Chapter Text
Waking up in the body of a baby is not an ideal scenario one would have.
“The boy is a miracle, my prince.” The old man murmured in awe, looking inside the crib to gaze upon the silent babe. Another man took a peek, burly form towering over the cradle; expression relieved with a mix of apprehension.
He bore short curly silver-gold hair and indigo eyes. It felt familiar to him but he couldn’t quite remember why.
“He’s sure to survive?”
“We are hopeful, my prince.” The Old man replied. “We were sure his heart stopped for ten minutes, but then he let out a soft cry as the midwife held him.”
“We almost lost him just short of his nameday.”
Silence penetrated through the nursery as the burly man continued looking at him- no, through him– eyes failing to mask his grief. Large hands clenched the side of the crib tightly and the old soul felt compelled to soothe his sorrow, even for a moment.
Pale stubby hands reached out, enveloping his thick finger. You poor thing.The baby cooed, and the prince stilled– drawing in a breath as their eyes met. I grieve for your loss.
It did not take much to realize his new mother(or lack of thereof) was not in picture. Probably died giving birth to this new, sickly body. Given he would’ve found himself in a more intimate position in a happier scenario.
This man’s grief was palpable, however he did not seem to despise his son for the death of his beloved wife; like unsurprisingly many in his generation would , but was more so searching for something in his eyes, his features; maybe the lost visage of his wife in the young boy.
“I wish to be alone with him.” The man murmured and the bald guy with chains around his neck bowed and left, to which the babe noticed– giving him another clear sign that his new father was of royal origins.
He better not fucking try to strangle me. The babe mused, giving the older man a heavy side-eye . Father or not, the guy seemed almost catatonic, and he has a lot to live for!
“You have her eyes.” The man whispered, a small but wet laugh escaping her lips. “ Gods , you have her eyes, her stupid…stupid, defiant eyes.” His words trembled, eyes watering.
And then he started crying.
Kneeling beside the cradle, the Prince sobbed and all the baby could do was lay there; watching his new father cry for a woman that would never return to him.
He felt for him. Helpless to his plight; for he was just a babe.
Damn, he kinda wants to cry too– but wouldn’t that make everything worse?
So, the uncomfortable babe rubbed the rings of his father’s fingers to distract himself but also soothe the grieving male as he cried and he cried, and the babe continued to do so even as the man relaxed, gurgling in complete marvel at the sliver shine and carvings of an ancient dragon.
That was real sliver, oh shi–
He realized his father had stopped crying once he was being picked up, nestled by sturdy, experienced arms. Bloodshot eyes looked down at him with softened eyes.
"You seem to like my rings, hm zaldrītsos?" His father smiled weakly. He rubbed his soft cheeks, the cool metal kissing his skin.
The babe gurgled, they were very pretty; adorned with black and red rubies and two bronze jewels that served as the engraved dragon’s “eyes.” so it was safe to say his intrigue was not false. He swears for a moment he hears his father purr as he watches his son play with his jewelery, a deep rumble vibrating from his chest.
Weird but…okay. Maybe he’s just hallucinating, or sleepy. Or both.
"Your uncle Aemon had them made for me. He had my dragon and her name engraved into them in high valyrian for my sixteenth nameday." Aemon. That sounds familiar but he doesn't–
"Aegon." His father let out a whisper, voice turning forlorn. "Please survive, for the sake of this selfish father of yours.”
Oh no, he didn’t have to ask. He will live. Even if he asked him to die right then and there, he would live up to 120 just out of spite–
The baby froze and looked at his father with wide eyes.
What-?
Did he just call him… Aegon?
As in the Valyrian name Aegon written in a song of ice and fire as well as fire and blood written by grrm’s wicked hands and heinous mind?
Silver hair and purple eyes now reminded him of A Desposed Dynasty, Daenerys, Viserys, The Mad King, Rhaegar, The Dance, Dragons, Aegon The Conqueror–
Oh fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck–
Was he…was he Aegon IV?!
The baby felt the blood rush to his head, migraine pulsating at his temple. God, please– he refused to be stuck in that degenerate’s body, baby or not!
Aegon screeched as loud as a baby his size could make which was…loud actually. His father flinched involuntarily, giving the boy a bewildered stare.
Which fucking Aegon was he?!(too many Aegon’s are in this damn family, he had to know damnit! This is between life and death!)