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Chapter Text

—I defy you, stars.
William Shakespeare, “Romeo and Juliet”

Jace was surprised to find Aegon in the godswood. He had searched all of Maegor’s Holdfast, or so it felt to his aching legs and winded lungs, the courtyard where they trained, and even the stables, but the godswood was the last place he expected to find him. He wished he had thought of it first. He might have avoided getting the mucky stink of the stables stuck to him. “There you are,” he called out, for Aegon hadn’t noticed him yet.

The older boy was laying on the grass under the cloistered cover of leaves. He looked almost like he was sleeping, if not for the leg he kept pulled up. His head rested on the basket of his arms, eyes closed as he basked in the warm light dappling across his face. It was a pretty sight, Jace thought. Like a painting. He held back the words, for he was not so young that he did not know prettiness was an insult to men and boys. Even if he did not quite understand why, yet.

Aegon barely shifted in recognition at his voice, only squinting at him through the sun before flopping his head back down. He waved lazily. “Where else am I supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.” Jace flopped down at the base of a tree, watching him. Aegon was less sulky than he had expected to find him. “I was just looking for you. Couldn’t find you.” He rubbed at his nose, somewhat embarrassed at his efforts. Particularly as Aegon wasn’t near as unhappy as Jace feared he would be after the news they had learned that morning, breaking their fast. There had been rumours that the Queen sought to betrothe her two eldest children for weeks now, but it was that morn the King and Queen announced it truly. Jace had never seen a face fall so fast as Aegon’s had, though Aemond’s had come close. 

“Mmph,” Aegon said in vague acknowledgement. 

Picking at the grass, Jace eyed the other carefully. He wasn’t entirely convinced by his performance of apathy, but neither was he sure that it was a lie. If he dared broach the subject, he risked ruining his mood and earning his ire. That was the last thing he wanted to do. “Are you… How do you feel?”

“About what?” The edge beneath his lofty tone betrayed his awareness.

Jace pulled his knees to his chin self-consciously. “About the betrothal.”

“What do you think?” Aegon snapped, like Jace was the stupidest person in the world. 

“I was just asking,” Jace grumbled back, neck growing hot. He turned his attention to the same sky Aegon now watched, clotted with leaves of summer-shades and weirwood red. The air was fresh and almost sweet, undisturbed dew from yesternight’s rainshowers glittering like jewels amongst the grass and trees. He could hear the faint ruffle of wings as unseen birds housed themselves in the tops. All the clouds of the night afore had moved on, leaving only a clear expanse of blue beyond the leaves. 

“Well I’m not pleased about it,” Aegon finally said after a moment of silence. It was an optimistic sign. There were days where he would have just stood up and left, or told him to bugger off. 

“Why not?” His curiousity was sincere. Marriage had never seemed an unhappy notion to him, nor had he ever fully understood Aegon’s antipathy about his sister. When it came to other members of his family, Jace could better understand his complaints, but Helaena was the most pleasant of them. She had her strangenesses, he supposed, and he had heard the maesters call her simple, but he thought that was harsh. She was clever enough, especially about insects. He had always admired that as a sign of bravery. Jace had never been much good with bugs. Not least the ones with a thousand legs that Helaena was so fond of. 

That, in his estimation, was a rather valiant and unusual trait to have in a wife. She was courtly and quiet, not the sort of boisterous nature that Aegon preferred in his company, it was true, but she was kinder than most. Jace wondered if this was one of those instances where Aegon was complaining about nothing, as he was wont to do. It was hard to tell, sometimes. So often he complained for good reason, it was easy to forget that not all of his qualms were righteous.

“Oh, I don’t know, Jace, why would I be unhappy about being made to marry my freak sister?” Aegon sighed. “You can be so stupid.”

“She’s not a freak,” Jace defended hotly, “and I’m not stupid. I just don’t understand what you mislike about her so much… Helaena is prettier than most, and nicer, too, and you know her. That’s better than wedding a stranger, isn’t it?”

“Knowing her makes her worse. You don’t know because you don’t have to spend as much time with her as I do. Stranger or not, any woman in the Seven Kingdoms would be better. She’s—” he fought for the words, frustration furrowing his brow— “odd, and she unsettles me with her constant muttering. Nothing she says ever makes sense. And her spiders, ugh, her horrible insects—they’ll be everywhere if we have to share a room.”

“Husbands and wives can have their own rooms,” Jace interjected.

Aegon scoffed, pulling himself upright. “What’s the point in having a wife if we cannot stand to share a bed? I want a woman I would enjoy touching.”

“Aegon,” Jace said, blushing. It felt obscene to talk about such things about any woman, much less a Targaryen princess. Though he was sure they were alone, he could not help but check to see if their conversation had been overheard by some unseen audience hidden in the trees. He found no spy, but the tension in his chest did not ease. “Don’t be so rude. And improper,” he added, flustered.

“Don’t be so rude and improper,” Aegon echoed in a high, mocking voice. “That’s what you sound like. You sound like Aemond. Worse than Aemond, even.”

“No I do not.” 

“Yes, you do—and I’ll tell you what I told him. You marry her, then, if you think she’s so perfect. It would save me the trouble.”

“I cannot.” Jace sank further into his arms, half-ashamed.

“Why not?” Aegon demanded, voice sharp. “Rhaenyra has my father wrapped around her finger. If she insists upon it, because you insist upon it, then he will make it happen.”

He shook his head. “It isn’t that simple.” Guilt heavied his stomach, though he could not name who he guilty for, nor what sin he had committed to earn its weight. All that he knew was that he was guilty of something. “Mother tried, but…” he trailed off, suddenly aware that he was on the verge of saying too much.

Unfortunately, he had already caught Aegon’s attention, pale violet eyes piercing right through him. Of course now he listens to me, Jace griped inwards.

“But what?”

Jace looked away. “But nothing.”

“You can insist on keeping a secret, but I’ll just kick it out of you,” he said airily. 

“You wouldn’t.” He would. He had done so plenty of times before. Pinched him, too. Pulled his hair, shoved him, broken his toys—Aegon could be very persistent in getting what he wanted.

Aegon stood. “I wouldn’t?” he dared, languid as he walked over.

“No,” Jace said, not believing it for a moment, but he had to hold strong. It was worse if he spilled the secret out of cowardice. If Aegon hit him, Jace had no choice but to tell him the truth. Or so he justified it to himself.

He screwed his face as Aegon came closer, squeezing his eyes shut as his shadow fell over him. The smack came hard and quick at the side of his head, a jocular hit rather than one meant to sincerely hurt. It stung all the same. “Fine,” he relented, dodging the next feinted hit. “Fine! I’ll tell you!”

“Pitiful display, Velaryon,” Aegon snorted, smugly aglow as he pulled back and sat down across from him, crossing his legs.  

Jace only scowled at him, rubbing at the sore spot on his head. “Shut up.” Perhaps it would have been more honourable to suffer a few more hits before he surrendered, but Aegon was stronger than he realised, adolescence giving him a clumsy strength. Jace wasn’t quite willing to get a few bruises for something Aegon might be able to find from some squire’s gossip. He sighed. “She doesn’t know that I know, so you can’t tell anyone.”

Aegon rolled his eyes.

“I mean it,” he warned.

“On my honour,” Aegon said with feigned solemnity. Jace wasn’t sure if the obvious jest negated the integrity of the promise, but it was good as he was going to get.

“It was something I overheard a few moon-turns ago,” he hesitantly explained, “a conversation between my mother and father. She said… She said that she had put forth a betrothal to the King and Queen, one between Helaena and I.” The rapt way Aegon stared at him made him nervous. “The King thought it was a good idea, but the Queen refused. Mother used the word ‘unyielding’.” She had used quite a few words that Jace dared not repeat about Alicent Hightower. Or at all. He had never seen his mother so insulted. Again, that nameless shame reared its head. “She was disgusted by the idea.” 

Aegon fell back, defeated. “That’s it, then. There’s no hope of stopping it.” His hopelessness was palpable, sapping the light out of the godswood air until its dullness oppressed Jace’s own heart with the same misery. Ashamed, he looked away. There was no world where the Queen would accept him as a good-son, nor allow him to besmirch her daughter with the stain of his name. He was old enough to hear the rumours, and the rumours gave sense to the stares Jace always felt burning into his back when they thought him unawares. Old enough to recognise he bore no feature of Laenor Velaryon, despite the coat-of-arms he wore, halved with the dragon of Targaryen. 

His mind fled from his gloom, searching for any hopeful thought. His mother had always advised against dwelling on one’s ugliest thoughts. “There could be a way,” he said suddenly, the idea striking him half-formed, wanting terribly to take that look of abject resignation off of Aegon’s face. He regretted it as soon as he spoke it, for his memory of it was flimsy, and he feared he would only disappoint him further.

But the regret disappeared when he saw how Aegon brightened with a cautious curiousity, even as he hid it with a lazy look towards him. Jace was good at seeing past the bravado Aegon wore more and more with the passing years. Most of the time, at least. He had learned he needed to pay a special kind of attention to his uncle’s capricious moods. They weren’t always what they appeared. Sometimes, Jace thought they weren’t even what Aegon meant to express. It was his eyes that most often betrayed him. They were staring right at him. “Like what?”

Jace’s face grew hot. “I mean, it’s—it might be a stupid idea,” he warned. 

“Nothing unusual from you,” Aegon jabbed with a smirk, though his eyes were still bright with anticipation. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, avoiding his eye. The grass had become deeply interesting. “I might be remembering it wrong, too. I read it in a book a long time ago.” Now that he had to explain it, the thought embarrassed him. Aegon was surely going to laugh at him.

“Spit it out then.”

Jace picked two blades of grass and idly braided them, focusing intently on weaving the strands together as he spoke, too aware of how he could feel Aegon watching him. Waiting for him to give him a way out. “Do you know of the Valyrian custom of lunar weddings?” He did his best to sound nonchalant and certain, chancing a look at him. Aegon’s expression showed his ignorance, brow pinched.

“No.” He pulled up to rest on his elbows. “What is it?”

“It’s a form of… of…” he fought to remember the word. It was a difficult one to say. “Polygamy. Like Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. They were following a Valyrian custom, though it doesn’t translate well to the common tongue or Westerosi tradition.” In his mind’s eye, he saw the weathered pages of the tome he’d found it in, and summarised its hefty prose as best as he could. Foggy spots remained where time had erased the finer details, but as he spoke, some of the fog dissipated into a tentative clarity. “There is solar marriage, like your betrothal to Helaena, and lunar marriage which serves the sun-marriage.” He frowned in thought. “There was something about how there is only one sun, but there may be many moons…”

“I don’t see how that helps me,” Aegon said, frustrated. “Mother won’t marry her to you either way, what does it matter what you call it?”

Jace’s face grew hotter until he felt the tips of his ears burning. In truth, he hadn’t been thinking of Helaena at all. “It wouldn’t…” He found he didn’t have the bravery to say it outright, fearful of how it would sound, dreadfully anticipating the humiliation of being misunderstood. “Moon-marriages don’t have to follow the laws that we know. You can compare it to, um, Dornish paramours.” He had hoped that would illuminate something for Aegon, but his stare remained flat and dull, missing the hint. And he calls me stupid sometimes…  

He inhaled, and said it all quick and succinct, as resigned to embarrassment as he had been to the hit of Aegon’s hand. “Two men can wed, like a man and woman may. That’s what I mean,” he added quietly, still evading Aegon’s eye. In his hands he had made a tight, short braid of grass. He twisted it anxiously in the silence that followed. 

There was an eternity in the quiet, or so it felt. Jace swore the air had shifted colder, a new vigor to the breeze that curled under his collar and chilled his skin. A mercy was in it, for it cooled his cheeks and took away some of its betraying heat. Aegon shifted to sit straight. At last, Jace made himself meet his gaze. He smothered a wince at the baffled look he found there, mouth twitching before he chuffed a disbelieving laugh. Jace’s stomach plummeted.

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

He snapped the grass-braid in two and folded his arms tight across his chest. “Not like that.” Feeling small, he let his legs relax, unwinding somewhat out of the tight ball he had found himself in. “Just… As a way to end the betrothal, if there truly was no other way… I told you it was stupid.” He slumped, wishing for the conversation to be over, and for Aegon to forget he said anything at all. Jace was just trying to help.

Aegon snorted. “How would that even help? Do you think my mother would let such a strange thing happen? Valyrian tradition or not, it’s deviancy. The gods forbid it as a sin. She would never let me stain my reputation like that.”

“It was just a thought,” Jace snapped, hiding his hurt. “You were complaining so much, I thought it might quiet you.”

The loftiness of Aegon’s mood sharpened as he sneered. When he looked at him like that, it made Jace feel like the muck on his boots. “Funny. It was you who was desperate enough to come bother me about it. You stink of the stables, by the way. You reeked as you walked past. What, did you think I was hiding in the horse-shit?” 

“No!” He reeled for something smarter to say, or else something that would soften the mood, but his emotions were high and blinding, and his ego too bruised to allow anything too forgiving. “Oh, what-ever …” he huffed, standing up. He angrily dusted the dirt and pebbles that clung to his breeches, tugging on his tunic to make it sit properly. “I didn’t have much time to sit around, anyway. I just wanted to know where you were in-case anyone had need of you,” he lied, storming off.

“Then I guess I’ll have to find a different hiding spot,” Aegon shouted back. “Somewhere you or anyone else cannot come and pester me again.”

Jace said nothing as he left, the dense thicket of the godswood shrinking behind him as he returned to where he had left his protector. The man sat idly, boredly scratching lines into the dirt with his blade. He stood abruptly to attention once he saw Jace, but the young prince paid no attention to his sworn sword. The most sudden, ineffable urge to cry stung his eyes. 

It wasn’t the first time Aegon had found a way to insult him without meaning to, but it was one of the worst—and the fault was only Jace’s for saying something so absurd. He had only meant to comfort him, but he had disgusted him, just as he had disgusted the Queen.

Alicent Hightower’s distaste wounded him, yet it was an injury he could heal from, knowing that she had always misliked him. But Aegon was his friend, and that didn’t make anything different. It had nothing to do with fondness or mislike, but the plain fact that Jace was an aberration. He did not know the precise meaning of the word, but he knew it meant something like ‘a mistake’. 

Chapter Text

Aegon held true to his word, leaving the godswood when its quiet had lost all of its comfort. Stupid Jace had ruined the peace he had managed to find for himself. Under the shade of the trees, far from everyone else, his thoughts had eased into something more pleasant, running clear and smooth through his mind and leaving nothing to fester on in its stead. He had little idea of where to go, only where to avoid. He made an effort not to skulk—it attracted more unwanted attention, he had found—but strode with purpose, even as he wandered without aim through the quietest parts of the castle grounds. 

He found himself in the gardens, which he decided wasn’t the worst place to be. It smelled better than most parts of the castle, apart from days where the groundskeepers fertilised the soil with shit from the pig yard. Fortunately, it was not one of those days. Flowers were abundant and fragrant, perfuming the air, rich with the scent of life. He doubted most would come looking for them here, if Jace told someone where he was. 

It wasn’t as if he was hiding. He wasn’t craven. A betrothal didn’t frighten him. He only wished to be alone and undisturbed. Aegon had felt less and less desire to talk as of late, oppressed by a grey shroud of tiredness. It was not the exhaustion of the body but something else. He lacked the stamina to speak. It had been easier talking to Jace, before he had to go and make it strange. 

Often it was easiest talking to him of anyone. He argued with him the least of anyone Aegon knew, unless it was about something silly, and Aegon didn’t mind those arguments because he usually won them. Jace had more of a sense of humour than Aemond did, and he was terrified of his mother, so there was never any concern that he would go behind his back and tell her something he wasn’t supposed to. He laughed at Aegon’s jokes more than anybody else did, too.

If only he had been in such a light mood, his presence might not have been such a nuisance. Instead, he’d gone and made things more confusing than they already had been. Aegon hadn’t even considered that Jace might care. The knowledge that he did weighed heavily on him. He wondered if he was the reason Jace had been refused as a husband for Helaena, or if it was Jace’s bastardy that had moved his mother to protect Helaena from the marriage Rhaenyra sought to arrange.

Selfishly, he hoped for the latter. It was horrible enough to know he was the cause for his siblings’ unhappiness. Knowing he could be the cause of Jace’s turned his stomach. So often it felt like Aegon ruined everything. Even when he did nothing at all. It was his mother and father’s notion to wed him to his sister, but it would be him who would be blamed forevermore of despoiling her. Everyone knew she was simple, and Aegon had heard from one of the stableboys that simple girls didn’t understand things like marriage or producing heirs, nor the acts that would be demanded of them as husband and wife. Yet Aegon would be expected to fulfil his duties whether she understood or not.

The thought of laying with her like that repulsed him. Mother had assured Helaena they would not be wed for some years still, but it was little comfort to him . It wouldn’t matter if they waited two years or ten—if she was simple, she would stay simple. She wouldn’t be like other girls, who could learn the arts of being a wife. They could never love each other the way they were supposed to.

Aegon had hoped his wife would love him, whenever he cared to imagine what she would be like. He was not as sentimental about the matter of marriage as Aemond or Jace, who dwelled on the subject like a couple of girls, but he had thought about it. It had been difficult to avoid thinking about it as of late. His knowledge of eligible ladies of noble houses was limited, as he had never possessed an interest in politics. 

Thus rather than pick his favourite from the realm’s maidens, Aegon used the tools of his imagination to forge the ideal woman. She would be older than him, he thought, with a woman’s cleverness about the world, not a girl’s ignorance. It was important she had a handsome figure, too; it mattered little to him if she was fat if she was full in the breast and rear. 

This was something he had learned from his friends among the squires as a matter of great importance for men. It was their consensus that it was fuller, fleshier women who were the best to bed. They had shown him as such with illustrations of women in carnal acts, showing how heavier breasts and a plumper arse were far more enjoyable. As many of them had actually lain with women where Aegon had not, he relied on their wisdom. In truth, he had thought all of the vulgar images seemed as alluring and daunting as one another, but he had held his tongue for fear of sounding like a fool. 

Aegon wondered if he ought to consult them for their advice on his betrothal. They were older than him, though not so much that they kept secrets from him like his mother or his grandsire, and knew much more of the world than his siblings or nephews. While often he was proud of knowing the most as the eldest of them all, there were times where he had plenty of questions of his own, and there was no elder brother or uncle to advise him. It was one of the only boons of adolescence that the older boys had at last begun to take him seriously, no longer seeing him as another one of the castle’s royal brats. Though for all of their masculine wisdom, he doubted there was much they understood of royal marriages. 

Nor did he enjoy the thought of discussing bedding Helaena with them. He hardly liked to think of it himself. He doubted he could stomach the sort of japes they would say about it… and about her. She was still his sister, even if he would have married anyone else in the world but her, and he knew there were things that he could never allow to be said about her in his presence. That was especially important if she was going to be his wife.

Aegon cringed away from the thought, returning to his ruminations on what he had hoped his wife would be. When he had told Jace of his desires for his wife’s body, his nephew had been aghast. There were many more virtues to a wife than the shape of her body, he’d said, face round and red as an apple from the orchard. He was always so easily embarrassed by things, especially if it had something to do with women.

He had teased him then, when Jace had protested, snorting at his sweet-faced frustration. Like what?

Isn’t it obvious? Jace had huffed in reply, looking away as if it would hide the redness glowing in his cheeks. Aegon had to fight the urge to pinch it, his curiousity overpowering the instinct to annoy him. Ever since his growth spurt had sent him towering inches above the others, Jace had grown sensitive about reminders of his youth. Consequently, it had become a favourite in Aegon’s arsenal of tools to bother him. Her nature will be much more important than her shapeliness. My mother says that the body will change, but the heart remains the same, so you should hope for a wife with a good and loving one. She ought to be someone you like, and who loves you well. He gave a determined nod, colour fading as his fluster cleared. That’s more important than anything.

And he had laughed at him, half-sighing at his innocence, but his stomach had sunk to the deepest pits of himself. It had been impossible to imagine what sort of woman would like him, much less love him. His own mother bore no love for him, and all mothers were meant to love their children, their firstborns above all. Even the hazy image he had built of his ideal woman felt like no more than a distant dream, a pleasant, shapeless form to comfort him when he felt most alone. 

Sadness welled in him, tightening his throat. He clenched his hands, pinching at the skin to distract him from the burning in his eyes. He should have never let Jace fill his head with impossible fancies. It was easy for Jace to have such sweet hopes for his bride, for Jace was so easily loved by all. Aegon’s own father loved him better, sitting him upon his knee and jesting with him in a manner Aegon had never known. Their worlds were different, and the laws of them strangers to one another, no matter how much they appeared the same. Things were never going to be as kind to him as they were to Jace.

He wished Jace understood that. Even now, in his innocence—in his foolishness—Jace was trying to fill his head with the same childish idea that there was a way to escape. How absurd his attempts at easing him had been! He had all but proposed to him, as if it were all nothing more than another game of knights and princesses.

The emotion budding in his chest and throat unfurled into something hot and bright, filling him to the fingertips and flooding his head until his thoughts ran red and confused. He cursed, kicking a nearby pot, cracking it against the pebbled path. Dirt and flowers spilled, the yellow blooms crushed under the fall of soil. I’ve ruined them , he thought, wretched with shame and anger. He stomped down the flowers, unable to stand the sight of them. I always ruin everything, his mind spiralled as he brought his foot down again and again, it’s all I’m good for.

When at last he was satisfied, the flowers were obliterated. Petals lay in disarray, crushed and rolled, smothered in dirt until the brightness of their blooms was entirely vanquished. Much of the pot had been rended to the finest of debris. Mess scattered about the ground. Aegon’s knee burned with the strain of his efforts. His vision blurred.

As he stood there looking upon the mess he had created, regret crept in on slow, spindly legs, crawling down his spine. If his mother heard of this, and his mother always heard of everything he did, she would be furious. Shameful behaviour, she would call it. Undignified. 

Deep in his dread, he jumped near out of his skin when a soft voice broke through the quiet. “Aegon?”

It was Helaena. She was staring at him. Green moved on her hand, held up to her chest. Aegon blinked away the tears hazing his vision, and saw that it was an insect. A grasshopper. In the distance, he thought he saw one of her lady-in-waitings admiring a topiary. She hadn’t seen him yet, or so he hoped. It was humiliating enough to be caught by Helaena.

Aegon opened his mouth to say something, to make her promise that she wouldn’t tell anyone, but no words came. Abruptly, he made to leave, storming away, returning to the grounds. She called after him, confused. He hesitated, but the thought of looking upon her and her face, forced to reckon with their shared fate, gave new power to his resolve. He didn’t look back as he left the gardens, and the sister within them, behind.

Chapter Text

The castle’s library greeted him with a noseful of dusty air and the aged leather of bookspines. Aegon wrinkled his nose. He hated the library. It stunk, and it was where he had to suffer through Valyrian lessons and woeful lectures on the histories. He had no gift for their ancestral tongue and the maesters knew it, and he couldn’t enter the room without feeling the echo of each embarrassment he had endured within its walls. 

Still, Aegon had not come here by coincidence. It was quiet enough that he hoped he would find some peace, and if not, he could find some clarity. His mother was unlikely to come through here, and thus neither was Ser Criston, sparing him from the inevitable scolding for another sacred hour or two. Above all, he knew the library was the locus of any knowledge he sought to possess, if he had the wits to find it. People didn’t think he possessed any, but Aegon hoped with a fiery, spiteful hope that he would disprove them, in this if nothing else.

Seeing Helaena’s face, and all the pale, unhappy future held within it, had caused him to think about what Jace said. Absurd as it had sounded, perhaps Jace had only misremembered it into something stranger than it was. He said he had read it in a book, after all, and Aegon knew all too well how confusing every tome on Valyrian culture was. Some had many authors, and often they argued against each other. Learning about Valyria and its surviving customs was much harder than the histories of Westeros, he thought, for most people couldn’t seem to agree what Valyria was like. Sometimes it felt to him less like the homeland of his ancestors and more like a place from a story, and the wisemen of the world had only convinced themselves it was true. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Jace had done the same with his mad idea, pulling it from one of the older fairy-tales that his mind had muddled with history. Aegon wished he had mentioned what the book was named. He intended to read it and know for himself. 

Aegon was not the only one who wanted to read. Deeper into the room, he caught a glimpse of silver-white hair behind a pillar. It was Aemond. Absorbed by the heavy tome in his hands, he hadn’t noticed Aegon had entered the room. Aegon stilled, breath catching. He considered abandoning the attempt and returning when he could find a truer solitude, but the thought frustrated him. He was sick of running from every stupid relative he had, and it was only Aemond, who might have been angrier about this than he was.

Aemond scolded him too, but it never soured Aegon’s mood as fiercely as their mother’s or Ser Criston’s might, and so the thought of enduring it was far less stomach-turning.

He decided to stay. If anything, Aemond would be his best ally in escaping the marriage. Perhaps if they combined their protests, it might move their parents to disregard the pairing. His grandsire and mother would never allow a marriage between Jace and Helaena, but it was clear they both held more fondness for Aemond than him, and they were both the true blood of Viserys Targaryen. If there was anybody they would consider as a groom for Helaena, it was his brother. 

Aegon thought he saw Aemond’s lips moving as he read, though the distance was too obscuring to know for certain. He looked thoroughly invested. Sensing an opportunity to surprise him, he seized it, creeping out of Aemond’s periphery to sneak up on him. Not even the bleakest of moods could quell the fraternal urge to make Aemond jump.

“What are you reading?” he asked suddenly, looming over Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond turned sharply in his seat, smacking the book shut. His eyes were wide with fright before they narrowed with recognition. The fear went out of him, shoulders sinking. “Oh. It’s just you.” His attention fell to the book in his hands, finding his place. “None of your business.” His eyes slid back, head turning. “What are you doing here?”

Aegon flicked him on the back of the head, dodging the hand that came back to slap him in retribution. “Not telling you unless you tell me what you’re reading.”

His brother glared at him over the back of the seat, narrowing his eyes before finally: “A History of Harrenhal.” He lifted the book, showing its cover. Old black leather, withering at the seams. Embroidered on its face was a grotesque depiction of the black castle in dark thread, barely illuminated in the library’s dusty light. 

He frowned. “Whatever for?” 

Aemond turned his back fully on him, shoulders hard. “It is interesting. Historically important to the realm and to our family, and one of the largest fortresses in the—”

Aegon fell onto one of the fat armchairs opposite the other, interrupting him with a thud of his legs on the low table between them. “Yes, yes, I understand,” he gestured boredly. Annoyed, Aemond fell to silence, and sunk lower into his seat, burying his nose in his book.

From behind it, he said: “And you are here to do… what exactly?”

Slouching in his chair, elbows planted firmly on either arm, he gave Aemond a look as if he was the stupidest person alive. “To read.”

“Since when do you read? Read what?”

“I read,” he lied in protest, an insulted frown impressed upon his face. 

Aemond snorted derisively, turning the page.

“I was coming here to read about Valyrian history,” he said loftily, tilting his head and crossing his arms. So there.

That got him to lower his book, a thin blonde eyebrow arched. “No you were not,” he scoffed.

“Yes. I was. Am. There was a… a text I was interested in finding, though the name escapes me.” He sniffed, adding: “I’ve read it before, even. I only seek to refresh my memory.”

Aemond eyed him, unconvinced. After a moment, he closed his book and put it to the side. “What was it about?” There was a note of challenge behind the disguise of friendly assistance. There always was, between them. “Perhaps I can help you find it. I like reading about Valyrian history too.” He smirked.

Shit. All he knew of the stupid book was something about the moon letting you marry men. Something of the sort. He looked away. “I doubt even you know this one. It’s rather rare, as I remember it.” 

“I like the rarest ones best.”

Oh, sometimes Aegon wanted to strangle his dear little brother. He pulled himself out of his chair and stretched. “No, no. Go back to your reading. You seemed like you were having so much fun.” He wandered away, only to stop his step. It occurred to him he had not the foggiest idea of where to begin his search. When they took their lessons, the maesters were already prepared with the books they needed. Where they were returned was unknown to him.

“All the books on Valyria are over there,” came Aemond’s smarmy help. Aegon whipped around, glaring, but he followed the path he gestured towards anyway.

“I knew that.”

Another small scoff behind him, the sound of paper and leather creaking open. Good, Aegon thought. As much as he thought Aemond would be a useful ally in stopping his marriage, he didn’t need the little swot knowing everything. He had no liking for Jace either. Aemond would never entertain an idea if he thought it came from him, and he wasn’t convinced Aegon had come here of his own volition. The last thing he needed was for the little swot to go running to their mother about it.

Though the library was vast, its collection on Old Valyria was limited to one towering bookshelf. Aegon thanked whichever of the Seven was responsible. He didn’t want to be in here all day.

He began at the bottom, praying that it would not be on such a high shelf that he would have to climb a ladder. None of them looked particularly strong. It was a marvel to him that none of the maesters had snapped their necks after a nasty fall. Aegon’s fingers grazed against texts ancient and modern, idly pulling forth any tome that looked promising only to push it back with a disappointed grumble, not seeing anything like what Jace had mentioned when he flipped through their yellowed pages. 

Growing frustrated and tired of reading through confusing books, head aching from the dust, Aegon was about to abandon the venture for the day when something caught his eye. Something blue with what looked like celestial imagery embroidered in gold and silver. Like the sun and moon against a night sky. His heart leaped, disappointment fading in the light of new hope.

It was on a high shelf, just out of his reach even if he strained on his toes and stretched his fingers as long as they would go. He fell back to the flats of his feet with a frown, determination tightening his jaw. Without thinking about it, he took some books out from a low shelf, slotting his foot in where they left an absence. He pushed himself off the floor with the other and stretched, feeling the aged wood waver and creak under his weight as he grabbed for it.

His fingers found flimsy purchase around its spine. Books squashed on either side of it made pulling it a trial, but he puffed his cheeks and pulled, inching it out. Feeling the balance in his body wobble, he shoved his feet together and braced his free hand on the shelf’s edge, tongue pressed to his lip in focus. Aegon’s body teetered, only able to rest the tip of his boot on the lower shelf. 

“What are you doing?” squawked Aemond from behind him. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snapped, yanking on the book.

“You’re not allowed to do that, Aegon, you have to get down before we get in trouble—”

Aegon caught himself before he almost fell backwards. “We’re not going to get in trouble!” With a few more tugs, he felt the book give way of its barricade and come free into his hand. Instinctively, he broke out into a grin, beaming at the success of his efforts… Only to drop, eyes widening, when he realised he had upset his own tentative balance. His arm spun in an attempt to right himself.

“Aegon!” Aemond shouted in a frantic whisper.

Quickly, Aegon found some equilibrium and seized it, jumping backwards. Smug with victory, he turned to his brother with a grin. “You worry too much, little brother.” Clutching the tome close to his chest, Aegon spun on his heel and marched away from Aemond and his pesky attention, finding somewhere comfortable to sit.

To his chagrin, his brother followed after a moment of pause. He shot him a glance over his shoulder, protectively pulling the book flush against him. “Well? Shoo.” He made a matching motion with his hand. “I’d like to read in peace, thank you very much.”

“I thought you might need help with any big words,” Aemond said drily.

Flopping himself down in an armchair and kicking his legs onto a pouf, Aegon stuck his tongue out at him. “You thought wrong. Bugger off.”

“I told you what I was reading.” Aemond petulantly folded his arms, giving him a stern look, a pale shadow of their mother’s authority. 

Aegon tapped his fingers impatiently along the cover, the leather making dull, sticky sounds. He stared him down, but Aemond wouldn’t yield. Blowing out a sigh, he surrendered. “If you insist on it.” He hadn’t even read what the book’s title was yet, so he only raised it up so Aemond might read it for himself.

He did, coming close and squinting. “The Significance of the Sun and Moon in Valyrian Culture, Custom and Mythology? Since when have you had an interest in any of that?”

It did sound dreadfully boring. “It’s because of Sunfyre,” he blurted, searching for something that would be convincing. 

That gave him pause. “Sunfyre?” Aemond echoed. Envy flickered briefly in his eyes before his gaze fell away. “Oh.”

He had expected more interrogation than he was given, but he offered the arguments he had prepared nonetheless, finding his confidence as he spoke. In the mean-time, he flicked through the book’s delicate pages, skimming through its myriad chapters. “Yes, yes. Sunfyre, well, it’s in the name, isn’t it? And they say dragons can reveal things about their riders, and the opposite, of course,” he rambled, “so I thought I might find something more about what Sunfyre would represent in Valyria. Something like that…” his conviction faded as he found a chapter on marital customs and traditions. He paid little mind to his own spiel, already beginning to forget his excuse as his attention was newly captured.

Though the prose was dense and intellectual, far beyond the calibre he was accustomed to reading even in their lessons, the chapter was illuminated by elegant illustrations serving as an example alongside its words.

One such illustration depicted three Valyrians, one man winged by two women, attired in gold, black and silver. The golden woman bore the title vēzos, the black-clad man ēbrion, and the silver woman hūra. Even Aegon’s clumsy knowledge of the ancient tongue contained those three words. Sun. Night sky. Moon. Looking further, he noted each bore a crown of their colour, drawn as haloes, though the silver aureole of the moon-woman was depicted as the humblest of both. 

As the night sky is all encompassing, so is the man named ēbrion who holds the world in his dark arms. As the sun is brightest and warmest of all fires, so is the bride named vēzos, for it is she who shines the brightest amongst all women in the eyes of the sky, and her golden children will carry his fire. And as the moon is the tender of the sea and guardian of the night’s creatures, and she may be plentiful or solitary, the brides named hūra are such: tender, guardian, plentiful or solitary, and come secondary to the force and beauty of the sun’s bride.

Aegon twitched, discomfort twinging in his chest. He dismissed the feeling, so strangely similar to hurt, and read what he could.

It appeared that for all of its poetic language, the Valyrian custom was merely a matter of wives and concubines. Those dubbed lunar spouses could be plentiful, and though their children would be considered trueborn, all rights would come secondary to those born from a sun-wife’s womb. Even a moon’s son, as it was called, was secondary to a sun’s daughter. Likewise, the lunar spouse themselves sacrificed any and all claim to serve the greater family.

Furthermore, to take moon-wives was a privilege afforded only to those of power, such as a king, in the modern age. Or a king’s heir. And as Jace had said, there was a small collection of passages that begrudgingly discussed the usage of them between men. Much was left to speculation, but surviving fragments left little room to deny that it had occurred. The most open-minded of the maesters cited that outside, and even within, Westeros, same-sex arrangements were far more commonplace, lacking taboos. There, it splintered off into another internal argument between the authors about the warring controversies of incest and homosexuality, and the philosophies behind rejecting one while accepting the other.

Aegon’s face screwed in confusion, an odd twist in his stomach. Discomfort urged him to avoid the subject, yet morbid curiousity had him eye those passages with particular curiousity. 

“What does this have to do with Sunfyre?” came Aemond from behind Aegon’s shoulder.

With a sound that was far less masculine and composed than he would have liked, Aegon recoiled from him, slamming the book shut. His heart raced, blood pounding in his ears. An embarrassed heat rose to his cheeks. “Where did you come from? Go away.”

“I made no effort to hide it,” Aemond huffed in answer, defensive. “I just wanted to know what it was saying.”

Aegon’s eyes flitted about his brother’s face and posture, searching for any sign that he had gotten too clear of a notion about what he was reading. He would only get the wrong idea, and if he told their mother, she would get even more of a wrong idea. His mind raced, thinking of the things Aemond could have misinterpreted from his curiousity, dreadfully composing the sort of things he would run back to Mother with.

Aemond was searching him in return, a frown of confusion upon his face. “You were reading about marriage. That doesn’t have anything to do with Sunfyre.”

“No I wasn’t,” he lied, heart still pounding. His hands felt sticky and cold.

The lie only confirmed whatever suspicions Aemond was nursing. Aemond lunged for the book in his hands. Aegon yelped and held on tighter, yanking it back. “What are you doing, you freak?” he snapped, panic turning his voice high. 

“You’re lying to me, and I–want–to–know–why! HA!” With a determined pull, Aemond tore the book from Aegon’s hands and held it up, victorious. Aegon’s stomach dropped, blanching.

“I was just looking,” he said quickly. “I was finished with—I was done reading about the stuff for Sunfyre and I just kept reading, that’s all.”

Aemond wasn’t listening, flicking open the book and finding the same chapter. Aegon saw a familiar glimpse of illustration and knew he had found its first page. He swallowed, praying again to whichever of the Seven was paying any attention to him and his plight.

With bated breath, he watched Aemond read. His mouth moved along with the words, eyebrows pinching. He stopped. “You’re disgusting,” he said, with dawning understanding.

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” 

Indignant anger contorted his brother’s face. “You have not yet been betrothed to Helaena for a day , and already you’re finding some way to… to… besmirch her?”

Confusion dropped Aegon’s expression. “What?”

“Don’t act stupid,” Aemond snapped. “You have not even wed yet, and you’re looking for a second wife? Are you so afraid of duty that you cannot entertain the thought of looking after our sister for one day before your concerns turn… turn…” He fought for the words, sincerely upset, “...so vulgar?” 

Understanding lighted in Aegon’s eyes. He thought he wanted moon-wives for himself. It occurred to him suddenly that, should he become king and have the power to enforce his will, he could . He would still have to wed and lay with Helaena, but perhaps if they bore no children, the realm would have to accept his heirs from another woman. He could lie and pretend she was barren. Jace needn’t be involved at all.

…And as quickly as the revelation struck him, it soured. That was all if Aegon was to serve as his father’s heir in place of Rhaenyra’s. Such a thing still felt impossible to him, and the small space of possibility only terrified him. If he were his father’s heir, it would surely mean that the threat of Rhaenyra’s line was gone. The thought made him sick. His mother never spoke such things outright, instead voicing the danger his sister and her issue posed to he and his own family, but he knew what went unsaid. If he sat the throne, Rhaenyra was dead, and so was Jace.

He fled from the thought. “That’s not what I was doing.”

Aemond scoffed. “Then why were you so interested in it? You have never tried so hard to read anything before.”

Aegon realised the truth was more dangerous than the misunderstanding. He decided to proceed with caution, arming himself with half-truths. He made a show of sighing. “I was only looking for a way to stop the marriage. Not get a second one.”

Aemond was still watching him with narrowed eyes. Aegon rolled his own. “I speak true, little brother. I don’t want to marry her.”

“She doesn’t want to marry you either,” Aemond snipped, as if he was defending Helaena’s honour. Despite his own antipathy to the thought of wedding her, the thought his simple sister could have feelings strong enough against it was oddly wounding. He had thought she was too stupid, in an innocent way, to have bad feelings about anybody. It seemed obvious that if she were to mislike anyone, it was Aegon. His shoulders slumped, gaze falling.

“I know.” He paused, meeting Aemond’s eye. Aegon mulled his words carefully. “If there was a way to prevent it, would you not want that, too?”

Aemond grew very still. “No,” he said stiffly. “I would do my duty, and support our mother’s wishes. If she thinks it best…”

He had always been a terrible liar. “She doesn’t think it’s best. She just thinks it’s necessary.”

Doubt wavered on the other’s face. Sensing weakness, Aegon struck where he thought Aemond would be the softest. “We both know it would be better if you married her.” Aemond’s eyes flashed, cheeks rosying, and he looked away. Aegon could see his cheek working, like he was chewing on his thoughts. “If I found a way to make myself… illegible… you could marry her. Helaena would still be protected, and she would be happier with you. Mother wouldn’t be angry. I know she would choose you, if she wasn’t convinced it was her duty to our sister. To me.”

“You are the eldest,” Aemond said quietly. “It must be this way.”

So often when his brother spoke, Aegon heard the words of their mother. “There are ways to make myself illegitimate as an heir. Shameless ways,” he added at the expression on Aemond’s face. 

Aemond was looking at him now, pulled in by it despite his defenses. There was a small hope shining in his eyes. “...Like becoming a maester or a septon, you mean?”

Like the Seven Hells he meant that. He had briefly entertained the idea, but even if it were not impossible—Oldtown was the last place he could escape his family and their expectations—the thought of it made marrying Helaena seem almost a happy fate. But if believing that would earn his sympathies… “Yes, something like that. If I was to find something like that, wouldn’t you think that’s fairer for everyone?”

“...Perhaps,” Aemond relented. “That would make me our father’s heir, would it not?”

Aegon grinned, sincere in his relief. “Yes. It would. A far better one than me, too.” He wondered if he was laying it on too thick. He was never so loose with praise with anyone, and certainly not Aemond.

Yet his little brother was gulled enough by it. “What would you have me do, then?” he sniffed, wary in the eyes. “I don’t want to get caught up in your trouble.”

“I would have you do nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Precisely. All you have to do is say nothing about my… studies, and if anyone should ask any suspicious questions, you pretend you know nothing at all.”

Aemond tipped his chin, considering. Searching for risks. “And that is all?”

“That is all,” he said solemnly, pressing a palm to his chest. “I swear it. Will you swear it? That you won’t tell anyone?”

Aemond’s mouth worked, thinking. He gave a brusque nod. “...I won’t tell.”

“Good man!” Aegon said, beaming. Taking advantage of Aemond’s lax mood, he swiftly grabbed the book from his hands, giving his brother’s shoulder a shake. “You have my thanks, little brother.” For good measure, he knuckled into his scalp, snickering at the answering groan of Aegon…  

The book had been less helpful than he had hoped, yet Aegon’s spirits were high. He would smuggle it back to his room anyway, confident that Aemond would keep his word. If nothing else, it was a last resort. A possible way out. It gave him room to breathe. He could think about the problems it posed later. Much later.

Chapter Text

Since their fight in the godswood, Aegon had stopped talking to Jace. It had been two weeks of this, a half-cycle of the moon, and it was making him miserable. His friend had always possessed a capricious nature, and his unknowable, sometimes cruel, whims had often led to periods of frigid silence and exclusion, imposing an unspoken exile upon Jace to be lifted only at Aegon’s abstract behest. Jace didn’t know why he had been so foolish to think he wouldn’t be similarly punished for behaving strangely towards him. 

It ought to have been difficult to ignore or evade him, due to the entwining of their schedules, yet Aegon was devoted to his ignorance in a way he had devoted himself to nothing else. At dinners and feasts, lessons and training, he merely pretended Jace wasn’t there. The few times training had called for their wooden swords to come to blows, Aegon had engaged as if Jace were a stranger.

Worse. He behaved as if Jace was little more than a mannequin.

It was unbearable. He felt terribly lonely and terribly embarrassed. Luke was good enough company, but he wasn’t funny like Aegon was, and he still was so much a child. There were many things he wanted to talk about, think about, that his brother just did not yet possess the faculties to understand. Aemond was no hope either, too apparent in his smugness at the lapse in Jace and Aegon’s friendship. 

Jace thought about apologising, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t understand fully what he had done to hurt Aegon or earn his ire, even if he had said something shameful. In his ignorance, the risk of only making it worse was too great. Thus he resolved himself to quietly waiting for the storm of Aegon’s mood to pass, breaking into the clear sky of forgiveness. 

He only hoped it wouldn’t take so long…

There was some promise of a reprieve from his loneliness with the news that his cousins were to visit, and would arrive within the day. It had been some time since he saw the young ladies Baela and Rhaena, but he looked forward to their company, Baela’s most of all. They had always possessed an easy companionship, and if anybody could distract him from his woes, he was sure she could. 

His father had arrived from his travels some days prior in anticipation for his sister’s return to the city. That, too, bolstered Jace’s spirits. His lord father always brought tales of the sea with him, and Aegon had a great fondness for them. He hoped it would warm his uncle’s quiet, cold moods, if only for the evening. Viserys intended for the family to dine together, and dine alone, to celebrate the rare unity of their blood under one roof. As always, Jace’s place would be beside Aegon, and it was a pain to suffer through his deliberate silence for a meal’s length.

Prince Daemon and Lady Laena would be arriving on dragonback at nightfall, but their daughters and staff had taken the path of the sea. To greet their ship and accompany them in the journey to the Keep, he, his lord father and royal mother, and Luke awaited them at the docks. The silver shadows of their sworn swords were not far behind.  

Sea-sharp airs blustered at their faces and snuck beneath the collars of their cloak. Luke was restless beside him, straining on his toes to watch the grey roil of the horizon, searching for their cousins’ ship. He held his hands suspiciously under his cloak. 

Leaning over, he whispered, “What have you got under there?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” He nudged him, taking care not to be noticed by their parents. “Go on, tell me. What is it?”

Luke always did what he was told. He shyly brought his hands out, discretely showing him the flowers he held in his hands. They were pretty and full, blooms of many colours. Picked from the gardens, Jace thought. “They’re for Lady Rhaena,” he whispered, before hiding them under his cloak. “I want them to be a surprise.”

Jace frowned, confused. “Why have you brought her those?” He paled. “Were we to bring a gift?”

“I—” Luke stopped abruptly, gaze affixed elsewhere. Jace’s eyes followed the line of his stare and found their mother’s face, her head turned over her shoulder to watch them in amusement.

“What are you two whispering about?” Their father joined her in watching them, the same small smile on his lips as hers. 

Jace looked at his brother. Luke was turning red at an alarming pace. Reluctantly, he showed them what he had shown Jace. “I wanted to get Lady Rhaena something pretty, but this was all I could find.” He returned them to his cloak, gaze dropping to the slatted wood of the dock underfoot. Water sloshed beneath, low and steady. 

“That is very kind of you, sweetling,” Rhaenyra said warmly. She exchanged an enigmatic look with their father. 

Ser Laenor’s smile widened into a grin. “I am certain she will think them very beautiful, lad. You chose some lovely flowers.”

Luke beamed, flush fading to a proud glow. “I chose ones that made me think of her.” 

Rhaenyra leaned forward to cup his cheek with approval before pulling back. “Very good.”

Jealousy flared in Jace’s stomach, leaden with the shadow of shame. Stupid Jace, he thought, why did you not think of that? He had been so thoroughly submerged in his troubles with Aegon, he had little room to think about anything else. 

It was his turn to blush when his lord father turned his attention on him. “And I suppose you brought something for Baela, hm?”

His head was hot with embarrassment as he shook his head, avoiding everyone’s eye. “I apologise, father, I did not think to…” Inwards, he cursed himself incessantly, willing all eyes to leave him to his shame. He couldn’t do anything right. First Aegon, now he was sure to disappoint Baela. 

“Oh,” Ser Laenor said awkwardly. “Well, of course, that’s perfectly fine. Your cousins do not expect gifts.”

It hung limp in the air. Jace longed for the dock to open up and send him into the black waters of the bay, where he could be free from the burden of attention.

“I see the ship,” his mother said suddenly, brightening. Dread darkened Jace’s neck. 

“Thank the gods,” his father uttered under his breath, returning his attention to the sea. 

“Do you want some of my flowers, brother?” offered Luke in a whisper. “We can share. I’ll say we both thought to do it.”

The idea only embarrassed Jace more. “No,” he snapped. It was his mistake, and his consequences to bear. He could not hand borrowed flowers to Baela as if it were an honest gift without a sick feeling in his stomach. Seeing his little brother’s expression falter, the heat in his head cooled. “They’re your gift to Rhaena. It wouldn’t be fair to her to make it smaller because I was rude,” he said, gentler.

That restored Luke to his alacrity. He dashed ahead to stand flush at their mother’s side, careful not to disturb the flowers in his hidden grasp. Jace watched their back and swallowed, following after them to greet their cousins’ ship with all the gravity of a man heading for the gallows.

Chapter Text

As he had feared, there had been a dreadful lapse after Rhaena had politely accepted Luke’s gift wherein Baela’s eyes had expectantly fallen upon him. Jace had sheepishly admitted his lack, profuse and sincere in his apology, to which he had anticipated only a sullen acceptance. To his surprise, and relief, his fair cousin had received it in good humour, making him promise to amend it in the future. She had made clear she expected something more than flowers to make up for it. 

That was one of the reasons Jace enjoyed Baela’s company so much, he thought. She had a warm and charitable manner, and laughed often and well. It was easy to find all but the heaviest of his moodier thoughts purged from his mind in her presence. 

With some hours before their family would sit down to eat, he and Baela had taken themselves to a balcony overlooking the castle’s yard. Squires whose names Jace did not know parried below like toy knights, true steel clashing in a song of swords. Baela watched with ardent fascination, arms folded over the balcony’s edge. “You know, in Essos, they wield swords rather queerly, and often, the blade looks nothing like those we know knights to use.”

“Truly? Like how?” He tried to imagine it. There were already many so many shapes of weapon, it was a struggle to envision something beyond them.

“I saw blades curved like the moon, and others thin as a needle. When they used them, even against one another, it was as if they were dancing, not fighting. It was rather beautiful.” 

They watched one squire kick the other to the floor with an ugly boot to the chest. He fell to the ground with a clatter that echoed around the walls. He wiggled on the ground to right himself. Jace thought he looked like a shiny bug, like one of Helaena’s many beetles. The mud had made him much less shiny, dulling the steel to the same forlorn grey as the sky above. 

Baela scowled in distaste. “Nothing like that. I could wield a sword better than that.” She turned smoothly to lean against it, facing him with a grin. Like Aegon, his cousin often reminded him of a cat when she smiled. They possessed the same feline daring. “A master gave me some lessons there, did you hear? There, it isn’t so strange for a girl to hold a sword. He had no hesitations in teaching me, and with a true blade, too, not something wooden.”

Jace made an impressed noise. “I envy you, cousin. Ser Criston will not even think of letting us touch a sword, and Ser Harwin is no more forgiving. Not after Luke tried to use a morning-star.”

Baela burst into a surprised peal of laughter. “No, Lucerys? I cannot imagine it.”

He could not help but smile a little himself, though in truth he had shouted something fierce at Luke afterwards. He supposed it was rather funny now that time had passed, even if it had stuck them with play swords. “There’s a hole in the wall in the yard,” he said, nodding in its direction, past where Ser Criston and Ser Harwin watched the squires circle one another. “You ought to have seen everyone’s faces. Aemond went white as his hair and went running for Ser Criston, and Aegon—” he caught himself and quieted, his good humour wavering. His smile twinged and faded. “It was all rather exciting.”

“I wish I could have seen it.” His cousin spoke gentler, betraying that she had noticed the shift of his mood. He had never been good at hiding his feelings. Even when he fought to control his face, his eyes were traitors to the cause of obscurity. “You seem down, cousin. What bothers you?”

“It is nothing important.” He was quick to change the subject. “Luke was happy to see your sister. He’d been speaking of her often these last few days.”

Baela eyed him shrewdly, but she allowed the distraction. “He is a sweet lad. Sweeter instincts than some,” she said pointedly, grinning. Abashed, he rubbed at his head in unspoken apology. She came down from the ledge’s step to sit beside him. “Though I fear his affections may be misplaced,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper. 

Instinctively, he leaned in. “How so? Does she have eyes for another?”

“Promise you will tell no-one. She’ll be cross with me if she finds out I’ve been whispering behind her back. She is easily embarrassed.” Baela rolled her eyes.

“I promise.”

“It is Aemond she admires. She finds odd ways to mention his name in conversations that have nothing to do with him.”

Jace’s face scrunched in disgusted disbelief. “Aemond? You jest.” But his cousin’s expression showed that she was speaking true. “What is there to like about him?”

She shrugged. “Rhaena thinks him handsome and clever, and she likes that he is quiet. I think it is because neither of them have claimed a dragon yet.”

“She’s mad for that.”

“Lucerys is only a boy in her view. Perhaps when he is older and taller, less a child, she will find him more comely.”

For reasons Jace did not understand, her words struck a sour chord in his chest. “His age shouldn’t matter that much. One day he will be as much a man as Ser Criston or Ser Harwin. She should be more sensible than that.”

“My mother says sense has little to do with affection.”

“Well, that’s stupid.”

Baela smacked his arm. “My mother is not stupid. She knows more about these things than you do, so you ought to listen to her.” 

He thought of how often he had erred in the days of late and relented. “Perhaps so. Sorry.”

“No matter.” Brightly, her interest shifted with a wave of her hand. “I’m bored of talking about Rhaena and Lucerys. What of you? Is there anyone you fancy?”

At once, he flushed. Her eyes almost sparkled with curiousity, clear violet focused singularly on him. “No,” he blurted, pushed by some abstract ball of fear in his chest. It squeezed dreadfully at the flicker of her expression, some shade of unhappiness dimming her cheerful glow. Eager to fix his mistake, he added quickly, “I mean, I am not sure.” His gaze dropped, abashed. “How would I know?”

Baela paused thoughtfully, mulling it. “I suppose you find them comely, and you desire to spend time with them, and keenly notice their absence. Is there anyone like that?” 

The mention of absence brought Aegon’s face, unbidden, to the fore of his mind. Its appearance frustrated him. That was far from what Baela was talking about. Fancying someone was different from feeling forlorn over a fractured friendship. He pushed the thought out of his head and tried to think clearly. There had to be someone, if even Luke fancied someone, and Aemond had at least one girl harbouring affections for him. 

It struck him that Baela was looking at him intently, ever-curious, and, with greater slowness than the first revelation, it occurred to him that her curiousity may not have been only the product of her good manners and friendly nature. He felt very stupid suddenly. His cousin was very pretty, fairer than her sister he thought, and he did look forward to their time together. 

Putting the pieces together, his face went bright with a blush. To disguise it, he knuckled at his cheek. “I think, then, that there is.”

“Oh?” She perked up. “Who? Tell me, and I’ll tell you who I fancy.”

The thought of saying her name for her to confess affections for another made him cold. “You ought to try guessing. It’s more fun,” he said for an excuse.

“Hmm… Very well.” She tapped her chin, considering. “Is it Rhaena?”

“Rhaena?” he repeated in disbelief, before he remembered how impolite that was. He coughed, embarrassed, but Baela was giggling.

“That must be a ‘no’, then.”

“Please do not tell her I reacted so.”

Baela grinned. “It will be our secret. Though it is rather funny.” She returned to her thoughts, and, he thought with some more caution than she had before, she asked, “Is it the princess Helaena? You two must spend a lot of time together in the Keep.”

His stomach dropped at the reminder of his aunt, for it brought memories both of her mother and brother’s rejections. His good spirits softened, though he did his best to disguise it. Jace shook his head. “No, it is not her. She is to be wed to Aegon, remember? Besides, we do not speak as much as you think. Helaena keeps to herself and her pets. We do not even share dragon lessons, since Dreamfyre is so old.” 

Sometimes, after leaving his own lessons, he would see the great blue shadow of the she-dragon in the distance, descending from a low flight. Helaena was the only one whose dragon could take to the skies, but he had never been brave enough to ask her what it was like. 

“I see,” Baela nodded. A beat of silence passed. Jace’s chest tightened with the anticipation of putting it together. Perhaps he had mistaken her feelings, and she would recoil, just as everyone else had.

Then, she leaned closer, grinning that cat-like smile. “Is it me, cousin?”

Jace’s cheeks burned bright at her boldness. His tongue was tied, so he nodded. 

Her smile brightened, and she rocked back to where she sat before with an air of triumph. “Well, that is fortunate. For I fancy you.”

He found himself returning her smile, the tightness in his chest unfurling. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Oh. Good!”

Baela laughed, a lovely sound. As it ebbed, they fell into a blushed silence. He envied his cousin’s composure. 

“You know, our families are likely to wed us one day.”

“You think so?”

“Why would they not? Better that than marrying us to strangers of lesser houses.”

“Would your mother not be angry?”

Baela frowned. “Why would she be angry?”

He shrugged, avoidant. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Mothers take their daughters’ marriages seriously, do they not?”

His cousin grinned. “Marrying you would make me Queen one day. No other betrothal would. I am sure my mother has considered that.”

“I hope that is not her only consideration.”

Baela rolled her eyes, laughing. “You are so sensitive, Jace.”

He did not know how to answer that, so he changed the subject. “It is strange to think that Aegon and Helaena will be wed soon.”

“Very strange.” Baela cast a conspiratorial look around before leaning in, lowering her voice. “I heard my mother and father talking about it; Mother was shocked that they were to be wedded so soon, so young. Father was unhappy, too.”

Jace eyed her with cautious curiousity, an ugly clot of shame thick in his throat. It was his fault, he was sure of it, in whole or part. He hid it with a frown. “Why would Daemon care?”

“I thought that odd, too. He said he misliked it, pacing about the room like a cat. I wanted badly to hear what he said, but my mother’s ladies were coming to prepare her for bed, and I had to escape before they caught me listening.” She pinned him with a serious look. “You must not tell anyone I told you. Not even Luke.”

“I won’t.”

Baela nodded, and found herself a comfortable perch to flop down, satisfied with his answer. Her expression was thoughtful. She watched the sky. “I do feel a bit sad for Helaena. It seems so early for our parents to be discussing these things, don’t you think? For the princess, especially. She seems so much a child, still.”

“Why should you be sad? I thought girls liked weddings.”

Baela shot him an unimpressed look. “If you were closer, I would hit you.” Jace gave her an alarmed look of confusion. “Not all girls care about those things. Certainly Helaena does not seem like a girl who would. She likes spiders and dead things, and all sorts of… strange subjects. I’ve never seen her moon over poetry or knights. Besides, you stupid boy—” she said this with the softness of friendship, so it did not wound him, “—there is more than just a wedding. She and Aegon will have to consummate it, too, and they are like to have a child. Isn’t that horrible? A poor girl like Helaena having children at her age, with her manner, with a boy like Aegon.”

Jace frowned, affronted. “What do you mean a boy like Aegon?”

She shrugged. “You must hear what people say as much as I, if not more. My father thinks he’s a wastrel, or on the path to becoming one, anyway—”

“What? Why would he say th—” Jace stopped, thoughts fleeing his mind. A familiar bloom of white-silver hair caught his eye on the courtyard below. Aegon, accompanied by Aemond, caught in conversation as they watched men train. 

“Why have you stopped talking?” Baela asked, turning, before she came to his side to investigate. 

“We should speak of something else,” Jace said, hushed and frightened. 

“He won’t hear us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Baela rolled her eyes, but the evidence to his fear arose in the faint drawl of conversation carried on the wind. He could hear his uncles talking. Nothing important, as far as he could tell, only talk of the knights’ skill, and comparison to their own, but it was proof enough that conversation had become dangerous. He widened his eyes at his cousin. See?

She twisted her mouth in reluctant acquiescence. “What then should we speak of? Since you are so frightened of upsetting your friend.”

“Baela,” he pleaded.

She grinned wickedly. “Only teasing you.” She poked at his cheek, warm with his fluster. 

He gave her a shaky smile, but his eyes fled to the yard below. He wanted no more cause for Aegon to be angry with him. He wanted terribly for everything to return to how it was.

Aegon was looking at him. Jace’s chest went bright with emotion, though whether it was dread or happiness was beyond his understanding. There was nothing of his expression that betrayed his purpose. Jace knew not if Aegon had even meant to look, yet neither could he think of any reason for his uncle’s eye to wander high to the balconies where he stood, if it was not because he heard Jace’s voice.

As quick as their eyes caught one another, Aegon was looking away. Jace found himself doing the same, quickly averting his stare as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. He was sure he had seen a glimpse of the same alarm on his friend’s face. 

Perhaps that was only an invention of his imagination, for he heard Aegon speak to Aemond below. “On second thought, we ought to go inside. These men are dreadful, they bore me.” 

Jace’s stomach could only plummet. There was some answering fuss from Aemond, but the younger relented. Leaden with gloom, Jace watched their backs as they returned to the castle. Sullen jealousy panged in his stomach at the sight of them, so much alike, walking aside one another as he and Aegon most often did.

“Jace? What’s the matter?” Baela was frowning at him. 

He wished he could answer, but it was unclear even to him. All he knew would only humiliate him if he confessed, and he feared losing Baela’s favour. He could not bear another friend to be disgusted with him. 

“Nothing. I was only distracted.”

Chapter Text

It was not until the next day that Aegon finally spoke to him again. Their lessons in the Keep’s dragon-pit were coming to an end, and the keepers occupied themselves with shepherding Arrax, the last to be fed, back to the tunnels, whereupon he would be quietly returned to the greater pit further out in the city with the rest. 

Luke was following them, plodding off to chitter and chatter with his dragon before his inevitable departure. Aemond, always in a foul mood after their lessons, turned and left, announcing that he was off to the library. For a moment, he seemed to pause, as if expecting someone to join him, but Aegon—the only reasonable companion—made no move to follow. If it disappointed Aemond, it was hard to tell; he turned quick on his heel and was swift on his departure. 

Leaving Jace and Aegon alone. As alone as they had been in weeks. The elder had made quite the effort to assure they never had much excuse to keep each other company. Jace went still at the realisation, a cold, creeping feeling passing over him. He was no longer sure what to expect.

Jace stared at the floor. He willed it to open and swallow him whole.

“I’m going too,” Aegon drawled with a yawn. “I’m bored stiff of this place now.” Jace said nothing, his stare on the ground only becoming more focused. He could see each crack in the stone. Some were great gashes, others as thin as hairs. There was the sound of the other turning to leave, dusty steps scuffing. Then he stopped. “Well? Are you coming or what?”

Jace startled, gaze snapping up to light on Aegon’s face. The older boy was looking away, half-bored, arms crossed in impatience. As if Jace was keeping him waiting, as if it was obvious that he was supposed to follow. He ought to have been angry, furious, that Aegon acted as if nothing had happened, but he wasn’t. His chest was lighter than it had been in days, his young heart relieved of its burden. Jace nodded quickly, struck quiet by the change in stars, and followed. 

When Aegon turned his back, Jace surrendered to smiling.

Glad as he was, he didn’t think to question where they were going, trying to keep up with the odd hurried languor of Aegon’s pace. Not for the first time, he envied Aegon’s sudden growth in the last year, and eagerly anticipated his own. By the time it occurred to him to ask, he was too embarrassed by his own delay to voice it. Instead, he tried to piece together, logically, where their winding path took them. 

It seemed they were returning to the Holdfast, the castle within a castle. The usual throng of courtly presence slowly thinned. Through the great stone windows, soft breezes blew in, carrying the distant floral scent of the gardens, and further still, the sour note of the pigyards caught on the wind. A blue shape moved through the sky on the low horizon, closer to the true cavern where all of King’s Landing’s dragons dwelled. Helaena was the only one of them who flew, though the dragonkeepers had said Sunfyre’s growth proved promising. Aegon may ride him by the end of the year, they said. Another pang of envy. Vermax remained small and scrawny, still shedding his youth, awkward in body and defiant in nature. 

He couldn’t help but think of Baela’s words and Rhaena’s feelings. Luke’s just a boy. It wasn’t just Luke. Jace, too, trailed behind, as much a babe in his mother’s eyes, in everyone’s eyes, as his younger brothers. It chafed at him as he walked after, conscious now of everything that betrayed his childishness.

Eventually, Aegon interrupted his silence. “Why are you being so quiet?” A scowl was in his voice. Jace peered him at him, startled. 

“I don’t know,” he said.

Aegon scoffed, still not looking at him. His unkempt hair caught the breeze as he walked, floating here and there about his head, his shoulders. “That’s a stupid answer.”

Jace frowned, his mouth dropping into an affronted ‘o’, little brows heavy on his head. Frustration was red on the tips of his ears. 

But then Aegon turned to look at him over his shoulder, and there was a familiar lazy, teasing grin on his face. Jace quickly forgot his annoyance. “Shut up,” he said in jest, huffing. 

They came through the great doors of Maegor’s Holdfast, and deeper into the private corridors of the safest part of the castle. The guards that had supervised them from a distance, as they always seemed to hover outside the gates, now well and truly left them alone. Perhaps it was their absence that braved him into asking, “Where are we going?”

“My room,” Aegon answered loftily. “Wanted to get something.” He didn’t elaborate further, so Jace only nodded in acceptance. 

Their silence felt oddly loud in the cavernous quiet of the Holdfast, but Aegon’s humour was well enough, so Jace tried not to think too much about it. Instead, he paid his mind to passing tapestries, decorative busts, and fixed the upturned corners of the long rugs warming the stone floors. 

Soon enough they came upon Aegon’s room. It was a corridor away from his own chambers; the King’s children, but for Jace’s own mother, as a woman well and truly grown, kept to this long corridor in a procession of rooms according to their age. Helaena, prone to bad dreams, had a secondary chamber closer to the Queen’s room, so that she might find her quicker. 

Once or twice Jace had found himself disturbed out of sleep by the sounds of a frightened Helaena seeking a guard to take her to her mother, her soft voice wavering through the walls. On rarer occasions, Aemond would be the one that woke and asked for her; he had heard that, too, voices murmuring as they passed by on sleeplness nights of his own. Aegon used to, he recalled, watching the boy’s back, but he had not for some years. A night or two, he had woken out of hours, but it would be his or Aemond’s door he would pester, whispering for them to wake and keep him company in the lonely, dark hours of night. 

Storms were the best for it. Nobody was bold enough to lie and say the thunder didn’t frighten them when it rumbled through their ancient walls, groaning like an angry god. When the howling of a bad storm began, soon enough all of them would huddle in the largest room with the largest bed to pass the time, any and all childish quarrel forgotten until the reminding light of dawn. Even Helaena would come, sitting quietly away, listening to the distant sea roil and whispering under her breath. The girls, too, on the days they stayed, and even Daeron, before he had been sent away. If Aegon hadn’t finally spoken to him, Jace would have started praying for a storm.

“Come on,” Aegon said, almost huffing, as he entered his room, closing the door after Jace. Turning, he saw that Jace stood rather awkwardly, fighting the urge fidget his fingers. The older boy raised his eyebrows at him, as if he was an idiot. “Sit, then.”

“I thought you were getting something.”

“I am. Doesn’t mean you can’t sit.” Aegon turned his back to him, heading to his bed. Another benefit of his spurt had been the upgrade to a larger, more impressive bed; the sort he would carry into adulthood, once it was truly upon him. Jace’s bed was no meagre thing, but it was a child’s bed still, toy dragons carved into its posts. 

He looked around and saw that much of what he remembered about Aegon’s room had changed, so slowly he had almost missed it. Piece by piece, the toys had been removed and returned to the nursery, or else given to a younger child, and the childish blankets and idyllic tapestries replaced with things more appropriate. All that remained of his youthful belongings was a small replica of Sunfyre’s egg, a golden-painted craft carved from wood, sat upon a display. 

It had been a gift from a travelling craftsman, who took great pride in his wooden carvings and sculptures. At a celebration—somebody’s nameday, though Jace couldn’t precisely recall whose—the craftsman had presented a clutch of mimicked eggs, each carved and painted to resemble each of the children’s own. Jace treasured his, too, keeping it precious in his drawer, far from dust or danger. He was happy to see Aegon had not discarded it so easily. 

He took a seat on a chair by the fireplace, kept on low heat by the servants to warm the cool stone. Confused, he could only frown as his uncle shoved himself under his bed until only two finely-clad legs were visible. There was a shuffle and scrape as he wriggled himself back out like a worm, upsetting his tunic with wrinkles and dust. He got to his feet with a noise, and Jace saw he held a book in his hand.

His heart beat hard and fast as he recognised it. It was a difficult book to forget, pretty and aged as it was, with such particular illustration and design. 

The ease that had slowly returned to him started to spill back out, turning him cold despite the neighbouring warmth of the low-burning fire. Any hope he had that his friendship was on the mend quickly diminished into the meek fear of anticipating a shaming. Already his mind began to run with half-formed excuses and explanations—he hadn’t thought hard enough about what he said, nor the improper implications, nor what wrath they might inspire with their conspiracy.

“I looked for that book you talked about,” he explained the apparent, perhaps surmising the muted shock on Jace’s face was the wide-eyed blankness of stupidity. “To read about what you said.”

Jace blanched, before trying to laugh. Like everything was just a joke. Like Aegon would do. “You shouldn’t have, it was just a silly thing I remembered wrong, and I said it without thinking, anyhow. I was just being stupid.”

“Shut up, Jace. Stop talking.” The sharp lash of Aegon’s tone bid no refusal, so Jace went silent. His stomach was a stone, sinking deeper and deeper. In the back of his head, he thought of the odd rumours he heard of his father and his friendships. The curling lips that whispered them, an air of ineffable judgement. The accusing spectre of perversion that seemed to follow his family everywhere. 

Aegon stood before him, the tome in his hands. There was no interpretable clue to his mind on his apathetic features, and even his eyes were unreadable. The older boy inhaled deeply through his nose. Steeling himself. Jace readied himself for a smack or a scold, eyes scrunching as he prepared to wince. Darkness and silence. 

Then: “I thought we ought to try it.”