Premise:
Before his death, Jahaerys I named his grandson as his heir. Viserys I ascended the throne in 103AC at age 26. In the wake of sixty years of peace and prosperity under his grandfather, Viserys inherited the Iron Throne, an era he endeavoured to preserve. Two years later, his first wife, Aemma Arryn, died by his order, cut open to deliver his only full-term son. He lost both his wife and child. In his guilt, he named his child by Aemma, eight-year-old Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne. One hundred fifty years of the precedent were dashed with one decision, setting them on a path to change unseen and carefully avoided since the conquest.
Viserys took Alicent Hightower to wife in 106AC when she was aged 16. And she birthed him two sons in quick succession, Aegon—born in 107AC—and Aemond—born in 109AC. She bears a daughter, Helaena, two years later and another son, Daeron, three years after. Viserys takes to none of the children, seeing them as nothing more than fulfilments of his duty as King of the Seven Kingdoms. In 114AC, Viserys utilised his daughter Rhaenyra to renew the bond between the Targaryen dynasty and the wealthiest family in Westeros, House Velaryon. It was not until Rhaenyra had borne her sons by Laenor Velaryon that it was apparent that the realm wouldn't support her if her half-brother would rule in her stead. Through the schemes perpetuated by the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, the divide between Alicent and Rhaenyra grew wider and wider.
By 126, the King's health has declined—Viserys was beginning to lose a battle to leprosy, and his looks and body become that of an older man, not the man who had yet to see his fiftieth name day. It is in that year that Viserys finally found use for his sons.
Viserys, First of His Name, sat in his chair, observing the Valyria model he had continually immersed himself in. Despite those around him swirling uncomfortably with their thinly disguised plots and schemes, he found peace in the replica. He dreamed of being amid Valyrian glory, where omnipotence and tradition would be readily available to them. Within his leisure, he knew it would not be long before he could not dedicate the time to maintaining the prized possession.
The King was in the dimness of candlelight, dressed in linen sleeping clothes and robes and wearing slippers on his feet. He experienced a dreary feeling as he contemplated the errors that had brought him to this point and the brink of disaster. The heavy burden of regret and the prospect of the future left Viserys feeling weighed down.
He'd heard his daughter Rhaenyra's proposal that her firstborn son Jacaerys and Helaena be wed and vividly recalled his Queen, Alicent, who rebuffed the notion. However, he was contemplating it. And he had all but decided he would agree because he was King and could make such declarations. In truth, he had ignored the responsibility of fathering his younger children for years. Alicent had not wanted him to. He was too comfortable allowing these errors to persist without rectifying his bonds with his children and his second queen. After Aemond lost his eye and Viserys mishandled the situation, it was easier to let things stand as they were. It was a shame, as none of them had done the right thing. And in guilt, Viserys had allowed Alicent too much latitude in the years after the children scuffled, and Aemond had suffered the proof of it. But his children remained unmarried, as they needed his approval.
Viserys sighed heavily, recalling all the ways they failed the children. From rumours to general insolence, no adult was innocent, and it wasn't very comforting to comprehend it as vividly as Viserys did. He was aware that, despite his best intentions, he had forgotten the children, and this realisation burdened him. His eldest son Aegon was already eight and nine, two years more aged than Rhaenyra when he told her she ought to marry. A small part of him wanted to laugh; he had granted Aegon something he hadn't given his daughter, and no one else seemingly cared. But Aegon was halfway down the path to drunkenness, and his second son, Aemond, had so much anger about him that Viserys truly feared it would stop his heart.
More so than illness, it seemed to him that the discord among the sides of his family was just as tiring. He was cognisant that the litany of problems had commenced with him. They came to be the day his grandsire Jahaerys named him heir instead of Rhaenys. Pride disallowed the admittance that his cousin Rhaenys possessed what should have been the stronger claim. But alas, he was the one born with a cock. He then spent the succeeding years begging for sons when his love, Aemma, died.
Additionally, he carried no deep love for the young woman who gifted him with his living sons. Subsequently, it was too late to correct where he had erred wrong with Alicent, with Otto and his schemes planted firmly between them. Having her company in more leisurely moments was pleasant when they could sit and have light conversations. But they had not been devoted husband and wife for many years. And so he found himself there, contemplating the most appropriate course of action—even if his wife hated the determination he knew he would have to construct. His second marriage to Alicent was a mistake. He had married her for the wrong reasons, and their disparities were quickly conspicuous. He'd married her for sons, and when she delivered them, the actualisation dawned on him that he would instead not modify his decision to have Rhaenyra succeed him. The abysm between himself and Alicent would never close.
Contrary to popular belief within his household, Viserys was no fool. He knew that Otto was attempting to undermine him at every turn. He was rid of him for a while, but Lyonel Strong left him for Harrenhal with Harwin and died; neither could return to King's Landing again. Viserys had to take Otto Hightower for his Hand once more. As the Hand of the King, a lord was entrusted with the highest authority in the Seven Kingdoms after the King. They had the power to advise the King, execute his orders, and control the royal court. Otto's reputation preceded him, and Viserys had no choice but to take him regardless of other truths, like Otto being a second son himself—wrought with self-ambition and pride. Viserys would never admit it, but he feared that his Hand had managed to cleave himself to the princes, and the damage was irreparable.
In turn, Virys knew that he would have to make his desires for his kingdom known to the rest of the council before he died. And use his younger children to make his choices ironclad. He just hoped his solution would force them to be satisfied enough. He knew the only way to get what he wanted was to make a bold move and take control while still able. There would be a time when a walking cane would not be enough. He was determined to make his wishes a reality, no matter the cost of his actions. If he could please Rhaenyra in this, surely she would do her best to hold their family together when she became Queen. Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena would fall in line if tied to their Targaryen family through blood and marriage. Viserys was lucky that his brother Daemon had daughters and Rhaenyra had sons.
There was a knock on his door, and he looked up from his model of Valyria to call out to his guests. "Come!" The doors pivoted open, and as he expected, Aemond and Aegon shuffled in through the doors. Ser Criston Cole stood behind them, his weary, angry face studying them. He caught sight of the King and bowed his head.
Viserys was not unintelligent as he was prideful. He knew the knight was sworn to the Queen more than anyone thought necessary. Viserys let his wife relish her self-imposed emotions by allowing her to find amusements—anything that kept her from quarrelling unnecessarily. Regardless, as of late, it seemed to be in her nature to be vexed by everything Rhaenyra did. It was unsurprising that Cole brought his children, not Sers Arryk or Erryk.
"Princess Helaena is already abed, Your Grace," Criston explained the girl's absence. Viserys drew his head up and down in acknowledgement, dismissing those who did not directly exist in his lineage. As King, he took full advantage of the regality and authority to be dismissive. Criston left them without another word.
There was an awkward silence between himself and his sons. Over the years, they'd not been close. His sons had wanted his love and attention, but he'd been too wrapped up in his thoughts and struggles for respect to give it to them. The selfish King had been too preoccupied with his feelings and problems to devote time to his sons. The lack of a father-son relationship had created an uncomfortable distance between them. He had not parented them, not the way he'd tried and dedicated to Rhaenyra. It was not an unpopular belief that being princes would be enough to keep them content—they found their interests in time. But now, Viserys found himself in need of them. He needed them to save the kingdom. He needed them to be loyal. He hoped that even if they would not find love for him, they would support their elder half-sister. He needed them to understand that this was the only way to keep the Targaryen line alive. He hoped they would put aside their differences and unite for the greater good.
If truthful, he would acknowledge that his affection for his eldest living child resulted from guilt over her mother's death. He'd see Aemma's child on the throne. As for his sons, whom he had asked the gods to provide for him, they also needed a share and have yet to obtain it. Before today, he had yet to learn how to accomplish this while maintaining his daughter's long-standing position. He had chosen a daughter as his heir instead of a son, unprecedented in the Targaryen succession.
Aemond took his place at the head of the model table, his hands folded in front of him. He was like a tree planted in his spot without fidgeting. He favoured his Targaryen ancestors, the proof evident in his build, sharp, angular face and willowy frame. He had an aquiline nose with lips that curved into a natural smirk, thin at the corners but pleasantly full in the centre with a strong cupid's bow. Aemond's silvery blonde hair adorned his head, pushed back out of his face and trailed down his shoulders. His eyes sat beneath a strong brow bone, deep-set and shadowy despite being a soft shade of lilac. His gaze was shrewd and calculating, his expression unreadable. His presence was commanding, yet simultaneously, he exuded an air of mystery. Aemond was a fearless, abrasive, obstinate, fiery, and unforgiving child, but as he aged, the appearance of his moods bubbled underneath an aloof surface. He seemed shy. His dark leather clothes were befitting of his temper; his eye patch to match was over his long hair. He'd be a strapping young man if he weren't solemn and buried under an unforgiving weight of wanting worthiness. At age ten and seven, he had overtaken his elder brother in height. And he was too young for the stoicism he carried, but it was part of him.
Viserys smiled internally, opting for the thought of Aemond as tall as Daemon rather than Otto Hightower, his Hand. He'd never referred to the man as his goodfather. As King, it would simply be comical. With no hold to claim on it, Viserys was proud of the warrior Aemond had become—his disability was ever-present. Still, his resilient son's self-investment after the injury had proven him the strongest of his siblings. But despite his efforts to prove the contrary, Aegon had a stronger hold on High Valyrian. And it would embarrass him to admit it, but the elder Prince could dance when he wasn't entirely soaked in wine.
Aegon looked like his mother, with her soft cheeks and balanced face shape. Behind the softness of his cheeks was a strong jaw. He had a sullen look that, paired with his constant drunkenness, hid his handsomeness. The Prince was dressed in a simple cotton nightgown, a sign of his status as a prince. The nightgown was a deep red, embroidered with gold threads. The sleeves were wide and billowing, and the length of the gown fell to his ankles. He had a thick, soft blanket draped around his shoulders. He was of his father's height, with his stout build. His hair was thick with a soft curl, and his eyes were shaped like his mother's—wide, with a capacity for gentleness—but in a shade of lilac like Aemond possessed. His lips were full but pouty, and his nose was straight. He owned the makings of a strong prince like Aemond, but he hadn't subjected himself to those lessons in years, leaving his body to collect an appealing layer of softness over his muscles. His platinum hair was in disarray; Viserys could not recall when his eldest boy chopped what used to be long flowing hair into a short cropped look he had about him now. His skin was a pale white, contrasting his vibrant pink lips. There was a tiredness to his eyes that produced a shadow around them, making him look older than he was at nine and ten.
Aegon spoke first as he made his way to the tankard of wine on the small side table for his father and poured into the goblet his father scarcely used. He sniffed it before drinking, shrugging when it had no unusual odours. "You wanted to see us, Father?" came the question as the Prince adjusted the blanket he had. Aegon knew his father was always serious when he wanted to speak with them; their conversations usually felt clinical. Even now, when time was spent together, they had yet to build a natural bond. Aegon was used to being ignored by the King. He was used to the King's lack of affection.
"Yes," Viserys hummed, placing the model piece he'd held back onto the display. "I know the hour is late, but I wanted to speak with you before the morning, as I'd like to have a raven sent to your sister with terms." Though he said his words, they slowly fell from his lips.
"What have we done?" Aegon asked with a sense of insecurity he typically failed to disguise. He was used to being a disappointment to the King. Viserys had always wanted sons, but not from their mother, Alicent. Aemma Arryn, the King's first wife, had died labouring with the children he had desperately wanted. Alicent could never be Aemma. Time revealed that Viserys had not genuinely craved just any son—he wanted one with Aemma. Consequently, Alicent could not give him what he desired—she could not bring back the dead. Aegon, Aemond, Helaena and Daeron could never overcome that circumstance.
It was not lost on either Prince that neither their mother nor their grandsire was there. And while their father was the King, and the crown was the law of the realm—he had only recently allowed them into his company. And his model of Valyria and its care were not often on their minds. Even when he allowed them the quiet of his company, and they took care to clean the pieces, and he told them stories, it was still odd. They had difficulty forming a strong emotional bond with him.
A bitterness bubbled beneath Aemond's carefully crafted façade. His suspicions that the first time Criston brought them to sit with their father, the ailing man had an ulterior motive were correct. Aemond had another hunch that their father was indeed set to correct his sons, who were well into marital age and unmarried. Aemond hoped that duty would dictate he married Helaena, as it vexed him to think anyone else would touch her. If it were his whore of a brother to do it, he'd indeed explode. He had no real romantic feelings for his sister, as she wasn't one to provoke much of that out of anyone. But he wanted to protect her. She was different, markedly so.
"You are to be married," Viserys said. And Aegon choked on his wine. He'd had a splitting headache before, and now it had worsened. Viserys did not look at them with sympathy, but he had never been a cruel man. Viserys continued, "You, Aegon, to Baela, and Aemond, to Rhaena."
"Our uncle will never agree to it," Aegon giggled a light lilt that Viserys recognised from his brother entirely. Even Aemond, as serious as he tended to be, cracked the smallest of smiles. But their grandsire had always described the King's younger brother as a wild, immature younger brother with too much lust for war and power. Viserys was more complimentary of the man, claiming him to be young and impulsive. He respected him for the passion and drive he had, even if he didn't always agree with his decisions or tactics. Daemon led them to storied victories. But their mother and grandsire only taught Aegon and Aemond to fear Daemon, and their uncle had not done nearly anything to endear himself to them. Aegon and Aemond were taught to fear him, and their mother and grandsire only reinforced that fear.
The last they had heard of Daemon, he had married their half-sister Rhaenyra and flew off to Dragonstone.
A lot had happened since then, including the births of their nephews, Aegon III and Viserys II. They all knew it was meant to be an insult for Rhaenyra to name her son what she had, but the elder Aegon did not find it in himself to care. He had not cared about a great many things.
Aegon avoided his brother's eyes, looking off into the room as he gulped wine. His father only received the best drinks.
Viserys still had people around him who could send and receive messages for him without interference, which was apparent to them both. While silence lapped and Aegon drank, Aemond wondered who, his mind narrowing on Maester Orwyle when his father took to receiving his treatments alone in his chambers. He'd suspected a rift in the bond between his mother and father when he'd found the Queen pacing her separate apartments, lost in thought and upset. It was difficult to reconcile, as the little boy still caged in Aemond's heart was staunchly fighting for his parents' approval. And the only person to ever give him at least a modicum of it was so detached from the ability to provide it steadily. She'd always want for something. Talk to Helaena. She is lost in her dreams today…See to it that your brother is not drunk for his lessons in the morning… Talk to your father, so we might know what he is thinking now… and now, even as he'd considered his father grasping at a solid hold on the realm as he grew sicker, Aemond thought perhaps that their lessons in the Valyrian stories were just from his heart.
"He has already agreed," Viserys replied. He and his daughter had been sharing letters for weeks. He knew Rhaenyra was thinking of matches for her children, including her stepdaughters. And Viserys quickly decided they'd be married to his sons. He knew she would agree, both father and daughter realising that the bond in their house needed mending while the chasm between herself and her half-brothers could use filling. He did not know what promises she made to her husband to make him agree. The King knew that Aegon would do as he was told—always too sensitive to fight—but Aemond, his middle child, would be the one to sink the ship by telling Alicent or Otto.
"Father, Baela is no more than four and ten," Aegon argued, a swirl of deprecation festering in his mind just as the wine was in his belly. His fingers were raw from picking them the way his mother had. He looked at Aemond but found no support in his brother's eye. His hand shot out in his younger brother's direction, a whine accompanying his words, "They half-blinded Aemond!"
"Aegon," his younger brother warned. He looked at him. Even with his eye patch, the glare he gave was intense. He did not need his brother to fight his battles, not the way Aegon needed him to do the same. He looked from his brother to his ailed father. "I would rather not be married, Father."
"Well, you will not be married for love," Viserys explained, not sounding unkind. But that was the way of things. "You will be doing this for the realm. And we will be better for it." He looked between them. "As your King, I command the end of all our infighting. I do not wish to die before It's done."
It was clear to both boys that Aegon would never be King. And only one of them was relieved. Aegon was uninterested in ruling and did not want his sister Rhaenyra's birthright. He was not so foolish to think Baela Targaryen would be a poor match. However, Aemond wondered why it could not be him to be bestowed the title of Prince of Dragonstone—the realm wanted for a male, and Viserys had three sons. Since birth, the sentiment was hammered into them that Aegon should be the heir. If Aegon wanted to ignore such truths, Aemond would not. But that did not heal the present annoyances, as Aemond would still have to marry and have heirs should he be King. Another layer of bitterness rose; his father would never disinherit his elder half-sister. These proposals were proof enough.
Something akin to interest piqued his mind—he had not seen Rhaena in many years, not since her mother died. He did not know what she looked like these days. But she had never been difficult to look at. She was of pure Valyrian blood. A good match, indeed. He couldn't begrudge his father for striking such deals. The alternative, he knew, was she'd be wed to Lucerys, and that would not do. And the little wretch was the one to take his eye. He did not deserve a wife as lovely as Rhaena or anyone. For the good of the Targaryen name, she could not marry a bastard. Aemond's fingers twitched as acceptance came over him. Seven hells.
"Aegon, you and Baela will rule Dragonstone," Viserys told him, watching him down another cup of wine. Typically, the King's heir ruled Dragonstone, but with his sons, there would be an exception. Aemond would have snorted, but he was sure that his father would not take kindly to his laughter. "It's time for you to start preparing," the King said firmly.
Aegon paused, shaking his head as the ugly face of insecurity reared in him. "Father, I can't rule a castle," He said, looking down into the open mouth of his cup, studying the redness of the wine for fear of what he may see in his father, the King's face. The King's countenance grew stern, and Aegon could feel the heat of his father's irritation.
"You must learn," He said firmly, "It's the only way you will make a man of yourself." Aegon did not argue further, as his eyes were already stinging with tears from his father's tone. Viserys looked at Aemond, "You and Rhaena will join them there."
Aemond snorted at that. "Am I to be his keeper until we die?"
Viserys glared at him. "Aemond, you are the second son. You do not have the privilege of choice in this matter. You will obey."
Aegon could feel his brother's frustration, but he was also relieved that he was not the only one being sent away. Both brothers lapsed into silence. Aemond simmered with anger while Aegon poured himself another cup and gulped it down—wine pooled in his mouth. He swallowed it down, hoping for the familiar feeling of numbness. He would lose himself later. His father had yet to dismiss them, however.
Viserys frowned and thought of his brother and how he'd mistreated him. He'd been unkind on multiple occasions, even if his brother was a scoundrel, and his provocations still proved fruitful. Rhaenyra loved Daemon all the same. There had been nothing he could do about it. But they were the exception and not the rule. His middle son argued. "Mother will never allow—"
"There is nothing for her to allow!" Viserys snapped, his strength making them bristle. He could still raise his voice despite all the ways he was no longer the young, healthy King he had once been. He was further irritated by their insolence, seeing them now as obstacles to his goal of uniting his house. "You are to be wed and make yourselves useful to the crown in earnest!"
They snped to attention, startled by his show of anger. He had not often been cross with them—he had not often spoken to them. He took a deep breath, trying to contain his rage. He knew his words had the desired effect. They would never defy him, for they knew the consequences of doing so. It was only three moons since he'd shown them this much attention. And bitterly, both boys locked that knowledge of such a short timeline away in their brains. It was easier for Aegon, as he had not often found affection from their mother or Otto. But Aemond was often called sweetling or darling by Alicent. He was usually the one their mother turned to for support, more so as he grew older and taller. Sometimes, Aemond wondered if it was like looking at a younger version of his father, with a slight pull of wonder what their relationship could have been. There were rumours, of course, that Alicent and his father were close before Aemma even died in the childbed. But Aemond pushed those rumours out of his mind. It couldn't be. He didn't have many memories of seeing his father and mother be openly affectionate. She complained of mistreatment and sinfulness more than she spoke fondly of anyone. Because of his coldness, Aemond struggled to find affection for anyone outside his siblings. And even then, he viewed his care for them as a duty.
Aegon chuckled, which only managed to cause Aemond to imagine snatching one of the pieces of the Old Valyria model before them and heaving it at him. Aemond looked away, seething with anger. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his hands were shaking. He realised he was so angry he was ready to lash out. If his brother noticed, he didn't stop himself from revealing his motivations behind the laughter. "Mother does not know."
Aemond finally moved from his frozen position before the large table, rounding further away from their father to lean on a nearby pillar. He did not drown himself in his cups like his older brother, but the conversation seemingly called for such action. The young swordsman pursed his lips as his father looked between him and his first living son. "I will make the announcements when your sister arrives," Viserys divulged, wetting his chapped lips.
"Then why are you telling us this?" Aemond wondered. It didn't appear they had any choice in the matter. The conversation only set his nerves on fire with his long-standing ire. He knew it would only stoke anger in his mother and grandsire and sever all chances of having a balanced relationship with his father if he ruined the plans.
Furthermore, it was not in his nature to willingly disappoint his family. He left that to his brother. He'd learned to benefit from Aegon's mistakes relatively early in life and continued the trend. Aegon, indeed, would give him such an opportunity once more.
"I reckon you ought not to look like caught fish when I make the announcements," Viserys replied, a chuckle turning into a cough. "Thank you," he croaked as Aemond handed him his tea. He'd caught sight of the cup before Aegon even controlled his senses to realise their father was choking. He set the cup on some other inconsequential surface.
"The hour is late," Aemond said instead of waiting for the following words from Viserys' mouth. He gritted his teeth as Aegon poured another cup of wine and gulped it. He knew he would have to follow his brother into Fleabottom to scrape him off the ground and return him home.
"Yes, quite," Viserys replied. He looked up at Aemond as his middle son reached to help him from his chair. He thought he looked particularly like Daemon, and the resemblance was uncanny. It both warmed and ached his heart.
"Aegon," Aemond called, glaring at his brother. "Quit draining the King's wine and make yourself useful." He directed, avoiding his father's eyes as he heard the sick man sigh. He steeled himself to the muted rotting smell from the man, his body wasting away. It stood to reason that betrothing them to his nieces would be one of his final decisions as King. It surprised Aemond how it saddened him. He'd never thought of what it would be like to have children, but he'd hoped that if he were in his father's position, his children would mourn him. He knew Aegon would be saddened, if not too drunk, to hold back his emotions.
Aegon helped him pull back their father's bed sheets, but he was too wobbly to help deposit the man into his bed. Aemond glared at him, and Aegon smiled cheekily, as he often did. There weren't many times he earnestly attempted to diffuse everyone's anger at him.
Viserys was breathing with effort then, nestled into bed after longer than he should have been out of it. There was a wheeze to it that made them uncomfortable. He reached out to the son closest to him, wrapping his hand around Aemond's wrist. "These betrothals…you will honour them." He said, swallowing a dryness in his throat. They nodded, looking at one another with pursed lips and despondent gazes. It did not strike him with sadness, only determination to get his way. He needed to be rid of the guilt that he had created the mess they were all in. "Promise me. As your King." He added, reminding them of their places in the world.
"Yes, Your Grace," Aemond replied, elbowing Aegon in his ribs and catching him to prevent him from falling over.
"W-we promise, Your Grace," Aegon added, bobbing his head.