King's Landing ― Small Council chamber…
Viserys attended another meeting of his small council. As his advisors debated, the king held a small, violet stone made of marble the stonemasons had spent hours repairing. Although fixed, there were still small cracks that remained. Smooth to the touch, but unmistakably noticeable. Each member of the small council was given a different colored stone for their assigned roles: copper for the Master of Coin, indigo for the Master of Ships, white for the Grand Maester, black for the Master of Laws, almond for the Hand of the King, and gold for the reigning monarch. But this marble, the one he continues to roll in the palm of his hand, was meant for the Master of Whisperers. The seat remained vacant. Try as Ser Otto might, no candidate selected could figure out the complex security and decoding system nor effectively manage the office of the spymaster's network.
The king couldn't help but lower his head in shame. Viserys couldn't believe the things he had said, for not having any faith in his eldest son. The things he said, the accusations hurled only to be proven innocent moments afterward… He soon realized that he was made a fool of. His second wife Beatrice was either misinformed or deliberately lied to him about Aeonar. How could he fall for it? The king felt incredibly guilty for all the things he did. All the painful memories of the past came back to haunt him, a reminder of how close he and his son once were before their relationship deteriorated rapidly.
ooOoo
Flashback: 13 years ago (103 AC)…
"Father? What's that you're making?" an eight-year-old Aeonar asked curiously.
Viserys put his tools down. "Oh, this? This is a… a model I've been working on for a while now."
"What is it?"
"It's a replica of what the Valyrian Freehold looked like at the height of its power. Look here," he pointed before hoisting his son up onto his lap. "The Valyrian capital was built into a volcano, much like Dragonstone. The dragonlords, the highest of the nobility, lived here," he pointed to another spot, "the volcanic face, closest to the source of their magic and power."
"Really?"
"Oh yes. And this was the Anogrion."
"The what?"
"It's where the bloodmages worked their craft."
"Ooooh. So, you made all this?"
"It took some time. And there's still plenty to be worked on. Much of our history has been lost since the Doom wiped out Old Valyria. I'm only going off of what we have left in our records and provide the plans for the stonemasons."
"Do you think we can make another Freehold, father?"
"Oh that would depend, my son, whether you speak of the Freehold at its height or at its fall. Over a thousand dragons, a navy large enough to span the seas of the world. The glory of Old Valyria will never be seen again."
"Can I help?"
"What?"
"Can I help you with this model, father?"
"W-Well, I…"
"Pleeeeeeease?~"
"Hahaha! All right, all right. No need to beg with those innocent puppy eyes, Aeonar."
"Yay!"
What initially started as a warming father-son bonding moment was soon interrupted by the arrival of one of Dragonstone's sentries. "Forgive me for interrupting, my prince, but…" he presented a sealed message. "This just came in from the capital. It was sent by Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. I… I'm sorry."
Viserys raised an eyebrow and broke the wax seal. As his eyes traced the contents of the letter, his face paled, and he stumbled backward.
"Father?" Aeonar looked up concerned. "F-Father? What is it?" the young princeling then looked over and saw portions of the letter. Although young, he was old enough to understand what had just transpired back in King's Landing.
'His Grace, King Jaehaerys I, has passed away…'
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Flashback: 11 years ago (105 AC)…
"Ah, there you are. My children. My pride and joy."
"Sorry if I was late, father. You wanted to see me?"
"I did, yes. And just in time too. The lords here have come here to swear fealty to my heir. Now, are you ready?"
"Yes, father. I won't disappoint you."
"I know you won't, son. I know you won't. […] I, Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of My Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name Aeonar Targaryen Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne."
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Flashback: 6 years ago (110 AC)…
"You… You are serious about this, father?"
"The office of Master of Whisperers is a role that carries with it a great responsibility, but also a heavy burden. Our family will always have enemies in places we normally can't reach. Sometimes they're often at our side without us knowing. For our house to remain vigilant, we must find those secretly plotting against us."
"I understand, father."
"That, and I know how much you've enjoyed solving puzzles and all those riddles. You are young, but I am confident you are up to this task. Are you ready to meet the challenge, my son? Will you accept my offer?"
"If you're certain, then yes. Yes, father. From this moment forward, I will devote myself in service to the crown, our family, ensure the continued stability of the realm, and work tirelessly to help you preserve great-grandfather's legacy."
"Then let it be done. Prince Aeonar Targaryen, I hereby appoint you to serve on my council as the crown's Master of Whisperers."
"I will honor your faith in me. I won't let you down, father."
"I know you won't, my son. I know you will make me proud. You always have."
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Flashback: 4 years ago (112 AC)…
"Why continue to put mother through this? She has been through enough of it already. What if this pregnancy fails again or worse: it kills her?"
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"Every document I've presented to you, all the cold hard facts I've worked day and night to prepare for you… You just dismissed me again! […] Why'd you even grant me a seat on this council if you won't listen once in a while?"
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"What have you done…? What have you done? What have you done?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE! […] YOU KILLED HER! YOU BASTARD! HOW COULD YOU?! YOU KILLED HER!"
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Flashback: 3 years ago (113 AC)…
"Everything I did was for our family, but not once did you ever seem to understand that. I did not accept your offer to become your spymaster just to be undermined, have my responsibilities delegated to someone else or watch you downplay affairs as important as this… Again, and again and again."
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"If you truly believe that there would be no consequences because of your lack of foresight, then it's clear you have no further need of me as your heir. Consider this my resignation."
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Flashback: Last year (115 AC)…
"I've got nothing more to say to you."
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"You know what I think? Between you and mother, it should have been you who died that day – not her. I hope it was worth losing everything."
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ooOoo
"Your Grace?" Tyland spoke.
Viserys snapped out of it. "Oh, uh… what was it again, Tyland?" he inquired.
"I said that even though it's been more than a year since the war in the Stepstones came to an end, what should have been a momentous victory for the realm, it would seem we have traded a crabfeeder for a sea snake over the past few days."
Lyonel nodded. "This is clearly a rebuke for passing over Lady Laena for Queen Beatrice," he mentioned.
This again? Is Lord Corlys still that upset after all this time? That was years ago! "Years have passed since the business with his daughter. Certainly, he cannot still be wroth?"
"The Sea Snake is an over-proud man, to be sure, Your Grace," Grand Maester Mellos informed. "That pride has been injured. Perhaps we can salve the wound?"
Lyman shifted in his chair. "I fear Lord Corlys's pride is the least of our worries," he replied.
Otto cleared his throat. "I don't wish to cause you further distress, Your Grace, but my brother has sent disturbing word from Oldtown," he announced. "Lord Corlys is said to have engaged in negotiations with the Sealord of Braavos. He plans to wed his daughter Laena to the Sealord's son. If House Velaryon enters into an alliance with the Free Cities, then we would have to seek our own marriage pact."
Viserys weighed his options, pondering over the ramifications if House Velaryon does agree to a marriage alliance with Braavos. After the war in the Stepstones concluded with the Velaryon fleet seizing control of the vital shipping lanes going through it via the Narrow Sea, giving Lord Corlys considerable leverage over the crown. Was he using this as retaliation for slighting him? But this also puts more pressure on Viserys to secure new allies to counterbalance the Velaryons' growing naval superiority, wealth, and influence. But how? It was only then that a thought came to the king: he could vaguely recall how both Aeonar and his Master of Laws Lyonel Strong advocated for him to marry Laena, but he rejected her because of her age. Then again during the grand hunt, Lyonel again mentioned another Velaryon, Lord Corlys's son and heir, Ser Laenor. Having survived the Stepstones, he could be seen as a suitable replacement. But Viserys somehow suspected that Aeonar wouldn't talk to him after their bitter fallout if he were to send a messenger raven. Still, he had to try.
"Your Grace," Lyonel chimed in, "perhaps we should invite Prince Aeonar to inquire his thoughts on the matter."
Beatrice shook her head. "The crown will take your words under advisement, Lord Strong, but I'm afraid I must remind this council that the prince willingly gave up his seat three years ago," she denied. "If anything, I believe we have a solution to Lord Corlys's tantrums. With your leave, I can send a raven to Casterly Rock and inquire Lord Jason Lannister to his daughter, the Lady Cerelle, as a suitable bride for Ser Laenor."
Tyland nodded. "My niece may be young, Your Grace, but Cerelle is a maiden flowered. With enough persuasion, I'm certain we could at least divert the Sea Snake's attention from Braavos."
"How old is the Lady Cerelle?" Lyman asked.
"Thirteen, Lord Lyman."
"Dear me…"
Viserys shook his head. This again? Now why does this sound familiar? Lord Corlys did not seem to have any quarrel offering the hand of his daughter Laena when she was twelve. Still, the Lady Cerelle Lannister is young. Only five years younger than Laenor Velaryon. But to make an offer like that would certainly not make Lord Corlys to be more amiable. No, that would add further insult to his damaged pride and further worsen the crown's relations with Driftmark. "Well, then perhaps we should include Aeonar in this conversation."
"Husband," Beatrice turned, "I understand a father's compassion for his son, but we must acknowledge that going behind the crown's back to annul the marriage between Prince Daemon and the honorable Lady Rhea―"
"Which until recently I learned was nothing more than an outrageous defamation of character, Beatrice." You lied to me. This whole time my son was telling the truth.
"I beg your pardon?"
Otto hummed. "I've made several inquiries into the Starry Sept, Your Grace. Even though there is nothing that can be done about it now, my contacts informed me that the message His Holiness the High Septon received that Prince Aeonar's handwriting was forged by another party. An investigation has been issued, but whoever conducted such an unethical practice is proving to be rather elusive."
"We might be… estranged because of personal disagreements," Viserys noted, "but Aeonar is still my son. My first son. And I agree with Lord Lyonel's suggestion in sending a missive to Dragonstone." He turned to his Hand. "No, I believe this should be done in person to demonstrate the crown's sincerity and overall seriousness in important matters. Don't you think so, Otto?"
"It would prove difficult, Your Grace, but with the Young Dragon's support I'm certain we could win back the Sea Snake and rein him in."
"Viserys, you can't be serious," Beatrice tried to protest.
"No more," the king rose from his seat. "We're going to Dragonstone." I need to fix this mistake and make things right with my son.
Dragonstone ― Main hall…
Aeonar sat on his throne overlooking his guests. Today he was holding a court session in the main hall. As Prince of Dragonstone, Aeonar held all legal authority in settling internal disputes and administering high justice on his lands. By custom, each claimant makes their cases and, after weighing his options, the prince can formally make his decision. No matter the outcome, the assembly here knew the Young Dragon's decision was final. His eyes traced the room, observing the banners of the noble houses sworn to Dragonstone―five red crabs on a white field within a red border, the sigil of House Celtigar; a leaping blue swordfish on fretty silver on a white field, the sigil of House Bar Emmon; and seven golden seven-pointed stars in a ring on a white field, the sigil of House Sunglass. The only one not in attendance was House Velaryon of Driftmark.
"Be seated. The Prince of Dragonstone will hear the matter of the island against the common fisherman, Vernan," the steward announced. "Lord Gurnar of House Bar Emmon will present his case. Vernan will make his statements upon conclusion."
"You may speak," Aeonar permitted.
A fat man, Gurnar waddled his way before his liege lord. "My prince," he began, "I bring an urgent matter that requires your utmost attention. I submit that this peasant," Bartimos points at Vernan, "had the audacity to steal four barrels of fish―FOUR barrels!―bound for the docks in Sharp Point. When my soldiers caught him, he confessed. I ask that justice be carried out."
"And what does the defendant have to say for himself?"
"My prince, I… I beg your forgiveness. I only did it to feed my starving family," Vernan stammered. "The harvest from our fields has been so poor this year. We have no money. I only ask my family not to suffer for my crimes."
Hmm. If it had been just one, then he might have escaped with a mere flogging. But four? I fear that is going a bit far now. But I've read the reports confirming his situation. A great shame. I'll send for his family to be relocated where the crops will yield more bounty. "Be that as it may, stealing from a lord is never the answer to solve your problems. It makes you no different than a bandit. For the penalty of thievery, I will take four fingers from your right hand. One for each item you stole. Do it again and you will lose a hand."
"Guards!" the steward called. When the Dragonstone men-at-arms dragged Vernan away, attention was redirected. "The next matter is of a civil nature. Lord Bartimos of House Celtigar is the sovereign of Claw Isle. He―"
"I prefer to speak for myself," Bartimos stood before the crown prince. Although of much lesser standing, the Celtigars were an ancient and proud house with the blood of Old Valyria in its veins like the Targaryens and Velaryons. The elderly Lord of Claw Isle was unrelenting, incorruptible, ingenious, and a very wealthy man, second only to Lord Corlys Velaryon. "My house, much like yours, Prince Aeonar, carries with it the blood of Old Valyria. When we set out to unite this country with Aegon Targaryen and his sister-wives Rhaenys and Visenya, the Conqueror gave House Celtigar dominion over Crackclaw Point. Some of these he committed to paper. We've sent out tax collectors to gather the income owed to us from those who either failed to pay on time or have stubbornly refused to pay back."
"And what part do you fail to understand that a minor house in the Crownlands does not hold dominion over an entire region, let alone such a fruitful prize?" a man interrupted and approached. "I am Ser Marcyl of House Brune from the Drye Den, my prince, and it's my lands Lord Celtigar seeks. Taken from me because of a property dispute before the Conquest."
Aeonar pondered his options. He needed to be fair-minded, not prejudiced. The Celtigars were of Valyrian descent like him. Still, the Brunes were correct in their assertion that the Crownlands are answerable directly to the Iron Throne – not any individual noble house. However, the documents Lord Bartimos presented, although aged with time, were written in an older High Valyrian dialect which he could read, translate, and interpret. What would great-grandfather do? "The documents are legal, Ser Marcyl, but you retain the right to petition the crown for an appeal."
"It's… all we have left. But… very well, I place my trust in you."
"The prince has spoken," the steward announced.
Aeonar rose from his throne. "This session of Dragonstone's court is hereby adjourned. Dismissed," he spoke firmly.
One by one, the lords and knights were seen dispersing in multiple different directions. This session was over, but there will be more hearings and cases within the following days. And these people were only minor houses! When Aeonar becomes king, he will have an entire continent to hear out. He could already imagine himself being drowned in a sea of parchments pouring in from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Trade issues, border disputes, marriage alliances, financing, military, and defense… Aeonar knew what he was getting himself into when he was named heir to the Iron Throne eleven years ago.
"Nyke ivestretan qurdalbar gierī tegenkor issa.(I told you politics is so dreadfully boring.)"
Aeonar turned to see Daemon leaning on one of the columns. "Kepus. (Uncle.)" he replied. "Ýdra daor rūnis jittan iā jiōragon. (I do not recall sending you an invitation.)" He raised an eyebrow. "Skoro issi ao kesīr? (Why are you here?)"
"Skoro syt ziksoso sagon? (Why else would I be?)" Daemon responded coyly. "It would seem that treacherous viper who soils our family name from the inside is already making her move."
"She intends to win over House Velaryon to her side since Lord Corlys was given control of the Stepstones' shipping lanes? That he is arranging a betrothal between his daughter and the Braavosi Sealord Nyessio Phassatis's son? Yes, I have had his background checked. Such a poor match."
"Then you already know the details already."
"Please. I am a damn good spymaster, uncle. And you know it."
"As if adding insult to injury, Beatrice has been adding some of her own handpicked guards and began messing about with certain things. It is a disgrace to see how far we've fallen to allow such madness to run about unchecked. Once the House of the Dragon ruled with strength, fear, and respect. Now we're as harmless as a mere kitten."
"I agree."
Daemon had his arms crossed. "So, I figured I'd bring this to your attention so we might restore House Targaryen to its proper glory. We've had our differences, our little scuffles, but no outsider dares to go this far and not expect any kind of retaliation. Just like how we dealt with the Triarchy when others wouldn't."
Aeonar nodded. "It's long overdue. Besides, we both know it is a plot. They are not public knowledge," he said. "But we won't stop there. We need to act first and kill this union in its crib before it comes to fruition." The Young Dragon brushed his hand over one of the brazier's flames. "The heir to Driftmark, Ser Laenor, is well entrenched within my ranks. As for Laena… well, we simply need to find her a better, stronger husband."
"I've already been through that with my old bronze bitch. I'd rather not go endure it again."
"It's all for making our house strong again. But… we will need a worthy prize to win them over. Fortunately, I have just the thing." Aeonar pulled out a map. "Here," he showed it.
Daemon took the map and looked. His eyes traced over various points along the eastern coast, but it did not take long for the Rogue Prince to realize these were path projections, flight patterns, and territorial markings. "You knew where she was all along, weren't you," his brow furrowed.
"We don't have much time before she's on the move again," Aeonar noted.
"Then it's best we act fast. You go 'retrieve' her; I'll go to Driftmark and deal with the Sealord's boy."
"Good hunting."
Dragonstone ― Shorelines…
Aeonar and Daemon made the necessary preparations for a two-pronged plan to re-establish House Targaryen as the powerhouse it once was. But to do that, they needed to get rid of the competition. While Daemon deals with the Sealord of Braavos's son, Aeonar will embark on a hunt to retrieve a valuable prize to win over House Velaryon and secure them at his side in perpetuity. He did make a promise to Lord Corlys. Once he saw Daemon and Caraxes fly off, the prince turned his sights towards Vaelor, who had finished gnawing on a few whale bones.
"*Hiiisssssssss!*"
"Issi ao ūbrie naejot arghutan? (Are you ready to hunt?)" Aeonar spoke.
"*Grrrrrr!*" Vaelor growled and snorted, lowering his body for his rider to climb on his back and strap himself into his harness.
"Sesīr ziry iksos ao se nykēla. (And now it is you and me.)" Aeonar patted his dragon three times. "Sir… sōvēsivestragī, Valor! (Now… let us fly, Vaelor!)"
"*ROOOOOOOOOORAAAAA!*" Vaelor's roar was a loud one, full of fire and determination. His wings beat once, twice… Then the Swiftrunner's wide black wings cracked like thunder and beat the air before gradually taking flight. Higher and higher, faster and faster… Vaelor twisted the air sharply to change course. Instead of heading west to Driftmark, they instead flew north.
No matter where they went, Aeonar was certain his map's trajectory would allow him to locate what was once thought to be lost and reintroduce it to the known world. He set the plans in motion for him to lay the foundations of his power base.
It's been more than fifteen years since we last met, but I finally found you…
"*RAAAAAAAAAAA!*"
…Vhagar.