Chapter 3: The Rising Tide
Aegon was on a calm beach, King's Landing loomed in the distance. The full moon, a bright pearl, shown through the night sky and illuminated the shore in a soft light. The beach was normally a bright place, full of warmth and security, and filled with life and laughter. But that was when his mother was alive. Now it felt cold and empty.
Aegon was not alone, though he felt it in his heart. His family were arrayed on the beach, though missing a usual member. Rhaenys was walking down the sandy shore, Viserys played in the water alongside Daenerys, and Jon sat beside Aegon. The two of them had halfheartedly built a sandcastle, like they used to do. They kept building and building, the castle growing taller and taller. The winds were picking up, and Aegon could not stop thinking. Of his mother, of heads falling and the bloodied bodies they left behind, of falling maidens and suddenly it was Aegon that was falling. He stared up into a sky that had grown so much darker. The storm clouds had rolled in and now began to blanket the moon. The wind grew ever stronger. A storm, long brewing, began to unleash its fury. The wind roared as Aegon climbed to his feet.
A powerful gust toppled him, and their castle soon followed. Jon was half buried under the sand and Aegon scrambled to help. But to his dawning horror, Aegon came to realize that the more he dug the more there was to dig. Soon enough he could no longer see his brother.
"Help!" Aegon called out, digging furiously. "Help me!" He looked about, but the guards and attendants had disappeared.
"Rhaenys!" The King cried, but she had been swallowed up by sandy dunes.
Desperately, Aegon cast his gaze towards the sea. There, alone, he saw Viserys standing on the water -staring back at him. Dany was gone.
The storm screamed at him as Aegon ran to his uncle, so far out to sea. The distance seemed to stretch ever further as Aegon ran. His limbs felt heavy, not all there. And to his horror, the sea itself was drawing further away from him.
'I just have to reach Viserys.' Aegon thought to himself. 'If I can grab his hand...'
Aegon willed his limbs to move. Closer, closer. It seemed like ages. Viserys held out his hand, a sad smile upon his face. Aegon stretched out his arm, reaching so desperately for his uncle's hand.
But now the water was coming for him, a wall of water as high as Aegon's Hill. It surged over Aegon, swallowing him up and forcing him back. The water whirled around him, blocking out all other sensation. End over end, Aegon tumbled, seeing nothing and hearing nothing but the crashing water that battered and pushed and pulled. He soon lost his sense of direction and, had you asked him then, he could not have told you which way was up. Panic settled into him then, the need to breath growing ever more urgent as his lungs burned. By some miracle, Aegon broke through to the surface. Desperately gasping for breath, Aegon cried out for Viserys. Quickly losing hope, Aegon cast his gaze across the dark and tumultuous waves, but his uncle was nowhere to be seen. Aegon found himself then in the middle of the sea, he no longer knew if he was far from land or if the land had been conquered by the sea. The gale tore the air asunder, lightning cracking in the sky above, then another wave slammed into Aegon and he began to sink. It was calm under the sea.
As Aegon was drawn further under the water everything seemed to still, the world under the sea was lifeless. The stillness seemed to frighten Aegon even more than the violent waves. It had given him time to think. Viserys was gone, Daenerys was gone, Rhaenys was gone, and Jon was gone. Everyone was gone, perhaps Aegon was too. It was so cold, shiveringly cold, freezing in the vast ocean. Aegon was ready to be gone. He allowed himself to sink deeper into the dark abyss. He stared into it the shadowy depths as they encompassed him, and it stared back.
A terrible, massive, monstrous eye opened up below him. It focused only on him. The panic burned in Aegon once more. Aegon tried to turn and flee, but it felt as though his limbs were weighted with lead. The great eye followed him as he sank, its tendrils dimly silhouetted as it moved through the vast still ocean. As it neared him however, it hesitated. And turned. Aegon turned as well, and stared, beyond the leviathan, into the immense and impenetrable depths. There it manifested.
Silent but screaming, it emerged from its cloak of shadow. Some great and terrible other. A sickly and webbed hand reached for Aegon.
Terrified, Aegon watched the grotesque limb inch towards him. They saw him. Aegon found himself then, how he found the will he did not know. But he kicked then, and clawed upwards. Harder and harder he struggled to reach the surface, the cold making his limbs sluggish and unresponsive. The otherworldly terror followed slowly, but unceasingly.
They were all around him now. Hands grabbing and clawing at him, scratching at him and dragging Aegon back down. Aegon's lungs burned for air, he could hold his breath no longer. He screamed. And water rushed in, drowning him while he was surrounded by the others.
Aegon awoke in a cold sweat. The taste of salt upon his tongue.
The morning went by quickly. Aegon was draped in mourning clothes of black, the servants had meant to dress him in a more extravagant black velvet doublet with ruby teardrops, but Aegon had opted for something simpler. Today was not a day for extravagance, today was a solemn day. Ser Barristan and the rest of the Kingsguard had gathered to escort the royal family to Elia's funeral. The great bells of Baelor's Sept were ringing to call congregants to Elia's funeral service. Quietly, Aegon and his escort traveled out into the keep's courtyard, where the pride of Westeros had gathered. Nobility and knights from what must have been near every house in the Seven Kingdoms had gathered here for the procession to Baelor's Sept. Near the gate were even Seven of the Most Devout, set apart by their silver vestments and crystal crowns. They stood alongside a number of their attendants near the head of the procession. They bore the banners of the Faith, depicting the seven-pointed star over a rainbow of colors.
"Your palanquin is ready, your Grace, princess." A servant held the door of the riding box and helped Rhaenys climb in, though Aegon paused. "Your Grace?" The servant gave him a questioning look.
"I think I will walk today." A few gasped at that.
"But, your Grace, you will dirty your fine clothes. The walk," the man stared, aghast, and unsure of what to say, "it is too far. You will surely be too tired."
"A minor discomfort." Aegon's shoes shined black. "Today I mourn my mother," Aegon's voice shook, "perhaps, through this small trial, the gods may show her favor."
"Queen Elia was a most pious women, she will surely be in the god's favor. You need not-"
"Enough! I have made my decision." The young king glared at the man, before walking up to Ser Gerold Hightower. "My Lord Commander, I hope you will grant me this inconvenience. We have both lost someone close to us."
"I understand." He said solemnly. "We're are, all of us, at your command, your Grace. You are our king." Ser Gerold handed the reigns of his horse to his squire and stood before the gathered knights at the head of the procession. "Shall we depart?"
Aegon looked out the castle gates, and thought of the journey from the other day. 'This will be yet further. And on foot as well.'
He knew the walk would take much out of him. The sun was out and the day was beginning to warm, though it felt cooler now to Aegon, it would surely blaze soon enough. The walk, and the vigil that Aegon had planned to carry through the night, now became a dreaded prospect. It would be no small task for one so young.
But then, when the king thought his will might break, a hand wove its way into his. Beside him was his little brother Jon.
"May I join you, Egg?" Jon asked, his voice was small, and his eyes were filled with worry.
Aegon gave a slight smile at that, taking comfort in his brother's sympathy. "Of course, Jon. Ser Gerold, let us proceed!"
"Right! Horses to the flanks!" The White Bull began shouting orders, reorganizing the line as they began their slow walk down Aegon's Hill.
'If Jon can bring himself to join me, then I cannot falter.'
Aegon had made the trip down Aegon's Hill many times, but never under such circumstances. The Hill felt higher, steeper. Aegon dreaded the destination, an anxiousness filling him with each step. The world felt less vibrant now, the day seemed darker, as if the sun itself was mourning Elia's passing. Aegon had not noticed them reaching the bottom of the hill, and was surprised to find himself walking through the Street of Seeds. The green trees and striking flowers now did little to lift Aegon's mood. The common folk of the city had lined the streets to gawk at the procession. Some among them even joined the walk to the Sept, though Aegon's escort took care that none breach the line. Mourners called out to Aegon and Rhaenys, expressing sympathy for a queen that had cared for them these past years.
"She was… most kind, your mother." Jon spoke up, barely loud enough to be heard over the bustling procession.
Aegon sighed. "She was."
"I'm sorry that… she… well. She was always kind to me." Jon looked away. "Even though she didn't have to be. The stories she'd tell us, the games we played, the trips we took, those were wonderful."
Aegon gave Jon's hand a light squeeze, though he could not respond. He thought back to his dream, and the castle that he and Jon had built, the castle that had buried his brother. The dream left a sour note on Aegon's memories.
By the time they reached the main square Aegon's legs ached. He could feel the sores and calluses forming on his feet already. Aegon feared for his feet in the coming service, and the demand that his approaching vigil would place upon him. If his feet hurt so already, he could only imagine what his little brother was going through. Aegon looked to Jon, the smaller boy looked even more haggard than Aegon felt. In the middle of the square, Aegon paused the procession for a moment. He looked to Baelor's Sept, gleaming white high above them atop Visenya's Hill. The seven crystal bell towers slowly echoing their call to service.
"You can ride in the palanquin with the others." Aegon urged. "You don't need to share my trial; you don't need to prove anything."
Jon shifted uneasily on his sore legs, he looked like he wanted to collapse more than anything.
"I do. You need-." He paused, looking frustrated. "Let's just go."
And so, they began their trek onwards. Turning onto the Street of Sisters, they began their climb up to Baelor's Great Sept.
On their way up Visenya's Hill, the Sept loomed over them as they grew closer. Aegon's legs burned under him, his feet throbbed and flared in pain with every step. Jon was breathing heavily and Aegon himself was not much better.
'This must have been how Baelor felt on his journey through Dorne.' Aegon thought briefly, before dismissing the idea. Baelor's journey to Sunspear was far longer, and Aegon had footwear. Baelor's journey through Dorne had seen a peace forged that would in time see the Seven Kingdoms united in truth. Baelor had braved a pit of vipers to rescue his cousin Aemon, the Dragonknight. Those trials were greater than Aegon's, but Aegon didn't wish for any great achievement. He didn't need to end a war or make a daring rescue. He just wanted his mother to be at peace.
It was not too long before they crested the hill and entered the great marble plaza. The tall statue of King Baelor erected in the center of the plaza, gazed down upon them. The most pious king still watching over his people to this day. A large crowd had gathered outside the Sept, to mourn the passing of Queen Elia, and to listen to Septons echo the sermon prepared by the High Septon.
The crowd parted for the procession of nobles for which the interior of the Sept had been reserved. Aegon sat at the entrance to the Hall of Lamps for the ceremonial cleansing, in which his feet were washed. It was a relief to rest, even for a short time. The cool water was a blessing that soothed his sharply burning feet. As other nobles followed the same process, Aegon looked over to his brother. Jon had shared in Aegon's pain, it was kind, it was brave, and Aegon felt a measure of pride for his brother. When the Septon attending to him rose and beckoned to Jon to take Aegon's place, Aegon stood and waved the man off.
"Sit, Jon." Aegon commanded. And as his brother took to the marble bench, Aegon kneeled before him. To the surprise and dismay of those around them, Aegon began to remove Jon's shoes.
"King Aegon!" Aron Santagar interrupted, he was a Dornishman, and head of Elia's guard. "Surely you don't mean to wash… his feet."
"The Septons say we should have humility." Aegon replied simply, knowing that the knight had never liked Jon.
"But- your Grace, he is-" Santagar sputtered.
"There'll be no more arguing today, ser." Ser Gerold cut in gruffly. "The king has made his decision."
Aegon silently thanked Gerold. Ladling some water from the basin, the young king began to wash his brother's feet. Aegon winced at the redness and growing callouses and blisters upon Jon's feet. His little brother was not used to such long walks, and had not worn appropriate shoes.
"Thank you, Jon." Aegon said quietly. "For doing this with me, it helped."
The young king had been through much in recent days. No doubt his sister was feeling the loss of their mother just as harshly, as she had kept to herself since their mother's passing.
The bells had rung the night Elia had died, and had continued to ring throughout the following day. Word was spread to the gathered people at Baelor's Sept, that had been some time ago.
It had made it so difficult for Aegon to rest that day, the fresh memory of his mother's loss along with the constant reminder of the bells.
Now, on the day of the funeral, Aegon felt the exhaustion acutely. Sleep wasn't easy anymore, and the nightmares made it worse, Aegon hoped that standing vigil after the service would settle his thoughts and bring some measure of peace to his mother and himself.
Aegon had never been very devout. He had read the words of the holy book, of course, and listened to the sermons, but they had never meant too much to him. They were all too often merely dry words from an age past that older folks liked to drone on about. Lately however, Aegon had begun to pray more often. First for his mother to return, then for her peace.
They entered then, passing through the faint glow of lamps to the central atrium. The shining light of the day's sun shone down through massive windows of stained glass depicting the Seven and the heroes of the Faith. The great dome of glass and gold above them shined as bright as the Seven-Pointed Star itself. Aegon stiffened as he looked upon his mother, laid out upon a raised marble bier. Her skin was paler, now that her life was gone. Aegon tried not to look at her as he took his place at the front of the benches. The High Septon, in his voluminous white robes and his gold and crystal crown, stepped forward to begin the proceedings.
"We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Queen Elia Martell. Wife of King Rhaegar, now passed. Mother of King Aegon and Princess Rhaenys." As the High Septon began listing off more distant relatives, Aegon cast he gaze about the room. Rhaenys sitting beside him, her mourning dress already somewhat torn, she was still picking at a loose thread even now. Each member of Aegon's kingsguard flanked him and the royal family today. There was also a host of notable Dornish Lords and knights whom comprised Elia's household and advisors, the Santagars, Lord Jordayne, and a number whom Aegon had not managed to memorize as of yet. Across from them was Lord Tywin, the tall and imposing head of house Lannister, and Aegon's own Hand of the King. His bushy whiskers framed the flanks of his face, highlighting a face that had never smiled. Even now, Tywin did not look to be in mourning, he still had his usual hard look about him. Even his men, perhaps, did not look near as mournful as they should.
'Mother had never liked him.' Aegon recalled. And indeed Aegon himself did not appreciate the times they'd met. When Tywin's gaze fell upon Aegon, Aegon looked away.
A great host of local lords were scattered across the atrium as well. Lord Velaryon and Lord Rykker, standing as far away from Tywin as he could, were among them.
"Queen Elia, alongside the most wise members of the King's council, led us out of tumultuous times following the great war that took our Kings Aerys and Rhaegar. She, with the Seven's guidance, helped stitch this realm back together, after the swords of brothers had clashed." The High Septon continued. "She was a Faithful wife and loving mother, charitable to the people and the orphans of King's Landing. She built on the peace won by King Rhaegar on the banks of the Trident."
A member of the Most Devout stepped forward and handed a thick book over to the High Septon. As the leader of the Faith began to read from its holy book, Aegon's mind wandered, he would not later remember much of what the High Septon said, so lost in grief as he was. No longer would he see his mother's smile in the morning. No longer would he feel her warm embrace. No longer would he hear her voice, her laughter and wisdom. All of it would be in the past now, in fading memories.
"The Father above shall judge Queen Elia justly. May His divine wisdom see that she rests in peace, may He protect Elia's children and impart them with the wisdom to rule the Seven Kingdoms justly. The Mother above shall join hands with Elia now, and together they will watch over her children. May the Warrior guard us and lend us the strength we need to face the trials of the future. The Smith assist us in our labors, and see to our prosperity. The Maiden protect and give courage to Princess Rhaenys, and to all women in need. The Crone guide us, may She light the way forward. The Stranger now takes Elia to the heavens. Let us all pray, for the prosperity and good health of King Aegon and Princess Rhaenys, and the Seven Kingdoms."
As the High Septon ended his sermon, the Most Devout led the Song of the Seven. When the songs finally ended, and the crowd began to exit, a procession of notables made their way over to the royal family to express their condolences. Aegon hollowly thanked each in turn.
"Your Grace," Aron Santagar approached alongside his brother and niece, "my family and I offer our condolences. I must also apologize as I will be taking my leave from the capital to bring Queen Elia back to Dorne."
Aegon frowned. It tore at his heart that his mother was not to be buried alongside his father's ashes below Baelor's Sept. Dorne is so far away, it would not be easy for the young king to visit and mourn his mother. As the Santagar girl was saying her goodbyes to a tearful Rhaenys, Aegon's gaze caught on the pride of house Lannister and the approaching Hand.
"I'm sorry for your loss, your Grace, princess." Ser Jaime Lannister addressed the two, solemnly. "I know the pain of losing a mother at such a young age. If there is anything I can do, you need only ask it of me."
"You do yourself credit, to so diligently devote yourself to your duty. The realm will do its utmost to see that King Aegon is cared for." The Hand of the King and Lord of the Westerlands, Tywin Lannister cut in. "Your Grace, your mother has passed. In her stead, I have assumed Queen Elia's place as regent, under my authority as your Hand and with the assent of the small council. Once your vigil is complete, you will be expected to attend the meetings of your small council, the royal stamp of approval will be necessary on a number of documents and it's high time you learned to rule properly."
Aegon furrowed his eyebrows and thanked the Lord of the West, as he did so many others. Lord Trebor Jordayne, a somewhat distant kinsman Daemon's, approached alongside another man.
"King Aegon, I am so sorry about your loss." Trebor began.
"Your Grace, I am Lord Tremond Gargalen. I wish we could have met under less sorrowful circumstances. Queen Elia was gracious in rule and kind to her people. She will be missed dearly."
"On the behalf of your uncle, Prince Doran, we will do our utmost to defend your interests." Trebor added. "Lord Tywin is a capable enough man, but he is of the West, and we all know the things he has done."
"He does not have your family in mind, only his own." Gargalen all but spat.
Court rivalries were not something new to Aegon, and so Aegon prepared to voice his thanks for their dedication to the Crown. A loud jingling of chains caught Aegon's attention however. The Grandmaester had entered the Sept and shuffled quickly over towards the tall and imposing figure of Tywin Lannister.
"My Lord Hand. I come bearing most terrible news." Pycelle huffed out, shakily handing over a small letter. "Balon Greyjoy has risen in rebellion, Lannisport is burned."
And so we introduce the story's true antagonist, long walks! This seems like a fun chapter to me, I did enjoy writing it. Maybe still a little on the dry side of things, but I blame my years of writing scientific and historical papers for that. I just can't seem to help myself from pointing out some snippet of asoiaf history or admiring some architecture, though I'm unapologetic about that sort of thing. Although, I can work on characterization and dialogue.
Still, four months of inaction on this story then, boom, I knock out half a chapter in a day. I think being stuck inside so much due to the pandemic might be getting to me. Sometimes it feels like I'm not accomplishing much lately, but looking back I've done quite a lot these last few months. I've taken two fast paced courses on Spanish to supplement my knowledge from high school, graduated college, joined protests for racial justice and against the poor response to Covid coming from the US president, been working to see a new president get elected, and so on. I've been doing a lot of reading and watched some fun shows, moved out of my college place, built a closet for my room, wrote this chapter, exercised more, and started listening to some new music (rediscovered my high school love for Juanes' songs, too). I should dig out my old clarinet or practice some on my guitar, that might be a fun diversion from things, too. Maybe I'll try translating my fic into Spanish, to keep practicing my second language, and possibly do some light editing on the earlier chapters as well.
I guess time has just been flying by, and shifting from one thing to another made it appear even faster. Although, the content of this chapter probably didn't help with my writing pace either. I lost a friend of mine to Covid-19 back in April, so writing about a funeral wasn't really on the top of my list. I hope you're all still staying safe out there.
On a more positive note, I do enjoy reading through the statistics that this site keeps track of. It's especially cool that I can get an idea on where my readers are from. There are the usual suspects in North America and Western Europe, of course, but then I also have readers from places like the Philippines, India, and Mongolia. I treasure that one dude in Vietnam that read through my story somewhere around 6 different times (or just had a terribly difficult time loading it), or those couples from the Bahamas and Barbados that read my fic when they could have been enjoying their summer days in the Caribbean. Cool folks out there, I hope you enjoy this chapter.