Chapter Text
AEGON
The last thing Aegon remembered was pain. Excruciating pain he had felt for years, the God's punishment for turning his blade and armies on his own family, certainly. He remembered being lifted into a litter, asking to go to the Sept, always in pain. And then the pain suddenly burst through him, and now this. He could not remember a time where he wasn't in pain. Perhaps when he had been very young, and still loved by his family. But he doubted it - his short 24 years of life had been filled to the brim with hate and pain. It was the first time he remembered when he wasn't feeling pain.
As he slowly gathered his bearings, he could feel that he was being cradled into a soft embrace, and that was what startled him the most. He jerked awake, opening his eyes and seeing he was in the arms of a gentle-looking Valyrian woman, with amethyst glowing eyes and golden skin. She smiled kindly at him and ran her fingers through his hair, soothing his panic.
‟Hello, young Aegon. My name is Shrykos, goddess of beginnings and ends. Your journey on your original life has ended, and the Fourteen of Valyria have decided to offer you a new beginning." Shrykos spoke, her voice soft and melodious. Aegon couldn't speak, his questions dying in his throat as he tried to move, to kneel before the goddess that cradled him with more gentleness than his mother had ever done. ‟Hush, little dragon. I have known your soul ever since it was made by Aegarax. You have nothing to fear. We have healed your wounds, those of the flesh and of your mind. The ones you called family hurt you more than you already realised, but fear not, the Gods know everything."
‟My lady, I'm afraid I do not understand." Aegon said, finally managing to sit in front of the goddess, who held firm to his hands. They were sitting on the ground, but it felt like he was sitting on the fluffiest of mattresses. Shrykos' skirts were flowing around her, as if moved by a wind he could not feel. He noticed that they were sitting right in the middle of a crossroad, and he wondered if it was any he had seen before in his life.
‟You were either ignored or used by those who should have cared for you, and kept away from the ones who had the capacity to love you the most, only so that the ambitions of one man could come to fruition. You made horrible decisions, but you were never taught by the ones in charge of your education how not to make them. You lived a life without the most essential thing - the love of your family. A dragon should never be alone in the world." Shrykos cupped Aegon's face in one of her hands, caressing his cheek. ‟So we're giving you a choice - you can pass into Balerion's Underworld, and be at peace with those you loved, even the ones you never met, or you can go back. Being aware of your past life, of everything we have seen, and having a chance to do it all differently. What do you choose?"
‟Would…. would it be the same? Living a life unloved?" Aegon asked her, with uncharacteristically vulnerability in his voice.
‟No, little dragon. As long as you can reach your sister Rhaenyra, we'll make sure you are well loved. All you need to do is run to her."
‟Then I want to return. I should have never lifted my sword against my own family. I will do better." Aegon promised the goddess, who only smiled at him, and gently tapped him in the crown of his head. She started vanishing, and all Aegon could hear was twinkling laughter as the crossroads they had been sitting disappeared in the mist that had started covering his eyes.
Aegon was startled awake by servants entering his nursery. And he was in his old nursery, where he had lived until Aemond had occupied it. It must have been mid-morning, as he could hear his mother giving orders in the receiving room of the nursery apartments. As he pushed himself upright in his crib on unsteady legs, he looked at himself. Chubby hands and feet, his legs still swaying as if he was in a boat as he tried to stand on the mattress of his crib, and the nursery was still decorated in Targaryen motifs. It was before his second name day, when his mother had changed the decoration to Seven-pointed stars and Hightower green.
His lady mother was shrieking at one of the servants, and he wanted to put his fingers inside his ears so he would not listen to it. It was one of the reasons he had drunk so much in his past life - he couldn't handle his lady mother's incessant shrieking and his grandfather's overbearing ways, always ordering him as if he was a puppet. And from what the goddess Shrykos had told him, it was what he had been, for all of his life. But not anymore.
He gurgled at one of the servants, putting his arms up to be taken away from his crib. As soon as his unsteady feet touched the floor, he turned and toddled towards the door as fast as he could. From what his mother had reminisced about his childhood when his first children had been born, he had been a fast learner, and had started walking before his first name day. This would come in handy now, as he needed to run away from his mother and the servants and Kingsguard going after him.
He toddled as fast as he could towards his sister's apartments, tears brimming in his eyes. Being a baby again made all his emotions too big to him, and remembering all the mistreatment he had been through at the hands of his mother and grandfather made him want to wail. Aegon bumped into Rhaenyra's Kingsguard, and thanked the Gods it wasn't Criston Cole. It was ser Erryk Cargyll guarding her door, and Aegon clung to his knees.
‟Nyra! Pleas, want man-dia Nyra." Aegon sniffed, asking for his sister Rhaenyra, calling her sister in broken Valyrian . He hadn't been able to correctly speak her name until he was almost 4 years old, but he remembered her gently smiling at him once when he had butchered her name and telling him he could always call her Nyra.
Ser Erryk quickly knocked on the door to his sister's quarters, and a soft ‟enter" could be heard from within. As soon as ser Erryk opened the door enough for Aegon to slip through, he went running towards the direction of his sister's voice. She was sitting on a low chaise, letters surrounding her. He scrambled to not step on any of them, but he could tell by her face that she didn't much care about them as much as she cared about his tear-stained face. He launched himself at her, little arms encircling her neck, and he sobbed against her neck. She held him against her, trying in vain to shush his desperate crying.
‟Gīda aōla, valonqar. Nyke kesīr." Rhaenyra gently spoke to him in Valyrian. Calm yourself, little brother. I am here. He cried harder at her gentle touch and voice, and he could feel her starting to get desperate that he wouldn't stop crying.
‟Nyra, so sorry. So sorry." He sobbed, trying to explain what was happening. He could only get out half sentences, butchered even more by the fact he wasn't even two years old yet. But he got through to her that his mother and grandfather were hurting him, and father was never there. He was all alone, he had told her as he cried.
‟Avy jorrāelan, valonqar." I love you, little brother,
Rhaenyra said, kissing his head as she got up with him in her arms and started pacing around the room, calming him down.
‟
You are not alone
. Ao issi daor mērī.
This, I promise you. You'll never be alone, as long as I draw breath." Rhaenyra kissed his hair gently again, and he could finally relax against her. Aegon heard Shrykos' voice in his head, telling him that everything would work out. The Gods would make sure of it.