Chapter Text
There were many things Aemond Targaryen regretted.
The very first one would have to be the way he allowed his mother to poison him in his childhood.
Poisoned him against the nephews he shared blood with.
‘’They’re bastards, born of lust and sin and greed’’, she would say, ‘’You are not to go near them’’, she would order, and have him kneel down in the sept to pray for forgiveness.
Forgiveness for being kind to the little boy with brown curls and clear eyes.
Forgiveness for reading to him as he laid his head in his lap, because apparently, the little one enjoyed listening to voice.
Forgiveness for giving into the whelp’s childish schemes, sneaking into the kitchens in the dead of night when they were supposed to be asleep, simply because the spoiled brat craved lemon cakes.
But he wasn’t spoiled, was he?
He always shared his treat with him, always gave him the bigger half after splitting them unevenly, despite him insisting that he did not care for sweet things.
He always expressed his gratitude too, a few crumbs flying out of his mouth as he spoke in a hushed voice.
‘’Thank you, uncle Aemond.’’
He couldn’t remember the voice anymore; it had been too long and the boy hadn’t sounded like that when they had reunited as completely different people after Rhaenyra escaped Kings Landing in favour of Dragonstone.
The second thing he regretted was most definitely the grudge he had harbored since the night he lost his eye.
A grudge he nurtured over the course of years.
A grudge that became the motivation for working hard, excelling in all aspects.
Sword fighting, dragon riding, history, philosophy.
A grudge which granted him the title people whispered when they thought his back was turned.
Kinslayer.
A grudge which led to the bloodiest war Westeros had ever seen, covering everything in flames, turning everything and everyone into ash and bone.
The war which ended in a victory for his family, with Aegon on the throne.
Yet there was no satisfaction to be found.
The cost was great, too great.
He fisted the hands he had clasped behind him as he stood in the inconspicuous hallway of the Red Keep, looking at a painting of Helaena and the children.
The form of Jaehaerys, small and innocent, staring back at him, as if the boy was still alive.
Like he hadn’t been beheaded.
The pure, young life which was taken as a revenge for his actions.
Because his uncle didn’t want them to experience death, of course not, he wanted to show them what it was like.
A son for a son.
How it felt when the young man of fourteen was sent as an envoy- the oath of being a messenger keeping him from fighting back- only to find out he had been killed in the skies.
Mercilessly as the large dragon- his dragon- tore into the smaller one, leaving no chance for escape or survival.
He closed his eye, he could still hear the sickening crunch of Vhagar’s jaws, the sight of the pieces of meat falling out of view, swallowed by the clouds.
The red cloak which floated down, carried by the wind, never to be seen again.
Just like the boy who wore it.
Helaena was never the same again, neither was Jaehaera.
No one was the same as before.
How could they?
‘’My prince.’’
He opened his eye, turning to see Florian standing there with a small smile on his face.
He remembered the day he had met him in Boris Baratheon’s Hall, chosen him as his future husband, future mate.
How could he not?
He had lived that day countless times, again and again, whether it be in his nightmares or during broad day light.
He could recall every single detail at the drop of a hat.
Even though it had already been half a year since it all came to an end.
‘’My betrothed,’’ he called back, the omega taking that as his cue to walk closer, ‘’How may I help you?’’
He had curly hair which weren’t brown enough for his liking.
His face was chiselled with a sharp jaw, not cherub enough the way he liked.
His scent was sweet, but nothing like the citrus and lilies he preferred.
He was tall, nearly his height, not short enough like he wanted.
His nose was thin and straight, not an annoying pug shape.
He wasn’t Luc-
‘’I was hoping we could take a walk in the gardens?’’, Florian offered, like many times before.
He had taken to doing that often, starting conversations with him, wanting to dance with him, sit close to him during supper, wanting to spend time with him as much as he could.
Aemond could barely tolerate the antics, but this was an alliance made for political purposes, not out of a mutual like or love.
It was his duty to indulge the omega who would become his bonded, therefore he treaded carefully, finding a careful balance between when to reject his advances and when to accept them.
Keeping it just polite enough so that Florian couldn’t complain to his father or anyone else, accusing him of neglecting him.
He knew what to do with the current offer.
He couldn’t accept this time, not when he had just been occupied with thoughts of luc-
‘’Unfortunately, I’m forced to disappoint you, my lord’’ he attempted a smile, a try at consolation, ‘’I fear my duties call for me, I have already wasted enough time idling here.’’
The smile the omega gave him in return was wry, but complacent nonetheless.
He stepped forward and grabbed his hand, raising his hand and placing a short, polite kiss on it, keeping his eye on him, just enough to fool him that he was as devastated with the rejection as he was.
‘’Perhaps some other time?’’, he said softly, still clutching his hand.
His betrothed blushed like a maiden-which he knew without doubt he was- and he knew his job was done.
He dropped Florian’s hand and gave a once over to the painting he had been staring at while being completely lost in his thoughts.
Brown curls, brown eyes, chubby face, red cloak-
Perhaps he should have a portrait commissioned, before he forgets all the features of the boy, unable to recall them with as much ease as he did now.
It would certainly raise some eyebrows, but not if he kept it hidden enough in the confines of his chambers, only meant for his eye.
He could bribe the artist, tell him to speak to no one, or have him killed.
Either way, it would ensure the painter’s silence on his depraved and debauched ways.
The boy still visited him in his nightmares, but who knows when they might stop.
In his dreams- no matter how horrible they were- he was alive, and maybe that’s why he didn’t mind the torment.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t lament the fact that he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a year and a half.
He looked like a shell of a man some days, as his brother liked to tease sometimes, but he could say nothing to argue with him.
It was too apt a description for what he was.
Hollow and empty, nothing left to give, nothing left to take.
He walked away with brisk steps, not bothering to look behind him towards the man he would be shackled to for the rest of his life.
All for the sake of a war which he had never meant to start.
**
He visited Helaena and his mother in the nursery, both women carrying children in their arms, consoling them and seeking consolation in return.
His mother immediately put a hand to her lips as soon as he entered, wanting him to keep quiet.
To not disturb his nephew and niece as they slumbered, he mused.
Alicent carried little Maelor in her arms, who was blissfully asleep as he drooled from the corner of his mouth.
He almost envied the child, the ease with he slept, far too young to understand the fact that he had been named by his mother, her first choice as to which son she wanted dead.
A choice no mother should have been forced to make, but Helaena did.
Because of what you did, a traitorous voice reminds him, a voice he chooses to ignore in favouring of sitting down beside his sister.
Helaena had little Jaehaera seated in her lap, her head resting on her mother’s bosom as she slept.
But her sleep was quite contrary to her brother, there were tear streaks on her cheeks, her face flushed red.
She had another meltdown, he concluded.
It had been happening constantly since that night, when she witnessed something she was old enough to understand, but not old enough to know how to cope with.
A frail and weak mind, destroyed, perhaps forever.
They only sat in silence, there was tea and other sweets on the table, but none of the adults made a move to seek the comfort the nourishment would provide.
There were lemon cakes too.
Which used to be the boy’s favourite.
‘’There’s a flower in your lap.’’
The whisper from Helaena made his head jerk towards her, her violet eyes looking at him like they were peering into his soul.
If he still had one, that is.
‘’My lap is empty, sister.’’, he responded, mirroring her whisper, fully aware that his sister spoke non-coherent words and phrases sometimes.
Helaena only swayed a bit, placing her nose closer to her daughter’s hair, no doubt seeking solace in the child’s milky scent.
‘’It will fall soon enough.’’
He didn’t answer and no one spoke after that as the table remained full and untouched.
**
His brother summoned him to the throne room on an unassuming day.
Actually, it wasn’t an unassuming day, it was his nameday.
But it hardly mattered anymore, he never celebrated it anymore and requested his family to treat it like any other day.
Helaena would still give him her hand embroidered handkerchiefs, with bugs on them.
A simple gift, she would call it, and he was too ashamed to degrade her spirits.
There was guilt as well, but he has had more than enough practice to learn to live with it.
Not in peace, but perhaps in tolerance.
‘’Brother!’’, Aegon greeted, looking like the image of the conqueror as he sat the iron throne, his crown only adding to his persona, ‘’How good to see you on this fine day.’’
He lowered his head just enough for it to be easily mistaken for a nod.
‘’My king.’’, he greeted, there wasn't anyone else with them, but the walls have ears, and he had learned by now how foolish it was to let his guard down.
Even for a single moment.
‘’It is your nameday today,’’ he grinned, the teeth making him uneasy for some reason, ‘’Is there anything in particular you would like?’’
‘’No, my king, your well wishes are more than enough.’’
Aegon stood up, walking and stepping down the stairs with meaningful steps, taking his merry time as his annoyance grew by the second.
What was he up to?
The king only stood a feet away from him, the smile etched on his face.
‘’Come now,’’ he insisted, ‘’there must be something you desire.’’
He didnt get a chance to respond before Aegon walked past him, speaking before he could.
‘’Well, I got you a present anyways,’’, he looked back to see his brother looking almost gleeful as he shouted, regarding the knights stationed outside, ‘’Bring him in!’’
The two white cloaks walked in like they had been doing nothing but waiting for his command.
He only got a good look when his brother stepped aside a bit, and he could clearly see that the knights were dragging someone with them, each of them holding the stranger by the arm as his feet barely managed to walk.
A prisoner?
A captive?
As far as he knew, all the war criminals and disloyal lords had been executed or freed once they pledged fealty.
After all, it had already been half a year since the war came to an end.
They pushed the stranger down with no real care, making him kneel, keeping their hands on his shoulders, like they wanted to be prepared in case he decided to escape.
Judging by the figure and the ragged clothes, he concluded it was a boy.
But he couldn’t be sure, his face was covered with a black cloth.
‘’Your present brother,’’ Aegon started, stepping closer to the boy, ‘’a whore I’m sure you would enjoy.’’
He could feel the fury settling in.
What the fuck?
He was many things, but he wasn’t a rapist.
The said ‘whore’ was clearly being forced, he doubted he even was one.
‘’My king,’’ he spat out, ire clear in his voice, ‘’with all due respect, if I required the company of a whore, I would seek it out myself.’’
Aegon only chuckled, placing a hand on top of the prisoner’s head, pulling the black cloth clean off in one swipe, revealing the identity of whoever it was.
He could feel time itself stop for a moment or two as his mind comprehended the sight in front of him.
He feared his heart would stop.
And he wouldn’t blame it for failing him.
He walked forward- not of his own accord- his legs moving on their own.
Coming down to kneel on one knee, trying his best to peer at the face which was hidden in the curtain of long brown curls.
Those damn brown curls.
The boy looked up-tilting his head the tiniest bit, much too slow for his liking-brown eyes meeting his violet eye as he could feel the breath being sucked out of him, emptying his lungs as his heart beat madly.
It couldn’t be.
He was dead, he had killed him.
It simply wasn’t possible.
Except it somehow was.
There was no light in those brown orbs.
Those cheeks weren’t chubby anymore.
The clear skin of his face was ruined with bruises of red and purple.
His lip split open like someone had punched him.
But there was no mistaking it.
He could hardly believe the name he uttered after so much time, thinking he would only be able to hear those syllables in the confines of his own room.
‘’Lucerys?’’