A/N
This chapter contains explicit content that may be a trigger for certain readers. I will not spoil anything in this Author's Note, but details in the content I'm referring to will be more clearly explained in the Author's Note below the chapter. I take the feelings of readers seriously and never intend to offend anyone in anyway. However, if you've read my work, you know that I have to have content in this chapter of a specifically disturbing nature. All in all, it's not likely even the worst stuff I've written by a long shot, but because of the sensitive nature of the specifics, I wanted to have this warning here to ignore or further investigate. I really worked hard to bring realism, horror, and justice to the chapter and topic, and hope you all enjoy in the way I intended.
Harwin Snow
Aegor III
"Again," Ser Swann commanded, standing behind Aegor with his armored arms folded across his chest. Aegor had already done the stupid dance a thousand times. He shuffled with his arm up and out to one side, traced the "big circle" with his arm like some kind of idiot, shuffled back, did it on the other side, and thrown himself flat onto the training yard ground, only to have to get back up again and stand there.
Aegor had long prayed for a knight to teach him the sword. Ser Swann volunteered to act as master-at-arms while Ser Quentyn Ball was away, so Aegor's official training had begun with the White Knight as his teacher.
In every lesson in the sword since he arrived in King's Landing, he had yet to even grip a practice one.
Aegor had just turned eleven. He was no more a little boy there to play at games in the yard. This dance he had to master was so foolish, all the others training and spectating chuckled at him as he did it. Over and over again without tire.
"When will I train with a real sword, Ser Swann?" Aegor asked, impetuously.
"You lack the base training to properly learn the technique that will lead to form without flaw," the White Knight said in his boring voice. "We must first build your strength from the ground up, so that when you begin your training in earnest, you will not fall victim to overcompensation in your stance because you are too weak or tired to wield your weapon." Ser Swann was no man Aegor feared. He didn't have imposing stature or incomparable speed and strength.
He had technique, and felt it best to instill the same in Aegor.
"I'm strong enough already!" Aegor shouted, losing his patience. "Every time my family was displeased, with me, or for anything really, they'd force me to work like a common laborer. I can hold and swing a sword, Ser. This stuff is just stupid."
"You can swing a sword, can you?" Swann asked, a slight sarcasm to his tone and smirk.
"Aye, Ser. I'm ready."
"Here," Swann stated simply, unsheathing his silver sword from his hip. It was a weighted longsword, finely forged, and meticulously sharpened daily by the White Knight. In the morning sun, it gleamed, glaring a bright beam at Aegor, causing him to squint in his tantrum, suddenly intimidated by the prospects of the weapon. "If you can strike my armor, we'll begin with the practice swords. If you fail to do so within a minute's turn, you will continue your training with me even after Ser Quentyn returns."
"Fine," Aegor mustered the courage to reply. I'm eleven now. I can swing a sword.
He barely thought of the consequence until Swann's sword rested gently on the ground in front of him. "As you wish. Pick it up. We'll begin once you've readied your stance."
As his hand reached down for the sword, it nearly shook. He didn't know why he felt so nervous, yet the feeling was impossible to think through. He grabbed the hilt, the smooth texture of the leather grip inviting, but the blade was thrice as heavy as he thought it'd be, and he struggled to lift it smoothly.
I must do it now, no turning back on my word.
His off hand rushed to help his right, pulling the sword up against its weight like it had a life of its own, the balance off and on, depending on the twists of his wrists as it rose slowly toward his side. The shining silver steel was as daunting as it was beautiful. Aegor feared what a blade so sharp might do, and the weight of it felt even heavier as he steadied it in front of him. Slightly extended out from his two handed grip, the sword began to quiver, as it wasn't too heavy to lift, but would be too heavy to keep still for long. If he had to keep a stance, he'd have to rest the thing against his barely padded shoulder, or just let it rest point down on the ground.
Fuck.
The boy committed his stance and charged. The knight smiled, taking a half-step back and readied his hands.
Aegor knew not what to do, but rushed headlong anyway, imagining the same desperate charge from his games, except there was finally a foe to face him. He had both wished for this moment, and dreaded it all the same.
He never imagined himself losing when he played.
Ser Swann is really there.
Aegor planted his foot, like he did when he'd shovel shit, and swung the sword across his body as hard as he could. The weight of the blade propelled him through his swing once halfway, spinning his body on his planted foot further than he planned, which threw him off balance. Ser Swann let the blade pass him harmlessly, out of reach of causing any real harm. He then stepped in with one hand grasping the flailing Bracken boy's arm, while the other wrenched the sword back from his weak hold of it.
Aegor had lost. And so quickly.
It was his family's way.
"Heavy, isn't it?" the Knight asked, looking pleased with himself.
Be pleased, Ser Swann, I'm but a boy. You've defeated a boy of eleven, such a mighty and honorable feat!
Fuck you, Ser Swann, he thought.
Swann wasn't exceptional to Aegor in anyway. He was no bigger, or stronger, or faster than any other knight. He was neither handsome or so ugly to be feared. He wasn't clever, or sly. He was ordinary. Commonplace. Aegor didn't want to learn to be so plain.
"I know the training is tedious, and boring. But frankly, I thought you wouldn't even be able to swing it. It's a heavy sword. You held it bravely. Truly, you've already gotten stronger in only the week or so you've been with me. I understand your frustration, Master Aegor, but if you can commit to working just a bit longer, I am certain you'll be ready to start with a practice sword against dummies. That too will be long and tedious, but if you do the work, the Smith and the Warrior will grace you with skill."
Despite his frustration, the boy's heart warmed. No one's ever trained me before, the least I can do is continue to try.
"Fine," Aegor replied sullenly, his face still red, but his expression softened.
Ser Swann wasn't so bad. Aegor just didn't want to feel like a child anymore. He was eleven now.
Yet still no one's noticed.
After training, Aegor would wash and report to Septon Faldo for his lessons. Many of the other children in the keep studied with one of the maesters. One had tested Aegor early upon his arrival to the capital, and deemed him in need of some remedial studies before he caught up to the elder classes with his half-sister Daenerys, her ladies, and the other young men at court.
Aegor was also too advanced to be in the lessons with the younger children, who were still learning their letters, numbers, and House words, things that wouldn't benefit Aegor in any way.
So Septon Faldo volunteered to instruct the boy, inviting him to the empty chambers behind the Sept, a quiet place where Aegor could concentrate on accelerated courses and make up the knowledge he was behind.
Faldo was quick to praise Aegor's grasp of ideas, even going as far as to question why he was excluded from lessons with the other children in the first place. Some more complicated arithmetic was always challenging, and his vocabulary was either limited or simpler than what the maesters expected, but according to the Septon, Aegor was, "as sharp as a whip."
Aegor didn't enjoy his lessons, but he didn't hate them either. He found himself often wandering in his thoughts, losing concentration on his instructor. "Focus now, Master Aegor," he would always say. He never sounded cross with his pupil, showing patience Aegor had never experienced before, especially from a man of the Seven.
Where Hatten was cold, Faldo seemed warm. Where Hatten was strict, Faldo commonly gave leeway. Where Hatten was mean, Faldo was kind.
As thick headed as he was, Aegor even found himself learning.
After their lessons, the Septon would offer fellowship to Aegor, sensing truly that Aegor was searching for a place to belong. "Come, Master Aegor. Let us spend some time in the Sept. Surely, a boy of Bracken blood has time for the seven faces of god and an old man devoted to them?"
"Not this time, Septon. I've matters to attend to."
Aegor usually lied about that. Even though he was eleven now, it was not like he had assumed any new or important roles in the Keep. After lessons, he'd oft as not find his half-sister and pester her until her ladies arrived to ruin everything. He'd sometimes find himself shadowing the serving women caring for the baby, offering help when none was needed, and getting in the way more than he provided any assistance.
Dany and the serving staff were still shaken by that wetnurse dying, and Aegor was not equipped to help them in their grief and disbelief. He thought he could distract them with fun. That only ever led to them shooing him away.
He rarely ever had anything important to keep him from more time in the sept. He just didn't want to be there. There was something creepy in the dark and dank arrangement of idols, and the Stranger was the stuff of nightmares.
Besides, no matter how nice Septon Faldo was, Aegor would never join the Faith. He was a warrior, and the Warrior's Sons had been disbanded after being beaten by Maegor.
The worst part of his routine in King's Landing was that he never saw his father, The King.
After that first dinner, Aegor thought the next night would be different. He couldn't remember when his hope became a jest, one he'd share with Daenerys each night, "Do you think father will join us?" It eventually became a ritualistic laugh between them. Their laughter stemmed from a deeper pain, and sharing it was more helpful than if they spoke about it.
For there was nothing to really say.
When Aegor would retire for the evening, he'd try to keep the servants longer for company. The room he eventually settled into was much less extravagant than the Hand's quarters, but grander than even the Lord of Stone Hedge's bedchambers. As vast as it seemed, it was empty, and at night when it was just Aegor and his thoughts, he wished the staff would stay a bit longer.
Unless it was the girl from the first day who'd seen him naked. He allowed her to quickly go about her duty uninterrupted. It was the least he could do after what happened, for the both of them.
With an orange light flickering around the dark room, as a candle wick fought off the wind from its flame, he would often return to his imaginings, dreaming, wishing, hoping . . .
For more.
The stories of Targaryens always spoke of their exceptionalism. Of how the Targaryens were better than the normal men of Westeros. How their blood was purer, and tied to the dragons. How they were healthier, stronger, smarter, and more magical than everyone, granting them dominion still over the continent and the seven kingdoms.
Some of the Targaryens of lore, it was said, even had visions. Seeing the past and future in Dragon Dreams.
Aegor wished to have dreams. He wished to see beyond his eyes. That sounded fun.
But once he'd fall asleep, he'd only dream of the same dumb things.
Like being naked in the room with that serving girl. And the rare embrace he thought would be the norm from his father.
When he rose, he was thankful for each new day away from Stone Hedge, but once his training and his lessons had finished, he felt lost.
"Do you know why that woman died, Septon Faldo? Sheira's nurse? No one talks about it, and though they're all sad, everyone acts like nothing even happened." Aegor asked after his lesson.
The man pondered, seated behind his desk, reclining in his pillowed chair. He reached to his desk and pulled a flask. "You ask a harder question than most, Master Aegor. I may need some perspective." He smiled, and cheerily took a long swig from his flask. "Has anyone told you what the woman did to have fallen there?"
"No. They all just say that she fell. No one's said anyone pushed her. How could she just fall?"
"If you listen to the right whisperers, you'll hear your babe of a sister was the murderer," Faldo chuckled, shaking his head. "Yet from what we know of it, and the unfettered truth is always a mystery, the woman decided to fall on her own."
"She . . . you mean, she killed herself?" Aegor asked, unfamiliar with the concept, betraying his innocence.
"Aye. It appears so, anyway. Only the gods truly know, but people sometimes find whatever burdens they bear too much to continue-on through, and make the mistake of ending that which is so precious to the mother above."
He couldn't say why, but Aegor thought of his mother. He recalled the blank mask she wore as she floated, detached from life, and wondered if her burdens were too much.
"What can you do to save a person from themselves?"
"You want so badly to be the hero, Master Aegor, don't you? Well, to save a person from themselves is to teach them the tools to become someone closer to the gods."
Of course he'd say the gods.
"I know, it's all the gods, but like, how could someone really have saved that girl? Wouldn't you know if someone's burdens were so hard that they'd be at risk? Didn't she have anyone to talk to?" Aegor's heart raced knowing he was not speaking of the woman that had already passed but the one he feared might be suffering from the same feelings.
"You're so mature for someone needing to catch up. But with these things, Master Aegor, sometimes it's better to just drink." Faldo finished his flask and stood up. "I'm just pouring a pitcher. I suggest you join me if we are to continue this talk. It is not of the gentler nature, and a few sips allow for less heavy thought."
Before Aegor understood what he meant, Faldo was back with a large glass pitcher of dark red and two goblets. The Septon was a heavy man, thick and wide, but he wasn't slovenly. He strode with a grace befitting his order, and his weight never encumbered his otherwise fluid movements. He had thick dark hair, clean and curly, brushed back behind his ear, and cropped so it didn't grow down. He wore a tight beard, dark enough to appear black, but short enough not to grow off of his jaw and cheeks.
He smiled pleasantly and poured the wine. He poured and finished his own goblet before pouring another and reaching it toward the boy. "You've the beginnings of a moustache, Master Aegor. They say a boy flower's when his moustache begins to grow, much like when a young lady bleeds. You're as much a man as you'll ever be. Drink."
"No thank you, Septon Faldo. I've never drank that before."
"This?" he said, looking into the cup as if to inspect it for danger. "This is just a Dornish red. The worst it'll give you is a headache." Faldo chuckled. "You are mature, though mayhaps not so much as I first thought."
"I'm mature," Aegor said, wanting now to prove himself. "Give it here."
Aegor gulped the goblet down. It was . . . sharp . . . or something. Like it was poison. Adults drank it all the time.
Why would anyone want to drink this?
"Isn't so good, is it?" the Septon asked, laughing.
"No. It's like poison piss."
"Yea, but it'll prove itself in a few more cups." The Septon poured another for himself, drank it, and poured more into Aegor's.
Before he knew it, Aegor and the Septon were laughing about things that couldn't have been related that closely to the topic of the woman dying. The wine made him silly and dizzy, and the Septon seemed even more friendly.
Aegor refused any more wine, but the Septon poured anyway, and the boy thought it rude not to at least pretend to sip it. After the first goblet, it wasn't that bad anymore. That's why the adults do it, and that's why they always make the face at first.
"Thank you for talking, Septon," Aegor said, planting his feet to stand. "But I must go." When he stood up, Faldo reached out and pushed him back down into his seat.
"Before you go," he said. "You must tell no one I let you drink. Understand. Tell no one. I'm trusting you, Master Aegor."
No one had ever trusted Aegor before. "I won't tell," he said.
"Good. Don't let anyone see you like this. Sleep it off if you're feeling too off. You'll be fine with some water and a long bit of rest."
When Aegor woke up, it was morning. He was still dressed in his clothes from the previous day and he'd pissed his sheets in his sleep. The serving girls that woke him giggled at his bedside, sheepishly asking for his linens knowing what he hadn't even learned yet.
In the yard, his movements were slower than usual. "I thought you were going to commit to the training!" Ser Swann barked as Aegor couldn't find the strength to move his body the way he wanted.
He felt like he was letting the Knight down. He felt like, once again,
He was losing.
Aegor fought harder, finding the aches not in his muscles, but in his gut and head.
"Good, that's it. Again!"
Aegor trained as hard as he could. Once he'd finished for the morning, he had never felt more tired. It was a labor to stay awake through bathing and dressing for his lessons.
Septon Faldo will understand if I doze off. Its because of his wine I feel so.
On his way to the Sept, his head began to pound like a drum. The light from the midday sun was harsh in his eyes, and it was all he could do to stand at times, holding the walls of the Keep and the hand rails about the walks of the castle to keep from dropping to a knee.
When he reached the room, he let out a sigh of relief. It's because of Faldo's drink I'm in this state. Surely, he'll oblige. Aegor felt comfortable requesting permission to rest.
"Have an ache in your head, have you? Come. The only remedy for that is another goblet."
Are you mad? There's no way in the seven hells I'm drinking that ever again, Aegor thought, replying, "No thank you. I think I just need some rest."
"Nonsense. You think I've drank all these years, every afternoon, and not learned how to ease the pain of the previous evening? You can choose to suffer if you'd like," the Septon agreed cheerily. "All I offer is the only aid I have ever needed," the Septon continued. "Yet I cannot allow you to just sleep. We must go over the rules of the Sons of the Dragon."
Aegor fought to keep his head from sinking into his arms, which were folded on the portable desk he sat at. "Aerys was weak and Maegor was cruel. Can I sleep now?"
"Since it was AeNYS, no, you may not. Will you drink, or not?"
Aegor felt off. His head ached, but something else felt wrong. "No."
"You didn't tell anyone, did you?"
"No."
"Then why won't you drink now?" He gestured to the goblet. "Would you see me killed? I could be killed for being kind to you. Tell me someone in this Keep who's been kinder to you than me?"
"I just don't want to, Septon. I don't like it."
"Spoken like a true child."
"I'm not a child. I'm a man. I just don't want it is all." Aegor replied as harshly as he could through the pain.
The Septon softened. He approached Aegor, and replied so gently it was almost a whisper, "Just ease your pain and drink. Trust me."
Aegor did. How could he not? So, when the man reached out the goblet, Aegor took it and obeyed. At first, it was disgusting, but after a few moments, he could almost feel relief. "Don't just sip it. Finish the goblet. Good." The man smiled in a way that felt far colder than his usually warm demeanor. Aegor started to feel another feeling, and it had nothing to do with the drink.
Faldo started their lesson. Aenys was the eldest son of Aegon, from Rhaenys, and was the Second Targaryen King. When he ascended the throne, or some time after, Aegor's head felt off during that bit, the weaker warrior in Aenys gave Blackfyre, The Sword of Kings, to Maegor.
Aegor wondered what it must have been like to be Maegor. Wielding the best sword in the world, riding the largest dragon. Whether Maegor was the true King of the Seven Kingdoms or not, when he held the sword and rode the dragon, he was more powerful than even him anyway.
Aenys was lucky Maegor didn't just kill him right then. He could have. Every breath every man, woman, and child in the entire realm took was breath Maegor allowed.
He could have likely killed everyone everywhere. He was peaceful, then, if you consider what he could have done.
Aegor felt himself begin to drift, only to be awakened by the heavy hand of the Septon. Faldo squeezed his shoulder. He didn't say anything, but once Aegor was jolted awake, he could hear the hot and deliberate breaths above him.
The man's grip tensed and tightened, and his weight began to press Aegor down into his seat. His large frame lowered over Aegor, seated at the small movable desk in the middle of the sequestered room behind the sept, and the large man lowered his face to Aegor's hair and began to smell the boy.
Frightened, disgusted, Aegor threw his skull back as hard as he could. The blow flashed his sight white for an instant, and the sound the connection made was akin to a tree splitting.
His head throbbed from the drink and the blow, but he scrambled to stand as the heavy man stumbled behind him. There were no more words, but when Aegor turned to see Faldo's enraged and red face, his nose pouring blood like a font, it became a mad scramble for control.
Aegor found his arms extending with strength, rotating in wide, strong, arching rotations, and as the heavy man tried to wrestle him into place beneath him, Aegor had the strength in his arms and legs to fight away, and the will and anger to strike back.
Punching and kicking, he connected with his right fist in a straight armed punch to the Septon's nose. It crunched audibly beneath his knuckle, and the grown man screamed so high it was nearly a whistle. His wide and heavy frame fell back in pain, and Aegor stood up finally without a hand grasping to pull him back down.
He was tired, woozy, and a bit off balance from the drink.
But he was angry. Angrier than he'd ever been.
Instead of running to the door, he stepped back towards his assailant. Looking around, he reached for a candelabra, about the right width in his grip to swing hard, and long enough to cause harm.
The man cowered, still holding his face, unaware of Aegor as he approached. The boy swung, down, and hard, over and over.
The candelabra broke, splitting into bent and crumbled pieces of pewter. The Septons limp body was riddled with blunt dents and swollen bruises on his arms as he protected his head, save the last one that sent him to the floor.
He wasn't dead. Aegor checked. But he wasn't a threat anymore. Aegor found a cloth from the sept, he didn't care it had something to do with the display for the father, and wiped him mostly clean of the blood. He couldn't wipe it all away. It stained deep.
But he was finished with this. All of it. And left without knowing what happened next.
Where could he go?
Who would he turn to?
He wandered the outskirts of the Keep. He looked more like a butcher than a bastard Prince, and blended in with the common folk and servants that made for the outer yard. He wandered aimlessly, his legs taking him towards the city, all around nearly on top of him, but unaware of him as more than anything other than a hindrance. Not one of the people he passed seemed to even make eye contact, but his gaze was lost, his body numb, his mind struggling to feel.
"Master Aegor!" the boy heard. It nearly shook him from his stupor, but he was far gone.
"Boy," the voice sounded. An arm reached out, and a Gold cloak wrapped around him. Aegor thought the next person to reach out for him would make him jump back. But once he saw the cloak, he relaxed.
He finally knew he was safe.
Willem Wylde took Aegor directly to the King. Aegor was still covered in blood and his skin nearly ghost white. He was weak from the fight, and out of sorts from the drink. His heart was heavy and his mind was still struggling to understand. Faldo had seemed to be someone that was safe.
Maybe no one is.
Aegor feared bothering his father with the matter, but Willem insisted, once hearing the boy explain what happened, that it be handled immediately and be brought directly to the King.
Aegon and his council were, as they seemed to always be, in their chambers, talking of dragons and Tyrosh and Tyrells. Aegor feared it would be him receiving the punishment, as it always had been, for everything.
"Your Grace, if it wasn't of the utmost importance, and of an intimate nature, I would never dare to impose myself like this," Willem announced, "but as I told Ser Blake, and he agreed, you would want to know and handle this now."
Aegon didn't hesitate. As wide and strong as Faldo appeared, Aegor's sire was more so. They all said he was fat, and he was, as wide as an aurochs it seemed, but he was thunderingly powerful with each angry step, and Aegor both feared and awed at his storming gait.
His royal silken black and red cape flowed behind him majestically, his tense brow flexed, holding up his crown with the strength of a dragon. His hands were like the paws of a bear, clenched, red, white, and menacing.
Aegor admired the King. That is what true power looks like.
When Willem and Ser Blake spoke quietly aside with the King, his face firmed tighter, reddened brighter, and his meaty fists clenched harder and harder with each whispered word.
"Come, then. Bring the boy."
The King stormed through court and the halls of the Keep like a one man stampede, flanked by the two armored swords of White and Gold, his subjects clearing in front of him like the Bay in the wake of a warship.
It had been mostly a blur since Willem found Aegor wandering, but it all seemed clear again as they grew closer to the scene. The boy nearly trembled, but he felt safer behind his sire and the two men sworn to protect him.
Aegon burst through the chamber door, knocking it off its steel hinge and flat to the floor. The scene had been cleaned, and there was no sign of a struggle, save the stains of red too deep to clean in the floor boards.
The Septon sat innocently behind his desk, nursing his wounds, and holding crumpled cloths over his nose. Aegor studied his eyes. They were still. Confident, even. And Aegor felt fear creep back into his heart, knowing how things always went.
"I see you've found my attacker," the Septon said from behind the bloody cloths. I wasn't going to report this to the King, but it was only my intent to wake the boy during his lesson. He launched his head back into my nose, and then beat me with a candle," the Septon said, as calm as if he hadn't done a thing. "I don't know what happened, must be the bastard in him."
Bastard. . . Bastard . . . you say Bastard! Now! How come it's always adults, shitty, horrible adults, fucking shit up worse than anyone could ever fuck shit up, and then they always just bend their head, point down at me and say Bastard! It was you! I don't even know what you were doing, but the drink and the wrestling, and the pushing me down. That was you! You're the attacker! You . . . You . . . You . .
Aegor couldn't think of an insult. He couldn't assign meaning to the events that just happened and he didn't know anything worse to call someone than:
You Bastard!
"Easy, child. I will allow you to speak. Let this man just try to explain what has happened so that we may all better understand," the King said. Did I just say that out loud? I thought. . . I thought, I thought I just was thinking that. The King knelt down, a labor it seemed, but one he didn't even hesitate to suffer through. He looked into Aegor's eyes with a light lilac stare of love and trust. "Let him speak, then there will be justice, my son."
"Your Grace," the Septon murmured, beginning to tremble as the King rose back to his feet, a full head and a half taller than the man of the faith. "I've told you the truth as it was."
"Then what of the drink? I can smell it on the boy," the King asked, simply, calm and reserved.
"I only instruct the boy in his lessons. I've naught to do with what he does in his evenings," Faldo looked to be gaining his confidence back. It worried Aegor, but for some reason, the boy still felt at ease, his father there and in control.
"Do you take me as a man of piety, Septon? A gluttonous, lustful, tyrant, to hear the rabble whisper, you think me the man to take your word as the gods'? Your current explanation for the events that have transpired, is that all you wish to say before your judgement?" The King's shadow cast large over the room. His booming voice and palpable presence weighed heavy on all in attendance. The Septon's gain in confidence, peeled back into a powerless husk of fear.
Aegor smiled to see him sink.
"Judgement? What crime am I being tried for? I've done nothing but serve the gods and the realm. I volunteered to teach this boy when no one would. I've spent more time here with him than even you, the boy's own father."
"I see you wish to further test your alliance with the gods. Pray now, then, that one deems your cause just."
"Your Grace, I mean only to-"
In the eyes of the gods, their seven idols, the White Knight, the Gold Cloak, and the King's bastard son, King Aegon Targaryen, IV of His Name, Sovereign over the Seven Kingdoms, pulled his ceremonial longsword from his hip and with one clean swing, shortened the Septon by a head.
The man wasn't even quick enough to change the expression on his face, for without a word or further hesitation, The King, and the King's Justice, was sentenced and served.
Faldo's dark, dead eyes were wide with his mouth hung open. A thin red line across his neck poured into a streaming flow, covering his Septon's robe and desk in a rush of blood, and after a moment of holding his posture, the body began to teeter, and the severed head rolled, bouncing on the floor, the damp crunch of his skull hitting the floorboards enough to make Aegor's bones quiver.
Yet the boy was still smiling.
And so was his father.
The King turned to his son after wiping the blood from his blade on the headless body's robe, resheathing it as smoothly as he pulled it just moments before. Though he'd just killed a man, his hands were clean, and he reached out his meaty right to Aegor's shoulder.
"This is a tough lesson, son, but a lesson all the same," the King said, looking down at Aegor, his lilac eyes burning in the dwindling candlelight of the sept chambers. "Power lies in the will of those brave enough to take it. That man had power over you, and tried to abuse it. You took his power away, with force and the force of your will. Let no man administer power over you, not unless it is fair and just, and the man is strong enough to enforce and impose it."
The King paused, "You may not even understand why the man did what he did, just know your bravery saved far more than just your body from injury, and all of us both grieve for your innocence, and praise your maturity. This is far too much for a boy of ten to grasp."
"I am eleven, father."
"You said you were ten in the Small Council room."
"I was, then," Aegor stammered, holding back emotion. "My nameday past over a week ago."
A/N
From above: The content in this chapter deals with two hypothetical triggers I would like to advise before reading further: 1. There is a brief mention of suicide. 2. There is an attempted paedophilic encounter with an underage child. I will not spoil anything, and I'm not promoting or condoning either. You, if this is an issue, may in fact find catharsis with the way the latter is concluded, however, I felt a warning was necessary regardless. Thank you for reading. PM for anything you feel I can do better to accommodate those who might be triggered by content like this ( I don't think this is going to be a regular thing, but this is Westeros, so its best to be prepared)
After chapter: Thank you for reading! I really enjoyed writing this chapter and hated writing this chapter. It was as excruciatingly cringey as it was fulfilling to conclude it in the way I decided fit the narrative. I look forward to hearing some of your thoughts. Aegon IV and his characterization in this work are major points of emphasis for me. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts.