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H A R R E N H A L


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A𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓d T𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖗y𝖊𝖓 𝖘𝖑𝖊𝖕𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 6 d𝖆y𝖘 𝖆𝖓d 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 w𝖆𝖘 𝖓𝖔 𝖎𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖔v𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖘𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙.


"What do you mean, you don't know if he'll even wake up?" hissed Aegon angrily when the maester informed him of his brother's health. The wine spilled over the rim of his cup and onto the floor, but Aegon didn't care. The only thing that interested him at that moment was his brother's condition, which was still unchanged.

The maester visibly swallowed and stiffened. "I have asked other maesters about the prince's condition and have looked up healing methods in various books, but there are cases..." he stopped briefly as his voice became thin. His gaze shifted from Aegon to Criston to Daeron and back again before he continued. "Many cases where head injuries have left only an empty shell. The body remains, but the spirit disappears."

Aegon had never particularly liked his brother.

As a child he had never missed an opportunity to tease him, to humiliate him, mainly because he was weak and yet his mother's favorite even though Aegon was the one who was the first son or rode a dragon. It had given him satisfaction to make Aemond feel what Aegon felt.

To be a disappointment.

As a young man he had loathed him because he was what Aegon could never be. He was everything his mother and grandfather imagined and more, while Aegon continued to be a disappointment.

And even though he was now king and had everything Aemond wanted, Aemond had gotten everything he wanted.

His mother's warmth.

His grandfather's recognition.

The pride of Ser Criston.

And the loyalty and respect of his men.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗢𝗪𝗡 I AEMOND TARGARYENWhere stories live. Discover now