Chapter Text
“Where is the Usurper.” Jace demanded as he stepped into the throne room for the first time in years. The war had finally been won, all of the Greens were dead or at hand. King’s Landing was Jace’s, finally. Though he was nearly the last of his own faction, he had been triumphant. With much thanks to Cregan Stark, a true friend if there ever was one. He would sit the throne, as his grandfather and mother had intended. And he would enact his revenge for the death and destruction the Hightower brood had caused.
“Your Grace, there are some…details that we should probably discuss before you see your Uncle.” Corlys said delicately. Jace narrowed his eyes at his grandfather, wary of tricks from the slippery old snake. He’d betrayed him once, gone over to his enemies to save his own skin. Who’s to say he wouldn’t do it again?
“What details?” He asked, pressing his lips together. “What details could possibly matter? He’ll be dead by the moon’s turn.”
Corlys didn’t answer for a moment, looking a bit stricken. Jace’s brows furrowed, worry and confusion mounting. What issues could there possibly be that would have the Sea Snake looking downright spooked?
“On second thought, perhaps it would be better if you saw for yourself.” Corlys sighed, scratching compulsively between his dreads as he sometimes did when he was nervous. What did he have to be nervous about? Was he conspiring with Aegon again? He’d have his head, grandfather or no.
“Take me to him.” He said, tone firm and commanding. Corlys would have to earn back his affection, for now Jace was merely his King.
He had expected to be taken down to the Black Cells, or perhaps to the chambers Aegon had occupied during his reign, or even to the chambers he’d used as a boy. Instead, he was led deep into the castle, to a quiet out of the way spot where the Septas and Septons were housed in tiny, basic rooms befitting their life of piety. Had Aegon taken vows? The thought was absurd. But people had done stranger things to save their necks. Not that it would do the Usurper much good.
But as a servant opened the door, lifting a heavy oak drawbar away from the door in the process, it was not a Septon’s chambers that greeted him. The room was something between a sickroom and a cell, the air fetid and rank with bile and the sweat of someone truly ill. Nothing lay in the room, no desk for writing nor even a chair to sit on. Simply a small bed of straw in a corner where a trembling body lay.
Aegon, then. So he was sick? So what? If anything it meant his execution would end his suffering.
But as he approached, something else tickled his nose. Some strange note under the bile and sweat and sickness that took him a moment to pick apart and place. But when he did, he recoiled back in horror, eyes wide as his head whipped around to look at Corlys.
“He’s an Omega.” Jace said, thoughts spiralling as he let out an almost hysterical laugh. “That bitch.” He swore, cursing Alicent Hightower’s name to the Seven Hells. “He had no claim! Firstborn Beta son my ass!”
He almost wanted to stalk over and shake the man, demand answers. Why had he done it? If he was an Omega then all of their posturing about proper succession and birthright was nothing but a crock of horse shit. A ruse, a lie! They’d screeched and screamed about a woman on the throne, but Aegon was no different in the eyes of Westeros. And now his family was dead. For nothing. For fucking nothing.
But as he approached, footsteps heavy and expression stormy, another scent caught his attention. Sweet, milky, and unmistakable to someone whose mother had spent a good deal of his life in the same condition.
“He’s pregnant?” Jace asked, face twisting up in confusion. Had Helaena secretly been an Alpha? It would make sense, given that Aegon couldn’t father children and yet they somehow had three.
“Was.” Corlys said, jaw clenching. “He was pregnant. He lost the babe to the poison.”
“Poison?” Jace asked, incredulity mounting with every strange reveal. “Explain. Whatever you know, from the beginning. How did no one know? Why did you not say anything when it was revealed?”
“Because it was never revealed to us.” Corlys said, letting out a weary sigh. “We were told that Aegon had been burned badly at Rook’s Rest, that he was too incapacitated with pain and milk of the poppy to attend Court or the council. The Usurper was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. All ruling was done either by the Prince Regent or the Queen Dowager.”
“You never saw him? Not even once?” Jace asked, disbelief clear in his tone.
“I had no desire to set my eyes on the man who had killed Rhaenys.” Corlys said simply. “Though now I doubt the veracity even of that. So much of what we know of the man has turned out to be a lie.”
“What about the children, then? Jahaera and the two dead sons?” Jace asked. “Was Princess Helaena an Alpha, then?”
“No, Your Grace. Princess Helaena was a Beta. She was frequently seen out and about, so I can confirm that much. I smelled her myself.” Corlys said. “I cannot say for sure who the children’s father is, but-”
Jace didn’t like the way Corlys cut himself off and refused to look him in the eyes.
“But what?” He asked.
“A spy of mine among the staff once brought me a conversation that at the time I didn’t know the significance of. A conversation between the Queen Dowager and the Prince Regent. She was chastizing him for being too rough with his brother in his ‘delicate state’. I simply assumed she meant his burns, but now…” Corlys trailed off, leaving Jace to put the pieces together. He did, easily, and he didn’t like the picture they formed.
“When was he moved from his chambers?” Jace asked, trying to put together a timeline of how Aegon had ended up poisoned. Corlys refused to look at him, though, and it set Jace on edge all over again. “When, Corlys. Tell me.”
“These are his chambers, as far as we could tell when we found him.” The Sea Snake said quietly, still unable to look Jace in the eye. And rightfully so, if an Omega had been abused right under his nose and he did nothing.
“There’s nothing in there but a bed of straw!” Jace fumed, fists clenching at his sides. “How could you not know!?”
“They refused to let us see him, always telling us he was asleep or with the maesters. With the extent of the injuries they’d detailed to us, none of us thought to question it. And they’d slip in and out of the proper King’s chambers at all hours of the day and night. We thought they were meeting with him when he was lucid enough for it.” Corlys said, staring at the curled up form of Aegon on his little bed of hay. He had been kept more like a dog than a King or a Prince.
“What are his true injuries? Has he been examined yet?” Jace asked.
“We only found him mere hours ago.” Corlys said, reassurance in his tone. He wanted Jace to know, or at least think, that he’d had no part in this and done all he could. “When word reached us that you were with Stark and breaching the city gates, we sought to round up the rest of the Greens so they couldn’t cause issue. But when we entered the chambers that were meant to be his, he was nowhere to be found. We assumed at first that he’d escaped again, like the last time. That is, until a serving girl told us where he was being kept. That was when we discovered he’d been poisoned. The Maesters have been solely focused on that.”
“Command them to make a thorough examination. I want to know the entire extent of his injuries and any speculation on how they may have occurred.” Jace ordered, stepping more fully into the room so he could see Aegon for himself.
Withered didn’t even begin to describe his state. Emaciated was more apt, his skin sagging loose from brittle bones. His hair was a dull, tangled mess of dirt and oil, his cheeks ruddy and streaked with teartracks. He looked pathetic, like some wretched creature off the streets of Flea Bottom more than a Prince of the Realm.
And yet still, somehow, when he blinked his eyes open and saw Jace he had the energy to smile. Wide and unguarded, his eyes hazy and unfocused, Aegon’s smile was something tragically beautiful to behold given the circumstances. The Omega struggled to his feet like a newborn fawn, taking a few shaky steps before collapsing against Jace. The King caught him in his arms, holding up his Uncle’s dead weight as the Omega burrowed into his chest and started to purr; loud and strong and rumbling. The ultimate sound of Omega joy.
“You’re here.” He said softly, like he truly couldn’t believe it. Like it was something he’d prayed for but long since lost hope of achieving. “I haven’t had this dream in a long while. It’s kind of the Gods to give it to me, here at the end.”
“Dream?” Jace asked, voice hoarse as he tried to process what exactly was happening. Aegon was not supposed to be this happy to see him.
“Mmm.” Aegon hummed, pressing his nose against Jace’s doublet and inhaling. “It’s my favorite. The one where you come and take me away and keep me safe.”
“Aegon this isn’t-” Jace started, but Aegon just looked up at him with unfocused eyes that suddenly filled with tears.
“I tried to join you, love, I swear I did!” He sniffled, clutching at Jace’s doublet. “When they told me you’d died, I tried to join you. I couldn’t get to the sea, but I thought if I drowned it would be close enough. So I ordered a bath and sent the servants away. But he caught me. That mad one-eyed freak always catches me!” It was then that the tears spilled over and the Omega began to weep, burying his face in Jace’s chest.
“But it’s okay now.” Aegon said when the tears had subsided a bit, looking back up at Jace with the brightest smile. “The sweet girl who sneaks me the moon tea when she can found something even better! We’ll be together soon. I’ll finally get to rest.”
“The poison.” Jace breathed, blood running cold. “You took it on purpose.”
“Mhmm.” Aegon hummed, laying his head back on Jace’s chest with a contented sigh. “It’s a shame about the babe. I’d have liked one with brown hair. I could pretend it was yours. He’s your uncle, too, so it should have looked like you no?”
He was going to kill Larys Strong. He was going to rip that scheming clubfoot’s head from his neck with his bare hands.
“Aegon- Aegon listen to me!” He said, grabbing the Omega’s chin and forcing unfocused eyes to gaze into his own. “What did you take?”
“Salvation.” Aegon giggled. “Freedom.”
“What was the name of the poison, tell me!” Jace demanded, but Aegon just took his hand and nuzzled into the palm.
“You’re so much more beautiful than the last time I had this dream.” He sighed, rubbing his cheek against the scent gland in Jace’s wrist affectionately. “You died so young, and it had been so long since we’d seen each other. I suppose my imagination had to make due. But this I like.” He giggled huskily, running his palm up the firm planes of Jace’s chest. “Did the Warrior himself sculpt this vision for me?”
This was getting out of hand. Wildly, in fact. But Jace had no idea what to do with a poisoned, likely dying Omega who seemed to think he was some sort of heavens-sent vision to comfort him in his last moments. Let alone what to do when that Omega was his Uncle who had usurped his throne and until only a few moments ago had been slated for execution.
“Aegon, please. You have to tell me what poison you took.” Jace said, grabbing Aegon by the shoulders and shaking him gently, trying to get him to come back to himself just a bit.
“She said it wouldn’t hurt. That I wouldn’t suffer. It tasted like raspberries.” Aegon hummed absently, feeling up the muscles of Jace’s arm with a delirious giggle. “Would you hate me if I said you look strong?” He asked, drawing his lip between his teeth as he squeezed Jace’s bicep. “Of course, the real you hated me already, so it wouldn't have truly mattered. But this is a dream, so perhaps you don’t. Are you a kind ghost, my love? Or are you here to drag me to the Hells for what I’ve done? I don’t think I’d mind going, if you were the one to take me. I never got to say goodbye in life.”
This was madness. The Usurper was not supposed to be this happy, docile thing in his arms calling him ‘my love’ and begging him to take him away. He had expected a Beta. He’d expected a drunken, angry wreck of a man too burned to flee a third time. Any time he’d thought of what the Usurper was doing in the Red Keep he had imagined him laughing over his dead brothers, or scheming how to kill his mother. If he was feeling charitable, he may have imagined him debauching himself with drink and whores. But apparently he’d been nothing less than a Maiden in a Tower, dreaming of Jace coming to rescue him like a Prince from a song.
“He’ll be moved to Helaena’s former chambers.” Jace decided, looking at the pile of dirty straw that had passed for his bed. “He’s in no state to escape, a round the clock guard should do.”
“Escape?” Aegon asked, his words starting to slur even more and his weight sagging in Jace’s arms as whatever energy he’d found when he saw him was gone now. “We’re going to escape? Are you taking me back to Dragonstone?” Aegon asked hopefully. “Can we bring Jahaera? She’s a good girl, Jace, I promise. She’ll be quiet and we won’t be caught this time. Not like when Father died.” The confirmation that Aegon had never intended to take the throne, that he’d tried to escape, hit like a blow. Was there any shred of truth in what the Greens had disseminated about this man?
“I’m not taking you to Dragonstone.” Jace said, something in his heart clenching as Aegon’s face fell and tears gathered at the corners of his uncle’s eyes. “I’ve taken the Keep. Aemond is dead and I have Larys in custody. They can’t hurt you anymore.” The way Aegon’s face lit up and a weight seemed to lift from him only made the strange, tight feeling in his heart worsen.
“This truly is the sweetest dream, then.” Aegon sighed dreamily, his eyes drifting closed as he finally slumped fully against Jace and sank into unconsciousness. Jace sighed and hefted him into his arms, hating how feather-light the Omega was. Aegon had always been a hedonistic thing, prone to chubbiness and overindulgence. He should be full-bodied and soft, not sharp and bony and as easy to carry as a child.
“I’ll take him to his chambers. After that, I wish to speak to the Maester.” Jace ordered as he swept out of the room. Corlys nodded and set off, leaving Jace with no one but the servants. Any one of whom could have been Aegon’s ‘sweet girl’ who had given him the poison and could be reporting back to anyone from Larys to Alicent. Or perhaps she was just a bleeding heart taking pity on someone she thought better off dead. Either way, she couldn’t be trusted around his uncle. The staff would all be male, to keep her away.
By the time he reached Helaena’s chambers, the servants had already been and gone. A fire roared in the hearth, and the bedding had been changed and turned down with a warming stone at the foot. This was somewhere he could leave a sick Omega, not that Septa’s cell with his dirty straw. He placed Aegon in the bed and pulled the covers over him, staring down at his uncle as he slept and letting the rage consume him. He’d need it, to enact justice for someone he had hated for so long. So he committed his uncle’s current state to memory: broken, beaten, raped, impregnated, and left to die. So consumed with grief and helplessness that he’d willingly taken the poison. He burned and buried the memory of the man he’d thought Aegon was. It was all the justice he’d get from that ghost. Now was the time for stark reality.
Heh. Stark. He should seek council from Cregan. He would have some perspective for him. He always did.
“By the Old Gods and the New, I will right this.” Jace vowed, staring hard down at his Uncle. “Larys will pay.”
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“He is too thin.” Was not the first thing he expected Cregan to say when he brought him, as the other Alpha had demanded, to see the sleeping Usurper for himself.
“Yes.” Jace agreed, looking over at the too-small form curled up in the middle of the bed.
“You’re sure he was pregnant?” Cregan asked, brows drawn tight together and lips a thin line. “He’s so small.”
“You can smell it, you don’t need me to tell you what you know.” Jace answered, back straight and shoulders squared so that no one would notice the twitch of rage in the hands crossed behind his back. “They were keeping him in a windowless room with naught in it but a bed of dirty straw. I scarcely think they cared about his weight or whether he lost the babe.”
“You say he drank it himself?” Cregan said, talking about the poison.
“It’s what he told me. And he was far too out of his mind to lie.” Jace replied, his lips pursing minutely before he smoothed them back out.
“Why did he even tell you?” Cregan asked, the confusion clear on his face even though he still hadn’t torn his troubled gaze away from the Omega.
Jace didn’t answer for a long moment. Long enough that Cregan finally turned to look at him.
“Your Grace. Something troubles you.” Cregan stated, rather than asked.
“You know me too well. That troubles me.” Jace said with affable frustration, letting out a sigh and then letting the room lapse into silence for another long moment. “It seems he is in love with me.” Jace said finally, looking up at the ceiling as if the heavens would write the answers there for him.
“You said to me once that you had been close when you were children.” Cregan said, as if it didn’t shock him at all. He simply watched Jace, waiting for what he would say next.
“That was a long time ago.” Jace said, his shoulders slumping a fraction before he regathered himself.
“One can hold onto the only warmth one has for a long time when the Winter is cold enough.” Cregan said evenly. Outwardly, Jace kept still. Inwardly, he was roiling. With disgust towards the Greens, with rage towards the situation, with despair because there had been a time- there had been a time when-
It hadn’t had to be like this.
“Quite true.” Jace said, hands tightening behind his back. “When he saw me, he-” Jace paused, trying to make it seem like hesitation when really it was the strange lump in his throat that had suddenly grown to the size of a frog. “He was elated. He thought I was a recurring comforting dream he has. He told me-” The frog grew again, and he waited for it to go down before continuing. “He told me he’d tried to drown himself. To join me.”
"Seven Hells.” The Northerner swore. A true testament to how troubled he was. Those folk only invoked the Seven rarely when truly caught off guard, more of a cultural swear to them than a religious one. The same way Jace might exclaim ‘Fourteen Flames!’ despite being one of the Seven’s faithful as all Targaryen kings before him save Maegor.
“What is your counsel?” Jace asked, eyes flicking to Aegon. ’What do I do, my friend? Please, help me. This is nothing I had expected.’
“Execute his tormentors, question the staff thoroughly, and allow him to recover. After that? Well, perhaps it is too early to say. If everything we knew of him was a lie, who knows what we’ll find when he reveals the truth?”
“Will you stay until then, Lord Stark? I fear I am in need of you for at least that much longer.” Jace said, letting the confusion and concern show on his face. Just this once, just for his dearest friend.
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Cregan said with a nod, his lips a thin, stern line of concern. “I find myself wary to leave under these circumstances, regardless. This is all very troubling. A false Usurper, an imprisoned Omega, a poisoning. I like it not. Foul things have occurred in this castle, and I fear we only know the beginning of them.”
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Maester Gerardys’ prognosis on the poison was optimistic.
His cataloguing of Aegon’s injuries was damning.
Long-term malnutrition, a dangerous lack of sunlight, lice, fleas, a broken arm that had healed incorrectly, a missing molar with an infection in the exposed gum, tearing in places a Royal Omega should never be torn. A list of horrors quietly implied, sitting on the desk in his solar and spoken through the mouth of the man who had tended every wound and sickness through Jace’s life with the same calm compassion he would explaining that Luke had broken his hand punching the wall again.
Jace had excused himself with all of the composure he could muster to throw up as quietly as possible out of a side corridor window.
He had returned with the taste of bile in his mouth and his shoulders squared and commanded Gerardys to formulate a treatment plan. His best assistants, his strongest medicines. Aegon would recover, and he’d recover enough to testify. What the goal was after that, Jace couldn’t say. His Uncle’s healing would take years, and he still hadn’t quite decided yet if he would still be punished for his role, however unwilling, in the coup. Something soft, if he did. Something kinder, sending him to the Faith as a Septa or finding him a kind but distant and politically weak husband.
’He would rather I wed him.’ The thought came before Jace could stop it.
But he let it sit for a moment, turning it over in his mind. It would be politically expedient, though complicated. The last surviving child of Viserys Targaryen, a Royal Omega, the only token of legitimacy Jace still lacked. It would cut off whatever lingering Green support base their was, even more firmly than if Jace simply revealed him as an Omega and turned him loose. His children would have Valyrian features and all of the right credentials and their mother’s legitimacy cloaking their father’s bastardry. It would, in one fell swoop, keep Aegon powerless and make him happy in a way Jace now understood he never had been before.
Tempting.
But something in him could still not quite let go of Aegon the Beta. Of Aegon who had stolen his throne and purportedly burned his mother alive. None of it was true, he knew none of it was true and that this false Aegon of his imaginings had worn Aemond’s face in truth. And yet still the rage warred with the protective despair.
It was no matter. Aegon was still under the watch of the Stranger, and once recovered would need time to heal and process and become himself. Now was not the time to think of marriage and mating. It was time to get his Uncle through this part, just this one part, and see what happened from there. Now wasn’t the time for questions like these.
Now was the Hour of the Wolf.
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“Larys Strong. You stand accused of treason of the highest order. Conspiring to Usurp my crown on false pretenses, imprisoning and raping a Royal Omega, and conspiring to poison that same Prince. How do you plead?” Jace said, gazing down at Larys like one would a particularly contemptuous worm.
“I did not conspire to poison the Prince.” Larys stated, looking back at him with rigid defiance. Jace’s hand curled into a fist on his knee at the proclamation, the words the clubfoot didn’t say hanging in the air with their evil implications. The others had been offered the Wall. Jace was not unmerciful, and Lord Cregan had stressed to him the importance of the Night’s Watch.
Larys would not be offered the wall.
“I hereby sentence you to execution at dawn. May the Gods have mercy on your soul.” Jace pronounced, letting the finality of it claw Larys’ implications out of the air and replace them.
Later, in his Solar, Cregan came to him. Larys’ request was simple, really, remove the foot so it might not burden him in the next life.
“Request denied.” Jace said, setting his goblet down on his desk with a click of that same finality.
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That night, Jace dreamt he was a boy again.
He was lost somewhere deep in the keep, wandering towards something he couldn’t name and taking one too many wrong turns until he ended up in a part of the castle he’d never been to before. Strange, frightening tapestries hung from the wall depicting fire and dragons and blood and death in scenes he couldn’t quite get to sit still so he could see them properly.
“You know, I always liked you best.” Came a voice from behind him, and he turned to see a dancing green flame flickering playfully in the air.
“You were cruel to all of us.” Jace said. “The pranks were always your idea.”
“And you always came along.” The flame said, crackling and sparking with giggles. “I liked that you always came along.”
“Why?” Jace asked. “You didn’t act like it.”
“Why did you always come along?” The flame asked softly, fading and flickering until it sputtered out and plunged him into darkness.
“Egg?” He murmured into the quiet of the morning as his eyes fluttered open.
By the time he processed what he’d said, he’d already forgotten the dream.
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“I have come to a conclusion.” He told Cregan, standing in the window of the man’s solar and nursing a cup of hippocras. “It may not be a conclusion I act on, but it is one I have arrived at regardless.”
Cregan watched him from the desk, waiting for him to continue. Jace drew a breath and turned to him.
“It would be politically advantageous for me to wed Aegon.” He said finally, letting the statement land and holding himself tight as he watched the ripples. But Cregan just regarded him for a moment before giving a nod.
“And it would possibly make him happy.” Cregan added, calm gray eyes watching him placidly.
“Yes.” Jace said quietly, trying not to look away from those eyes that always saw too much of him.
“That is not unimportant to you.” Cregan said, and this time Jace did look away.
“It is not unimportant.” He confirmed, letting the weight of the admission sink into him. It was the first time he’d said it aloud, that Aegon’s happiness mattered to him.
“You would be good to him.” Cregan said and in it Jace could hear the question, the statement, and strangely….the warning.
“I would be good to him.” Jace confirmed, meeting Stark’s eyes this time with fire and steel and a promise. “He’s been through too much for ought else.”
“We will keep this consideration.” Cregan said with a short nod, as if it were decided. “But we do not yet know the full extent of the damage. You will need heirs, and we have not yet confirmed that your uncle could provide. And there are more expedient matters to attend to. A royal marriage might wait, securing the city fully might not.”
“Have we determined a proper captain for the Gold Cloaks?” Jace asked. “I need someone loyal, someone who can be spared from their seat, or who has none to be spared from.”
“Oscar Tully has elected to stay in the capital for the moment, I would rate him highly. Benjicot is returning to Raventree Hall, but Aly is staying for the moment. She would also be a sound choice, though you may see the men struggle to follow a Beta woman.”
“We will no longer be tolerating choices that ask us to bend to the whims of such men. Aly will be our captain.” Jace said. “The best vengeance I can give my mother now is to be the King my grandfather should have been, one who clears the path ahead for women and Omegas rather than force them through the untrodden grass alone. Alysanne will captain our Gold Cloaks and any challenges to her authority are to be dealt with swiftly and decisively.”
“As you say, My Liege.” Cregan nodded, scribbling something on a piece of parchment. “There is also the matter of your Small Council.”
“I would ask you to be my Hand, Lord Stark. I know you seek to return North when you may, but until that time I would ask that you serve the Realm.” Jace said, crossing to the desk and sitting before it in one of the plush armchairs that had been provided.
“I accept, though I ask that you consider replacements while we settle matters. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and I fear young Rickon is too young to hold the task for long.” Cregan said, fixing Jace with a calm but pointed look.
“I do not seek to keep you from your son longer than necessary, my friend. I simply ask that you assist in the transition.” Jace confirmed.
“The position that needs filling most is Master of Whispers. Lady Mysaria is with her Gods now, whatever they were, and Lord Strong will join her soon. We’ll need information, and we’ve no one to gather it.” Cregan said, frowning.
“I want Lannister as Master of Coins. Getting the treasury out of the city beneath our noses was a masterstroke, and he took his punishment with dignity.” Jace said.
“That is not the position I was concerned with.” Cregan huffed.
“I’m thinking, give me a minute.” Jace said, face twisting petulantly. Cregan chuckled and Jace flapped a dismissive hand at him. “Lord Corlys shall stay on as Master of Ships. My personal feelings towards him do not negate the power of the Velaryon fleet. Tohrren Manderly for Master of Laws. He’s good at the job, well suited for it. And I owe a debt, now that Joffrey is no longer here to make good on the betrothal agreement.” He swallowed thickly, trying as ever to not think of his little brother’s final moments.
“This is the second time The Stranger has refused them a royal match. He may not be content with a position.” Cregan pointed out, bent over what looked like a letter now, probably back to Winterfell.
“As you said, I will need heirs. And those heirs will need mates. I will make do when the time comes.” Jace said, taking a measured sip from his goblet. “And do not think I have forgotten our own agreement. My first daughter, bar an Alpha, or my first Omega son for your heir, Rickon.”
“Nor have I, Your Grace. Though the matter is one for much later, and I am a patient man.” Cregan said. “Rickon is half a babe, still, and you unmated. There will be time. Now, the Master of Whispers.”
“Of course.” Jace said, blowing out a breath. “I admit I am low on options. The other positions require many of the same qualities. Competence, duty, honor. Rare qualities, certainly, but not uncommon to find among the Lords and lettered men of Westeros. The Master of Whispers is another beast entirely. One who needs must move in worlds and ways that cause certain doubts. A Master of Whispers must be comfortable with discomfort in a way that not many are.”
“Aye, they are a snake that must always be capable of biting both ways, but whose training and feeding makes it unlikely they will strike backwards.” Cregan agreed. “And the war has shown that many of the snakes we might catch are wild yet, as liable to strike back as forwards.”
“There is one person I have considered.” Jace said, tone weighty in its deliberate lightness. “The Witch of Harrenhall sees much and more.”
“Alys Rivers. Aemond’s paramour.” Cregan said, looking up from his letter with a delicately raised eyebrow.
“Aemond’s war prize.” Jace corrected. “He took the castle and slaughtered her family, she did with that what she could most like.”
“Most like is a large assumption.” Cregan said, putting his quill down and focusing his full attention on Jace. “Could be it was sincere, or grew to be.”
“It’s a possibility.” Jace conceded. “But one I think is unfounded. Put yourself or anyone you know into her situation. Would any of it produce something sincere? Especially with an Alpha like Aemond, cold and cruel and harsh. No, not only do I not anticipate finding that she cared for him. I anticipate finding that he’d treated her unkindly and given her every reason to lose no sleep over his passing.”
“Perhaps.” Cregan said, tapping his fingers on the desk for a moment. “Though no love lost for the Prince does not mean love gained for you. And she is not simply a victim of war, she is a witch. Is that what you would have for your Small Council?”
“She is a woman who understands difficult positions. One who weathered the deaths of her entire family by doing the last thing anyone in her position would wish to do. If that does not indicate that she is precisely the kind of person we seek, what will? She has been through much and more, and by all accounts come out on the other side of it just as resilient as ever. What difference is there, I ask you, between Alys and Aegon? Both people Aemond hurt in ways no one should ever be harmed. Why offer one patience and one suspicion?” Jace said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his own finger against the soft fabric of it.
“Aegon is your blood, your Uncle. There is a leniency inherent in that.” Cregan said. Jace looked at him for a moment, dark eyes hard and burning as he considered what he said next. Either his point would land as he wished, or Lord Stark’s honor would not abide the unspoken truth of his blood connection to Alys being given words. He took a shuddering breath.
“Yes. And that is why I have considered Alys so thoughtfully.” He said, letting the meaning hang in the air for a terrifying frozen moment. But then Cregan nodded. Once, short, somewhere between gentle and final. Jace relaxed.
“I will have her summoned. But I would council you to have her questioned thoroughly about her time with your other Uncle. There may yet be things we do not know.” Cregan said, returning to his letter.
“There always are.” Jace sighed.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
The first thing Aegon noticed as he slowly swam up from the depths of sleep was that he wasn’t cold.
Winter had come some time near the end of the war, and the air in his cell had been biting even in the daytime. Sometimes on the coldest nights, he’d been afforded a thin, scratchy blanket and a torch. But most times he made do with his own body heat and the straw of his nest.
Which was the second thing he noticed, that he was most certainly not in his nest. This was not straw, and the blanket was not scratchy or thin.
He could feel the moment his body tried to bolt up in the bed. He also felt the moment that it physically couldn’t. Instead he opened his eyes and looked around, raising his head up off of the pillow with great effort.
This had to be a dream.
This was Helaena’s room, that was her tapestry in the corner full of the prettier insects that fluttered and zoomed rather than those creeping, crawling things she’d loved. It had been his favorite, back when he’d had favorites. If he closed his eyes and breathed, he could almost smell the lingering traces of wildflowers and bee balm that had followed his sister ever since her presentation. He could almost feel her hand on his cheek and hear her words from the last time she’d snuck into his cell to see him. ’You will try to follow me, but the path is closed to you. Take heart, the Hour of the Wolf draws near.’
“Well, sweet sister, it seems you were right.” He chuckled wryly. “I tried to follow you and that half-blind cunt closed the path. But Jace will see to it, now. I will be with you soon, Hel.” He closed his eyes again, letting out a tired breath.
Jace.
Gods, he shouldn’t have taken the poison. The pain of the recovery he could live with, he’d lived through worse. But what he’d said to Jacaerys in the delirium? That would prove fatal. For his ego, if nothing else. He’d damn near taken it to his grave, had every intention to, and then spilled it two steps before the finish line. He’d have to face the execution block knowing that the man swinging Blackfyre knew he was sweet on him. They should just let the embarrassment kill him, truly.
He groaned and groped for one of the thick, plush pillows he knew these fancy royal beds had and shoved it over his face, hoarse unused voice screaming his frustration into it. Couldn’t a man be allowed to die with some dignity? It was all he had left and now even that-
At least he was alive.
That’s what he had to hold onto, he reminded himself. Jace knew Aegon loved him because Jace was alive. That the mortification was only possible because the object of his devotion was here and present and extant in order to hear the thrice-damned confession. The sea hadn’t taken him, The Stranger did not have his Jace.
A few tears and a wet laugh leaked onto the pillow.
“You’re alive.” He whispered against it like an answered prayer, hugging it tight now more than holding it over his face. “You’re alive.” He said again, cracking on a sob as he wrapped himself around the pillow and let his shoulders shake quietly with the silent weight of his crying. He would die on the morrow, the ancient sword of Aegon the Conqueror for whom he was named severing his head from his neck. But Jace was alive, Jace would continue to be alive, and that was more than he’d ever dreamed to beg for.
The footsteps in the hallway were like a bucket of cold water. He shoved the pillow, tear-side down, back where it went and scrubbed at his face to clean away the evidence. His shoulders drew in tight and his hands fisted in the blanket as the steps stopped at the door. It scraped open like a nervous breath, and the very Alpha he had been crying over poked his dark head through.
His breath caught in his throat as he looked at Jace again for the first time with sober, coherent eyes. He looked…young. Not young the way Aegon had last seen him, literally a child, but young in the way young men were young. More open than they should be, eyes more expressive than they could afford, holding themselves like they didn’t quite know how to do it yet. Things swam in those eyes that Aegon didn’t want to name and didn’t have names for. Too many things for a King with the weight of the Realm on his broad shoulders.
“You’re awake.” He said, something in his expression shuttering. Good, at least he knew how.
“Yes.” Aegon said, trying to look away from him and finding that he couldn’t, that his eyes refused on principle to stop cataloguing the changes in his face.
“Good. Larys Strong will die in the morning.” Jace said, standing tall and proud and rigid as he came fully into the room, shoulders squared and hands behind his back. He said it somehow with both the same light perfunctoriness as he would announce the weather, and with the weight of a promise. Aegon went still, his heart freezing and burning and growing and shrinking and doing things he couldn’t even catalogue in his chest at the news.
“And me?” He asked, voice thick with too much emotion he was trying to bury deep until he was alone again.
“And you what?” Jace asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.
“When is my execution?” Aegon asked. That seemed to break the composure Jace had built after stepping through the door, and he blinked at Aegon as if the question had never occurred to him.
“You are not being executed.” Jace said, regaining his composure and straightening his shoulders again. But his tone betrayed him. Calm, measured, commanding…but Aegon could hear the edge of anger in it, like the thought offended him.
“I see.” Aegon said. He did not see, he did not see at all. “Are you sure that’s wise?” ’What are you thinking, love? This is idiocy. Strike while the enemy is vulnerable, and I will never be more vulnerable. Now is your moment, sweetling, don’t waste it.’
“Yes.” Jace said, his dark eyes burning even as his tone brokered no argument.
“What will be done with me, then?” He asked, swallowing the shiver of excitement at Jace’s intensity.
“It is still being decided. You will rest and recover, that is enough for now.” Jace said, still standing like a rock in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back.
“I understand.” Aegon said. He did not understand. But he did brace himself for the next part, the part where Jace asked about the horrible truths Aegon had told in his cell.
“I will tell Maester Gerardys that you’re awake.” He said instead, standing for a moment rather awkwardly in the middle of Helaena’s borrowed room like he didn’t know what to do next before adding, “Be well, Uncle.” with a curt nod. Aegon watched as he turned decisively on his heel and strode out of the room just one moment too quickly to have been mere Kingly confidence.
Aegon sat there in the ruin and the quiet of things for a moment, staring at the door his nephew had left through.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, darling.” He whispered into the stillness before slumping back onto the pillows.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Seeing the truth had been too much.
Nothing else he’d done in the hours since the revelations had quite managed to burn away Aegon the Beta, Aegon the Usurper, Aegon the Scheming Wastrel. The logical knowledge of what his uncle was in truth and the shape of color and emotion and movement in his head that was Aegon had refused to reconcile themselves into one. The name Aegon had taken on two meanings in reference to his uncle: Aegon the Beta, and Aegon the Omega.
Walking into that room to find him awake had showered Aegon the Beta with a rain of arrows and left him dead in the dirt, the mask falling off to reveal Aemond’s long, dour face.
The eyes had been the worst of it, the arrow that had pierced the heart of his lingering delusions. Aegon the Beta did not have such soft, pretty eyes that looked at Jace like one might look at the sun after years in the dark. Aegon the Beta did not have that quiet sadness in his eyes, nor the guileless curiosity. Aegon the Omega had inherited Alicent’s eyes, large and thick-lashed and round. And he had the same penchant for pretty crying, the stray tears he’d seen in them only making them look brighter and softer and more lovely.
It should be devastating in its beauty, but all Jace felt was the horror of the juxtaposition.
Somewhere in his mind he’d imagined the evil that lurked between the clinical assessment of Gerardys’ report had happened to Aegon the Beta, and while he wasn’t proud of it that fact had softened the blow. But Aegon the Beta was truly dead now, and all of those things had happened to pretty eyes that got prettier when they cried and the implications of that alone were too horrible to name. Aemond had seen those eyes, those tears.
Jace stopped the thought.
“Tell the Grand Maester that my uncle has roused.” He commanded a servant as he half-stumbled into his chambers. “And fetch me some rum.” He added, knowing wine wouldn’t be enough to wash this away. He had made Aegon his last stop of the day for a reason, but he never could have prepared himself for this.
Prettier when he cried. He was going to be sick again.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
They had called a Maester for him, from time to time. For all that he was more useful to them in a cell, he was useless dead. So when he bled for hours after birthing the twins, there was a Maester. When Aemond cut him too deep and it festered, there was a Maester. When he caught the bloody flux and nearly shit himself to death, there was a Maester. He was not unfamiliar with healing hands, even now.
But Maester Gerardys was something entirely different from the people who had treated him before.
It was strange, to be near and Alpha and not be afraid. Gerardys smelled of aloe and firewine and the bite of willow bark. Medicinal, safe, and he kept his scent even and calming without casting it in a wide net around the room. Aegon could still smell himself over the man, rather than having to search for himself underneath. The Maesters his brother had sent had all been Betas, Aemond too jealous to allow other Alphas near him.
His hands were gentle, too. They turned Aegon’s limbs with a gentle coaxing rather than firm frustration. They were rough from years of work, but in a way that felt old and grounding rather than callous. And they were warm, holding Aegon’s wrist with a mild weight and warmth that made the half-healed arm feel supported rather than held in place.
And when it all became too much and Aegon broke down into tears. Those warm, rough hands held his and murmured soothing words to him and just let him cry. Let him feel overwhelmed at the soft touch and the tragedy of being handled gently after so long. Let him mourn all of the soft touches he should have had, let him cry harder when he realized that was the pain he was feeling.
And then, in that firm, no nonsense way of a true healer, he rebroke Aegon’s arm so it could heal properly.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Like many necessary things, Jace hated the sling on Aegon’s arm.
He stood again in Helaena’s room, hands clasped behind his back and no idea what to do with himself other than stand there looking at Aegon as if he could drink him down and understand him through osmosis just by looking.
“I see the Maester has been.” He said after a long moment of silence. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight, obscenely aware of how awkward he was being.
“He says it should heal right this time.” Aegon answered, his good hand fiddling with a piece of lint on the blanket. He wasn’t looking at Jace, which was…good, it was good. Jace could handle this if Aegon just didn’t look at him.
“I’m glad.” Jace said with a curt nod. He should add something else, say something…true? Kind? Reassuring? He didn’t know.
“You’re sitting up.” He said instead, wincing internally at the way it landed. Like he was simply searching for things to say. Which was true, but not what he wanted to present in this moment.
“I was fed.” Aegon said, as if that explained everything. And it did explain everything and that was so much worse.
“What did you eat?” Jace asked, latching onto the relatively light topic like a man drowning.
“Wheat porridge. I’m not to have anything too heavy, the Maester said. It could turn my stomach fiercely. But I was given some honey and a few berries in it. It was…” Aegon trailed off and the look on his face said ‘it was magnificent’, but the word he chose was, “Sufficient.”
“Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” Jace said, chest warming even as he cringed at his own insufficient response.
“You are glad about a good many things.” Aegon said, and Jace caught the ghost of a smile on his lips and tried not to match it.
“One must try, in times like these.” He said instead. “It’s all I have left.”
Aegon stilled. Froze, really, and then looked at him with a horror that dawned like a frozen sunrise.
“Who’s left?” He asked, voice trembling.
Gods, they didn’t even tell him.
“You. Myself. Jahaera.” He said, exhausting the list far too soon. The brevity ached, the true length of what the list should be stretching into darkness.
“No.” Aegon said, fierce and bright, pretty eyes tearing up again. “Jaehaerys, Maelor, little Aegon, Viserys.” He stated their names plainly. Their names were not on the list.
“Gone.” Jace said quietly, looking at the floor.
“No.” Aegon insisted again, back straight and eyes hard and vicious and tears tracking down his cheeks like he didn’t even know they were there. “They wouldn’t. They didn’t.”
They would. They had. They were dead now, too.
Jace took a few faltering steps forward, bringing himself stiffly to Aegon’s bedside. The hands behind his back relaxed, and one came forward in askance of the hand Aegon had fisted into the blanket. It slipped, small and soft, into the hand that asked for it. Jace squeezed gently, face as mask but eyes a wild tangle of emotions he could feel without seeing them.
“I’m sorry.” He said, simply holding Aegon’s hand in the quiet.
“Did you-” Aegon asked, face crumpling into disbelieving horror.
“No! No, Gods, no.” Jace assured him quickly, tightening his hold on Aegon’s hand as if to keep him from pulling away. “I will…explain in detail at some point. But not yet, not now. Neither of us- It’s not time, yet.”
“No.” Aegon agreed, staring into whatever nothingness existed in the far wall. “No, it’s not. I can’t- It’s not time yet.”
“Do you wish me to stay or to leave you?” Jace asked. He didn’t wish to leave, didn’t wish to let go of the small, soft hand in his. But he would if that’s what Aegon needed.
“Stay. Please, don’t leave.” Aegon said, his voice a fluttering, tattered thing. Jace nodded and grabbed a chair from the fireside, scraping it across the wooden floor to his bedside.
“I’m here.” He said simply, sitting down and taking that small hand in both of his.
“I’m here.” He said again, squeezing it gently.
Aegon had fallen asleep like that, his hand in Jace’s as the King kept vigil at his bedside.
And once he’d finally fallen asleep, when his breathing evened out and Jace was sure he could not be heard, the King wept.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
That night, it was Aegon’s turn to dream.
It was all warm amber sunlight filtering through summer trees. This summer had been short, some part of him remembered. He didn’t remember which summer, but he could feel the fleetingness of it even as he let the warm glow of it wash over him. The Godswood, that had always been their place. Sunlight through trees, the smell of oakmoss. He hadn’t been in so long.
There was a head in his lap, and his fingers carded through silken chestnut curls idly as a voice that was more warmth and emotion than sound filled the warm air around him. It was a child’s voice and a man’s voice all at once, the two halves of the whole speaking together now that Aegon had heard them both.
“Aegon!” Aemond barked, morphing between a stern looking child and a cold shadow. “Mother says you must come inside now.”
“Tell her I do not wish to.” Aegon said dismissively, still playing with soft loose ringlets. Why would he go back in there? That was where-
“Mother said I’m not to let you leave.” Aemond said, and suddenly he was a teenager instead of a child, still flickering between boy and shadow. “You have to, Aegon. Father is dead, now. The crown must be yours, Mother said.”
“Do you always do what Mother says?” Aegon spat the words at the shadow boy. He’d spat them before. They always tasted the same.
“Of course, she’s our Mother.” The shadow said, growing to take over the boy completely. The cold of the shadow radiated outwards, and suddenly the ground beneath Aegon was cold too. He was sitting in the snow, the Godswood in winter. The leaves gone, the light cold and harsh.
“Mother also said to stop hurting me!” Aegon shouted at the shadow. The Godswood warped again, snow turning to dirty straw and walls pressing in on him to preserve the stink of blood and sickness.
“Mother isn’t here now.” The shadow chuckled, growing and growing until it engulfed the whole room. Except for one point, one soft flickering glow of light like a candle that refused to go out no matter how much it guttered and the wind blew.
“I’m here.” The voice with the silken curls said, a boy and a man who had grown up to smell of oakmoss and cedar and a Godswood in summer.
“I’m here.”
As Aegon’s eyes fluttered open to the still quiet of the soft winter morning, he felt Jace’s hand in his. He grinned, looking over to find the King slumped forward in his chair, head pillowed on the arm that wasn’t holding Aegon’s hand. Fast asleep, drooling slightly onto the nice duvet. But still here.
“Good morning, sweetling.” He whispered to the sleeping boy who had grown into a man who smelled like a Godswood in Summer.