The examination Aegon conducted with Dennis, under Runciter's grumbling and Lady Hightower's attentive gaze, confirmed the initial diagnosis. One could not say the King was dying; he was slowly fading, his mind fading faster than his body, and Jaehaerys could no longer rule the realm.
However, the Small Council categorically rejected proposals for a regency:
"Proclaiming a regency will bring us more harm than good," Lord Otto shook his head. "Regency implies a weak King, a weak King implies a vulnerable realm, and enemies will want to attack a vulnerable realm. The Prince of Dorne will not miss the chance to bite us again, and we cannot answer him properly—since His Grace is ill, we have only two adult dragonriders."
"Aegon can saddle Vhagar at any moment," Viserys reminded.
"That is a moot point, my Prince," the Hand answered evasively. "The King's prohibition can be circumvented in case of dire necessity, for instance, war, but why bring matters to that?"
Try as Aegon might to suppress a laugh, biting his cheek, he failed:
"Tell me, Lord Otto, why force a wife to bear children if the risk of dying in childbirth is as great as the risk of dying in war?"
"I am not entirely certain that is a fitting analogy..."
Of course, the analogy was not entirely fitting, considering that poor Aemma time after time could not carry a child to term, and Otto's own lady wife was so weakened after another birth that she died along with their little son from a simple chill. Why look far: Aegon did not know his mother for the very same reason.
"Naturally, no one kept count, but some Maesters claim the statistics are such," the Prince shrugged, backing down.
Neither on that day nor in the following ones was a Regent appointed; effectively, his role was assumed by Viserys as heir to the throne, with the active—in Daemon's opinion, even too active—mediation of the Hand. Aegon, from the height of his steel link of a lawgiver, saw nothing supernatural in this: the Conqueror established the office of Hand precisely to help in governing the state, and that is exactly what Lord Otto was doing.
Aegon's own daily life became no less busy than in the Citadel. Occupying his old chambers, the Prince usually left them shortly before noon, preparing for the new day and preparing his leg for it. First on the list of affairs was a visit to the King: together with two of Runciter's assistants and Dennis, he observed the Grand Maester's manipulations of the King, or performed them himself. Aegon found Runciter himself an empty-headed blockhead whom any of his scholar friends could easily replace; however, partly out of professional solidarity, partly out of respect for the Maester's chain, the youth preferred diplomacy to open hostility with the old man and gradually brought the Grand Maester to his denominator.
Handing Jaehaerys over to the care of Lady Alicent, who proved, to her credit, a very capable nurse despite her tender age, Aegon went with Daemon to the Small Council session. The King or his Regent could have introduced new members, but the first remembered dead children, and the second did not exist, so although the heir's brothers participated in discussions, they had no vote.
A couple of weeks later, Aegon came to the thought that the Seven Kingdoms were perhaps lucky with the Hand: Lord Otto proved a well-educated man, grounded in the laws and customs of the realm, capable of taking into account and balancing the interests of the great nobility, petty gentry, and even townsfolk. Uncle Vaegon was pleased with Lord Lyman Beesbury back in the day, and his nephew agreed that the Master of Coin knew not only how to count dragons and stags well but also knew how to get them and what to spend them on. After the death of Lord Maemion Celtigar and the Great Council, the seat of Master of Ships was again offered to Corlys Velaryon, but the Lord of the Tides preferred to refuse the admiralty, nursing offended pride; in the end, Lord Gilbert Redwyne, cousin to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, came to his place. Aegon was no expert in naval matters but noticed that Lord Redwyne was driven by ambition and the desire to surpass the Velaryons—to become hereditary admirals under the new King.
Sessions, as a rule, passed monotonously: Runciter gave a report on His Grace's health, Aegon inserted a couple of comments, after which the Council dealt with current affairs, considered petitions and complaints until the midday meal. Afterward, the brothers usually dined in a narrow family circle, implying only Aemma—Rhaenyra was still considered too small for the common table; at table, the brothers tried not to speak of business, but periodically slid into it nonetheless.
After the midday meal and until deep into the night, Aegon was, as a rule, left to himself; at this time he plunged headlong into unexamined annals, chronicles, and treatises, scrolled through dozens of feet of Valyrian scrolls, transcribing glyphs into letters of the common alphabet, practiced calligraphy—in a word, rested from intercourse with people. Of course, occasionally he had to crawl out of the library and the occupied father's study to sup or visit his grandfather, but on the whole, Aegon's peace was disturbed by no one. The whole Red Keep, the whole royal court seemed to have died out—in the corridors courtiers tried to move quieter, more unnoticeably, as if any word or loud sound could disturb the peace of the dying King.
When Aegon came to his grandfather in the evening, the man was usually already asleep or falling asleep, lulled by Alicent's voice. The girl-nurse, despite everything, carefully executed all the Maesters' instructions, fed the Sovereign, gave him medicines, and entertained him with reading, leaving all the dirty work to the servants, whom she commanded quite skillfully.
On the table between her chair and the bed, Aegon always saw only two books: The Seven-Pointed Star and Septon Barth's Unnatural History of Dragons, moreover Jaehaerys, when conscious, preferred the second to the first. And the eleven-year-old daughter of the Hand diligently read little-understood words and ornate constructions. Because of them, Unnatural History took the form not of a scholarly work but rather a collection of legends, where misinterpreted idioms and terms taken for flowery metaphors were retold quite poetically.
"And yet, I remember, I sent him a corrected version of Notes on the Death of Balerion," Aegon remarked once with a bitter smile.
Alicent fidgeted, obviously not knowing what could be said to that.
"His Grace loved Septon Barth very much and valued his work," she delivered after thought.
"I doubt it not a whit."
"If you wish, I can read him your Notes," the girl suggested.
"What for?" sighed Aegon, sitting on a neighboring chair. "He asks for Barth to be read to him, after all. He even recognizes me only every other time."
Alicent looked into the book again, trying to delve into what was written. The Prince thought that interrupting her was not entirely polite, but could not help asking:
"What do you think of Barth?"
"Septon Barth was a good man, sincerely devoted to His Grace," she began.
"No, no, I speak not of the man," the youth grimaced; it seems he had forgotten how to speak with children. "What do you think of his book? Of what he wrote?"
The little Lady Hightower pondered.
"He writes too complicatedly about complicated things," she finally answered. "About what he himself understands poorly."
"And hides his ignorance in verbal lace," Aegon finished for her and smiled contentedly; the girl is definitely no fool and will make a good match for any lord—to a strong one she will become a support, to a smart one—a counselor, and for a fool she will do everything herself.
"Dragons are generally very strange creatures," Alicent continued meanwhile. "Septa Beta said that before, before the Conquest, they were considered spawn of the Seven Hells."
"And after?"
"Then came Aegon the Conqueror and burned those who thought so."
"True," Aegon agreed with a chuckle and carefully stretched his leg, kneading the muscles.
"But, to speak honestly... I would not want to have a dragon," the girl stunned him.
"Why?"
"They are scary and... Zaldrīzes (dragons) might eat you."
Aegon winced as if from a toothache; the nobly growling zaldrīzes turned into some grunting zoltryuzis with the Hand's daughter. He did not want to think about how she declines words by cases and whether she knows the difference between solar and lunar nouns.
"Languages are clearly not your forte," the youth commented.
"Forgive me, my Prince," the lady blushed again. "I had to leave my lessons when Father brought me to help the Maesters care for His Grace. I promise I shall master Valyrian!"
"No need to make unnecessary promises," Aegon waved her off. "But on your father's part, it was cruel to send you here. Girls of your age are not supposed even to see such things."
In truth, Aegon had no idea whether eleven-year-old ladies were supposed or not supposed to nurse old men, but the fact that Otto locked his own daughter in a room at whose door the Stranger knocked daily jarred the Prince.
"It is our duty," Alicent answered modestly, but with unchildlike dignity. "My Lord Father serves His Grace as Hand, and I help them both to the measure of my strength. In this is my duty as a daughter and as a faithful subject of our Sovereign."
Before the next Council session, the Lord Hand took Aegon aside and very strictly expressed his opinion on inappropriate topics for conversation, implying, evidently, criticism addressed to him. In response, Aegon in the same tone set out his position on inappropriate occupations; Hightower in response only pursed his lips, no worse than Uncle Vaegon, and walked away. The Prince thought that after this sparring match Lord Otto would recall his daughter, but a day later, as a week later, and two weeks later, Alicent was still beside the fading Jaehaerys.
At a certain moment, it became clear that removing the girl would not work at all—the Old King began to mistake her now for Viserra, now for Saera, and constantly wished to see her near him. That the red curly locks were not a whit like Targaryen silver and white gold did not embarrass him in the slightest, nor did the fact that a chamber pot was shoved under him and he was fed soft porridge from a spoon.
Once Daemon and Aegon happened to observe the process of feeding the King: Lady Alicent scooped up barely warm mashed potatoes with a silver spoon, blew on it for show, after which she brought it to the King and wiped his mouth while he swallowed what required no chewing.
"Think you they are poisoning him?" Daemon whispered in his brother's ear.
"I think not," Aegon frowned. "I would have noticed."
Daemon chuckled disappointedly.
"But that she spies for her papa, you do not deny?"
"Does it matter? My brother, our grandfather believes he is being nursed by his children who died nigh on twenty years ago. What secrets can the Hand glean from him?"
"Who knows?" the elder Prince shrugged.
"Daemon, he is dying," Aegon reminded just in case.
"I noticed."
No one could do anything about it. A few days later, Jaehaerys chased all the Maesters away from him, including Runciter, and allowed only Alicent, whom he now firmly considered Saera returned from Essos, and his youngest grandson, who submissively accepted the role of the eldest son, to approach his bed. While the girl distracted the King with conversation or reading, Aegon examined his grandfather as quickly as he could, rubbing bedsores and dispersing blood, poured grated medicine into another portion of porridge, decreasing in size each time, prepared decoctions and ointments for the day. Now he entered the royal chambers no fewer than four times a day, sometimes staying for an hour and a half instead of a few minutes as before. To all questions at the Small Council, he gave one possible answer:
"Stably bad. It gets no better."
At the end of the eighth month of the year 103, Jaehaerys began to refuse food. For several days the cooks of the Red Keep, in close cooperation with the two royal nurses, tried to invent something that might suit the Sovereign, but unsuccessfully. Then Aegon, irritable, sleep-deprived, and daubed with spat-out pumpkin puree, appeared before the Council members awaiting him and cast angrily:
"If the gods are merciful—a couple of days. If not—a week."
Dead silence reigned in the richly decorated chamber. Everyone had long understood where things were heading, but the lack of certainty instilled in them the confidence that it would be so for a very long time yet. And here a term was set. Finally, mastering his agitation, Viserys ordered Runciter:
"Send a raven to Driftmark. Tell our cousin that the King is dying."
"Princess Rhaenys knows of the King's condition but has not wished to come until now," Lord Otto reminded cautiously. "Furthermore, I suppose Lord Corlys may use this as a chance to seize the Iron Throne—the Velaryon fleet suffices to blockade King's Landing, and Meleys..."
"Lord Otto," the future King cut him off; Aegon thought that for the first time he saw the Sovereign in his elder brother. "Princess Rhaenys is his granddaughter and our cousin. She has the right to know that her grandfather already stands with one foot on the funeral pyre."
"I would say already with two," remarked Aegon and flicked a scrap of pumpkin from his sleeve.
"Send the raven, Runciter. We shall be glad of our cousin and her family," Viserys finished imperturbably. "You may add that we need the support of kin in a heavy hour."
"As you wish, my Prince," the Grand Maester bowed and minced to the rookery.
Rhaenys arrived on Meleys the very next day, several hours ahead of the Bold Admiral, which brought the Lord of the Tides and his children on its board. The family reunion turned out restrained and even cool, but common grief brings people closer; while Aegon, like Alicent, almost never left the royal chambers, Viserys managed to regain some measure of old affection from his cousin, and Daemon managed to win over the Sea Snake.
On the evening of the fourth day of the ninth month, Jaehaerys could not fall sleep; the King paid no heed to Alicent reading to him, threw aside and spilled upon himself goblets and cups of milk of the poppy, tossed in bed, finding no peace, and moaned. At what moment Aegon realized that nothing could be done anymore, he never understood. The Prince took Unnatural History from the girl's hands and set the book aside.
"Saera, Saera!.." the dying father called his runaway daughter.
"Your Grace?" asked Alicent again. As a rule, after such a beginning, Grandfather became convinced that she whom he called was near, and continued to tell her something; this allowed the girl not to take the sin of lying to the dying upon her soul.
"Saera, where are you? Saera, please... Return, my daughter!" Jaehaerys continued to lament. "I forgave you long ago! Forgave almost at once! Saera, please, forgive me!.."
"The gods will forgive you, my King," Alicent barely uttered with wet eyes, but he cared neither for her nor for the gods. His breathing became hoarse, heavy, and ever more infrequent.
"Saera... Please... Forgive..."
Jaehaerys, First of His Name, inhaled convulsively, bulging his eyes, exhaled somehow raggedly, and gave up the ghost. For a minute silence stood in the room, seeming almost deafening after the moans and entreaties of the deceased. Aegon swallowed with difficulty and forced himself to approach his dead grandfather; on his face froze an expression pitiful, pleading—not kings die with such a face, but hungry paupers who did not receive a crust of bread. The Prince gathered all the courage he had and passed his hand over his grandfather's damp face; the eyes closed, and the grimace smoothed out a little.
Scarce had he done this when Alicent burst into sobs; everything that had accumulated in her these long months poured out now with tears and snot. Aegon, not knowing really how to comfort her, found a handkerchief and began to wipe her face.
"Come now, stop. He feels no pain now, he does not suffer. He is together with his Good Queen and with his children. Calm yourself."
Somehow the little lady ceased weeping, but dry howls and hiccups replaced the tears; Aegon forced her to drink water.
"Come, calm yourself," the Prince repeated his request. "Ladies do not behave so."
As if this argument worked best of all.
"Here is what we shall do. You will go now to your father and tell everything. I think he will find what to say to you, for I am not very strong in comforting little ladies. Good?"
"A-a-and you?"
"And I shall go to my family," Aegon answered simply.
"A-and t-the King?"
"Our King is called Viserys now. And the late King needs only a Septon and Silent Sisters now. Come, go."
He literally pushed the girl into the corridor and watched as she, gathering her skirts, ran down the corridor. Aegon turned back to the dead King. The body, as was proper for it, had gone nowhere.
"Wait, I shall be soon," the youth said for some reason and, closing the door, hobbled down the corridor in the opposite direction.
Around the nearest turn stood Ser Harrold and Ser Clement, guarding the door to Queen Alysanne's former boudoir.
"Send for the Lord Commander," Aegon bade them and tried to give his face as calm an expression as possible.
In the room, sitting on a sofa, Aemma and Rhaenys conversed quietly among themselves, while Viserys, Corlys, and Daemon drank wine silently by the fireplace. Aegon thought inappropriately that the joint silence of men is far more meaningful than the endless conversations of women. The thick carpet muffled his uneven steps and the tap of the cane; the Prince approached his elder brother and before surprise on his face could change to suspicion and realization of what had happened, Aegon spoke in an unexpectedly wooden tone:
"His Grace King Jaehaerys has deigned to pass away. Pray reign, my Sovereign."
With these words he, and following him the rising Daemon with Corlys, and the women who understood everything before their husbands, bent the knee.
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