I'll be ready for the funeral | Aegon
Aegon is tugged forward, a scowl on his young face. Something isn’t right about his uncle, something he isn’t comfortable asking about. Even in a fucking zombie apocalypse, his father’s friends come with caveats. Rhaegar Targaryen is by all rights closer to Aegon than Jon, but still he doesn’t feel right mentioning him. Had Jon heard anything? And, better still, would he tell him even if he had?
“My supplies,” he mutters. Potato chips and canned vegetables. Nothing worthwhile, but he’d spent so long collecting them. Running along behind Jon, Aegon tells himself to forget about it. He obviously hasn’t impressed his uncle, so what’s the point? He’s probably amassed some stockpile of food that Aegon can’t hope to match.
“Rhaenys is at the hospital. We’re going to find her, yeah?”
Melisandre told him once that the night was dark and full of terrors. He wants to laugh (or cry) at the thought, knowing that her night must be pretty much the same. They run into the darkness, Jon not bothering to acknowledge or congratulate Aegon on his findings. He wants to shake him. People are dying, he wants to scream. People are dying while you sneak off to try and prove yourself to be a hero—what if you died too? Where would he be, without Aegon? The small reminder of Rhaegar (his eyes, his voice, the way he used to smile but not anymore, not today, not tonight) anchors him somehow, keeps him moving. But he’s safe, they’re safe for now, and they run into the darkness of London without a clue of where to go. “Rhaenys,” he pants, shoes echoing heavily on the concrete of the street. He thinks of her, thinks of Viserys, of Daenerys, of Melisandre. He pauses, to catch his breath, to think about what they do. He looks at Aegon with wide eyes, and a confirmation is on his lips, about to slip into open air when his phone buzzes, when both of their phones buzz. A message. From the same person. Contact: Rhaegar. Jon nearly throws up. He reads the text message, over and over, the thought booming in his head like a wardrum. Rhaegar is alive. Rhaegar is alive. Rhaegar is here. Jon replies quickly, fingers shaking, before he looks back up at Aegon with wide, hesitant eyes. Rhaenys, he thinks. He wants to find his sister. “Your father,” Jon croaks instead, and he knows he’s being terribly selfish, knows he’s gone pale with shock and eyes wide with desperation. “Y-you…” He looks at the phone again, another reply from Rhaegar. In the docks. By a warehouse. Dragonstone, his mind connects, because how wouldn’t he be at Dragonstone? Melisandre. Shireen. Rhaegar. Jon exchanges another glance with Aegon, adrenaline pumping through him. They could make it, right? “Rhaenys is in the hospital,” he repeats softly, eyes flickering down the street. He needs Aegon with him. He can’t just leave him. “Means she’s safe, right? She’s safe right now.” He doesn’t want to say it, but it slips from his lips anyways, recalling Melisandre’s texts earlier (he pushes back the grief, swallows it down and forces the information past his tongue), “Cersei Lannister closed off the hospitals today, Aegon. We can’t storm in. But she’s in there, and she ought to be safe. Your dad might be—” Dying. Dead. So soon after he had gotten hope again. So soon. “—might be in trouble. We need to get him.”
'Your father.'
He knows that he's just a stupid boy, at least to Connington, but he's a stupid boy who has no experience, who is doing the best that he can in the face of so many obstacles, so many choices. As much as Jon might like to think himself a Targaryen, he isn't. And Aegon knows why, even if Rhaenys was on the streets and away from Cersei Lannister's claws, there would be no choice between her and his father. Still, Aegon follows, his trainers tripping against the pavement as he struggles to keep up with the man's long strides.
His father's message can wait. He's alive. Good. Resentment and relief mixes in his chest. But his father is the one that can take care of himself, regardless of what that message says. (He tells himself, wondering if Rhaegar Targaryen is bleeding out in some back alley or, worse, becoming one of the walkers.) "They think everyone who was at that fucking fundraiser-" Aegon flinches when he raises his voice, then starts again, "She's not just in the hospital. She's in quarantine."
He says it more for his own benefit than Jon's. His fingers twitch against the hilt of his gun and he stares forward before turning back to Connington and nodding. "We'll come back for her," Aegon says quietly.
