Chapter Text
Aegon sat in his room. The maids had forced him into his coronation robes , much to their annoyance as he had struggled constantly during the process to the point they had had to grab 2 guards to hold him still. After he had been dressed, they hand tied his hands together and attached a lead of rope from the bindings to the bed frame to prevent him from escaping. He only had so long before they would drag him to the throne room, so he had spent the last couple minutes while the guards were out the room yanking and struggling against the bindings only to fail. After a couple minutes the guards came in. the untied him from the bed frame and dragged him down the corridor. He pulled against them as he cried and begged for them to stop… to let him go!
Aegon sat slumped in the ornate chair by the window, his posture defeated even as his chest heaved with shallow breaths of pent-up frustration. The coronation robes weighed heavily on his shoulders, not just physically, with their suffocating layers of fine silk and embroidered insignias, but emotionally, each thread feeling like a chain pulling him closer to a fate he loathed. The maids had struggled with him for what felt like hours, their tempers flaring as he resisted every touch, every adjustment, every fastening of the garb. He had thrashed, squirmed, and cursed, his desperation growing as he realized their patience was wearing thin.
In the end, they had resorted to summoning two guards to hold him still. The burly men had gripped his arms with no small measure of force, pinning him in place as the maids worked quickly, their hands shaking with a mixture of frustration and haste. Aegon had yelled the entire time, his voice hoarse as he spat venomous protests at anyone within earshot. It was undignified, humiliating, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Not when the alternative was to sit quietly and let them prepare him for the moment he feared most.
Once the final clasp was secured, the maids had tied his hands together tightly, thumbs bound against his palms, rendering his fingers useless for untying the thick knot, the coarse rope biting into his wrists. He had gritted his teeth, his skin already raw from the struggle, but his complaints had been ignored. A length of rope had been looped from his bindings to the bedframe, a humiliating leash meant to keep him in place. "For your own good," one of the maids had muttered with a disdainful glare, as though he were a disobedient dog rather than the heir to the throne.
The guards left the room briefly, and Aegon seized the opportunity to fight. He yanked at the rope with every ounce of strength he could muster, the bedframe rattling faintly with each desperate pull. His wrists ached, the rough fibres chafing against his skin, but he didn’t stop. His breaths came in short, frantic gasps, his muscles burning as he twisted and pulled. He threw his weight against the restraints, hoping something would give, the rope, the frame, anything, but it was no use. The knots were too tight, the leash too short. He was trapped.
Minutes ticked by each one dragging on endlessly as his efforts turned futile. Sweat dripped down his temple, dampening his hairline as he slumped back against the chair. He was exhausted, his energy sapped, but the fear bubbling in his chest refused to subside. His mind raced, conjuring scenarios of what was to come, each more terrifying than the last. He felt like a child again, powerless and insignificant, his pleas falling on deaf ears.
The sound of footsteps approaching the door jolted him out of his thoughts. The guards were back. Aegon’s heart sank as the door creaked open, revealing the two men who had held him down earlier. Their expressions were unreadable, their eyes cold as they stepped inside. One of them untied the rope from the bedframe, while the other grabbed him by the arm, his grip firm and unyielding.
"No, wait-" Aegon’s voice cracked as he began to struggle anew, digging his heels into the plush rug beneath him. The guards ignored his protests, dragging him toward the door with practiced efficiency.
"Please, don’t-just stop! I can’t do this!" he cried, his voice breaking into a sob as he twisted in their grip. His feet barely touched the ground as they hauled him down the corridor, his resistance making the journey more difficult but no less inevitable. The lavish halls blurred around him, their opulence feeling suffocating rather than grand. He felt like a prisoner being marched to his execution; every step closer to the throne room tightening the knot of dread in his stomach.
His pleas turned into desperate wails, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Please! Let me go! I don’t want this! I never wanted this!" Tears streamed down his face, his vision blurring as he continued to fight against the iron grips holding him in place. The guards didn’t even flinch, their faces remaining stony and impassive. They were used to this, he realized bitterly. They had dragged countless men and women to their fates, their conscience unbothered by the screams that followed.
“I can’t... I can’t do this...” Aegon’s voice cracked, each word strained and desperate, barely rising above a whisper. His feet dragged against the cold stone floor as the guards hauled him forward, but his body offered little resistance. His shoulders sagged under the weight of defeat, and the spark of rebellion that had flickered earlier had all but burned out. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t run… not anymore.
The sound of his boots scraping against the floor echoed faintly in the long corridor, a stark contrast to the muffled sobs that broke from his throat. Aegon’s legs gave out beneath him, his knees striking the unyielding stone with a painful thud. His weight sagged heavily, and the guards were forced to pause.
"Pathetic," the guard on the left sneered, his lip curling with disdain. He muttered something crude under his breath, words Aegon didn’t quite register, lost as he was in the haze of humiliation and despair. Aegon whimpered softly in response, his shoulders trembling as he hunched over, trying to shield himself from their scorn.
His hands shook as he pressed them weakly against the ground, trying to summon the strength to stand, but his knees wobbled beneath him. He pushed up halfway, only for his legs to fail him again. He collapsed back onto the cold stone, his sobs muffled as his forehead rested against the floor. His tears pooled on the surface, mingling with the dust and grime that clung to the cracks.
"Get up," the second guard snapped, his voice sharp with impatience. When Aegon didn’t respond, the man gave him a nudge with the toe of his boot, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to jolt him. “Move it.”
Aegon shook his head frantically, his breath hitching as fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. His voice was little more than a broken whisper. “Please... I didn’t-don’t…”
The guards, exasperated, yanked him back to his feet with little regard for his protests. Aegon stumbled, his body limp and uncooperative, but their iron grips kept him upright. His head hung low, his blonde hair falling in messy strands across his face, shielding his bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.
Then he saw him.
At first, it was just a flicker of movement, a small figure peeking cautiously from around the corner at the end of the hall. Aegon froze, his wide, teary eyes locking onto the small figure. The child was dishevelled, his long, matted pitch-black hair obscuring one side of his face. The boy’s green eyes, vivid and piercing, seemed to gleam even in the dim light of the corridor. Those eyes, the same ones that always seemed to read his and Aemond’s emotions without understanding their words, now stared at him with a mixture of confusion and alarm.
The boy was out of place, his strange, otherworldly appearance jarring against the cold stone walls of the Keep. His ill-fitting street clothes had been replaced with soft sleeping garments, too large for his small frame. The sleeves hung past his hands, and the hem dragged slightly as he shifted on bare feet. It was clear from the way his head darted from side to side, his small body tense with uncertainty, that he didn’t know where he was or how he had gotten here.
How did he escape Aemond’s room? Aegon wondered, his thoughts sluggish but slowly piecing things together. Aemond had been insistent about bringing the boy back with them, guarding him with an intensity Aegon rarely saw. They had spent the last couple of weeks visiting the child, both of them trying to make sense of his strange presence on the streets, though the boy never spoke a word of Common. Yet now here he was, seemingly lost and disoriented, wandering where he shouldn’t be.
Aegon barely registered the guard tugging at him, barking another gruff command to keep moving. His legs dragged against the stone, too weak to cooperate. But none of it mattered, not the rough grip on his arm, not the biting pain in his wrists where the ropes cut into his skin. His attention was fixed on the boy.
The child stood there, still as a statue, his wide green eyes shining with something that looked like a mix of fear and resolve. He seemed so small, so fragile against the cold, imposing backdrop of the corridor. Aegon couldn’t tear his gaze away. It was as if time itself had slowed, the chaos of the moment fading into the background.
The guards, oblivious to the silent exchange, barked at each other in frustration as Aegon faltered yet again. They yanked him upright, dragging him forward with renewed force. His cries and pleas fell on deaf ears. Their indifference stung, a sharp reminder of how powerless he was in their hands.
Then, suddenly, the boy moved.
Like a flash of lightning, the child darted forward. His small hands trembled, but there was an undeniable determination in his every movement. He reached for the ropes binding Aegon’s wrists, his thin fingers tugging and pulling at the coarse fibres. He wasn’t strong, not even close. But his desperation seemed to lend him speed and precision.
The guards didn’t notice at first. Their focus was solely on their captive, their grip tightening as Aegon struggled weakly against them. It wasn’t until the boy gave one final, frantic yank that they felt the slack in their hold.
“What the-” one guard started, turning just as the rope slipped free. But before he could fully process what was happening, it was already too late.
The boy’s small hand shot out, gripping Aegon’s bound wrists with surprising strength for someone so frail. And then it happened.
The world twisted and contorted around them, a disorienting blur of motion and sound. Aegon felt as though he was being wrenched through a narrow tunnel, the air pressing against him from all sides. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just endure the overwhelming sensation as his stomach churned violently.
When the spinning stopped, the stone beneath him was different, cooler, smoother. Aegon collapsed onto the ground, his knees hitting the floor with a dull thud. He hunched over, one hand clutching his stomach, the other pressing against his mouth as he tried to keep the nausea at bay. His face was pale, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.
The boy was beside him, watching with wide, unblinking eyes. He didn’t look sick or dizzy, though his small chest heaved with rapid breaths. Aegon groaned softly, lowering himself further until his forehead touched the cool stone. His stomach twisted again, but he managed to keep from retching.
Slowly, Aegon’s surroundings began to register. The familiar dark wood furniture, the faint scent of oil lamps and ink, it was Aemond’s room. Somehow, impossibly, the boy had brought them here. Aegon lifted his head slightly, glancing at the child through strands of dishevelled hair.
Slowly, Aegon’s surroundings began to register. The familiar dark wood furniture, the faint scent of oil lamps and ink, it was unmistakably Aemond’s room. Somehow, impossibly, the boy had brought them here. Aegon’s body remained slumped against the floor, his knees drawn up slightly as he fought the relentless wave of nausea that clung to him. His head hung low, strands of sweat-dampened hair obscuring his face.
“Are you okay?” a small voice broke the fragile silence.
Aegon’s head tilted slightly, just enough to see the boy kneeling nearby. The child’s voice was quiet, tentative, spoken in a language that Aegon didn’t understand, but the tone was unmistakably concerned. The boy’s green eyes, bright and filled with worry, were fixed on him.
Aegon’s hand lowered slowly from his mouth as he managed a shaky breath. He blinked at the boy, confusion flitting across his features before recognition softened his gaze. This was the same child he and Aemond had been visiting. The boy they had watched from a distance, trying cautiously to build a connection. The same boy who had just...saved him?
“Thank you,” Aegon rasped, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. He tried to straighten up but faltered, his trembling hands bracing against the cold floor for support. His gratitude was genuine, but the lingering sickness made it hard to convey.
The boy didn’t respond, his head tilting slightly as if trying to decipher Aegon’s words. He bit his lip and hesitated, glancing at the door and then back at Aegon. The man noticed how the child’s small hands fidgeted nervously, twisting together as if he wasn’t sure if he had done something wrong.
“I’m sorry,” the boy whispered again, his voice trembling as he took a small step back. “I don’t understand...”
Aegon blinked, confusion clouding his face at the unfamiliar words. He pushed himself up slightly on one arm, though his movements were slow and weak. His fine coronation robes, now scuffed and dusty, hung off him awkwardly, a stark contrast to his dishevelled appearance. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and managed to speech in a slurred tone that practically no one could understand.
The child flinched slightly at the words, unsure of their meaning. He watched Aegon’s face carefully, his own expression wavering between guilt and fear. The boy’s shoulders tensed as he took another step back, his small frame trembling. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely audible. Still in the strange language.
Aegon sighed, his pale face creasing with worry as he studied the boy. He didn’t know how to bridge the gap between them, didn’t know how to make the child understand that he wasn’t angry. His hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out, but he stopped himself, unsure of how the boy would react.
The boy didn’t move closer. He stayed where he was, biting his lip and wringing his hands, his gaze darting nervously between Aegon and the door. His small voice broke the silence again.
Aegon leaned back against the wall, exhausted but determined to keep the boy calm. “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly, though he doubted the boy could comprehend. His tone was soft, reassuring, and his tired eyes held a faint flicker of warmth.
The door creaked open, and the boy jumped, his wide green eyes darting to the sound. Aemond stepped inside, his figure tall and commanding, the faintest trace of tension visible in his movements. His gaze swept the room quickly, taking in the scene. When his eye landed on Aegon, his expression shifted immediately. Concern etched itself across his sharp features, and his brow furrowed deeply. Without hesitation, he crossed the room in swift, purposeful strides and knelt beside his older brother.
Aemond’s gaze flicked over Aegon’s condition, assessing him carefully. His usually composed demeanour faltered as worry took hold. Aegon’s shallow breathing, the pallor of his face, and the trembling of his frame told Aemond everything he needed to know.
“Aegon,” Aemond murmured, his tone soft but firm. “What happened?” His voice, though calm, carried an edge of urgency as he reached out to steady his brother.
Aegon opened his mouth to respond, but no words came instead a chocked sob at the sight of his brother. His shoulders shook as he tried to sit up and go over to him, his hands weakly bracing against the floor, but his body betrayed him. With a broken sob, he collapsed against Aemond’s chest, burying his face into the fabric of his younger brother’s tunic.
The boy watched from a corner, frozen in place, his small hands clutching at the edge of his borrowed tunic. He didn’t understand the words being exchanged, but the raw emotion in the room, the vulnerability, was unmistakable.
Aemond’s body stiffened briefly at the unexpected closeness, but he quickly adjusted. Wrapping an arm securely around Aegon’s trembling shoulders, he supported his brother’s weight with ease. His other hand rested gently on Aegon’s back, the firm, steady pressure grounding him. Aemond’s gaze softened, his usual sharpness giving way to something gentler as he let his older brother cry.
“It’s all right,” Aemond said softly, his voice low and steady as he held Aegon close. “You’re safe now.” His hand moved in slow, soothing circles against Aegon’s back, the gesture almost tender. Aegon’s sobs quieted slightly, though his grip on Aemond’s tunic remained tight, as if afraid to let go.
The boy tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face. He took a cautious step forward, his bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. His gaze darted between the two brothers, his small frame trembling as he wrestled with the instinct to help but not knowing how.
Aegon’s breath hitched, and he clutched Aemond tighter. “They were going to make me... They were going to force me,” he whispered brokenly, his voice muffled by Aemond’s shoulder.
Aemond’s jaw tightened at the words, his expression darkening for a brief moment. “They won’t,” he assured, his voice firm. “Not while I’m here.” The conviction in his tone was unyielding, a promise that he would not let anyone harm his brother, no matter the cost.
Aegon’s fingers loosened slightly, his sobs ebbing into quieter gasps. He nodded faintly against Aemond’s shoulder, the tension in his body gradually easing, though the exhaustion still weighed heavily on him.
The boy took another hesitant step closer, his green eyes full of cautious curiosity. Aemond glanced over his shoulder, his gaze meeting the boy’s for a brief moment. His sharp features softened ever so slightly, a flicker of acknowledgment passing between them.
The boy, still hesitant, stepped forward another inch, his eyes searching for something in Aemond’s expression. The man with the eyepatch seemed to notice the movement, glancing over his shoulder at the boy. Their eyes met, and for a moment, something passed between them, an unspoken understanding that the boy couldn’t quite place, but the sharp edge of Aemond’s gaze softened ever so slightly.
Aemond’s hand rested lightly on Aegon’s back, his attention still mostly focused on his brother, but he turned his head slightly toward the boy, as though contemplating something. The boy’s heart raced, but he didn’t retreat. He stood still, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the boy pointed to himself, his hand trembling slightly. His eyes flicked from Aemond to Aegon before he spoke, his voice small but firm, as though he were forcing the words out despite their weight on his tongue. "Harry," he said, his voice barely a whisper, but firm in its intention.
Aemond’s brow furrowed in confusion, and Aegon blinked, still too weak to fully process what was happening. They exchanged a brief, uncertain glance before Aemond leaned closer, his expression shifting as if he were trying to piece together the puzzle before him. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but then something clicked in his mind. Slowly, he pointed to himself.
"Aemond," he said, his voice low and careful. The name rolled off his tongue with a mix of certainty and hesitation, as if he wasn’t entirely sure that the boy understood, but he was trying all the same.
Aemond’s gaze lingered on Harry for a moment, before he turned to look down at Aegon, still cradling him in his arms. The older man’s breath was still shallow, his fingers weakly gripping Aemond’s tunic, but the fear that had been there moments ago was gone, replaced by exhaustion. Aemond looked at him for a long moment, then pointed at him gently.
"Aegon," Aemond said softly, the name clear this time.
Aemond glanced down at Harry, his gaze intense yet softer than usual. The name felt unfamiliar on his tongue, but there was something about the boy’s presence that made him feel a sense of responsibility, a connection he couldn't quite explain. "Harry," Aemond repeated, testing the word. His voice was quieter now, carrying an unfamiliar gentleness, though he wasn’t sure if Harry could understand him. The boy’s eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty, but there was something in them that made Aemond pause. For the first time, Aemond didn’t look at Harry with the same detached, stoic coldness that usually defined him.
Aegon, still cradled in Aemond’s arms, was trying to steady his breathing. His eyes had cleared a bit from the confusion, and though his face was flushed with the remnants of distress, there was a calmness in his gaze as he looked at Harry. He didn’t speak, but the way he observed the boy was different now, his focus was sharper, less frantic.
Harry’s movements were slow and hesitant, as if unsure of what to do or how to act. His hand hovered in the air between them, not quite reaching out but instead seeming to ask a question, silent and uncertain. Was he asking if they understood him? Could they communicate? Could they understand what he was feeling?
The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound of Aegon’s sobs slowing down to normal breathing. Harry’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited, his eyes flicking between Aemond and Aegon. A flicker of hope sparked in him, a quiet, fragile thing. Could they help him? Could they see that he didn’t understand them, that he was lost in this strange place?
Then, in an almost imperceptible movement, Aemond reached out. His hand came to rest gently on Harry’s, tentative at first, as though unsure of the boy’s response. But Harry felt the warmth of the touch, and though it was small, it felt like a promise. A promise of safety. A promise that he wasn’t alone.
Aemond’s voice broke the silence again, soft yet unwavering. "You’re safe, Harry," he said in a language that he knew Harry couldn’t understand, but he tried to emphasis the tone, the intent behind the words, to make it clear.
Harry looked nervous, ready to bolt. However instead, he slowly crawled over to the other side of Aegon, his hands trembling slightly. He was cautious, unsure, but the urge to be near them, to help in some way, was stronger. His gaze fell on Aegon, and for a moment, he just stared at him, concern flickering across his features.
Harry reached out and patted Aegon’s head. It wasn’t much, just a small gesture, but it was the first time the boy had initiated contact with them. They weren’t sure if he understood them, or if he even knew how much they wanted to help. Aegon’s breathing was slowing, his body relaxing, and Aemond felt a small surge of relief. He wasn’t sure what Harry’s actions meant, but the boy’s presence, the way he approached Aegon, seemed to bring a certain calmness to the room. Maybe, just maybe, they were making some progress together.