Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

            It took Aegon very little time to regret not accepting the Dragonkeeper’s offer of a saddle.

            Riding bareback was harder then he remembered: beneath his body Sunfyre’s scales were rough and hard, and he could feel them scratching at his legs through the thin wool of his trousers, while the cold wind of the ocean hammered around him, ready to knock him loose if his grip failed for even a second. No sooner had the euphoria faded then thoughts of that happening crept in. The frigid ocean, spanned out of sight beneath him, it's crashing waves loud in his ears. The Blackwater, men called it: uncaring and merciless and vast. If Sunfyre banked too hard, or jostled him too much, if his hands gave out and he slipped…Then the water would swallow him whole. He would drown and no one would ever know what had happened to him.

            Only that wouldn’t happen , Aegon reminded himself. Sunfyre would never throw me, and if I fell, he would dive into the ocean and snatch me out again.

             Still, he really should have paused to get a saddle. Or at least waited until daylight to make his escape. But then, his nerve would have failed him. He was sure of it somehow. Something deep inside of him knew that if he had not left as he did, he would not have left at all.

            That didn’t change the fact that the next few hours were some of the longest of his life, unable to do anything but cling to Sunfyre, shiver, and wait for dawn to come. Though Aegon feared it might not, dawn did come: the sky starting to lighten, the moon fading and the sun appearing on the horizon. Beneath him, the ocean turned from empty blackness, to murky gray, to finally pale blue frothing with white veins of foam. He could see Driftmark now, faintly as a blur in the distance, but growing slowly larger, and more distinct. Dragonstone would lay not long beyond it.

            Another hour maybe . He thought, judging the distance. That would mean he had been flying for almost four, maybe five. Sunfyre was large enough that he could make the journey faster- but not in the dark, and not without Aegon on a saddle.

            Abruptly a new thorny worry overcame all others, filling Aegon’s chest and making him lick his lips. How was he actually going to get to Jace? If he presented himself at the castle, his sister would surely take him prisoner. She wouldn’t call it that, probably, merely insist he was her honored and indefinite ‘guest’, and the King would believe her crowing about how good it was that his children where finally bonding, while firmly stepping on all attempts to have him released.

            Aegon might be able to escape on Sunfyre if that happened. Dragonriders were not easy to keep prisoner, and he didn’t think Jace and Vermax would try to stop him. He could outfly Lucereyes and Arrax, and probably Beela and Moondancer too. But what about Rhaenyra and her Syrax? Or Daemon and Caraxes? Aegon would wager on himself and Sunfyre in a dance with either alone, but both at once?

            No. I’m trying to prevent a war . Aegon thought fiercely. Not start it early. I can not let it come to dragons fighting in the open sky.

            For a moment he considered just going without a fight: letting himself become Rhaenyra's 'guest', and not trying to escape. The King was not long for this world: everyone knew it. If Aegon was in Rhaenyra’s custody when he passed, then he would have no chance to press a rival claim, and there would be nothing standing between her and the throne, and so no reason to fight. He didn't think she would treat him poorly, he was a prince after all. It would probably be no different from his times in ‘seclusion’: a well furnished room with a guard on the door and a window with a sharp drop in case he was ever feeling like making things more convenient for everyone else. It might even be better in some ways: she might not even deny him wine.

            Of course there was a strong chance that when word reached his family of his ‘stay’ on Dragonstone, that they might do something stupid regardless of what the King ordered. He could imagine Aemond turning up on Vhagar at the castle gates to demand Aegon’s release, having dragged Dearon and maybe even Helaena on their dragons as well. Small chance of avoiding a dance then, and no matter who won, everyone would lose.

            Think he told himself. There has to be a way.

            He had to approach this carefully, which Aegon could admit was not his strong suit. Twisting his knees, and winching at the scratches against his legs, he banked Sunfyre to the right.

            The best he could come up with was to go around Driftmark and approach Dragonstone from the east. The castle lay at the west end of the island, built into the huge volcano his ancestors had named Dragonmont, with a winding path down to the port town below. He would land on one of the east beaches, and find a cave to hide Sunfyre in. From there he could make his way across the island on foot, and sneak into the Castle somehow, maybe with the servants. Most of the small folk on the island had come with the Targaryens when they fled the Doom of Valyria, refugees following the last of the Dragonlords. Silver hair and violet eyes wouldn’t stand out among servants here the way they would elsewhere.

            Once he was inside….well. He’d figure that out when he got there.

<X>

            His plan started to go wrong the moment he tried dismount. Up until then though, thing had gone smoothly: approaching from the east and staying low to the sea had largely hidden him from view. Dragonstone was a foggy misty island, even in summer, and the east side was too sparsely populated to bother with many watchtowers. By the time Sunfyre was circling low, preparing to land on one of the black beaches, there was no sign anyone had seen him approach.

            And then they had landed, and Aegon fell more than stepped from Sunfyre’s back: collapsing in a splay of limbs and regret. His whole body was sore and stiff from the hours of flight, and the bruises that covered his chest and stomach had been aggravated badly. For a few solid few minutes every limb refused to work the way it was supposed to, so he lay there in the sand, staring up at the sky wishing for even the swill he’d given the Dragonkeeper to dull his pain.

            Sunfyre stared down at him, faintly amused, and, if Aegon was reading the emotions in the back of his mind correctly, a little smug .

            “Next time.” Aegon moaned, glaring up at his dragon. “I will take the fucking saddle, even if I have to wake half the Dragonkeepers to get it on. I promise.”

            Sunfyre’s only response was to snort, sending a blast of warm and dry air from his nostrils, which stirred the black sand around Aegon, and heated his body faintly.

            Eventually, Aegon forced his way to his feet, ignoring the way his muscles screamed in protest. It occurred to him abruptly that he was going to have to fly back again. At least another five hours. Bareback. But he shoved that thought down stubbornly for later. Right now he was a man on a mission.

            Shifting his satchel to his other shoulder, and hissing as he ran his fingers over the red band it had left in skin, Aegon moved to scratch behind Sunfyre’s crest, murmuring praises and thanks in the common tongue, letting his affection swell in his chest. Then he began to lead his dragon down the beach in search of a cave where they could rest together for a few hours.

            It was not easy. He found plenty of caves and gaps in the rock of the sheer cliffside in the first stretch of beach, but none large enough for Sunfyre to climb into. So he pressed forward trying not to feel the pain that shot through his body with each step, or the frigid cold of the sea wind, the way it made his bruises and scratches sharper and more stinging. It took him nearly half an hour until he reached a wide inlet, a place where the cliffs parted slightly, allowing the sea to flow inward, into a wide but shallow pool. Aegon could see a cave at the end of the inlet, larger than the others. A grotto maybe, it’s mouth tall and dark, the sides of it looking a touch too smooth as if melted. 

            It was probably made long ago by some Targaryen dragon rider who wanted peace and quiet away from the castle. Aegon thought as he studied it. It would do.

            “Come, Sunfyre.” Aegon murmured, wading into the inlet and gesturing for Sunfyre to follow. It was deeper than it seemed and he was trudging knee deep through salty water almost immediately, having to pause to take breaths as he drew closer to the grotto mouth.

            He stopped, halfway there, frowning as he inhaled. There was something…familiar in the air, beneath the salt and the scent of sulfur that always hung around Dragonstone. Something rank, and faintly spicy. He froze as he recognized it, his whole body locking up. In the same moment faint light, a red glow, appeared in the grotto’s mouth. On instinct Aegon moved: dropping down into the water as he curled in on himself, trying to make the target of his body smaller even as he rolled back, and shouted with all the breath left in his lungs.

            “ Sunfyre! Shield! ”

            The dragon moved with a speed that should have been impossible for such a massive creature, becoming a blur of gold as he curled his body around his master- making a barrier of solid dragon flesh and scale between Aegon and the cave mouth- and not a second too soon. Aegon heard the roar of dragonfire and the hissing of water turning to steam as it shot across the distance between them, then felt the impact, the flames slamming against Sunfyre’s side, both in his mind, and from the way the dragon’s body lurched slightly from the force. A strident cry filled the air, and then a crunching of stone as the other dragon emerged from the grotto.

            Aegon felt panic start to overtake him as he tried to think. But his thoughts were racing, slipping past him like snakes. He had always been told that the wild dragons on the island made their home at the Dragonmont, but could one have moved to the cliffs for some reason? Sheepstealer or Cannibal? Aegon needed to mount-  he and Sunfyre couldn’t fight on the ground, in the water, they needed to get up into the air if they where to dance, he needed-

            “ VERMAX! ” A voice sliced through the air, furious and bellowing. “BE CALM! ”

            Aegon blinked, that word of High Valyrian- Lykirī - was a command taught to all the dragons, but Cannibal and Sheepstealer had never been ridden, never been trained. They wouldn’t know it. And that voice…Aegon knew that voice.

            The strident cry cut off, replaced by annoyed discordant rumbles. Twisting, still staying as much in the water as he could manage, Aegon extended a hand to lay on Sunfyre’s flank and murmured the command for calm as well. Sunfyre also let out a rumble of discontent, louder and fiercer, but he obeyed, uncurling and drawing back. Only slightly though, and keeping his huge clawed legs to either side of his master, as if expecting to need to pluck him up and carry him off.

            It was indeed Vermax who stood in the cave mouth, fangs bared and head lowered as if expecting to charge. His yellow-green scales shone faintly in the early morning light, and his amber eyes stared at Sunfyre with a hostility that Aegon did not remember being there before. Vermax had always been even tempered, like his rider, rarely giving the Dragonkeepers trouble the way that Sunfyre and Arrax did. He had changed in other ways too, having grown larger and fiercer, his wings wider, his body tightly packed with coiled muscle. Sunfyre was the larger still by some measure, but Vermax was near the size Seasmoke had been the last time Aegon had seen him.

            Jace stood beside his dragon, who had lowered his head at his master’s command so that Jace could soothingly stroke his neck, hand following the grains of scales as he murmured words in High Valyrian. He had grown too, the gangly awkward youth Aegon remembered having sharpened and hardened into a blade slender young man. His shoulders and limbs had filled out, and his wavy dark now fell almost to his shoulders, framing his face, with its warm brown eyes and sharp chin.

            He was also taller: tall enough that he and Aegon would be of a height if they stood side by side, with Jace maybe even a smidge taller, something that should have annoyed him more than it did.

            “Aegon?” Jace said, his voice almost too quiet to hear over the wind. He was staring at Aegon with a look Aegon had never seen before: surprise and wonder and doubt all mixed together, as if Aegon where a phantom he expected to vanish at any moment.

            Abruptly Aegon became very aware of his own appearance: slathered in mud and covered in bruises, soaked like a drowned rat, and crouching like an animal in the water, all while dressed in frayed sleeping clothes and a ratty too small peasant cloak.  Aegon felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment and he scrambled to his feet, trying desperately to wipe away the mud from his hands and trousers, yet somehow only succeeding in muddying them worse.

            Jace watched the whole thing, not taking his eyes from Aegon throughout the entire display, but not saying another word, or stopping his gentle soothing of Vermax as he did.

            Finally giving up the mud as a bad job, Aegon drew himself up and cleared his throat, then found he could not think of a single thing to say. Everything he had planned on saying, everything he had practiced on the flight here to try and calm his terror, all the apologies and promises and speeches, suddenly seemed stupid and rude.

            The silence stretched between them until Jace broke it.

            “You cut your hair.” He said in his calm and quiet voice, betraying no emotion. Aegon blinked in confusion for a moment, not sure he had heard correctly, then he reached a hand back to his now bare neck and remembered that he had indeed done that.

            “My mother’s idea.” Aegon said without thinking. Then gulped and pressed on. “It’s a summer tradition in Old Town. Grow it out during winter to help with the cold, then cut it in summer to keep away the heat.”

            Jace blinked for a moment, then smiled. Not a full grin, but an amused half smirk, one side of his mouth rising to show his dimple. “Is that why you looked like a dandelion most of our childhood? Because we where autumn children?” Jace asked.

            Aegon grinned in response and shook his head. “No. That was because I could not be persuaded to comb or tame that much hair. Too much effort. This is much more manageable. And it is cooler on my neck.” He added touching his neck on instinct, having forgotten about the mud still staining his fingers. Awkwardly he dropped his arm, and coughed.

            “I like it.” Jace said, then he suddenly turned sharply to face Vermax, putting his back to Aegon. As Jace moved his hand underneath the dragon’s neck, and began scratching at the scales there, the dragon shifted to give his master better access, his rumbles no longer agitated but instead pleased.

            Vermax and Sunfyre appeared to have picked up on their rider’s moods and relaxed considerably. Instead of glaring daggers, they seemed to have settled on ignoring each other: Sunfyre sitting back on his rear legs and pointedly looking up at the sky, while Vermax had decided to accept Jace's scratches with eyes closed, the side of his maw turned to Sunfyre. It was almost comical: Aegon had lost count of the number of times he had seen the two dragons brawling in the dirt over a goat. And now they acted as if they were strangers.

            “I’m sorry about him. And the blast.” Jace said without turning back around. “Sheepstealer hunts on this side of the island sometimes, and we’ve had to chase him off more than once. When Vermax sensed another dragon approaching, we assumed….” He shrugged, a touch sheepish. “I am sorry. But it’s nice to see you haven’t fallen behind in your training: those were sharp reflexes, from both of you..”

            Aegon resisted the urge to preen at the compliment. A thought had occurred to him as he watched Vermax shift, and caught side of what was strapped to his back: the careful harness of leather and rope. A dragon saddle.

            “Why are you even down here if it's that dangerous?” Aegon asked. “I thought for sure you’d be up at the castle not…”

            Jace turned to face Aegon, blushing, and Aegon blinked, taking another look, and really seeing what he was wearing for the first time. A cloak and tunic of Targaryen black, and baggy dark  gray trousers that were tucked into knee high soft leather boots, just as the sleeves of his tunic were stuck soft leather bracers, which became fingerless gloves below the wrist. Dragonriding gear of course all of it fine and well made, but also simple.

            And colored in a way unlikely to catch the eye or stand out in the darkness.

            “You were midnight flying!” Aegon hooted, feeling suddenly delighted. And Jace had always complained that Aegon was the one luring him into trouble. “What happened? Did you lose track of time and get locked out of the castle?” He waggled a finger at Jace. “How irresponsible !”

            “I took Vermax on a hunting trip at Crackclaw.” Jace replied, sticking out his chin sharply. But his blush had grown more intense. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Mother encourages us to exercise our dragons as often as possible.”

            “In the middle of the night?” Aegon asked, still grinning. He loved having the upper hand, partly because he so rarely did. “Without telling anyone to wait up for you, or to leave a skygate open so you could fly back?”

            “I needed to clear my head.” Jace said, crossing his arms defensively. “And you’re one to talk! Did you fly all the way from King’s Landing bareback, and dressed like- '' Jace cut off suddenly and reaching up he abruptly unfastened the clasp of his cloak, and held it out, refusing to meet Aegon’s eyes. “Here. Take this.”

            Aegon felt his grin slide off face as he drew himself up a little. “I have a cloak. I don’t need-“

            “I can see that.” Jace responded dryly, still not looking directly at Aegon. “I think it’s the same one we stole from the servant’s laundry when you were twelve.  I can also see that you are soaking wet and shivering, in a shirt so thin that-“ Jace coughed, cutting off and Aegon blinked and glanced down, realizing what he missed in his effort to clear off the mud: that the water had plastered his shirt to his chest and left it clinging and almost transparent.

            Coughing as well, Aegon pushed down his indignation and waded through the inlet water to the cave mouth. As he drew closer, Vermax went rigid, eyes snapping open and fixing to Aegon, while Sunfyre leaned forward, lips curling back, ready to bare his fangs. Before either could move, Aegon turned to glare at Sunfyre, and Jace rapped two knuckles sharply on Vermax’s neck. Both dragons subsided, and Aegon finished wading through the inlet, and climbed the sandy slope to the grotto mouth.

            “Thank you.” Aegon murmured as he undid the ties on his ratty green cloak and pulled it off. He reached out, but before he could take the one Jace was offering, the other man stepped forward.

            “Here, let me.” Jace murmured, swinging the cloak around Aegon’s shoulders. Aegon realized, with a brief flash of annoyance, that he had been right: Jace was ever so slightly taller then he was now. It was obvious standing this close: near enough that Aegon could see the way Jace caught his tongue between his teeth as he focused on tying the cloak in place, and refastening the silver dragonhead clasp.

            “Thank you.” Aegon repeated as Jace finished, letting his hands fall while Aegon shifted his shoulders, the heavy wool cutting the wind, and starting to warm his bones.

            “What happened?” Jace asked quietly, and Aegon blinked. Jace sighed and lifted a hand, moving as if to  reach out and reach out and touch him. Aegon felt his heart stutter wildly, but at the last second Jace hesitated and let his hand fall, instead nodding to Aegon's chest. “All of those can’t be from riding Sunfyre bareback. Not unless you also fought a sea serpent on your way here.”

            Aegon felt himself flinch before he could stop it, and tried to cover it by forcing a grin. “Well it turns out all warnings not to try tumbling tricks unless you are trained in the art have merit. Who knew?”

            Jace raised a single unimpressed eyebrow and Aegon shrugged, putting on his most insolent smile. The thought of telling Jace the truth was repellent to him. Better to play the fool, even if Jace didn’t believe it.

            For a moment they stood there, regarding each other, and then Jace sighed, shaking his head.

            “Why are you here Aegon?” He asked quietly. “Has something happened at Court? Is Grandfather alright?”

            “The King is well.” Aegon answered shifting a bit uncomfortably. It was mostly the truth: father was lucid most days, but it had been weeks since he had been able to mount the Iron Throne. Instead, he would hold court in the gardens or his solar. Though more and more he was remaining in his chambers, and leaving his duties to mother and grandfather, trusting in his Queen and the Hand, to see to the realm.  “That’s not why I’m here.”

            “Then why?” Jace asked again, this time with less patience. Less warmth. Aegon could feel the wall coming back up: the barrier between them, built by their families' hostility and fury. It had vanished briefly, but it was returning now, rising between them again.

            “I…” Aegon began and then gulped, searching for the words, and like usual failing to find them.

            Jace took a step back, his shoulders setting. “Aegon, I don’t think we should-“

            “I came to apologize.” Aegon found himself blurting out. Jace blinked, frowning at him, and so Aegon pressed on ahead. “For High Tide. For…for what I said before the King. I…it was wrong. I’m sorry.”          

            For a long moment, Jace just looked at him, saying nothing, the slight thinning of his lips the only hint of any emotion. And then he sighed and shook his head. “….You flew all the way from King’s Landing, bareback and through dead midnight, to tell me you're sorry for something that happened two years ago?”

            Aegon paused, mouth working as he tried to guess what the correct answer was, before ultimately settling on a hesitant. “…Yes.”

            Jace exhaled looking faintly bewildered, and then pressing his fist to his mouth, he began to laugh. It wasn't snide and cruel like Aemond’s laughter always was, or wild and dreamy, the way Heleana laughed. Instead it was a soft, rich sound that seemed to ring through his whole body as he almost doubled over, leaning on his thighs for support.

            Aegon wanted to be offended, but instead he found himself chuckling faintly at first and then intensely, trying to ignore the way his laughter made his bruises throb with pain. He had known this was a ridiculous thing to do when he set out to do it after all.

            When the mirth subsided, Jace straightened himself, shaking his head. But his half-smile remained. “….I take it you were hoping to have a rest in the grotto? Come on.” He said, turning to face Vermax. “Let's get Sunfyre settled and then we can talk.”

            Which was how Aegon found himself, leading his dragon through the water, and into the cave, after Vermax and Jace. He expected more resistance the pair, but whatever they thought had passed between their masters, it seemed to persuade them that violence was not in the near future. It helped that the cave had proved large enough for the two of them to keep a decent chunk of distance between them. Aegon, it seemed, had been right: some long ago ancestor of theirs had likely had a dragon carve the inlet and the grotto out of the rock with fire, in order to make a private escape. Jace and Vermax had apparently comundeared it, at least if their small camp was anything to go by. A stack of covered firewood, two smoothed logs arranged around a firepit, and a tiny chest of provisions said that it was a spot often returned to, rather than somewhere for a brief shelter. It had a homey feeling that Aegon found himself liking.

           The moment Sunfyre was curled up in an alcove, he lowered his head to rest on the stone, folded his wings, and closed his amber eyes for slumber. Aegon felt a stab of guilt: he had woken Sunfyre in the middle of the night, and even if they hadn't pushed hard it was still a rough flight to make in so short a time. He stroked Sunfyre's head gently, waiting for the coal in the back of his mind to fade down to a low crackle, then turned to Jace.

          "Let's go for a walk." Aegon murmured softly. "I....I don't want to wake him." Their words probably wouldn't- not unless they started shouting. But this close a strong enough surge of emotion might do the trick. If Sunfyre was jolted awake by Aegon in pain or panic, he might lash out without thinking. Best to have this conversation with a little distance.

          Jace seemed to understand because he nodded, and lead them outside without comment. Aegon expected Vermax to stay behind to keep an eye on Sunfyre, but instead he turned to follow his master, only falling back at Jace's gesture, and then, only enough to give Jace and Aegon some space. He followed, slow and steady, eyes fixed to them. Aegon did his best to ignore it: he was used to eyes following him all the time after all, dragon and human alike.

           “What was your plan exactly?” Jace asked curiously, once they where out on the beach. Despite his lack of a cloak, Jace seemed unbothered by the cold. But then he had lived on Dragonstone long enough to be used to its weather. For him this was probably a fine summer morning, never mind the mist or the biting wind.

            “I was going to sneak in with the servants.” Aegon admitted, pulling his borrowed cloak tight around his shoulders. At Jace’s smirk Aegon blushed and stabbed a finger at him. “Shut up!” 

            “I didn’t say anything.” Jace replied, adopting a look of such innocence that any judge would have found him guilty on the spot. 

            “Well you didn’t say anything, very loudly .” Aegon muttered, but it lacked true heat. Still, Aegon could have done it. He was surrounded by servants day in and out. Surely he could pretend to be one easily enough.

            Jace seemed to know what he was thinking, because he turned to look Aegon dead in the eye. “I would give any amount of coin-” Jace said, having adopted his most serious voice. “-any treasure in my possession, anything at all, I would even promise away Vermax’s first clutch if I had too- just to see you trying to act like a servant.” 

            There was no way to respond to that except to shove Jace, while trying not to grin too broadly at his answering laugh. When they were kids, Jace would have lost balance, and fallen into a sand dune, but instead he seemed to almost effortlessly absorb the shove and shift around it, not even stumbling before continuing to walk. 

            They walked in comfortable silence for a little while after that, listening to the tide rush in and out. Aegon had heard the black beaches of Dragonstone described before, but it was still beautiful to see in person: the glimmering tide pools seeming to hold stars in their depths, and the boulders of dragonglass rather then stone, strangely jagged and reflecting sunlight like a mirror. It made him a little sad too. This was where his namesake had been born, Aegon the Conqueror, founder of their dynasty. This was where he had married Visenya and Rhaenys, and planned the invasion that birthed the Targaryen Kingdom. For all Aegon knew, the Conqueror himself might be the one who had carved out that cave back there. The Targaryens might rule in King's Landing, but their home was Dragonstone. And this was Aegon's first time setting foot here.

          Aegon felt something squeeze his shoulder and looked up to see Jace having extended a hand to touch his shoulder. His expression was one of concern and sympathy. He didn't say anything, didn't push Aegon to explain whatever it was that was making him sad. He just knew, and understood, and that was enough.

           “…Did you really come all this way just to tell me you're sorry?” Jace asked quietly, after a little while more of walking.

            “Is it the maddest idea I’ve ever come up with?” Aegon asked right back. 

            Jace hesitated, clearly recalling some of Aegon’s more outrageous ideas from their youth, before shrugging. “…Maybe not. But it’s got to be near the top of the list.” Which Aegon supposed was fair enough.

            It took Aegon a moment to pluck up the courage to keep going. Jace didn't rush him, just kept walking, patiently, knowing Aegon would speak when was ready.

           “I am. Sorry I mean.”  Aegon said finally, pulling at his borrowed cloak. "About all of it."

            Jace exhaled, closing his eyes and stopping. Aegon continued on for a few steps and then turned to look back at him. The wind had picked up slightly and it whipped Jace’s hair around his face like a cloud. Trailing behind them, Vermax had stopped as well, as his amber eyed were fixed to their forms, following their every minute shift.

            Abruptly, he felt Sunfyre’s absence keenly. All Jace has to do is roll to the side and cry one command, and I’d be nothing more than ash on the wind.

            No . Aegon thought stubbornly. If this was going to have any chance of working they had to trust each other: and Aegon trusted Jace not to do that. Rhaenyra might, Daemon certainly would. But not Jace.

            When Jace finally spoke, he seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. “For what exactly?”

            “For Aemond. The King. All of it.” He shook his head, and honesty made him continue. “Sort of. I don’t know.”

            “Aegon-“ Jace began, his voice carrying a hint of warning.

            “I should have told the King the truth, I know that but…” But it was my mother and grandfather. They would have lost their tongues, or worse. “…We used to joke about it. Do you remember? You and I? It didn’t seem like a big deal to do the same with Aemond on occasion. And even if I hadn’t, others would have talked to him about it. The whole court is full of gossips it….it didn’t seem like a big deal.”

            Jace shook his head, mouth back to being a fine line. “It is a big deal, Aegon. The question of my and Luke’s legitimacy- the question of my mother’s choices- it could set the entire realm aflame. It almost has, several times already.”

            Aegon flinched. He knew that of course, but… “That was our parents, not us. When it was just you and me, it was fine- you never minded when I made cracks about using the Strong name to get us out of trouble, or how you should try and boss around the City Watch or….” He shrugged. “It was fine.”

            “Because it was just a joke! Because you made it a joke!” Jace snapped. It was his turn to take a deep breath and shake his head. “When it was just you and me….that was different. Yes, you used to joke about Harwin Strong being my father, but when we did that, you made it ridiculous- something not worth caring about, or considering. A farce. I never, for one moment thought that you believed it, or that it mattered to you. Until….until that night at High Tide.” Jace shook his head, and began to walk again, until he was shoulder to shoulder with Aegon. This close, staring into his eyes, Aegon could see that old anger, that old hurt, fresh again. “Do you really think I was mad at you, because you repeated some rumors to Aemond? Because you….” He paused, again no doubt picking his words carefully. “…where put in a difficult position and did the only thing you could to protect people you care about?”

            “Yes.” Aegon said quietly. He had believed that for some time now.

            Jace shook his head. “…I was frustrated, but I wasn’t angry with you over it. I was angry because…you acted like it was true. Not just that I was a bastard, but that it made me less somehow. Monstrous. The way you looked at me when you spoke…it was like I was…”

            Filthy. Corrupt. Unclean. Those were the words used to describe bastards in the Seven Pointed Star. There were also some of his mother’s favorites too, when talking about Rhaenyra’s ‘children of sin’.

            Aegon turned his head to stare into Jace’s brown eyes, trying to will the other boy to know his sincerity. “I am sorry. I don’t believe that and…I don’t want you to think that I do.”

            Jace stared back into his face, and then nodded, before continuing to walk forward, Aegon turning to follow. Behind them, Vermax relaxed, a breath leaving his lungs as he continued to trail them at his sedate pace.

            “I’m sorry too.” Jace said after a moment. “For Aemond. Luke was just trying to protect me: he saw Aemond grab a rock and….” Jace shook his head. “Still I am sorry. Your brother didn’t deserve to lose an eye. If I had kept my temper that night, he wouldn’t have. I regret it.”

            Aeogn blinked. He had never blamed Jace for what happened to Aemond- he hadn’t even really blamed Luke in truth. But…it was still good to hear, he supposed. 

            “You wouldn’t regret it half so much if you had to live with him afterwards.” Aegon said dryly. “He was intolerable for months about Vhagar. I don’t know If he would have noticed the missing eye, if everyone else hadn’t made so much of a fuss about it.”

            Jace fixed him with an unimpressed look but didn’t press the matter further. “Is that all you came for? To apologize for High Tide? '' Jace asked, his voice lighter again, with only a hint of the strain from before. 

            “Yes. No. Sort of.” Aegon said and pulled at the hem of his cloak. He felt himself, back on uncertain ground, unsure of how to proceed. “We used to be friends. Good friends even. I miss that.” 

            Jace’s face seemed to soften, his shoulders to fall slightly. “I do too. But…you know why it is this way.” 

            “I do. That dosen’t mean I don’t think it’s stupid.” Aegon replied. “Their used to be no one I was closer with. You were the person I went to when everything was too much, the only person who made things…easy just by being around. The only person who would talk to me, and then really listen when I talked back. I miss that. I miss sneaking out together, and exploring the catacombs and having someone I could just…be around.” Without being judged.  

            Jace sighed, but his dimple didn’t vanish. “We did have a lot of fun together. And we pulled some great pranks on Aemond.” 

            Aegon was glad for the excuse to grin again. “You would not believe how much trouble I got in over that stupid pig. Aemond has never let that go, not even after he got Vhagar. It is incredibly unjust that you didn’t have to pay for that at all.” 

            “It was your idea!” Jace said, spinning to face him with all indignation. 

            “You were the one that made the fake wings!” Aegon replied, jamming a finger at Jace’s chest. “ And you were the one who figured out how to actually get fish into Septon Eustance’s rainbow pool!” 

            Jace's dimple deepened as he smiled. They had both hated Septon Eustance as children- he had a mean streak a mile wild, and a tendency to drone during his sermons. “You were the one who thought you could just go down to the docks and fish right off the edge of the pier!” He shook his head. “And as I recall we both paid for that one.” 

            Aegon shivered as he remembered. Three days copying holy verse, and having to clean out the pool by hand. Aegon would rather Eustance have just switched them: at least a switching was over quickly. “You have to admit it was worth it to see his face when he opened the pool so he could give the anointing and he found himself eye to eye with a carp.” 

            Jace laughed, and there was no hint left of his early frustration, only amusement. “He didn’t know if he was looking at a miracle or a blasphemy! I still don’t know how he figured out it was us.” 

            “I do.” Aegon said dryly. “You always try to make yourself look too innocent: you bring out the big puppy eyes, and the demure smile. It makes you look like your hiding something.”

             Jace pursed his lips. “And which one of us cracked the moment the Septon raised his voice? He didn’t have any proof- we would have gotten away with it if you hadn’t folded like a letter.” 

            They kept up like that, back and forth as they walked on, recalling pranks and adventures, arguing over whose fault it had been when things went wrong, but without any real heat behind the words. Finally, they reached the end of the path: the place where it was cut away by a small river that flowed out into the ocean. The trail veered from there sharply north, leading into the island proper. 

            For a little bit they stood there, staring at the path, not saying a word, each waiting for the other to break the silence, to answer the question they were avoiding. 

            What next?

            Jace was the one to do it finally. “I need to go back to the castle. Mother and Luke are probably sick with worry by now, and I promised Joff I'd help him with his letters." He turned to look at Aegon, softening his voice even further. "...You should come with me. Maester Geradys can look at your bruises and you can sleep comfortably instead of rough.”

            “I’m sure I will be incredibly comfortable as your mother’s indefinite ‘guest’.” Aegon replied, trying not to let to much bite into the words.

            “She wouldn’t-“

            “You don’t know that.” Aegon cut across him, quietly, but firmly.

            “I do.” Jace snapped, suddenly fierce. “She isn’t like that, Aegon. Mother she….she wants the best for the realm, for the House. She wants to make the world better, more fair . But she loves her family. She isn’t the monster that The Greens say she is.”

            Aegon resisted the urge to point out that if she was, then her son would hardly be able to see it. The King was a testament to how much the willful blindness ran in the Targaryen line. But saying that would do no good.

            “Even if that’s true.” Aegon said instead. “Can you honestly say that she wouldn’t lock me up, if it meant that her future, her better world, was assured? Comfortably, in very nice apartments to be sure, and with guards in very pretty armor on the door. But still guards, and still a prison.” Jace’s mouth thinned, and Aegon sighed. “I didn’t come here to argue, or to start a war- which is what would happen if it was found out I was at Dragonstone, one way or another. I came here to reconnect.” He forced a grin on his face. “Don’t worry about me- some sleeping rough will do me good. And you have that very nice campsite back at the cave that I will  taking advtange of.”

            Jace frowned. “Are you staying?”

            Aegon nodded. “At least through the night. I need to rest a little bit before I can make the flight back to King’s Landing.”

            “Won't people wonder where you’ve gone? Your Kingsguard? Your mother?”

            Aegon shook his head. “Helaena is covering for me. They all think I’m meditating in the woods. Praying for wisdom like a Septon of old. That sort of thing.” At Jace’s look of incredulity, Aegon smiled. “Hey, I could be! For all you know I’ve become very pious since you left.”

            Jace snorted. “The only way you would ever become a Septon is if they made Arbor Red the official Holy Wine of the Faith.” He shook his head. “…I’ll come by tonight, with some medicine from the Maester. And….we can talk more.” He smiled. “It isn’t just you. I…I missed this too.” He smiled. “I thought…I thought we’d never get it back after my family came to Dragonstone. I’m glad I was wrong.”

            Before Aegon could respond, Jace was whistling and Vermax came bounding up, lowering his body so that Jace could climb up into the saddle. Aegon watched, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the bruises, as the wind caught Jace’s hair, making it ripple around his face, and he gave the single command for fly, in a bellowing voice.

            With one final suspicious glance at Aegon, Vermax swept his wings out and took to the air, sending a cloud of black sand and dust out in his wake.

            Well , Aegon thought as he turned and started heading back for the grotto. It was a start.

Chapter Text

            The flight back to the castle passed Jace by in a blur. It was a lucky thing that he and Vermax had made the trip between their hide away and the castle enough times to know the way by rote: if not Jace was sure he would have veered badly, perhaps finding himself at Driftmark or even Crackclaw, before realizing his mistake.

            Aegon. Aegon here , wanting to see him again. To mend what was broken. It was unthinkable. It was impossible. And yet…

            Jace found himself banking hard to the left as he shoved the thought away, sending Vermax sweeping past the southern coast of the island and out over the ocean water. His hand by instinct went to check the safety straps that held his legs and waist in place on the dragon saddle: sturdy leather buckled with brass. It was an old habit by this point, the kind of caution his step father found amusing. But an old Velaryon saying his father had been fond of always popped into Jace’s head when did it: daring might fill the fishing nets, but caution brought the boat home safely. Or, as Ser Harwin would have said, if you're going to be stupid, be smart about it.

            Jace also shoved down the flare of pain he felt thinking of the two men who each had a right to claim him for a son. It had been two years since Leanor Velaryon had died, and almost three since the fire at Harrenhal, yet both wounds still stung if he let himself linger on them too long, and talking with Aegon about High Tide, with that all entailed, had left him feeling more raw than usual. In a way, it wasn’t surprising. No one could get under his skin the way Aegon could, and worse Aegon seemed to do it without even trying .

            Banking north again, Jace found himself making the approach to Dragonmont, and the castle built into its side. The volcano loomed tall enough that it could still be seen on the other side of the island, and a ways out to sea besides, but as Jace passed over the port town and the winding path that led towards the massive gates, Dragonstone itself came into proper focus.

            Three huge curtain walls of black stone without sign of brick or mortar, almost seeming to have been molded out of the mountain itself, formed three concentric half-rings, each wall taller than the last, with gargoyles sculpted along the battlements in place of crenelations. Spiraled towers rose from every tier, including around the corners of the sprawling central keep, each molded into the shape of a dragon that seemed to gaze over the island and out to the sea.

            Jace knew the watchmen in those towers, armed with far-eyes, would have long since seen him coming and ordered the skygate opened for him. But they also would have sent runners to tell his mother he had returned. If luck was with him, she would be engaged in her morning duties and he would be put off for later. Depending on how busy she was- the number of the petitions being presented, the length of the inspection of the armsman, the state of the accounts- she might not find the time to summon him until midday, and by then he might already be on his way back to the grotto.

            I’ll change quickly, help Joff with his lesson, then gather everything I need and be out again in under two hours. He might have lingered longer, but aside from avoiding a scolding by his mother, he didn’t want to leave Aegon alone too long. Partly because of the state he was in, but also…because a part of Jace was worried if he took to long, he would arrive back at the cave to discover Aegon and Sunfyre gone, or worse, that this was some kind of strange fever madness and or waking dream, and that they had never been there at all.

            It is no such thing , Jace told himself stoutly, as he and Vermax flew past the curtain walls and towards the main ward, where the keep and other central buildings stood. You are not mad, and you are not dreaming. You felt his shoulders as you fastened the cloak in place, you looked into his eyes. He is here.

            As impossible as that was to believe.

            The skygate was indeed open and waiting for him: a section of the dragon stable roof having slid away to allow him to land. Like most of the buildings on the north side of the ward, they seemed built into the side mountain itself, their back ends simply…flowing into the rough rock of the volcano.

            Jace and Vermax landed to find Dragonkeepers already waiting with their quarterstaves and long hooked crooks. Their gray robes were rougher than their King’s Landing counterparts, and even fewer spoke Common, but Jace had come to think of them as more skilled and disciplined. They carried no chains, and needed no lashes to get the dragons to comply, not even Caraxes. Oh the dragons still gave them trouble: there wasn’t a dragon living who wouldn’t give at least a little trouble provided chance, but the Keepers on Dragonstone seemed better able to handle it.

            The roof overhead barely made a sound as the pieces slid back into place, craftsmanship long ago lost making the ceiling seem all of one piece the moment the gate was closed. Legend said that Dragonstone Castle had been made by his ancestors liquefying and shaping the rock while it flowed like water, then hardening it again, and it showed in almost every building, including the dragonstable, with it’s large rounded walls and arched doors, without sharp edges of seams.

            The dragonstable resembled a normal one only in terms of the equipment it stored: saddles and bridles and leather harnesses. There were no stalls, and the floor was rough earth rather than straw. At the far end, a wrought iron gate stood open, and a winding cave beyond it that led deeper into the Dragonmont.

            Jace unstrapped himself from the saddle and dismounted, making sure to pause and scratch Vermax’s neck in approval, then stood aside as the Dragonkeepers approached to begin unsaddling Vermax and then guiding him into the mountain and back to his nest. Normally Jace would have lingered to observe the process, and speak with one of the Dragonkeepers:  talk a little of his flight, or maybe give a few instructions about Vermax’s care, but this time Jace couldn’t bring himself to wait. Time was short and the Dragonkeepers knew what they were doing, especially given that Vermax was no Caraxes, or Gods forbid, Sunfyre .            

            Jace immediately slipped from the stable and began heading for his rooms, trying to keep out of sight of any guards or messengers that might have orders from his mother, going by back corridors and along walls where he could as he made his way to the Windwyrm Tower.

            A quick change, maybe a wash in the basin, and then he would be on his way to Joffery’s lesson. In his head, Jace had already begun the list of things he would need to get for Aegon: medicine for his bruises of course, and some food- Jace didn’t keep anything that could spoil at the grotto-, maybe a shirt and trousers better suited for the weather on Dragonstone. Somehow, the fact that Aegon had appeared in his night clothes had been the least surprising part of the whole morning.

            Jace still blushed thinking about how Aegon had looked emerging from the water: shirt transparent and clinging to his chest, silver hair dripping water down his face, his trousers low on his hips, showing a hint of the v of waist. He had looked like the kind of hero maidens would sigh over, and pray to rescue them when they were in trouble. And Jace had just stood there, blurry eyed and filthy from a night of sleeping in a cave, rank with the smell of dragon.

            Yes, a fresh set of clothes were definitely in order for Aegon. Something to keep him far better covered. Just for the sake of staying warm and not catching sick of course. No other reason.

            Jace was running through which clothes might best suit to loan Aegon, or more likely give , since Aegon was horrible at returning things loaned to him- when he opened the door to his chambers and froze.

            His mother looked up to regard him cooly from where she was seated beside his window, closing the book she had been reading and setting it down in her lap.

            “Good morning Jacaerys.” His mother said, leaning back in her chair and looking him up and down. Jace flinched at the use of his full name. “Did you sleep well?”

            For a moment Jace just stood there, feeling poleaxed, while his mind was casting around for something to say, some response that wouldn’t give him away. He needn’t have bothered though because his mother set aside her book and stood, folding her arms as she continued. “I presume you must have, since when I arrived to ask if you wished to break fast together, and join me for hearing petitions, I found that you had apparently woken before the sun had risen to get in some early morning flying. Without telling anyone. Or leaving word. Again.”

            Jace felt a knot loosen in his chest. Until that moment he hadn’t realized that his biggest fear had been that his mother had somehow discovered Aegon’s presence on the island and was here to demand Jace bring him back to the castle so he could properly recover and rest.

            It wasn’t that Jace thought Aegon was right: he didn’t believe his mother would imprison him. Not without good cause at least. But even so, Aegon had shown an incredible amount of trust, and taken a huge risk coming to Dragonstone. Jace didn’t want to betray that.

            Jace still didn’t understand exactly what had driven Aegon to come. He believed Aegon’s apology, and that Aegon missed their old friendship. But was that alone a good enough reason for the risk he had taken?

            For him? Probably . Aegon had always been impulsive, and bad at judging risks. A quality that didn’t seem to have gotten much better in the years since they’d parted.

            His mother cleared her throat and Jace gave himself a shake, pulling himself back to the here and now. She was looking at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised.

            Jace sighed, and rolled his shoulders. “…In the interest of honesty I should say that I actually left late last night to take Vermax hunting on Crackclaw Point.” His mother’s face darkened and Jace rushed to add: “I didn’t intend to be gone that long, and I left the skygate open so I could fly back in again. One of the Dragonkeepers must have seen it and closed it thinking it was left open by mistake.”

            “A problem.” His mother said coldly. “That might have been prevented if you had told them you were going. Or better yet, if you had not decided that the middle of the night was a perfect time to go hunting on the mainland.”

            Jace lowered his eyes, feeling his ears burn hot with shame. “I couldn’t sleep.” He mumbled. It was the only defense he could offer. “I’ve been restless lately.”

            When he looked up, his mother’s eyes had softened, but only slightly. Her jaw was still set in a frustrated line. “If your sleep is that troubled.” She began, her voice tight. “Then maybe one of Maester Gerardys’s draughts-“

            Jace shook his head, feeling his back stiffen, and he made himself lift his head to meet his mothers eyes. “I don’t need sleeping potions, mother. I just…I need to be able to clear my head.”

            For a long moment his mother stared back at him, violet eyes looking into brown, and then she sighed and crossed the room to gently take his hands in her own.

            “Jacaerys.” His mother’s voice was serious and steady, but not unkind. “You are second in line to the Iron Throne, heir to Dragonstone, and a strong dragon rider besides. But more than any of those things, you are my son.” She presses his hands between hers, the palms together. It always surprised him that his mother’s hands were rough and calloused. “When I ask you to be careful, it is not as your liege lady, your future Queen, or the head of our family. It is as your mother, worried by all those who would rejoice to see you harmed, and knowing how little I can do to defend you if I don’t know where you are.”

            “Vermax-“ Jace began but his mother shook her head.

            “Is a fine and strong dragon, but it only takes one arrow, one blade in the dark that neither he nor you see, and he will be without his rider, your brothers without their elder, and I without my son.”

            Jace felt a sudden stab of guilt, deep in his belly. His mother was right, and yet…

            She seemed to read something in his face because she sighed. “I am not asking you to give up your freedom and stay all day in the Windwyrm Tower, with guards always around you.” She chuckled suddenly. Her voice turned dry. “You are too much my son for that . But I am asking you to be honest with me, and to be careful when....clearing your head.”

            Jace flinched, bowing his neck. “I….I am sorry mother. I’ll try and think more, and…not run off without warning any longer.” A sudden surge of frustration filled him, the desire to tell his mother the truth butting against the desire not to lose Aegon’s trust. But maybe…maybe he could satisfy both. “And in the interest of honesty: I was thinking of going on a hunting trip…”

            His mother's face grew stoney again as Jace trailed off, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “…Really?” She asked softly.

            Jace felt his ears heat, this time with embarrassment, but he nodded. “Yes: A few days wandering the hills, maybe fishing on the beaches will do me good.” Sensing his mother’s trepidation he added. ”I was going to go on horseback though, not dragon and I don’t intend to leave the island.” He tried to smile.

            His mother stared at him, but then sighed letting his hands slip from hers. “Well that’s something I suppose. Still, will you allow me to send Ser Lorent with you?” 

            Jace winced, Ser Lorent was one of the two Kingsguard assigned by the King to protect his daughter’s family. He and Ser Steffon- the other- were good men, if somewhat steely. Both were also loyal to his mother down to their bones, which was why Jace was sure they would come running back to the castle to report Aegon’s presence the moment they learned of it.

            “I thought you said you weren't going to put guards around me all the time?” Jace adopted his most wide eyed and innocent look before remembering what Aegon had said that morning. His mother’s expression was unimpressed, so he pressed on ahead. “Besides, the island has to be the safest place in the realm for us: the people have been loyal since before there was an Iron Throne. What trouble could I get into here?”

            “We are Targarens Jace; we could find trouble alone on a sandbar.” She sounded less sure however, and Jace noted she had not used his full name that time. “I would also not wager on the island being so secure as you imagine it. The Greens have a long reach, and I no longer know what Alicent is and is not capable of.” She reached her hand to touch her arm, as she often did when speaking of her former friend. There were deeper currents there, Jace knew, but they weren't for him.

            “We can not live our lives cowering over what the Greens might do. Maybe, if we were all a little less afraid of what others might do, we wouldn’t all be at dagger points.”

            That word, cowering, had been a mistake. He saw his mother’s eyes flash with fire and her shoulders draw back. “She demanded Luke’s eye.” Mother said sharply. “And when no one would obey her, tried to take it herself.”

            “It’s been two years since that, mother.” Jace said quietly. “If she was still looking to get her own back, she would have tried by now.” He saw her hesitate and then struck. “What about this- I’ll take a friend with me. Not Ser Steffon or Ser Lorent, but someone who can have my back in case anything does happen?”

            “A friend.” His mother repeated, her voice heavy with skepticism. When Jace did not elaborate, she placed her fists on her hips and stared down at him. “You expect me to place your life in the hands of a…a friend , over those of a Kinsguard?”

            “….Do you really trust me so little?” Jace asked, and his mother shield and shook her head.

            “It’s not you I distrust Jace, it’s the world.” Again her hand found her arm, where the scar Alicent had left still ran along her skin. “….But very well. You may take this friend with you, instead of Ser Lorent. But you will also take your longsword, just in case.”

            Jace blinked in confusion- he had expected more questions, had already been trying to find evasions and half-truths to use so that he wouldn’t technically be lying to his mother, but instead she just swept past him towards the door.

            “That’s it then?” He asked as she moved to go.

            She nodded. “I told you I would not keep you locked up, and I wont. You are a responsible, level headed young man Jace, and I trust you. Just…” For a moment she looked stricken. “….Remember duty, while…hunting with this friend.” She glanced at him up and down again. “Also clean and dress quickly. You are already late to Joffery’s lesson.”

            With that she was gone, leaving Jace to blink after her in confusion. He was starting to wonder if he had hit his head in the grotto, and that was why everyone seemed to be acting so strangely. Then he glanced at the window, saw from the sun’s position that she was right, and immediately began rushing for the washbowl.

<X>

            A few hours later Jace found himself leaving the kitchens, and heading for the stables far later than he had originally hoped. He had indeed been late to Joffery’s lesson, and his brother, though only three, was fierce in demanding his fair due. He had clung to Jace’s coat, refusing to be budged, saying that if Big Brother was going to be late then he could read two books instead of one. The Septa who served as Joff’s governess had been no help at all, simply smiling at him and saying The Father demands the scales of justice be balanced, even by a future king. I think twice again a fair penance for dereliction, don’t you my Prince?

            The books where the sort used for teaching children reading: both simple fanciful tales, the language plain and easy so a child could grasp it without issue, but unfortunately neither was particularly short , and as the point was to get Joffery to stop and sound out words on his own, Jace found himself reading at a stuttering, stop and go pace.

            By the time he had finally finished, and Joffery had been spirited away to his next lesson, Jace had been tempted to sprint in order to gather everything he had thought of. But he held himself in check. It was a near thing, but he knew that arousing any other suspicions would do him little good.

            Surprisingly, no one had balked or required any persuading to fulfill his list. The Maester had accepted his explanation that the bruise cream was a friend, the laundresses that he intended to donate some of his old clothes to a nearby village, and even the cooks had given him what he wanted without a fuss. If anything, they had seemed amused . It was all very odd.

            He had also managed to avoid running into any members of his family, which was even more lucky. He had no desire to put off Luke from coming along on his ‘hunting trip’ or to endure Rhanea’s gently probing questions.

            He should have known, however, that such luck would not last.

            No sooner was Jace stepping into the horse stable then the door was snapping shut behind him and a figure was stepping out from the shadow  of the door to loom over him. Jace’s hand was half way to his sword before he realized that it was his step father grinning down at him.

            “Well well, if it isn't my good step son!” Daemon said as he leaned forward, looking Jace up and down. “Off again so soon?”

            Jace made his sword hand drop, sighing in relief. His mother’s talk of knives in the dark earlier had unnerved him more than he realized, but he knew he had nothing to fear from Daemon.

            Oh, his step father was very much capable of murder, Jace didn’t doubt that. No one who was acquainted with Daemon for any great length of time could: everything from the feral way he grinned, to the wildfire in his eyes spoke of what he was capable of. But Daemon would never hurt Jace specifically . He loved Jace’s mother far too dearly, which was another thing no one would doubt if they spent any time with him. He would sooner throw himself into the Dragonmont then do anything to hurt her.

            Jace also suspected that Daemon had come to care for him and his brothers as his own children as well, though he’d never pressed the issue. A part of Jace, small and treasonous, thought that with time he might even return the sentiment, but for now….for now Jace had lost two fathers already. He was not ready to have a third. No matter how much time they spent training together in the yard, or sparing in the air.

            “I am going hunting with a friend.” Jace said quickly, straightening and adjusting the saddle bag he carried on his shoulder, where he had neatly packed everything away. “I’ll be away for a few days.”

            “Really?” Daemon said dryly, stepping closer. Jace shifted but held his ground, refusing to back away. “And here I had heard you were out doing that already: late last night.” His lips twitched. “Don’t tell me you're actually rebelling a little stepson?”

            Jace felt his neck stiffen and tried to keep his voice from sounding to prim. “I am not rebelling. I have my mother's permission.”

            Daemon rolled his eyes, but the amused tone didn’t leave his voice as he spoke “A pity that. You could do with some rebellion.”

            “You think everyone could do with some rebellion.” Jace replied dryly. Jace shifted, feeling the weight of the saddle bag slung over his shoulder, and trying to find a more even way to hold it. He could not simply walk away from his step father- he had been raised with better manners than that, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t think about it

            “And I am right. What’s life without a little rebellion now and then?” Daemon said back, matching his step son’s dry tone. Without warning his hand snapped out, pulling the saddle bag off of Jace’s shoulder. “Boring, that’s what. Expected.”

            Jace was about to snatch it back when he stopped himself. He would not end up brawling in the dirt with his step father. He was better than that. And also, Jace was fairly sure that Daemon could subdue him in hand to hand without much trouble. Daemon insisted that Jace’s martial skill was fast improving, but he knew was still leagues behind Daemon. So all he could do was stand there, simmering, while Daemon poked through his things.

            “Food stuffs.” Daemon mused as he shifted around things in the bag. “Not too surprising, though a bit fine for a hunting trip. A change of clothes.” He raised an eyebrow. “A wineskin? I thought you were put off drinking, dear step son?”            

            Jace blushed and shifted again, his hands twitching with a desire to snatch the bag back. “It’s for a friend.”

            “Ah yes. A friend. Not a member of the household, or they’d be here with you already.” Daemon mused. “A villager perhaps? Or someone from the port?” Daemon’s eyebrows shot up suddenly as he pulled the jar of cream out. He opened it, gave it a sniff and grinned, raising an eyebrow.

            “It's medicine.” Jace said stiffly. “For bruises.”

            “Of course.” Daemon said, his voice straining from holding back sudden snickers. His grin only grew broader, more cat like, and it made Jace uncomfortable. It felt like he was missing something. “Medicine for bruises.”

            Abruptly Daemon tossed the saddlebag back to him and Jace caught it on instinct, grunting and stumbling back a few steps. 

            “Well have fun with your hunting trip!” Daemon called over his shoulder as he opened the door. “There's very little proper fun to be had at Dragonstone for a boy your age, so I’m glad you’ve….found some fields to wander. I’m sure I don’t have to tell someone as responsible as you are to be safe . So instead I’ll suggest you not be too safe, or what’s the point?” 

            Jace gaped at Daemon as he vanished through the door, unable to form a response in time to catch his step father. For a while he stood glued to the spot trying to understand what had just happened. 

            And then it hit him, how this must look: the fine clothes he didn’t need anymore, the wine, the meal. Abruptly the Maester’s curious expression, the giggles of the cooks, even the warm smiles of the laundresses all took on a new color, and he felt not just his ears, but his whole face turn bright red.

            They thought- And Uncle Daemon believed- Gods did his mother even think that he was…was that why she had agreed so readily to his request because she thought he was really just sneaking out to see a…..a paramour ?

            A thought came unbidden of Aegon dripping wet, his shirt clinging to his chest, but Jace shoved it away stubbornly. 

            Abruptly, unable to stand still, Jace moved. It had been a long time since he had saddled a horse, but he remembered enough not to make a mess of it, and within minutes, he was riding down out of Dragonstone, towards the east beach at a gallop.

<X>

            By the time he reached the beach Jace had remembered, in vivid detail, why he didn’t ride horses very often. He understood on an intellectual level, that they weren't really slow, easily exhausted, slightly dim creatures, who took pleasure in jostling their riders, but once you had ridden on dragon back, once you had soared, felt the bond between you and your dragon, even as the world blurred around you…

            Well, traveling any other way just seemed….lesser.

            It had taken him a handful of minutes to cross the island on Vermax. Even with the best the Dragonstone stable could offer, it still took him most of the daylight to return the other way on horseback, and when he finally dismounted and began wading through the inlet, he was sore, irritated, and hungry. He had not stopped for a mid day meal: Overhead the sky was already turning bright orange with the sinking sun. He had kept his word to return by nightfall, but just barely.

            He entered the grotto expecting to find a fire in the pit, maybe Aegon and Sunfyre already cooking a supper, if not finished with it. Instead he found it dark and cold, lit only by the fading light outside, with Sunfyre curled against one wall.

            Aegon lay against his dragon, curled into the crook where Sunfyre’s neck met his chest, wrapped tightly in Jace’s black cloak. The eyes of both dragon and rider were closed, and their chests rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep. Aegon’s hair and face no longer dripped with water, but the faint light seemed to catch Sunfyre’s scales and Aegon’s hair alike, making Sunfyre shimmer like a creature of living gold, and Aegon’s hair shine like silver flame.

            Jace felt his heart stutter slightly and he was half way to reaching out a hand to gently shake Aegon awake when he thought better of it and stepped back. If he startled Aegon, Sunfyre might react…poorly. While legend might claim that the Targaryens could not be harmed by fire, when Jace and Aegon had tested it as children, taking turns holding their palms over an open candle flame, they both had very much been burned, and received strict scoldings from the Maester as well about not believing fairy tales and rumors.

            If a candle could burn Jace, he didn’t like his odds against Sunfyre’s breath. So instead Jace made himself set about fixing the fire, and starting supper.

            Before long the fire was crackling merrily, the metal grate Jace kept in his supply trunk placed over it, and the pieces of raw but seasoned chicken, as well as the small clay jar of stew set atop it. The cooks had given him strict instructions about heating and preparing both, which Jace did his best to follow, even as the scents of the spices and meats filled the air, his stomach rumbled in protest, begging him to just start ripping the chicken apart raw and drinking straight from the jar. 

            On the other side of the cave, the smell must have reached Sunfyre, because the dragon gave a great huff and shifted slightly. Jace turned his head just in time to see Aegon shifting as well, trying to keep his place and burrow closer to Sunfyre, only for the dragon to twist his neck, and send his rider slumping onto the stone floor of the grotto.

            Jace smiled as Aegon rose, bleary eyed and unsteady on his feet. For a moment he seemed incredibly confused about where he was, and then he did a double take and shook himself when his eyes landed on Jace and the fire.

            “I remembered that you were always a late riser.” Jace said, trying to hold in his smirk. “But this is a little ridiculous.

            “Shut up.” Aegon grumbled, the words mangled slightly by his drowsiness, but Jace caught him smiling slightly at the comment. He yawned as he lowered himself onto the other log, throwing back his cloak, and blinking rapidly to try and adjust his eyes to the light. “Without you to keep me sharp, what did you expect?” Aegon said as he stretched, lifting his arms in front of him, then over his head, and grimacing with the pain of it.

            Jace felt his mouth thin: with the cloak thrown back and the top laces of his sleep shirt undone, Jace could just barely see a flash of the bruises that decorated Aegon’s chest. He wanted to ask again, but held himself in check.

            “I expected.” Jace said dryly as he poked at one of the hunks of meat with a sharpened skewer, checking to see how pink it was inside. “That Ser Criston and Ser Willis, would be dragging you out of bed every morning to run drills in the yard.”

            It was the wrong thing to say. Aegon winced as if struck, and turned to stare into the fire, a fake smile appearing on his features. “They tried for a time.” He admitted after a moment. “I got good at sleeping in places that weren't my room for a while, and then at being hungover enough that they couldn’t wake me.” He shrugged. 

            Jace couldn’t stop his frown this time, or stop himself from spearing a piece of chicken with slightly too much force. Aegon shifted uncomfortably, and Jace made himself relax. He wasn’t mad at Aegon exactly, just annoyed. He knew Aegon had a taste for wine, crofters in Esos probably knew that much of the Prince. But Jace couldn’t ever remember Aegon getting drunk enough to be truly hungover when he had been living at King’s Landing, let alone so drunk that he could not be woken the next day. 

            It wasn’t like Jace had never stolen a few sips of wine as a child, and once he and Aegon had managed to sneak a bottle out of the kitchens and down to their hide away in the crypts. They had ended up stumbling around tipsy most of the night, then tried to hide their headaches from Ser Criston the next day in the training yard. But Jace also knew that was different, then what Aegon seemed to be referring to.

            The one time Jace had gotten drunk enough to black out- during an ill advised tavern crawl in town with Daemon- his mother had been furious. Daemon had been left to sleep in guest quarters for a week, and Jace had been given double duties for twice that time. Wine had not reappeared for anyone at the supper table for months afterwards. His mother did not want him to become a drunkard, she had told him sharply, it poisoned the body and the mind both, and the younger you were when you started drinking the greater the risk.

            Had no one told Aegon the same? Why had his own mother not stepped in?

            Aegon, seeming to sense his mood, tried to change the subject. “Where is Vermax?” He asked, curious. For a moment Jace considered pushing back, but he let it go, and allowed Aegon to shift the conversation “Don’t tell me you walked all the way out here from the castle.”

            Jace snorted he could not cross the island on foot in a single day if he had wanted to. “I came on horseback. My gelding is tied up outside.” He shrugged. “I thought, given what happened this morning, it would be best to…” He trailed off and shrugged.

            “Not tempt fate?” Aegon said with a grin. “Probably for the best. But still horseback ?” He shivered. “I would rather walk by myself. I can’t believe people ride those things for pleasure.”

            “Not everyone can tame a dragon.” Jace said stoutly, rather than expressing his agreement. Stabbing one of the chicken breasts onto the end of the skewer he lifted it, to make sure it was done, and then moved to stab the other end of the stick into the ground, leaving it to cool suspended in air. He repeated the process for the other piece, and then took the jar from the great and set it onto the ground.

            “This needs to cool.” Jace said standing and moving to where he had left the saddlebags. “Take your shirt off.”

            Aegon’s splutter as he nearly fell from his seat made Jace smile, but when Jace turned around to show him the bruise cream, his expression grew muley. 

            “I’m fine. I don’t need-“

            Jace cut him off, trying to summon up the air of command his mother used when sitting on the Dragonglass Throne. The one that allowed no nonsense, and accepted no excuses. “You no longer have half my height on me, good uncle.” Jace said, jabbing a finger at Aegon. “And I don’t think Sunfyre will help you escape your medicine, so if I have to wrestle you to get you to put it on, I will.”

            Aegon's shoulders stiffened, but he sighed and undid the clasp of his cloak, then started to shrug off his shirt.

            Trying not to bask visibly, Jace sat back on the log and gestured for Aegon to sit in front of him. Aegon complied, moving to sit on the floor before, bracketed by Jace’s legs. The cream smelled strongly of herbs, sharp and clean, and Jace found himself hesitating at first as he dipped his fingers into it.

            The bruises were as bad as he had feared after seeing the first hint of them. Yellow and purple blotches, covering Aegon’s chest and back, spread over his shoulders and down to his waist.

            Jace forced himself to not be timid, and to not feel the way his ears heated as he began spreading the paste over Aegon’s shoulders, working it into his skin the way he had been told to by the Maester: in careful, small circles. Aegon hissed at first, probably from the cold of it, but soon seemed to relax as it began to balm his hurts, his shoulders falling slightly.

            Outside, full night had come, and the only light was from the fire, throwing yellow and gold flickers over Aegon’s skin as Jace worked, making the shadows in the grotto seem to writhe and twist.

            “Are you really not going to tell me?” Jace asked, keeping his voice low. On the other side of the cave, Sunfyre seemed to have shifted again, and gone back to sleep, at least from the steady rhythm of the dragon’s breathing.

            “I did tell you.” Aegon replied. “I got them trying to learn how to tumble.”

            Jace felt his jaw clench. If Aegon had gotten them from tumbling, he had been trying to do it from dragon back.

            “Really for the best. This way I know not to try again.” Aegon said as he arched his back slightly, his spine curving in a way that Jace couldn’t help but follow with his eyes. “Though it does ruin my plan to run away and join a traveling show once the war breaks out.”

            Jace flinched at the words, but he kept his hands gently and his voice quiet. “Running away was never an option. It just leaves our problems for others to deal with. Turn around.” 

            Aegon obeyed shifting so that he was facing Jace, gazing up at him. Jace felt his heartbeat quicken as he extended a hand to just beneath Aegon’s neck, and began to press the balm there too.

            Aegon’s face was more open then Jace had ever seen it, his eyes shining with some thoughtful emotion that Jace couldn’t put a name to. His voice when he spoke lacked his usual breezy air. “I suppose that’s true.” He said. “But it raises the question- what do you do when you don’t have a way to deal with your problems?”

            Jace hesitated as his hand moved lower, his fingers now pressed to Aegon’s chest. He could almost feel Aegon’s heartbeat under his fingertips, going as quick as Jace’s own. 

            “You ask for help.” Jace replied finally. That’s what he always did: tried his best to handle things on his own, like now, and if that didn’t work, he went to his brothers, or one of the Kingsugard, or the Maester. Maybe his mother if things were truly dire.

            Aegon seemed to find the answer amusing though, because he gave a small bitter laugh. But he also didn’t speak again as Jace’s hand moved down to his belly.

            “Why are you really here?” Jace asked quietly. When Aegon opened his mouth Jace added. “I know you wanted to apologize and see me again. But…why now? What drove you too it?”

            Aegon was quiet for a long moment, as if not sure how to answer. By the time he spoke, Jace’s fingers had moved to his sides, right above his hips. “Fear partly, or maybe defiance. Some of it was…advice I got from Helaena. A bit of hope I suppose. But mostly….mostly I just missed you. It’s been…lonely since you left.”

            Jace felt his eyes drop and drew his hand back. He could relate.

            Clearing his throat, trying to shake off the strange mood that had gripped them, Jace stood and went over to check the food. Finding it cool enough, he handed a skewer to Aegon without meeting his eyes and sat down to eat.

            Aegon didn’t even bother pretending to keep manners; instead he ripped into the piece of chicken with his teeth and started tearing it apart, caring nothing for the way the juice rolled down his chin and neck.

            “So.” Aegon said a few minutes later when he had cleared his skewer and was licking his fingers, and Jace was trying very hard not to stare at his neck. “What now?”

            Jace sighed. “I brought some more rations for a few days, but no more meat.“ No way to be sure it would keep afterall. “I did tell my family I intend to go hunting though, so I should probably do that. I brought an extra bow if you want to use it.”

            Aegon grimaced. The first time he had tried to draw a bow the string had snapped and the bow’s top arm had recoiled to hit him between the eyes. He was not a fan of bows.

            An idea seemed to come to him because he grinned: “You know, Sunfyre hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

            Jace shook his head. “I promised mother I wouldn’t leave the island.” Aegon’s eyebrows shot up and Jace added quickly. “She doesn't know- she just thinks I’m out hunting with a…” He coughed. “Friend. But either way we can’t take Sunfyre to the mainland, and if rumors of a gold dragon hunting the island crop up, mother will send Daemon and Caraxes to investigate.”

            Aegon frowned. “Fine. But we still should try and least find him a goat.” He yawned and quickly added, “Tomorrow.”

            Jace felt his jaw drop slightly. How could the man still be tired? Was the flight truly that rough?

            “Tomorrow.” Jace agreed, as he turned to stare into the fire. “We hunt something up for Sunfyre. And then?”

            Aegon’s grinned as he answered was a touch feral. “And then Jace? Then we do whatever we want.”

            Jace was glad for the low light and the twisting shadow. He could hope they hid the way his ears burned.

Chapter Text

            Aegon stared down at the fire pit, trying to decide what to do.

            It had burned itself out some time in the night after he and Jace had gone back to sleep- Jace pulling out a bedroll from the trunk of supplies, Aegon curling back up against Sunfyre- and now was nothing more than a pile of dead coals.

            The cave was frosty with early morning and dawn had not yet broken: Aegon had checked outside the cave mouth and the moon was sinking but the stars were still visible in the dark sky, leaving almost no light in the cave, and less warmth unless he went back to curl against Sunfyre’s side. But after sleeping almost the entire day and then through most of the night, Aegon didn’t particularly want to be laying down any longer.

            Which left the fire. There was plenty of driftwood in Jace’s pile, but Aegon hadn’t thought to bring his flint from the capital. He needed another way to light it.

            An idea came to Aegon, and he grinned, moving to start arranging the wood: stacking it like he would his fireplace, and stuffing kindling of moss and brush into the cracks. Squinting to see his handy work, Aegon nodded. It was nothing like a neat servant's work, and a woodsman might have laughed, but it would serve. He stood, turning to where Sunfyre was curled up against a wall. The dragon had woken with his master, and Aegon could feel his eyes through the darkness, tracing Aegon’s movement.

            “No.” A voice said, softly, but firmly. Aegon jumped, and squinted. He could faintly make out the blur of shadow that might be Jace sitting up on his bedroll.

            “You don’t know what I’m-“

            “No, do not use Sunfyre’s breath to light a fire. I don’t feel like being turned into a cinder or burried under melted rock this morning.” Jace said coolly. Aegon blushed. He was sure he could get Sunfyre to make it a tiny blast. Mostly. “There's a fire bow in the chest. Use that.”

            Aegon coughed. “Right. Yes. A fire bow.”

            There was a beat of silence and then Jace asked, a touch exasperated. “…You do know how to use one right?”

            “I do!” Aegon insisted. “…In theory.”

            Ser Criston had shown him how some years ago, during his lessons on woodcraft, but Aegon had never attempted to use one himself. He generally let the servants see to such things, and when he couldn’t, he had flint and steel to use instead.

            Jace sighed and there was a rustling of clothes as he stood and moved to the chest. For a moment Aegon thought that Jace was going to light the fire himself, but instead he found a length of short wood, curved and with a cord running between its ends, pressed into his palm.

            “This won't be easy to do in the dark.” Jace admitted as he stepped behind Aegon. “But we’ll do our best.”

            Which was how Aegon found himself, with Jace’s hands covering his own, working the bow back and forth, as the drill of rough wood pressed into the fireboard spun faster and faster. He did his best to listen to Jace’s explanation and instructions- he really did- but it was hard to focus on anything but the feel of Jace’s palms against the backs of his hands, and his chest pressed against Aegon’s back.

            He was almost surprised when the smoke grew thick in his nostrils, smelling like a tiny fire on its own. He watched in awe as he removed the drill and bow and lifted the fireboard to reveal a tiny glowing coal on the tray of wood beneath.

            “Now.” Jace murmured right against his ear. “Take the spark tray and drop the coal from it into the kindling.”

            Aegon did so shifting to tap it over the pit, watching the single coal fall into the clumps of brush and moss. The scent of smoke increased and Aegon felt himself coughing, pulling back slightly, but Jace’s hand on his shoulder steadied him.

            “Now you just need to give it air.” He murmured, leaning forward towards the pit, and blowing out a breath into the kindling. Aegon followed suit, breathing deep- the scent of dragon, of smoke, of salty sea air, and most of all of Jace filling his lungs- and exhaled. He watched in awe as the coal glowed brighter and brighter, the ends of the brush touching it catching alight, slowly at first, and with more smoke than fire, then all at once crackling with flame and heat.

            Light filled the cavern at last; painting the walls orange and yellow. Aegon felt himself begin to blink rapidly as his eyes worked to adjust, and when vision returned, he found he was looking into Jace’s grinning face.

            Aegon was grinning too he realized, filled with a strange feeling. A mix of pride and satisfaction.

            “Fire.” Jace said, sitting back on his heels and holding his hands out over the flames to warm them. “And you didn’t even have to melt half the cave to get it.”

            Aegon chuckled suddenly, following suit. “It would have worked.” He paused and then added. “But this was nice too.” And to his surprise it was. Maybe it was just the novelty of it, given how rarely he did things with his own hands. But it felt…satisfying.

            Jace was looking at him curiously. “When was the last time you went camping?” He asked, then added as Aegon opened his mouth. “And I don’t mean a royal hunt with a hundred attendants surrounding you. Just…camping out on your own in the woods, in nature.”

            Aegon paused to think about it as he worked his hands over the fire, and then shrugged. “Never.”

            Jace stared in disbelief. “Never?”

            Aegon nodded. “I never really had the desire.” He admitted. “Nature is…unruly. I know Ser Criston and some of the armsmen would take Aemond sometimes but I prefered…” He trailed off. “Other pursuits.”

            Jace’s mouth thinned and Aegon braced for the cold rebuke, the look of disdain, and judgment. But it did not come. Instead Jace shifted on the log.

            “Well then.” He said with a sigh. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

<X>

            “-and then you just pull tight like so and- there. Simple.” Jace explained as he finished tying the last knot in the snare, and then lifted it to show Aegon. Aegon raised a skeptical eyebrow, as he took it in hand, eyes trying to follow the ways the rope looped and twisted.

            “This is going to feed my dragon?” Aegon asked slowly.

            Jace huffed. “This might catch us a wild goat, which we can feed to Sunfyre. If we make enough of them anyways. And make them well.”

            “…I think I’d rather try bow hunting.” Aegon muttered, even though his forehead throbbed with the memory of how the last time he tried drawing a bow had gone.

            Jace snorted slightly. “We will be trying that too. Also fishing. It’s best not to depend on any one method of getting food, especially if you plan on staying in one place for a little bit.”

            Aegon shook his head. “…You do this a lot?”

            Jace shrugged. “More since I came to Dragonstone, though usually it’s out on Crackclaw Point with Vermax. There's….less to do here on the island then at the capital.”

            Aegon couldn’t resist elbowing him slightly in the ribs as he handed the snare back. “Less trouble to get in, you mean?”

            Jace snorted. “Less trouble for you to drag me into, you mean. Now you try.” He said, handing Aegon a length of rope.

            Aegon held up both hands, as if to fend it off. “I don’t know it’s a good idea for me to-“

            Jace raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me that the mighty Prince Aegon, rider of Sunfyre, blood of the dragon, is afraid of a little rope?” He waggled the length of it at Aegon to make his point.

            Cheeks heating, Aegon seized the end of the rope and snatched it out of Jace’s hands, sitting down cross legged to try and tie the snare as Jace had shown him.

            When, an hour later Jace had to use his belt knife to cut Aegon’s hands from the tangle he had made, he couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching the whole time in annoyance. Usually he would have been smug: just like he had been when Ser Criston had tried to force him to learn jousting. At the end of three brutal days, Aegon had pulled himself out of the muck, covered in bruises and splinters, no better than he began, and simply crossed his arms at Ser Criston with a smirk. Ser Criston had sent him away in furious annoyance, and not called him down to the tiltyard again.

            But this time….this time once his hands were free, he accepted Jace’s second offer of rope, with a sharp look and a mutter of, “Don’t say anything.” Then set about trying again.

            Jace hadn’t said anything, instead he sat there with amused patience, and offered gentle suggestions as Aegon tried. Again. And again. And again.

            When Aegon finally pressed a messy, slightly lumpy snare knot at Jace, he hadn’t talked about how wide the loop was or how the lead was too long. He had simply nodded, stood, and said “Now, we set them. Then we try bow hunting”

            Aegon followed without hesitating.

<X>

            Mid day found them returning from the forest back to the beach, with Aegon pressing a rag to his ear to staunch the bleeding from the nick.

            “I don’t think.” Jace admitted. “That I have ever seen anyone actually cut their own ear on a bowstring.”

            Aegon turned his head to glare at Jace witheringly. It must been an impressive glare because Jace actually looked abashed.

            “Fish.” Aegon said tightly. “I like fish. Let’s try fishing instead.”

            “We’ll need to dig up worms.” Jace warned. “You’ll probably ruin those nice nails of yours. Maybe even-“

            Aegon stomped towards the coast line, ignoring him.

<X>

            “You never did tell me where you got them from.” Aegon found himself saying as he stared down into the murky waters of the sea. They had found an overhang of rock where they could cast their lines out into the water without trouble. The poles had been among Jace’s supplies in the grotto, which was good. Aegon had been half convinced that Jace would make him cut branches.

            Jace blinked, clearly confused and Aegon added. “The carp that we used on Septon Eustace.”

            “Oh! That.” Jace chuckled, twitching his line slightly. “I paid a fishermen to put a couple of fresh catches aside in a water barrel for me, and then carried it into the keep.” He frowned. “The man charged me monstrously for the whole thing. Twice the cost of the barrel of water, and five times the cost of two carp.”

            “How did you know?” Aegon asked in confusion. He wasn’t sure he could name the price of a single carp if someone was holding a knife to his throat and that answer was all that could save him.

            “Velaryon’s wealth is built on trade, Aegon.” Jace said with obvious patience. “Even before grandfather discovered the new shipping routes to Yi Ti, our House ruled all the trade along the tides. Father was raised to know the worth and price of things, and he saw to it that me and Luke were the same.” His eyes lowered suddenly and sad. “He would have seen the same for Joff but…”

            Aegon reached out a hand and squeezed Jace’s shoulder tight, trying not to let his sudden awkwardness show. For all he had to complain about in life, grief was a stranger to him. He didn’t know what the right words were. So he tried instead to take them back to safer ground.

            “I’m surprised the merchant tried to cheat you. A prince of House Targaryen.” Aegon said, twitching his pole slightly. “Must have been a brave man.”

            Jace looked at him, clearly seeing through the attempt….but again let it pass. Instead he shrugged. “Most merchants assume that silk clothing and a House Sigil make for an easy dupe. And sometimes they're right. Lordlings who have always been able to reach into a purse and find gold there don’t really give it much thought.” Jace grimaced. “Normally I would have haggled, maybe gone elsewhere for the fish. But time was short and I didn’t want anyone asking questions or spreading rumors. So I made myself think of the extra as the price for expedience. And silence. Bloody expensive things, but then, they usually are.”

            Aegon chuckled. For Jace, that came very close to griping.  “…We’re lucky it wasn’t me. I would have paid any price he named and never been the wiser.”

            Jace smiled- and it wasn’t as bright as before, but it was still a smile. “We are at that. I’m sure your ignorance has made several wine sellers in the capital very comfortable."

            Aegon felt he should have been offended, but he wasn’t. Instead he pressed a proud hand to his chest and said with the greatest seriousness he could muster: “Then I have fulfilled my princely duty of charity have I not?”

            Which was of course, the moment his line snapped taunt, and the fishing pole was pulled clean out of his hand.

            Jace had no call to laugh like he did. Aegon, on the other hand, had every call to push him into the water.

<X>

            That night they sat around the fire, their few catches roasting on the wooden skewers. Jace had long since dried off, but he had spent the entire rest of the day unbearably smug about the whole thing, which only grew worse when he managed to snag the largest catch of the day. 

            Aegon hadn’t done bad for his first time fishing- at least according to Jace. But that still meant there was barely enough for supper, a fact which had annoyed Sunfyre when they returned. Unfortunately, none of their snares had caught anything either.

            “I know.” Aegon said, stroking Sunfyre’s nose in order to soothe the dragon, who was pointedly not looking at his master. “I know you're hungry. I promise, if we don’t get a nice goat or a wild ram tomorrow, I’ll take you hunting on the waves.”

            Sunfyre huffed, a jet of warm annoyed air seeming to hit Aegon’s whole body as it blew out from his maw. Aegon could feel Sunfyre’s annoyance and frustration. The dragon couldn’t understand his words exactly anymore then Aegon could understand exactly what each shriek and cry from his dragon meant, but Sunfyre knew enough from experience, and their bond, to understand he was being placated. He allowed it anyways, and eventually Aegon got him to rest his head and return to slumber, then went over to the fire to join Jace.

            “Will he be alright?” Jace asked quietly as Aegon settled himself. “If you need to take him hunting tonight…”

            Aegon shook his head. “Oh he’ll be fine. He ate the day before we left.” Dragons, once they were no longer hatchlings, had to eat a great deal, but not very often. Sunfyre only needed to eat once every few days, and some of the older dragons like Vhagar could go weeks between feedings. 

            “He’s just being a brat. He wants a treat to reward him for flying me here even after I woke him up in the middle of the night and for being a good lad and staying inside so we aren’t caught.” Aegon’s mouth twitched. “He’s terribly spoiled. My fault really. But what else was I supposed to do when I was lucky enough to hatch the finest dragon of our age?”

            He gave a put upon shrug, while Jace began to pull the skewers up out of the ground.

            “I’ve always admired your skill with him.” Jace admitted as he handed Aegon one of the sticks. The one with the largest catch on it, Aegon realized as he took a closer look. He decided to let that pass. “Your bond. The way you can read him, and work together, understand each other…” He shook his head.

            Aegon coughed awkwardly, and blew on his skewered fish to cool it, hoping that Jace didn’t notice the heat in his cheeks. “You and Vermax-“

            “Are close. But not that close.” Jace replied softly. “Even when we were kids it seemed like….I don’t know. A part of you belonged with Sunfyre, in the air.”

            “I just got lucky, that’s all.” Aegon protested, only remembering at the last moment to quiet his voice back down. “Like I said, I hatched the finest dragon of our age. There's nothing special about that.”

            “And all the hours you’ve spent at the Pit- the way you can name when he was last fed without stopping to think? The way you were able to coax him to fly you here without warning, and the way you’ve managed to keep him hiding away when any other dragon would have gone hunting across the island the first time our backs were turned?” Jace shook his head. “That isn’t just luck, Aegon. Or if it is then… it was Sunfyre’s luck as much as yours. What else do you call being hatched by the best dragon rider of our generation?” And with that he shrugged and bit into his skewer fish.

            Aegon had no choice but to follow suit, hoping that Jace didn’t notice the blush staining his cheeks.

<X>

            Later that night Jace reapplied the bruise cream, Aegon sitting in front of him, staring at the ceiling of the grotto, trying not to think about the way his blood sounded in his ears, or the way the veins in his neck felt painful from the pressure of his pulse.

<X>

            The middle of the next morning, Aegon was heading to check the snares when he heard it: the faint but distinctly panicked braying of a goat. He broke out into a sprint almost immediately, following the noise to a clearing where he found that one of the snares had indeed done its work. 

            A shaggy white faced goat was scrambling and flailing on the ground, a hind leg caught in, Aegon realized with a stab of glee, one of his snares. He felt the urge to laugh: its furious bleating was almost a little funny as it rolled around, trying and failing to pull free, its thrashing throwing up tufts of wet grass.

            But Aegon hesitated as he approached, fingering his belt knife as he moved to kneel over the creature. He had been on royal hunts before, where eager lordings had been all to willing to restrain deer and boars so that he could spear them. He was not new to this kind of butchery. Yet it felt tangibly different somehow. More on him. He had not felt a great need to make it quick and clean on royal hunts but maybe this time-

            His hesitation proved a mistake. The goat’s head snapped up to stare at him, rectangular pupils narrowing, and before Aegon could react, it gave a great cry and slammed its head into his belly.

<X>

            An hour later, Aegon, covered in mud, loose grass and leaves trudged into the grotto, the goat’s carcass slung over his shoulder.

            “Not. One. Word.” Aegon warned as he tossed the goat down before Sunfyre. The words were for Jace- who was sitting by the fire, whittling a stick with his knife. When Jace started to open his mouth, Aegon thrust a finger at him and snapped: “ Not one !”

            Jace’s smile was infuriating, but he dutifully went back to whittling and Aegon turned around to Sunfyre, who had opened his eyes and was staring at the dead goat on the floor. The stubborn thing was still   bleeding slightly, from the half dozen stab wounds in its side. A half dozen before Aegon had something vital! What kind of luck was that ?

            “ Dracarys !” Aegon hissed, and then watched with savage joy as golden flames roasted the goat’s body, and Sunfyre’s fangs tore it apart.

<X>

            For three days that was the way of it. They rose in the mornings and checked the snares, then fished, sometimes talking: of the islands or the city, or their childhood, or dragon training. Aegon talked of events at court, hunts and balls and rumors heard, and Jace retolled stories he had heard of far off places, either from his stepfather, his grandfather, or just from around the port: Esos, Asshai and even Yi Ti. Then in the evenings they made supper, and sat in the light of the fire, enjoying each other’s company.

             Really, it should have been painfully, dreadfully dull: he couldn’t sleep in to all hours like he usually did, and when he went to bed it was usually sore, dirty and exhausted, from a day full of doing things he normally avoided. He should have hated it: hated bathing in the cold river, and trudging through the forest, and having to stare silently down into the ocean while waiting for a fish to bite. And most of all he should have hated the lack of usual pleasures: fine cooking, fine music, fine wine, and fine women.

            And yet he didn’t hate it. There was a simple pleasure in spending time with Jace in this fashion, in doing things with his own hands, even in going to bed sore and tired, and rising with the sun. A simple joy that kept the shadows at bay as well as any of his usual vices. Maybe even better.

            They never spoke of their mothers, or of the King, or the Iron Throne. Not directly. There was nothing to say that they did not already know.

            And then Aegon woke on the fourth day since he had landed on the beach and when he pulled off his shirt to change discovered that the last of the bruises had almost faded. But instead of relief he felt a terrible sinking in his stomach. A knowledge that time was almost up.

<X>

            An hour later, when Jace was up and they were readying the fire, Aegon announced that he would be taking Sunfyre on a practice flight.

            “Just a quick circle over the sea- a few miles out and then back.” He clarified at Jace’s alarmed expression. “To stretch his wings, and get me used to flying bareback.”

            Jace regarded him for a long moment then added, gently but also firmly. “And to see if you are up for the flight back to the capital.”

            Aegon grimaced but nodded.

            “Okay.” Jace said as he turned back to stacking driftwood. “….But I want to come with you.”

            Aegon froze, the drill of the firebow stopping mid motion.  “….We’ve never ridden together without a saddle.” He pointed out, without looking up. “And…it’s been a while too.”

            “….I trust you.” Jace said simply. “And Sunfyre.”

            Aegon tried to imagine his mother’s if he let Jace take him flying on Vermax, out over the ocean water, with no one knowing where he was, and nothing keeping Jace from simply pushing him off, not even safety straps from a dragon saddle. He couldn’t come up with a picture that felt like it represented her rage and horror sufficiently.

            “If you're sure.” Was all Aegon said in response, and returned to twisting the firebow back and forth, causing the drill to spin.

            And so, once they had broken their fast, Aegon led Sunfyre out onto the beach, using a gentle hand resting on the dragon’s muzzle to guide him as he went, then a murmured command in High Valyrian to lower his neck for mounting.

            Aegon climbed on slowly this time, instead of the hasty scramble from before, gently sliding into place, and letting the backs of his knees catch on the joins where Sunfyre’s wings meet his body, then easing himself into a comfortable position. Neither of them were in riding leathers, but Jace’s loaned clothes- all in good if not particularly rich wool- did a far better job at shielding him from the roughness of Sunfyre’s scales then his sleeping clothes had. Aegon felt more… steady now then before. Steadier then he had been in a long time in fact.

            Aegon felt Sunfyre tense as Jace approached, and pressed the flat of his palms against Sunfyre’s neck in warning. The dragon stilled for a moment, and Aegon could feel his frustration….but in the end he relaxed and lowered his neck once more, so that Jace could clamber up behind Aegon.

            It was awkward as Jace slid into place, wrapping his arms around Aegon’s middle to secure himself, his legs bracketing Aegon as he also hooked the back of his knees around Sunfyre’s wings, but it was that or cling to the spine with his thighs while crouched down on the dragon’s back.

            “Are you ready?” Aegon asked over his shoulder as Jace pulled closer. Aegon could feel Jace tight against his back, aware of the way his hands gripped around Aegon’s middle, and the way Jace shifted to press his chin against his shoulder.

            “Yes.” Jace said, and for once he wasn’t able to completely check his own emotions. Aegon could hear the quiver of nervousness in his voice, the touch of anxiety. Aegon was half way to telling Jace he could just stay on the ground- that it was fine- when Jace squeezed his middle, pinching his belly slightly.

            “Well? Are we going to spend all day just standing here? Or are we going to fly?” The words were gently teasing, but they still held that nervous edge. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how? Or is the real reason for those bruises that your just so out of practice that-“

            Aegon felt his mouth thin and before he could stop himself he had gently kicked his heels against Sunfyre’s chest and given the command for forward in High Valyrian. Sunfyre didn’t hesitate, lurching into motion. Jace’s voice cut off as Sunfyre started to build up speed, clawed feet sending up sprays of black sand as he began to run.

            He knew what Jace had been doing, and it annoyed him that it had worked, but not very much. If Jace wanted to provoke him then so be it.

            “ Faster .” Aegon whispered, pressing both his palms down on Sunfyre’s neck. The dragon obeyed, and lowered himself closer to the ground, neck going rigid and arrow straight while his wings folded closer to his body, everything angling for more speed.

            Jace inhaled sharply, and his grip around Aegon middle tightened, his fingers lacing tight to brace himself. Aegon could have sworn he felt Jace’s heartbeat against his back, but he did not back down, urging Sunfyre for more and more speed.

            When the island began to blur around them, beach and cliffs and forest all turning to smears of color, Aegon gave the command for flight. The wind was howling so loud, Aegon’s hair whipping about from the force of it, that he would have wagered anything that Sunfyre could not actually hear him. But that did no matter, not with their connection. The intent, the will was what mattered.

            Sunfyre spread his wings out and gave them a single furious beat. Aegon felt his heart leap into his chest, as Sunfyre leapt into the air and the world lurched in the same moment. A familiar sensation slammed into him: of everything falling away, being left behind. That feeling filled him so completely that it made his skin ache. A storm of black sand burst around them, and was left behind in their wake as they winged up into the sky and then out over the ocean, to the south.

            It was a murky, misty morning, but the sun was still low in the east, and the light caught Sunfyre’s scales, making him shine and glow. In the full light of day, his scales bright and lustrous, held the look of hammered gold, emphasized by his wings of pale rose.

            Conscious of the island fast fading behind them, Aegon pressed down on Sunfyre’s neck, willing him to keep low and close to the waves, enough that Aegon could feel the spray of the water against his face, and the occasional jolt from Sunfyre’s claws grazing a wave. One of the worries that had kept him from taking Sunfyre hunting these last few days, had been the possibility some local villager might spot him and in fear of an unfamiliar wild dragon send a plea to the castle for aid.

            Or worse, that the villager would recognize Sunfyre- not impossible given how distinct he was- and alert Rhaenyra that her brother was somewhere on the island.

            Sunfyre did not like being kept low, especially not after days of quiet rest inside a cave. It was not in his nature to hide away in the cold and the dark: he had been hatched to shine, to be witnessed by the world and he knew it. He yearned to truly stretch his wings, and go through his paces, and it took a great deal of concentration from Aegon to keep him in check. Aegon wouldn’t risk everything on Sunfyre’s pride, and so he held him low for another for a solid count of sixty, then called back to Jace, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.

            “Is the island still in sight?”

            “No!” Jace called back. Even with his mouth almost to Aegon’s ear he had to raise his voice to be heard. “We’re clear!”

            Aegon nodded and let his hands go limp. Sunfyre reacted immediately, wings snapping up and down in several quick beats, body tilting so he could shoot up into the sky. For a gut wrenching moment, Aegon felt weightless, and had to dig his fingers tight into some of Sunfyre’s scales in order to steady himself again. But he did not try to stop Sunfyre’s climb, higher, higher into the air, and straight for the misty clouds overhead.

            Aegon waited for them to break through them, waited to be surrounded by the chilly white and cold that clung like water to his skin, before stiffening his hands again, and shouting another command.

           “ Dive !”

            Sunfyre’s body twisted in mid air and he turned sharply back down again nose first. For a moment Aegon felt intense vertigo, as weight came crashing down again on him, but he was used to it, and cleared it quickly with a few deep breaths. Together, the three of them began to plummet, Sunfyre folding his wings tight to his body and shooting like a golden comet straight down to the sea. Behind him Jace had snapped his jaw tight, and Aegon could feel his gloved fingers twisted into Aegon’s shirt. But he refused to scream in fright.

            Aegon waited for the last possible moment and then twisted his knees to the side. Sunfyre’s wings snapped out and he banked sharply to the right, coming out of the dive without so much as a blink. Again vertigo seized Aegon as the world turned light again, and again he cleared it away with no more than a deep breath and a shake of his head.

            They repeated the stunt twice. Without a saddle Aegon wasn’t going to risk anything more risky, like a barrel roll or smoke chasing, but on their third dive he spotted something, a shadow in the water close to the surface, and knew Sunfyre had spotted it as well.

            This time instead of twisting his knees left or right to break the dive, Aeogn shouted “ Seize !” In High Valyrian. Sunfyre’s wings snapped out all the same, but instead of banking away,  he leveled out sharply, and his rear talons slashed into the water, snapping tight around the unlucky porpoise that had wandered too close to the surface.

            The thing only had a chance to let out a few unhappy cries, before Sunfyre twisted his back legs, cutting them off with a single clean snap . 

            Shifting his knees, and letting his hands go limp again against Sunfyre’s neck, Aegon moved them into a slow, easy glide over the water, the kind that Sunfyre could hold without any great difficulty.  He then leaned forward, stroking the dragon’s neck so that he would know Aegon was pleased and shouted. “Dracarys!”

            Sunfyre let out a happy, strident cry and twisted his long neck downwards, while bringing his clawed feet forward so that he could lose out a blast of golden fire at the prize in his claws. Without shifting the glide in the least, he then began to tear into the porpoise, gulping down mouthfuls of meat in a happy gurgling mess. It only took moments for him to finish, leaving a trail of bone and chum to fall in his wake, staining the water red for a near half mile behind them.

            He could feel Jace’s astonishment as Sunfyre let the last bits of porpoise fall from his claws and straightened, leveling out. 

            “He can eat while flying ?” Jace said in disbelief. Aegon chuckled and using his knees, started to bank to the right, this time not letting up until they had circled around completely and were flying back to the island. 

            “Not cleanly. But yes. He can be a vicious glutton as well as a brat.” Aegon said fondly, stroking Sunfyre’s neck. “And it has other benefits. Look!” Aegon pointed back towards the stain of red over the water, which was now bubbling with fish who had been lurred up by the scent of the chum. Most were too small to make any real meal for Sunfyre, but Aegon swore he saw one or two larger shapes in the frenzy. 

            “Bet you I can get us a shark before we make it back to shore.” Aegon said challengingly.

            Jace however, laughed and shook his head, then said, just low enough that Aegon might have missed it: “No bet.”            

            It proved a smart move on Jace's part: Sunfyre did manage to snatch a shark, Aegon keeping them just enough up that the dragon’s shadow wouldn’t spook off the fish, until he saw a razor fin poking out from the frenzy. This time, Sunfyre didn’t eat it right away, instead carrying it in his rear claws even as Aegon urged him lower and lower again, back to nearly hug the ocean waves.

            When they reached the beach, Sunfyre dropped the shark’s carcass unceremoniously onto the shore, and then followed Aegon’s urging to circle down and land, so that he and Jace could dismount.

            It went better this time- he was still stiff but not to the point of being unable to move, and while it was not the most graceful dismount, he also didn’t fall flat on his face, which was a relief since Jace would never have let him live that down.

            Once they were both back on steady footing, and Sunfyre happily tearing away at his shark, an uncomfortable quiet settled around them, thick and heavy.

            “Well?” Jace said finally, not looking away from Sunfyre and his meal. For some reason that irritated Aegon- Jace not being able to even look at him for this conversation.

            “I should be able to make the flight without to much trouble.” Aegon said quietly. “As long as I go during the day and with Sunfyre properly rested, I’ll make a better time getting back then I did coming here.”

            Jace nodded slowly, then pressed on ahead. “….How long?”

            Aegon shifted uncomfortably. The truth was that, even with Helaena covering for him, he was already pushing it. By now his mother would be wondering why he hadn’t come slinking back into the keep already, chewed up and spat out by the wild. Or else turned up in a pleasure house somewhere, hungover and with nothing left to his name but his small clothes. 

            If neither thing happened in the next few days, his mother would probably have the city searched, if she wasn’t doing that already. When that failed to find him, she would send Aemond and Vhagar out looking. Aegon didn’t know if Vhagar could track Sunfyre all the way to Dragonstone, but if she could…

            Aegon exhaled, a sharp painful breath. “…Tomorrow morning would be best. I’ve already…” He trailed off. Not wanting to say he had already lingered too long. It didn’t feel that way. It felt like he could stay out here for weeks yet and still not have his fill. Instead what he said was: “I’ve already risked more than I should.”

            Jace regarded him for a long moment, and then sighed, pulling at the sleeves of his coat. “…Come on. Let’s go check the snares, and then I can take my bow and have a look around the forest while you fish. I’ll need something to show for my hunting trip after all.” He glanced at Aegon finally, brown eyes looking into indigo. “We can….we can talk tonight.”

            “Tonight.” Aegon agreed with a nod.

<X>

            Only as night fell, with Aegon stoking the fire they had left banked through the day, and Jace working on skinning the rabbits he had brought down with his bow, the silence kept. It kept while they cooked the fish Aegon had caught, and through the meal that followed. It kept through Aegon dousing the coals of the fire, and moving to curl up against Sunfyre’s side.

            But as he lay there in the dark, shifting against Sunfyre’s neck, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep, he heard the soft noise of boots against stone, as Jace approached him in the dark.

            Sunfyre immediately opened one amber eye to stare at Jace, but Aegon laid a hand against his side, and made a soft cooing sound. The dragon subsided, begrudgingly but he did it, and let his eye slide shut again, uncurling slightly so that Jace could approach and kneel down beside Aegon.

            Staring up at him in the darkness, Aegon patted the section of Sunfyre’s neck beside where he was laying, and after a moment, Jace joined him, laying down against the golden scales. For a little bit, they simply remained there, side by side, listening to each other’s breathing, as well as that of Sunfyre beneath them, his deep slow breaths matching one for every five of theirs.

            Finally Jace spoke. “…Was this just a whim, Aegon?” He asked quietly. “A snap decision- that you just had to see me again, to apologize, and spend some time together?”

            “No.” Aegon said automatically, then amended it. “Sort of. Maybe. It’s…” He shook his head. “Everything’s gotten so broken and twisted around Jace. I know this doesn't fix anything. I’m not stupid. But….I thought maybe….” He shrugged. “Maybe it would be a start to fix it, if you and I could….reconnect.” It sounded silly now that he said it out loud. Or maybe mad.

            Jace didn’t laugh though, Aegon thought he saw the other man nod in the dark. 

            “I thought…” Jace said slowly. “After High Tide, if we ever saw each other again, it wouldn't be as friends anymore. It would be as enemies, rivals, each supporting his own mother and cause. I made my peace with that. I was ready for it.’ Jace paused again and sighed. “I don’t know that I still am.”

            Aegon felt a thrill of hope. “I don’t want to fight you either Jace. Or Rhaenyra for that matter. I don’t want any of this- I never have.” 

            “Then don’t seek it.” Jace said patiently. “It’s that simple Aegon. If you don't put forward a fight, there won't be one.”

            Aegon shook his head. “It’s not that simple Jace and you know it. Your mother, your step-father, everyone in Dragonstone believes that I am going to try and seize the crown, and Rhaenyra wont let any challenge to her power stand. She’ll come for me, for Aemond, maybe even for Dearon, to secure her succession. No matter what I do there isn’t an escape.”

            “She won't do that.” Jace said quietly. “She isn't as ruthless as you think.”

            Aegon licked his lips. “And what about Rhea Royce? Laena Velaryon?” He took a deep steadying breath. “Ser Leanor?”

            He felt more then saw Jace sit bolt upright in the darkness, but Aegon refused to take it back, setting his shoulders.

            “You go too far.” Jace warned, a truly dangerous tone entering his voice for the first time. “Mother didn’t-“ 

            “Can you prove it?” He asked quietly. “For any of them?” 

            Jace was silent, and Aegon thought he could see his shoulders shaking with anger. But he had no answer and eventually, he just shook his head. “I can’t.” He admitted bitterly. “I don’t have proof. But I know that mother didn’t hurt father, and that Daemon didn’t hurt Aunt Laena.” 

            Aegon chose not to broach the point of Rhea Royce. She had died when Aegon was still a baby, but the court had spoken in fearful whispers of her death for much of his childhood, and of the scandalous way Daemon had married Lady Laena not a full year later. 

            Much like how Daemon and Rhaenyra had married, not six months after the deaths of Lady Laena and Ser Leanor. 

            “I know you believe that.” Aegon said quietly. “But can you understand why I am worried about being an obstacle between your mother and stepfather, and what they desire, given the fates of other obstacles?” 

            Jace was quite for a long moment, but eventually he settled back down laying against Sunfyre’s side.. “….Yes.” He admitted. “I can understand it. So what’s your answer?” 

            Aeogn exhaled. “….I don’t really have one. I…just know that I don’t want to see the people I love suffer. And…” He hesitated. “That I don’t want to stop being friends with you again. These last few days they…They’ve been….good and…I don’t want to go back to being strangers.” 

            “I don’t either.” Jace admitted. “But…you took a huge risk coming here- for yourself, and for everyone else. Are you sure you want to take that risk again?” 

            Aegon was surprised at how strongly he nodded. “I do. And not just because I miss you but also because between us…maybe we can find an answer to all of this, one where no one has to die.” 

            They laid in silence for a while after that and then Aegon felt Jace’s hand slip into his own. “…We got lucky. We won't be able to count on that again.” He hesitated and then continued. “From my rooms in the Windwyrm Tower I can see clean across the island. Next time you want to spend time together….come here to the grotto and build a bonfire on the beach. I’ll see the smoke from the tower, make my excuses, and come as soon as I can.” 

            Aegon blinked. “….That’s brilliant.” He muttered, and heard Jace cough in embarrassment. “Well it is.” Farmers burned their fields from time to time, and sometimes villagers would set bonfires to ward away bad luck, neither was done terribly often though, but anyone who saw would assume it was one or the other, not a signal. 

            “I’ve been giving it thought.” Jace admitted. Then he paused and continued, his voice serious again. “…Are you sure you want to do this?” Aegon felt Jace’s hand squeezing on his own. “If we’re found out….” 

            “I’m sure.” Aegon said stoutly. “….What’s the worst that can happen? Our parents start a war? They're going to do that anyway. At least this way….we get to spend time together before it happens.” 

            Jace sighed, then seemed to steel himself. “….Unless we find a way to avert it.” Aegon nodded but when he opened his mouth to answer his words instead urned into a yawn, which cracked his jaw.

           Jace chuckled. “Come on…let’s sleep, I’ve kept you up long enough.” 

            And so they curled up together, against Sunfyre’s side, letting the dragon’s warmth, and that of each other ward away the cold until sleep took them.

<X>

            Aegon awoke first the next morning, but instead of going to the fire or waking Jace he gently picked up the other boy and carried him to his bedroll. Then he woke Sunfyre as quietly as possible, and guided the dragon outside.

            Aegon had always hated goodbyes. He was terrible at them. He didn’t think Jace would mind if he skipped them this once, especially since it wasn’t really goodbye this time.

            He led Sunfyre halfway down the beach, mounted, and then took off south, for King’s Landing.

Chapter Text

            Aegon’s good mood lasted him much longer than he thought it would: all through the flight back across the Blackwater, and landing inside the dank of the Dragonpit. Through dealing with giving orders to the Dragonkeepers to see Sunfyre fed and settled, then sneaking out of the guardhouse. Even through his walk across the sweltering stinking length of King’s Landing, despite the heat and having to keep to the alleyways and back streets to avoid being sighted by Goldcloaks. Through it all his small bubble of joy remained, the feeling of dizziness and freedom that had built up over the last few days.

            Only when he began the final approach to the Red Keep did it break.

            The huge edifice of the castle loomed over the entire city, but as Aegon made the climb up the the hill towards the bronze gates, he felt it’s weight for the first time since landing: the massive dusty red walls patrolled by archers and crossbow men, broken up by huge squared towers covered in arrow slits. Beyond them the buildings of the castle itself: the length of the great throne room, the slender spire of the Tower of the Hand, and rising massive above them all, Meagor’s Holdfast, large enough to be a castle in it’s own right and from its place at the crest of the hill seeming to dominate everything beneath it.

            Aegon felt his heart sink and his steps slow as he took in the sight of the keep. Somewhere in the Holdfast would be his mother and the King, retired after the morning audiences and council meetings in an effort to escape the heat. Helaena would be taking her ease in her rooms, tending to the swarms of insects she kept in her huge glass terrariums. Aemond was as likely to be down at the yard training with the knights as he was in his chambers at study, headless of the heat or any other concern. Ever since Aemond lost his eye he had doubled his already dizzying amount of training, as if to make up for the lack of depth perception with sheer hard work.

            For a moment Aegon considered simply turning around, and finding some bolt hole in the city to stay in until nightfall, when his chances of sneaking into the keep without running into any of his family might be better. He had several places he might go to kill the hours, and there was more than one tavernkeeper that had let him sleep off his drunkenness in their basement or stable. He didn’t have any coin, but his silver hair and purple eyes would be enough to convince most to credit him. Everyone knew the Prince was good for his coin, if not much else.

            It would be easy enough to put things off, for a few hours at least. Except…

            Except that Aegon could practically see Jace’s disapproving frown in his mind’s eye. Trying to wiggle free of punishment for your mischief was one thing, craven hiding quite another. That was how Jace had always seen it. He had felt it almost their duty as children of the Red Keep to follow in the footsteps of the likes of Alyssa the Adventurous, and Baelon the Brave, causing harmless trouble in order to keep the adults in their life on their toes. But he also had a queer sense of justice, and when he did something he felt was wrong, or knew that his parents would truly take issue with, he had submitted himself for punishment without complaint or excuse.

            Aegon could still recall the time that Ser Harwin Strong had caught them on one of their ‘adventures’  out to the city, after a brawl in the dirt with some street urchins. The urchins hadn’t known who Aegon and Jace were, except that their clothes said they were too rich to be spending their hours in that part of the city. They had hurled insults as the Princes had passed them by: Aegon had wanted to fly at them in a rage from the first, but Jace had taken his hand and stubbornly refused to let Aegon thrash the brats. It wouldn’t be fair, he pointed out, and it wasn’t worth it.  

            And then one the urchins had called them ‘rich bastards’ in a sneering tone, and the next thing Aeogn had known he was trying to pull Jace off the urchin boy who was laying in the street, bleeding from a broken nose. But Jace had refused to be budged, or to stop smashing his bare knuckles against the boy’s face. Then one of the boy’s friends had recovered from his shock, tackled Aegon and all hell had broken loose.

            But what Aegon remembered most about that day, hadn’t been the arrival of the Goldcloaks, or the terror of being dragged to one of the barracks, it had been the way Jace had stood, stiff backed and unafraid before the desk of Ser Harwin Strong in the man’s office, and admitted flatly to his actions, then assented to be punished. Aegon had been speechless, but Ser Harwin had nodded with a measure of pride in his eyes.

            Aegon (despite the fact that he had not assented to be punished) had also ended up with a firm switching by the Captain. But Ser Harwin had also given a quiet promise that the matter would not reach the ears of the Queen or the Hand.

            “You’ve been held to account for what you did.” Ser Harwin had said firmly, as he had put away the switch. “And there’s an end to it. Once you’ve been punished for a thing, it ought to be forgotten. Anything else just encourages you not to own up to your mistakes, and is unjust besides.”

            Jace had put it another way as they began their walk back to the keep, both their backs aching from the red stripes the switch had left. Ser Harwin had not used anywhere near the full measure of his strength though, and Aegon could tell they would fade overnight.

            “Take what you want.” Jace had said simply. “And then pay for it.”

            Ser Strong had been good to his word. As far as Aegon knew, his mother nor anyone at court had ever learned about that particular incident.

            Calling himself back to the moment at hand, Aegon sighed. Take what you want , he thought bitterly. And then pay for it.

            Ignoring the sinking in his belly, Aegon forced himself to start walking forward towards the gates.

            Still Aegon wasn’t stupid enough to simply show his face to the fierce eyed armsman standing guard that day, so instead he fell into a step with a cluster of young men, who were leading an emptied refuse cart towards the Keep for a fresh load. He kept his hood pulled low, and his cloak tight around him, as they passed beneath the portcullis. Neither guards nor servants gave him more than a glance, even as he broke away from the cluster to begin crossing the outer yard, gaining confidence as he walked.

            And Jace didn’t think I could pass myself off as a servant . Aegon thought smugly. Of course, he hadn’t been seriously looked at or challenged, and he could easily be one of the smallfolk here to put his name for presenting a petition to the King at one of his public audiences.

            Still, maybe he could make it back into the Holdfast without running into any of his family. If chance let him avoid the confrontations he dreaded, well, that was how it shook out. It wasn’t cowardice not to seek out quarrels with his family. He might even be able too-

            “Hiding and skulking, shrinking and being small.” A voice called out from behind him, and Aegon leapt nearly a foot into the air as Helaena seemed to materialize out of nowhere, stepping up beside him. “It doesn't fit you.” 

            “I am not-! How did you-! Where-!“ Aegon spluttered, so surprised he couldn’t react as his sister stood up on tip toe and flicked back his hood. All around them, servants stared slack jawed, and up on the ramparts several of the archers turned to regard him with shock as his silver hair caught the sunlight. 

            “Much better.” Helaena said with a nod, stepping back to straighten her skirt and look him over. She nodded and repeated the words, seeming to carry a different meaning this time. “Much better.” 

            Aegon felt himself blush and was half way to trying to pull his hood up again, before he realized that it was pointless now and let his hands fall. “Helaena. What are you doing here?” 

            “I came to see how it went.” She said cheerily, slipping her arm into his and moving forward. The gaping servants were starting to recover, and whisper to one another, pointing at the Prince and Princess. Aegon, wanting to be out from under their eyes, followed, allowing Helaena to guide him by the arm towards the Holdfast. 

            “See how what went?” Aegon asked distractedly once they were out of earshot. He stayed weary though, trying to look everywhere at once. There was no telling who would run to carry tales to Lord Larys, or his mother given the chance. 

            When he turned to glance at his sister he was taken aback by the wryness of her expression, and her raised eyebrow. He cleared his throat, and said in a low voice “It went well.” 

            “Just well?” Helaena replied, a touch disappointed, glancing away. 

            Aegon felt a surge of shame and shook his head. “Better than well, actually. I chanced upon on the beach and….we talked.” At Helaena’s expectant look he added, glancing around to ensure no one was near enough to hear him. “About High Tide,  and….other things. It was….nice.” 

            “Nice.” Helaena repeated doubtfully. “And that was all you did over almost a week’s time? Talk?” 

            “We did other things.” Aegon muttered trying not to sound petulant. He wasn’t being fair, he knew: as nice as the last week had been, it also had been a mission of peace. Or was supposed to have been one. “Fished mostly. Camped.” He ignored Helaena’s blink of surprise. “And….I think he knows: that I don’t mean him or his family and harm.” He hoped anyway. 

            “That’s something.” Helaena admitted, as they passed into the Holdfast. There was a tinge of wistfulness to her words in her words, but also a touch of doubt. Oddly, she had taken his hand in hers as they walked, and was examining it, tracing a line over fingers as if searching for something.

            “I don’t know that it will change anything.” Aegon admitted. “It doesn't change what Rhaenyra is capable of, or mother for that matter. But maybe…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it will do something .” 

            Helaena sighed and let his hand drop, then gently patted his arm. Side by side they began to climb the stairs towards Aegon’s apartments, passing beneath the huge cased windows as they went.

            “There is a fire on the beach." She said finally, after a moment of thought. "It will burn away the chains that bind. It will hurt, the way breaking a bone to re-set it must hurt. But it must be done all the same.” She glanced at him, and Aegon forced his face to remain expressionless. Then she added. “When will you go again?” 

            Aegon blinked. “What makes you think I will go again?” He asked indignantly. Of course he had plans to visit Jace again, but what made her sound so sure ?

            Helaena just stared at him unimpressed and then repeated. “When will you go again?” 

            Aegon grunted as they turned down a hallway. “I don’t know. Maybe in a few weeks. Maybe more. We’re both busy and….Gods above once alone was an insane risk!”

            “A risk that was worth it.” Helaena said softly, as they rounded a corner. “You can’t give up brother. I won't let you.”

            Before Aegon could respond, a voice was calling out from the other end of the hall. “And what, pray tell, is our dear brother planning on giving up on now?”

            Aegon felt the urge to groan and flee as he saw who was approaching from the opposite end of the hall. Aemond was in the lead of a small gaggle, striding with confidence and radiating an aura of command helped by his straight silver hair, and the eye patch fixed firmly in place. The loss of his eye had aged him, and each day the lines on his face ran deeper and sharper. Most would probably pick him out at the older brother, if they saw him and Aegon side by side, something made worse by the second growth spurt he had found, which had made him half a head taller then Aegon. He was clearly fresh from sparring: dressed in training leathers and trailed by a small crowd of courtiers who had no doubt been watching.

            Walking beside him was their mother.

            She wore a gown of shimmering green edged in gold, a broach in the shape of the Seven Pointed Star pinned over her heart. Her hair was held back in a golden net set with emeralds, making her face seem sharper and more commanding. Despite barely coming up to Aemond’s shoulder, she seemed even more in command then he was through the sheer force of her presence: at least to Aegon’s mind.

            He felt his mind scrambling, trying to find some lie or excuse that would suit, but Helaena saved him, curtsying slightly to their mother as she approached and then addressing herself to Aemond.

            “His pilgrimage.” Helaena said simply. “He says after visiting and praying in the ruins of three ancient Septs he feels no more enlightened than when he began. I am trying to persuade him not to give up so easily.”

            Their mother’s smile was warm and approving for Helaena as she stopped before them, and for Aegon her look was cool and exasperated.

            Aemond however simply snorted in disbelief.

            “I would be shocked if he visited even a functioning Sept, let alone a ruined one. Unless is was converted into a-“ He cut off at a raised hand from their mother, and a cool glance back at the cluster of courtiers who had stopped a ways back, but were still well within earshot. No doubt Aemond had been about to accuse Aegon of frequenting pleasure houses again- which was not unreasonable of him in truth. But their mother would not allow such sentiments to be uttered in the hearing of the court.

            Not all the courtiers had kept their distance. One had continued forward at a slow pace, the steady thumping of his foot loud in the quiet of the corridor, as well as the clack of his cane against the floor. Ser Larys Strong, was less obvious in his support of the Queen’s party then most of her followers: for the most part he dressed in simple browns and grays, but the clasp holding his long brown scarf shined with a squared emerald, and a ring on his right hand glinted with green jasper. 

            The Lord Confessor’s smile was completely pleasant, his bowed head perfectly courteous. But as always there was something in the man’s eyes that seemed…dead to Aegon, and that made him want to bathe when the man’s gaze touched him. There was a part of Aegon that couldn’t believe he shared blood with Ser Harwin Strong, let alone Jace.

            “Wherever the Prince has been spending these last few days.” The man said in his soft, slightly oily voice, bowing his head again. “I would be most eager to hear.”

            “Lord Larys was most concerned about you.” His mother explained. “When you vanished without warning, he had some of his servants search the city, and when they could find nothing we were all quite distressed.” Her voice was tight with suppressed anger. If not for the crowd, she would have been shouting by now.

            “It is as Helaena said.” Aegon responded stoutly. “I’ve been camping in the ruins of old Septs, praying for wisdom.” He put on his best smile, and struck by sudden inspiration, gestured to his clothes, still stained from the days spent in the wilderness.

            His mother looked him up and down, taking this in and then stepped forward, her voice lowering to almost a whisper, too low even for Helaena to hear standing beside them. “…..Tell me Aegon, wherever you have been carousing this last week, did you have sense enough to hide that dragon of yours when you landed? Or will reports of Sunfyre tethered outside a brothel in Dorne or Esos soon float into our hearing?”

            Aegon flinched. He would never tether up Sunfyre like a horse much less leave him at risk, and Sunfyre would never accept such treatment. But his mother had never had much love for her children’s dragons. Aegon doubted she would have let Sunfyre’s egg be placed in his cradle, if failing to hatch a dragon would not have been marked against him and his claim.

            “Sunfyre was kept well out of sight of men mother.” Aegon said tightly, his voice just as low. “You needn’t worry.”

            The Queen nodded, accepting this, and stepping back, her voice raising. “I am sorry that your meditations were not all you hoped.” She said, raising her voice to be heard again. “Perhaps next time, if you see fit to go with more forethought and planning, rather than spur of the moment in the middle of the night, without even informing your Sworn Shield, the Gods might in turn see fit to grant you the wisdom you desire.” She glanced at Helaena, smiling broadly, clearly not suspecting Helaena of the least insincerity.

            “Come, let us leave the Prince to rest from his…exertions.” She folded her arm into Helaena’s and began to move back down the hall, before pausing to glance back at Aegon. “You will sup with your family tonight.” It was not a question. “And apologize to your father and grandfather for running off without a word.”

            Aegon bowed his head in obedience, and watched his mother go, Helaena throwing him a rueful smile as she departed as well. The courtiers quickly moved to follow, giving Aegon a wide berth as they trailed after the Queen and Princess, whether from respect or disgust Aegon couldn’t say.

            Aemond lingered a little bit longer to stare at Aegon in contempt, then followed after the crowd. Lord Larys remained as well, leaning on his cane and studying Aegon so long that Aegon started to shift uncomfortably. When he moved to step around the man and head to his chambers however, Lord Larys spoke.

            “A fine cloak Your Highness.” He said softly. And Aegon froze. “I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

            “It was a gift.” Aegon said in reflex, and immediately cursed his hastyness. “From another pilgrim I camped with for a time.”

            “Of course.” Ser Larys said, smiling. For a moment Aegon was struck by a terrible sense of wrongness. It was the same half-smile that Jace favored, a slight quirk at one side of the man’s mouth, but on Lord Larys it seemed wrong. “Well, I will leave you to rest.” And then he too, was gone, following the Queen’s retinue at his slow pace, his club foot dragging behind him.

            Aegon shivered, drawing Jace’s cloak tighter around himself, then turned and walked as swiftly as he dared straight up to his chambers.

            He was half way through undressing for a bath, when the door swung open, and Ser Willis, looking livid and furious, poked his head inside, sniffed in disgust to see Aegon returned and then pulled out, snapping the door shut after him.

            Aegon couldn’t help but feel as if a cage being slammed closed.

<X>

            To Aegon’s very great credit, he made it ten days before he could no longer contain the urge to return to Dragonstone and Jace.

            His grandfather had accepted Aegon’s apology with cool reserve, and the King with a level of bewilderment that made Aegon realize that he had likely not even realized Aegon was gone. There after the family had eaten in awkward silence, Helaena’s humming under her breath the only sound at the table aside from the clink of silverware.

            The next day, Aeogn had risen early, as he had becoming his habit during his time on Dragonstone, to the surprise of both Ser Willis and the servants. But when he had finished his breakfast of finely cooked eggs, rich cheese, and spiced meat he found he had nothing to do. Helaena and mother would be in the Godswood, entertaining their usual gaggle of courtiers, Aemond would be hard at his lessons with the Maester, grandfather and the King at matters of rule. None of them would want his company.

            So instead he tried to find ways to fill his time: he tried to read, but found himself unable to focus. He went down to the yard to spar, surprising Ser Criston since he usually had to be dragged to the weekly training sessions his grandfather considered the bare minimum of his duty, but after only an hour was sent away.

            “Your head is elsewhere boy.” Ser Criston said coolly. “Come back if you find it and still want to work.”

            He walked for a bit after that, occasionally making small talk and forcing himself to be polite to lesser Lords and Ladies, who were clearly just as shocked as everyone else to see him up before noon. He visited the gardens and the kennels, the stables and the armory. He even stopped for a time at the library and the Sept, wandering between shelves and pews, but as always he felt an intruder in both places.

            The whole time, Ser Willis followed him, a snow white shadow, staring with disapproval, but saying nothing. If Aegon ordered him away he might go and he might not: it depended on the orders he had been given by grandfather. But there would be little point even if he did go. It would change nothing.

            Long before the sun sank down to the edge of the horizon, Aegon found himself back in his rooms, drinking down mouthfuls of sweet Arbor Red, until a pleasant numbness had gripped his entire body, a familiar euphoria crackling under his skin. His only company was Ser Willis, the serving girl working to keep his goblet full, and a minstrel he had ordered to sit quietly in the corner and play only happy songs.

            The next day, Aegon awoke again early. But with his head pounding from the aftereffects of drink he quickly decided against rising, and instead turned over and went back to sleep. 

            After that, things slipped into the way they had been before. Aegon rose late, and found ways to kill the time until it was dark and cool enough that he could head down into the city without incurring too much judgment. 

            He didn’t sneak out, but he went in plain clothes with Ser Willis in the same: provided he was quiet about it, his grandfather could care less how Aegon comported himself. It was only when he shamed their family before the court or people that mattered, that his grandfather’s rage was stirred. His mother was another matter: she disapproved and made that known when she could, but she had long ago given up trying to actually prevent him from indulging.

            He crawled from tavern to tavern to tavern, and brothel to brothel: on the Street of Silk or in Flea Bottom, it didn’t really make a difference to him. He took in crass mummer shows, and watched dancers from across the Narrow Sea spin and sway atop tables, in scraps of cloth that would pass for decent garments nowhere. He gambled on dice, on cards, on street corner games, and on dog races in back alleys. And all the while he drank. Fine wines at first, but once he was drunk enough, it mattered less and less what it was, provided it kept his skin tingling and thick.

            It didn’t bring him the relief it usually did however. He found his mind wandering at odd moments, to brown hair and a dry laugh, instead of staying on the music or the limbs of the dancer in front of him. The smell and noise too, would become overwhelming without warning, making him need to leave suddenly, to breath in the cool air of the night, and the scent of salt off the Blackwater, in the silence of the evening.

            Aegon wasn’t wholly free to pursue pleasures of course. He was expected to attend dinners and court functions with some regularity: duties he would wake to find his mother had left with Ser Willis. There were the usual required lessons, the ones Ser Criston and the Maester could not send him away from, as well as council meetings where he was required to fill cups instead of drink from them, and outings with various ‘companions’ chosen by his mother. All young men of noble pious houses, who laughed hollowly at his jokes, and agreed with anything he suggested. He went hawking twice with those simpering Lordlings, all of whom complimented his skill so much that he considered sending his hawk at them , to see if they’d still find a way to praise him, even while fleeing his bird’s talons.

            He knew that if he did though, it would mean another few weeks in ‘seclusion’ while healing from another beating by his grandfather.

            Instead he found himself wanting to ride off into the woods, to try his hand at making a fire bow and spark board, at setting snares. Gods, maybe even cutting a pole and fishing in the river. Except it would only last at best a few hours, before people were sent to collect him, and Ser Willis would be there, staring down at him with silent judgment the entire time.

            There was time spent with his siblings as well: he and Helaena having to pantomime courtship by walking together in the gardens under the eyes of a chaperone, usually a stern faced Septa, or a lady who was particularly favored by his mother. Or he and Aemond having to spar together under the eyes of the King, who watched them with a vacant smile in between snatches of conversation with Lord Beesbury, grandfather, or another member of the council. And of course, every seven days he was expected to attend service at the castle Sept, and sit listening to Septon Eustance speak of sin, and virtue, and the judgment of the Gods, while feeling the eyes of his mother and grandfather sharp on him, looking for any fault or sign of disrespect.

            Ten days, each day the urge to sneak onto Sunfyre, and fly out to Dragonstone growing stronger and stronger. Until finally Aegon could bear it no longer.

<X>

            For a moment after Aegon spoke, no one responded.            

            It was early into the evening on the tenth day since Aegon had returned, and he and his family were all seated at the lavish supper table: the King at the head, mother across from him, Aegon and Helaena to one side, Aemond and grandfather to the other, with two of the Kingsguard at each of the two doors. Servants also stood attendance, ready to fill cups and fetch whatever the family might require, as well as to keep the stand lamps and candles lit, so the room would remain bathed in a soft golden glow.

            At the King’s insistence, they ate together at least once every week, though usually there was little break in the awkward silence that stretched between pleasantries and goodnight. The King was often lost to his own thoughts lately and while he might feign some interest in his children at mother’s prompting, it was always at least a little grudging. For the most part everyone bore the suppers with as good a grace as could be managed, and then went their separate ways, without incident.

            Aegon’s breaking the silence had turned every eye in the room to him, even the Kingsgaurd and the servants. He felt the urge to shrink back under the gazes, maybe to take back his words, but he held fast instead.

            The King blinked in confusion, staring at Aegon as if wondering where he had come from. “What was that son?” He asked, his voice croaking slightly.

            “I said.” Aegon repeated. “That I was thinking of going camping again. Visiting some of the ancient Septs out in Riverlands, the ones from the Andal Invasion.” What was the word Helaena had used? “Another pilgrimage of sorts. To meditate and pray.”

            The King blinked faster, and then smiled broadly, in a way that pulled up at his wrinkled and thinning face, and made the pox marks peppering his skin seem to widen and stretch.

            “Ah, seeking the wisdom of the Gods are you? You know we have more Septs in this city than any other. You might try those first eh my boy?” He said thumbing his nose at Aegon.

            “Indeed he might.” Grandfather agreed, turning his eyes to Aegon and narrowing them, as if wondering what trick or mischief his grandson might be up to now. “In fact, he might start with our own Sept here in the castle, considering how rarely he can be persuaded to visit, if it isn’t sermon day.”

            “I find that all the noise and people make it hard to feel….connected with the Gods.” Aegon replied. He felt a bead of sweat trail down his neck at his grandfather’s stare, falling between his shoulder blades. He felt a throb of phantom pain from bruises that had already healed. 

            “Out in nature, among the ancient places…” He continued, shrugging. “It’s…easier to clear my mind.” Not wanting to look overly long at his Grandfather, or at Aemond who was also eyeing Aegon suspiciously, he turned back to the King. “I found a little bit of peace, last time, if no wisdom. Since Helaena and Aemond think I shouldn’t give up so easily I was thinking I should give it another try.” He said this with a forced smile he hoped looked thoughtful. Aemond glanced at him with a frown, and Helaena nodded without taking her eyes off one of the candle flames on the table.

            The King considered for a long moment, and then shrugged. “Well I don’t say any harm in it, if that is your wish. How long will you be gone?”            

            “Not long.” Aegon said, feeling a swell of relief as he turned back to his plate. “A few days, maybe a week. I intend to take Sunfyre, so I should be swift.”

            His grandfather spoke up. “You know, I think the boy is right, a pilgrimage might not be a bad idea.”  Aegon’s head whipped around in surprise. His grandfather’s eyes were cold and calculated as he continued.  “But why not go on horseback instead? That way, he can take a few retainers with him.” Aegon felt his heart sink, and his grandfather gave a ghost of a smile. “It might take longer, but it would also mean you could make a few calls with the lords of the Riverlands. We might even make a formal progression out of it.”

            Aegon felt horror bubble up in him as the King began to nod slowly, and he searched for an answer, for a way out. But he could see none: his mother was nodding too. If he got sent on a formal progression it would be months spent with sycophant Lordlings and his grandfather's minders, and worse months before he could sneak away to see Jace again

            Helaena’s voice was thoughtful and dreamy, when she spoke, yet it still seemed to cut through the air like a knife. “ Creatures of fire and flame, that like fire long to run wild and free. Who can know their hearts but those who are free as well? ” She spoke absently, staring off into the middle distance, as if just happening to recall something. “How can one name themselves dragonrider, who doesn't know the heart of their dragon? Who has not wandered free and unhindered across the untamed places? ” She shrugged, not noticing how every eye spun to her, even Aemond looking a little taken aback.

            The King however, looked surprised and oddly delighted. “I didn’t know you were studying the old house texts my dear! That’s from Footsteps in Ash , isn’t it? Gaemon Targaryen?”

            Helaena nodded. “Meditations on dragon riding, and the bond between rider and dragon. Aegon going alone with Sunfyre might be a good chance for him to grow closer to his dragon, as well as the Gods.”

            “I think.” Mother said tightly. “That Aegon and his beast are quite close enough. He claims he wishes to focus on Godly meditations and the divine? Let do so, rather then waste more time playing with his dragon.”

            “If I go with all the pomp and circumstance of a retinue.” Aegon said quickly, Helaena’s interruption had given him a moment to think. “How can I get closer to the Gods or Sunfyre?”

            But the King was already set, eyes twinkingly. Very likely he had been from the moment Helaena had begun quoting from the Old Histories. For his younger children he might not have much in the way of love, but for their ancestors and for that which touched on dragons and Old Valyria, the King was always eager to indulge and encourage. “I think the boy can stand to be out from under our eyes for a little while. He's almost a grown man after all! And that Sunfyre of his is a fine creature, who deserves to taste some freedom.”

            Grandfather opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it instead, and bowed his head. He looked as if he swallowed a lemon but he did it. Grandfather very rarely clashed with the King outright since his return to court. Probably because he feared being stripped of the badge again and sent away again.

            Mother was another matter. Across the table, she had begun to set her shoulders, and stiffen her spine. On most matters she would yield to the King’s will without complaint, but her children were an exception, especially where their safety was concerned.

            “I don’t think it shows wisdom for Aegon to be without his Sworn Shield, my King. I know you can be cavalier about the well-being of our children, but surely you can see the necessity of at least Ser Willis attending him, yes?”

            The King, as with so much else, let the veiled insult roll off his shoulders, eyes not even flickering to Aemond for a moment. But his voice was tight as he spoke, carrying a hint of his frustration. “A dragon is far greater protection than a shield, my Queen. Even a Kingsguard shield.”

            Aegon saw his mother sit back in her chair, head rising imperiously. He felt a stab of fear: he had no desire to be in the middle of a row, especially when his mother would no doubt blame him for it later. She might not be able to override the King’s will, but there were other ways she could exact a price from her son for causing yet another conflict with the King.

            Before she could counter though, an idea struck Aegon, and he spoke almost without thinking. “I can still take Ser Willis. He can ride on Sunfyre with me.” He turned, to show his teeth to the Kingsugard, who stood at one of the doors to the dinning hole beside ser Criston. Abruptly however, Ser Willis’s face had turned sickly pale. Aegon knew the man would never accept that- Sunfyre had nipped at him more then once. And for a dragon of Sunfyre’s size, a ‘nip’ carried the threat of a lost hand, or even arm.

            Ser Willis cleared his throat, and spoke. “I….I don’t think that will be necessary. The Prince is right: his beast is a better protector than any Kingsugard, and he’ll have little need of any protection if all he intends to do is visit some old ruins.”

            Ser Criston sniffed in disdain for Willis, but kept his peace as he had not been addressed. Likely he viewed the matter very differently, since in his eyes, and the eyes of most of the Greens, Aegon was rightful heir to the throne, and ought always to have a ring of steel around him. The King luckily, saw matters differently.

            “Well there you have it my lady.” He said, frustration vanishing into jovialness. “Even the boy’s sworn sword sees no risk. Surely, you can set aside your fretting now?”

            The Queen was also glaring daggers at Ser Willis. He was not as strongly in the grip of the Greens as Ser Criston, so she could not rebuke him. But Aegon was sure she would find some way to have Ser Cirston punish Willis for his cowardice. As it was, all she could do was murmur something non-committal and accede with a good grace.

            The meal reverted to silence after that, until the King, as usual, began hacking and coughing, and needed to be led away to his chambers, escorted by Ser Criston, Ser Westerling, and the Queen. While the rest of the family retreated to their chambers. Grandfather stayed only long enough to throw Aegon a warning look, and Helaena to give him a squeeze on the shoulder of encouragement, before they too departed for their beds. But as Aegon began to climb the stairs to his own chambers, Aemond fell in beside him.

            “Do try and be discrete.” Aemond said snidely. “For mother’s sake if nothing else.”

            “What are you-“ Aegon began but Aemond stepped in front of him, hands planted behind his back, gazing down at his big brother. Aegon was truly beginning to curse his height.

            “I don’t know if you're whoring and drinking in Dorne, Esos, or beyond the Wall brother, and I don’t really care. Since you can not control yourself, you will be discreet and avoid shaming our family any further.” Aemond spoke more commandingly then he probably should have to someone he regarded as heir to the throne. He had developed the habit of that, since mounting Vhagar, as if he were the elder brother instead of the snot nosed twat that had cried over his egg not hatching.

            “Or? Aegon said challengingly, setting his shoulders. They were standing on one of the landings to the stairwell, the only light coming from flickering torches, and the moonlight that fell through a case-covered window. Yet still Aegon could see the way Aemond’s face hardened, his mouth thinning with anger.            

            “If even that stretches your abilities.” Aemond says coldly. “Then grandfather really is going too soft on you. Maybe he’s right, and only a price like the one I paid will make you into a real man.”

            Aegon felt himself flush with sudden rage. He was seized by the urge to strike Aemond across the face- except….except he knew how that would end. So instead he swallowed down his bile and pushed past Aemond, up the stairs towards his room.

            “Try and be careful brother.” Aemond called after him. “And remember: when worst comes to worst, and the drums of war start beating, we are all that you have. We must stand united, no matter what."

            The last words Aegon heard only faintly as he rounded a corner and entered the hallway of his room.

            You are not all that I have though , Aegon thought savagely as he slammed the door to his room shut. Not anymore.

<X>

            Jacaeryes had not wanted to move to Dragonstone. He had understood, even as young as he had been, why it was necessary. But that had not made him like the idea. His whole life all he had really known was King’s Landing, and the Red Keep.  Moreover, he had not wanted to leave Aegon behind, for a life of lonely solitude, on a distant island with not but a small town and a scattering of villages upon it, with no one but Luce and baby Joff for company.

            He had grown used to it in time. The Red Keep might be the crowning proof of House Tagaryen’s power, but its root was Dragonstone, and it was full of the memories of Old Valyria, and the ancient Dragonlords who had hailed from it. And he had not been lonely for long: Rhaena and Baela had joined them along with Daemon, when mother had remarried. That, along with the pain of what had happened at High Tide, had blunted the loss of Aegon a little. He had quickly come to love his step sisters as much as he did his brothers, even with Baela having to split her time between Dragonstone and Driftmark.

            Rhaena was as clever as Baela was darring and both girls were friendly, kind, and capable of sharing and understanding his grief, even with everything that lay unspoken between them. It seemed soon as if he had never known life without his sisters, for better and for worse.

            Sometimes, such as now though the worse was a tad more prominent.

            “I think it has to be a sailor, or an adventurer from far off.” Baela was saying without the least bit of shame. Jace was faced away from her and the others, sitting at his desk beside the window, but he knew that she would not have moved from the spot she had dropped into upon barging in: the chair directly beside the bookcase. He could hear the soft whisk whisk of her whetstone as she sharpened one of her throwing knives. “Our Jace could never stand a milksop or a simperer. He would need a someone of will. Of spirit.”

            Jace felt his grip on the quill he was holding tighten, and forced it to relax so he could resume writing. He had been at work checking the sums for the castle accounts, making sure that all the numbers added up correctly, when his siblings had barged into his room uninvited to interrogate him about his supposed ‘paramour’. When they had refused to hear his demands that they all leave, he had decided instead to ignore them and return to his work, only for them to settle into debating the matter amongst themselves instead, ignoring him just as thoroughly.

            “Can you see Jace trailing after some lady sailor with a salt mouth, or some adventuress with a spitfire temper?” Luke responded from a bit further back. He had sprawled on Jace’s bed, not even bothering to take off his riding boots. “No. He’s probably hard up for someone as level headed as he is, with good sense. That’s probably why he hasn’t gone out to see her again: because she sent him back to Dragonstone to sulk after it sank in how their forbidden love could never be.”

            Jace tried not to grind his teeth. In part, he knew his siblings were searching for a reaction, some hint that they were on the right path. He also knew that the whole thing was his fault: he had not told them about Aegon or the strange arrangement they had reached, or that his tension- his ‘sulking’ as Luke called it- was over the lack of word from King’s Landing, or a new visit from Aegon.

            It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them exactly but….things with Aegon where still fragile and uncertain. It felt like the wrong motion could yet shatter everything, especially if his siblings assumed Aegon’s actions to be some trick or ploy by the Greens.  

            Luke had already taken Aemond’s eye protecting Jace, and if Baela had had her knife she likely would have done more. It was better to let them think the rumors flying around the castle were true, rather than take the risk.

            So he suffered in silence. A great deal.

            It was Rhaena’s turn to chime in. “Oh they’ve parted for certain: nothing else explains how sulky Jace is. But it will have been Jace who has brought about the rift, likely without even telling the girl things are over.”  She was seated by one of the widows, just within Jace’s view. Spark, the aged tom cat who served as Chief Rat Catcher of Dragonstone, was curled up on her lap, enjoying Rhaena’s absent petting.

            “Recall that he only truly grew sulky these last few days: he’s remembered his duty and decided to be all noble and true. He’ll keep away from the girl for her own good, since they can never be. I wouldn’t be surprised if she appears at the castle gates to plead with him to soften his heart and return to her, and less surprised if he falls into her arms at the instant.”

            “He’s always been a romantic, though he tries to hide it.” Luke agreed, the little traitor. “Maybe we’ll get a look at her then, this woman that can melt my brother’s ice.”

            Jace hissed as the quill slipped in his hand, sending a streak of ink across the column of numbers. It would have to be redone now. Behind him, his siblings all went dead silent, and he knew they were staring at him, sure they had struck a nerve and hit on some truth. But that wasn’t why Jace’s hand had slipped.

            As was custom for the heir to Dragonstone, he had been given the top floor of the Windwyrm Tower as his apartments. His desk, pressed against the window as it was, looked out from inland over the island’s breadth. With the castle itself built into the Dragonmont, he could see, if not the entire length of Dragonstone, then near enough to make little difference.

            Which meant he could also see the faint column of smoke, rising across the horizon. Faint at this distance, beneath notice really. Unless you were looking for it.

            Standing, and crumpling the ruined sheet for later, Jace turned towards the stairwell, at the center of his chambers and began to walk across the room.

            His siblings were all on their feet as well, all staring at him in surprise. “Where are you going?” Luke asked as Jace, swept past them, seizing up a cloak on his way.

            “Somewhere no one intends to speculate on my love life.” Jace responded dryly. “Tell mother I’m going hunting, and I’m taking Vermax.”

            Belea’s soft whistle caught him even as he opened the door. “Now there is a man who is well and truly cunt struck.”

            He shut the door on Rhanea’s furious admonishments over her sister’s language and put his siblings out of his mind. He had never moved so quickly in his life, his heart beating fast as he made his way to the Dragonstable, and saw to Vermax’s saddling. The Dragonkeepers took his chiving in good grace- and within the hour of sighting the smoke, he was soaring out towards his grotto, trying to check his own feelings.

            Eleven days are hardly any real length of time. Not even two weeks. There is no need to get your hopes up. He reminded himself as Vermax soared over the length of the island, his red wings beating in regular, large sweeps. He had caught Jace’s mood, and was wasting no time. It could just be a field fire. It could be some small folk burning a bonfire on the beach. It could be- 

            As he and Vermax rounded the cliff Jace saw it was none of those things. Sunfyre lay sprawled out on the beach below, unmistakable in the early morning light, right at the mouth of the inlet that led to the grotto. Before the dragon, two large oaks lay across each other, clearly having been torn up from the earth: their exposed roots, still thick with soil. They were burning with familiar golden fire, and the glitter of glass across the sand spoke of how they had come to be lit. 

            Standing before the fire, was a familiar dark cloaked figure.

            Jace shook his head and urged Vermax lower, keeping a tight grip on the handles of the saddle as they spiraled downwards. He could feel his dragons’ tension- he wasn’t quite used to Sunfyre again yet- but he remained calm even as they landed, not a dozen yards away. 

            Sunfyre rose from his sprawl, turning his head to stare at Jace and Vermax, even as Jace dismounted and began to approach. For a moment it seemed like Sunfyre might bare his teeth, but a call of lykirī from behind Sunfyre checked the dragon, and he lowered himself back to the ground…without taking his eyes from Vermax. 

            Aegon stood in front of the fire watching the huge oaks crackle and burn. Jace moved up beside him without hesitation though he gave Sunfyre a wide berth to be safe, and found himself drinking in the sight of Aegon: taking in the other man’s profile, searching for any sign of new injury or wound. 

            He found none and yet…he couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes away from Aegon either, there was something about his profile, lit by the golden flames, that drew the eye. Demanded attention. He looked better than he had the last time. His hair was neater this time, combed properly. Yet there were still dark circles under his eyes from a lack of sleep, and a tension in the way he held himself. He was dressed in a black tunic and  dark gray trousers, with knee high boots of soft leather, and fingerless gloves. 

            And he was still wearing the cloak Jace had given him.

            “Told you it would work.” Aegon said absently, not taking his eyes from the flames. 

            Jace shook his head and laughed softly. “….Where did you even get the oaks? Did you have Sunfyre rip them up on the mainland and carry them across the Blackwater?” 

            The blush on Aegon’s cheeks said that was very much what he had done, but he changed the subject, instead of answering. “We have a week- no one suspects anything. Everyone assumes I’m on a pilgrimage to see the ruined Septs in the Riverlands.” He sighed. “I’ll have to make sure I’m seen flying around there on my way back, in order to plant the right rumors….but for now….we have time.” 

            Jace nodded. “Everyone at Dragonstone thinks I have a paramour.” Aegon’s blanche of surprise was very satisfying, as was the way he spun to stare at Jace finally, lavender eyes gazing into brown. “And I’ve left word that I’ve gone hunting, so no one will mark it strange that I’m away, for a bit at least.” 

            Aegon recovered quickly, laughing. “A paramour! How exciting! Everyone thinks that Little Jace has become a man!” At Jace’s hard shove to his shoulder Aegon laughed again. “….So. What shall we do?” 

            Jace found his heart racing again. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead, so instead he shrugged, and then grinned. “Whatever we want."           

Chapter Text

                It didn’t take long for Aegon’s life to fall into a simple, if bizarre pattern.

                In some ways things remained the same. He would bear through the days at court as he usually did: attending each audience, ball, and ‘friendly outing’ his mother assigned him with as good a grace as he could muster. He went to weekly service at the Castle Sept with only mild complaint, kept a smile during the awkward dinners with the King, and even dragged himself down the courtyard for training with Ser Criston and sparing, either with his mother’s chosen ‘companions’ or with Aemond. Which meant the former letting him win, and the latter taking great glee in beating him down.

                His nights were his own as before too: to gamble, drink, whore and wander the city as he pleased, provided he took Ser Willis, kept at least a little discretion, and did not not make an ass of himself in front of the court. Not that he would be denied the city for longer than it took to heal from his grandfather’s thrashing if he did humiliate the family in some way. That was the unspoken exchange between them.

                He could have his pleasures, but only if he did his duty, as mother and grandfather saw it, and when he proved unworthy of that privilege as he did everything else, he knew he was supposed to find the resulting beating a more then fair price to pay, especially when they continued to extend the privilege of his indulgence.

                Yet surprisingly, since the beating that had actually sent him out of the city and to Dragonstone that first time, he had not had a repeat instance of calling down his grandfather’s ire. He had not found himself drunk at one court function, passed out in one embarrassing place, or even waking up in the bed of some servant, unaware of how he got there. Not that grandfather or mother showed any sort of approval or encouragement of such an improvement. If If they even noticed, which he didn’t know that they did.

                So the days passed, largely the same, a pressure building inside of him all the while, a mounting desire that grew and grew, and when he could bear it no longer, he would depart on one of his ‘pilgrimages’. He no longer asked permission, having already secured the King’s dispensation. Instead he left word, slipped down to the Dragonpit, and was flying out over the Blackwater before anyone could challenge or divert him.

                His mother would, given the chance. She knew his ‘adventures’ were sure to spawn fresh gossip at court, and speculation over where in the Seven Kingdoms he was debauching himself, and if he had yet ‘made the eight’. So Aegon chose not to grant her the opportunity: he had no interest or care for wagging tongues, and if that made him selfish well, he had been called far worse things.

                He would arrive at Dragonstone, light the bonfire that was his and Jace’s signal, and then set about getting Sunfyre settled and camp put together in the grotto. How quickly Jace would appear would depend on if he could risk flying out on Vermax, or would need to come by horse. If by horse, it would take the better part of the day for Jace to arrive, but if Jace could come by air it would be there within the hour.

                When Aegon had asked Jace why he didn’t take Vermax every time, he had grimaced.

                “My siblings.” He had explained. “The whole castle is convinced of this silly rumor that I’m-'' He had blushed then, and coughed into his hand. Aegon felt the urge to smile. The rumor that he had some village girl head over heels for him. It was ridiculous of course, Aegon was sure that Jace hadn’t spoken to a woman in an inappropriate fashion in his life, let alone fallen into one’s bed. But the rumor did make Jace blush, which amused Aegon greatly.

                “Anyways, if I go on dragonback too often there's a chance that one of them might take it into their heads to follow. Moondancer and Arrax aren't big enough yet to keep pace with Vermax over a long haul, but they could still track me across the island.” He shrugged. “So it’s safer really to go on horseback.”

                Aegon tried to imagine what that must be like for a moment. Having siblings that cared so much about you that they’d press themselves into your business. It sounded suffocating, and yet Jace didn’t seem truly angry with them, only annoyed in a strange affectionate kind of way. And then a thought occurred to him.

                “But you still come on Vermax sometimes.” Aegon had pointed out over their small campfire.

                Jace had turned away at that, hiding his face slightly in the flickering shadows. “….Sometimes I can’t bring myself to take the time for a horseback journey.” He had said, an odd tone in his voice. “Their slow stupid creatures and….” He shrugged. “Sometimes I want to see you right away.”

                Aegon had opened his mouth with a grin, ready to meet that admission with the mockery it deserved, but he had noticed how Jace’s cheeks had grown red in the firelight….and held his tongue instead.

                Whether by air or land, when Jace arrived they would spend what remained of the day catching up,and exchanging what little news there was to be had. If Vermax was with Jace, they would have to settle him in the cave as well. The two dragons were slowly growing used to one another again, or at least, entering into something of a truce for the sake of their riders. They barely snapped at each other anymore, though they still slept at opposite ends of the grotto, and gave the impression of watching the other for some mistake.

               Then he and Jace would curl up for the night on bed rolls beside the fire and when dawn came….well, they set about passing the time.

<X>

                At first they kept to the beach, and the largely empty woods: hunting, fishing, and the like. But it didn’t take long for Aegon to convince Jace to risk a little more.

                “Silver hair and purple eyes will mean nothing here.” He had argued when a hunting trip had strayed close to one of the small villages that dotted the island. “Between dragonseeds and refugees from the Doom, they are as likely to mark out a stable hand as a Prince. And I doubt any have been to King’s landing to recognize me.”

                “That doesn't mean they wont recognize me.” Jace had pointed out dryly. But he had still yielded in the end, to at least passing through and ducking in at the local tavern: provided they kept both their hoods up and didn’t linger too long.

                It was a strange experience in more ways than one. Aegon had been right: they passed two farmers, and a crofter with silver hair, and saw eyes ranging from lilac to magenta, though dark hair and plain eyes were still more common by a wide margin. No one looked at Aegon twice, as took in the sights of the village wandering between buildings of black stone and dark wood.

                It proved strangely intoxicating. Even the lowest whores and thieves that Aegon could carouse with in King’s Landing had some idea of who he was, and only engaged in the polite fiction that he wasn’t himself. But here vendors leered at him suspiciously when he lingered too long, the bar keeper glared at him when he told a serving maid she had pretty eyes, while the maid herself was not the least bit afraid of sniffing at him in contempt and stalking away. Though that last may have had something to do with Jace stepping on his foot and apologizing for his behavior.

                When Aegon drew the ire of the village’s dark and broad shouldered smith, as well as the suspicious hostility of his apprentice- a equally dark but much lankier girl, who had heaved a piece of iron as if ready to throw it when she caught him staring- Jace had been forced to drag him away.

                “What is wrong with you?” Jace demanded in exasperation, as he started pulling Aegon back towards the woods. “Are you trying to pick a fight with the whole village? Strangers are rare enough in these parts that they're already suspicious of us, and then you go around staring at them as if expecting each one to do a different trick! What is wrong with you?”

                Aegon had just shrugged. “I should hate it.” He said simply, and at Jace’s baffled expression he had clarified. “Not being a Prince. I should hate not having people defer and simper at me, and be ready to bend over to do what I want. Or at least I should be annoyed.” He shook his head. “I’m not.”

                Jace had stared at him for a long moment, and then, flicked his ear.

                But they didn’t stop visiting the villages after that.

                Usually it was only for an evening, disappearing into the haze of a busy common room, while a minstrel plucked a rough harp, blew on a hand carved flute, or beat away at an animal skin drum, careful to never overstay their welcome, or wear out their novelty.

                They risked only one trip to the port town, late into the evening, with their hoods well drawn up, and their cloaks  pulled close. Even that had taken all of Aegon’s persuasion to convince Jace to risk, who had seemed certain he would be recognized, or worse, that they would run into a member of his family. But in the end the promise of a night in a proper common room, with a full set of musicians playing had overcome him, as had Aegon’s offer to pay their board for the night.

                At a tavern called Dragon’s Spit, they had huddled in a corner with mugs of spiced wine and listened to the musicians roll through their songs, lute and drum and sitar laced through the voice of the handsome singer at the front. No one paid them any mind, the port was too large to mark every stranger, and as the happy tingle and flush of drink spread over him, Aegon felt himself grow bold.

                “What are you doing?” Jace had asked when Aegon had stood, and gently circled the table to pull at his shoulder. Behind them, the musicians played a jaunty sweet song that swept through Aegon’s bones, urging him to let himself be carried away.

Let me die, let me drown, lay my bones in the ground

I will still come around when the time for sleep is through

Over hill, over dale, through the valley and vale

Do not weep, do not wail, I am coming home to you

                “There is music.” Aegon had said grinning. “That means there should be dancing.”

                Jace, a little flush with wine himself, and not as inured to it as Aegon was, had laughed instead of rebuked. “You are drunk.” He had said shaking his head.

                Aegon had shaken his head, leaning close to grin at Jace. “Not even close yet.”

Every tomb, every sea, spit the bones from your teeth

Let the ransomed be free as the revel meets the day

Let the valleys awake, let them rattle and shake

In the wind that remakes all that time has worn away

                “No one else is dancing.” Jace had said.

                Aegon’s fingers had somehow tangled in the front of Jace’s shirt, and Jace hadn’t resisted when Aegon pulled him up onto his feet and onto the floor, nor pulled back when Aegon had leaned maybe too close to whisper in his ear.

                “No one else here has the blood, or courage, of the dragon.”

                There had been no answer for that, except to slide his elbow into Aegon’s, and begin the reel.

To and fro, I will not follow

Where you go, I will not also

Ooh, ooh

Ooh, ooh

I will look for you as the sun rises higher

When the dry bones dance with the timbrel and lyre

There's a wind alive in the valley

It will fill your lungs, if you'll have it

                They had turned, around and around the room, spinning back and forth, coming together to link arms or brush hands, and then coming apart again. Despite the alcohol coursing under his skin, Aegon’s steps were more sure then they had ever been. Jace’s steadiness had seemed to seep into him. And around them the music had thrummed, almost in time to Aegon’s pulse.

                Others rose to join them, falling into place in the reel with surprising ease and swiftness. But even as he spun and turned those who came to orbit, he never lost track of Jace, drawn to him like a lodestone again and again, to the sight of that smile, and broad shoulders, to the flash of dark hair, and the dry laugh.

Where I go, will you still follow?

Will you leave your shaded hollow?

Will you greet the daylight looming?

Learn to love without consuming?

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

Ooh, ooh

                As the song had trailed off, the music fading, Aegon had stumbled for the first time, his drink finally catching up to him, but Jace hadn’t missed the beat, and had shifted his weight, turning the stumble into a final turn that left them at the center of the room, both red cheeked and panting for breath and on the verge of yet more laughter.

                And then it had crashed home, when Aegon realized everyone was staring at the pair of them, that their hoods had long since fallen in the dance, their cloaks thrown back by each turn. Aegon had flushed with embarrassment, and quickly dragged Jace back to their table in the corner, even as the next song began to play, and the other dancers resumed the reel. They had spent the rest of the night mere spectators, but though Jace didn’t say anything, Aegon could feel Jace’s eyes on him, unblinking.

                The next morning, as they stumbled a little hungover on the path back to their grotto Aegon was determined to make an apology. And so, he paused at the market to overpay, he was sure, for a small dragonglass pendant with a copper setting, and a tiny loop on one end for running a chain or cord through. Dragonglass mines near to the mountain produced more than enough of the stuff to make their use in jewelry a common sight on the island, and Aegon toyed with it until they passed beyond the bounds of the town.

                Only then did she wordlessly offer the pendent to Jace, extending his hand with it.

                Jace had raised an eyebrow at him as in question, and Aegon had shrugged. “I can’t take it back to the Landing with me. It will raise questions.”

                “Why did you buy it then?” Jace asked, eyeing the necklace with an expression Aegon could not read.

                Aegon shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he had misread the situation. Jace hadn’t said anything after all, so maybe he wasn’t mad. He shrugged. “If you don’t want it, I suppose I can give it to Helaena, or maybe use it as payment for a night on the Street Of-“

                He cut off as Jace plucked it from his fingers, and gently slipped it into his pocket, then started striding towards the cave before Aegon could comment. Aegon followed him, trying not to radiate smugness too obviously.

                Neither of them mentioned the pendent again, and Aegon did not see it on any of his visits there after.

<X>

                Eventually, the joy of freedom and the fun of their exploration would fade, and a combination of guilt and practicality would call Aegon back to King’s Landing. Sometimes it took no more than a few days, other times over a week for the feeling to grow strong enough that he could not ignore it.

                Jace and him never properly said goodbye when the time came. They gave their  well wishes of course, but neither of them ever put the actual farewell into words. Maybe the possibility that each time it would be final kept them from it, or maybe it was their way of promising each other they hadn’t given up yet. But Aegon was always glad for it. He didn’t like goodbyes, he never had.

                Aegon would fly back to King’s Landing, making sure to stop for a day or two across the Riverlands, so that the correct rumors would be planted for Lord Larys to take back to his mother. He might even camp a night in actual abandoned Sept, though something about doing so always made his skin crawl a little. Then he would dismount at the Dragonpit and creep into the castle hopefully unnoticed, sometimes with success, often without.

                One night he had the bad luck to meet Larys Strong on his return.

                He had snuck back through the catacombs that time, climbing the castle’s secret passageways back into the halls, and was just stepping into the royal apartments, when he found himself face to face with Lord Larys. The man had seemed as surprised as Aegon had, caught off guard, but he had recovered quickly.

                “Your Highness.” He had said without emotion bowing as best he could while leaning on his cane. He was full dressed as if for a stroll in the gardens, not for sleep, though he carried a lantern. “I was not expecting to see you at this hour. I was not even aware you were back.”

                “Nor I you.” Aegon had said quickly, shifting uncomfortably, aware he was still travel stained and dirty. “So why don’t we go our separate ways, and pretend we found no one we didn’t expect on our walks?"

                Larys had smiled, that mocking half smile of his and inclined his head in agreement, then stepped aside.

                Aegon had nodded his head and moved to depart- but froze when Larys had called out over his shoulder.

                “Do clean up before the marrow. It would not do for your mother to be distressed by such…” He had glanced at Aegon’s boots then, which Aegon realized with horror still had the black sand of dragonstone on them. “Dirt.”

                “I will see to that, Lord Larys. Good night.” Aegon had said, and then slipped into his room before the conversation could continue.

                He had spent all the night afterwards curled in his bed, waiting for the Kingsguard to barge in, or Hightower armsman led by his father, to drag him from his bed and throw him into a cell. He didn’t doubt they would, for this, and the King was unlikely to intervene, unlikely to even notice Aegon was missing. Jace might, eventually, but by then, who could say what would have happened to him?

                Yet dawn came, and no soldiers appeared. He broke his fast and moved about the castle, and his mother nor anyone else made any comment, or gave any sign, they suspected him of his treason.

                He must not have recognized the sand.Aegon supposed, when the whole day passed and nothing had happened.

                Only later did he wonder why Larys had been creeping about in the royal apartments so late at night.

<X>

                After each return, the cycle began again. Boredom and annoyance and building pressure, flight to Dragonstone where he and Jace spent their days in freedom and something like joy, then a return to King’s Landing, fueled by guilt and obligation. And then again, and again, till suddenly two months had passed, and the new year was fast approaching.

                It wasn’t a bad way to live, Aegon supposed, and if it could have been sustained indefinitely, he might have been content. Maybe even something close to happy.

                But of course, it was never going to last.

<X>

                The ninth time Aegon visited Dragonstone he convinced Jace to fly out to Crackjaw Point with him.

                He had tried before each time Jace had flown out on Vermax, without any success. Each time Jace had pleaded that he promised his mother that he would not leave the island on his ‘hunting trips’, but this time Aegon had finally managed to finagle the wording out from him.

                “It was not a promise.” He said firmly. “Barely even an implication, and it was only about that trip specifically. You made no oath to not leave the island in future.”

                “She wouldn’t like me going beyond the island’s safety.” Jace had argued, though less stoutly than he might have. “I would be at risk, and she’s worried about-“ He cut off then. The Greens he had been about to say, in breach of their unspoken agreement not to address the sword hanging over their heads.

                Well, rules were foolish anyways, and Aegon felt confident in his next point. “I promise you, that my mother has no earthly idea you sneak out of the castle regularly, and even if she did, and even if she somehow magically knew you were going to go flying over Crackjaw on this trip specifically, and had placed hired thugs in hiding there, waiting for their chance to strike and do you ill, I would throw myself between you and them.”

                He waited for the obvious reply: Pointing out gently but firmly that all this might have been a trap, lain by the Greens from the start to entice him into an ambush. But instead Jace had stared at him, then nodded and moved to saddle Vermax. “Very well.” He had said. “Then we might as well be about it.”

                Aegon had blinked in confusion. He was not used to winning arguments. Getting his way maybe, but not actually having someone concede a point, and he couldn’t stop the words from popping out of his mouth. “Just like that?”

                Jace had shrugged, adjusting one of the straps that held the saddle to Vermax’s back. “Just like that.” He said, then turned to stare Aegon in the eyes. “I trust you.”

                A warmth shot through Aegon like a lightning bolt, stunning him to a silence that held all through saddling Sunfyre, and setting off westwards for the Point.

<X>

                Crackjaw Point was one of those places in the Seven Kingdoms that to hear gossiping nobles talk of it, you would think was still wild and untamed, ruled by savage Lords who styled themselves after the First Men, with their clubs and stone axes.

                There was some small measure of truth to that, Aegon could admit as he hiked along the broken wall of an ancient ringfort, half covered with ivy and creepers. The rolling valleys and hills of the Point were dense with trees and dotted by ancient fortifications, where stacked stones made walls twice as tall as a man, or squat and square towers held together, even all these years later, with mortar laid down before the Andals invaded. There was something half wild about the place, especially in the setting golden sun.

                “It was Queen Visenya who finally managed it.” Jace was saying. He had gone first, unafraid of the possibility the stone might crumble beneath his feet and give way, and now stood on the wall’s edge gazing out over the valley. “Not long after she and Vhagar had turned the fleet at Gulltown.”

                “I thought it was the Conqueror?” Aegon said as he joined Jace, kneeling low. There was no battlement or crenellation. Instead the wall was lined with shallow holes cut into the rock where wooden stakes would have been slotted and lashed together, to make a bristling crown for the ringfort.

                Jace glanced at Aegon, half-smile on his lips. “You never say his name.” He observed.

                Aegon shrugged. “It feels….strange when I do. Like I’m talking about myself. Or maybe pretending.” In truth it made him uncomfortable, to think too long about his namesake, and the comparisons that line of thinking would ultimately beget. “But I know I read that every Lord who was conquered did bend the knee to him, not his Queens.”

                Jace shook his head. “Eventually yes, they bent the knee to The Conqueror. But he was in the Riverlands at the time, subduing the last of the lords after the burning of Harrenhal.'' The faintest flicker lit Jace's eyes at the mention of the castle that was now seat of House Strong, and just as quickly Aegon saw Jace clamp it down. He could not have said if it was joy or sorrow. "But Visenya was the one leading the army in the Point at the time, and when word reached them of Black Haren’s Fate, the Lords of Crackclaw and their champions bent the knee without bloodshed and swore fealty.”

                Aegon shook his head. “His Queens lead armies?” Aegon said in disbelief.

                Jace nodded. “So they did. Aegon the Conqueror relied on his consorts far more than Lords and Kings in Westeros did, or do now. Visenya and Rhaenys lead armies for Aegon, pronounced judgments in his absence, spoke with his authority- even sat on the Iron Throne.” Jace shrugged, and suddenly a mischievous light appeared in his eyes. “In Valyrian tradition, the consorts of a King were among his most critical councilors and agents, and so it was with the Conqueror's consorts. All three of them, if Galsayn’s The Truth of Conquest is to be believed.”

                Aegon’s head snapped around, and he narrowed his eyes. “Now I know you're putting me on. I know for fact that The Conqueror only had two wives. Unless there's a hill I’ve just failed to notice sitting outside my window.”

                Jace was grinning. “Oh he only had two wives. But Maester Galsayn’s  asserts that he had a third lover, not a dragon head but a dragonseed, who stood as high in his councils as Visenya and Rhaenys, and like them led armies for the Conqueror, spoke with his voice, and even sat the Iron Throne.”

                Aegon blinked; he had never heard this tale before. “Who?” He demanded, interest spiked for the first time.

                “His half-brother, Orys Baratheon.” Jace said casually, before turning to continue walking along the wall. Aegon gaped after him and then followed.

                “What?” He spluttered. “Your having a go at me.” Aegon said, with sudden convection. “Your surely not saying that-“

                Jace shrugged. “I say nothing. Maester Galsayn makes the claim in his histories, though I imagine the Citadel would debate it, if they even know of the book. To my knowledge the only copy is in the Dragonstone library. Galsayn says that it was an open secret on Dragonstonr that the young Aegon, Orys, Visenya, and Rhaenys shared a sleeping chamber, were inseparable in their youth, and that the Conqueror was as likely to seek comfort from one of the three as the other.” He shrugged. “A rift opened up between Orys and The Conqueror after Orys lost his hand during the first Dornish War. Orys apparently no longer thought himself worthy as either Hand of a King or lover of one, and so left the Conqueror's company, court, and bed alike, over the protests of Visenya and Aegon both, who had already lost Rhaenys in battle.” He turned solemn. “It’s said their absence is what turned the Conqueror truly grim in the last half of his reign, and Visenya to the darkness with which she would influence Meagor during his own rule. Some say it was Dorne costing him two of his lovers, that kept him from attempting another conquest of it, where in all other places he refused to relent.”

                “Still That’s….” Aegon shook his head. He had no true care for the depravities of the Dark Queen, or why the Conqueror did or did not invade Dorne. His mind was all for the twist that Jace had dealt it. “That’s salacious. Maester Orwyle certainly had not included anything like that my lessons.” Well the ones Aegon had attended anyways. Mother certainly would have approved no lesson that painted the Conqueror with such a sinful brush.

                Jace shrugged, clearly amused. “Why? Because they were half-brothers? They were the blood of the dragon. You know as well as I that makes a difference. All the difference. Because they were men? Why should that matter more than having a sister for a wife, or two wives instead of one?”

                Aegon opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, realizing the ridiculousness of him of all people quoting The Seven Pointed Star to someone. It did make a difference, how Aegon wasn’t quite sure, but it did. And yet…

                “It’s not that.” Aegon said slowly as they approached the southern side of the ringforth. Overhead the sun was starting to sink into the west, they had been flying and exploring old ruins most of the day, and the sea, just barely in sight from where they stood, glowed golden with the failing light. “Or not just that. It’s…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Strange. All my life I’ve been told what an honor, what a responsibility it is, to bear my name. Learning something about the Conquerer, about him. The first Aegon. That….that doesn't make me feel lesser, like a boy in front of a giant it’s…..” He shook his head, trying to find the words. “Everyone expects me to live up to this legend, to be that legend come again and it’s strange to hear him described as flesh and blood too. Human.”

                A silence stretched between them as Aegon realized that he had not just walked near forbidden ground, he had leapt the border straight into it. Aegon held his breath waiting for Jace to do as he usually did: to divert the conversation, to carry them back to something safer.

                But instead, Jace drew up to him, shoulder to shoulder, and turned to stare at him with those warm brown eyes of his.

                “You don’t have to.” Jace said softly. “You don’t have to match a legend. You don’t have to be Aegon, Second of His Name, if you don’t want to be.”

                Aegon froze. His heart beating against his ribcage. They had come to it. Directly. He opened his mouth to play it off, to push the conversation away, but instead of the diversion what popped out is. “It’s not that simple.”

                “How.” Jace demanded, staring up at him. “How is not that simple? It’s the simplest thing in the world, not to claim a crown. Most men who live accomplish the feat every day.”

                Aegon’s snort of laughter was choked, a touch bitter. “It isn’t though. When the King- when father dies, the realm wil divide. Half will go to Rhaenyra, and half to me. War will break out, no matter what I do. And Rhaenyra will have no choice but to put me and Aemond and Dearon to the sword if she wants to secure her claim. I can’t change those facts. No matter what I do. I just can’t Jace.”

                For a moment there was silence, and then Jace spoke again, his voice almost too low to hear. “Do you want it? The Iron Throne?”

                Aegon inhaled. No one had ever asked him that question before.

                He tried to picture it, himself seated atop that small mountain of melted swords and twisting points, a monstrosity that cut up the lives of everyone who touched it. He tried to imagine the power that it would mean, the responsibility, the duty. And….and he realized that no. He didn’t want that. It would be nice for the King to acknowledge him, to say he was worthy, to see worth and value in him or his full siblings, equal to that he gave his first daughter.

                And yet…

                “No.” Aegon said, and felt a shiver run across his skin. It was like committing a sin, or treason. Something deep in his belly wrenching at the word, the betrayal. “No, I don't want it. I never have.”

                He felt Jace’s hand press on his shoulder, a steady calming presence that made his shaking subside. Aegon hadn’t even realized he was shaking. “They can not make you fight if you do not wish to. They can not make you try and claim a throne you do not want.”

                Aegon’s laugh this time was entirely bitter as he let himself sag, feeling keenly the weight of everything. “Why not? Why should what I want matter? It never has before.”

                “It does matter!” Aegon jerked, surprised by the force of Jace’s words, the anger in them, the fierceness. “What you want matters, Aegon. You should be able to want things, to act on that want! You aren’t just a vessel for the ambitions or fears of your family! You matter!”

                Aegon opened his mouth, turning his head to stare at Jace who stared back at him, steady and strong and full of sincerity, his skin glowing with golden light from the setting sun, his eyes shining with determination.

                And then Aegon kissed him.

                He couldn’t have said why he did it with a knife to his throat, or explained himself under torture. All he knew was that he had seen Jace in that moment, and wanted to kiss him. And so he did.

                It was unlike any kiss Aegon had ever had before. There was none of the nervous uncertainty of a blushing palace maid, or the enticing arts of a whore’s tongue. Instead there was a terrible moment of stillness and stunned shock, and then there was hunger and fire, teeth pulling on Aegon’s lip, Jace’s tongue pressing into his mouth while hands pressed against his shoulders, fingers twisting into his cloak and tunic.

                Aegon was not passive. Without his permission his hands had seized Jace’s sturdy torso and pulled him close, needing the warmth of the other man’s body against his own, his knee moving to press between Jace's and his own teeth biting on Jace’s tongue. He felt the flush of warmth again, but magnified a thousand fold, magnified to scorching, to dragonfire-

                And then he tasted blood and the world came crashing back.

                They broke apart, Aegon staggering back and nearly falling onto the stone, while Jace stood, stock still breathing heavily, a trickle of blood running down his mouth from the small cut in his tongue. Yet that didn’t serve to make him look unattractive. If anything it made something in Aegon’s chest twist, seeing Jace panting for breath with blood on his lips, cheeks flush, hair mussed and still illuminated by the sunset.

                And then Aegon’s mind caught up to the rest of him, realization and understanding dawning in the same moment, followed by horror, and guilt.

                “I-“ Aegon said, gulping down breath. His whole skin seemed to tingle, his chest to be constricting, as if his ribs were shrinking ever tighter around his lungs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I-“

                “Aegon. What are you-” Jace began, then shook himself, stunned. Shock, regret, and finally disappointment all flared across his face in quick succession. “Aegon I-“

                But Aegon didn’t, couldn’t stay to hear the rest. Instead he turned down the nearest flight of stairs and fled.

                “AEGON!” Jace shouted, his voice echoing around the ancient walls. “STOP! WAIT!”

                Aegon didn’t heed him. Instead he sprinted across the grass, to where they had left their dragons, curled up at the crest of the hill, caring nothing for the way the rocky ground slid and sprayed under his feet. In that moment whether he made it to Sunfyre’s side or slipped and opened his skull on a rock made no difference to Aegon. He just needed to be away, away from that look in Jace’s eyes, that look he knew so well.

                Disappointment.

                Before Vermax could do more then lift his head to stare at Aegon in confusion, Aegon had hurled himself into Sunfyre’s saddle, not bothering to seize any of the safety straps, he instead urged the dragon upwards, hissing the commands in Old Valyrian in a stuttering voice: rise, flight, away.

                Sunfyre did not hesitate, seeing Aegon’s panic he roared once, and with a great leap and beat of his wings that left,Vermax having to scramble away with a hiss of anger, Sunfyre was in the air. It took only two more sweeps of his wings for them to be beyond the wall, and up towards the clouds, heading south.

                Aegon risked only one look back, just long enough to see the tiny blurring figure that had to be Jace, rushing to his dragon’s side, then he placed his head in his hands, and began to scream.

<X>

                Everything for a while was a blur. The darkness of falling night swirled around him as he flew back to the city. Faces and buildings, flickering lights and distorted words washed over him as he walked back to the keep in a haze. If anyone spoke to him directly, he could not have recalled how he answered, or if.

                The enormity of this screw up was too great, it crushed down on him, leaving no room for anything else in his mind. Not even navigating the winding corridors of the Red Keep.

                Maybe that is how he found himself in the small castle Sept, wandering between the pews and altars, for once not bothered by how much he felt like an intruder in the place.

                It was a beautiful building, Aegon had to admit, even in the darkness of night. Incense hung heavy in the air, trails of smoke swirling overhead, while candles at each altar burning low give a soft illumination. A lone initiate moved between the racks of candles using a burning stick to keep just enough of them alight, while another initiate worked sweeping the floor clean for the morning sermon. No one else was in the Sept, and both the initiates kept their distance and their heads down, giving the place an silent, echoing feeling that Aegon did not mind

                The statues standing at each altar were simple but full of detail: the Warrior in his noble armor sword in hand, the crowned father staring down with judgment from his throne, the Maiden seemingly caught frozen in mid dance, her arms thrown over head, her dress flowing around her. Around each, suspended from the ceiling on long brass chains where pieces of crystal that even now caught and magnified the light from the candles, casting a glow on each statue in the color of it’s god: The Smith in forge fire orange the Crone in an otherworldly violet, the Stranger in wyldfire green.

                Aegon’s feet carried him forward to the statue of the Mother, in her regal gown, gazing down with a face that seemed on the edge of tears, lit a soft indigo by the crystals and framed by the stained glass window behind her.

                Aegon did not kneel, and did not reach for the small stick that could be used to light a candle of his own. Instead he stood and gazed up at her, in a mix of anger, terror and guilt.

                He was not ignorant of the world. A fool in some respects maybe, but not a blind or naive one. He knew well that the pleasures of the flesh were many, varied, and often depraved. He was not one, like the late Ser Leanor, who favored the company of men, but he had never been repelled by the idea either, as perhaps would have been natural. Yet he had confined his interest to women anyways, never toeing that particular line.

                Tales of a prince debauching himself might be born, but tales of the Green’s claimant being taken like a maiden in pleasure houses would be an entirely different matter. The thought of the scorn that would be heaped on them, and fear of the fury and disappointment of his family, had been more than enough to hold him back.

                There was also the fact that it was a sin for man to lay with man of course, though that ranked lower on Aegon’s list. Really, what would be one more atop an already impressive pile of sins? Yet it still entered into his thoughts on the matter. Here at least, he could restrain himself, and could resist temptation as he should. He had determined upon it, resolved to find a line he would not cross.

                And then he had failed at that, just like all the others.

                What hurt most,what tore at him, was how he had ruined things with Jace. His family had no way of learning what happened, rumors had no path to sprout. But Jace knew. Jace had been the first hand witness to Aegon’s utter inability to control himself, for even a moment. Aegon’s family was right: he wasn’t fit to be let outside without a minder, and he had been a fool to think otherwise, for even a second.

                It was over now he knew. Sneaking away to Dragonstone, dragging Jace along for misadventures as if they were still children. Any hope of averting the war. Gone. Gone because Aegon was an animal who couldn’t keep himself in check, even with his best friend. Maegor the Cruel had been less depraved. He at least had never tried to ruin anyone as good as Jace.

                God, Jace would never want to see him again. And why should he? Just because Aegon was blasé about his soul and fate didn’t mean Jace had to be. Jace also had everything to lose through recklessness, and every reason to care besides. Why would he waste his time with someone like Aegon, who couldn’t even be trusted not to throw himself at his own nephew?

                A hand suddenly closed around Aegon’s wrist, stilling it, and Aegon froze, his whole body locking up. He realized belatedly, that he had been slamming his fist against his thigh in anger, beating a bruise into his own flesh while struggling to hold back tears.

                The hand restraining him was not strong, but rather thin and withered, the veins clear under the tight, papery skin. Aegon could easily have broken the hold with a shake of his arm but he didn’t. The rest of the man- the Septon- was equally aged and dry, skin stretched tight over his skull and face, bald head and sorrowful eyes giving him the look of martyr. Or maybe a scarecrow.

                “Your Highness.” Septon Eustance said calmly. Even his voice was dry and papery, but Aegon knew that like his appearance it was deceiving. A keen mind and an iron will was hidden beneath all that dust, as well as a familiar mean streak. And he did not remove his hand from Aegon’s wrist. “Forgive me, you seemed…distressed and I felt the calling to intervene. It would be an affront to the Mother Above for one to injure himself under Her gaze, and I would not want the displeasure of the Gods to fall upon our beloved Prince.”

                “Septon.” Aegon replied, taking a deep steadying breath, trying to find his balance again. And his words. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to disturb your evening. I was intending only to be….overwrought in private.”

                “You did not do so.” The Septon said with a simple shrug of his shoulders. He was dressed in a fine linen robe, stark white and perfectly clean, with the seven pointed star in crystal hanging from a chain around his neck. “You would be surprised how many parishioners come in the dark of the night, seeking counsel away from the prying eyes of men, and in the peace of the hour of the wolf. I admit, I was not expecting Your Highness to be among them, but nor am I troubled by your presence.” He paused as if considering the Septon vows that mandated truth, and then added. “Beyond some concern for finding itchweed in my stalkings, or unclean drawings in the hymn books.”

                Aegon had enough grace to blush. “No. Not this time.” He then forced a smile. “Besides, it’s been years since I last did anything really worth noting.” To Eustance at least. “What do you say we let the past be the past? Forgive-“ He chanced a glance up at the Mother’s statue. “and forget, as the Mother would want.”

                The Septon regarded him skeptically, then apparently deciding that Aegon was calm enough he released his wrist and snorted. “It has been some time since you ran amok.” The Septon conceded, and then his frown deepened. “And you had… bad influences at the time. I will forgive and forget, as the Mother Above would wish.”

                Oddly Aegon felt a flash of anger and the desire to strike the man, but he tamped it down. Striking an elderly priest before the Mother’s altar would most certainly inflame the rage of his family, and the last thing Aegon wanted right now was to be confined, alone with not but his bruises and thoughts for company.

                Though you would deserve them, now more than ever. Something whispered, deep inside of him. And he felt his anger flicker out, replaced by sorrow.

                Something of what he was feeling must have showed on his face, because the Septon’s mood shifted completely, his face softening, and his voice turning gentle as he asked. “What troubles you child?”

                Aegon opened his mouth to deliver his usual response to that sort of thing…and then closed it and turned to face the statue.

                “The Gods.” He finally said. “The Gods trouble me.”

                “That.” Septon Eustance said, his voice even dryer than usual, and a touch wry. “Does not surprise me.” Aegon blinked in surprise and the Septon shrugged. “I do have ears, my boy. Being a Septon does not deafen me to gossip, even though I sometimes wish it did.” He shook his head. “What about the Gods troubles you this evening however?”

                “Why didn’t they make us perfect?” Aegon said. He had meant to leave it at that, but he found words bubbling up out of him in a rush, too tired and too unsettled to keep them back like he usually would. “If the Seven are all powerful, all knowing- perfect- then why did they make us? Why did they make rules and then make it so we would break them? If they didn’t want us to hurt each other, why are we able to? What is the point?”

                Septon Eustance was silent so long that Aegon turned his head to look at the man, just to make sure he hadn’t passed away standing there. The man was still alive however and staring at Aegon in surprise.

                “You don’t start small, do you boy?” The Septon muttered. Then he shook his head. “Why did the Gods make us flawed? Because if we were perfect, we would not be able to choose. Obedience to their commands would be meaningless, if we did not have the ability to refuse them. Doing the right thing does not matter, if it is impossible to do otherwise. We are all the children of the Gods in the end, and as all children must heed their father, we all must heed the Father Above. The Mother Above weeps when we fall short and sin as any mother would, to see her children suffer, for when we sin it is ourselves we hurt worst, not others.”

                Aegon was quiet for a long moment. He had always felt the Gods had no right to be disappointed in him, when they were the ones who had made him this way. If humans sinned, didn’t that say more about their creators, then it did humans themselves?

                He rubbed his eyes. Excuses. How long would he make those? He was so tired of not being enough. So tired of being weak. Of hurting everyone.

                “The Mother forgives as well.” Septon Eustance said gently, guiding Aegon down to kneel before the statue. It was a sign of his exhaustion that he didn’t resist in the least, allowing himself to be guided. “As all Mothers do, in their love and mercy. Confessions are sanctified in Her name, and sealed to Her. She only asks us to confess our wrongs, to admit them to be wrong, in order to know her forgiveness.”

                Aegon felt so tired. So tired. He’d hiked for most of the day, then flew wildly to reach King’s Landing again. He rubbed at his eyes, which stung from being open so long and form the incense that hung heavy in the air. “Sealed to the Mother?” He asked, the words coming out rough and odd to his ears.

                Eustnace nodded, he had produced a narrow stole from somewhere, white and stitched with the seven pointed star at either end. “Yes. It will be just for you, and me and the Mother Above to know. Not the King, or the Queen, or the Hand.”

                “No one else?” Aegon said, squinting up at the statue of the Mother, and her sorrowful face.

        “No one else.” Eustance agreed, laying the stole over his shoulders, and then quickly making the sign of the Seven Pointed Star on his own forehead, murmuring a prayer under his breath that Aegon didn’t catch. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the sorrowful face of the statue staring down at him, accusing. Weeping tears for his mistakes, and his sins.

                “I hurt a friend.” Aegon heard himself say. “I kissed him.”

                Eustance sighed as he finished his prayer and let his hand fall. “I am unsurprised.” He said gently, and took out a small crystal phial full of water. “Corruption and perversion can creep into our souls when we frequent low places, the way mold can creep into the damp. But you can yet be washed clean, as you can of any sin. Tell me the tale.”

                “It started weeks ago.” Aegon said, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. “When I crept away one night to Dragonstone.”

                Eustances eyebrows rose as Aegon continued, and they only went higher as Aegon continued, listening with rapt attention as Aegon spilled out the whole matter from start to finish, losing himself in the telling of the tale.

                Which meant that neither man saw the figure listening in the shadows, or noticed her creep away from and out of the Sept.

Chapter Text

         For as long as she could remember Alicent Hightower’s life had been defined by the word duty.

         Duty had been the essence of her own mother, who had upheld her arranged marriage and appointed station in life, as a noble Lady and dutiful mother, even when she would have preferred the life of Septa with its quiet solitude and prayer. It had been the core of her father too, after her mother had died and all the light in him died with her: duty had sustained him, given him purpose in his grief, and dedication to hold him together with his sorrows.

         She could still recall the day of her mother’s funeral, all of Old Town full of rain and a thick fog that had rolled up from the sea. After the hymns had been sung and the tomb closed, Alicent’s father had taken her up the long spiral staircase of white marble to the top of the High Tower itself, where its huge beacon burned in a great stone brazier. Legend said it had remained lit without interruption since the Age of Heroes. Her father had taken her around the edge of that fire, where on a low stone wall the same words repeated over and over again were carved into the stone and made an endless chain in the squared runes of the First Men. 

         “We light the way.” Her father had said, running his hands over the runes. 

         Alicent, still in the mourning dress she had worn to the funeral, had rubbed tears from her cheeks and looked up at her father, not understanding. “Our house words.” 

         Her father had nodded then spoken solemnly, his eyes cold.. “A promise. To always be a beacon of order and stability. A duty handed down from Uthor’s day, when we were kings in this land. It has been passed on to each of his descendants. To every member of this family.” He had turned to her then, his eyes heavy with unshed tears, his face lined with his pain. “This world is a savage, chaotic, cruel place. It is our task, given to us by the Gods and by our ancestors, to create order, and stability within it. We do that by being an ideal to which all folk, great and small may aspire. Even when our hearts break, even when our souls suffer, even when it seems more than we can bear, still we stay strong. We do not break, or crack, or shed tears. We remain steady and we light the way.” 

         Alicent had nodded in quiet understanding, rubbed the last of her tears away, and forced herself to stand tall, like mother would have, like father yet was. Her pain was nothing after all, beside her duty. 

         That reality had not changed with the years or with becoming Queen. If anything her ascension had heightened responsibility. As the first of all women in the realm, she was the model to which they would gaze and pattern themselves after. Now more than ever she needed to be an exemplar of the righteous and correct path, an icon of virtue and duty. The same was true of her children in turn: each must uphold their duty, each must shine as an example of goodness if there was to be any hope. Nothing less was acceptable. As her father and mother had made her know her duty, she had tried to make her children know theirs. That was her path to walk.

         Yet it had proved thornier then she had expected it to be, and full of troubling contradictions. Like now for instance.

         “You will tell me the providence of this information.” She said without turning to face her guest. Her back was to the whole of her chamber, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon, past the lattice work of her sitting room window. She stood before it, not trusting herself to keep her temper leashed if she had to meet the man’s eyes.

         “Your Grace.” Lord Larys said. She heard a faint tinkle, the sound of a spoon striking the edge of a cup as he finished stirring his milk into his tea. “Is that truly necessary? Surely by now you can trust both my judgment and the discretion of my sources.”

         Alicent sighed. Larys despised giving up details about his agents, but for this, she needed to know. “You will tell me the source and let me judge myself this time, or I will have to dismiss this as nothing more than the usual rumor and slander that attaches itself to my son, and think of it no more.”

         Lord Larys clicked his tongue and there was a moment of silence as he no doubt sipped his tea. They both knew he would not bring mere rumor and slander to her, in particular not about Aegon, though the Gods knew there was plenty of it. Rumor put her son as the father of every bastard in King’s Landing, and in the beds of every married woman at court, and half the merchant wives. While Alicent did not doubt he had sowed more than one loose dragonseed, and had made himself free with unvirtuous wives without guilt, even the middling rumors stretched credulity.

         Larys did not dabble in that sort of gossip however. No. If he had brought her something it was solid. But she needed to know for certain. For this she needed any doubt removed before she could act.

         Finally Larys spoke. “Very well.” The words came as if dragged by a team of horses, but they came. “There is a certain Septa with a weakness for wine, which can be quite difficult for a woman of the cloth, in particular a woman of the royal Sept, to acquire. In exchange for helping her overcome this difficulty she.....keeps an ear out and informs me of anything of interest that she overhears in the course of her duties.”

         Alicent finally turned at this to regard him with cold fury. He sat unashamed upon one of her sitting room couches, his cane resting beside him while he supported a small porcelain tea cup with his fingertips. Everything in her rooms was ordered and exacting, placed just so, including the Seven Pointed Star that hung above the mantle, gold with crystal at each point to represent one of the Seven. The Highttowers had been among the first to adopt the Faith of the Seven during the Andal invasion, and had given Old Town to it’s shelter and protection, as they had the Order of Maesters before it.

         The Faith ran deeply in her, which Larys knew well.

         “Confession.” She said, feeling anger bubble up inside of her. As always she tamped it back down, fastening a tight grip on her emotions. “You have this…this woman-“ Alicent would not give her the honors of a Septa, not when she had tossed her vows aside for no more than drink. “Listen in on sacred confessions, and report back to you what people say.”

         Larys shrugged, not denying it. “Men are more honest with one of the Faithful then any other, and more sincere in seeking the pardon of the Gods then they might otherwise be. It seemed wise to have someone in place to tap such honesty.”

         “It is sin!” She snapped but Larys simply gave her a wry smile and sipped his tea.

         Alicent felt her anger gutter out. It was an absurd point she knew, given the other sins to Larys name. What was breaking the seal of confession to a man twice a kinslayer?

         Of all her allies, Larys Strong was the one that most troubled her. If the Father Above had sent her her own father to guide and council her, if the Warrior had dispatched to her Criston Cole to serve as her noble sword arm, then surely the Stranger had sent her Larys Strong to walk in the dark places and do the necessary, bloody things that might otherwise sully more noble hands.

         As far she knew, he had not borne his father or brother even the smallest amount of bad will. She knew of no great affection between Larys and his kin, but nor any abuse or neglect that might warrant his anger and revenge. Ser Harwin and Lord Lyonel had been kind, if a touch distant with Larys. Harwin had guarded him against the cruelty of court, and Lyonel had clothed him in silk and refused to hide him away, as was usually done with those born crippled in noble houses. And yet Larys had not shown the slightest hesitation, or a flicker of sorrow, at murdering them, nor fear of justice from the King or the Gods.

         To Alicent’s knowledge, Larys did not even believe in the Gods. As near as she had been able to determine in all their years of friendship, Larys’s beliefs had been whittled down by life to a bare three: that the world was an inherently cruel and malicious place, that a man born crippled must be even more cruel and malicious if he wished to survive, and that Alicent Hightower as the only person to ever show him kindness without expectation was the only worthy object of loyalty or devotion.

         Part of her was disgusted by him, hated him, wanted to go to the King and confess all, throw them both on his mercy. But….another part of her remembered that when she had called for satisfaction for Aemond’s maiming, Ser Criston had balked her. And Larys had not. He never did, not in anything. 

         “Rather than quibbling over how the information was obtained.” Larys said when it became clear she was not going to press the point further. “We might instead consider the import of it, and what is to be done.”

         Alient clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. It had been a long time since she had felt the urge to pick her skin, but the desire surged in her now. By rights, she should pretend she knew nothing of this. Aegon had confessed his sin in holy rite, and by the laws of the Gods it was for them, the Septon, and him alone to know. It was not for her to judge or to act unless information of it came to her by mortal means. And yet the consequences of inaction loomed too large to be ignored.

         She had to believe Larys had been sent by the Stranger. Surely if such, she could not be judged for acting on what was brought to her by him, even obtained through sin.

         “I should have suspected this from the first.” She muttered. “I always loathed the way those….those creatures would cling to Aegon’s heels, luring him into mischief and trouble.”

         She crossed the room as she spoke, lowering herself onto the couch opposite Larys and pouring herself tea. She had sent her servants away for this meeting, and was glad she had. News of this….it could destroy everything.

         Larys shrugged. “That the Prince was doing something other than religious contemplation was never in doubt. But had this suspicion come to me by less sure means I would have doubted it myself. You can not hold yourself to account for not suspecting.” He shook his head.

         “Can I not? I am his mother.” She asked coldly, staring into her tea cup. “Aegon has always had a weakness for the boy. I had hoped their separation was the end of it. But I should have known better. Of course he would attempt to seduce and corrupt my sweet Aegon.”

         Larys coughed suddenly, and she looked up at him to see him dabbing a spot of tea away from his mouth. She frowned at him but he waved her off, setting his cup down.

         She had always disliked Rhaenya’s sons. Bastards were foul and accursed of the Gods, and she had worried that exposure to such would compromise her own children, with good reason as it had turned out. She was sure that Rhaenyra’s bastard was to blame for Aegon’s drinking and whoring ways, and now this -

         He was like his mother, Alicent thought as she stared down into her tea. No regard or concern for anyone but himself, flouting law and decency, duty and honor, and for what? For no more than his own carnal pleasure and sentiment. The laws of Gods and men, tossed aside without care for the consequence to anyone else.

         Rumor of this would ruin Aegon. Who would rally to support the claim of a man who debased himself for a bastard? How many Lords would bend the knee and swear their banners to one who had bent his own knees for one of those they would be fighting?

         “This must be ended. Now. I will order Aegon confined to the Red Keep until further notice.” Alicent said. “You will ensure that your Septa will not wag her tongue to anyone else, drink or no, and we will pray that any rumors Rhaenyra and her bastard spread are dismissed out of hand.” They should be unless Aegon gave fuel to them, Gods protect her from that .

         Larys tilted his head to one side. “…Dragonriders are notoriously difficult to keep prisoner, and I doubt Aegon will consent to it. We must now consider the possibility that he may attempt a flight to Dragonstone as a recourse.”

         Alicent grimaced. Aegon was stubborn and contrary when he wanted to be, but there was hope in his repentance and confession. Yet Lord Larys was right, it could not be risked.

         “The beasts can be chained.” Alicent replied. “And the Dragonkeeprs at the Pit are loyal to the Crown.”

         “To the King.” Larys corrected softly. “And House Targaryen. Not Hightower.”

         Alicent opened her mouth to say that it made no difference, she would ask the King to write the orders herself…then closed it again.

         She felt a sudden stillness as realization dawned on her, a point that Larys had likely already considered. 

         The King would not issue such a command without first wanting to know the reason.

         Alicent could not admit to him that she had broken the bonds of confession, and the King would dismiss anything else as baseless rumor. Worse, even if he could be made to believe, he might not care that Rhaenyra’s bastard was attempting to steal his son’s chastity. She could picture the man laughing it off as a ‘misadventure of boyhood’ and telling her not to trouble herself with it.

         “I can still have him confined.” She said finally. But doubt had crept in. Any prolonged confinement would require explanation, to their family, to the court, and worst, to Aegon himself. He could not know that she had intruded on his confession, even by proxy. It would snuff out the flickering hope of him coming back to the Gods’ grace as she hoped.

         “You can.” Larys said then added, echoing her own fears. “For a time. But it would only be a temporary salve to the situation. Not a true cure.”

         “A cure can only come with repentance and the Grace of the Seven.” Alicent responded. She would pray every night for it now, as fiercely as she was able. Maybe they would extend the salvation they had denied Leanor Velaryon, and cure Aegon of this….affliction. If not….well. A way forward would be found.

         “On his newly discovered appetites I can not speak one way or the other.” Larys said calmly, returning his handkerchief to its sleeve. “In my experience, the Gods are deaf to such pleas to alter our nature.” Alicent felt a stab of sorrow for him, but hid it. He did not need or want her pity. “But I do not speak of his nature. I speak of his….attachment to young Jacaerys.”

         Alicent raised her eyebrows. “If their separation and the events at High Tide that followed could not sever the….attachment.” Calling it that burned her mouth, but the words it deserved would burn worse. “What can?”

         Larys looked at her, cold dark eyes staring into her own, and said it bluntly for once. “The edge of a knife.”

         Alicent recoiled, dropping her tea cup, barely hearing it shatter on the stone of the floor as she stared at him, appalled. The casuallness with which he suggested the murder of his own nephew making everything in her revolt.

         Larys shrugged, not at all upset by his words.

         And why should he be? She thought darkly. Why should a man twice a kinslayer fear the act a third time?

         “It would be a strong blow to the Princess’s cause.” Larys said, resting his hand on his cane. “In one stroke you remove a tether on Prince Aegon that might…restrain him, and you cost Princess Rhaenyra both a dragonrider, and her heir. Men who would not line up to pledge their swords to a woman normally, might do so under the belief they are winning the favor of the future King, and those who might be deterred by the presence of Daemon Targaryen, might also view Jacaerys, who already is gaining a reputation for nobility and prudence, as a counterweight to the Prince Consort’s recklessness. We-“

         “Enough!” Alicent snapped, her fist clenching tighter. She could feel her nails, scoring into her skin, making tiny red crescents. “Enough! You speak of cold blooded murder!”

         Larys shrugged. “I speak of an opportunity. Aegon has unwittingly furnished us with the means to draw Jacaerys out of the safety of Dragonstone’s walls, and strike at him when he least expects it. Such a blow-“

         She stood and Larys cut off, shifting back against the bench as she towered over him.

         Her voice was cold in her own ears, full of frozen rage. “You may care nothing for the state of your own soul, but that doesn't mean I feel the same Lord Strong.” He flinched as if she had slapped him. He hated being called by his House name. “I will not compound the sin of breaching Aegon’s confession, with using the illgotten information to carry out murder.”

         Larys was quiet, staring at her without expression. She knew he was picking his next words very very carefully. He could feel the headsman’s ax hovering over his neck. Larys had no friends other than her, and no allies. Worse none of the affection of the King had transferred from Lord Lyonel to him. The King would not hesitate to send Larys to his death at Alicent’s word alone, and none would intercede to save him.

         Yet he did not beg pardon and swear off the course, as she would have preferred. Instead when he spoke it was careful and calculated. “And what-“ He asked. “Of your son’s soul?”

         When she didn’t respond, Larys continued, gaining steadiness as he spoke. “Jacaerys has always been a source of problems for Aegon, you know it as well as I. '' He tilted his head to the other side, minding her of a bird, stooping. “Without his influence, Aegon may yet make a fine King when the time comes. But with…well, history will remember him as nothing more than the man who traded a crown for a bastard’s cock. To the world, he shall always be Jacaeryes’s whore.”

         Alicent forced her hand to open and glanced down, seeing the tiniest specs of blood on her nails. She thought of the High Tower, and the words carved over and over again around the lip of the beacon.

         We light the way.

         “…Take care of it.” Her voice was like a stranger’s in her own ears. Harsh and horse. “Just. Take care of it.”         

         Larys’s half smile showed no recognition of her distress. “As you wish, my Queen."

<X>

         Aegon regained consciousness slowly, in fits and starts, which was not a wholly unusual experience for him. Nor where the blurry glimpses of a room unfamiliar to him, or the feel of a bed he didn’t recognize under his back.

         What was unusual was the lack of sour taste in his mouth, ache in his body, or pounding in his skull. None of the usual signs of a night spent getting drunk on which he might blame his sorry state were present, which begged an interesting question. Where was he and how had he gotten there? 

         Forcing himself to sit up and blink his eyes gave an answer to at least one of those questions, and raised several more.

         He had not been in Helaena’s room in a very long time, and yet it seemed largely unchanged from how he recalled it. Stacks of books littered the floor in seemingly random piles and heaps: slender leather bound journals stacked atop wide wood bound tomes from the library, bundles of scrolls held by cord leaning carelessly against wide instructional texts with cracked spines. Some he knew were on loan from the royal library and the Maester, some were gifts from ladies of court attempting to curry favor with mother, others ones that she had acquired of her own accord, bought off passing merchants or via dealers in the city.

         Almost all would be about bugs. Studies about their behavior and anatomy, lists of which bugs dwelt in which areas of the realm, instructions on the care and feeding of certain precious types, even many books which were nothing but collections of sketches of bugs, labeled in neat cramped hands. One of the journals, acquired by Daeron in Old Town and sent as last year’s name day gift, Aegon was relatively certain was the diary of a madman who did nothing but ramble about pond spiders.

         Aegon did not understand the appeal, but he didn’t have to understand to know that they made Helaena happy. Still he had always wondered how Helaena or her maids navigated actually walking around the place with so many books scattered about. She never let the maids clean up in here (much to mother’s despair), claiming they were just how she wanted them, and that she wouldn’t be able to find anything if they were moved. 

         The books were not the only thing that let him know where he was. Three great glass terrariums, two positioned in front of windows, one in the far corner of the room where it was most shaded, took up even more space. Those had been Aegon’s gift, to celebrate their betrothal. The finest glass workers in King’s Landing had been commissioned to make them, each three strides across and and a stride deep, with circular holes in the top to let in air, and brass supports to hold the weight of the dirt, water, and tree limbs within. He had never seen Helaena more delighted then when they had been carried in, or their mother more pleased by his actions. 

         Helaena had understood what the gesture had meant too, because she had returned it in kind. The next day, two bottles of fine Arbor Red had appeared in his room. There had been no note, but a small drawing on one of the labels had indicated their sender: a tiny centipede done in painstaking detail. There would never be real love between Aegon and his sister, he knew, but he had begun to believe there could at least be an accommodation between them. 

         Helaena was standing before one of those terrariums now, the one in the far back where she kept the insects that fled from the light. Spiders and horn beatles, night wasps and moths. The dark earth of the terrarium was speckled with mushrooms, and a small pond at the center was filled with cloudy water. 

         Aegon found his feet and moved to join Helaena, careful to step around the stacks of books and not knock anything over. He was still in his flying leathers he realized, though his cloak, boots, and fingerless gloves had been removed. Yet he still felt heavy with night sweat and filth, and eager for a bath. 

         And a drink. Several preferably. 

         Helaena spoke, without turning around to look at Aegon. 

         “He’s almost gotten himself free.” She said softly eyes fixed on the bugs within her terrarium, unblinking. “Almost. Just a bit more.” 

         Aegon blinked and followed her gaze to where a Deathhead Spider, so named for the strange white pattern on its back that looked like a skull if you squinted, had stretched out her web between two lengths of the branch. A tiny Sunmoth, butter yellow wings edged in orange, had wandered too close and been caught on the edge of the web, one spindly leg twisted in silk. Yet Aegon realized as he peered closer, Helaena was right. The Sunmoth had managed to keep its wings free and was beating them furiously, it’s good leg on a un-webbed branch, and bit by bit, it was pulling away from the web, while the spider, sat in the center of her web, watching with her glittering, hateful eyes. 

         “Poor sod.” Aegon muttered and Helaena started and turned, staring at him with wide eyes. Aegon felt himself blush, realizing that she hadn’t been speaking to him but her bugs. She probably hadn’t even realized that he was awake. 

         Helaena recovered quickly though straightened and brushing the skirt of her dress absently as she looked Aegon over. Her fingernails had dirt under them and had not yet been clipped, which meant mother had not stopped by this morning yet. She always insisted Helaena let the maids feed and tend her ‘pets’ when she could. 

         “It’s just nature.” Helaena said with a shrug. “All things struggle to survive. The moth is not more noble then the spider, just because it is prey. The spider is not more noble because it is a predator. It just is. Two things that live, life for one means death for the other, death for one means life for the other. It is nature.” 

         He shook his head. “Still, it’s cruel.” 

         “That is the world the Gods made for us then.” Helaena responded by lifting her skirt and stepping around Aegon towards the light of the windows on her far wall. “It’s neither one's fault. Not really. How did you sleep?” 

         Instead of pressing the point further Aegon allowed himself to be diverted. Arguing with  Helaena was about as effective as sparring with a pillow, and had about as much point. “Well. You have a very comfortable couch sister. I should make use of it next time I need to sleep off a night of revelry. I wouldn’t mind knowing how I came to it though.” He put on his best smile for her, and it washed over her without effect. Instead she moved, gliding effortlessly around her books, to settle by the window, and draw out her embroidery hoop. 

         Today it was a hand, pale and stark on a field of black. The fingers were scored however, lines of red streaking across them, as if slashed. Exactly the sort of thing that would upset the ladies of court, and make mother frown and gently suggest Helaena try something more palatable, a lacewing or butterfly perhaps. 

         “An initiate came to my door late last night to tell me you’d passed out in the castle Sept.” Helaena said as she began to loop her thread into the hole of the needle. “Septon Eustance didn’t seem to know what to do with you, so I brought you back here.” She glanced at Aegon for a moment, looking worried. “He seemed to think you where….distressed. Did something happen on Dragonstone?” 

         Despite himself, Aegon looked around the room. None of his sister’s maids or attendants were present of course- she had probably dismissed them for the night before going down to the Sept to fetch him. Yet he still felt his neck prickle. He didn’t like talking about the truth of where he went on his ‘pilgrimages’, now more than ever. 

         “You could say that.” Aegon said finally, lowering himself into a chair and rubbing his cheeks. He had no idea how to begin explaining without shaming himself, and Jace to the bone. For himself he cared nothing: he knew he would never have anyone’s good opinion. But he still did not want it to reflect badly on Jace. So what he said was: “Things went awry. That’s all.” 

         Helanea pursed her lips and sighed. “Well, you’ll just have to fix them next time you fly out. That’s all.” 

         Aegon shook his head and let his face rest in his hands. He was almost wistful from the pain of a hangover headache. At least it would take his mind from other things. “I don’t think I’m going back. Not anymore. You were wrong Helaena I….there's no fixing this.” 

         Helaena’s voice gained passion as she spoke. “That’s not true. I know that’s not true. There is a way out. Tell me what happened with Jace, and maybe I can help you mend it.” 

         Aegon felt his finger dig into his scalp, the urge to rip at his hair rising. “You can’t. Not now. Maybe someone better could have figured out how to make pace, or found a way forward. But not me. I’m….I’m too much of a monster Helaena. I don’t make things better, I just ruin them. I have since I was born.” 

         If Aegon had never been born, then there wouldn’t be a succession crisis. There wouldn’t be a challenge to Rhaenyra’s rule. Gods, Rhaenyra and mother would probably still be friends. 

         “That’s not true.” Helaena snapped, and Aegon looked up to see that she had leaned forward, and was staring at him more intensively than she ever had before. Like he was one of her bugs and she was trying to figure out why he was the way he was. “It isn’t. You aren’t a monster, you're just….flawed. But Jace knew that, and he struck up your old friendship again anyways. Whatever you did it can’t be that-“ 

         “I kissed him!” Aegon heard himself shout, sudden anger flaring and then guttering out with the words. He could still feel the tingle where their lips had met, and remember the way he had flushed dragonfire hot.  “I….I kissed him without warning and he-“ Aegon shook his head. They had broken apart and that look in Jace’s eyes. Disappointment and confusion and doubt all mixed together. He was used to it from others, used to letting people down. But not Jace. For all Septon Eustance had poured water over his hands and absolved, Aegon felt no more clean then he had upon returning to the Red Keep. Aegon heard his voice crack as he continued. “…He is never going to want to talk to me again.” 

         For a long moment there was silence as Aegon waited for Helaena to rail and row at him. But when she spoke, it was with genuine confusion. “….Why? Did he not like it?” 

         Aegon opened his mouth to point out that obviously Jace had not liked it….but closed it again. There had been a moment where Jace had been kissing him back, and had seemed to enjoy it. But…

         “It doesn't matter.” Aegon said finally. “I couldn’t control myself, Helaena. I never can. I’m just a wanton and degenerate. He won't risk being near me again. He can’t. He has too much to lose and….and I’ve already lost us everything.” He shook his head. “Once Rhaenyra learns I threw myself at her son she’ll put us all to the sword without a doubt. I went to Dragonstone to try and fix everything and instead….” He shakes his head. “I’ve broken it even more. I’ve doomed us all, because I can’t control myself. If I had any real courage, or decent I would do the honorable thing and clear the way for Aemond to be King instead.”

         For a moment there was silence, as Aegon realized he had said more than he meant too. Helaena was staring at him more intently then she ever had before, a spark of fear behind her eyes.

         “Aegon.” She said quietly. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

         “Why?” Aegon asked harshly, feeling the scratchiness in his very throat. “My whole life I’ve just been a burden and a wretch. I’m not good enough for Mother or Grandfather, or the King. I’m an obstacle keeping Aemond from realizing his dreams. I’m a husband you don’t want. I’m a threat to Rhaenyra and her family. The only person who ever liked me was Jace and I screwed that up too.” He shook his head. “The world it…” He trailed off, as he always did from such thoughts. As he always had too. Yet a sudden burst of anger, at himself, at the world, at everything pushed them out at last. “The world would be a better place if I wasn’t in it. For everyone.”

         He didn’t realize he had started to cry until he felt Helaena’s gentle fingertips wiping away his tears. She had moved to kneel before him. “You are flawed. But we all are Aegon. And you are not as wretched as you believe yourself to be. Yes you drink too much, and you can be selfish and cruel sometimes in your thoughtlessness. But you are also sharp and loyal, with a good heart.”  He opened his mouth to argue but she cut him off by extending a hand, laying it against his chest. “I know because it wouldn’t bleed this much if it were truly wicked.”

         For a moment they stood like that. Her kneeling in front of him hand against his chest, and him, heart beating wildly, curled in on himself in his seat, trying to breath.

         “You're wrong.” He finally managed to say, his voice horse and choked.

         “I’m not.” Helaena replied firmly. “And what’s more, I would miss you if you died. I would miss you terribly. So would everyone else, including Jace.”

         He shook his head. “Jace hates me now.” Yet the denial sounded weaker in his own ears somehow. “He would swing the sword himself to be rid of me.”

         “Did he say that?” Helaena replied stoutly. “Did you talk afterwards? Or did you just run off in a panic before he could really react?” Aegon couldn’t respond to that, couldn’t explain how he had seen the disappointment in Jace’s eyes. The regret. When he didn’t speak though, Helaena continued. “Go back to Dragonstone. Talk to him again. Work it out. This is all just some misunderstanding, I know it.” And then added, under her breath, a bit distantly. ”There is a fire on the beach.”

         Aegon ignored the last bit, but shook his head at the first. “I can’t Helaena.” He didn’t have the courage for that either. Just the thought of facing Jace again, of hearing his rejection and scorn….it made him cold inside. “I can’t.”

         Their fate couldn’t be escaped, he knew that now. It had been silly to try.

Chapter Text

           The last night that Aegon spent debauching himself he chose a brothel called the Nine Horse Hitch for his revels. It was, in theory, the finest brothel in Flea Bottom, but that was not saying much. Dirty sawdust covered the floor, and raucous laughter floated in and out of every room, none of which had a proper door. Women, and no few men, writhed on tables or against walls where they had been dragged by the rough hands of their patrons, or raced about to keep cups full in between rude slaps and gropes from the unwashed crowd. 

            A small collection of musicians sat on a slightly raised stage at one end of the room, dutifully playing a wordless song that Aegon was relatively sure he was the only one listening to. The only art in the place hung behind the musicians, a rough but large sketch that gave an imaginative interpretation to the Brothel’s name.  The brothel’s sole bar, which took up most of the center of the room, was splintered and cracked, with mugs on short chains tied to the counter to keep patrons from making off with them. A heavy scent of sour smoke, from the various dirty fireplaces that lined the room, hung over the whole circus.

            There was none of the artifice of the Street of Silk at least, which was the best that Aegon could say for the place. He had grown tired of the charade lately: of the use of shimmering clothing and sparkling powders, smokey incense and fine wine, to hide and disguise a truth understood by all involved. This at least was honest. Raw and rough and ugly, but honest.

            Like life that way. Aegon thought bitterly, staring into his untouched mug. He had ordered more out of politeness than an actual desire to drink the vinegary liquid that they called wine here.

            “If you're not even going to enjoy this...display.” Ser Fell said, voice dripping with frustration. “Then why not leave?”

            Aegon looked up at the wiry man who was at stiff backed attention despite Aegon’s standing invitation to sit when they were out like this. As usual, they had both dressed down for their jaunt into the city, but no lack of armor or white cloak could make Ser Fell appear less then he was, not when he held himself with such pride and command, and not when he still carried his sword with him, his hand always resting on its.hilt. In all his years guarding Aegon, Aegon had discovered nothing capable of making the man unbend, or show a face other than surly and defiant.

            “If you want to go then go.” Aegon said, not bothering to keep tight annoyance out of his voice. “I won't tell Cole or anyone else if you do.”

            The disgusted noise that Fell made was so loud it caught the attention of men two tables over- though only for a moment before they went back to their own revels, and the whore held between them.

            “You may have no regard for decency or duty, no care for anything but your own pleasure-” Ser Fell said sourly. “But others can not be so reckless Your Highness .” Too late he bit his tongue, realizing that he had stepped out of line.

            Anger flared in Aegon, but not for the disrespect. He cared nothing for the man mouthing off to him, but there was something else in his words, something that struck deep inside of him.

            “If you hate me so much.” Aegon said furiously. “Then why did you agree to be my Sworn Shield?”

            He expected Ser Fell to demure as people always did when Aegon showed them a flash of temper. But Fell surprised him, and refused to back down. His voice, if possible, was full of even more acid and contempt. “There was a time.” He said tightly. “That I thought it might be an honor to serve my Prince and future King. But he proved to be nothing more than a disappointment.”

            Aegon’s laugh was bitter and exhausted. Of course , he thought. Of course it’s that.

            Fell frowned darkly, clearly having expected anything in response to his venom except laughter. But before he could react Aegon had stood. “I am so terribly sorry to disappoint you, Ser Fell.” Aegon said. “But at least, you are in good company.”

            And then before the man could do more than blink in confusion Aegon turned and walked right into the chaos of the crowd, leaving him behind. Aegon could not explain better, and did not want to try. Right now, all he wanted to do was forget.

            The press of bodies and noise around him was all consuming as he moved across the room. No one paid him any mind, except to shove him out of the way, or move slightly to let him pass. His hood was pulled well up, hiding his silver hair, but even if it had been down he didn’t know that anyone would have noticed the prince in their midst. There were better things to give their attention too.

            “Chickens?” One man was saying incredulously as Aegon passed his table. “Where is the fun in that ? At least dogs can make a good showing, especially if you’ve got a bitch in heat to get their blood up. What do chickens do except squawk and peck?”

            “You’d be surprised.” His companion answered. “But if it’s real blood you want then what you need is rats. Little buggers can swarm, especially if they smell weakness. No mercy in them, only instinct. Why-“

            The swirl of the crowd carried Aegon away before he could hear more, and close to a different conversation.

            “A maiden fresh from Lys, blushing and innocent.” An elder whore was nodding to the girl clinging to her arm. Younger than Jace she at least wore a filmy white linen gown, more than most of the workers at the Nine Horse Hitch could say, but her dark skin was light with embarrassment and fear. The men she was being shown too laughed, spittle flying from their lips. 

            “A maiden from Lys ? As likely to find a Northman from Dorne!” One said slapping his drinking companion on the back. “Why-“

            Aegon stepped away purposefully that time, not wanting to hear the man’s excuse for wit, and was brought into the hearing of yet another table. 

            “I’m telling you the House of Kisses is worth the Gold they ask. The whores there can make any fantasy come alive, as if it were real. Trained at it they are. You’ll really think your bedding is a Septa, or a Queen. Why-“

            Aegon didn’t even bother listening to the end of the sentence. He had been to the House of Kisses already and it was true enough- but pretending he had been bedding the Princess of Dorne or a noble widow had lost it had lost its spice after a while, like everything eventually did.

            His wandering eventually carried him to the back room, which the Nine Horse Hitch kept only for those too shy to carry on their revels in the open light. No candles or hearths burned here, though the smoke still hung in the air. Bodies writhed against one another in every corner, against every wall and column, even in piles upon the floor, making it a trick to walk through the mess without stepping on anyone.

            Fell is right . Aegon thought bitterly as he stepped to the side to allow a couple that may have actually been three people- he couldn’t tell in the low light- pass him by. Why am I here?

            “Copper for your thoughts m’lord?” An oaky voice said, and Aegon gave a jump, turning to face the speaker. It was a young man, a little younger than Aegon himself, with dark slightly wavy hair and coppery skin that spoke of Dornish descent. Like his fellows he wore basically nothing- a sash of transparent black linen that didn't hide anything and nothing else- and his lean body showed the signs of hard use: a bruise here, a small cut there. Nothing glaring, but obvious to one used to the company of whores. He was still pretty enough to look at. And more Aegon recognized him from earlier in the evening- he had been the one to bring Aegon his ‘wine’. Aegon had enjoyed watching him walk away.

            “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone brood in a whore house before.” The young man continued with a chuckle, stepping closer to Aegon. They were near the edge of the room, and as close to privacy as you were likely to find in a place like this. Not that anyone was paying either of them any mind. “I saw you looking at me earlier. Is there anything I can do to make you smile m’lor-“

            “How much?” Aegon cut across him, not caring how brusk his voice sounded. The man had clearly followed him in from the main room, and Aegon had no patience left to waste on artifice. He wanted to forget. And there was something enticing about the man’s wavy hair, and more something inviting about fondling a man where anyone could see.

            It is sin . A voice whispered in the back of his mind. It is shameful.

            Aegon crushed that voice. What was the point? Septon Eustance’s confession and holy water had not made him feel one bit cleaner than he had since returning to King’s Landing. If he was going to be stained no matter what, going to be a disappointment no matter what, what was the point of hiding the fact?

            The man blinked, clearly taken aback. He was no doubt used to having to cajole, to seduce in order to make his keep. But Aegon did not want to be cajoled or seduced. He wanted to put his fingers in those wavy locks and to forget.

            He was quick on the uptake however, and said briskly. “Three Silver Stags for-“

            “Done.” Aegon said and didn’t wait for the rest. Instead he stepped forward and seized the man by the neck, smashing their mouths together in the same motion as he pressed him against the wall.

            There was no dragonfire. There was heat : a warmth shooting through his body, fueled by the thrill of all the eyes that could be on them in that moment, by the possibility that his hood might fall, that anyone might see, but it was a duller flame then what he felt at Crackjaw. Base. He was aware of his own bones warming, his gut twisting, even the motions of his own tongue and mouth, in a way he hadn’t been with Jace. 

            His heartbeat didn’t skip, his breath didn’t fall short, and his skin did not flare with need, with want. He did not become lost in the moment, and he did not forget.

            So he pushed harder.

            One hand he wound into the man’s hair, fingers twisting into the curls, while the other seized his hip, Aegon’s fingertips pressing into skin. The fire burned no hotter. So he dug both in, pulling the man’s hair, digging nails into skin.

            The man had overcome his initial surprise quickly, and leaned into the kiss and the touch, but now he stiffened, going rigid at the rough treatment. Aegon felt him squirm, a half-gesture to pull away, given up in the same motion it was made.

            Annoyance bubbled through everything else, and Aegon moved to smother it uncaring. So what if the man didn't want it rough? Why should that matter? Why should what anyone wanted matter? What Aegon wanted never did.

            It does matter. Jace’s voice whispered in the back of his mind. What you want matters Aegon.

            A sense of revulsion, of disgust with himself, washed through Aegon. Suddenly unable to keep going, Aegon broke the kiss and stepped back, panting for breath. Against the wall the whore stared at him in surprise, clearly not having expected his feeble protests to have done anything. Likely they had been pure reflex, and had never been noted by his clients before.

            Aegon stared at him for a long moment, taking in his wavy dark hair, and pale brown eyes, barely visible in the low light.

            Then he stepped back, reached for the purse at his waist, undid the strings tying it to his leather belt, and tossed it to the man who caught it smoothly. The whore’s eyes went wide with shock as he felt its weight. Far more than three silver Stags lay within. Far more. A fortune in a place like this.

            “What-“ He said slowly, confused, but Aegon shook his head. He could not have explained to this man anymore then he could have to Ser Fell. Sorry was the only word he could manage that would mean anything. So he said it, then turned on his heel, and walked out of the back room, and out of the brothel and into the hot, clean air of the summer night.

            He managed to make it three buildings down before his body began to shake, and another two before it grew so bad he could not continue anymore, and had to stumble down an alleyway and lean against a brick wall for support. Even then his legs didn’t hold, and he slid down the wall to sit in the dirt, knees curled against his belly, neck and face tingling viciously as if he were drunk.

            All around him the noise of Flea Bottom still raged. Street performances, and dancers, hawkers and strong arms and all those that fled the heat and light of day. It was a cesspit he knew. A bubbling cauldron of vice. He could spend the rest of his life, maybe the rest of a dozen lives, wallowing in it and still never find a bottom to debauchery. There would always be some new depravity to sink to, some new distraction to keep him from thinking about the doom hanging over them all, or the way he would never be good enough. As long as he could stomach the stench and the degradation, he would always be able to find a new way to kill time.

            It had never bothered Aegon before. But he had never had a reason to be bothered before, or to care. Nothing could change the course his life was set to take, no flaw would be bad enough, no depravity terrible enough that it would make his grandfather and mother give up on putting the crown on his head. So he had embraced his flaws, and sought depravity. What reason did he have to do differently?

            But then he had reconnected with Jace. And it had been like breathing again after drowning. It had made him hope. It had made him want. Not just to escape his fate, not just to stay with Jace and keep the warmth of his company.

            But to be a better person. To be someone worthy. Not of the crown, but of Jace: his company, his laughter, his crooked half smile. His pale brown eyes and wavy hair. His honesty. His bravery. His goodness.

            Aegon felt himself stare up at the sky. A crescent moon hung in the heavens. It was well past midnight, the Hour of the Wolf.

            Being a better person means admitting when you're wrong, and facing your mistakes.

            Taking a deep breath and summoning all his strength to steady himself, Aegon stood and began to walk towards the Dragonpit.

            He expected the walk to the Pit to be troubled. It was not. Even without Ser Fell’s grim face to clear a way through the crowds, the common folk still shifted to make way for him that night, opening up a small eddy of space that followed him through the streets of Flea Bottom, and up the long road to Viseyna’s Hill. He realized only half way there that his hood had fallen back at some point, revealing his silver hair for all to see, yet that alone did not explain the smallfolk giving way. 

            Nor did it explain Pelearian’s deference when Aegon knocked sharply at the guardhouse door, and the man opened it to let him inside. Aegon had expected to have to argue and maybe threaten, since he lacked any wine with which to bribe the Dragonkeeper, but instead he had taken one look at Aegon, stood up straighter, then rushed to obey Aegon’s command to saddle Sunfyre and open the north Skygate.

            When Aegon made his way to the gate, it was to find not just Pelerian but two more Dragonkeepers, freshly shaved initiatives both, working to attach the saddle and get the winch turned and the gate opened.

            “Close it after me.” Aegon had commanded as he climbed up the netting to mount the saddle, stroking Sunfyre’s scales as he went. In the back of his mind, the coal that was his bond to Sunfyre glowed with emotion: steely determination and tension, ready to blaze to an inferno. “I will not be back.”

            “ Where are you going, my Prince?” The Dragonkeeper asked in that soft, slightly slurred High Valyrian. “ You have the look of a man about to fly to war .”

            War would be easier . Aegon thought bitterly. But instead of answering the man’s question he said “If questions come from the court I have gone on another pilgrimage. The spirit moved me.” 

            Pelerian seemed to sense the deeper meaning and bowed his head then ushered away his helpers back to the far ends of the long squared run. Aegon turned, running his hands over Sunfire's back, at the saddle’s edge, checking and double checking each leather strap that held him in place.

            It’s not too late to turn back, and give this up.

            But it was. Maybe it had been too late to turn back that first time, when he fled the city like a thief in the night 

            “ Forward Sunfyre, we fly!”

            And with a single strident cry, Sunfyre began to run for the skygate.

<X>

            The cold still bit of course: frigid wind hurled up by the Blackwater cutting to the bone through his rough woolens. It was still dark and murky, and there was no sound for company but the beating of Sunfyre’s wings and the crash of waves far below.

            And yet Aegon wasn’t afraid. An odd sort of calm had descended on him, strengthened by the focus he felt from Sunfyre in the back of his mind. The dice had been cast, the bet made. All he had to do was play things out.

            The hours slipped by quickly, the sky lightening, the ocean turning from black, to dark blue, to a blur of pale blue almost in the blink of an eye. Land vanished, and Driftmark appeared, a faint spit of rock on the horizon, marking when Aegon had to start banking Sunfyre to the east, to circle about to avoid being seen, and to find his way to their grotto. And all the while Aegon stayed steady, and sure, tense the way a drawn bow was tense.

            And then he saw the smoke.

            It was faint at first, a trail in the distance, with Dragonstone still barely visible itself- too far to be the volcano. Faint enough that it could have been nothing, maybe even just a sea mirage.

            But it wasn’t.

            “ Faster .” Aegon urged, first whispering and then hissing the word in High Valyrian. Sunfyre needed nothing more, and giving another cry he started to beat his wings faster, neck straining, body angling for speed across the waves, the wind whipping harder at him through his rough clothes

            As Dragonstone appeared and grew closer, the trail of smoke became a column to his eyes. A familiar column, though never seen before at this angle, black and twisting like a serpent. Someone had gathered and set the bonfire, the signal he and Jace had been using for weeks now.

            Just a peasant probably. Aegon told himself. Burning a bonfire on the beach, celebrating a picnic with their family. A coincidence and nothing more.

            But he did not have Sunfyre slow. Instead he urged his dragon for more speed.

            Sunfyre obliged, and the world seemed to blur as he strained, battling against the wind now to carry out his master’s wishes. In the back of Aegon’s mind the coal had started to crackle and spark, his own worry reflecting to Sunfyre and then back again, feeding in on itself. A dozen possible explanations leapt into his mind, but the one that loomed largest of all- discovery- was also the most dangerous. If someone- Rhaenyra perhaps- had uncovered the truth, or worse, mother and grandfather…

            He laid low on the saddle, knowing it would not make a lick of difference and not caring.

            At last the beach came into sight, and Aegon felt a stab of relief. Vermax, green-yellow and slender, was seated a dozen yards away from the bonfire, his eyes tracking another figure: Jace barely visible at this distance still, but clearly moving towards the bonfire at a slow cautious pace.

            Aegon’s tension did not loosen far though and he shifted his knees, guiding Sunfyre to bank to the west, before leveling out straight again. He dared not fly straight to Jace- if Vermax saw a dragon descend out of nowhere near his master he would react poorly- so instead he murmured the command for landing and brought Sunfyre down on Vermax’s other side, a little bit further down the beach.

            The dragon turned to regard them both, jaw set, claws digging into the black sands, but he did not move to stop Aegon as he unstrapped himself, dismounted and began to move down the beach, careful to give Vermax a wide berth as he did.

            Aegon could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his ribs aching from the force of it. He half expected Vermax to snap his jaws around him as he passed the dragon. No doubt Vemrax felt no small measure of his master’s contempt and disgust. Yet Vermax only watched him, amber eyes tracking his progress.

            Jace stopped and turned as Aegon came into sight, just short of the stacked logs of the bonfire, which crackled behind him. He was in his flying leathers, a touch more haphazard than he usually wore them, as if donned in haste. Aegon braced himself- for yelling and disappointment, curses and venom. He had come expecting them all, and was ready to accept them if it would mean mending this. But instead Jace seemed to be gazing at him with a raw, overwhelming relief, his shoulders sagging as if a weight had been taken from them.

            Aegon's heart stuttered, and this time he could put a name to the emotion he felt watching the wind stir Jace’s wavy dark hair, his skin bathed in early morning light, and his strong shoulders silhouetted by the bonfire. Part of him felt guilty for deceiving himself and Jace for so long regarding it, but then he had never felt his kind of adoration before- how was he supposed to recognize it?

            He would have to find a way to live with it, if Jace decided to forgive him. But for now Aegon felt no guilt in drinking in the sight of him.

            “Jace.” Aegon called slowing, but not stopping his advance. “I’m sorry I-“

            Jace spoke at the same moment. “Aegon, I’m so relieved you're alright. I was worried-“

            And then everything seemed to happen at once.

            A sand dune near the bonfire shifted, rising slightly, sending a cascade of black down in waves. The person- the man- that had been buried inside stood in one smooth motion, not even bothering to shake himself free of the grains as his eyes locked onto Jace.

            Jace froze, caught off guard by the noise and began to half turn towards it, confused and the man- beared in ratty clothes with a malicious smirk- stepped forward, drawing a long bladed knife from his belt. Behind Aegon, both dragons cried as one, and lunged forward, but the beach was too narrow for them, and there was a clash like metal against metal, scales buffeting scales as they tried to each force their way forward, and so neither made progress.

            The beach was not too narrow for Aegon though. He was sprinting almost before he knew what was happening, strides eating ground as he raced to reach Jace first. He didn’t have time to think. The whole of his world had narrowed to Jace, the knife, and the would-be killer.

            By some miracle, Aegon reached Jace a hair’s breadth before the killer, just in time to seize Jace by the shoulders and shove him aside even as the bearded man lunged.

            It was like being a struck bell. An overwhelming yet blunt force seeming to reverberate through Aegon’s entire body. Aegon staggered back while the killer recoiled, surprise making him lose his grip on the knife he had just embedded in Aegon’s right shoulder. Frantically Aegon tried to move his arms, to press his palms to the wound, but only his left hand responded, the other hanging uselessly at his side while his shoulder began to throb, the pain sharpening by the second.

            Oddly, he could feel the warm trickle of his own blood, running down his side, soaking in some of the cold of the morning. Perfectly distinct beside everything else.

            The killer recovered quickly, drawing out a second smaller knife. For a moment his head swung between where Jace had been shoved, and was just managing to stumble to his feet and Aegon, swaying uncertainty. His face contorted into a snarl, revealing a mouth of yellowed snaggle teeth with a fleshy stub instead of a tongue and he made his choice, leaping for Jace.

            Aegon’s legs did not want to work, and so he half stumbled half leapt between them, trying to grab the man’s wrist with his good hand. Instead his fingers closed around the blade, and Aegon felt the sharp end bite into his skin, more blood gushing over his fingers. Tears pricked at his eyes, and his heart seemed ready to turn to pulp in his chest. Yet he did not let go, shoving the pain and the fear down and instead slamming his knee into the man’s gut, toppling them both over into the sand.

            The man could not curse him without tongue, only gurgle and snarl furiously as they rolled in the dirt. The killer was trying, with all his might to jerk his dagger out of Aegon’s grip, to shake Aegon off. But Aegon would not give in. All his strength, all his focus was narrowed down to keeping his grip on that blade, and keeping the man from hurting Jace.

            “You will not hurt him!” Aegon spat, surprised by the fierceness in his own voice. Some well of strength within him had opened, something primal and unyielding, that would not let this creature hurt Jace. “ You will not! ”

            The man spat at him in answer and tried again to pull his knife out of Aegon’s hand, and almost managed to get it free, the blade sliding a few inches more along his fingers, digging deeper into his flesh. Behind them, the dragons were screaming. Aegon couldn’t see Vermax, or Jace for that matter, but he could feel Sunfyre, all panic and fear and rage in the back of his mind,  worse for being unable to do anything. Anything Sunfyre might do would endanger Aegon as surely as stop the killer.

            And then a strange sort of calmness came over Aegon. A clarity. He knew what he had to do.

            As the intent, the thought formed in Aegon’s mind, his connection to Sunfyre flared with white hot agony. Mortal agony. He understood, not in words but on a deeper level, what Aegon was about to ask. The worst thing that could be asked of a dragon.

            I am sorry. Aegon thought tiredly as the killer at last wrenched the knife free of his hand, slicing deep enough as he did that Aegon felt the blade nick bone, even as his hand started to feel numb and cold. The killer hissed in triumph started to push Aegon away. Aegon could barely resist. He had lost too much blood, and was teetering on the edge of darkness. I am so sorry.  

            But I have to protect Jace.

            I love him.

            Steeling himself, and hoping his dragon would understand, Aegon summoned the last of his strength and screamed a single word with his whole body.

            “ DRACARYS !”

            Sunfyre let out a scream of misery, and then golden fire consumed everything.

<X>

            When Jace finally managed to calm Vermax enough so that the panicked dragon was willing to uncoil from around him and let him stand again, Jace did so numbly. He felt empty somehow, lacking in every emotion except dread at what he would find, and certainty that it was waiting for him.

            I didn’t even get to say goodbye. The thought twanged inside him, and Jace felt tears threatening on the edges of the eyes.

            A whole swath of the beach had turned to dragonglass, the heat of Sunfyre’s breath melting the sand into a sheet of solid black crystal. Unconsciously, Jace found himself touching the necklace he always wore now, the tiny dragonglass pendant Aegon had given him after that trip into the port town. He had not been able to bring himself to take it off since then, no matter how much his siblings teased him. He didn’t think he ever would now.

            Sunfyre sat at the center of that sheet of dragonglass, curled tight around what Jace could only suppose where his master’s remains. Aegon’s remains. All that remained of the killer- a half melted skeleton, more slag now then bone- had been brushed aside carelessly by Sunfyre’s tail to lay in the sand. But Sunfyre was coiled into a  tight ball, his rose wings folded around his body, in the same way he once shielded Aegon from Vermax’s dragonfire on this very beach, what felt like a lifetime ago.

            Sunfyre’s eyes locked to him the moment he started to approach, maw opening, fire crackling past the dragon’s lips. Behind Jace Vermax stepped forward, wings coming down to flank him on either side, Vermax drawing up, ready to snatch Jace away if Sunfyre struck, or to strike back if need be.

            “Please.” Jace said, then hastily switched to Old Valyria, the words stumbled off his Tounge. He still had not mastered the language, but he prayed they got the point across. “ Be calm Sunfyre. Please. I just… I just wish to see him. ” He needed to see Aegon, with his own eyes. No matter how grizzly the sight was, he needed to confront it. He owed Aegon that much. So much more, but that much at least.

            For a moment Sunfyre seemed unmoved… and then unfolding his wings he complied, drawing back and uncoiling.

            But not from around a charred skeleton.

            Jace stared in disbelief as Sunfyre gently nosed Aegon's pale form, whining softly as if trying to wake his master. His clothes were gone, leaving nothing but a dusting of ash over his pale soft skin, and beneath him was a small pool of liquid metal, run off from where the dagger’s blade had melted against his shoulder. But his chest rose and fell, and he showed not one sign of a burn.

            Jace walked forward as if in a dream, sure he was seeing things, yet when knelt down beside Aegon and reached out a shaking hand to touch the other man’s cheek…..he found warm solid flesh beneath.

            Fire can not kill a dragon.

            It was a fable. A legend. And an old wives tale. A story told and retold to make the Targaryens seem more than men, more than mortal. He had held his own hand to fire and felt himself being burned. So had Aegon. It was a myth.

            And yet here Aegon lay unburned by the hotest fire on earth.

            Relief filled Jace to near bursting and he seized Aegon up in his arms, pressing his forehead to Aegon’s neck, and his palm over Aegon’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beat, the warmth of his body. He took a deep shuddering breath, and was not surprised when hot tears appeared on his cheeks, falling down to strike Aegon’s skin.

            Alive. Aegon was still alive.

            He was hurt: the slash across his hand and the wound in his shoulder still welled with blood, though the liquid metal seemed to have staunched the shoulder wound at least. Alive, but bleeding. Alive but in need of aid. And only one place to get it.

            Mother was going to be furious. But that changed nothing.

            Lifting Aegon gently into his arms, Jace turned towards Vermax, moving slowly so as not to spook Sunfyre. The flight would have to be slow too lest Sunfyre think that Jace was trying to carry Aegon off. He prayed that the dragon would understand that Jace was trying to give aid that Aegon desperately needed, to get him to a place of safety.

            Mounting Vermax, and keeping Aegon held close to his chest, Jace set out to carry him to Dragonstone.

Chapter Text

         When Aegon opened his eyes he knew pain.

         Pain across his body: a cloying burning agony that felt like molten metal rolling back and forth beneath his skin, worst on his left arm, and along the left side of his face. Pain across his hips and chest, dull and throbbing, the pain of cracked bones. Pain down his legs which felt wrong, as if locked in plaster but in the wrong configuration, the joints out of alignment, the bones jutting at strange angles.

         Pain in his neck. An angry knotted soreness that pulsed.

         Aegon struggled through it, refusing to give in. He blinked away tears and saw that he was sprawled on blasted rocky ground, overhead stretched a crimson roiling sky thick with dark clouds, and all around him where flurries of ash swirling in the wind, a parody of snowfall.

         Each breath stung, making his ribs throb again, each twitch seemed to pull at gnarled skin and make the molten metal shift. But he reached forward anyways pressing his palms against the ground and trying to shove himself up into a sitting position. Even his hands were wrong, one rough and covered in splits and cracks, the other….the other blanketed in scars, almost unrecognizable as a hand at all.

         As Aegon managed to get to his knees he realized something else. He was dressed in finery: a dark green tunic worked with silver, the dragon of House Targaryen blazed across his chest but in gold rather than red. And there was a weight on his head, something fastened tight around his skull.

         No. Aegon thought. No. It can’t be.

         But when he raised his arms, pressing hands to his head he found cold Valyrian steel resting there, the rippled pattern of the metal clear under his fingertips. Not the crown the King wore, gold an and seven faced for the seven kingdoms, the crown that Jaehaerys the Wise had worn. No: this was the black crown set with rubies that Aegon had only seen once when he and Jace had snuck into the Red Keep’s treasury. The crown that Meagor the Cruel had worn, and Aegon the Conqueror before him. Black as midnight, and terrible in it's austere beauty.

         Aegon threw back his head and screamed. It burst out from the depths of him, the bottom of his lungs, echoed from the dregs of his soul. He pounded one mangled fist on the ground. No. No he would not have this fate! He didn't want this: this broken body and this blasted wasteland! He wanted-!

         He wanted Jace.

         The earth cracked suddenly beneath his fist, a spiderweb fissures and chasms opening around him, and out of them poured golden fire. Before Aegon could try and scramble away it was engulfing him, consuming him, becoming everything. He felt his clothes turn to ash on his skin, then felt his skin begin to melt and scour away. He felt something roll and drip down his forehead, his cheeks, and looked down to watch the black crown of Aegon the Conqueror, reduced to liquid metal, spill onto the earth, the rubies still floating in it’s black ripples

         And yet Aegon felt no flare of agony as the fire swirled around him. Instead he felt his pain departing, felt everything burning away, and it was like a weight being lifted, like dead skin being washed off. So he closed his eyes and let it happen, let it all turn to ash and and smoke.

         Then suddenly the fire was gone again….and he felt….raw. Exposed. New.

         Aegon opened his eyes…and gazed down at soft hands, stained with ashes but clean of scars and burns. It was the same with his whole body. He stood, shaking and uncertain, but without pain. He touched his face and found no twisted flesh. He breathed in and tasted sulfur and ash, but felt no ache or throb in his ribs.

         How…. Aegon wondered, awed. How…

         Aegon blinked in confusion as a sound like nothing he had ever heard before rang through the air: a shrill shrieking whistle growing louder by the second. In the distance streaks of flame appeared, arcing across the clouds, falling crimson stars that were dipping lower and lower, shooting for-

         Aegon leapt, diving out the way and rolling across blasted ground, as the four stars slammed into the earth where he had been standing, just as the whistle reached it's loudest and sharpest, the winked out leaving behind a ringing in his ears. When he emerged from his roll and turned he saw four craters dotting the earth where he had been standing, and in each was a dragon egg. One mudbrown, one swirled gray, one bronze, and one silvery and white. But even as the shells started to crack, and the dragonets within to emerge the eggs also started to sink into the ground, as if it were quicksand.

         Aegon moved forward, something primal within his own dragon’s blood wanting to dig out the eggs and see them to safety, but before he could take more than a single scrambling step, the earth was giving up shoots of new growth. Four saplings, one for each egg had appeared where the eggs had sunken into the ground, and they grew right before Aegon’s eyes. He watched them send out branches, watched those branches bud and blossom with frothy black flowers…..and then watched two- the tree from the bronze egg and the one from the silver- shudder suddenly and their trunks cracking and splitting, dripping with something slimy and green. Yet even as they began to rot before him, the two foul trees burst into flames as well, the fires leaping from their branches to their healthy neighbors, catching them alight as well. All four burned together, until nothing remained but charred stumps.

         I don’t understand. Aegon wanted to shout, but he could find no voice to speak the words. What is this?

         The scene swirled suddenly and changed, breaking apart like sand in the wind and coming together again. It was still bathed in hellish red light, but instead of a wasteland he stood in a familiar place. A hauntingly familiar one.

         The grand hall of the Red Keep, with its swirled columns and broad windows, the great door at one end where Aegon stood, and the Iron Throne at the opposite end, that small mountain of swords, melted blades and twisted points just as he remembered it from all the countless times he had been forced to attend court, and watch the King or his grandfather give the realm justice and rule from atop it.

         The only difference was now the Throne was burning.

         The metal did not melt, yet the Iron Throne was covered in flame, as if it were a torch ready to singe anyone that touched it. Aegon drew back, till he was pressed against the door, as far as he could manage without fleeing in terror.

         Then he saw two familiar figures emerge from the columns. Aemond with his silvery hair whipping around him, face half hidden from Aegon so that he couldn’t see his brother’s eye patch. And Dearon, shorter with his close cut silvery hair in waves, green cloak and dark flying leathers emphasizing both his lean stature and strength.

         “No!” Aegon shouted, finding his voice. “Don’t do it!”

         Aemond ignored him, his eyes fixed to the throne as he began to walk forward, one eye shining with an avarice and desire that smothered any fear. If he saw the flames he gave no sign of it.

         But Dearon hesitated, pausing halfway there, half turning back towards Aegon.

         “Don’t do it!” Aegon screamed again at the top of his lungs. “It will kill you! It will destroy you!”

         Aemond reached the foot of the throne and extended a slow shaking hand to one of the points.

         And suddenly Aegon was behind him, having sprinted past Dearon down the hall to seize his brother by the shoulders and pull him back and drag him away. But no sooner did Aegon’s hands seize Aemond’s tunic then he exploded into flame turning to a scarlet roiling inferno.

         Yet Aegon was unafraid even as that fire licked up his arms swallowed his fingers whole. He felt nothing but a familiar warmth, and his skin did not burn, did not even char. He was the blood of the dragon. And fire could not kill a dragon. Instead of springing away he tightened his grip on Aemond and began to drag him, kicking and screaming away from the throne.

         “It isn’t worth it.” Aegon snarled for once feeling like a proper big brother. “I won't let you throw it all away for that thing. I won't. I won't. I-“

         The fire became overwhelming, blocking his sight, filling his mouth and choking his words away. And then….and then there was darkness.

<X>

         “I won't let you-“ Aegon felt himself say, only instead of shouting the words they came out muffled and mumbled. His mouth felt dry and tasted sour, his lips were cracked and he could feel sweat rolling down his face, stinging his eyes and making them water.

         He blinked furiously to clear them, but this time when sight returned it wasn’t some strange fever dream that greeted him, but a wide circular room, all black stone, arched ceilings and windows, which showed a midnight sky outside, the moon high above. The curved walls seemed to twist what little light there was, making strange ominous shadows out of what little of the room he could see.

         Tower. Aegon realized, the though sluggish. I’m in a tower. And he felt a sudden burst of hysteria. This had to be Dragonstone castle. Which meant he was in Rhaenyra’s seat. Her power. He was a prisoner, a prince locked away in a tower, like some bard's sad fairy tale. A Prince locked in a tower of black stone on an dark island, where the world could forget about him. He was-

         “Sssssh.” A voice whispered out of the darkness. Aegon blinked again, and watched as something seemed to loom out of the darkness, becoming a figure that stumbled over to the bed’s edge.  “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

         Jace. Jace’s voice. Aegon would have known it from the other side of a waterfall, or shouted across a battlefield. Jace was alive. It had worked. The bandit was dead and- and-

         And how was Aegon not as well? He should be nothing more than a cinder. A smear of ash on the beach. How was he alive?

         “Aegon?” Jace asked softly, as something was pressed to Aegon’s forehead, something cool and soft. “Aegon, are you awake?”

         “Jace.” Aegon murmured, and again his words were gargled and mumbled, as if he were hung over. “I’m awake. I need-“ He tried to keep going but his mouth was too dry, and he had to press it shut because it felt like the skin of his tongue, his inner cheeks were going to crack and peel away.

         “It’s okay. I’m right here. Try not to move. The stitches are still in.” Stitches ? Aegon thought in confusion. Stitches for what?   But before he could follow that line of thought further, something cold was being pressed to his lips. The edge of a metal cup. He drank down what was within greedily, feeling on a small stab of disappointment that it wasn’t wine, but instead cold water. But only a small stab, because he was so parched that the water alone felt divine, washing over his mouth, down his throat, cooling skin that burned.

         When the cup was empty Aegon panted for breath and licked his lips, then started to speak again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

         “You have nothing to be sorry about.” Jace’s voice said in the darkness, and Aegon heard something scraping, and realized that he was refilling the cup from a pitcher. “Aegon, you saved my life. You-“

         “I do. I do have something to be sorry about. I kissed you.” He heard a soft bang as Jace nearly dropped the cup. But the words came flowing out in a jumble, all of the practiced speeches and apologies long forgotten. “You were just so beautiful that day in the sunset. So perfect. And I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop myself. I’d never felt like I had in that moment before. You make me feel like I never have before. But I can control it. For you I can.” For Jace he could do anything. “I understand if you hate me. What I did, the danger I placed you in, it’s unforgivable. I promise I didn’t mean to hurt you, to-“

         His words were cut off by the cup being pressed to his lip again, which was good because his mouth had rapidly begun to dry. Oddly Jace’s hand on the side of his head was gentle, stroking his hair in a soothing way.

         “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jace related. “You did nothing wrong.”

         Aegon wanted to open his mouth to protest. That was flatly not true, but he could fill himself already slipping back towards sleep.

         “It’s okay. You're safe now.” Jace was saying. “No one can hurt you here.”

         And oddly, despite how wrong that was- despite the fact that he was at the heart of his sister’s power, defenseless and vulnerable, easy to crush as a moth in the hand- Aegon believed him.

         Sleep claimed him then, and this time Aegon did not dream.

<X>

         When Aegon awoke next it was to voices: their words grabbed but loud enough to break through the darkness. When he cracked his eyes it was to discover they were covered, not by a blind fold but by a damp cloth, with crisp sunlight filtering in through the rough weave. Slowly, the conversation around him started to make sense, the words to fit in a way he could understand.

         “-not what I am saying.” An exasperated vaguely familiar voice was insisting. “No one doubts you. But you can’t carry on like this my boy, and you know it. It’s been days now. Even dragons need sleep.”

         “Yes I can.” Jace responded sounding stubborn and muley in that way he got when he was being told sense he didn’t want to hear. “He needs someone to watch over and tend him, and I owe him my life. It makes sense for me to do it, and the chair is comfortable enough to sleep in.”

         “There is nothing you can do for him that Maester and a few Septas can not, and do better besides.” The first voice responded though it sounded amused more then angry. “Besides, a poor repayment for him saving your life to whittle away your health at his bedside eh? What do you think he would say to that?”

         Jace clicked his teeth in frustration but before he could answer another voice, a woman’s voice spoke, dry, exasperated, and a touch tired. “Why don’t we ask him ourselves?”

         Aegon realized that he was shifting beneath his blanket, stirring almost automatically, testing his body the way he did after a particularly rough night drinking, trying to make sure all his toes and fingers were still there. He still felt a surprising lack of pain for someone who should be a smear of ash, but there was something throbbing in his right shoulder, and something strange and dull about his left hand.

         “Aegon?” Jace said, and something was pressed to his lips again- another cup of water. He felt Jace's firm hand on his shoulder as he drank, helping into a sitting position. The cloth feel away as he shifted, and he had to blink rapidly to adjust his eyes to the light.

         He was still in the wide circular tower chamber, but with the benefit of the morning he could see it much better, and it did not look like a prison cell. Bookshelves and tapestries lined the walls, and rugs covered the floor, some animal skin some woven and from Esos. A small writing desk was pressed beneath one window, though the chair from it had been pulled to sit beside the wide bed, and several more blankets where tossed over it's back. While not nearly as luxurious as his own chambers in the keep, he had also stayed in far less nice rooms while traveling.

         But Aegon also knew a prison cell did not have to look like what it was, to serve the same purpose

         Jace stood over him, almost hunched proactively, as if Aegon were a wounded animal among predators- which in a way he was. At the foot of the bed Prince Daemon was leaning on the footboard, eyeing Aegon curiously, in a way that couldn’t help but make Aegon's stomach clench.

         Behind Daemon on another chair that had been pulled forward, sat Rhaenyra, her skirts carefully arranged, hands folded in her lap. If Daemon’s look was weighing, her’s was hawkish. A hawk that had woken up to discover something unexpected in her eerie. Or maybe a dragoness who had found an intruder in her lair.

         Raw panic hit Aegon in that moment as the reality of his situation sunk in anew. Wounded, alone, unguarded, with none of his family aware where he was, and entirely at his sister’s mercy. Worse, with her having excellent cause to hate him specifically (given he had attempted to molest her son and heir) and on top of the more general reasons she had to wish him harm.

         If he simply died, no one would be able to point a finger to her, not even mother and grandfather. Sunfyre returning to the island wouldn’t be strange- dragons often did so after the deaths of their masters. He could feel his heart starting to hammer, his mind racing to find some answer, some way to-

         “Breath.” Jace’s voice cut through Aegon’s panic and he blinked, turning to look up at Jace who had seated himself on the bed’s edge. He was gazing down at Aegon with a warmth and concern that, in his bones, he couldn’t help but feel he didn’t deserve.

         Yet he followed Jace’s instructions, forcing his throat open and taking in a deep breath of cold air. He didn’t know when he had stopped breathing exactly, but did know that it was generally not considered a good thing.

         “Good morning nephew!” Daemon said with a false cheer that made Aegon’s skin crawl. There was a tension in his eyes now, razor sharp. “You’ve given us quite the scare these last few days, and made my step son and our Maester run themselves positively ragged trying to keep you from the Stranger.” He thumbed his nose at Aegon, ignoring Jace’s glare. “It seems that when you decide to be a hero, you don’t do it by halves.”

         “My apologies uncle.” Aegon responded, trying to match his dry tone, but sounding slightly hollow instead. “Next time I am stabbed I will try to do it in a way that inconveniences you and my sister less.”

         Jace let out a soft hiss and Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows at him sharply, but Daemon oddly seemed only to grow more amused. “See that you do, nephew. Or at the very least, see if you can avoid anyone with poisoned blades next time. That would be so very helpful.”          

         Aegon blinked in confusion, frowning. “Poison? What do you mean poison?”

         It was Rhaenyra who answered. “Jacaerys’s would be assassin had poisoned his knives. Perhaps he suspected he would not live long enough to deal a normal fatal blow, once Vermax realized what was happening, and wished to ensure only a single stab would be all that was needed. Or maybe he hoped to merely scratch Jacaerys and flee into the sea before Vermax could kill him. As he is now ash, we have no way of knowing.”

         Aegon shifted, wondering if that was a rebuke of him for killing the man, though it didn’t sound that way, and a thought popped into his head suddenly. “He didn’t have a tongue.”

         Rhaenyra and Daemon both blinked at him in confusion and Aegon rushed to explain. “I wrestled with him briefly, trying to keep him from stabbing Jace. I got a good look at him then. He snarled at me and I saw-“ Aegon shrugged. “It was stump. It looked like it had been cut out.”

         Daemon stood straighter suddenly, minding Aegon of a hunter who just caught sight of the trail. “Was there anything else about him that was distinct? Any scars or features that might have stood out?”

         “Daemon, he’s just woken you can’t-“ Jace began but before he could finish Rhaenyra had raised a single hand for silence. That was all, but Daemon and Jace immediately fell silent.

         She was staring at Aegon, her gaze having not lessened or shifted since he had awoken. Aegon and Rhaenyra had never interacted much- there was too much distance between them, too much history with Aegon’s mother, too much weight in his gender and claim. Yet his sister had always struck him as a serious woman, unyielding and unafraid with little patience for nonsense. Her only soft touch was for Ser Harwin Strong, her sons, and Daemon. In everything else, she was iron. She had to be, Aegon supposed.

         Yet there was something odd in the way she was looking at him now. Something unlike the cool politeness and distance he was used too, or the iron she had to show the world so often. Something that if Aegon didn’t know better, he would have called warmth.

         When she spoke though, it was with cool command. “Daemon, Jacaerys. Leave us.” Both men began protesting in the same breath, but before they could even get their words fully out, Rhaenyra had turned to stare, first at one then the other, and their mouths each clicked shut in turn.

         “There will be time for questions and tending later.” She said firmly. “For now I wish to speak to my brother. Alone.”

         Daemon’s mouth thinned in frustration, and Jace looked pained, but both bowed their heads. Slowly, grudgingly, but they did it, then turned to depart together, Jace with a lingering squeeze of Aegon’s hand, and Daemon with a kiss on his wife’s cheek.

         Rhaenyra watched them go, as if to make sure they got up to no mischief on their way out, and only after the door had slammed shut did she return her gaze to Aegon. Aegon, for his part, suddenly felt Jace’s absence keenly and sharply.

         “Little brother.” She said slowly. “I must-“

         “How long have I been asleep?” Aegon blurted out before he could stop himself. Rhaneyra blinked in confusion at the question, and Aegon forced ahead. “It’s just- I didn’t…I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving King’s Landing, or where I was going. If it’s been too long, I imagine my family is worried sick about me right now. I don’t suppose you’ve sent them ravens yet, to tell them I’m well?”

         He doubted strongly that his family thought anything more of his absence than that he had stormed off from Ser Fell in a fit of pique, and was debauching himself in Dorne or Old Town. But if they had been told what had happened, knew where he was then he had some degree of protection. Rhaenyra could not simply kill someone she had under guest right in her home, especially blood kin. There had to be some limit to what father was willing to overlook.

         Yet what he didn’t know would never bother him, and what Aegon’s family never discovered, could never be used against Rhaenyra. His only hope was that she had not thought along the same lines, and sent word to King’s Landing of what had happened during the confusion that must have been Jace's appearing with him.

         He was disappointed however.

         “Master Gerardys has sent no ravens these last five days.” She said calmly. “That was when you were attacked. As Daemon said, our Maeaster and Jacaeryes had been fighting tooth and nail to keep you from the Stranger’s embrace since then. And…” She hesitated, something flickering behind her eyes. “We are trying to avoid word getting out that an assassin came so close to slaying my son. For the moment, no one beyond my household even knows you are here at Dragonstone.”

         Aegon felt his neck prickle, as if an Other had breathed down it. His mouth, as it often did, began running without him. “You should send word to King’s Landing immediately.” He said quickly. “I’m of no use to you dead or hidden away-“ Her eyebrows shot up at such a blunt statement, but Aegon couldn’t stop himself, words tumbling out rapidly out of a desire to save a life that he hadn’t expected to still hold. “My family will just crown Aemond instead, given the chance.” And probably breathe a sigh of relief that the crown had come to him instead of Aegon. Oddly, he remembered his dream then, the image of Aemond approaching the Iron throne while it blazed with fire. But he put it out of his mind and kept talking.

         “If it is known I am your ‘guest’ then you have secured the biggest threat to your claim right? You cut off opposition at the pass. No one will rally around Aemond while I’m still alive, and no one will rally around me while I’m in this tower. So really, it’s in your best interest to keep my alive as your prisoner, rather then see me dead and-“

         Rhaenyra’s expression had gone from surprise to alarmed and she stood sharply as he went on, staring down at him as if she had never seen the like of him before in her life.

         “Aegon.” She said, cutting him off, her voice steady. “What on earth are you talking about?”

         Aegon blinked. Then something occurred to him and he shrugged sheepishly. “I know it’s vulgar to talk about it directly. The succession. The crown. The Iron Throne. I know we’re supposed to dance around it like our family does everything else, but well- it’s us right? So there's no point in putting a face on things. I’ve always known that you would have to kill me and my brothers to secure your claim, but, surely you see that right now the best thing is-“

         “Aegon!” Rhaenyra’s shout came as a surprise, as the wide eyed horror she was staring at him with. She took hold of herself with a visible effort and moved to sit on the bed, right beside him, arranging her skirts carefully. When she spoke again, it was with a calm, careful voice. “Do you understand what it is, you have done?”

         Aegon blinked in confusion, clearly not understanding at all, and Rhaenyra sighed before going on.

         “You have saved my son’s life.” She said simply, and then, shockingly, she took his hands in her own, pressing her palms close around his fingers. “You put your own body between Jacaerys and a man seeking to end him. You took a knife meant for him into your skin, poison meant for him into your own blood, and then you bathed in dragonfire rather then risk him doing any more harm to Jacaerys.”

         Aegon felt himself blush. She was making him sound heroic, like some fool in a story. But it hadn’t been like that at all! Well. It had been, but he had been all instinct and mad desperation. There had been nothing noble in it. Yet it felt silly to try and argue with someone complimenting him, so all he could do was sit there awkwardly staring at his hands.

         “Do you understand the service you have done for me?” She asked, her voice lowering. “The depth of the debt I owe you? As a mother if nothing else? I still have my son because of you. And you speak of the succession, our claims, the Throne.” She shook her head in bewildered disbelief. “Do you truly think me so heartless? So wicked? That I would have you- what? Smothered in your sleep the moment it became convenient?”         

         Aegon stared down at his clasped hands. He wanted to answer yes, he did think that. It was the warning his mother had given him time and time again after all: that Rhaenyra was dangerous, not to be trusted, willing to do anything for her pleasure and power. And yet…at this moment her words didn’t feel insincere.

         “I am a threat.” He said finally. “Just by breathing, by existing, I’m a threat to you. To Jace. To Daemon- to everyone else in the line of succession. My existence is a problem that needs to be solved, isn’t it?”

         Rhaenyra regarded him for a long moment, and when she spoke next it was with a soft voice, gentle and kind in a way he had never heard before. “There is a difference between a threat and a danger. You present a danger to me and my family, I won't deny. I am not a fool, and neither I think, are you.” There was a touch of dryness to that, but only for a moment. “But life is full of dangers. Visiting a city is dangerous. Horseback riding, and flying on dragons is dangerous. Particularly angry goats are dangerous. Does that mean I wish to burn all cities, slay all horses and dragons, and drug all goats so they are placid?” She shrugged.

         “The Throne-“ Aegon began but Rhaenyra held up a hand in the same way she had earlier and Aegon fell silent.

         “I will fight for the Iron Throne if I must. But I do not long to fight, or to shed blood for it- to see the land go to ash, or the people suffer. And I have no desire at all to become a kinslayer, even if you had not done me such a service as you did.” Aegon’s face must have betrayed his skepticism, because Rhaenyra added, calmly. “If I wanted you dead, all I needed to do these last five days was nothing at all: I could have simply let your injuries claim you.”         

         Aegon blinked, remebering Jace’s exhausted expression, and his own fevered nightmares. It was true, he realized. Why would she have ordered him kept alive if she truly wanted him gone?

          “Jace.” He said suddenly, and Rhaenyra blinked. “Jace would never forgive you if you let me die.”

         Rhaenyra snorted, a surprisingly rough sound from a woman as imperious as his sister. “Jace would never have known the truth. If I had asked Master Gerardys to hold back, only he, I, and the Gods would know. As it is, we have barely managed to stave off the festering of your wounds, and keep your fever from killing you, tough we have exerted all our efforts to the task.”

         Aegon frowned, not having an answer for that. Though it did not escape him, or fail to send a chill over his skin, the readiness with which she had been able to answer the charge. That could only mean that his sister had at the least considered letting him die. But considering doing something was not the same thing as actually doing it.

         “Then….you do mean to hold me prisoner?” Aegon asked finally. 

         Rhaenyra sighed in exasperation, but when she spoke it was still in a gentle but firm voice. “You are not a prisoner. I will place no guards on your door, and once you have your strength back, I will not bar you from part of the castle, nor keep you from going to see Sunfyre if you wish. In fact-“ Again she smiled, a touch dry and amused. “I would ask you to visit your dragon sooner rather than later, since he’s been rather….over wrought given recent events.” Aegon blushed. Oh yes, Sunfyre was going to be very unhappy with him for the foreseeable future. “And once you are recovered, if you wish to go back to King’s Landing, you may. I will not stop you.”

         “But you wont send word to my family that I’m here either.” He added, though the words felt and sounded petulant. The protest was weak, given the generosity she was showing.

         Rhaenyra grimaced and let his hands go, then leaned forward to look him in the eye. “Can you promise me-” She said quietly. “- Swear to me by the Old Gods and New, that the assassin did not come from King’s Landing?”

         Aegon opened his mouth and then realized he couldn’t promise that. He didn’t think his mother would stoop to knives in the dark- she was to pious for that- but he had roused Larys Strong’s suspicions already, and there were plenty of other vipers at court eager enough for the favor of the Greens to try something like this. If Eustance had broken Aegon’s confession, spilled out the truth to someone…

         Oddly, he felt a surge of anger at the thought: anger at the betrayal of his trust, the man’s own vows, and the Gods. He wasn’t used to righteous fury, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it.

         When it became clear that Aegon was not going to respond, Rhaenyra nodded in satisfaction and stood. “You are an honored guest in my home Aegon.” She insisted, her eyes were steely once more. “I swear to you, I will let you come to no harm under my care and my roof, and anyone that tries shall know my wrath.”

         “In fire and blood?” Aegon said, meaning the words for a weak sort of jape, but Rhaenyra nodded seriously.

         “In Fire and Blood.” She agreed. The steel softened and she smiled. “Get some rest little brother. I will send Jace back to you soon, once I have persuaded him to get some as well.”

         And with that she left the room, and left Aegon alone with the morning light and his thoughts.

         It all felt….wrong somehow. Backwards. Nothing like it should be. But he was alive, and Jace was fine, and for now….for now that was enough. He felt his eyes start to slide shut, suddenly heavy, his brain starting to feel sluggish and tired. The exchange had taken more out of him then he realized, and a tension had loosened in him that hadn’t known had been there before, making it easy for him to slip back into dreamless sleep.

         He felt himself stir only once, as he felt the bed dip with a new weight, but before he could even manage to get his eyes open a soft familiar voice was whispering into his ear: “Sssh. It’s okay Aegon. Your safe now. You’re with us.”

         Aegon didn’t know if it was some half-formed almost-dream, or Jace in truth, and he found he didn’t care. He just allowed himself to curl close to Jace’s warmth and voice, and sink back into slumber.

Chapter Text

         Aegon spent the next few days almost entirely abed, being tended to by Jace or- during the rare times when Rhaneyra or Maester Gerardys managed to persuade Jace to rest a bit himself -a gaggle of red liveried chambermaids under the direction of a smiling, but quite firm handed Septa.

         The first few times Jace had been left with no choice but to leave Aegon's care to the women, Aegon had been weary. Whatever Rhaenyra said about mother’s love and good will, Aegon could not help but feel the vulnerability of his position keenly. Aegon was sharply aware that Jace was his only real protection against harm. Yet that weariness had proved unfounded. The women were not unkind or threatening to him- they simply had strict orders to put up with no nonsense or bickering. They also ignored his attempts to flirt in a way he was not used to, and generally cajoled and scolded him like he was a child.

         “You are a child.” The Septa had said simply when he had protested the indignity of being helped into his britches so that he could take his daily Maester-prescribed walk around the room. She was well into her middle years so the statement did not seem ridiculous, yet Aegon still felt indignant.

         “I am six and ten.” He protested. “A man by law and rights.”

         “A child.” The Septa insisted as he was helped to his feet. “In my experience men do not come into their full wits until they are at least five and twenty. If then.”

         “I was old enough to save your Prince.” Aegon had muttered petulantly as he accepted the shoulder of the chambermaid so that he could begin hobbling around the room.

         The Septa surprised him by nodding at the justice of this. “You did, which makes you a very brave child. But a child still. You leap without looking, and let your heart throw you into trouble. Which is not a rebuke- it is the privilege of youth afterall to be reckless and free, but the duty of us old codgers to look after you when you are.” She had said that with a sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

         Aegon hadn’t known how to take her words. All his life he had heard only of his duty- of his obligation to his mother, to his family, both Targaryen and Hightower, and to the realm. He had been told constantly what a burden his recklessness and wanton ways were. His mother and grandfather had shielded him, he knew, from the worst of the consequences, but they always made their displeasure clear too, in no uncertain terms. Aegon was indulged because they had no other choice, not because it was some part of growing up.

         He hadn’t said any of this to the Septa or the chambermaids. Aside from his frank conversation with Rhaenyra he had not mentioned his mother or grandfather, his siblings, or even the King. It felt taboo somehow, like it might break open whatever fragile peace was being maintained on Dragonstone. He let it pass instead and focused on trying to make his legs work the way they should.

         It wasn’t long before he grew used to the maids, and they to him. They were all kind women, and the Septa knew the business of nursing well. They joked with him in a way the servants at the Red Keep never did, and gossiped freely with one another around him, at ease in a way that made it hard for Aegon to keep his guard up the way he should.

         Which was not to say that Aegon did not prefer Jace’s company. He very much did and luckily had Jace to himself most of the time. Though Aegon knew they where staying close at hand in case of need, Jace called upon the servants rarely, preferring to re-wrap Aegon bandages and make the daily checks for fever and other ill signs with his own rough calloused hands. He and Aegon spoke little except of everyday things- the weather (which was gloomy and sulfuric as always on Dragonstone), the yields from fishing (poor for early summer), and the state of the dragons (restless- apparently Sunfyre was being quarrelsome with Caraxes and Moondancer, forcing Vermax and Syrax to intervene and play peacekeeper).

         They didn’t speak about what happened on Crackclaw Point, or on the beach afterwards. Aegon still had not untangled his feelings on the matter, while Jace… Jace seemed content for now to care for him, and let sleeping dragons rest.

         Yet whenever Aegon awoke in the depths of night, in a hot sweat and fresh from dreams of fire and iron and flashing daggers….Jace was there to gently take him by the arms, and murmur that it was just a dream, that he had nothing to fear, that he was safe now. And even though Aegon knew he shouldn’t, even though Aegon was in the heart of Dragonstone, the heart of the Black’s power, completely at the mercy of the sister he had been told to fear all his life….he always believed Jace, and found sleep again.

<X>

         Aegon’s reprieve from the rest of Jacaerys’s family lasted exactly three days.

         It was the morning of the fourth day- Jace had been relieved, somewhat forcibly, by the Septa and sent off to bed, while the Septa herself had headed off to fetch Aegon’s breakfast from the kitchen. It was to be simple bread and meat again he knew, prepared to the Maester’s specifications, but Aegon couldn’t find it in himself to complain about the tastelessness. At least not to anyone but Jace.

         It was a rare moment of solitude for him, without any minders fluttering about. But it was also boring, so he had found himself lounging back on the bed, trying to catch a bit more sleep before all the fussing over his bandages began anew. That was when the soft creak of wood, and the groan of a hinge, hit Aegon’s ears.

         Aegon’s eyes sprang open at once- all the tension that he had slowly let lax going bowstring taunt. He still lacked the strength to stand on his own, so all he could do was burrow deeper into the blankets, his heart beating against his ribcage, his eyes trying to search out a weapon from among the few things in reach, which were nothing more than books and water pitchers, rolls of bandages and small phials filled with the Maester’s potions.

         The Septa, the maids, even Jace never bothered to be overly cautious when coming or going, unless it was late into the evening. They certainly did not creep about, or try to go unnoticed. Aegon’s tower was a sick room, and his care was in their charge. That took precedence to them, and Aegon did not mind it.

         All the fears that he had slowly allowed to sink to the bottom of his mind bubbled up at once: pages paid off to smother him in his sleep or slip something into his water, guards ordered to throw him from the window and make it look like he had jumped, or even just Daemon casually strolling in having decided that he wasn't worth keeping around afterall and Aegon was to be gutted like a fish.

         Rhaenyra’s words came back to him.. but so too did the whispers of his mother, about Rhaenyra, and about Prince Daemon. Lord Leanor and Lady Laena dead without warning despite being in the flush of life. Rhea Royce with her broken spine- supposedly thrown from her horse despite being an excellent rider. Even Ser Harwin dead in a fire at Harrenhal, right as Rhaenyra’s hand had become free to marry. All obstacles to Rhaenyra and her uncle had been removed, one after the next in bloody fashion.

         Maybe love for Jacaerys would shield him from Rhaenyra’s wrath, but what of Daemon? What of-

         “Are you awake?” A soft voice said then, pricking through his fear. Aegon blinked in confusion and straightened to peek through the bed curtains.

         Luceryes had grown a little since Aegon had last seen him, but not nearly as much as Jace. His mop of brown curls was heavier, his jaw slightly more defined, and he had gained a few inches of height. He was still more the promise of a broad man, then man though, with his cheeks still round, and arms and legs still gangly.

         “You are.” Luceryes said when he saw Aegon looking at him, and he sounded relieved. He straightened from his crouch then seemed to hesitate, suddenly uncertain about something. Aegon for his part, felt the tension leave his shoulders. Even if Daemon, or Rhaenyra, were going to try and kill him, they wouldn’t send Luke to do it. He doubted the boy could commit murder, even if he was willing.

         Aegon nodded slowly, awkwardly. “I am.” He said finally, then felt the need to add. “It’s nice to see you again Luke. How-“

         “Is it true?” Luke blurted out, cutting across Aegon who blinked again. His eyes flitted to the door quickly as if he expected guards to come bursting at him at any moment, which made no sense. Even if Aegon was a prisoner, Luke had a perfect right to visit him in his cell, being a Prince.

         “Is what-“ He tried, but Luke cut across him again, exasperation seeping into his voice.

         “Did you really set yourself on fire to save Jace?” He demanded. “Wrestle an assassin and take a dagger strike meant for him?”

         Aegon shifted, trying to figure out exactly what interaction they were having, and how he was supposed to answer. If it had been Aemond, Aegon would have needed to brace himself to defend his choices and face mockery. If it was Helaena, to dither and demure. While Daeron would not have let him be until every detail was given twice over at least. Daeron was hungry for even a hint of a tale of adventure, and frequently made Aegon recount even the most boring hunts during his brief visits from Old Town.

         But Luceryes’s nervousness matched none of those, and Aegon’s experience with other people was too limited to guess what it did indicate. So all he could do was tell the truth.

         “Yes. It’s true.” Aegon said. “But it really wasn’t-"

         This time Aegon’s words were cut off by Luceryes throwing his arms around Aegon’s neck and yanking him forward. For a single horrified moment Aegon believed he was wrong, that Rhaenyra or Daemon really had sent Luceryes to kill him, to break his neck, and he tried to struggle away. But no resistance came, no sharp pain- nothing. Instead Luceryes simply held him, surprisingly strong arms clinging around his shoulders, even as he shook.

         “Thank you.” Luke said, his voice haggard and wan. “Thank you so much. I….I could have lost him too and you-“ Abruptly he cut off and drew back almost shoving Aegon away.

         Aegon stared bewildered at his nephew, his eyes wet with unshed tears, his shoulders shaking. Before Aegon could speak he glanced again at the door and took off, racing from the room as if the Stranger was chasing his heels.

         Aegon, laying back on his bed, was still staring at the door in confusion when the Septa returned, carrying a wide silver tray laden with his bread and broth.

         “Is everything alright Highness?” The Septa asked curiously as she approached.

         Aegon, still not entirely convinced Luke had actually been there, had nodded and accepted his breakfast, as well as the next round of poking and prodding at his wounds, without complaint.

         Late that afternoon when Jace returned, bleary eyed but clearly refreshed from having slept, he froze in the doorway, his head swinging back and forth. His tired smile vanished in an expression of concern.

         “Jace?” Aegon, who was just stirring his own afternoon nap, asked.

         “One of my siblings was here.” Jace responded in a tight, slightly monotone voice, his study of the room not breaking for a moment.

         Aegon gaped at him. How on earth could he know- it had been hours since Luke’s strange visit. How-

         Jace suddenly shook his head and seemed to lose interest in the matter, though his mouth was still tight with frustration. “Forget it. I’m surprised they’ve been held in check this long. Just- don’t listen to anything they say. Their insufferable pests the lot of them, and will do anything to embarrass me.”

         “Okay.” Aegon replied, still bewildered. He could understand frustration, even dislike of your siblings- he and Aemond had never gotten on well, as Jace knew. He had complained often of his brother to Jace when they were young, venting his frustration and anger to the one person who would listen. Yet oddly, there was no real anger or censor in Jace’s voice, if anything he sounded….fond. Annoyed, but fond. “He didn’t even really say anything in truth. Just thanked me and-“ Aegon trailed off then shrugged. “Hugged me?” He thought that was what that had been.

         Jace seemed to relax, his shoulders going slack. “Luke.” He breathed. “Yes he would want to thank you. He’s been afraid of loss ever since- well never mind that. He’s being soft on me for the moment, though it can’t last. It’s Baela and Rhaena you have to worry about anyways.”

         Aegon had a vague image in his mind of both girls but no more. They were of less interest to his mother’s party, and the last time he had seen them it had been at the disastrous funeral of their mother Laena, and other matters had eclipsed everything else.

         “I thought Balea was supposed to be on Driftmark with her grandmother?” He said slowly, dredging up one of the few things he had heard about the girls at court, for lack of anything else to say.

         Jace shrugged. “She is, but Driftmark is close enough that she can visit us on Moondancer fairly often.” He hesitated and then trailed off, lowering himself to sit beside Aegon. “She’s been making excuses to stay ever since….”

         Aegon frowned. “Since what?”

         “Since we were attacked.” Jace clarified.

         Aegon shook his head, not really understanding. “But why?” It wasn’t as if another assassin would make an attempt so soon after the first failed, or like they could get into Dragonstone Castle if they tried. And if one did, then what was Balea going to do about it? It wasn’t as if Moondancer would be much good unless the assassin decided to attack Jace in the courtyard in broad daylight while Balea was returning from a flight.

         Jace frowned in return. “She’s my sister. She’s worried about me.”

         Aegon didn’t have an answer to that, so instead he let the conversation slip into other avenues, and tried to put Balea and Rhanea Targaryen out of his mind. He should have known better.

         The next morning he was yanked from sleep by the sound of the tower's door slamming open. Aegon sat bolt upright on the bed in the very moment that Jace did the same on the bench he was using as a cot. Both of them were still trying to rub sleep from their eyes, Jace’s hair sticking out at odd angles and Aegon’s mouth sour and dry, when the two girls swept into the room like a hurricane.

         They were beautiful and almost exact mirrors of each other- clad in similar dark dresses, with the same mahogany skin, pointed jaw, and silver hair. The main difference between them was that Baela’s hair was cut into a short cloud, while Rhaena’s waterfalled to her waist in a cluster of braids. They had also grown from the last time Aegon had seen them just as Luke had, and to a greater degree. They held something of their mother's grace and confidence now, though still not in full bloom. Aegon felt the urge to smile at them like he would any pretty girl at court, but crushed it at a look from Jace.

         “What are you-“ Jace began, rising, clearly ready to harry his sisters out, but in one smooth motion Rhanea managed step around him and take one of Jace’s arms.

         “Oh it’s just dreadful Jace dear.” Rhaena cried. “You must go at once! At once!”

         “What? What’s dreadful? Go where?” Jace said bewildered and still trying to shed his drowsiness. Baela took the opening to step up to his other side and take his other arm.

         “It’s Vermax.” Baela said with the air of someone confiding a dire message. “He’s become quarrelsome too now and he’s snapping at the Dragonkeepers. Arrax and Luke are trying to keep him in check, but well- '' With her free hand she made a sweeping gesture. “You know how Vermax can be.”

         “I do not! I mean I do but-“ Jace was torn between worry and indignation. He took a deep steadying breath, his voice tightening. “Vermax isn’t quarrelsome. He’s downright even tempered for a dragon. He would never snap at Luke or Arrax.”

         “He’s been snapping at everyone.” Rheanea said gently. Aegon realized that between her and Balea they were somehow shuffling Jace to the door without actually dragging him. “Something to do with the way the goats are being divided recently. I think Caraxes tried to take Sunfyre’s share and Vermax sided with Sunfyre before Syrax could break matters up. Now they're all in a tizzy.”

         “But the Dragonkeepers-“ Jace began but Baela cut him off.

         “-are doing their best but you know a dragon only really listens to its rider when it gets like this. You should go without delay.” Balea’s tone was positively cherry, despite her words as she used her hip to push open the tower door.

         “But I need to summon the Septa to look after-“ Jace pleaded, and then Aeogn understood the brilliance of the twins’ plan. The only way Jace could stop them was by knocking them down, and being who he was he could sooner sprout wings and fly, so he had no choice but to go along.

         “We’ll take care of it, don’t you worry!” Rhaena practically sang. “Your guest is in our capable hands, now you best be off! We’ll see you at supper.” And with that she and Baela seemed to heave Jace out the door together, followed by Baela snatching at the handle and slamming it shut before Jace could do more then turn around and begin to protest.

         For a long moment the two sisters stood shoulder to shoulder staring at the door as if waiting for Jace to attempt to break it down. That attempt never came, and after several moments ticked by the twins turned to each other, nodded, and grinned.

         It was all very neat, Aegon supposed. If it wasn’t also terrifying, he would be impressed. That feeling of fear increased as the two women turned their grins on him.

         “Um- hello.” He then trailed off, unsure of how to address them. He wasn’t sure if they were more his cousins, by right of being his uncle’s children, or his nieces, by rights of being adopted by his sister. Sometimes being a Taragaryen was very troublesome.

         “Hello uncle.” Baela said cheerily, resolving the issue for him as she and her sister swept forward to sit at either side of his bed. She and Rhaena had the same odd look in their eyes despite their smiles. Weighing and measuring, like merchants watching something on a scale. “You’re looking well given what you’ve been through.”

         “I am lucky.” He said, putting on a grin, and recalling Jace’s warning he tried to straighten on the bed, to make a good showing of himself. He didn’t think these two were a danger exactly, not in the way their father or Rhaenyra was, but it wouldn’t hurt to stay on guard.

         “Lucky.” Baela repeated, rolling the word on her tongue with a slight smirk. “Yes, I suppose you are. Now, I believe the Maester wants you walking about regularly, yes? Well, we have two shoulders between us.”

         “I don’t know-“ Aegon tried to say, but the women were already tossing back the comforter, and helping him into his britches.

         Which was how Aegon found himself walking the edge of the tower chamber, with each of the twins supporting him on a different side. His shoulder still throbbed viciously, but it had lessened with each day, at least a little, and his hand was improving as well, though he still couldn’t hold onto anything for too long.

         The twins didn’t seem to mind his slow pace or pay his occasional hisses of pain much notice, and Rhaena’s soft voice provided a surprisingly good distraction, as she encouraged gently, cajoled carefully, and otherwise kept his mind from the challenge of the task. It was natural and easy to talk to her, and almost before he knew it they were chatting back and forth.

         “I know things are rougher here on Dragonstone than you’re probably used to at the capital.” Rhaena said almost apologetically. “But Maester Gerardys knows what he is about, even if he is not the Grand Maester. You could not be in better hands.”

         The truth was Aegon had avoided the Grand Maester as much as possible back at court- a firm partisan of his mother’s if there ever was one who wouldn’t give Aegon so much as a tonic for his head without reporting it to the Queen. He was also a relentless bore. But Aegon couldn’t say either of those things to Rhaena so instead he shrugged and responded. “Maester Gerardys has been treating me excellently- and Dragonstone isn’t as rough as all that. It’s been...peaceful here.”

         “Aside from the stabbings.” Baela said dryly.

         Aegon snorted and flexed his fingers as best he could. “Aside from that.” He replied, just as dry. “It’s hardly the beach’s fault that a mad man decided to come at me and Jace with a knife while we were in it.”

         “Have you spent a lot of time on the eastern beach?” Rhaena asked, her voice neutral in an odd way Aegon couldn’t quite place.

         “Loads. Me and Jace must have spent dozens of hours fishing there by now. More probably.” He laughed. “I’m still no more than a passable hunter, despite Jace’s best efforts.”

         Rhaena had regarded him then, her face expressionless but a twinkle in her eyes that made Aegon uneasy. She and Baela exchanged a look.

         “Did I….say something wrong?” Aegon asked slowly.

         “Not at all.” Rhanea replied, her voice still that strangely neutral cast.

         “It seems none of us are winning the bet afterall.” Baela said, and her voice held a strange sing-song quality. “Bloody Jace doesn't do things by halves.”

         Aegon frowned, not sure what that meant, but before he could dwell on it for too long Rhaena’s gentle tug on his shoulder reminded him that he was supposed to be walking. He took another step and hissed as his stitches yanked.

         “Tell us about your adventures.” Rhaena said gently, trying to distract him again. “Did you stay in the forest, or did you visit some of the island villages?”

         Aegon hesitated. He knew Jace had been keeping their excursions a secret of course, but with everything out in the open that was finished. Surely there could be no harm in sharing more, provided he stayed away from the more dangerous subjects, like sneaking out to Crackjaw Point and what had happened there? Besides, the angry red itch that always seemed to cover his shoulder was rising and Aegon needed something to take his mind off it until the most recent draft of willowbark kicked in.

         So he told of their time together- a little of it. Camping on the shore, fishing, hunting, visiting the towns, and once, the port city, while carefully steering away from anything embarrassing, like the goat that had nearly gored him open, or the undercooked fish that had made both him and Jace wretch for half a day. He expected Baela and Rhaena to press him on why- to pry on what scheme or plot of the Greens had brought him to Dragonstone, and he was ready to defend his intentions as pure. But they never asked what had begun his and Jace’s visits. They were much more hungry to know about the things he and Jace had done and how they had done them.

         “A dragonglass pendant you say?” Rhanea asked when he recounted the story of giving it to Jace. “Is that what’s on the silver chain he’s taken to wearing all the time?”

         Aeogn shrugged. He wouldn’t know- he hadn’t noticed any chain, but then he had other things to worry him recently. Besides, who would waste time staring at what Jace was wearing when you could be gazing at his cheeks, or his eyes, or the twitch of his throat as he laughed-

         Aeogn quashed that line of thinking sharply. He had made a promise and for once he would keep it. He would control himself around Jace, and not put him in a stupid dangerous position again. He didn’t deserve a second chance, or any of the care or warmth Jace had shown him, not after what Aegon had done on Crackjaw.

         By the time Jace returned, Aegon was back in bed, his bandages changed, and the twins had shifted to telling him stories of Pentos and the other Free Cities. Baela was in the middle of describing some particularly beautiful orange orchards, when the door creaked open and Jace stomped inside, still muddy and faintly sooty from the Dragonmont.

         “-and at sunset, the whole place seems to glow almost like it is aflame, the blossoms shinining a frothy gold and orange. Why you can- oh hello brother!” Balea said cheerily waving to him as he deposited his cloak on the rack. “Did you have a nice hike? Are the dragons all settled back down again?”

         The glare Jace turned on Balea was sharp enough that it might have flayed the scales off a snake, but it seemed to have no effect on Baela.

         “I had a long hike.” Jace said, his voice tight with frustration. If he were anyone else Aegon suspected he would have been snapping. “You neglected to mention that Caraxes was only bothering Sunfyre because Moondancer was egging him on, sister.”

         “Did I?” Baela said airily, tapping the knife she had been using to clean her fingernails absently against her chin. “It must have slipped my mind.”

         For a moment Aegon thought that Jace was going to lunge at Baela but Rhaena rose to sweep an arm over his shoulder and pat his hand gently. “There there, Jace. You know how dragons can be. All wild temperament and territorial anger. A new fellow in the mix is bound to stir things up, you can hardly blame that on Baela. Now please-  is everything settled?”

         Jace glared at Rhena to let her know he knew exactly what she was doing, but allowed himself to be soothed anyways, and led to one of the chairs pulled around Aegon’s sick bed. “Yes, everything is settled. They were mostly done by the time they arrived. The Dragonkeepers would have been fine without me to settle Vermax.” There was a clear I told you so beneath the words, in a way that only a brother could put there.

         “I’m sure they were glad of your help all the same.” Rhaena insisted. Jace eased a little, unable to deny the truth of that, even as settled into the chair.

         “Now.” Rhaena continued. “We were just telling Aegon all about the orchards at Pentos. Didn’t you mention something about seeing if we could plant a few here on Dragonstone?”

         Jace sighed. “Yes. I think the volcanic soil might be good for them, especially near the slopes. It’s rich, loamy and drains well. The problem would be...“

         It was so neatly done, Aegon felt as if he should be taking notes. Never in his life had been able to manage any of his siblings so well. Nowhere close. Had he tried that kind of trick on Daeron, or, Gods forbid, Aemond he would have been yelled at for sure. How did the girls manage it?

         By the time the twins departed, Jace ushering them out so he could start dousing the lights and getting Aegon ready for bed, his anger had entirely subsided into something closer to a grim sulk. He waited until nearly a quarter of an hour had passed before he spoke, his back to Aegon as he worked to bank the fireplace.

         “Were they civil while I was away?” Jace asked softly.

         “Yes.” Aegon responded quickly. “They were lovely actually. Sweet.”

         Jace turned to regard his eyebrow raised. “Rhaena is sweet. Baela is….Baela. What did they want?”

         Aegon shrugged. “To chat mostly.” He almost said more when he saw Jace’s clearly dissatisfied expression, but Aegon held himself back. It would do Jace no good to know the twins had been curious about their hunting trips and camping, and Aegon felt it was in his best interest to keep the peace as much as possible on Dragonstone. Aegon had no way of knowing if Jace would be angry at his sisters’ prying into his affairs, but it wasn’t worth taking the risk in his mind.

         That night Aegon had a strange fitful sleep, stuttering awake frequently in the night. When he awoke he felt something hard beneath his pillow that had not been there before, and Aegon reached beneath it with his good hand to draw whatever it was out. ‘It’ turned out to be a smooth, shiny riverstone, veined in an odd white pattern of some kind.

         “How on earth…” Aegon muttered as he turned it over in his hand.

         “Joffrey.” Jace said around a yawn and Aegon gave a start, he hadn’t realized he'd woken Jae as well. Jace was regarding the stone with exasperation. “He’s gotten better at sneaking it seems.”

         Aegon gaped at him and Jace shrugged. “It’s his way of showing gratitude.” Jace offered as explanation. “He has a box full of interesting rocks, feathers, and other things he’s found around the castle, or managed to charm maids into giving him. He must have decided that since Baela and Rhaena are visiting now, he should show his appreciation too.”

         “Your siblings are very strange.” Aegon muttered.

         “You're one to talk.” Jace muttered, but he was smiling. “Just look out. He’s very grateful, and he hasn’t realized that not every place you can hide a stone is a good place to hide a stone.” Aegon nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for the warning. He would have to turn out his boots when he was finally allowed to wear them again, or go outside.

         Two days after that Daemon appeared with the Maester for Aegon’s daily checkup. Aegon was immediately on guard, and Jace squared his shoulders as if for an all in wrestling match. But Daemon merely smirked at his step son and took up a seat by the wall.

         “Don’t mind me lads. I just thought I’d come to keep you company during the check up.” Daemon said, flashing a grin.

         “You wanted to keep us company.” Jace repeated, his voice flat as a stone wall.

         Daemon shrugged, that cocky grin of his still setting something in Aegon’s teeth on edge. Aegon knew less of his uncle then he did his sister but he still didn’t like the man. Daemon had all his daughters’ mischief, but matured into something more- something dangerous and wicked, something with fangs.

         He is a more wild beast than the man Aegon's mother liked to say And led by a beast’s instincts. He can not be trusted.

         “Maybe it had crossed my mind that I still had some questions to ask of our dear hero prince, if he’s up to it.” Daemon admitted, without a hint of shame.

         “Mother-“ Jace began but Daemon cut across him.

         “Your mother wants to know who tried to kill you, and how they managed to get so bloody close to it.” Daemon’s voice was still light, but there was a note of warning in it too now, that vanished as he continued. “I promise, I will be gentle as if I was handling a newborn.”

         Jace clearly wanted to argue more, but Aegon laid a hand on his elbow, and Jace gave over. Aegon could see no harm in the matter, so he submitted to Daemon’s questions, answering as best he could in between following the instructions of the Maester.

         He expected Daemon to question him closely about their arrangement- how it had begun and why, how long it had gone on, who had known and how Aegon had been sneaking away. Even if his daughters were not interested, Daemon he thought, surely had to be. But to his surprise Daemon didn’t even broach the subject of his and Jace's hunting trips. Instead Daemon confined himself to the attack- how it had happened, how the assassin had acted, how everyone had been arranged and how the action had unfolded. Aegon did the best he could- everything was a blur of chaos and confusion in his mind- but Daemon had a way of asking questions that made Aegon think not just of the answers, but of other pieces of information as well.

         “He knew how to handle the knife, but not like a Knight would.” Aegon had said when Daemon asked if the way the man had fought seemed familiar to Aegon. “He was steady, but light on his feet. And his knuckles where thick and scarred, like a...” He trailed off.

         “Like a Flea Bottom cutpurse or brawler?” Daemon had finished for him. He nodded as if that made sense. “Not a trained assassin then, but someone hardened on the streets.” His expression was grim, and he produced a roll of paper from his pocket then gestured for Jace to bring him the lapdesk from the shelf. Rather than a quill or pen, Daemon drew out a small bag of what Aegon realized was charcoal, and laid a few on the paper.

         “You said he was missing a tongue. Do you remember anything else?” Daemon said when he was settled. “Describe him as best you can- with as much detail as you can remember. I’m no master sketch artist, but maybe I can make something good enough to circulate around the port.”

         “I didn’t know you sketched.” Aegon said shifting on the bed. Daemon had not struck him as the artistic type.

         Daemon waggled a finger at Aegon, his smirk depending. “The things you don’t know about me could fill a library nephew.”

         “Aunt Laena taught him.” Jace said, and Aegon was treated to the sight of Daemon turning a dirty slightly betrayed glare on Jace, who was sitting by the window looking completely unashamed. “What?” Jace said, smirking back. “She did.”

         Aegon described the tongueless man to the best of his ability, trying to summon up as many details about his face as he could recall. He found he remembered a surprising amount of that- but then, he had stared into the man’s eyes as they had wrestled for the knife, seen the cold killing intent there, and could recall the yellowed snaggle teeth of his vicious snarl perfectly. It was still showing up in Aegon’s nightmares.

         It was slow going, and the examination was long over by the time they finished. The Maester settled to sit by the bed, clearly curious about the process as Daemon worked. Daemon didn’t seem to mind when Aegon stumbled or asked for a moment. He pressed when Aegon was vague, pushed for clarity when Aegon’s description was murky, but for the most part he tried to keep his promise to be gentle.

         In Aegon’s mind, Daemon had always been like some dark mirror of Criston Cole. Fierce and strong yes, but also cruel and intense, without honor, and with a rouge’s ways. The kind of villain who kidnapped princesses and waged wars in his mother’s moral fairy tales. But Aegon had known even less of Daemon than he did of Rhaenyra- having seen him maybe a half a dozen times in his entire life. It was hard to match the man in front of him to the myth built by others.

         Could he really have killed Aunt Laena and Rhea Royce? Lord Strong and Ser Harwin? Ser Laenor? Most of the court was certain about Rhea Royce and Ser Harwin at least, but in Aegon’s few memories of Laena and Daemon’s occasional visits to court he had seemed as happy in marriage with her as any wedded man.

         When Daemon was done he showed Aegon his sketch for approval. Aegon had no discerning eye for art- those were pleasures for Daeron and Helena- but even Aegon could tell that Daemon had not been being humble. The sketch was passable but it wouldn’t fetch any sort of coin. Yet, the man was recognizable in it. Not an exact likeness, but close enough to make Aegon’s palms sweat.

         “That’s him.” Aegon said, surprised at how harsh his own voice was. Aegon felt a squeeze and realized that Jace had laid a hand on his forearm to comfort him. Aegon wanted to be embarrassed or ashamed at needing such comfort, but he couldn’t find it in himself.

         Daemon nodded and offered the sketch to Jace who grimaced.

         “I didn’t get a good look- but this seems right from what I can remember.” Jace, ever a little cautious, said. Daemon seemed satisfied and folded the paper to put in his pocket.

         “I’ll circulate this among my people in the port. He would have to have come through there to reach the island- there is no other safe landing.” Daemon said.

         “And if he didn’t stay long enough to be recalled by anyone?” Aegon found himself asking, to his surprise. “If he merely came in on a fishing boat and slipped into the crowd?”

         Daemon shook his head. “The bonfire was set in the early hours of the morning to lure Jace to the shore. The inland city gates are closed from dusk till dawn- so even if he got in on a late ship he would have had to spend at least half a night in the port. Maybe our tongueless friend spent the night sleeping rough before he planned to work his murder, but I won't believe it. If he really was a city man he would have wanted a roof over his head for what was likely to be his last night on earth. Even the lowest fileeaters and thugs of Flea Bottom are used to roofs and hearths.”

         Jace frowned. “You really think he intended to die killing me?” He asked, and Aegon felt his breath catch as Daemon’s eyes hardened. For a moment, Aeogn had no trouble believing his mother’s warnings and stories- not with that cold, calculating light in Daemon’s eyes. It was the same as the tongueless knife man. The light of the killer.

         “It’s how I would do it If I wanted to kill a dragon rider without a dance.” Daemon said simply. “Find a criminal from Flea Bottom, or some other muddy slum. Someone that can’t write or read. Someone hard and used to violence. Someone with nothing to live for: a convicted murderer maybe, or a poor sod sick with the Coffin Rot. I'd offer him whatever earthly thing he wanted- a sweetheart taken care of in comfort, or a son settled as a squire. And then when he said yes, I’d cut out his tongue.” Daemon brought down his hand in a single, clean chopping motion. “Then I’d give him poison blades to make it so that only a nick is necessary to kill and send him off to die. Clean, quick, efficient. No loose ends. Even if he is captured by some miracle rather than torn apart bodily by his dragon- and we all know how bloody likely that would be with a dragon mad from grief at hand- he can't betray me without a tongue to speak, and with hands that won't be able to write a letter.”

         Aegon felt cold inside as Daemon stood. Daemon wasn’t wearing his sword but his wrist was resting on the hilt of his belt knife. Yet when he spoke he seemed to have come back to himself a little. “It would have worked, if not for you.” Daemon said simply and it was Aegon’s turn to squeeze Jace's hand. Daemon turned his gaze to Aegon and the cold light was gone. “Jace would be dead and none of us would have known for days most likely. But what are the plots of villains and schemers against white haired princes from stories?” Daemon’s smirk was snake-like and it did not comfort Aegon, or make him feel gratitude. He was too busy feeling sick from the image of Jace’s body limp on the beach, with only Vermax’s wailing cries to mourn him.

         “You give me too much credit.” Aegon muttered. “I got lucky. I decided to come out here on a whim the night before. If I hadn’t…”

         Daemon’s smirk deepened. “If the shoe fits. Maybe it was the Seven, or the Old Gods, or the Braavosi God of Death, but something guided you to be in the right place at the right time. And even then it was your decision to throw yourself between the villain and my step son. What is that if not the tale of a hero?” Daemon’s smirk vanished, seriousness returning.  When he spoke again it was in solmen voice. “Bisa iderennon jāhor daor sagon mijegon arlinnon. ”

         Aegon blinked at the words in Old Valyrian, surprised by his uncle again. This choice will not be without mark they meant. Or maybe This action will not be without scar . Aegon had never bothered much with Old Valyrian beyond what he needed to know for training Sunfyre, but he knew that phrase from his father. It was a promise to repay a debt.

         “T-thank you.” Aegon said, because he wasn’t sure of what else to say. Daemon smiled warmly, though the cold killer’s light remained in his eyes. He patted the pocket holding the drawing.

         “I will begin making good by finding out everything I can about our foe. If he stayed under a roof for his last night on earth that means he spent coin, and maybe left other clues for us to uncover. I will find out who tried to take Jace’s blood, and spilled yours instead, and exact our price from them.” His smiled turned to a sneer. “Would you prefer a shoulder bone or a hand nephew?” Whatever face Aegon made must have been amusing because Daemon laughed. “Ah, then I’ll just have to surprise you.” And with that, he waggled his finger at Aegon again once more and was gone.

         “That man…” Aegon said when he could finally muster words again.

         “I know.” Jace said, voice tight with agitation.

         “He means well.” The Maester said as he rose. “Truly he does. He loves you, Jacaerys, as he would his own son.”

         “He loves mother.” Jace replied curtly. “My brothers and I are just part of the package.” Then some of the anger seemed to leave him. “But he’ll keep that promise if you let him, and mean it as a gesture of good will, in his own twisted way.”

         Aegon shook his head. “I very much do not want a severed hand or a shoulder bone, thank you.”

         “Acromion.” The Maester provided helpfully. “It’s called an arcominon.”

         Two weeks and three days after Aegon first woke up, he was able to make a full circuit around the room without any aid from Jace or the Septas, much to the satisfaction of everyone involved, and his hand was healed enough that he was able to write, if not smooth letters, at least in a shaky scrawl. It was decided by the Maester that he needed fresh air now, and lots of it- walks around the castle battlements, to begin with.

         “The Dragomont.” Aegon said immediately. “I want to visit Sunfyre.”

         “That’s not really what I meant by fresh air.” The Maester tried to push back, but not strongly. He knew the state Sunfyre was in. The whole castle did. The whole island probably knew that a dragon was causing problems on the Mont, even if they didn’t know which dragon and why.

         In the end, the Maester exceed to a visit- a short visit, and so Aegon was dressed properly for the first time in weeks, in clothes borrowed from Jace: A dark tunic and trousers, knee high boots and fingerless gloves, as well as the same black cloak he Jace had given him all those weeks ago when they had begun this madness. By chance, Aegon had been wearing it the night he had left the city.

         Aegon’s hand was not yet good enough that he could fasten the clasp, a silver dragon’s head, on his own, so Jace had to do it for him, gently looping the cloth and snapping the silver around it.

         “I’m surprised you kept this. It was already well worn when I gave it to you.” Jace admitted. “Surely you have finer, better cloaks back at the Red Keep.”

         Aegon opened his mouth, about to bring up the pendant, to fire back that Jace surely had finer nicer pieces of jewelry then a peasant trinket. But he stopped himself short and shrugged instead.

         “I like it.” Aegon said simply. “And it was a gift. It’s rude to get rid of gifts.”

         For some reason that brought on one of Jace's sly half smiles, one corner of his mouth tugging up, and sent a thrill of warmth through Aegon’s chest which he promptly crushed. He had promised, and he would keep that promise.

         It was a chilly morning when they finally made their way down into the courtyard and then the dragon stable, the air hanging heavy with the faintly acrid smoke of the volcano. That scent increased sharply as they entered the stable itself, rolling from the opening at the far end which was covered in a heavy iron gate. Beneath that smoke a more familiar scent was there, faint but still present: the spicy musky tang of dragon flesh.

         “It’s a pretty small tunnel.” Aegon noted as he peered at the gate. There was a heavy iron chain looped through the bars and a large sturdy lock- but Aegon somehow doubted that would do much good against a truly determined Dragon. Even the walls of the Dragonpit sometimes felt like a flimsy barrier to the likes of Vhagar. “I hope they didn’t bring Sunfyre through here.”

         Jace shook his head. “No, Vermax and I managed to get him to land on the mountain, though he gave no end of trouble. I don’t think he would have let me and the Dragonkeepers carry you to the Maester if not for Vermax and Syrax being there to keep him in line. He was…distressed.”

         Aegon felt a spike of guilt and it must have shown on his face because Jace hurried on, quick to change the subject. “Only the younger dragons are small enough to use the stable- Vermax, Arrax, Moondancer. Mostly it’s used to store equipment and tools for the Dragonkeepers.” Jace explained as he retrieved a lantern from the wall and lit it with practiced ease. “When Daemon wants to fly on Caraxes he and the Dragonkeepers have to take the saddle and harness into the mountain. Same with mother and Syrax.” 

         Aegon made a sound that he hoped came across as interested and followed Jace to the gate. Jace produced a heavy iron key that fit smoothly into the lock and made a clean metallic scraping noise as it was twisted. The chain came away with ease, but rather than unwinding it completely, Jace merely gave it enough slack for the gate to open wide enough for them to slip through, then replaced the lock and chain.

         “Better safe than sorry.” Jace said with a shrug when Aegon glanced at him. “Moondancer getting into the dining hall once was more than enough for everyone.” 

         With the light of the lantern to help them, it was surprisingly easy going in the tunnels, even as the floor grew rougher and more uneven the further into the mountain they got it never truly became rough enough to present a problem. No doubt centuries of dragons, Dragonkeepers and Targaryens walking the tunnels had beaten the ground smooth enough for their purposes.

         Aegon had never really visited Dragonstone before now, let alone the mountain itself. Aegon’s mother had her camp in the capital and Rheanyra had her camp on the island. Visits were not so much out of the question as they were unthinkable. He knew that the King had planned one, meant to take place after the funeral of Aunt Lanea, in the hopes of either acquiring Aemond a new egg or seeing him mount one of the wild dragons that called the mountain home- but that had been scuttled by all that had transpired with Vhagar.

         Aegon almost couldn’t stop himself comparing the wide winding caverns of the Dragonmont tp the more narrow rigid tunnels of the Dragonpit. The Pit’s warren was melted out of the stone and rock, by centuries of burrowing and scratching, deep into the hill on which the Pit stood, but they overlapped with the man-made chambers, squared halls and gated chambers for isolating the dragons from each other when they were being quarrelsome.

      That was not the mountain. As he and Jace went deeper and deeper into the tunnels the air grew in warmth and the tunnels seemed to spiral out in every direction. Instead of melted out and clawed burrows, the large winding caverns had been made by years of flowing lava, cut by wind and rain. There was little sign of human presence, beyond an occasional torch bracket hammered into a wall, or chiseled steps into a steep climb or descent. And beyond that while the Pit was dank and gloomy, even oppressive at times, the mountain was obviously and irrefutably alive. Aegon and Jace passed by huge vents from which billowing steam and smoke rose, places where the volcano’s heat was allowed to escape. Moss, fungus and other vegetation littered the tunnels, and beatles and ants made their own small mounds in out of the way corners and along walls wet from runoff. Once they even found themselves walking through a wide chamber near enough to the surface that the cracked ceiling showed a bit of the morning sky, and Aegon was just able to make out that the crack was overflowing with thick vines and loose roots.

         It wasn’t long before Aegon could feel Sunfyre again- that low burning ember in the back of his mind growing more and more distinct, sharper- and also burning brighter as Sunfyre felt Aegon’s approach in return and grew ready. Soon Aegon was in the lead, following that faint pulse through the tunnels, his steps still not certain on the unfamiliar ground, but more sure by the second that he was drawing closer.

         They passed other dragons, but Aegon paid them as little mind as they paid him and Jace. In another high ceilinged chamber, they spotted what must have been Moondanger’s nest up on a stone shelf, built from charred tree trunks and moss- though they only caught a snatch of pale green and pearl as they went by it. Arrax they glimpsed more clearly: down a long slope at the end of which gurgled a rank pool of muddy water. The dragon lifted his slender bone white body out of the water just enough to gaze at the pair as they walked by, then deciding they were not interesting enough to pay attention too, lowered himself almost entirely back into the pool. Aegon didn’t even bother to feel offended- his head was too full of the need to see Sunfyre again.

         They found him just as Aegon was begining to grow winded from the strain, sweat tricking down from his temple. He and Jace turned a corner and came into one of the tunnels near the surface- another with a cracked ceiling twined tightly with roots and vines. Light from the morning sun just barely peeking its way inside to glint off Sunfyre’s golden scales where he laid curled near the back of the cave.

         The moment Aegon and Jace where inside, Sunfyre’s head came up, huge amber eyes locking onto Aegon as the coal in the back of Aegon’s head caught fire- burning with relief and anger and fierce joy. It was a vicious blaze that Sunfyre did not seem to know how to sort through. Aegon could not blame him for that.

         Aegon had asked the worst thing a rider could of a dragon: to slay his master with his own flames. All dragonriders where given to dragonfire at death, but to die by it was another matter. And more... to ask a dragon to slay the human with whom it had chosen to share a piece of itself, chosen to tether a part of it’s very soul... Aegon had never understood how Aunt Laena could do it, if indeed that was how she had died. If he had any other choice Aegon would never have done it himself.

         I needed him to live , Aegon thought as he drew closer, trying to will Sunfyre to understand I needed him to be okay.

         Sunfyre tensed, his eyes focused on Aegon, ignoring Jacaerys entirely. But Aegon walked forward unafraid. He knew Sunfyre would never hurt him. Sunfyre had been with Aegon all his life- they had shared a cradle in the Targaryen way, and he had felt their hearts beating as one, the day Sunfyre had broken the shell and come out into the world.

         He came close enough to lay a hand on Sunfyre’s neck and the dragon relaxed, uncoiling just enough for Aegon to be able to reach behind his crest of pale horns and scratch. The anger, frustration, and anexity in the back of Aegon’s mind did not fade away, but it did dull a little, and Sunfyre trilled slightly as Aegon continued to scratch.          

         “There there.” Aegon murmured. “I’m here see: perfectly well.” I would not have done it, if there had been any other choice . Aegon thought. And he meant it. The trill turned sad suddenly, and all at once Aegon felt Sunfyre’s head turn, the dragon’s nose pressing against his torso, hot breath hitting him in sharp blasts. A pain, an agony, welled up in the flames.

         “I know. I know it gives me nightmares too.” Aegon murmured, though he knew his spoken words had as much chance of making sense to the dragon as his thoughts. He kept his hands moving in the hopes that would help- stroked the sides of Sunfyre’s muzzle, his palms tracing the rough scales. “I understand. I do. But there is nothing to be afraid of now, is there?” He laughed softly. “Fire can no more kill me then you, gevie . We are of one blood, one heart.”

         Sunfyre trilled softly in answer and then without warning let his neck go slack. Aegon grunted as the full weight of the dragon’s skull was suddenly forcing him to the ground, pinning his legs to the cave floor. Sunfyre was staring at him now, with one amber eye, expectantly.

         “Brat.” Aegon muttered, but he knew his feelings of annoyance where to faint to make any impression. There was really only one thing to do: keep stroking Sunfyre’s scales as he sat there trapped, and hope that Sunfyre would be satisfied enough to let him up before nightfall.

         Aegon expected Jace to poke him a bit over the affair- to laugh or joke at his expense. But to his surprise Jace merely drew close and sat down beside him, though he was careful not to touch Sunfyre’s scales himself. He watched Aegon with his dragon, his expression unreadable. Aegon wanted to ask what Jace was thinking, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not when it was sure to touch what had happened on the beach. 

         Even though Aegon had talked at some length on the subject with both Rhaenyra and Daemon, been thanked by Luceeryes and Joffery in their own way, and been interrogated by the twins… he and Jace had not spoken of what it meant that Aegon had set himself aflame for Jace. Or what it meant that he had not burned. Aegon had promised to let the matter of his desires lay, and trouble Jace over them no more, so that meant if they were to confront it…it fell to Jace to open the door. At least, that was how Aegon saw it.

         If he kept his silence…then…

         Another trill sounded, distant at first, and then louder. It was soft, a little melodic, and Aegon’s head snapped up to the crack in the ceiling, weary of it, but Jace shook his head.

         “Another dragon. Probably Seasmoke back from hunting on the coast.” Jace said. “Or maybe Vermithor. Cannibal and Sheepstealer don’t come this close to the castle. It’s nothing to pay any mind. Even if they stand right atop us, that rock is old and steady, and there hasn’t been a cave collapse in generations."

         Aegon opened his mouth to protest but before he could there was another trill, louder, more wheezing. Both Aegon and Jace sat up straighter at that- they knew that sound well. Caraxes’s cry was nothing if not memorable. Before Aegon could suggest they coax Sunfyre into another tunnel- he had no desire to play mediator in one of their quarrels- a voice spoke, barely audible to Aegon’s ears, yet growing louder with each second.

         “-would have told you if I suspected the truth, you know that.” Daemon was saying. “If I had suspected even half of it. But all I knew was that he mucking about with some silver haired lad. It seemed a safe assumption it was some dragonseed off one of the farms or towns. It would have been absurd to think it was Alicent’s brat. I still struggle to credit that it was, most days.”

         Aegon felt his breath catch at the words and when he looked at Jace he saw his own expression mirrored back at him: shock and recrimination. It seemed they had not been nearly as sly or circumspect as they thought.

         “You should have told me in any event.” Rhaenyra replied sternly, her voice also growing louder by the word. Aegon narrowed his eyes at the crack in the ceiling as a shadow fell over it- no doubt the edge of either Caraxes or Syrax’s wing. “I had a right to know my son was keeping things from me.”

         “Because you never kept anything from your father, I’m sure.” Daemon’s response was so glib it made Aegon’s eyes pop. He couldn’t imagine anyone speaking to his mother in that tone, let alone Rhaenyra, figure of fear as she still was in his mind. But Jace hardly seemed phased by the tone- instead he was peering up at the crack too, his expression oddly thoughtful. After a moment Daemon added. “The boy needed a chance to unbend that stiff neck of his, Rhaenyra. To spread his wings a bit. Get in some trouble. It’s part of growing up- as you well remember.”

         At that Jace’s expression turned a little sour, and he gave a quite grunt. Aegon didn’t think he was going to say anything, but he put a hand on Jace’s shoulder to steady him anyways. Aegon had no desire to face the awkward confrontation that would ensue from Daemon and Rhaenyra learning of their presence

         “He’ll not do any growing dead.” Rhaenyra shot back, but the touch of ruefulness in her voice that told Aegon that Daemon had scored a point

         “Knowing would not have prevented what happened.” Daemon pointed out gently. “Unless you think you really could have forbidden Jace from meeting the boy and have it work.”

         Aegon frowned up at the ceiling- of course that would have worked. Had Daemon not met Jace? Jace might have been furious, but he would have exceeded his mother’s wishes if she had forbidden him from seeing the supposed ‘dragonseed’- all the more so because the truth was far worse. It would have hurt, but Jace would have done it. At least, Aeogn thought he would have.

         But when Rhaenyra spoke it was pensive. “Maybe. Or maybe I would have been able to draw the truth out of him, given the chance to confront him, or to know that I should. I do not think he could have maintained the lie, not directly faced with my knowing otherwise.” Daemon’s silence spoke to his skepticism, and stretched so long Aegon began to wonder if they had wandered off. But then Daemon spoke again.

         “What would have happened if you had done it? Gotten the truth? The full truth?” He asked, his voice more distant but not yet out of earshot.

         “I don’t know.” Rhaenyra admitted then sighed. “I suppose it no longer matters.” There was a pause then, and then fainter still. “I believe Jace is right about Aegon. At least in part.”

         Aegon’s head snapped over to Jace, whose own expression was suddenly very very alarmed. He had half stood- though what exactly he planned to do Aegon could not have guessed, unless he planned to shout and alert his mother to their presence- but before he could take action Rhaneyra spoke again.

         “We can not keep him hidden much longer. It will be discovered he is on Dragonstone before long, and we must prepare for what will happen when that occurs.”

         “As to that...“ Daemon said. “I’ve had a thought or two. But much depends on my brother, and if...“

         Their voices trailed off then, and the shadow passed from over the crack. Aegon could just barely make the flash of pale yellow scales as the wing slid by, allowing the sun back into the small cavern.

         They sat there for a while, listening to Sunfyre’s deep steady breathing- oblivious to anything that had just happened. All he knew was that Caraxes and Syrax had passed by and unsettled the humans. But that was no concern of Sunfyre’s when they hadn’t drawn close enough for him to see them eye to eye.

         A hundred questions bubbled inside Aegon, curiosity burning in his chest. He wanted to understand, to know- but each time he opened his mouth he found he couldn’t put his questions into words, and could only close his mouth again. Jace meanwhile had grown oddly stony, staring at the cave wall without expression- and Aegon could tell he wanted no part in talking about what they had overhead.

         But one thing eclipsed all others in his mind, even what Rhaenyra thought Jace was right about- the knowledge that they were right. That this couldn’t last forever, or even much longer. Sooner or later Aegon’s mother would learn where he was, and that would set the foxhounds loose in the hen yard. But there was nothing to be done about it- and Aegon didn’t know what he would do if he could.

         Eventually, the sun started to climb to its peak and Aegon had no choice but to gently, if firmly, push Sunfyre’s head off his lap, so he and Jace could begin making the trek back through the tunnels to the castle.

         Their fingers brushed as they stood, for just a moment, and Aegon felt that familiar flash of fire where skin met skin, and did his best to ignore it as he soothed Sunfyre further, gently coaxing the dragon to sleep.

         By the time he was done Jace had already started for the cave mouth, and Aegon could only adjust his cloak, and follow him.

Chapter Text

              The wind howled in Aegon’s ears combining with the crashing of the waves far bellow to deafen out all sound except for the occasional trills and cries of the dragons as they soared through the air.

              For the moment, Aegon did not urge Sunfyre to greater speed. Instead keeping the dragon to an even pace as they banked to the left, Sunfyre's great rose-colored wings spread wide enough and tilted just right to give Aegon a view of the expanse of ocean far bellow. Aegon could feel Sunfyre straining after so long resting fitfully on Dragonmount- urging Aegon to let him race along the clouds, to soar. That feeling was not just on the reins or through the tension of the back beneath the saddle, but in Aegon’s mind. Sunfyre yearned to be put through his paces, to truly push. But for the moment, Aegon held him firmly in hand, for the simple reason that Vermax and Moondancer would be left behind if he let Sunfyre do as he wished.

              He could see both dragons already struggling to keep pace. Moondancer a little more so, trailing to their left with Baela on her back, while Vermax flew to the right, Jace laying low against the dragon’s saddle to urge greater speed. Both where closer then Aegon had expected Sunfyre to allow. The strain in Aegon’s mind was all from the feeling of being cooped up and wanting to test his limits- not from distrust or desire to get away from the other dragons. Even back on the mountain Sunfyre had given no trouble, beyond flicking Vermax with his tail once or twice, while the Dragonkeepers where affixing the saddles and setting the harness.

              A sharp trill to his left drew Aegon’s attention, and he turned to look to Moondancer. Atop her back, Baela had pulled a blue cloth out one of the saddle bags and was waving it. In response Aegon clicked his tongue tugged the reins twice- and Sunfyre let out an acknowledging trill and banked again to the left, to give the smaller dragon more space. Another trill from Vermax meant Jace was doing the same.

              Aegon watched as Moondancer dove straight down for the waters bellow. He couldn’t hear the cry of dracarys, but he saw the jet of flame shoot out just as Moondancer pulled out her dive, creating a billowing ribbon of steam  as it struck the water- a ribbon that that the silver dragon seemed to draw along the ocean’s surface. Two tight circles, one atop the other, and then Moondancer was beating her wings to rise again, and Sunfyre and Aegon where banking right, to give Vermax the space to go.

              Instead of a pair of circles, Jace and Vermax carved two sets of triangles of pure steam, point to point before he rose and Aegon, not willing to be out done dove down to give himself and Sunfyre their go. He held fast the image he wanted in his mind- it had to be simple, but keeping it clear in his head was as important as anything he did with the reins. Then, the moment he knew they where in range of the ocean he shouted the command.

               “Dracarys!”

               Golden fire fountained in a jet from the dragon’s maw, and in three quick snaps of his head, Sunfyre had carved a triangle into the ocean, the water boiling and raging as it turned to steam where the fire touched it. But Sunfyre was not done. Again Aegon cried to the command, again holding an image on his mind, and this time a circle was carved into the waves- balanced right on the point of the triangle. A third time, and another boiling triangle was drawn, just as Sunfyre ran out of whatever strange gas it was that fueled his flame, and then Aegon was at last pulling up, following the trail of steam. Trills from Moondancer and Vermax acknowledged his victory. Sunfyre preened and cried out as he rose higher and higher- shooting up past his fellows and into the clouds. Aegon could not bring himself to restrain the dragon, instead urging him faster, faster. He felt Sunfyre gulping in deep breaths of clean sea air, felt whatever lung or organ deep in the dragon’s chest held that fuel for it’s fire refill, and shouted the command again.

              “Dracarys!”

              This blast of golden fire was only a brief one- enough to create a cloud of smoke hanging over head that Sunfyre immediately burst through, before Aegon had him banking and then circling downwards again, to where Vermax and Moondancer where waiting for him to come back down, circling closer to the ocean's surface.

              Aegon laughed, feeling almost as free as he had the night of his first flight to Dragonstone. He couldn’t quite make out either Baela or Jace’s expressions at this distance, but he could guess- fond exasperation for one and amused annoyance for the other.

              They followed wave carving, with barrel rolling- each diving as fast as they could, turning their dragon in as many circles as both rider and dragon could stand before leveling out again. Moondancer and Baela apparently shared a stomach of steel between them because they won handily at that with a tidy twelve rolls. That was followed by smoke chasing, where Vermax was the clear winner, and then dive fishing- where it proved a tie between a small shark yanked up in Sunfyre’s talons, and some kind of huge tuna that Moondancer managed to snake out of the tides. Dive fishing was the last- as the now well fed dragons would become sluggish for a want of a nap soon after, so once the last frenzy had subsided, they banked right, circled, and began beating a course back the island. 

              It was late afternoon when they began their final descent- Moondancer breaking to the castle where Baela would dismount in the stable, while Sunfyre and Vermax headed for the mountain slope, where a small cleared cliff held Dragonkeepers waiting to aid in their dismount- right where Jace and Aegon had left them a few hours ago.

              The moment Sunfyre landed, Aegon felt his shoulders relax and his whole body uncoil like a cut rope. He laughed flexing healed fingers as he undid the safety straps, in four quick motions and leapt first to the netting that served as Sunfyre’s saddle cloth, then onto the ground. He had done this to many times to feel shaky on his feet after flying but he did feel…lighter then he usually did. Freer maybe. It was a little heady- coming down from that thrill after weeks of being confined to bed rest and healing.

              The Dragonkeepers where already springing into action, moving to detach the saddle and and reins, but Aegon payed them little mind as he walked along Sunfyre’s neck, scratching at scales and murmuring praise in High Valyrian. Sunfyre was trying not to bask to visibly, and failing, ever weak to praise and adulation. Aegon was touch worried he might become spoiled with it- the Dragonkeepers on the island where a lot more free with such things then they where back at the capital.

              By the time Sunfyre’s saddle had been removed and the reins unclasped, Sunfyre was content enough to only nose at Aegon a little bit before being lead off with Vermax. The two would get half a portion of goats each to round out their fishing, and they would eat with Syrax, in one of warm vents close to the height of the mountain, where Cannibal and Sheepstealer where unlikely to venture in search of mischief and theft. Aegon had not seen either of the wild dragons in person yet, or Vermithor and Silverwing who kept to themselves in caves near the peak, but he had heard tales- and grousing- about them often from the Dragonkeepers.

              “That went well.” Jace said as Vermax was lead away after Sunfyre, moving to join Aegon. They where both dressed in dark flying leathers, and Jace was tugging off his gloves already and tucking them behind his belt. “No twinges or aches?”

              “Not a one.” Aegon lied. There had only been a few pains while mounting and first taking off- but he had woken up with far worse after a rough night drinking, and besides it probably had more to do with being grounded for so long. “You kept pace well. You’ve gotten better.”

              Jace blushed slightly and shrugged, then turned to begin walking down the mountain. “I’ve had little to to do out here but study, train, and practice flying. At least until you showed up anyways.”

              Aegon grinned. “That’s not true. You’ve also been perfecting the art of nursemaiding- for which I have been eternally grateful.” Again Jace blushed and speed up his pace. Aegon could have laughed- it felt good to be back to some version of normal between them, with him ribbing Jace and Jace acting indignant. Maybe the worst of everything was behind them now- and things like senseless kisses and foolish gestures could stay in the past where they belonged.

              “You’ve gotten quite good at it you know- tending the sick. If you ever tire of the idea of being King-” Aegon went on as they followed the path down towards the castle. “-you could always follow in Uncle Vageon’s footsteps. Run off to the Citadel to become a Archmaester of the medicines. Grow old and grumpy and stupidly brilliant, and only show up every few years to remind people your still alive before vanishing off to Old Town again.”

              “Luke would never forgive me for leaving him with Dragonstone to inherit as well as Driftmark.” Jace said dryly. He shook his head. “Uncle Vageon. Gods protect me from that fate! Is he even still alive?”

              “Oh yes. He just turned sixty eight, which means we’re two years out from another dire visit at the Red Keep.” Aegon said, adjusting his cloak against a blast of wind. “Daeron sees him from time to time in Old Town- the old man invites him to tea, which Daeron, being the good polite Hightower squire he is, always accepts. Apparently he always says the same thing- Fly over the Sunset Sea boy and don’t come back, it’s not worth it. ”

              “Well at least he’s maintaining his sunny disposition in his old age.” Jace muttered. “We should-“ He cut off then, as they where nearing the tunnel entrance that would take them towards the castle. A young page in the black livery of House Targaryen was waiting for them, shifting from foot to foot. The servants did not like coming up into the mountain for some reason.

              “Your Highnesses.” The page said dropping a low bow as they approached. “Her Highness, the Princess Rhaenyra sends word that you are to join her for dinner this evening.”

              Jace frowned. “I was planning to join family supper anyways. Tell me my mother to expect me.” When the page didn’t move Jace’s frown deepened, but Aegon suddenly understood.

              “I will be there as well.” He said. “My best to my sister.” He added because it seemed courteous to say.

              The page bobbed another bow and turned to briskly march down the passage towards the castle, leaving Jace to turn his frown on Aegon.

              “You don’t have too-“ He started but Aegon began moving before he could finish, following the path into the cave.

              “I know.” He said. “But I will. I want too.” It was another lie- he didn’t want too. Not really. But attending this dinner was inevitable. He was still a prisoner after all- even if everyone was maintaining the illusion that he wasn’t very hard. It was Rhaenyra’s right to order his comings and goings as she wished.

               Then why did you not fly away for Crackjaw, or better yet over the Sunset Sea when you had the chance? A prisoner has a duty to escape. A tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind. He ignored it. He had never claimed to be good at duty anyways.

              “I could cover for you.” Jace offered. “I do it for Rhaena and Luke from time to time. You really don’t have too-“

              “And turn down the chance to see you having to fend off all four of your siblings and their japes at once? Perish the thought.” Aegon forced a smile and started to tug his own gloves off. “Now Jace we really do need to get moving, if we want to be ready in time. I don’t know about you, but I was raised better then to turn up to the dinner table reeking of dragon.”

              For a moment Aegon was sure Jace wouldn’t let the matter drop. But then he sighed and picked up his step, and they continued the rest of the way in silence.

              The truth was, even if Aegon had been able to put this dinner off he wouldn’t have. Their was no sense in it- sooner or later he had to face the whole of the family together. Why not now?

              Still, his palms where sweaty, and his heart hammering, when he and Jace parted ways so that Aegon could go to the Windwyrm Tower, bath, and dress. Try as he might, he could not bring that feeling under control.

<X>

              Aegon had long ago perfected the art of quickly and efficiently readying for formal events. It was a skill you had to master if you wanted to stay up (and sleep in) late in the Red Keep. So it was a short time between Aegon calling for a bath water to be readied, and him being fully scrubbed, combed, curried, and (mostly) in a fit state for company. A visit from the tailor had been a low priority during his recovery, so the dark blue tunic, snowy white hosiery, and black slippers Aegon put on where loans from Jace, much like the chambers themselves.

              It had taken an embarrassingly long time for Aegon to realize that he was occupying Jace’s rooms- only finding out when two of the maids had brought it up in passing while chatting with each other. Apparently when Jace had retread from Aegon’s sickbed long enough to sleep, he had been doing it on a bench in Luke’s room, and he was still staying there for the most part, even though the Maester had declared Aegon fit for flying again, and really he’d been fully recovered for days before.

              Aegon knew it was not a state of affairs that could, or should, last much longer. But he hadn’t been able to bring it up. Part of that was Aegon not being entirely sure Rhaenyra wasn’t going to move him to a cell, but another part of him felt…comforted by the presence of Jace’s things- his furnishings, his wall hangings, his collection of ridiculous books. It had made his time on Dragonstone less….scary, to be reminded constantly that it wasn’t just the seat of power for his enemies, but the home of maybe his best and only friend.

              Aegon was just cinching his black belt tighter- the tunic was touch to big for him since Jace was a little broader in the shoulders then he was and required a bit of finagling to sit properly- when a knock came at the door and Aegon called for the visitor to enter.

              It was Jace, and seeing him made Aegon’s mouth turn dry. He wore a dark jerkin polished to shine, with golden flames embroidered at the collar and hem, over a red tunic with the same golden embroidery at the cuffs. Close fitting trousers of dark gray where tucked into knee high boots of soft leather, also in black. He looked….well like a Targaryen prince should. Regal and commanding and handsome. Aegon could not pick apart the knot of envy and admiration in his chest- and he did not particularly want too.

              “You don’t do things by half.” Aegon said dryly as he plucked a bit of lint from his sleeve and let it fall to the ground.

              “Neither do you it seems.” Jace replied, taking in Aegon’s entire form at a glance, and quirking one his crooked half smiles. “Are you trying to drive the servant’s to distraction showing off your legs like that?”

              “All the trousers you left me where all either to plain or to baggy. It had to be hose.” He said a touch defensively. Glancing down Aegon did have to admit the snowy white hosiery clung close to his legs and he had needed to struggle to get into them. He suspected they where a few years old and had been stitched for a younger Jace, and had lain in the wardrobe forgotten until Aegon had brought them out. It didn’t help that the slippers, one of the few things that had been made for him properly since his arrival, meant he was showing legs from ankle too thigh, where his tunic hem reached.

              “Besides.” Aegon added stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind him. “If your servants are distracted by my legs, that is their problem not mine.”

              Jace made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, and glared ahead as they began to descend the tower stairs towards the dinning hall. Aegon was not so shameless that he didn’t feel the prick of that at least a little- so far he had been good at avoiding pinching serving girls but mostly he knew that had been his recovery, and the maids assigned to his care all treating him as a boy of about ten and brushing off any of his attempts to flirt as him just being foolish or trying to get his way- which he supposed he had been for the most part. Nothing dimmed ardor like not being able to move without shooting pain in your shoulder, and endless array of potions meant to kill sensation and bring about sleep.

              Glancing at Jace out of the corner of his eye, Aegon added a silent for the most part and plucked at his sleeve again as they continued.

              Dragonstone's dinning hall was in the Stormdrum, the main keep of the castle. A long black oak table sat in the center of the slightly curved room, where scarlet curtains had been drawn back from the row of arched windows which over looked the sea. The sun was just sinking it’s last over the ocean, painting it gold and red in the early evening light and giving the whole place a strange gilded feeling when combined with mirrored lamps, already lit to throw off their own yellow light.

              Aegon and Jace where not the first to arrive, but also not the last, which in Aegon’s mind was victory. Luke was seated near the foot of the table, and Rhaena was beside him, the pair speaking in low voices that cut off as Jace and Aegon approached. Both where well dressed as well, Rhaena in a shimmering dark blue dress with a black shawl, and Luke in a coat, half Targaryen red, half Velaryon aquamarine. Joffrey, seated opposite his brother, was the odd one out, still dressed in black child’s skirts, and not looking particularly thrilled to be there.

              “Baela is mad at you.” Joffery said to Aegon instead of hello when he and Jace entered.

              Aegon raised eyebrow at the small boy who just shrugged and flicked his silver fork over onto its back. Rhaena sighed and adjusted her shawl, then gestured to the seat on her other side, while saying plaintively. “No she is not. She’s just a little frustrated that’s all.”

              “She said she was going to dangle you from one of the watchtowers by your ankles.” Joffery chimed in, indignant at being contradicted. “I heard her say it! I did!”

              Aegon blinked, turning for Jace for an explanation, but to his surprise, Jace was moving to sit in the seat directly across from the one Rheana was gesturing too, and Aegon realized that he was meant to sit were Rhaena indicated, which would put him to the left of the head of the table- the spot of the honored guest or traveler.

              Rhaenyra really is committed to the polite lie I’m not a prisoner. Aegon thought bewildered, but he moved without protest to where he was directed.

              “And what have I done to earn Baela’s anger except beat her at wave carving?” Aegon asked, trying to make his voice light and airy.

              “You made her put on a dress.” Joffery said. “Baela hates dresses. She is always getting into rows with granny about it. It’s one of the reasons she comes to see us so often- not that Papa complains.”

              Aegon caught the subtle flinch from Jace at Daemon being referred to as Papa . But there was no way to reach over and squeeze his hand without making it obvious that’s what he was doing.

              “I wish he would complain sometimes.” Rhaena said so low Aegon knew it wasn’t meant for Joffery’s ears. “I wish he would encourage her and granny would get along better and not fight so much. But he just throws fuel on the fire by letting her dress in boys clothes when she visits us.”

              That, Aegon knew, went near dangerous waters, involving Aunt Laena and Laenor Velaryon. But Aegon was used to steering his own family away from such things.

              “I assure you I did not tell Baela to do anything- and she would not have listened to me if I had tried.”

              Luke leaned forward so he could look at Aegon around Rhaena, his expression incredulous. “This should just be a usual family super. But it’s the first you’ve been able to come to since you arrived.” When Aegon still didn’t respond Luke made a disgusted noise in his throat. “It’s your welcome feast, dolt. Baela is right- you do need dangling out a tower. I had to take a bath.” He muttered falling back into his chair.

              “Luke!” Jace snapped. “Be nice.”

              “But he is a dolt!” Luke complained, and Rhaena elbowed him in the short ribs, and Jace opened his mouth but before he could lay into his little brother again, a voice spoke from the far end of the room.

              “He is our guest of honor, fresh from a sickbed, and your uncle.” Rhaenyra said as she entered the room, Daemon escorting her by the arm. “And even if he where none of those things he would still be owed your respect Lucerys. Not just for what he has done for this family, but because respect is as much a part of the responsibility of a young lord, as sums and letters.”

              Luke sat up straighter and Aegon felt his heart sink, sure he would catch the blame for the lecture. Things had been going well with Luke now that the boy had settled down about Aegon saving Jace, and Aegon didn't want them to sour again. But instead of throwing him a dirty look, Lucerys bowed his head and murmured. “Forgive me, uncle. I forgot myself.”

              Aegon shifted, not really sure what to do. So instead he inclined his head in acceptance and shrugged. “Think nothing of it nephew.”

              “Gracious, isn’t he?” Daemon said dryly. “Or afraid I suppose. Maybe both. I would have thought you would take more joy in putting Luke’s nose to the dirt, given my memory of how vicious you boys could be with each other and that brother of yours.”

              Aegon shrugged, half expecting his shoulder to twinge when he did. It did not. “I have committed a grievous sin.” Aegon said trying to put on a grave voice. “Luke owes me no apology. He has a right to his anger.  After all- what’s next after a bath? Having to comb those curls of his?”

              No one laughed at the jape, and Luke sniffed, but a smile did tug at the corner of his lips and Daemon’s smirk was wolfish.

              “If you could find a way to compel him to do that-“ Rhaenyra said as she came to the table and released Daemon’s arm to move to sit at the head, while Daemon moved to sit at the foot. “I might owe you as much as I do for saving Jace’s life.”

              Their was a bit of laughter at that- Rhaena giggling softly into her hand, and Joffery snickering at least- and some of the tension went out of the room. Some of it.

              “Should we send someone after Baela?” Joffery asked flicking his fork back onto it’s front. “I want to change. And soup.”

              Daemon snorted and ruffled Joffery’s hair. In answer the boy made a noise a bit like a angry mole, and tried to bite his step father’s finger. “Baela wont be to long.” Daemon said. “You know her- she just has to be bit a dramatic.”

              “I wonder where she got that from.” Jace said, making no effort to moderate his voice.

              “You wound me dear step son.” Daemon said as he shifted his grin to Jace. “Even so though- a sense of drama must bend to hunger. And you kids missed mid-day when you where out flying together. Baela may have inherited my flare for the dramatic, but she inherited her mother’s appetite.”

              “Also-“ Baela’s voice came as she swept into the room. She was dressed in a red dress slashed with black, and embroidered with thorns across the sleeves and bodice. She looked good enough that Aegon would have asked her to dance if they where at court. “Mother’s talent for sensing when she was being talked about.” The words where dry and sharp, but she paused long enough to kiss her father on the cheek before taking the last remaining seat.

              Daemon chuckled and winked at his daughter as she arranged her skirt in annoyance. “Maybe, but clearly not her skill at wave carving, if your dear cousin can beat you at it.” Baela glared at her father and sniffed.

              “The Dragonkeepers gossip worse then a gaggle of old widows.” Baela muttered, then raised her voice. “Aegon and Sunfyre may have good coordination, but one of their bellies at least is to soft for more then five barrel rolls- so I still say I carried the day.”

              Aegon snorted, and opened his mouth to argue but cut off as Rhaenyra gestured for the servants to approach and begin laying out the meal before them. It was in the Pentos style- dozens of smaller dishes of different kinds that everyone would take a little from and pass about. Aegon felt his stomach grumble at the sight of some- Daemon was right after all, they had missed mid-day meal while they where out flying.

              Everyone’s cups where filled in quick succession as well- melon cider rather then wine to Aegon’s disappointment- and Rhaenyra stood, lifting her own goblet. Aegon expected the prayer next- the appeal to the Seven to bless the meal and those partaking of it- but instead Rhaenyra turned her goblet to Aegon’s direction, who felt every eye fall on him immediately.

              “To my brother.” Rhaenyra said. Aegon was suddenly conscious of every lingering bruise, every wild fly away hair, every lingering bruise and scratch. His neck hurt with the force of the blood pushing through his veins. He opened his mouth to say this wasn’t necessary- and Jace’s hand found his on the table. Rough calloused finger tips pressed against the backs of his palms, and Aegon looked to him. He couldn’t read Jace’s expression exactly, but his eyes found Aegon’s and where so…steady and warm that Aegon found himself relaxing, just a little.

              If Rhaenyra noticed the interplay she gave no sign and didn’t pause in her toast. “You have done an incredible service not just to our shared House, and to the realm, but to this family and for that I am in your debt little brother. Consider this meal to the be a beginning of repaying that debt.” She drank then, lifting the cup to her lips and a soft chorus of here here echoed around the table as her family followed suit, Jace included. Aegon felt his cheeks heat and resisted the urge to fiddle with his silverware. A sensation he wasn’t familiar with was cracking around his chest. Warm, but also sharp.

              “Thank you sister.” He said, his voice sounding more parched then he would have liked. “You honor me.”

              Rhaenyra nodded in acknowledgement moved to sit. Aegon expected Daemon or maybe Jace to rise and give the blessing in her place, but instead the family seemed to take that as a signal to begin.

              The moment his mother was settled, Joffery went immediately for the bowl of sweat carrots and then all hell broke loose, chatter and laughter erupting around the table as everyone grabbed for a favorite dish or urged someone closer to pass it along.  Even Jace was caught in the scramble, pulling on Baela’s sleeve to get her to pass over the cooked chicken before both the legs could be taken.

              Aegon had rarely felt so uncomfortable. Dinners back at the Red Keep where quiet, polite affairs, and his mother was death on any breach in the properties, especially when they where dinning with the King. Yet while Rhaenyra and Daemon might have had enough dignity not to grab and snatch at dishes like their children, they didn’t censure or call down them down either. It was a touch surreal, and Aegon felt that thing again in his chest- sharper this time, hotter, pushing against his ribs.

              “So- you bested Baela at wave carving.” Rhaenyra said and Aegon gave a little jump as he turned to his sister, who was already holding her goblet for a servant to refill with cider.

              “Um. Yes.” Aegon said shifting in his seat. “Though I’d say it was a near run thing.” His pride as a dragonrider made him add. “As was the barrel rolling though she wont admit it. She just has the advantage because Moondancer is smaller and quicker to turn. When Moondancer has her full growth on her, we’ll see who can get more rolls in.”

              Baela threw him a glance, but she was in the middle of trying wrangle the basket of bread slices from Luceryes, and couldn’t spare the time to comment. Aegon couldn’t resist smirking at her- or stop the little start to he gave when Jace’s foot collided with his ankle.

              Rhaenyra chuckled sipped from her goblet. “I envy you I must admit. When I was growing up their where no other dragonriders my age go flying with, and despite my best efforts I could never convince your mother to so much as draw close enough to pet Syrax, let alone join me on the saddle.”

              Aegon couldn’t stop himself from letting out a choked laugh. The image of his mother near to either Sunfyre or Vhagar was already absurd, much less the dragon of her most hated enemy. “I’m surprised if she would come close enough to see Syrax. You should have counted that as a win sister.”

              Rhaenyra smiled and inclined her head to acknowledge the point and Aegon felt his tongue burn. Abruptly it felt not like a good natured jest but like a betrayal- even if it was true. Aegon opened his mouth to recall the comment then blinked as realized Jace was handing him a dish  of cooked strips of meat in some kind of yellow pepper sauce. Realizing that he was the only who had not yet served himself, Aegon gave himself a shake, took the dish and began spooning cuts of meat on his plate.

              “Surely Uncle Daemon and Aunt Laena went flying with you though?” Aegon said as he passed the plate back to Jace, then reached for the bowl of bread- only a few slightly misshapen rolls were left, but he didn’t mind.

              Rhaenyra’s snort was so unlady like that it made Aegon draw back a little bit. But instead of him, it was down the table at Uncle Daemon where she was directing her dry look. Daemon for his part had abruptly become interested in quartering his goat meat for no clear reason.

              “When I was young Uncle Daemon had other things to fill his hours then doing flying tricks with his niece. Mostly finding new ways to give our father fits.” Rhaenyra said, then added, her voice drying somehow further. “No the only one he showed off Caraxes for that mistress of his- the dear Lady Mysaria. Not that she was very impressed I hear.”

              Aegon’s eyes popped and he braced himself for the shouting and snapping to follow- it was the kind of barb that should have preceded a row for certain- but Daemon merely continued to pretend he heard nothing, focused on cutting his meat and chatting with Luke to his right. No one else seemed to particularly note the harshness of the words either- even Jace didn’t look away from his quite conversation with Baela, except to glance at Aegon briefly.

              Aegon exhaled, and that throb came back into his chest. “And Lady Laena?” He said, trying to move the conversation elsewhere.

              “She did not tame Vhagar until after Leanor and I where wed- and in those days there was little time for pleasure flying.” Her voice grew terse, and Aegon sensing dangerous ground reached for his own goblet without thinking.

              He grimaced at the taste of the cider and tried not to shudder. It wasn’t bad it just…well. It was cider. An idea popped into his head- to both divert Rhaenyra and to maybe make the rest of the dinner more bearable. 

              He put on his most winning smile. “I don’t suppose your gratitude to me saving Jace’s life extends to letting me have some Arbor Red.” The corner of Rhaenyra’s mouth twitched- in a grimace or a smirk Aegon couldn’t tell and she shook her head.

              “I am afraid not. The Maester’s orders are clear that you are to be kept from wine or ale- and since this dinner is your honor I decided no one would imbibe for the time being.” Rhaenyra said. Aegon must have made a face because Rhaenyra chuckled. “I trust Maester Gerardys view in such matters Aegon. He is very pleased with your progress, and I don’t think anyone wants to see you back slide.”

              Aegon titled his head. “Surely a little couldn’t hurt. I trust the Maester’s judgment too, but you are the Princess of Dragonstone- free to order what you wish.”

              This time their was no mistaking Rhaenyra’s smirk. “The good Maester does not tell me how to judge petitions from subjects or how order my granaries, and in turn I do not tell him how to treat his patients or train his ravens. I think it’s best it stay that way.”

              Aegon glowered down into his goblet, inclined his head in defeat then set in to the meal proper. Rhaenyra did the same- and continued to chat amiably as she did, and Aegon did his best to keep up a steady stream of responses between mouthfuls.

              At first he was determined to put on a good showing of manners. But as the meal carried on he found himself slipping more and more. He would gesture with his fork, laugh into his goblet, then forget titles and addresses and good thanks. It was appalling behavior for a royal table- the kind of way you where expected to acted in a city kettle shop or worse, a tavern. And yet no one called him down for it. He had to catch himself and try to correct each time. Yet he was back to informality before he realized what was happening.

              He wasn’t sure when it started to overwhelm him exactly- the pressure building in his chest cavity. He noticed it become proper pain for the first time halfway through the meal. Rhaenyra’s efforts to make him feel welcome had started to work- he was answering her questions more freely then he had meant too, and more honestly- talking about the top speeds and the sharp turns he could take if he and Sunfyre really where in their paces- when he felt that throb behind his ribs throb so intense he almost broke off talking. Like a knot of pain in the flesh, or maybe the bone. For a moment he just blinked, not understanding. Then he discounted it- to many spices after so long eating bland, he decided. Nothing more.

              Yet it grew sharper the longer the meal went on. Each time Rhaena and Baela ribbed each other, each time Joffery sneakily snatched another roll off Luke’s plate while he pretended not to notice, each time a comment from Rhaenyra brought out that crooked half-smile from Jace- Aegon’s chest would throb, sharp and a painful- the veins in his neck would tingle, and their would be something almost like a twisting behind his temples.

              The tipping point came the plates where being cleared for desert and Baela, leaning back in her chair, was gesturing with her goblet, telling a joke to the rapt attention of her brothers and father- as well as the the slowly mounting horror of her sister. It occured to Aegon, a half second before the punchline was dropped, what she was about to say.

              “-and then she said ‘Sir! You’re right up my alley!’” Baela finished with a gesture that caused her goblet tip, and droplets of cider to to sprinkle onto the tablecloth before she caught herself and righted it. Scandalized laughter erupted from Jace and Luke, a proud bark of mirth from Daemon, while a blank confused stare was all Joffery had for his sister.

              “I don’t get it.” Joffery complained. He was looking at Rhaena who had hidden her face in her hands to conceal her blush. And well she might- that had been a joke Aegon had heard so often in Flea Bottom that it was passe to him, yet still the roughest kind of tavern humor. But even Rhaena was smiling, through she was trying to hide it behind her hands.        

              “One day lad.” Daemon said reaching over to ruffle Joffery’s hair. He had a habbit of doing that apparently- probably because it never failed to get a reaction out of Joffery. “When you’re older.”

              Joffery made a sound that Aegon thought was meant to be an imitation of a cat’s hiss- or maybe a dragon’s and pulled away. “I hate it when adults say that.” Joffery pouted. “It’s just your way to get out of explaining things you don’t want me to know.”

              “Don’t worry.” Baela said in a mock whisper. “I’ll explain it to you latter Joff. And tell you a few more that can curl even Papa’s hair if you want.”

              “You will do know such thing!” Rhaena said in exasperation. “He’s just a babe!”

              “Am not!” Joffery said, puffing up his cheeks angrily. He turned to his brothers, his eyes big and demanding support.

              “Of course you aren’t.” Luke lied. Jace meanwhile, took a very strategic drink from his goblet. Joffery’s lower lip stuck out and began to quiver, and Jace, began deliberately looking anywhere but at his brother.

              It was then that it hit Aegon- and this time the pain was sharp and yet wide all at once, like space opening up inside his chest, his organs pushing apart and abruptly Aegon couldn’t take it. He ducked his head and brought his hand to his mouth, bitting down on his knuckle to muffle the cry he was sure to make otherwise. Jace’s head immediately whipped around, his mirth dying. 

              “Aegon.” Jace said his voice suddenly concerned. “You’re-“ He cut off but Aegon didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He could feel it- hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

              Rhaenyra- who had been gazing at her step daughter in exasperation- also turned to frown at Aegon, half rising from her chair. “I will call for the Maester to-“

              “No! No theirs no need I’m-“ Aegon swallowed down a breath, wishing desperately for wine in that moment. He stood suddenly, unable to stay still for a moment longer. “I’m fine. I just. I need some air. Excuse me.” He gave a jerky bow to his sister, and immediately was moving for the door on the far end. He waited for the servants to stop him, for Rhaenyra to order him to return to his seat or the tower or- anything.

              But it never came. Instead one of the maids pulled open the door to let him through and Aegon felt the cold air of the Stormdrum, away from the heat of the meal and all the candles, strike his whole body, raising gooseflesh. He didn’t stop walking. Instead he moved down the hallway, until he found a small door letting out onto a stair well down into the yard. He stepped through it, into the even more frigid night air, tinged with sulfur from the Dragonmount, and breathed deep while leaning against the landing wall.

              What is wrong with you? He chided himself. You’ve endured countless awkward, painful dinners with your family . This one wasn’t even bad- why are you acting like such a- such a-

              Aegon couldn’t find a word that fit. He had faced countless insults most of them true- whoremonger and drunkard, wastrel and brat. But none of them matched this moment. This was- this was more then pathetic. This was-

              “Aegon?” Jace’s voice cut into his thoughts and Aegon turned to stare at him, standing in the doorway. He looked different somehow, away from the golden light of the dinning room. Under the faint moonlight, he was somehow more regal, and more handsome.

              “Jace.” Aegon said and was shocked when his own voice came out scratched and paper. “I’m fine you don’t-“

              “You’re not fine.” Jace said quietly. “You’re clearly not. Please. What did we do?”

              “You’ve done nothing. None of you.” It felt like a lie even as he said it. “You’ve all been- your family is just- It’s….” Aegon took a deep shuddering breath, then said “I can’t explain it.”

              Jace took a step forward, bringing himself so close his and Aegon’s faces where nearly touching. That intensity that he sometimes had was there in full force as he stared into Aegon’s eyes.

              “Try. For me.” Jace’s voice was almost a whisper. “Please.”

              Aegon didn’t want to try. He didn’t want to put the tangle of sensations rolling around in his chest into words- they where dangerous. Wrong. And yet as quite as Jace’s voice was, Aegon felt like it was impossible for him to disobey.

              “…Sad.” The word flew past Aegon’s lips before he consciously came to it. “Sad. And angry. And hurt. And….and longing too.”

              “Why?” The word was even more quiet. Jace’s eyes, that woody brown, so much like Ser Harwin’s, seemed almost black in the moonlight. Black like dragonglass.

              “….Because something is broken inside of me.” Aegon said. “I have known it all my life. I don’t deserve…” He trailed off trying to draw back, but Jace’s hand closed around the front of his tunic with almost ferocious strength, knuckles turning white as they dug into the fabric.

              “Say it.”

              Aegon sucked in a deep breath. It stung his throat, like a dozen needles pricking his windpipe. When he spoke the words where shaky. “I don’t deserve that much warmth. And it hurts. It hurts like you couldn’t imagine to sit there with your family and know I- That I- I….” He tried to pull back, ready to run again, to climb up Dragonmont in the dark if that’s what it took to escape Jace’s eyes, but Jace’s grip on his tunic did not shift by a hair.  “Jace you shoud-”

              “Last time-“ Jace’s mouth was so incredibly close to Aegon’s- enough that Aegon could feel his breath, could smell the spices still clinging to it and the faint clean scent of the cider. “-I let you run off, and we both lived to regret it. I try very hard not to make the same mistake twice.”

              Last time I let you run off. That was when Aegon had-

              “I couldn’t stand there and watch you hate me.” Aegon said. “I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have it in me. I’m sorry Jace. You deserved the chance to loose your anger, but I am a coward, and even now I can’t really…” He trailed off, not sure what else to say. Jace deserved to hurt him- to repay him for what Aegon had done. But Aegon was to much of a coward to offer him the chance. He wasn't afraid of the pain- his grandfather had taught him how to endure that. But of knowing Jace’s anger. His rage. His hate. If it wasn’t expressed- Aegon could still- he could still pretend that...

              “Do you remember what I said the day my-“ Jace cut off and for a moment he was so quite, deathly still, that Aegon was sure he was about to get his skull dashed against the wall. But when Jace spoke again it was with a determination, as if each word was a step through fire. “Do you remember what I said the day my father hauled us into his office for brawling with street urchins?”

              Aegon felt his jaw drop open. Those words- they could destroy everything. All the warmth, all the laughter, everything here on Dragonstone. Jace knew that, and had spoken them anyways.

              “Take what you want.” Aegon said, bracing himself. “And pay for it.”

              When Jace’s lips crashed against Aegon’s this time, their was no terrifying moment of stillness, of shock. This time Jace pulled him forward and it was all primal teeth and tongue, dragonfire flaring beneath his skin, and a hurricane in his ears. Aegon felt the backs of his legs hit the landing wall, as Jace pressed close against him, chest to chest, one of his knees knocking Aegon’s apart to make room for him to press closer. Aegon felt like he was being consumed, eaten alive and he wanted it- wanted to burn with this man forever more until they where nothing but a smear of ash. He wanted-

              The sound of a clearing throat had Jace springing away from Aegon before Aegon could react. Aegon was left, panting for breath, cheeks flushed and hair mussed, half reaching out to grab Jace back so Aegon could finish kissing him. He was about ready to bite whoever had walked in on them in half until he saw who it was standing in the door way.

              “S-sister!” Aegon said. “I didn’t- that is-“ He desperately and surreptitiously tried to right his clothing- then realized that was like rearranging the furniture in a house already on fire, and stopped.

              For a long terrible moment, Rhaenyra simply stared at the two of them- first Jace, who stood blushing but shoulders stubbornly set, then Aegon who stared back, not daring to so much as breath.  She was unreadable, a statue more then a woman, cold eyes shifting from one to the other.

              Then she let out a breath and suddenly looked….tired. Not angry, not even truly surprised. Just exhausted.

              “Are you well brother?” Rhaenyra asked softly. “Are you sure you don’t need the Maester’s attention?”

              Aegon’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Unable to find his voice, he could only nod numbly.

              “I think.” Jace said, lifting his chin. Somehow he seemed to have not a hair out of place, still cutting the image of noble Targaryen prince under the moonlight, which Aegon was caught between thinking was viciously unfair of the Gods, and also an incredible gift to Aegon at the same time. “-that uncle simply became…overwrought. All the noise and heat of the candles. It happens. The fresh air was all he needed.”

              “Fresh air.” Rhaenyra repeated, and her voice was somehow dryer then one she’d used for digging at Daemon’s earlier.

              “It restorative.” Jace said stoutly, and Aegon, finally finding his tongue again added-

              “Very restorative.”

              Rhaenyra shook her head then stepped aside. “Well. I hope you have been...restored because desert is waiting and Joffrey is already impatient to be in bed. Come, let us return to the dinning room.”

              Jace didn’t protest, bowing to his mother and heading for the door. Aegon, feeling as if this where all some surreal nightmare, followed suit- but stopped when Rhaenyra placed a hand on his shoulder.

              She didn’t say anything, merely squeezed. Aegon tried for a moment to discern weather this was threat or reassurance- before deciding it didn’t really matter, nodding his head, and following after Jace.

              The three of them walked in silence- Jace and Aegon a little ahead, while Rhaenyra followed, likely to ensure she was keeping them both in sight. A bit hysterically, Aegon thought of the chaperons his mother would assign to him and Helaena when they pantomimed courtship. The idea that the outcome of this- being caught half way into defiling Rhaenyra’s heir- would not be a march to the gallows but instead a sour faced Septa or widowed courtier assigned to sit in the corner whenever he and Jace where alone, was so comical it made Aegon want to curl up on the floor and laugh until he cried.

              It was as if the whole world had gone wrong somehow- everything turned round from the way it was supposed to be. Maybe he hadn’t survived that attack on the beach, and all this was just some mad-death dream, or a part of his torment in the Seven Hells.

              When they entered  the dinning room no one was seated- instead everyone was gathered around the foot of the table, where Daemon was standing reading something. Even Joffery had risen to peer around Luke’s waist up at the paper as if he could discern the words from the back of it.

              As they drew closer, every eye swung to them- no. Aegon realized. Not them. Him. No one was laughing now, the cheery atmosphere from earlier had gone, replaced by something more grim. More serious.

              Daemon’s eyes turned from Aegon to Rhaenyra, who moved forward, hand outstretched. Her face too was suddenly grim. Wordlessly, Daemon handed her the letter, and she read.

              Aegon knew. He didn’t to see the words, or the seal to know what it was, and who had sent it. The world made sudden, perfect sense again. He let out a breath and suddenly felt more exhausted then he had during the worst of his recovery. He even didn’t have the energy to pull his hand away, when Jace’s fingers wrapped around it. All Aegon could do was jwait for what he knew was coming- wait for the hammer to fall.

              Rhaenyra finished the letter then folded it hald and handed it back to Daemon, turning to face Aegon with the rest of her family.

              “Your mother knows you are here. She has dispatched your siblings to fetch you back.” Rhaenya said, her voice was black ice, and Aegon could tell nothing from it.

              “How long?” Aegon asked, glancing out at the windows, over the dark waters where the sun had now fully set. It was the wrong direction- the capital lay to the south of Dragonstone, not the west- yet he still imagined The Red Keep out there in the darkness, looming impossibly tall.

              “They will be here on the morrow.” Rhaenyra said. “They are leaving King’s Landing at dawn. On dragonback.”

              Jace’s fingers tightened around Aegon’s hand, and Aegon closed his eyes.

              “Then I best be ready to greet them.”

Chapter Text

              Aegon woke from a brief restless sleep well before dawn and dressed himself with nothing more than the light of a few candles. He put on the dark flying leathers he had worn the day before. The servants had worked worked late into the night to clean and oil the cuirass, trousers and boots late so they would be ready for him come morning. The same had no doubt been done for Baela and Jace’s flying leathers.

              Aegon hesitated after drawing on his bracers and fingerless gloves, then took out the black cloak Jace had given him on the beach, all those weeks ago, and swept it over his shoulders before grabbing the silver dragon's head clasp and snapping it into place. There was no specific reason or even need really- the day was uncharacteristically warm for Dragonstone- and yet he wanted to wear it. He had worn it on most of the flights out to the island, and the day that he saved Jace on the beach. Maybe there was a little good luck clinging to the gift. Or maybe he just wanted a physical reminder of all that had happened, all he had been through, to help prop him up to see his siblings again.

              When it was fastened in place, Aegon blew out the candles and felt his way through the dark to the door. One of the Dragonstone armsmen was waiting for him just beyond the door holding a lantern and shouldering a pike. Few young men were chosen to garrison Dragonstone and none were inexperienced. The armsman had a wicked scar and a beard that was more than a little visibly gray even in the low light of the lantern. Aegon didn’t know his name. 

              “They are waiting.” The armsman said in a sandpaper voice, raising his lantern to peer into Aegon’s face. His eyes were narrowed in uncertainty, asking a question he would never dare give voice to. Aegon couldn’t blame him. He wondered how many of Rhaenyra’s armsmen were regretting that they had not taken their chance to stick him like a pig and throw his body into the surf- regardless of what his sister had ordered. Everyone had known that Aegon would bring trouble to their door sooner or later. Now that it had come, it was too late to do anything about it.

              Only one real question remained now. When the storm broke, where would Aegon be standing- with Dragonstone or against it? The answer should have been easy. Not requiring thought. It wasn’t. It twisted in his gut, as if a snake were swimming around his belly.

              “I am ready.” Aegon lied, and the armsman nodded and turned to lead him down the stairs. They moved in an eerie silence, no sound except for the occasional creak of the lantern, or the clack of the pike against the armsman’s shoulder.

              The armsman led him down into the Stormdrum, and then out to the innermost of the three curtain walls. As they moved through the courtyard, the lantern’s light flickered off the scales of sleeping dragons that had been gathered there, escorted down from the mountain by the Dragonkeepers. That had been Rhaenyra’s first command after she had dismissed her family to an early sleep. Vermax, Moondancer, and Arrax were to spend the night in the courtyard, where Jace, Baela, and Luke could reach them to mount them at a moment’s notice. Caraxes and Syrax were resting in the outermost bailey, right by the gate- there wasn’t enough space in the Stormdrum’s ward to hold them and the smaller dragons at the same time.

              Sunfyre had remained on the mountain.

              Rhaenyra had not explicitly ordered that- but his absence from the list of dragons she had ordered brought down from the mountain had been as plain as the lack of invitation to join her and Daemon in fetching their dragons down themselves. Aegon understood why it was this way- but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel better if Sunfyre was not in one of the baileys as well.

              Aegon was taken to the innermost wall, and up into one of the spiraled towers that dotted it, the blackstone seeming to flow smooth without a sign of brick, mortar or joint to create the image of a dragon curled around a column.

              The entire family, save for Joffrey, had been assembled in the topmost battlement, shaped into the image of the dragon’s maw. Several brass stands, each holding a far-eye stood arrayed and positioned to peer through the stone teeth that served as crenelations, all facing south wards in an arc. The same would be true for every tower along all of the curtain walls- everyone keeping their gaze to the horizon. Vhagar would be visible first, her huge bronze wings signaling the approach of Aegon's siblings- but Dreamfyre would not be far behind. Tessarion, bigger than Vermax though not by much, might not be visible until they were almost upon the castle.

              Rhaenyra and Daemon stood behind the line of armsmen, conversing in low voices not meant to carry, Daemon’s hand resting on the hilt of Darksister. Rhaenyra’s face was expressionless, and Daemon’s set with grim determination. Neither paid Aegon any mind as he entered, even when he bobbed a quick bow to his sister as propriety demanded. Aegon moved to join Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena all of whom were seated at a small table near the back of the tower. The table held a few meager loaves of flat bread that the group had already divided and a few blocks of veiny cheese. A lean breakfast to be sure, but still better than Aegon had been hoping for.

              Only Rhaena was dressed in something other than flying leathers- instead she wore a dark silk dress with a skirt divided for riding, a long bladed dagger at her waist. An identical dagger hung from Luke and Baela’s belts, and a short sword was strapped to Jace’s back. For the dragonriders, the weapons were just show- there was little point to a weapon on dragonback.

              Still, the message they sent made him nervous- and made him wish for a moment that he had a sword of his own.

              Jace wordlessly handed him a piece of the flatbread and Aegon bit into it while settling down to wait. The sky was beginning to purple already, dawn would not be far off. His siblings would be leaving the capital soon if they had not already. Aegon didn’t know exactly how fast Tessarion was, but he knew it was fast- Daeron was always bragging about the matter in his letters. It was best to assume she could keep pace even with much larger dragons like Dreamfyre and Vhagar if they did not push too hard, and neither of the older dragons was slow. With good light and fair wind, they could probably make the flight in two hours- maybe a little more. That had been Aegon’s best guess when Rhaenyra had asked him the night before.

              No one spoke, except for Rhaenyra and Daemon's hushed conference, and even that trailed off after a bit. The armsmen occasionally changed- one departing to do a patrol or take a break, while another came to take over his far-eye. A dread tension hung in the air, smothering talk and keeping everyone tight as a freshly strung bow. The armsman, one and all, held grim determination on their faces like masks, and their fear was only betrayed in small things- a twitch in response to a quiet cough, a hand snapping to a dagger hilt at an unexpected bellow of wind.

              Aegon felt the profound desire to shout boo , just to see what would happen- and he might have done it if not for the certainty that Daemon would have fed whatever the armsman left of him to Caraxes.

              Dragonstone had been built during the last days of Old Valyria, and as much to hold against dragon attack as an army’s attempt to siege. Old protcalls passed down through a dozen generations of sworn armsman, most of whom were descended from those who had followed Aenar to the island before the Doom, meant that the castle was prepared if it came to attack. But there was a difference between something drilled occasionally in the yard as a vague possibility- and the reality that the curtain walls, the towers, may soon be alight dragonfire.

              Even Daemon was drumming his fingers against the hilt of Darksister while glaring out at the horizon, seeming almost unaware of it- and he had faced this possibility before, back before Aegon had been born, when Rhaenyra and grandfather had come to demand he return a stolen dragon egg, give up his mistress and return to his wife, Rhea Royce. It was strange to think that grandfather and Rhaenyra had ever been united in anything, let alone against Daemon . As strange as the knowledge that his mother and Rhaenyra had ever been friends to begin with.

              And almost as strange as things stood now.

              But then, if mother hadn't married the king, if Aegon and his brothers had never been born, Rhaenyra and grandfather might be united still in opposition to Daemon, who would then be her chief rival for the throne. It was a sobering thought- yet it was not the first time it had come to him in the last few weeks.

              All this is because of me. He thought as he looked around the room, taking in the weapons, the soldiers, the far-eyes- all of it. And anything that happens next too. It made him feel sick deep inside his belly.

              Some of his feelings must have shown on his face because Jace reached across the table to touch his shoulder, but for once it didn’t offer Aegon any comfort. The image abruptly of Jace on Vermax darting through the clouds straight towards the massive shape of Vhagar, her jaws big enough to snap the young dragon in two, entered Aegon’s mind. He put down his flatbread, sure that if he took another bite, he would begin vomiting noisily and uncontrollably.

              They passed the time in that tense silence, the sky slowly lighting enough that Luke took it on himself to move around the tower top putting out lanterns- maybe as much to do something as to avoid wasting oil unnecessarily. The sky turned from purple to an ever lighter blue, and then-

              “I’ve got scales!” One of the armsman declared, and the entire tower snapped to stare at him as he rose. It was the center most one, and there was a creak as every other far-eye swung, the bronze tubes twisting to try and search out the dragon. The armsman stepped back so Rhaenyra could advance, and press her eye to the lens, having to stoop slightly. 

              Aegon was on his feet before he knew it, and the rest of those at the table with him. Another guard stood to make room so they could take turns peering through one of the far-eyes, while Rhaenyra drew back to allow Daemon to take over her own. 

              “Vhagar.” Rhaenyra said calmly. “And Dreamfyre- both barely visible but coming quickly.” She nodded at Aegon. “You were dead on in your estimation of two hours from King’s Landing to here. They’ll be here in a half hour at most. Probably less.” 

              Aegon gulped and tried to put on a smile as Jace stood to surrender the glass to Baela. “I’ve made the trip often enough to have an idea.” His attempt to be cheeky failed to lift the mood. 

              “That’s the ornery old bitch alright.” Daemon muttered as he tilted the glass slightly. “I’d know her wings anywhere.” 

              Aegon half expected the words to bring out anger from his daughters- that was his late wife’s dragon he was talking about- and while Rhaena did frown at her father, Baela nodded a touch ruefully, and Jace grimaced. 

              “Are you sure Tessarion and Daeron will be with them boy?” Daemon asked standing so the armsman could resume. “I can’t catch a scale of the Blue Queen, but I wouldn’t be able too at this distance.” 

              Here Aegon was confident in himself, and he answered without hesitating. “I’m sure. Mother would have called for him the moment she decided to send a party to fetch me. She would want the group as strong as possible. For her it’s-“ He cut off, but when everyone continued to stare at him he went on. “…A matter of life and death.” 

              “Life and death.” Rhaenyra mused, shaking her head. “Yes, I suppose it would be at that.” Rhaenyra frowned then and when she spoke again it was in that low voice and in High Valyrian. “ How long for a messenger to cross the distance between the capital and the Old Town ?” She asked as Daemon moved to stand with her. 

              “With spare stallions and no other burdens or stops?” Dameon responded also in High Valyrian. “Four weeks perhaps, if fortune favors the rider. Longer is more likely.” 

              Jace and Luke were exchanging confused looks, and the twins were frowning at each other. It occurred to Aegon that he might be the only one that could understand the pair- and that they might not know that he could. 

              The thought however was swallowed by the next one- what the words implied. For his mother to have sent word so quickly to Daeron, she would have to have known Aegon was being held at Dragonstone almost a month ago. Even if Rhaenyra hadn’t been keeping his presence on the island a secret, it would have taken weeks for rumors to reach the capital, and maybe weeks more for those rumors to be confirmed. No. The only explanation was that she had known he was at Dragonstone almost on the day Jace had been attacked. But for that to be so- 

              A cough brought Aegon out of his thoughts and he turned to see that everyone had taken a look but him. Moving, he pressed his eye to the lens and the skyline leapt into view. They were still small shapes on the horizon, but more distinct by the second. A huge bronze blur, wings flashing in the early morning light, and a slightly smaller ice blue blur, shining almost silver.

              He had never in his life wanted more to be wrong about something- but he knew he wasn’t. He could tell, counting between the flashes of wing beats that neither of the large dragons were going at their quickest pace. They were lagging intentionally, so Tessarion could trail them. Aegon felt cold.

              He pulled back and an armsman stepped in to take over the glass. Dragonstone’s Master At Arms, a pot bellied gray beard named Ser Robert Quince, had entered, his face still splotchy from having run to join them in the tower.

              “They're ready on the first gate for you, Your Highness. My ten best crossbowmen, and ten more in pike. Stout lads, and loyal to their bones. Island born all.” Ser Robert was saying to Rhaenyra, following at her shoulder as she strode down the stairs towards the battlements, followed by the trail of her family. Aegon dashed to keep up.

              “Good. Keep them at the gate for now, they are to come forward only at my signal.” Rhaenyra replied without breaking stride. “We’ll not offer provocation or excuse, but we must be ready to meet a threat. Remember if it comes down to it you get who you can out and hold the walls.“

              Ser Robert nodded. “No would be dragonslayers or fools trying to be heroes, Your Highness, you have my word.” He said.

              “Longbow men are in the outermost curtain wall?” Daemon demanded of the man, and Ser Robert nodded, switching his gaze without breaking his stride.

              “Aye, Highness. Just as you ordered- one to every other slit, with sand barrels and heavy blankets to hand in case we need to douse or smother.” Ser Robert said as they passed through the arch out into the open air.

              “Remember- shooting the eye is a sure death even for a dragon, but it’s no easy thing even for a skilled longbow man. If a dragon comes close enough to give you a shot at its eye, it’s close enough to put an arrow in the rider instead- which will be easier and safer. A dragon may or may not keep fighting once their rider is dead- but without a human mind to guide them it is easier to for our own fliers in the air to take it down if it does choose to stay and avenge it's rider.” Daemon’s words were clipped and practical. They held no malice. And yet Aegon imagined Aemond with arrows sprouting from his chest, and Helaena, tumbling to the earth atop a slain Dreamfyre, as sure to die when the dragon crashed as Queen Rhaenys had beneath Meraxes in Dorne.

              And yet at the same time, he could see these men, in their black and red tabards, also dying up and down the walls of Dragonstone. What good would barrels of sand and blankets do to Vhagar's fire? Or Tessarion’s claws? Millions of arrows must have sailed at the Conqueror and his Queens, and had one ever landed? Had one ever pierced a dragon’s scales?

              He didn’t know these men- and if he was honest, he didn’t really care about them and their lives. They were strangers to him. But the carnage that would be unleashed if it came to battle- bodies turned to slag and ash, limbs torn off then gobbled up by hungry dragons, men mowed down like wheat before a scythe- he couldn’t just ignore that. He had been titillated by violence in Flea Bottom, and watched dogs and chickens and rats tear at each other- but this… this was different. Even the specter of it held more terror than he had ever felt before in his life.

              So lost in his thoughts was Aegon that he barely heard the grind of the gates swinging open, one after another as the party marched its way down the sloping path through each of the three ballies, towards the outermost gate- and to the bridge beyond it.

              When they arrived, passing through the huge black gates, which seemed to slide apart more then swing open, the armsman Ser Robert had talked of were waiting for them beyond it- ten men shouldering crossbows already strung and loaded, and ten more with pikes in hand, their long wicked points glinting in the light. They were lined up in two neat rows and offered their salutes to Rhaenyra with backs straight, eyes forward and heads held with pride. Rhaenyra nodded in acknowledgement as she passed them, accepting their gesture with grace.

              Enough time had passed descending the slope, that when the group went out onto the bridge- Rhaenyra, Daemon and Ser Robert in front, Jacaerys, Baela, Lucerys and Aegon right behind them, the soldiers arrayed in the rear- the dragons where close enough to see with the naked eye. All three were visible now, coming fast and low along the tides, Vhagar in the lead and most distinct, Dreamfyre trailing to her right, and Tessarion trailing a little down and behind the other two. If Aegon squinted he could just make out the saddles on Vhagar and Dreamfyre’s backs, and the vague outlines of the riders atop them.

              Something in Aegon’s chest sunk at the sight of Tessarion and Daeron. He had known it would be so and yet…

              “ Mother could have sent Helaena or Aemond to fly to Old Town to fetch Dearon. ” Aegon heard himself say a touch of desperation in his voice. Yet even as the words left his mouth he realized he didn’t believe them, and he didn’t need the slightly pitying look Daemon threw over his shoulder at Aegon to know it was wishful thinking.

              “We have people in the capital who are keeping an eye on the Dragonpit- day and night.” Daemon said softly. “The day after your arrival I sent them orders to watch the skygate and report any opening, for any reason. There have been none in the month since your arrival- till this morning.”

              Of course, Daemon had wanted warning ahead of time if dragons were coming to his doorstep. But that wasn’t what made Aegon’s face feel numb, and his veins feel cold.

              No, he had realized something else, something he had already known but not wanted to admit. Mother would never leave the capital so vulnerable, never risk creating that kind of opening for Rhaenyra. Not when she believed Aegon was already a prisoner. Even Vhagar could not face all the Blacks' dragons if they came together. No. She would have sent her fastest and most loyal rider the instant she knew Aegon was in Rhaenyra’s power- someone she could be certain would not tell the King or be waylaid by his orders if it came to that. Criston Cole maybe, or one of the Hightower armsmen in grandfather’s household.

              Aegon was suddenly grateful for his meager breakfast. He was sure that if he had one bite more, he would have been sick.

              Closer and closer the trio of dragons drew, and just as their shadows began to fall over the island Vhagar and Dreamfyre peeled back to allow Tessarion into the lead. Tessarion kept low, passing over the rooftops of the town as she drew closer and closer to the bridge, while Vhagar and Dreamfyre climbed higher and higher, till they were circling overhead, each beat of their great wings disturbing the fog of clouds that hung over the island. 

              The Blue Queen came on however, gliding lower and lower till she was right above the bridge, her cobalt scales making her look like she was made of sapphires. Tesarion was a slender dragon, with a salamander-like torso and legs- though she was longer from nose to tail then Vermax, she still wasn’t a patch on Sunfyre- only about fourteen feet in total. Yet that meant that, when she low enough it was easy for her to grab hold of the bridge with her hind claws- her body barely shadowing the length she occupied near the far end.

              “The Hightower squire.” Daemon said in mild surpise. Aegon squinted, and could just make Daeron’s silver hair and green cloak at this distance as he began to undo the safety straps that tied him to the saddle. “I would have thought your mother would put old one-eye in charge. He always seemed the favorite.”               

              Aegon realized Daemon expected a response and just shrugged. “Daeron has a cooler head than Aemond. Mother probably chose him for parlay because of that. Doesn't mean much though.”

              Luke frowned. “Why?”

              Aegon just waited, and sure enough Vhagar let out a terrible screech overhead that made the soldiers arrayed behind them jump, some of the pikeman in front actually half-way dropping into a fighting stance before catching themselves. Aegon closed eyes to avoid getting grit and dust knocked into them as Vhagar circled lower and lower towards the bridge, blotting out the sun, then letting it back, blotting it out, then letting it back- until she landed, her claws colliding to the earth with enough force to make Aegon’s teeth chatter. He opened his eyes just in time to see her, now seated curled around where the bridge touched the opposite end of the chasm, her lead lowering so that Aemond could also being unfastening himself from the saddle.

              “That’s why.” Aegon said as he squinted towards Daeron who had paused and twisted in the saddle to stare at Vhagar and Aemond in turn. Aegon could almost picture his youngest brother’s expression of confusion. Daeron was cool headed and sunny, but also... obedient, and unfamiliar with Aemond’s… peculiarities. No doubt Aemond had agreed readily and with a smile on his face to let Daeron take the lead in negotiations when their mother had ordered it- and he would, but he also would never hang back.

              Rhaenyra seems disinterested in the pair however- her gaze was still on Dreamfyre up overhead. Her question, when it came, was directed at Aegon. “How likely is your sister do something rash?”

              “Not very.” Aegon said instantly. “I think she’ll fight if she has to, to protect me, Aemond, or Daeron- but she wont start any trouble if she can help it. She doesn't want a war.”

              Rhaneyra nodded, and turned to her family. “Daemon. Aegon. Ser Robert. Rhaena.” She hesitated then, just for a moment, and Aegon saw Jace draw up, his shoulders setting stubbornly, but in the next moment she continued. “Jacaerys. With me. Baela, Luke- I want you in the sky circling and keeping an eye out for trouble. You are not to engage- even if things go south. You are to bank back to the castle and defend the walls with the soldiers if it comes to that. Am I clear?”

              Balea opened her mouth, clearly ready to argue, but Rhaenrya stared her down until she closed it again, and bowed her head. Luke did the same. The message was clear- she was not Rhaenyra the mother, the woman, at this moment. She was Rhaenyra the Princess, and head of her household.

              “Yes, mother.” Luke said, and a moment later Baela echoed him, both bowing their heads and retreating through the gate. The soldiers on the gate began to swing shut the moment the pair were through.

              Rhaenyra’s gaze returned to the far end of the bridge. Her whole demeanor was like that first day Aegon had arrived- a she-dragon who had woken to find strangers in her lair, threatening everything from her treasure to her clutch. She watched Aemond finish dismounting and begin striding towards Daeron, while Daeron, still seeming confused, waited for his brother to join him.

              “Half-way. No farther.” Rhaenyra announced as she began to march forward, shoulders back and head held high. Aegon and the rest fell into step behind her as she moved up the bridge- leaving the soldiers at the gate. At the opposite end, Aemond reached Dearon and the two put their heads together in furious debate, Daeron gesturing with his hands and Aemond nodding almost pleasantly. By the time Rhaenyra halted, exactly half way down the bridge, in the center of the open gorge, Daeron and Aemond’s discussion had come to an end and the pair were moving forward, Daeron somewhat sullenly, up to meet them.

              Daeron had grown a little since Aegon had seen him last- still a slight lad, a little broader in the shoulders maybe. Any height he had gained wasn’t obvious though, standing beside Aemond who had shot up like a beanpole in the years since Aunt Laena’s funeral. Both were dressed in the same dark flying leathers, and green cloaks, and Daeron had apparently cut his hair in the Old Town Tradition as well, leaving it curling around his slightly too big ears, while Aemond’s still fell down down to his shoulders, held back from his face by a leather cord. 

              Daeron technically walked in the lead- for a half step or so which was all Aemond was apparently prepared to allow his baby brother- and halted when he approached the halfway point. Less than ten feet stood between the two groups, but you never would have guessed, from their stances, that Aemond and Dearon where staring down three times their number, with far more ready to come sprinting at a shout from Rhaenyra, or by the same token, that the Blacks lay directly in the path of not one, but two dragons- one large enough to bath the entire bridge in flame if she wanted.

              Daeron opened his mouth to speak, but Rhaenyra spoke first.

              “You come unannounced to my door, little brothers- without gifts or courtesies.” Rhaenyra said, her voice cold and imperious, her head drawn up high. “I thought Alicent taught better manners than that. One might even mistake you for enemies, had we had not warning by other means of your coming.”

              Aegon flinched slightly, as Daeron blinked at Rhaenyra uncomprehending, and Aemond’s one good eye glitter malice at her. The boast could only be clearer if she had shouted it. Your attempt to surprise us failed, we have eyes watching you in the capital.

              Daeron, if he had been alone, probably would have been put on the back foot by that point. He certainly would not have risen to the bait. Aemond however, had not yet found bait he did not enjoy rising too. It was what made him so much fun to mess with as a child. 

              “You speak to us of courtesy and manners after all you have done?” Aemond spat, closing the last half step, so that he was now shoulder to shoulder with Daeron. “You-“

              Aemond cut off when Daeron extended arm in front of him, blocking him from advancing further. The two stared at one another, and Aegon half expected Daeron to back down at Aemond’s glare, but he didn’t. Instead, Aemon made a tsk sound and stuck his chin out to the right.

              Daeron turned to regard Rhaenyra, giving very little sign that anything had happened. If not for the slight twitching of his fingers, you might have thought him calm as a winter pond.

              “We have come to demand the release of our brother, Prince Aegon, so that he might return with us to the capital with immediate effect.” Daeron said as if no one else had spoken. He had probably practiced that line the entire flight over.

              “On whose authority do you make this demand?” Rhaenyra asked just as calmly. Rhaenyra was not an especially tall woman, but she still had enough height to look down on Daeron slightly, even from this distance.

              Daeron licked his lips. “I carry a decree with the royal seal if that’s what you-“

              “That is not what I asked.” Rhaenyra said softly. “I asked on whose authority you make this demand.”

              “The Queen and the Hand of the King-“ Daeron began but Rhaenyra waved him off.

              “Do not have the right to demand anything of me. The King alone may command the Princess of Dragonstone. Does my father even know you are here?” She asked, her tone withering.

              Aegon closed his eyes to avoid flinching again. Daeron let out a hiss like a doused cat, and Aemond’s fist actually went to his dagger. Aegon didn’t know if Rhaenyra had intentionally meant the barb or not- and he also didn't know if it would be worse if she had, or hadn't.

              But she’s right, a voice whispered in the back of his head. He’s always her father, but he’s only our father when it suits him.

              “The Hand of the King.” Aemond said coldly. “Speaks with the authority of the King. As does the Queen. Do you really wish to quibble about legalities and rights with us, sister ?” There was a wry, mocking twist to that last word.

              This time it was Daemon that replied. “That vulture and his girl get away with what my brother allows them to- far too much because of his soft heart. But I’ll not believe that he would sanction this mummer's farce if he knew of it- not least because it is piss poor. I’ve had letterless bandits do a better job at trying to threaten me.” 

              Aegon opened his eyes as a deep rumbling trill filled the air- at the far end of the bridge, Vhagar had raised her head, and opened her mouth just enough to give a low warning sound. Tessarion was still holding steady on the bridge, but her teeth were barred. Aemond’s eyes had turned absolutely liquid with hatred, while Daeron’s cheeks were pink with anger- though he still was clearly struggling to keep his cool.

              Rhaenyra was unmoved though, and Aegon saw her shoulders set back, her spine going ramrod straight in a familiar way. Beside her Daemon had adopted a similar posture, even as his wrist seemed to rest lazily on Dark Sister.

              Two more trills filled the air- one a high nasalily whine, the other a sharper and almost melodic. Aegon couldn’t resist the temptation to glance back as Caraxes’s head rose from behind the curtain wall and the long red dragon seemed to uncoil and slither over the wall to stare at Vhagar. At the same time Syrax took flight, a blur of burnished yellow rising above the walls and circling down to land, directly in front of the soldiers and the gate.

              For a moment, no one moved. Maybe no one breathed. The thought occurred to Aegon, that he was, somehow, the person least in danger at this moment. If all four dragons let loose their flames- then Aegon could be certain that he at least, would not burn. His heart thundered in his chest. The sudden resolution to tackle Jace to the ground and try and cover his body with Aegon’s own in the hope that it might do some good formed, and hardened to steel. He would never reach Aemond or Daeron before they were ashes, but Jace was right at his shoulder.

              Better yet, if it never came to that though. 

              “I would know the King’s will as well.” Aegon said into the tension and silence. Every eye seemed to snap to him at once, but Aegon refused to blush or back down.

              Aemond made another tsk sound and flicked his head to one side. Vhagar did not subside, but her trill cut off- and after two agonizingly long heartbeats, Caraxes and Syrax both ceased as well. None of the dragons made any move to relax of withdraw, however.

              Daeron regained himself enough to speak. “The King is in Duskendale.” He admitted. “Visiting with Lord Darklyn. He is…unaware of your captivity.”

              And mother’s response, Aegon thought darkly. She must hope to carry this all off before he could return. Absently Aegon wondered how much prodding it had taken to convince the King to visit Duskendale. He and Lord Darklyn shared a passion for histories and often met to discuss them over tea. Had he even noticed Aegon missing this last month, or the state of panic mother was sure to have been in? Probably not.

              “It does not matter.” Aemond said, resting a hand on his own sword. As much showpiece as the one Jace wore. “You will release our brother to our custody. You can not think to get away with imprisoning the rightful heir to the throne- not unopposed.”

              “That.” Daemon’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Is treason.”

              “The truth is treason only to tyrants and fools.” Aemond said, a smile creeping onto his lips. He turned back to Rhaenyra. “Do you really think that half this kingdom will not rise up in outrage when they learn you have unjustly thrown your brother in a cell?”

              Rhaenyra had been silent for the most part, letting Daemon poke and prod the two princes while she watched on, eyes measuring and weighing. Oddly, she seemed unaffected by the  insult to her rights. Something else was behind her eyes- a consideration Aegon did not understand. When she spoke this time, it was still in that cool imperious voice.               

              “Aegon is not a prisoner. He is an honored guest in my house.”

              Daeron blinked, raising an eyebrow in doubt, then glanced at Aegon, who a little reluctantly, nodded. There was no sense in pretending, even to himself any longer, especially when it might mean sparking a war. Rhaenyra had done nothing to detain or mistreat him. She had given him the best care and rest she was able, and never restricted his freedom one more step then his healing required.

              Daeron blinked again, not sure what to make of this confirmation, but Aemond merely snorted.

              “I’m certain you’ve been giving him enough wine that he hasn’t noticed the cell bars.” He said dryly. “But that doesn't change the facts. You have kept him here in secret for weeks- worrying our mother half to death in the process.” That last Aegon knew was more a shot at him then Rhaenyra.

              “The facts?” Rhaenyra said the words as if tasting them. “The facts are that, nearly a month ago, a hired knife attempted to kill my eldest son- and in a show of incredible bravery Aegon prevented it.”

              If Daeron had seemed incredulous before, he gaped openly now at Aegon, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Aegon? Fought off a knife wielding assassin?” For a moment the boy he really was peaked through the mask of Targaryen Prince and Hightower squire, and his eyes lit up with the promise that Aeogn would be telling him everything later. Aemond just starred expressionless.

              Aegon shrugged. “It sounds more heroic than it was really.” Then because he had never quite been able to resist puffing himself a little bit in Daeron’s eyes, he added. “All I did was wrestle him to the ground until Sunfyre could set him ablaze. I didn’t have any weapons on me to fight with.”

              Daeron’s eyes lit up at the knowledge that Aegon had fought an assassin bare hands to dagger and won, but Aemond frowned, disbelieving.

              Rhaenyra shook her head and continued. “Aegon is an honored guest in my house.” She repeated. “And he need not go anywhere or do anything he does not wish to. He is under the protection of Dragonstone. If you wish me to surrender him to you- then return with an order from the King. Otherwise, you must take the matter up with Aegon.”

              Daeron frowned, turning to Aegon. Aemond’s lone eye focused on him as well. They clearly expected him to state now that he would be going with them- returning to the capital as mother had ordered.

              Instead he shifted, uncertaintly on his feet. Daeron’s eyes grew wide again.

              “Aegon?” Daeron asked softly. “Mother is worried sick about you. If this is true, then you need to come back with us and speak with her- let her know the truth. Before this gets any further…” He glanced at Rhaenyra and Daemon. “Out of hand.”

              Aegon could feel the warmth from the night before. The way it had soaked into him. Overwhelmed him. He didn’t want to go, he realized. But he couldn’t find it in him to say that out loud.

              “I am still recovering from my wounds.” Aegon said instead. “This is all just a big misunderstanding. I’ll write to my mother today and clear it all up.”

              Jace inhaled sharply, and Daeron frowned. But Aemond was speaking right atop him.

              “This is foolishness!” Aemond declared loudly. “You really expect us to believe Aegon heroically fought off an assassin single handedly and unarmed?” He snorted to show what he thought of that, then he turned his sneer to Daemon. “And you have the audacity to call us poor murmurs.”

              This time Daemon kept his peace and Rhaenyra spoke, her voice cold- yet a dangerous note had entered it. A note of challenge, and offense. “If you have something to accuse us of, then say it plainly. Or else go away and stop interrupting our morning.” 

              Aemond sneer deepened. “Very well. I think all of this is just an elaborate ploy to cage Aegon in a way that the King and him will both accept. A man paid to act as an assassin, a staged attack- all to win over Aegon so that you can lavish him honors and never let him see the chains.” Aemond sniffed in contempt, tossing his head. “Just because you can dupe the King so easily for so long does not mean you can dupe me- us .” He amended quickly, putting a hand on Daeron’s shoulder. Daeron was frowning up at Aemond, chewing his lip…but also nodding in understanding, following Aemond’s logic.

              Aegon felt doubt creep inside him too, a slithering slimy thread twisting around his ribs. It did make sense- certainly more sense then that he had saved Jace himself. It explained Rhaenyra’s long leash, her treatment of him, even the way she had welcomed him into her home. Why would she need chains or bars if she could persuade him he wanted to stay? If she had found out about his and Jace’s secret meetings then she could have even kept Jace in the dark. All it would take-

              All it would take was Rhaenyra being willing to put Jace in danger to further her goal of securing the throne.

              Aegon glanced at her then, her profile against the harsh morning light making the sharp lines of her face, her eyes, more prominent, making her seem the image of cold and commanding Queen. He could picture her ordering all her prisoners executed immediately, commanding armies to march, or handing out decrees from atop the Iron Throne.

              But he could not picture her ordering Jace into harm's way to further her goals. His sister was many things, and a part of him still believed, deep down, she would kill him if she had to in order to protect her family. But that was it- it would be to protect them. She was not Visenya Targaryen come again, the way his mother’s stories had always painted, caring for her own pleasure and power. She cared, deeply, about her husband, her children- her family. Far too deeply, to ever risk their lives that way.

              Aegon hated her for it- savagely and irrationally. He hated that she knew enough of love to know how to give it, and had enough of it from their father to understand it's value. It made him want to choke on bile. And at the same time, he was glad.

              Rhaenyra took a single dangerous step forward- and Syrax did not trill. She let out a deep growl, head whipping around to focus on Aemond. “Accuse me as you wish, brother.” She gave the word the same dry twist Aemond had given sister . “I have some idea of the lies your head has been filled with. But I will not let you stand there and devalue the service Aegon has done me and my family- he walked through fire to protect Jace, and you will not make mock of that in my presence.”

              Aemond stared back her, just as steady, and Vhagar sat up further. Her growl was like the tremor of a distant earthquake. “Our mother gave us a command- to bring our brother out of this place and back home. If that must be done by force then so be it.”

              Daeron shifted on his feet, clearly not so certain, yet he didn’t raise an objection, and Tessarion remained steady, ready to dive in and snatch her rider away if the need came. In the distance, Aegon heard another pair of trills, and glanced behind himself long enough to see two figures taking flight- pale green and pearlescent white spiraling higher and higher to begin circling around Dreamfyre, who herself was still circling overhead, Helaena no doubt watching all this transpire from her back. Aegon faintly wondered what she was thinking- what advice she would give him. He would take even her most cryptic metaphor about bugs just then.

              “You are welcome to try.” Daemon responded, stepping forward so that he and Rhaenyra were shoulder to shoulder, Ser Robert Quince taking her other side. The old man was unsteady with age, but unafraid, his eyes burning with loyalty and determination. It occurred to Aegon that the trio made a wall standing before him, Jace and Rhaena- providing cover there was need to go sprinting back to the castle gates. “But I don’t think that will go the way you want. Do you really think my brother will forgive an attack on Dragonstone? Win or lose- and don’t be certain of victory- Caraxes was dancing with Vhagar before you where born boy- you’ll end with all your heads on spikes for treason, and your mother and grandfather alongside you.”

              “We’ll end that way anyways if we allow you to keep Aegon as your hostage.” Aemond said coldly. “At least this way we are doing what is right and just, rather than capitulating to decay and degeneration.” He threw a pointed look of contempt at Rhaenyra as he spoke. Daeron no longer seemed uncertain, instead he was nodding along, his shoulders setting. The good Hightower squire, upholding honor and duty. 

              Daemon’s face turned dark, and Aegon could see it in his eyes- his uncle deciding how Aemond was going to die.

              Caraxes took one dangerous step forward, head swinging out over the bridge, casting the pikeman and crossbowman in shadow.

              “Enough!” The word bubbled out of Aegon without warning. No one moved, no one looked at him. They were going to come to blows- here and now. This would be the start of it, the war he had dreaded all his life, the dying of his family, of all those he cared about. Not just Jace and his siblings and his mother anymore- but everyone. And he….

              “ENOUGH!” He shouted again louder. It was less desperate this time, carrying more force, more command. Still no one looked at him. Jace’s hand was tightening on his shoulder and he realized he was about to be dragged back behind the safety of the curtain walls, and he would lose any chance to do anything at all to stop this madness.

              But there was only one thing he could do.

              “I’ll go.” The words had to be forced out, and even then they rasped in his throat. Yet far more than either shout- they get people's attention. Jace’s eyes popped in anger, and Rhaena hissed. Daemon and Rhaenyra turned to gaze at him, disbelieving and rueful, and over their shoulders he could see confusion on Aemond’s face and relief on Daeron’s. Only Robert Quince seemed unmoved. That man had come to her expecting to die, and nothing could shake him.

              Aegon didn’t care. He pulled his arm from Jace’s hand and moved forward pushing between Rhaenyra and Daemon to confront his brothers directly.

              “I’ll go.” He repeated. “I’ll go back to the Red Keep with you. Just stop- stop this madness.” He shook his head.

              Aemond frowned, eyes swinging to Rhaenyra, clearly expecting her to refuse, to order him dragged back to the keep. Aegon looked up at her, violet eyes meeting violet eyes.

              “You don’t have to do this.” She said softly. “We will protect you. You-“

              “I will not be the start of it.” Aegon said, more forcefully than he intended. “I won't. I won’t be the reason our family tears itself to pieces. Not if I can help it.” He stared up at Rhaenyra, pleading with her to believe him. To understand what he meant.

              She seemed too, and she nodded ruefully. “So be it.” She said then whistled softly. Syrax, who had begun to pace beneath the curtain wall paused and laid back on her haunches. For a moment Daemon clearly wrestled with himself, then whistled as well, and Caraxes drew back, not entirely- enough to bring his body largely back behind the curtain wall as well.

              Aegon turned back to his brothers. Aemond was staring in naked disbelief, Daeron looking relieved as if he had just seen the headsmen put away his ax. “Go.” He told them, trying to summon as much authority as he could manage. “I must gather my things. I’ll meet you on the mountain.”

              “You expect us to trust-“ Aemond began but Aegon’s patience was suddenly out.

              “Yes.” He snapped. “I expect you to trust- and to obey. I am your older brother. You claim to be here on my behalf. You will listen to me.” 

              “I am here on mother’s behalf.” Aemond corrected, but his shoulders relaxed. “If you are not with us by sun down I will return, and I will not waste time on a second parlay.” Throwing a look of, all things, disappointment at Daemon, Aemond turned and stocked across the bridge back towards Vhagar. Daeron hesitated, lingering a moment.

              “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Daeron asked quietly. “I’ll take an oath not to raise my sword unless someone tries to threaten or detain us.” He added, with a glance at Rhaenyra and Daemon. “But just to be safe it might be better if-“

              Aegon shook his head. How much of a failure as a big brother was that his youngest sibling felt the need to worry over him?

              “I will be fine.” He told them. “Sunfyre is up on the mountain. If I’m in any danger he will come. But I’m not.” He added firmly. “This is…” He hesitated. He wanted to say it was a misunderstanding. But he didn’t think it was, not really. Everyone understood each other perfectly- it was just no one believed or trusted in each other. “This all just needs to be sorted out- and it will. In the capital.”

              Daeron exhaled, clearly not liking it, but in the end he could do nothing but turn his back and march after Aemond towards the far end of the bridge.

              “We best be inside the gates by the time they're up in the air.” Rhaenyra said, loud enough to carry to everyone. “No need to tempt fate more this day.”

              At the signal the group began retreating. It took a moment of standing there though, watching his brothers retreat, for Aegon to make his feet work again. Not today. But it had been a close run thing. He imagined he could feel Helaena’s eyes on him somewhere up above, studying him like he was one of her bugs. He probably looked about as big from her point of view.

              A very close-run thing.

              By the time Aegon caught up to the others, Jace had vanished into the mass of armsmen, and all Aegon could see was the tightness of his shoulders as he stomped away.

<X>

              In truth, there was little for Aegon to gather. The shabby clothes he had been wearing the night he had arrived were already folded neatly into at the bottom of Jace’s dresser, alongside the collection of oddities Joffery had been leaving secretly in his room- shiny stones, odd feathers, interesting animal skulls and the like. Those Aegon folded carefully into a cloth and tucked into the pocket of a satchel, followed by his clothes. He added the few drafts the Maester still had him taking as well, carefully arranged so as not to roll around too much.

              That was it really. The rest were all things he had been borrowing from Jace. For a moment he ached to grab some of the books Jace had been reading to him during his recovery and sweep them into his bag, but he put the thought aside. What would be the point? He felt his fingers touch the black cloak that rested on his shoulders, the one Jace had given him all those months ago, and he felt tired.

              Instead Aegon straightened the room. It was work for servants, and he knew he would make a poor job of it, but Aegon still made himself straighten out the sheets, pick up the discarded papers and bandages, clear away the bedside tables and arrange the books back in their proper places on the shelves- trying to give the room at least the veneer of being proper and neat.

              He stood when he was done- the blankets were crooked, the books were certainly arranged wrong, the pillows lopsided. He itched to try again, but he put his hand stubbornly at his side. This was foolishness.

              “I would have made a dreadful servant.” He muttered, shaking his head, and turning to go, then froze when he saw Jace standing in the doorway, face impassive. He was still dressed in the flying leathers from this morning, leaning up against the door frame. Nothing about his face or eyes betrayed his feelings. He could still be furious from the gate, glad to have his room back, sad to see Aegon go- or anything in between.

              “You would have.” Jace agreed, not moving to make room for Aegon to pass. He gave that crooked half-smile. “Gods be thanked you were born a prince instead.”

              Aegon felt the urge to laugh, though it would have been all bitterness. How much suffering would be saved to others if he hadn’t been born a prince? If mother had married some country lord instead, and he had been born with no more inheritance than a house with thatch instead of stone for a roof? Or better yet- had he not been born at all. His dream from his fever sickness was still heavy in his thoughts: the Iron Throne, aflame and yearing to destroy them all.

              “Jace-“ Aegon said then trailed off not sure what to say. That this was the way it had to be? That he didn’t regret anything? That he had no choice? Lies all and Jace deserved better than that from him. “This is the right thing.” He said finally.

              “I know.” Jace replied, stepping forward.

              Aegon blinked. “You do?”

              Jace nodded. “I don’t have to like it, or be happy about it, to know that it’s right, or to admire you for doing it.” Aegon blinked again.

              “There's nothing admirable in this.” Aegon said, looking towards the window. “In any of it. I just…I’ve live so long afraid of being the start of all this…this death and killing. I can’t bring myself to face it.” He exalted. “Someone admirable would be willing to face it like a man. But I am craven still, down to my bones."

              Jace shook his head. “You are acting to stop bloodshed and violence.” He said quietly. “Sacrificing to prevent it. That is not craven. It is brave. As brave as coming here to talk to me even though you thought I hated you. As brave as throwing yourself in front of an assassin, and setting yourself aflame to save my life.” He stepped forward, and they were chest to chest again, close enough for Aegon to smell his breath.

              “You see too much in me.” Aegon said quietly, voice lowering to almost a whisper.

              “I see you as you are. One day, I hope you might do the same.” Jace replied, voice lowering. “Gods you don’t know what you do to me.”

              Aegon opened his mouth and suddenly Jace’s thumb was pressed over his lips, silencing him. “You don’t.” He repeated, his words turning dark and husky. “You make me want to lock you in this tower and set Vermax to devour anyone but me that draws near. You make me want to strangle your brothers for taking you away from us, from me. Gods you’re so-"

              Aegon wanted to speak, but words where failing him. The veins in his neck felt swollen again, his heartbeat a painful drum in his skull. And Jace was not done.

              “I would keep you in all the luxury you could ever want.” Those words carried dark promise. “The finest silk and the best wines and the prettiest furnishings- you would have everything you could ever want within these walls and there would be no cause for you to go back to that…that place. Not until mother was Queen and could at last sweep The Greens from the Red Keep and send them scurrying whatever ratholes they crawled out of. Nothing would ever hurt you, or threaten you, or make your smile flicker out again. I would make sure of it.”

              Aegon couldn’t breathe. He felt the abrupt urge to bite down on Jace’s thumb and taste the blood that would rush up to met his tongue. It was foolishness only he knew, sweet lover’s promises made in anguish, to trust no more than pillow talk. And yet…

              Jace’s eyes burned with a dark light, and Aegon didn’t doubt suddenly that he meant every word. He was a Targayen, the blood of the dragon- with all the insatiable hunger and ferocity of forest fire. Aegon wanted to feel it, to be scoured by it. He understood at that moment, why his ancestors had always preferred to marry each other rather than outside the House. Who else, but a dragon, could feel that flame and not burn?

              Aegon reached up, took Jace’s hand by the wrist, and gently pulled it away. “You won't.” He said quietly. “You will not start it anymore then I.”

              “I will.” Jace replied calmly. “If you ask me. I will call Vermax and I will drive them from this island here and now. If you ask to stay, I will do whatever it takes to make sure you can.”

              For a horrible moment, Aegon was tempted. Truly tempted. He thought of the freedom of going flying with Jace and Bela, the little gifts from Joffrey tucked into his satchel and the warmth of Luke’s hug. He thought of listening to the laughing gossip of the servants, and the warmth of the dinner the night before. 

              But he shook his head firmly. “They’re my family, Jace. I have to try and make this right.”

              “We could be your family!” Jace snapped, but it lacked heat now. There was only pleading and frustration.  “Don’t do this Aegon please.”

              Aegon shook his head. “I have a duty.” He said simply. “I have to try and….I have to know.”

              Jace closed his eyes and turned, making enough room for Aegon to pass him by. That should have been the end of it. But Aegon couldn’t leave it that way. He leaned forward, just for a moment, to press a single brief kiss against Jace’s lips. It had none of the passion of the night before. It was brief, and quivering, and full of heartache. But it was all Aegon could give.

              He drew back and walking past Jace he began to descend the tower.

              His steps echoed as loudly on the black stone as they had that morning. He saw no servants, no armsman- not a single other soul, until he passed through the great wrought iron gates into the tunnels of the mountain, heading for Sunfyre. There, in the dark of that long tunnel, he saw Rhaenyra approaching. No doubt coming back from having settled Syrax.

              He paused, then made his feet move forward. He had nothing more to say to her- thanks would be insignificant and apologies pointless. He had hoped to avoid seeing her again in all honesty. The memory of Jace, of that promise- until mother becomes queen and sweeps them out of the Red Keep - loomed large in his mind. He didn’t want that- he didn’t want anyone swept or hurt.

              But Rhaenyra would do whatever it took to protect her family, as surely as his own mother would.

              Rhaenyra didn’t look at him as they approached one another, didn’t slow her gate or tilt her head in acknowledgement- she gave no sign that she saw him, until they were shoulder to shoulder, and then she spoke.

              “My house will always have welcome for you, little brother, should you ever require it.” Rhaenyra said softly. Before Aegon could respond she had passed him and disappeared through the light of the gate at the far end of the tunnel.

              Aegon paused to watch her go, then shook himself and continued the climb.

<X>

              The Dragonkeepers were already at work in one of the clearings atop the cliffs when Aegon arrived- working to affix Sunfyre’s saddle. One and all they were stubbornly ignoring the other dragons that filled the clearing, which was impressive given two of those dragons where Vhagar, who even curled up, was still more than twice Sunfyre’s size, and Dreamfyre, who was not much smaller.

              The Dragonkeepers were also ignoring Aegon’s siblings with just as much determination- which was an easier feat as they stood well away. Helaena was seated on a rock, humming to herself as she turned a small seashell over and over from one palm to the other, Daeron pacing back and forth before her, and Aemond standing behind, like a knight on guard. All three turned to stare at him as he entered the clearing, but only Helaena smiled.

              “That went rather well.” She said softly as Aegon approached. “Did you say your goodbyes?”

               Not as many as I should have . Aegon thought bitterly. But the one he had said had nearly destroyed him. He couldn't have endured everyone’s frustration and sorrow alongside Jace’s.

              “Yes I did.” Aegon said as he approached. He bowed his head to Helaena in greeting. “You look well sister.”

              “I’ve had a great deal of free time these last few weeks to study the mating habits of glow worms.” She said with a smile. “If there's time, I will have to show you my notes.” Aegon did his best not to grimace. He would need time to make ready for that, but he would endure. It was the least he owed her.

              Helaena paused in her turning of the shell and sighed. “Though their probably won't be. The moth is almost free of the web.”

              Aegon was prevented from asking what on earth she meant by Aemond clearing his throat forcing Aegon to turn to him with a raised eyebrow- which Aemond returned.

              “Is that all?” Aemond asked, nodding at Aegon’s lone satchel. “That hardly mandated the time you took getting up here. You should have just left whatever it is behind.”

              For once the criticism, the subtle accusation of sloth, just rolled off Aegon’s shoulders. He was too exhausted by the day’s events to be raw to such things. “It’s medicine from Rhaenyra’s Maester. Not something I thought I should run off without.” Aegon said coldly.

              Aemond’s sniff turned into a sneer. “No. You should have dumped it out by the mountain path.” He shook his head. “Honestly Aegon- accepting medicine from that woman’s Maester? Have you forgotten all of mother's warnings?”

              “No.” Aegon replied, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against his bottom lip. He recalled Jace’s voice, husky with dark promise again. It was all nonsense, Jace wouldn’t hurt anyone for my sake. He told himself firmly. And yet his heart still raced at the memory of it. “But if Rhaenyra was going to kill or poison me she would have done it by now.”

              Aemond tossed his head slightly, and turned to glance at Sunfyre. When he spoke again his voice was low, cautious of the Dragonkeeper’s nearby. “So what was her design in all this?” He sounded almost like he was talking to himself.

              “Who knows?” Daeron muttered just as quietly, then shrugged. “Why waste time trying to puzzle the enemy’s reasoning? We’ve got Aegon back and we’re headed home. That’s all that matters.”

              “They're not the enemy.” Aegon said, pointedly not lowering his voice. “They're family.”

              Daeron and Aemond turned both to look at him, Daeron uncomprehending, Aemond’s mouth in a tight line. Deliberately, Aemond reached up to trace a thumb under his eyepatch, and Aegon felt a stab of guilt and shame.

              “That bastard really has scrambled your senses all over again.” Aemond muttered coldly. “Hopefully it passes more quickly this time.”

               Aegon felt his fist clench. He wanted to snarl and snap in indignation, to defend Jace’s honor but…Aemond was right. He knew that now, beyond a shadow of a doubt. He had always known but Jace…Jace had confirmed it from his own lips. So what was Aegon supposed to say? 

              Aemond, nodding, clearly seeing he had struck home and turned back to the Dragonkeepers. “We’ll have the Grand Maester examine you when we get back- after you explain yourself to grandfather and mother. If I was you I would start figuring out my apology now.” He shook his head. “Hells, if I was you, I would be on my knees begging forgiveness at the first sight of them after a stunt like this.”

              “Can you make up your mind-” Aegon growled under his breath. “If I am irresponsible lout coming off my latest misadventure, or a victim of imprisonment and scheming?” 

              Aemond snorted. “I don’t see why both can’t be true. Sunfyre is familiar enough with those Dragonkeepers to let them saddle him with no trouble- that means you’ve been flying, and could have escaped weeks ago and saved us all this bother.” Aemond shook his head. “If a prisoner fails to escape when offered the chance, what is that if not a dereliction of a duty?”

              “Why do you always have to be such a godsdamn prick?” Aegon snapped, looking away, hating that the words stung all the more because he’s said them to himself the day before.

              “Why do you always have to be such a thoughtless brat?” Aemond snapped right back. “Do you have any idea the hell we were going through while you were lazing about ogling that wretched baseborn beast?”

              Aegon took a half step forward but Daeron was suddenly in front of him, hands on his shoulders. “Brothers please! Enough of this! Let us not parade our personal grievances in front of-'' He glanced at Aegon then at the dragon keepers. “-In front of others.”

              At the same time Helaena turned to look up at Aemond and extended a hand to lay against his gauntlet. Hot shame flushed Aemond’s cheeks and he looked away, so as to avoid meeting Helaea’s steady gaze.

              “Forgive me brother.” Aemond said quietly. “I have been…worried about you this last month. That’s all.”

              Aegon looked away, gulping. “I am sorry too. I…” He didn't know what to say. “I should have thought more about how my absence would affect you.” The words were like grit on his teeth- because he had thought, he had worried endlessly about this very subject. It was just that…

              He took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize you belived I had been captured- for almost a month now you said?”

              Aemond nodded tightly. “Mother’s been practically sick every morning with worry. I wanted to come straight here as soon as she told us, but she insisted on sending for Daeron first.”

              “Good that she did.” Helaena said softly. “If we had come before Aegon was well enough to come out to greet us, you would have made assumptions.”

              Aemond grimaced but inclined his head to the point. Daeron looked sheepish and touched the back of his head. Aegon...Aegon felt cold inside.

              It doesn't prove anything. He reminded himself. Someone could be keeping ravens in the port town, or a spy in Rhaenyra’s household could have snuck into the Maester’s tower, or-

              The excuses felt hollow, even inside his own skull.

              “I am glad.” Aemond said, suddenly pulling Aegon out of his thoughts. He was looking at Aegon now with his one good eye. “I am glad you are alright and coming home, Aegon. I mean it. I’ve been worried also."

              Aegon gulped and opened his mouth, not sure how to respond, but was saved the trouble as the dragonkeepers drew back, the last step of Sunfyre’s saddle affixed.

              “It’s time.” Helaena said softly. She clasped her hands around the shell and then opened them, letting it drop onto a rock and shatter on one of the rocks sticking out of the ground. She stared for a moment at the large irregular pieces then shook her head. “Almost.”

              Then she stood and began to walk towards Dreamfyre.

              “Is it just me, or is she getting odder?” Aegon asked. The earnestness in Aemond’s expression vanished and Daeron elbowed him none too gently in the ribs.

              “Don’t be a donkey, or I’ll start to think mother is right and the bastard is rubbing off on you.” Daeron said, but the words were light and airy- unserious.

              “I’ve always been this way.” Aegon said sarcastically rubbing his rib. It wasn’t as if Helaena had heard him- and he didn’t think she would be offended if she had. Helaena was odd- it was one of the things he liked about her.  “You would know that if you spent more time in the capital. Right, Aemond?”

              Aemond, refusing to dignify that with a response, began moving for Vhagar, and after a moment and a sigh, Daeron followed suit for Tessarion leaving Aegon standing there, watching them. Despite it all he was smiling. They were safe, and Aemond might be angry about it, but they were safe. He had pulled them back to the fire. That was enough.

              Now it was time to walk through it himself.

              Turning to Sunfyre, Aegon set his shoulders and began to mount up for the flight home.

Chapter Text

            The four of them flew back across the Blackwater in a tight arrowhead formation- Vhagar in the lead, Dreamfyre to the right, Tessarion to the left, and Sunfyre in the center. For once, Sunfyre did not preen or push to go through his paces. A tension ran through the dragon, so tight Aegon could feel it in the muscles of Sunfyre’s back as while as through their connection. Aegon had the impression that if he banked sharply up or down, Sunfyre would not just go without balking- he would lean into the turn with the ferocity of a black jay breaking free of a snare.

            Aegon knew he should sooth Sunfyre’s tension. But he couldn’t find it in himself. You could not lie to a dragon you had bonded with, and Aegon knew any effort to relax Sunfyre would fail when the icy knot in his own belly refused to melt.

            This is ridiculous . Aegon scolded himself. Vhagar, Dreamfyre, and Tessarion are an escort of honor sent to bring us home from imprisonment, as mother and the others see it. But then why did it feel like he was being marched to a cell instead of away from it?

            The Red Keep came into sight a little past noon, appearing on the horizon as a crimson blot against the cliff sides, and growing ever more distinct by the second. Vhagar let out a cry that was almost as loud as an earthquake and Aegon turned his head just in time to see Aemond waving the colored scrap of cloth that let them know he was breaking formation.

            As Vhagar peeled up and away, the giant bronze mountain of flesh turning to head north, the wind she had been blocking buffeted the other three, slowing them for a few minutes as Aegon, Helaena and Daeron had to pull hard on the guide levers and reins to right the dragons and adjust formation. They steadied quickly, Aegon and Sunfyre falling into the lead Vhagar and Aemond had left, with the other two close behind. No sooner had they managed to find a steady pace though they were cresting the city walls and beginning to circle down towards the Dragonpit.

            Vhagar and Aemond would land in the cliffs north of the city, where Vhagar laired under the care of Dragonkeepers assigned to the ruins she preferred to the Dragonpit. The King was fond of saying that Vhagar was too large for both the Pit and this world, but that wasn't strictly speaking true. The Dragonkeepers said it had more to do with her nasty temper making her bad at living with other dragons, especially the younger dragons.

            Aegon expected to head for one of the rear skygates, maybe the one on the cliff on the far side of the Pit. Instead as they drew closer he found the front gates were open wide and four rows of men and women in grey cloth were waiting, rank on rank. Aegon’s sense of unease spiked- the main gate was rarely used, and even all three of the Green’s dragons together would not necessitate this many Keepers.

            Before Aegon could decide whether or not to try circling around anyways Tessarion broke formation and began his descent for the main gate, followed shortly by Dreamfyre. Aegon had no choice but to follow suit, passing through the massive arch and into the great arena- bigger than any castle bailey and surrounded by row upon row of stone benches- to land in the center. There was more than enough space for the three dragons to spread out, but as the Keepers moved to shut the gates and close with the trio, they ended up somehow drawn together, Sunfyre buffeted on either wing by Dreamfyre and Tessarion.

            For a moment Aegon stayed in the saddle, even as Daeron and Helaena began to unfasten their safety straps and dismount. He scanned the circle of Dragonkeepers, looking for Pelearion’s lined face. But the old drunk was nowhere to be found. A prickle of concern for the man entered his chest, but it had to be brushed aside. Aegon suspected he needed to save his concern for himself for the near future.

            “Aegon?” Daeron called up from the ground, clearly confused. He had moved to stand by Tessarion’s head, stroking the dragon’s muzzle while the keepers swarmed to unlatch the saddle and netting. Another cluster of dragon keepers were doing the same for Dreamfyre, who was placidly licking Helaena’s hand.

            Sunfyre was not in a placid mood and Aegon was hesitant to dismount in case he needed to reign the dragon back. The Dragonkeepers could sense it as well, and they had formed into a circle with at least a few spans between them in case they needed to roll or leap to the side. Some had already brought out their wooden hookstaves and were gently tapping the ground ahead of them, ensuring Sunfyre knew where they were going to step next so he wouldn’t be surprised and lash out in anger.

            The source of part of Aegon’s weariness was a cluster of keepers who were huddled near the edge of the arena, sitting back on their heels. Each had a heavy iron chain coiled over their shoulders, and a nine tailed whip with a bone handle tucked into their belts. They had shifted as Sunfyre had been landing so that they were now in his blindspot, and with Dreamfyre and Tessarion on either side of him he could not turn to follow them with his head. As long as Aegon could see them it didn’t matter, but if he dismounted…

            “Aegon?” Dearon called up again, confusion becoming worry. Sunfyre pawed the ground and let out a warning breath, hot air billowing in front of him and disturbing the sand of the Pit. Several Keepers lept back on instinct, hissing a chorus of calm, calm, calm, in High Valyrian.

            Aegon ignored them and Daeron, instead focusing his attention on the only keeper who had not leapt back- an older man named Savit, whose shaved head was spotted from age and whose leathery boney hands never once shook on his staff. He was among the most senior of the Keepers in the Pit and it was him that Aegon addressed in his shaky High Valyrian.

            “To what need do you seek to chain my dragon? ” He demanded, carefully sounding out each word and speaking loud enough to ensure he was heard.

            Savit inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Sunfyre is known to be an unruly dragon at times. Like his rider. It was suggested to us greater caution would be wise given the…” He hesitated then searching for the right word- one that wouldn’t disrupt the balance. “Turmoil of the last month.”

            Aegon’s mouth thinned, and his knuckles turned white. “And who suggested this?” Aegon demanded, switching to common. Many of the Dragonkeepers could not speak it, but Savit could.

            “The Queen.” Savit replied without missing a beat. Daeron looked completely lost to what was going on, and Helaena still was paying the matter no mind as she stroked Dreamfyre’s nose.

            “You will not chain him.” Aegon said coldly. “I forbid it.”

            Savit did not reply, and the Keepers with carrying chains on their shoulders did not move. Aegon’s belly boiled with sudden anger. He wanted to shout at them, or better yet to order Sunfyre to snap at Savit- not kill the man, but maybe put the fear of the Gods into him.

            “Please, Highness.” Savit said. “Leave us our charge, so you may attend yours.”

            “Aegon?” Daeron had started to move from Tessarion towards Sunfyre, and the golden dragon’s great amber eyes snapped to Daeron and a hiss left his lungs. Aegon forced his hands to unclench and murmured a calming word while reaching out to lay a hand on Sunfyre’s neck. Daeron- startled to be snapped at by his brother’s dragon- drew a hasty step back, but his eyes were full of hurt as he looked up at Aegon.

            It's not his fault. Aegon reminded himself. He’s done nothing but what he was asked and what he has thought right.

            There was nothing to be done- not now, not really. Willing Sunfyre to forgive him and understand, Aegon climbed down from the dragon’s back, and with a stiffness that had nothing to do with his injuries or being sore from flight, drew back so the Keepers could close in and begin unfastening the saddle. Sunfyre bared his teeth as they drew closer and began to shift his wings in an effort to push Tessarion and Dreamfyre away, but neither dragon moved.

            “Calm Sunfyre.” Aegon said quietly, moving along the underside of the dragon’s neck, running his fingers along the scales slowly, soothingly. “Calm boy. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

            One of the nearby Dragokeepers sniffed in contempt- the order did not like him using common even in passing with Sunfyre, but Aegon ignored them. The Keepers were touchy about their traditions and their precious mysticism, but to Aegon’s mind since they all marveled at the closeness of his bond with the dragon- they could put up with him not always using High Valyrian.

            Sunfyre let out a whine of frustration but leaned into the touch as Aegon circled around his head to stroke his nose. Savit was by his side in an instant, laying a strong weathered hand on Aegon’s shoulder. “Come Highness. We were told to return to the Red Keep straight away.”

            Aegon shook the man off and pressed his forehead against the tip of Sunfyre’s muzzle, taking a deep steadying breath- filling his lungs the spicy scent of dragon. He had never felt a connection to the House’s history the way the King, Aemond or even Jace did. He had only ever felt its weight. But in that moment, he desperately needed to believe in that history: that some strange power, be it blood or legacy or legend did live inside of him.

            Aegon lingered there a few moments before drawing back and allowing himself to be marched out from the Pit and into the light of day. On the steps outside Helaena and Daeron were waiting for him, Daeron shifting anxiously from foot to foot, one hand resting the hilt of his sword, while Heleana was shading her eyes as she gazed up the Red Keep.

            “Almost.” She murmured. “Almost.”

            Aegon resisted the urge to turn back as the gates began to draw shut. His connection to Sunfyre flared white hot for a moment and the dragon let out a cry of frustration that was immediately cut off. Aegon dug the nail of his thumb into the pad of his pointer finger, anger and frustration fountaining inside of him and tamped down just as quickly.

            They wouldn’t treat Sunfyre roughly if they knew what was good for them.

            He hoped.

            Three of the Kingsguard, and a score of Goldcloaks stood waiting at the base of the stairs leading up to the Pit. Criston Cole, Willis Fell, and one of the Cargylls - Aegon couldn’t tell which- stood shoulder to shoulder, their eyes fixed to the Princes and the Princess. That meant the other Cargyll and Ser Westerling would be in Duskendale with the King. It was a neat cordon. Aegon wondered how mother and grandfather had arranged it.

            “Your Highnesses.” Ser Criston said as the trio approached, Helaena humming under her breath and Daeron still nervous. “Many thanks to the Seven for your safe return. I hope there was no trouble?”

            Aegon stared at him in answer and whatever his face must have looked like, it made Ser Criston lean back slightly and Ser Willis frown.

            “Does my mother think I need a squadron of protectors, even here in the city?” Aegon asked softly. The Cargyll- Aegon really wished those two wore signs to show who was who- grimaced, probably in agreement. Aegon doubted either brother would like the implication that they were not enough to protect the royal children at all.

            “Your mother has been through a terrible ordeal with your kidnapping.” Ser Criston responded coldly. “She has a right to her cautions until you are back safely in her arms.”

            Aegon ran his thumb on the inside of his palm, along the scars that made a thin line across his fingers from where he had seized the assassin's dagger. “Of course.” He said, unable to make his voice anything but tight. “Let’s not delay then.”

            They set out through the city along the main highway, the Goldcloaks forming a ring around them that cleared their path. Even the most belligerent of the smallfolk fell back to give the procession a wide berth- most deciding that they simply had business elsewhere and falling back into the shade of the alleyways or side streets. Within that cluster of gold, the Kinsguard formed a triangle- one to each side of Aegon and his siblings, with Criston in the lead. Unless someone was standing on a rooftop or uphill, it might be impossible to realize that the soldiers were even escorting someone- anyone who could peek between the gold would find white obscuring their view.

            Aegon paid it all little mind. His eyes were fixed on the Red Keep, and he barely heard the babble of voices or the clattering of metal. He itched in a way he hadn’t before, and his mind raced trying to come up with explanations or excuses- trying to work against every mounting piece of evidence- how this could be anything else.

            She could have spies in Rhaenyra’s household. Aegon thought desperately as the scarlet towers loomed closer and closer. Someone could be keeping ravens in the town, or could have snuck in to the Maester’s study in the castle.

            Except the Maester would have noticed one of his birds sent off to King’s Landing without his intent, and Aegon did not really believe anyone could keep a secret rockery in the port town without Daemon learning of it. The Maester might have been a spy- except that made no sense. If his mother had someone so highly placed in Rhaenyra’s house on her side, then surely she would have used that long ago, and Aegon did not think Maester Gerardys loyalty was the least bit false anyways.

            But if his mother didn’t have a spy or some way of learning what had happened to Aeogn as soon as he had been brought to Dragonstone, then the only way she could have known, or rather puzzled out, where Aegon had gone to that night, and where he ended up was if she had known about his meetings with Jace. And if she had known about the meetings then…

            The group approached the front gate which began to lift as soon as the party was in sight. Archers- Hightower and Targaryen tabarded both- lined the walls, far more than would Aegon was used to seeing. He could feel their eyes tracking the group’s progress, and he wondered if they expected Rhaenyra and her children to dive out of the sky and snatch Aegon away again just as he was about to cross the threshold into the Keep. The hum in the air- tension and fear, the cold faces of the Goldcloaks and the stiff posture of the soldiers up on the wall- all said even if they didn’t think exactly that, they were ready for some sort of disaster to strike in the home stretch.

            It wasn’t rational, but then it didn’t need to be. They were afraid. To the Greens everything had just come within a fingernail of shattering beyond repair. Helaena and Daeron didn’t seem the least bit off put or unnerved by the display, which meant the tension had been this thick or thicker for weeks. Aegon felt a flash of guilt again- the image of all those days spent lazing about in bed with Jace and the maids waiting on him popped into his mind. But then- was his guilt anymore rational then their fear? He hadn’t meant to cause all this, he hadn’t asked for any of it.

            When has that ever made a fig of difference? He thought bitterly, and then, right atop it another thought came unbidden. With Jace it made a difference.

            The Goldcloaks began to split just as they reached the portcullis, opening a gap in their ranks to allow the Kingsguard, the Princes and the Princess forward and through the gate. Again that feeling- of being more prisoner relayed then rescued hostage returned- cropped up as Criston swept forward and into the bailey, leaving the others no choice but to follow, the portcullis falling shut behind them with a rattle the moment they were through.

            Mother and Grandfather were waiting there, surrounded by loyal retainers in the Hightower colors, shoulder to shoulder on the steps of the keep. Grandfather was the same as ever- stolid and unshakable, a sheer unforgiving rock face of a man. The only signal on this tension was that he wore his sword- a rare ostentation, though he hadn’t given in to the urge to rest his hand on the hilt.

            But mother…

            Mother stood her shoulders back, her chin lifted, and Aegon found himself avoiding her eyes, focusing on small inconsequential details- the heavy seven pointed star necklace, the fine satin of her wildfire green dress, the glint of her barely visible nails, almost hidden by her sleeves- anything to avoid meeting gaze head on.

            For a moment everyone stood stock still, except for Ser Criston stepping aside to give mother a better view she did not need of her children. Everyone stared at each other, unmoving, even Daeron clearly uncomfortable. Mother exhaled, a single rasping breath and then began to move down the stairs towards the trio.

            “My son.” She began, her voice sounding drawn and scratchy. Helaena had dipped an immediate curtsy, and Daeron and perfect bow, but Aegon remained fixed the stop, trying to breath. “You have returned at last and in good health. The Gods be thanked for-“

            She reached him, extended her arms to take his cheeks in her her hands and lifting his eyes to met her's, Aegon flinched back.

            In that moment any remaining doubts about the truth were washed away. He had wanted to see relief or joy or concern something - anything except what he did. From the set of her shoulders, to the tilt of her neck, to the terrible cold dread in her eyes- everything about her screamed of fear .

            And there was only one thing she could still be afraid of now that he was back.

            “My son-“ She began steadying herself quickly. But Aegon found himself speaking over her.

            “I wish to speak with you mother. In the Sept.” Aegon said, stepping around her, so that they were shoulder to shoulder. He saw the eyes of several of the Kingsguard pop- Criston Cole’s mouth fell open- but he ignored their shock just like he ignored his own. He could hardly believe what he was doing- cutting off his mother!- but something had boiled over inside his belly, something angry and raw and demanding to be let out.

            “Aegon, I do not think now is the time for-“ She began, her voice tight with anger and dread, but Aegon ignored her.

            “I think now is the perfect time.” Aegon replied moving to towards the castle Sept without waiting for her agreement.

            “Boy-“ Grandfather began, moving to step in front of him, but Aegon veered to the right out of his range and kept on to the Castle Sept. Neither would stoop to the indignity of yelling at him to stop- not in front of their people. They had no choice but to follow.

            Aegon reached the Sept’s doors first and pushed them open, sweeping inside. A handful of parishioners were lined in the pews or before the altars, with Septon Eustace, carrying his bronze censer, as made the rounds. They all turned to look at him and some drew to their feet quickly or staggered back to get out of his way.

            The sight of Septon Eustace in particular made the boiling in Aegon’s stomach lurch higher. His glare must have caught the man off guard because he nearly dropped his censor when he met Aegon’s eyes.

            “Highness-“ Eustace began.

            “Out.” Aegon said, his words colder than he thought. “All of you. Out. I wish to speak to my mother alone.” He glanced up at the statues. “With the Gods.”

            He expected protests and carping, he expected shock and disgust at his rudeness. He half expected Eustace to dismiss him out of hand and send him to scrub the rainbow pool for his insolent tone. He did not expect the pews and altars to empty almost immediately, Eustance quickly capping his censor, bobbing a quick bow and departing through the open doors. A few of the courtier parishioners paused just long enough to throw a look at Aegon’s mother, who stood right at the threshold of the Sept, weary for the first time Aegon had ever seen to enter such a place. His mother didn’t seem to notice them, and the rest of the parishioners, being servants, didn’t dare raise their eyes to their Queen, and filed out in quick order.

            Aegon kept walking, till he was in the center of the sept, right at the point all the statues gazed out too from their stained glass niches.

            “Aegon.” His mother, speaking loudly enough to be heard the length of the aisle. He knew that tone well. He knew he should be afraid of it- and yet he was too angry, too hurt, to be afraid. “What is the meaning of this disruption? You have no right to throw out godly men and women from their prayers, even-“

            Aegon spun to face her. “Did you do it?” He demanded. He wanted to shout, but he could barely force out the words. It was only thanks to the echoing nature of the hall that they reached his mother at all.

            She didn’t flinch. Didn’t recoil. She didn’t even seem surprised at the question. She just stared at him before asking in a tight controlled voice. “Do what?”

            Aegon exhaled through his nose. Over his mother’s shoulder he saw the doors of the Sept swing shut as Grandfather closed them and drew closer, almost to his mother’s side. He no longer looked so certain. He looked confused, and weary.

            “Did you try to have Jace killed?” Aegon demanded, this time it came out louder, and harsher.

            The response was instant. “How dare you suggest such a thing of your mother. Do you really believe me to be such a villain?” The indignity, the fury in her voice, was almost convincing. Almost.

            “Swear.” Aegon demanded.

            “Do not be-“ His mother began, half turning away from him, but Aegon thrust out finger, pointing to the statue of the Mother Above. The one where he had given his confession to Eustace. The confession that had been betrayed.

            “Swear before them mother!” He demanded. He was shaking. He didn’t know when he had started, but he found it impossible to stop. It felt like his bones were going to rattle apart. Or maybe his legs would just give out. “Swear before the Seven Above that you had nothing to do with the man that tried to kill Jace! That I was not nearly killed because of your fucking pride and ambition!”

            He was shouting. It was echoing off the walls. He didn’t care.

            He watched his mother’s eyes swing, from the Mother Above bathed in indigo light, to the Father bathed in crimson, to finally the Stranger, in wildfire green. She seemed to recoil from the statues slightly, her mouth working soundlessly, her fingers grasping at her seven pointed star necklace.

            “Aegon stop this foolishness.” His grandfather began moving forward to rest a hand on his mother’s shoulder. But the words were not as stony as they should have been, and not as sure. “You are allowing that woman and her brood to poison you with lies, clearly. Your mother has been through something terrible and you have no right to worsen it. Come here, calm down and talk about this like a sensible adult.“

            “She has been through something terrible?” Aegon snarled. “I was stabbed and poisoned! I nearly died! Jace was almost killed!” That sensation, righteous fury, boiled in him. It felt surreal to be shouting at his grandfather, gainsaying him. A part of him still felt the urge to cringe back, to hunch his shoulders, and yield. But instead he held steady, refusing to be moved. “And I need to hear that my own mother wasn’t the cause.” His grandfather opened his mouth, but Aegon shook his head. “I need to hear it from her. I need to hear it from her, here, under the gaze of the Seven. I need her oath in their name.” She could no more take such an oath falsely then she could sprout wings and fly. The Faith ran too deeply in her for that. He could not- would not-  accept anything less.

            Because for his mother to have sent for Daeron the day Aegon had been taken to Dragonstone, she would have to have known about the plot. Nothing else made sense. And the only reason she would have to know about such a thing was if she was behind it.

            “Well?” He demanded, his voice choked and dry. “Well mother ?”

            She just started at him, mouth working soundlessly, unable to bring herself to blasphemy.

            Aegon squeezed his eyes shut and realized he was crying. Angry wet tears where trailing down his cheeks. “I almost died.” The words were quite and wretched. “You almost killed me. You would have, if Jace hadn’t save me.”

            Aegon had enough warning. He heard the click of her slippers on the stone floor as she strode towards him and opened his eyes just in time to see her raise her arm. He could have have braced himself, or pulled away, or stropped it somehow. Instead, he stood there as her full armed slap struck him across the face, making his jaw blaze with white hot pain and his vision blur with black flecks.

            “I was saving you from that beast!” His mother shouted. There was a wild furious look in her eyes, that Aegon had only seen once before- that night at High Tide.

            “Jace is not a-“ Aegon began, the words slow because of the pain in his jaw. His mother spoke right over him.

            “He is a bastard, born of betrayal and sin and broken oaths!” She snapped. “And more then that he is his mother’s son- full of selfishness and arrogance and disregard for decency! For duty! I will not be shamed or condemned for trying to protect you from him!”

            “You broke my confession!” Aegon spat. “The worst rat king in Flea Bottom wouldn’t stoop to that!” Aegon knew that wasn’t strictly true- some wouldn’t, some would- but his mother didn’t know that, and the savage satisfaction at watching her flinch back at his words made it so that he didn’t care.

            “I did what was necessary.” She spat, but her voice was less certain, less full of righteous anger. She stared him dead in the eye, her fists knotted into her skirts. She stepped forward with each word, as if to drive them home until she was straight right up into his face. “You are our only hope, Aegon. Our only hope. You have no idea what Rhaenyra is capable of. Adultery is the least part of it. She is a liar, a manipulator, a murderer- and she will put all of us to the sword if given her way. I had to act.” Her voice lost more and more of her anger as she spoke, and taking on a note Aegon had never heard before- pleading. “I had to! If word got out about that bastard sullying you, it would destroy any chance you had at the throne. You would be ruined in the eyes of Lords of the realm. You would always be to them the man who bent his knees for Rhaenyra’s base born get.”

            “I don’t want the throne!” Aegon shouted. His mother inhaled deeply and for a moment he thought she was going to try and strike him again. Still he would not back down. He would not be the first to move.

            “What you want does not matter.” His mother shouted right back. Aegon would have sworn that her fingers had started to tear at the silk of her dress. “I have told you a thousand times, and still you refuse to understand! Just by living and breathing you are a threat to your sister, an obstacle to be crushed under her foot, like everything else I hold dear!”

            Aegon’s own fists clenched. “If Rhaneyra wanted to kill me or imprison me or hurt me she had every chance this last month. Instead she gave me shelter and kindness and everything I needed when I was dying from the wounds you gave me!” His mother made a strangled sound in her throat, but Aegon did not stop. “You’re wrong about her! About Jace! About all of them! Their….they're warm! And kind! They love each other fiercely and they don’t live in fear and anger and judgement all of the time! With them I felt- I felt-“ He stuttered the words struggling to come out.

            “You are being manipulated! Why can you not see that? Was your brother’s maiming not enough? The murders of Laenor and Laena Velaryon? Rhea Royce?” Aegon flinched at each name, having no real answer. His mother, sensing she was gaining ground, kept going. “That happiness? That warmth? It is built on broken oaths, lies, and blood. It is poison, and you have drunk too deeply of it to see that.”

            Aegon shook his head and closed his hand over his mother’s trying to pry her fingers free of his cloak. “You’re wrong! This is poison! This place, this family! All we are is fear and misery and pain!” Her fingers would not come free, but he refused to pull hard enough to rip the cloak. “When I- When I kissed Jace I was so ashamed and afraid of what you might say or do that I nearly-“ He cut off taking a deep breath. “I almost-“

            His mother stared at him uncomprehendingly. She could not fit what he was trying to say into her understanding of the world. “What Aegon? You almost did what?”

            “I wanted to die, mother.” He said quietly. “I felt…I felt so trapped that I wanted to die.”

            Finally her fingers sprang free and she took a step back. She stared at him as if she had met him before.

            “And I was right to be afraid.” Aegon continued. “Because look at what happened- I nearly died anyways. I went to Dragonstone that day to apologize, to make it right.”

            “You don’t owe that creature-“ His mother began but her voice was hollow.

            “I kissed him, mother! Not the other way around! I kissed him because I wanted to. Because it thrilled me. Because I have never wanted anyone the way I want him.” It should feel profane to say these things in this place. But it didn’t. “I was so afraid I had put his life in danger that I went that day to beg his forgiveness, to let him exact whatever repayment he wanted from me! I was ready for him to hate me, to be disgusted by me, to never want to see me again and I was going to accept it all. But instead he…” Aegon gulped down his spit, and it felt strange on his hot scratchy throat. “He stood by me. Through night and day.”

            “He will use you for their cause, and then he will cast you away.” His mother’s voice was thin and reedy. Wet tears trailed down her cheeks. “Just like she did.”

            At that moment Aegon really saw his mother for the first time in his entire life. She no longer seemed to tower over him by sheer force of her presence. She no longer resembled a force of nature. She looked tired and thin and human. Full of fear and heartbreak and pain.

            And it made Aegon realize something.

            It wasn’t his fault.

            “You’re wrong.” Aegon said. They were simple words. But they felt strong in his mouth.

            Instead of stepping back he moved to the side and walked past his mother towards the great double doors. His grandfather had advanced down the aisle to watch the scene. Aegon could not decipher his expression and did not wish to try.

            “Where are you going?” His mother called out after him. He did not turn back to face her. There was no point. “Aegon, stop this instant! Aegon!”

            Aeogn passed his grandfather who reached out a hand to seize him by the shoulder but Aegon swatted it aside. For a moment their eyes met and his Grandfather hesitated, his head tilting back, nostrils flaring. Aegon did not stop to give him a chance. He just kept walking.

            Shoving open the doors of the Sept, Aegon found the courtyard only slightly changed. Helaena was gone, but Daeron remained speaking with one of the Kingsguard who stood at the steps of the Sept, alongside the Hightower retainers his grandfather had brought.

            “Your Highness.” Cole said, eyes swinging from Aegon to something behind him. Aegon still did not stop, covering the stairs in four neat strides and starting for the gate. “What is the matter?”

            “Aegon?” Daeron’s voice was suddenly at his side as his brother ran up beside him. Aegon glanced at him, his lavender eyes wide and worried and guileless. “What’s going on? You’ve been acting funny all day. Please tell me what’s happening so I can help.”

            Aegon inhaled. None of this was Daeron’s fault, or Helaena’s, or Aemond’s, anymore than it was his. But he couldn’t make Daeron understand that. He could only be honest and hope for the best.

            “I’m leaving.” He said. “I’m going back to Dragonstone.”

            Daeron’s jaw dropped open, and he spluttered. “But you- but we-“ He seized hold of Aegon’s wrist and dug his heels in- Aegon could either drag him and likely end with both them in the dirt, or he could stop. “We rescued you! Why would you go back? Are they threatening something? Holding something hostage? We can fix it. We can-“

            “Be quiet!” Aegon hissed, but it was too late, Daeron’s voice rising in pitch with his shock, had carried out the entire courtyard. Aegon felt confusion and dread turn to tension as soldiers shifted and braced themselves in quite a jingle of mail, hands going to weapons. They wouldn’t wound him. Probably. But they wouldn’t necessarily need to.

            “Your Grace, is all well?” Cole’s voice came from somewhere behind Aegon. Aegon turned his head, just enough to see his mother standing in the archway of the Sept, gazing down at him. She had wiped her tears away and wrestled her fear under control, but Aegon could see the bloody lines on her fingernails that gave away how thin that control was. Grandfather stood at her shoulder, a hand resting on it. Cole stood at the base of the stairs, caught between rushing to her side and rushing to seize Aegon by the scruff of the neck.

            “My son.” Mother announced in a voice that carried the length of the courtyard, quavering only slightly. “Is overwrought with emotion from his ordeal and wishes to pray in seclusion.”

            “I have no such wish.” Aegon said just as loudly. “I wish only to depart of my own will.”

            Some of the soldiers shifted uncertainty. No one moved, and even Cargyll looked suddenly queasy. Caught between the Prince and the Queen was not a spot any of them wished to be in.

            His mother acted as if Aegon had not spoken, turning to Cole. “Please escort Prince Aegon to his room so he might think long on duty and respect Ser Cole.”

            For a moment Cole looked conflicted, but it subsided in the next second and he turned to stride forward, towards Aegon. Daeron’s face had become alarmed, but his grip did not loosen on Aegon’s wrist.

            “Ser Cole.” Aegon said quietly. “To lay hands on a Prince is against the law.”

            Cole hesitated but only for a moment before shaking his head. “Boy, don’t be any more of a fool or make any more of a scene then you have already. Come quietly and I’m sure this will all be set to rights shortly.” His tone implied if it wasn't he would set it to rights.

            Bugger that. Aegon thought and reaching out he seized hold of Daeron’s sword and drew it, using the same motion to shove his brother away. His mind worked desperately as he raised the sword, trying to remember the right angle, the right spacing for his feet, as he turned the point right for Cole.

            There was a long silence, into which someone- Aegon had no idea who- swore. Then Cole sighed, and shook his head in exasperation.

            “Boy.” Cole said softly. “This? This is being a fool and making a scene. Put that down before you hurt yourself, and go to your room like a good lad.”

            Aegon’s cheeks flushed with indignation, and to his surprise, some of the watching started to mutter- Aegon could just make out the words ‘steward’s son’ and ‘uppity’, before Cole’s head snapped around and the soldiers fell deathly silent. He turned around slowly to face Aegon again, his expression was no longer exasperated, but cold.

            “We went to great trouble to free you from that woman’s prison and this is how you repay us?” Cole said taking a step forward. Fell and Cargyll were hanging back still, both looking conflicted. The sentiment did not sting as much as it had coming from Aemond or Daeron, and if that had not stopped him this would not either.

            “The only place I have ever been a prisoner is here.” Aegon replied.

            Cole’s hand went to his sword hilt at last, but still, he did not draw. His voice lowered for just the two of them. “Rhaenyra has lied to you. She will use you and up and cast you away when you are no longer amusing and convenient to her or her bastard.”

            Aegon stared at him in disbelief. “Is that why you and mother get along so well? Because Rhaenyra rejected you both and you’ve never gotten over it?” The words where needlessly harsh but Aegon did not regret them. He had no sympathy for Cole. All his sympathy had been used up on his mother.

            Cole made a sound that was half choke, half snarl, and in single motion so fast it was a blur, he drew his sword and struck. Aegon only avoided the slash because he had been braced for it, and so could dance backwards in time that it whistled through air rather than slicing a red line along his chest.

            “Stop you fool!” Grandfather’s voice was a whip crack and it almost more of a shock to realize it was directed at Cole rather then him. All around the yard soldiers had frozen in shock, and behind Cole Cargyll and Fell were staring- Cargyll in incredulity and Fell with an ashy sick expression. Neither moved- either to Cole’s side or his. “That is the Prince- your Prince!- you can not-!”

            “No.” His mother’s voice was cold as she moved down the steps. She threw a look over her shoulder at her father in cold judgement. “Ser Cole, do what you must to disarm my son and see him returned to his chambers.”

            If Grandfather responded Aegon did not hear it. Cole advanced, blade flashing and it took everything Aeogn had to turn the first three blows with his own sword and dance backwards. The world narrowed down as Cole drew back and then stepped forward again with an elegant slash- Aegon was too slow to dodge out of the way this time. He felt a familiar cold sting as a gash opened up on his shoulder, and warm blood spilled from it, running down his arm and soaking his sleeve.

            Somewhere on the edge of understanding, people were shouting, metal was rattling, someone was screaming something. And none of it mattered. The world had become just Aegon and Cole and the space between and around them.

            Anger had gone out of Cole’s face. His eyes were narrowed in cold calculation, his neck and arms set at a specific well practiced angle. Aegon was panting for breath, his knees shaking, sweat already starting to sting at his eyes and roll down the shell of his ears. He was stronger than he had been even a week ago, but still not strong enough, and even if he had been…

            Cole struck again. Three quick slashes that made the air whistle as his blade passed through it, and Aegon snapped his wrists and moved to parry each- but barely drew back against the surprise jab that came under his arm and opened another cut on his chest. The all too familiar cold sting and feeling of blood running down clammy flesh.

            “Yield.” Cole said as he drew back. Aegon could see his own blood staining Cole’s sword.

            “No.” Aegon responded, and before Cole could react he struck. His slashes were wild, made with all his body weight, two from the left and a third from the right. Cole almost contemptuously turned them aside with the flat of his blade and Aegon felt the air leave his lungs as Cole’s boot connected with his gut, forcing him to stagger back and all on to his rear. He coughed and spluttered, trying to force air back into his lungs, trying to stand at the same time, to get back into a fighting stance. To-

            The flat of Cole’s sword struck him on the temple and sent him to the ground again. Aegon felt a tooth crack and dust fill his mouth as his jaw struck the dirt.

            “Yield.” Cole repeated. Some of the focus had left his voice. In its place, contempt had crept in.

            Aegon spat onto the ground. It was tinged red.

            “Never.” He snarled as he forced himself to his knees. His sword lay several feet away and  Aegon reached for it, but Cole’s boot slammed into his back, sending him chest first against the dirt.

            Cole’s voice was all contempt now. “How did you think this was going to go boy? How do you think it will end? This isn’t some legend. You’ve never won a duel that wasn’t thrown in your life. Did you really think you could best me just because you wanted it enough? All these grand declarations and theatrics are meaningless without power to back them up.”

            “I am-” Aegon tried to say but Cole yanked his head back farther and he was cut off, a cry of agony sounding from his throat.

            “You are a spoiled selfish wastrel, who mistakes being important for being powerful.” Cole had always looked so handsome to Aegon. The ideal of what men should be like. But right now his sneer had turned his face ugly. “No wonder you and Rhaenyra got along given the chance. You are both nothing and convinced you are everything.”

            Instead of answering, Aegon stopped trying to pull his head away, and he swung it back. Their was a blunt snapping feeling and a satisfying crunch as Cole released him and staggered back, blood gushing from his broken nose down his chin and onto his snowy white tabard. Aegon wasted no time in scrambling to his feet and snatching up the discarded sword, raising it to point at Cole.

            “You’re wrong.” Aegon said. He felt as if he been running for miles. Surely the struggle between them had been going on for hours, not minutes. “You’re wrong!” He shouted with more force, more conviction.

            Cole’s eyes where lit up with rage, one hand was clasped over his nose, which still gushed blood, but the other held his sword steady point first at Aegon.

            “I…” Aeogn licked his lips, all around him was noise. But his world only seemed to grow narrower and narrower. Till it was just him, and the feeling of warm blood on cold skin, and the ever sharper and sharper pain of his wounds.

            And the small fire in the back of his head, crackling at a low burn. Barely embers at this distance and yet…

            “I have never been nothing.” Aegon said shifting his sword to one hand as well. Cole tensed, letting go of his broken nose to drop into a defensive stance. But Aegon ignored him. The sword was only still held as a way to keep Cole back.

            He lifted his free hand to his chest, laying it right over the cut.

            “I have always been the blood of the dragon.”

            And then dug he his fingers into the wound.

            Someone screamed in horror. Cole recoiled in disgust. Pain flared white hot through Aegon- an inferno racing over every fiber of his skin. In the back of his mind, the connection to Sunfyre flared, bright and shinning- and for just a moment Aegon felt him like another body, an extension of himself. He felt chains on his wings and legs, he felt the places the lash had struck his scales, he felt the anger and the fear and the rage and the worry clawing at the dragon’s heart and the absolute surprise of their connection igniting from so great a distance.

            And then it flicked away and Aegon was just himself again. Just a boy bleeding and cold and alone in the middle of the Red Keeep’s courtyard.

            Aegon pulled his hand back and with a scream slammed it into the other cut on his arm, clawing the gash open viciously. Again pain flared and again he was both Sunfyre and himself, and Sunfyre was both himself and Aegon- and the dragon was roaring beating against stone walls and clawing at chains and screaming his rage at the heavens- mouthful of fire upon mouthful of fire. People where shouting in High Valyrian and lashes where coming down against golden scales and it didn’t matter, it had never mattered, because he was a dragon, his was the fire that had turned the world to ash, he was power made flesh and-

            Something closed on Aeogn’s wrist and he was being yanked forward, the sword falling from his grasp.

            “Stupid boy!” Cole said, the words toneless and gasping because of his broken nose. “What are you-”

            Aegon shoved Cole away and reached into his own mouth, seizing hold of his broken throbbing tooth and yanking. Pain so hot it turned his vision white flared, overwhelming everything else.

            He was a boy. He was a dragon. He was a prince. He was a god. He would not be caged, not ever again-!

            Cole seized both his wrists this time and yanked them forward. Aegon felt the root of the tooth snap and he spat it out onto the dirt as Cole tried to restrain him and he kept pulling away.

            “Stop it!” Contempt and shock and turned to worry. “Stop it you brat! What are you-!”

            The crashing sound was faint and echoing, like distant thunder, but it cut Cole off all the same. He felt it more then heard it Aegon knew. Just the same as everyone in the city. Like a wave of something passing through them all one after the next- emanating from a singular point. From the Dragonpit.

            Aegon smiled at Cole as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.

            “That’s not-” Cole began but cut off as the crash echoed again. And then again. All around them the noise cut off- shouting and clamoring falling to stunned deafening quiet.

            And then their was sound like a mountain cracking in half and a primal scream heard throughout the city. Aegon looked around and realized armsmen and soldiers who had been shoving and shouting at each other a moment before stood stock still, frozen in fear. Fell and Cargaryl each had a bit of steel bared, as if they had frozen mid draw, while Daeron with an armsmen holding each of his arms and a third with a grip one cloak looked as if he had just paused in a desperate attempt to wrestle free. Even mother had turned, shaking like a lead to gaze towards the southwards sky.

            “Let him go!” Grandfather screamed. He had moved in front of mother at some point, but Cargyll and Fell stood between him and Cole. Aegon thought if they had not he might have gone barreling for the Dornishmen to rip him off Aegon. Cole however seemed to have turned to stone- his grip neither loosening nor tightening around Aegon’s wrists.

            Another strident cry echoed out over the city, and then a second, and then the sun vanished and the courtyard was cast in shadow. Aegon looked over head to see Sunfyre, appearing like something heaven sent. The sun made a halo of light around the gold silhouette of his form, and his head was tilted, one furious amber eye sweeping over the puny creatures bellow. Searching for his rider. His other half.

            “AEGON!” Grandfather shouted. “AEGON CALL IT OFF!”

            Cole’s head snapped down to gaze at Aegon, horror starting to give way to action. In that moment he pulled, clearly thinking to drag Aegon inside the Keep. But Aegon’s bloody smile only widened and he spoke a single gravely word.

            “Dracarys.”

            Golden fire fountained downwards and Cole’s hands sprang away from Aegon’s wrists as he rolled back wards from the stream. Aegon didn’t move. He had no need too. As the jet of golden flame carved the courtyard in half, creating a wall of fire only inches in front of him Aegon didn’t even feel discomfort at the roiling heat. Golden flame licked at his boots, melting the leather, but Aegon’s cheeks didn’t so much as redden. 

            Cole was staring at him on the other side of the wall, open mouthed and stunned.

            On the walls armsmen screamed and in a panic a few sent arrows flying desperately for Sunfyre, but they bounced against his scales harmlessly. Letting out a savage cry, Sunfyre turned, sweeping low over the walls jaw and close snapping for the fools that had tried to shoot at him. The soldiers went diving out of the way one leaping right off the edge in a panic and crashing to the bailey dirt with a sickening snap of broken bones and a sob of pain, while the others desperately ran for the safety of the towers.

            “STOP YOU FOOLS!” Actual panic had come into Grandfather’s voice. He was holding mother back, as she struggle to rush forward. Aegon had never seen him so out of control before. “WEAPONS UP BEFORE YOU GET US ALL KILLED!”

            Sunfyre turned in mid air, banking right and sweeping back for another pass. But Aegon merely let out a soft whistle and the dragon slowed, circling down and then landing on the wall, his claws snapping apart gargoyles and crenelations as he perched, staring down at the bailey. Most of the soldiers where listening, but some of the Goldcloaks still on Aegon’s side of the wall of fire, turned to point crossbows at Sunfyre. The dragon didn’t even wait for Aegon’s command this time, simply opening his jaw and letting loose a fountain of fire at them both before they could pull the triggers. Two identical screams of agony and terror filled the air at the same time scent of roasting flesh filled the air.

            The remaining Goldcloaks needed no more then that to flee in a panic, rushing for shelter anywhere they could find it, and leaving Aegon with a clear path. He took a step towards his dragon, who leaned out and forward from the wall, uncoiling to half climb down into the courtyard and stretch his neck out for his rider. Aegon realized belatedly that a broken chain dangled from one of the dragon’s legs.

            “AEGON!” The sound of his mother’s voice. “AEGON STOP! DON’T DO THIS!”

            For a moment Aegon hesitated, a small part of him still longing to obey, to turn around. But it was to late he knew. Maybe it had been to late weeks ago, when he had first snuck out to Dragonstone.

            Always he had been convinced the problem was him. That he was too lazy, too flippant, too foolish, and hedonistic, and impulsive, and depraved. That if he could just bring himself to brush off the dust and stand up straighter and do good enough- he would stop disappointing his mother, stop angering his grandfather, stop boring his father, and whatever was broken in their family would be fixed. Aemond would let go all his bitterness and Helaena would laugh again and mother would smile and father would suddenly love them all. Grandfather wouldn’t have reason to be angry anymore. Mother would stop being afraid.

            And Aegon could never manage it. He tried and failed and drank to make the pain of that failure go away. He tried and failed and slept with any warm body he could reach to balm his hurts. He was a wretch. He was not fit to be loved. It was all his fault.

            But staring into his mother’s terrified eyes, Aegon had realized that it wasn’t his fault, because this wasn't about him. It never had been. Whatever had happened between his mother and Rhaenyra all those years ago- it had filled her with so much fear and pain that there was no room left for anything else, and nothing Aegon could do would convince her to let it go.

            He could not fix what was broken in his family. He could not fill it with love.

            All he could do was leave where love was not and go to where it was.

            Aegon didn’t turn around. Instead he strode forward, stepping through flicking flames left over from the two dead Goldcloaks. He heard someone gasp, as he failed to even flinch back at the heat. Aegon did not stop until he was at Sunfyre’s muzzle, stroking his fingers over the dragon’s scales.

            “Come on boy.” He murmured softy as he moved to climb up onto the dragon’s back. The keepers had stripped away his saddle but Aegon did not care. He had flown to Dragonstone bareback that first night too. “Let’s go home.”

            Sunfyre barely waited for Aegon’s legs to slide over the joints of his wings before he let out a triumphant cry and took to the air, in a single leap and swoosh of his wings. Aegon felt the world lurch and then fall away, as Sunfyre climbed higher and higher, spiraling upwards, before banking to the north and setting out over the Blackwater.

            Aegon did not look back once.

<X>

            Helaena hummed as she opened the door to her room, slipping inside on light feet. She longed to be out of her flying clothes and into her nightgown. A flight out to Dragonstone was exhausting enough, but a flight back without even a pause to refresh herself made her want to rest for days. She hoped Aegon at least would find a warm welcome waiting for him after he completed the feat. She suspected he would.

            Walking over to the terrarium near the back of the room, the one which held all her pets that fled from the light and the heat, preferring the damp and the cold and the scent of night born things, she leaned forward, knowing what she would fine. The sun moth had torn himself free of the web and was fluttering around near the roof the terrarium in a panic. The spider sat on one of the branches, glaring annoyed up at the moth. She didn’t understand why Helaena had put him in the terrarium to begin with, and she understood less why Helaena always moved him just out of reach when he got caught, giving him the chance to break free. It must seem like a terrible taunt- since he always ended up caught again.

            Not this time though. This time Helaena reached for the latch and glass roof slid back. The little yellow moth happily fluttered up and out, and moving for the windows Helaena swept them open, to allow him to escape out into the afternoon sky.

            “It is on him now.” She murmured. As the moth fluttered past her and vanished. She squinted out over the Blackwater- just in time to catch the last vanishing glint of Sunfyre as he disappeared into the horizon. Helaena smiled, and leaned out over the window. “Fire burning away lies. Fire laying bare what is hidden.” No longer shimmering almosts. No more glimmering maybes. “The future is tipped into the dragon’s maw. The course is set.” This had been the last chance to return to the old path. And it had been defied.

            She exhaled. Their would still be war. But at least now their was a hope that it would not be the end of them. Just a flicker. But more then had once been.

            Breathing deep, Helaena wished her brother the best and moved to close the window.