Chapter Text
Aegon opened his eyes, blinking the dust out of them. His body felt stiff, almost sore, but for the first time in a long time, when he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up on his feet, his body obeyed his commands. His legs, once broken and burned, now supported his weight without the aid of a crutch, and he turned from side to side, finding that the burn scars that had once covered his body no longer pulled at his skin. He looked down at the rubble beneath his feet and took a tentative step forward, followed by another. Then, Aegon let out a gasp. He was walking unimpeded.
Despite the dust in the air stinging his lungs, he laughed, though it terminated in a bout of coughing. One moment, Aegon had been drinking a cup of his favorite sweet Arbor red, sitting in his litter on the way to the royal sept. Rhaenyra’s supporters had been closing in on King’s Landing, and he had wanted some quiet to clear his head. Though he had never been very religious, his mother had prayed over him ever since he was young, and he had thought then was as good a time as any to give it another try. Then, he had opened his eyes here, in some sort of ruin with his body entirely restored.
Aegon stumbled through the ruin, tripping over loose stones and dirt. The air smelled of smoke, and Aegon’s clothes were singed, almost entirely burned off. If other people had been in this structure before, they were likely ash. He didn’t know if he had gotten lucky, or if his Targaryen blood had protected him from the flames. The more he struggled to walk, the more he missed Sunfyre, for he wished he could call his fallen dragon to carry him out of this place. He walked for what felt like hours, and he wondered what could have caused this much destruction in King’s Landing. Had there been some manner of attack while he was in his litter? That would explain the rubble and smoke, if not his sudden recovery.
When he was finally clear of the scorched stones, Aegon emerged into King’s Landing, blending in with the smallfolk who were running about, some of them pulling loved ones from beneath fallen buildings. With his dirty clothes and skin, his pale blond hair stained gray with ash and hanging into his eyes, Aegon didn’t look much like a king. He saw a woman sitting on the side of the street, skin coated in ash but otherwise unharmed.
He walked up to her and cleared his throat, his voice shaky with disuse as he asked, “Can you tell me what happened here?”
She looked up at him, clutching her thin cloak around her shoulders despite the summer warmth. “There was a trial in the Great Sept, but it exploded in a burst of wildfire,” she said quietly.
Wildfire? Aegon had never heard of it before, though he had admittedly skipped every lesson he could. He wandered away, slowly making his way towards the Red Keep. Whatever had happened, he knew his mother would want to see him unharmed. Perhaps she would know how he had gotten so far into the city.
Aegon had been to the city many times before, sneaking out whenever he could grasp the opportunity. It had infuriated his mother, who had insisted he behave in a way befitting a prince, but Aegon had always replied—foolishly—that there was no point, since Rhaenyra was heir. If he had known then that he would be forced to take the throne, he probably would have drank himself to death in a Flea Bottom tavern on one of his many visits. Now, he walked through the city, but when he neared the castle, he veered away from the main gates, knowing better than to let his Kingsguard see that he could slip away unattended. Instead, he walked to the far side of the castle and crept down a narrow staircase carved into the rocks, making his way down to the beach.
He slipped into a narrow cave in the cliffs upon which the Red Keep sat, following the familiar tunnels. However, as he walked, he found he didn’t recognize the tunnels. There was a large chamber that should have sat empty. Instead, it was filled with the skulls of dragons, more than he had ever known to exist under the Targaryen dynasty. He heard distant voices echoing on the stone, and he ducked behind a reasonably-size skull instinctively, used to hiding after so many years of dodging his mother and the Kingsguard while he snuck in and out of the palace.
“Your Grace, why have you brought me down here?” a man’s voice asked.
Aegon frowned as the man stepped into the chamber. He knew all of his mother’s advisors, yet this man was a stranger to him. His frown only deepened when he saw the woman who accompanied him, not his mother in one of her green gowns but a tall, severe-looking woman with short blonde hair. Though she wore black, she was no Targaryen, despite the crown atop her head.
“Qyburn, do you know what the Targaryens did after the last dragon died?” she asked, looking not at the man, but at a large dragon skull.
Aegon shook his head, but the vision before him remained unchanged. He didn’t understand why this woman was speaking about his family in the past tense, or what she meant by the last dragon. His dragon, Sunfyre, might have died to Meleys, but House Targaryen still had many dragons and dragonriders.
The man, Qyburn, cleared his throat. “They relied on wildfire, Your Grace,” he replied.
“Yes, and then they went mad,” the woman said. “Do you think I am mad?”
He frowned. “Of course not, Your Grace.”
She smiled, hands clasped in front of her. “At the very least, I won’t drink wildfire believing it will turn me into a dragon,” she remarked. “Three hundred years, and this is all that’s left of the Targaryens.”
“After the Dance of Dragons and the deaths of Rhaenyra and Aegon the Elder, House Targaryen was never the same, never as strong,” Qyburn said. “Your legacy will be strong, Your Grace. Your father is gone, and Tyrion won’t oppose you.”
Aegon stopped listening to their conversation, too caught up by the news of his death, for he could be the only Aegon they referred to as ‘the Elder’ during the Dance of Dragons. If he had died—and long ago, if the way they spoke of the downfall of House Targaryen was any indication—then he had to have been resurrected by something or someone. Had anyone else in his family been brought back? If there was no one to support his claim that he was Aegon Targaryen, he would be nothing more than a commoner under the new dynasty. In fact, identifying himself as a Targaryen might even put his life in danger. Aegon couldn’t remain in King’s Landing. If his family had fallen, then perhaps Dragonstone was empty, and he could find refuge there.
He waited for Qyburn and the queen to leave before stepping out from behind the dragon skull. The chamber was lit by dim torchlight, and Aegon tread carefully, not wanting to cause a commotion and attract unwanted attention. When he reached the far end of the chamber, however, a pair of golden eyes flickered open, resting on him.
Aegon had half a mind to scream, but then, the dragon stepped out of the shadows, golden scales gleaming in the torchlight, and Aegon broke out into a grin. He threw himself at Sunfyre, arms wrapping around the dragon’s large neck. Sunfyre had died, just as he had, but it seemed whatever power had brought Aegon back had not been so cruel as to leave him without his dragon.
“My beloved Sunfyre, you have no idea how I’ve missed you,” Aegon said, the dragon nuzzling his hair at the sound of the Old Valyrian words.
Aegon hoisted himself up onto Sunfyre’s back. The dragon’s saddle hadn’t survived the years, so he was forced to ride bareback, but sitting on Sunfyre again gave him hope that, somehow, he would be alright. He urged Sunfyre forward, and the dragon squeezed through the tunnels, Aegon having to duck at times to avoid hitting his head against the ceiling. When they stepped out onto the beach, Aegon allowed himself only a moment to appreciate the sunlight before they ran forward, lifting off the sand and into the air. Despite his circumstances, Aegon let out a shout of joy as they rose above the clouds. He felt weightless again, and he had missed it dearly after losing Sunfyre.
A part of him had once wished he had died alongside his dragon. In that, he supposed Jacaerys had been lucky, though he had been told that Jacaerys fought to the very last moment. Apparently, Vermax had been shot down first. Jacaerys had tried to hold onto one of the Triarchy ships, but he had been killed by a crossbow bolt, his body falling into the sea off the coast of Dragonstone. Unlike Aegon, Jacaerys had been brave, grasping for life until the moment he died. It was one of the things Aegon had always admired about him. Even as a child, Jacaerys had been courageous. The night Aemond had claimed Vhagar, Jacaerys had fought him, even knowing that Aemond was bigger and stronger. Nevertheless, Jacaerys had tried to defend the memory of his aunt Laena and the honor of his cousin Rhaena.
Aegon would always regret his role in the confrontation that soured relations between his mother and Rhaenyra. He should have spoken up when Aemond claimed that Aegon had called Rhaenyra’s children bastards. He would never forget how sad Jacaerys had been, no doubt remembering all the times they had played together and wondering if Aegon had hated him even then. If Aegon had been braver, he would have told the truth: that he had called Jacaerys strong, but never a bastard. Jacaerys had been strong, in spirit if not in body at his young age. Jacaerys had been a dragon prince, regardless of who his father had been.
After escaping the torturous family dinner with the ailing King Viserys that the mother had forced him to attend, Aegon had retreated to his rooms with a flagon of wine. He had sat by the window without bothering to change out of his formal attire and downed an entire goblet before pouring himself another. That was when he heard a knock on his door. It was probably his mother, so he ignored it, knowing she would barge in regardless.
Then, there was another knock. Curiosity getting the better of him, Aegon stood slowly and crossed the room to open the heavy wooden doors.
Jacaerys was standing in front of his rooms, wearing the same black doublet from dinner. “Uncle, may I come in?” he asked.
Aegon let his curiosity win yet again. He nodded and stepped aside, allowing Jacaerys Velaryon into his rooms. The door fell shut behind him, and Aegon took a sip of his wine.
Jacaerys bowed his head slightly, standing in front of Aegon. “I would like to apologize for what happened at dinner,” he said, much to Aegon’s surprise. “Aemond has a gift for antagonizing me, and Luke has been worrying about the rumors since we arrived in King’s Landing. I wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to Aemond if circumstances were different.”
Aegon chuckled. “You don’t have to be so formal, Jace,” he said, making Jacaerys lift his head. The boy was blushing, worrying his lower lip nervously.
“I did mean what I said, about our fond childhood memories,” Jacaerys added, looking oddly vulnerable. Perhaps Lucerys hadn’t been the only one worrying over the rumors of their parentage.
“I’m sorry for what Aemond said too,” Aegon said softly. “It was as good as calling you a bastard, and he shouldn’t have said it.”
Jacaerys relaxed slightly, though he didn’t smile, perhaps still nervous, though he didn’t run or bid Aegon a good night. Instead, he asked, “Can you forgive me for how we parted, the last time we saw one another?”
Aegon furrowed his brows in confusion. They had seen each other last on Driftmark, when Lucerys had taken Aemond’s eye. That night had ended with Jacaerys staring up at Aegon, heartbroken, his eyes wet with tears. He hadn’t cried, but Aegon knew that, by not speaking up and arguing against Aemond, he had poisoned their relationship forever.
“I am the one who let Aemond’s lies go unchallenged. I should have denied it when he said I had spread the rumors about you being a bastard,” Aegon replied. He took another swig of his wine. “I know it isn’t an excuse, but I was a child then too. I was scared.”
Jacaerys took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. Aegon could tell he was uneasy, so he offered Jacaerys the wine, and to his surprise, Jacaerys accepted and drank deeply. Aegon found himself watching the column of Jacaerys’s throat and forced himself to glance away, though only because he didn’t want to ruin his apology. He didn’t want Jacaerys to hate him.
Instead, Aegon murmured, “I’m sorry for suggesting to Baela that you would be a disappointment.”
Jacaerys turned red, though he had hardly drank any wine, and Aegon knew it was at the mere implication that he would have sex with his betrothed. He found himself amused by the younger prince’s sensibilities. He allowed himself a smirk, growing bolder because of the wine.
“To be honest, nephew, I said it because I didn’t like the thought of you being married,” Aegon blurted, the words spilling from his lips before he could process them fully.
Jacaerys, however, seemed to understand instantly, for he flushed an even deeper shade of red. He swallowed then lifted the goblet to his lips, hiding behind it as he took another sip.
Aegon felt as if a dam had burst open in his mind. Years of his life began to make sense, now that he had Jacaerys in his chambers, drinking his favorite wine from his goblet. All these years they had spent apart, he had agonized over the last night they had seen each other, Jacaerys’s devastated expression haunting his nightmares. As children, Jacaerys had always looked up to Aegon, following him everywhere. As an adult, Aegon often found himself missing that childlike easiness with which they had revolved around one another, passing hours in the gardens or the Dragonpit. He had always known that he loved his nephew, for Aegon had been closest to Jacaerys when they were children, Lucerys being too young while Aemond was too quiet, hardly wanting to play with him. Now, Jacaerys had grown into a man, and he looked stunning when he was blushing.
Aegon wrenched the metal goblet from his grip and tossed it onto the ground, where it spilled with a clatter. Then, Aegon grabbed his chin and kissed him. Jacaerys tasted like Arbor red, and Aegon ran his tongue along Jacaerys’s lower lip, wanting more. Jacaerys parted his lips, and Aegon’s tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting as much of his nephew as he could. They broke apart, and Aegon held Jacaerys’s face in his hands.
“I thought you hated me, because I might as well have called you a bastard for all I did,” Aegon whispered.
“And I thought you despised me, because I was unworthy of the blood of the dragon,” Jacaerys replied, just as quietly.
Aegon kissed him again briefly. “Nephew, I never could have hated you,” he said. “Especially not knowing how beautiful you look now.”
Now that Jacaerys was assured Aegon wasn’t angry with him, he smiled at the compliment, still red. “I love you, uncle Aegon,” Jacaerys said, moving one of his hands to cover Aegon’s own so that he was pressing Aegon’s palm to his cheek. “No matter what happens with the rest of our family, I will always love you, Uncle. I always have, ever since we were children.”
“As I love you, Jace,” Aegon replied, heart soaring because Jacaerys had not only welcomed his touch but had reciprocated it.
The dark look in Jacaerys’s eyes, however, certainly wasn’t the childlike love that had once bloomed between them, the sort of innocent affection between family members. Now, Aegon could see plainly that it was desire, perhaps the very emotion that had brought Jacaerys to Aegon’s chambers rather than his own. Still cupping Jacaerys’s cheek with one hand, Aegon trailed the other down the column of his neck to his chest, where he undid the top button of Jacaerys’s doublet.
“I could teach you how to please your betrothed, Nephew,” Aegon said, smiling as Jacaerys’s expression shifted, lips parting slightly.
“Teach me how to please you, Uncle,” Jacaerys replied, finally letting go of Aegon’s hand in favor of touching his chest through the fabric of his shirt.
Aegon could close his eyes and imagine it: Jacaerys spread out on the bed for him, moaning and calling out for him. ‘Please, Uncle,’ he would cry, or perhaps, ‘Please, Aegon.’ Aegon himself thought there was something elegant to, ‘Please, uncle Aegon,’ but he would gladly accept any version of Jacaerys moaning out his name and begging for him.
“Take your clothes off, and kneel on the bed for me,” Aegon instructed.
He grinned at the eagerness with which Jacaerys undressed before kneeling on the bed and looking back at him for further instructions. Jacaerys had grown into a handsome man, and Aegon was excited to ruin him.