"Visenya?" Aerion couldn't help but laugh when he felt his cousin's hand hitting his shoulder. "Of all the names you'd pick for the babe…"
"And what's wrong with Visenya?" Rhaenyra asked with a smile on her lips as they continued to have a stroll through the ports of Blackwater Bay.
"There's nothing wrong with the name, but what if it's a boy?"
"I'm very certain my father has already picked a name."
"You're not worried that this son would overshadow you?" Aerion asked curiously. Sibling dynamics were often a mystery to Aerion. Daemon and Viserys weren't the best examples of a balanced sibling relationship, most especially the stories of his grandparents Baelor and Alyssa with the rest of their siblings.
If the queen were to give birth to a son, then Daemon will no longer be the uncontested heir. And Aerion would be moved further down from the line of succession, not that he cared. Rhaenyra of all people knew that Aerion did not care for courtly politics. If there were a chance for him to permanently stay in the Vale, he would find a way to do so.
Although Aerion no doubt loves his father, he was becoming more like his mother. Having a great distaste of Daemon's theatrics.
"I do hope my father gets a son. My worry is with my mother." Rhaenyra smiled at her cousin as they continued to take the stroll, chaperoned by the assigned Kingsguard to the princess. "Does it worry you? The possibility of the king having his long-awaited son?"
Aerion shook his head. "Perhaps… if the babe is a prince, then the king may finally grant me leave to go home."
"Home," Rhaenyra repeated, a soft smile on her lips as her hands were folded behind, "you always did enjoy the cold. I sometimes wonder if you truly are a dragon."
The lad let out a boyish laugh. The freedom of it all without the restraints of court, the hopes of his king, or the constant disappointment from his father. Rhaenyra, despite their titles, makes him feel at least a sense of freedom he yearned for. The kind where dragon riders can only find in the skies.
Aerion recalled the moment when they first met only a few years ago. He had always been so amazed on his cousin's cheerful demeanor and felt a twinge of envy when she became a dragon rider at age seven – but Rhaenyra was the sun he would smile upon every waking day that made King's Landing bearable over the years.
Targaryens are often described as two things – restless and chaotic. The very embodiment of fire and blood close to their dragon companions, revering them as beings closer to gods than to men.
The lad tried to grasp his father's temperament, and perhaps even his cousin Rhaenyra's, but he knew and understood one thing: in order to truly be a dragon rider, one must first claim the dragon. Dragons cannot be inherited, regardless of Old Valyrian lineage, and must be earned. And no one can make that choice other than their dragon partners, for a dragon is not a slave and can never be tamed.
They are companions, not pets.
Aerion eventually heeded Rhaenyra's advice to take a flight to the skies.
Dragons do not respect human laws, as Aerion would like to believe. He approached the Dragonpit, being greeted by its keepers as the future lord of Runestone made a mental note to have Silverwing spread her wings more often in the skies.
Daemon wanted him to claim Vermithor as Vhagar hasn't been seen since Queen Visenya's passing. But the Conciliator's dragon denied Aerion when he tried to claim the Bronze Fury when he was ten and two. Aerion at the time (and perhaps until now,) couldn't explain the sensation when his gaze turned in the direction of her lair.
As if the dragon at the time was luring him in with a song only he could hear.
He hummed that tune. That Old Valyrian tune his father used to sing to him as a child, much like how he hummed to the she-dragon a year ago.
"Drakai pykiros," the lordling hummed with a torch in his hand, strolling deeper within the dragonpit without the company of its keepers. "Tikummo jemiros, yn lantyz bartossa. Saekit vaedis, hen nuha eleni, perzyssy vestretis se gelyn irudaks anogrose."
"Perzyro udryssi," Aerion raised his torch high over his head as he heard the soft grumble of the beast, "Ezimptos laehossi… harissa letagon, aot vaedan." A burst of dragon flame upward as Aerion stood still with a smile on his lips.
Dramatic beast. Wanting attention from her new rider since she found him that day. "Hae merot gieruli, se haros bartossi, prumysa sovili." Aerion stretched his hand, as the she-dragon nuzzled her nose at her rider's touch.
"You truly are a dramatic beast." Aerion chuckled in high Valyrian at the thought of Silverwing sniffing his palm. "Yes, yes, I should stop neglecting you, you old girl. You shouldn't be caged here…"
Aerion was one of the few who believed that dragons shouldn't be caged in the pit, they are fire personified with burning passion that cannot be controlled.
The skies brough him the kind of comfort he often sought from his family.
Targaryen, Royce, it simply didn't matter so long as he was in the skies with the only being that understood him. Perhaps this is why Rhyneara always snuck off with Syrax, there were no rules, no judgement, no political squabbles. No need to please the adults in the room on whose colors he would wear eventually as he grows older.
Silverwing was a (dramatic) lovely companion compared to the lords on the small council or the anxious mamas who would introduce their daughters to him, wanting to secure the position that came along with him: Lady of Runestone.
Besides his mother, Silverwing was the lady on his heart. Quite literally with the silver dragon pin on his coat gifted by his father on his twelfth name day.
Damon Targaryen's greatest joy, as Aerion believed, was when he claimed the silver she-dragon.
Silverwing did not like the Dragonpit.
It became clear to the lordling when he claimed the dragon just last year. How docile and friendly she was to strangers, how overly affectionate she is with her new rider. She yearned the skies as much as any Targaryen dragon rider yearned the freedom that came with it.
Perhaps, Queen Alysanne was like this — despite being consort, she had the freedom that most women in this century lacked. Aerion's mother, Lady Rhrea, despite being his grandfather's named heir, often had to work to earn her inheritance despite being granted it through blood. His Warden of the East, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, was named the Lady of the Vale was not because she married a distant cousin. But because her brothers who were born before her have already passed.
The Lords of the Vale could have denounced her and named a random Arryn with distant ancestry to be Lord, but chose to bend the knee to a woman. It was the same with any other noble house in the East, but ultimately, women had to work more than their male counterparts.
Lord Robar Royce, his grandfather, had always vouched for Aerion's mother and the Lady Jeyne. A man known for his honor and valor, Aerion strived to be like that. He wanted to be like that.
He'd rather be a Bronze King than a Dragon Lord.
Later that night, Aerion decided to not attend the evening supper with the king and the princess. Knowing that his uncle would only try to distract the boy from thinking that his father would be down in Flea Bottom once again much like almost every night. He did not want any pity from the king, nor does he want his royal cousin worrying for him.
He sits under the tree in the godswood where the moonlight illuminated the parchment he was writing on accompanied by a servant. Quietly watching the boy write in silence.
"Forgive me for disturbing," Aerion looked up to see the Lady Alicent approach.
The lordling turned to the servant, a subtle reminder from his young lord's gaze not to leave them be.
"Lady Alicent," Aerion stood up, greeting the lady with his gaze looking into her own. Almost as if he was looking deep into her soul for the purpose as to why one of the princess' lady-in-waiting is greeting the king's squire. "What do I owe the pleasure?"
"I am to meet the princess here in the godswood after supper, my lord."
"I'm fairly certain my cousin will be able to join you soon, please do not mind me and my companion, I'm simply finishing a letter for my mother." Aerion paused briefly, his gaze looking up at his companion as if reminding him of the recent tragedies in Lady Alicent's life. "Forgive me, Lady Alicent, I didn't –"
"There is nothing to forgive, my Lord." For whatever reason, Aerion could see it in her eyes. The hesitation, right in her eyes. The same kind of hesitation he would give his father as a boy. She views him as anyone viewed them, an untouchable.
"I am sorry still," Aerion spoke in genuine concern, "for your loss."
"No, no…" Aerion immediately shook his head. It would be proper for a boy of his status to greet her properly, but for some reason he could not. It wasn't out of disrespect to the Hand's daughter, but rather, he couldn't understand the sheer hesitance he had always felt towards the Lady Alicent. "I am truly sorry, most especially with what has happened with your mother. You have my deepest condolences, Lady Alicent. Truly and wholeheartedly."
Genuine words. Something he found lacking at King's Landing for as long as he could remember. He had hoped that the Lady Alicent didn't interpret it as an insult of any kind. After all, their fathers are often at odds with one another, no one would be so surprised if Aerion Targaryen would speak in such a manner.
But he didn't.
"Thank you, Lord Aerion," Alicent smiled. "I'm very grateful for your words."
"If you are to wait for Rhaenyra, please, I insist." Aerion offered the spot where he sat.
His companion simply watched and remained quiet. His duties were to watch after Lady Rhea's only son after all. Although young Lord Aerion is not one for trouble, even a servant such as Alfered knew when to be careful around a Hightower due to the Lord Hand's previous treatment of the boy. And the King chooses to ignore it.
"Thank you for the offer, Lord Aerion." Alicent smiled politely as she carefully sat down. Aerion sat beside her where his original spot was.
It was pure silence. Most especially when his attention was immediately back to the parchment he was writing on.
Rhaenyra should be finishes with supper. Most likely with a painstakingly question as to why he hasn't joined them for supper. Again.
Aerion could feel the Lady Alicent's eyes on him. If it were his father, she would have already been reading the letter's contents. Not that Aerion would be writing anything secretive to his lady mother but, it was a tad bit uncomfortable.
He's never been with the Lady Alicent for too long alone. Alfered is there but, he doesn't really speak if other nobles are around.
The lad neatly folded the paper before sealing it with his personal sigil. A Targaryen dragon with three heads surrounded by runes found on the Royce sigil. Lady Alicent had seen his personal coat of arms when she accompanied the princess to he battlements, looking down at the training grounds to see Lord Aerion sparring with the kingsguard, at times, with Prince Daemon. He always held a shield with similar symbols of a black three-headed dragon surrounded by runes under a bronze field.
By the time Aerion gave his letter to Alfered, Rhaenyra approached the godswood with a smile on her lips.
Aerion didn't recall much of the conversation but all he could see that pleasant evening was how the Lady Alicent's eyes sparkled under the moonlight.
Aerion's father always did have a flare for the dramatics.
Fortunately for the realm, his son did not share the same enthusiasm when it came to tourneys.
His first tourney. If he does well, perhaps his uncle, the king would be kind enough to knight him – but the young Lord Aerion viewed that idea as inappropriate. This tourney was for the King's son, his long-awaited heir.
As the king had announced that Queen Aemma had begun her labors, the young lad mounted his horse with the assistance of Alfered before riding off to the line of other highborn participants, save for the knights who serve their Lords proudly despite common-born men like Ser Christon Cole.
The umpire announced his father's entrance, the Prince of the City, he was called. Aerion didn't need to look up through the holes of his helmet to see how much pride his princely father had on his smile. He had always craved the action and the danger. It didn't surprise the lad much that his father chose his first challenge to be Ser Gwayne Hightower.
Aerion didn't need to see his father's face to know that he subtly glance to where the Hand was at the royal box before smirking to himself.
The lad couldn't help but watch his father from afar, from the sidelines where other squires were – in hopes to win their knighthood in this very tournament made for the upcoming heir. There was a twinge of envy in his soul, how easy it was for Daemon Targaryen to command the cheers and the fear that came with his moniker as the Rogue Prince.
Gwayne didn't stand a chance from Daemon's spite. Aerion's own gaze landed on the royal box, first at Rhaenyra and the Lady Alicent and then at his mother, Lady Rhea who sits beside the young Lady of the Vale.
His father approached the royal box to ask for the Lady Alicent's favor. Aerion could tell that she was reluctant to grant it, given the tension between their fathers. But she could not insult a Prince of the realm in such a manner. Daemon always enjoyed his taunts to the Lord Hand, but Aerion was slowly getting tired of it the older he grew.
"Nervous?" Aerion's gaze immediately went down in the direction of the voice, a limping Ser Gwayne with a smile on his face despite the blood coming out of his mouth.
"Didn't think you'd live." Aerion smiled in response.
"Didn't think you'd care." Gwayne teased.
Aerion turned his eye on Borros Baratheon, who was asking for the favor of their cousin, Princess Rhaenys. Publicly calling her the Queen Who Never Was. It made the young lord sigh, as he knew that Borros Baratheon wasn't the smartest of heirs. If the King were Aerion's father, his tongue would have gone on the spot. "And to answer your question, no, I'm not nervous."
"Sounds like you are. Is it because your Lady Mother is in audience along with your future warden?" Aerion didn't reply, causing Gwayne to further his teasing attempts. "I did not think you would fear your mother so, Aerion. Considering how often fearless you are when it came to reprimanding your father on a moon's basis."
"Daemon Targaryen is easier to calm compared to a mother such as Rhea Royce, my friend." Aerion answered as he put back his helm, holding his personal shield on one hand and jousting lance on the other. "If the Stranger doesn't claim me now, she will turn my ear red later if I allow my father to dismount me himself, which will happen either way."
By the end of it, Baratheon was easier to dismount by Aerion Targaryen than to have his tongue cut off. Not bad for a first win. If it wasn't for the fact that they were celebrating the birth of their future king in such a violent manner.
The knights and squires who attend the tourney are all as green as summer grass – have not experienced real war, much like him. Lords simply sent their knights here with fists full of steel and balls full of seed, and the realm expects them to act with honor and grace.
"Princess," Aerion rode to the front of the royal box, offering his lance to the last wreath he was expected to ask for, "it would do me a great honor to be granted your favor as I win these games in your name."
Rhaenyra smiled as she took a step back to fetch the wreath that was expected to be given to him. "I wish you luck, cousin."
"Princess." Aerion returned a small nod, with a boyish smile on his lips. But his smile immediately banished as he notices the Lords of the Small Council were starting to stand and disappearing one by one.
Suddenly the mood shifts despite the loud cheers of the nobility and the common folk alike.