Chapter Text
His life is a fine one.
Just before his tenth nameday, his mother died birthing a girl. There is nothing wrong with a sister, and he can hardly blame his sister, but he's always loved her less than the others.
He takes solace in the knowledge that he knew mother in ways that his dear sister would never. That none of his siblings have. She loved him most.
That alone was worth living for.
And, yet... the hole never quite went away.
In fact, the hole grew in size and blackened over the years. His father exiled him when he was ten and five. The thanks he gets for defending their house from a false knight and a horde of mummers. Eight years spent in Essos. Six wonderful years.
Then Uncle Rhaegel died...
Then there was sweet Aelora, his wife's older sister, and Aerion had her for one blessed year... then Aelor walked in at the wrong time, and Aelora swung a candlestick. Blood had been everywhere. A gross mishap. Thank the Gods for passageways, else the slaying might have been blamed on Aerion.
Aelora was never the same after that. Still warm, but her eyes held an icy madness that reminded Aerion of–
Then she died. Took her own life. He should have been there. Instead, he was at Summerhall overseeing new additions to the palace. He should have been in Kings Landing.
The Rat, the Hawk, and the Pig.
There hasn't been a masked ball since. Not in King's Landing.
Many he had lost, but he should count the bounty in what he still has.
Why! Until recently, he had his older brother, rest his soul not. Presently, Aerion still has his younger brothers, and his younger sisters. Not to mention his father, but what good has the man ever done for him?
The second son of a fourth son. Scorned and scorned and scorned again, because when have second sons ever been a blessing for this family?
Aerion could think of a few. Maegor, Aemond... Daemon.
He hadn't named his bastards after any great men or women. He hoped that they would carve their own paths one day. Most have had two decades now.
He is proud of his sons, of his daughters. He is. They will want for nothing after this night.
Maegor will want for nothing.
The Bright Prince let his eyes skim over the room once more. Bloodraven was watching him, as was Aegon. Damn traitor. But, what could he expect?
For sweet little Aegon was a brat who told lie after lie. Everyone was a fool, for everyone believed him. Disgusting little creature.
In his dreams, Aerion watches him burn. Dreams are dreams, but not to him. Aegon knows nothing about dreams. He follows the wrong god. Kneels before the wrong statues. Whispers the wrong prayers. Believes in loyalties when said loyalty only lies in the cunt of their sister.
Aerion always knew that the 'knight' would betray his brother... And Aegon...
A fool, a fool, a fool.
And Aerion... he casts his glance across the hall where his dear wife sits with their boy in her lap.
Maegor.
Would it be so wrong to defy the gods?
When everything he wanted is before him?
A son. A young wife who will soon be heavy with child. A legacy that needs gentle hands. Someone to gently shape. An opportunity to show everyone that he is nothing that the whispers say. Cruel, yes. Arrogant, certainly. But...
He isn't mad, no.
'You are not mad?'
Is this madness? Is she a demon? A dragon? A god? Nevertheless, Her care for him would always be a comfort.
"No," he whispered against the goblet, "I am devastated."
The drink in his cup does not smell like wine. Not like myrrh, nor honey, nor any wine he has ever known. The green liquid stinks of death. Of something deep and festering, something that should have been buried long ago.
'And you will drink it.'
My, my. His life was a fine one.
But, when held to his siblings, he felt his life was nothing.
Darling Rhae. A beauty, sweet in essence. He fails to love her fully. Bride to Lord Jasper Arryn. Three children she did give him. Jon, Alys, and Ronnel. Aerion did meet them as his own wife, Princess Daenora, is the niece to Lord Jasper. Though, Ronnel had not yet been born... Summer in the Vale had been more beautiful than Aerion imagined.
Aegon traveled Westeros without a care. No burdens. No fending for himself. Aerion cared little what the brat got up to. Sure, Aegon married and had a gaggle of children... but Aerion wouldn't call those abominations Targaryen’s. Father hasn't even held them. Hasn't spared them a smile.
Father shows more affection to his grandnephew than he ever has to Aerion.
Daella... She disgusted him. A disgrace. Birthed a bastard before she was six and ten. A girl, thank the Virtues for that. The bastard was lucky to be married to the second son of Lord Tarth, for the heir had died without any progeny. As for Daella? Married off to their cousin, Robin Penrose, without much fanfare. The wedding was small. Fitting for a second wife.
At least Aemon had no such scandals, though he was a fool in his own way. Truthfully, Aemon was the one brother that Aerion adored the most. A shame that Aemon had no favorites. That is a lie. Aemon always took Aegon's side. Aerion blamed that on whatever books the citadel placed before him. Aemon believed whatever he read. Aerion doubted he had an original thought. Still, they once laughed over prophecies. Aemon ceased writing back when Aerion told him of his interpretation, of his dreams, of the storms, of the–
And Daeron is–was–a drunk. Fell to drinking after mother died. Married Kiera after Valarr died. Took over a decade to get a child on her, and a girl at that. A sweet girl, Vaella, but no one seems to give a care about her. Daeron died of a lovers pox, having taken to whores after Kiera banished him from her bed. If Aerion were truthful, it would have been the drink if not whores. And if not the drink, then Aerion might have killed Daeron himself.
'You are ungrateful.'
Came her sharp hiss.
'She is right,' Aerion thinks as his breath bounces off the green liquid.
For his life has been a roaring fire to the mere candles of his siblings.
He's served with the Second Sons. He's learned magics. He's had children. He owns estates in Lys, Volantis, Tyrosh, even Elyria. He has businesses, he has vineyards. He owns ships, he has shipyards. He owns mercenary companies. He owns brothels, fisheries, pearl farms—
Everything he is, he has built. Everything he has, he earned. His wealth, his reputation, his skill. His businesses, his companies, his knowledge. And he has had women, children, and a life outside the walls of this fucking city. He has finery, religion, everything. He has everything. What need does he have of a crown? He is a dragon who's only flight was exile. He is a dragon. He has everything.
'Then why do you feel so small?'
Why, why, why...
Why does he feel like he is about to pull his heart from his chest?
'Carve from your blood.'
Will there be flight after this? Will there be freedom? Will he be able to sleep without seeing how this ends?
All he has ever wanted—
'You have everything.
The giggling of the boy ripped Aerion from his thoughts.
His son is everything.
Aerion could weep.
Is he?
'Blood of my blood. Everything I am, everything I am not.'
Blood of blood of blood. He'd bleed again.
Maegor will have everything that he has ever wanted.
For that, Aerion would bleed.
Her voice slithered back into the depths of his mind.
'You need not shed a drop.... Burn, and I will give all that I promised.'
And that?
That is enough.
"Who would like to see a dragon?" He laughed, nearly falling into hysterics.
The alarm was raised.
Her gentle eyes flicked to him, such a delicate smile she gave as their son babbled non-sense.
'My riña litse.'
Aerion almost faltered.
'I am leaving my son.'
How could he? How could he not?
'I am leaving everything.'
He cleared his throat.
The Brightflame raised the goblet as if toasting. "Tonight, I will become a dragon! One of fire, one of flame! Of fire and blood!"
The flames danced in his eyes as the liquid flowed past his lips. The torches were dimming, or maybe his vision. Aerion could no longer tell.
He could feel the heat dance on his tongue. His throat tightens. The burn does not come at first. There is only warmth. He could see Daenora's eyes widening, the horror on Aegon's face, and his father's stern face becoming an expression Aerion has never seen before.
His lips stung. Everything was cold. For a breath, he thought he saw snow. Then his gums began to ache. His opened.
He thought he saw—
No, no, he had seen—
'What?
Aerion could hear the screaming.
He could hear his own.
There was no pain. Only fear.
But, hearing her scream for him...
"Aerion!"
The sound was like taking the hilt of a blade to the chest. He could not breathe.
But he could burn.
Was this divinity? He's see everything now.
He never thought someone would weep for—
'Well done.'