Chapter Text
Aegon
It had all began on the day he noticed that Helaena was looking at him oddly.
Granted, a lot of things Helaena did were odd to him and it was not like he had been the only one to ever take note of it either. She was a strange person who regularly confused nobles and servants all around the Red Keep alike.
He often used to laugh at her about that, even more so when they had been younger. Whenever she spoke in riddles or fumbled around with some disgusting multilegged creatures that moved around on six or even more limbs and would make other ladies flee while shrieking, Aegon had felt the urge to ridicule her.
She found them in gods knew which corners or cracks in the castle, in the yards and gardens, beneath staircases and flower pots, had even almost slipped out of a windowsill high up in the tower of hand in her attempt to get hold of a spider once, had it not been for Ser Criston's quick reflex to grab her and jank her back.
Sometimes he suspected that she produced them out of nowhere. But even so, all of that was perfectly normal for his sister, much to their mother's dismay.
Frankly, Aegon did not care for her strange antics and creatures and, most of the time, not for her either. They moved along with each other, coexisted but barely interacted in a way that could be called a conversation in truth. Conversing with Helaena was a challenge he was rarely up to on most days.
More often than not, that was because his mind had never been able to understand her's.
Therefore, he did not think anything of importance to it when he had caught her eyes over the dinning table in the great hall for the first time, a few days before the passing of their father. He couldn't have known then, but it had been on one of the last meals they had shared with each other before the king became too sick and weak to dine with them, soon followed with an inability to meet with his counselors until only his mother, half sister and the maesters had been allowed in his chambers any longer.
Helaena, on that evening, had been following his very movements him with those intense pale purple eyes of hers, as if she could glimpse directly into the depths of his soul.
If she could, he supposed that would be reason enough to pity her.
Once their gazes had meet, Helaena's had hoovered in the air between them for a moment, or maybe for minutes, he couldn't recall, as if she was seeing him but starring right through him still. A shiver had creeped up his spine.
Then, as if nothing had happened at all, she had lowered her gaze back to her plate as if the half eaten boar meat was so much more fascinating.
He had scoffed, mentally called her odd once more, and then treated it as such. Had simply dismissed it as one of her weirder moments and forgot about it altogether within an hour.
In the days that followed, his mind had, unfortunately, been occupied otherwise.
With his father's passing from this world it was as if the whole town had been turned upside down, maybe the whole realm even but for sure the Red Keep.
And while his mother had switched to wear only black, while the whole court, all the nobles and peasants that inhabited the castle, had taken to whisper in hushed voices, never tiring of expressing their condolences at every opportunity, he couldn't really bring himself to grief the man, that had been his father.
Neither did Aemond. If he looked at his younger brother's carefully trained expression, stricken with beautifully mimicked grief on his proud features, his mourning dresses and the way he hold himself at court and in front of everyone, he could almost be fooled by it. Then again, Aemond had always been a far better actor than him.
That might be for the lack of time to prepare an act Aegon himself had gotten in comparison to his brother, at least he could search for a bit of fault there in lieu of his own incapability to care.
Because once the raven bearing the news of the kings death had been send to the princess of Dragonstone it had spread through the entire Red Keep in a pace like fleas and pests spread through the small folk each winter, jumping from ear to ear and working itself through all classes of status, from the lowest servant to the highest of highborns, and Aegon had found himself surrounded by lords and ladys, knights and voices that whispered to him things full of promises and tales of a right to the crown.
For he was a son. He was the late kings firstborn son, was he not? For surely, Rhaenyra would bring nothing but ruin to the realm and bear a threat to his and his younger brothers' lifes once she sat on the throne, always a challenge to her claim. For it would take her a while to arrive in her condition, heavy with child, enough time mayhaps, for another to reach for the iron throne in her absence. For another, younger, stronger, not doubted by Highborn's of the realm for the weakness of being a woman or for the taint of sons with a doubtful parentage.
They all knew, of course, that the late King would have had their tongues had he caught so much as a snide look cast at his most beloved treasure and her brood.
But his father wasn't anymore and so it was on Aegon now to be exposed to their voices and vile ideas.
So many voices, everywhere, all the time.
If only their sources weren't so painfully unaware of the prince's unwillingness to the crown, to any kind of duty or responsibility.
They swirled around him like those nasty critters, Heleana was so fond of, were drawn to the light while all he wanted was for the Red Keeps walls to open up swallow him whole, if only to escape the expectations, the scheming voices and preying eyes.
He could barely bear it. So Aegon drank.
That was a way of handling political matter, any unpleasant matter, that he had grown well accustomed to, for when he drank and his mind slowly slipped away from him into oblivion and for a little while, the voices faded away along with it.
That was his plan now too and so his steps lead him to his chambers in Maegor's holdfast steady and surely, even though he was already past his fourth goblet of strong dornish wine on that evening.
He breathed a small sigh of relief as he finally entered his rooms, the heavy wooden doors closing behind him, leaving the gold cloaks and their clattering footsteps that had followed him here in front of the chambers and for the first time today, he did not feel as if a hundred of unattributed stares bore into his back and skull.
He strode forward, ridding himself of the sword belt he had carried as part of the ceremonial black uniform his mother forced on him and his brother to wear in order show their mourning. He snorted at the hypocrisy of it.
Even tough Aemond seemed not to mind, Aegon wouldn't get tired of complaining how the annoying weight pushed him of balance with each step.
At least his grandsire had departed to Oldtown on the very same day his mother had send for Rhaenyra.
Aegon guessed that he probably shied away from the confrontation with the princess, soon to be queen, now that the old king couldn't watch his back anymore.
Aemond had instead assumed that it was most likely the fear of being confronted with Daemon again, now that the former prince of Dragonstone stood in a way stronger position than the old Hand of the King. It was well known among the court that those two had always detested each other. Otto as one of the greatest critics of the king's younger brother and Daemon himself full of distrust against the older man.
Most likely, it had been a combination of both, for Rhaenyra and Deamon combined where a force to be reckoned with and with only his daughter as the dowager Queen on his side, Otto's stand had become more and more dangerous. Might as well a opt for a strategic retreat instead of risking the confrontation.
He took hold of a abandoned cup of wine that stood untouched on a table in the room and undignified dropped into a chair from where he had a view out of the arched windows and at the city of Kings Landing, already draining the wine. He must have left it there on the last day's evening or maybe it was the work of on of the serving girls whom he had ensnared lately.
It might had been the wench with brown of hair and the grey eyes of of the common folk.
No matter, it was welcome to him and so he drained the cup with a few, swift gulps.
Now that he finally had some peace and quiet, a deep weariness came over him. No wonder.
He never thought he would, but he was truly looking forward to Rhaenyra's arrival. It was set to be in a few days, depending on how well the travel would go along with her pregnancy. Hopefully, once she was here, some calm would return to the court. Or at least nobody would dare to whisper more or less subtle things to him whenever he passed by. They would all be too busy trying to get in the new queen's good grace. By the seven, he hoped they'd be.
He placed the empty cup down and slouched back in his armchair, closing his tired eyes. The green leather was soft against his back. A few minutes of sleep would do him well. He wasn't even in the mood to get up and head to his bed, stretching out his legs and slipping deep into the cushion, opting to close his eyes and remain where he was.
---------
He awoke again, not by the ringing of the bells of Baelor's sept or his mother's scolding, but by hushed voices and hands that took hold of him.
Aegon blinked sleepily, trying to clear the thick fog in his head and the headache that last night's drinking had undoubtedly earned him. But something was wrong. His consciousness wouldn't come to him, neither would his sight clear, and he could only make out two shapes, one in front, one behind him, one tall and wide shouldered with a broadly built, the other short and stocky. Was he standing?
With it came the overwhelming feeling that something was very much not right and Aegon groaned. What where they doing here? How dared they?
He squirmed, trying to get the cloud out of his head, struggling against whatever was hold him up because standing seemed like every bit of a band idea right now but the hands on him would budge, pushing him around and dragging him somewhere he didn't want to follow but had to stumble after anyway for his body wouldn't react, wouldn't really respond to him.
By sheer luck, his eyes, barely able to make out anything but shapes and shadows, fell on the sword he had dropped next to the door when he entered.
The voice in front of him gave a surprised yelp when he rammed his elbow into the flesh behind him, earning him a groan of pain and some curses, and he lunged for the sword, still half blind with how much his vision blurred, but his legs did not obey him and he almost crashed stumbling to the ground if not for someone grabbing him from behind, not to help him up though.
While he struggled and desperately tried to grasp what was really going on, he was flung on his back, hitting the stone ground with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs. Two huge, calloused hands covered his mouth before he could so much as think about calling for the guards. He yelled, attempted to throw kicks and punches, but nothing but a muffled noise escaped him. His eyes watered and terror gripped his heart as the pain from his rough landing shot through his spine. He shouted and scratched at the arms in his reach but it only earned him a slap across the face that made him see stars and blurred his vision even more.
"It should have worked right away!" the taller man, the one who pinned him to the ground without too much trouble, snapped "A pinch of that stuff to make him sleep!"
"It'll do." The other said, he spoke in the dirty, slurred way the lowest of the small folk used. "Pinch o' it is enough. 'll just take a moment."
"Just give him more!"
Whatever followed as answer was lost to him. All his energy went into the fruitless attempts to pry the hands, heavy and strong and most probably disgusting and dirty, away from his mouth. If his only chance was to shout for the guards then all his struggling would be in vain anyway.
Aegon had never tried drugs before, not necessarily for the lack of interest but rather because he was sure that his mother would finally lose her patience with him and send him to the Faith to become a septon, should she ever catch him besotted on anything other than strong wine.
If he had the capability of mind still, then he would have wondered if the way his whole body felt like it he was under water, how his vision dazed even more by the seconds and black spots started to dance at the edge of his field of vision and threatened to take him over, was what it felt like to be high on the substances people in Essos where said to use.
"Silence, little prince" the tall man holing him down said, a cruel twisted grin spreading on his face, or maybe it was just his imagination playing cruel jokes on him. "Then you'll may live another day."
It seemed like a cruel joke of the gods that his body started to betray him and the rest of his strength left him in that very same moment. Aegon's eyes fell shut and unconsciousness took him over.