Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Fandoms:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2024-03-28
Updated:
2025-12-11
Words:
3,300
Chapters:
6/?
Comments:
148
Kudos:
1,183
Bookmarks:
358
Hits:
26,687

wings holding back the sun

Summary:

Aegon Targaryen, not yet second of his name, wakes up in his nursery, four years old and two and four years old, and he remembers.

He's been here before, hasn't he?

Aegon gets a second chance. He's trying his best, he promises. Everyone just worries about him instead.

Notes:

title comes from:

holy are the wings holding back the sun, holy is a brother
holding another brother
—Sacrament of Bodies, Romeo Oriogun

what wired my brain:

my beautiful son, with his kind eyes, his healer’s hands, his sun-warm demeanor. somehow, he had inherited all my best qualities and none of the worst.
— The Tower of Nero, Rick Riordan

credit to violea's fic (Beth- Mirror Of My Soul)
anyways, i was curious what would happen if Aegon was the prince that Alicent wanted him to be. so from there, instead of self-insert, you get time travel.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: prologue: all the wrong choices

Chapter Text

 

Poison in your wine, poison in your goddamn veins. You knew it was there. You know what it tastes like, you’re still a drunkard. You could have simply not drunk it. Larys Strong knows that, Turn-tail Velaryon knows that, you know that.

 Still, you cannot stop yourself from gulping it down like you’re drinking a river of relief. Because it is— a relief— you’re living half a life. Everything fucking burns. You want Sunfyre back. You want Aemond to scowl at you, Daeron to make stupid burnt man walks into a whorehouse jokes, and you want to lay your head on Helaena’s lap while she rambles on about her creepy insects. You want Ser Criston to whack your head with a wooden sword, and Ser Arryk to laugh at you. You want your mother back, the one that had actually loved you even when you were the worst person in the world, and not this stone-hearted creature that cannot even seem to look you in your eyes.

 

 

Still want the truth? Here it is: You want to die.

 

 

What about Jaehaera? What will she do? She’s a babe, just a little girl. Why didn’t you think of her. Why do you never think about anyone but yourself? You’d leave our mother to take care of your daughter? Aemond’s ghost hovering around your head as you feel life slip away in a dream. He’d always loved your children the best. All three of them had clamoured for they uncle Aem, and you remember feeling jealous, like a fool.

And now you’d give anything for that moment back.              

You’d give anything to do it again— to do it right.

 

Anything?

 

Anything, you promise. To whom, you have no idea. Criston Cole’s (your father’s) ghost scolds you about making reckless bargains and you laugh, rough and painful, Ser, now is the time to make all the wrong choices. What more do I even have?

 

Grandmother still lives. Jaehaerys tells you, solemn, matter of fact, always his grandmother’s little Maester. Daeron nods, and you see the smirk threatening his blank face, and Aemond still looks so cross. Helaena just looks at you, Maelor in her arms, calm, silent, waiting.

What a vivid-fucking-dream. What a trip. All your ghosts come to see you die. You hope they enjoy it, for all the misery and decay you abandoned them to.

Don’t kid yourself, Jae-lad. That woman is not your grandmother anymore. Alicent Hightower died the day you did. Jaehaerys pouts, and you feel nostalgia overcome you. Oh, what a way to die. Good choice, Aegon Targaryen, finally you made a good choice.

 

 Helaena speaks— always so cryptic, your sister. Anything?

Anything.

Very well then. Off you go, little dragon—

 

 

Aegon Targaryen, not yet second of his name, wakes up in his nursery, four years old again.

His mother frets, Ser Criston threatens, and the Grandmaester calls it a fever-induced-delirium, and threatens to send his nursemaids to the stock for neglecting their charge, but Aegon knows.

He knows what’s going to happen.

Oh, little Egg, what have you done?

 

 

Chapter 2: only nineteen

Summary:

What a fucking inconvenience you are, Aegon Targaryen.

Notes:

listen. i've got a really really important exam in two days, and im stressed as fuck because i dont think ive got shit done. here, have this.
*throws three paragraphs at you and runs away*

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

You’d forgotten how young your mother was. Only nineteen, mother of three unwanted children. She looks like you. Or, rather, you look like her. Everything but your oh-so-vaunted Valyrian colouring, you inherit from her. She looks tired. She must be tired.

Alicent Hightower has the weight of a kingdom, three royal children on her shoulders, combined with Viserys’ indifference, and Rhaenyra’s disdain.

She’s only nineteen, you think.

Seven hells, but you despise your father. You recognize it now as hatred, now that the fruitless desire to make him see you has fallen down an empty abyss.

            I really, really want wine, you think. But that’s foolish, because the last time you came near wine you were poisoned. No, really, apparently it happened to you as a four-year-old, hence, here you were, in your mother’s bed, as she tried to soothe your fever.

What a fucking inconvenience you are, Aegon Targaryen.

Who even gave a four-year old wine?

 

 

 Your first instinct was to leave. Maybe die again.

Cowardice, Aemond scoffs in your head, I would have done better already. Always darkly optimistic, your brother. It had been so fucking hilarious, how Aemond always hoped for the best no matter how’d he’d been disappointed. The most cynical of you, disregarding Helaena, because you never knew how to regard Helaena, had been Daeron. The gentlest of Alicent Hightower’s sons, your ass. Your littlest brother had been a cold, cynical boy, with a penchant for the most ruthless strategies. You were lucky that Daeron liked you the best, even you forever wondered how the fuck did that happen?

Maybe because you’d actually sent that little brother of yours some letters. That must be it. Mother had felt too guilty, Aemond loved nothing more than to pretend that he was a warrior who needed no sentiment, as if, cute, Helaena spent the best of her days engrossed in her insects and the worst of them stuck in her prophecy-mad head and your father—

Well, you weren’t sure Viserys Targaryen knew that he had a third son. He barely even acknowledged anyone apart from precious Rhaenyra on the days he remained lucid. What a pity it was, for Daeron was the among the most informed on Valyrian lore, growing up in the heart of Oldtown. What a pity.

No, wait. He doesn’t deserve your pity. Fuck Viserys Targaryen.

 

Notes:

Note: I changed the timeline on 15/6, when 4th chapter was posted. This is the new timeline

 


• December 97- Alicent Hightower is born.
• January 98- Rhaenyra Targaryen is born.
• February 101- Jaehaerys’ Great Council. Rhaenyra is four years old, so Aemma is pregnant with one of her siblings.
• May 103- Death of King Jaeharys, start of Viserys Targaryen’s reign.
• Early February 112- Aemma is killed in childbirth
• Late April 112- Alicent Hightower marries Viserys “Corpse King” Targaryen at fourteen
• June 113- Alicent Hightower gives birth to Aegon Targaryen, at fifteen
• July 115- Alicent Hightower gives birth to Helaena Targaryen at sixteen
• October 115- Rhaenyra marries Laenor Velaryon
• March 116- Alicent Hightower gives birth to Aemond Targaryen at eighteen
• August 116- Aegon wakes up in the past

Chapter 3: imposter blessings

Summary:

A blessing from the gods, to be sure, but Ser Criston Cole, finest of the kingsguard, has grown suspicious.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Criston finds Aegon changed, once he recovers from his delirium. From a lazy indolent toddler, normal for his age, to almost— charming, with his unsourced maturity and newfound talent for…everything. Queen Alicent frets, but he has sees it for the blessing it is— young Aegon had been only four, but he had the markings of an ordinary man. It might have been enough, for another lord, but the king’s firstborn son, especially an unfavoured one, had no option to be extraordinary.

He is sure, that the whore of Dragonstone will make her own mistakes, with how Ser Velaryon’s eyes drift over everyone saving his wife, and his cutsleeve ways, but history has shown over and over again, how the King, Seven save him, has turned a blind eye towards the princess’ transgressions.

Regardless, the prince— he is Alicent’s son. Perhaps a Targaryen first, Cole had been worried, but blood will out. He shouldn’t have doubted. There would be no chance that Aegon is less beloved of a prince that Alicent is, as a Queen. His young charge might have grown somber— but he has grown dutiful.

His studies accelerate at an exceptional rate, confounding the grand maester and his other tutors, and he wonders in playing with his siblings. He is nothing short of reverent, for his mother, always trying to help her and interfering with childish opinions, when she would be targeted by the Blacks, prays diligently in the sept, such that the High Septon was heard praising him when he only ever had given lip service to the crown princess. The Targaryen side not to be estimated, Sunfyre has continued grown at a rate unprecedented, estimated to atleast match Syrax in size within ten years, sending waves of questioning through the court.

A blessing from the gods, to be sure, but Ser Criston Cole, finest of the kingsguard, has grown suspicious. So, when he sees Aegon reading a tome beyond his years, scratching words on the parchment with a wobbly steadiness he has had no way or time of achieving, he thinks—

              Imposter.

 

Notes:

i mostly posted this chapter (well, it's barely one), because i wanted to know you guys would mind if i wrote Aegon is second POV. i'd take a poll but i don't know how those work, and the only way i seem to be able to right him is in second person. it'd be lovely to know your opinon, honestly, because some of you liked the 2nd person, but it's like one of the most hated views out there.

anyways, i know the writing is short, and the time between updates is long, and most days i can barely write anything, but i'm currently going through admission season where i've already failed a lot, so i'm glad you guys are so good to me. Thank you so much all for commenting, I’ll responds to y’all as soon as I can, lots of love
stick with me! i hope to deliver <3

Chapter 4: little sun

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Oh, seven hells.

You didn’t mean to get caught.

                                                                                    No, that’s a lie. With how reckless you were being, you didn’t care if you got caught. And yet— Ser Criston of all people? He points his sword at you, levelling it at your neck, and you feel tempted to lean ahead. Alas, getting your neck sliced is a slow, miserable death, you know that from experience. Experience being that is how you killed Dragonstone’s loyal to your sister.

What would you even say to him? I have known you for longer than you have me, the little boy who was once Aegon is dead? Or perhaps—

“Mother died.”

There. Ser Criston Cole’s grip does not falter, but the shock breaks his impassive façade.

“Mother died, and so did Sunfyre and Helaena and Aemond and Daeron and Grandfather, and so did you, Ser Criston. And then I died. I keep seeing it, they keep dying and I can’t ever save them— Father, it hurts—”

Sobs slip out, wracking your sorry frame, as your frantic rambling peters out and distantly, you think, how convenient. This must convince him or nothing will.

He lowers his sword, and holds out a steel-gloved hand, hesitant and awkward as he has always been. And then he puts in on your head, and pats it, carefully gentle.

Fuck, please, no, I am a fucking man, not a goddamn babe, I will not cry beyond manipulation— I will not—

You burst in loud, wailing tears.

Pathetic.

 

 

You come to in your mother’s arms, as she sings to Aemond in his cradle. You can feel the tenseness, in Alicent Hightower’s despairingly young shoulders, and loathing overcomes you again—

            Always so fucking useless, aren’t you, little Aegon? Couldn’t save any of them, couldn’t make them happy— and now you can’t even do anything, years in the past. Why do you of all people live again, there are plenty others better than you— almost everyone, isn’t it, boy—

“Are you awake, little sun?”

Tears spring to your eyes, again, and you want to scream. It had been years since you’d last head her call you little sun. You’d missed it so fucking bad and now everything feels like a haunting, unreal and you undeserving of it.

(Her little sun’s trembling frame and bitten back whimpers do not escape Alicent Hightower’s notice. She vows that whoever convinced her son to hold his tears will feel her wrath and live to regret it—

he’s just a boy, her sweet son, her saviour)

You croak out a, stupidly emotional, almost incoherent mama, and feel another wave of humiliation overcome you, as Ser Criston looks at you like you are a pitifully injured deerling.

Somehow you don’t think his wounded gaze would stop him from questioning you for the rest of it.

Fuck it, you think, and bury your head besides your mother’s nape. You’ll deal with your shame when everything doesn’t threaten to fall apart in your head.

Your mother continues to hum, soothingly, as she strokes your hair.

 

(By the end of it, you had barely remembered this, being such a disgrace— but somehow, you missed this desperately.)

Notes:

i swear the chapters will get longer i promise. wait for july, guys. you have this chapter because i'm stressed as hell <3 again, which is because i have results for a lifeline exam tomorrow. i deperately need that above 99 percentile or i'm done for, cheers.

anyways, enjoy Aegon so done with his emotions, just like me because i started crying on a goddamn public bus today.

(that's okay, it's completely fine, tumblr told me-- i'm very young and learning how to live)

(aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh screaming)

neurosis over, thank you for coming to the show.

 

edit: (15/6/24) i changed the timeline so it fits house of the dragon cannon, so do check it out!

Chapter 5: a stubborn boy

Summary:

You want to fly with Sunfyre, dammit. You want him to prod at you with his tail, and put you on your ass as he shoves his snout at your neck like he is still smaller than a cat. It makes you almost ready to throw an absolute fit, if Mother refuses.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

In the weeks past, Alicent hasn’t left Aegon out of sight for more time than she absolutely has to— any of her children, as a matter of fact. There has been this sense of … wrongness, that pervades her, and she sees enemies in every corner.

  Aegon sleeps peacefully as the featherbed envelopes his tiny frame, Helaena and Aemond in their cradles which had been ordered into the queen’s apartments. Ser Criston guards her chambers, turning away all that seek her even now — she needs that little measure of peace. For the first time since Queen Aemma died has she felt like she could live peacefully here — without the ghost of Rhae– the princess’ mother haunting her, screaming as they cut her open for a boy that will never live.

Her children are wondrous, yet they are — brittle, to her. They are babes. Aemond, such a fierce little thing, wary of strangers. Helaena, her gentle lass, so young but still stuck in reveries that leave her shivering. Her Aegon — he had been a sweet, sulky boy, but she had wondered day and night where he disappeared to leave behind the solemn little lad.

  She couldn’t lie — the new turn had only aggravated her worries, instead of soothing them, as Aegon abandoned clinging to her with all the trust in the world for astonishing his maesters and tutors. It terrified her, how the Aegon changed and yet—

He is still there, sorrowful and haunted by some enemy she cannot seem to protect him from, what a worthless mother she is— but he is still her little Egg. Not for the first time she thinks—

                   “Please, Seven Above, he’s just a boy.”

 

 

You feel the restlessness in your bones, a strange, recognizable yearning, sentiments not your own calling to you— Sunfyre. When you — woke up, you had tried just once, to ask your mother about your beloved dragon. But as she tried to suppress her aversion— you remembered. Alicent Hightower dislikes dragons intensely. And so any question about Sunfyre was bitten back, as you held your tongue, still dazed that Sunfyre was alive. Alive and well and sulking that the dragonkeepers wouldn’t feed him lamb or venison, rather giving him veal. A delighted mirth fills you, and you struggle not to smile —

        You want to fly with Sunfyre, dammit. You want him to prod at you with his tail, and put you on your ass as he shoves his snout at your neck like he is still smaller than a cat. It makes you almost ready to throw an absolute fit, if Mother refuses. You hope she doesn’t, but it won't stop you at all.

 

Alicent turns to face Aegon, who stared at her with the intensity only a Targayren possesses, an imploring look on his face. She tries her very best to remain unswayed —

(Rhaenyra looked at her so, once. Begging her to abandon her studies to accompany her to the Dragonpit. Beseeching her fly with her. They had been sisters, closer than, even. She misses— Stop.)

                                                                                       — but stubborn Targaryens were ever her weakness.

“May I visit Sunfyre, mama?”

She bites back her instinctive denial, and considers the proposition. Her son’s dragon has been reported to be strange, lately. Growing too fast — almost pining, if she is to believe the strange little dragon keepers and their unwonted advice. He needs his rider, Queen Alicent, they said. As if her son hadn’t lay battling death and lasting damage. It escaped her notice not, how she was never my queen, only Queen Alicent. The only thing that mitigated the insult was how they did not scorn her children and their reverence for Aegon and his golden beast’s so-called bond.

Nevertheless, there is little she has to do, today. The women’s courts are closed, His Grace remains resting from his last leeching, and no more guests are scheduled to arrive. Perhaps, it might even make her son happy if—

“Only if I come with, sweetling. Ser Criston and the Lord Commander will accompany us.”

She doesn’t notice the slight panic in his face before it fades away, only the brilliant smile left behind.

 

 

Notes:

HELLO! another chapter! hope you guys like it, i promise we'll see Sunfyre next chapter, and if i'm upto the task, you might even have Criston confronting Aegon too!

Anyways, irl update, if you guys remember i talked about that 99 percentile otherwise i was done for?? WELL YAY! because i'm not done for, even if i cut it too close at 99.095 percentile. my mom's been -- well not happy, she never is, but she won't go ballistic on me, which is good enough.

btw, i have one last entrance to give on 27/6, called BITSAT. i don't particularly want to give it, nor will i score the bare minimum to even get it, but this is the last one and my dad had already filled in the fees. Still, i'm out of my mind worrying for it (i need an anxiety diagnosis) so you get this chapter. after 27 i'm free for A Whole Month which is daunting because what do you do in free time? i've been living in a time crunch for three years now.

RECOMMEND me some stuff, guys? movies, series, books?

i'll be completing the remaining episodes on S1HOTD after 27, as well as new ep of S2, but the spoilers don't look too good for Blood and Cheese.

Leave me comments, pretty please???

Chapter 6: under his wing

Summary:

Sunfyre. Glorious and beautiful as the day you met him. He’s a babe, so small but shining, darling against the sun and you can feel your eagerness being reciprocated. You take a step towards him, reaching out —

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Here’s the things they never tell you about a second life: it’s all unreal. You sit in the same wheelhouse that took you to your coronation and the same wheelhouse where you fucking died— and how unreal it is, that a gods-damned construction of wood has a longer lifespan that a Targaryen.

A moral quandary, perhaps, not unlike that of Ship of Lomas, replaced part by part until you were left with naught of what you started with— change too much, and it becomes unrecognizable. You wonder about it, fidgeting with a toy— another dragon among the countless models you own— this one painted the same shade your mother always gravitates towards, but never uses in her gowns. A powdery, fine blue that looks white enough to be used as a funeral shroud in certain lights.

You know a lot of things, is the point. Not useful ones, not history and religious philosophy— that was Aemond’s lot. Neither did you know much of war tactics and battle plans — that was Daeron’s. Nothing about Helaena’s experiments and creepy crawlers and her fascination with medicine was remotely interesting for you. What you did know, however, was how to convince, how to cajole, and how to charm. You put a startlingly few people to sword, in the end – when you took Dragonstone. Especially when those people who were supposed to Rhaenyra’s loyal to demise and beyond. Aemond used to call it your sole redeeming quality, and while that was completely true, you do vow it won’t be so this time. Damn the future you might, but not one of your own will suffer harm again— even if you must tear yourself apart to make sure of it.

“Come, sweetling, we’ve reached.”

 

 

The dragon-keepers drag your beloved Sunfyre by the chains, and you feel him keen in hope, making you grind your barely grown teeth. I’m here, jorrāeliarzy, you promise him. Never again.

Your mother puts her hand on your shoulder, and you turn, looking up at her.

“You will be careful, Aegon, yes? No running, no disobeying the keepers. Listen to them, don’t go too close unless they allow you. And yes—”

You pretend to listen to her with the same ease as you have for seven and ten years past. If there’s one, only one thing you are sure off in the entire world, it is that Sunfyre will never hurt you. Not this one, ever. He remembers all that you do, you’ve seen it in your dreams and daydreams, the mourning as another day passes without you.

You didn’t think your mother would allow this, but she has been remarkably gentle so far – wait. You have a feeling, just, wait a moment.

Oh.

There he is.

Sunfyre. Glorious and beautiful as the day you met him. He’s a babe, so small but shining, darling against the sun and you can feel your eagerness being reciprocated. You take a step towards him, reaching out —

“Aegon, are you listening?”

A hand drags you roughly, pulling your face towards your mother. You can’t help it, the sudden utter fear that sweeps into you, paranoid and terrified, and you flinch so hard you fall.

Your mother’s face goes white.

Besides you, Sunfyre sweeps the dragon keepers away, and goes wild, wrestling against the chain and reaching at you, and you can almost see what he wants,  behind your eyes – that he wants to fly you away and curl against you where there is nobody for leagues and continents.

Your beloved dragon surges at you, fire building up, smoke from his snout. He’s so fast and agile, the best, and wonder builds up in you again. You missed him. Him, who’s been through everything with you.

Criston draws his sword, and pushes your mother behind him. The soldiers behind him do the same – and your mother is screaming, the dragon keepers scrambling, shouting in high valyrian.

You are frozen, staring at the silver glint of Kingmaker’s steel. He can’t kill Sunfyre. You won’t let him. You won’t.

The strangled whisper of stop to Criston dies in your throat as a heavy weight settles against you and you melt into it.

You don’t notice the soldiers settling, steel still up, the dragon keepers urge them to stop. You don’t see how Criston has to prevent your mother from dragging you away, as the keepers tell her they can’t be sure of her safety as they are of yours.

Sunfyre noses against your neck, tickling as his tail drags you under his wing. You’re still small enough to fit in, and oh, how you missed this. Time could still and you’d let it do so happily.

He snuffles against you, and the smoke covers you in soot as you can’t stop grinning. It tickles, and you shriek in laughter for the first time in years. You can’t stop laughing even as your eyes feel teary.

He’s so happy, Sunfyre, and by the seven, so are you.

So are you.

You missed him so, so much.

Notes:

it's been a long, long time, miss american pie. getting out of a writer's block, please feed your local author!

Notes:

hope you enjoyed reading. leave me a comment, pretty please???? ヾ(•ω•`)o

come talk to me, scream at me on my tumblr(s):
1) yitzvah, where i reblog and create aesthetics to all my stories
2) saintsunfyre where i sob about team green, especially aegon!