One: Moonbloom
I
Princess Alyssa Targaryen comes into the world in a sacramental spritz of smoke, salt and summer rain. It is these three things Aegon remembers most later, older, as he is forced to wait out the labour in the adjacent hall with his Grand Sire and siblings, the Hand of the King, Lord Otto Hightower. The tapping of raindrops lashing the window pane by his side. The mawkish scent of Oldtown moonbloom incense his mother favours. The taste of salty sweat on his top lip as he hears his mother wailing behind a double barrelled door.
His mothers cries of agony are bright to his ears, as bright as a Septs bells, and they last all through the morn, all through the eve, and all through the following night till dawn rises once more over Maegor's Holdfast. It is, of course, not his mothers first time in her birthing bed. She had been there thrice before now with himself, with Helaena, and with Aemond not fourteen moon tides ago. Yet this one is different. Terribly, terribly different. Aegon is young, but he is not so young, as is Aemond, or as distracted, as Heleana with a spider she was tracking down the flagstones, to not realise this.
His mother cries, and cries and cries, and Septa's and Ladies buzz about her room like honeybees, carting pitchers of water and swaths of linen that leave the room a stark and horrible red, bundled up in shaking, white hands. Aegon sits on a stool through it all, a child, back against cool, hard stone, besides his Grand Sire but not his father.
The King is not here. He has not been here since the beginning of the labour pains. He is, instead, with his daughter, Rhaenyra.
This too Aegon will remember with startling clarity.
His father is not there. He never really is.
Still, the Ladies in sullied, bloodied dresses come sneaking through his mothers chamber doors, and Aegon counts them in twos, then fives, then tens. He counts them like Helaena does with the pill bugs she finds under rocks and twigs. As if they were made of precious gold and gemstones.
He counts them until the howling Hightower behind the closed door falls to silence. The Red Keep seemingly quietens with her. Holding their breath, perhaps their prayers, something that settles as heavy and sickly sweet in the narrow halls as the moonbloom incense.
Suddenly, the air is split asunder by the sound of a bellowing babe.
Otto, besides him, seems to sag a little at this. Be it in relief for the cessation of his daughters pain or in respite to be finally done with the ordeal of, what he calls, women's business, Aegon does not know. He likes to think it is the former, however, even when he suspected it was the latter when he's older.
A Lady comes peeking out the door, a tired, heavy lidded thing with blood up her arms but a kind smile on her weary face, and she smiles at Aegon's Grand Sire. Otto braces a hand on his shoulder and drags him into the dark room that reeks of his mothers blood.
II
Aegon's mother shows him the swaddled babe in her arms in a way that reminds him of the look in his Grand Sires eyes when Otto glances at his fathers crown when he thinks no one is looking. Aegon looks. Aegon's always looking. Always looking in from the out. Covetous, perhaps, proud, definitely. As if what she holds in her weak, lax arms is the entire world in miniature form.
Alicent had looked the same way when she'd presented Helaena, beckoned him to see Aemond, and Aegon hopes, once upon a time, she had shined the same way when she cradled him.
He doubts it now, but he still hopes.
Then, however, he remembered looking at this babe that had caused such strife for his mother, which must be worth value for all the pain it caused for such a small, tiny thing, and he remembers thinking it ugly.
Oh, if only he knew, if only he knew back then what was to come, he'd laugh himself hoarse at the thought.
It still had blood smeared in clots on its scrunched up face, and scrunched up it is. Angry, almost, beneath its own crown of copper curls. It's nose is wrinkled up like crushed velvet, it's brows pulled down and hooded unimpressed by its own first venture into the world, and It looks like a snarling, pink piglet that would, if it could, nip at Aegon's fingertips if he dared to venture too close.
By his own wrinkled nose, his mother must peek his thoughts because she laughs weakly at his expression.
"You looked much the same when you were born."
Aegon doubts it, but he dares not press his mother on it. She can be… temperamental that way. As if everything Aegon says, everything Aegon does, is a challenge, a dare, a great disappointment.
So he settles for something safer instead.
"What is his name?"
His mother jostles the babe in her arms, laying it heavy on her chest to rest her arms from the weight that can't be too much, given the size of the little babe.
"I believe you mean what is her name."
A girl then, a sister. Now he has two. He hopes this one doesn't hide beetles under his pillow. Aegon, even here, even now, is not impressed. Much like his new sister, it seems.
And then the babe opens her eyes and stares right at him, and everything changes.
III
One eye is a violet, like sunshine through a Septs stain glass window, the other an emerald so bright and fierce words can do it no justice. There's something soft there, something fiery too, a clash between the pupils, a warring between the two eyes staring at him with an uncanny focus a babe of minutes old should not have.
"Alyssa."
Aegon speaks into the silence, and his mother regards him with a twist of her lips that make his ears burn and his cheeks flush.
"Alyssa's a good name."
He reiterates, and this soothes his mothers confusion who, instead, peeks down at the babe by her chest and brushes away a sodden, lucent Hightower red curl from the still frowning brow of a babe who, indeed, does not look overawed to be here.
"Alyssa, yes-"
His mother finally agrees after a long stretch of contemplation.
"I was thinking of a Daenys or a Vaella, but Alyssa… yes, quite good Aegon. Alyssa Targaryen. Come say hello."
Aegon does come over, slowly, riding high on his mothers rare praise of doing something good, up from the bottom of the quelled blood blotted bed, all the way across the hardwood flooring to his mothers side.
The babe watches his every move like a hawk watches a field mouse in the long grass. Attenttiveness and interest cross-bred with a heady, moonbloom perfumed anticipation of what's to come. It's eerie, it's unsettling, and it excites a young Aegon like nothing else.
The babe sees him, really, truly sees him, and for a boy who keeps disappointing his mother, is never enough for his father, is nothing but a way to a crown for his Grand Sire, it bubbles something under his skin he cannot name.
Not yet.
Without thought, without mind, his hand raises and crosses the distance to stroke a smeared cheek tenderly. The babe nuzzles at the gesture and-
"OW!"
Aegon cries and snatches his hand back, clutching tightly at his stinging finger.
"She bit me!"
He could have sworn the huffing noise from the babe sounded like laughter.
A.N:
Aegon: *tenderly strokes his newborn sisters cheek to say hello.
Fem!Harry, who's just been reborn and is wondering what the fuck is going on and why they cant hold their head up any longer: So you have chosen death.
I won't lie, this is for one of my all time favourite authors here, Tsume Yuki, who asked if I have ever thought about writing a Aegon II fic a while back (which made me squeal when I realized she'd read something of mine) I thought about it, and then I fell down a rabbit hole of Aegon thirst. This is the product of that downward spiral, and I hope, if you are reading this Tsume Yuki, you like this.
I will quickly say the greens are slightly more sympathetic in this fic than what is portrayed in the show. I understand the choices the show took, they are obviously going for a Rhaenyra pro spin, which is understandable given the limitations of visual media against the inner workings we get from books, but I really do want to bring in a bit more nuance back to the greens. It's part of what makes the dance so tragic.
Hope you all liked this first chapter, if you can, drop a review, and i will hopefully see you all again very soon. Happy weekend! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21