Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast...
A fierce storm descended upon King's Landing, unleashing a deluge of rain that fell in torrents, accompanied by deafening claps of thunder and flashes of lightning that illuminated the darkened skies. The Targaryen dragons, seeking refuge from the tempest, sought out the warmest caverns they could find, while a select few, too large to fit, had to brave the strong winds and make their way to Dragonstone, where they sought shelter in the Dragonmont. Though these dragons would eventually return, they had to bide their time until the storm subsided. Unfortunately, for others, the raging storm made it impossible to get the much-needed rest required to prepare for the upcoming hearings.
Despite the best efforts of the Blacks, Maester Alwyn, and the king's granddaughter Princess Aemma, Viserys remained bedridden, his health deteriorating by the day. He was too weak to move from his room, vulnerable to the disease that had taken hold of him. Although the illness had been slowed down, it was only a matter of time before the king would inevitably succumb to it. The entire castle was on edge, waiting for the inevitable to happen. As Viserys slept, completely unaware of his surroundings, the door to his private solar was silently opened. The question on everyone's mind was when the end would come.
Aeonar strode into the room; his pale yet piercing lilac eyes seemed to glow in the flashes of lightning outside. He exuded a sense of power and danger, like an apex predator on the prowl stalking his prey. With every step he took, his feet did not make a sound. It was as silent as a crypt. His black robe, adorned with intricate crimson embroidery, featured voluminous sleeves that could easily hide a weapon or a secret message. Aeonar had used his hidden blades before in the heat of battle, and they were always at the ready. With a determined stride, he approached his father's bedside and gazed down at the ailing man, his expression unreadable. Huh. Look at you. Even when nearing death's door, you still insist on clinging to life so stubbornly, old man. He slowly raised his hand but stopped. Instead, he took the opportunity to adjust his father's sheets and fluff his pillows. Pitiful. You can't even take care of yourself. You have to rely on others to do it for you, especially my own daughter, who loves you so much. Aeonar noticed an iron chest beside his drawers. He had never seen it before and had no idea what might be inside. Although he often wondered about it, he had ignored it. Another one of your chests containing your 'precious' mementos? I am not surprised. You always were the sentimental type.
The motion caused Viserys to stir. "Mmm..." he mumbled weakly. "I'm so... Aem... sorry..." he gasped in pain. "Aem... Aem..."
"No," Aeonar said quietly yet coldly. Gone senile already? "It's Aeonar. Your first son. Or had you forgotten that?" Just then, the twitching and tugging at his nerves happened in the back of his head again. Seven hells, when were these annoyances going to stop?
"Aeonar... 'm so... sorry..."
"For what? Whatever it is, I have no time for it. Gah, look at you. You're drooling again." Aeonar annoyingly grabbed a cloth to wipe his father's chin, dabbing to clean off the unpleasant residue.
"Sorry... give m... so sorry..."
"Enough. If you don't stop moving, I'll never be able to clean it."
"Sorry... I'm so sorry..." Viserys started to tremble.
Aeonar looked at him. He heard a voice crack. Was his father crying? If he was, the Young Dragon speculated it was either due to being delirious from the excruciating pain the king was in, his illness, or from something else. "For what? Who are you apologizing to?" he asked, slightly irritated.
"Aemma..."
Aeonar's ears perked at the mention of that name. Was his father talking about his daughter... or his mother?
"My... my love..." That confirmed it. Viserys was referring to his first wife, the late Queen Aemma Arryn. The king still shook and trembled, his lips quivering as he held the right side of his face. "Oh, what... what have I done? So sorry... please... forgive me, my... my love... I'm so sorry..." Even after twenty years since that fateful moment, the king still loved her dearly and missed her terribly. "Aemma..."
However, Aeonar frowned. He was getting angry. "That's enough," he said silently. Don't even speak her name in front of me, father. You know damn well what you were doing to mother was wrong, but you did it anyway. You've no right to talk about her. Reaching over for a vial of the king's medicine, he coincidentally knocked it over and heard it shatter on the ground. "Ah, damn it!" he cursed. As the Young Dragon leaned over to gather the broken pieces, a paper was discovered among them, possibly placed under the vial. What's this? Picking it up, Aeonar turned the page to see it was a written letter addressed to him.
My dearest love,
I apologize for going behind your back like this; but I must inform
you that so many things will be left unsaid if you choose to ignore
this request. Although, understandably, you may wish to
discard this letter, I urge you to hear His Grace out.
While cleaning out the inventory, we stumbled upon a small chest
that we will place by Viserys's drawer. So far, only Rhaenyra knows
what's inside. All that's left is you.
If you wish to know the truth, please open the chest and look inside.
Some things mention you by name.
I only hope this brings you peace, sweetheart.
May the light of the Seven shine brightly upon you.
Love,
Alicent
As Aeonar's eyes scanned the familiar handwriting of his wife, Alicent, he couldn't help but feel confused. Why would she go behind his back and keep something from him? His mind raced with possibilities, wondering what could be so important that she would risk their trust in each other. And why was Rhaenyra involved in this clandestine operation? The mystery deepened as he pondered over the contents of the chest that was meant for him to see. He had debated with himself before finally deciding to open it, hoping to find answers to his questions.
As he turned the key, the locking mechanism clicked, and the chest was finally opened. Aeonar's gaze fell upon the first item, a massive black dragon scale. From the size and layering of the scale, it was evident that it belonged to none other than Balerion the Black Dread, the greatest and largest of all dragons to have ever belonged to House Targaryen born in Valyria and the last creature to have seen the Freehold in its prime before the Doom. Aeonar couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and reverence as he held the scale in his hands, knowing that it had once been a part of such a legendary creature. He couldn't help but find it somewhat ironic that the dragon that had been ridden by the Targaryen kings Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel before Balerion was claimed one last time before drawing its final breath by a rider who would be remembered as Viserys the Peaceful.
Two hundred and eight years...
Upon opening the chest, Aeonar's eyes were immediately drawn to the next object resting inside. It was a stunning silver signet ring adorned with a majestic emerald cut in the shape of a dragon. Aeonar knew instantly that this was his grandfather's, Prince Baelon the Brave. The memories flooded back to him of his grandfather wearing it on his finger with pride. As he picked up the ring, he noticed a delicate lock of silver-gold hair tied around it. Aeonar couldn't help but wonder if it belonged to his grandmother, Princess Alyssa Targaryen. Though he had never met her, he knew of her reputation as a worthy successor to the great legacy of Rhaenys and Visenya and the previous rider of Meleys, the Red Queen. The ring and the lock of hair were precious artifacts that held so much history and meaning for Aeonar and his family.
Gra... Grandfather... I-I...
As Aeonar continued to delve deeper into the chest, his fingers brushed against a multitude of objects - mementos and keepsakes that his father had seemingly collected over the years. But he genuinely paused when he stumbled upon a bundle of letters, yellowed by age and tied together with a fraying ribbon. With careful hands, he undid the knot and gingerly opened the first letter, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. As his eyes scanned the page, he found himself involuntarily sucking in a sharp breath of air through his teeth. The writing that stared back at him was unmistakably in his mother's hand, Queen Aemma.
My dearest prince,
Your last letter made me smile. It is such a bore here in the Eyrie
without you. I look forward to your return to the Vale this summer.
Mayhaps you will appear on dragonback and carry me
somewhere far away and beautiful, Viserys.
Yours,
Lady Aemma Arryn
Others were filled with sweet words of love, while some were more mundane, speaking of everyday matters. But what struck Aeonar the most was the fact that his father had kept them all. The creases in the paper and the faded stains that looked suspiciously like tears suggested that Viserys had read and re-read each letter countless times over the years. Wha...? H-He kept these? He... he never forgot about her. Aeonar thought as he set the letters down. Not... Not for a moment. Even after twenty years, he still thought about mother... He-he still loves her.
My dearest child,
If ever the worst should come to pass, I feel the need to write to you once more. Today marks the one hundred-twelfth year after Aegon's Conquest, and your father has decided to host a tourney to honor the
birth of another son. Although I have doubts, your father's excitement was palpable; he even told a joke about it that I must admit made me laugh.
But what matters most is what I leave behind, not as a queen to her subjects, but as a mother to her child.
Aeonar, you and Rhaenyra are the light of my life, the reason I keep going. The term 'unconditional love' can only be experienced when you hold your first child in your arms. And you two are the only children your father and I were able to have after so many years of trying. I've mourned all the lost children I can, but you two are my heart and soul.
When the day comes that you ask Alicent for her hand in marriage, I pray that you find peace and happiness wherever you can find it, but most importantly, with each other. Who knows? One day you'll bless us with cute little grandchildren.
I'm sorry, it's hard to believe my son is now seventeen-a man-grown.
As queen, it is my duty to ensure your father has an heir. I know you and your sister have addressed your concerns, but please, try not to blame your father. Viserys loves you both dearly, as do I. We love you two with all our hearts. As I write this letter, I feel the child in my womb kicking with all its might.
But take heart.
No matter what happens, whatever may come, we will always be a family. Don't worry, sweetheart. It'll be all right. I'll always be with you.
I love you so much.
Your mother,
Queen Aemma Arryn • consort to King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name
Setting the letters down with great care, as if they were a precious relic, Aeonar continued to rummage through the chest. As he dug deeper, his fingers brushed against a smooth, flat surface. Curious, he pulled out a simple slab of plaster, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw what was etched on it. In the center of the slab was the unmistakable handprint of a child, and on the back, in faded letters, was the inscription 'Ninety-five years after Aegon's Conquest'. Aeonar's eyes widened as he realized that this was the year of his birth. And beneath that, in his father's handwriting, were the words 'Prince Aeonar Targaryen, my son and heir, but more importantly, my pride and joy.' The words brought tears to his eyes, and he clutched the slab to his chest as if he could feel his father's love emanating from it.
ooOoo
Flashback: 30 years ago (102 AC)...
"Bae... Baelon?" the Old King, Jaehaerys I Targaryen, wheezed weakly. His health continued to fail him. His hands shook with age when he felt small hands gently grasping them. "Ba... Baelon? Is that you, my child?" Nearing the end of his life, after outliving his sister-wife and most of his children, his strength and wits began to fail, leaving him often confined to his bed.
"N-No," a young Aeonar shook his head emotionally. The seven-year-old felt something terrible was happening to the Old King. "I... Great-grandpa, I'm Aeonar. Grandpa's grandson," he said innocently. "Great-grandpa?"
"Child... Listen, child... Do not... Do not repeat my mistakes. Learn from them... The crown, our family... all must remain united. As one... The crown cannot stand strong... if the House of the Dragon becomes divided... The only thing... that can tear us down... is ourselves. Promise me... that you will keep the family together... when I am gone... Keep them close, do not let them go... Your father, your mother... your sister... family... Promise..."
"I... I promise, great-grandpa. I promise..."
--------------------------
Flashback: 29 years ago (103 AC)...
"Father? What's that you're making?" an eight-year-old Aeonar asked curiously.
Viserys put his tools down. "Oh, this? This is a... a model I've been working on for a while now."
"What is it?"
"It's a replica of what the Valyrian Freehold looked like at the height of its power. Look here," he pointed before hoisting his son up onto his lap. "The Valyrian capital was built into a volcano, much like Dragonstone. The dragonlords, the highest of the nobility, lived here," he pointed to another spot, "the volcanic face, closest to the source of their magic and power."
"Really?"
"Oh yes. And this was the Anogrion."
"The what?"
"It's where the blood mages worked their craft."
"Ooooh. So, you made all this?"
"It took some time. And there's still plenty to be worked on. Much of our history has been lost since the Doom wiped out Old Valyria. I'm only going off of what we have left in our records and providing the plans for the stonemasons."
"Do you think we can make another Freehold, father?"
"Oh, that would depend, my son, whether you speak of the Freehold at its height or at its fall. Over a thousand dragons, a navy large enough to span the seas of the world. The glory of Old Valyria will never be seen again."
"Can I help?"
"What?"
"Can I help you with this model, father?"
"W-Well, I..."
"Pleeeeeeease?~"
"Hahaha! All right, all right. No need to beg with those innocent puppy eyes, Aeonar."
"Yay!"
--------------------------
Flashback: 28 years ago (104 AC)...
In the serene gardens of the Red Keep, nine-year-old Aeonar and his seven-year-old sister Rhaenyra were deeply engrossed in playtime with their dear friend Alicent, age seven. The trio was thoroughly enjoying themselves, relishing every moment of their youthful exuberance. Such carefree moments were a cherished luxury for the young children, who spent most of their time engaged in their studies and other obligatory activities.
Meanwhile, standing by a little distance away, was their watchful father, Viserys, who was busy crafting his intricate Old Valyria model. Beside him stood Otto Hightower, his trusted advisor, observing the skilled craftsmanship with a keen eye.
Before long, Queen Aemma approached. "Viserys," she called out, "it's supper time. Have the children come back inside."
Otto nodded. "I'll do the same with my daughter, Your Grace," he acknowledged.
"Aeonar! Rhaenyra!" Viserys called out. "My children, you heard your mother!"
"Yes, father! We're coming!" the Targaryen kids giggled and frolicked together, with Alicent by their side. Aeonar noticed his mother's hand extending towards him, beckoning him to join her.
"Come along now, sweetheart," Aemma smiled warmly, still offering her son to take her hand.
--------------------------
Flashback: 22 years ago (110 AC)...
"Ah! What the―?!"
"For fuck's sake! Who did that?!"
"My new uniform!"
"Where is he?! Who is the dead man who poured this piss on me?!"
Aeonar and Alicent quickly withdrew before the guards below could look up. By the time they returned, they saw Rhaenyra giggling her ass off.
"Ooh! The look on their faces!"
"Rhaenyra!" Alicent protested. "How could you do such a thing?"
"Come on," Rhaenyra wiped a tear from her eye; she was laughing so hard. "You have to admit it was a little funny. Besides, they have not bathed in a few days and spent their off-duty hours getting drunk last I heard. Why not give 'em something to drink while they're at it."
Aeonar opened his mouth but quickly shut it. Okay, he had to admit it was a little funny ― but this was still not acceptable for a member of the royal family to behave. Before he could even respond, he heard clanking footsteps approaching. Someone in armor. But it was something they were all familiar with.
"Ah, there you are, princess," Harrold noticed. "Prince Aeonar. My lady."
"Good afternoon, Ser Harrold," Alicent greeted.
"Ser Harrold," Aeonar greeted.
Harrold turned to Rhaenyra. "Haahh... please don't tell me you intentionally skipped your studies again. The king and queen are already fed up enough as it is."
"Why, Ser Harrold, I don't know what you mean," Rhaenyra feigned ignorance.
Aeonar saw his chance and gently gripped Rhaenyra by the arm. "Must you ask? I am certain you already know the answer by now. Yes, ser, my sister did it again... and more." He pointed over the railing. Harrold leaned over, saw what had happened, and groaned.
"Nāpāstre! (Backstabber!)"
"Iotāptegon bisa hae gūrogon sizi syt pryjātās bisa tovi nyke kȳvaōks sīr qopsa syt, se syt issare kuna iā ōdres isse ñuha gundja, mandia. (Consider this as getting even for ruining this moment I planned so hard for, and for being such a pain in my ass, sister.)"
Rhaenyra pouted at being hit with karma and stared up at Aeonar. But he was still her brother, and she had her fair share of fun for the day. Leaning on her tippy toes, Rhaenyra kissed Aeonar's cheek. "Raqnon a, lēkia issa. (Love you, brother.)"
--------------------------
Flashback: 17 years ago (115 AC)...
"It hurts, but we'll endure as we've always done."
"I understand you and His Grace used to be so close," Criston added. "So that explains why you haven't seen eye-to-eye."
"To put it mildly." Aeonar wrapped his left arm around Rhaenyra and pulled her close to him. The princess hugged her brother in reciprocation. He turned to his sister. "But we still have each other. Even if we have our own lives to lead, you know that you can always talk to me. Yet I don't envy you."
"Envy me?" Rhaenyra raised a brow.
"It's not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path. You have more freedom than you realize, Rhaenyra. I don't."
"So does that mean we can run away to the Free Cities on dragonback and only eat cake?"
"Ha, tempting - but no."
"Aw, you're no fun."
"And you're still a pain in the ass." Aeonar kissed her head. "You're lucky I love you, sister. I wouldn't trade you for any sibling in the world."
"I love you too, brother," Rhaenyra murmured.
ooOoo
The tugging and twitching at the back of his head began to hurt terribly. "Father... M-Mother..."
Aeonar looked back on his past; memories of happy times spent with his family came flooding back in a rush. However, these fond recollections were overshadowed by the tragic loss of his mother, a loss that had caused him to bury his emotions deep within. A deep-seated anger, bitterness, and resentment towards his own father for taking away his mother had taken root. But then, as Alicent struggled to give birth to Daeron, Aeonar found himself experiencing a similar situation to that of the king when the baby was breached. Suddenly, everything made sense. Aeonar could empathize with King Viserys's pain, guilt, and overwhelming heartbreak following Aemma's death. He now understood why the maester's medicine had failed to help. Viserys was punishing himself for his role in his beloved wife's death, haunted by the way she had died. As the king's health deteriorated, it was almost as if his guilt had taken on a physical form. He allowed himself to grow sicker and sicker, never asking for a cure or seeking help. In the end, Viserys almost seemed to have accepted his fate, viewing it as a form of punishment.
"Father..."
Aeonar's demeanor shifted as he lowered his head and clenched his hands into a tight ball. It was evident that he was struggling with pent-up emotions that had finally reached a boiling point. His body was now shaking with the weight of his thoughts and feelings. As he reflected on his past actions, he felt an overwhelming sense of regret and disappointment in himself. Aeonar had made a promise to his great-grandfather, King Jaehaerys, and his mother, Queen Aemma, which he had failed to keep. He had mistreated his father for the past twenty years, and now that he was nearing the end of his life, Aeonar realized the gravity of his actions. The realization hit him hard, and he felt an immense wave of guilt wash over him. Aeonar despised himself for the hatred, blame, and death wishes that he had harbored toward his father, who was dealing with something beyond his control. As he sat there, tears streaming down his face and his hands trembling with guilt, he couldn't help but feel like he had become the embodiment of everything he had sworn never to be. Every word he had said to his father over the years had left a permanent scar, and no amount of regret or wishful thinking could ever take them back.
"I'm sorry... Aemma, my children..." Viserys continued apologizing through wheezes, tears staining his bandages. "For... Forgive me... I'm... sorry..."
Wha... What have I done? "No. No, f-father," Aeonar's voice cracked, "I... I should... Please, stop. Please..." I-I didn't mean... I never meant to... Oh, gods. Father, mother... please, forgive me. I-I'm so sorry... He was so plagued with guilt that he didn't even notice there was another visitor.
"Brother," Rhaenyra approached. Aeonar didn't look at her but didn't reject her presence. She looked at the bed and noticed the pile of letters. She determined he saw them as well as she did. She placed one hand on Aeonar's back and consoled him as he wept for the first time in years. "Shhh, shhh. I know, I know. I miss her too. I still do. Just as much as you and father," her voice also cracked. "Aeonar, do you remember... 'The Song of Ice and Fire.' The day you told me before you left for Essos. Do you believe it to be true?"
No answer.
"A-Aegon's Dream..." Viserys uttered through choked sobs and pain. "My... my only children..."
Rhaenyra tried to get through to Aeonar. "Brother, please," she pleaded. "You told me it was our duty to hold the realm united against a common foe." She was on the verge of crying herself. "You're my only brother. The only one I have left. Our mother would be heartbroken to see what we've become." She placed her hand on her brother's. He didn't flinch or reject either. "Please, Aeonar. I'm begging you. Please d-don't push me away. I don't want us to be forever estranged. We both lost so much it hurts. I love you. That hasn't changed. You know that." You've been forced to go through it alone. But I understand what you've been trying to teach me. Yet even then, I can see it in your eyes, whereas no one else could. Few people know what you've been through, Aeonar. For twenty-seven years, you've been forced to fight a lot of battles alone, whether it's politics or the battlefield. Alicent and I worry sometimes he forgets; many of us lose sleep over him, standing against the storm all without breaking. But that doesn't mean you must endure such a heavy burden alone, brother. It's too heavy. "We're family," tears finally poured down her cheeks. "So share your burdens with me. Father needs you. Our children need you." She placed a hand over her mouth. "I... I need you," she wept. "Oh gods, please forgive me."
Both the Targaryen siblings grieved and mourned the relationship they once had in their childhood, unable to get it back. Together, Aeonar and Rhaenyra reflected on the people they once were, the once-strong familial bond they shared that was broken like a wound that had trouble healing. Unaware of this, King Viserys, although delirious from the pain, had been listening to them. From his perspective, he didn't see two grown adults; he saw two children in dire need of his help. His children. His and Aemma's. Viserys felt more heartbroken by the sight. Although Aeonar and Rhaenyra remained unaware, their father placed his frail hand on top of theirs.
"No... It's..." Aeonar, Rhaenyra. My children. Shhh, shhh. Don't cry, don't cry. Fa... Father's here. I'm... I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be with you...
--------------------------
By morning, after three days, the storm had passed. And when it was over, the moment had arrived.
Viserys was in agony, his entire body trembling with pain. He remained seated and motionless, barely able to process the proceedings around him. Grand Maester Orwyle and several acolytes had been called in to attend to his afflictions, but even in their presence, Viserys was too overwhelmed to find any relief. He heard them move around him, their hands and tools ever-busy, but he felt powerless to do anything about his own suffering, yet he remained still. The acolytes spoke in hushed tones as they worked, their words barely registering in his mind, but the pain in his body was all too real. The king had remembered the petition hearing surrounding the rights of Driftmark between who would stand as the rightful heir of Lord Corlys Velaryon as two contenders were pressing their claim. One was the Sea Snake's younger brother, Ser Vaemond, and the other was the king's own grandson, Prince Jacaerys. Vaemond had the advantage of being the closest blood-related kin to Driftmark's ruling lord, whereas Jacaerys had the advantage of being the legal son of Corlys's son, Ser Laenor. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on something else, anything else.
But the king had a special visitor.
Seated in a high chair in front of him, the three-month-old Princess Saena babbled with her toys in hand. Viserys, raising his head slightly, smiled at the sight of his great-granddaughter. He remembered the first time he had seen his first great-grandchild when she was just a few hours old. She was a beautiful baby, and he knew that she was going to have a wonderful life ahead of her. Beside him, his granddaughter Princess Aemma held his hand in hers. Viserys was so proud of the young woman she had become. She was kind and caring. Her touch was so gentle, tender, and affectionate. She would often give Viserys hugs and tell him how much he was loved. For the love she bore her grandfather, Aemma took care of him when he was sick, and he was always so grateful to her.
"Is it ready?" Aemma asked.
"It should be," Orwyle implied.
"Mix it with these," Alwyn presented a concoction to the princess. "It should help deaden the pain and keep His Grace stable enough without―"
"Yes, maester. I understand." Aemma took the vial and approached the king. "Here, grandpa. Your medicine's ready. Now, I know how much you hate it, but―"
"I want us to have supper, Aemma," Viserys spoke.
"Now? But grandpa, it's still daytime. It's far too early for―"
"Tonight. I meant tonight. The whole of my family is gathered at the Red Keep. I want us... to dine together." The king moaned and groaned as the acolytes turned him over.
Something's bothering him. He's not normally this assertive. "Grandpa?" Aemma looked concerned. "Are... are you sure you're all right?" she asked.
Viserys slowly turned to his granddaughter. "I... I'm fine, my dear girl. Don't worry about this old man," he reassured her, brushing his hand across Aemma's cheek. "Can... can you tell Otto... to arrange it for me? Your father has... more than enough on his mind."
Aemma knew something was wrong. But what else could she do? "As... as you wish," she complied. She kissed his cheek, took one last sorrow-filled look at him, and went to retrieve her daughter. Before she left, Aemma glanced over her shoulder. "I love you, grandpa. So very much."
Viserys watched as the young princess left. "I... I love you too, Aemma." My son, my daughter, my grandchildren... they-they need me. I can't... I can't abandon them now. I-I have to... have to make things right.