Chapter Text
Chapter One:
What sort of brother steals his sister's birthright?
KING'S LANDING
AEGON II TARGARYEN
Aegon sat on his late father’s seat at the small council, a seat of power that had become a twisted monument of his guilt. The news had reached him like a cold gust of wind, leaving Aegon in sheer terror. His brother had slain their nephew, Prince Lucerys. The boy’s life had been snuffed out by the jaws of his own late mother’s dragon upon the insistence of Aemond’s blind fury.
Aegon’s hand trembled as he gripped the King’s orb, his knuckles white with the effort to contain the rage and despair that threatened to overwhelm him.
His mind began to spiral into a pit of guilt. He had never truly wanted this crown; it had been thrust upon him, a weapon in the hands of those who sought to manipulate the succession for their own ends. His mother, now Dowager Queen, had been the driving force behind the usurpation of his half-sister.
But he had always known that Rhaenyra was the rightful heir. She was the eldest, the favoured child of their father who had declared and remained steadfast that Rhaenyra was his successor. But the whispers of power had turned into shouts, and before he knew it, Aegon was king.
The crown's weight had become so unbearable, a constant reminder of his betrayal, not only of Rhaenyra but of himself. He had once loved his half-sister deeply, and she had loved him deeply in return. Their bond had been strong, forged in the genuine warmth of Rhaenyra's desire for siblings long before the corrosive influence of ambition had shattered it.
Aegon’s thoughts drifted back to those days, simple and sweet, back when Rhaenyra was still at King’s Landing. He remembered the warmth of her smile, the way her laughter filled the halls like a melody. She had been a light in the often-dark and lonely halls of this place, a beacon for him when his own mother was too cold and hard, their father barely acknowledging his existence.
He could still see her in his mind’s eye, standing by the window in her chambers, the light of the setting sun casting a golden halo around her silver hair. Rhaenyra looked beautiful than ever. She had turned to him with a soft smile as he entered the room.
“Egg,” she had said, her voice filled with affection, “come here.”
He had been a boy of only ten summers, full of admiration for his elder sister. He approached her eagerly, and she wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace.
“Rhaenyra,” he had whispered, “do you have to go to Dragonstone? Can’t you stay here with me?”
Her smile had faltered for a moment and she had looked at him with a sadness he hadn’t understood at the time. “I must go, Aegon. The heir’s seat is at Dragonstone.” Aegon watched as his sweet sister paused, her fingers delicate as they brushed his silver curls. “And a change of scenery is needed, Laena grows weak here at court, brother. With Jace and Luke, now with the baby on the way too, it is too much for my wife.”
Aegon stared at her and despite his age, he could see and somehow understand his sister’s reluctance. “But I will always be your sister. Nothing will ever change that.” He wanted to protest, to beg Rhaenyra not to leave but the sadness in her eyes told Aegon that his words would not sway his sister’s decision.
He had nodded, trying to be brave, but the thought of losing her had filled him with a deep sense of sorrow. She kissed his forehead and whispered, “Remember, my dear brother, no matter what happens, I will always love you. Jace and I will correspond with you as much as we can. And Dragonstone isn’t far, I am only a raven away.”
Those words had stayed with him, buried deep in his heart, even as the years passed and their relationship became strained by the machinations of their own families. The love they had shared was now a distant memory, buried under the rubble of war and betrayal.
Aegon’s thoughts was shattered by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the small council. He could see his grandfather pacing across the room, his hand stroking his thick beard when the doors were flung open, and Aemond finally strode in.
Aegon’s fury ignited, burning through the layers of guilt and shame that had clouded his heart.
“How could you?” Aegon’s voice was a booming as it reverberated through the small council. He rose from his seat, his anger making him feel as though he were aflame. “How could you kill him, Aemond? Luke was our nephew, your blood!”
Aemond sneered and his face was a mask of arrogance. “Bastard blood shed at war.” His brother reminded him. Aegon’s fury now lit ablaze. The disgusting, vile rumours that their mother and grandfather had spread at court. Laena Velaryon’s bastard boys. “He was a threat to your throne, Aegon. A dragon rider, one who would have grown into a man and sought to challenge us. I did what had to be done.”
“Had to be done?” Aegon’s voice broke and the rage gave way to grief. “You’ve condemned us all! Rhaenyra will never forgive this, and neither will I.”
The coldness in Aemond’s gaze sent a chill down Aegon’s spine. His brother was unrepentant, his heart hardened by the belief that his cause is just. But Aegon could not accept that. He had never wanted to be king, had never wanted the bloodshed that came with it.
Their mother, the Dowager Queen, rushed into the room with her face pale and drawn. She had heard the news just like they had and Aegon could see her heart was breaking. “Aemond, what have you done?” she cried, her voice trembling with fear. “You’ve doomed us all!”
Aemond turned to their mother, his expression softening only slightly. “Mother, I did it for us, for our family.”
But their mother shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No, Aemond. This was never the way. You’ve unleashed a storm that we cannot control.”
Aegon watched as his mother fell to her knees, her hands clutching at her heart as if trying to hold it together. The sight of her, broken and despairing, only fueled his anger further. He stepped forward and his voice a low growl. “You’ve made us monsters, Aemond. You’ve made me a monster.”
Aemond said nothing but his defiance was faltering under the weight of Aegon’s condemnation. Aegon’s eyes burned with unshed tears as he looked at the man who had once been a boy he teased for having no dragon, a boy he envied for having all of their mother’s love.
Now, Aemond was but a stranger, a figure cloaked in darkness.
As Aegon turned away, his mind drifted back to the last time he had seen Rhaenyra before she left for Dragonstone. His sister had been full of hope, full of dreams for a future where their family might remain united. He had been a child then, too young to understand the currents of treason that flowed through the Red Keep. But now, as he held his mother, seeing the look of fear and guilt in her eyes, he understood all too well.
He remembered the day Rhaenyra had sailed away, the same tears in her eyes as she looked back at him one last time. He had watched from the shore, his heart heavy with the knowledge that something precious was slipping away from him.
And now, it was gone—forever.
Aegon knew that he would never be able to forgive himself for what had happened. The blood of his nephew was on his hands, on all of their hands.
Hours later he found himself staring at his own children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, children untouched by the corruption of his family. He watched as the twins paid him no mind, playing innocently whilst their father grieved in silence. The sight of their innocent laughter, their unburdened joy as they tumbled about with their wooden dragons, filled him with a longing for such peace. They were so young, so free of the horrors that had been unleashed upon the realm.
It was Aemond’s hand that had struck the blow, but Aegon felt the weight of the crime just as heavily. His brother had acted out of rage and pride, but it was Aegon who had allowed the situation to escalate to such a point.
It was he who had taken the throne that should have belonged to his sister, and in doing so, had set in motion the chain of events that had led to Lucerys’ death.
Aegon felt the crushing weight of shame descending upon him. The guilt that had been gnawing at him since his coronation now threatened to overwhelm him entirely. He had allowed himself to be swayed by the fears and ambitions of others. Had let his love for his sister be tainted by the poisonous whispers of those who sought to control him.
"In an hour, you will be king."
Aegon had stared at his mother, disbelief and dread swirling within him. The enormity of what was being asked of him had struck him like a hammer to the chest.
"My father never wanted this," Aegon had replied, his voice tinged with the pain of a truth he could not deny.
His mother paused, her conviction wavering for just a moment before she tried to sound sure, tried to convince him—and perhaps herself—of what she was about to say.
"That’s not true."
Aegon had been stunned and he shook his head as his weary mind struggled to grasp the enormity of the lie he was being asked to believe.
"Father had plenty of years to name me heir and never did," he had said, the words heavy with the weight of the past. He had paused, then looked directly at his mother, his voice firm and unyielding. "Steadfastly he upheld Rhaenyra’s claim."
His mother had swallowed, the tension in her throat visible as Aegon watched whilst she fought to maintain her composure. Aegon could see the desperation in her eyes, the need to believe in something, anything, that would justify what they were about to do.
"He changed his mind," she had said, voice trembling slightly.
Aegon had chuckled bitterly, a sound devoid of humour as he shook his own head in disbelief. "Oh."
The truth had been staring him in the face, and yet, the desperation of his mother, the fear that had been instilled in him had slowly begun to erode his resolve.
"No..." Aegon had muttered, turning his gaze away from his mother, unable to look her in the eyes any longer. "He could have, but he never did because he didn’t like me."
The admission had cut him deeply, a wound that had never truly healed. He had always felt like an outsider, unloved and unwanted by his father. Always unable to fight for his mother's love. The thought that Viserys had chosen Rhaenyra not just because she was the rightful heir, but because he had not seen Aegon as worthy, always haunted him.
But then his mother had spoken the words that had shattered the last remnants of Aegon’s resistance.
"And yet, with his final breath, he whispered to me that you should take his place on the throne."
Aegon had wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that his father had seen something in him, something that made him worthy of the throne. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. He knew that his father had never intended for him to be king, that Rhaenyra had always been his chosen heir. And yet, at that moment, with the weight of his mother’s words pressing down on him, he allowed himself to be led down a path of no return.
His chest tightened as he imagined Rhaenyra’s grief, her despair at the loss of her son, her pain at the betrayal of her own family. He could almost see her standing before him, her eyes filled with tears, voice trembling as she asked him why he had done this to her.
But Aegon had no answers. He had no way to justify the choices he had made, no way to undo the damage that had been done. The love he had once felt for his sister, the bond that had been the cornerstone of his childhood, was now a source of his great shame. He had lost his sister, the girl who stepped up in place of their neglectful father, and in her place now was a woman who had every reason to hate him.
“Forgive me.” He muttered, eyes dark and weary as he stared at his own daughter, his fingers brushing her silver hair. Aegon had stolen his sister’s crown and now he was responsible for the death of her child. “Forgive me, Rhaenyra.” He whispers, tears now streaming down his face.