The court was in mourning for both the late Queen and Prince Baelon.
After the funeral, the lords and ladies were at court, observing mourning with wine and some food. But Aerion stood by the godswood, wondering if he should pray to the Seven for the Queen.
Queen Aemma was a good woman to him. He recalled a moment in his childhood when his princely father brought him to court to the first time. He was a quiet boy unlike his loud father. Aemma immediately sensed Aerion's shyness and introduced him to her daughter Rhaenyra, hoping due to their close age they would foster a fast friendship.
And she was right. Perhaps mothers always have this sense of intuition with children, most especially their kin.
"You shouldn't be alone at this hour, my sweet boy." Aerion turned his head to see his lady mother approaching him with a solemn smile on her lips. Lady Rhea's touch was soft and warm as he held her boy's hand. "You are a man grown now, but there is no shame in showing grief."
"Father would say otherwise." He whispered. Ashamed to look at his mother in the eyes.
"Your father is incapable of processing emotion," Rhea sighed, "but you are not your father. You are your own man."
Aerion couldn't respond.
I'm not. He thought. He wasn't the man everyone wants him to be. He wasn't the man he wants to be. He doesn't feel like a man, but a boy still. A boy who wanted nothing more than to be in his mother's arms as she hummed him to sleep.
He knew his father was out somewhere in Flea Bottom avoiding Aerion's mother like he always did.
"Look at me, my son," Aerion followed his mother's soft words. Looking up with his eyes from the tears he so desperately tried to hide. Rhea could see it. He grieves for Queen Aemma who stood as his second mother when she was not around to comfort her son from his father's transgressions. "There is no shame in grief nor is there weakness in tears. Your heart will heal at its own pace in its own way."
"What if it never does?" he asked. Wondering if he had any right to grief as the king and Rhaenyra do. What right does he have to grieve? What right has him to stand where they stood?
"Then it is not a wound anymore, my son. It will become a scar. And no one heals from scars, we wear them. It is proof that you have survived something that tried to break you, and it remains proof that the love was real enough for it to leave a mark." Aerion may be too young to understand his mother's words. But he knows from how she spoke that she's doing her best to comfort her in a time of grief that perhaps she would never understand.
Never understand how close her son was to the late queen. Understand how much he loved her as his own mother. Understanding the constant loneliness, he found himself in a court filled with vultures who wish to pluck out a dragon's scales.
And she knows she can't protect her boy forever. Most especially against his own father.
Now the crown is left in a difficult situation of an absentee heir who only lived for an hour. Names were thrown into the suggestion of Daemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra, Rhaenys who already has a male heir and of course, Aerion – assuming the succession would set a new precedent to skip his father and name him heir.
Although Rhea had urged her only son to come home with her, Aerion felt that he could not abandon his family now. Especially that Rhaenyra has been recently been named heir. He feels that he owes it to the late Queen to protect her only surviving child. Most especially in the presence of all the lords in the realm – swearing their oaths knowing a few of them disliked the idea of a woman on the Iron Throne.
He cannot abandon Rhaenyra now.
Whatever or whoever whispered the words to the king's ear to have his daughter be named heir. Watching his grandsire bend the knee and pledging his loyalties, soon, Aerion will carry on that oath even in his grandsire's eventual death.
For a brief moment, the whole scene felt beautiful to him. He had lived this moment, just for a moment. To see and understand that the crown is not simply an ornament to be worn.
"I, Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men," It is a privilege and a burden, which comes with formidable expectations and responsibilities. "Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne."
That the crown is not just a simple thing resting easy on one's head. It is moving. Alive. Divine.
Aerion and Rhaenyra had a brief moment of eye contact before she turned fully to face the lords in the throne room. She was no longer allowed to flinch. And Aerion wondered if his uncle Viserys felt the same way when King Jaehaerys and his Great Council had name him their heir.
It is said that Lord Aerion Targaryen had been at the Princess' side, acting like her sword shield ever since the queen had passed. Most especially after she was named heir and he was knighted and was eventually styled as Ser Aerion Royce, knighted at thirteen turning fourteen.
Even in his father's absence, Aerion still received the daily headaches with news of his father, most especially that he has taken upon himself to squat on Dragonstone without a single protest from The Crown. And there is the matter of the Stepstones. The chain of rocky islands between Dorne and the Disputed Lands of Essos which had haunted of laws, exiles, wreckers and pirates.
The bickering on the council table has not changed.
"You have dragonriders, father." Princess Rhaenyra finally spoke up. "Send us."
There is silence at the table. After all, the last woman who was on the council table was Queen Alysanne. The king eventually responded, "It isn't that simple, Rhaenyra."
"It would be a show of force." She added.
"At least the Princess has a plan." Lord Corlys acknowledged as the Crown in itself has yet to fully grasp the dangers this problem poses not only for the Sea Snake, but also to the entirety of Westeros.
"I only meant that we should at least—" but before Rhaenyra could even finish her sentence, the Lord Hand intervened. "Perhaps, there's some better use for the Princess's talents, Your Grace."
"Perhaps we should also not make habit of interrupting people when they speak, my Lord Hand." Aerion himself had finally interjected the conversation as he stood behind the king as he always did. His hands, quietly resting on his hilt, a mannerism he inherited from his father with a gaze that could cut a man in two. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but the Sea Snake's worries have merit and the Princess's suggestion is sound. We have five full grown dragons with more than half no stranger to battle, and even if you exclude the women – there are three. Given the opportunity, my father will answer the summon to battle… Dragonstone will be vacant."
"What are you suggesting, nephew?" The king asked, he seemed more keen on listening to what his young nephew had to say.
"Let my father play at war," Ser Aerion said as his gaze turned to Rhaenyra's eyes. Almost as if asking for her permission. "It keeps him out of trouble, does it not, Princess?"
"Yes," Rhaenyra had no choice but to agree. "Ser Arion speaks true, father. And we have no doubt that my uncle will be rid of the troubles we have in the Stepstones."
Otto Hightower remained quiet, observing the Princess and her now, sworn shield and cousin. Aerion Targaryen seems to be more trouble than what he initially presented himself to be in previous years.