𝑽𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑵𝑫

1

For far too long had he lived like this, stuck, unmoving, living one day after another yet seeing no change. They saw him as a fool, a little kid who knew no better and would not fight back against them.

They were wrong.

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When they came again, he looked only at the ground, for that was the only thing worthy of his gaze; was what they loved telling him. His mother would do the same, alas as a hand roughly took hold of her chin, her eyes would inevitably meet theirs. They seemed to love it, to thrive in it, the way her eyes hardened, and the way an unknown heat took place behind her violet irises. He was young, yes, but there were some things even he understood.

And when he watched them take her right before his eyes, he could only stand and wonder which one of them was his father.

In the end, it wouldn't matter which one it was—they would both bleed the same.

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His mother would sooth him. With her shaky hands and teary gaze, she'd talk about his future, about his destiny. She'd talk about him, but he couldn't find himself in her words. The person she wanted him to become wasn't him. This wasn't about him.

It never was about him.

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He'd ask her sometimes, in the dark corners of the room, he'd ask her about the past, before he was born, when she was free. In such rare moments, he'd see her smile in remembrance. And she'd talk, oh how she'd just talk and talk. She'd talk about her childhood, her brothers and sisters. She'd talk about their lives, their youthfulness, and how nice and warm it felt to hold her younger siblings in her arms.

Her joy wouldn't last long. It never did.

Eventually, she'd talk about the reason they separated. It wasn't of their free will. In moments like these, the heat behind her gaze would reappear, and she'd bit her lips with enough intensity to make them bleed. She never told him why they separated, or who was responsible.

All he needed to know was that he'd-

"-reunite us all, Aegon. No matter what it takes."

He was her little prince, after all.

Who was he to deny her words?

_

He was a child, small and weak, but there came merits to it. The men never saw him as a threat. Each time they came, they'd disregard his existence in favour to his mother, her and her devoted attention was all they sought out, was all they were drawn to, like a moth to a flame.

The moth dies, inevitably, but he shall take his mother's place as the flame. He'll burn hot enough for the both of them.

They were careless, the men. Always were. As if their unjust acts meant nothing to Aegon, as if what they did wouldn't fill his tiny body with an anger far too big to contain. They didn't think, that was where their faults laid.

His mother wouldn't meet his eyes. Did she think not looking at him while they savagely took her would make it all go away? Did she think it would not be real then? He had seen too much already, and his mind would not forget what his eyes had seen. Each and every time they were done, they'd leave her like that, bruised on the ground, the very essence that made him stuck to her like second skin.

It was repulsive, nauseating, it made him want to look away, yet he found no power in himself to do so. She was his mother. They did this to his mother. He couldn't look away. Engrave it. Remember it. Keep it close.

They would all face the weight of their acts.

They would. They will.

They were careless, this time more than the last. It was a perfect setting for his long awaited plan.

Their backs turned to him. A weight in his palm, worn leather dragging along his skin. One step, two step.

Final step.

Violet eyes looked at him and he stopped.

He saw her reach, saw her fingers tremble. His mother was fearless, but when it came to him she wore the fear.

It happened in a moment's time, her harshly stabbing into one of the men, a cry of pain. He saw an opportunity and he took it. With his fingers wrapped tightly around the knife, he tore into the second man's neck, yet he had no strength to push it fully through.

Rough hands grabbed hold of him and tears rose to his eyes as they wrapped around his throat.

"Measly little bastard!"

Swiftly, the pain rose, but as fast as it did, it lessened, and he collapsed onto the ground.

He heard his mother's shrill scream, and before his eyes he watched as her knife found its way into the man's head. He watched as he fell, he watched as she dove after him with her teeth barred.

Ceaselessly, she tore into him, as if a wild animal. Blood, like the wine the men so often drank, spilled across the floor in wet splotches each time she raised her knife. Over and over again.

He wondered where she found such strength.

Then she looked at him, all bloody and disheveled, and the warmth in her eyes came back like she'd seen the sun.

"Are you hurt?"

He shook his head.

She exhaled and dropped the knife, sitting back on her legs. Her hair was everywhere, stained with blood, sticking to her skin, painted red.

The men didn't move.

They weren't moving.

It was done. They did it.

They-

"...Mother?"

"Valar morghulis."

His throat tightened. He could not find the words he needed to say back. He knew what this meant, he-

"Valar morghulis!" She shouted, voice echoing around them, the strength behind her words showcasing the pride she held for their native tongue.

It was commanding.

And he will serve.

"Valar dohaeris."

She held her head high, eyes ablaze.

He couldn't look away.

"You are the sole heir. A long night is ahead of us, and you must lead us," Quickly, she corrected herself, "Them." She leaned forward, palms pressing into the bloodied ground. With her stained hands, she caressed his cheek. "Mind not what anyone says. Mind not whom they claim to be. You are all that remains, my Aegon. You are all that matters."

She was beautiful, his mother. Even whilst covered in mankind's filth, she was beautiful.

"My sweet, sweet Aegon. My beautiful Aegon. You are the future of our bloodline, you are its pride. Forever hold your head up high and rejoice in being born a Targaryen."

He was. He will.

"A Targaryen burns from the moment they are born."

They burn. They burn. They burn.

"You are a dragon, Aegon, and a dragon bows to no one."

He was a dragon.

He bowed to no one.

"Remember this, my son. Remember to burn them all."

And as he watched her drop, life spilling out of her newfound wound, he made a silent promise.

He shall burn them all.

"You were born. Maybe the most destructive thing you have done to the world."