Chapter Text
The morning light burnt in his eyes and his head hurt as if a carriage had run over it a dozen times. He awoke from a wonderful dream that his brother had come north to see him, that they had drunken like fish and laughed half of the night in a tavern in Wintertown. It took him some moments to adjust to the painful brightness before he could really open his eyes and look around. The first thing he realized was that he was not lying in his own bed, not even in his own room. He was still fully dressed, what was a good sign at least.
It hit him like a whip to see the shape of another person next to him on the ground, still fully dressed as well. It was the shape of a man dressed in fine red wool and linen and black leather with long white blonde hair that totally covered his sleeping face. So it had not been a dream. His brother was here. A wide grin spread across his face. Aegon was here!
The memories of the last night came only reluctantly and Daeron didn’t expect most of them to ever come back, based on how his head and stomach were feeling. He remembered the letter he had received by raven. In his condition, still half drunk and not yet master of his senses, he had really believed that he had only dreamt up the letter as well. His brother had announced his visit to Winterfell only about two weeks prior and had asked Daeron to meet with him a day before officially been welcomed by Lord Stark in Winterfell. He had written that there were important matters to discuss, family matters. Daeron tried to remember as hard as the throbbing feeling inside his head allowed him to but if he had indeed discussed any important matters with his brother last night, they got lost forever somewhere between the third and tenth cup of ale.
Daeron got up and looked around. They must still be in the tavern, probably in the cheap quarters under the roof. He began washing his face in the small water bowl on the ground next to the door. As he passed by, he gave his sleeping brother a light kick to wake him up, but all he got in return was a sound that resembled a mixture of a sleeping bear and a dying goat. A second, somewhat harder kick finally woke him up. He had not seen his brother for almost three years now, but he remembered very clearly how graceful Aegon had always moved, be it while dancing, sparring, riding or just standing up from a chair. But looking at the young man now as he fought his way to his feet, he started to doubt that this was really him.
“You have grown old, brother. If you need a walking stick, let me know. Lord Stark will surely find one for you,” Daron said with a grin.
He finally managed to straighten up completely and turned around to Daeron, scowling at him with his dark purple eyes. Aegon has always been taller than him with broader shoulders but to Daeron it looked like he had gotten even taller and broader. His shape was impressive, intimidating almost, lean but muscular, and together with their father’s coloring - light skin, white hair, purple eyes - he looked like the very image of a valyrian prince.
“Wait till we are at Winterfell in the training yard sparring some rounds. Then you will be the one in need of a walking stick.”
The two brothers laughed about it together and since apparently both had hardly any memories of last night left, they fell into each other's arms as if they had just seen each other again for the first time. They adjusted their clothes as best they could without changing them completely and went down the stairs. The innkeeper was nowhere to be seen when they left the Smoking Log and so Daeron just left some copper coins on one of the tables in the taproom.
“Shouldn’t here be horses waiting for us somewhere?”, Aegon asked after they walked around the corner to the tavern’s small stables, just to find them completely empty.
“I’m pretty sure we had some. Doesn’t matter. This is Wintertown. A short walk will bring us to Winterfell.”
“Oh, yes. I am sure it will make a great impression when the crown prince comes to Winterfell on foot, dirty and stinking like a beggar from Flea Bottom. I need new clothes and a bath. And besides … where is my Kingsguard? I must have lost Ser Gerold and Prince Lewyn somewhere along the way. Father will kill me if I come back to King’s Landing short by two Knights.” The smile on his brother's face grew wider, even though it was clear to both of them that their father was not an issue they liked to joke about.
“I think I know where to go,” Daeron said.
“You remember last night?”
“Some of it. I think.”
And so they walked through the cold and mostly still sleeping Wintertown. Daeron remembered correctly that he and Aegon had met yesterday in front of another house that was – like almost all of Winter Town at his time of the year – empty and was sometimes used to house guests that were too lowborn to be hosted in Winterfell directly. Daeron remembered the last time Vayon Poole had had guests from White Harbour, they had been house there and he had planned for Aegon staying there for the night. At least before they had decided to leave and drink one or two ales in the Smoking Log. After the better part of an hour, they finally managed to find the house Aegon was supposed to have slept in. Both knights were already standing in front of the small building in full white and shiny armor, but sour-faced as an old fishwife. In no more than a heartbeat the expression on both of the knight’s faces changed from sour to happy for finally seeing their crown prince back to sour again for having been let in the unknown about his whereabouts last night. But while Ser Gerold Hightower was just making an angry face at the boys, Prince Lewyn Martell immediately started a rant about how irresponsible and unacceptable such behavior is for a prince, not to mention for two princes. Aegon apologized at least a dozen times for getting lost the whole night and it took Daeron and him a lot of effort to convince both knights that they were never really in danger.
“I don’t care if you two wanted to drink, whore or do whatever but the next time, you will do it with us at your sides. Understood?”, Aeon nodded to Prince Lewyn’s words and only his promise not to leave their side again for the time they were away from King’s Landing seemed to satisfy both of them.
Aegon went up to his room where his baggage was still stored, washed and redressed himself quickly. When he returned after a short while, Daeron examined him with a trained eye. He knew his brother well enough to know what he looked like when he dressed and did his hair only half-heartedly, but to the everyone else he still must have looked like one of the shining knights from the stories.
They saddled up and began their ride towards Winterfell. Wintertown only slowly came to life, but at this time of the years with more than two thirds of all buildings abandoned, there wasn’t much life to come to anyway. Halfway there they met a group of guards who bowed so deeply one could think they wanted to kiss their own boots, immediately turned around and hurried back to Winterfell to announce the arrival of crown prince Aegon Targaryen. Winterfell’s big gatehouse was already in sight, it’s large form, massive walls and snow-clad roofs taking up a good part of the horizon, as Daeron turned to Aegon with an uncertain expression on his face.
“You might have told me everything yesterday already, but the ale made me forget almost the whole evening. What was the important matter you wanted to discuss with me?”
At first it seemed as if Aegon had not heard him. His gaze remained fixed on the ever-larger growing gate.
“Father,” he finally said. “He’s gotten worse.”
“What-,” Daeron wanted to ask, but a quick glance from Aegon brought him to silence. Now is neither the right time nor the right place to talk about their father, it clearly said. But Daeron already had an idea of what Aegon needed to discuss. No doubt his brother had not come this far north just for a few cups of ale and to tell him that King Rhaegar was getting better by the day. For a moment he wondered how in the world Aegon had even managed to talk their father into letting him visit the North. The unpleasant feeling of a bad foreboding spread through him, but since he wasn’t sure if it really was a foreboding or just the aftermath of last night, he decided not to concern himself with it right now and just enjoy having his brother back at his side.
When they finally arrived in Winterfell's courtyard, the entire Stark family was already gathered there, lined up like chickens on a roost and surrounded by the larger part of their personal household. Wolfs on a roost, he thought and could not help but grin for a moment. They rode slowly towards the waiting hosts until they were only a few man lengths away from them. His horse had just come to a halt when Aegon slipped out of the saddle elegantly like a dancer with a warm and honest smile on his face. There he was again, his brother he knew so well.
Lord Stark finally took a step forward with the typical seriousness on his face. Daeron had learned to read Lord Starks expressions well enough over the years. Those who did not know Lord Stark could think that he always looked serious, sad and almost bitter. Daeron had needed time to see and read the small signs on his uncle's face, more time to know what his mood really was, and even more time before the Lord of Winterfell began to openly show his feelings in the presence of his royal nephew.
But now Daeron could read Lord Stark. Not as good as his wife or children. That would never be possible, but still he could see it. He saw excitement. Good or bad, he couldn't say. He saw a mixture of pride and uncertainty. The pride he took in his home, in his family no doubt. Uncertainty probably about what not only one, but two princes of the realm wandering through Winterfell would or could mean for him and his family, for their future and the future of the North. Without a word Lord Stark knelt in front of Aegon and bowed his head. Immediately all the ladies and women curtsied deeply, all the men around them also went down on one knee, apart from the two white knights and Daeron.
“Your grace,” Lord Stark began in his hard, northern dialect. “It is an honor to welcome you here in the North. Winterfell is yours.”
“I thank you for having me, Lord Stark. It is an honor and a pleasure to be here. You may rise,” Aegon answered with his firm, regal voice, but still smiling warmly.
The voice of a king, Daeron thought. It was the voice their father always spoke in whenever he had something important to announce – or something he deemed important. Once, when they had still been children, he had told Aegon that he very much sounded like their father when he spoke serious and although it was meant as a compliment at that time, Aegon had been so unsettled by it that he had done everything he could to avoid using that voice for more than a year after that. He had always hated to be compared with his father, Daeron knew. He hadn't understood why that had been so at that time. Now he did. When Aegon had learned that his father had been overly bookish as a young lad, he hadn’t touched a book in over a month. He had – at least for some time – refused to learn an instrument because his father was known for wonderfully playing the harp in his younger years and it had only been after King Rhaegar had cut his long silver hair off one day, shortly before Aegon's two and tenth nameday, that Aegon had stared to let his hair grow.
Lord Stark, his family and the entire household rose simultaneously. Daeron looked over to the Stark family. Robb obviously tried to appear as serious and stern as his father did, but he could not hide his excitement. He had formed a close friendship over the past three years with the heir to Winterfell and they had become almost as close as brothers, but despite his name and title Daeron had always felt that Robb saw him as more of a Stark than a Targaryen. This was the first time his cousin truly saw the Blood of the Dragon with his own eyes. Hopefully his excitement was positive. He decided to ask him later about it. The last thing Daeron wanted was bad blood between his two families.
The other Stark boys looked at the prince with undisguised wonder while Arya seemed to be more interested in the knights of the Kingsguard that towered behind Daeron. Lady Stark strove to make her children observe courtly etiquette without raising her voice at them and at the same time to appear sovereign and controlled as it was appropriate for the lady of a Lord Paramount. Especially getting little Rickon to stand still for a little while and making Ayra curtsy in front of the prince – however clumsy and half-heartedly this may have looked – was a quest worthy of a queen and it impressed Daeron how well she did.
The only Stark child who behaved perfectly was of course the Lady Sansa, Lord Starks eldest daughter. The whole time her eyes never left Aegon’s face even for a heartbeat and when Aegon placed a light kiss on her hand when she was introduced to him, she blushed gracefully and curtsied deeply with the most adorable smile on her beautiful face. He knew Sansa well enough by know, he knew who much she had fancied stories of knights and princes when she was a child. Now she was six and ten namedays old, almost a woman grown and old enough to be married off to the heir of one of her father’s bannermen from some old, proud house of the North. And it was now that she really met the beautiful prince from her childhood dreams. He could immediately see it in her eyes how much she already was in love with his brother without even knowing him. Sansa’s dreams had always been made of young, handsome knights with broad shoulders, fine clothes and even finer manners. And here he was.
After the official welcoming of the crown prince, he and his Kingsguard were shown to their rooms. After a short rest, Aegon was shown around Winterfell, the Godswood and the Glass Gardens by Lord Stark himself and Robb. Daeron accompanied them and then, after a good but simple meal, they would finally go to the training yard. The real feast to welcome and celebrate having the future king of the Seven Kingdoms under their roof would start in the evening so there was plenty of time for some brotherly swordplay. They had always loved to spar against each other and so ever since the day the letter arrived announcing his brother’s visit, Daeron could hardly wait to finally compete with him again. Hopefully Robb will join, Daeron thought. It was a good opportunity to bring them closer together. Daeron was sure that they would get along well once they got to know each other better.
The tour through the castle and the Godswood took them almost the whole morning. Once again Daeron realized how huge Winterfell really was. Of course his brother probably already knew all the things Lord Stark told him about Winterfell, about the hot springs underneath the castle, how the water was flowing through the walls like blood through a living body, about the Glass Gardens and the vegetables they could grow there even in the depths of winter, about the Godswood with its ancient Weirwood tree and about their old gods who had no names.
Aegon was never the bookish type really. Daeron doubted that he had ever finished reading even the Seven Pointed Star, although the Septons in King’s Landing had not got tired of emphasizing how important it was for a future king to not only know the rules of the Faith and the Gods, but to understand and internalize them. But on the other hand, sometimes his brother could bite down on a topic like a hound dog for days on end and enthusiastically read every book about it he could get his hands on. Of course, he had already read every book about Winterfell that there was in King’s Landing, probably weeks before he left. Daeron was sure of it.
Nevertheless, Aegon listened carefully to Lord Stark's explanations, asked questions and was genuinely impressed by everything that was shown to him. In the end, it really was something else to read facts and figures in a book or to actually stand on the parapet of such a legendary fortress and see it with one’s own eyes.
Noon had long passed when they finally arrived at the training yard. Not very surprisingly, the courtyard was not as empty as usual, but almost overflowed with people. Everybody wanted to see the valyrian prince pick up a sword against his brother and the son of their Lord. It didn't surprise Daeron to find Sansa together with her friend Jeyne Poole among the audience as well. He couldn't for the life of him remember seeing any of the two watching him sparring ever, but now the two young ladies had chosen a place on one of the lower galleries that surrounded the courtyard and from which they had a good view of the upcoming fights. Sansa giggled and laughed with Jeyne and after a whisper of Jeyne in Sansa's ear, his cousin blushed so deeply that her face almost took on the color of her hair.
It was his uncle Prince Lewyn that helped Aegon into his training armor while Ser Gerold Hightower stood behind the two, grimly looking around. He knew the old knight almost his whole life, knew him as a friendly, caring man. Uncle Gerold he had always been to him when he had been a child. But now, his uncle Gerold seemed bitter, his friendly smile lost somewhere in those last three years. He wondered what had happend. On the other side of the yard, Ser Rodrik helped Daeron in his armor, readying him for the fight.
“Show him what you've learned here,” Ser Rodrik whispered to him. “This one is too much of a pretty southern knight to know what real fighting looks like. But you have the North in your veins, boy.”
“I will do my best, Ser.” Daeron knew that Aegon was formidable with the sword and he pretty much doubted that after three more years of training with the knights of the Kingsguard, with his infamous uncle Oberyn Martell and – if the stories were to be believed – even with masters of sword fighting from Lys, Braavos and Tyrosh, that his brother’s skill had somehow lessened. Also, even after three years of training with Ser Rodrik, Daeron wasn’t really sure what exactly he had learned from him. It was true though. The northern style of fighting was very different from what was taught in the south. There were fewer rules to follow, fewer postures and figures to learn. Fencing with a sword in the south was sometimes more like a dance, harsh and brutal but still a dance that followed its very own rhythm. Here in the North it was more intuitive, clear and direct, honest in a certain way. Just as the people up here, he thought.
It was Aegon’s voice that pulled him from his thoughts.
“Are you done thinking about which dress to wear to the feast tonight or are you busy trying to come up with an excuse why you won't face me?” He already wore his helmet so he couldn’t see it but Daeron could practically hear the broad grin on his brother's face.