Archive of Our Own

It’s easy to work for the royal family when they treat you so well, but there has always been one that you butt heads with. The second oldest, Aegon. He is heir to Dragonstone, twenty years old, yet still living in the Red Keep. Haunting the halls like a troublemaking ghost. You guess that he feels like he’s absolved of all duties since Queen Rhaenyra ascended to the Iron Throne. 

You feel cautious of him, and the rest of the southerners. You have no love for war or greed like them. You traveled from Dorne as a teenager to serve the queen, an exchange of good faith between countries. 

But there’s a certain satisfaction in feeling useful, when giving others advice and being involved in the court life around you. As a result, you can’t help but gravitate towards Aegon when you find him upset, drunk, or both. Offering to call for his mother or sit with him. As always he brushes you off.

One day you’re reading in the drawing room. He wanders in alone, and decides to tease you before you actually go off on him. You get up to leave while telling the prince to get a hobby. He’s surprised, and admits stupidly that “You’re right, I have no meaningful pastimes. Such is the privilege of a second son.”

At dinner you see Aegon get into a bet with his nephew over who can win at arm wrestling. When he succeeds, they cheer and he glows.

From across the room, Aegon notices his brother Aemond approaching you. He knows that you get along with his siblings, and serve his mother, but it irks him that you’re always around. To him you’re like his mother’s ill-mannered pet. Unlike the other court ladies, you don’t shy away when you talk to him. 

You ask Aemond to spare some time to train you in combat and he agrees with caution. That night you meet in the training yard and talk about technique. The conversation finds itself in the realm of tournaments and jousts. What is the point of them? Aemond thinks it’s a distraction, for people to show off and feel like they’re in control. He teaches you a defensive move that leaves your arms aching the next day.

Alicent took an instant liking to you when you came under her care. The same age as her children, you often keep them company as well. As her lady in waiting you go everywhere. You chaperone Alicent when she goes to pray and unbraid her hair for bed. The freedoms afforded to you are much appreciated, and in turn you do your job without complaint. 

After seeing your fingers shake while removing her bonnet, Alicent gives you a “sick day” to rest and recover from your mysterious exhaustion. She commends your hard work, which leads her into the usual monologue about her children and their uncertain life paths. Her expectations for Aegon, the sidelined male heir, are very low.

In the library you find interesting books about the history of sports and the power of the mind. You wonder if Aegon could do something like these record-breaking men if someone gave him a firm push. If that person could be you, to prove it to his mother and the realm that people can exceed expectations. 

It’s not like Aegon has anything better to do. While he’s drunk on the stairs you make him sign an application and agree to lessons. Ask him if he’d want to join next season’s tourney. He’s smiling at the idea of being a champion like Daemon but not taking you seriously. You do this on purpose. 

Aegon doesn’t show up to practice. All week he’s elusive and turns the other way when you walk down the hall. At dinner, he eats only sweets and says he’s not fit enough to fight. Says he’s not your little pet project to work on.

You have the spiteful knight you’re paying drag him from the hallway and make him run a lap around the ramparts.

In the morning you walk alone in the stairwell with towels to prepare Alicent’s bath while she wakes. A firm hand yanks you into a hall. It’s Aegon. Red in the face, fuming. 

“My prince?” 

“Who do you think you are? You think that paying off a knight to kick me around is funny? I’ll have you imprisoned. I could have you whipped naked through the streets for this,” he raves on. 

You’re used to hearing his baseless threats. But you could get in trouble for harassing the prince. After a moment of hesitation you ask, “How did you feel afterwards?” 

He opens his mouth to swear, but stops to consider your words. “I passed out like a baby,” he admits. “Best I’ve slept in weeks, really, but the ache is maddening. Never mind that. If it wasn’t clear before, I refuse to participate in your schemes. Leave me alone.” 

“You’re supposed to stretch before and after workouts, your highness. I could do it with you after drawing your mother’s bath.”

He seems to snap back into his indignation. “Fuck off,” he spits and turns on a heel. Aegon storms down the stairs and disappears. 

But the worm is in his brain now. He keeps thinking I could do that when he sees a sword trick. Or when people cheer, he thinks of tourney season. He goes to watch Aemond train and asks how long it took to get good. His brother only smirks and Aegon hurries away.

Aemond tells you during your next private training that Aegon might actually like your idea. He’s been waving his sword around in private according to the guards.

You’re folding your mistress' clothes when Aegon comes in to ask about the benefits of competing. You try not to look excited. “Oh, you know… only adoring fans, women, treasures, and titles.” You list superficial things you think he would like. It’s true though, jousters and knights are celebrities in Westeros. 

Alicent sits and watches. She’s shocked by his questions and active listening. You also haven’t taken interest in a tourney in your life. “There’s actually a feast and tourney coming up in Lannisport,” she pipes in. “To celebrate the first nameday of a son. A trip would do you well, Aegon. You can represent the crown.” 

He perks up at the sound of that. You do too, but try not to make it obvious. “Would you want to come with me, mother?” Aegon asks. You’re not even folding anymore, tuned into the conversation. Wherever a queen goes, her ladies in waiting follow. Alicent furrows her brow and glances between you two. 

“Honestly. You are grown now, I believe you can manage to travel alone.” Her words cut and render him silent. 

Aegon goes on the trip with detailed security and Ser Criston Cole, a knight of the Queensguard. You wait with bated breath for any news and especially to know if he had fun, and who else was there. When he comes back and invites you to dinner, his siblings, nephews, and their betrothed attend. Aegon engages and talks about the whole trip. He turns to you to act out the gory parts, imitating the shattering of a shield.

You get excited just hearing about it. In his absence you’ve been talking to knights in the halls and their squires. A few older ones loved to brag about their conquests and the younger ones were eager to talk to a friendly woman.

You suppose your work is done. Aegon has a new hobby that isn’t terrorizing smallfolk. Alicent comments on his change of attitude in private, hopeful. She wonders if Aegon will straighten out and choose a bride soon. 

***

He comes to you one late afternoon, dressed in finery and hair brushed. “A moment, my lady,” he says. You drop your embroidery. You’d overheard a heated argument between Aegon and Alicent earlier that day. Perhaps he’s come to take his feelings out on you. 

“Yes, Prince Aegon?"

“I’m moving away. To Dragonstone.”

You frown. There’s an urge to disagree, fret, and congratulate him at once. It would be satisfying to see him accept his inheritance and stand on his own. But is he ready for such a responsibility? You reply carefully, “I’m happy for you, your highness.”

He sits on the bench beside you. “There’s more. I want you to come with me, as I’m still signed up for the spring tourney and plan to compete. You got me into this.” He leans in as if conspiring for the throne. “Will you follow me?”

You pretend to think about it to watch him sweat. 

Breaking the news to Alicent is nerve wracking. You ask her to dismiss you from her service. It turns out, it was Dragonstone and you they were arguing over. She says that she’ll never let you go but will instead allow you to leave as the queen’s eye, trusting you to watch Aegon. 

With Aemond, you came to see him in the library and thank him for the training—you’re already feeling more agile and alert. “I’ve been practicing my straight punch,” you say. You mimic the move, pretending to beat up your employer’s son. He stands with his arms behind his back, watching with a slight smile. Then he strikes.

You find yourself in his arms with chests brushing. Aemond’s touch is light but paralyzing. “If Aegon doesn’t make you happy,” he whispers, “then I will.” 

You blink in surprise. “I appreciate it, Aemond. You’re a true friend.” He releases you and you retreat to bed shaken by his bold claim. 

Aegon spends the night at the brothels before his move as a farewell party. 

At Dragonstone you are named the prince’s cupbearer and spend time exploring the island. Standing on the rocks, it’s amazing to watch dragons circle the castle. Aegon has to meet the staff and move into his chambers so you don’t see much of him but your rooms are surprisingly close.

The idea of marrying Aegon crosses your mind while you watch him train and get knocked around in the yard. You would be a good wife, but him, a loyal husband? Yeah, right. Your position affords you to be picky despite the insistent letters from your family. Alicent wouldn’t let just anyone put their hands on you either. In fact, her ladies in waiting are expected to report any relationships that would impede their duties. But would the royal family be welcoming or insulted if a Dornish woman wanted to take one of their dragonblooded princes to wed? Your mind drifts to the thought of Aemond.

Aegon turns to see that you were watching the move he pulled off, and frowns when you’re lost in thought. He decides he’s done for the day.

The two of you sit on the fence. “Towards the end of your father’s life, he couldn’t even attend tournaments but still managed to throw them,” you reminisce. “I heard a lot about Viserys the Peaceful in Dorne. But I only saw him once or twice in the castle.”

“Hmph. The minute I was old enough I stopped attending those stupid parties.” 

You smile. “My father hates tourneys and hosting. He’d rather jump into Vhagar’s jaw.” Aegon watches the clouds roll. You continue, “But I miss him, and it gets lonely without his snoring or my mother’s hugs.”

“Hm.” 

You turn to comment on his disrespect. He’s slouched around the wooden posts, picking at the skin on his nails like you know Alicent to do. Your hand shoots out to restrain him from reflex. He looks at you with wide eyes. “Stop that,” you say. 

“Sorry,” he replies defensively and pulls his hands away. Aegon stands and starts back towards the castle. “I think I’ll take a pitcher of wine in my chambers.” 

You follow. “You can't, it'll ruin your training!” 

“Will the cupbearer do her job or not?” 

Every day he flip flops between wanting to quit and wanting to prove himself. People are already talking about it, and Aegon wants to wipe the smirk off his family’s collective face. But he can’t fight and has low stamina, not to mention that he doesn’t give a fuck about sports.

When he plays dirty against the knight he’s training with they bark that it’s against the “rules”. He complains and takes a break. You comment that it’s more impressive when people are able to execute a challenge within the rules. Rules, societal and otherwise, are arbitrary and self inflicted but rewarding. But Aegon doesn’t live by any rules, which isn’t hard to do. 

You push him to practice, read next to him, bring him water instead of wine and praise his progress. Sometimes you train or stretch with them despite the knight’s protests. Aegon gets distracted when you wet your shirt while drinking water. Mostly, he is perplexed. Why are you helping him, practically forcing him to commit? 

A few weeks in, you receive your first letter from your mistress asking for an update. Your reply assures Alicent that Aegon is tending to his duties. It makes you kind of proud to detail how he’s been keeping the tax records and hearing smallfolk’s disputes.  But you mention little about tournament training. 

The crown sends Baratheon lords to Dragonstone to experience Targaryen hospitality and strengthen bonds. It’s a test, you think, but don’t comment on it. Baratheons light up the island and are loud mouthed drunks. You find yourself flirting with a noble son a few years older at dinner. Aegon tries to ignore that. He picks an argument with a knight his age to the point of fighting. Instead of breaking it up, the men encourage it, seeing it as good fun. You’re worried but Aegon scraps and actually wins , if not just because of his drunken delirium. He finds you in the crowd for your praise as you’re pulled away by the nobleman towards a more private place to talk. Overall, the Baratheons leave with happy reports to Queen Rhaenyra. 

Aegon trains until his feet give out after that night. So your type is burly Baratheons…he can deal with that. He’s only a white-haired Targaryen who’s soft in the abs. He then thinks that he’s a prince—it shouldn’t matter what he looks like. Why is he so hesitant around you like a virginal squire?

You walk back to your room in your nightgown. It’s late, but you went to the kitchen for a cup of tea and are truly ready to retire for the night. 

It startles you when you open the door to Aegon sitting at the writing desk. He’s leaning back in the chair far enough to fall. “Good work today,” he says.

“You flatter me, Aegon.” 

“We’re on such familiar terms now?”  He watches you reach over him to set your cup plate down.

“You’re the one in my room without a chaperone, my Most High, Noble and Potent Prince His Grace,” you draw out the complete title. “Second of his name, Lord of Dragonstone.”

“Future sportsman,” he adds.

You drink your tea while leaning on the table. There’s nowhere else to sit but your bed.

“But I mean it. Your service to my family should not go unappreciated. Tell me how to reward you.” He stands to meet your eyes. A bejeweled hand touches your loose hair. 

You laugh and brush away his touch. “Give me a salary.”

“It’s done. Perhaps an upgrade to the Lord’s chambers as well,” he suggests with a teasing smile. 

The intentions of this visit become clear to you. “I see. You disappoint and insult me, my prince.” When you stand to move, he has the nerve to look surprised. 

“You're insulted?”

“I won’t just roll over like one of your sex workers. Do you think that’s all a woman is good for? Absolutely no self control or honor. Maybe you shouldn’t be a jouster but a eunuch, you fool!” You’re pushing him by the chest, forcing him out of the door. 

His brows pinch in alarm. “Wait—” he starts as the door shuts in his face. Aegon panics and hurries back to his room, blinded by the embarrassment of rejection. For some reason he is terrified that his actions are going to drive you away. 

And in the morning it’s true. You want to go back to King’s Landing alone. It’s because, despite your self respect, you do want this man. You find yourself running when he demands your attention or looks for you by his side. But to go out to see other women and then expect you to fall into his arms? You wanted your relationship to mean more to him than that. 

You tell him in the council room. Aegon forbids you from leaving, then offers to take you on Sunfyre, then claims that he doesn’t care where you go. Bellyaches about insufferable women and their whims. You give him a blank stare and go to pack your things.

The boat ride back is long. It feels like you’re abandoning him to his vices and duties as lord of Dragonstone, which you’ve been witness to every day as cupbearer. Training with him and readying him for the tournament was trying but fun. You were forced to break a sweat and push through exhaustion. He was right , you realize. It’s just a pet project. You’ve been using him as an outlet to take part in things you otherwise have no business in. You deflate in your seat. 

***

When you return, it’s Aemond who greets you, brings you inside, orders your things to your old chamber. He takes you to the library to talk and have tea…You feel wanted in a way that is intentional on his part. The perfect gentleman.

Your first days back are peaceful if not dull. You find yourself training with a wooden sword in your room and going through the stances. A raven comes for you on the third day from Dragonstone. Aegon wants you to come back and see his progress. You ignore it and throw the note away. The next few notes are persistent and from different staff members. They stress how your absence is noted. How the prince is brooding and avoiding responsibilities. The ones from him are written in a drunken slant about how he could take you in a fight and win.

Helaena takes you with her and her ladies in waiting for court games because she can’t be bothered to participate. Playing with mallets and balls on the lawn was your job while she caught pill bugs under rocks. You suggest to the girls to get more competitive, to bet earrings and gossip on the game. They agree, you all get into the competition and the ball goes flying, hitting Helaena. You already feel terrible, but the fingers point to you when she cries. The guards separate you immediately.

In your rooms you brood over your carelessness and over the girls selling you out. You weren’t even the one to hit the ball. If you’d stayed on Dragonstone… never mind. You meet with Alicent and explain the incident with her daughter before being forgiven and asked about Aegon. You’re surprised. What about him?

She’s been thinking. Until you came back the reports seemed pleasant and Dragonstone was running smoothly. What happened there? You explain tersely that the prince tried taking you to bed. She sighs. 

Alicent holds out an intercepted raven. In it, Aegon writes about starting his lessons with a courser—horses trained for tourneys. You’re dismissed.

You fume. Again you’re missing the action, the possibility of riding horses on the beach with Aegon as he trains. Just like when he traveled to Lannisport without you, you feel sidelined.

You collect his notes out of the trash and read them again. Gradually, you see the consistency and desperation in the words. If he upset you, he’s trying to persist his way back into your good graces. It’s not an apology, but still. You take a scroll and ink pot and write him back.

Somehow Aegon has become your penpal. The letters are brief, and come every other day like one long conversation. He asks if you’re coming back to Dragonstone. You reply ‘no’. He requests you for dinner. You reply ‘maybe’. You hope that it drives him up the wall, and that he feels the way you do. 

One morning you hear rumors of Sunfyre circling over the Red Keep the night before. Is Aegon unhinged enough to land and demand your presence? He wouldn’t make such a display unless he was intent on marrying you, and couldn’t force you to come to him without upsetting Alicent. The anticipation winds you up until you work out with Aemond to the point of exhaustion. You wake up sore in the morning and think of the older prince all over again.

He does arrive on Sunfyre to the dragonpit one chilling day. The sea surrounding the Red Keep is dark and choppy. The gray clouds above seem to warn King’s Landing that Aegon has grown bored. The royal family receives him for dinner, which you don’t attend. The whole affair is tense. Jace begs Aegon to let him visit Dragonstone soon. Aegon agrees as he twirls the steak knife in one hand, staring out the window. He absentmindedly asks Aemond about himself and this was where he erred.

Aemond is quick to bring you up. He likes that Aegon is away, that there’s no one to turn your attention from him. He comments that you’ve been getting better at your technique. That you favor a rapier to a shortsword. Alicent and Rhaenyra demand to know why you’re learning to fight. Aemond assures that you’re not getting hurt, but more capable. While keeping his eye on his brother.

That night, Aegon tosses in his sheets in discomfort. He turned down his old friends to a night at his favorite brothels and bars. His training usually begins in the morning and doing it hungover is a pain in the ass. But he sweats and wets his lips thinking about wine. About you…

He remembers the time he got drunk and flew to King’s Landing. He considered landing his dragon on the roof and climbing into your window to talk. The gods are damning and torturing him, he’s convinced. The only woman he can think about is the one who refuses him. His appetites aren’t satiated when he sneaks into the village, to the one pleasure house on Dragonstone. The women there sing his praises with empty words and moans. They offer to pretend to be Targaryen if it suits his tastes. Offer to call him king. He doesn’t want that. He wants you.

His pride is so bruised that he leaves in the morning after breakfast. That you knew he’d come but didn’t seek him out confirmed that you aren’t interested anymore.

What Aegon didn’t see was you watching him from the balcony that early morning. As he suffered through push-ups and sparring in the training yard, you noticed how fit he’s becoming.

When word comes that the prince is gone, you shamefully come out of your hiding. Helaena asks why you didn’t attend breakfast like usual. You confide in her that you’re ashamed to face her brother. That you’re a coward when it comes to speaking your feelings outright. 

The weather is brightening, flowers are in bloom. Betrothals and pregnancies are announced left and right. The letters from Aegon stop, but tourney approaches. You absorb every piece of gossip on who’s competing and look up the names you don’t know in record books. 

One name catches your eye. Lysero Cheswright, his house symbol is a game board and chess piece. It’s a smaller house, like your own, but his wins are aplenty and his exploits seem chivalrous. His and his mother’s names betray origins from Essos. Being from Dorne, it gets lonely when no one around shares your traditions or customs. Especially with how people in King’s Landing are so strict and repressed, causing them to act out in dark ways. You welcome the thought of another foreigner and fall asleep dreaming about a dark eyed stranger fighting in your name. 

Your parents have decided: choose a husband this season or they will for you. There’s no doubt they have your best interest at heart but you rage by tearing the letter in half and tossing to the floor. It is the one thing you can’t accept: giving yourself over to a man, a stranger, who treats you like a breeding animal. Like property. It’s why you considered becoming a septa when you were only ten, happy to live in the company of women and priests. But the nagging idea of compatibility, of love kept you complacent. That there’d be someone you could be proud of standing beside.

Maybe a secret relationship like the one between Alicent and Queen Rhaenyra would satisfy you. As you spend most of your time taking care of them, it didn’t escape your notice. The lingering looks and touches between the two women. Even as Rhaenyra rules with King Consort Dameon at her feet, her loyal guard dog and captain of the City Watch. The dynamic is disturbing and honestly inspiring.

You confide in your few friends that you plan to catch a husband at the upcoming tourney. Someone fun-loving and respectful. You write to your parents to send your favorite body oils and fragrances. The ones that make heads turn. You put your hair in looser styles, as much as your mistress will allow before you stand out too much. 

***

The tourney week is upon you. King’s Landing is alive, the inns and hostels are full, and the sparkling ocean is littered with incoming boats. The anticipation of this week has consumed you so much that you’ve lost sleep planning your outfits and conversation pieces.

Your mind wanders occasionally to Aegon. If the dragonlord would really show up and compete like he said he would. He probably forgot about it and all your silly plans as soon as the letters stopped. You half expect him to show up with a pregnant wife and shit-faced drunk. Or not at all. 

Realistically, this time frame wasn’t enough to become a truly capable jouster or showman. You start to feel bad for pushing him so insistently when you both know that he was at a disadvantage. If the prince is broken or killed in the heat of competition, the blame is on your head. 

You want to see him. To apologize and encourage him. But the chance for that has passed, hasn’t it?

You’re standing at the gates of the castle as it accepts its contestants as guests and celebrities. There are knights signing flags, for the god’s sakes. They receive favors from women and show off their horse’s footwork. 

A tall, sturdy man rides in on a horse with black and beige colors. His armor is not polished, but the style is stunning. His black hair is close cut. An announcer reveals him as Ser Lysero Cheswright. Wasting no time, you push to the front of the crowd as he rides by. His eyes fall to you and you hold out a flower, picked from the private gardens. The castle staff would have you whipped if they knew, but you can’t risk going unnoticed. The rose is yellow and bleeds into red at the edges, in full bloom. 

Lysero slows his horse and looks at you with serious eyes. He seems determined to stay focused but your calm demeanor amongst screaming fans is jarring. He takes the rose.

The young knight nods in thanks and continues on. 

 Proud of yourself, you watch him filter in with the rest of the knights dismounting their horses in the square. You wave your handkerchief at the passing competitors.

“Announcing Prince Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, Lord of Dragonstone!”

Your blood runs cold. You follow the turn of the crowd, their hands outstretched in a frenzy to receive their prince. It’s Aegon, riding a horse as white as his hair. He’s outfitted in golden armor embellished with a dragon design. His hair is in shining waves fitted under a circlet to show off his status.

His eyes are flitting, scanning the crowd as if surprised that anyone would be excited to see him. He raises a fist, cheers, and smiles at the roaring response. 

Gods damn him, he looks beautiful. Like a real, storybook prince. But you are wary of the character underneath. As he comes closer into view, you lose your breath. Noble women in your section of the crowd push favors and flowers towards him. 

Aegon’s pale purple eyes meet yours. He gives a cruel, guarded smirk that catches you by surprise. Before you can react, he leans off his horse to snatch your handkerchief, laughing like a teenage boy as he rides away. 

That night you watch the knights and jousters and their squires from your seat, picking at your food. You’ll have to face Aegon eventually. The tourney was your idea. You feel his eyes on you now. He sits with his family at the head table, getting tips from his proud uncle. Daemon points out weak spots in the body while Aegon’s sullen glare burns into the side of your head. 

You decide to look for Helaena or Aemond instead, and realize that the whole family leads back to him. Damn them. This is why you can’t accept Aemond’s subtle offer and be done with it.

You find him in the morning when the carriages are heading to the tents and stadium. The awkwardness was killing you, so you run to catch him as he heads out by carriage with a retinue behind him. 

“My prince!” you yell, waving a frantic hand. He startles and turns, one foot inside the carriage. 

A guard puts out a hand to stop you but he signals them away, watching you approach. You look up at him. Trying your best to be humble and deferential, you ask if you can ride with him and his squire.

Aegon looks shocked before laughing with his head thrown back. He agrees to amuse you and helps you by the hand into the carriage. It’s beautifully upholstered with wooden carved windows. 

“So, are you here to collect your half of the cash prize in advance? Critique my look, maybe?”  Immediately you see that his defenses are up. Not off to a good start. 

You try to reason and say that you regret losing touch but want to talk about the tourney. You press him with questions that have been running through your mind since his last letter. Aegon answers shortly, not seeming to want conversation. 

“Are you nervous?” you ask.

At that he snaps. “The very person who thrust this task upon me left me to flounder alone. And now you’re here to get off on my incompetence. You and my mother are just alike.” 

The situation weighs on you. It’s true that you left him to finish training alone, but it’s because you felt disrespected. “I’m sorry, my prince. But you’re not alone. I’ve been learning the duties of a squire, and wish to serve as yours for the tourney.” Your hand finds Aegon’s armored one and he tenses beneath your touch. “Whatever the outcome, I’ll be by your side because I’m incredibly impressed that you’re even here. So I want to do my part, too.” The words are strained but you mean every one, trying to convey that sincerity through your touch. 

Aegon looks quite stunned. He asks, “Why tournaments?”

“Because they looked like fun, didn’t they?” You shrug. He leans back with a wry smile, grabbing a waterskin from his now former squire’s hands.

You arrive with Aegon’s entourage standing next to the squire, a redheaded teen named Mike. He is relieved to share his duties as the aggressive excitement around them makes him shake. You eye him and ask if he has any spare clothes.

When you come back out of your small tent, you’re in menswear. Plain trousers tied to fit with a belt, and your hair swept under a cap to keep it tame. This look is not helping you find a husband, but the excitement of seeing Aegon show up made you determined to play your part.

You run to his side and spook him. He’s going over safety precautions with one of his outfitters. The man tightens the straps of his leather armor. Aegon’s spacing out and that sinking feeling comes back to you. He perks up when he sees your appearance. 

“Well, you’re never going to live this one down.” 

You ask if he wants you to trip on your dress trying to get him a new shield. He argues that it’d make for ample entertainment.

The time comes for the first round of games. The royal family sits in the main viewing box. The stadium itself is packed with people who are thirsty for blood and victory. You know that squires get caught in the splash zone, so you practice breathing deeply and stretch out your body to stay alert. You feel so nervous you could puke. It’s a sentiment you want to share with Aegon, but the prince is nowhere to be seen as you gather with the rest of the competitors beneath the stands. 

Aegon's first event is archery. It is a lighter sport, and one he has been practicing for. His aim is sharp if he’s clearheaded. You hold his gear and wait in the shade. Mike comes running from the distance, panting to meet you as the first round of knights enter the playing field. “He’s not coming,” he cries. “I tried to tell him, but he ran out the back with a bottle.”

A flame is lit in your chest. You pass Mike the arrows and tell him to stay put. There’s no possible way that you’ll let Aegon back down the day of. If he doesn’t have proper motivation, you’ll give it to him.

Aegon is licking at the leather of his gloves where he spilled the last bit of wine. If he seeks out more it’ll betray his hiding spot, but the pleasant buzz of indifference hasn’t settled in yet.

He thinks about how his mother pet his hair when she received him at the gates yesterday night, whispering that he looked mature. How Daemon seemed happy to share a conversation with him. The cheering crowd. It’s all pleasant, but it makes him sick. The thought that he could fall off his horse or get laughed at petrified Aegon. He ended up doing the same thing as always—running away. If he doesn’t show, he can maintain his safe reputation as a philandering prince with no expectations. So here he is near the makeshift kitchens, the smell of turkey leg and roasted corn in the air. Hiding behind crates.

A pair of legs come into view and he sees you with your hands clenched. You raise your hand to speak and he flinches as if bracing for a slap. “Aegon,” you drop all formalities. “Get up.”

“You are the last person on earth with leave to order me around,” he sneers, crossing arms over his knees.

You see the sweat on his brow, already overheating in his layers of protective gear. “I know you’re scared, but now’s not the time to quit.”

“You’re right, if I had just dropped this ridiculous idea months ago, I wouldn’t be here at all. What we’ve been training for was child’s play. The men here will kill me.”

“And so what? What else are you doing?”

He looks up at you, disgusted. 

“If you get injured, if you die, at least you prove to yourself that you can follow through with something. That’s what the point of this whole thing has been.”

He clambers to his feet and gets in your face, reddened eyes searching. “Why the fuck do you care so much? Hm? If you wanted me dead you could’ve shut up and poured me more rum. Instead you complain and insist upon me looking after myself. So what is it, my lady? Do you want me dead or alive?!”

His hushed and urgent voice knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes dart between his. The leather of his breastplate brushes you in labored breaths. You have no idea where this outburst came from, but clearly he already regrets it. Aegon drops his head and sighs.

“I don’t want you dead, Aegon. I’ll admit that I’ve been pushing you for my own selfish reasons,” you say and start to walk, seeing if he’ll join you. Aegon trails behind, waiting on your words. “It’s not to punish you or split the prize money. I saw how sad you were in the halls of the Red Keep, drowning in your tears and your cups. I don’t know the whole story. But I know what it feels like to feel hopeless, like you’re a ghost watching life go by…”

Aegon nods and his eyes fall to the floor. Passersby clear the path for you as they take in his presence and your appearance. “I guess I felt like I was healing that part of myself when getting involved with you. I’m sorry for being so persistent. You’d think I was your nagging wife.” You smile, relieved to get to the heart of things. Back at the arena, the second round of archers are performing. Mike spots you and comes running with Aegon’s equipment. “Let me ask you: even without my demanding, why did you keep training?”

A polite applause and whizzing of arrows fill the silence. Aegon lifts his chin.  “I thought you were whipping me into the shape of a marriageable man,” he admits. “Someone knightly, which you seem to like so much. It seems to be what my family wants as well.”

You smile. “I don’t care about knights, as charming as they may be. And if you do it for your family, you’re going to be miserable. I care about seeing Aegon Targaryen show the assholes of this god forsaken country that he has the capacity to adapt and win.”

This seems to rile him. Aegon takes your wrist and pulls you in. “Give me your favor,” he whispers. “I’ll need luck.”

“You already stole my favor.”

 He smirks.

You look over your common boy’s attire and see that the only things you have left are your jewelry pieces. You twist a gold ring off your finger and offer it to Aegon. He puts a hand up and steps away, shaking his head. “Actually, keep it. If I place in this event, your ring will be my prize.” 

You watch from the closest view. Right behind Aegon with his equipment while he looses his arrows in the third and last cohort. The court ladies gasp and point to you and you smile ruefully, certain that your reputation is ruined. But it’s rewarding to see Aegon compete. His grip isn’t as strong as the other knights, but he consistently hits near the mark. You whisper encouragement whenever passing a new arrow. 

The score is fair yet surprising—Aegon places at twenty of sixty-four. But he places, and the second his boots leave the arena you’re handing him a flask of water and a wet towel. He complains about the mistakes he made, but you notice how he doesn’t seem discouraged.

The next event he participates in is in four hours. You and Aegon go to watch from a small arena as men crack skulls in melee combat. Then to women capturing hearts in a beauty competition. At one of the merchant stalls, he buys you green riding gloves. 

Later, you finish taking off his leathers and unpack the heavier golden entrapment. His jousting armor. Aegon lets you dress him as you attentively buckle every strap and test for tension. “You are the most eager squire I’ve ever seen,” he muses as you work.

The fervor around you is infectious. The smallfolk are here to have a good time and forget their worries. The royals, to flex their hospitality and be entertained. But the performers are putting on the shows of their lives, and to be caught up in this side of it feels intense. You’ve seen men carried back to their tents with battle wounds in the name of this “good fun”. So you double check that Aegon’s armor is secure and call Mike to check again.

“If I am to be your esquire of the body, I need to do it well,” you say and lightly punch his chest. “I’ll not have us lose on my account. It’s up to you now.”

“I placed in the last competition,” he reminds you and holds out an ungloved hand. In it you place your ring. It’s a shame to lose it, but a part of you imagines Aegon wearing it on his finger like a badge of honor.

“Good job, Aegon. I imagine the joust will be harder to manage, but you’ll do fine if you remember the penalties.”

He asks you impatiently what favor you’ll grant him for this next challenge. You scoff. “I’m not sure that’s how it works. You’ve taken two favors from me already. Surely there are girls in the stands waiting to lavish you with attention.”

You’re now sitting on a bench polishing his shield before the men are to meet at the lists. Currently the grounds are being filled with sand and wetted to soften the blow of potential nasty falls.

Aegon hums in thought. “I’ll have a kiss, then.” You look up and glare. “In front of everyone. Say you’ll agree.”

Your face heats as you try to infer what game he’s playing. The one where you fall for his tricks and end up with a bastard and banished from the Red Keep? Or perhaps he wants to ruin any chance of you finding a suitor when they see that the Targaryen prince has singled you out.

He laughs at your silence. “Am I that abhorrent?” It’s as if he’s reading your thoughts. “Fine. I’ll ask Lady Annara. My mother mentioned her as a potential match, and her lips are quite pronounced.” At that the monster in your gut rears its ugly head, insulted and jealous. 

“That’s exactly why I couldn’t kiss you,” you snap and stand, throwing the rag at him. “Because if I refuse you’d run straight into the arms of a girl who’d give you what you want. What kind of loyalty is that?” 

Aegon bares his teeth in frustration and grabs you with both hands, your back to his chest. “Pleasure is meant to be felt freely,” he breathes in your ear. “But I’m trying to earn mine the way you want it done. Isn’t that a sign of loyalty?”

You try to steady your breath but he’s got his arms around your waist, feeling your pulse going wild. You crave to kiss him. Want to rough him up before those knights can put their hands on his pretty face. It’s obvious that he wants you to. But you don’t care to give in and let this princeling think he can have everything handed to him. Maybe in a way, you are whipping him into shape. 

He levels you with a dark and hungry look, and that’s exactly the energy you hope he harnesses in the competition. You break away. “We can talk about this later. I’m going to get your horse ready—”

A man breezes through the tent flaps and walks in. It’s Ser Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother. He greets his nephew coolly, congratulates him on his newfound skills, then turns to you. “I have instructions from the prince’s mother to return you to your station,” he says apologetically. “Something about impropriety and recklessness. I admire your boldness, my lady, but it gets dangerous in the jousting arena. Even for squires.”

You start to argue and protest despite knowing you’ve already lost. Even Aegon tries to pull rank to keep you beside him, nervous as the jousting event is upon him. Gwayne raises a brow and leaves to wait for you to get changed. You swear under your breath. After a moment you turn to Aegon, gravely serious.

“If you hold fast for three rounds in my name, I’ll kiss you until Old Valyria resurrects,” you promise. You’re trying to stoke a fire within him, but also want everyone to know who Aegon is fighting for. 

If he does that, you’ll know that he’s not bullshitting or posturing but actually wanting to win you over. Then, you might allow the dam that holds your feelings back to break. 

Aegon grins and nods once. “Then I’ll do it.”

***

You’re back in your dress with your hair done, under the watchful eye of the queen regent as you sit with her court. It’s a more obstructed view of Aegon, and you hope that his helm allows him to see you cheering him on. The helmet is showy with plume feathers, the Targaryen crest, and a frog mouth opening. 

His competition is announced: Prince Ageon against Ser Lysero. The knight notices you in the stands and you’re mortified yet excited to see both men looking your way. The memory of what you read about Lysero Cheswright resurfaces. He’s won many official competitions before, proving both strength and honor.

Aegon is fighting for…well, because you bullied him into it. There’s no way he’ll win out against the will of a disciplined knight. Aemond is sitting closer to Alicent’s seat, leaning in as if enraptured by the impending doom of his brother. In defiance, you decide to change your mind to believe that everything will work out well. 

The prince wins the first round by a penalty and a point—Lysero hits Aegon’s horse (penalty) while Aegon hits Lysero’s shield (point). The crowd is getting excited and Aegon looks confident with his own shield raised and intact. 

The second is a rougher match. Aegon hesitates to tense his position and his shield shatters, which sends him falling back but not off his horse. You clap politely for Lysero while concern hangs over you. You crane your neck for a glimpse of Aegon’s face as he splashes it with water and replaces his weapons. Before he shuts his helmet again you spot a bleeding lip from where he must’ve bitten it.

The men remount their horses and begin to circle the field, rallying “allies” and fans to cheer for their chosen victor. This part is quite fun, because even the queen gives her blessing to the fighters. Queen Rhaenyra stands and greets her half brother. “Prince Aegon, who can we say that you’re fighting for today?” 

Aegon laughs and finds your eyes. He says your name. “For her, and whatever foolish games she’ll have me play.” 

Rhaenyra and Alicent go quiet with shock. Their children lean over to see your reaction. You have a hand over your mouth, another clutching your stomach. Now you’ve gone and done it. Your greed in wanting Aegon’s commitment has laid you bare to the entire royal family and court. To all of King’s Landing, in fact.

Daemon, slouching in his throne with legs crossed on the railing, gives a full bellied laugh. “Now things are getting interesting,” he muses. “And Ser Lysero, whose affections are you vying for this go around?”

Lysero opens his helmet, face sweating under the southern sun. He looks sideways at the prince before meeting your eyes. You want to crawl under Rhaenyra’s skirts like a child and hide. The name that leaves his lips is yours.

“So this conflict between us is more a matter of love than sport,” Aegon shouts to Lysero. “I knew I didn’t like you.”

Lysero grunts and signals to the announcer that the final round must begin. Everyone retakes their seat except for you, who stays standing.

It wasn’t what you were originally looking for from this. The glamorous world of jousting was supposed to be an escape from the helplessness you felt in your everyday life. This, you could decide to commit to and learn about by your own free will. It wasn’t an obligation, so it was truly yours. 

But now Aegon is falling off his horse and letting out a cry that shakes your center of gravity. Lysero’s lance went high and hit him in the throat. Aegon had managed to shatter his own lance and Lysero’s shield, but he was dismounted. Which means…

The winner is declared to be Lysero Cheswright. The crowd is raving and spitting remarks at the fallen prince as Mike rushes to his side. You fight every urge in your body that wants to jump over the railing and drag Aegon out of the arena yourself. Knights of the Queensguard are already moving to tend to him. 

Alicent turns and looks at you with alarmed, accusatory eyes. She doesn’t know the full picture, but knows that it leads to you. The guilt weighs like a boulder in your stomach.

***

At that night’s banquet, the ladies receive leave to freshen up and feast. In your small but private tent you cry, having no update about Aegon or his condition. You don’t care anymore if he won or lost, your resolve is melted like sugar cubes in tea. Aemond waits by the edge of the campgrounds as you're about to leave, and you join him to dinner.

“You aren’t responsible for Aegon’s actions,” he tells you firmly. “He wanted to play at being a knight. We all need to be reminded of our strengths and weaknesses.”

“I’m the one who signed him up without knowing the difference between a local and royal tourney. He should’ve started out small, like when learning a new language. He needed someone who actually knew what they were doing. Not me.” You hang your head and follow Aemond down the trail, who looks back at you with fascination.

“What do you see in my idiot brother?” he asks.

You grab Aemond by the collar and draw him near. Being much taller, he bends to meet your eyes. “I see someone who needs to be told they’re not an idiot,” you chastize and shove him aside.

In your time in King’s Landing, you’ve grown to love this strange and exalted family of Targaryens. Even the ones married into it, like Alicent. But they have an amazing capacity to be cruel to one another, to hurt each other where it cuts deepest and you have to wonder if they like it. Do it on purpose just because dragonlords have no other competition but themselves. 

Even Aemond, who you were happy to befriend since you were six-and-ten, sometimes disturbs you with his apathetic worldview. Like Aegon, he seems like another reflection of yourself, the part of you that feels angry at the world. You don’t know what else to do but support them, despite being as common as you are, and as stubborn as your family says. Because when you help them to thrive you feel a bit of that power. You laugh out loud at how that sounds. You’re just another courtier to these people, aren’t you?

You make it to the feast and try to hide in the crowd, though a few sets of eyes follow you. Lord Larys, the master of secrets, watches you like a bird of prey from the head of the room. First you hopped into Prince Aegon’s carriage, replaced his squire, crossdressed, and then had him fight in your name against a respected knight. Are you a witch? A temptress? You wish you were a witch so you could erase the collective memory of this whole terrible nightmare.

 You look for a place to stop and load your plate to take back to your tent, away from the judgmental stares and the royal family. There’s a rowdy table nearby that’s huddled to one end, a group of men cheering and descending upon one person.

“Our Prince Aegon the Challenger!” a young man cries. That gets your attention. You draw closer to the crowd and see him, Aegon, sitting amongst friends with a smug grin. He has a bandage wrapped around his head tinged with blood, and a blooming bruise on his chin. But he’s sitting, and his eyes are bright.

Aegon speaks with a raspy voice. He brags about having been the only competitor that day to shatter Ser Lysero’s shield before the knight was unseated by a Lannister. 

Someone shoves an ale in his hand and he raises it in cheers before taking a gulp. A trickle spills down his chin. One of his groupies notices you staring and slaps Aegon on the back; he winces. When the prince sees you he rises and pushes people aside to greet you. His expression isn’t pained, or angry, but thrilled.

“You watched my match?” he asks, voice so quiet that you strain to hear. You’re distracted by his wounds.

“My prince, I’m so sorry. How do you feel?”

“Fucking fantastic. It was a rush out there. Three quick rounds and I was knocked to the ground, but I managed to get his shield on the way down. Did you see how quickly I rushed him the first time?” He goes on about the match and then asks for your thoughts. You have to reprimand him for being late to brace in the second round, but the lecture fizzles out.

“I’m honestly very impressed. I hope you’re proud of yourself. It was a thrill to watch,” you lay on the praise as if it’s salve to his sore muscles, but again you’re being sincere. “Mike is a good squire. I do feel bad for trying to steal his job, I just wanted to be close to the action.”

“You were close. The whole time.” Off your confused look, Aegon pulls out your handkerchief from his pocket. On the hand holding it, your ring.

You dare to roll your eyes at him, and he eats up your reaction. “That doesn’t count,” you say. 

The two of you aren’t paying attention to the eyes trained on you. The questioning glances exchanged between Targaryens or the defeated look of Ser Lysero. He won his match with Aegon but ultimately failed to turn your head.

Alicent was ready to bring the fury of the Mother down on you for scheming with her son and leaving her side. But she sees the way Aegon’s expression opens up. She’s never, in her son’s life, seen this look of contentment on his face. And his eyes are on you. 

Aegon takes your hand, leads you to sit down at the table, and retakes his seat. “How did I measure up to your promise?” He asks unashamedly while waving away lingering eavesdroppers. Your face heats up.

At this point, it doesn’t matter to you what Aegon’s intentions are. You know yours. “You didn’t win the match, so there’ll be no public display. But…if you want to visit me after the banquet…,” you trail off, running your hand nervously over your skirts.

He smiles, leaning towards your ear. “Come to my tent and you won’t regret it.” He slides his plate of food between you two and you take a bread roll. Aegon introduces you to his mix of Dragonstone and King’s Landing friends. Tells them that you’re his advisor. He brags that he’s won over the prettiest girl in Westeros, how lucky is he? You can’t believe he’s being so brazen, but have no smart replies this time. Just smiles.

You leave early to find his tents and wait inside the makeshift bedroom. The fur-stuffed bed is unmade from Aegon lying down after the joust. You see a few dried smears of blood and sigh. Restless, your work instincts kick in and you unmake the bed and find new sheets in one of the supply trunks. The Dragonstone guards recognize and let you walk around, but you don’t push your luck. You go straight back to the tent, remake the bed, and fall onto it. The fresh sheets are cleaner than the bedroll you were meant to sleep on.

As your eyes start to flutter close, Aegon enters. You expect him to be drunk and stumbling, but he’s quite steady in striding to the bed. “Tired?” he asks, lying down beside you.

“Just a lot of excitement today,” you murmur, feeling your body relax and melt into your spot. You manage to tilt your head and look at him. “Are you going to compete again tomorrow?”

“Yes, and I’ll be taking the queen dowager’s lady in waiting as my permanent squire and advisor.” He smiles like he’s waiting for thanks, but you sit up with your mouth agape.

“Aegon, you can’t just—”

“I can and will. You’re likely to be fired for abandoning your station all day today. No matter how much my mother likes you. Consider it. I won’t let you into the arena. But you can dress and counsel me before my events as you’ve been doing.”

You look over him in disbelief. And then you soften, knowing that it’s as involved in tourneys as you’re going to get. “I’m getting what I wanted, but…” He’s sprawled out on the bed, face flushed and scraped from the day. His shirt is riding up at his stomach, the skin pale and petal soft in comparison. You poke him there and he squirms. “Is there any other position I could fulfill for you?”

Aegon takes your wrist and pulls you over on top of him. You have a hand on either side of his head, fingers tangling through his silver-white hair. He drags a hand up your side before drawing you in.

You capture his lips in a kiss. Immediately Aegon responds, sighing into your mouth in a way that makes your head spin. He kisses as if in your mouth he’ll taste enlightenment. Somehow you end up underneath him, with your leg hooked around his waist.

You hold him as close as humanly possible and run your tongue over his split lip. When your hand finds his hair, you tug and the results are overwhelming. He works at the laces of your dress. You pull away to laugh breathlessly.

“I guess you won in this dance between us,” you say. He turns your head and exposes the stretch of your neck, inflicting a soft bite that makes you shiver.

“You fool. You’re the one who’s tamed me like a dragon keeper from the seven hells.” You stop squirming, and reluctantly Aegon stops too. “What now? You’ll have me jump through a ring of fire to take off your clothes?” he jokes, pulling your loosened dress down as he speaks.

You consider making him do it, and wonder if he would without complaint. A gentle hand goes to his face and Aegon leans into it, eyes closed. He nudges his cheek into your palm. You could die. “No, not this time. Just accept my feelings when I say them plainly.”

It’s what you’ve been trying to express this entire time. When you made him run doggedly up and down the bridge of Dragonstone, and the times you suffered with him. Actions aren’t clear enough. You need to say it, and admit why you’ve rejected the feelings between you all this time. “I love you, Aegon. I can’t act casually when it comes to you. Is that okay?” 

“If you're sure. I’m not easy to love,” he murmurs with half-lidded eyes. 

“Neither am I. I’m demanding, and I won’t tolerate your bad habits.” You shift your weight to help him with your underclothes, hungrily watching for his reaction. His eyes are following the curve of your breasts. “But I’ll be there in any way that you need me, always.”

“You speak as if I don’t know you,” Aegon laughs and in one firm tug, he pulls down your layers and drops them at the floor. His stupid grin makes you shy. A hand strokes down your bare stomach, traveling towards where you need attention most. “I want to meet your demands. I want it all. Gods, I’ve been wanting to show you how much I care.”

If tourneys could be fought in the matters of sex, Aegon and you tie for the champion’s title.

You fall asleep in your prince’s arms. The next morning he takes breakfast with his family, bringing you as his squire. You brace yourself for the awkward encounter but Alicent seems overjoyed. She joins Rhaenyra as the queen stands to take your hands and release you from your duty. The women fix you with a look that demands details be shared, and you nod meekly.

Alicent asks Aegon what’s next for him. “I suppose I’ll have to marry her, won’t I?” he replies. You sputter and falter while filling his goblet with pear cider. “But not until I win my first tournament. My lady won’t be impressed otherwise.”

“Untrue, my prince,” you reply out of turn. You take your place with the other servants, this time seeing things from a completely new point of view. Knowing that soon you’ll be sitting at that table with royalty again. But your elusive Targaryens are now to be…your family. Somehow you feel like you’ve found yourself in an even bigger complication.

Aegon rises from the table with two plates in his hands, sweeping his chair aside. “Come. We’ll have breakfast in my chambers before practice.” He offers an arm, which you take without more than a moment’s hesitation. 

There will definitely be rumors, now. But when Aegon is the crown’s tournament champion, none of it will matter. You can see that even without your encouragement, he’s swept up in the competitive spirit.

He placed in three competitions that day in your name. Salacious whispers spread from the campgrounds, to King’s Landing, all the way to the Wall. That the prince is in a love affair with his squire while fighting for the affections of the queen’s handmaid, all at the approval of his advisor. The details get lost from tavern to tavern. 

It’s sorted out quickly at the next tournament, three months later. When the squire, advisor and court lady become one, beautiful bride.