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CHAPTER ONE
THE PRINCE &
THE HANDMAIDEN
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"THE KING IS DEAD."
The news is quick, delivered by a servant he'd paid well to keep his activities hidden. He thanks the boy with a gold dragon and a threat to cut out his tongue if he's ever seen near the Red Keep again.
It was a threat Aegon knew well.
His father had spat it out at him enough times when bringing up his nephews. Those 'three strong boys' were never mentioned again after the events of Driftmark, although Aegon and Aemond had both made a vow to kill Lucerys Velaryon if either got the chance.
Aegon finds his personal decanter of Dornish Red and pours himself a drink.
The King is dead.
His father finally succumbing to the illness he'd borne since the death of his first son.
Baelon.
Aegon downs the Dornish Red in mere seconds, pouring himself another glass and swallowing it just as fast.
He was no fool to the position he found himself in now.
He could see his grandfather and mother huddled around the small council table, deciding the fate of the realm for him and his sister and brother with no care for their wants.
Their desires.
Aegon had never desired the throne. He saw it cut his father to pieces, what little sanity the man had left leaking out in rivers of royal blood.
How many times had Aegon himself stared at that chair, wondering if it would shred him too.
Wondering if it would drive him mad like Maegor.
Besides, what power was there to be gained from an iron seat surrounded by carrions waiting for corpses?
They would poke and prod and knead him until he was nothing but bone, skin flayed by the demands of the people.
By the demands of the Lords and Ladies he already could not stand.
Aegon was no King.
He was hardly a man.
A drunken fool, more like, his grandfather sneered.
Then make me a fool, He'd asked, his mother's eyes wide at the request. Give Rhaenyra the crown and let me be. I have no need for it. No desire for it. I will not challenge her.
His mother pales at his words and his grandfather grows red with rage.
Together it is a queer sort of pink, the same color that tinges Helaena's cheeks when he takes her to bed with him.
You cannot say such things, his mother hisses, grasping him by the shoulders and shaking him until his neck aches. If anyone hears you it will be our heads on pikes, decorating the halls of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name.
Is that not what everyone wants? He asks.
He sees his mother deflate at his words, shoulders slumped as if bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders.
YOU ARE READING
THE OLD THEREBEFORE ︱ AEGON II TARGARYEN
Fanfiction"STRIKING A ROYAL IS A PUNISHABLE OFFENSE" "YET HERE I AM READY TO LOSE MY HAND FOR IT" A ROYAL PRINCE FINDS HIMSELF INTRIGUED BY THE EVERYDAY RUSTICS. {AEGON II X OC} HOTD S1-???
