Death by lethal injection isn’t as painful as I thought it would be.
In fact, the only pain came from inside my own head while the injection was administered.
It could have been a painless two minutes if my mind hadn’t been such a mess.
It had been a while now since I opened my eyes to the horrific smell of ravens crammed in cages around me.
The pain was mild at first, but feeling the burns covering my body, my first instinct was to reach down to my little soldier to see if he’d survived.
But I stopped, remembering Larys was sitting right near me.
“Congratulations on surviving your first trial. The veil between life and death has torn open before you, and your next labor begins. The gods are cruel, indifferent, and above all, deeply bored. You are Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the ‘Seven Kingdom’, and ‘Protector of the Realm’. So struggle, King of Ashes. Reward those who bleed for you, and drag down every soul who dared to wrong you. Give the gods a worthy spectacle, and perhaps you shall be rewarded. We seldom grant favors to mortal worms, but a divine boon is worth all the blood shed.”
I didn’t care about the floating text; it was ridiculous.
Win the civil war?
Rhaenyra’s side had six dragons and Daemon and I’m a cripple with a crippled dragon.
Let Aemond or Daeron fight it out.
If they win, great; if they die, they die.
The original Aegon gave everything he had and died for it, now it was my turn with the broken controller, and I wanted nothing to do with crowns.
“The wailing has ceased, Your Grace,” Larys started.
“And without a single drop of the poppy, no less.
Was it even worth it to try talking to this snake?
I didn’t know how long we’d be trapped in this rumbling cart together, but I figured I might as well pass the time.
“The pain is still there,” I responded.
“I’ve just grown tired of wailing.”
Larys tilted his head, a small smile on his thin lips.
“A great realization, Your Grace. Suffering in silence serves a king far better when his enemies are listening for his weakness.”
“King?” I repeated.
“What king? I’ve been burnt, my dragon is dead, my capital fell, and my mother and wife are captured. The war is over, Larys. You would do well to remember that and plan your next move accordingly. This hand is lost.”
“A staggering setback, Your Grace. Indisputably so. Yet I must gently remind you that: you are still breathing.” Larys said earnestly as he leaned closer.
“Your capital may belong to your sister, but the realm does not. Banners are still raised in your name across the realm. Men are still dying for your crown. The Hightowers, the Lannisters, they still march under your banner, spilling blood in your name even as we speak. It will be a dark and harrowing road, Your Grace. That I will not deny. But a hand is not lost while blood still flows through your veins. And when the broken king rises to take back his throne, this tale will be told and sung for ages, as glorious as the Conquest itself.”
Before I could even answer him, the cart jerked to a violent stop.
The wagon door was pulled open by a man-at-arms in dirty armor.
“Out. Both of you,” the guard barked.
Larys bowed his head, and limped down into the mud with his cane.
I dragged myself out after him, keeping my head down while every movement sent a fresh wave of pain through my body.
A plan faced old man at arms looked at them “who are you?”
“Simple men in the service of the Citadel,” Larys lied without blinking.
“We are taking these ravens to White Harbor.”
“You’re in the Queen’s lands,” the man stated.
“If you mean to pass, you must first denounce the Usurper, bend the knee, and swear fealty to Her Grace, the one true Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen.”
Larys looked at me before dropping down onto one knee.
“We denounce the Usurper and swear our fealty to Her Grace, Rhaenyra Targaryen,” he said smoothly, bowing his head.
Then he glanced up at me.
I stood as straight as I could manage, swaying on my feet as spikes of pain shot through my legs and spine.
“Come on, friend,” Larys urged.
“Affirm your fealty so we can be on our way.”
The man-at-arms was already staring at me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Honestly, I didn’t even have a problem playing the part in theory.
But wouldn’t it be…
what’s the word?
Low?
I was Aegon Targaryen now.
Trapped on the road with a snake like Larys, my pride and my honor were literally the only things I had left.
If I threw them away now just to survive, what else would I stoop to further down the line?
Furthermore, was survival even worth it?
I was in excruciating pain just standing upright.
If I tried forcing my burned, broken body down to kneel in the dirt, I’d probably die from the sheer physical agony alone.
And hey, if this dull bastard decided to chop off my head right here…
who was to say I wouldn’t just get reincarnated into a different fantasy world with a body that actually worked?