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In a fair world, Aegon’s new hobby would have landed him in jail. But, thankfully, he was on private property and so long as he kept himself away from the Estate’s limits, he was in the clear from public indecency charges. The early summer sun bounced off the towering walls of the Red Keep’s southern-facing side, leaving the air curling in a sizzle, lightly baking the ground underneath Aegon’s least favourite tomato plant.
It was a gangling thing, branches shooting out of its main stem in various directions like a ball of steel yarn, and required so much pruning that Aegon had half a mind to just lob the thing in two with one of the medieval swords on display above one of the Keep’s many fireplaces.
They were heirlooms. Rhaenyra’s favourite. So Aegon grumbled and resigned himself to watering the greedy beast as much as it yearned. With his luck, cutting it down would only cause it to re-spawn like the heads of a Hydra, and leave him with twice the headache. It seemed to grow in real-time, making Aegon’s fingers twitch, but with the sigh of a 30-year-old man who was newly worldly in the art of self-denial, he let it go.
The water cooled the air like morning dew, and Aegon hummed at the fresh breeze caressing his thighs. He stretched up towards the sun, letting the garden hose angle up and create a local rainbow for him to enjoy, and enjoyed the sharp heat lightly roasting his bare back, bare legs, bare ass.
He wore a hat and boots of course. He was a self-respecting nudist landscaper.
Enough water for you, you piece of shit, thought Aegon, turning off the hose with a bit more torque than necessary. He threw one last glare at the tomato plant and had the sudden urge to water it himself. He had drunk enough of his nephew’s virgin Mojitos to give the thing a mild flood alert.
Aegon tamped down on the desire, yet again. This would definitely land him in jail, albeit a metaphorical family one, and would violate the terms of parole implicitly set by his most generous older sister.
Don’t piss on Rhaenyra’s favourite tomatoes, Aegon assumed, was somewhere top of the list, and would garner him an immediate expulsion via kick in the naked ass.
And Aegon would lose access to his hobby: gardening on the Red Keep’s adjacent land, which belonged to his sister now, and therefore he could do it in the nude if he damn well pleased (and he pleased).
It was more of a job, really. The only real job of his adult life, delivered after an arduous decade of his own immediate family begging him to sort himself out and to do something—anything—with his pathetic life, and to stop engaging in his previous, far more destructive pass-time.
In a fair world, Aegon’s previous hobby would definitely have landed him in jail. But, thankfully, as the delinquent brother of the head-of-family of the great Targaryen household, he escaped the consequences of his actions with the power of inherited privilege and Rhaenyra’s platinum card, given to him when their father died.
To keep him comfortable until he found his own way, she probably had said. You are welcome back in the Red Keep, of course, but I’m sure Alicent would rather you stay with her at the Hightower Estate. It's only across town.
He didn’t remember the exact words of the dismissal. He had been too drunk to listen.
He did remember the relief that he had not inherited, and was only too happy to pour one out for his dead dad when Mother and Grandfather kept fuming at him, for his failures as a son and grandson, for not being successful enough to be chosen as heir to the Targaryen Estate. Primogeniture and preference. Two things that Rhaenyra had, that he did not. His mother even called him a few choice things, which she apologized for once she had sobered up herself.
Aegon did remember that part, too.
But Aegon was a recovered man now, thanks to the gift of nature’s consequences coming for him, at the ripe old age of 29.
====
The Bad News had come first. Aegon’s liver was going to fail soon. Alcoholic hepatitis and signs of cirrhosis. Aegon didn’t know what those words meant, but anything ending with that many -is sounds was guaranteed to burn on the way out.
The Good News was that he wasn’t going to die soon soon, and he had time to find survival options.
But incoming death? Aegon had been thrilled to hear it. He drank to numb the pain, damn it, the perfect earplugs to keep him comfortable on this little nap of life, on this rattling, off-track caboose he was taking on his final journey to the ground.
More Bad News. His mother had been with him, holding one of his hands in one of hers (not the one stuffed full of tubes, pumping him with fluids to keep him from dying from his current binge), the other clutched around a rosary. She had promptly exploded into tears at the diagnosis and spoke the words that had turned Aegon’s brains inside out.
I don’t want to see you die like your father, she had said.
That had put—if not the fear of God (Aegon was spiritual agnostic at best)—at least the utter terror of death into him.
He didn’t remember much, but he remembered the late Viserys Targaryen. A charming man blessed with a genial personality and crushingly obvious favouritism, he had been cursed with a death that Aegon wouldn’t wish on his worse enemies (of which he had a few). It had been agonizing, slow, and caused by a liver cancer that the man had done absolutely no part in earning. He had been somewhat of a drinker too, but mild by Aegon’s standards, and Aegon distinctly remembered the words ‘genetic predisposition’ uttered at one time or another.
Aegon remembered the jaundiced skin, the fatigue, his father’s sobs of pain echoing in the Red Keep. It was something, he realized with another sudden burst of dread, that he could relate to, seeing the creeping yellow that would no longer leave the white of his eyes after another blacked-out week, memories of how he got there flushed down his mental toilet. The pain wasn’t too bad though. When it started to get bad, Aegon just drank stronger liquor.
More Good News from the doctor: Aegon was young and would be a prime candidate for a liver transplant. The doctor had smiled at him, kindly and full of bedside manner, and Aegon had reflexively smiled back at the attention. The doctor’s eyes had darted down to his mouth despite his otherwise impeccable professionalism. Aegon frowned. He prodded around his teeth with his tongue, realizing with cosy displeasure that he had lost another one.
“You will need to be sober for it, Mr. Targaryen. I’m afraid you are unlikely to be approved if you keep ending up in the ER,” said the doctor, sealing Aegon’s fate.
The thing was, though Aegon was a drunk degenerate with zero sense of responsibility (both personal and otherwise), he was a drunk degenerate with enough self-awareness about his own failings and disposition to know that he had done this entirely to himself.
He was going to be given a transplant because he was young, yes, but not if he was an unrepentant drunk. It didn’t matter if he was rich at this point. This wasn’t the States.
But even if the family credit card could have bought him a new liver on the black market many times over, Aegon had been relieved at the idea of having to work for it, just a little. Fight for it. He had no issue with using his privilege when it suited him, but there was something distasteful about looking at oneself in the mirror and imagining all the other people on the waiting list for an organ he had destroyed on purpose. Of being prevented from finally meeting his end just because his family couldn’t leave well enough alone.
People who wanted to live more passionately than he did. People with families that actually loved them. Children. People not like Aegon.
Then the doctor had uttered the magical words “living donor”, and Aegon had extended a hand to shake on it. If some people were willingly giving up part of their liver knowing what kind of person might be receiving it, then that was fine by Aegon. Informed consent and all that. Not his problem to deal with or reflect upon. Another adult could do as they pleased. The doctor could not guarantee, really, if a full liver would be coming in anytime soon, as that required waiting for a healthier, unluckier bastard to meet an untimely death. But they could probably find someone with a charitable spirit to share.
Then the doctor uttered the words “family donor”, and Aegon was filled with an immediate feeling of dread and pure, self-sabotaging glee.
Let them decide, then, if I’m worth anything to them.
Aegon had worried, despite himself. As he had expected, his mother jumped at the chance. She was his mother after all, and motherhood would incline one to share an organ they could regrow even with their least favourite child.
What he had expected a bit less was Aemond, Daeron and—dammit—even Helaena to show up within 24 hours of their mother’s pleas for them to get tested, to sacrifice a part of themselves so that he may live. Aemond hadn’t looked even a little angry to be asked, as Aegon has expected. His one good eye was a bit red when he arrived at his brother’s bedside. Aegon had to look away.
What he had not expected at all, was the tests to return informing the Targaryen brood that they had all inherited Alicent’s A blood type, except for Aegon, who had been the only stupid sod to inherit his dead father’s O-.
It was statistically unlikely, but granted, Aegon hadn’t checked before deciding to kill himself this way that he had a backup in case he chickened out.
Comfort came in the form of more of his tests returning, informing him that he did not have any other blood-related diseases. Thank you mom’s God.
That, Aegon mused to himself in both relief and slightly unhinged disbelief, was really statistically unlikely.
Aegon was certain that he had partaken in both high-end and the less high-end injectable drugs on more than one occasion, with needles that he was certain had been used to vaccinate farm animals at one point or another in the process before finding themselves huddle comfortably in Aegon’s hungry veins. That shit had left him in the worse state. Earned him hospital visits, hauled across the backseat of the Aemond-mobile. His poor younger brother had been begged by their mother to track him down via his pinging Find My Friends app. And God knows what he had inserted his penis into (and had inserted into him, if the next day's aches were any indication of what he often gravitated towards under influence).
Thankfully for his blood, it seems, nothing beat the taste, the sloppy, disorientating rush of alcohol for Aegon’s system. The way it just put him to sleep like a good punch, keeping him only awake enough to pursue a nearby source of heat, hands petting and words slurring until his meaning came across, and an equally horny party stumbled into his arms to get fucked in his VIP room. That was another one of Aegon’s hobbies, and one he dearly missed almost as much as the alcohol every moment he wasn’t partaking in it.
But, dammit, they had all come. Even Helaena, after what he had done.
They had done?
He had done.
She had asked to join him, on her first and last ever drug binge in her earlier twenties when having her own religious/mental health/upbringing-themed crisis, and they had gotten a very strong batch of something to share. Aegon had been pleased. A chance to share a hobby with a sibling! Finally.
There had been a lot of dancing, a lot of laughing, at least one overly aggressive game of table football in the darker corners of the club against a pair of strangers. Team Targaryen had won!
Aegon didn’t much remember the rest of that night, except having his brain melted out his ears by the drugs and the vague motion-sick memory of someone moving against him. Helaena was left with the souvenir of a positive pregnancy test and a blood test confirming Aegon as a future father of two. Mother had lost her mind at the idea of her sweetest, her dearest Helaena getting an abortion, even after being regaled with the sordid details of conception. Incest wasn’t a big enough detractor in this family anyway. Helaena had not been so keen on it herself, truth be told, so Helaena was now continuing her part-time entomology degree, forever sober but traumatized, while raising the twins with their mother’s help. Aegon could have offered a hand, but he hadn’t.
Being a self-aware drunk degenerate and all.
Any new hopes Aegon had about having any sort of friendship with Helaena in their adulthood had been nuked then and there. He had been keen on the prospect of them having nights out together too, so it was a bitter sting that he could only blame himself for. He should have stuck to weed. This was in one of his top five fuck ups for sure, and that was saying something.
All things considered, she had made it out much better than he had, and Aegon had resigned himself to being the least favourite uncle to his own children. A few Malibus had numbed that one.
When Aemond and Daeron and mother left the room to go buy something passable from the hospital cafeteria, Helaena leaned into Aegon’s space, her wide eyes staring at his sunken face. Searching for something, her eyes turning a bit dreamy as the corners of her lips lifted into a slight smile.
“Jaehaera is O. You aren’t the only one,” she whispered to him, finally. Aegon had teared up then, for the first time in this whole ordeal.
“No,” he said. Helaena looked away when he wiped at his cheek.
“She’s too young,” Helaena looked mournfully back down at Aegon. “I wouldn’t agree anyway. Not my daughter.”
“I would rather die.”
“I would share mine if I could.”
“I know,” whispered Aegon, letting Helaena hook one of her cold fingers into one of his. Not really hand-holding, but perhaps Helaena’s version of it when it came to him.
Aegon hadn’t thought that he had a limit, but had found one, after all. A low bar. Subbasement, but steel.
Quite frankly, with the sheer amount of inbreeding committed in this family, Aegon was offended that they didn’t all have the same blood type at this point. As the members of a long-deposed Targaryen monarchy—an event inspired by the bloody French, no doubt—their ancestors had kept their heads for the most part (to Aegon’s eternal chagrin), granting their descendants minor celebrity status.
It did help that they were obnoxiously wealthy, still, and that it was tradition for them to remain in national politics as good Republic-loving sorts. Upholding the democratic process. Caring about the state of their country as private citizens. Etc. Etc.
The remainders of their estate had been scrambled together post-deposition, and consolidated via an eye-watering amount of incest, even by centuries-old standards. The consanguineous fucking was no longer economically necessary in the recent age, thanks to the entailment granting all property to a single heir at a time. But apparently, Aegon’s cock had accidentally slipped into it anyway, like some unshakable Targaryen dick muscle memory, honed from centuries of keeping it in the family, passed down from blood to blood, to him, the most charming not-heir of their legacy.
Something to link him to his ancestors. Beyond the incoming slow death that linked him to his late father, if he didn’t get in the good graces of the hospital's anonymous donor list.
Another thing he and his father had in common, needing a new liver. Aegon enjoyed the thought for a second before making up his mind.
The decision saw him a week after his discharge, locked in his room at the Hightower Estate, sipping slowly at a glass of white wine, a final glass of wine, while scrolling on the internet. It was a cheap wine. Aegon’s favourite.
Aegon signed up to the most outrageously expensive rehab he could find, probably hosted in some exotic location for movie stars to squirrel themselves away to, to avoid the prying eyes of the press and the nosy public. Perhaps he could entice some fellow rich junkies into a good fuck while they all sobered up? Mutual support and all that.
Aegon also ordered an extra large variety pack of condoms (he was a changed man, after all. A man of responsibility). He made sure to charge the whole lot to Rhaenyra’s credit card.
====
Rhaenyra also footed the bill to have him resting up in the fanciest private hospital near the Red Keep, after the ordeal came and went of Aegon of having someone else’s liver stuffed into him, once he was out of a long rehab. She and her side of the family even sent a few get-well cards, which he read, feeling part affection, part disgruntled disgust, as he drifted in between bouts of sleep. Rhaenyra didn’t visit, citing a diplomatic mission abroad.
“It was an anonymous living donor,” the doctor had confirmed. “You have been given a great gift, Mr. Targaryen.”
Aegon had laughed, a bit delirious as the pain killers swam in his system, not quite hitting the same itch as the alcohol did, but fit for the purpose of not feeling the sewed up hole in his body.
“Well, good then. Their mistake.”
====
Truth be told, the alcohol still called for him. It ached in his chest, his arms, his head, but he looked at the scar, freshly puckered and pink, and he would not do it.
He was terrified that he would forget, forget that he was not entirely himself. That he lived on a daily pill and a stranger’s immense generosity.
The worst part was the boredom.
Now that he was sober, he could think again, and it was drudgery. Rehab had kicked the bulk of the addiction, but not the reality he returned to. Aegon did stay in therapy though, enjoying the one-on-one attention he got. It helped a bit.
Then, the moment came that turned Aegon’s life inside out for a second time.
The Red Keep’s gardener had a family emergency, and Rhaenyra needed someone to tend to the fruit trees and vegetable garden, because she and Daemon were too busy between running the estate, corralling their five (mostly adult) children and enjoying the unpredictable cortisol levels of international diplomacy.
How Rhaenyra handled it, Aegon had no idea. Probably had to do with the immeasurable love she received from their father, and continued to receive from her uncle and lover (she had inherited from the same gene pool as Aegon, after all), as well as her ongoing, long-term love affair with the Red Keep’s former head of security, turned independent fitness trainer and part-time househusband. A kind, supportive hunk of a man called Harwin Strong. Her first husband, a second cousin, would also drop in occasionally to say hello to his children, to show his current boyfriend around the estate grounds, before they left back across the ocean to whatever successful business they ran overseas.
The throuple (square? pentagon?) of love made him bitter. And the bitterness made him sick. It was mind-boggling to him. Not that his mother did not love him, Aegon was certain she did. But there was a crushing pain to being the least favourite, and to have glowing proof as to why. Aegon couldn’t even blame them.
He was his own least favourite.
Rhaenyra’s offer had been absurd. Aegon had nodded and not responded, taking it as a strange inside joke Aegon suspected had been motivated by his mother’s tearful eyes. Aegon’s depression was returning!
As if it ever left.
But the offer had sparked his curiosity.
He had enjoyed growing his own weed during his attempt at university, because, once upon a time, he had slight scruples with charging his habits to his sister’s card. A few rabbit holes into the gardening side of YouTube later, however, he was well and truly hooked on a new hyper-fixation.
Of course he had accepted when his sister had insisted the second time.
====
They had gotten off to a bad start. Aegon had been pulling weeds and removing some of the decorative flower beds, dead and decrepit now that it was winter. It was fun. Aegon found them distasteful, even in full bloom.
How had he been supposed to know that they were rare perennials?
Aegon had replaced them (on Rhaenyra’s dime) but decided to extend his list of sins by replacing some of the flower beds with dormant berry bushes he had acquired from a neighbouring nursery. Rhaenyra had a few more months to get used to his personality before spring came around and the flowers bloomed again.
He would gather the berries come summer and send some of them off to Helaena and her kids. It wouldn’t make up for 6 years of absent parenting, and he wasn’t trying to do that now either. He was trying to distract himself. Add some chaos to his droll winter task list.
He filled his days with as much soil turning, fertilizing and seeding cycle planning as he could before he inevitably drove back to the Hightower Estate before anyone returned from work. Back home, he could engage in his second newfound hobby.
He had developed an affinity for collecting stamps, checking auction houses, internet listings and eBay on the daily, hoping to find something interesting. It wasn’t the price that caught his attention, but the fact that he could order collector’s editions from various different countries. He displayed them in his room like one might display a collection of empty wine bottles, collected after a lifetime of good taste and invitations to parties hosted by the foreign aristocracy. He had not had the mind to appreciate the wine bottles in his time as a day drinker, but Aegon was developing a taste for aesthetics now that his brain was clear. The sensory overload of colour all over his walls kept him distracted from the craving only accentuated by being left alone with his thoughts.
They ranged from cheap to extravagantly expensive, the wide breadth of which he always charged to Rhaenyra’s card, just to keep her confused at the random incoming purchases. Aegon hoped that the totals came in with no clear pattern, and displayed a suspicious variety of senders. Just to make her days a bit worse. Make her worry that the card would get flagged for fraud. Require an audit.
If she even cared, so long as the account total didn’t hit zero. Aegon doubted he had even been given access to anything more than a checking account that Rhaenyra kept reluctantly supplied, separate from the main accounts that she gave out to those she actually trusted.
All in all, between the gardening mishaps and his growing addiction to internet auctions (he was even more self-aware now, after the therapy), Aegon estimated that he was now far less expensive a burden than when he had a booze habit. Not from the booze itself, but from the decisions he made when in the haze of it, swiping the credit card about the club as if he were swatting away flies, always generous in spirit when intoxicated.
He was making it too easy on Rhaenyra, Aegon supposed. Which was a good sign, in the grand scheme of things. Recovering addict and all.
====
Aegon watched Rhaenyra take in the spotty mess of fruiting colours her flowerbeds had turned into, when the season changed, with a mix of apprehension and excitement. The cold had melted into the ground, and brought forth a new generation of life. The air was chilly but warming, and the atmosphere sizzled as Aegon rocked back and forth on his heels, putting on his most apologetic pout.
Rhaenyra finally looked up at him, grimacing when she took in the expression on his face. Aegon’s heart sank.
“What is this?”
“Tasty things,” said Aegon.
“Will you do this the entire time you are here, or can I trust you not to turn the garden into a jungle? We host foreign heads of state. We can’t give the impression that the gardening position was handed out entirely out of nepotism.”
“I’ll make you fruit salads, c’mon Rhaenyra. Those flowers weren’t paying rent.”
Neither are you, Rhaenyra’s mouth nearly said, Aegon was sure, but she held herself and instead said:
“The gardener has decided that he doesn’t want to return to Westeros and we found him a position closer to his home. This position is yours permanently if you want.”
Aegon blinked a few times. He shook his head for good measure.
“Are you serious?”
Rhaenyra smiled at him then, the one that pulled her cheeks wide. Equal parts devilish and angelic, full of that patience she usually reserved for the family she actually liked. Aegon felt it all the way down to his toes, and he smiled back, reflexively, showing off the perfect veneers he had treated himself to after his surgery.
“If you promise me that you will behave,” said Rhaenyra.
“Of course, of course,” Aegon lied.
====
The sun cut through the clouds, making way for the summer heat. The soil went from fresh, dark from spring rains and dotted with young shoots, to a drier, looser give under Aegon’s feet. The air smelled tangy after the flowering of the first wave of summer plants.
Aegon eyed his pale arms and torso in the mirror at night, wondering if he would pick up more women if he had a tan. He figured there was no harm in trying. The sun was not likely to be what did him in.
He still slathered his body with sunscreen, of course. Face, body, ass. He covered up the scar, now healed into a smooth, tight line, with a bandage, and kept his hat on. If he could avoid as many tan lines as possible, why not?
He tried to keep it outside of hours when family or company were expected to be on site. He didn’t want to horrify the foreign heads of state after all. Though he did once get walked in on by the ambassador of the Netherlands (a kingdom! What Aegon could have been dragged into. Thank goodness for the small mercy of revolutions long past). The dignitary had misread the date of his invitation to lunch with Daemon and had been let in by the housekeeper. Thankfully, the man had just waved at Aegon with a pleased grin and left without a word. Aegon had expected to be thrown out for that one, but the ambassador had not snitched on him.
After a while, Aegon just couldn’t remember what was so good about clothes in the first place. Nudity was his natural state. Freeing. Lightweight. Feeling the wind upon his skin and balls, reminding him that he was a visitor in the timeline of nature.
Also, it would scandalize his mother. She already didn’t approve of the tanning and occasional burning, worrying it made him look out of place among the former nobility she still hung out with. Aegon tried to explain the changing fashions, but he decided she could stay mad.
Was it the most dignified pass-time, to prance about his late father’s lands with his bits dangling in full view of the kitchen? Well, Aegon had always believed in dressing for the job you want. He imagined himself somewhere between an irresistible Greek god brought to life, awoken from centuries of sleeping in marble to model for the masses, and a foreign dictator’s fourth secret butt boy. Either way, what a thrill.
Did people notice that his butt was as tan as his arms? Why yes, they did! His efforts had been much appreciated. Sex was another addiction that he had mostly under control, but didn’t have to give up as long as he kept using condoms. It almost made him cum again whenever he had to order a new box, knowing that the merchant name would ping up on Rhaenyra’s phone.
He did eventually get walked in on by the housekeeper, a foreign older woman with nice legs. She had come to apologize for letting the ambassador of the Netherlands out the back of the house, and into the house in the first place. He was a family friend, you see, she had made an honest mistake, thinking he was visiting casually.
Aegon had assuaged her guilt. He was no snitch either. Then, he fucked her.
The woman thankfully had no interest in him other than in staring and the occasional tension release. Aegon’s favourite type of person.
Harwin Strong then walked in on him watering the cucumbers, back early from a scheduled errand. Aegon had frozen up, then went with plan A, throwing the man his most Rhaenyra-like smile.
It must have worked, because the man just shook his head, exasperated, and left without a word. Rhaenyra said nothing, so he assumed that he hadn’t offended Harwin. Good. That gave him more time slots during the day during which he could enjoy this hobby.
====
With summer came the summer holidays for the school-aged members of the household. Thankfully, most of the kids had signed up for a posh summer camp of some sort or another, knowing that their mother and fathers were busy with work. Aegon kept his clothes on while Aegon the Other and Viserys were at the Red Keep. He even entertained their curiosity, letting them taste some of the ripe produce.
It was the university schedules that tripped Aegon up first.
That was how, one day, as he was enjoying a nice gardening playlist while watering some young pumpkins, he heard a gasp cut through his noise cancellation.
He turned slowly to find Lucerys Velaryon staring at him. He debated ducking behind a plant but decided that he did not care at this point. His cock was fantastic, well-proportioned and it had a right to be free.
“High school let out already?” said Aegon in lieu of a greeting. Luke’s eyes disconnected from his butt to stare up at his face.
“I am finishing up my master’s degree,” said Luke, brows knitting in annoyance, but eyes still bugging, large and horrified. He tried so hard, bless him, to not look down. But he did. “What the fuck, Aegon?”
“It’s for my mental health,” explained Aegon.
Surprisingly, that seemed to work on Lucerys, and the young man turned to go back to the house. Aegon continued at his work but was interrupted yet again when Lucerys returned holding an ice-filled pitcher, a toothy grin etched across his face.
“Virgin Piña Colada!” said Lucerys, and Aegon decided that he was no longer going to be his least favourite nephew (out of some formerly buried loyalty to Aemond after the brat had cut one of his brother’s eyes out when they were children, after a fight that had escalated out of control. Aemond had started it by being too backstabbing during a co-op Game Boy Advance party, but Lucerys had sure ended it. Sorry Aemond). Then, Lucerys dragged two lounge chairs over and proceeded to strip himself down to his birthday suit with a wicked grin. Aegon nodded in approval, startled despite himself. Perhaps Luke might actually graduate to become his favourite (sorry Jace).
Luke started to turn brown as a nut within a few days (to Aegon’s immense jealousy), as he lounged adjacent to the garden under an off-center parasol, writing his master’s dissertation. Occasionally getting up to refill the drinks and snack bowl. He kept his uncle silent company as he tackled the unending workload of groundskeeping in the summer. Aegon didn’t even have to leave after his tasks were finished, instead laying beside Lucerys, scrolling through eBay listings and gardening forums on his phone, soothed by the fervent keyboard tapping of a university student trying to meet an incoming deadline they had procrastinated for months, running gay East-Asian historical-fantasy-drama character stan accounts on Twitter instead.
It was nice. Very nice. Quite frankly, the calm of it moved Aegon to want to cry a little, but he didn’t want to scare off his nephew with his psychological problems quite yet. The occasional small talk turned into joking, which turned quickly into Lucerys complaining endlessly about how few primary sources there were about the emission impact of their country’s defence policy on their international shipping lanes to whatever country Lucerys had spent his gap year in.
He hadn’t expected Aemond to show up less than a week in, while Aegon was enjoying a little snack and drink break, furious glare on his carved-up face, rushing in a straight line across the field like a bull at the end of its patience. He showed a modicum of respect and paused to walk around the trellises Aegon had painstakingly hammered into the ground (runner beans!), but still accidentally bumped into one of the tomato plants.
Oh, God, it was Rhaenyra’s favourite again. Aegon was never going to know peace.
“Are you drunk?” fumed the man, when he was within comfortable fuming distance of Aegon, taking in his farming attire and drink in hand with a sneer. Aegon took a long gulp from his glass, keeping aggressive eye contact with Aemond the entire time. He made sure to smack his lips loudly when he was done pissing Aemond off.
“It’s a virgin Bloody Mary. I grew the tomatoes myself.”
Aemond looked him up and down.
“Why the fuck are you naked then?”
“It’s for my mental health.”
An incoming squeak alerted the pair of Luke returning with the refilled drink pitcher. Aemond swung around to snarl a reprimand of some sort but froze when he took in Lucerys’ nicely tanned nude state.
In the lasting silence, Luke shakily lowered the pitcher to go from European cinema to Hollywood nudity standards. Aegon slurped down the rest of his drink and motioned at Lucerys to refill his glass.
“Hello, Uncle Aemond,” said Lucerys pleasantly, swatting away Aegon’s insisting hand as it reached for the pitcher. “Um. How are you doing?”
Aemond finally unglued his eye from Lucerys to slap a hand across his own face.
“What are you two doing?” he said, sounding a bit choked up. “I saw a picture of Aegon shirtless, posing with a zucchini on your Instagram feed and thought...”
“Yes, your brother is working—”
“Wait, you follow him on—”
Aegon and Lucerys stopped and looked at each other, urging the other to continue. Luke won in the battle of manners.
“You should join us, Aemond! It’s fun! You can have my chair!” Aegon stood up and motioned towards the spot he had been languishing in. The movement caused some swinging, and Aemond looked up at the sky.
“Why are you naked,” he said, but it was more resignation than a question. Aegon grinned.
After a few minutes, his younger brother had been successfully goaded into joining them in the swimming pool, on the condition that Aegon put on some pants. He forgot to ask Lucerys the same but their nephew had understood via implication and returned with swim trunks for himself and his uncles. Aegon was a bit miffed, not wanting his little piece of naked calm stomped on by his uptight twat of a brother, but the pool did look delicious this time of year and present company were in his top five favourite family members, so he canon-balled in on top of Aemond’s head.
Lucerys tried to swim laps, but Aemond stood in his way to challenge him to an aggressive pool noodle fight. Aemond removed his eye patch to fit his goggles protectively over his glass eye, and Lucerys caved into whatever medieval battle role-play Aemond wanted. The whole time, the younger man wore a pained look, torn somewhere between shame and trying not to laugh inappropriately at Aemond’s seriousness. Within a few minutes, half the water in the pool was outside of it. Luke looked like a dark-furred poodle and Aemond’s hair had taken on the distinct Targaryen waviness he tried to keep flat ironed on the daily. It made him look more like Rhaenyra from behind.
Shockingly, the brat won the noodle battle. Aegon highly suspected that Aemond had let him win somehow, not actually feeling half as miserable as he tried to act. Aegon layed back in the Red Keep swimming pool, letting the water block out the sounds of splashing, enjoying the sunshine caressing his face.
====
It was inevitable that Rhaenyra would catch him in flagrante eventually. He had been in the middle of whispering words of encouragement to a particularly successful patch of sweetcorn, when his sister had appeared around the corner with a tea tray, donning a form-fitting sundress that showed off her collarbones. They were sharp. Dangerous.
She froze when she spotted Aegon, in full nude and a sun hat, staring back at her with matching shocked eyes. The moment broke when Rhaenyra’s eyes darted down to Aegon’s front, and she looked back up at him with a look of sheer annoyance. Aegon was immediately flooded with glee.
“I’ve heard this was the case, but I thought they were exaggerating,” she sighed.
“So you came to check for yourself,” said Aegon, tightening his ass cheeks and abs a little.
“I came to bring you tea. The crops you have been producing are fantastic. The food bank has given us many thanks,” Rhaenyra smiled, setting the tea tray down on the folding table Lucerys had previously been using as his drinks holder.
“Was it Lucerys who mentioned that am I exposing myself to the carrots?”
“The ambassador of the Netherlands, actually,” said Rhaenyra, rubbing at her cheek as if she were trying to push a smile back into her face. She failed and her serious expression cracked into amusement. “How have you been, brother?”
Aegon tried to think of a witty, clever follow-up to that. The words died before they even left his brain.
“Better,” he said and was shocked to realize the truth of it. “I’m having a good time.”
Rhaenyra smiled wide, that smile again, and poured a cup of tea.
“Sugar?”
“Please.”
Aegon went to sit on the lounge chair opposite Rhaenyra, making sure to arrange his limbs such that his penis remained fully on display.
Rhaenyra stirred, visibly chewing the side of her cheek now. Aegon smiled wide.
“Did you like my tomato spread?” he asked.
“Yes! I’ve been eating it on my toast. It’s great with the olive oil Joffrey brought back from Italy.”
“I’ve tried it! Will you join me for tea?” said Aegon, then noticed a disappointing detail. “Oh. You only brought one mug.”
Rhaenyra let out a single laugh, finally. And she stood up, giving Aegon an apologetic look.
“I’m very busy. Just came to check, since Aemond and Lucerys went out of town this week. Daemon is coming back from his trip abroad in a couple of days, in case you want to put some shorts on,” said his sister, then left without another word or look back.
Aegon looked at the empty seat across the table and felt the disappointment that had edged around him drop with a loud pang to the bottom of his gut. A dismissal. Had she only come to inform him of her husband’s return? And he had to cover up in front of him, why? He had put on his pants when Viserys and Aegon the Younger were in the house, and the one-time Helaena visited with the kids, of course.
But why had she mentioned Daemon in particular?
When he went home that night, his head ran through many scenarios, trying to piece an ideal outcome of the day together like a puzzle. He pulled at the memory of Rhaenyra catching him in the nude. Finally coming out to check on him. Not staying for a cup of tea. Unimpressed. She complimented his cooking.
His only resolution to the spiralling was to step into the shower and jerk himself off, pressing his forehead into the cold shower wall. He let the shower wash any excessive introspection about it down the drain.
He did the same the next day until that post-orgasmic haze eventually reminded him of the horror it would be to his improving mental health to be fired from this decent gig. He decided to heed his sister’s warning.
He invited himself to Rhaenyra’s afternoon tea the next day (fully clothed), which she didn’t say a word about beyond greeting him and urging him to help himself to the food. Rhaenyra was pouring over her diplomatic group chat, the screen a scroll of text. Aegon waited until she looked particularly absorbed by an international incident to hit the purchase button on a bedazzled male thong from a store named ‘Kinky Kunt Hunter’. For the requested modesty.
The bank notification pinged out loud, and Rhaenyra reflexively checked it. Aegon tamped down on the roil of fire in his gut. Rhaenyra’s finger froze on the screen, and she looked up at Aegon with a familiar, exasperated look. Aegon bit into one of the freshly picked radishes his sister had been enjoying, his face remaining impassive and innocent. He slathered some salted butter on the leftover half before popping it into his mouth.
“Oh, I see,” she said, the corner of her lips tugging to the side. “Well, you can do as you like, of course. You don’t need anyone’s approval.”
That obviously wasn’t true. Not all the way. Aegon wondered if she knew it too, or if it she genuinely believed that he was making a spectacle of himself because he didn’t give a fuck what people thought. What she thought.
Oh, Aegon cared so much.
====
Aegon, like a true addict, found a third hobby to call his own and realized he had been engaged in it for years now.
He just really loved pestering the shit out of Rhaenyra. Or at least trying to. She had infinite patience with those she pitied, apparently.
Spending her money wouldn’t do it, she had too much of it to care, and Aegon’s tastes had never been high-brow enough to make a dent in her pocket. He chugged supermarket wine as happily and/or miserably as he did the Montrachet he had once been given when he had been forced into attending a family function when his father wasn’t quite dead yet. He had wondered what organ the old man had sold on the black market to acquire that alcohol outside of an auction. Not his liver, evidently.
Rhaenyra was the star then, as she was still now, and Aegon had hovered by the bar, wondering how she did it. If she hated that he had been invited too, instead of her precious Jace.
After the tea incident—an incident in his mind, probably another moment of tolerating her idiot half-brother from Rhaenyra’s side—Aegon decided to keep up the strategy that had gotten him at least a reaction. He continued to buy sex toys for himself, as outrageous as possible. It did pay dividends when he engaged in his slutting about hobby, as it gave more options for what he could use on his lovers (or have used on him).
But, Rhaenyra never brought it up again, and she pointedly started to ignore the incessant pinging bank notifications when Aegon was in her presence. One day, the notifications stopped, and Aegon realized that his activity had been muted.
Muted!!
He went for his second lifeline.
The next afternoon, under another roasting summer sun, Aegon finished his day of nude farming, throwing a passing greeting to Lucerys, who was in the middle of nude dissertation writing, and Aemond, who was reading in his shorts, having long commandeered Aegon’s chair beside Lucerys as his own.
Aegon carried an overflowing crate of produce into the kitchen, enjoying the pull on his arms, now firmly muscled from the manual labour. He set it down on the marble tiling and put on an apron. He scrolled through a few recipes on his phone before settling on one that will bring out all the sweetness and umami from Rhaenyra’s favourite tomatoes. They were tiny, yellow things, clumped together on vines that Aegon couldn’t keep contained, attracting aphids and blight and requiring his near-daily maintenance and mathematical optimization of leaf-to-fruit ratio. They did taste nice though.
Aegon minced some shallots and garlic, letting them crisp up in some butter and olive oil on the stove, before tossing in some chilli flakes and fresh spices (also grown and maintained by him). When they started to bubble lightly, giving off fragrant steam that made Aegon salivate, the tomatoes went in. Aegon hummed while stirring. This might be his best chunky tomato spread yet.
He heard footsteps approach, and Aegon tensed up his ass cheeks.
“Aegon,” said Daemon. Aegon let his mood and butt relax with an internal disappointed sigh and slight ingrained panic.
“Back from your trip?” asked Aegon, throwing the man a formal smile. Daemon was staring pointedly at his bare ass, looking part irritated and part amused. It was quite a familiar expression, to Aegon’s chagrin. Maybe it was the Targaryen tolerance of depravity showing itself everywhere. Maybe Daemon was the originator.
“Yes, it overran a few days,” he said. “Why are you naked in my wife’s kitchen?”
“I’m not naked,” said Aegon, motioning down at his apron as if Daemon were a dimwit. He spooned up some tomato and offered Daemon a taste. Daemon stared down at his extended arm with a slight sneer of disgust, but he then looked into Aegon’s face. Something in his nephew’s expression made him soften his glare. Daemon sighed and took the spoon.
“Want me to blow on it for you?” offered Aegon.
“Don’t push it.”
Aegon shut up, and Daemon tried his cooking. Daemon nodded, seeming to cave into something unspoken.
“Rhaenyra will love this,” was Daemon’s verdict. Aegon grinned. Daemon looked around the doorway of the kitchen. “Jace, get in here!”
Oh good lord. Aegon sent out a quick prayer and turned to keep his apron in line of sight.
Targaryen Wonderboy the First stepped in, back from whatever important international trip he had also been on. Jacaerys baulked when he saw his uncle.
“Oh, hey Aegon,” said Jace, sounding confused when he took in Aegon’s bare legs. He looked to Daemon for direction, who stared back with a smile that he probably meant as impassive but came off as challenging. Aegon offered Jace a spoonful of tomato sauce too. “I thought you took over the gardening. Didn’t realize you were the cook now too. What happened to Deana?”
“I’m not the cook,” clarified Aegon, not wanting this entire family to crash his cool moment. He had been in the zone. The work was for one person only, and he didn’t want help. He wasn’t opposed to getting compliments from Daemon or Jace though. “I kept getting recommended YouTube videos about how to process fresh produce and I wanted to try it.”
Jace stuck the spoon into his mouth, gasping when he burned himself.
“Hot!” spluttered the man, some tomato dribbling out the side of his lips. Jace pushed it back into his mouth with his thumb. “It’s great! I like the spice.”
Aegon preened and was going to offer Jace some more when Jace turned to look out at the large glass windows of the kitchen. Jace froze.
“Why is Lucerys butt naked?” snapped Jace. He squinted and seemed to notice something worse. “Oh God, is that Aemond? Why is Aemond here?”
“Are we not welcome?” teased Aegon, trying to get Jace’s eyes off their brothers lest Aemond get dragged away by a rabid Jace. Jace and Aemond got along well enough when it was the two of them, Jace being agreeable and diplomatic, and Aemond—.
But Jace always hovered about Luke when Aemond was in the room, not having forgotten a previous incident when they were teenagers. Aemond had chased Luke around the Red Keep with one of the medieval swords hanging above the fireplace, shouting about payback for his eye. Then, he had nearly impaled Luke all the way through the thigh when he had tripped on the carpet at the top of the stairs and crashed down on top of his nephew.
Luke and Aemond got along a little better after that incident, but Aemond and Jace got along worse. The details of it were fuzzy because Aegon had started to drink heavily by then.
“Of course you’re welcome. It’s your place too,” muttered Jace, not paying Aegon much attention. “Oh my God, is Aemond shirtless too?”
Jace finally turned back to his uncle, taking in his bare legs again.
“What did you do, Aegon?”
Daemon slipped out of the room, grabbing a handful of freshly picked tomatoes on his way out. Aegon watched, dejected, as he heard the sound of his sister getting intercepted by Daemon and getting gifted her favourite tomatoes in the corridor.
====
“Aegon,” said Rhaenyra, the next day.
Aegon looked over his shoulder mid-grating motion.
“Yes, Rhaenyra?” he smiled, reflexively tightening his butt and arms. Rhaenyra’s eyes shifted over Aegon’s form, her face composed into her resting half-serious half-kind smile. She was wearing a blazer and pants, having returned from work. It made her look entrepreneurial.
She always looks so nice.
“Daemon told me you made a spread again,” she said. Aegon scrambled for a clean spoon.
“Yesterday’s one should have developed more flavour by now. I’m making tomato rallado today,” said Aegon, pulling out one of the open jars from the fridge. He cut two slices of the artisanal bread Harwin had picked up fresh this morning and stuck them into the toaster.
While the bread crisped up, Aegon heated up the kettle and fetched some tea. He pointedly pulled two mugs from the cupboard and Rhaenyra noticed.
She finally—finally—relented, relaxing into the chair. She folded her hands and rested her chin on them, facing Aegon’s back.
Aegon was torn. On one hand, he thought he had a really great ass and the thought of Rhaenyra getting to gaze upon it cheered him up greatly. On the other hand, it hurt his neck for him to keep looking backwards to be able to keep eye contact as they spoke. Aegon compromised with himself by shifting a bit sideways so he could still show off the curve of his behind (more suggestive, one could argue) and also comfortably talk.
“The passata from the other day would be better in pasta,” said Aegon. He grinned, trying to look cocky, but he could feel his face warm. Damn it. “I could make some arrabiata for you. I’ve been watching videos.”
Rhaenyra contemplated him a while, and her face pulled into her deliberate smile.
“Harwin can pick some pasta up tomorrow, then,” she leaned to one side, elbow propped on the counter and her cheek pressed into her palm.
“You look happy,” she remarked. Aegon faltered, struck by both the truth of the words and how she said them. Almost as if she were talking to one of her sweet boys, people she actually liked and loved. But not quite. Still a bit colder. Aegon could work with that.
“I am,” said Aegon. He looks down at the tomato rallado he was making. “I’ve found other things to fill my days.”
Rhaenyra’s smile quirked up at the corners.
“As long as you’re being safe out there,” she said, in a joking tone.
It took Aegon a moment to realize that she thought he meant the sex. Which was great, mind you. But Aegon had meant this.
Being able to not worry about every problem out there. Just focus on gardening. Get immense, tangible satisfaction. Efforts always paying off. The food. The tang of tomatoes. The rainbow of courgettes he could send off to the local food banks because they were so plentiful. The way it tasted so much better than anything he could buy off the shelf. His work.
It was also the rest of it. Not being told what to do. Or how to do it. Being trusted. Him acting a bit outrageously, and no one reprimanded him for it so long as he hurt no one. Lucerys and Aemond spending time with him, in near silence, just being company. Harwin buying the ingredients Aegon needed to complete his sister-pleasing vision without needing to be asked. Aegon the younger and Viserys watching him with poorly concealed teenage fascination while he explained how to build a trellis and how to cage the droopy plants. Daemon and Jace complimenting his cooking. Rhaenyra making this all happen, when he had clearly been her least favourite half-sibling.
With a pang, Aegon realized that that could still be true. He did not think that his sister hated him (at least not while he fed her), but he could recognize that Aemond and Daeron were less of a pain in the ass to call family, and Rhaenyra openly liked Helaena and the children. Perhaps Aegon still outranked Aemond because he never almost killed Lucerys, but the fact that he wasn’t sure said a lot about Aegon’s life choices up until now.
At least Jaehaera and Jaehaerys had enjoyed the jars and crates of food that had been sent over to the Hightower Estate. So had his mother and grandfather. They didn’t ask much about the details of his hobby/job, but they were visibly pleased that he was no longer drinking.
Aegon was pleased too.
The toaster shot the bread out, giving Aegon a slight startle. He unglued his eyes from the obvious staring he had been engaged in and went to retrieve the bread. He spread some of yesterday’s creation and drizzled olive oil on it. He then spooned some fresh tomato rallado over the other, topping it with some salt and pepper. He placed both slices in front of Rhaenyra, then poured them both some tea.
He pulled on some shorts for hygiene and sat with a sigh, knowing that he looked happy with himself. Rhaenyra brought the spread slice up to her mouth. Aegon had spent a while cooking it down, concentrating the flavour into a thick, delicious paste. She took a large bite, leaving some of the golden sauce smeared on her lips. She licked it off, and kept shovelling the toast into her mouth until she had reached about halfway, then switched to the tomato rallado.
“Which do you prefer?”
“Hm!” she moaned a bit. “I like both, completely different. Can’t pick.”
“Different types of tomatoes too.”
“Thank you, Aegon. For keeping Luke company.”
The pair turned their heads to look out through the kitchen windows, where Jace and Aemond could be seen swimming laps in the pool while Luke sat poolside (wearing shorts), staring at his laptop with his hands clasped around his head in panic. Baela and Rhaena were here today, having flown in from Driftmark. Both were crowded around Luke, trying to give him emotional support. They had not even blinked at Aegon’s butt, forewarned. He had been slightly disappointed.
“I like it here. I wish I always had this, instead of being pushed so much to be someone else,” admitted Aegon, not expecting the words to tumble out of him so readily. When he turned to gaze back at Rhaenyra, her face looked pained.
“I wish it had been different before. I didn’t know how to help. You were really too much,” she said, smiling to cut through any sting in her words.
It didn’t work, and Aegon felt the criticism hit him like a punch.
“I’m still too much though,” said Aegon, cooly. Rhaenyra’s face fell with a bit of panic. She pushed the plate of half-eaten toast towards Aegon.
“Here, try it. Tell me which one you prefer.”
Aegon looked down, wondering if he should throw a small tantrum at the moment. Then, remembering that he was a 30-year-old man, he accepted the olive branch even if he wanted to jump out of his skin at the anger of it.
Also, he was being offered Rhaenyra’s leftovers. He wouldn’t have refused even if he had been a stronger man.
====
As the summer rolled on, the chirp of birds and crickets changed in tone, slowly, like the ongoing movement of a symphony. Rhaenyra continued to indulge Aegon's addiction. She didn’t know it, of course, not being inside Aegon’s fucked up brain.
Was it an after-effect of the drugs? Of the surgery? Of having lived off her money?
Aegon wasn’t sure, but he found himself making increasingly outrageous tomato dishes that he could offer up to his sister to taste test. His tomato soup had been her favourite. The second was the four tomato glaze he had made to add to salads.
He fed whoever asked, of course. Not that he was trying to hide his obvious infatuation with his sister. Aegon was an honest sort of bloke. He did enjoy getting praise from the others, too. And Rhaenyra’s family was much more effusive with them than his own.
But nothing tasted better, fed his soul more than Rhaenyra’s smiling commentary as she tried to place his choice of spice. Of her entering the kitchen when she could smell him cooking, shutting down whatever group chat she had been messaging and chucking her phone onto the counter. To give him her full attention.
Maybe she did know. She had been so much colder before.
During one of her days off, she left the boys to their nudist moment, but joined them by the pool in her swimsuit beside Aemond to pour over one of the swashbuckling fantasy novels he suspected his younger brother had passed on to her. The sort his mother liked to read in secret too.
She never wore bikinis, which was a great disappointment to Aegon. But even in her shiny purple one-piece, she was a certified milf. In a family of increasingly more nudists (Joffrey had taken to joining the garden naked sessions with his video games when he was at the Red Keep, to Aemond’s chagrin. Aegon's brother really wasn't subtle), it was such a shame that some still kept their pants on.
Aegon was enjoying his growing friendship with Rhaenyra—finally, finally, after three decades of being the younger brother so pathetic that he wasn’t even considered a rival claimant—so much, that he forgot to watch the time pass.
Soon, the summer bloom faded into autumn crops, and the wind started to bite cold. Aegon put his clothes back on, not thinking much about it. There was much to do in autumn.
Then Aegon found himself with no rational reason to return to the Red Keep. Winter had come.
====
Winter gardening tasks could be finished in one day a week. A few hours tops. Turn the soil. Clean up. Fertilize. Prepare for the next season. Start seeding end of winter. This meant that, even after drawing it out, it left Aegon with more than half the week wondering what to do with himself.
The stamp collecting and anonymous fucking had been left to the wayside when he had started to stay longer at the Red Keep as summer and fall had gone on. Lucerys had submitted his thesis and had gone back to Driftmark. Jace was on diplomatic missions again. Aemond had gone back to work in the Westerosi diplomatic circuit as well, only showing up at the Hightower Estate for dinner. But Aegon had remained at the Red Keep, tending the garden. He made small talk with Daemon when he wasn’t away. Caught Rhaenyra for tea when she was around. Cooked with Harwin, cooked with Aegon the Younger, threw Viserys in the freezing pool a few times, and enjoyed dinner with the family. Rhaenyra had invited his mother, grandfather and Daeron a few times. His sister had pointed out what Aegon had made himself, and his mother, for once, had looked impressed.
Now, it was over.
The housekeeper had stopped fucking him when he started to become part of the family. Unprofessional, she said. He didn’t blame her.
But she didn’t understand. He wasn’t actually part of the family. Not this family. He was a visitor. A man there with a goal, a job, for which his sister indulged him out of pity. To keep him busy. The rest of them liked him well enough because, at the end of the day, he left.
But perhaps I am catastrophizing, thought Aegon. He had learned the term in therapy. I think they actually like having me around. I’m just too self-hating to accept it.
Aegon knew that the mature thing would be to just ask his sister if he was loved. Communicate his needs efficiently. But that was a completely humiliating thought. He was a grown-ass man, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t need reassurance.
But he did.
So he did the next best thing after being a grown-up about it.
One day, after a day of fixing a planter that had rusted over and checking under the tarps, he went to his old bedroom in the Red Keep and locked himself in it.
It looked almost the same as he had last seen it, before he had developed a drinking problem and his mother had squirrelled him away to the Hightower Estate to hide the shame of it. His walls were covered in posters of women in bikinis. A few in the nude. Pictures of his family, most taken before Luke had stabbed Aemond in the eye and made family reunions more awkward. Before Rhaenyra had inherited. Before Luke, Baela and Rhaena had moved to Driftmark for university and work.
Before he could barely remember any of it from the haze he had put himself in. God, what if there were more memories, more proof that his family loved him, somewhere in there? But he just didn’t remember.
Aegon flopped back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The bed felt smaller than he remembered. His sheets definitely felt cleaner though. There was also not a trace of dust to be found. Not on his pillow. Not on the floor. Not floating about in the air around him, disturbed up by his presence after an unexpected intrusion.
His room was regularly maintained. Aegon wondered, a bit bitterly, if Rhaenyra used it as a guest room now, or if she had really kept it pristine for him.
He smiled at the thought. A little treat to himself.
Aegon took in the blank walls of his room and decided that he was overdue for a new hobby.
====
When the first order came in, Rhaenyra texted him.
A large box just arrived for you here?
Coming over now ;D, replied Aegon, slipping his socks on with some giddiness. It wasn’t a farming day, but his sister had pretty much invited him. This set a good precedent. The drive was short and familiar now, and he could have driven it with his eyes closed, even on a foggy winter morning.
Aegon parked in the courtyard of the Red Keep after the security staff at the gatehouse waved him in. He entered through the side door everyone else preferred using, with his own key. Aegon’s fingers shook with the cold, pads of his skin sticking to the metal, but he could imagine the sight waiting for him. Would she have peeked inside?
He opened the door and Harwin greeted him. Aegon deflated. Harwin gave him a knowing smile.
“Rhaenyra had to take a video call from abroad,” said Harwin. Aegon tried to discipline his face into something that wasn’t crushing disappointment. He was trying not to act like an animal, after all.
“She’s so busy,” said Aegon, sounding a bit whiny, still.
“I know,” agreed Harwin, with a conspiratorial, understanding nod. “I’ll help you carry the box up, it’s heavy.”
Aegon stared at the object he had ordered, feeling interest spark in his gut again. It was a two person kind of adventure, to carry this upstairs. Or a one Harwin Strong task.
“Thank you,” said Aegon, and he stepped aside to let his sister’s partner pick the carton up as if it were a shoe box.
Good lord. No wonder Rhaenyra kept him around. Aegon squeezed his own biceps as Harwin led the way (to keep from squeezing Harwin’s), wondering if they were gonna stay now that he wasn’t doing as much manual labor. Harwin moved the box over to one arm and pushed Aegon’s bedroom door open.
“Remodeling?” he asked, setting down Aegon’s delivery outside his door.
“You can come in,” said Aegon, when he realized that Harwin was just being polite and respectful. God. He wanted to be annoyed but it was impossible. Harwin was like a chill dilf version of Jace.
Harwin set the box down inside where Aegon was pointing.
“Yeah, this will be my current project,” Aegon waved his hand around, showing off the posters of naked women. “I need to update the vibe so it’s less juvenile.”
Harwin smiled, taking in a Playboy centerfold of a movie actress somewhere to Aegon’s left.
“Well, if you need anything, any help, you know where to find me,” said Harwin, and the man stepped out.
Aegon leaned out of his bedroom door.
“I don’t actually know.”
Harwin pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it at Aegon, without turning around.
Aegon locked himself in his room and ripped open his package. Inside, he revealed a top-of-the-line sex-machine. Mechanical, as opposed to the sort Aegon considered himself. It was a pain to assemble, but Aegon was going to make it worth it.
He couldn’t turn his room at his mother’s place into a sex cave, but he could try here. After all, Rhaenyra would have to acknowledge his terrible depravity to even notice. There must be a limit to her patience, and Aegon, if he couldn’t have the easy interactions of farming days, was going to find it.
====
Once the chains and nipple clamps came in, the housekeeper actively started to avoid him. Oops. Rhaenyra had made time to join him for tea only once in two weeks, after Aegon had invited her to test out some more vegetable spread recipes he had found. He had convinced Harwin to let him go through the vegetable pantry to check for anything spoiling soon, and had made a checklist of ingredients to process in the next week.
It had been nice to have an excuse to come in more, but alas, it was a busy season in international diplomacy, leading up to the winter holidays. It frustrated Aegon to no end, to have to visit a mostly empty house, with no sister to praise him. But cooking with the occasional drop in from Harwin, Daemon, Other Aegon and Viserys was a nice change to the busy silence of the Hightower Estate.
And he could still spend most of his evenings browsing through things he could add to his sex dungeon to spice it up.
Rhaenyra didn’t seem to question why he was around again and smiled all the same when she saw him. But recently, there was an annoyed, stressed-out lilt in her smile, and Aegon both hated it and revelled in it.
A reaction.
To preoccupy a woman’s mind.
What more could a desperate man ask for.
====
Aegon had always prided himself on being a fun-loving, entertaining and outrageous person, who nonetheless knew the limit.
Well, minus the time he used to be an alcoholic.
And when he did drugs.
And the time he fucked randos raw.
And the time he fucked his sister raw (not Rhaenyra :( ).
And the time he ran out on his family to avoid contaminating his children with his personality.
And the time he accidentally flashed the ambassador of the Netherlands.
But for most things, Aegon knew how to keep his torment solely self-destructive, and not actually harmful to others. He didn’t want to end up in jail, after all, but he believed in personal liberties for himself and others.
So when he next crossed the line, it was purely accidental.
The sex dungeon had been a fun project. He had used his millennial internet stalking skills acquired when planning his nude gardening stints to ensure the house was mostly empty (sans Harwin who was always there, it seemed, but never judgmental) before he invited his hookups to visit it. He even drew the line at only inviting hookups he knew and trusted enough to not gossip about his family. He made sure to lead them straight to his room, and to not give them tours, no matter how curious they got.
This was Rhaenyra’s estate first and foremost, after all.
He protected his family from harm by mitigating the risks of his own activities. He was a grown man with a modicum of awareness on how to not completely destroy everything around him. A tough lesson learned after 30 years on this Earth.
What he hadn’t expected from himself, though, was to forget to lock a damn door before leaving the house.
The next day, when he returned, he was greeted by Rhaenyra at the door. Aegon’s face broke into a giddy smile as if by reflex. Like a damn trained dog. But Rhaenyra was not smiling at all. Not even her neutral face. She was furious. Aegon’s felt his blood chill over.
“What happened?” he said, almost a whisper.
“My Aegon walked into your room,” she said, teeth visibly grating in an effort to not reach out and strangle him. She looked so pissed off that her eyes looked like they would spill tears soon. Aegon’s gut dropped. He was going to be sick.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, putting his hands up. “It was an accident. I forgot to lock the door.”
“Is this funny to you?”
“No, I swear. I would never,” said Aegon, hearing the desperation in his own voice. Rhaenyra’s current line of attack relaxed, seeming to see from his face that he was being genuine. “I always kept it PG around Aegon and Viserys. You know that. I’m not… I know where your line is.”
Rhaenyra looked him up and down, her chest visibly rattling in anger under her thick woolen sweater. Aegon put his hand to his heart.
“It won’t happen again. I forgot to lock the door. It was a stupid mistake.”
Rhaenyra gave him a long look, now less angry and far more saddened.
“You can thank the Gods that it was not Viserys who walked in. At least Aegon is old enough to understand the difference between how you act and how others act.”
And she turned to leave. Aegon threw his face into his hands, gasping.
Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid fucking man.
That poor fucking kid.
Rhaenyra didn’t turn back to kick him out. She didn’t tell him to leave. She didn’t tell him she no longer wanted him around her family.
Stupid disgusting uncle. Untrustworthy.
So Aegon went in for his workday, legs shaking as he removed his outer coat, sending a small prayer up for small mercies.
====
Rhaenyra actively avoided him for the next few days, even when she was not working. Aegon felt like he had swallowed lead, but he also couldn’t blame her, so he didn’t whine. He knew he would cave in and grovel soon if she kept turning the corner when she saw him. But he could give her a few more days to remember how well he fed her.
By keeping his distance, he could still watch her. To look for signs of her being willing to forgive him for his trespass. Once, he could hear her mutter his name when talking to both Daemon and Harwin. Aegon felt his blood race at that, and he didn’t sleep for two days. He was still on thin ice, and the ice was melting.
====
Aegon was peeling onions. Mincing garlic. Slicing up some habanero chillies. His knife work was precise, honed to perfection after months of becoming one of his sister’s household’s personal produce processors. The blade rocked back and forth, like the lull of a ship on the waves, never going overboard, bottom of the hull keeping contact with the surface.
The method was relaxing. The art was stimulating. Aegon wanted to keep this.
Familiar footsteps came up behind him, cutting through the podcast Aegon had been sucked into. He felt the breeze too, on his bare thighs. He had underwear and a shirt on, it was winter after all. But he didn’t need pants for this. Aegon removed his earphones and turned to Rhaenyra with a shaky smile. A man graciously offered a wet towel after a marathon.
“Rhaenyra?”
“Aegon,” she said, pressing herself against the kitchen counter, looking at him. She didn’t look angry, which was a win. But she looked pensive and a bit sad, which was perhaps worse. “I have been thinking about this. And I have a few things to discuss.”
Aegon put down the knife.
“Rhaenyra,” he said, trying not to let any panic show in his tone. Rhaenyra then pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to Aegon. Aegon looked at the black rectangle in confusion. Rhaenyra smiled encouragingly, so he took it.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel taken advantage of. I have accountants to help you file taxes come the season. But this is your payment for a year of work. It was foolish of me to not do this sooner.”
Aegon was holding a credit card. It had his name on it. Aegon Targaryen, embossed in shiny letters on the plastic. The feeling of it under his fingers made his gut roil into something more confused, but no less horrified. He stared and stared, and then he looked up at Rhaenyra. He needed some things clarified, but wasn’t sure what. She was smiling expectantly.
Aegon felt as if she had taken the knife off the counter and plunged it into his heart.
Aegon picked up the knife and went back to chopping, keeping his eyes fixed on the ingredients, his lips pulled taut. He could feel Rhaenyra bristle beside him at the rude dismissal, but she didn’t leave.
“Aegon? You’re still upset? Just tell me why, Gods.” Aegon turned to look at his sister’s face. It was torn between hurt and anger. “Why are you unhappy again?”
Aegon put the knife down again.
“Maybe being a degenerate was just more fun.”
“Aegon.”
Aegon crossed his arms, and decided that he couldn’t feel much worse now.
“I want you to care more about me.”
Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, startled. It was almost flattering.
“I do care about you.”
The words echoed in the kitchen, having no escape. Rhaenyra had closed the door on her way in. Aegon held up the credit card.
“You fucking paid me.”
“I don’t do unpaid internships,” said Rhaenyra slowly, looking increasingly baffled at his objection to money. Aegon wasn’t explaining it right, but it was hard to get out. “I thought it would make you feel better. You earned it.”
Aegon held his words in for a few seconds, trying to unwind them from the messy ball in his chest. The sun set early in winter, and the only illumination in the dark of the kitchen was the light from the stove exhaust, just enough for Aegon’s workstation, to wash out the rest of the world.
“I didn’t do it for money,” said Aegon, finally. Rhaenyra’s face opened in a relieved smile.
“I know! You were happy. That’s why I wanted to ask…”
“Is this why you did it all?” Aegon cut her off, distrustful. “Why you asked mum to send me here. My happiness?”
“Yes. I was hoping that trying something different would work. And I did need a gardener.”
“It’s because you have awful taste in flowerbeds. It’s why the previous guy quit.”
“They’re a protected native species.”
“Having me around your family,” said Aegon, slowly, unsure if he wanted the answer. But since he was on a roll, he kept going. “Didn’t bother you?”
Rhaenyra’s face fell in exasperation, but there was a smile. That smile. Aegon felt some of the pressure leave his body.
“No. Aegon,” Rhaenyra reached over and pulled one of his hands in between hers. Aegon blinked down at the touch a few times. “I’m sorry if I offended you with the money. You can keep the family card too of course. But I do need you to take it. You earned it.”
“I earned it?”
“Yes,” said Rhaenyra, smiling so sweetly Aegon could feel the inside of his brain melt in response. No wonder his nephews were various types of soft idiots. “And also for insurance purposes. But also because you’re good at this. You earned it fair and square. Many times over.”
Aegon wanted to smile, but the words pulled at another thread of thought in his head, and it struck like a glass shard. It made things a bit ugly inside of him again. But perhaps he could vent now. To Rhaenyra, since she was listening. He pulled his hand away from her hold reluctantly and stuck his hand under his shirt. He lifted it. His fingers pressed into his scar, now healed over and puckered a clean pink.
“It’s a relief to finally earn something,” said Aegon, trying to sound humorous and understanding at the point his sister had been trying to make, albeit clumsily. He sounded too bitter, which was an accident.
Rhaenyra’s face fell into a look of horror. It was Aegon’s turn to be taken aback.
“You don’t… you don’t have to earn it,” she said. She stared into Aegon’s face, seeming to finally understand something. Aegon wondered what she saw, and if she could tell him. “To earn your life. That’s not how it works. You didn’t deserve the misery you were in. Cosmically. You were an addict.”
“I was trying to kill myself. But I chickened out and made it someone else’s problem,” said Aegon, letting out a sigh of relief to be saying it out loud. “I’m not… I’m not really whole again, even now.”
“Aegon,” she said. Aegon did like the way she said his name, now. “No matter how ill you are, you still deserve to be happy.” The pathos of the situation ran high and Rhaenyra extended her hand to rub at Aegon’s arm. Her eyes were fixed on the scar on his abdomen, lips tight. “Within reason, of course,” she added, ever the forward-thinking diplomat.
“I’m trying. I am,” said Aegon. Rhaenyra tried to remove her hand, but he grasped it, keeping it pressed to his arm, not ready to let it go. “Because someone cared enough to give me their liver. But the rest is hard to fix when my sister has been playing cleanup on all my messes, just like our father did before her.”
Rhaenyra took in a shuddering breath. Her face pinched, and she had that almost tearful look again. She was angry. Aegon held onto her hand even tighter.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I didn’t care. You know I did.”
“Only when it suited you. I make you look bad. I know I do. Because I’ve been trying damn hard to. Make your life a bit more difficult with me in it.”
“I noticed. You have the right to be angry. Did I ever say anything?” asked Rhaenyra, now squeezing his arm tight.
“No. Because even when I was trying to humiliate you, you didn’t give a shit,” said Aegon. He was sounding whiny again. It was inescapable. He felt worse on the inside.
“You can be yourself. That’s enough.”
“I know that I’m a problem you feel responsible for. I just wish you loved me,” said Aegon, not looking Rhaenyra in the face. “I’m only afraid that you’ll one day be tired of cleaning up after me. Or that I will be a problem solved and you won’t truly care anymore.”
Rhaenyra squeezed his arm again. Her nails dug into the flesh of it, and Aegon flinched in pain. She let go, looking tired. Determined. Then, under Aegon’s confused stare, she lifted up her blouse to the bottom of her bra.
Her hips flared wide like a violin, stomach soft and lovely. The skin there was milky white, except where childbirth had left some marks. And a scar, healed in a fresh pink pucker. It was a clean line, right below where her liver would be.
Aegon would know. His matched in a near-perfect mirror image.
His hand reflexively reached out to touch it. Rhaenyra sucked in a breath at the cold of his fingers, but let him. Her eyes still searching. Aegon couldn’t look into them, focused on the scar. He felt motion sick, suddenly, as if he was being swirled in a salad spinner, with this at its epicenter.
“It was you?” said Aegon, voice small.
“Obviously. We have the same blood type.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Who knows?”
“Harwin and Daemon only.”
Because they had to see it forever. God, no wonder Daemon didn’t throw him out for the nudity. Not while he had this.
“Why? Why didn’t you tell mother?”
“Because I wasn’t doing it for her, Aegon. And you like having her full attention. I wasn’t going to rob you,” she said, a bit painfully but honestly. Aegon ran his finger along the scar, again, to make sure it was real. His heart was stuck in his throat. The skin felt so similar to his, but softer, beneath his hands.
“Did you hesitate? Wonder if I was even worth it?”
Rhaenyra grabbed his chin and tilted it up, forcing Aegon to look at her face. Forcing him to show his. He was crying. Ugly, face contorted, unstoppable now. Her eyes, crestfallen, beautiful, like his own, gazed back at him in mirrored sadness. Aegon didn’t really need an answer anymore, but she offered it.
“Not even a second. Do you understand, Aegon?”
Aegon removed the hand from his own scar—he wasn’t going to let go of Rhaenyra, not yet—to rub at his face.
“Yes,” he whispered, into the dim light between them. Had she been right there, across the hall in the hospital the whole time? Because they shared the same blood. Because she wanted him to live more than he wanted to die, in the end. And he had really wanted to die.
Half her life for his. Now hers was fully healed, all the way up. He was almost there, but how could he not keep trying, knowing what had been put into him?
Rhaenyra reached over to rub Aegon’s face. She wiped away a few tears, with the pad of her thumbs. She smiled now, and it filled Aegon up. He couldn’t help his face breaking into a wet smile in return.
“Do you want me to keep my pants on around the house from now on?” asked Aegon.
Rhaenyra laughed.
“No. You’ve been really delighting my housekeeper this year.”
“She doesn’t much like me anymore.”
“The sex swing is what did her in, I think,” said Rhaenyra, grinning wickedly.
Aegon laughed too. Feeling a bit bold, he pressed his palm over Rhaenyra's scar and leaned across the space to press his mouth against her cheek. Her smile didn’t falter under his lips.
Staying within the limit.
Aegon let his face drop into the crook of her neck, into her soft blouse, and he breathed in, letting Rhaenyra envelop him. Rhaenyra combed her fingers into his hair, a bit roughly. Aegon enjoyed the pull of it on his scalp, letting a few soft, satisfied groans leave his mouth. Finally fed.
“There was something else, Aegon.”
“Hm?” said Aegon, into her shoulder.
“Since it’s winter… Could you build me a greenhouse?”