The Lost Prince I
Ten years he'd been gone. More than half his life he had spent in the company of rapers, thieves and sellswords. Ten years of constant war and bloodshed. Constantly fighting for his life while those he had named family had lived in their perfumed castle and left him to die. He felt a smirk play against his lips as he looked around one of the passageways he had wandered through as a child when Rhaenys' teasing hurt that small bit too much.
Who would've thought these old passages would stay unguarded, he chuckled internally as he felt along the wall for the false stone. I'll have to change that once I'm sure I'm staying in this shithole. He'd heard tell of the stench of King's Landing growing up in Essos, having thankfully forgotten that detail of his childhood home until now. "They really weren't fucking joking," he said out loud as he made his way up the stairwell at the end of the passageway that led to a trap door behind his father's throne. Even this far into the Keep's subterranean tunnelways the faint stench of piss and shit - from the slums of Flea Bottom - still lingered in the tunnels of the King's castle.
As he pushed open the square of wood that was part of the dais the Iron Throne sat upon, immediately his senses were assaulted by incenses and perfumes almost as strong as the "Good" Masters of Mereen and Astapor. "There's nothing good about fat cunts unable to dress themselves" he mumbled under his breath as he kicked the trapdoor back into place and sat against the steps of the Throne's raised dais and leaned back to look up at the behemoth of a chair. He whistled and laughed to himself.
All the wars this continent has fought, all to see who should sit atop a chair made of fucking swords. "What a joke." He said out loud to no one in particular,
"A King's seat should never be comfortable, lest the realm bleed for it." He remembered his father telling Aegon at one of the lessons he had been permitted to sit in on. Aegon III, The Unworthy, The Mad King. He stared at the hilt of one blackened sword as he recalled the names of Kings who ruined the realm. Even Maegor, for all his cruelty, heeded sound council and advice. He grunted thinking of the two that were his name sake, he felt a small smile play at his lips then. Thinking back on one night as a boy he'd asked why he was named Jaehaerys. "Your mother," the King replied with a smile both fond and sorrowful, "made me swear by all the gods, old and new – even my harp – that we'd name you for The Good and The Conciliator." Rhaegar laughed as he continued, "'I don't care about any prophesy, Rhaegar. I know you'd want a Targaryen name so Brandon or Jon won't make you happy, but if he's a boy, I want his name to have meaning. Not a conqueror or a warrior, a good name.' She was quiet for a moment, her brows furrowed in thought, the same way yours do when you can't pronounce a word in your studies of High Valyrian. 'Jaehaerys.' She said determined, 'Let my son be remembered as the fondly as his namesakes.'"
Jaehaerys raised his hands in front of his face and stared at them. With all the blood these hands have shed – and are likely to continue shedding – Mother, I don't think I'll ever be thought of as 'The Good'. He thought solemnly. His hands clenched into fists as he exhaled. But I'll try to make you proud.
He looked around the Throne Room as the morning sun flooded through the giant windows of the Great Hall, he smiled to himself as he drew his sword and placed it across his lap. Of all the weapons he'd taken after the dust of war had settled and the blood of the fallen began to congeal in pools of mud, this was one of the few he had brought with him when he felt himself ready to go home. "The greatest of Westeros' fabled blades" his father had told him once "Lost in the wars long passed."
No, he thought to himself. Not lost. Just in the hands of an idiot who thought to name himself a sellsword king. He smiled fondly at the dark ripples in the blade's Valyrian steel, Myself and Ser Jaime can toast to the Kings we slew together now I imagine. The thought made him laugh, and as the echo of it died, the great oak doors of the Hall were pushed open. He couldn't restrain the smirk that gleamed behind his growing beard revealing teeth as white as the armour the Kingsguard that stood at either side of the King and his family as they entered the Throne Room.
Six, He counted, Still yet to find a seventh to replace Ser Darry. His smirk grew at the gasp he heard form Cercei Lannister as she looked at him sat there in front of the Throne's steps with live steel bared across his legs. He stood then as three of the six rush him and readied himself, his eyes wide and his lips grinning in the anticipation of the clash to come. Uncle Benjen, Oswell and The Kingslayer, He felt the blood rush to his ears and he revelled in the feeling, but he caught himself remembering why he was home. He inhaled and exhaled as he lifted the blade in his right hand before driving it home into the black iron and ruby encrusted scabbard he had removed it from. As the three knights stood before him, golden swords pointed and at the ready, he raised his hands in surrender and stared at Ser Benjen. Stark grey eyes meeting each other for the first time in almost a decade as Benjen's gaze widened with realisation. Jaehaerys smiled a full toothy smile, let the fingers of his right-hand wave, and chuckled.
"Hello Uncle."
The Wolf in The South I
Seventeen years I've been away from the North. Seventeen years since I've tasted the cool air and ridden with Ned through the Wolfswood, He thought to himself as he left his chambers in the White Sword Tower. His white armour gleamed in the morning sun that managed to enter through the corridors of the Red Keep as he made his way towards the King's chambers to relieve Ser Arthur of his watch and allow him to wash before court. The presence of Ser Barristan on the other side of the right side of the double doors hinted that the Queen was inside. Most likely ranting over what Rhaenys had hinted at during evening meal the night before.
A smile played at his lips thinking of that one of many incidents between the Queen and the Queen to be and their shooting of subtle barbs and insults. For all the negatives of being a guard of this family, at least I don't have to pay for entertainment. He nodded to Arthur who returned the greeting with a hand to his shoulder as he walked passed him.
"Benjen," Ser Barristan greeted, a small smile warm on his aged features.
"How long do you think they'll stay at it?" Benjen asked bringing his hand up to rub the growing beard around his mouth as he looked from the door to Barristan and back again.
"I'd wager Her Grace, realising the King doesn't care in a minute or two," The older man laughed lightly as he rolled his shoulders before letting his hands rest on the pommel of his blade.
Before Benjen could word his reply the doors to the King's chamber were pulled open and Cersei Lannister stepped out, her golden hair hung in loose curls down her shoulders and back. She looked from Barristan to Benjen, both men trying – Benjen failing – to hide the small smiles on their faces. Cersei's face reddened slightly as her forest green eyes narrowed at Benjen, the rubies and emeralds of her crown glistened in the light as she opened her mouth as though to curse him. But as though thinking again, she closed it and as lady-like as the lioness of The Rock could manage she hmphed and walked away. Benjen offered a bemused smile to Barristan as he watched Barristan silently sigh and followed the Queen.
"Forgive my wife, Ser Benjen." Benjen heard Rhaegar's smooth alto voice from behind him. "She seems as much a dragon as a lion this morning." The King smiled warmly, though it didn't reach his eyes. Like it rarely did since Lya's boy had died. One of the few things that made the King somewhat likeable in Benjen's eyes, his love for the boy. Him and Lya both. It pains him even now. The same as it does me, He thought and bowed his head to his Liege.
"Nothing to forgive, Your Grace," Benjen said allowing the honorific to roll off his tongue, used to speaking to the King in private now, after almost making attempt at his life all those years ago. "The Princess was rather...," He paused a moment trying to find the right word, "...honest in her view of Her Grace the Queen."
Rhaegar laughed then, short and quiet, but it was one of the real ones that seemed so far and in between as the years passed.
The rest of the walk to the Great hall was silent, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence as it had been at the start of Benjen's seventeen years in King's Landing. This was just a period of quiet, neither man speaking as Benjen allowed the King to truly don the mantle, as he did every morning.
Benjen fell in behind the King, resuming his role as a white shadow as they drew close to the large chamber hallway before the bronze and oak wood doors of the Great Hall. As the back of the crowd that had gathered turned to see the King approach, a murmur rose as the lords, ladies and courtiers of the King's Court turned and parted to allow the King to the front. Rhaegar walked through the crowd, acknowledging the odd curtsey and bow with a nod of the head and a kingly smile. Benjen let his eyes scan through the crowd spying many of the men and women present most days court is held. Lord Baelish's eyes met his for moment before the man moved out of view behind a group of Reachmen that stood around their lord, Mace. Benjen let the scene of the man's round face red and flustered when he learned the King had already betrothed the Silver Prince to his sister, replay in his mind. The King's current Master of Coin had brought his sons, Loras and Garlan, along with his daughter the Lady Margaery to King's Landing, some weeks past, in hopes of securing a marriage to the Crown. Benjen still found it amusing to watch the plump lord's face fall anytime he looked upon Rhaenys and Aegon together.
As they reached the front of the crowd and the doors of the Hall, the Queen and her children were to the King's right and Aegon and Rhaenys to his left. Aerion, Visenya and Bael each shared in their parent's beauty and comely features. Aerion had his mother's emerald eyes and golden locks but his face was Rhaegar's Valyrian elegance. Bael the youngest, a boy still, had his father's silver-gold hair that hung loosely past the tips of his ears in curls. Visenya – the Queen's sole daughter – was the jewel of court, even at four and ten her beauty in court was only matched by the Queen herself and the Lady Margaery Tyrell.
Curtsies and bows were followed an echo of, "Father," as Rhaegar took Cersei's arm in his own and gestured to the two guardsmen before the doors to do their duty.
The doors of the Great Hall had opened for the King and his family as they did every day since Rhaegar had knighted him and inducted him into The Kingsguard. He knew the honour that was being given to him was no small thing, but he also knew in part that it wasn't because of anything he had done. It was all for Lyanna. Lya who should have told Father that she hadn't wanted to marry Robert. Lya who should have been Queen instead of the spiteful cunt that was Cersei Lannister. Lya who would have been as fierce a mother as she was a young girl curious of the world in which she lived. Lya who would have made sure her son stayed with them at the Red Keep, or would have said they ride the King's Road to Winterfell instead of letting a boy no older than seven namedays take a ship to White Harbour alone with no more than a sole Kingsguard and a handful of King's Men.
Forgive me sister, he prayed silently, as he had done most days since the boy had disappeared. His heart ached at the memory of the letter Ned had written, asking when the King would be sending the boy to ward, three weeks after those in King's Landing had expected word to be sent of the Prince's arrival in the North. The King and the heir had been distraught, even young Rhaenys – who always held a disliking for her Northern half-brother because of what the boy represented to her mother – was concerned. The wreckage they'd discovered on the Fingers of the Vale left little hope that any would have survived whatever happened. Yet the King had sent men to Essos to search, Ned had even sent his own men too. But all returned either empty handed or with a false prince that barely matched the description they had been given. And the King was advised to assume the worst.
It had been ten years since and the Keep still felt hollow in the years since Jaehaerys' supposed death. He was fond of the boy. He reminded Benjen of his brother and sister, young Jaehaerys was always full of the same Wolf's Blood that seemed so watered down in him and Ned. So full of life but still lacked the joy that they seemed to show.
He was really Rhaegar's son at least, a sharp-minded boy with good intentions but that temper was all you Lya, He let the smile dace across his features before returning them to the unreadable mask of the Black Wolf as the Great Hall's doors opened fully. As the King and his remaining family entered alongside his White brothers, and the court filed in behind them, The Queen gasped and shot a finger to point at the throne. Immediately all eyes were on the figure sat back against the dais of the throne with a sword bare and flat in his lap.
Live steel, Benjen thought to himself and was already running forward as he drew his gold blade in his hand. He was flanked on either side by Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell. The final three of them remaining by the Royal family, swords drawn, watching. As Benjen closed the distance he watched as the stranger – clothed head to toe in black – got into his stance and raised his dark sword as if he had been waiting just for this moment. Benjen felt himself hesitate as the tall man flexed his free arm and hand before driving his blade into its scabbard. As Benjen stood before the stranger, his sword point out he allowed himself to look the man over. The black short sleeved tunic he wore seemed a tailored fit though was taunt around his chest and arms, which apart from its red stitching was plain, as were his black breeches and the black riding boots on his feet. He was tall, this stranger, taller even than the King or the Crown Prince and he was broad and muscled.
A warrior, He thought to himself as he looked at the few scars visible along his harms. Or an assassin. But why surrender? The logic on sneaking into the Red Keep only to surrender without so much as a swing of a sword lost on Benjen.
He scanned his face, searching to see if he could recognise him. The close beard on his face full and dark, though marred by the thin, pale scar that went straight down from below his eye to halfway down his right cheek. As his eyes met the stranger's the man smirked, and it was oddly familiar. That sense of familiarity cemented when Benjen stared into his eyes, eyes a grey that seemed to shift from almost black to steel as he watched them. Lya's eyes.
"By the gods" he heard himself whisper as Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell stood to his sides their own swords pointed forward. It was then the man's smirk turned into a smile.
"Hello uncle," he said.
That voice, not unlike the voice he'd heard all those years ago, before his nephew had left for the North on a ship that would never make it. The same nephew that would come running when Aegon, the Prince had teased the dark ringlets of hair that fell almost to his shoulders. The same nephew that had died short of his ninth nameday. Only that nephew stood before him, no longer a boy that would call out to a mother that could not answer when he woke in the night surrounded by darkness. That nephew now a man grown.
The First Son I
"Get up, idiot." Rhaenys snapped playfully, throwing a pillow at her betrothed, "We're going to be late to court." Aegon groaned as one of the feathered pillows of his bed hit the side of his face and rolled onto his back. "Egg seriously, get up. Father's already warned us about being late to Court again."
He smiled then and watched her dress, the orange slip she wore a small ode to their mother and her House. He loved his sister as both a brother and husband to be should, but he couldn't help the amusement in his deep violet eyes as he watched her hurriedly braid strands of her hair like a little girl worried of being caught with her fingers in a pie.
Even now, at three and twenty Rhaenys still coveted their father's approval. Aegon, however, not so much. It's not that their Lord Father wasn't a good man, he was a just King, and had been a loving father too – once. It was just that Aegon saw his father for what he was, a man. A brilliant scholar, wise beyond his years, one of the greatest swordsmen Aegon had ever seen, and a gentle and strong King. But he was a man nonetheless, and as such, he was flawed.
Flawed enough to chase a woman not his wife, thought Aegon indifferently. And indirectly cause the death of thousands. All for what? Prophesy? Aegon sighed sitting up and getting out from under his bed covers. He loved his family, and he would ensure they would all prosper and expand along with the realm when he became King. Even Aerion the oldest of his half-brothers – for all his arrogance and childishness – held a place in the Crowned Prince's heart. No, he thought grimly, not the oldest. He couldn't help the slump in his shoulders or the heaviness in his heart at the thought of those he grieved, even now so many years after their passing, it hurt him still. You've lost so many already Aegon, and you're yet to sit the Iron Throne, boy. A voice not unlike hisFather's echoed in his mind as he laced the cuffs of a black long-sleeved tunic with a crowned dragon embroidered over his heart. I fear the day I let you take that chair and wear the crown atop your brow. O how the realm will bleed. He'd been clenching the muscles in his jaw and hands for what felt like hours, deep in thought when a hand squeezed his shoulder gently.
"I've been calling your name the past five minutes, Egg." She said gently as she cupped his cheek, concern evident on her features, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing Rhae, truly, I was just thinking of 'Senya, she's a girl still and father would have me marry her after I do you." He saw the look in her eyes and knew she saw through him. Saw that as much as he wanted her to think otherwise, he still mourned those long lost to them as if they hadn't died a decade ago. But she didn't push him to answer truthfully and he loved her for that.
"She'll be fine Egg, you'll treat her as well as you have me," the smile she offered was bright and he lifted some until that voice that was both his father's and not, laughed quietly. Aye, you'll bed many a servant and dishonour her just the same. Blocking out that voice, he flashed Rhaenys a smile and put on the black doublet and breeches he'd set on the chair in his bedchambers. He buckled the clasps on his black boots before turning again to his sister. She was beautiful his sister-wife to be. Her hair hung free in rich dark curls, that framed her heart-shaped face. She had their mother's lips and colouring but the shape and arch of her dark eyebrow was something Rhaegar had given her. She was shorter than Aegon by a hand but she was well endowed with full breast and shapely hips.
"Shall we grace the court with your beauty, sweet-sister?" Aegon asked her with a teasing smile on his lips as he offered her his arm.
Rhaenys laughed then, a gentle sound, and gave her brother a mock curtsy before linking her arm in his, "We shall, Your Grace."
As they walked through the halls Ser Jaime in his white enamel plate walked behind them. His false left hand glowing in the rays of morning sun. Unlike his uncle, Viserys, Aegon bore the knight no ill-will for the deeds of his past. He understood the conflict that must have torn him apart, Kill a madman or go collect your father's head. Aegon thought to himself as he gave a customary nod towards the lords and ladies of the court as he made his way to the door of the Great Hall with Rhaenys on his arm. My sword would find that king's heart before the command had finished.
Aegon and his sister stood across form their half siblings and step-mother as his Lord Father the King made his way to join them at the Great Hall. As his siblings all bowed and curtsied, echoing their greeting. Aegon watched as his father took the Queen's arm in his own and commanded the doors open. He stepped in behind his father and as the procession began he heard the Queen gasp from in front of him. Within seconds three of the Kingsgaurd had placed themselves in front of the King and his family as the other three rushed a man stood in black from head to toe.
Aegon watched as Ser Benjen walked towards them, Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell holding the man between them.
"He wishes to present himself before the court Your Grace," Benjen relayed, a slight frown on his face as he looked from the King to the male in black. His head was down and his hair hung in dark curls in front of his face, hiding his features, but he was tall. Taller than both Ser Jaime and Oswell and from the looks of it, he was taller than Aegon too. Well-muscled and blooded too, Aegon noted mentally.
His father paused for a moment and watched the man with a weighing gaze before nodding and walking towards the Iron Throne. As Rhaegar ascended the throne, Aegon sat on the steps half-way up its base as he observed the two Kingsguard release the man dressed in fine black and boots as dark as his hair. The man stood to his full height then, raising his head and standing broad and straight for all the court to see. His face was long and solemn, with a short, full beard. Aegon felt himself drawn to look at the man's eyes, but he could only make out that they were dark.
The six Kingsguard had taken up their positions on either side of the Iron Throne as the King nodded towards Jon Connington, his Hand. The red-haired lord walked onto the dais of the throne before speaking.
"You stand in the presence of His Grace, Rhaegar of House Targaryen, First of-" the noblemen and women of the court gasped as the man interrupted the Hand with a raised palm.
"The First of His Name, King of the Andals, The Rhoynar and The First Men. Lord of The Seven Kingdoms and Protector of The Realm." The well-built male rushed through the honorifics, annoyance hard in his voice. "I do believe that I know my Father's titles, Lord Connington. I appreciate the effort though. I came so I would present myself before the King and my family, not be presented to."
Aegon's eye's narrowed as he stood from where he sat on the steps of the Iron Throne, "And which family is this that you would claim my Father as your own. I know not of a bastard brother that my Lord Father has hidden away." His blood was hot in his ears as he descended the steps, after all, brothers were a touchy subject. "You said you came to present yourself, do so. Now." His hands clenched into fists as the pale skin of his knuckles was tight and white.
Aegon stared at him as the man's lips curled into a smirk. He watched it widen as the Lord of Griffin's Roost cleared his throat and called out, "Who stands before His Grace, the King."
It was only when Aegon's violet eyes met the man's steel grey that realisation struck. Those eyes. It can't be. Aegon felt his jaw slacken as the man replied.
"Jaehaerys," His voice carried, loud and clear, even as the gasps and whispers of those in attendance grew in volume, he continued. "Jaehaerys Targaryen. Trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. A son of the Iron Throne, home."
The world around him spun, "You lie…" he said more to himself than the man that claimed his brotherhood. "We thought you dead. You've been dead more than ten years. This is a lie," Aegon stood before him now eyes wide in disbelief. The man shook the hair from his face before putting a hand on Aegon's shoulder.
"I was only teasing, Jae. Don't tell Father, please." Once the man said that Aegon knew there was no lie. The memory of an incident only he and Jaehaerys were present for. He was seven namedays old and Jae had just turned six. His younger brother – even though their father had always told him he was – had asked Aegon if he really was a prince, or if he was just a bastard like he had heard their Step-Mother say when thought she was alone with Ser Jaime. At the time Aegon had only heard adults say that word about his brother and he didn't truly grasp what it meant, but Jae did. He didn't know how, but Jaehaerys knew. And when he told Jae he was a bastard, he hadn't expected his brother to cry. He'd tried desperately to stop Jaehaerys' tears then, even promised all Aegon's sweet cakes for the rest of the week. When that didn't work, Aegon had hugged his brother tightly begging him not to tell their father.
"Jaehaerys?" Aegon asked aloud, "How?"
It was then that the King rose from atop the Iron Throne and called for the Lords and Ladies to leave the Great Hall until he called them all back to court. As the crowd began to shift and move, Jaehaerys answered, with a small smirk that Aegon never thought he'd see again in this life.
"Fire and blood, Brother. Fire and blood."