Canon Divergent Fix-It Fic Trilogy with a HEA. Multi-POV. Show/Canon merging. Not only romance-centric.
They weren't even giving her to him, not to love like he wanted. No, they were taking his Maiden and turning her into a pawn just like him, placi...
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Summary: Aegon distracts himself from his woes with some physical healing, weird talks with both his dads, and a night out with his best friend.
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Emotions were a tempest inside Aegon Targaryen as riotous as the churning waters of Blackwater Bay. He slammed the heavy bedroom door behind him, the fury of it shaking the candles in their holders on the small table inside the door. Sunfyre was a growling, heated presence inside the cage of his ribs, pulsing in time with each beat of his heart. How he craved for fang and claw so all would feel his fury.
Too hot. His skin felt too hot, too tight, too much.
Aegon tore at the buckles of his doublet, peeling off the rich, green brocade and tossing it aside. It did little to assuage his feelings. Sick curled in his gut; an impotence he could do nothing about. He yanked at the ties at the throat of his linen shirt and his eyes landed upon the bottles on the table, where they'd been residing for the past few weeks.
'Mother wishes you to dry out', his siblings had said the night after him and Aemond had been dragged back to the keep, the betrothal announcement and his brother's words swirling around his head. No more wine, no ale, no beer. Only ciders, or the watered wine they'd break their fasts with.
What good did that do him now, when nothing was at the ready to distract him anymore? Besides, it would be a shame for all these nameday gifts to go to waste.
Aegon cocked his head as he approached, swiping up the first bottle. He ran his thumb along the waxed cork, the familiar Arbor seal pressed on top. Thunder rumbled outside as Aegon worked his dagger along the seal with practiced ease, bits of wax falling to the floor like petals as he leaned against the window pane. The cool air that accompanied the end of the harvest season felt good on his heated skin, the spray of rain just outside a balm even if it was not quite what he needed.
What kind of man was he who could not protect who he loved the most? Over a moon had passed since his nameday, since Abby's horrible scream ripped through the night. All Larys Strong had found in his investigation was that the bastard had worked in the kitchens for the past year. No family, a "quiet fellow", with a few dalliances with the serving maids.
