บท 1: Chapter 01: A Prince Of Summer
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Author's Note: Yes, I'm rewriting this fanfic. I also apologize for the long silence,— I wasn't in the right headspace over the past few weeks. Whether you choose to stay or go is entirely up to you, though I'd love for you all to stick around. I really appreciate your support.
The story will follow a similar path but with some significant changes. The biggest shift is that Aegon II Targaryen is no longer a reincarnated main character; instead, he's an original version of Aegon II, with new layers to his personality. He's still the prince we know, but I've reworked his character, adding more depth, darker undertones, and complexities to make him feel fresh and unpredictable.
For those who are new here, just an important heads-up: I write purely for fun, as a hobby. My goal is to release one chapter per week, to avoid burnout and ensure the story remains coherent. I'm doing my best to make sure it all makes sense.
Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy the journey ahead!
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| With Aegon Targaryen, 3rd Person Pov - 128 AC (A/N: Correct me if I an wrong, but 128 AC is one year before the petition about the succession of the Driftmark throne happens, right?)
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The sun hung low in the sky, casting the Red Keep in a burnished light that turned its towers and spires to molten gold. From his perch on the high balcony overlooking King's Landing, Prince Aegon Targaryen felt the warmth of the afternoon sun against his face, though it did little to soothe the cold knot of unease twisting in his gut.
The capital stretched out beneath him, sprawling and chaotic, its streets glimmering like rivers of gold and shadow in the waning light. The salt-laden breeze from Blackwater Bay ruffled his silver hair, but even that familiar comfort felt distant today. He leaned heavily on the stone balustrade, his violet eyes distant, fixed on the horizon where the sea met the sky.
At nineteen, Aegon was already tall and striking, his Targaryen features impossible to mistake,— silver hair, sharp cheekbones, the ethereal beauty of old Valyria etched into his face. But there was more to him than the idle handsomeness of 'youth'. Beneath his easy charm, beneath the smiles that came so readily, there lay the gnawing awareness of what loomed ahead,— duty, power, and the inescapable burden of his blood.
He did not want it, at least not truly.
"You're dreaming again, brother." Rhaenyra's voice was soft, but it held the weight of many years.
Aegon turned to find her stepping onto the balcony, a smile touching her lips, though it did not quite reach her eyes. His sister was radiant, her long golden hair falling in waves down her back, her gown of red and black silks catching the light. She moved with the grace of a queen, though Aegon knew that grace had been hard-earned. Rhaenyra had always carried the burden of expectation with more ease than he ever could.
He forced a grin, though his heart was not in it. "Perhaps I am. Or perhaps I'm waiting for something to happen."
Rhaenyra joined him at the balustrade, her gaze following his out over the city, and for a moment, they stood in silence, the familiar bond between them hanging like a delicate thread, fragile yet enduring.
The wind tugged at her hair, and in the quiet, Aegon found himself longing for the days when they had been nothing more than brother and sister, children playing in the halls of Dragonstone, unburdened by thrones and crowns.
"Nothing ever happens when you wait for it." she teased, her voice warm. "You should know that by now."
Aegon chuckled softly, though there was a tension in his posture, a restlessness that he could not shake. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I've grown too used to things happening for me."
There was a brief silence, before Aegon and Rhaenyra spoke again, and with a sigh, Aegon broke it. "The city looks so small from up here, yet, every time I go down, there's a whole world waiting just beyond the gates. I could spend hours in it, and lose myself of the restraints of being a prince..."
His sister smiled softly, her eyes wandering through the various buildings in the distance.
"Father wouldn't approve of you wandering the streets unsupervised." she said, though there was no true reproach in her tone. She, more than anyone, understood his need to escape. Aegon had always been drawn to the streets of King's Landing, slipping away from the Red Keep with Ser Criston and his guards, disappearing into the maze of alleys and markets, a prince moving like a shadow among the smallfolk.
"Father..." Aegon's voice grew thoughtful, his gaze distant once more. "When was the last time he left his room?"
Rhaenyra's face softened, her eyes clouding with memory. "Father bears the weight of his sickness, it is a heavy burden,— and yet he has always tried to remain strong for us, has he not?"
Aegon frowned in barely surpressed pain, his eyes scanning the streets below. "He has, indeed. I still remember when he used to take us on tours of the city... Do you? He would show us the Dragonpit, tell us the stories of the kings before him. Back when he was still a whole man of flesh and blood, before that damned sickness consumed him."
"I remember." Rhaenyra's smile was tinged with sorrow. "Back when things were simpler."
They lapsed into silence, the air between them heavy with the unspoken. Aegon could feel the weight of the years pressing down upon them, years of growing tension, of whispers in the court, of questions that neither of them wanted to answer.
Rhaenyra was the named heir to the Iron Throne, their father's chosen successor. And yet, even Aegon, in his youth, had begun to understand the precariousness of her position.
He broke the silence, his voice low. "Father loves you. He's always said you were the best of us."
Rhaenyra's smile faltered, and a shadow passed over her face. "Love... is not always enough, brother." Her voice was quieter now, distant, as if she were speaking to someone unseen.
Aegon felt a pang in his chest, a knot of something he could not name. He loved his sister. He had always admired her strength, her determination. But there were forces at play now, forces that neither of them could fully control. Forces that threatened to tear their family apart.
In the distance, the great dome of the Dragonpit loomed over the city like a silent sentinel, casting its long shadow over the streets.
"Enough of heavy thoughts." he said suddenly, forcing a grin as he nudged Rhaenyra playfully. "Let's not spoil the day with talk of thrones and crowns. Have you seen Helaena and the children? I promised I'd take them to the gardens this afternoon."
Rhaenyra's expression softened, though the weight of their conversation lingered. "They were all together earlier. I'm sure she's still in the gardens with them,— and she would be glad to see you."
Aegon smiled, the thought of his children lifting his spirits. "I'll head down then. But we'll talk later, yes? It's been too long since we've truly spoken."
Rhaenyra nodded, though her smile was bittersweet. "Of course, brother. Go, and enjoy the afternoon while you can."
Aegon hesitated for a moment, searching her face, but whatever lay behind her eyes remained hidden. With a nod, he turned and left the balcony, making his way through the cool stone halls of the Red Keep.
The palace was alive with activity, courtiers whispering in shadowed alcoves, servants hurrying to and fro with trays of food and piles of linens. Aegon passed them all with practiced ease, offering smiles and nods where they were expected, though his mind was elsewhere. He moved like a man caught between two worlds,— the serious and dutifull prince and the reluctant, carefree young man, each pulling him in different directions.
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As he stepped into the gardens, the sight of Helaena beneath the weirwood tree brought a genuine smile to his face. Their children,— Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and little Maelor,— played at her feet, their laughter a welcome balm against the heaviness in his heart.
"Aegon!" Helaena's face lit up as she saw him, her pale eyes bright. "You came."
"Of course I did." Aegon knelt to scoop up Maelor, who giggled as he was lifted into the air. "How could I miss an afternoon with my favorite siblings?"
The children swarmed him, their small hands tugging at his arms, their laughter infectious.
Jaehaerys proudly showed him a collection of flowers, while Jaehaera displayed a doll she had fashioned from leaves and twigs.
He marveled at their creations, his heart lightened by their simple joy.
Helaena watched them quietly, a serene smile on her lips, though her gaze was distant, as it often was. Aegon knew her mind wandered to strange places, places of dreams and visions that she rarely spoke of.
But here, in the gardens, she seemed at peace.
"You always know how to bring light into their lives..." she said softly, her voice like a breeze through the leaves.
"They do the same for me, as you know." Aegon replied, ruffling Jaehaerys' hair as he sat with the children gathered around him. "It's easy when they're so full of life."
Helaena's eyes flickered, and she spoke again, her tone more distant. "I dreamed of you last night, Aegon."
Aegon paused, his smile fading as he looked at her. He had grown used to her strange dreams, her cryptic words. But something in her voice now sent a shiver down his spine.
"In my dream..." she said, her voice a whisper, ", you stood at the edge of the world, and there was fire... fire all around you. And the sky... the sky was dark, darker than night. You walked into the fire, Aegon,— you didn't turn away."
Aegon blinked, unease creeping into his heart. "And what happened then?"
Helaena's gaze drifted past him, as if she were seeing something far away. "You vanished." she said softly. "And the fire... it kept burning."
Aegon said nothing, the weight of her words settling over him like a shadow. Helaena's dreams were often strange, but this one... this one felt like a warning of sorts.
"Let's not speak of dreams today." he said with a shake of his head, forcing a smile to grace his expression. "There's enough to worry about in our lifes as it is." Helaena nodded, though the sadness in her eyes remained.
Aegon turned his attention back to the children, pulling them close, trying to lose himself in their laughter, even as the fire Helaena spoke of burned in the back of his mind, flickering like a distant threat he could not escape.
The afternoon passed in the gardens, the hours slipping by like water through his fingers. Aegon held onto the moments of joy,— the simple, innocent laughter of his children, the warmth of the sun on his face,— but always, beneath it all, there was the weight of something darker.
Duty,— destiny,— and the throne.
Shadows that loomed larger with each passing day.
And as the sun began to sink toward the horizon, casting a warm orange hue over the trees, the children were called inside by their nursemaids. Helaena rose to follow them, but before she left, she turned to Aegon, her voice quiet and distant once more. "Whatever comes to happen... just be careful, brother."
Aegon watched her go, his stomach knotted with unease. The peace he had found in the gardens was already fading, slipping through his grasp like the last light of the setting sun.
He lingered in the garden for a time, breathing in the scent of the flowers, trying to shake the feeling that something was closing in on him. But the shadows of the Red Keep had already reached him, long and unyielding. With a final glance at the weirwood tree, he turned and began the slow walk back to the castle.
As the halls of the Keep swallowed him once more, their familiar coldness settling in around him, a voice called out from the shadows.
"Prince Aegon."
He stopped, his body tensing. Ser Criston Cole emerged from a dark alcove, his white cloak a stark contrast to the dim light. His face was stern as ever, though his eyes held something more,— something that made Aegon uneasy.
"Ser Criston." Aegon greeted, forcing a smile. "I didn't expect to see you here. Is something the matter?"
Criston stepped closer, his voice low. "Your mother, the queen, wishes to speak with you."
Aegon felt the familiar knot tighten in his gut. His mother rarely summoned him unless there was something serious afoot. And it was always the same,— politics, power, the future of the realm. The same heavy chains that bound him tighter with every conversation.
"Can it not wait until tomorrow?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Criston's expression didn't change. "The queen was insistent, my prince. I'm afraid it cannot wait."
Aegon sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. "Very well. Lead the way."
As they walked through the dim corridors, their footsteps echoing off the stone, Aegon felt the weight of his mother's expectations pressing down on him. His relationship with his mother had always been… complicated.
She loved him, of that he had no doubt. But she loved the crown more. And to her, Aegon was not just her son,— he was a piece in the great game of thrones. A piece she intended to use.
When they reached the queen's chambers, Criston knocked, and a moment later, her voice called from within. "You may enter."
Aegon stepped inside, his stomach churning. Alicent Hightower sat by the window, her hands folded in her lap, her face serene but watchful. The green dress she wore shimmered in the fading light, her house's colors a quiet reminder of the power she wielded. Behind her, the sky was darkening, casting long shadows across the room.
"Mother." Aegon greeted, bowing his head slightly. "You wished to speak with me?"
Alicent rose gracefully, crossing the room to stand before him. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, studied him for a long moment before she spoke.
"Aegon." she said softly, "We need to speak about your future."
Aegon's heart sank. This was not the conversation he wanted, but it was the one he knew was inevitable.
His mother had always been focused on the future,— on ensuring that her children, especially Aegon, were positioned to secure the strength of House Hightower.
But Aegon had never been too interested in the games of power that so consumed her.
"You are grown." Alicent continued, her tone measured. "And while you've enjoyed the freedoms of youth, those days are coming to an end. You have more responsibilities from now on, Aegon. Responsibilities to our house, and to the realm."
Aegon remained silent, his hands clenching at his sides. He knew where this was going.
He had heard the whispers in the halls, the rumors in the court. The growing tension between his mother's faction and Rhaenyra's. The questions about the succession, about Rhaenyra's fitness to rule.
"I know you care for your half-sister..." Alicent said, her voice softening, though there was a sharpness beneath the surface.
"But the realm is not as kind, at least not as kind you potray yourself to be, beneath that mask of yours... There are,— and always were, whispers about it, Aegon. Whispers that question her place. Whispers that wonder… if the realm would truly accept her."
Aegon frowned, his stomach twisting with discomfort at his mother's words, ignoring her silent jab at his personality.
He had of course heard the whispers.
The talk of Rhaenyra's children, of their parentage. The questions that had lingered, unspoken, for years. But he had never wanted to confront them. Rhaenyra was his sister, his friend. How could he turn against her? Even if knew the rumours to be true...
After all, anyone with a sound mind and a good sight could tell what was going on, regarding his sister's children.
"I'm not interested in politics, Mother, you know that well enough." Aegon said firmly. "Rhaenyra is the heir. That's what Father decided."
Alicent's lips thinned, and her eyes flashed with frustration. "Your father made that decision when the realm was at peace, Aegon. But times have changed, Rhaenyra's choices have given the lords reason to doubt her. To doubt her sons."
"What about them?" Aegon echoed, his voice sharp. "You mean to say they are bastards? You know how that ended the last time father got to hear of such things, mother..."
Alicent's gaze did not waver. "We all know the truth, Aegon,— no matter how many times you try to deny it. Laenor Velaryon is not their father. The realm knows it,— you know it, and the lords will not accept it. If Rhaenyra sits the Iron Throne, there will be war."
War.
The word hung in the air like a blade over his head. Aegon felt a chill run through him.
War was the last thing he wanted. The last thing the realm needed. And yet, the more his mother spoke, the more he realized the truth of it. The lords would not stand by while a woman,— and her bastards,— claimed the Iron Throne.
"What do you expect me to do?" he asked, his voice tight. "Challenge her? Kill her? Is that what you want from me?"
Alicent's eyes softened, but there was steel in her voice. "I want you to be ready, Aegon. Ready to act when the time comes. The realm will look to you, not Rhaenyra. They will need you."
Aegon swallowed hard, his mind racing.
He had never truly wanted the throne. He had never wanted the weight of the crown.
But here it was, pressing down on him, whether he wanted it or not, once again.
He could feel the chains tightening around him, the chains of duty, of family, of blood.
"I will keep that in mind, Mother." he said, his voice strained.
Alicent studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "That is all I ask, my son. The realm needs you,— more than you allow yourself to accept."
With that, Aegon turned and left the chamber quickly, his thoughts swirling in a storm of doubt and fear.
War.
The word echoed in his mind, a dark shadow on the horizon, growing closer with every step he took.
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In the halls of the Red Keep, Aegon felt the weight of his mother's words clinging to him like a second skin. He had always avoided the responsibility that came with his supposedly ignored birthright, but now it seemed there was no avoiding it.
The shadows of the throne, the whispers of war, were closing in on him. And for the first time, Aegon realized that no matter how hard he tried to escape, the choice would always be made for him.
The flames that Helaena had spoken of flickered in the back of his mind, burning brighter with every step he took.
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