When Rhaenyra was told that Aerion was afflicted with a stomach ache, she refused to believe that he of all people would not find a way to be out of his chambers midday.
And Lady Jeyne, agrees with that sentiment.
First time Rhaenyra met Aerion was when she was old enough to remember the fussy toddler who simply wanted to be carried by his dear mother. And afterwards, they would see each other once for every few years during celebrations in which the crown would host. Until the day where Daemon decided to bring his son to the Red Keep permanently when Rhaenyra was ten and three.
He had always been a shy boy. Kept to himself along with his books. At first she found it odd that a boy like him would bring his own household from Runestone, until the realization dawned on her that despite being a Targaryen by name — he was second in line to Runestone after his lady mother. And at some point, second in line to the Iron Throne after his father before the king had named her heir.
"The mighty prince lives," Rhaenyra smirked at the sight of Aerion as he gave his quick greetings to the kingsguards before bowing in her and the Lady Jeyne's presence.
Rhaenyra could see that Aerion's skin tone was a little paler despite his best efforts to appear respectable in front of the Warden of the East and the Realm's Delight. He had a slight slouch in his posture, his eyes were a little unfocused, and curls were beginning to form in his hair, despite the fact that he was usually cool, collected, and respectable. She could even smell the lingering scent of the alcohol from his evening adventures.
"Princess," Aerion greeted with a bow, his voice was dry as Dorne's sand, wincing at its own sound. "Lady Arryn. Forgive me for my tardiness, I fear that my company today is hardly worth the wait."
Jeyne Arryn couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "A stomach ache, was it? Yet you stand before us looking as though your dragon had stepped on your head."
"If I were given a choice, my Lady, I would have remained in bed." Aerion grumbled. "If I had known that sailors had such strong alcoholic tendencies, I would have refused Ser Laenor's invitation to the docks."
Despite being entertained by Aerion's complaints of his drunken escapades, the princess could not help but think how vastly different they were in terms of company as well as expectations. Whereas she, a princess was expected to marry and lead the household after her mother's death, Aerion was a young lad who was expected to be a knight rather than be in his solar, surrounded by the books he had collected over the years. Gods forbid another Targaryen Prince were to be another maester — it would be a waste, she would think. If Aerion had decided to take the chains of knowledge rather than the valyrian steel sword that would be his by right from either his father or from his grandsire.
She observed the banter between the Lady Jeyne and Aerion. His shoulders were not tense, his hand gestures as well as his expressions were more animated than when he would be with her. There was a feeling of comforting feeling to the mere thought that his two cousins had such close ties despite not being each other's orbit for the last few years.
He would have been a good king.
A thought that constantly haunted Rhaenyra since her father named her heir. And yet, she adored the constant reassurance that the young prince would provide for her — always close enough to be intimate and yet distant enough not to be called lovers.
Now that Alicent had married her father, there was the possibility that she would bear him sons — how many, Rhaenyra wasn't so certain. Aerion was the son Viserys had always wanted despite Daemon's constant absence. Royce by principle and yet Targaryen by birthright.
Her mother's words were As High as Honor. Would honor be so horrible to be companied along with Fire and Blood? Aemma, who had died at childbirth… Rhaenyra's mind constantly wondered what her last moments were. Complications, the handmaidens would whisper. An unfortunate fate, the maesters would say. The Stranger is welcoming, a septa would have said — words that Rhaenyra did not find so comforting.
Another evening feast where the princess decided to join her Arryn cousins at the table as she watched Aerion dancing with the Lady Jessamyn Redfort who carried herself with a composed authority of her noble status, with a dress of deep red, her house colors. Her warm, chestnut hair beneath a pillbox cap that was simply draped around her face . Even the dear companion of her cousin Jeyne Arryn had a sense of familiarity towards the heir of Runestone.
"Aerion adores dancing," Jeyne spoke fondly. Rhaenyra turned her gaze towards her Arryn cousin, her brows were knitted together which prompted the Warden of the East to chuckle at the princess' expression. "I take that he doesn't dance as often as the king holds his celebrations?"
"He barely dances," Rhaenyra admitted.
"And yet, you were always his first and last dance at every evening there is one." Rhaenyra had no retort to her cousin's words. She never truly noticed that Aerion who often prefers the company of books than ladies to adore dancing, it sounded absurd.
Her gaze went back to the nobles dancing, and there he was smiling to what Jessamyn had told him. There was a certain softness in his deep amethyst eyes and a gentleness to every turn he guided his dance partner to every chime of the festive tunes.
The Red Keep demanded him to be… calm, guarded, always a few steps ahead despite his age. Many constantly try to dismiss him because of his age and yet could not do so because of his status and his closeness to the king. Viserys who holds his counsel close to his sleeves. And yet, in a span of days, Rhaenyra had seen a different Aerion whenever he was with his Valemen.
His shoulders less tense and his eyes gleamed with every company he had spoken to.
Even when he had his back turned, it often felt like he could trust those from the Vale more so than his own Targaryen kin.
Sometimes it was hard to even entertain, the mere idea of marrying due to love. Is that even allowed? Is it even love? Perhaps a different kind of love that she felt towards her cousin, who in turn would have a seat of his own, an ancient house of his own.
Rhaenyra was merely ten and three when Aerion arrived at the Red Keep with Prince Daemon. She was old enough to hear the whispers of a possible betrothal, even now, as heir to the Iron Throne, those rumors have not died down.
The soft rhythm of the music allowed Aerion the the Lady Jessamyn to complete their final turn, Rhaenyra continued to watch as he offered Lady Redfort a low, respectful bow. Not the usual performance he often provided for the courtiers of King's Landing, but rather a respectful gesture to honor his own.
"You seem rather puzzled, as if Prince Aerion were a man you cannot solve," Jeyne murmured, taking a sip from her goblet as she followed the princess' gaze.
"That's what he is to me," Rhaenyra admitted. "In the capital, he often moves like a man walking upon thin ice, carefully considering every word in his mind before he speaks. And yet, amongst your lords he simply… relaxes. He breathes."
"The reason is rather simple than many would like to believe," Jeyne replied with soft playful tone, growing into something heavier in a manner of seriousness with her own shared history with Rhea Royce's son. "The Red Keep is nothing but a pit of vipers, my dear cousin. To them, Prince Aerion is nothing but either a prize with dragon's blood or a threat to the very ambition they set their eyes upon at the top of the ladder — a piece to be moved across the board, or an immovable obstacle. He can never be one and the other at the same time to those lords and ladies. But to the Vale, we remember Rhea Royce's son."
Rhaenyra turned her gaze to her Arryn cousin, almost as if she dared to call Aerion as that: Rhea Royce's son. "We do not expect him to a king or a conqueror. To honor one bloodline over the other, is a mistake many lords would struggle in his place but Aerion regardless of his age has honored the burden of a Targaryen dragon and the true spirit of the Bronze Kings in the Vale. A burden, yes, but a far lighter one than you will find yourself upon in years time."
"You speak of it with such certainty, cousin," said Rhaenyra.
"One day, you will be a ruling Queen, Rhaenyra. Men will either be with you or against you by the time you sit upon the Iron Throne, but make no mistake, many will die," Jeyne spoke with a lever of certainty since she was old enough to remember her sitting on the weirwood throne with Lord Yorbar by her side. "Perhaps it will be a fact of our time that a man rules his wife even if his wife is a queen, you must not be laid low by any man. You must not be ruled by anyone."
"Your Grace, the Princess Rhaenyra," a steward announced as he gave a deep bow to the king who was taking refuge in his small council room.
Viserys turned from his window view to see his daughter approach him. She had not spoken a word to her father since the day he announced his intentions to marry Alicent Hightower. "Rhaenyra," he greeted in murmur, "I had hoped you were resting after tonight's festivities. What brings you here?"
Rhaenyra didn't give her father an immediate answer. She never truly planned to speak with her father unless demanded to do so, but the princess felt that it was high time to face the dance rather than to demand the orchestra to change its tune. "I wish to settle a matter of the crown before others attempt to settle it for you."
"Is that so?" Viserys raised a brow, his hands folded behind his back as he searched his daughter's expression for a clue, any clue of some sorts, "and what matter would that be?"
"My future," she spoke plainly. "As you have told me, as rulers we must marry for advantage. Forge alliances and bolster our strength. But I do not wish to forge a new alliance, I wish to nurture the one that I have now. I want your approval for a betrothal between myself and Aerion."
Viserys himself was promised to Aemma Arryn when he was ten and seven years of age, a story she had heard since she was old enough to listen. In which the Vale had an army to rival the North — but there was no denying that her father had loved her mother. It is a privilege to marry for love, she knew that. She understood that. There was no man in the realm more noble and loyal to her than Aerion Targaryen.
Viserys understood the implications of marrying Rhaenyra to his brother's son. It had been an echoing whisper over the years since the boy was born, and the whispers grew louder when he was brought to court by Daemon, even more so when the boy was knighted. He is everything that Rhaenyra needed to be upon a throne of swords — he is the blood of old Valyria and of the First Men. A dragonrider of one of the most majestic dragons House Targaryen had hatched, along with a marital power that he would inherit in his own right when the time has come. It was a union many had expected, and yet many sought to destroy. To seal it now is to silence the hush whispers of another option for his daughter who would soon be queen.
But before Viserys could even weigh his own thoughts into the matter, Rhaenyra continued to press her advantage. "Furthermore, I will not be remaining in King's Landing once the tourneys and the festivities have conclude. Aerion departs for the Vale shortly after and I intend to join him."
Rhaenyra must indeed marry. Strengthen her own claim, shore up her succession, multiply. This match was something he had always wanted for her — not just because he knew Aerion would be the man who would raise any sword against those who would harm her, but rather… was of her own volition. A match that would please her.
Viserys let out a soft yet weary sigh, he felt the heavy tension on his shoulders being at ease for the first time in many moons since Aemma's death. He turned his gaze to look at the daughter standing before him, truly looked at her, she was far from the little girl that hid behind Aemma's skirts. Her gaze alone had the burning flames of determination in her violet eyes, knowing full well that his marriage to Alicent had fractured what relationship existed between them, but there she was standing before him. With a clear mind and a resolute request as the heir he wanted her to be.
"Aerion," Viserys said fondly and yet there was caution in his eyes, almost as if he was contemplating on a thought he did not share with her. "He is a young man who is as much as a storm as he is your shield, Rhaenyra."
"I don't understand," Rhaenyra frowned. This was the perfect match for her, no one could deny it. He is of Valyrian descent with one of the oldest and most honorable houses in all of the realm. Aerion Targaryen was the only man who could stand with her in the flames. "If I had brought this sooner, you would have been delighted with the match."
"Otto has made suggestions of Aerion's match," Viserys said hesitantly. Rhaenyra's eyes widen as her heart sank at the mere idea of separating Aerion from her was unbearable. Especially now that many expect the new Queen to bear the king a son.
Otto Hightower. She shouldn't be surprised at this point, as her father would often disregard sound advises from those closest to him when it came to his Lord Hand.
"And to whom did the Lord Hand suggest that Aerion wed?"
"The Lady Jeyne Arryn," Viserys answered.
It was of sound suggestion, one would think besides her, Jeyne Arryn is the next most prized bird in the flock. She was the Lady of the Vale in her own right, and House Royce has stood beside House Arryn for hundreds if not thousands of years since the Andal invasion.
How dare he… was all she could think of.
"Jeyne Arryn?" A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Her voice was filled with a cold disdain, not out of disrespect to her Arryn cousin, but to the sheer audacity. How dare the Hand try to strip him of the only man she trusted. Lord Otto does move his pieces rather so predictably that it felt rather insulting. "Don't tell me you cannot see what your Hand seeks to accomplish? Jeyne Arryn rules the Vale alone — surrounded with ambitious men who question her right to rule because the only crime she has ever committed was she was not born a man. Marry Aerion to her and you isolate him."
"It is not isolation if he is close to his kin," Viserys argued.
"We are his kin," Rhaenyra pressed, causing Viserys to flinch ever so slightly. "Haven't you isolated him enough, father? Strip me of Aerion, and I am left exposed to the realm to whoever or whatever scheme the realm hatches the moment your new queen produces an heir. Strip me of Aerion, who protects me?! You?!""
She could see it in his eyes. The grief, the pain… the loneliness that comes with the crown. The realization in his eyes that say it all — that his daughter was no longer a little girl or a grieving child, but a dragon asserting her claim. She spoke the truth that he could never deny, and Rhaenyra would wage war for this one boy. Otto's advice had always been sound reasonably if one does not take the time to think about the implications carefully.
The difference between the King of the Seven Kingdoms and the Princess of Dragonstone was rather simple, she could see what Aerion was seeing. The viper who leads a nest of men filled with self-interest who was two steps ahead, as his first had already gained the first prize that he had set his eyes on: A daughter for a Queen.
"Aerion is the son of Rhea Royce and Daemon Targaryen," Rhaenyra continued, "the grandson of Lord Yorbert Royce and the nephew of the King of the Seven Kingdoms — his name alone make the men of the Vale answer as much as they do Lady Jeyne. By marrying me, he brings strength and protection to your chosen successor. Vows and obedience alone would not make men willingly bow to the weaker sex. To grant him to another is to willingly strip me of my sharpest blade and my closest companion."
"It was the suggestion of the Hand to his King," Viserys said quietly as he raised his eyes to meet hers, "he didn't command it. As the decision rests with the King."
"Then decide, father," Rhaenyra continued to press. She would not let him win. She would not let Otto Hightower take another step forward across the board. He can take any piece from her side… but not him. Not her Aerion. "Announce our betrothal before the feast concludes tonight. Let the Lords and Ladies of the realm see that House Targaryen will stand as one for a further generation."
"Very well," Viserys agreed. "You shall have your betrothal, Rhaenyra. And you have my permission to go to the Vale with him."
"Thank you, father."
"There you are," Aerion smiled as Rhaenyra noticed him approaching her. "You were gone for quite a while, I was beginning to worry that perhaps you have decided to rest for the evening."
"Forgive me for worrying you," Rhaenyra returned a smile as she saw at the corner of her eye of a servant guiding Lord Yorbert and Lady Rhea to where her father was. "I was merely speaking to my father about matters of the realm."
"Matters of the realm?" Aerion repeated with a look of confusion in his gaze, "at this hour? Dear cousin, we are in a middle of a wedding feast."
"It is rather critical," Rhaenyra admitted with a soft tone. "I have informed my father than I am to accompany you to Runestone once the festivities are done."
Aerion's hand rested gently against her lower back, his eyes said everything she needed to know. His mind was working, trying to see the board of a game that she had placed herself as a player.
A glint of victory, he saw it in her eyes. As if she was a dragon who successfully swallowed a flock of sheep upon supper. He leaned in close to her ear so only the princess could hear, "Rhaenyra, what have you done?"
"What was necessary for you and I," she said.
Before Aerion could press further, a sudden silence cascaded across the great halls of the Red Keep. There, at the high table stood the King. The joyful dancing tunes slowly died down until there was nothing but utter silence as the lords and ladies of the realm turned their head towards where King Viserys stood while his new queen remained seated beside him, looking rather confused alongside the Hand who stood near at the table.
"My lords and ladies. Tonight, we feast for many reasons. Tonight, we celebrate the strength of our realm, the strength of our house, and the promises of tomorrow," Viserys raised his golden goblet, his voice echoed with a clarity along with his announcement. "But, before the evening concludes, there is another joyful celebration that we must drink upon."
The king gestured towards Rhaenyra who stood proudly beside Aerion. She didn't need to turn her gaze towards her cousin to know that he was slowly realizing what kind of a spectacle he would be by the end of the celebration.
"It is with great joy that I share with you a decree made for the strength and security of the realm. From this day, my daughter and heir, Princess Rhaenyra, shall be betrothed," murmurs suddenly exchanged between the nobility, as the princess felt Aerion's sudden gaze on her. "She shall wed Ser Aerion Targaryen."
The lords and ladies in attendance applauded, but Rhaenyra's eyes went straight to Otto Hightower despite her smile. The Hand's usual calmness was shattered by the sight of his jaw clenching and his startled eyes.
Otto Hightower would not forget this slight.
And neither would she.