Chapter Text
The pale morning sunlight slipped through the gaps in the heavy curtains covering the giant windows, disturbing Aelinor from her restless sleep. She awoke with a heavy blink, opening her eyes slowly as her still-blurry vision tried to adjust to the dim light in the room. The biting cold at the tips of her toes instinctively made her reach out to the other side of the bed, seeking the warmth that should have been there. However, her hand only met a flat, freezing surface. Her breath instantly released in a long, drawn-out sigh.
Last night, Aerys did sleep here, in the same bed with her, sharing the same air in this room. Yet, just like the nights before since their wedding day, the distance between their backs felt like a bottomless chasm of ice. Aerys never touched her. The prince never embraced her in the darkness, never whispered the sweet words she often heard in romance songs, and most agonizing of all, Aerys never fulfilled his duties as a husband.
Aelinor pulled the thick blanket up to her chest, staring at the bed with a blank, foggy gaze. She didn't know if there was something wrong with her. Since she was a little girl, long before she was betrothed into the royal family and bore the Targaryen name, she had been taught to be a good wife. Her septas stuffed her head with endless lessons on etiquette, how to manage a noble household, sewing, singing, and most importantly, how to please a husband. She took all those lessons meticulously, absorbing them quickly and without complaint because she didn't want her future husband to look down on her. She was determined, with all her soul, to be the perfect wife.
She always thought she had done well. That she had managed to meet all those expectations, especially on the day her father came to see her with a beaming face and a chest puffed out with pride, announcing that his little girl would marry a prince with the blood of the dragon.
Aelinor remembered very clearly when she first met Aerys. The prince was quite handsome and possessed charming Valyrian features. His silver hair gleamed under the sunlight and his purple eyes radiated sharp intelligence. Aerys was quieter, of course, preferring to observe from a distance rather than speaking or joining the hustle and bustle of the courtyard. But even then, with just a passing glance from the prince, Aelinor's cheeks could turn as red as an apple. On her wedding day, draped in a gown of silk and cloth-of-gold, she thought that time would bring them closer. That as the seasons passed, the invisible wall of ice around her husband would melt, and one day they would love each other like a husband and wife destined by the Gods.
But now, looking back, their marriage had gone on for years, and Aerys was still as quiet as the first day they met. The man seemed only interested in books, past histories, and dusty parchment scrolls brought from across the world. Of course, her husband was never harsh or raised his voice at her. Aerys was always friendly, would ask how she was if they accidentally crossed paths in the halls, and made small talk with flawless courtesy, but that was it. Just that. There were no goodnight kisses on the forehead, no gentle touches on the hand, let alone the intimate physical closeness her parents had always shown when she was little.
Her chest felt tight as if crushed by a rock every time she thought of that reality. Her vision began to blur with pools of tears threatening to fall and stain her cheeks. Aelinor quickly took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She forced herself to get up, sat on the edge of the bed, and immediately banished all those pitiful thoughts from her head. Crying over her fate and pitying herself wouldn't change anything.
She stepped toward her large vanity mirror in the corner of the room. Taking a beautifully carved silver comb, she began to tidy her long, tangled blonde hair. She was a beautiful woman, her nose was sharp, her skin flawlessly smooth, and her eyes shone clearly. Aelinor knew this fact; compliments about her beauty had always flowed to her from the nobles since she was a teenager. But, no matter how beautiful she was, she still couldn't make her own husband look twice.
After calling the maid guarding outside her door, Aelinor then walked to the bathing room. She let the girls attend to her, stripping off her nightgown and helping her into the tub. As she felt the warm water wash over her entire body, seeping into her ice-cold skin, she closed her eyes. One of the maids began to gently massage her scalp using a soothing lavender-scented oil. In moments like these, in the embrace of warm water and floral scents, Aelinor could sometimes forget all the burdens waiting outside her chamber door. For a moment, she forgot the pitying stares of her ladies-in-waiting, and forgot that in the eyes of the court, she was a wife who had failed to provide an heir.
That peace only lasted a short while. As soon as the water began to cool, she quickly dried her body. She put on a morning gown made of thick fabric that fit her body perfectly, an elegant pale blue, then sat back down in front of the vanity. She let her maid braid her hair a little more intricately than usual, pinning small braids that circled her head, leaving the rest flowing beautifully down her back. Once she felt her appearance was proper enough, she left to have breakfast.
Usually, there was the option to have breakfast in the Great Hall with King Daeron and his wife, as well as Prince Baelor and Prince Rhaegel. But Aerys never liked crowds; her husband always preferred solitude. So, as an obedient wife, Aelinor simply followed him. They always had breakfast in their private solar, far from the prying eyes of the court.
As soon as she stepped into the room, she immediately looked toward the table. Aerys was sitting in his large chair at the head of the dining table. The plate in front of him was still clean and empty, indicating that the man was waiting for her before starting his meal. Aelinor took a short breath, forcing a friendly smile cultivated over years onto her lips, and walked closer to sit across from him.
"Good morning, my husband," she greeted in a gentle tone.
"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
Aerys's voice sounded so melodic, flowing calmly in the morning air. Her husband had long silver hair and a slight beard gracing his jaw. Usually, that long hair was left to hang free, falling to cover part of his face when he looked down to read parchment scrolls. But now, Aerys had tied his hair back with a leather string, pulling it neatly back so his entire face was clearly visible without obstruction.
"Soundly and dreamlessly, it was a good sleep," Aelinor replied, trying to keep her voice from wavering. She took her own plate and reached for a piece of still-warm bread from the basket, spreading a little berry jam on it, and also took some slices of fruit. "What about you?"
"Not quite," Aerys replied softly. The man touched his silver cup, staring at its surface for a moment before continuing. "I felt a bit cold, to be honest. Even though the blanket we use is thick enough, isn't it?"
Aelinor stopped her jam knife in mid-air. She frowned, looking at her husband with a flash of concern. "Are you ill? Should I summon the Maester to examine you?"
"Not really." Aerys suddenly shrugged casually.
Aelinor's frown deepened. Her eyes stared intently at her husband, barely believing what she had just seen. Aerys never shrugged. Her husband was a very rigid man who cared deeply about etiquette; he had even told her years ago that the gesture of shrugging was impolite and unbecoming of a nobleman. But Aelinor decided not to comment further. Their conversations had always been like this—awkward, stiff, and full of unspoken things.
They began to eat their breakfast in the silence that blanketed the entire room. Only the soft clinking of forks against plates could be heard. Aelinor chewed her bread slowly while looking out the window.
Then, Aerys suddenly broke the silence. "Do you have any plans for today?"
Aelinor was slightly startled. She raised her eyebrows. "Not much. Perhaps I will take a walk in the gardens for a while once the sun is warm enough. After that, I intend to finish the embroidery I delayed yesterday."
Instead of giving a curt nod and returning to his silence as usual, Aerys placed his fork on the edge of his plate. The man looked at Aelinor with an expression that oddly seemed curious. "What kind of embroidery are you working on?"
Aelinor's heart beat slightly faster. "Just... a simple pattern, my husband. An image of creeping vines and some roses."
"Roses," Aerys repeated, nodding slowly as if it were highly important information. "That must require a lot of patience and precision. I never had gifted hands for such delicate things. My hands seem to be made only for boring things."
Aelinor fell silent for a moment. Since when could Aerys make self-deprecating jokes? "You have your own extraordinary talents, my husband," she said, a little warmer. "Your intelligence and your memory regarding the realm's history are second to none."
Aerys's lips curved into a faint smile. "Perhaps. But staying too long in a closed room with the dust of the past sometimes makes my mind feel stagnant."
Aelinor didn't know how to respond. She just nodded slowly. "Perhaps you should go outside then? The gardens are very beautiful right now. The spring flowers are beginning to bloom."
"Is that so?" Aerys reached for his goblet, taking a sip of the drink inside before looking Aelinor right in the eyes again. "Perhaps... next time, I could join you for a walk there. If you don't mind accompanying me, of course."
"I... of course I don't mind," Aelinor answered, her voice slightly softer than she had hoped. "I would be happy to show you those flowers."
"That's good," Aerys murmured softly. The man resumed his breakfast, cutting the sausage on his plate. "This breakfast is delicious. Have the castle kitchens been treating your maids well lately?"
Aelinor still felt like she was daydreaming, but she forced her brain to keep working. "Yes, they are very kind. There is no shortage of anything."
After that, a brief silence blanketed the dining table once more. The conversation evaporated as quickly as it had come. Aelinor lowered her gaze, pretending not to notice anything and focusing all her attention on the fruit on her plate, slicing it with unnecessary care. She could feel it. Aerys wasn't looking at his food. The man was glancing at her, watching her in silence with an intensity that made the hair on the back of Aelinor's neck stand up.
Suddenly, Aerys cleared his throat softly.
"Your hair," Aerys said. His voice was a bit huskier, shattering the remaining silence. "That braided style... looks very beautiful on you this morning."
Aelinor's hand movements stopped entirely. She slowly raised her face, looking at Aerys with one eyebrow raised again. She tried to figure out if her husband was joking or if there was a hidden meaning behind his words. Instead, all she found was a pair of purple eyes looking at her with an unexpectedly honest and gentle gaze.
Slowly, her confusion melted away. The small curve on Aelinor's lips formed into a smile. And without being able to stop it, the warmth spreading from her chest made her cheeks flush red.
…
Aerys finished the rest of his breakfast feeling much more relaxed than he had anticipated. After sipping the last drop from his goblet, he stood up, gave a polite nod, and bid goodbye to his 'wife' before stepping out of their private solar.
As the door closed behind him, Aerys took a deep breath. He felt the fresh air flowing along the stone corridors of the Red Keep. It felt truly bizarre that he could wake up inside the body of a fictional character like this, feel the real chill of the morning air, hear the clinking of armor from patrolling guards, and then be expected to live his life in a way so completely different from everything he had ever known.
He let out a long sigh as he continued down the hall. In his previous life, he was just an ordinary modern man. He worked as a salesman, a peddler who had to offer products from door to door under the scorching sun and heavy rain. He was very used to rejection, doors slammed right in his face, and the fake smiles he had to maintain to meet his sales targets. He was used to living in simplicity, counting every penny he spent, and had thought that his entire life would always be stagnant in that area, a monotonous routine without miracles.
But all of his past reality was irrelevant now. Somehow he had woken up in the body of a prince, and based on his knowledge of this world, if the timeline of the world still followed its original plot without interference, this prince would eventually be forced to wear the crown and become King Aerys I.
But unfortunately, he didn't want that damn throne at all.
Being king in Westeros was such a heavy burden, a massive bullseye painted on his chest for every poisoned sword and bloody political intrigue. He didn't want to bear it. He had no ambition to rule these seven kingdoms that were always ready to slaughter each other. His brother right now, Baelor Breakspear, was the rightful heir. Baelor was a good man, a formidable knight, and the perfect future king. Let Baelor live and be king. Let his eldest brother clean up all the messes in the government.
Meanwhile, he... Aerys just wanted to enjoy his life in endless tranquility, enjoying limitless wealth as a prince, and die of old age.
Aerys's steps brought him near the outer courtyard. From afar, he faintly began to hear the sound of wood and steel clashing. He then stopped walking when he saw a teenage boy walking toward him. The boy was carrying a practice sword. His auburn hair seemed to catch the light, and a wide, bright smile adorned his young face. Matarys Targaryen, his nephew.
"You look very happy, eager to beat someone up this morning?" Aerys joked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Matarys stopped his steps and looked at Aerys for a moment. The boy raised one eyebrow, his lips slightly parted in surprise. But shortly after, Matarys smiled broadly.
"Today I'm going to spar to practice my sword skills in the main courtyard, Uncle," Matarys answered enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling. "This morning I feel very well. Besides, I read in one of the books that self-confidence can bring greater chances of victory on the battlefield. So, I decided to follow that."
"That is a sound theory," Aerys nodded. "Indeed, if you are confident, there will be no nervousness hindering you into making silly mistakes. Trembling hands cannot hold a sword properly. If you are calm, your mind can also become clearer so you can see your opponent's weaknesses better before they attack."
Matarys looked even more enthusiastic hearing his uncle validate his thoughts. The teenager swung his sword slightly in the air, demonstrating his stance. "Haha, I knew it! I was always told that my feet were too stiff because I overthink when attacked. Today I won't think; I will just move and trust my instincts!"
Aerys smiled faintly, immediately raising one finger as a subtle warning. "But remember, Matarys, there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. Don't be too confident, or you will lose your caution. The moment you underestimate your opponent is the moment you open the most fatal flaw."
Matarys fell silent for a moment, pondering his uncle's words. The arrogant smile on the boy's face faded slightly. "You're right, Uncle. Sometimes I feel that because I have the blood of the dragon, I couldn't possibly be defeated by ordinary guards in the courtyard. But father always reminds me that swords do not care about what blood flows in our bodies."
"Your father is a wise man. You should always listen to him," Aerys replied gently. Deep in his heart, Aerys felt a pang of unfamiliar sorrow. Looking at this hopeful boy, he remembered the fate waiting for Matarys and his father in the future if he did nothing.
"Of course, Uncle," Matarys replied cheerfully again. "I have to go now, Valarr promised to watch me train today. I don't want to keep him waiting!"
"Go on. Make your father and brother proud," Aerys said, shifting his body slightly to make way for his nephew.
After about thirty seconds, the sound of other footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. The steps were heavy and steady. Aerys turned and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with a square jaw and hair as dark as night walking towards him. It was Baelor, his older brother.
"Aerys," Baelor greeted as he approached, his voice deep and authoritative, looking him up and down with a gleam of amusement. "Truly a rare sight to see you standing in the hall without carrying a book as thick as a brick in your hands. Is the library being cleaned today?"
Aerys snorted softly, a natural reaction that somehow felt right. "Even a bookworm like me needs fresh air once in a while, Baelor. The morning sun is good for easing headaches caused by reading the writings of old Maesters."
Baelor laughed softly. "That's good. I just crossed paths with Matarys. He looked very excited after speaking with you. What did you say to him?"
"Just a little piece of advice about not getting arrogant when holding a sword," Aerys answered casually.
"Well, he is an enthusiastic boy who needs to be reminded time and time again so he doesn't fall. His mind is undeniably brilliant, but it still needs a lot of sharpening." Baelor smiled.
"He has a lot of potential." Aerys nodded. "I can see that, from the way he speaks to his posture, it won't be long until he earns his knighthood. Perhaps when he joins a tourney, or when he fights in a real battle, who knows?"
"Well, we just have to wait for him, only time will tell, right?" Baelor laughed.
Only time will tell.
Time would tell very cruelly for the man standing before him and his children, if Aerys did nothing to change history.
His mind raced, digging up details from his memory about the Great Spring Sickness. That damned disease would sweep across all of Westeros mercilessly. Its victims would not discriminate; from poor beggars to King Daeron, all would fall. Who knew how many thousands of lives would be lost, until Brynden Rivers would ignite Wildfire just to burn the mountainous piles of corpses.
How could he prevent all of that? In the current timeline, it was only a matter of months before the plague began spreading from the ports.
The only rational way was that he had to close the city. He had to order the guards to lock the gates of King's Landing and halt all docking ships. He didn't remember exactly which region the plague came from; what was clear was that Dorne was unaffected because they tightly sealed their borders. Were there any other areas that survived? He didn't know. His memory was blurry on the minor details.
But how to convince his father, or the man in front of him, about this? Right now there were no signs of it; the port was the city's source of wealth, and the plague was nowhere to be seen. If he yelled demanding the city be isolated because of a 'bad feeling', they would think he had gone mad from reading too many archaic prophecies, lock him in a tower, and the plague would still kill them all.
The easiest thing would be to plan to take them away from King's Landing.
"You're daydreaming, Aerys." Baelor's voice pulled him back from the edge of panic. "Is your head hurting again?"
Aerys blinked, forcing his facial expression back to neutral. "No... no. I was just thinking about the sword Matarys was swinging earlier. Ordinary steel, isn't it? Have you ever thought of forging a custom sword for him?"
Baelor sighed softly, smiling a little. "He's always whining to me about a lighter sword, comparing himself to Valarr. But I insist he must feel the weight of true steel. Balance is everything. If he gets used to a heavy sword, an ordinary sword will feel like a feather in his hand later."
"A good principle," Aerys replied. "A sword too sharp and light in inexperienced hands will only cut off its owner's own leg."
"Exactly." Baelor nodded. His eyes then stared off toward the window facing the distant waters, and his tone grew heavier, darker. "Speaking of swords... as the Hand of the King, I constantly think of one sword in particular. Blackfyre."
"Blackfyre..." Aerys murmured softly.
"The sword currently in the hands of traitors across the sea," Baelor said sharply. "This time of peace... is merely a temporary illusion. Daemon may have died on the Redgrass Field, but his followers and Aegor Rivers escaped. I wonder when they will return; there is no way they will just sit idly by after all this..."
"None of that would be a problem if we still had our ultimate defense," Aerys said. "If only we still had dragons. Daemon wouldn't even have dared to raise his sword in rebellion if father could summon down a beast as large as Vhagar. Threats from Essos would be nothing but a joke."
Baelor turned to him, giving him a look of mixed pity and exhaustion. "The dragons are gone. The days when we could burn our enemies from the sky ended with the Dance of the Dragons. We won the war with strategy, alliances of lords, and the tip of a spear. Do not let your books make you hallucinate about the past. We must live in the present." His eldest brother then clapped Aerys on the shoulder firmly. "I have to go. If you want to talk further, see me in the council chambers this afternoon. Try not to disappear into the library."
"Of course, brother," Aerys answered briefly.
Baelor turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps slowly fading, leaving Aerys alone in the silence of the corridor.
Aerys stared at his own smooth hands, hands that had never held a sword in a real fight. He couldn't fight; he couldn't protect himself if something like the Blackfyre Rebellion happened again.
Perhaps... perhaps he really should try to bring back the dragons.
If he could get just one dragon, all conflicts and rebellions might be avoided. He could live peacefully, and no one would dare bother him and his family. Absolute power is the language everyone in this world understands.
The problem was, he didn't know how to awaken them. The old Valyrian texts provided no clear instructions. He only knew a little, about how Daenerys Targaryen did it in the far future. A witch, a funeral pyre, blood sacrifice, and life paying for life.
Aerys didn't know if that method would work if he copied it exactly like that. Daenerys had her own magic and also the red comet when she did it, while he was just a man who happened to enter the body of a bookworm prince.
Aerys took a deep breath, his eyes radiating a new determination slowly igniting. Even though it sounded like suicide... in a world where death always lurked around every corner...
It was worth a try, right?