Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

•••

Losing Jaehaerys was a lot like burning. White hot rage consumed Aegon from the inside out and left him in ruins. Helaena’s death was like a torch going out: everything became a little colder, a little darker. As for Daeron, Aegon mourned the opportunity to know his youngest brother more than he mourned the boy himself.

Aegon thought he knew loss. And then came the news that Aemond had fallen at the God’s Eye.

Losing Aemond…

Losing Aemond is like plunging through ice into frigid water.

It is pain like a thousand needles and air knocked from his chest and heavy limbs. It is numbness and agony. It is seeing all light and hope fade away as he sinks into the darkness below. It is never catching his breath but never dying either, trapped in a state of eternal drowning.

He wants to thrash and scream and fight.

He wants to give up and let himself drown.

Most of all Aegon wants vengeance but there is nowhere to have it. Daemon and Caraxes are already dead. Any satisfaction killing his half-sister brings him is crushed when Sunfyre dies soon after. He attends the beheadings of traitors in vain. Ten thousand of their heads on stakes couldn’t amount to Aemond’s worth.

The war is won. Soldiers return home to their families, towns begin to rebuild. Aegon sits the Iron Throne and knows it will never feel like a victory, only a curse.

His mother, at least, still lives. Aegon thought she might return to Oldtown when the war was over, to escape this memory-infested castle once and for all. Instead, she remains to help Aegon rule. Though there is little warmth between them after everything that has happened, he is grateful for her steadfast and familiar presence, and for someone to look after Jaehaera and Maelor.

By the grace of the gods his remaining two children have made it through these years of strife. They are sweet like their mother; any good in them did not come from Aegon. In them he finds at least one reason to live. He promises himself he won’t abandon them as his own father did, and makes sure they have the best of everything from instructors to nursemaids. Now that the war is over Aegon even invites the members of his court to bring their children so that his will have playmates. He knows firsthand that the Red Keep can be a lonely place to grow up.

When he sees Maelor and Jaehaera, Aegon covers up as much of his scarring as he can so as not to frighten them. He wishes to do the same everywhere he goes but his mother advises him otherwise.

“Let the people see what you have survived,” she tells him, “that it may inspire them.”

So he learns to comb his hair in a way that hides the worst of the scarring. Aegon practices carrying himself in a way that might almost be called dignified and walking using his cane without stumbling. He encases himself in armor to hide the slow decay within.

Late at night Aegon will stand in front of the mirror where once he was fitted in the Conqueror’s armor before that fateful day at Rook’s Rest. If he stands one way, he almost looks like his former self. He tries to remember what it felt like to be that young man, boiling over with rage and ready to fight. When he turns the other way he is faced with the price he paid for his impetuousness.

•••

Aemond’s body was never found after the battle. Still, many months later, the King sends parties out to search every bit of land around the God’s Eye. The first several return empty-handed, but on the fourth attempt they discover Vhagar’s body and her skull is returned to the castle. Aegon counts it as a small blessing that Aemond never had to see the end of his beloved dragon.

Over time the search parties bring back other things - first just pieces of armor and riding gear, then a dagger, then Aemond’s eye patch. His sword is eventually found in the mud along the banks of the lake. Eventually Aegon has amassed enough tokens of his brother to take up the mantle above his fireplace. Nearby shelves display Helaena’s embroideries, Daeron’s sword, Jaehaerys’ toys, one of Sunfyre’s spikes. His rooms have become a shrine to the dead.

It isn’t enough. Aegon orders that statues be built of Helaena, Aemond and Daeron. They bear little likeness to the real things, which in a way that makes them easier for Aegon to look at. When the statues are completed he has the skulls of Vhagar, Dreamfyre and Tessarion placed beside their respective riders. His three dead siblings and their three dead dragons, finally reunited. The sight fills Aegon with pride and sorrow in equal measure.

He tells anyone who will listen that they will be remembered for generations to come as the heroes who put the rightful heir on the throne. Nevermind that to Aegon it was not worth the cost - his closest kin in exchange for a crown he never wanted and was never prepared for. In moments of clarity between grief, sleep and drunkenness, he vows to himself to rule well, to make their sacrifice worth it. Some days he keeps his promise. More often he is absent in mind or body and his mother represents him as she had for Viserys.

When duty does not require him, Aegon wanders the halls of the Keep like a ghost or spends days at a time locked away in his rooms. He can no longer find enjoyment in brothels, nor does he have the strength to practice with his sword. When he goes into town the smallfolk look at him with disgust or pity and so he avoids his old favorite taverns.

Just as Lord Larys once told him, all that is left is his mind. It was and still is a terrifying notion; his mind is exactly what he wishes to escape. Pain and regret plague him, and Aegon tries to drown them in wine and dreamwine but they always return.

With little else to do he finally takes an interest in his father’s many books. They make him feel closer to Aemond, who read them all many years ago. Aegon even finds little notes tucked in some, with things his brother wanted to remember written in his tidy handwriting. Aegon saves them all.

In every waking moment, Aegon misses Aemond. He swears he hears his boots echo in the halls and sees Vhagar’s shadow out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look it is only a Lord passing by or a cloud overhead. Ever since Aemond was born, Aegon had some sense of where he was at any given moment. Now his mind reaches in all directions and grasps at air. He feels like a ship untethered, drifting in an open sea all alone.

At night he sleeps alone in his bed, the bed they once shared, trying in vain to remember the feeling of his taller younger brother wrapped around him from behind. Being in Aemond’s arms made Aegon feel safer than any armor ever could. Some nights he sneaks into Aemond’s bedroom and sleeps in his bed just to feel surrounded by his presence like that again, until his smell fades from the bedclothes and Aegon is left with the awful realization that in time he will forget every precious detail of his lost brother, and it will be like losing him all over again.

•••

If Aegon maintained any flicker of hope that Aemond might still be alive, it is doused the day a knight returns from the riverlands with something to show the King and dowager Queen.

When Alicent and Aegon go to meet him he presents them with a small velvet pouch. Alicent hesitates to reach for it, perhaps afraid of what she might find. Too numb to care, Aegon accepts the pouch and looks inside. At first it appears empty, but when Aegon tips it a little something gleams blue from within.

An uneasy feeling forms in the pit of his stomach, worsened by too little food and too much wine even at this early hour. He would know that shade of blue anywhere. There is no other like it.

With a heavy heart Aegon tips the open pouch into his other hand and out falls the sapphire that once served as replacement for Aemond’s missing eye.

Aegon thinks he might throw up.

Alicent goes pale at the sight. “Where did you find this?”

“In the possession of a merchant in Maidenpool. We questioned him, he said he bought it from a smuggler. We are searching for this man to question him. Perhaps he could lead us to-”

“To Prince Aemond’s body,” Aegon says dully.

Aegon traces a thumb over the facets of the stone. He knows it exceedingly well. How many nights did he stare into it, watching light and shadows dance while Aemond slept? How many times did he kiss the scarred skin around it with reverence? Few had ever seen it so close, and none so intimately. To Aegon the gem was as much a part of his brother as his real eye.

And now here it sits in Aegon’s open palm.

This is the closest he may ever get to proof that Aemond is gone. Aegon closes his fist tight around the sapphire, its edge digging into his skin hard enough to hurt. He welcomes the feeling. Suddenly he is enraged at the notion that some common thief knows where his brother lies but he does not, and that he had the nerve to pluck the gem from Aemond’s face like a pit from a peach and sell it in a market.

He and his mother exchange a glance and, in a rare moment of understanding between them, she nods. Aegon silently takes his leave, the sapphire now his to keep. And with that, the truth of Aemond’s loss settles into his bones and makes a home to stay.

•••

Chapter Text

“Your Grace?”

It is late one afternoon on the kind of dreary day that makes Aegon’s bones ache. Fortunately there is nothing that requires his attention, so he spends the day in his sitting room with a plate of food he barely touches and a book he barely reads, while a glass of Arbor red rapidly disappears. It was a day like this when he first learned that Aemond and Vhagar had fallen at the God’s Eye. He drinks to forget.

A servant interrupts his sulking. Aegon makes a show of marking his place in the book he wasn’t reading before standing to face him.

“What is it?”

The young man clears his throat, seemingly nervous. It puts Aegon on edge. He is in no state to receive bad news.

“Your Grace, someone is here…claiming to be the Prince.”

Aegon glowers at him. To the servant’s credit, he does not avert his gaze.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Aegon says. “You know what your Prince looks like. My son should be at his lessons. If he is looking for me he knows where to find me.”

“Not Prince Maelor, your Grace. He is, as you say, at his lessons.”

“Then what in the seven hells are you talking about?” Aegon raises his voice. He has had enough of whatever this is. He wishes to be miserable in peace.

“The man says he is Prince Aemond.”

Aegon stands quickly, bumping the table so hard his glass of wine falls and shatters on the floor. His left leg screams in protest at the sudden movement. He grips the back of his chair tightly to steady himself, and to prevent himself from throttling the man.

“Choose your next words very carefully,” he says through gritted teeth. “If this is some trick I will have everyone responsible sent to the Wall.”

The unfortunate messenger must see that the King means it, because he pauses and considers how to proceed without sealing his fate.

“I never met Prince Aemond, Your Grace, so I cannot say whether it is him. He is in the throne room, if you wish to see for yourself.”

Aegon snorts. “I wish to be left alone. But fine, I will see this impostor. I will see to it that he is hanged for this deceit.”

He dismisses the servant and makes his way to the throne room as quickly as he can with his limp, assisted by his cane and two Kingsguard who deliberately slow their steps, allowing their King to appear faster. Aegon never instructed them to do this, at times he resents it, but right now it helps to have some sense of control over those around him. He is sick with rage at the idea of someone so brazenly dishonoring his brother’s memory. Perhaps hanging is too quick a death…

When he arrives Alicent is already there. She stands close to a tall, cloaked figure, whose head is bowed low. As Aegon draws nearer he can see that she holds the stranger’s face in her hands. His sense of unease only grows. He stops halfway into the room and considers going to sit on the throne, to remind the visitor just who he has come to taunt. Before he can make up his mind a Kingsguard’s voice breaks the silence.

“King Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the - “

“Yes, alright, we know how it goes,” Aegon snaps. He takes another step forward and addresses the stranger. “Who are you? What is this?”

Alicent takes a step back and turns to face her eldest, wiping tears away with her sleeve. At the same time, the cloaked man straightens and pushes his hood back to reveal his silver hair. A single eye meets Aegon’s.

The blood drains from Aegon’s face. He leans heavily on his cane to keep from collapsing.

Aemond is thin and drawn, unwashed, dressed like a beggar. He stands with slumped shoulders as if bearing a heavy bundle, though he has nothing with him except what he can carry strapped to his belt. Tattered strips of cloth cover his left eye in place of his patch. His brother is barely recognizable but in that moment Aegon knows, beyond a doubt, that it is him.

Across the distance the severed threads of their shared blood, shared history, and shared love begin weaving back together before either of them speaks a word.

Relief is writ large on Aemond’s face, that one eye somehow holding all the emotion of two. He lets out a breath and steps around Alicent to approach his older brother.

“Aegon…”

His voice is hauntingly familiar and in spite of himself Aegon’s heart beats a little faster at the sound of it. All of his senses react to Aemond, as enraptured by him as he has always been. He has a vague awareness that he should be saying or doing something right now, that there is a proper response to be had, but coherent thoughts evade him.

When Aemond gets within just a few strides Aegon suddenly takes a step back. Aemond stops abruptly as if a wall has come up between them. His brow furrows and he tilts his head, imploring.

“Brother,” Aegon rasps. He is aware that people are watching, expecting something of him. “Welcome home.”

Not speaking at all would have been kinder than the cold greeting. It surprises even Aegon in his stupor. This is everything he wanted but didn’t dare hope for, and all he can do is stare numbly. Something must truly be broken in him.

Aemond’s lips part and he blinks rapidly, the hurt plain in his gaze. The room falls so silent they can hear the guards’ armor creak and thunder somewhere far in the distance. Aemond stares at Aegon, seeking something from him that Aegon cannot give.

Alicent steps in, casting an uncertain look Aegon’s way while putting a hand on Aemond’s back.

“Isn’t this wonderful? War has taken so much from us. Perhaps the gods saw fit to give us something back.”

“Yes,” Aegon agrees distantly.

“Perhaps we should throw a feast?” she suggests.

“No. No feasts,” Aemond hasn’t taken his eye off Aegon. “It is enough to be home.”

“Of course. And you must be exhausted.” She takes Aemond’s arm. “Your rooms are still as you left them. Come, I’ll have a bath drawn and a meal brought up…”

Their mother gently guides Aemond away. As they pass Aegon, Aemond’s gaze continues to follow him, desperate and searching. A voice deep inside Aegon screams at him to do something, anything .

Seeing Aemond about to turn the corner into the hallway, out of sight, makes fear spike in Aegon’s chest.

“ Wait .”

Aemond turns to him, heartbreakingly hopeful.

“When you are finished, come see me. I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

It isn’t enough, he knows that. Aemond waits for more. When nothing else comes he nods once before turning away and following Alicent from the room.

• • •

Chapter Text

Aegon sits at the table with his head in his hands, gripping tightly at his hair. His knee bounces involuntarily and he makes no effort to stop it.

His mind is reeling. Part of him believes that he just needs to wake up and return to the only reality he has known these long, awful months: that his brother is dead. Anything else is madness, a trick of his mind set on undoing him. But another part of him is dangerously hopeful. Real or not, seeing Aemond has an undeniable effect on him that he cannot shake. Aegon is both eager and fearful to see him again.

A knock at the door startles him out of his troubled thoughts. The door opens just a crack.

“Your Grace? Prince Aemond is here to see you.”

Aegon stands, waiting for the brother he remembers to stride confidently into the room and fill it with his presence. Instead, Aemond slips inside like a secret, quietly locking the door behind him.

“Your Grace,” Aemond says. It is as formal and cold a greeting as Aegon’s was in the throne room with a wary expression to match.

Aemond is freshly bathed, his long hair combed back neatly. He has been fitted with a new eye patch. His fresh clothes, a simple tunic and leggings, are once again the rich, soft fabrics befitting a prince, though they hang loose on his thin frame. In some ways he is a whisper of his former self, all the bluster and arrogance gone, but he carries himself with the same quiet dignity he had as a child.

Aegon finds himself staring and forgets to reply. Aemond puts his hands behind his back and clears his throat.

“Aegon?” He asks, softer.

Hearing his name in that voice…Aegon grabs his cane and grips the handle tight to ground himself. “Aemond,” he replies. It is suddenly the only word he knows.

Encouraged, Aemond comes closer. Aegon is frozen in place. Then Aemond reaches for him and something snaps.

Aegon shoves at Aemond’s chest and he stumbles back, stunned.

“Where were you?” Aegon demands.

“Aegon-”

“ WHERE WERE YOU? ”

Aemond rights himself and regains his composure.

“I will tell you everything, just allow me to-”

Aemond tries to approach again, and again Aegon pushes him back. His eyes burn and his throat feels raw as if he has been screaming. His frayed nerves have begun to unravel.

“Why did you not send word? Why allow us to believe you were dead?”

“That was not my intention.” Aemond remains infuriatingly calm. “I was wounded in battle and Vhagar was dead-” His voice wavers and he turns his head away. Aegon feels a pang of sympathy, having recently learned the pain of losing a dragon himself. “I was alone and unarmed. I had no way of knowing how the war was progressing. It was not safe to send a raven, it may have been intercepted.”

Aemond takes another step towards Aegon, as cautious as if he were claiming a dragon. Aegon is too preoccupied in piecing together the truth of what has happened to step away. Aemond seems to accept this as a victory and does not try to get any closer.

“We found your eye,” Aegon says hoarsely. “Your sapphire.”

That surprises Aemond. He touches his eye patch but does not remove it.

“I had no coin,” he explains. “I had to pull it out and sell it.” He says it so calmly, as if such a thing wouldn’t have been agonizing. Aegon shudders. “And besides, it drew too much attention.”

“What of your hair, then?”

“I hid it when I could. If anyone saw it I-” Aemond makes a face. “I claimed to be a Targaryen bastard. It pained me more than removing the sapphire.”

A disbelieving laugh escapes Aegon. “You must have been truly desperate.”

“I was,” Aemond says, tilting his chin up. “I did many desperate things. And now I return and you have no warmth for me.”

Aegon feels like he’s going mad. It should be impossible to feel so many things at once, and so many of those feelings at odds with one another. Anger wins out, as it too often does for Aegon.

“Did you expect me to fall into your arms like a maiden?” He asks bitterly. “Weep on your shoulder?”

Annoyance flickers in Aemond’s gaze but Aegon sees it for what it is: armor to shield himself from hurt. And the worst part is that Aegon knows he is hurting his brother, flinging harsh words like knives. He fears he has forgotten how to do anything else.

Aemond speaks slowly, carefully, the edge in his voice a reminder that he has knives of his own.

“It was not safe to return sooner. My options were few - bide my time, or risk capture and death. Would you have preferred that?”

“I - no.” No, of course not.

Aegon’s resolve is crumbling. His rage was the only defense he had left and with it slipping away all that remains is the chasm of grief at the very core of him.

“ I mourned you ,” Aegon says. “You were dead. You were dead! And it nearly fucking killed me and now here you stand, alive and well!”

Aemond’s expression darkens further. “I would not say ‘well’ .” He undoes the lacing at the neck of his tunic and pulls the fabric to the side, baring his right shoulder where a gnarled scar twists the skin. “Dark Sister pierced clear through to the other side,” he says, voice low. “I still cannot lift my arm properly.”

Stunned silent, Aegon moves closer to get a better look. The scar is freshly healed, pink and puffy. Aemond turns slightly to show him the matching mark on the back of his shoulder. Aegon swallows and steps back.

Aemond pulls his shirt back into place and once again reaches for Aegon. This time when Aegon tries to stop him, Aemond catches his wrists and holds them tight. He leans in close, his breath ghosting across Aegon’s face.

“Everything I did, every precaution I took, was so I could return home to you,” he hisses. “I slept in the mud and ate pigeons and rabbits. For all I knew I would arrive to find you dead, the pretender’s banners flying above the Keep and her guards waiting to arrest me. Either way, dead or alive, I swore we would be reunited, brother.”

Aegon trembles, pinned by his grip and his gaze. After a moment Aemond’s sharp edges soften and there, again, is that imploring look he had in the throne room, a younger brother looking to the older for reassurance.

“When you thought me dead, did your love for me die, too?”

Aegon feels sick at the thought.

“No,” he whispers. “ Never .”

Aemond lets out a shaky breath.

“Then why do you reject me?”

Deep down Aegon knows exactly why, and it has nothing to do with the strength of his devotion to Aemond, which never wavered even in the face of his presumed death. No, the answer lies in his own fear and weakness. Somehow Aegon finds the words to voice it.

“If this is some trick of the mind…if I wake and you are gone, off rotting somewhere far from here…it will destroy me, Aemond. I know it will. I mourned you once, I cannot do it again. Please don’t make me do it again…”

Aegon is shaking, pleading. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he feels dampness on his cheeks. It is Aemond’s turn to be speechless, all of the frustration melting away from his expression and leaving only sorrow. Then Aemond releases his wrists.

“What can I do, Aegon? I am alive, I am finally home and I have missed you terribly. Tell me how to help you believe it.”

Aegon touches Aemond’s cheek, feather light, then lets his hand settle to cradle his jaw. Aemond can’t help turning his face into his brother’s warm palm, craving the touch he is too proud to ask for. Even his most vivid nightmares have never been so tactile as this, and that alone is almost enough to convince him. Almost.

When Aegon’s hand drifts upward to the strap of Aemond’s eye patch his breath hitches, but he doesn’t try to stop him. Aegon slips the patch away, revealing the empty socket. Aemond remains still, baring himself in all his scarred beauty for his brother to see.

“Aemond.” Aegon whispers his name like a prayer. “My Aemond…”

Aegon's knees buckle.

Aemond is startled but his reflexes are quick. He catches Aegon around the waist and sinks to the floor. He pulls Aegon into his lap where he cradles him close and rocks him like a child, like their mother used to before they became unlovable to everyone but each other.

Aegon weeps into Aemond’s shirt, twisting its fabric in clenched fists. He is crumbling like Valyria and his brother’s arms are the only thing keeping him together. He hurts from the force of his sobs, but Aemond is kissing his hair and holding him tight and the skin of his neck is cool against Aegon’s warm forehead and it is all so painfully, wonderfully real .

Dizziness washes over him. He is struggling to breathe. Aemond is speaking, his voice muffled. To Aegon’s addled mind his younger brother is calling to him from far away.

He must be lost. I have to find him.

“Aegon?”

I’m right here. I’m right here, Aemond…

 “ Aegon!"

•••

Chapter Text

•••

Nothing hurts, so this must be a dream.

Strange, to dream he is in bed, but the one thing that is certain is that he is lying down, curled on his unburned side, more comfortable than he has been in a long time.

Stranger still is that this dream has brought back memories he believed lost to him forever. He is surrounded by Aemond’s smell: clean, crisp linen, citrus soap, the distinctive herbal scent of the liniment he applies around his eye. The longer he breathes it in, the more he remembers. He can hear Aemond’s voice saying his name, can picture every detail of his face like it is right in front of him.

Aegon floats comfortably in the sensations. At the back of his mind he's aware how it will hurt when he wakes, but for now he is at peace and is determined to indulge in it for as long as it lasts. He yawns and rubs his face against what he thinks is his pillow, but it is far too solid…and then it moves, and that is what finally rouses him. As his drowsiness clears Aegon pushes himself up on one elbow to investigate.

There in his bed, fast asleep, is Aemond. It was his shoulder Aegon was lying on and his arm is still loosely draped around Aegon. Gradually the day’s events return to Aegon. He stares at Aemond until tears blur his vision and a lump forms in his throat. With silver hair framing his face like a halo, Aemond still looks like something out of a dream, so beautiful even with the scarred, empty socket that stares back at Aegon.

On the bedside table Aemond’s eyepatch sits beside a bottle of dreamwine. Aegon doesn’t remember drinking any but he must have, the pleasant tingling sensation a familiar one. It occurs to him that Aemond would have had no such luxuries in his long journey. Guilt twists his stomach for receiving his brother the way he did, but he shakes his head sharply, pushing the thought away. What’s done is done. He is wise enough now to know that regret solves nothing.

Aegon returns his attention to his sleeping brother. Against all odds, they have been blessed with more time.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. He kisses Aemond's forehead.

He doesn't want to wake Aemond when it’s clear he needs the rest, but once Aegon kisses him he can’t bring himself to stop. He continues kissing down the scar over Aemond’s eye and along the curve of his jaw, but stops before he reaches his neck. Aegon props himself up against the pillows so he can lean over Aemond and switches to stroking his hair, letting the clean, silken strands fall through his fingers.

He finds his hand drifting to where the top of Aemond’s unlaced tunic falls open. When he gives in and traces his collarbone, Aemond stirs and Aegon pauses until he settles before easing the shirt aside to look at the large scar on his shoulder.

At only the slightest touch of Aegon's fingertips to the scar, Aemond startles awake and grabs his wrist while his other hand feels around for a knife that thankfully isn't there. His breaths come quick and his expression is stricken with panic and groggy confusion.

“It's me!” Aegon says quickly. “It’s just me. You're home, Aemond.”

Aemond's eye darts around the room, seeking out potential threats, then returns to Aegon. Slowly recognition dawns. The tension eases and he drops back against the pillow with a sigh of relief. Almost as an afterthought he lets go of Aegon's wrist. Aegon takes his trembling hand and lies down beside him while he gathers himself.

In time Aemond turns onto his side to face him. It is surreal to say the least, having Aemond in his bed again, but here he is, breathing deeply, blinking slowly, unguarded in a way he has only ever been with Aegon.

Aegon touches his face reverently. He can see plainly how his brother's time away has worn away at him.

“Did you really eat pigeons and rabbits?”

Aemond's lips twitch. “That and worse.”

“And slept outside?” His fingers sink into Aemond's hair.

“Mhmm.” Aemond closes his eye. “All of that was bearable. The worst part was not knowing whether I'd ever see you again.”

It is just the sort of sentimental thing that Aemond finds hard to say, and so he must mean it. For the first time it crosses Aegon’s mind that Aemond missed him too. He can picture Aemond’s face earlier that day in the throne room, his immense relief upon seeing Aegon. Perhaps he had longed for that moment as much as Aegon had longed to have him back, only to be met with cold indifference.

“I am sorry,” Aegon mumbles, ashamed. “You deserved a more fitting reunion.”

Then Aegon does what he should have done from the start - he simply embraces his brother. Without hesitation, Aemond wraps an arm firmly around Aegon’s waist.

“I expect you will make it up to me,” is his quiet reply.

Aegon runs a hand over the bumps of his brother’s spine. “To start, I will hold you a feast. Right here in this room, just for us,” he adds before Aemond can protest. “I fear I have failed to teach you the art of indulgence. Now I am the King. Anything you want, name it and it's yours. I will spoil you.”

Aemond hides a grin against Aegon’s neck. “And here I feared I would find you a changed man after all this time. I am grateful, but if it’s all the same, my only request is to remain here with you.”

What can he say to that? Aegon can think of nothing sufficient. He takes Aemond's head in his hands and kisses him, another thing he should have done sooner, and Aemond responds in kind. Even as their lips part they remain close, foreheads touching, breathing together while Aegon’s hands continue roaming over Aemond, reacquainting himself with his brother’s body. 

Aemond basks in the attention like a cat in a beam of sunlight. He has always been as greedy for touch as Aegon, just better at suppressing the need. Fortunately Aegon gives of himself so freely that Aemond never has to ask, and especially not now, when both of them have gone so long without each other.

But when Aemond touches him in return, cool fingertips skimming across the hills and valleys of his burn scars, Aegon draws in a sharp breath. His heartbeat quickens as he remembers the state he is in, what he looks like now. In the excitement of Aemond’s return, he forgot . How could he forget?

Aegon turns away with a pitiful sound unbefitting of a king, or any Targaryen for that matter. Aemond keeps his hand planted firmly on his cheek and tries to coax Aegon’s face back towards him, but Aegon stubbornly resists.

“Don’t,” Aegon chokes out.

To his surprise, Aemond’s hand disappears. Its absence is an equally awful feeling.

Then the bed shifts and in a blur of motion Aemond is above him, legs straddling Aegon’s hips - though careful not to put too much pressure lest he hurt him - his hands propped on either side of Aegon’s head. His hair spills around his face like rushing water, that single keen eye focused entirely on him.

“Look at me, Aegon.”

Aegon keeps his face turned away, tears prickling in his eyes. “You have seen too much already.”

Aemond huffs. “Am I to never look at you again? Do not hide from me, Aegon. Not after everything we survived to be here. I will have all of you or nothing.”

The vehemence in Aemond’s voice is a strange relief. He was always surer, always knew what he wanted and claimed it.

Aegon steels himself and looks up at Aemond, allowing his brother to see him fully. The last time they were together, in the midst of war, Aegon was still healing. Now the Masters say this is as healed as he will ever be.

As Aemond takes in his face Aegon quivers under his gaze, fighting tears. One finally slips free and to his great surprise, Aemond leans down and kisses it, his lips gentle against Aegon’s scarred cheek. Aegon squeezes his eyes shut.

“How can you stand it?” he asks.

“It does not bother me,” Aemond answers with a half shrug. “You are still you. And you have never shied away from my deformity. How is this any different?”

More tears follow and Aemond kisses each one away, cupping the side of Aegon’s head and stroking his neck with his thumb. Gradually Aegon relaxes into being seen as he is. He may never fully accept himself, but if Aemond does that is more than enough.

“You have not been taking care of yourself.”

The observation finally prompts Aegon to open his eyes. He must look nearly as gaunt and tired as Aemond, but with no excuse beyond his own neglect.

“I drink,” he replies. “It is the best medicine I know.”

“ Aegon .”

“What is there to care for? I am a broken thing.” His tone turns sour. “My only role is to keep the throne warm until Maelor comes of age.” He considers his brother. “Though now I suppose I could name you my heir.”

Aemond becomes very still, his expression darkening at the implication of Aegon’s words.

“ You are the King,” he reminds him.

Aegon almost laughs.

“I am no King. I said so from the very start but no one listened, and look where it has brought us. Our great dynasty is in ruins and I am the twisted face of it. People turn away when I walk by. I repulse them. I remind them of a war they’d sooner forget.”

Aemond is poised for an argument and Aegon finds himself oddly delighted by the possibility. Even quarreling with his brother is preferable to being without him.

But then a sudden grimace crosses Aemond’s features. He draws in a sharp breath and holds his injured shoulder, taking his weight off it to ease himself back onto the bed beside Aegon. All the simmering defiance in Aegon is doused instantly, replaced with only concern.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, stupidly.

Aemond nods and lets out a frustrated sound.

“At least you still have your cock?” Aegon offers, and it earns him half a smile.

“I would rather he had ruined my cock than my sword arm.”

“You are lucky he did not take your other eye.” Aegon moves Aemond’s hand from his shoulder and replaces it with his lips, softly kissing the taut scar tissue. “My poor Prince…”

“Mm.”

“Have you not put anything on it?”

“No. I ate and bathed then came straight here.”

Aegon sits up; Aemond grips his arm, believing he intends to leave, but Aegon only reaches over for the bottle of dreamwine.

“Have some.”

He is surprised when Aemond actually accepts the bottle and takes a few careful sips, nose wrinkling at the taste. As a child he was a picky eater and made that face often, before he learned to school his features. Seeing it now fills Aegon with fondness.

Aegon takes a swig from the bottle too before capping it and setting it back on the table.

“Come here.”

It takes no convincing for Aemond to sink into Aegon’s open arms. His head finds a home tucked in the crook of Aegon’s neck. They wrap around each other, a pair of broken things locked in an embrace that the Conqueror himself would be foolish to try to separate, and still it isn’t close enough. Aegon wishes for a blacksmith to melt them down and reform them together into one being.

“What I said before,” Aemond murmurs. From the slur to his voice it's clear the dreamwine has taken effect. “I meant it. You are my King.”

“Aemond, you don't have to-”

“You are my King and I love you.”

Years ago he couldn't have imagined his brother saying those words to him or anyone else. To hear them spoken so assuredly is almost too much. Aegon presses his face to Aemond's hair and breathes him in.

“Why?” He can't help asking.

“That is like asking why a dragon bonds to its rider. It is beyond understanding.”

The answer is so Aemond it makes laughter bubble up Aegon's throat. His mouth spreads wide in a grin that pulls uncomfortably at his scars. The sensation is foreign to him - how long has it been since he last truly smiled?

“Which of us is the dragon and which is the rider?”

“Hm. I'm amenable.”  Aegon can hear the smirk in his voice as his hand wanders down Aegon's side, though by now they are both much too drowsy for anything more than flirtation. There is a little stab of fear in his chest, dulled by the medicine and the comfort of his brother's arms.

“Aemond, I - I am no longer whole. I don’t know whether I can still find pleasure in such things anymore.”

Undaunted, Aemond curls his hand over Aegon’s hip possessively.

“Then it is lucky for you that I enjoy a challenge.”

•••

Chapter Text

•••

Somehow, within a day of returning, Aemond has him drinking water instead of wine and applying a balm to his burns. The latter he doesn’t mind - it is similar to what Aemond uses on his eye and the smell is comforting - but breakfast without wine is a travesty. He only does it to appease Aemond and already has the feeling it won’t be the only concession he makes.

While Aegon eats, Aemond takes in the items displayed on the mantle, his own lost and found belongings. He curls his fingers around the hilt of his sword and begins to lift it, then hesitates and sets it back down again. Instead he turns his attention to the sapphire, which sits on a black velvet pillow. Aemond picks it up and turns it over in his fingers, letting it catch the morning light.

Aegon gives up on his meal. It’s impossible to focus on anything but Aemond. He stands and stretches out his stiff limbs then goes to Aemond’s side and puts a hand on the small of his back.

“Would you like it put back in?” He asks, motioning to the sapphire.

“No. No, I don’t think so.” Aemond sets it back on the cushion. “I’ll choose something new.”

“Oh?” That surprises Aegon. “Did you have something in mind?”

Aemond turns to fix his gaze on Aegon. “What stone would you like? You will see it more than I.”

There’s something thrilling about the offer, to choose a part of his brother. Aegon considers gold, like Sunfyre, but nothing will ever compare to the luster of his dragon’s scales. 

“I have always been partial to violet,” he decides. “A rare and exquisite color. It will suit you.”

Aemond hums, pleased. “An amethyst it is, then.”

•••

Aegon finds himself tasked with reintroducing Aemond to their home. Much has changed - not the castle itself, but who and what occupies it. There are new Kingsguard, new council members, new servants. Cats have replaced the rat catchers, dozens of them that wander King’s Landing pestering or befriending Highborn and smallfolk alike.

Most glaring is the absence of dragons. No shadows pass overhead, no cries in the distance or rumbles from the dragonpit. Without their presence this great red castle on the hill feels like little more than a pile of bricks, and he looks pitiful residing over it. Half a dozen eggs sit incubating on coals but none have hatched. Aegon fears they never will.

While walking the Keep together, Aegon holds onto Aemond’s arm. Their combined impairments are at least good for that much: an excuse to touch outside the privacy of their quarters. Aemond is his crutch and he is Aemond’s eye.

They are walking a long hallway when Alicent emerges from a doorway at the end, hand-in-hand with Jaehaera and Maelor. She meets her sons’ gazes from across the distance and something passes between them that goes beyond words. This is it - what is left of their family. Aegon knows if she could have chosen two children to survive it would not have been them, but she offers a gentle smile and they answer with nods.

Alicent says something to the children, who wave to their father and uncle. Aegon returns the wave, feeling Aemond’s eye on him as he watches them turn and walk away.

“You are a better father than ours ever was,” Aemond tells him.

Aegon scoffs. “That is no great feat.”

“Perhaps not. But you love them, and that is more than he could say.”

“I hope that you will come to love them, too.” Aegon looks up at him.

“That will be easy,” Aemond responds. “They are yours, and Helaena’s. They are the future of our line.”

“You are already a better uncle than ours.”

“Our uncle was an arrogant old cunt.”

Aegon grins. “And now he is an arrogant dead cunt, thanks to you.”

“Thanks to Vhagar,” Aemond corrects. “It was she who defeated Daemon and Caraxes, not I.” That is exactly how Aegon feels in regard to defeating Rhaenyra. It was Sunfyre’s victory, not his.

“We have her skull,” Aegon realizes aloud. He can’t believe it took him this long to tell Aemond. “It took a dozen horses and twice as many men, but we brought her home.”

Aemond looks out to the sky as if picturing his dragon in flight.

“May I see her?”

•••

The statues of Daeron, Helaena and Aemond are only recently completed. Each stands tall on a pedestal overlooking the main courtyard. At their feet are the skulls of Tessarion, Dreamfyre and Vhagar. Aegon expects Aemond to go directly to his own, but instead he lingers on their youngest brother.

“Daeron the daring, they called him,” he remarks. “A shame we could not know him better.”

Aegon hums his agreement. Aemond moves on to Helaena.

“Our dear sister.” He stands with her for a moment as well.

With some amount of reluctance, Aemond continues forward until he stands before his own likeness carved in stone. He pays it little attention, focusing instead on the large skull beside it. Aegon releases his arm and steps back, providing his brother a moment of solitude. Aemond puts his hands on either side of Vhagar’s jaw and touches his forehead to the end of her snout. He speaks softly to her in Valyrian. Aegon takes another step back. The words are not his to hear.

After some time Aemond pulls back, letting his hands fall from the skull. Aegon can’t see his face, can only hear his breathing steady out as Aemond gathers himself. When he turns there is more raw sorrow on his face than Aegon has seen since they were children.

Aegon holds his hand out and Aemond returns to his side, allowing his older brother to hold and squeeze his arm, an inadequate substitute for the consolation he needs and that Aegon so desperately wants to give.

“Should there not be a place for your statue?” Aemond asks. “For Sunfyre?”

“I thought Sunfyre might join me in the throne room for now, lest the people forget what put us there in the first place.” Aegon knows he won’t get away with avoiding the first question. “And it will be up to another to decide whether I am worthy of a statue.”

“Hm. Then I will begin impressing the idea upon young Maelor.”

Aegon can glean nothing from the look on his brother’s face, but he would not put it past him. If such a sculpture were to exist one day, it would most likely be placed beside Helaena, his wife and queen. But just for a moment Aegon allows himself to imagine it built next to Aemond, the two of them side by side for generations to come.

•••

By late afternoon they return to Aegon’s chambers where they sit together on the balcony overlooking King’s Landing. The sight is so familiar Aegon could describe it with his eyes closed, yet he and Aemond are so changed that it seems new.

“It’s strange,” Aemond says, as if echoing Aegon’s thoughts. “I imagined it would feel very different.”

“To be home?”

“To win.”

Though Aemond is sitting calmly as he always has, Aegon can tell he’s troubled. There is a distant look in his eye and a slight tremor runs through him. Aegon puts a hand on his thigh.

“I find myself…unmoored,” Aemond confesses. He absently traces the backs of Aegon’s fingers. “All my training and now I cannot wield a sword. I rode the largest and oldest dragon and now she is gone. What use am I? What use is a weapon of war during peacetime?”

It unnerves him to see Aemond like this. Aemond has always been his sure and steady shelter in life’s raging storms. Now the tables are turned and Aemond needs him.

Aegon almost argues that they grew up during peacetime, but it would feel like a lie. For them the war began long before banners flew and armies formed. They have never known true peace. Perhaps they never will. Perhaps war has seeped into their very bones.

“Peace must be upheld,” Aegon reminds him. “And you are not a weapon. You are a Targaryen prince. Your use is whatever you choose. Though I have found being useless to be quite relaxing,” he adds, trying for levity.

Aemond settles his hand atop Aegon’s. “You are not useless. From what I hear you are taking to your role better than expected.”

Aegon’s own sudden laugh surprises him. “That is not the flattery you seem to think it is!”

A smile creeps upon Aemond’s face, shining in his eye and tugging at the corners of his mouth. It sets Aegon’s heart ablaze.

“Be my Hand,” he blurts out.

That renders Aemond uncharacteristically speechless. Aegon can’t look at him.

He has been thinking about this since first thing this morning but he intended to make the request more formally, with the pin in hand. It is the closest thing they can ever have to a proposal of marriage. Stay by my side forever . Is it not enough? Is it an insult, to ask after so long, when it should have been Aemond from the moment of his coronation?

Aemond stands and the world blurs around Aegon. He clutches Aemond’s hand and stares pleadingly up at his towering brother, searching for the words to keep him from leaving.

Then Aemond slowly sinks to one knee, Aegon’s hand clasped in both of his. “Are you certain?”

Aegon has never been more certain about anything in his life. “There is no one else I want. No one I trust more. If I must do this, I need you by my side.”

Aemond searches his face. Whatever he is looking for he must find it, because the tension he has carried all day dissipates. He kisses the back of Aegon's hand. “It would be my honor, my King.”

The title lacks any of its usual hint of teasing on his brother’s lips. For the first time since his coronation, Aegon actually feels like a King, and for the first time in his life he can see a future with himself in it.

He grasps Aemond’s face and pulls him in to kiss him as if they have just been wed.

And now our reign begins .