the made king / aegon II
He stays in the throne room after it's all over, after the servants have cleaned up the blood and vomit and done what they could with the scorch marks. Most of the floor and walls are black, and there's a lingering scent of cooked meat hanging in the air, but he doesn't care. It's all worth it.
He runs his hand over the bladed arms of the throne, and watches as the blood wells up in his palm. How many kings have cut themselves on this very throne? How much dragon's blood has been shed over these old, contorted swords? Aegon presses his palm against the arm, letting his blood mix with the blood of his predecessors. It's all mine now.
His father had tried to keep it from him, even after his death his father had rejected him. And his sister. Rhaenyra had tried to take what was rightfully his. She'd paid the price of her treason with her life. But I was merciful. I gave her a fitting death. A death to be celebrated and remembered.
Aegon stares through the black darkness to the black floors, remembering the charred body of his sister being bitten off in smoking chunks and consumed by his dragon. She will be an example to others. He thinks, leaning backwards until his crown clinks in contact with the throne. He stays there, alone in the darkened throne room, for hours more, savoring the feeling of having everything for the first time in his life.
It's all mine now.
