"Always make those above you feel comfortably superior." Lord Yorbert once told his grandson. "In your desire to please and impress them, do not go too far in displaying your talents or you might accomplish the opposite—inspire fear and insecurity."
Aerion was too young to understand why his grandfather would say such things to him on the eve of his departure from Runestone, he was barely twelve years old. Now, at fourteen, he was slowly starting to see the broader picture of it all – the lesson he tried to instill in him as young as he was.
Everyone has insecurities.
Placing his talents in full display would stir natural resentment for those who wish to have more than what they were permitted to take.
What did the lad want? Aerion wasn't so sure of himself, perhaps, he believed himself to be too young to want anything in life. As much as he yearned to stray away from the life that was already laid out for him, he did not wish to abandon the commitments he had already made.
To his cousin, to the King, his uncle, and most especially to his wayward father.
At the height of Targaryen power, Aerion continued to watch his uncle to be seen as generous, amiable nature, and loved by his lords and smallfolk alike. For His Grace's open-handedness was legendary and the Red Keep continued to become a place of song and splendor with many feasts, tourneys, and lavished gold, offices and honors on his favorites.
Then his gaze landed on Rhaenyra. Precious, bright, bold, and beautiful as only one dragon's blood can be beautiful. Aerion was aware of how enamored Rhaenyra was of his father, and his father, ever so attentive of Aerion's lady cousin had become a sore spot when he was a boy.
He did not wish to hold Rhaenyra accountable of his feelings, but a part of him blamed himself from taking his uncle's attention – one could say that they had switched fathers. Despite knowing that Aerion could never truly predict his father's actions, especially towards Rhaenyra. Even when Daemon would cross the narrow sea upon his dragon, bringing the princess some exotic gifts upon his return.
Better the Realm's Delight to ascend the throne than Lord Flea Bottom, they would say.
With the Lords and Ladies of the realm swearing their oaths to Rhaenyra, the question of a consort was high on the rise. A male consort was not unheard of, but rare in their circles. After all, what man would not want a chance to have his blood on the Iron Throne? His house, housing dragons? And perhaps… even have a chance to sit on the Iron Throne himself.
A King Consort. The idea of was laughable for the lad.
If his grandfather passed, his mother would become Lady of Runestone and his wayward father… consort? Lord consort of Runestone?
A female consort can be a few things to a man who needs a strong ally. For the allyship will not be with the wife, but with her father, at times, her brothers, uncles, cousins – whichever lordship sits on their noble seat. The lady could either be a thorn on his side or his prisoner. Aerion was old enough to understand its dynamics from his observations in the capital.
But for a male consort… he didn't know what that would look like. A septon would argue that it is not in a woman's nature to rule, and yet, the Lady of the Eyrie is a young lady whom he had grown with during his childhood. Lady Jenye was a fiery soul. She understood that there was a game she needed to learn and a man can either be of use for her as her consort or be as useless as a mare's shit.
Things were much more dangerous if you are a woman in power and many would turn to underestimate her.
Rhaenyra will no doubt experience the same challenges, perhaps even a more magnitude level that Aerion could never imagine.
He didn't want that for her.
"Are you enjoying the festivities, my lord?" Aerion's gaze turned to the Lady Alicent who wore a shy smile across her lips. There was a hint of glimmer in her eyes, that Aerion couldn't quite understand. Perhaps she was happy with the festivities that were happening around them? How lovely the dancing in front of them?
Aerion wasn't one for small talk. He couldn't be insolent towards Alicent as he could with Rhaenyra behind closed doors.
Why did she have to approach him at a time like this?
"Lady Alicent," he greeted with a small nod, "forgive me… I'm deep in my thoughts."
There was a shift in the atmosphere surrounding the young lord. The heavy air surrounding Aerion Targaryen immediately shifted into something more pleasant, welcoming, like a flame drawing a moth in.
The Targaryen Prince who insisted to be addressed as a Lord.
His gaze turned to the figure that was Otto Hightower behind his daughter. Watching him intently as if he was a pest that needed to be removed. There was this unsettling feeling deep in the lad's heart. Wanting to refuse his father's words of leaches wanting to be too close to the king with whatever means necessary, and then Aerion turned his eyes back to the lady before him.
There was this strange feeling that surrounds her, as much as Aerion wanted to pry it would be considered as poor manners from a lad of his standing. He suddenly felt like a dragon surrounded by hunters, wanting his head mounted on a spike and this beautiful sheep before him was the bait was laid before him.
He looked north of the throne room, Rhaenyra dancing beautifully with a lordling as she laughed. His uncle on the throne, enjoying a conversation with Lord Lyonel Strong. Then his gaze went back to where he saw Ser Otto Hightower who was no longer lingering behind the pillars of the throne room. And Lady Alicent had seemed to pick up the unsettling and awkward feeling between them.
"Is something the matter, my lord?" Alicent's voice was meek. Unable to read Aerion's expression. No one could read the princeling's expression, not even his own father. Though one could argue that Daemon Targaryen didn't know his son at all being an absentee father.
"Forgive me, Lady Alicent, I must excuse myself." With a small nod, the lad dismissed himself with eyes darting around the busy celebrations with the nobility dancing, mingling and scheming until his eyes landed on Ser Otto having a conversation with the king.
Aerion Targaryen was like a dragon circling around the Hightower for the next few moons.
Although he was always seen chaperoning the princess with Ser Christon Cole, even the king's guard wondered where the Rogue Prince's son went, especially at night. Some have speculated that the lordling would lock himself in his solar, burying himself in literature, while others have said that he would wear a cloak and follow in his father's footsteps deep into the pleasure dens.
Rhaenyra is not as concerned for him as Alicent is.
His silence only became louder. His gaze continued to wonder. One may argue that Lady Alicent's concern came to be justified, to the point that the king summoned him in the dead of night.
He thought it to be strange.
How would the king… know of his business? When he was too occupied in grief to notice what was happening to his own daughter. Let alone him who had little importance.
"Aerion," Viserys welcomed his nephew with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "come."
Aerion approached the king with the kind of caution a man would have with his enemies. Treacherous thoughts. How could a man of his lowly standing have such thoughts against the king? Against his own kin.
Your uncle is weak. His father would say constantly. In all those years that his father was the uncontested heir until Rhaenyra, all Daemon would tell him that one day the throne would be passed to him. How his children would sit on the throne and their children's children.
How Runestone is merely a constellation compared to the Iron Throne.
How he should be a dragon than Valeman.
More Targaryen than Royce.
More god… than man.
After all, Targaryens are closer to gods than to men. The closer he got to the king, the closer the Iron Throne became. He stood at the edge of the stairs, looking up at the man who had grudgingly become king.
Aerion stood where his own father stood before he was banished at court after calling the babe… an heir for a day.
"Your Grace," Aerion greeted. Not even daring to meet the king's eyes.
Viserys continued to smile. Standing from his seat, he ascended the stairs and approached his nephew with caution. The realm would merely see a Targaryen Prince through his brother, but Viserys could only see the twelve-year-old lad his brother had compelled to be in the Crownlands as a ward, even when Aerion appeared to be too attached to his mother Daemon didn't seem to care.
It only isolated his nephew in a den filled with men and women who wished to take advantage of him.
"I have heard of whispers that you often keep to yourself more often than before…" Aerion looked up to finally meet his uncle's gaze, causing Viserys to finally feel at rest now that his nephew's guard was down.
"I… must admit, uncle… I have been alone with my thoughts more often than before."
"Have you been sneaking out of the castle, my boy?" Aerion's eyes slightly widened in confusion.
Aerion had neglected to join his uncle and cousin at breakfast and supper more often than he should in the past few months. But, sneaking out? Aerion wasn't one to sneak out like his father. He rather enjoys the comfort of his seat in his solar, surrounded by books that were older than his uncle and father.
He could see the concern in his uncle's eyes, something he had frequently shown Daemon. The lad immediately shook his head, not wanting to equate his withdrawn behavior with whatever activities his father found himself doing in Flea Bottom. "N-no, Uncle, I have been in my solar to nights on end reading…"
The king was so used to his brother causing problems for him and his council, that he could relax at his nephew's words.
Thank the gods that Aerion was not like his father.
Viserys had hoped that Aerion would never be like his father. "Rhaenyra hasn't become a handful for you, hasn't she?"
"On the contrary, Your Grace, I do hope that the princess hasn't found my company to be loathsome." Aerion spoke cautiously. It had barely been half a year since the queen's death, and he had hoped Rhaenyra would appreciate the company he was offering during such difficult times. Especially now that she's the heir.
The higher her position on the ladder, the more men would want to drag her down with them.
"I'm afraid she would find my ramblings about the histories to be boring." The king couldn't help but laugh at the lad's words.
Rhaenyra would never willingly push him aware. Nor would he want her to.
Aerion couldn't truly explain as to why he felt so protective of Rhaenyra. Most of his childhood had been surrounded by Valemen. The company of the young Lady Jeyne was always most joyful. Rhaenyra reminded him of Jeyne. Headstrong and filled with life. Perhaps the protective instinct came from that memory. Or what could he remember during his few years in the Eryie with his grandfather.
"You guide her well," Viserys said rather fondly, "only few could predict such Targaryen temperaments, especially in the middle of an audience."
"Forgive me, uncle," he nodded, "I did not mean to show a course of disrespect during the council, but the princess' words hold merit. The longer we disregard the infractions, the worse the situation may become. Ruling has its challenges, I am aware but, if her words are to be ignored as heir then what worth will be her words if she becomes Queen?"
The advice was what Viserys had always expected from his only nephew. Sometimes he had trouble believing that this was merely a lad of four and ten, recently knighted younger than Daemon was at six and ten.
Septons echoed that Aerion Targaryen had the wisdom of Lord Yorbert Royce.
And they were right. Time and time again, they were right.
As much as he felt ashamed to admit it, his nephew was the son he always wanted. The children should understand the order of things – Rhaenyra, he wasn't sure. But Aerion? He saw the world as it is the moment he stepped into the Red Keep years ago when he was merely twelve and taken the position as the king's squire.
"The realm… needs a new queen and the small council is urging me to remarry," Aerion knew that look in his uncle's eyes. He had been pondering on the idea longer than he should. He had taken council from other lords and yet, he still wasn't so sure.
Rhaenyra is heir, yes, but what were the chances if something had happened to her?
No one would want Daemon to be king. And even if the Lords were to raise Aerion's name in the pool of succession, it was a dangerous precedent to choose a son over his father as king.
"Does the small council have a particular lady in mind, uncle?" Aerion asked. Probing what possible choices he had when in reality, even Aerion knew there was only one right choice in the matter.
"Lord Corlys Velaryon has offered the hand of his daughter, the Lady Laena."
"It is sound, Your Grace," Aerion nodded, "she is of Valyrian descent and Lord Corlys is your Master of Ships. And it is most helpful that she as Targaryen blood… it is most wise to bridge the two bloodlines of Prince Aemon and Prince Baelor together through union."
"She's twelve."
"She will mature," Aerion added.
"You echo your father's words, Aerion."
"On the contrary, uncle, he would say I, would mature," Aerion corrected as the lad is a year younger than the Princess Rhaenyra. "I'm sure few lords on the council will echo my sentiment, but as king you have a claim to all things. Even those you don't wish for – marriage is an obligation we can put on hold for long. Not I nor Rhaenyra, and most especially yourself, Your Grace."
"And if I am to reject this proposal?"
"Knowing Lord Corlys for those short years, he will not take it well," Aerion looked at his uncle knowing it was the same sentiment he had deep down in his own mind. "I must also remind you that we are in the brink of war in the Stepstones until you send a royal decree ordering my father to march into war as the princess and I have advised earlier. And Lord Corlys holds more than half of the realm's ships."
"You think he would dare to hold it against what the realm needs, nephew?"
Aerion looked directly in his uncle's eyes the same way as Daemon Targaryen did when it came to matters of warfare. A feeling of unsettling certainty along with his words. "Men wage wars due to pride and arrogance, your Grace," he answered, "it is the very reason, more than a century since the time of the conquerors that the great houses than once called themselves kings are either wardens or were slaughtered. Ambitious men… will always find their way to the doors of war."
The king grew silent. This was a boy who often enjoyed the company of books and conversing in deep conversations with maesters more than his own father.
"If you feel that my advice is lacking, Your Grace," the lad added, "then I would suggest you seek the opinion of Lord Strong. For I feel we share the same sentiment."
"And what sentiment would that be?" Viserys knew the answer even before he asked the question.
"Fix Lord Crolys by your side by marrying his daughter," he repeated, "much like how Queen Alyssane had fixed the Vale by the crown's side." It wasn't just House Arryn that the late Good Queen Alyssane had placed by the crown's side, but its second most prominent house as well, the so-called Bronze Kings of Runestone.
Viserys would like to believe he is no fool. All Aerion was waiting for was the finalization of his words to cement plans into the reality, that Aerion is to marry his daughter. Unite the two branching bloodlines from Prince Baelor to a singular throne. And Viserys also has the chance to unite not only two great Valyrian houses but also two Targaryen bloodlines by marrying the Lady Laena.
The following morning, Aerion was woken up by Alfered citing that an emergency council was called and the princess wanted him there.
It surprised the young lord; Rhaenyra was not the kind to expect anything from him, especially at dawn. When he came at the little council and stood on the opposite side facing Rhaenyra, the Dragonkeeper spoke in high valyrian, which satisfied his curiosity. "It occurred in the blackness of night, my lords, during the Hour of the Bat. The thief eluded our pursuit."
"How is it possible that a dragon's egg was stolen out from beneath more than fifty Dragonkeepers?" the king asked.
"It was Prince Daemon who was the culprit, Your Grace…" Rhaenyra observed Aerion closely as he knitted his brows together, closed his eyes and taking a deep breath from what he was hearing. It didn't help that he had spent lengthy hours the night before reading, speaking with the king, and then reading again, resulting in a lack of sleep.
"Daemon?" the king repeated. The Grand Maester began to read Daemon's letter addressing himself as Prince of Dragonstone and rightful Heir to the Iron Throne was already Ludacris enough but to announce that he would take a second wife while Aerion's mother is alive?
Aerion could feel all eyes on him despite not even opening them yet. He could feel the intense stare, and perhaps worry from his cousin, and most especially the king. Styling his wore as a Lady of Dragonestone? With child? Does Daemon plan on replacing him with a dragonseed? And he took a dragon egg for that said bastard's cradle, was he out of his mind?
"…the prince… has invited you to his wedding, Your Grace. It is in two days' time." The Grand Maester finished, looking at the king with an uncertainty that no one had an answer to.
His father wasn't only provoking the king and his council but also provoking his own son. His own flesh and blood.
Lord Corlys is right with his words. The realm is watching what the king would do. Word of his and Rhaenyra's suggestion will never reach Daemon anymore now that this provocation has started.
Sons should never parent their fathers and yet here they are.
"Which egg has he taken?" Aerion opened his eyes to the sound of Rhaenyra's voice. Causing the whole council to fall silent. "Which egg did Daemon take?"
The Dragonkeepeer hesitated for a moment, "the egg was Dreamfyre's, princess. The same that you chose for Prince Baelon's cradle."
All Aerion needed to see were Rhaenyra's eyes and everything around him felt unimportant.
"Aerion!" Viserys called for him, but the lad no longer cared.
"Jaoho trēsys!" He muttered bitterly as he stormed out of the small council chamber with one thing in mind. If he had to knock some sense into his old man, he would with a sword in hand.