Aerys, at thirteen, is a tall and strong boy. Renowned for his skill with a blade already, and an excellent dragon rider. His presence in King's Landing, he knows, is to support his mother and his cousin.
Aerys spends most of his time in the Dragonpit, even when night draws near and he knows his horse grows impatient outside. Enough time that he knows the wings beats of each of the dragons in this keep. Dreamfyre, young Sunfyre, and even Melelys at times. So, when the sleek golden dragon lands outside the doors of the pit, his attention is peaked.
Rhaenyra has spent most of her time on Dragonstone, away from her new siblings. Reluctant to face the queen, and the unfriendly faces from lords who would wish her a male instead. The last time Aerys saw her was when he first moved to the Red Keep, at seven. The heir is fifteen now. A dragon rider, just like him.
She slides from the dragon Syrax, her blonde hair loose down her back. Aerys leans against Vermithor's leg, watching her lead the dragon inside with a single word. In Valyrian, he calls to her.
"I didn't expect to see you here." Rhaenyra jumps slightly, turning quickly. As if she didn't see the massive bronze dragon in the shadows. A measure of surprise crosses her face as her eyes light on him.
"Aerys?"
"The very same."
She grins, the expression lighting her elegant features. Nothing like Viserys, he thinks. The king is weak and shallow at times. But Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra's eyes are alight with a fire he recognizes all too well.
"Is my uncle here, then?"
"Just I, for now. My parents returned to Storm's End some months ago to be with my siblings."
"Well, I'm glad I caught you here then. I was just about to visit Leanna. Syrax grew hungry, or else I would have flown straight there. It seems that her appetite has favored me."
"Are you asking me to accompany you?" The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
"Perhaps," she answers. "Unless you can't keep up. After all, Vermithor is much older than Syrax."
"And you are older than I," he retorts. "I suppose that makes us even."
Rhaenyra accepts the teasing, starting to turn for Syrax once more. The dragon has already approached the pile of freshly deposited sheep carcasses, gorging herself. Pausing, the princess turns back to him.
"Tell me something, Aerys." He extends his hand, motioning for her to continue. "Are tensions still high here? Do they still curse my name over wine and swear I am not worthy?"
"They do not dare to when I am around."
"But when you are not?"
"I'm everywhere, Princess," he answers darkly. An edge of a storm in his words that has Rhaenyra considering him with a new light.
"They say you are Maegor reincarnated. Is that true? That you are charming and yet quick to anger?"
"They say the same of my father, do they not?"
"They did, once. Now they say it of your mother," she smirks, tilting her head.
"I have the blood of dragons and storms in me, Princess. I will not be quick to forget that."
Rhaenyra nods silently. Again, she moves for Syrax. In a few minutes time, the gold dragon finishes her meal. Aerys shadows her, moving for Vermithor's saddle.
The two dragons dance through the air. Gold and bronze, like the crown she will one day wear. Large and small, twisting shadows over the towns they fly over. They are greeted at Storm's End by Caraxes, and the threat of a gathering squall on the horizon. The rain begins to fall in earnest as they dismount the dragons.
Rhaenyra, laughing, starts to run for the castle walls. Pausing in the storm when she realizes he isn't following, she turns back to him. Aerys rests his hand on his sword, looking at the rain-soaked princess. In a dark dress, with her hair plastered to her. Long and blonde. Violet eyes, not quite as dark as his but close enough.
"What?" She calls through the rain. Tilting her face to the rain, she laughs again. This was not a hurricane force, but a sweet summer rain. Tasting of honey mead and the crispness of a clear spring. This was life-bringing rain. Nourishing and essential. It was the kind of rain that Aerys would always crave, like a parched man in a desert.
"I will always support you, Princess," he offers. Quietly, and yet his words cut through the noise of the rain.
Her smile fades slightly as he steps towards her. She brings her face down from the sky, though she is still forced to look up at him.
They say, in King's Landing, that Aerys is the most deadly combination that has been produced in centuries. All the height and width of a Baratheon, with the wit and agility of a Targaryen. He was lethal, and anyone who crossed him would know it.
And, he knows now as he looks down at the princess, anyone who crossed Rhaenyra. In Valyrian, he speaks again.
"If you will have me."
Color tinges her cheeks. Her lips part, and yet there is a sensible side to her. "Careful," she warns him. "Those are dangerous words when speaking to a princess."
"Are they?" He answers, lifting a hand to curve her wet hair away from her jaw. "Think of it. We are both born of fire. Who will stand between us?"
"The king, to start." Rhaenyra jolts back from Aerys, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. Leanna is clad in a dark cloak, her eyes narrowed. Considering the two before her carefully. "Princess," she greets with a dip of her chin. To Aerys, however, she strides past Rhaenyra and grabs his arm. Hissing into his ear as she drags him towards the castle, her words are venom. "Do you want to lose your life before you have reached adulthood?"
He complains at her grip, but doesn't try to break free. Abashed, Rhaenyra follows them. Still with a redness to her cheeks that does not leave, even well into the night when she is warmed from a bath and her hair is dry. She almost thinks she imagines the knock on the wall next to her bed, until it comes again. Then the wall, made of stone, is parting itself. There are no panels, no knobs, no lines at all to allude to a secret door. And yet it opens on silent hinges, without a noise.
Rhaenyra sits up, mouth opening to cry out. Then she pauses as the tall figure ducks into her room. His hair is down, no longer drawn back into a knot. Curlier than hers, and somewhat darker in hue than her white-blonde.
"Aerys," she whispers, acutely aware of the guards outside the door. "How...?" He lifts a fingers to his lips, motioning to her. Glancing again at her door, Rhaenyra hesitates. He holds out his hand.
Rhaenyra knows what it will mean for her to take his hand. What it will mean for her fate. And yet, she isn't afraid. She takes his hand, and follows him into the stone passageway. He selects a torch from the wall as the door closes smoothly behind them.
"Quiet," he whispers in her ear before they begin walking. "These passages run throughout the walls. The stone is thick, but someone could still hear us." She nods, hand still entwined in his as he leads the way.
The passageway curves downward. Down, and down, with the sound of the sea growing ever closer. It reminds her of Dragonstone, though the stone walls here are much paler.
Aerys finally straightens in the large cavern that the passageway opens into. Here, the sea is loudest. Despite the low light, Rhaenyra can see similar large openings in the walls around them. Matching passageways that she can only assume curve upward and back into the castle.
"My ancestors used this place to avoid detection in times of war and other secrecy. If we ever needed to, we could escape from here into the sea. Here," he draws her further into the cavern. She squints into the darkness, the torch barely illuminating the ground before them.
Finally, a cold gust hits her face. They round a corner, and Aerys stops them before the rock wall. He presses lightly. Again, the stone swings on invisible hinges. Almost magic, hewn by craftsmen far more advanced than anyone in these times. Before them, in the rectangle of sky and sea, spreads the night. Gone is the storm, and the sky is crisp. Clear, sprinkled with stars. Rhaenyra steps free of the darkness, taking a deep breath of the salty air. A foot or so below her, the waves lap at the rocks.
"My mother is sending a raven to your father." Rhaenyra curses without looking at him. She jumps as a touch brushes the back of her neck. Curving her hair away from her skin. Touch gentle, with calloused fingers. "To ask for your hand. Not to condemn you."
"Marriage?" She chokes, breath going out of her.
"Yes."
"To...you." He chuckles in response.
"Not now. Not until you're ready, Princess. There's no rush. I won't do anything stupid."
"You could." She turns into him. Too fast, her momentum pushing her into his chest. "If we are to be betrothed. You could."
"Easy, Princess," he chides. Rhaenyra bites her lip, finding the stars reflecting in his dark eyes. The stars, the moon, and the sea. He was right. They were both fireborne. Dragon blood. They were meant to burn together.
"Not yet," she agrees. "But I would have no other." Heart thundering in her chest, she takes a half-step back. What she's about to do is bold. Entirely brazen, and somewhat blasphemous. Even as the princess, she has no right to ask this of anyone. "Swear to me. Swear that you will follow me and no one else." She reaches forward, plucking his dagger from his belt. He starts to reach, but he is too late to stop her from drawing the blade against the palm of her hand. She holds both her hand and the blade out. Waiting. "Swear to me in blood."