Chapter Text
Aegon was tired, which honestly wasn't much different from usual. Tired both physically, due to the indecent activities he'd taken part in last night, as well as because of too much wine, and mentally. In a way, he had only himself to blame. He behaved shamefully every day, especially every night, and then spent his days getting blamed by his wonderful family, both his mother and his grandsire. Even his twat of a little brother got in on the act, perfect son that he was, giving him reproachful looks constantly.
An endless loop. He wasn't behaving the way his family expected him to and was being punished accordingly, and he was really getting fed up.
And as if that wasn't enough, his father, if he could even call the rotting husk that, had announced with his mother the queen, that he would be marrying his sister Helaena in a few months, to strengthen the bloodline.
Contrary to what many people thought, Aegon was far from an idiot; he was simply astute and cunning in areas other than those in which most people were. He wasn't good with a sword, or any weapon for that matter, having never found such a thrilling interest in getting the shit kicked out of him so he could brag like a peacock to pompous lords and ladies as uptight as their marriage options, during tourneys. Fighting was Aemond's specialty, as was just about anything... except being nice, of course.
His various maesters had all come to deem him a hopeless case after a while, a prince indeed, but unable to muster the desire to learn about anything. What did he care about philosophy or history? All he knew was that history was useless. Aemond had spat out to him that history was the key to making sure we didn't repeat the mistakes of the past, but Aegon knew that was bullshit. Human beings were rotten to the core, and knowing what a man had done centuries ago wasn't going to prevent wars or anything.
All this to say, he wasn't stupid, but certainly not in 'common' matters.
He'd always known, at least since he was old enough to understand, that he wouldn't marry for love. That even as a prince, he was no different from most men, even if spared the torture of being a woman of noble birth in this accursed kingdom, and that his fate would be decided one way or another by his parents.
He was just a pawn for his mother as much as for his grandsire, a prized piece in the royal game in which he had been involved since his earliest childhood. Everyone knew it, from the snakes nobles who populated the court to the soldiers standing in the city streets.
But that didn't change the fact that Aegon had no desire to be married, and certainly not to his sister. Why would he want to chain himself to someone else in that way?
Except that he wasn't going to have much choice once again.
He was brought out of his thoughts when the doors to his room were violently opened, and the queen entered his room, a green flame of fury. Oh gods, what was she going to blame him for now? He grunted softly, rubbing his palms over his eyes, yawning loudly.
What followed was no different from most weeks of Prince Aegon's life. A mountain of reproaches, a slap for good measure, and a few vicious insults that used to rip his heart out but eventually lost their effectiveness after a few months. He was sure his mother's screams could be heard by most of the people in the corridor, who must have been used to this daily spectacle. She was berating him for his shameful behavior and for spending the night drinking and whoring in the Street of Silk, for constantly shirking his responsibilities... always the same speech except for a few different words.
The problem was that drinking and having sex were among the only things that made Aegon feel alive, gave him a little light in his rotten life. He was insatiable, surely one of the few purely Targaryen traits he'd inherited from his father, apart from his hair and eye color of course. He always needed more, and few things could hold his attention for very long. That's why the whores he fucked were always different for each of his escapades, none of them able to hold his interest for very long.
The relationship between the queen and her firstborn was a thorny one, hatred and love intertwined, sprinkled with a dose of fear that was far from healthy. Aegon knew that part of his mother truly loved him, that he remained first and foremost her son, but he also knew that her paranoia and Otto Hightower's poison had eventually rotted away that love, degrading it until bitterness consumed most of it.
Alicent Hightower had surely loved her son, all her children, but the queen she was now had created too thick a shell around herself to let that love keep her from doing what she saw as her duty. It was what she'd been doing all her life, after all, doing her duty, sacrificing her happiness, and all in return for more responsibility and a husband who didn't give a damn about her.
Viserys Targaryen, the Peaceful. Aegon had laughed for several minutes, until he felt sick to his stomach when he first heard the nickname the kingdom had given his father. Aegon was mostly numb, but he was sure of one thing, like an unshakeable conviction: he hated his father.
When he was younger, still naive and desperate for some of his father's attention, he wanted his father to look at him with joy and pride, just like he looked at his half-sister. But he'd quickly come to terms with the fact that this would never happen, and that he'd only receive disinterest and anger when he did something to upset Rhaenyra and her offspring. The events at Driftmark only confirmed this.
And so, little by little, all the love he had for his father faded, until he was just another nobody, for whom Aegon would feel nothing if harm came to him.
He hated him, as much as part of him hated Rhaenyra for having all their father's love without even being by his side every day, simply because she was born of a certain woman's womb, and Aegon was not.
Aegon clutched his sheets tighter as his mother's hand connected with his cheek again, the pain waking him completely and sending his head to the side. The queen stood straight, her stature haughty, her long hair framing her face with determined features, her eyes shining with icy intensity as she challenged her son with her gaze.
"How can you keep behaving like this?!" she screamed, a mixture of rage and despair in her eyes, wet with tears she would never let run down her cheeks. "How can you spit on your duty, endlessly sullying your reputation. When will you finally understand that your actions have repercussions on this family, on me?!"
He sighed, " Why should I care what people think of me, Mother?"
She grabbed his face, her nails digging slightly into his cheeks leaving crescent-moon marks. "Because you'll be the King of this kingdom in a few years, and who would want a ruler who behaves like the basest of animals, unable to resist his darkest impulses?"
"I don't want that damned throne!" he spat. "Leave that ugly metal chair to my dear sister, let her cut herself on it as much as our father."
The queen let go of him, rising to her feet, fixing a gaze full of contempt mingled with sadness. "This throne is your birthright Aegon, and also the only way for our family to be safe from Rhaenyra and her brood. So whether you like it or not, you'll end up doing your duty."
She said nothing more, turning, and left his chamber, closing the door behind her.
𓆩𓆩✧𓆪𓆪
It was the night of that very day that Aegon's life would be completely changed in an instant. After spending his day with an agonizing hangover and his mother's harsh words echoing in his skull, he had finally gotten out of the Red Keep through one of the secret passages he now knew by heart so he could escape his gloomy thoughts.
He had walked through the streets of Flea Bottom, streets his mother would be horrified to know he'd ever set foot on, taking great care to ensure that his hood hid his recognizable hair, although many of these people knew that the king's eldest son was a wanton and so wouldn't be surprised to see him there.
It was the look he'd received from one of the prostitutes in the brothel he'd been frequenting for the past few months that had made him pause. She seemed worried as much as... he didn't really know how to describe it. Unable to resist temptation, he'd finally asked her if she had a problem, and she'd ended up grabbing his arm and leading him into a secluded room at the back of the building. Part of him wondered if this was how he was going to die, murdered in a brothel, his head between her breasts. Now that he thought about it, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Few people would miss him, and then his grandsire could make the perfect little Aemond, his King.
But it turned out not to be the case, as she led him into the room, and Aegon was partially disappointed to realize that she had no intention of either killing him or having sex with him. Instead, she turned to him, and began to speak in a hesitant voice.
"My prince." she seemed to swallow nervously, appearing to take a few seconds to come to her senses. The poor thing seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack. "Several months ago, you came here and slept with me."
Huh.
He quickly passed his gaze over her face. She was young, no more than seven and ten, a little older than him, with soft brown eyes and silky blond hair. It was true that her face told him something, but with the number of women he'd fucked it was a bit complicated to really know.
"Um, yes maybe so... but why are you telling me this? Did I forget to pay you?" he asked stupidly.
She shook her head quickly. "No, it's not that. It's just that by mistake, I don't really know how..." she pointed to a piece of furniture, which Aegon realized with shock wasn't a piece of furniture at all, but a crib , and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. "I have borne you a son."
He froze, his body stiffening so suddenly he might have feared for his muscles. He felt all his breath leave him and his eyes went wide.
Oh gods.
This was a joke, wasn't it? The gods his mother so firmly believed in were laughing at him.
With his breath short, his hands clammy and his heart pounding in his chest, Aegon staggered, his head seemingly spinning, and sat down on the bed in the center of the room, the whore staring at him in silence. He drew his knees up against his chest, desperately trying to calm himself.
Every breath was like a battle against an invisible enemy that clutched at his throat, preventing him from finding even a soothing gulp of air. His vision blurred, stars danced before his eyes, and he felt as if he were sinking into a bottomless abyss.
His thoughts whirled around in his mind, a confused tumult of fears and uncertainties, each mingling with the next in a hellish spiral. He felt like he was being swept along by a storm of too many emotions.
He'd fathered a bastard. God be good. He was a goner. Whoring and drinking had already upset the moods of his family, but this was the last straw. It was the worst thing in his mother's eyes he could have done, let alone a few months before his wedding. His grandsire was going to kill him if he ever found out, and either through his own spies or that damned rat Larys Strong, he'd end up by. He was going to rip his cock off, have him killed in his sleep.
His heartbeat echoed in his temples, hammering out a discordant rhythm that seemed amplified by his growing anguish. He clenched his fists, feeling his nails dig into his palm, a brief but real pain that seemed to bring him back to reality, even for a fleeting moment.
"My prince?" asked the young woman in an hesitant voice. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, but each inhale seemed more difficult than the last, each exhale more laborious. A wave of nausea washed over him, threatening to overwhelm him.
And then, slowly, like a beacon in the night, a thought emerged from the darkness. 'I have a child' and the thought made his panic intensify, as much as it was a slap of clarity. He was only five and ten, far too young for this. He closed his eyes, concentrating, calming his raging thoughts, so grateful to himself that this was one of the few evenings he hadn't consumed wine, which would only have drowned his emotions in far darker ones. And little by little, almost imperceptibly, he began to calm down. His heartbeat became less deafening, his breathing less labored, until at last he found some semblance of calm in the turmoil.
He sat there, his breath short but regular, his muscles tense but relaxed. He must have seemed pathetic to the whore, but he didn't care.
Besides, he wasn't even sure the child was really his, was he?
He finally stood up, when he was sure his legs wouldn't turn to jelly the moment he tried to lean on them, and made his way towards the crib. He soon realized that the whore was right, and that the child in front of him was indeed his son.
He was just a baby, a few moons old at most, dressed with only a scrap of curtain, which painfully squeezed the prince's heart. He was so small, a delicate tuft of hair unmistakably silver-gold. And just as he was admiring this little being, the child's eyes opened.
Oh.
His eyes were an exact copy of his own, a soft violet.
A small, pink, crumpled face turned to Aegon, curious, bright eyes staring at him with an intensity that seemed to pierce his soul. And in that instant, Aegon felt his heart explode with happiness, an emotion so pure and powerful it overwhelmed him completely.
It was as if time stood still, suspended in a moment of pure perfection. Aegon stretched out his arms, unable to resist the call of this small but infinitely precious being. And when he finally held his son in his arms, he felt a flood of emotions wash over him.
This little boy wasn't looking at him with contempt, anger or jealousy, but with such pure emotion. Aegon knew he was pathetic in many ways, and that the way he'd grown up, with impossible expectations and his father's ignorance, having to earn his mother's love and never receiving his father's, had made him a man desperate for even the slightest ridiculous ounce of love.
And to see this little bundle of joy looking at him like that? Tears welled up in his eyes as he gazed at this little being who was both a miracle and a mirror of himself. He marveled at the perfection of every little detail, every little finger, every frail eyelash.
At that moment, Aegon knew his life had changed forever. He shared an unbreakable bond with this baby, who now needed him for every breath, every smile, every tear. And Aegon wanted to be there for every one of them.
In his son's eyes, oh gods, he was going to have to get used to it; Aegon saw the reflection of his own love, the promise of a future filled with happiness and shared adventures. With this child in his arms, Aegon finally found a true reason to live. Not to simply live life as a ghost, spending his days and nights drowning his emotions in wine.
The baby grabbed a lock of his sire's silver hair and seemed to play with it, giving him a goofy smile, and Aegon felt new tears form in his eyes and roll down his cheeks.
"What's his name?" he asked softly, his voice cracking, his gaze still fixed on his son.
He felt the young woman fidget nervously. "He hasn't one yet, my prince. I can't care for him, so I didn't bother to name him. My intention was to give him to one of the few orphanages in town."
He felt a wave of rage sweep over him at these words, the fire in his veins flaring for the first time in years. He stood up, cautious of the baby in his arms, and fixed his gaze on the whore. Did she want to get rid of his son? He knew, of course, that it was complicated for harlots to keep their client's bastards in case they had one, but that didn't dilute his anger at the idea. He knew that orphanages, if they could even be called that, were certainly not a place he would have wanted a child to grow up in. She hadn't even given him a name!
"You will do no such thing. You won't tell anyone you had my bastard." he paused for a few seconds, fixing his gaze on the baby who was once again drifting back to sleep, yawning tenderly, and made his decision. He had already been considering it for many months, but now he knew that with his son, he wanted to have a life other than this one. "You'll take care of Jaeron for a few more months, I'll give you the financial means to do so, and then you'll cease to be his mother and you'll never see him again."
Jaeron.
That was his son's name. Bastard or not, he was still his son.
A name that was not, as far as he knew, accompanied by the burdens of deeds performed by any of their ancestors bearing the same. He refused to let his son have a name that had already been worn by another man, and to let what the latter may have done in his life be compared to his own. He was living proof of this, bearing the name of a man who had conquered an entire kingdom with his sisters. He was nowhere near as impressive, and his name often weighed heavily on him, all the more so when he received the disappointed or disgusted glances of court nobles.
He placed the baby back in its cot, placed a tender kiss on its little forehead and left the room, glancing at the girl. His thoughts of fucking and drinking were long forgotten, his mind consumed by his plan and his son.
It was high time he took charge of his life.
𓆩𓆩✧𓆪𓆪
In the months that followed, he put in place the various phases of his plan, organizing everything he would need. He knew that the only way for a prince of the realm to escape his duty was to die, but he had no intention of dying, certainly not now that a small human being was relying on him.
For a long time now, he had been planning to leave, to flee Westeros and never set foot there again. He would ride Sunfyre and say farewell to this accursed kingdom and all its problems. After all, who could stop him? No one would think that Prince Aegon would try to escape, and once on the back of his dragon, who would be stupid enough to try anything?
He would finally be able to live another life, free from the heavy, cursed chains of duty he didn't want, and finally be able to forge another life for himself. Oh, he knew that doing such a thing would have consequences, and that his family might miss him a little, but not as much as how green they'd be with rage that Aegon had done such a thing. His royal father probably wouldn't even realize that his son had fled the castle of their dynasty, and even if he did, he wouldn't care. He wasn't Rhaenyra or her children, after all.
Leaving his mother and siblings forever was going to be a bit more difficult, but he was only a disappointment in their eyes, and surely better for everyone that he was taken out of the picture. After all, the two most precious people in his life were going to be with him on his journey, his faithful Sunfyre and of course his little Jaeron.
In the months following his discovery of his son, he had found it hard not to want to stay with him constantly, being torn at having to leave him in the hands of Ainna, a name he only learned after several days, each time. He had provided several bags of gold for her to take care of him, and even though he was aware that she kept much of it for herself, like a vulture, she had still taken care of his son.
No one had found it suspicious that the prince was seen almost every night on the streets of Flea Bottom, used to it, not knowing that he was not mainly going there for the whores.
His son had already grown up over the past few moons, and Aegon felt his heart swell with joy every time he saw his boy discover new things, even if there wasn't much he could do besides stay hidden in a brothel. Aegon was going to show him so much, and teach him even more.
He knew perfectly well that he couldn't just mount his dragon and flee across the Narrow Sea, and that to survive and to be able to give both his son and himself a better life across the sea, he couldn't leave with nothing.
So he cautiously stole portions of the riches from the castle's royal coffers, his family's wealth unused except for his father's tourneys. He was careful to use the secret passages and to take only small, albeit substantial, amounts each time. He didn't know if Larys Strong was aware of these thefts, but if he was, his mother or grandfather knew nothing about it. He placed these riches, jewels, gold and gold dragons, in saddlebags and bags that he tied up to Sunfyre, before sometimes leaving for days at a time to go and hide this money at the top of one of the mountain reefs that populated the Stepstones. He took care to make an initial reconnaissance flight, and chose one of the rocky piers impossible for human beings to access except by dragonback. The perfect hiding place for his stolen riches.
And after almost four moons, it was finally time.
He didn't really know what had possessed him, but last night, before all the court and members of House Targaryen, including the King, went to bed, he'd broken into his father's room. He'd sneered when he saw that damned model of Old Valyria, which fascinated their royal sire more than his own children, when his mind wasn't drowned in milk of the Poppy. He had considered taking Blackfyre, but had finally decided against it. On the other hand, he had snatched the dagger that had divided his family over a year ago. The dagger was plain, though even he could see it was finely crafted, the unique shine of Valyrian steel reflecting the flames, and had a hilt of smooth dragon bone.
This dagger was the weapon with which his mother had wounded Rhaenyra in the only moment in his life when Aegon had really seen her overwhelmed and losing control of her emotions. He felt it was a kind of poetic justice that he should take this dagger with him.
He awoke early in the morning, his mind no longer clouded by the wine he had stopped drinking so many moons ago. He continued to drink a few times, of course, he liked it too much to stop completely, just like sex, but he was much more reasonable, not wanting to set a bad example for his son when he grew up. He got up before the sun rose, and donned his riding leathers, before grabbing his black cape and exiting the Red Keep through the now familiar passageway. It was almost sad that this was the last time he'd set foot there, but the place held so many bad memories that he couldn't really feel any more saddened than that.
Taking a deep breath, he started walking. At dawn, the streets of King's Landing were still hazy from the cool of the night, and yet even this early in the day, some of the streets were already bustling with people. His steps were confident, his hood firmly in place on his head.
The cobbled streets stretched out before him, lined with houses with decrepit facades and windows veiled in worn curtains. The distant murmur of the harbor echoed in the air, mingled with the shouts of merchants preparing their stalls for the day ahead. His heart pounded with anticipation of what lay ahead, both excited and terrified by the unknown that awaited him at the end of his journey.
The passers-by he passed seemed to be in a hurry, indifferent to the other people in the streets, and certainly not interested in him. By now, he was more than accustomed to the vile smell of King's Landing, a mixture of piss and shit that always made nobles coming to the capital for the first time almost throw up. All the same, he was careful not to step in puddles of... he didn't want to know what, it wasn't the time to get his clothes dirty.
Finally, after a journey along paths he knew like the back of his hand, Aegon reached his goal. Before him loomed the brothel in which his son was currently staying. He entered the building with renewed determination. Inside, a hushed ambience greeted him, enveloping his senses in a swirl of bewitching perfumes and lustful whispers. The walls were lined with red velvet, and the gleaming chandeliers projected flashes of golden light onto the shadowy faces. He could see, and hear, that some customers were already present, just as some had never left, collapsed against the cushions and sofas in some of the rooms. He ignored the greedy, sultry stares of some of the whores, though some were quite enticing, and made his way to the back of the building, to the room where he knew his son to be in.
He walked over to his son's crib and gazed down at the sleeping creature, his heart swelling with love and tenderness. His eyes gazed in wonder at the child's sleeping face, every breath a sweet melody in his ears. Careful not to wake the precious little being resting there, his fingers gently caressed the baby's soft cheek, a tender smile stretching his lips. Then, carefully, he slipped his arms under the child's delicate body, lifting it with infinite delicacy. The baby stirred slightly in his sleep, a murmur escaping him, but he remained deeply asleep.
He made sure he could hold Jaeron in his arms while partially hidden by his cloak, placing a small woolen cap on his son's head in the process. After all, he wouldn't want him to catch a cold out there, or when they flew on his dragon. Aegon had heard the story that Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, his grandparents, had taken their sons, Daemon and Viserys, on the backs of their dragons, Vhagar and Meleys, when they were just babies. Well, he could say he was simply carrying on that tradition.
He then left the room, taking care not to disturb his child's peaceful sleep. Every step he took seemed charged with meaning, every breath filled with indescribable emotion. He was really going to do it. This wasn't just a temporary fit of rebellion. He walked quickly through the streets of Flea Bottom, his next destination in mind.
After several minutes of walking, during which he had been careful to avoid the streets he knew to be the most infamous, he ended up in the vicinity of the Dragonpit. He entered discreetly through one of the back doors, rather than one of the main entrances, so as not to run into any dragonkeepers who might already be up and about. He headed for the pit where he knew his dragon was. Yesterday, he had taken care to request that Sunfyre's saddle not be removed, claiming that he would be flying the next day anyway and that it was therefore a waste of time.
Eventually, he caught sight of his dragon, perched on a stone ledge, his golden scales blazing even in the semi-darkness of the morning. He approached his faithful companion, who with a fluid, graceful movement lowered his massive head, allowing Aegon to touch his golden scales. The sensation was electrifying and unique, a strong bond linking them. Dragons, contrary to what many thought, were not just super-powerful creatures used to conquer and destroy, but living beings with personalities and thoughts of their own. He knew that Sunfyre had to be aware of what they were about to do, of what his rider had planned.
The dragon turned his gaze from him to the small bundle in his arms, sniffing curiously. Aegon smiled and raised his arms, bringing the baby right up to the beast's muzzle. He felt Jaeron gesticulate, probably awakened by the dragon's breath before him, and fixed his eyes on the huge creature before him.
" Bisa iksos issa tresy, Jaeron ." Aegon said softly. Sunfyre gave a little purr, blowing gently on the baby's face, recognizing him as the child of his bonded.
He laid his son gently on one of the rocks in the cave, knowing that his dragon would guard him with his life.
He had one last thing to do... and it had to be one of the stupidest things he would ever do, but he was determined. He walked cautiously, dodging the few patrols with deftness, until he stood in front of the fires where the last clutch of Dreamfyre lay. He exhaled deeply.
He was mad. He was completely mad to do such a thing.
The four dragon eggs glistened in the darkness, and the young man felt his heart pounding in his chest as he carefully approached, his fingers trembling with anticipation. Skillfully, and using one of the dragonkeepers' clamps, he grabbed the eggs one by one, wrapping them in dark leather to conceal them from view, then placing them in two bags of the same material, which would ensure that the still-burning eggs wouldn't melt the bags or burn him.
Then, with the precision of a pleased predator, like a thief - technically, that's what he was - he slipped away into the darkness, taking his treasure with him. His theft was an unforgivable affront to his family, but for him, it represented a chance to give his son, and his potential future children, a chance to connect with their heritage.
He ran until he was standing in front of his mount again, and firmly attached the bags to his dragon's saddle, before taking Jaeron in his arms and climbing into the saddle as well. He took even more care than usual to secure himself, taking even greater precautions to brace his son against his torso with bits of leather and harness, until they were both securely fastened to the saddle.
Aegon gently stroked the beast's neck, feeling their bond reverberate. Together they were a formidable duo, a union of man and dragon forged by the fire and blood of their ancestors.
"Sōvēs"
The dragon let out a mighty roar, which echoed through the Dragonpit, and no doubt alerted the few soldiers and dragonkeepers of someone's presence. It wasn't very discreet, but why did he care? It was a declaration of power as well as freedom.
Sunfyre strode forward until he was outside his cave, and with a powerful flap of his wings, they soared into the skies, leaving behind the solid ground and the limits imposed by men. They were free, two beings bound by blood and fire, soaring into the unknown with infinite daring and determination.
The wind roared around them as they broke through the air. Aegon smiled, his hair fluttering in the wind as he embraced the sensation of freedom and power that enveloped every fiber of his being, just as it did every time he rode his dragon.
"It's just the three of us now" he declared softly, tenderly stroking his son's forehead, and tightening his other hand on the reins. And so they left the capital, leaving suffering and strife behind them, escaping the war that would undoubtedly strike the kingdom when the king died, but this no longer concerned Aegon.
He was free.