Chapter Text
Jon was marched through the Red Keep, firmly restrained between two burly guards, with three more strategically walking in a triangle around them.
Truly, he should not have been surprised that his recently revealed half-brother had chosen to kidnap him, not after spending so many moons getting to know his aunt Daenerys.
It must be a Targaryen characteristic to be so obsessively possessive of other Targaryens. Thank the gods it was a trait he had been spared.
“My dear little brother,” Aegon purred happily.
There was a dark satisfaction in the young man’s Valyrian purple eyes as he practically glided down from the Iron Throne and came to a stop in front of Jon.
A hand wave later had the guards releasing the raven-haired man and joining the protective formation around him.
“You cannot fathom just how happy I am to have you here, safe and sound, and out of our delusional aunt’s clutches,” Aegon crowed delightedly with an unrestrained, beaming smile that looked ever so slightly sinister.
“Daenerys isn’t delusional, Aegon. And you abducted me against my w–” Jon's heated protest was abruptly silenced when the king placed his hand against his cheek and ran his thumb softly against his lips.
Jon tried jerking away, but it was for nought as Aegon’s hand went with him. His half-brother tutted while moving again to close the space Jon had made between them. The self-proclaimed king gripped his chin between his thumb and forefinger firmly while his free arm snaked around Jon’s slim waist tightly, forcing the Northman to stay in place and accept the invasive touch.
“Hush, my love,” Aegon crooned, as though soothing a frightened child. “Daenerys is a liar, using you for her own ends, keeping you captive to use against me, trying to steal my throne through my most beloved treasure. But it is not your fault that you have been enthralled by her poisonous lies, as I know you grew up nurtured in them by the Usurper’s dog. It is only natural you would now struggle to know when something is truth as opposed to fiction after your very identity was proved to be as false as a mummer’s show.”
Jon gaped; he couldn’t help it.
His newfound brother truly believed everything he said, truly believed that he spoke nothing but the truth.
There were many things Jon wanted to say in response to the delusional ravings, but his mind fixated on one thing above the rest: “Beloved treasure?”
The incredulity in his voice was palpable and seemed to have offended, if the way Aegon’s features twisted was any indication.
“Yes, you are the most valuable thing I have. You are my little brother, my family. Our father chose to have you for me, did you know? He wanted a Visenya for his Aegon and Rhaenys. You were made for me,” Aegon said with great fervour, gripping Jon tighter all the while. “You were even born in Dorne, breathing your first in the lands of my lady mother’s house. Do you not see just how thoroughly you belong to me?”
Jon grimaced, both from the sickening words his ‘brother’ spoke—along with the new knowledge of Rhaegar’s designs for him—and from the physical pain Aegon was subjecting him to in his possessive madness.
“But I wasn’t born a Visenya, Aegon. And I was not made for you. No matter the intention Rhaegar had for siring me, I am my own person, and I belong to no one but myself,” Jon countered sharply.
His temper was flaring, but he had to keep it in check. He needed a clear head to try and reason with his ‘brother,’ as fighting his way out was impossible, surrounded as he was by a contingent of royal guards, weaponless, and within the heart of the king’s domain.
It would be suicide to even try.
Aegon scowled, and Jon was startled by the resemblance it had to his own: the same harshly pinched brows, narrowed eyes, clenched jaw, and pursed, bloodless lips.
“What care do dragons have for the sex of their own? None. For they are neither male nor female creatures. It does not matter to me, nor would it have mattered to our father, that you are a man; you are still the Visenya to my Aegon. ...I have lost my Rhaenys. Our Mandia…”
Here Aegon paused, looking truly grief-stricken for a single moment before it vanished behind a hastily constructed, bright, happy face that made Jon’s skin crawl and the hairs on the back of his neck bristle in warning.
“I will not lose you too, Valonqar.”
Jon inhaled. “I…”
Aegon’s eyes darkened. “Never.”
Jon resorted to pleading; mayhap tugging on heartstrings would work where reason had failed. “If you care about me the way your words imply you do, then let me go free. Please.”
Disappointment crossed Aegon’s face briefly before it hardened.
“So you can go back to the would-be usurper?”
Jon did not respond, for his brother was right. He would return to Daenerys; he had pledged his sword to her, given her his word. No honour would come of breaking it.
Aegon sighed, then shook his head in a slow and repeated manner.
“I really wanted to bring you to reason, Jon,” Aegon said despondently, speaking more to himself than to Jon. “To succeed in showing you that I wish only what is best for you. To make you understand that you are mine, but now I see that the lies you have been fed have damaged you much more than I had feared.”
Aegon sighed again, more heavily this time, and stepped back, letting his hands drift from Jon’s body, for which the northerner was grateful.
His relief was fleeting, however, as two men seized him not a heartbeat later, securing him between them once more.
Aegon drew himself up with the air of a man being forced to make a decision he had no desire to make and even less of a desire to see executed.
“Your home is with me, my beloved treasure, as mine is with you. Until I have completely convinced you of this truth, I have no choice but to lock you away.”
“You can’t,” Jon blurted despite himself. He instinctively bucked forward, but he was held firm.
If he hadn’t been panicking before, he certainly was now.
“I can and I must,” Aegon said resolutely. “I will not risk you fleeing.”
The fucking bastard actually looked regretful, damn him!
Jon cast his gaze around for help, despite knowing how futile such an act was.
As he knew would happen, his desperate search yielded no miracles, only the sight of more expressionless guards who had sworn themselves to a madman.
Aegon cupped both of his cheeks, his mad eyes stared deeply into Jon’s wild grey ones. “What you must think of me now saddens me, but I know that in time you will come to see that all I do is to protect you. From others as well as from yourself. No one has ever loved you but me, Jon, and no one ever will.”
The silver-haired king then dropped a chaste kiss on Jon’s shock-parted lips, so unexpected and fast that he had not even processed the soft touch of a mouth on his before it was over.
Speechless and aghast, Jon could only shake his head, eyes wide with horror.
“Guards, please escort my brother to the Maidenvault. See to it that he remains there,” Aegon ordered pleasantly.
“The Maidenvault!?” Jon shouted. “What?! You cannot be serious? Aegon!”
“At once, Your Majesty.”
All reason had completely abandoned him now, and Jon fought hard to get free, desperation aiding him with greater strength.
“Should he manage to escape, every single one of you will be held responsible. I will have you publicly flogged for a sennight, then executed, and your heads mounted on the Traitor’s Walk until they rot away to nothing. Is that understood?” Aegon asked airily, looking genuinely curious to know if they understood the consequences of failure.
Jon couldn’t have been the only one to shudder. The way the king smiled at his men was... wrong. Not to mention the way he spoke no louder than usual, his voice remaining velvety and charming even as he threatened them with gruesome deaths...
It was all unnatural.
“Of course, Your Majesty. I mean– understood, Your Majesty,” one of the braver men, sweat pooling on his temples, stuttered out nervously.
“Excellent,” Aegon grinned more widely than seemed humanly possible and clapped his hands together delightedly. “Off you go then. I will come to you tonight, Jon. To make sure you are settled and… sated.”
And so, Jon was led away, his mind unable to come to terms with his brother’s parting words and the rapidly approaching Keep that he might very well be trapped in for the rest of his days.
… Jon thought to himself, not for the first time in his short life, that he should have stayed in Winterfell.