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Chapter Text

The wine in his goblet swirled like a whirlpool.

Aegon smirked as he watched the crimson vortex, the sunlight on his skin like a balm. The terrace he and his companions sat on overlooked the sprawling gardens, a tapestry of green, gold, pink and purple— but in spite of the splendor around him, his attention was firmly fixed on the boy sitting across from him. Clyve Merrywrather, was what a mouse might look like if the gods had decided to make it human.

The boy was thin, almost painfully fragile, with limbs like brittle twigs and a mop of brown hair that seemed to swallow his narrow face. His hooked nose jutted out prominently, a gift from his father no doubt, and Aegon found himself wondering if the boy might accidentally inhale an entire bonfire should he ever hover too close.

“So, what do you do for entertainment, M'lord of the Longtables?” Amory drawled behind him, absently stroking his stubble. The idiot had been most enthused by the new addition to their circle—not because he cared for the fool in any way, but mostly because he saw a chance to have fun at his expense.

Clyve shifted uncomfortably, his bony hands fiddling with the edge of his clover green tunic. “I... I enjoy hawking.”

Amory snorted. “Hawking? The women’s entertainment? Do you do anything men do? Swordplay? Hunting? Wrestling?”

Sedric, lounging beside Amory with his feet kicked up on a low table, guffawed. “Of course he doesn’t. Look at him. The boy isn’t even old enough to have hair on his balls.” He leaned forward, peering at Clyve with a grin that was more wolf than man. “How old are you,  again? Nine? Ten?”

Clyve’s sallow cheeks flamed scarlet. “Th-three and ten,” he managed to squeak.

Amory choked on his wine, shaking his head in mock pity. “Three and ten? Gods help you, lad. Better hope you start growing in some areas soon, or your future bride’s going to be stuck homing a rainworm between her legs.”

Aegon stifled a laugh, as Clyve sank lower in his chair. “My Lord must be regretting his Mother bringing him to court now.”

At that, his little brown eyes widened and he seized the hem of his tunic in a death grip.

“No, no, I... I’m enjoying it. Plenty more to see than back at Longtable Hall. My mother promised I might even get to train with the Kingsguard. Mayhaps squire for the Prince, but...”

Aegon barked a laugh. “I take it Aemond wasn’t amenable?”

The blood drained from Clyve’s face, leaving him pale as milk. Aegon glanced over the mouse’s shoulder, spotting Aemond hovering behind their mother’s chair a few feet away. Alicent was deep in conversation with Lady Merryweather and her gaggle of simpering ladies-in-waiting, their laughter tinkling like glass. His brother, as calm as ever, was dutifully acting as her escort alongside Ser Criston, his posture as straight as the Kingsguard's.

The sight made Aegon’s chest tighten with irritation. He knew his brother well enough to guess that enduring the company of prattling women was fraying his nerves, yet Aemond remained composed. As infuriatingly focused on duty as he always was— as if he had never tackled their cousin into a lemon cake tray just days prior.

-Its scarce fair.

His father had banned him from leaving his quarters as punishment, and not even a few days later, he was out and about, Mother having managed to secure his freedom under the guise of him providing her protection. All the while Aegon had had to apologize to Rhaenyra for functionally saving her daughter's life. 

For half a breath, Aegon toyed with the notion of dragging Lucera to the brothel tonight, just to see Aemond drop that infuriating pretense of perfection.

But he dismissed the thought. He’d sworn to mother—and more importantly, to Ser Gerald—that he would comport himself. To an extent. He'd gotten enough scolding over the fountain incident to bear the absolute chaos Mother would cause if she caught him in a brothel with Lucera of all people.

“Oh, no, no the Prince was courteous but… but he… he said he did not need… I was…” Clyve was almost blubbering the mere mention of his brother's name making his fingers tremble.

“What you mean to say is that he’s been a stiff cunt, hasn’t he?”

Amory and Sedric erupted into laughter as Clyve’s shoulders hunched further, his face burning. “N-no, I would never, I—"

“Oh you can say it. He's always been like that, the twat.” Aegon waved a dismissive hand his way. “Fortunately for you, your mother handed you over to the less stiff brother.” Rising to his feet, Aegon shoved a goblet of wine into Clyve’s trembling hands before plopping down into the chair beside him. “Drink up, little mouse. I'll make a man of you yet.”

Clyve made a face as the wine hit his tongue, but Aegon ignored it, draping an arm around the boy’s bony shoulders. “So. Is it true you’ve taken a shine to young Lady Anya Wendwater?”

Clyve froze under his touch, as Amory and Sedric doubled over with laughter.

“Come now, there is no cause to be ashamed,” Aegon said, patting Clyve on the chest with mock sincerity. “That’s a good thing. Your first step toward manhood.”

Clyve squinted up at him, his expression uneasy. “How is it a step?”

Aegon’s smirk deepened as he exchanged glances with his companions. “Oh, you’ll see.”

Scarce an hour later, as the sun was starting to dip low in the sky, Aegon, Amory, Sedric, and Clyve slipped away from the terrace. The excuse of starting Clyve's squiring had been just believable enough to escape the sharp gaze of his Mother, brother and the ladies he insisted on presiding over. They tracked Lady Anya rather swiftly, discovering her lounging in the outer gardens just beyond the terrace. She sat with two other young ladies, engrossed in a knitting circle beneath the dappled shade of a sprawling ash tree.

Aegon recognized the two ladies with her instantly—the waspish Massey girl, who bore a startling resemblance to his half-sister's Lady in waiting, and the flaxen-haired Casswell septa, the same insufferably pious bird who had harangued him on the virtues of chastity and matrimony.

The thought of going near her again made his hackles raise, but he supposed he was fortunate his betrothed was not there as well. Jacaera was still hiding in her chambers, away from the shameless gossip about her tits, and he hoped she would remain embarrassed enough to stay in there forever.

"Right," Aegon clapped a firm hand on Clyve's bony shoulder. The boy flinched, nearly spilling the goblet of wine he'd been coaxed into holding previously. "If you seek to win a woman’s heart, you must be direct. Bold." He shot the boy a grin. "Granted, Lady Anya’s a tad older than you, but that’s a good thing. An older woman can teach you quite a few tricks—provided you’re willing to learn."

Clyve’s face flushed an alarming shade of red, his eyes bulging out of his skull. “I—I’m not sure about this,” he stammered, his hands worrying the gold buttons of his doublet.

Amory waved dismissively. “Nonsense. Women love bold knights. Show her you’re determined, and she’ll melt like butter in the sun for you. Besides,” he added with a sly grin, “don’t you want to be a man? This is what men do.”

The boy swallowed hard, looking as though he might collapse on the spot. Finally, with a squeaky voice and a stiff nod, he declared, “I’ll do it.”

Aegon and his companions howled in unison, and Sedric gave the boy a rough shove forward. Clyve staggered toward the women, his spindly legs trembling like a newborn fawn’s.

“How long before he makes an utter fool of himself?” Amory leaned against a tree trunk with a smirk.

Aegon swirled the wine in his goblet, watching Clyve’s awkward approach with detached amusement. “A few minutes, at most.”

“I swear, one of these days, your antics will send us the Seven hells, my Prince,” Sedric said, shaking his head. “The poor boy’s about to be disgraced .”

Aegon shrugged. “Mother’s notion, not mine. I never agreed to have a squire.”

-Or to be spied on.

As casual as Mother had tried to make the arrangement seem, Aegon wasn’t fooled. Clyve’s placement in his circle wasn’t a mere courtesy to Lady Merryweather. He was certain the boy was here to report back to Alicent—trail after him and ensure he did everything she requested. The insult gnawed at him. Even as a man grown, his mother refused to let him walk without a leash.

His musings were interrupted by a loud squeak from the circle of women. Aegon’s eyes snapped to the scene just as Lady Anya beckoned him forward with a delicate wave of her hand.

“It seems the ladies would rather have you than Stickman over there,” Amory snickered.

Grinning, Aegon strode toward them, his boots crunching on the gravel path.

“My Ladies,” he greeted with a roguish bow, flashing his most charming smile. “Gods, you’re all visions. I pray you’re having a marvelous day.”

Anya, the prettiest of the group, smirked at him, her cheeks tinged with a delicate pink as she set aside her tambout. “We were, until your squire arrived,”

Aegon raised an eyebrow and lowered himself onto the grass beside a catatonic Clyve.

“Oh?” he said, feigning innocence. “What’s the lad done now?”

The Massey girl crossed her arms, her dark eyes narrowing. “He’s been most uncouth. Saying all manner of vulgarities before maidens of gentle birth.”

Aegon rolled his eyes dramatically and clapped Clyve on the shoulder. The little think almost snapped like a rotten twig, his mouth agape. “Oh apologies, that is most unbecoming. And so unlike young Clyve.” He declared with mock reproach. “He’s a good lad. Perfectly mannered if a tad… slow at times.”

Anya’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing across her face. “Oh? I suppose speaking of... milkers is proper, then?”

Against his better judgement, Aegon barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Milk what?”

The boy sputtered, his face glowing red. “I—I meant no offense!”

The Massey girl snorted, her expression indignant. “Then mayhaps you shouldn’t have said such crass things!”

Behind her, the Casswell septa frowned deeply, her brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand. What does milk have to do with any of this?”

The Massey girl patted the septa’s shoulder, “It’s alright Lys best you do not learn.”

“I don’t even know what it means!” Clyve interjected, half blubbering now. “I just repeated what I heard Ser Amory and the prince saying!”

Anya laughed, her mirth finally bubbling to the surface. “Ah, so ‘twas you who have been corrupting him, my Prince? What’s the matter? Have you not seen enough teats at the mourning breakfast.”

Both Clyve and the septa exclaimed, “Teats?!” in unison, their faces mirrors of mortification.

Aegon couldn’t resist licking his lips.

-Humorous, this one.

Was it too much to hope for that she would pass on some of that boldness to his bride?

“Not nearly as many as I mean to see.”

“I’m certain your betrothed would be delighted to hear how you’re planning on dishonoring her.”

His affection for the little spitfire wilted and died in an instant. “No need to bring sweet Jacaera into this. Trust the showing at the breakfast was sufficient to keep my attentions for the remainder of our days.”

Lady Anya arched a brow, and for once, Aegon couldn’t fault her incredulousness. Though he was customarily good at finding attributes to like in unappealing women—good tits, tight ass, a forward disposition—Jacaera had seemed the exception. Until the blasted breakfast.

Granted, her chest was nothing spectacular—her sister's milkers had hers beat by a long mile, but he found that the modest size oddly suited her. The wet chemise had clung to her slender torso perfectly, outlining the sharp contours of her belly, the curve of her waist. It had surprised him to see that she wasn’t wearing those absurdly tight bodices just to force her waist into an unnaturally dainty curve.

It was just how her waist was shaped. Perfectly concave, with a lush flare where her hips started. There was something queerly sensual about the sight—against his better judgement, he started thinking that he might not even have to put a burlap sack over her head to bed her. He could just get her to turn over, so he could trail that little waist and grab ahold of her hips before he got the job done.  

But then he recalled the way she'd scolded him at the Sept, the shrill, almost nagging manner in which she poked at his faults, and that desire crumbled to ash. The last thing he needed was for her to scold him—he got plenty of that from Mother.

Clyve abruptly leapt to his feet, his voice rising in panic. “I didn’t know! I never meant to say such a thing!”

The septa shook her head, her blue eyes hurling daggers his way. “After all I’ve said to you about proper conduct, my Prince! How could you?!”

Aegon bit back a sigh, thinking that her lectures would drive even the most devout Septon to go get railed in the ass by some buttboy out of sheer spite. But before he could smooth things over, Clyve squealed and bolted, sprinting blindly across the garden.

“Clyve, wait!” Aegon called, but he didn’t stop.

His mad dash ended with a spectacular collision. Clyve barreled headfirst into a lady dressed in garish orange, the two of them tumbling to the ground in a tangle of lace and frills.

Screams sounded on the other side of the garden path, as the woman’s ladies started lashing Clyve with their fans. Beside them, Septa Casswell was on the verge of collapsing, whilst Lady Anya was rolling her eyes.

As I’d things couldn’t get any better, Aegon realized Clyve had landed face-first into the powdered crone's ample bosom.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, “he’ll certainly remember what milkers are now.”

His amusement was short-lived. A figure in dark leather pushed through the sea of panicked women, to seize a blubbering Clyve by the collar.

The damned boy let out a petrified shriek when Aemond hauled him to his feet, showering him with unintelligible pleas, as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Aegon hadn’t even noticed Amory and Sedric had rushed over to his side until Amory laid a hand on his shoulder.  

“Marvelous. He gets milkers, and we get a thrashing.”

Aegon’s gut sank as Aemond’s cold voice cut through the gathering crowd. “Clear the way,” his brother commanded, his expression as severe as ever.

Grinding his teeth, Aegon sighed. Of course, Aemond had to appear at just the right moment to intervene. And now he was going to rush to tell Mother all about it, while Clyve screams and blubbers into Lady Merryweather's skirts.

-Fucking cunt.

For once, he wished he had a brother like any other—the kind who kept his secrets, shielded his flank. Instead, what he had was Mother in male form. An insufferable twat who not only despised him but was intent on making his life as miserable as he could.

“I suppose it’s too late to ask you not to relay what transpired here to my sweet Jae?”

Lady Anya gave him a sideways glance. “I think I won’t even need to. The entire keep will be speaking of this in a few hours.”

Aegon sighed and buried his head into his hand.

“Well, if anything, they will finally cease speaking of her teats.” He mused after a moment, just as Aemond directed his venomous eye his way. Aegon shot him a saccharine smile, before turning to Lady Anya. “Tell her she’s most welcome.”

*    *   *

The heavy oak door of his mother’s chambers closed with a definitive thud, cutting off the muffled protests of the guards who had escorted Aegon  there.

As expected he found his Mother pacing furiously about the chamber, her green skirts swishing with every agitated step. Aemond lingered near the window, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone. His presence made Aegon’s skin crawl. He hated that his brother refused to leave, robbing him of even the slightest shred of privacy in the impending scolding.

Aegon slumped into the nearest chair with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

-Fuck.

He should have brushed his hair. Not that it would have made the scolding less severe, but at the very least Mother would not also find cause to be miffed by his slovenliness.

“Alright,” he began, after he realized she would not start the assault. “I know you’re angry.”

Alicent froze midstride, her brown eyes snapping to his in disbelief.

“Angry?” she hissed, her voice rising with incredulity. “Angry doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel right now, Aegon.”

He leaned back in the chair, feigning nonchalance. “It was just harmless fun, Mother. No one got hurt. The boy will forget about it in no time.”

Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Harmless fun? Is there anything you take seriously?”

“Yes,” Aegon snapped, sitting up straight. “I’ve already told you, I don’t need a squire. Especially not one that Aemond refused to take himself.” He gestured toward his brother with a flick of his wrist.

Alicent’s expression darkened further, her lips curling into a sneer. “Is that what this is about? A childish tantrum because you weren’t Clyve’s first choice?”

“No. This is about you not trusting me to do anything on my own. You always have to have someone watching over me. A little spy to run back and tell you everything I do.”

Her face twisted in indignation. “And how am I supposed to trust you when you’re out there behaving like a fool? Death hangs over us all by a thread, and you—you—are toying with children like some court jester!”

Aegon’s lips curled into a bitter smirk as he muttered under his breath, “And whose fault is that?”

The room fell deathly silent. Alicent’s pacing stopped entirely, her brown eyes wide and unblinking as she turned to gape at him. An icy pang of regret settled in his chest in a flash.

-Fuck.

That was the worst thing to say.

He opened his mouth, drawing breath to launch into an apology. His Mother's hand cut him off.

The slap wasn’t particularly hard, nor too painful. It still stung—deeply. Like a blast of dragonfire on his skin.

The silence that followed was oppressive. Alicent closed the distance between them in two quick strides, her presence looming over him like a shadow.

“I was wrong,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “I was wrong to hope that fostering you at Runestone would make you into a better man. You are just like your father.”

The words hit him like a hammer. He sprang to his feet, brushing past her, his legs taking him for the door.

“I won’t listen to this,” he spat, his voice tight with anger. Not this, not now.

But Alicent’s grip was iron as she seized his arm, yanking him back toward her. “You will listen. You cannot run from this, Aegon. I won’t let you.”

He wrenched his arm free, his skin crawling with revulsion. “I don’t care! None of this is my fault. Not your miserable marriage, not your rivalry with Rhaenyra, and certainly not the fact that Father doesn’t give one jot about any of us!” He jabbed a finger toward her, his chest heaving. “I won’t let you make me your scapegoat!”

Silence. He panted like a wild animal, his skin still prickling. His Mother's face remained impassive for the longest time, as she held his gaze. Then a thin glimmer shone in her brown eyes—tears—followed up by a tight smile.

The sight unnerved him, and he opened his mouth to apologize once more, to declare himself a fool. She struck him again before he could speak.

The second blow was harder, leaving his cheek throbbing. Aegon staggered back, pressing a hand to his face as he glared at her.

“How typical. After all this time, you still refuse to accept any accountability for your behavior.”

“Stop hitting me,” he murmured, but the voice was not his own. It was thinner, more childlike—helpless.

But Alicent didn’t stop. She pressed forward, the redness in her cheeks turning severe. “I have told you, time and again, how to behave, what is expected of you, and you refuse to listen! And then you have the gall to wonder why you’re being scolded?”

He was retreating, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words. He wanted to fight back, to argue, but the truth of her accusations hung heavy between them.

-A failure. A fucking failure.

“Stop it. Stop hitting me.”

Alicent’s hand came down again, striking his cheek with glee. “You don’t get to tell me to stop!” she screamed, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and desperation. The chamber about him was spinning the scent of ink, and candle wax making him want to retch. “Not when I am trying to keep you alive. To keep all of us alive—your siblings, this family!”

His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. “Stop hitting me..."

But she didn’t. She never did. It was always him she screamed at, always him she berated. He was the worst of them all. The useless son. The one who could never live up to her expectations. The one who reminded her of Father.

Of course, she thought she could hit him.

Her hand rose again, her face twisted with frustration and anguish. Before he realized what he was doing, Aegon’s hand shot up to catch her wrist mid-swing.

The movement was instinctive, clumsy. He gripped her wrist, his fingers sinking into her flesh as his entire body shuddered.

“Stop fucking hitting me!”

His words echoed in his ears like the toiling of the Sept. He inhaled one breath, then another, his heart still slamming against his ribcage.

When he opened his eyes, it finally stilled.

His Mother's wide, petrified gaze held his, red veins  criss-crossing the white. He was still gripping her wrist, her limb shaking from the force of his hold. His stomach dropped— his fingers started unfurling.

“Mother, I—”

A hand clamped onto the back of his neck, sinking into his hair. He flew back with force, striking the wall with a dull thud. Stars burst behind his eyes upon impact, but he scarce had time to recover. A forearm pressed hard down on his neck, and when he forced himself to open his eyes, he found his twat of a brother, pining him in place.  

“You dare lay hands on her?” Aemond growled, his grip life-like. His one eye blazed with cold fury as he leaned closer, his strength overwhelming. “You vile little coward.”

Fury and humiliation surged within Aegon. He spat into Aemond’s face, sneering as he rasped, “She shouldn’t have hit me then.”

"So that gives you the right to manhandle her? If you’re so eager for a fight, brother, I’ll gladly oblige. But this one,” he hissed, peeling his thin lips to reveal his teeth, “you won’t shrug off.”

Aegon squirmed with a fury, trying to pry him off. It was useless. The cunt had not only grown half a head taller than him, but also insultingly stronger. Aegon had half a mind to swing, thinking that would make him let go at once, but Alicent’s shrill voice cut through the tension.

“Aemond! Release him. Now!”

Like an attack dog, his brother retreated in a flash, shoving Aegon hard against the wall. The impact made his ears ring, but he found himself not caring in the slightest.

“Mother’s perfect pet,” he jeered, his voice slurred with delirium. “Always doing as you’re told.”

Aemond straightened, his composure unshaken. “As opposed to what? Being a wretched failure like you?”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, as he tossed the two of them a glare. “A failure, yes. And proud of it. I should never have come back. I should have stayed at Runestone, lived my life as I pleased, far away from all of this.”

Aemond’s lips curled in disdain. “Like a craven. Hiding from your battles.”

“Better a craven,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, “than your kin.”

“Enough!” Alicent’s voice cracked like a whip, silencing all other noise around them. She fixed her gaze on Aegon, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and fury. “Go to your quarters. You’ve made a sufficient spectacle.”

As a final insult, she seized Aemond by the forearms, cradling him as tenderly as she might a babe.

Without hesitation, he pushed himself off the wall, his head pounding and his cheek still stinging from her blows. “Of course, Your Grace. I'll secret myself away as ordered. Hopefully, that’ll be enough to make you forget I exist.” He cast a scornful glance at Aemond. “Then you can focus all your attentions on your favorite son.”

To his fury, Aemond’s smirk only widened, smug and infuriatingly self-satisfied. Aegon’s fists clenched. He wanted to wipe it off him. Needed to wipe it off him.

-Bet you won’t be so pleased with yourself when I take what you’ve always wanted.

 Tossing his brother one last scornful snort, he headed for the door, wrenching it open with force.

The corridors of the Red Keep felt colder than custom, the chill crawling under his skin to make him shiver. And yet, despite the icy kiss, he still felt the flames of anger and bitterness. His cheeks still burned, not just from the fresh blows but from all the ones Mother had given him before. He was her failure—the mistake she could never stop punishing.

-Fine then, I’ll give you a failure.

The biggest failure she'd ever seen. And the worst brother in the world.

It didn’t take long for him to find Lucera. The servants directed him to the library, where he discovered her hunched over a table, a book in her lap. Across from her, sat a starry-eyed Tarly squire who seemed like he'd forgotten the world existed much less that he was a part of it.

Aegon was able to march right up to him and seize him by the collar before the fool even realized he was there.

“Run along now, Florian” Aegon snarled, his voice low and menacing. “My sweet niece and I must have words.”

The fool opened his mouth to lob a protest—but whatever he glimpsed on Aegon's face must have made him reconsider, because his expression fell and he scurried away.

He scarce had enough time to plop down into the chair he'd been occupying before Lucera launched into a lecture. “Dearest uncle, that was improper. He and I were—”

“Spare me,” Aegon waved her off. “This is nothing compared to what we’ll do on the morrow in King’s Landing.”

Her surprise melted into suspicion, her dark eyes narrowing. “Should I take that to mean you’ve decided to take me after all?”

Aegon’s cheek throbbed anew as he thought back to Aemond’s smug face, the way Alicent had clung to him protectively—as if he were the golden child that needed protecting. From the failure.

“Yes,” he said finally, his voice cold and resolute. “We’ll have a night the likes of which neither of us will forget.”