Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Return of the Prodigal Prince
Synopsis: Prince Aerion Targaryen decides to return to the capital two years after the death of King Jaehaerys.
*The North, 105 AC (After Conquest) *
News of the Heirs’ Tournament had reached his Keep, and after much deliberation, the prince arrived at a decision that surprised even him. Prince Aerion Targaryen, youngest brother to King Viserys I Targaryen, would return to his former home of King’s Landing—not to celebrate the imminent birth of a possible son who might secure his brother’s reign, but to see to the well-being of his cousin, Queen Aemma Arryn. Aemma had endured multiple pregnancies over the years in the realm’s relentless pursuit of a male heir, and most had ended in heartbreak. Though Viserys and his queen already had a daughter, even he understood the importance the realm placed on having a son.
Westerosi customs, reinforced by the outcome of the Great Council that passed over their cousin, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, held that a male Targaryen heir must come before a female one. For that reason, Viserys’s presumptive heir remained their brother Daemon, the second son of their late father, Prince Baelon. Yet Aerion knew all too well that Prince Fleabottom was neither serious nor dutiful enough to bear the burdens of the crown. By the Seven above, Daemon could not even manage a proper marriage with his lawful wife, Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone, Aerion’s good-sister. Even from afar, Aerion kept himself informed of the important matters concerning his family, though it did little to soften his contempt for the elder brother who had become such a disappointment.
As for Daemon’s marriage, he seemed far more inclined to seek out the whores of Flea Bottom than to consummate his union with Lady Rhea Royce and sire a proper heir. He refused to bind himself permanently to the woman he so crudely called the “Bronze Bitch,” a slight that only deepened Aerion’s disdain. Nor was his conduct in the Small Council any more reassuring. Daemon changed offices so often one might think he was racing from post to post in jousts against other nights without ever settling into any one role, and even that instability owed much to Viserys’s indulgent nature.
At any rate, Aerion began packing the essentials for his journey south. He conferred with his maester and the castellan he meant to leave in charge, instructing both to send word by raven should any important news arise after his departure for King’s Landing. With those matters settled, he turned toward his horse, intent on beginning the next leg of his journey—only to hear his title announced.
“My Prince!” Lord Ned Bolton would then ask, “Is it true that you’ll be returning to King’s Landing for the Heir’s tournament?”
“Indeed. It is about time I returned after two years.” Aerion answered.
“Will you be competing in any of activities like the joust or the melee?” Bolton asked.
“Fortunately, no” Aerion chuckled. “While I’ll be enjoying the sight of knights beating each other for sport, I’m mostly be focused on the Queen’s labors.”
“Oh? So, the famed prince with the sharpest tongue in the Seven Kingdoms, even more than the Rogue Prince himself, is afraid of a little competition?
“Yes, much like your Lord Father’s supposed fear of Lord Stark discovering the Dreadfort’s secret chambers of his ancestors’ cloaks” Aerion bantered back.
A moment of silence occurs before the two men let out joyous laughter.
“Will any of the other Northern Houses be participating or should I only expect to see House Manderly?”
“Not likely. Lord Stark will be heading south as a spectator as well. Northerners fight in wartime or in skirmishes against the wildlings and Ironborn. Beyond that, the southerners are welcome to play at war as they please,” Ned said.
“Bold words.” Aerion finalized the rest of his provisions for the trip to his dragon’s cavern.
“Will his Grace be expecting you?” Which was a fair question. Only those close to Prince Aerion were aware of the brothers falling out after the Great Council.
“This will be quite the shock for everyone. I’ve kept in minimal contact with Queen Aemma, Princess Rhaenys & Princess Rhaenyra over the years but it has been longer since I have seen them in person.”
“Understood. Please inform the Queen the North wishes her good fortune!” Ned Bolton says waving off to the prince.
Waving back “You could just say House Bolton sends it regards and I would accept that as truth.” Aerion jested back.
Prince Aerion turned from the keep and rode northwest of the King’s Road toward his dragon’s cave. At the stable near the mountain’s base, he was met by the dragon keepers tasked with tending House Targaryen’s wild dragons. Aerion made his way through the cave and afterwards he heard the familiar rumbling within the cave. The typically shy dragon made its way to his rider.
“Hello old boy! Ready for the next adventure?”
*King’s Landing (Days Later) *
The Dragonpit
Since the aftermath of the Great Council of 101, when Aerion and Grey Ghost claimed one another, no thrill had ever matched flying. As he slowed his descent into the Dragonpit, the familiar stench of King’s Landing rose to meet him, mingling with the smell of dragons. Aerion breathed it in and thought, “Well, it’s home.”
The dragon keepers approached the prince as he dismounted from his dragon.
“Welcome home, Prince Aerion. We did not expect your arrival.” One of the dragon keepers stepped forward to greet him.
“Good morrow. The announcement of the heir’s tournament brought me here. Please inform His Grace and the queen of my return, and have a horse and carriage sent for my belongings to the Red Keep.” Aerion replied.
*Maegor’s Holdfast*
Queen Aemma Arryn’s Chambers
Within her chambers, Aemma Arryn feels miserable with her chambermaids fluttering around trying to ease her burdens. Until the sight of her daughter and her friend begins to brighten her spirits.
“Ah… Rhaenyra.” The scent begins to fill her nostrils. “You know I don’t like you to go flying while I’m in this condition.”
“You don’t like me to go flying while you’re in any condition.” Rhaenyra retorts.
“Your Grace.” Alicent Hightower enters the chambers.
“Good morrow, Alicent.”
Rhaenyra then asks her mother “Did you sleep?”
“I slept. How long? I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”
Rhaenyra then glances around the room. “Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants, all focused on the babe. Somone has to attend you.”
Aemma responds in an attempt of assurance. “You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.”
Rhaenyra then responds, “I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”
Earning a chuckle from her mother. “We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”
Then remembering her daughter’s duties to her father, “Now take a bath, you stink of dragon.”
As her daughter was leaving, a servant entered the room bearing the report from the Dragonpit.
*The Small Council Chambers*
King Viserys 1st of his name presides over his council in jovial tones speaking aloud a recent jest with all members save a couple engaged in laughter. Then a serious tone is spoken by one of his members: Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Master of Ships.
“My lords. The growing alliance among the Free Cities has taken to styling itself “the Triarchy. They have massed on Bloodstone and are presently ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation.” Lord Corlys begins to state.
“Well, that sounds suspiciously like good news, Lord Corlys” King Viserys responds.
“A man called Craghas Drahar has styled himself the prince-admiral of this Triarchy. They call him “The Crabfeeder” due to his inventive methods of punishing his enemies.” Lord Corlys replied.
“And are we meant to weep for dead pirates” King Viserys asked dismissively.
“No, Your Grace-” Lord Corlys began to respond until the council doors had opened for its newest occupant.
“Rhaenyra, you’re late. A King’s cupbearer must not be late. It leaves people wanting for cups.” Viserys would inform his daughter.
“I was visiting Mother” replied Rhaenyra.
“On dragon back” questioned Viserys after sniffing the familiar scent.
The Master of Coin, Lord Lyman Beesbury of Honeyholt, would attempt to shift the council meeting to a separate topic. “Your Grace, at Prince Daemon’s urging, the crown has invested significant capital in the re-training and re-equipping of his City Watch. I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat on the council and provide an assessment of his progress as Commander of the Watch.”
“Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present tasks and that his thoughts and energies are occupied” questioned Viserys.
“Well, one would hope so, considering the associated costs” countered Lord Beesbury, yet with a tone that sounded reluctant.
“Then let us all consider your gold well-invested, Lord Beesbury” Viserys spoke with a degree of finality.
Lord Corlys would then interject with wanting to continue his previous topic: “I would urge that you not allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace. If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports.
The Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower of Oldtown, would respond as to finish the topic of discussion, “The Crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement.”
As the meeting drew toward its climax, the king turned the discussion to the heir’s tournament while Rhaenyra moved among the councilors, refilling their cups with wine. Only Lord Corlys declined, his gaze fixed on the Hand.
Lord Beesbury urged the king to delay the tourney until the child’s birth was confirmed, but Viserys again insisted it would proceed. In reply to Grand Maester Mellos, he declared with confidence that his next child would be a son who would secure the future of the crown.
As the meeting drew to a close, a servant approached the Hand and delivered a parchment from the dragon keepers. Otto read it, a flicker of shock crossing his face, then read it again before announcing its contents to the council.
“Your Grace, it appears we have one more item to share. Your brother and his dragon have returned to the capital.”
“I wasn’t aware Daemon had left the city” Viserys spoke incredulously.
“My apologies, You Grace! I meant your younger brother, Prince Aerion and his dragon the Grey Ghost has returned.”
Astonishment spread across Viserys’s face and the council chamber, while his daughter smiled with delight and Lord Corlys allowed himself a knowing smirk.
Composing himself, King Viserys said, “What joyous news. At last, more of my family is together again. All the more reason to celebrate.”