Aemond
What a horrible way for Aethan to meet his future bride…Aemond thought as he watched Aethan mount the Cannibal. The rest of the Targaryen dragon riders had already mounted their beasts and were preparing to leave Casterly Rock to return to King's Landing. Just as she gets the news of her father's passing.
Affixed to Vhagar's flank was a large wooden casket bearing the preserved body of a man Aemond now knew to be Robert Baratheon. A secret that he shared with Aegon and Helaena, but that he would never be able to share with any other living person, lest he be branded mad. A secret he was not certain he believed.
Robert or Borros, Aegon had declared he be given a funeral fit for a King once they returned to King's Landing. Aegon even planned to burn his body with Sunfyre, his ashes to be placed in a box inlaid with gold.
On the day of Borros's death, Jason Lannister had hosted a silent, respectful feast, attended by the Lords of Westeros who had served under Borros as they defeated the last of Rhaenyra's forces and purged the Iron Islands. But now it was time for those Lords to return to their own castles and lands, preparing to move the realm forward into the reign of Aegon II, the King for whom they had fought and bled.
We have much work to do of our own, Aemond thought as he reached down and lovingly stroked Vhagar's neck. Aegon's plans for the future of the Seven Kingdoms will take years to enact.
Aemond would be helping him every step of the way. As his brother and his dragon rider…and for the time being, as his lover as well.
Already, he was helping as much as was in his power to do. Aegon, it seemed, had grown to care for Robert, and two days later, he still grieved his passing. A King did not have the luxury of mourning publicly, but Aemond had taken some of the burden off Aegon's shoulders so he would not have to playact more than what was needed.
Over the past two days, Aemond had taken over answering questions and giving direction to the more mundane issues presented by the Lords as they dispersed. He feared he had overstepped by just a toe when he gave the Crown's blessing for Cregan Stark to ask for Alysanne Blackwood's hand in marriage (thus uniting two powerful Houses), but Aegon had no objection when Aemond informed him of it.
"Robert told me that Cregan showed me a great act of loyalty in the original course of history," Aegon had told him. "It was he who worked to find the man who poisoned me. His future loyalty can be depended on, and I wish to maintain good relations with House Stark."
A sentiment that Helaena silently shared. His sister had spoken little since Borros's death, but Aemond knew she grieved as well. She and Aegon had stayed by his bedside until the last beat of his heart, and she had remained to stand vigil over him while the Silent Sisters prepared his body.
"We owe him our lives and our future," was one of the few things she said, hand resting lovingly on her belly. "And the only repayment he asked is that we raise our children to be good, honorable people."
And we shall, Aemond thought, smiling lovingly as he looked over to where Helaena sat in Dreamfyre's saddle, directing her to take flight a few seconds after Aegon gave the same command to Sunfyre. I so look forward to meeting our child. Our daughter, if Aegon is correct.
A daughter Helaena had already named Lyanna…
Aegon
Losing an ear certainly didn't make the crown fit any better, Aegon thought as he climbed the steps to the Iron Throne. It was a slow progression. His calf was healing more and more by the day, and the pain was a dull ache more so than a fierce stabbing, yet he silently cursed every step. The war was won, but he still would not allow himself to use a cane. Not in the throne room. Public weakness was not a luxury a king could afford.
Nor could he afford to design himself a new crown.
He, Aemond, and Helaena had discussed it at length, and he broached the subject of the crown he once wished to design for himself: a gold filigree studded with emeralds. Beautiful, ornate, and designed to fit properly on his head. A lavish crown to signify the peace and prosperity he hoped to bring to Westeros.
However, he'd allowed Aemond to change his mind.
"You did not inherit a realm of peace, Aegon," Aemond had reminded him as he re-adjusted his Valyrian steel crown for him. "You had to fight for your inheritance tooth and claw. You had to bleed and sacrifice a part of your own body to claim what should have been peacefully passed to you. You're a conqueror now as well, brother. And though you do indeed have the kingdoms united under your rule, you do not want to signify that you are ready to rest calmly on your laurels. You want to remind the people of who you are and what you accomplished."
Aemond was right, of course. Once upon a time, resting calmly on his laurels while others did the work of ruling for him is exactly what he wanted. Yet now, the thought of doing so made him ill.
I was not the only one who fought. My people fought and died for me. Oldtown burned for their loyalty to me. Gwayne died for me. Robert…
Aegon was not prepared to let himself think of Robert yet. Later, when he and Aemond could be alone, he could allow himself to continue grieving for the man who had well and truly put him on the throne because he believed in him. Because he believed him and his children would be best for Westeros.
A man Aegon had slowly come to see as a better father than Viserys ever was.
So, Aegon would not be replacing his crown with an opulent decoration. He would not be allowing others to rule in his stead whilst he relaxed. And he would not be climbing the steps to the throne with a cane in his hand. He would show the people that he was indeed the fearless warrior king they had fought for.
Even if his calf was screaming for mercy.
Soon enough, he reached the throne itself and sat, leaning forward to face the lords and ladies of his court.
"The funeral for Lord Borros Baratheon, the King's Master of War, will take place on the morrow," he declared. "We shall gather together to honor a great man who has done the realm a service that it can never repay. A man I am proud to call a friend to both myself and my family.
"Out of respect for Borros, and for everyone who lost their lives in the war that is already being styled as the Dance of Dragons, I have ordered the constructions of several memorial statues. The work will begin the day following the funeral service, and there will be a public unveiling ceremony for each."
The one for Robert would be relatively simple: a life-sized sculpture of him wearing his antlered helm and wielding his war hammer. It, along with the other statues, would be placed in front of the dragon pit. A place that House Targaryen might no longer have needed had Robert not come to them.
"Furthermore," Aegon declared, "now that the war has ended, the traitors Rhaenyra and Daemon are dead, and all those loyal to them have either perished or bent the knee and agreed to peace, I have come to a decision regarding the futures of my nephews Aegon and Viserys and my cousin Rhaena."
Aegon and Viserys would eventually be sent Oldtown to join the maesters. A decision he had discussed with his Lords before leaving Casterly Rock. The boys could not be allowed to marry and have children. Even if he disregarded Robert's warning, the boys had Rhaenyra's blood, and Aegon would not risk another war for his descendants to fight. That meant they would need to join the Faith, the Night's Watch, or the Maesters: the common denominator being a vow of chastity.
"If they are sent to Oldtown, your grace," Ormund had reminded him, "then your kin can ensure to keep watch of them. Lest they decide to try to leave the Citadel."
A sentiment to which Aegon agreed. However, he decided to allow the boys to remain in the Red Keep for the next five years. Sending them to Oldtown now would be folly. And cruel. Oldtown was still grieving and angry after the attack levied by Daemon and Rhaenyra, and the boys were like to be targeted for scorn and possibly violence. Not to mention the boys themselves were still greatly distressed (especially young Aegon) and mourning the loss of their entire family. Five years would give all parties the time they needed to heal.
Rhaena, however, was a more complicated matter.
He had no wish to execute her, regardless of her role in costing Aemond his eye. Nor did he have any wish to allow her to live out her life on the Traitor's Walk, a fate no better than death. But if she was to be granted her freedom, she could not be given access to freely roam the Red Keep for fear she would plot against them. And so Rhaena's options would be limited. Options that she would be granted today.
Aegon gestured to his guards, and the nodded back before retrieving Rhaena from where she waited in the hallway, still bound hand and foot in manacles. She'd been treated well. She was clean, well fed, and was wearing a dress that was more simplistic than the royal garb she was accustomed to, but still new. She also wore a look of scorn as she stared up at him on the Iron Throne, refusing to kneel or speak, not even to refer to him as 'your grace'. A potentially ill omen.
"Rhaena Targaryen," Aegon said. "The crown recognizes your innocence in the Dance of Dragons. And despite the war, you are my kin, and I do not hold you responsible for the crimes of your father or stepmother."
Her eyes flashed, but she kept her face and her posture impassive, staring ahead with a quiet dignity and remaining silent.
"And so for your innocence, I am granting a chance for a future," he continued. "Daemion Velaryon, newly titled Lord of Driftmark, has a younger brother who is not yet wed and is in need of a bride. I would allow you to marry him as a way to preserve the blood of Old Valyria."
A safe risk, Helaena assured him. Like Aethan, Rhaena had no claim to the throne because her strongest Targaryen blood came from Daemon, who was well behind Aegon's line in the succession anyway. If Rhaena married Daemion's younger brother, her line would meander away from the main trunk of the Velaryon family tree. Effectively, Aegon would be wedding her into obscurity.
Rhaena's cheek twitched, yet still, she did not reply.
"However," Aegon continued, "this is conditional upon you bending the knee and swearing obeisance to the Iron Throne. If you refuse, I will have no choice but to brand you a traitor to the realm and send you to live amongst the Silent Sisters."
A hard life and a potentially dangerous fate. Rhaena would have to live in Oldtown, and they would undoubtedly know that she was Daemon's daughter. A fact that did not escape her, given the way her jaw began to tremble.
"So," Aegon spoke, his face a regal mask. "What will it be, cousin? Driftmark or Oldtown?"
Choose Driftmark, he silently urged her. I know you'll mourn the life you once had. The family you lost. But you will still have what could be a good life. Driftmark will not be destitute for long. They will build new ships and docks, and they can still earn tariffs through the port of Spicetown. Do not choose the Silent Sisters.
A single tear rolled down Rhaena's cheek, but she dipped her head respectfully, then with a tiny sob, sank into a genuflection.
"I accept the betrothal, and I thank you for giving me a chance at freedom…your grace," she said, choking on the words.
Good, he thought, nodding and gesturing for his guards to escort her away. She would be put on a ship to Driftmark immediately, and there was a good chance Aegon would never lay eyes on his cousin again. It was better that way, for the Greens and for her.
But as for the other prisoner taking up residence on the Traitor's Walk? He was another matter entirely…
Larys
Aegon was wise to arrange for this to be a private conversation, he thought as he made his way into the small council chamber.
Alyn of Hull had already been brought to the chamber in chains by order of the Hand. Undoubtedly, Otto meant to have both Larys and Alyn repeat their accusations against Borros Baratheon before the King, now that he had returned from battle.
Had I known the oaf was going to get himself killed in combat, I'd have waited to enact my plan, Larys lamented. Borros was no longer a threat to him. On the morrow, his ashes would be in a box, on their way back to Storm's End. The construction of his statue would begin. And Larys would have unfettered access to the King once again.
With Borros gone, only Otto Hightower stood in his way. The Hand was not a young man. Surely, no one would think twice if he 'took ill'. Which would leave only Larys, the King's Master of Whisperers, as his most valuable asset.
After he talked his way through the accusation he'd leveled at the late Borros, of course…
A task that might prove harder than he feared. For when he entered the chamber, the Kingsguard closed the door behind him, and the scent of blood struck him like a slap to the face. A scent he was all too familiar with from when he'd extracted information from prisoners in the Keep's dungeon. And a half-second later, he identified the source.
Alyn of Hull's body lay on the floor of the council chamber, still wearing his manacles as blood flowed freely from his headless neck. His head was nowhere to be seen.
The council, meanwhile, seemed unbothered by the rapidly cooling corpse in their midst. All eyes remained fixed on Larys as he paused on the staircase, their range of emotions belying no hint of fear or distress. King Aegon watched Larys calmly from his chair. Placid and at peace, as though sitting down for any other mundane meeting. Otto's gaze was much harsher, a glower that had Larys suppressing the urge to squirm. Aethan's glare was near murderous, scarcely hiding a clear desire to feed Larys to his dragon. Alicent's eyes held something akin to pity…but most alarming of all was Prince Aemond. He alone did not bother to look up at Larys as he entered the chamber. In his lap rested Dark Sister, his attentions focused on wiping away the lingering traces of blood from the blade.
"Lord Larys," Aegon greeted him pleasantly. "Thank you for joining us. Please take a seat."
He had no wish to take a seat, and not merely because Alyn's headless body was mere inches from his designated chair, requiring him to shuffle around a puddle of blood. He'd seen corpses aplenty. Never before had they caused such a feeling of dread to pool in his gut.
But Larys had no choice but to sit. It was the King's command, and he had no means to escape. And so he donned his carefully constructed mask and nodded respectfully, walking the remaining steps forward to take his seat.
"As you have undoubtedly seen," Aegon began, "Prince Aemond had the unfortunate task of carrying out the execution of Alyn of Hull."
Prince Aemond did not at all look fazed by this 'unfortunate task'. His face was almost serene as he patiently cleaned his sword, still making no move to look up at Larys.
"As we speak," Aegon continued, "his head is being mounted on a spike outside of the Red Keep. A rather morbid deterrent to frighten future traitors."
And his body was left behind to frighten me. It took every ounce of Larys's composure to hide the fact that Aegon had succeeded.
"I intended to allow Alyn to live and be sent to the Wall," Aegon continued. "However, upon my return from battle, I discovered that he'd been spreading some rather filthy lies regarding my Master of War." Politely nodding to Aethan, "And of my cousin as well."
Cousin. Fuck. That meant Aegon had embraced the dragon seed as his kin.
Aegon's eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. "As you can imagine, Lord Larys, I found these lies to be rather distressing. Lord Borros Baratheon lost his very life protecting me. His guidance lead to our clear and decisive victory over the Blacks."
A small finger twitch was Larys's only outward sign of the terror raging through his mind. "Understandable, your grace," he replied smoothly.
"Hmm," Aegon nodded, before furrowing his brow in an expression that Larys knew immediately was false. Mock concern. "More worryingly, Lord Larys, it would seem that Alyn of Hull succeeded in convincing you of his lies as well."
Larys didn't answer. Couldn't.
"And it would seem your spy network was ineffective at refuting these lies."
His mind scrambled for words, any words, with which he could spare himself, but terror settled in his throat like a lump. Rendering him mute.
"To err is to be human, Lord Larys," Aegon said sympathetically, making him tense.
Is he…to forgive me?
Hopeful now, the lump in his throat dissipated, and he found his voice yet again.
"Indeed, your grace," he nodded his head apologetically. "I allowed myself to be misled. You have my apologies…"
"And you have my forgiveness," Aegon declared, smiling at him warmly. A smile that did not reach his eyes, which flashed will ill-controlled rage.
No…
"However," Aegon said, "my reign is in its infancy, and in order to build the future I wish to build, I am in need of advisors who are masters of their craft. A Master of Whisperers who is so easily deceived by such obvious lies is, regrettably, useless to me."
No…
Sadistically, Aegon allowed the silence to linger in the chamber for several long seconds, eyes locked on Larys until a bead of sweat dripped its way down his brow, falling into his eye and making him blink.
"Your grace," Larys croaked, swallowing. "I beg…"
"I'm afraid I've already made my decision, Lord Larys," Aegon said, tone still warm and pleasant.
No…
"You are to return to Harrenhal at once."
Larys blinked again, this time in confusion. Harrenhal?
"Your grace?" he questioned.
Aegon laughed heartily. "Lord Larys, surely you did not believe I intended to execute you, a highborn lord, for an honest mistake?" he teased. "No, Lord Larys, I merely intend to send you back to your family's castle. I have no need of you here any longer, but Harrenhal needs its Lord. It will take some effort to restore its normal order of operations after the war."
Oh, thank the gods…
Larys managed to hide his relief. It was not difficult. Being banished to Harrenhal, while better than death, was far from ideal. He'd always despised that decrepit castle. But if it spared his head from a spike, he would fall to his knees and kiss the damp stone floors.
Nodding respectfully again, Larys said obediently, "Yes, your grace. I will have my servants pack my belongings immediately and make for Harrenhal tonight."
Aegon beamed, nodding back. "Good," he declared. "I wish you safe travels and good fortune, Lord Larys. And I thank you for your past service to the Crown. You may go."
Accepting his dismissal (and hiding relief so powerful it nearly brought tears to his eyes), Larys rose from his chair, grabbed his cane, and made for the door as fast as was reasonably appropriate, scarcely managing to once again avoid stepping in the puddle of Alyn's blood.
He would not realize until two days later that Aegon's 'forgiveness' was a mummer's farce.
Whilst he and his household were on their journey back to Harrenhal, he would rest in his carriage, unaware that they were about to be beset upon by 'bandits'. A robbery that would result in 'tragedy'. A tragedy that would lead to a new Lord of Harrenhal being appointed before the fortnight drew to a close.
And with the death of the last of Aegon's enemies came the true end of the Dance of Dragons.
Ten Years Later
Aegon
"You want to hold the reins just like this, Princess," Aemond patiently instructed as Lyanna climbed atop her young she-dragon, Godstorm, for the first time. A fearsome name matching the dragon's regal bearing.
A dragon well-suited for Jaehaerys's future queen, Aegon thought proudly, his heart warmed as he watched Aemond with his 'niece'.
It had been no easy task keeping Lyanna's true parentage a secret. On the day she was born, when Aegon placed the pink newborn babe into Aemond's arms, his normally-stoic brother openly wept tears of joy as he kissed her tiny forehead. And from that day forward, Aemond's heart belonged to her.
Aemond loved his sons, of course. He and Abby Tully exchanged their wedding vows nine years prior, and she'd given him four children. Four boys with a smattering of freckles adorning their cheeks. All had the Targaryen look save for his youngest, the only one born with his mother's auburn hair. Aemond was a good father to all of them. He taught them swordplay, taught them High Valyrian, and shared with them the histories of their House. He worked in tandem with Abby to raise them to be decent, honorable young men.
And as promised, all four had been given dragon eggs, honoring their pact with House Tully. Only one egg had hatched, the egg of his firstborn son, but Aemond promised to help his younger three sons try to claim dragons when the time was right. Just as he himself had claimed Vhagar.
But as much as Aemond loved his boys, Aegon knew Lyanna was special to him. And despite knowing it was safest for Aemond to keep his distance, Aegon could not bear suggesting it.
No one will ever know he is more than a loving uncle, Aegon assured himself. And if there are suspicions, who could prove it?
A tiny hand tugged at Aegon's sleeve, and he looked down to see Robert, his youngest son, looking up at him hopefully.
"I'll have a dragon too someday, won't I, Papa?" he asked him worriedly.
Robert was now six years old, and it was unlikely his cradle egg would ever hatch. A fact that had brought tears to the young prince's eyes. But Aegon was quick to reassure his boy, kneeling next to him and smiling warmly.
"I cannot promise you a dragon," he told him honestly. "But I can promise you the right to try to claim one. We have two tame dragons who are unclaimed, and some of the hatchlings on Dragonstone are surviving to adulthood now that the Cannibal lives in the Stormlands with Aethan. When you're a bit older, you may make your attempt."
By then, Jaehaerys may be ready to take his place there. His eldest had just reached the age of adulthood, but he was remaining in King's Landing until Lyanna was old enough to marry, which would not happen for several years. Until then, he was attending Small Council meetings, learning as much as he could learn so that when the time came, he would be prepared to be King himself.
"Speaking of the Cannibal," Helaena said from over his shoulder, "Aethan will be here on the morrow. He's finally returning from his mission in Sunspear. He wishes to bring the news in person rather than sending a raven, even though he's at last learned to write."
Aegon craned his head around to see her face and found her wearing a knowing smile, one that allowed him to breathe a sigh of relief.
"His mission was successful?" he asked. "Princess Aliandra has agreed to marry her son to Aethan's elder daughter?" To which, Helaena nodded.
Thank the gods…
Relations with Dorne had been problematic since Aegon's reign had begun. Dorne, officially, wanted no war with the Seven Kingdoms, but they'd begun testing the border, and in doing so, testing Aegon's resolve to defend it. Small scale attacks and scrimmages had broken out across the Marches, and each and every time, Aegon (or more often, Aethan and the Cannibal) had driven the invaders back, burning those who did not retreat fast enough.
But those half-measures had brought no lasting resolution. Even with Aethan and the Cannibal living at Summerhall, the invasion attempts did not stop, and Aegon had at last decided that the growing conflict either needed to be ended peacefully via marriage pact or violently through war.
"The Dornish have chosen peace," Helaena assured him. "And marrying a Targaryen to a Martell will sow the seeds of the future. We will not see Dorne become part of the Seven Kingdoms in our lifetime, but it will happen."
Aegon nodded, but in truth, he didn't much care. He had no strong desire to bring Dorne into the fold. He had goals aplenty without climbing that particular mountain. So long as the conflict with Dorne was resolved.
Right now, his greatest concern was watching Aemond step away so that Lyanna could give Godstorm the command to fly for the very first time.
"Soves!" she cried happily, to which the young dragon let out a squeaky roar and spread her wings to obey.
"Not too high!" Aemond commanded her, although Jaehaerys was already in the sky with Shrykos to ensure Lyanna's safety.
Helaena, however, merely laughed. "She'll be fine, brother," she promised him.
Nonetheless, Aemond watched her worriedly for the first several minutes, but his face gradually relaxed, transforming into a beam of pride as he saw that the young princess was a naturally gifted flier. When he finally turned to face Aegon and Helaena again, he wore a broad smile.
"She's done it!" he declared proudly, making Aegon laugh.
Indeed, she has, brother. Our little girl. Yours. Mine. And Helaena's. Just as Robert is our son. Aegon hadn't the faintest idea if Robert was his or Aemond's. Nor did he care.
After his marriage to Abby, Aemond had intended to limit his relationship with Aegon and Helaena to one that was merely fraternal. Aegon had accepted it, although he had wept the night before Aemond's wedding, clinging to his brother tightly while they lay in bed together for what he believed would be the last time. But mercifully, his tears were unwarranted. Aemond's resolve only endured three months.
"We cannot be together as often as we once were," Aemond told him that first night, resting his head in Aegon's lap whilst they basked in the warmth of their love. "But I will not delude myself into believing I can keep away from you forever. You or Helaena."
We may only be together once every fortnight or so, Aegon thought. But we are together. Sometimes just he and I. Sometimes all three of us. As it should be.
A life, a future, that they owed to a man who would never be born.
What would have become of us, he wondered, had it not been for Robert Baratheon?
He supposed it didn't matter. He would accept the gift. Accept it and be grateful.