The halls of the Red Keep were quiet at this hour. Torches flickered along the stone walls, their light dancing across the tapestries as a restless wind slipped through the narrow windows overlooking Blackwater Bay.
Most of the castle slept.
But not Aegon.
He strode down the corridor with a tension in his shoulders that no amount of wine had managed to dull tonight. In fact, the goblet he’d started earlier sat abandoned somewhere in his chambers. For once, he wanted a clear head.
Because this—this mattered.
The guards outside the king’s chambers stiffened when Aegon approached, exchanging uncertain glances. It was late. But Aegon didn’t stop.
“I must speak with my father,” he said sharply.
One guard hesitated before knocking and opening the heavy door to the chamber of Viserys.
Inside, the king sat by the fire, wrapped in heavy robes, the glow of the flames reflecting in tired eyes. He looked up slowly as Aegon entered.
“Aegon?” Viserys’ brow creased with confusion. “It is well past midnight.”
For a moment, Aegon simply stood there.
The words sat like fire in his throat.
Because once he spoke them… there would be no taking them back.
“My king,” he said finally, voice rougher than usual. “I need to speak with you. About… a grave matter.”
Viserys studied his son carefully now. Aegon rarely came to him with seriousness. Usually it was drunkenness, foolishness, or excuses.
But tonight his son’s face was tight with anger.
“Then speak.”
Aegon stepped closer, his hands clenching at his sides.
“It concerns my brother.”
The king sighed faintly. “If this is about some quarrel—”
“It is not a quarrel,” Aegon cut in, sharper than intended. His jaw tightened as the images came rushing back again.
Bruises.
Fading yellow marks along delicate skin.
The way you always tried to hide them.
The way you smiled like nothing was wrong.
Aegon swallowed hard, anger burning hot in his chest.
“Aemond hurts her.”
Viserys froze.
Aegon’s voice dropped, quieter but far more dangerous.
“His betrothed.”
Silence filled the chamber like a storm waiting to break.
Viserys’ expression slowly darkened. “You speak of—”
“Yes.” Aegon nodded grimly. “Of her.”
Your name almost left his mouth, but he held it back, as though saying it might somehow drag you into the room
“I have seen the bruises,” Aegon continued. “More than once.”
Viserys slowly pushed himself upright in his chair, pain flashing briefly across his face as he did.
“That cannot be true.”
“It is.” Aegon’s voice cracked with frustration. “And she says nothing because she is loyal. Because she believes it is her duty.”
The king said nothing.
The fire crackled between them.
Aegon ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before turning back.
“I cannot stand by and watch it anymore.”
Viserys’ gaze sharpened.
“And what exactly do you expect me to do, Aegon?”
For the first time that night… Aegon hesitated.
Because this part required something he’d never done before.
Humility.
But when he thought of you… the words came anyway.
“Break the betrothal.”
Viserys’ eyes widened slightly.
“And give her to me instead.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Aegon stepped closer, desperation creeping into his voice now.
“I know what you think of me,” he said. “The drinking. The brothels. The scandals. I know I have not been the son you wished for.”
His hands tightened into fists.
“But I swear to you—if you give her to me… I will change.”
Viserys watched him carefully now.
Aegon’s voice softened, almost pleading.
“I have loved her since we were children.”
The confession seemed to echo through the room.
“I would protect her. I would treat her as she deserves. I would give up the wine… the whores… all of it.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I would do anything.”
Aegon looked directly at his father.
“Just don’t make her marry him.”
The torches flickered.
Outside, the wind howled faintly against the castle walls.
And for the first time in years… Aegon II Targaryen stood before his father not as a drunken prince—
But as a man begging for the woman he loved.