The seeds of war are often planted during the times of peace.
A year after the Rogue Prince's wedding to the heir to Runestone, Daemon Targaryen's lady wife has an unfortunate birth to the Rogue Prince's supposed legacy. A drunken accident during the bedding ceremony, the prince would say to anyone who would ask about the unborn babe until his brother, the then Prince Viserys pushed his younger brother to return to Runestone. If not for his lady wife, but for his first-born child.
And so, he did.
When the lad came into the world he cried, and for the first time in Daemon's life, it broke his heart. This was his boy. His first-born boy in his arms.
Aerion Targaryen was the name given to him. As much as Lady Rhea's displeasure of giving the boy a Valyrian name – King Jaehaerys was surprised to say the least, if the boy were to succeed his mother, he would eventually take on the surname Royce. But nevertheless, Daemon's love for his son did not lessen any recklessness on his part in further years to come.
Even though the boy existed, Rhea Royce and Daemon Targaryen's relationship did not improve. Rhaenyra, who was nearly a year old, had hatched her dragon, Syrax, in her bassinet. Daemon hoped that Aerion would follow suit. The prince was disappointed when his son failed to hatch the dragon egg he had placed in the boy's crib.
Aerion was quick to learn according to the maesters. Bookish and leaning into the histories of the realm and his ancestral seat from his maternal side, while being skilled with a sword much like his father.
By the young lad's twelfth name day, he was brought to Kings Landing and was urged by his father to claim the dragon Vermithor but failed. Instead, he had claimed the late Good Queen Alysanne's dragon Silverwing.
Despite his mother's demand that Aerion is to return to Runestone, the lad took a liking to the countless of books found in the Red Keep and had convinced his lady mother for him to stay in the graces of his uncle Viserys and eventually the newly crowned King's squire.
Council meetings were either entertaining or boring, although his father harbored boiled hatred towards the Lord Hand Otto Hightower, Aerion couldn't help but lean into the fact that the Lord Hand isn't as trustworthy as he seems to be – most especially now that his Princely father is now commander of the Watch.
The Heir's tourney was a welcome topic for Aerion's uncle, not wanting to discuss politics as he often should. Aerion's gaze landed on Rhaenyra who was listening intently as he was. Although many from the realm are gathering for the birth of the king's heir – there was no assurance it would be a boy and yet, Viserys seemed very certain it would be a prince.
And for the most part, Aerion was ready to clean up whatever mess his great father would be creating in the next few moons.
But his happiness was short-lived when his father was summoned the next day to account for his conduct with the Gold Cloaks. With his armor on and his face covered with dried blood, young Aerion bowed his head and put his dominant hand on the hilt of his sword as his father expressed his reasonings.
King's Landing was seen to be lawless and terrifying that much is true. As it was the duty of the crown and its council to make sure that safety is provided not only to the nobility who visit, but also to the smallfolk who reside in it. Viserys just did not wish for Daemon to maim half of the city to achieve this level of peace and protection.
But Otto Hightower found himself surrounded by two fronts: Daemon Targaryen and his spawn, Aerion Targaryen.
"We installed Prince Daemon as commander to promote law and order," the Sea Snake voice in favor of the methods that were used. "The criminal element should fear the City Watch."
"Thank you for your support, Lord Corlys." Daemon nodded. As Aerion finally decided to put his head up high as he continued to listen by the side of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. This was a learning experience after all. One Aerion did not want to waste.
"If only the prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does his work, Your Grace." The Lord Hand spoke. It was a poor choice as Aerion would think. He was old enough to understand that his princely father and his lady mother would rather see each other dead than be in the same room as one another. "You're not been seen in the Vale or at Runestone for quite some time."
"Forgive me for speaking out of line, Your Grace, my lords," Aerion quickly apologizes, since he does not want his father to refer to his mother by that name in his presence. Especially when annoyed in this manner, the lad understood Otto Hightower knew exactly how to poke the monster. "But, my Lord Hand, I would advise you to leave my mother out of this conversation, especially since the topic is the City Watch. Please do not divert from the conversation by bringing up other issues that ultimately do not concern the council."
The lad chose words that he knew would land him in trouble, but he would rather accept the King's reprimand than his father calling his mother that term.
"Otto," the King's soft-spoken voice was enough to have the Lord Hand hold his tongue. The lad may not be as brazen as his father, he was protective of his lady mother – no matter who speaks of her.
And Aerion did not want another argument with Daemon on the matter so early in the morning. "The boy speaks true. Do indulge his request."
"My apologies, Your Grace." Empty apologies. Aerion knew that despite his young age. Perhaps he had been around court for too long.
Or perhaps he had been around his father too little.
Dragons made them kings, Daemon told Aerion as a lad.
One could claim that Aerion Targaryen possessed the necessary temperament to be king. Unlike his father, who is regarded as an unpredictable storm of a man, aristocrats who meet the young lord believe that the youngster was fortunate to inherit his lady mother's traits. Although many of Daemon's adversaries would argue that he was more bronze than dragon, Aerion Targaryen's Valyrian characteristics made him the blood of the dragon.
Although Viserys had given his warning that any performances such as last night will be answered, Aerion could tell the lingering smirk on his father's lips before leaving the Small Council.
Daemon Targaryen's Keeper. They would call him.
He hated it.
Aerion hated being reduced to simply being Daemon Targaryen's son. Most especially Otto Hightower who constantly finds faults in Aeron's father. He's young. He knew that. Yet to be knighted. Yet to be named anything but Lady Rhea Royce's heir – as much as he understood his inheritance, he also knew that the politics in Kings Landing became more gruesome.
His father, who was mercurial and quick to take offense, but he was dashing, daring and dangerous. Knighted at six and ten like Maegor, and Jaehaerys himself gave Daemon the Valyrian steel blade Dark Sister for his prowess. If only sons could disinherit fathers, he would have done so moons ago.
Men of the realm would do anything to find its way into the seats of power, most especially those who were not meant for it.
By sunset, Aerion was standing by the window of his solar – looking over the city with a curious gaze. Soon he would be seeing his mother. He couldn't help but wonder if he should have listened to her. Stay in Runestone and learn the ways of the Bronze Kings instead of naively dreaming of the stories and knowledge that the capital seduces young blood into its pit.
In his mind, the lad wished he never left the Vale.
Although surrounded by kin, he had yet to understand the very dangerous temperament a dragon has in its very core. Being a Targaryen can mean you were meant for greatness or ruin. Where Daemon had ambition, Aerion was said to lack it. He wasn't dangerous as his father. He spoke less and remained quiet for the most part. The scene in front of the lords of the King's small council is one of the few times when the young lord spoke up in defense of his mother's honor.
His mother who is absent from the room, and yet the men of the realm believed they had every right to even whisper her name in his presence simply because he is a boy. The audacity.
Although Aerion had his personal distaste towards the Lord Hand, he could not say the same for his daughter, the Lady Alicent whom he found himself to fancy, most especially in his youth.
A boyish crush he wishes to bear fruition and make a marriage out of it. But that could only remain a wish as the future Lord of Runestone believed, as he talks about his impending betrothal to his cousin Rhaenyra. It was an inevitable match, his father would say – a princess of the realm is worthy enough to be his son's bride. But Aerion knew Rhaenyra.
Although they had the most positive relationship from childhood, Aerion wasn't so confident that their marriage would end up on the same note. He will end up married before he turns twenty, whoever his bride would be, Aerion was determined to do his duty but was afraid to be in the same situation as his lady mother and princely father. Who hated each other's guts as much as they loved their constant companions. Perhaps even more so than their son.
If the Queen is to give birth to a son, the line of succession will be secured. If she gives birth to another girl… or god forbid, died in childbirth – his father would be heir still. Aerion found himself alone in his solar, reading books that he bought from across the sea.
The lad ignored the faint footsteps that grew louder towards his door, turning the page the moment, it opened. He recognized those footsteps. It was the sound that had Aerion jumping out of bed as a younger boy, running to his father with a trilling smile knowing he visited Runestone for him.
But he was probably too old for that excitement now. The trill of his father visiting doesn't grant him the joy he missed so much.
"You're supposed to be in bed." Daemon's voice didn't have the common arrogance men would hear from his mouth, dragging the chair in front of his son's desk as he sat down. Crossing his legs as he peeked at what the boy is reading.
"I'm not a boy anymore, father. You said so yourself, I'm old enough to wed so I'm old enough to be a man."
"Cheeky little thing, aren't you."
Aerion's gaze rose from the pages he was reading. "You say that as if you hadn't hoped for it."
Daemon chuckled. He always had a certain fondness for his only child, his Targaryen boy. As a little boy, Aerion would run to his father's arms begging to ride on the Blood Wyrm much to his Bronze Bitch's dismay. She didn't want their son close to his blood inheritance, but, no matter what – Aerion Targaryen is a dragon by blood. Even if the boy eventually had his name change to Royce when he inherits Runestone.
For the most part, respected the fact that his son with Rhea Royce is most protective of her. No matter how much he and the lady despise each other – Daemon ought to thank her for this one thing she had given him in this god-awful marriage. A trueborn son.
"You're furious at me." Daemon said.
"Furious is such a strong word, father." Aerion sighed, his eyes looking back down at his book as he continued to read. "Most of my frustrations at the moment are with the Lord Hand, for trying to include my mother in matters that do not concern the small council."
"Don't let that cunt bother you, boy. He has that talent." Aerion lifted his head, closing his book as he leaned back on his seat to stare at his father. He had to say that in front of his face, all people, as if he hadn't been a victim of Otto Hightower's countless taunts over the years. "So, tell me, what have you been reading recently?"
"The histories of Old Valyria." Aerion answered. Not wanting to quarrel with his father yet again over such trivial annoyances. "Sometimes I look at Silverwing and imagine what a civilization filled with dragons would look like. How eager the high lords would be so much into having a single drop of dragon blood into their bloodline, in hopes that they too, would be a house of dragon riders."
"Would you allow such high lords to have the opportunity?" Daemon asked. As if looking for an answer he knew his son would answer.
"No," Aerion answered honestly. "Dragons do not bend to common blood. If it did, there would be more by now. There would have been another Valyrian Empire somewhere, but there isn't. Although I acknowledge alliances are important… noble lords around the realm are all the same. They'd rather climb on a ladder and attempt to climb just to die, rather than watching by the foot and do nothing."
A small curve appeared on Daemon's lips. His son of ten and four, speaking of politics most men older than the boy wouldn't even understand. "And where would you rather be, my boy?"
"I'd be bystander and simply watch those who attempt to climb at the top, father."
"Why?" Daemon asked, more out of curiosity rather than what people often expected from him when it came from his son: disappointment.
"It's the simplest way to spot the beasts who wish to pretend to be dragons… and shoot them down before they even think of taking flight." Aerion believed that there were three different kinds of masks in a court filled with its own kind of vipers and vultures.
One with superior authority.
One with commanding authority.
And the one with indirect authority.