✦ New Faith ✦ Aegon Targaryen

○ thirty five ○

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Tanda’s hand rests over her stomach as she drifts into light sleep, thinking of the child that grows there, and of what kind of father Aegon might become, given time. But her musings are shattered when she is abruptly pulled from sleep by a loud banging on the chamber doors. She sits up, Aegon stirring beside her as the door opens to reveal Alicent, her face lined with grief, flanked by a pair of guards and Ser Criston Cole.

“Aegon. Tanda.” Alicent’s voice is firm but hushed. “Your father… the king… he’s passed in the night.”

Tanda feels the words like a cold wave crashing over her, and next to her, Aegon sits up, blinking as though he hasn’t quite processed what’s been said.

“Viserys is dead?” he murmurs, his expression a mix of dread and confusion. He looks at his mother, suspicion flickering briefly across his face. “What are you doing here, Mother?”

Alicent steps further into the room, her face a mask of resolve. “There is no time to waste, Aegon. Rhaenyra must not hear of this before we act. The small council has convened, and plans are in motion. You must be crowned at first light—before anyone has the chance to contest it.”

“No,” he says, voice barely above a whisper at first. “No. I never wanted this. I’m not… I’m not fit for it.”

Alicent’s expression hardens, but Tanda can see the faint tremor in her mother-in-law’s hands as she clasps them together. “Aegon, you are the rightful king. Viserys named Rhaenyra his heir, but the realm will never accept her. You must understand—this isn’t a choice. If you do not take the throne, there will be war. Bloodshed.”

Aegon’s fists clench, and he lets out a mirthless laugh. “And why should that matter to me? I never asked for this burden! I’m not Viserys. I’m not…” His voice trails off as he looks to Tanda, his face twisted in anguish. “I don’t want this life. I never did.”

Tanda reaches for his hand, but he pulls away, storming to the other side of the room. He turns his back on all of them, running his hands through his hair in desperation. She feels a pang of sorrow, both for him and the uncertainty of what will come next. Deep down, she’s known that Aegon’s reckless behavior was often an attempt to escape the chains of duty. But this, standing on the brink of kingship, is something he can’t run from.

“Aegon,” she begins gently, stepping forward. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But maybe… maybe this is a chance to shape things differently. For our child. For yourself.”

He shakes his head, laughter breaking through his choked breaths, bitter and full of resentment. “Our child?” He finally meets her gaze. “And what sort of father would I be? Or king, for that matter? You saw what I am, Tanda.”

She steps closer, placing her hand on his shoulder. “You are more than you know. And maybe you don’t feel ready, but if there’s anything I believe, it’s that you can grow into this.”

Alicent, looking weary, cuts in. “Enough. Aegon, we cannot wait. The council has already declared Rhaenyra a threat, and they expect your ascension. If you will not go willingly, you will be escorted to the throne room.”

Aegon glares at her, rebellion clear in his eyes. “Then they’ll have to drag me.”

A tense silence fills the room as Ser Criston Cole approaches, giving Aegon a somber look. “Your Grace,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet authority, “the realm needs stability. Whether you wish to rule or not, it is your birthright. We will ensure your safety.”

But Aegon clenches his fists, making no move to follow. It takes two guards to step forward and finally seize his arms. He tries to pull away, but they hold him firm, their grips unyielding. Tanda feels her heart wrench as she watches him struggle, realizing how much pain he’s held back, buried beneath his rebellion and disdain.

“Aegon,” she whispers, desperation leaking into her voice. “Please… for us. For our child. This throne may be a burden, but it could also be a way to protect what we love.”

His struggles weaken, and he looks at her, resignation settling into his eyes. Though his body relaxes, his expression is one of hollow acceptance rather than peace. He lets the guards lead him, his footsteps heavy, dragging along the stone floors as they guide him toward the throne room.

With a final look at Tanda, he speaks, his voice barely audible. “If this is what it means to be king, then may the gods have mercy on us all.”