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After The Dragons Danced (A Rhaena Targaryen SI) -- 04. Stormclouds
🕑 Added 2024-08-14 11:33:00 +0000 UTC10th Day, Fourth Moon, 131AC | The Red Keep - King’s Landing
AEGON
It was drizzling as dusk approached. There would be a storm that night, Aegon knew, judging by the clouds present in the sky. He walked to the balcony, on the kingly chambers that were now his, to watch the storm clouds gather in the late afternoon sky. He had always enjoyed watching the sky. He remembered the storms at Dragonstone. They were fierce, raging and terrifying to his baby brother. He, on the other hand, had always found them comforting. The beat of the Stone Drum when the winds were howling and rain was falling made him sleep like a log.
However, he did not enjoy them as much as Lucerys did. Lucerys was made for the seas and all the peril they brought; truly a worthy heir for the Lord of The Tides. Lucerys had been the one to teach him what the different types of clouds looked like and what they all meant; after he himself had been taught by his grandfather when they had sailed to Volantis once he turned ten. Lucerys had told him that his dragon had the colouring of the clouds during a storm. So he named him that; Stormcloud.
His father had thought it a stupid name, urging him to name his dragon after one in of the Gods in the Valyrian Pantheon, like him, his mother and his brothers had. Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes were beautiful names for beautiful mounts. Her mother had disagreed then, arguing that Stormcloud was a fierce name in its own right, fiercer than the uninspired Sunfyre, the name his uncle gave his own mount. They had all laughed then.
He was not laughing now. In fact, he had not laughed in a long time. He always wondered why he was named Aegon. His father had told that he was more worthy of that name than any who had borne it before. He did not believe him. There was Aegon The Conqueror, the king every Targaryen since then aimed to match with varying degrees of success. He had asked his mother about it, and she had told him that his father had a baby brother that had died soon after he was born, who was also named Aegon. She had explained that her father thought it was his fault that he could not save him or his mother. So, he had promised to do right by him, the new Aegon. He had gone to his father’s room then and gave him a hug, assuring him that he was the best father he could have ever asked for. That was the only time he had seen his father shed tears.
When they went to King’s Landing to celebrate Jaehaerys and Jaehaera’s fifth name-day however, his uncle, the one with the sapphire eye, told him that he had no right to that name; that the name he bore only belonged to kings and not a whore’s son. He ran to his father once more, asking him what a whore was. When he told him where he had heard that, he took Darksister and marched angrily out of the room. His mother had stopped him. It was the first time he had seen his father and mother shout at each other. He was terrified then, and ran to Rhaena’s room and slept the night there. Rhaena had held him and had sung sweet songs to him as he fell asleep.
Now, he hated the name. He hated himself for having that name. He hated Aegon The Conqueror. Why couldn’t he just stay on Dragonstone and be content with what he had? He could have done what Lord Corlys did and built the island to become the richest demesne in Westeros. Then his mother would have been happy, and most importantly, she would have lived. He allowed his mind to wander to that. Rhaenyra Targaryen would have become Lady of Dragonstone. Jacaerys Targaryen would have followed their mother with Baela Targaryen as his lady. He would have been content to serve the three of them; they were more worthy than most kings he had read about. He hated his father’s dead brother; he should have lived so that he didn’t have to get that name.
His mind wandered to his uncle then, the usurper that had the same name as him. Everytime that happened, he only saw flames and heard screaming. He couldn’t let himself think about it, so instead he took the kitchen knife he had hidden after breaking his fast the day before yesterday and made two more cuts on his forearm. It was painful, as it was every time he did it. He made himself focus on that pain, it took his thoughts away from the screaming and the flames.
What would his father think of him now? He had given him that name and told him that he would be the greatest to bear it. He was sure he would not think of him being worthy of being his son, worthy of being his blood. His father had gone to war for seven years in the Stepstones to make sure his brother’s realm was secure from foreign invasion, without hesitation. He was the first to pledge to their mother as queen, without hesitation. He gave his life fighting for them to live, without hesitation.
Jacaerys had flown all across the realm to secure allegiances of multiple houses in the war. He then died burning foreign invaders that threatened his mother’s realm, without hesitation. Lucerys as well. Joffrey had spent every day after his mother took King’s Landing patrolling the skies, ready to face Vhagar or Tessarion if they dared to invade. He had died, trying to defend their dragons from being assaulted by smallfolk. His brother had just been named Prince of Dragonstone then, and wanted to prove himself worthy. (He was in Aegon's eyes). Aegon had told him not to go, but Joffrey promised him that he was going to save Shrykos for him to claim when the war ended. Joffrey had promised him that he would be his Hand when he sat the Iron Throne, right as he went into the night, never to be seen again. What about him? What had he done, even with his storied name? The only contributions he had made in the war was leaving his baby brother to be killed by invaders and pirates, and to stand and watch as his mother was.... No, it would not do well to remember that.
He had a King’s name, but he should never have been King. They remembered the first Aegon as The Conqueror and the second as The Uncrowned. How would they remember him? Aegon the Craven was fitting, or Aegon the Unworthy. He would have been content to serve his brother Jacaerys in whatever way he asked him to. He once thought of joining the Kingsguard and becoming as renowned a knight as Ser Ryam Redwyne or Jonquil Darke, or even becoming Joffrey’s hand, that was okay for him too; Joffrey was the boldest of his brothers.
But, they were all gone now. His mother, his father, his brothers; all of them were dead. The rain had begun to pour, and Lucerys was not here to play with him in it until they were found and got into trouble with their mother because of it. Jacaerys was not here to help him train his dragon. His father was not here to teach him how to wield a sword, and get angry with him everytime he stole Darksister and hid it from him. Joffrey was not here to play pranks on Ser Robert Quince, the old fat knight that had been their mother’s steward on Dragonstone.
And Viserys. His brother who followed him everywhere since he learned to walk. It had annoyed him greatly, at first. One time, soon after Viserys had begun to walk, Aegon had hidden from him for an entire day. His brother went to their mother, screaming in tears, thinking he had died. That was the only time he could remember his mother being truly angry with him. “He is your baby brother Aegon, it is your duty to watch over him. Like Jacaerys watches over all of you,” his mother had told her. That day, he had promised his mother that he would watch over his baby brother; that he would be like Jacaerys.
Oh, how he had broken that promise. He remembered his brother on the boat then, tightly clutching to his dragon’s egg. The egg was still warm, even after seven years of having it, and Viserys hoped it would hatch. Aegon was so scared after their boat had been attacked. But Viserys was brave and clever instead. More brave and more clever than he could ever hope to be. He quickly changed his clothes to those of a servant and hid the egg at the bottom of the bed so that it could not be spotted. All Aegon could think of was getting away from the bad men. So he took his two-year old dragon and flew from the boat to go get his brother to help him rescue Viserys.
On the flight, his dragon had protected him. It was his first flight, and he was barely in any control. He tried to think of all he had been taught by his father, mother and Jacaerys about flying on a dragon but it could not come to him. Instead he just clung to Stormcloud as scorpion bolts were being shot at him. Stormcloud, his best friend, his other half, had made it to Dragonstone and died of many of those bolts when he landed. Jacaerys found him, and he had promised him that he would get Viserys back. But he could not. At least Jacaerys fought the people who had taken his baby brother and died trying to save him. Jacaerys was brave. He was not. He had left him. He was a failure. He had left his baby brother to die. What difference was there between him and his uncles? “We are all Kinslayers,” he muttered to himself.
The rain had begun falling steadily, with the thunder howling and the lightning flashing. It held no more joy for him now. The stars were not out that night either. The last time there had been stars in the skies was when he lay on the beach with Viserys the day before the war began. He was suddenly aware that the pain on his left forearm had dulled, so with the knife, he reopened the two healing scars that he had made yesterday. He was drenched in rain water. He saw fresh blood was mixing with it and the bricks on his balcony’s floor ran red with the mixture.
The sweet dark sounds of death urged him to take the knife and plunge it into his neck. Maester Gerardys had taught him that there was a part of the neck that if slashed, a man would die quickly. He could end it all. All this misery, all this sadness, all this pain. He wished to end it. He would see his brothers again, and his father and his mother in the great beyond. In his madness, the elder Aegon had brought him to the execution block so many times when he was his hostage. Each time, he had ordered his traitor Alfred Broome to swing Blackfyre to end his life. He always countermanded the order when Broome had raised the sword high above his head. His uncle thought it would scare him, cow him and make him fear him. It did not. Aegon felt nothing, nothing but a strong sense of desire to join his mother in death. Oh, how he wished to feel the cold of the Valyrian Steel falling hard on his neck. Death would be his freedom, death would be his redemption.
On the first day they had returned from Dragonstone, Jaehaera’s grandmother had come into his room holding a kitchen knife. It was in the middle of the night, and like most days, he was on the balcony watching the sky. She had snuck up on him only in her sleeping shift accusing her mother of killing her sons and grandsons, claiming that it was only right for the debt to be repaid by his death. Aegon did not even move, he did not even flinch with fear; he just turned around to look at her. Their eyes locked; his empty, dead and a dark void while hers were full of fury, vengeance and anguish. Baela had saved her that night; she had entered his bedchamber slowly with one hand on Jaehaera’s shoulder and another holding the conqueror’s dagger to Jaehaera’s throat.
“Kill my brother, and I swear, you will watch as I open her throat.” Her voice was low, like the roar of a dragon. She sounded more like their father than he ever could. Jaehaera was sobbing silently, with tears staining her face. With a clang, her grandmother had let her knife fall to the floor and ran to her granddaughter. A moment later, they had scurried out of his chambers.
“Why didn’t you just let her kill me. You could have been queen, just like mother and father wished you to be,” he had asked his sister.
“You’re my brother. I will not let you die. Too many of us have. And I was to be Jacaerys’ queen. That is what I desired.”
Baela had defended them, fought for them. She had duelled Sunfyre and his uncle when he first took Dragonstone. She had sacrificed Moondancer to keep them safe, to keep them alive. She was the reason that Sunfyre was dead. If not for her, her uncle would have held the throne and killed all of them. And now she fought for him again, defended him again, with no hesitation, in order for him to live. Baela was brave, he was not. Baela protected her baby brother. He had left his to die with the bad men. Aegon had let the tears fall then. Baela held him as he sobbed. She did not talk sweetly to reassure him like her mother, nor try to soothe him by singing like Rhaena or his father, but she held him as he let his tears flow, and that was enough.
Aegon did not know how long he had been lying there, in the wet as the rain and hail that fell with such force that it seemed that it would break the earth. The thunder was loud and howling, a sound that reminded him of Stormcloud’s roars. The sound of the door to his balcony opening broke him out of his trance. He looked to see his sisters, Baela and Rhaena, dressed in fine resplendent gowns of red and black, with Gaemon, his only friend accompanying him.
“Egg, please come inside.” Rhaena’s soft voice punched through the falling rain.
Aegon remembered then. Everyday he spent his evenings and nights together with his sisters. They would sup together. Afterwards, Rhaena or Elinda would sing for them, as they had done on Dragonstone for as long as he could remember. These days Rhaena went beyond, her singing accompanied by the sound of a harp. When questioned by Baela, Rhaena would say that she had learnt how to play it in the Vale, where she would entertain the wives, sisters, daughters and nieces of the lords and knights that had gone to war. Within a surprisingly short time, she had become a harpist of great skill. There were nights where they would talk of matters of court, mostly meaning Rhaena feeding him the gossip she had learned.
On other occasions, they would sit in silence as they all went about their various tasks; Rhaena wrote, on one of the massive empty tomes from YiTi their father had gifted her on her sixth nameday. It had taken five years to fill the first one, now she was on the second one. There were twenty of them. Their father had intended for them to last for a century. On them, his sister chronicled the events, achievements (small or large) together with notable daily happenings of all their family members across every day since the day his little brother was born. Rhaena and Baela had shared a nameday with his baby brother, Aegon remembered.
Lady Elinda brought the food, Gaemon jumping excitedly as he went to eat it as Rhaena examined his bleeding arm. She then requested Lady Elinda get a bottle of wine from the kitchens and milk of the poppy from the maester. She returned soon after and Rhaena poured some of it on the metallic chalice and placed it in front of the hearth of fire and soon after it bubbled showing that it was boiling, she took a cloth and poured the hot wine on it, placing it on his arm. He winced at its sting. “It will staunch the bleeding Egg, and make sure the wound will not fester.” Aegon listened. His sister knew what she was doing, she always did. Rhaena poured a dose of the poppy milk and handed it to him. “The cuts are deep. They need to be sewn shut and that shall be incredibly painful without the poppy milk.” So he drank the dose given. After a few minutes when the poppy had taken effect, she took the needle, poured some of the boiled wine on it and the thread, and began to sew his cuts closed with dextrous hands.
In Aegon’s opinion, Rhaena was better at this than even Maester Geradys. She had been treating him since she returned from the Vale; since her grandfather had poisoned his uncle and proclaimed him king. Never once did she even attempt to condemn him or question him on why he was destroying himself. She deftly cleaned his wounds and made sure they were dressed before he went to bed. He was not sure whether she was involved or not, but knives were no longer present for their meals. He was only granted a spoon and a fork. Even the Valyrian dagger that was wielded by all the Kings since his conquering namesake was not in his possession. He did not know when they had been taken, but he knew that his sisters had them. In truth Aegon did not wish to destroy himself as he did. Every time after Rhaena dressed his wounds, he was gripped by a profound sense of shame. He was failing once more. Failing to be stronger than his pain and grief.
“All good now. It shall heal, but it will leave a scar. I shall check it again tomorrow to make sure it does not fester.” Rhaena said as he had finished wrapping his arm with a fresh linen cloth.
Tonight the five of them aye, Elinda and Gaemon sat at the table as well, they were practically family now) ate in a comfortable silence. Aegon liked it. The evenings and the nights were the highlights of his now empty life.
Baela broke the silence as she dug her fork into the pork chops, “Egg, tomorrow at dawn….” she shared a look with Rhaena before she continued, “I shall depart King’s Landing for a time.”
Aegon began to feel a sense of panic rise in her throat. Whenever someone left home, more often than not he did not see them again. He tried to quell the fear that gripped his chest. “Where are you going?” She shared a look with her sister once more. It was as if they had whole conversations with just their eyes. Like him and Viserys used to.
“Swear you shall not tell anyone.” Rhaena all but commanded.
“I swear.”
“I swear Princess,” Elinda added her oath as well.
“Egg, we think Viserys might be alive. We are not sure exactly, as they are just rumours we heard from the merchants in the docks, but Baela shall set out to see to the truth of them.”
His face clearly showed the mixture of shock, surprise and anticipation. There was a chance that he would reunite his brother once more. He quickly responded, “You have my leave sister. If you can, find him and bring him back to us.” Baela agreed.
The rest of the dinner was uneventful, as it was usually. They ate, then Rhaena played the harp as Elinda and Gaemon sang, while Baela attempted to, failing miserably. That night was the first night in many that he did not have to take sweetsleep to stop the bad dreams. As he felt sleep claim him, he did not hear screaming nor see flames, however, for the first time in a long time, Aegon allowed himself to feel hope, as Baela continued her awful singing.
Comments
Neyra
maryorin rosario. Don't worry for now. Planning on making some edits on it and reposting the chapter by the end of this week.
maryorin rosario
I cannot find chapter 5 😭
