Chapter Text
The hour of the wolf, the hour between night and dawn, was quite late for anyone in Kings Landing. This could be denied by no one, nor would anyone wish to claim so. This customary knowledge was the first thing most passing voyagers peddling their commodities would be told. It is the hour when the restless are haunted by their genuine fears, when phantoms and evil spirits are most powerful. It was the hour when most individuals die, when sleep is the deepest and the nightmares are the most vivid; clawing at the darkest parts of your mind and everything imbued with malice feels tangible.
It was not the time for the heir of the Iron Throne to come stumbling into the Red Keep, drunk and disheveled murmuring about the peasant girls washing by the river. Amusingly, the hour of the wolf is also when most children are born. It was the time of the night when his twins, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys came into the world making him an utterly terrified father at 15 years of age. It would prove in truth again three years later, when to his sister-wife Helaena’s relief, little Maelor was born at the same hour.
Aegon remembered her clammy hand in his, her tired eyes full of love as she blissfully expressed that having the kids in that hour made her feel connected to the women who came before her; he bit back the knowledge that it was the coolest time of the day. Nothing was worse than birthing the boisterous offspring of the Targaryen prince in the dead heat, dragon fire or not. Her love, faith, and innocent profession to the room that Aegon was a proud father once more, terrified him. His unlucky sister was just a hapless child when she made him a father, even more so when they were compelled by their father to marry.
He was stilled haunted by her cherubic face the day they wedded in the sept of their maternal ancestor. Their ill-fit hands, his crude to her petite quivering one united and wrapped in silk ribbon. Vows were exchanged and her cloak dropping to the cold stone floor only to be replaced by his. Her shuddering diminutive frame against his as they were pushed into their marital bed chambers to ‘become one’. How the door closing sounded more like a death sentence than a welcomed moment of privacy. Aegon spent three hours that night trying to convince a sobbing Helaena he wasn’t going to unhinge his jaw and devour her whole. They were just children, scared and unloved clamoring and clawing for anything they could find to soothe their wounds.
Now confronted with the memories he wished to forget, Aegon felt a harrowing pit in his stomach. Remembering his sister-wife, he should be a better husband; hell, any improvement would make her happy. He could try to be a better father, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t have the best role model, what if he hurt Helaena? Failed her like Viserys failed their mother? What if he messed up his kids? The questions burned through the welcomed fog of intoxication; he just couldn’t bear to see the pained reflection of sorrow in her eyes as he saw in his mother since his birth.
The hour of the wolf was quite late and if Aegon could afford to be honest, he would rather have been in his bed than leaning against yet another motif of a fire-breathing flying lizard that his sperm donor of a father's family was infamous for. Would prefer to be anywhere else than some dingy dirty hall, desperately praying that his stomach would wait until he made it to the sweet, promised privacy of his chambers. He wanted to wash off the grime of Fleabottom, the stink of desperation and poverty as he drank away his feelings of inadequacy. Forget about the prostitute who sat on his lap all night feeling him up and tearing him down. Staring down, his filthy hands were clad with dirt of the roads and tarnished with the chosen liquor of the night. Several rings adorned his clumsy digits, the only jewelry he liked, one was a gilded ring gifted to him on his 13th name day by Aemond. His little brother had filled the entire day with Ser Arryk in tow at the market “searching for a new fabric from the shores of Lys for their mother.” He grinned as he recalled hearing his brother softly proposed that Arryk keep the gift a secret or his tongue would be removed as he watched from the veranda. He didn’t have the heart to tell Aemond that the lie was so easy to spot but dared not to disappoint his baby brother at the time, so he played along. When the smaller prince gave the tiny box to Aegon, he loudly proclaimed to the feast at court that Aemond was the only one who was strong enough to open it as he pretended to struggle futilely. As he examined it, he pretended to be so intrigued about how Aemond had them stamp a miniature message inside.
Fire breathes life into stone… Fire strengthens and forges our bond anew in times of war.
These tiny words seemingly harmless set a lump in the older boy’s throat and upon reading them, Aegon understood even as drunk as he was. Aemond was vowing to love him and always be there since their father was all but absent in presence. His little brother would lose his eye a year later to a bastard son of his half-sister who escaped with no consequences. With that loss, Aemond’s youth was pilfered with the flash of a blade and the broken cries of their mother. The words Aemond uttered that night as he shouldered the responsibilities of holding their family together still chilled Aegon to the bone.
The war was inevitable, and their rotten pathetic father could deny it until he was in his grave but after that, Aegon swore that Aemond could have his revenge. Shaking his head to dissipate the anger rising, Aegon wiped the sweat from his brow. The unrelenting heat and activities of the night left him deeply desperate to strip everything off and melt into the dust underneath his boots as his eyes stung with exhaustion. Three hours of sleep should suffice in keeping his mother and grandsire pleased, but Aemond and Helaena would be a completely different case. Aegon surmised that Helaena could be placated with a new bug and Aemond could be silenced with a new book about the histories of Old Valyria. As for the ever-stoic Kingsguard, mercifully silent, inspecting his every move as he faltered and lumbered through the halls trying to recall where his room was, they would hardly gossip among themselves. A voice broke the dark reverie of his self-pity,
“Would you like some help to your chambers, my prince?” Ser Criston. A noble knight, in sooth, but a powerhouse of a man in anger. Aegon nodded,
“I would, please… I seem to be walking the halls of my mind more than the halls of this horrid keep.” He replied hardly above a whisper as Ser Criston faithfully listened as he always did. Soon the hallways were filled with laughter as the knight wrapped a strong arm around the prince’s waist and all but lifted Aegon up, carrying him like a toddler. Aegon would have been impressed if he wasn’t soaking up how…good.. it felt to have human contact without paying for it. It was nice… Aegon scarcely remembered being touched as a child… could barely recall a pair of strong arms holding him and letting him know there was a safe place to run to. Sure, his mother petted his hair, Helaena kissed his ruddy cheeks, his grandsire fixed his cloak for him before tapping his nose lightly in affection…once but it was all fleeting phantoms that Aegon clawed for but rarely obtained.
After a minute, Ser Criston placed him down with a huff of relief. “You’re bigger than I remember, my prince, how time has passed without mercy on my poor bones.” The knight japed as Aegon straighten his undershirt. Taking in the little grey hair and lack of wrinkles, Aegon snorted.
“Yes, you’re decrepit, Ser Criston… with your lightly salted hair and your inability to gain a wrinkle.” he mocked as Criston smirked.
“It’s the Dornish genetics, my prince… they are a curse I must bear.” Aegon only chuckled. His mother probably would love those Dornish genetics just fine if it wasn’t for his father. This only made Aegon angrier as he passed through the threshold of his chambers, bidding the tawny eyed knight a farewell.
“Good evening brother.” A smooth, sultry voice cut from the corner of Aegon’s room. There in the pale halo of the candlelight, Aemond gazed formally through long thick lashes at Aegon, lips pressed in a furrowed scowl, and long bony fingers gently tapping on the glass he was holding. “Did you really think I would let Luke fly about the realm trying to steal your throne at no cost?” Aemond’s voice was raspy from the night air.
As Aemond pushed from his seat and stalked up to him, Aegon remembered the words on his ring.
“Fire breathes life into stone… Fire strengthens and forges our bond anew in times of war.”
Aemond’s lips captured Aegon’s hungrily, demanding his brother’s attention.
It was nice to be kissed without paying for it too.