Chapter Text
An aroma of sweet honeyed tea split the air in the Queen Dowager’s chambers as a serving girl weaved her way around the settees and placed a silver platter on the low table between Alicent and Fia. She poured a cup, setting it on Alicent’s side, then another, placing it in front of Fia. Steam rose, winding, wending, then vanished.
The serving girl was let out by Ser Criston who had returned to his post in the corridor. The door closed tightly behind her.
In their aloneness, Fia sat silent as Alicent regarded her thoughtfully. Her crying eyes dried, her trembling lips stilled. She lifted her cup to her lips and sipped. The dropping of her shoulders at the intake let Fia know she needed it—its warmth, its sweetness, its reliability. Fia took her own sip, hesitant, wondering why she was called here in the first place.
The Queen Dowager’s chambers were like any other, but grander, longer, emptier. They sat across each other, the blue carpet an ocean between them. Seven-pointed stars decorated this space, too. Alicent’s divine piety on display. But, there, in the corner, Fia noticed another decoration: steam-grey stone, carved and trapezoidal, a model of a building. The edges looked roughly split and it was crumbling at the base. It sat on a small rounded table intended for wine or snacks, somehow out of place. Alicent noticed Fia’s budding interest and broke the silence, “It is supposed to be a sacred Valyrian building; just a piece of a larger project. The rest was destroyed.”
“That piece alone is beautiful,” Fia remarked.
“Yes, there is beauty in being alone, isn’t there?” she answered, twisting Fia’s words, setting down her cup and pulling her bare feet up into the settee, tucking them beneath herself and her gown. It was unladylike; something Fia herself might have done in Flea Bottom, but not here in the palace. Larys would have lost his mind; he was so uptight about such things. “But you need not be alone, Lady Fia. I am sorry for what my sons have done to you. They do not understand women, and I am beginning to believe I was unfit to teach them. I pray to the gods that one day they will learn on their own.”
Fia held her tongue. She did not believe the gods could even reach men like that. Aegon, who would hurt a woman for her touch. Aemond, who would hurt a woman just because. What kind of woman raised these men? What kind of man?
Alicent continued, “Lord Strong seems to have taken you underwing. How are you finding him?”
“I am lucky to have him,” Fia said, unsure. Alicent searched her eyes, chewing her lip, discerning. She told her, “Of course you are, sweet girl.”
Fia gave a weak smile. The playful name did not sound right coming from her lips.
Fia laced her fingers, setting them in her lap after putting down her cup. She looked Alicent over. Ser Otto had warned her against telling his daughter about Gwayne. And now she was deciding whether or not to obey him. If she had never left court, Fia might have had better insight as to who held more power in the palace; who she should listen to; who she should lean on. But then if she’d never left court, she would not have to be searching for power at all. As far as she could tell, Aegon held the power but was guided by many hands. Whose hands were strongest?
“Very lucky,” Alicent added. “My lady, I know you wish for peace of mind, but I have a favor to ask of you.”
“A favor?” Fia asked.
“Yes, and it is not a small one,” she admitted. Her pity vanished and she tucked her hands in her lap, mirroring Fia, her head inclined and serious. “I need you to-” she cut herself off, looking sick to her stomach, then continued, “I need you to be Aegon’s mistress.”
“No,” Fia rebuked, “No, speak to me plainly, Your Grace. You say mistress, but you mean whore. I will not do it. Not for him.”
“Yes. You must,” she demanded, leaning further forward, “Lord Larys assures me you are clever and I do not doubt it. But he also assures me that you possess a gentle heart. You have seen firsthand what Aegon is capable of. He is my son, but he is dangerous. I must tell you that he has hurt others. Other women besides you. Handmaidens, serving girls. Just last night, he took one in the king’s chambers. In his chambers. He is out of control and I do not know how to hide it anymore.”
“And just how much blood has been spilt on his bedsheets?” Fia spat, skin crawling. “How many women have you paid to stay silent? How many witnesses to look the other way?”
“Enough. Too much.”
“Then they will all already know.”
“Yes, possibly. But I will not have it happen again.”
“What do you expect me to do? How can I stop him? What about me?” she questioned.
“You will be greatly compensated for your work. This was your profession, was it not? Think: one whore is easier to hide than a hundred serving girls. You would be sparing them the pain that I know you feel. My lady, I will not be challenged in this.”
Alicent was right. She was not the woman to teach her sons about women. How twisted was her mind that she thought this made any sort of sense? That it was justified in any way? This was not about saving women, this was about protecting her son. About giving him what he wanted, what she had always allowed him to think he was entitled to. She was just as bad as the rest of them. Fia wondered what the Hand would think about her further tainting herself by bedding his grandson when she was soon to be betrothed to his son. Which of them—father or daughter—should she obey? She scowled and her eyes shot to the door. Deep redwood. Again, she saw Liara in that pool of blood. Was her dignity really worth dying over?
“Why me?” Fia asked, her gown growing tighter, suffocating. Why did Aegon choose her: in her mother’s room, in the alley, in his chambers, in the courtyard. He haunted her like a ghost. Drawing her into his loneliness. When would it end?
“Because it has to be you,” Alicent stated, “It is clear that he has taken interest in you. Let him have his way with you. Become his perfect woman, keep him distracted. If he keeps going on like this, he will get his children killed.”
Fia raised her brows. Aegon was a father. She knew this, but it was admittedly easy to forget as he was only one in definition, not action.
Alicent rubbed her fingertips together, waiting. She was interested in protecting more than just her son.
“Very well,” Fia agreed solemnly.
“I will pray for you. The gods are good.”
“When should I go to him?” Fia asked, ignoring Alicent’s relief—for which one of them were the gods good?
“I will not steal from you this last night of peace. Go to him tomorrow,” she told her. “Lie to him. Lay with him. Do whatever needs be done. It goes without saying that he cannot know I sent you. It is imperative that he believes this is your choice.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Fia said, understanding. Tomorrow, Fia would find Mysaria. The White Worm had helped her once; perhaps she would help her again.
For a moment, Fia worried she was being cruel by lying to Alicent, by giving her hope that her problem would be resolved. But Aegon was not Fia’s problem. She needed to be smart about this; her loyalty was to herself.
“Our duty is a trying one,” Alicent said. “But it must be done.”
Our duty? Fia regarded Alicent once more—her tired expression, her words to Aemond. She was a whore herself, wasn’t she? In other words.
*******
At daybreak, after Fia was dressed by her handmaiden, a servant of Ser Otto brought her a gift: a long flowing, hooded cape. Not long after, Ser Arryk came knocking. She let him in, eager to depart.
But as he entered, he frowned, his eyes shooting her a warning. He lifted a bandaged hand discreetly, silencing her before she could speak.
“Who ruined the surprise?” Aegon blustered, manifesting like a ghost in Ser Arryk’s shadow. “I was so hoping you would still be indecent.”
“Your Grace,” Fia stammered, suddenly feeling naked despite the cloak. She hugged it for comfort. “I was not expecting you.”
“Oh, so no one told you?”
“Told me what?”
“There’s something I want to show you. And, and don’t call me that. We are closer than that,” he told her, disappointed. That disappointment deepened and he strode up to her, grabbing the blue-grey hood, inspecting it. He turned it this way and that, his face twisting up. “Gods, this is thick. Don’t tell me you're one of those women that catches a chill easily. It’s frankly reptilian. Take it off and let’s go.”
“Go where?” Fia asked and Aegon shrugged coyly. She did not want to know. “Should you not be training this morning?”
“Ha. You would like to watch, wouldn’t you? But no, I’m afraid my sparring partners are otherwise occupied,” he told her, dropping the hood haphazardly. It landed heavy on her shoulder.
“What about court? Are there not petitions to attend to, a war to plan?” she asked.
“What do you think the Hand is for?” he said bluntly. He pinched the bridge of his nose, noting her resistance. “Look, I am trying, but a man cannot change in a day. I need a break as I am sure you do, too. Come on.”
Fia sucked in a breath, considering his claim. Alicent did not share much after their agreement was reached, but she did invite Fia to ask questions; one of which Fia found herself asking before she could stop: has Aegon always been this way? The Queen Dowager did not mind her forwardness and her following answer gave Fia pause: he has.
It was odd. As the words fell from Alicent’s lips, so too did relief fall over Fia. All this time, these past six years, she had wondered if she’d made the right choice by asking Mysaria for help. If she’d been right in thinking that he was a monster. And even though she’d hoped that he had changed, or could change, she knew that he could not.
She looked into his eyes, past his fingers which still pinched his nose, into those familiar swirling swimming pools. They were alight, flaming, hopeful. He offered her peace, if only a moment. But she knew, now more than ever, that his promises were empty. Even his own mother admitted that he had never had anything good to offer.
“Lead the way,” Fia said, knowing that if he tried anything, she would not let him succeed. Fia would not be his whore. She had to put that life behind her. She would listen to Ser Otto, the Hand. If Alicent wanted to save her grandchildren, she should have tried harder to save her son.
He led her first into the corridor where she noticed his hair, pulled back and braided. Then into the courtyard where the wind blew a sweet scent past her, milk and honey. Until at last, they arrived in the gardens where his hand reached into his pocket and pulled, gently, tentatively, a link of gilded lace.
“For you,” he said, lifting the necklace, displaying it, proudly pinched between thumb and finger; just as they stood pinched between bushes of flowers whose pretty petals laughed and smiled at them. She stepped closer to him, taking a better look at the noble piece of jewelry. It was simple. Extremely so. Only a chain and nothing more, thin and light.
“What is that?” she asked and he stiffened. He bit his lip, his healing scratches stretched and pink.
“A gift,” he answered. “Take it.”
“Take it?” she asked. Then she scowled, realizing that if this was a romantic gesture, he did not even know to put it on her himself. Fia held up a hand in refusal; she did not want his chain, besides. His collar. “Gold does not suit me.”
“Oh, so is that why you threw out your mask?” he asked, teasing. “A gardener found it in the fountain last night. Brought it straight to me with comedic urgency. You would not know this, living in that rat’s nest where I found you, but my father had been sick for quite some time before he died. He wore a mask just like yours to hide the progression of his disease. Anyway, the servant thought it was his. That the gods were giving us a sign that he was still alive… a poor man’s hope. Ah, but it was clear you did not care for the mask, so I had it melted down as I did my father’s. I’ll admit, though, when I found the necklace, I regretted it. They would have complemented each other so well. No matter. Go on. I want to see you wear it.”
He tilted his head, pushing his hand toward her, a warning. She relented and took the necklace from him. Their fingers brushed and she looked at him, surprised. It was not gilded, it was gold. Solid gold. Fine, with a weight to it, like holding a garden snake. It would have belonged to royalty. “You said you found this?” she asked.
Aegon averted his gaze, moving across the path to inspect a bushel of roses. He took the head of a rose in his hand, its outward-curling petals tickling his palm. The sensation startled him and he dropped it, carelessly, then looked back at her. “Did you say something?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Evidently not.”
Aegon’s lips briefly pouted in a curious hmm, but then he smiled. “Do you need help putting it on?”
“No,” she said hurriedly. Her hands raced to pull the lace apart, drawing the ends back behind her neck, around her throat, and clipping them there. She let it fall and found that the piece was short, choking. But still, she smiled in return. “I have done this before, you know.”
“Ah, yes. I’m sure,” he said, returning to her. He looked her over with that familiar wolfish stare, a hand rubbing his own throat. “It’s perfect. You look perfect.”
Black hairs stood up on Fia’s arms as he drew nearer. She leaned back, finding herself pressing into a thick, leafy bush from which a butterfly emerged, fluttering its dusty wings, flying between them prettily, angrily. Fia followed it with her eyes as it looped between them, much like the bird in Ser Otto’s chambers. A good omen, he had said. For whom?
It reminded her of herself—her jar, her wings, fluttering desperately the day her mother died, ripped off hours later by the man in front of her. But this butterfly was free and Fia was back in her jar. Not for long. A good omen, Fia thought. For her.
“That reminds me,” Aegon muttered, watching it flutter off, “I wanted to show you something.”
“I thought this was the surprise,” Fia admitted, pressing her fingers to the lace.
Aegon grinned. “No, no. A slight detour. But this was good. If you like that little winged thing, you’re going to love this.”
And off they went, Ser Arryk trailing from where he had waited at the garden entrance. This time Aegon led her into the main courtyard where a horse-drawn wheelhouse waited for them. He stepped aside, allowing her to climb in first before following. They sat across one another, silent, patient, riding the bumps and divets of the road. The interior was cold, black and chased with grey. Though its lattice windows let streams of sun shine through, warming them. Fia hugged a black cushion, running her fingers along its sewn edges.
Aegon sat, idly watching her. He twirled the dagger she’d seen that first night, the tip embedded in a gloved finger. His father’s. He smiled at her. Fia wished for her cloak, a shield from his stare. But she did not have it, and so she smiled back, keeping a careful eye on his sharpened blade.
However, they arrived at their destination without incident. The horses trotted to a stop and the door opened, Ser Arryk standing off to the side of it. Aegon remained seated, gesturing toward the door, allowing her to exit first. Which she did. She stepped out of the wheelhouse and onto a ground of packed sand and dirt. The back door to the Dragonpit greeted her, its columns tall and guarded by Valyrian dragon keepers. She sighed, having already guessed his surprise. His cocky, “Mine’s bigger,” in the garden gave it away.
Aegon followed her, grabbing her shoulders as he hopped down from the wheelhouse. Fia shivered.
“I do not think you are ready for this,” he whispered, smirking into her ear.
“I could handle you, couldn’t I?” she said, a tingling sensation shooting through her arms at his touch. Aegon squinted at her, uncertain if she was joking or not, flirting or not. She would not give him time to decide. Fia stepped out of his hold, heading into the pit, truthfully doing neither and scared out of her mind. “Let’s see this beast of yours.”
*******
Petrichor was the first smell to perforate Fia’s senses as she descended into the pit; then choking smoke; then charred fur and burning flesh. Her stomach turned at the smell of it and she held a hand over her nose. Beside her, Aegon picked at his fingers, peering around the dragonkeeper who led them, torch in hand. The sand kicked up beneath their feet. Wind howled and hummed as it blew past them. A low growl joined the breeze. A rumble that shook the earth. A dragon.
“Actually, I’m sure you’ve seen Sunfyre before. There’s really no need for us to keep going if you don’t want to,” Aegon suddenly said, flustered, sliding to a stop. The dragonkeeper turned over his shoulder, looking back at them. He awaited the king’s command.
“Are you nervous, Your Grace?” Fia asked.
“Of course not. It’s just pointless. Where’s the fun if you’re not surprised?” he explained, but his fingertips were pinched and peeling.
Fia hummed, narrowing her eyes. She reached past him, asking with her hand for the torch held by the dragonkeeper. The man gave it to her. “You may go,” she ordered, her voice sounding forced. It was the first time she had made any sort of command herself. He looked to Aegon, asking his permission, and Aegon furrowed his brows. “Why are you still here? Leave us,” he said. The man obeyed.
As the dragonkeeper disappeared into the darkness, headed back toward the light, Fia moved the torch between herself and Aegon. He shied away from its scrutiny. “What is it?” she asked. She needed to determine what kind of danger she was heading into. If his fear was warranted, or should be shared.
He sighed deeply. “Honestly…” he began, shifting on his feet, “Honestly, flying over the city after my coronation was the first time I’d mounted him in years, and he was reluctant to take me, to say the least. Ever since… ever since Laenor’s funeral, he’d been here. In chains. Waiting for me. But I, uh, I had not had the chance to visit.”
“For nearly ten years?” she doubted with a raised brow.
“I think so… It’s not like I had a choice, you know. I cannot name a single member of my family that thought I was deserving of him. I’ve always been the disappointment of the bunch. Ask and they’ll tell you I was doing them all a favor by keeping him here.”
“Please, I cannot believe that. I’m assuming you’ve yet to see him since your coronation then as well?”
He cast his gaze aside.
“And yet you blame your family… I am certain they would have much rather seen you take care of him than drink yourself dry amongst lickspittles in a rat’s nest,” she argued. He glowered at her and she sighed, attempting to avoid a crisis. “As I am certain that Sunfyre will forgive you. You are bonded as dragon and rider. He will not forsake you. He cannot.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know so,” she answered, disgusted with herself.
They continued on, Fia in the lead, brandishing the torch in front of her. Aegon walked beside her, his hands kept at his sides, chin held slightly higher. The winds continued to blow, the growls growing louder, but soon, to both their surprise, voices also joined the mix. Calm and playful. As they came around a bend, the light of several torches blinded them, hanging high on the walls of a vast chamber. In the middle rested two great beasts. Blue and gold.
“Husband,” Helaena acknowledged him, sitting in the sands beside Dreamfyre, her arm resting on the front leg of her blue dragon. She fluffed out her sea blue gown, pouting. “Have you come to join us?”
Fia jumped as a child darted between her and Aegon, chased by another. Silver streaks caught and flickered in the torchlight, circling and looping and playing. They were Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the royal twins. Meeting Helaena’s gaze of wonder, Fia remembered that Sunfyre was not the only one Aegon had abandoned. Fia held her tongue, wishing to remove herself from the oncoming situation. But Aegon shrugged, shaking his head.
“Nope,” he said. Helaena nodded then returned to her peace, sifting through the sand. It appeared his sister did not mind being left alone.
The growl they had heard in the tunnel drew near with the golden maw of Sunfyre. His nostrils flared and his neck bent, bowing as he approached his rider, crossing in front of Helaena and Dreamfyre. Fia heard Aegon’s breath hitch and his boots scuff as he retreated a step. But Fia took him by the shoulder, squeezing him gently, reassuring him. She did not want to be burned either. Let them hope the tales were true.
“My boy,” he said warily, lifting a trembling hand. Fia sucked in a breath, squeezing his shoulder further, as Sunfyre scooped his neck, a deep rumble growing in the back of his throat. But he did not open his maw or bite or growl, and instead met Aegon’s hand in the middle, rubbing his scales against it. Both Fia and Aegon let out exasperated sighs. “I’m back,” Aegon said, stepping out of her hold and scratching his ride with what Fia might even mistake for love. “I’ve come back.”
Young Jaehaerys ducked beneath the beast’s neck and Sunfyre drew back, playfully snapping at the child. Jaehaera joined in, her dress covered in sand and dirt, dodging the toothless attacks. The children screamed and giggled, and a pair of handmaidens tried their best to call them away from the beast, not daring to go near it themselves. It made Fia a bit sick, watching the children play. Though she would feel guilty to admit it. They were what she could never have. What she had lost. She hugged her bruised ribs, her eyes downcast. Fia did not even notice Aegon retreating to the wall. And when she did, she did not follow him.
“Lady Fia,” Helaena called and Fia went to her.
“Yes, Your Grace?” she asked. Helaena did not meet her eyes, and instead watched her own pointed finger as it traced strange lines in the sand. Dreamfyre slept peacefully over her shoulder, her scaly head draped over a flat foot. Her long chest rumbled with every quiet breath she took.
“My husband never wanted our children,” Helaena stated, her voice calm and reserved. “But he did want them. Children.”
Fia frowned at Helaena’s contrarian words. His mother must not have known this, or chose to ignore it for duty’s sake. Married to his sister, her to her brother, when they were only children. Expected to produce children themselves. Heirs to the throne they would steal from their half-sister. Aegon had not known love, nor had he known children bore out of love. He never would. Fia glanced at him where he leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, surveying the space with heavy, tired eyes. She could understand him. She had known that since the first day they met and had since tried to deny it by naming him a monster. All because she could not forgive him for what he’d done to escape his pain. And she still could not forgive him. Not when his bruises still painted her skin, not when she could still feel him inside her, unwanted and unrestrained. She did not think that feeling would ever go away.
“They are red spiders,” Helaena murmured, and Fia looked back down. She did not see any spiders. “You know them, but you didn’t know,” she continued quietly. Was she talking to herself? Fia leaned in, but Helaena turned to stare at her, lilac eyes piercing through her. “It is not your fault.”
“What?” Fia gasped out.
“Are you ready to head back, Your Grace?” One of the handmaidens asked, approaching them with Prince Jaehaerys on her arm. The boy wriggled and cried, desperate to be let down. “It is almost time for prayers and breakfast after that. The Queen Dowager will be waiting.”
“Hm?” Helaena asked, blinking. “Yes, that is fine.”
“My lady,” the queen said as she rose from her resting place. She bowed her head at Fia who mirrored her with an added curtsy. “Your Grace,” the latter said, still shaken by Her Grace’s words.
Helaena and her handmaidens began to leave with the children in tow, packing up snacks and wooden toy blocks that were strewn about the sand. Dreamfyre stirred but did not wake and Sunfyre settled down, chains rattling as he joined her in slumber. Wind blew in from deeper inside the cavern, howling, and Fia shivered as she waited for Aegon to join her. When he did, he looked guilty.
“I forgot how cold it was down here,” he said, looking her over. “I should have let you bring your cloak.”
“But then I would have cooked in the carriage,” Fia replied with a small smile. He hummed, his eyes sad. “Are you ready to head back?” she asked.
“I actually think I’m going to stay awhile,” he admitted. Pale fingers unclasped the golden chain that held together his black cape and he shrugged it off, proffering it to her. Fia shook her head, trying to refuse, but he insisted. She took it. The heavy fabric caused her arm to sag and she grunted as she hefted it over her shoulders. He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “You go ahead if you like. Ride back with Helaena and the children.”
“I will,” Fia said, comforted by the warmth of his words, the weight of his cape. It smelled like him, like his new smell, not the sweet Arbor red she had since suffered. She took a step closer to him, curious. He sucked in a breath. Was he sober?
“Ser Arryk is waiting at the entrance,” he said, folding his arms as his own shiver came on. They stood in silence a moment, the servants running around them, the children wailing in their grasp, and Fia wondered if he was going to say more. Then one of his shaking hands untucked itself and reached out to touch her golden necklace, lifting it from her cold skin. “Tell Ser Arryk that if you happen to run into Prince Aemond or Ser Criston on your way back, he is to tell them that it’s off. Our plans. Tell him to let them know that I do not feel up to them anymore.”
“Very well,” Fia said, bracing for a yank or a kiss or a hand around her throat. But he did none of those things. Not one. She relaxed as he replaced the chain upon her skin and stepped back.
“Do not lose that,” he told her, a gentle warning.
“I won’t, Aegon,” she promised.