poisoned. he drinks down the rest of his wine (how many, many, many now?), half-hoping it might indeed poison him. A BETTER DEATH THAN THIS SLOW AGONY, HE THINKS. HE DOES NOT KNOW HOW MUCH MORE OF IT HE CAN TAKE — YET HE TAKES IT, DAY BY DAY, ON AND ON. BRIGHTER DAYS MUST BE AHEAD. THE NEXT CUP OF WINE WILL MAKE THINGS BEARABLE. THE NEXT, THE NEXT. all is wine and dragons and he cannot see a way out of this. neither the sun, nor the moon, is his guiding light. there is only fire, and blood, and more fire.
COULD HE HAVE STOPPED IT, AT ANY POINT? COULD HE HAVE AVERTED THE COURSE OF HISTORY EVEN AS THE DRAGONLORDS OF OLD AND THE MAESTERS PENNED IT? he might have fled, but his loyalty is ever to his family: even when what they ask of him is deplorable and awash with all the filth of a flea bottom sewer. and he tries so hard, to do right, to make himself lovable, but there might be something in him that is fundamentally not so. were he lovable, he would not disgust his mother, and his father would not be blind to him. it is not for want of trying that king viserys did not produce a male heir, he’s heard it told. woman and child both died in the attempt. the king wanted a son. just not this one. and helaena may have wanted a husband some day: but not this one.
aegon, in truth, never gave much thought to what his sister wanted — perhaps if it had been him, this would have been easier. PERHAPS THEN HE WOULD HAVE BEEN LIKE THE AEGON HIS MOTHER NAMED HIM FOR, THE CONQUEROR WHO TOOK BOTH HIS SISTERS TO WIFE AND BROUGHT THE SEVEN KINGDOMS TO HEEL. this aegon can command a singalong in a tavern of a night, and not much more. the dragon, but that’s a given. his mother’s family marries their daughters off to lords and kings, not their own brothers. she is an interloper in the dragons’ lair, and that she has cast him in this role burns worse than dragonbreath. HE CANNOT HATE HER, BUT HE CANNOT BELIEVE SHE LOVES HIM, AND IF THIS IS A MOTHER’S LOVE HE WISHES HE HAD BEEN BORN FROM AN EGG, HATCHED ON THE DRAGONMONT BENEATH A BLANKET OF ASH. MOTHERLESS, FATHERLESS, RIDERLESS, HE’D BURN ALL WHO CAME TOO CLOSE.
in another life, he’d have another wife: perhaps some wild woman of the north, and they’d fly to pentos and he’d have a garden and something good would grow. he does not want to burn helaena now. he wants that he would have done things differently. he would have been less cruel, but he was a child and he didn’t understand, then, how hard things would become. YOUNG PRINCE AEGON WAS TOO CONCERNED WITH JAPES AND HIS OWN PLEASURE AND BACK THEN HE THOUGHT THE WORLD WAS BIGGER, SO BIG NOT EVEN A DRAGON COULD FLY TO EVERY CORNER. HE KNOWS BETTER NOW: THAT THE WORLD IS SMALL ENOUGH TO FIT IN THE SHADOW OF THE BLACK DREAD, AND THAT WHAT IS DONE CANNOT BE UNDONE. the time for him to play ended long ago, but when did he stop being a child? was it when his mother last set him down, never to be cradled again? was it his wedding night? was it upon the birth of his bastard son? or his trueborn son? he feels half a child still, plaintive hand grasping for his mother’s and coming away empty.
helaena swims up beside him, appearing to him silent, like the moon on a cloudy night. moon to his sun, silver and shadows that swallow her pain while his only burns. one hand grasps tight the edge of their son’s cot as she reaches to tuck him in at the feet. he does not cringe away. in lieu of a mother, a sister will suffice. he sobs, a great, wet, choked thing, muffled by the sleeve of his cup-clenching hand. droplets of wine splash from it onto the baby’s blanket, red and dark as blood. and when he turns to helaena, to his sister, his arms are open, tears leaving silver streaks 'pon pink cheeks. his question is tremulous, from trembling lips. ‘can i… can i hold you?’
