk.” He winced. It sounded unbelievable in his own head too.
Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. “Ah yes, of course. That’s why one pays a whore. For conversation,” she said dryly. “I thought we were past this, Egg. You need not lie to me about your indulgences, I am well aware of everything you do.”
“I’m wearing armour, Rhaenys,” Aegon rebuked flatly, holding his arms up to show her the heavy metal strapped on his body, “it’s not made for a quick fuck. I can’t even take a piss in this damn thing.” He lowered his arms and gave her a pointed look. “Does that convince you of my sainthood?”
His bride-to-be sniffed delicately and raised a single black eyebrow. “There’s nothing saintly about you, Egg. But...perhaps you deserve the benefit of the doubt. For now.” The edges of her lips lifted in a soft smile and Aegon felt his chest ache. She stepped carefully towards him. Her eyes glimmered with a streak of promise that defied definition, a contradiction in their dark depths which proclaimed her entirely his and entirely alien.
Suddenly, she was standing right in front of him, a sweet scent clinging to the dewy softness of her neck. Before she could protest, Aegon dipped in to press his lips against her pulse and felt triumphant when he heard a sharp intake of breath. Oh, this could go very differently. He raised a hand to rest lightly on her waist, pulling her closer against him until his nose was buried in her hair. Rhaenys released a soft sigh that tingled in his ear like a lullaby.
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
A wild thought struck him to forfeit the entire tourney and take her right there in the middle of a tent, less than a hundred metres from the rest of the realm.
The scandal if they were heard, his princess all ruffled and thoroughly debased, the tent in absolute chaos, their clothes -
“Why would you use a whore for idle chatter?”
And like smoke, the fire in his chest drifted away and he barely restrained a groan. He pushed her back gently from the shoulders to search her face. Rhaenys looked back impassively.
“Am I not allowed to?” Aegon asked, a little more forcefully than he intended. “Or would you prefer if I’d fucked her instead? Would that make more sense?”
The barest of flinches passed across Rhaenys’ face before it smoothed over once more. He almost felt guilty until she replied, “You’re not filling their heads with fantasies again, are you?”
“Oh for Gods’ sake, not this again,” Aegon muttered under his breath, turning away from her. He walked over to the mirror and pretended to fiddle with his gloves to avoid her eyes.
“Yes, this again, because you’re enjoying being their hero a little too much. What did you promise her?”
He swallowed, still looking down. “I don’t have time for this. The joust is starting -“
“If you had time for her, you have time for me. What did you promise her, Egg?” she pressed.
There was a long pause until the prince finally yielded and told her his plan.
He heard a quiet sigh and an, “Oh, Egg -“
“They use them like dogs!” Aegon burst suddenly, whipping around to glare at her. “They abuse them like - like they don’t mean anything or they’re not human and I’m supposed to just...let it happen? And what, focus on other stupid things like Father does? What sort of king will I be if I don’t fight for the people who need me?”
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
“A king who survives,” Rhaenys said simply, hands folded gently across her stomach, a picture of serenity. Like some sort of pillar of certainty in their perfect world, and Aegon found himself hating her for it. “What you propose will not be tolerated by the lords nor the brothel-keepers who would be forced to pay twice as much with no reward. They’ll not obey your demands.”
“I’ll make them,” Aegon frowned. “It will be law. They have to obey or they’ll be imprisoned.”
Rhaenys rolled her eyes. “You’re going to throw every brothel-keeper and lord who defies you into prison? They’ll call you a tyrant.”
“It only needs to be a few to set an example-“
“How many brothels exist in all Seven Kingdoms, Egg? Do you plan on sending guards to every door to ensure they’re doing as you asked?”
“If I must-“
“How many men do you think you have to spare on this door-knocking adventure? How do you intend to enforce such a policy without the support from the lords - for they will not tolerate it. Not anytime soon, I’m sure. They are loathed to reach into their pockets for anything that does not fill them further.”
“They’ll fall in line or they’ll be disciplined until they do-“
“Oh, so now you’re willing to risk a rebellion to get what you want? The last time a king forced his will on the unwilling, we had a war - or have you already forgotten?”
For Thine is the Kingdom
Aegon let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re not really comparing this to the Mad King burning liege lords to get his cock up?”
“It doesn’t matter what the context is, Egg,” Rhaenys insisted, moving forward to rest her hand on his shoulder. “We cannot afford to defy the lords. Our crown will not survive it, and our dynasty - our family - will cease to exist. We no longer have the luxury of changing the world as we see fit. Grandfather made sure of it. Mother and Father have gifted us a fragile peace but we are a single mistake, a single scandal away from unravelling it all. The less we do, the less we change or say -“
“Or think, or breathe, or feel -“
“The better,” Rhaenys finished firmly. “Our duty commands it. Our family depends on it.”
“When our duty strips away the last of our humanity, what will remain? Statues forged of gold, glittering and hollow. Not a family, surely. Is that the future you wish for?”
Her expression faded, and in her eyes, he saw uncertainty. She cleared her throat and something hardened in her face, something terribly sad. “If that is the price I have to pay to keep what we have, then so be it.” She reached for his hand then and tried for a smile, “Let’s not dwell on such things. This is your big day and I want it to be perfect for you. And I was thinking,” she looked down shyly, stroking his knuckles with a finger, “if we might celebrate tonight. Just the two of us. It’s been so long since you’ve come by and, well, I do miss you.” She glanced at him through her eyelashes, her face painfully hopeful.
This is the way the world ends.
Aegon’s mouth twisted in a cruel smile. He didn’t want to hurt her and he would sorely regret his next words - but at that moment, he didn’t care. He just wanted to crack, to smash, to shatter this visage of perfection she carried. To remind himself that she was human, as chaotic and beautiful as she could be.
Carefully, he took his hand back and shrugged. “I would but I’m afraid I have other plans. Jeyne Mallister’s invited me to a private dinner,” he lied, “and you know how I hate to disappoint. I’d see you afterwards, but sadly, she’s also asked for a tour of my private quarters - and well, you know how long these things can go on for.” He winked.
Her face then would beat at him later, again and again, gentle, implacable as falling leaves. Her eyes glimmering with unshed tears, filled with burning fury; but there, a vulnerability that made her seem so soft, so fragile. He almost reached out for her when she turned wordlessly and ran from the tent, silks whirling behind her.
Not with a bang but with a whimper.
He watched her leave and finished his song and swallowed the urge to break something.
oOo
“You Grace? It’s almost time.”
His squire found him thrown over the chaise, face shoved unceremoniously into a cushion. If the boy found anything strange about the scene, he had the wisdom not to show it.
With an undignified groan, Aegon sat up and patted his disrupted hair down. At the sight of the silhouette at the tent entrance, he grumbled, “Finally, I thought you’d all forgotten about me.” The sooner the joust was over, the sooner he could crawl into bed - alone, as he’d always intended.
His squire bowed quickly, already retrieving his helmet. “I assure you, Your Grace, the crowds have only grown more excited in anticipation of your arrival.”
“How gracious of them,” the prince dead-panned. “Let’s just get going, Podrick. I can’t bear to be in this stupid suit for a moment longer.”
Stepping out of the tent, Aegon blinked blearily at the sudden brightness. The heat didn’t seem so bad at first, until the searing sunlight soaked into his armour and he felt as if he was being cooked alive.
He breathed in sharply as his eyes turned to the field and the crowds beyond. The place looked utterly amazing; strung with red and black decorations, thronged with an undulating sea of hundreds of people who talked and shouted over the pounding music that beat to the rhythm of Aegon’s heart.
On his right stood the royal stands, cloaked in silks. He caught glimpses of his mother and father from the shadowy podium, but no sign of his sister.
Aegon let out a sigh and carried on towards the end of the field, where his horse was being prepped. His eyes trailed towards a dark figure hovering at the edge, standing apart from the rest of the competitors. Noticing the keen glances thrown his way, he lifted his head, pushed his shoulders back and slapped a practiced smirk on his face. Perfection was expected of him, now and always.
“Your Grace, we met at dinner, remember?”
“Looking forward to seeing you out there, Your Highness.”
“Prince Aegon - an honour, truly, my name is-“
He smiled and shook everyone’s hand, careful not to dwell long enough to be captured in conversation. Deftly dancing through the eager faces, Aegon finally managed to slip next to the lone man dressed in armour not so different to his own.
“I see you’ve finally deigned us with your presence,” Jon snorted, throwing him a glance. “Get lost somewhere?”
Aegon shrugged, hoping he looked nonchalant. “Too many screaming girls in the way. Had to fight for my life just to get through.” He sighed dramatically. “T’is difficult to be so desired, I almost wish I wasn’t so handsome. Almost, of course.”
Jon laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes - which, Aegon noticed curiously, kept wandering back to the crowds. He followed his brother’s gaze towards a small group of dark-haired men, a red-headed boy, and a girl. In the centre sat Lord Stark, who was currently engaged in conversation with another Northerner. His two children seemed to bicker over a small bag of almonds. The boy stood up suddenly and held the bag over his head. His sister jumped up and, laughing, tried to swipe it from his hand. Arya Stark. The little wolf with a tongue, he remembered.
Jon was staring at them with an almost wistful expression on his face. Or, rather, he must be staring at Lord Stark. Yes, of course, Aegon thought to himself, he’s clearly terribly nervous about performing in front of his uncle. Poor thing.
He suddenly clapped Jon on the shoulder in sympathy, causing the other man to jump in surprise. “Worry not, brother,” Aegon told him cheerfully, “I’m sure Lord Stark wants this as much as you do.”
“What?” Jon looked utterly bewildered.
“For you to win...and make him proud. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes! Yes, the joust, of course, right right right right, the joust. Winning the joust. For Lord Stark. That’s - that’s exactly what I was thinking. The joust. And Lord Stark. Yes.” Jon nodded his head once, then twice, then a third time again.
Aegon frowned. “Are you alright? You’re distracted. Is something wrong?”
“Your Grace, in position!”
Jon looked over as the announcer called his name, ignoring the question. The crowd’s frenzy calmed to an intrigued murmur as they turned their attention to the field. On the other side, Aegon caught sight of Walder Frey, or Black Walder as they called him, mounting his steed. His beady eyes stared unblinkingly at Jon as he put his helmet on, his mouth almost salivating in hunger. Aegon felt an uncomfortable pit in his stomach at the sight.
Behind him, he heard Jon climb his own steed. The horse whined softly as he patted its neck soothingly. Jon’s eyes kept darting back up to the crowds and he almost trotted off when his squire tried handing him his lance. Quickly, Aegon stepped forward and grabbed the reins, tugging until Jon looked down, confused.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” Aegon hissed, “but whatever it is, you need to focus. Clear your mind. Black Walder is riding against you and I wouldn’t put it past him to unseat a prince to stroke his ego. Don’t assume he’ll back down. Is that understood?”
Jon scoffed. “I know what I’m doing, Egg, I’m better at this than you are.”
“Just focus. I can’t have you losing against some damn Frey.”
“Alright, alright, quit smothering me.”
Aegon took a step back and watched Jon trot towards the start line. His brother threw one last look at the crowds, then lowered his visor and steadied his lance. The crowds were gearing up in excitement now, several voices calling Jon’s name and waving handkerchiefs in the air. On the other side of the field, Black Walder strolled up slowly to his start line, his wiry black beard poking out beneath his helmet. He stood uncommonly still, his attention solely on Jon.
Aegon turned to see their father standing at the dais, leaning over the rails, apprehension painted across his face. Above, the three-headed dragon stirred in the slow breeze, its six eyes fixed on the ground below.
Time passed smoothly and silently as the tension pulled taut, drifting ahead like dandelion seeds in the wind, as they waited and waited and waited -
The horn blared, and Jon was off.
“Steady now,” Aegon murmured as he watched Jon lean forward and lift his lance close to his body, keeping the weight centre and stable. He picked up speed as did Black Walder, both men lifting off their horses as they headed for collision like waves in a storm.
At the very last breath, Black Walder slid across his saddle to narrowly skirt around Jon’s lance, hunching his body close so it flew over his head. Several boos spread around the audience at the cop-out, but a greater wash of uncertainty tingled along Aegon’s skin. Black Walder was better than he’d expected.
He kept his eyes fixed on Jon, anticipation making his focus razor-sharp. Come on, brother, he thought forcefully, get it over with quickly and painlessly.
On the other side of the field, Jon gathered himself up and reared his horse. His back was straight and his stare unflinching, gazing down the field at his rival. Shadows clung to his armour: a dark, gleaming statue that hid his icy stare – and half-revealed it as he bent forward, ready for the charge.
Satisfaction ripped through Aegon as he watched Black Walder falter in hesitation.
Like a war cry, the horn blared once more and soon, the men were colliding into each other. Jon had anticipated Black Walder’s evasion and leaned across his saddle, giving the other man no room to escape. Black Walder kept his own lance low until the final second, where he raised it up and met Jon’s attack. Their lances shattered forcefully like glass, the sound ripping through the air in pure destruction. Somewhere, the prince thought he heard a woman yell.
A collective groan spread across as the crowd as Frey wobbled on his saddle, but remained seated. Aegon saw the man grip his right arm and curl over instinctively.
Unease rising from his stomach, he rushed forward as Jon approached and was immediately stopped by stewards guarding the starting area from wayward visitors. “Jon!” he called out, “Jon, are you hurt?”
His brother didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. Aegon could see him clutching his shoulder and muffled curses were coming from his helmet. The impact from the lance shattering had been more serious than Aegon had thought, but he knew Jon would pull through. He had to.
“Shake it off!” he yelled, more for his own benefit than his brother’s. “Focus on the next run!”
From the corner of his eye, he saw a flurry of movement from the centre of the stands. Lord Stark and other Northerners were bending over the Lady Arya, who was clutching her own shoulder in shock. Aegon thought little of it, until he saw Jon’s head turn and almost drop his new lance at the sight.
The horn blared again, but Jon was a beat behind as he pushed forward, his head only turning away from the stands after he’d set off. He was slower to hit full-speed this time, unusually hesitant as he lifted his lance into position. Aegon decided that propriety could go to hell in that moment.
“Get your head out of your ass and knock the little shit off his horse!” he shouted, much to the shock of the jousters around him.
He had no idea if his brother could hear him. He could hardly hear himself, his heart was beating so violently against his chest. The air was stifled, empty of anything except the weighty apprehension and his own puffs of breath. As if the whole world had crumbled into a void, and all that was left was this moment stretching endlessly.
The men drew closer, closer...until the sound of their collision smashed through the air like a barrage of explosions, shattering and loud and overwhelming. Jon pulled away, struggling to keep upright. On the other side of the post, Black Walder was rolling around in the dirt, clutching his side and groaning. Two young men quickly ran on the field to carry him away.
In half a blink, it was all over.
The screams of the crowds assailed their ears. So many that their voices were one buzzing wind, so many that for a moment, Aegon struggled to catch his brother on the other side of the field, sliding off his saddle amidst the congratulating knights. He glimpsed Jon’s pale face and pained smile through a small gap, and waited for the relief to wash over. Except....except fear crawled over his skin instead, making the hairs on his arm stand on edge. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.
This is the way the world ends.
Perhaps it was just his own nerves, nothing to worry about. Jon was shaken, but he was fine. He was fine, and he’d won and all was -
“He’s hurt! Someone look after him, he’s hurt! He’s - Father, let me go, they need to know!”
This is the way the world ends.
Aegon turned towards the frantic yelling coming from the stands, and saw Arya Stark attempt to elbow her way through the crowds to reach the jousting area down the field. To her indignation, Lord Stark had stopped her just before she could leap down and run. She was squirming in his grip angrily, shouting, “The prince is hurt! Father, no one is doing anything. They need to know that the prince is hurt!”
Aegon snapped back to Jon, the dread in his stomach screaming in his ears and blurring his vision. He couldn’t see him anymore, his view blocked by dozens of heads fluttering around the field. The panic reared its ugly head in his chest like a dragon drowning in ice.
This is the way the world ends.
“Your Grace?” an urgent voice called his attention from behind. “Your Grace, the King has requested your presence back at the palace immediately. The joust has been suspended for the rest of the day. It’s Prince Jon, Your Grace.”
“Not with a bang, but a whimper,” Aegon whispered.