The Last of a Dynasty

One: Scared children, broken realm

In front of the broken ruins of the Dragonpit stood two broken children, spouting vows they did not understand. And the people looked on.
This was what the war had brought forth.
What a pitiful spectacle, most among the audience thought, even if on the outside they cheered and applauded their king and queen.
There was no joy in the ceremony, no merriment in the coronation and feast that followed.
Mushroom made his jokes, the musicians played their lively tunes, but no amount of songs and fools could lift the veil of sorrow that hung in the air.
The young king and his little queen sat at the head of the table, not even making an attempt at pretending happiness. Neither laughed, or smiled, or danced. They picked at their food glumly, as if life itself had become a heavy obligation.
They did not speak to each other.
That, however, was no surprise to those who had known them.
Princess Jaehaera had seldom shown emotion in her life, and no one had expected this would be the day she started. Perhaps it was for the best, it was whispered among the castle's walls, if she could not truly understand what was happening. She'd been spared of suffering, in a way Aegon had not.
He made them uncomfortable, most of the time.
He had been a happy child, once, but his childhood had ended too soon.
The day his mother had died, they said, a part of him had died alongside her.
He did not care to rule, they said, or for the little girl they now called his wife.
But they did not know his mind.

It was lonely to be the king.
Aegon had spent the first nine years of his life thinking such a burden would never fall onto his shoulders. He'd had brothers, three of them older. Jace would have been a great king. He would have known what to do.
He'd had a mother, so loving and wise, too. A queen the realm could love, if only they'd given her time.
Now he was alone, and he wished he could make them proud, but how could he?
The Iron Throne loomed behind him in all its power and greatness. He did not need to turn to know its dark shadow was cast over him, did not need to sit it to know those blades would cut through his skin. The circlet of gold on his head was heavy, cold against his brow. He knew all of that had never been meant to be his.
His sisters sat at his side, but there was little they could do. They couldn't bring back his mother and brothers, they couldn't prevent the people from seeing how unready he was.
And on his other side, there was Jaehaera, her violet eyes staring off into the void.
Aegon had barely known her, even as they lived so closely. He was scared of this, of this wedding and the expectations that came with it. But she was as scared as he was.
She didn't expect him to be strong and brave, to be a king.
Once, she'd stared him in the eyes, only a few days before the wedding.
"Green and black, black and green. All is gone, and red remains." Jaehaera had reached for his hand, then. "Aegon the king, Aegon the broken. I miss my mother too."
It had been uncomfortable, her gaze piercing though his very soul, her words almost incomprehensible, but somehow... it had felt like she'd understood him, in a way not even his sisters did.
Sometimes he'd look at her, now, as they sat side by side. He'd have wanted to offer her comfort, if only he had known how.
But he didn't, and so he stayed quiet and looked at the celebrations in front of him, a poor attempt on the regents' part to make it seem like all was well.
Even Lord Corlys, who stood by his side in all matters and kept the worst of the others' intrusions at bay, had agreed for the feast to take place. He said it would be good for the realm to see the crown stand strong and united after the war.
Lord Corlys was old and wise. Aegon believed him.
Maybe it would be good, for the realm. Maybe the Seven Kingdoms would heal and prosper one day. But that did not change his feelings.
He would never be well again, there would always be something missing, and it felt wrong—so terribly wrong—to sing and dance after the horrors he'd seen.
He only wished that the stream of lords and ladies coming to congratulate him and pay homage would soon come to an end.

The bells had just rung the hour of the bat, and the sun was setting on King's Landing, when it was announced that the king and queen would be retiring for the evening.
The maids had come to take him and his cousin to bed, saying something about how "It is growing late, Your Graces. You must be tired."
They were too young for wine and feasts that lasted till the sun rose, it seemed, but not too young to be wed. What bitter irony that was.
Aegon nevertheless allowed himself to be escorted out. He was relieved when the sounds of music and chatter were reduced to mere faint whispers in his ear.
The less he had to be among all those people who studied him like a captive exotic beast, with either pity or curiosity in their eyes, the better. He did not want their pity, and he certainly did not wish to be the object of their gossip.
He knew they talked about him, about his family and all they'd lost.
He hated it. Hated that that had been his fate.
He wanted full bellies and dancing bears and his mother and father and brothers. Now he could have it all, but what was the point, when nothing could fill the hole they'd left behind?
Jaehaera walked beside him, holding the hand of a young maid with dirty blond hair.
She looked like she was in another world, as she often did.
Aegon envied her, sometimes. He wished he could forget, if forgetting meant his pain would go away. But he didn't truly want to. He didn't want to forget his mother's smile and her warm hugs, his father ruffling his hair and teaching him to wield a sword, or playing with Viserys and Jace, Luke and Joffrey. He wished he could remember with fondness, but in the end he'd take the heartache, if that was what it took to have them with him still.

His rooms were too big for just one boy.
He missed Viserys' bed beside his, and his brother's laughter and waking up to him asking to go and steal some sweets from the kitchens.
He missed his mother coming in to tuck them in, reading them a story before blowing out the candles to let them sleep.
The maids were not unkind, but they were not his mother. They did their duty by leading him to his chambers and laying down his nightclothes, and they left him alone then, to tend to their other duties.
Aegon did not wish to sleep.
Every time he was made to appear before the court, to see the not-so-veiled curiosity in their gaze, he was reminded with particular intensity of the way his life had crumbled upon him.
It brought about the nightmares, more vivid than usual.
If only he tried to close his eyes, he knew what would come.
And yet exhaustion took over him.
It always did, eventually, and then he saw as his uncle's dragon closed its jaws around his mother, eating her whole with one sickening crunch.
Even then, she'd been brave.
And he had been too slow to understand what was happening, too late he had cried out and told her to run.
He had been too weak, unable to free himself from Aegon the Elder's men, unable to save her.
It ate at him every day.
When he woke up, Aegon was covered in sweat, and tears had welled up in his eyes. The air was stuck in his throat. Breathing came hard.
He sat up on his huge mattress, back laid against the wooden bedframe engraved with figures of flying dragons.
He forced himself to breathe as the tears streamed down his cheeks. He could taste their salty flavor on his lips.
He used to lock himself in his room, sometimes, only to let such feelings out. This time, however, it had come all of a sudden, unexpected. He felt like he would die, if he stayed in that place one more moment.
And in a matter of seconds, his mind had been made.
He'd bolted out of bed, out of the room.
Barefoot on the stone floor, with only his white linen nightshirt, he found himself in the corridor.
Then, he simply broke down. He let himself fall on the floor, hiding his face in his palms, quiet sobs escaping his lips.

He had not known for how long he had been there.
Deep in thought and misery, he was, until a a sudden tap on his shoulder made him startle, causing him to abruptly rise his head.
His raced heartbeat calmed when he saw it was just Jaehaera, standing there, her silver hair falling freely around her pale face. She was staring right at him, almost like a ghost in her long white nightgown.
"You're sad," she stated, her tone less plain than most times he'd heard her speak.
Aegon wiped his eyes with the hem of his sleeve. "I'm... sorry," he managed to say. "I did not mean to wake you."
She did not respond.
It didn't matter to him. Most courtiers ignored her, for they thought she had no emotion, but she did.
She had trouble expressing it, he'd noticed, and sometimes she seemed to be detached from the world around her, but she was not the shell of a human people thought her to be. And he did not mind her company, after all.
"It's... late. You don't have to stay," he told her, however.
She was small, for an eight-year-old. Almost frail. Her nightdress seemed too thin, even for a summery night such as that. Aegon did not want her to catch a cold.
The girl only blinked and sat beside him on the floor.
Perhaps she could not sleep, too, he thought.
And then, all of a sudden, a murmur erupted from her lips: "A beast is gone," she whispered, with such an intensity that seemed eerie for a child her age. "A beast will come."
Aegon felt a chill run down his spine.
Jaehaera often spoke cryptically, however. It seemed to be her way to make sense of her feelings, her fears.
He knew not what to say, if he should reassure her or simply nod and listen.
But he extended a hand towards her, an offer of the little comfort he could give her.
Her lilac gaze fell on his hand before returning on his face.
A moment later, he felt the warmth of her fingers wrapping around his own.
That was all, and it was enough.
He held her hand, and sat by her side, until eventually he felt the stiffness of her body relax.
And then he stayed a little more, till his own memories relented and he returned to the present.
It was the closest to well he'd felt in months.