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(EM Vol. 2: A Wandering Melody) Chapter 32: One Good Deed
🕑 Added 2025-07-10 14:01:58 +0000 UTCChapter 32: One Good Deed
123 AC, Dragonstone
Aegon Targaryen heavily disliked being on Dragonstone. It was a stark reminder of the King’s preference for Rhaenyra over any of his other children. Even before he was bedridden, he rarely spoke with any of them, and now, after years of not speaking with her, Rhaenyra came to King’s Landing unannounced, and he immediately agreed to leave the Capital for Dragonstone.
To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he liked his father being healed or not. With every moment, his mother and grandfather’s constant insistence that he become king had grown, and of course, he had no say in the matter. Just like he had no say when he was forced to marry Helaena, despite them both hating the match. Not that Helaena made sense most of the time, preferring to play with her insects.
He was the King’s firstborn son; that was all that everyone cared about, that was all that anyone knew of him, really. It must be some sort of jape, for everyone to tell him how to behave, what to do, how to do it, asking that he supplant his half-sister as the King’s heir, and yet, no one had asked their opinion.
And now, Aegon couldn’t help but snicker as he saw his mother and grandfather’s plans go up in flames, as the King had healed miraculously, or through a sorcerer, and looked to live a few more decades. That was a relief, in a way, because finally, his mother seemed too taken aback by the sudden changes that she stopped harping on him every hour about his fate as the future King.
He didn’t want to be King. He didn’t want to be chained on some throne, boringly settling disputes, balancing the scales of the Seven Kingdoms. It was a thankless job, and he was not under the delusion that his grandfather or mother would let him rule. He didn’t want to end up like his father, chained to a bed, by illness and duty, as his grandfather ruled in his name.
He did not want the thankless responsibility that came with this honour, not when he could have what he wanted by simply being a prince. He wanted to live his life, without his family’s expectation, free to drink and fuck without anyone caring. Women practically jumped at the opportunity to spend a single night with a prince of the realm, and he rarely found himself alone in bed. He had more gold than he could possibly spend. He had a dragon at his beck and call. Why would he aim to become a king and throw all of this away?
Unfortunately, Rhaenyra, the spiteful bitch, must have known this, as no servant girls made any advances to show their interest in his stay in Dragonstone, and she had arranged for the few whorehouses to be closed during his visit.
He hadn’t wanted to come to Dragonstone, thinking that his mother and father being away from court would finally give him some peace of mind, but Helaena insisted on coming with their children, which meant that his mother had to force Aegon to come as well.
So far, it had been only wine that stopped Aegon from being bored senseless. He wished that he had come with Sunfyre and could have just flown back to King’s Landing. Aegon had drunk his seventh cup of the night, and yet he still faced his dreaded enemy, boredom.
Everyone kept walking on eggshells because of some sorcerer, whom his mother was unsettled about. Ah, he wished that Aemond had come. At least watching him trying not to burn the Strong bastard with Vhagar would have been entertaining.
Instead, he found himself stuck in this damp, accursed castle with its brooding halls and restless dragons, surrounded by people who were fanatically loyal to Rhaenyra. Aegon spat into the fire and poured another cup. If he had to endure another day of this, he’d at least be drunk enough not to remember it.
He looked at the jug and found it empty. He growled and yelled out, “Wine! Bring me more, you useless fucks!” His voice echoed harshly off the cold stone walls, sharp and slurred, but no footsteps came in answer. No soft reply, no creaking door. Only silence.
He waited, listening. Still nothing. Had Rhaenyra asked the servants not to attend to him anymore. She was spiteful, but with his father in the fortress, it was a very foolish thing to do.
“Gods take you all,” he muttered, lurching to his feet, the room tilting slightly with the movement. He stumbled forward, one hand steadying himself on the edge of the table. “I’ll find it myself, then.”
Drunk and barefoot, Aegon stalked out of the room with the uneven grace of the half-sloshed. He steadied himself, slowly walking towards… somewhere. He would find a servant eventually.
He walked forward and froze as he heard a familiar sound, that of babes crying. He mentally winced at the noise but followed it. After all, where there were crying babes, there were also nursemaids, and they should be eager to serve a prince of the realm. Finally, the quest for more wine would end.
It took longer than it should have. Every hallway looked the same in this cursed castle, grey and narrow and far too dark for his liking. Aegon swayed slightly with each step, the sound of crying dragging him forward like a lure. Eventually, he found the source, a door left carelessly open.
He pushed it open with more force than needed, ready to bark at some wet nurse for being late with his wine, only to freeze.
Two beds. Small. Familiar.
Jaehaerys was curled up on one side, thumb tucked into his mouth, face twitching in restless sleep. Jaehaera was still crying, little fists flailing, tears running down her face.
There were no nursemaids. No handmaidens. No guards posted outside the door. Just two Targaryen babes, unattended and vulnerable.
His stomach twisted, not from the drink this time.
“What in the fuck…” he muttered, stepping further in, hands curling into fists. He looked around the room, as if someone might pop out and explain. No one did.
“What the fuck is this?” he muttered under his breath, voice low, venomous. “Where are the gods-damned maids?”
“Oh, don’t blame them. They’re quite indisposed,” a voice spoke up behind him, in the supposedly empty room.
Aegon jumped in fright and released a small shriek in his panic. He fumbled to take out a weapon or a dagger, only to slowly realise in his drunken haze that he didn’t even have one on him, as he did not plan to leave his chambers.
Did Rhaenyra decide to escalate things further and try to kill him? Aegon did not know, but he would not die quietly; that was for sure. He turned to look at his possible attacker, only to freeze as he recognised him, or better yet, recognise the description of his looks from his mother’s rants.
The green eyes, the black messy hair, the odd clothes, but more importantly, the odd far-eye thing he constantly wore, all pointed out the reason they all came to this cursed island, the sorcerer who had let Rhaenyra heal their father, Harry Potter.
Aegon had been interested in sorcery once, when he was younger, not because of the power it would grant him, but because his mother, a very devout woman, was often very unsettled with tales of magic. He remembered her looking uncomfortable with the tales of Harrenhall and its infamous curse. Of course, he had lost interest in it quickly enough, as he discovered the glory of women and wine.
And now, this man who had healed the impossible, who had gotten a King, his Queen, and a few of their children, to travel to an island, just to meet with him, a man who, according to his mother, convinced the King to remove Aegon’s grandfather as his Hand, even when Daemon couldn’t, stood there alone, alongside his children.
A surge of protectiveness and desperation appeared within Aegon, something that he had never felt before. Perhaps, the only time that it happened was the rage at seeing his brother maimed at the hands of the Strong bastards. He’d done his best to hide it, out of shock and guilt, but there was a stark difference between mocking and making japes, then outright maiming.
But this felt deeper. Aegon hadn’t truly wanted children. It was just another obligation that his mother and grandfather forced on him. He hadn’t interacted with them in the short time since they were born, not that there was much to do; they were just babes. And yet, as he watched that stranger, a sorcerer, be alone in their room, he couldn’t help but stand in front of them protectively, “You will not hurt them.”
“I like to think that I am above hurting defenceless children,” the man answered calmly, “But I suppose being protective is a good quality for every new father to have.”
“What are you doing with them? Why did you send away the servants?” Aegon demanded.
“They truly are beautiful children,” he said without looking back at him, instead staring at the children, “Such powerful lungs on them.”
Well, that was a cryptic answer, and Aegon, despite himself, followed his gaze and looked at his children. It was only then that he realised that there truly was something different with them. He hadn’t visited them frequently, but he was sure that his children looked larger, fuller, in a way. Where before, they stared into nothingness in silence, now they seemed to move more, and they were crying. He now realised that he had rarely heard his children crying, a large difference came from what he remembered from Daeron’s time as a babe.
He would have thought that they were replaced by impostors, but he still saw the extra finger on each hand and toes, for both of them, something that one couldn’t fake. Perhaps, it could with magic, but the purple in their eyes was his own. Still, he needed to know for sure, “What did you do?”
The man did not answer, and focused on the children, which enraged Aegon completely, “I am the firstborn son of the King, I am a prince of a realm, I am…”
The sorcerer finally turned and looked at him. Aegon felt small, like he was staring in Vhagar’s eyes instead, and he found his words being caught up in his throat, “Kiddo, you can no more command me than a child of a wildling north of the Wall. Using your position as Viserys’ son will not help you there.”
The firstborn son of the King swallowed and asked calmly, “Did you hurt them?”
“Quite the contrary. I promised your wife, Helaena, that I would help your children. She’s a very insightful woman, that one.”
Had the sorcerer just called Helaena insightful? Stupid Helaena, who liked to spend more time with her insects, muttering nonsense? Aegon had known her for years, and not once had he heard anything of value come out of her mouth.
He swallowed the urge to reply with a jape and instead focused on his children, “You helped them?”
“Yes. I have to admit that your marriage to Helaena was very unwise. I’m very hesitant about incest normally, but I can somewhat understand the politics of it, to keep Dragonriders within the royal family, and the Valyrians did perform some very impressive blood magic to ensure that there wouldn’t be any complications, not that it’s foolproof, mind you, but it seemed to do the thing. Unfortunately, both you and Helaena are half Hightower. It would have been different if you had different mothers, but given the fact that you both share the same non-Valyrian part of your blood, it means that the Valyrian magic didn’t protect your children from the consequences of being born from that union. Thankfully, they’re young enough that a little magical push was able to help them. You should thank my wife. She was the one who worked on it; out of the two of us, she is the better healer.”
Aegon froze at that, understanding slowly dawning on him, which mixed with a slight form of disbelief and outrage. The man had all but called his blood tainted and impure, which was strangely very similar to what his uncle, Daemon, often called them. Perhaps that was why the Dragonlords of Old Valyria intermarried with one another, to keep control over their dragons locally, while also mitigating the complications of doing this.
Was that why Viserys preferred Rhaenyra to them, because she had more Valyrian blood? She still had Arryn blood in her veins, on her mother’s side, but Aemma Arryn had Valyrian Blood in her veins as well.
He wished he could deny it, and yet, he couldn’t. Aegon remembered the Maester saying that the children were born too small, and they were quieter, and now, as he looked at their beds, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera seemed healthier, larger, and livelier.
He truly did heal them, didn’t he? And yet, he couldn’t help but ask a single question, “Why?”
The sorcerer tilted his head in confusion, which, for some reason, frustrated Aegon, “Why did you do all of this? What do you want from me now that I am in your debt?”
“Nothing. I told you that this was a promise to Helaena for the nice conversation we had.”
He didn’t know why, but that small statement made a fire burn hotter in his veins, and he let everything out, “No one ever just wants to help. Did you just want my favour in case I become King? Huh? That’s what everyone wants: that I’d sit on that cursed throne, and that I’d give them gold and power? So, what do you want from me?”
Aegon slurred that last part, and he had to admit that his drunkenness made him speak more than he should have. His temper grew by the mess of emotions he felt, the loathing, the fear for his children, and he reacted like he always did, by getting angry.
Yet, the sorcerer didn’t flinch. He didn’t rise to the bait. He simply looked at Aegon with something that resembled pity, “Oh, you’d make quite a horrid King, I’m afraid, and even if you do become one, I have a feeling that your favour would be quite fleeting. Why do you think that I want something from you?”
“Because everyone wants something,” he growled.
“That is sadly often true, but the truth of the matter is that not every good deed must have a selfish reason behind it. There’s also very little that you can offer me.”
“Fuck you!” The sorcerer gave him a patient look, as if he were a child. He just insulted the man, yet he did not even seem to care. “Everyone wants a piece of that power that I can give them. My grandfather wants his blood on the throne, my mother uses me in that spat with Rhaenyra, and that’s just the start… Not a single person, noble or smallfolk, has looked at me without looking at what they could gain.”
The sorcerer hummed, “It sounds like you’re trying to convince me to take advantage of you. Why is that?”
Aegon blushed, and the man continued, “Aside from that, there’s very little you can do that your father couldn’t, and I like to think that he would help if I asked. There’s also very little he could offer me, as well, and very little he or you can do to stop me, if you disagree. You ask me why I chose to heal your children. It cost me nothing. And I can’t help but wonder if you think so little of yourself and your children, that you think that they are worth less than a simple act of kindness.”
The man spoke calmly without a hint of anger or even slight irritation, and yet, Aegon felt a shiver run down his spine. He didn’t know how to answer the man, and so, Aegon just looked away, turning towards his children once more.
Jaehaera had stopped crying. She stared up now, eyes unfocused, mouth twitching in that way babes sometimes did before sleep. Jaehaerys had rolled onto his side, thumb still lodged in his mouth, breathing slowly and evenly.
He had never truly seen them before.
“I didn’t know they were… sick,” he said finally, voice low, shame creeping in.
“But you do now, and that’s what's important,” the sorcerer replied, “You feel ashamed, and that’s a good thing. A man who is ashamed of his own failings shows that he cares in some way. It just hit you now, isn’t it? The fact that you’re a father, that these two people will depend on you for everything. That you could fail them, just as your parents failed you.”
“I don’t think I’m ready,” Aegon muttered.
“I don’t think you are either. Being a father is likely one of the important things you will ever do in your life, a new chapter in your book, and one that will matter immensely. This is it, the beginning of you becoming an adult. Your actions, your decisions, will mark them for the rest of their lives. I wonder what they’ll think of you as they grow up, would they speak of you fondly or with bitterness, as a man who loved his wine and whores more than them, if you’re as bad of a father than you are a husband.”
Aegon didn’t answer.
The words cut deeper than he expected, deeper than any slight his mother or grandsire had ever flung at him. There was no cruelty behind them, no scorn, just a quiet truth that settled in his chest like cold lead.
“What if I fail?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“You will,” the sorcerer said simply, “But failure isn’t the end, not when it comes to this. You’ll make mistakes. The question is whether you’ll keep running from them, or face them.”
He wanted to say something, anything. But the words didn’t come.
“Your father is healed. Truly. He’s not dying, not anymore. And he’s no longer chained to that bed, no longer a man clinging to his last breath. Your grandfather is no longer Hand. Your mother will be busy fighting off Rhaenys’ every decision to focus too much on you. You are now freer than you’ve ever been, Aegon. The choice is yours. You can remain the drunkard whoring prince that you are now, living an empty life, with your children suffering through you vices. Or, you can become a man that these young children would proudly call their father. I know that you will likely never love Helaena, or perhaps you will never even like her. But she is not the mother of your children, and it would bode very poorly if you continue disrespecting her.”
“You have time,” the sorcerer continued, softer now. “Time to learn who you are without the wine, without the crown, without the noise. Time to choose whether you want to be the man people expect… or someone better. Time to find a small slice of happiness in the emptiness you feel around you. If you wish to repay your debt for my small act of kindness, then that would be how I would like to be repaid.”
Aegon felt a warmth go through him as the sorcerer finished this sentence, like a tether pulling tight around something deep in his chest, like it was important somehow. It vanished as quickly as it came, and the young prince decided to dismiss it as some dizzy spell.
He turned and saw that the sorcerer was gone, disappearing just as silently as he had appeared just minutes prior.
He was right, wasn’t he? For the first time, Aegon truly had the time to explore what he truly wanted in his life.
His eyes drifted to his daughter. She blinked up at him, fingers curling around empty air. On instinct, perhaps guilt, he reached down and picked her up. She was warm. She didn’t cry. Just nestled closer into his chest, tiny breath brushing against his collarbone.
At that moment, Aegon felt something settle deep in his chest. Not wine. Not lust. Not rage. It was something gentler, something he hadn’t felt in years.
Peace. A moment of it, at least.
He held her closer and, for the first time in memory, let out a true and content smile.
AN: I wasn't planning on writing this chapter at first, but it just wouldn't leave my mind, and I had to get it out. I know it feels a bit out of place after the Greyjoy arc, but I'll address that in the next chapter.
As for this chapter, I’m really not sure about parts of it, especially Aegon’s characterisation. I decided to mitigate a bit of his worst impulses. I wanted to show him in a similar vein to Robert Baratheon or Aegon the Unworthy. And Harry is essentially using his new fatherhood to urge him to discover himself a bit, while also twisting the debt Aegon unknowingly acknowledged, to make things stick a bit more than usual. It's not exactly supposed to redeem him suddenly, but essentially a small brainteaser that wouldn't go away. I don’t know if it came out like I wanted it to or if I pulled it off, but I don’t mind rewriting this depending on your feedback. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
Comments
Doubledoor
Perhaps my favourite chapter of vol 2 yet. Definitely one of the best 'life changing conversation' scenes I've ever read.
Jose Gonzalez
Love this chapter good job
