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Dragonsbane's Second Chance

Summary:

Aegon III dies, being remembered by his sober rule and his reign remembered as gloomy.

Or

He gets a second chance at life to go back and stop the events that he had experienced in his first life.

Notes:

Chapter 1: Prologue

Summary:

Aegon III was dying of consumption. He died surrounded by his family. But in the afterlife, he was granted an opportunity to go back to the past and fix everything he regrets.

Chapter Text

 

King's Landing

Red Keep

157 AC

 

The room brimmed with the sharp scent of medicines, shadows dancing in the flickering candlelight as King Aegon III lay in bed, his breaths ragged and punctuated by coughs that splattered crimson onto his linen sheets. At a mere whisper of his years, the king felt the hands of time tightening their grip on him, each moment shared with the bitter taste of mortality. Beside him, Queen Daenaera Valeryon clasped his hand, her fingers trembling, her eyes pools of desperation as she implored him to fight the inevitable.

In the corner, their son Daeron stood rigid, his expression masked in stoic resolve, while Baelor murmured soft prayers, each syllable dripping with hope. Daena stood with her sisters Elaena and Rhaena, her silent support broken only when Rhaena's voice, quivering like a fragile leaf, broke through the gloom. 

"Don't leave us, Father," Rhaena pleaded, her voice a fragile whisper filled with a mix of fear and love. 

Within him, Aegon yearned to soothe his daughter’s fears, to wrap her in the warmth of his words, but the strength he had relied on his entire life was ebbing away like the last rays of a setting sun. He mustered all his dying will, his voice rough as gravel, "It's alright, Rhaena. Be strong for your mother and your siblings. They will need you."

As acceptance washed over him like a tide, Aegon reflected on the tapestry of his existence, woven with strands of triumphs and woven more tightly with the sorrows of loss. Just then, the door creaked open, and in strode Prince Viserys, the younger brother who had always been his anchor in tumultuous seas, accompanied by his children: Prince Aegon, Prince Aemon, and Princess Naerys, who cradled her little one, Daeron, like a fragile vase. 

"Brother..." Viserys said. "The Realm will mourn you. But we are certain to mourn you." 

Aegon smiled weakly. "I know, brother. I trust that you'll guide Daeron after I am gone. You have been loyal to me, to the family, and to the Realm." 

Viserys' eyes glistened with tears, and he nodded. "You have my word." 

The King turned his gaze to his wife, his voice barely audible. “Daenaera… forgive the ghost you married. I should have given you joy.”

She choked on a sob. “You gave me a kingdom, Aegon. I only ever wanted your heart.”

Then, his head tilted.

The world fell away in an instant.

She stood there. Pale as moonlight, garbed in the sheer shimmer of memory. Long white hair flowed like snow in the breeze, her violet eyes endless pools of sorrow. Jaehaera Targaryen. His cousin. His first queen. The girl who had leapt from Maegor’s Holdfast’s tower so long ago, her mind shattered by pain no soul could heal.

And now, she watched him.

Aegon gasped. “Jaehaera?”

Daenaera’s eyes went wide. “Who is he speaking to?”

He pushed himself upright, though every bone in him screamed. “Don’t you see her?” His voice grew urgent. “She stands right there. She’s watching.”

Everyone froze.

The children shifted, glancing at one another, unnerved.

“There is no one there, Father,” Daeron said gently, concern clouding his brow.

Viserys stiffened, blinking hard. “Brother—what did you say?”

“She’s standing there… don’t you see her?” Aegon lifted a trembling hand. His eyes, long clouded by sickness and sorrow, shone clear for a heartbeat. “She’s watching me.”

Prince Aegon scoffed under his breath, whispering to Aemon, “He’s mad. The sickness has touched his mind.”

Aemon said nothing. But his jaw clenched.

Little Daeron whimpered, burying his face into Naerys’ gown. “Make him stop… he’s scaring me…”

“She is right there!” Aegon shouted, his voice breaking. “Jaehaera! You came back!”

But she did not speak. The ghost only watched, her expression soft, distant, as if waiting for something.

Aegon reached toward her and fell back.

His chest heaved. The pain ripped through him like claws. Blood bubbled on his lips. Darkness rose.

And then… nothing.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aegon opened his eyes.

But he did not see the Seven Heavens—or the black beyond. He saw a dim room filled with strange, curling shadows and smelled the rich scent of myrrh and blood.

A woman sat before him.

She was old, ancient even, her eyes milky with time, her hair white as bone. She wore a robe of tattered red and silver, and around her neck hung a curious pendant shaped like a dragon devouring its tail.

“You died,” the witch said softly. “And yet here you are.”

Aegon sat up, gasping, heart hammering. “Where am I?”

“Between moments,” she replied. “Where truths are shown. Where the paths of dragons cross.”

“Why did you call me back?”

“Because your story is not over. You have been given a choice. A gift, if you would call it so. A return.”

Aegon blinked. “To what?”

“To a time before all was lost. Before the line twisted and fell into madness. You may go back—to her.”

“Jaehaera,” he breathed.

“Yes. You never loved Daenaera… not like you did her. And still, your line—your children—lived and died for the peace you carved from ashes. But House Targaryen withers regardless. Viserys’ line lived on, and eventually… crumbled.”

The air around them shimmered. She waved her hand and the air became a window:

Aegon saw Daeron’s early death… Baelor’s obsession with the Faith… the crown passed to Viserys’ Aegon… then madness, fire, more children cloistered, more dragons gone.

“And then… the end. Aerys. Rhaegar. Robert’s Rebellion. Ashes.”

Aegon stared in horror. “No…”

“You were the last true peace. But now… a new thread may be spun. Choose again.”

She handed him a glass hourglass filled with red sand.

“Use it wisely. You have one chance to stop time. One.”

He stared at the hourglass. “Why give me this?”

“To make better choices. Or worse. That is up to you.”

The world exploded in light.

Chapter 2: Back Through Fire and Blood

Summary:

Aegon III finds himself traveling back in time to 131 AC. His first thought was of his wife.

Chapter Text


King's Landing

Red Keep

131 AC

 

"Your Grace,"

Aegon slowly opened his eyes, the soft morning light spilling through unfamiliar curtains. He sat up, confusion swirling in his mind as he took in his surroundings—not the chambers he had inhabited for most of his life, even after Jaehaera's passing and his subsequent marriage to Daenaera. 

Fumbling his way out of bed, Aegon neglected the bowed heads of the servants bustling quietly around him. He trudged to the mirror, the cool floor sending a shiver up his spine. 

His reflection froze him in place. A small boy stared back—no older than eleven—but inside, he bore the weight of thirty-seven years. A surge of disbelief washed over him; he wondered if he was trapped in some absurd dream.  

Just then, Gaemon Palehair, his loyal cupbearer and confidant, appeared at his side. "The regency council is about to begin in a moment," he informed, concern creasing his brow.  Aegon blinked, the reality of his new form settling in like an unwelcome cloak. 

Aegon’s brow furrowed as he glanced at Gaemon, his voice barely above a whisper. "What year is it?"  

Gaemon looked taken aback, tracing the crease of confusion on his forehead. "It's 131. You've been wed to Queen Jaehaera for two days, Your Grace."  

Aegon’s mind wandered to Jaehaera, his first wife. A nagging weight settled in his chest; the memories of their unshared love and the heavy shadows of their past traumas loomed over him like a persistent fog. A sudden compulsion gripped him—he needed to see her.  

With urgency heightened by a sense of restlessness, he summoned his servants, their footsteps pattering hurriedly around him. He hardly noticed the handlers as they pulled garments from the wardrobe, his eyes glazing over as they dressed him.  

Soon, he caught a glimpse of himself: a sleek black tunic and breeches hugged his form, a red and black cloak cascading behind him, emblazoned with the fierce symbol of a dragon.  

Without thinking, the question slipped from his lips. "I must see my lady wife. Have you seen her?"  

Gaemon blinked, shocked by the sudden shift in his King’s demeanor, but Aegon was already lost in his urgency, his heart racing as he hoped to catch a glimpse of her soon. 

"She is at the Queen's Gardens, enjoying a quiet supper," the faint sound of laughter drifting through the air. Just as Gaemon began to convey this, the King burst past him, a whirlwind of urgency, leaving the words hanging in the air. His gold band crown tilted slightly, catching the light as he dashed by guards and servants, their faces morphing into mirrors of confusion, eyes wide with disbelief.

Please, don't die, Jaehaera, Aegon silently pleaded, his heart racing in sync with his hurried steps, the fear of loss clawing at his insides. He didn't even notice the hourglass swinging wildly against his chest, each grain of sand ticking away as he raced through the chaos.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Queen Jaehaera sat at the table, her fingers idly stirring the porridge and honey-baked bread untouched before her. The morning air was thick with the scent of breakfast, yet her appetite was absent, overshadowed by the memory of courtiers’ insincere smiles. Her mind drifted to the plan of visiting her grandmother, who was confined to a fortress within the Red Keep.

In the Queen’s gardens, King Aegon appeared, his breath coming in ragged gasps, a testament to his hurried journey. His eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of her, alive and breathing. He had known of her tragic end, leaping from Maegor’s Holdfast, her fate echoing that of her mother, Queen Helaena. Yet, doubt gnawed at him; he couldn’t fathom that she had chosen such a demise. Though he had not cherished her in his previous life, he was not so foolish as to believe in her murder.

“Jaehaera…” Aegon’s voice was a gentle whisper, carrying a weight of unspoken emotions.

Startled, Jaehaera turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise. She was unaware that the man before her was not her Aegon, but rather her husband in the body of a child.

“Your Grace,” she rose swiftly, her hand instinctively reaching for her skirt to curtsy. But Aegon raised a hand, halting her gesture. “What brings you here?”

He regarded her with a gaze that was both searching and inscrutable. “I came to see if you are alright. It’s been two days since we wed. I want to make sure that my wife is well.” 

Jaehaera adjusted the hem of her dress repeatedly, her brow slightly furrowed. "I'm getting used to married life. I'll get used to it, I suppose. Septa Agathe told me that," she said, glancing sideways at Aegon with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "Why are you acting like a concerned husband?"  

Aegon hesitated, his mind racing. He could feel the weight of his true identity pressing down on him, the burden of being Aegon from the future—here to fix the tangled threads of fate. 

Casting his gaze downward, he took a breath, his heart pounding under the facade he wore. "I may seem cold toward you," he murmured, voice low, "but it doesn't mean I don't care. I care. Just make sure you choose your friends wisely. The Red Keep is full of serpents."  

His eyes met hers, searching for understanding, the tension between them crackling in the air. 

Aegon pulled her into a warm embrace, his grip firm as he inhaled the soothing scent of lavender that lingered in her hair. "I'll be back. Now eat and go to the lesson after that," he whispered, kissing her gently on the forehead before stepping away. Confusion clouded Jaehaera's mind, leaving her uncertain about his true intentions. 

He thinks to himself, She'll think it's all an act. 

Aegon strode into the Small Council Chamber, the air thick with discussions that had begun without him.

"I apologize for my tardiness. I was ensuring my lady wife is alright," Aegon announced, taking his seat at the head of the table. "Continue." 

The regents exchanged puzzled glances, their surprise evident. 

"It's alright, Your Grace. The meeting was about to start anyway," Jeyne Arryn replied, her tone unexpectedly gentle. 

They resumed discussions about allocating funds for rebuilding homes damaged in the aftermath of the Dance. Aegon listened intently, feeling like a mere observer rather than a ruler. His regents, a mix of genuine caretakers and self-serving opportunists, often treated him as a pawn in their ambitions. 

His gaze flickered to an hourglass hanging subtly from his neck, an elusive yet intriguing sight. 

An hourglass? 

He couldn’t recall when the Witch had given it to him, but it sparked a thought about its potential role in time travel; she had mentioned something about using it during a full moon to reverse time, strictly in emergencies. 

"The Smallfolk need food and water. Riots have erupted,” Corlys Velaryon reported gravely. “The Gold Cloaks face attacks; they blame the war for..." his voice faltered, "their suffering." 

"My Lords, may I propose something?” Aegon interrupted, drawing their attention. He fiddled with the council ball, his thoughts forming. "What if we distribute food and water to the Smallfolk publicly? It could help win their loyalty, showing them I care,” he paused, reflecting on his past indifference towards their struggles. “My Queen and I could appear together to demonstrate our unity.” 

The regents exchanged anxious glances, their voices a hesitant murmur caught between agreement and dissent.

"She’s just a child of eight, not even aware of what it means to be a Queen," Torrhen Manderly murmured, his brow furrowed with concern. "What if the Smallfolk lash out at her? The daughter of the Usurper king parading before them in public?" The weight of his words hung in the air, thick with worry.

"Ser Willis Fell will be there to protect her," the King asserted firmly, his voice cutting through the uncertainty. "If anything goes awry, we’ll whisk her away to safety. And I want my Kingsguard stationed outside her chambers around the clock. Her rooms should be right next to mine, a constant watch at all times." 

Tyland Lannister, despite his blindness, listened intently, his cleverness undiminished. A sly smile creased his lips as he nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. We'll take care of it." 

Aegon’s tone shifted, authority radiating from him. "Let’s make sure the Smallfolk are prepared for her arrival."

Chapter 3: A Place She Once Knew

Summary:

Jaehaera was with her grandmother after her lessons ended. They talk about married life. She helps her grandmother find her sanity back. She learns that her chambers had been moved. She learns why.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

King's Landing

Red Keep

131 AC

 

Jaehaera lingered in her grandmother's dimly lit apartments within Maegor's Holdfast, the air thick with an unspoken sorrow since Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower had turned away from reconciliation. The once vibrant space now felt like a tomb, burdened by the weight of lost happiness. Strains of anguish seeped through the cracked walls, echoing Alicent's madness as she paced restlessly, her eyes reflecting the depth of a mother's grief. 

Each corner of the room whispered tales of heartbreak: Aegon's laughter silenced by poison, Helaena's desperate plunge from the heights of Maegor's Holdfast, the clash of swords that had claimed Aemond's life at God's Eye, and Daeron's fallen spirit in the chaotic second battle of Tumbleton.

Jaehaera, surrounded by the ghosts of her family, felt the gnawing loneliness of being the last remaining thread in the frayed tapestry of her lineage.

Jaehaera leaned closer to her grandmother, the warmth of her breath close enough to brush against the old woman's cheek. "Grandmother," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Alicent remained still, her eyes glazed over as her lips formed silent, incoherent words that danced just out of the girl’s understanding. Jaehaera’s heart raced; she needed to reach her. Raising her voice ever so slightly, she gently shook her grandmother’s shoulder. "Grandmother?"

Alicent ceased her muttering, fixing her gaze on Jaehaera. "My child, sit," she commanded, her voice steady, a subtle warmth underlining the authority. Jaehaera complied, easing herself onto the seat beside the Queen Dowager, the air thick with unspoken words. "I need to talk to you about Aegon..." she whispered, her voice barely above a breath as she shifted nervously.

A chill ran through her as she watched the Queen Dowager's steady gaze settle on her, brow raised in question.

"Did he hit you or ignore you?" Alicent's tone was protective, her eyes narrowing with concern. "If he did..."

Jaehaera rushed to respond, shaking her head vehemently. "No, no, he didn't hit me. He was just being..." She hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought as memories of Aegon's unusual kindness flickered in her mind. "Attentive. He isn't like this normally. Usually, he doesn't even look at me, as if I don't exist at all."

"All men are the same," Alicent said, bitterness lacing her voice. "They seem caring, but the moment you're not in sight, they forget you exist. Rheanyra's child is truly the worst—a king unworthy of his crown, a husband unworthy of love." 

Her resentment was palpable, a festering wound that the knowledge of Rheanyra's lineage sitting on the Iron Throne had carved in her heart. She had closed herself off, stubbornness paving the way to her isolation and madness.

"You really believe all men are terrible husbands?" Jaehaera asked, disbelief clouding her soft voice. Her eyes searched Alicent's face for some sign of reassurance. "Do you think Aegon is just pretending?"

Alicent's gaze fell to the cracked stone wall, shadows dancing across her features. "They all wear masks, my dear. You must learn to navigate Aegon’s world. Survive through his games, as he has planned them.  You can endure, Jaehaera. You’re stronger than you think."

As she stepped out of her grandmother's chambers, silence weighed heavy in the air, nearly echoing the old woman's warnings. Her mind echoed with memories of the grandmother's sage advice, a warning against the treachery of men.

All men are the worst husbands, the girl thought bitterly, a faint smirk curling her lips at the irony. They dance and play, she mused, treating love like a mere game, mercilessly toying with heartstrings.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

As her footsteps made their way to her chambers, she was greeted by servants, moving her belongings from her chambers. A rush of confusion washed over her. 

"Why my belongings are being moved out of here?" she asked the servant. 

"the king had ordered that your chambers be moved closer to his chambers. His guards could guard yours. Day and night," the servant replied, casually. "He claims it is for your protection."

"I see..." she said, dismissing the servant with a wave of her hand. 

Before she could think about this, the servant said once again, "The King wants you to go to Flea Bottom with him for food distribution for Smallfolk." 

Jaehaera merely nodded as she walked past the servant. She had let them move her stuff to her new chambers. She had no idea why Aegon was being this way. She remembered how neglectful he was being with her on their wedding day and now he is being caring all of a sudden.

No, something is off.

This is not Aegon she knows.

When the time is right, she would confront him and question him of his actions.

Notes:

I need help here. I need ideas on what Aegon should do with the hourglass?

The thing is that I'm thinking about what Aegon should do with the hourglass and when he could use it. I've run out of ideas.

Ideas would be appreciated.

Chapter 4: The Sands of Duty

Summary:

Aegon finally inspects the hourglass he had been given and realizes why he was given it. He prepares for the public distribution of grains for smallfolk. Aegon and Jaehaera have sort of funny moment.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

King's Landing

Red Keep

131 AC

 

The bells tolled softly from the distant sept, their echoes floating through the air like whispers of the past. Yet, Aegon remained unfazed, his focus anchored in the flickering warmth of the hearth as he cradled a remarkable hourglass in his hands. It wasn’t just any timekeeper; this was a treasure crafted from gleaming bronze oak, its surface polished to a soft sheen that caught the flickering firelight like captured stars. 

As he turned the hourglass gently, the sand within shimmered—a cascade of grains sparkling like tiny diamonds, each drop a moment in time, slipping through the narrow neck with an almost ethereal grace. The way the sand flowed felt alive, reminiscent of a lush river, its gentle movement mesmerizing, as if it held secrets of ancient magics waiting to be revealed. 

Aegon had ordered a silver chain to be made so that he could wear the hourglass at all times. He still hadn't told her the truth about why he was doing all of this. It was to protect her.

Sure, he may not have loved her. But he, at least, grew to care for her. 

Aegon stared at the hourglass for a bit longer. 

Aegon's heart raced as the realization struck him like a dagger: the witch had foretold the moment of Jaehaera's death. The hourglass sat ominously on the table, grains of sand slipping away, each one symbolizing the time he had left to act. Two years into their marriage, her life would flicker out like a candle in the wind. 

He forced a steady breath, knowing he could not yet reveal his true intent. The mask of the dutiful husband anchored him as he heard the distant clop of hooves. 

"Your Grace, the carriage awaits. The Queen is already inside," a servant announced, his voice trembling slightly as he maintained eye contact with the floor. 

Aegon nodded, a rehearsed smile curving his lips, though the weight of destiny bore down on his shoulders. He took a moment to compose himself, ready to play his part in a tale far larger than he could have ever imagined. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The distant peal of the sept's bells mingled with the soft rumble of the carriage as it glided toward the bustling public square.

She wore a gown of pale blue so soft it nearly faded into white, the silk of it embroidered with tiny silver dragonflies that shimmered as the sunlight touched them. Her hair, the color of new-fallen snow, was pulled back into an intricate braid crowned with delicate pearl combs, she looked like a figure carved from ice and moonlight.

And she was staring pointedly out the opposite window.

Aegon, older in mind but young in bone, sat paralyzed. What words did you say to a girl who would someday leap to her death from Maegor’s Holdfast? What could he say to a ghost now made flesh?

He kept sneaking glances at her, drinking in every detail, every flicker of her eye, as if she might vanish the moment he blinked.

“Stop looking at me,” Jaehaera said sharply, without turning her head.

Aegon jumped like he’d been struck.

“S-s-sorry,” he stammered, blinking rapidly. “I didn’t—uh—I wasn’t—”

“You were,” she said coolly, folding her gloved hands over her lap.

Aegon opened his mouth, then closed it. Seven Hells. He’d once outwitted lords, dragons, and death itself, and now he was being verbally slaughtered by an eight-year-old girl.

“I—I just didn’t expect you to look so… uh…” he trailed off.

“So what?”

He cleared his throat. “Alive.”

Jaehaera turned slowly toward him, one pale eyebrow arched so sharply it could cut parchment. “Are you always this strange?”

Aegon managed a sheepish smile. “Only on days ending in ‘y.’”

She blinked. And then, unexpectedly, her mouth twitched. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Neither does my life,” Aegon muttered under his breath. Then, louder: “I meant to say, I’m just… nervous. New husband jitters.”

Jaehaera rolled her eyes. “You’re a prince of the blood. I expected you to be less… twitchy.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting my bride to look like she’s about to put me on trial.”

“I might,” she replied, her voice smooth as chilled milk. “You need to learn some manners. I should have my septa teach you.”

Aegon looked at her, aghast. “Gods, no. Please no. I’ve already lived—uh—I mean—seven kinds of torture, but nothing compares to a septa with a ruler and a lecture on posture.”

She gave him another look—half suspicion, half amusement. “You talk oddly.”

“Brain fever,” he offered with a crooked smile. “Fever took hold of me as a babe. Warped my wit. That’s what the maesters say.”

She eyed him for a long moment. “I think they lied.”

Silence fell again, though the air inside the carriage had changed. Not warm, not exactly—but no longer frozen in frostbitten silence. Aegon dared to lean back slightly, resting his head against the carriage wall. The movement jostled the crown-band on his head, and it slipped crookedly to one side.

Jaehaera snorted. Actually snorted.

“You look ridiculous,” she said.

He reached up, fumbling to adjust the circlet. “Well, it’s heavy. Kings aren’t supposed to have child-sized skulls, apparently.”

“Clearly.”

Aegon looked at her again. She wasn’t smiling, not quite—but there was a softness at the corners of her mouth now.

In that moment, it struck him with quiet force: She has no idea. No clue who I am. That I’ve lived longer, wept longer, that I buried her once already. To her, he was just a nervous boy—a stranger in gold and silk, fumbling his way through courtship.

And yet… there she was. Living. Breathing. Her hands real and warm. Her voice no longer a memory.

He could hardly speak for the lump forming in his throat.

“What?” she asked, catching him looking again.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I’m glad you’re here.”

She shifted, uncertain, clearly unused to such sentiment.

“So am I,” she said eventually. But she did not look at him as she said it.

The carriage wheels turned on, rattling over cobblestone streets toward the public square. Outside, the bells rang their slow, somber music—but inside the carriage, a thread of something tentative had begun to form. Fragile. Uneven. A single ember beneath the veil of all that had burned before.

But for the first time in what felt like decades, it wasn’t the gods or smallfolk he wanted to see. It was her.

Notes:

And I am back for this story. I hope you like this chapter.

Aegon is still reeling the fact that he had time traveled and he might tell Jaehaera the truth. He is debating whether to tell her the truth or not.

Next chapter would be of giving smallfolk food and water it needs. It’ll go differently.

Chapter 5: The People’s Scorn

Summary:

The dragon king and his queen finally get the public square with a cart of grain for the smallfolk. But it went somewhat disastrously wrong for them. But someone changes their mind.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text


King's Landing

Flea Bottom

131 AC

 

The carriage had come to a stop when they arrived in the public square near the flea bottom. Aegon felt a sense of dread coming to Flea Bottom. But Jaehaera felt ready to face the drama. The King knew that the smallfolk wouldn't be happy to see them. Because they had been dragged through the Dance of the Dragons. 

Jaehaera and Aegon had both exited the carriage with grace. Aegon knew he had to make this right. During his first life, Aegon didn't care about smallfolk. But learning from his mistakes from his first life, he had learnt them the harshest way. The smallfolk were gathered near the public square. Behind it, there was a cart of grain. 

The smell of rot clung to the air like a curse. Even as the gold cloaks pushed the crowds back to clear a space, the stench of old piss, dung, and salt fish hung heavy in the streets of Flea Bottom. It was here, among the crumbling brick, the dripping gutters, and the desperate eyes of King’s Landing’s poorest, that the King and Queen chose to appear.

The king showing his face to the smallfolk during lean times, bringing bread and hope, if only for a moment. That memory remained with Aegon, even now, even though no such visit had happened in his first life. Now, Aegon Targaryen had returned to eleven-year-old flesh with the mind of a thirty-seven-year-old monarch who had buried too many dreams. He would not let this chance vanish.

A cart was drawn into the Grain Square by four strong oxen, groaning under the weight of sacks of barley and flour, hauled from the storehouses under Aegon’s command. The King himself had ordered it opened. Grain was to be distributed freely — a gesture of goodwill, a symbol of peace, the young king’s promise to rebuild trust after a war of dragons had burned the realm hollow.

But gestures meant nothing when bellies were empty.

The smallfolk crowded in tightly. Old men with no teeth, mothers with dirt-smeared children at their breasts, whores with cracked lips and tattered silks, beggars leaning on crutches, a hedge knight missing an eye. Their eyes were all fixed on the royal pair.

Aegon stood at the edge of the cart, his gold band crown glittering atop pale hair, violet eyes searching the crowd. Beside him stood Queen Jaehaera, clad in deep violet and ivory, her hair in intricate braids. Aegon raised a hand. Silence rippled through the square — not out of reverence, but curiosity.

“My people,” Aegon began, his voice loud and clear, honed by memory and regal bearing despite the small body he wore, “I come not just as your king, but as one who knows grief.”

There was no cheer. No applause.

“I know hunger,” he continued. “I know what it is to lose. We are rebuilding from ruin. The war has ended, but its shadows linger. Let this grain remind you — the Crown sees you. You are not forgotten.”

A voice spat from the back. “We can’t eat promises!”

Murmurs rose. Another shouted, “You Targaryens flew dragons and burned our homes!”

“They kill each other, and we starve,” an old woman cried, shaking a bony fist.

The mood soured swiftly. A rotten onion sailed through the air and burst wetly against the side of the grain cart. Aegon flinched. The gold cloaks bristled, some drawing clubs, but Aegon raised a hand to still them.

The jeers mounted. “Where was your father when Vhagar burned the riverfront?” “Where was the Queen when our children choked on ash?” “Targaryens, always playing with fire!”

Aegon’s chest tightened. He had planned this moment — a symbol of healing, of peace. Instead, he was staring into a crowd of ghosts.

But then — a movement.

Jaehaera, silent until now, stepped forward.

The jeers faltered. Something about her — her fragility, her eerily calm face, her unnatural quiet — silenced even the most bitter tongues. Her small hands trembled as she lifted them, not in command, but… in offering.

“I know you hate us,” she said softly, voice like a lullaby frayed by wind. “You should.”

Silence.

“I hated us, too. I hated what our dragons did. I hated what I had to become to survive it.”

Even Aegon turned to her, stunned.

“I lost my twin brother when I was five. I lost my mother when I was six. I was married at eight. I tried to die.”

Gasps rippled, not out of cruelty, but shock. The crowd had heard whispers of the mad queen's child. No one expected her to speak, let alone this.

“But I lived. I am still here. Not because I want power. Not because I deserve a throne. But because someone had to speak for the dead.”

She turned, slowly, looking over them all with eyes so pale they shimmered like water.

“You hate the dragons? I do too. They took my family. They took yours. That’s why there will be bread. There will be a change. And there will be justice.”

A mother in the front — grime on her face, one hand resting on a sickly child — began to cry. A boy no older than six knelt in the dirt, grabbing a clump of barley from the opened sack and pressing it to his chest.

Jaehaera knelt beside him, her silks dragging in the filth. She touched his shoulder.

“We cannot undo the war,” she whispered, “but we can make sure your belly is full tonight.”

A roar of silence followed. The jeers stopped. The crowd softened. Not out of loyalty, not yet — but out of confusion, empathy… possibility.

Aegon watched her. In his past life, she had always been distant — a broken doll behind glass. She had fallen from Maegor’s Holdfast and left only shattered memories behind. But here, in this moment, he saw her not as a ghost, not as a whisper of guilt, but as his queen. Alive. Speaking to the very people who had scorned them.

Aegon stepped beside her, bent low, and handed out the first sack of grain with his own hands.

Others followed.

Gaemon Palehair helped carry sacks to the edge of the crowd, eyes wide with awe. Jaehaera’s ladies, confused but moved, joined in.

Aegon knew: they had not won loyalty. Not yet. But they had broken through something harder than stone — the rage of the people.

And as they departed Flea Bottom, the gold cloaks flanking them and the sun casting long shadows down the alleys, one old man muttered from his seat on a barrel:

“She’s not mad. She’s mourning.”

And another, a woman with a blood-crusted bandage around her leg, murmured:

“Maybe this king is different.”

Aegon and Jaehaera rode back to the Red Keep in silence.

Inside the carriage, Aegon looked at her, the girl he had once shared silence with. She sat small in the corner, legs tucked beneath her, hair unraveled by the breeze.

“You saved that,” he said quietly.

Her eyes flicked to him, unreadable.

“I spoke the truth,” she replied.

He reached out, tentative. She didn’t pull away when he took her hand.

The Red Keep loomed ahead, golden in the dying light, but for the first time in this second life, Aegon felt something like hope rise in him — quiet, unsteady, but real. Jaehaera had not leapt. She had spoken.

And the people had listened.

Notes:

I’m so sorry I haven’t been writing. I got sick with sore throat 🥲. Well I’m okay now.

Jaehaera saved Aegon. She earned the smallfolk's love. Aegon telling her the truth about himself would take years later once he had earned her trust. Jaehaera still has trust issues.

The next chapter will be a time skip to 132 AC.

I settled for aegon to do time travel because he had lived a sad life in the books. He deserves better. Aegon may have saw this second chance to make things right he did in his first life.

Get ready to meet more characters coming and their claws to the Iron Throne.

And yes, Viserys will make an appearance in couple chapters later. Don't worry, folks.

Chapter 6: The Ninth Year, the First Threat

Summary:

The year is 132 AC. Corlys Valeryon is dead. Unwin Peake succeeds him as regent. But Aegon got a bad feeling about him. It was Jaehaera's ninth nameday.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

King's Landing

Red Keep

132 AC

 

The banners of House Targaryen streamed from the rafters, dragons roaring above a sea of flowers and silk. Servants had filled the Great Hall with every sweetness and delight known to the realm—pomegranate tarts, lemon cakes, swan baked in golden crust, and a towering confection of honey and almond shaped like a frosted pony that now leaned precariously beside a table of giggling children.

It was the ninth nameday of Queen Jaehaera Targaryen.

She sat with a cluster of girls near her age—noble daughters, distant cousins, and sweet-faced companions—all dressed in silks of soft blue, cream, and lavender. But it was Jaehaera who shone brightest, swaddled in a gown of pale pink silk that shimmered when she moved. The gown was embroidered with delicate silver thread in the shape of wings and dragons. A small dragonfly brooch glittered at her collar. Her silver hair had been braided and coiled atop her head, woven through with garnets and pink pearls, and a dainty hairnet of spun Valyrian steel shimmered like moonlight atop her crown.

Her laughter rang out—rare and bright.

She and the other girls passed slices of cake and played games with wooden dragons and colored stones. One girl slipped icing on another’s nose; another tripped over her skirts and fell into laughter.

Aegon stood to the side, watching it all.

He was twelve now, taller, surer in his movements. The lords and ladies saw a maturing king; they could not see the weight of thirty-seven years buried in the boy’s heart.

He saw her smile and knew it was not long now.

As he expected, the sea of noblemen parted with a hush, and through it walked the man who would fester like rot beneath the surface of court: Lord Unwin Peake.

The Lord of Starpike had the thin, hawkish face of a man who delighted in secrets. His hair was already graying at the temples, and though his bow was deep, his dark eyes never left the Iron Throne. He wore rich crimson, the three black castles of his House stitched large upon his cloak.

At his side walked his daughter, Myrielle, a child of ten, pretty in the way polished stones are pretty, her gaze sharp even as she curtsied.

Unwin smiled too broadly. “Your Grace. Queen Jaehaera. It is an honor to attend this blessed day. May the gods give your union many more such years.”

Aegon stared at him. “You come seeking power.”

Unwin’s smile faltered, just slightly. “I come to serve, Your Grace. As Lord Corlys once did. The realm needs a regent with vision.”

“You’ll find no dragons in the Stepstones,” Aegon replied dryly. “Not anymore.”

Unwin’s face tightened. “The king has a fine memory.”

Aegon leaned forward on the throne, his child’s body dwarfed by it, but his voice was steady and cold. “I remember your words to me. I remember your ambitions. And I remember how many little girls you paraded before the crown.”

There was a pause. Tension coiled in the air like a serpent.

Then Aegon smiled, thinly. “You may leave your gift with the Queen. And then you may go.”

Unwin bowed again, slower this time. “As the king commands.”

After the games ended and the lords began to drink and drift into court politics, Aegon gave his first private order of the day.

He summoned his most loyal retainers and quietly made the order.

"Firstly, I want food tasters to taste the Queen's food. I want the most loyal food tasters, loyal to me and the Queen. I also want my food tasted as well," Aegon tells his steward, who nods his head. 

No one questioned it.

Later that night, after the feast had died and music had faded, Aegon stood silently in the doorway of Jaehaera’s new chamber.

Aegon slowly approached her as she was getting ready for bed. "Jae, I've made some changes." 

Jaehaera turned around, her surprise evident. "What changes? Isn't moving my chambers closer to yours enough?"

"I had ordered food tasters to make sure there is no venom in my food or yours," Aegon replied flatly as he strode to the hearth and sat down. 

Her arms were crossed. Her brow was furrowed. "I don't understand, Aegon. Why are you doing this? Trying to act like a loving husband?" 

"I don't trust people in Red Keep. All they are vying for is my crown, and they try to kill you. That's all you need to know," Aegon tells her. Aegon had considered telling her the truth right this minute, but backed out. "You and I both need to be careful about who we trust."

"But Aegon, I know there is something you are not telling me-"

"Just go to sleep. Some things are way beyond your understanding," Aegon said, firmly, ending the subject right then and there. 

With that, he left her chambers. 

I won't let you down, Jae, Aegon thinks to himself, I won't let anyone take you from me, not if I have anything to say about it.

Notes:

Isn't it just me who hates Unwin Peake, or does everybody hate him?

I absolutely hate Unwin Peake. He is just a terrible man, from what I've read in the books about him.

Now Aegon is even more determined to protect her from vipers. He is finally making things right.