Chapter Text
The prank had been Aegon's idea.
It always was, really, though Aemon always helped with the execution. That was how it worked between them; Aegon thought of things and Aemon made them happen. Like his namesake Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wife Visenya.
"Higher," Aegon whispered, standing on his toes to hold the bucket steady while Aemon climbed up to the beam on the ceiling. "If it's too low, Father will see it before he walks through."
"It's high enough," Aemon hissed. "Help me tie it off."
The corridor was narrow and dim, lit only by the lantern they'd brought from the galley. The ship rocked around them, gentle swells that Aegon had grown accustomed to. They'd been at sea for five days now, sailing south from King's Landing to Sunspear for Uncle Viserys's wedding, and Aegon had discovered he quite liked ships. Liked the way they moved, liked the salt smell, liked how everything felt like an adventure even when you were just walking to the privy.
He grabbed the rope and attached it to the bucket while Aemon looped it around the beam. The bucket hung innocently above the door, filled to the brim with seawater. When Father opened the door to emerge—
"What are you doing?"
Both boys froze. Dany stood at the end of the corridor, still in her nightshift, her hair a wild tangle around her shoulders. Even in the bad light, Aegon could see the disapproval written across her small face. She had Father's look about her when she was cross; lips pressed thin, eyes narrowed.
"Nothing," Aegon said quickly. "Go back to bed, Dany."
"You're not doing nothing. You're doing something, and it's bad." She took a step closer, craning her neck to see what they'd rigged on the ceiling. "Is that… are you going to dump water on Rhaegar?"
"It's just a prank." Aemon's voice was even quieter than usual. He was always quiet around Dany, though Aegon could never figure out why. "It won't hurt him."
"It's mean." Dany's voice rose, and Aegon tried to shush her. "Rhaegar will be angry. He'll punish you."
"Only if someone tells on us," Aegon said pointedly. "And you won't, will you, Dany? Because we're family, and family doesn't tell."
She wavered. He could see it in the way her eyes darted between them and the bucket, between loyalty to her nephews and the certain knowledge that what they were doing was wrong. Dany always thought too much about right and wrong, about rules and consequences. Mother said she had a good heart. Aegon thought she was just afraid of getting in trouble.
"Please," Aemon added, still up on the beam. Maybe it was the softness in his voice or the way he looked at her (Aemon had a way of looking at people that made them want to help him) but Dany's shoulders slumped.
"Fine. But if he finds out, I'm telling him I tried to stop you."
"That's fair," Aegon agreed magnanimously. He was the prince, after all. He could afford to be generous. "Now go back to bed before someone sees you."
She left, her bare feet padding softly on the wooden planks.
"Come on," he said when the girl was out of earshot. "We should hide before Father comes out."
They retreated to the end of the corridor and crouched behind a stack of crates. The waiting was almost as good as the prank itself; the anticipation, the wondering, the way his heart beat faster in his chest. Aemon was perfectly still beside him, barely breathing, and Aegon felt a surge of pride. This was his brother. His bastard brother, yes, but also his Visenya. The one who followed where Aegon led, who helped when he came up with a clever plan.
The ship groaned. Somewhere above, a sailor called out to his fellows. And then, finally, Father's door opened.
Rhaegar emerged already dressed for the day, his silver hair caught back in a simple cord, his doublet black trimmed with crimson. He took one step into the corridor and the bucket tipped.
It was beautiful. The water caught him full in the face and chest, drenching his fine doublet, running in rivulets down his neck and soaking into his collar. The book he’d been holding went flying. For one perfect moment, Father just stood there, hair plastered to his skull, water running down his face in rivulets. He looked like a drowned cat. He looked ridiculous.
Aegon stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
Then Father's eyes found them.
"Aegon. Aemon." His voice was very quiet, the kind of quiet that meant trouble. "Come here."
They emerged from their hiding place. Aegon kept his chin up, his shoulders back. He was the prince. He would not cower, even if his heart was hammering against his ribs.
Father looked at them for a long moment, water still dripping from his nose, his sleeves. Then his gaze settled on Aegon. "This was your doing."
It wasn't a question. It was never a question when something went wrong, Father always assumed Aegon was the ringleader. Which was fair, usually, because he was. But it still stung that Father didn't even consider that Aemon might have been involved.
"Yes, Father."
"And you thought it would be amusing to drench me with seawater before I'd even broken my fast?"
"It was just a prank, Father. We didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean what? To disrespect me? To treat me like a target for your childish games?" Father's voice was still quiet, but there was an edge to it now. "Do you know what the sailors will say when they see me like this? What the Kingsguard will think?"
Aegon hadn't thought about that. He hadn't thought past the moment of seeing Father drenched and surprised, past the satisfaction of a plan well-executed.
Father's eyes moved to the other boy. "And you, Aemon. I expected better from you."
Expected better. As if Aemon were somehow held to a different standard. As if Father thought Aemon was above such foolishness while Aegon was naturally inclined to it.
"I'm sorry, Father," Aemon murmured. "It was wrong."
Father sighed and pressed two fingers to his temple. "I know you are. Go back to your cabin. I'll speak with you later."
Aemon went. He shot one apologetic glance back at Aegon and then disappeared down the corridor.
"It was my idea," Aegon said again, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "You should punish me, not him."
"Oh, I intend to." Father's voice had gone cold now, the gentleness he'd used with Aemon vanished like morning mist. "To your cabin. For the remainder of the day. You'll take your meals there. You will think about what you've done, and when I come to you this evening, you will explain to me why a prince of the realm thought it appropriate to behave like a common ship's boy."
"But—"
"Do you wish to make it two days?"
Aegon shut his mouth. Two days trapped in a cabin barely large enough to turn around in, with nothing to do but stare at the walls and listen to the waves and think about all the things he was missing… one day was bad enough.
"Good. Go."
Aegon went.
The cabin was small, barely large enough for the narrow bunk and a single trunk that held his clothing. A porthole the size of his head let in a circle of grey light, and through it Aegon could see nothing but sea and sky. He threw himself onto the bunk and stared at the ceiling, which was so low he could touch it if he reached up.
Expected better from you, Father had said to Aemon. Not I'm disappointed in you or you should know better, but I expected better. As if Aemon were some paragon of virtue who'd momentarily stumbled, while Aegon was simply behaving according to his nature.
He rolled onto his side, pulling his knees to his chest. Father always treated Aegon differently than he did Aemon. He supposed it was because Aemon was a bastard, which meant he'd never inherit anything, never be more than a Waters even if he had Father's blood in his veins. Father felt responsible for that, maybe thought he owed Aemon something.
But what about what he owed Aegon? What about the fact that Aegon was his trueborn son, his heir, the one who would sit the Iron Throne when Father was old and grey? Didn't that matter? Didn't that count for something?
A knock at the door startled him from his brooding. "Aegon?"
It was his mother's voice. "Come in."
The door opened and Mother entered. She carried a tray with milk and fruit and, gods be good, honey cakes.
"My little sun. Your father told me what happened."
"It was just a prank," he mumbled. "We put a bucket of water over Father's door and—"
"And drenched him before breakfast, yes, I heard." She set the tray on the trunk and settled beside him on the bunk. "Your father is not pleased."
"Father is never pleased with me."
"That's not true, sweet one."
"It is." He picked at a splinter in the bunk's wooden frame, not meeting her eyes. "He sent me here for the whole day. He barely even spoke to Aemon, and Aemon helped with the prank."
"Did he?"
"Yes! But Father just—he touched Aemon's shoulder and told him to go back to his cabin, and then he was so angry with me." Aegon swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "It's always like that. Aemon can do anything and Father forgives him, but I—"
"Oh, my love." Mother's hand found his, small and warm, her fingers threading through his. "It's not that your father loves Aemon more than you. It's that he loves you differently."
"That doesn't make sense."
"You are his heir, Aegon. The future king. The one who will sit the Iron Throne when your father is gone. That is a great burden, and your father knows it. He wants you to be ready. He wants you to be strong and wise and just." She touched his cheek again, her thumb brushing away a tear he hadn't realized had fallen. "So he is harder on you, pushes you more, expects more of you. Because you are the one who will bear the weight of the crown."
"I don't want the crown if it means Father hates me."
"He doesn't hate you. Gods, Aegon, he loves you more than anything in this world. But he shows that love by preparing you, by teaching you, even when those lessons are hard. Aemon... Aemon is different. He's not the heir. He'll never wear a crown or command armies or make decisions that shape the realm. Your father can afford to be gentler with him because the stakes are lower."
Aegon wanted to believe that, but no matter how he turned it in his head, it still felt like Aemon mattered more.
"I miss King’s Landing," he said quietly. "I wanna go home."
"I know. But we'll be in Sunspear soon, and oh, Aegon, you'll love it there." She pulled him close, tucking his head under her chin. "The palace is beautiful beyond words, and the food… the spices, the fruits you've never tasted. And the people are warm and loud and full of life."
He smiled, breathing in the scent of her. "Will Uncle Oberyn be there?"
"Yes, Oberyn and all his daughters will be there. As will be all my cousins and friends from youth. It will be the most wonderful two weeks, you'll see."
"Tell me more about Sunspear." He pressed his face into her silks. "About the towers and the orange trees and the sun."
So she did. She told him about the Spear Tower that reached toward the sky, about the Water Gardens, a residence near sunspear where children played in the most wonderful of fountains to escape the heat. She told him about the warmth that sank into your bones, about nights so hot you slept under silk and still sweated, about food so spiced it made your eyes water and your tongue burn.
Aegon had never been to Sunspear, his life had started on Dragonstone and then moved to King’s Landing. He was half Dornish, which meant that he belonged to Dorne just as much as he belonged to the capital. He was a Targaryen; that's what everyone saw when they looked at him. The silver hair, the purple eyes, the dragon's blood. And still, half of him came from her, from this hot southern kingdom of spears and sun.
"Will you stay with me?" he asked when she paused. "We could… we could talk more about Sunspear, or you could read to me, or—"
"Oh, sweet one." Mother's expression turned regretful. "I promised Rhaenys and Dany I'd spend some time with them. We're embroidering. Well, Rhaenys is embroidering, and I'm embroidering, and Dany is mostly making a mess of her sampler."
"All right." He tried not to sound as disappointed as he felt.
"Be good." She kissed his forehead. "Read the book I packed for you. I'll come check on you this afternoon, before supper. We can watch the sunset together from your porthole, yes? And tomorrow, when we reach Sunspear, you'll be free as a bird."
"Tomorrow," Aegon echoed, trying to smile.
"Tomorrow," Mother promised. She kissed his forehead one last time, then stood, smoothing her skirts. "Remember that your father loves you, even when he's stern. Never doubt that."
She left, and the cabin felt emptier without her. Aegon slid down to the floor and ate his breakfast. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow we reach Sunspear, and everything will be different.
He must have dozed, because when he woke the light through the porthole had shifted and there was a new tray on the floor beside his bunk—bread and cheese and roasted pork, with a cup of watered wine. He ate without much appetite and then tried to read the book Mother had mentioned.
It was Lives of Four Kings, the one Maester Pycelle had assigned him. Dull as dust. He managed three pages before giving up and returning to his contemplation of the ceiling.
The afternoon crawled past like a wounded thing. He tried to sleep again but couldn't. Tried to read but the words swam before his eyes. Tried counting the knots in the wooden planks above him but lost track somewhere around sixty-seven.
A knock woke him from his contemplations.
"Aegon?" Mother's voice again. "May we come in?"
"Yes."
The door opened and Mother entered, followed by Dany, who carried a basket overflowing with yarns in every color imaginable. "Aegon! Elia said we could keep you company while we work. Isn't that wonderful?"
It was better than staring at the ceiling, at least. "All right."
Mother settled onto the trunk with her embroidery hoop, and Dany claimed the bunk for herself. Aegon slid down to sit on the floor beside the bunk, his back against the wall, and listened to Mother and Dany chatter about stitches and colors and the dress Dany would wear to the wedding.
Uncle Viserys's wedding. It was strange to think of Viserys as someone's husband. He couldn't picture him doing any of the things husbands were supposed to do—caring for a wife, protecting her, being kind. He had never met Princess Arianne, but he hoped she wasn't too nice. If she was soft-hearted and gentle, Viserys would be even meaner to her, the way cats were meaner to mice that didn't fight back. At least if she had some fire in her, she might stand a chance.
Though even then, Aegon couldn't imagine what their marriage would look like. What did husbands and wives even do together when they weren't making children? Talk? Sit in silence? Argue about household matters?
His own betrothal had been settled long ago, before he could even remember. Jocelyn Tully, daughter of Edmure Tully and his lady Cersei. Father had promised her to Aegon as part of the peace after the rebellion. Aegon had never met her. Didn't even know what she looked like, though he'd heard she had golden hair like her mother.
She was Dany's age, or thereabouts. Which meant he had years before the marriage would actually happen. Years of freedom before he had to think about wives and children and all the complicated, boring things that came with being a husband.
He was glad of that. Glad he didn't have to worry about it yet, didn't have to imagine what it would be like to be tied to someone for the rest of his life.
"Where's Rhaenys?" he asked suddenly, realizing his sister's absence.
Mother's needle paused. "Your sister hasn't been feeling well. She's resting in her cabin."
"Is she sick?"
"No. It's just that growing into a proper woman is hard work. Her body is changing, and sometimes that makes her feel... unwell."
Aegon didn't understand that, but he nodded anyway. Rhaenys had been acting odd lately. She'd barely spoken to anyone since they'd boarded the ship, spending most of her time in her cabin or standing at the rail, staring at the water. When he'd asked her to play cards with him and Aemon yesterday, she'd just shaken her head and walked away without a word.
Girls were strange. He was glad he wasn't one.
The afternoon wore on. Mother and Dany finished their embroidery and packed away their threads. The light through the porthole shifted from gold to orange to deep crimson as the sun sank toward the horizon.
They crowded around the tiny opening, three faces pressed close to see the wonders outside. The sun was a great red ball sinking into the sea, turning the water to fire. Clouds caught the light and blazed orange and pink and purple, colors so bright they hurt to look at.
"Beautiful," Dany breathed.
"The sunsets are even more beautiful in Dorne," said Mother. "The sky turns colors you've never seen. And the stars at night—oh, the stars are so bright they look close enough to touch."
They left after a while to take supper with the others. Aegon ate alone in his cabin and as he ate, the dread built in his belly like a stone. Father would come. Father always kept his word, and he'd said he would speak to Aegon this evening. The lecture was coming, the stern words about responsibility and behavior and how a prince should conduct himself.
The light outside faded from gold to grey to deep blue. Stars appeared and the ship's bell rang the hour; once, twice, three times. Still Father didn't come.
Maybe he'd forgotten. Maybe he was too busy with Ser Barristan or Viserys or the ship's captain to bother with—
The door opened and Father filled the doorframe. He'd changed since this morning, the wet doublet replaced with a simple shirt and breeches, his hair dry and loose around his shoulders. He looked tired, Aegon thought. There were shadows under his eyes.
"Aegon."
"Father." He stood, his hands clasped behind his back, the way he'd been taught. Shoulders back. Chin up. Meet his eyes.
Father closed the door and settled onto the trunk, the only place to sit besides the bunk. For a long moment he said nothing and just looked at Aegon.
"Do you know why I was angry this morning?" he asked finally.
"Because we pranked you."
"No. Well, yes, but that's not the whole of it." Father leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "When I was your age, I was already learning statecraft, sitting in on council meetings, understanding what it meant to be a prince. What are you doing? Playing pranks, dragging your brother into your foolishness."
The mention of Aemon stung. "Aemon wanted to help—"
"Aemon follows where you lead. That's what you wanted, isn't it? Someone who obeys you without question. Well, congratulations. You have it and look what you've done with that loyalty." He sighed, his finger going to his temple in a motion that was all too familiar. "Every day, Aegon, every single day, I look at you and wonder if you have any idea what awaits you. The crown is not a toy. The throne is not a game. Men will die based on your decisions. The realm will prosper or starve based on your judgment."
Aegon hadn't thought of crowns or responsibility or death. He'd only thought about the prank itself, the satisfaction of seeing Father surprised and dripping. Aegon felt tears building behind his eyes. He blinked furiously, trying to hold them back.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"I know you are. And I know you meant no real harm. But intentions matter less than actions, especially for someone in your position." Father beckoned him forward with his hand, pulling him onto his lap. "When you are king, men will judge you by what you do, not by what you meant to do. They will not care that you acted without malice if your actions still cause harm."
The tears came in earnest then, strong enough that he could not stop them. He pressed his face into Father's tunic, his hands fisting in the fabric, and sobbed. Great gulping sobs that shook his whole body, that made his chest hurt and his throat burn. Father's arms came around him, pulling him close.
"I'm sorry," he gasped between tears. "Please don't hate me. Please, Father, I'll be better, I promise I'll be better—"
"I don't hate you." Father's hand moved to the back of his head, cradling it gently. "Gods, Aegon, I could never hate you."
Aegon hiccupped, his tears still falling but slower now. Father's tunic was soaked where his face had been pressed, dark patches spreading across the fine linen.
"There was no real harm done," Father continued, his hand stroking Aegon's hair in slow, soothing motions. "A wet doublet, some wounded pride, a story the sailors will tell. In the grand scheme of things, it matters very little. I just wanted you to understand why you must think before you act. Why the crown demands more of you than it does of others."
"I understand."
"I know you do. You're a clever boy. Too clever sometimes, which is how you get into trouble." There was something almost fond in Father's voice now. "But that cleverness will serve you well when you're older. When you've learned to temper it with wisdom."
They sat like that for a while longer, Father holding him, Aegon's tears gradually subsiding into sniffles. The ship rocked gently beneath them. Outside the porthole, the stars wheeled across the night sky.
Finally, when Aegon's breathing had steadied and the tears had stopped, Father shifted. He took Aegon's face in his hands and wiped away the wetness on his cheeks with his thumbs. "There, that's better. Look at me."
Aegon looked up, meeting Father's eyes. They were kind now, gentle in the way they hadn't been this morning.
"Your mother tells me you're excited about Sunspear."
Aegon nodded, not trusting his voice yet.
"Good. You should be. It's a beautiful city, and your uncle Doran will spoil you terribly." Father released his face and stood, settling Aegon back on his feet. He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the latch. "Aegon?"
"Yes, Father?"
"The prank." Father's smile widened just a fraction. "It was cleverly done. The rigging, the timing, the placement of the bucket. If you're going to play pranks, I am glad that at least you're doing it well."
And then he was gone, leaving Aegon alone with the words echoing in his head.
Cleverly done. Father had called his prank clever.
He changed into his nightshirt and crawled beneath the blanket. He was nearly asleep when the door opened again, so quietly he almost didn't hear it.
"Aegon?" Aemon's voice, barely a whisper. "Are you awake?"
"You're not supposed to be here," Aegon whispered. "Father said—"
"I know what Father said." Aemon closed the door behind him. "I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about this morning. About how it was my fault too, but you took all the blame."
"It was my idea."
"But I helped. I should have said so. I should have..." Aemon trailed off, then asked in a smaller voice, "Are you all right? I heard you crying."
Aegon's cheeks burned. "You heard that?"
"The walls are thin." Aemon moved closer, standing beside the bunk. "Father was harsh with you, wasn't he?"
"I'm all right." Aegon shifted over on the narrow bunk, making room. "He wasn't as angry as I thought he'd be. He even said the prank was clever."
"He did?" He climbed onto the bunk beside Aegon. They had to press close, shoulder to shoulder, the bunk barely wide enough for one boy let alone two. But it felt like the right thing to do.
"He did. After he lectured me about judgment and consequences and being held to a higher standard." Aegon rolled his eyes. "But at the end, he said it was cleverly done."
They fell silent. Aegon felt sleep tugging at him, warm and heavy. Beside him, Aemon's breathing had already evened out.
"Aegon?" Aemon's voice was drowsy, already half-asleep.
"Mm?"
"I'm glad we're brothers."
"Me too," Aegon whispered back. He truly was.