A Throne Of Swords
Aegon was conscious that the members of the small council had shown a preference for him over his sister Rhaenyra for as long as he knew. Such whispers and suggestions of favouritism towards the eldest prince over the appointed heir had only ever served their purpose by driving a wedge between the boy and his father and creating tensions in the family. But it had been his network of spies and informants who made the young prince aware of the coup his grandfather and council had been concocting behind his back with the intention of putting him on the Iron Throne.
It seems to be a deeply rooted habit of mankind to fear and reject what they don't understand. When it comes to women in positions of power, this fear manifested as resistance, resentment, and even hostility. But Draco had been raised around formidable women all his life, and he had ample evidence to prove the contrary.
His Aunt Bellatrix had risen through the ranks of the Death Eaters more quickly than any man could ever have and had served the Dark Lord as his right hand for longer than anyone else. And then there was his mother, the cunning Narcissa, who had been the first woman to sit at the Death Eaters' table without bearing the Dark Mark on her arm. And even within Hogwarts, there were numerous examples of powerful and talented witches, such as Professor McGonagall, who had been both the Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress. The Dark Lord himself told everyone that it had been Lilly Potter's sacrifice and magic that actually contributed to defeating him.
So Draco knew that these women were proof that gender did not define one's worth or capabilities.
But the Westerosi had gotten used to undermining women with their deeply entrenched belief that they are too emotional, too irrational, and too weak to be considered effective leaders. Women here were property owned by their fathers and brothers, waiting to be sold off to their husbands who owned them unto his death, whereby they would be owned by their sons. They were never only theirs. They did not possess the freedom to choose their lives.
Yet, knowing all this, the wise king Jaehaerys had called the Great Council 101 to make their impartial decision between Rhaenys and Viserys. This foolish notion only served as an iron precedent on matters of succession in the eyes of many: regardless of seniority, the Iron Throne of Westeros could not pass to a woman nor through a woman to her male descendants. That a male claimant must prevail over a female. And in the absence of a trueborn son, the king's brother would come before the king's daughter, as Baelon had come before Rhaenys in 92 AC.
And their father, may he soon rest in peace because Aegon could no longer bear the burden of his afflictions nor see his body and spirit ravaged by the relentless pain, had just forced such lords not even 5 years later to swear their allegiance to a girl of three and one, without considering the potential consequences and the strong opposition it would provoke. And when asked, "What of the ruling of the Great Council of 101?" it fell on deaf ears. As if he hoped not acknowledging the simmering tensions and power struggle would somehow alleviate or resolve the underlying issues.
It was a misguided belief.
By appointing Rhaenyra as the heir apparent, their father, King Viserys, had naively believed that just his gesture would solidify her claim and quell any opposition. However, this decision failed to address the deep-seated rivalries and ambitions within House Targaryen, instead exacerbating them further. The political landscape remained volatile, with factions rallying behind different potential successors and vying for power. The lack of open acknowledgement and mediation of the underlying power struggles allowed them to fester, not only among the men of the realm but in the family itself.
Sometimes, Aegon was glad Helaena and Rhaenyra at least had their dragons to back them, unlike his lady mother, who had been forced into a marriage with a much older king, a political union orchestrated by her own father that had left her with no agency over her own life. She was bound to bear children for her husband, regardless of the toll it took on her health and well-being, while his grandfather and other lords schemed to secure their own power.
Even to this day, Jeyne Arryn of Vale had to fight her own kin because they believed being a man gave him more authority to rule... they thought her too soft. And while Aegon had given her all the advice he could by naming the few lords who could support her claim the same way they had supported Rhaenys and would raise arms for her if called, and had asked her to stay resolute in her determination regardless of opposition, hoping at least seeing another woman in power would give the lords a belief she could run her keep, it had all turned for nought. Because soon, another of her cousins sought to replace Lady Arryn, not a moon turn later.
It was a hopelessly failing endeavour.
And Aegon did not know what more he could possibly do than imperio everyone of these insipid fools to take their heads out of their arses and think with their mouth instead of their cocks. However, any sudden alteration in plans would only serve to portray Rhaenyra as a witch and would provide other lords with an opportunity to demonize her as a threat that must be eliminated.
"Again," Though Ser Criston Cole had been Lord Commander of the Kingsguard since Ser Harrold Westerling died before Aegon could reach his sixth name's day, he had always spent time to train and mentor the young princes in matters of combat and chivalry. And if Ser Criston were to not present, the duty would fall upon their sworn sword. In Aegon's case, Ser Lorent Marbrand.
Ser Criston had first recommended Ser Arryk Cargyll to the young prince when he was seven but was declined. "I have seen the capabilities of identical twins and how seamlessly they can switch places," Aegon had said when asked why, a distant look in his purple eyes. "I could never entrust someone like that with access to my chambers. It would be too great a risk to take, and the potential consequences too dire to ignore."
But still, compared to practice with a sworn shield that had gotten assigned to protect and serve him, Ser Criston's training was brutal and without restrictions. Though Aegon couldn't deny the results. The silver-haired boy liked to believe that he was getting better at it. But Ser Criston is scarce with his compliments, much like Severus Snape, so Aegon can only ever wonder. And while the improvement seemed slow, it was not without cost. Underneath his steel, the wool and boiled leather Aegon Targaryen was a tapestry of cuts, scabs and bruises.
Yet, when called upon, the prince was quick to respond to the Dornish warrior's challenge, and the swords clacked once more as they danced a familiar dance. Soon, a crowd was forming around them, guests of the court, stableboys and knights. But they both did not let it deter them. Aegon saw an opening and rushed the Lord Commander hard. Ser Cole takes one step backwards and meets the charge with a two-handed slash. If Aegon had not interposed his shield, it might have staved his breastplate in and broken half his ribs. The force of the blow staggered him for a moment and sent a solid jolt up his arm.
There was a sudden murmuring from the crowd behind him, but Aegon couldn't listen. Perhaps Ser Criston was surprised by his own counter and had wished to check his well-being because he was lowering his sword ever so slightly. And Aegon couldn't let such an opportunity waste away.
He used his speed and lithe body to move so quickly that Ser Criston saw only a blur as the other boy whipped around and kicked out at his wrist. The sword fell from Ser Cole's right hand's numb grasp, and the knight threw himself backwards with pure instinct, but Aegon was faster, drawing his blade to slash out at him. The Dornish knight ducked, and the sword whistled past his head. Aegon heard himself curse at the miss, and soon Ser Criston came up with his own blade swinging. The two clashed together with the sound of ringing metal, and Ser Criston grinned, an appreciative glint in his pale green eyes. "A fine move, my prince, though some might call it underhanded."
"You've taught me to never underestimate my opponent and seize every advantage, Ser," Aegon says as shadows move in the lilac of his irises, a faint smirk on his face. And soon, the swords slid apart with a grinding noise as they moved back enough to get range.
"A truly remarkable showing, my prince!" The training swords lowered and set aside. Amidst the murmurs and admiration of the onlookers, the Master of Laws sought out the eldest Targaryen prince, employing the usual flattery that accompanies such occasions. "Soon, you shall surpass even the Lord Commander."
"Thank you for your kind words, Lord Wylde," Aegon wasn't phased by the words of flattery after the two lives he lived. The Ironrod, as the small folk dubbed him for his unbending attitude on matters of laws, would not approach him unless he had something to discuss or council. "However, I remain acutely aware of the need for continued practice and improvement. I have come to understand that pursuing knowledge is an endless journey. There is always more to learn, another layer to uncover."
"Well said, my prince," The Lord of Rain House remarked, his voice filled with admiration. Draco did not know if it was genuine, nor did he care as he moved to take off his leather gloves to observe the new scabs on his skin. "It is a fine way of seeing things... to recognize that there is always room for growth and learning. Your humility and dedication to improvement are qualities befitting a leader."
And there it is. "I appreciate your faith in me and your belief in my potential," Draco has years of practice to maintain his tone measured. Ever since Rhaenyra had left the Red Keep, the Lords in the small council had made it their mission to entice Aegon with words of platitude... about his humility, his wisdom and keen understanding of the realm, and his mastery over weapons, what all he might have been doing when they approached him.
"And while I value your council and recognize the weight of my lineage and the responsibilities that come with it, I am guided by a different purpose." While the remnants of Slytherin and Malfoy influence in his veins compelled him to maintain his alliances, Aegon grew weary of the lords' incessant subtle suggestions. He could almost hear his grandsire's droning tone every time they opened their mouth. "My focus is on fostering unity, bringing prosperity to our lands, and ensuring a just and stable realm." For an instant, the smoothness of Aegon's face cracked, crumbling into the nothingness that was gone almost before the Master of Laws had seen. "For that, I shall continue to serve as a steadfast ally and a voice of reason, but the pursuit of the throne is not my path."
Lord Wylde quickly interjected, sensing the need to rectify promptly, the hair on the back of his neck raising even without realizing it. "My prince, please forgive me if my words were misconstrued," he said, his voice filled with genuine practised concern. "I never meant to imply any pressure or expectation upon you. My intention had merely been to acknowledge your admirable qualities and offer support in whatever endeavours you choose. I apologize if I overstepped or caused any discomfort."
"Not at all, my Lord," Aegon mouth twists into an easy smile, his expression changing like a flicker of a candle. "We are all but men sworn to protect the realm, and our intentions are driven by our unwavering commitment to its well-being. I could no more fault you for it any more than you can me." With the necessary matters conveyed in such an open and startling way regarding his preferences, Aegon had been quick to steer the conversation to things that demanded less of the man's apprehension, guiding him back to false comfort just in a blink of an eye. "Now, what transpires with the pit fightings in the flea bottom."
"Yes, my prince," Lord Wylde had been more than willing to meander away from the topics of treason when in the presence of the open court and curious ears. "I have discovered that the Gold Cloaks have indeed been involved in accepting bribes to ignore certain activities. It appears that many of them had pledged their loyalty to Prince Daemon Targaryen during his tenure as the Lord Commander of the City Watch, which allowed them a certain level of freedom in their actions. Even Ser Harwin Strong, the predecessor to Ser Luthor Largent, turned a blind eye due to his loyalty to Prince Daemon."
"However, upon assuming the position of commander, Ser Luthor Largent took immediate action by apprehending all those accused and placing them in the cells to make a firm example that no such acts will be tolerated by the crown hereafter." Aegon should hope so. He was the one who influenced Ser Luthor after all. The current Lord Commander of Gold cloaks was a true worshiper of his uncle Daemon Targaryen, and even he would have turned a blind eye to such atrocities if it weren't for Aegon's intervention. And if he were to die in a coup for going against his men, well, one less prideful fool to worry about. "I have also put firm protocols in place so no such obscenity shall ever prevail in the King's Landing again." Still, for all his faults and Mushroom's japes about how Lord Jasper Wylde's earned his sobriquet, the man did excel in his role as the Master of Laws.
"Lord Hand, I apologize for the hour," Evening led Aegon to the quarters of his grandsire. The man behind the screen, pulling strings within the realm of politics, uses his position to shape the decisions and actions of those in power. Aegon will be the first to agree that he had never met many in his two lives who could understand the art of manipulation as Otto Hightower had.
The Dark Lord had been the other one, not when Draco met him... obviously. But he doubted just anyone could appeal to the pureblood enough to bend over and kiss his robes as he ruled the wizarding world as its supreme leader. The Dark Lord had been charismatic once if his other grandfather, Abraxas's words were to be believed. He had been brilliant, manipulative, driven, and cultivated himself into an individual who was exactly what the pureblood had needed.
And though he wouldn't compare his grandsire to an insane, cruel, homicidal megalomaniac that dragged his family to hell and back, Otto Hightower had proved himself just as ingenious as the young Tom Riddle by using the Westerosi Lords' twisted ideas of superiority against them with his honeyed promises to make them all dance to his tune.
"My Prince," If his grandfather was surprised to see him at his doorstep, he didn't show it. He nodded courteously. "Please, come in. I was just entertaining your brother."
"Aemond is here?" As the doors shut behind him, Aegon slipped off his princely mask to turn to face his grandfather. Now there was a certain harshness to the set of his eyes and jaw, a twist to his mouth that spoke of agitation and escalating anger. "Why?"
"There is no need for such hostility, my prince," There was a quiet calm in his tone that Draco did not like. But Aegon did not have the patience for his mild attitude. Not when his knuckles were raw, and the scar he gained on his arm began stinging. Just a few more hours. He always healed quicker than others, so there was no need to go look for a maester and seize attention to his magical healing factor. "Think of it as just an old man imparting wisdom to his grandson."
Aegon's brows furrowed, his frustration unabated. He yearned for a deeper explanation... one that would assuage his growing concerns and bridge the gap between his perspective and his grandfather's. Knowing where his grandfather's interests aligned and the influence he had over the rest of his family, his lady mother included, Aegon feared that these little late-night meetings might negatively impact Aemond's judgment and lead him astray from what Aegon believed was suited for their family and the kingdom.
Not for the first time, Draco cursed himself for not allocating a spy to follow the Hand of the King. Maybe he should do that once he gets out of here, if only for the Lord Hand's own safety so he wouldn't go and fall on the horrendous throne of swords and kill himself in his relentless pursuit of political dominance to advance his family's interests.
"You have not witnessed my true hostility yet, grandsire," he asserted, his tone suggesting that there were depths of frustration and bitterness within him yet to be fully unleashed. Years of practice to keep the monster locked in beneath the surface of his skin.
"Aegon, is that you?" At the sound of Aemond's familiar voice, the rest of the words withered and died on Aegon's lips, even if his gaze remained impassive, inscrutable glass. They were not done yet , his eyes conveyed before he followed into the inner chamber to find Aemond with a book on his lap.
"Brother," Draco greets the younger one, earning a smile so brightly in return. The numbness that smothered his heart just moments before began, at last, to recede at the sight of him, and Aegon felt the first stirrings of something he could not name take root. It was both a relief and something almost like love. But he had always loved his brother, though, even if he didn't explicitly say it aloud. It was something different this time. "What are you reading?"
"Grandfather is explaining to me what it takes to be the hand of the king," Aemond replies easily enough. He was only ten, yet to observe the taut and suffocating silence between his grandfather and brother. If he did notice, he didn't know enough to know what it was and how deep it ran.
"Is he now?" He didn't lower himself to give his lord grandsire a devil's eye. "I did not know you were interested in that position," Aegon had always pictured Aemond's ambition to prove his worth. That, his brother would want to become an honoured Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, a feared warrior, the Blackfyre at his waist. A Lord of his own keep once Nyra ascends the throne.
"Grandsire tells me a wise King always heeds the council of his Hand," Aemond recites the words as solemnly as the words of a prayer to the Seven. "And for this, the hand must be efficient to maintain the stability of the realm, must understand the complex dynamics of the court, help maintain peace, secure alliances, and resolve conflicts through peaceful means, take proactive measures to address threats to the realm's stability and security, run day-to-day governance of the realm and manage the royal treasury. But most of all, he must be loyal to the king and his interests. And no one is more loyal to you than me. So I have decided I will be your hand."
Other than the slight twitch in the muscle of Aegon's jaw, the eldest prince's expression remained calm. He should have known. It was just like his grandsire to dig his claws in his ten year name days grandson. His eyes blazed up with a sudden light of anger, but the prince was quick to will it away. "There is, indeed, no one I'd trust with me than you, brother. But I'd much rather you do what you desire most with your life than what you think is best for me." "Now, if you could, please excuse us, brother - I have something to discuss with our grandfather. I believe Hela was asking for you, something about the new creature she's been sewing."
"Oh," Aemond didn't look surprised at his statement, so maybe Hela was sewing a creature of the netherworld into her silks. "My lord grandfather, may I be excused from the lessons tonight."
"Of course, Aemond," Otto Hightower nodded. "You can keep the book if you wish it. I have no more use of it."
And soon, Aemond, the bookworm he was, had left the chambers, the heavy leather-bound book in his hand, letting Aegon assume his seat. He didn't care if it was disrespectful, he was trying to prove a point, and it seemed his grandfather knew it as much as he calmly seated himself upon the settle.
"I don't care what you are planning with the Lords of the small council, but Aemond will be kept out of bounds. He shall not be manipulated or used as a pawn in any of your schemes," The prince's words carried a protective fervour, emphasizing his unwavering stance to safeguard his brother from any potential harm or exploitation, even if it were to come from his own grandsire. "I won't let you."
"Such loyalty when defending your brother for a perceived slight? It is a commendable trait... wanting to protect your family. But have you considered the potential challenges that may arise if Rhaenyra asks for his head or wishes him to hold hostage as a test of your loyalty when she assumes the throne?"
Something flickered in the depths of Aegon's eyes. "Don't," he warned the man. His expression was frighteningly bleak.
"Why? Because you know what you will have to do to your step-sister if such time comes," He looked unperturbed, looking impassive as he spoke the unwelcome truth. There was no unkindness in his tone. "What would you do when she wishes to exile you and your soon-to-be sister-wife to the Summer Isles and demand you to never hold any rapport with your mother or your brothers? Would you kneel before her and make your oaths because Rhaenyra is not any other Larys Strong?"
"Rhaenyra is not a monster," It takes all his control not to snarl like a dragon. "She wouldn't be so cruel as to take a son from their mother or a brother from another. She is no more a kinslayer than Heleana is."
"But not you," The Hand of the King all but jumped at the meaning behind the phrasing.
"Is that what it is about?" Aegon could not believe that they were having this calm conversation. He wanted to seize his lord grandfather's tunic and shake the answers from him. But he remained seated. "To know where my loyalties lie? If I am capable of the unthinkable if the time comes." One close look at him was all Draco needed to confirm his suspicions. "It seems to me that you are under a misconception, grandsire. Family is not my weakness. It is what keeps the shimmering beast residing beneath the surface of my skin in check. It's what invokes a stirring symphony that drowns out the growls of the savage creature before it can consume the world."
The turbulent darkness in the young boy's eyes mirrored the tempestuous storm brewing within his soul. It was a savage presence, untamed and unyielding, whispering of wrath that could shake the very foundations of their world, and suddenly, Otto knew. He knew Aegon was speaking the absolute truth. He might nearly be a boy of four and ten, but he knows no one should doubt what Aegon was truly capable of.
Not anyone could dismantle Larys Strong years of meticulous work in one night. Otto himself wouldn't have believed his daughter if he hadn't come to be informed about the new master who, for all intents and purposes, is just an obscured white face among the crowd in a painting. None remembered who he was or what he looked like except for his height. He had not known how such a feat was possible, and he doubted Aegon would tell him if he asked.
Still, the revelation settled Otto. To learn exactly on which side this monster would be when the war comes to their doorstep. To know that all it takes is a miscalculation on Rhaenyra's part, and the only bridge that connected her to Alicent's family would burn bright enough to end the world.
"What is it you desire, Aegon," He asks after the long silence.
Aegon, Aegon desires a lot of things. He wishes for the cut on his arm to stop burning, for his grandfather to stop plotting, for the lords to stop spouting about treason, and for Sunfyre to stop growing so unnaturally big lest some fool speculates about how it was the gifts from gods to the future king. He wishes to watch Aemond grow up to be a fine knight, study dragons or be a blacksmith, whatever he truly wants without their scheming grandsire looming over him. He wants Daeron to return to the keep and stay with his family like he should have always had, and he desperately wishes that Helaena would stop dreaming about things that would make a grown man flinch.
He wants Rhaenyra to stop running from her problems and for his mother to be happy without the burden of the crown or her children's doom flashing before her every waking moment. He wants his father to start feeling better, and he wants his magic to return to as it was before instead of being this wild predictable thing he has to fight for control so that a simple incendio would not either burn the entire fucking courtyard or create a rash the size of Hogwarts on the passing servant.
He wants so many things. But nothing seemed possible, and he abhorred himself for being so fucking useless.
"I want peace, grandfather," Aegon says at last, the bitterness and anger had drained from his tone, and he looked so very tired. There's a sadness none could fathom seeing in a nearly fourteen-year-old prince of the realm. "I want everyone to stop fighting over the bloody throne and live their lives." It was a naive thing to ask for. But he knows what happens when something comes along to destroy the tentative peace. Draco always had such startling clarity whenever he saw the throne and his two families standing on opposite sides. The gift to see a life for what it truly is is both a blessing and a curse.
And in such life, the future always ends with him standing amidst a burning world and the ashes of those he loved - alone, utterly taken apart and in despair.
"I want my family to live until they are old and grey."