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Aegon couldn't recall how he'd gotten there, but he could feel the warm sun on his face and the soft grass below him.
Like so many times before, Aemond had chased him through the fields, past where Vhagar rested. Sometimes he would be the one chasing Aemond, but either way, the result was always the same. One prince would tackle the other and they would end up laying in the grass in a tangle of limbs, laughing as they struggled to catch their breath. Often, Aegon would be peppering kisses on Aemond’s face. Other times, Aemond would steal a quick kiss between fits of laughter.
This time, Aemond hovered above him once they had settled, stroking his hair back to look upon his face. Aegon reached up to touch his brother's face lightly, moving his hand to place his fingertips under the leather strap of Aemond's eye patch. “Hm, I recall telling you to not wear that around me.” Aegon preferred to see his brother’s sapphire eye and Aemond knew it.
Usually, Aemond would let his older brother remove the patch, but this time, he caught his wrist to stop him. “Not this time, brother.”
Aegon looked at Aemond in confusion. It was most unlike his brother to deny him this. The sun felt as if it was bearing down on them, surely it would be more comfortable off. “You know I prefer you without it, Aemond. You know I like to see you as you are.”
“And I can’t always give in to your wants. Especially not anymore,” Aemond answered with a little smirk. Aegon didn’t like his tone. Really, he didn’t like where this conversation was going at all.
What was going on? Why was his little brother acting this way? “Not anymore? Aemond, I’m not only your brother, but I’m your king—”
“And I’m the prince regent.” The answer was as quick as Aemond was with a blade and it cut just as deep.
“We’ve talked about this many times,” Aegon smiled uneasily as he rested underneath his brother. “You’re the king consort. Secretly.” It was something they’d discussed repeatedly in their time alone in the field, or at night in the secrecy of one another’s rooms. They had decided long ago that Aemond was his Visenya reborn. That it only made sense—Aegon was named for the conqueror, and the conqueror had taken two wives. Why couldn’t he? Helaena would be his wife in law, and Aemond his wife in secret. Aemond even rode Visenya’s dragon. It made sense. Until now.
“Prince regent, Aegon,” Aemond corrected him again, his lips still forming a small smirk.
Aegon shook his head, reaching out to Aemond again. This time, however, he seemed to only grab air and feel the sun burning his skin. He closed his eyes and screamed out in agony.
When his eyes opened again, he was in the Keep and could hear hushed voices around him.
“We need more milk of the poppy…”
“It isn’t too much—can you not hear how he cries in pain?”
“It will kill him.”
“We must question if death would be easier then…”
Aegon could only open one eye. All he felt was heat and pain and burning. Agony. He wanted to cry out again, but his throat was dry, constricting. His head would not turn to look about the room. All he could see was the maesters working. No Mother. No Helaena. No Aemond.
Aemond.
Aemond who had done this to him. King consort no longer. That was a pain that could finish him off. It was like a dagger that was being slid between his ribs and piercing his lungs.
Maybe death would be easier then.
Aegon closed his eye as he felt a cool cup press to his lips. Within minutes, the milk of the poppy brought him back to the field. Back underneath his love who let him take off his eye patch this time.
“I missed you.”
“Not as much as I missed you.” Aemond smiled this time, his sapphire glittering in the sun—a sun that felt cooler now.
“I think we have some time. Why don’t you tell me about Visenya and Vhagar in the Dornish Wars again?”
Aemond affectionately cursed him in High Valyrian before adding in the common tongue, “You never listen to the histories.”
“I will this time. I promise. Tell me again, Aemond,” Aegon begged softly, pleadingly.
“Fine.” Aemond agreed with a smirk, reaching up to brush some of Aegon’s hair out of his eyes. “I will tell you again, my love.”
They both knew that Aegon, like so many times before, would not last; that sleep would come swiftly. But in Aemond’s arms, under the warm sun, listening to him retell the stories of only generations ago, Aegon was happy.
Death would certainly be easier.
But he would wake alone again.