Tourneys were a joy. A comforting distraction, most especially for a royal wedding.
Aerion held the reigns of his trusted companions, taking up the lance as he pushed his opponent on the other side as the crowd's cheer for the Bronze Prince as he road to the podium to ask for the favor of the Realm's Delight. One of the few reasons as to why the young prince had decided to join this tourney despite his frustrations and disappointment towards His Grace, the King.
As the wreath of flowers touched his jousting lance, a knowing smile appeared on their lips. A single comfort was enough for them both, just as he is determined to prove that he was worthy of her favor. Not as Heir to Runestone or the son of the Rogue Prince, and unlike his father before him – the moment he issued a challenge to his next opponent, there was the absence of the mocking arrogance in his eyes as the umpire says the name: Ser Gwayne Hightower.
Many believed that the choice was to mimic his father or perhaps send insults to the new Queen, but the reality of it was far simpler than what the common political imagination entails.
"Cheap tricks, Prince Aerion?" Gwayne spoke with a playful tone.
"Now, now," Aerion shrugged as his attendant assisted in removing the prince's armor, "how would I know your prized mare is in heat in that moment?"
"Smart," Gwayne chuckled as Laenor Velaryon entered the tent with his own companion, "look who has decided to grace us with his presence!"
"It is not everyday you get to unseat the great Bronze Prince," Laenor teased.
Aerion chuckled as he was offered a goblet of dornish wine. The sweetness of the wine settled into his stomach before turning his gaze back to Laenor with a sense of unbothered disdain, "I was not unseated," the prince corrected, "My saddle strap just… happened to slip during the third pass! Luck was simply on your side, Velaryon."
Aerion could feel Alfered's gaze look at him with a strong sense of doubt as Ser Laenor let out a joyful laugh, "Of course it was the strap, Aerion," the Velaryon heir's grin was widen, check to cheek as he removed his riding gloves before tossing it onto a nearby chair. "And the Gods have said that the tourney ground looked exceptionally comfortable when you fell! A very gracious royal fall, indeed!"
Gwayne let out a groan as he chuckled, sitting down on a wooden bench as his hand was resting on his abdomen. "Maybe a hint to the Realm's Delight that he was not protected from a well-placed tilt by her champion's favor? How am I going to dance with the ladies when I can hardly breathe? My ribs will be black and blue for tonight's feast."
"Oh, poor Gwayne!" Aerion jest in mockery, pressing the back of his hand on his forehead with an exaggerated worry, "shall I ask Alfered to fetch my handmaidens to kiss it better? Or perhaps a cushion for the Lord Hand's brave, injured, battered son?"
"Do not drag your poor handmaidens in to this," Gwayne tried to hide the smirk that was tugging at the corner of his lips, "some of us have a reputation to maintain."
"What are you? An unclaimed maiden?" Laenor raised his brow at Gwayne.
"I was not the loony who challenged the new Queen's brother with the realm now gossiping of taunting her on her wedding tourney," Gwayne argued as he picked up a half eaten apple from the tray beside him.
"I did not challenge you to taunt the Queen," Aerion corrected, "I just wondered what would be like if you fall from grace." Both the Prince and the Velaryion heir laughed in delight at their friend's temporary misery.
"Is that all you wanted, my Prince?" Laenor smirked.
"Mayhaps… I simply wanted Rhaenyra's flowers to myself. I am but a simple man." Aerion shrugged, a smile still present on his lips.
Laenor let out a snort as he poured himself a cup from the pitcher of wine. "To this day, I do not understand why you haven't wed her yet. The king would have been absolutely delighted if you ask for his daughter's hand in marriage, and the princess seems very fond of you."
"A lot is happening these past few moons, not to mention your father's current frustrations with the crown," Aerion reminded, pointing his finger at Laenor. "I plan to take Rhaenyra with me to the Vale after the celebrations."
"Does the king know?" Gwayne asked.
"No," Aerion answered, pointing at his Hightower friend, "and do not speak of this to your father. I will… figure it out." The prince didn't sound so convinced with himself as much as he would like.
"You are fortunate that the king is fond of you, or he would have your head for stealing his daughter away," Laenor pointed.
"Is it stealing the princess away from court to visit the kingdom where her mother was raised truly horrible?" Gwayne couldn't help but question.
"Don't give him any ideas, Gwayne." Laenor warned.
"No, but I will take that kind suggestion, thank you, Gwayne," Aerion gave a cheeky smile.
As the noontime sunlight enters his chambers, the young prince groaned, opening his eyes to find his lady mother who pulled open his curtains before buring his face deeper into the pillow.
"Dying in bed is an unflattering look for a prince of your stature, my son," Lady Rhea shook her head in disapproval, hearing the rustling of her skirts as she approached his bedside, "according to Alfered, your rather heroic defeat at the hands of five bottles donish wine and three flagons of spiced abor red had left an impression last night."
Aerion immediately regretted his decision as he forced his eyes open. His mother stood over him with eyes that practically reminded her that for all of his charms as a lad, he is still his father's son. In her hand was a goblet provided by the maester with a suspicious smell of mayhaps raw egg with crushed willow barks and additional bitter roots.
"Mother's mercy," Aerion groaned, his voice sounding dry as thoughts of simply vomiting would be better than drinking that, "a cup of water would suffice, mother. Pleassseeeee."
"Drink." Rhea was having none of it as he pressed the goblet of shit piles (as the prince would like to call it) into his hands with not an ounce of sympathy in her expression. "I believe it tastes like horse liniment, but it will stop your skull from splitting in two before the midday bell. It would be of poor taste for the King's nephew to be absent in the mids of his wedding festivities."
Aerion sat up feeling the excuricating pain throbbing in his head, trying to sort his eyesight by blinking one too many times for Lady Rhea's liking. The young prince couldn't help but gag at the smell of the maester's excuse of a remedy for his foolish drunkeness before taking a sip. He winced at the foul liquid burning deep down his throat trying not to vomit at his mother's skirts.
"By gods, this taste like shit…" the boy wheezed as he felt the aweful aftertaste of this so called bitter yet disgusting remedy.
"Then mayhaps you will not think twice before trying drowning yourself with alcoholic tonics." Rhea couldn't help but scold.
"Laenor was the one who challenged the tavern keeper down the docks to a drinking game where Gwayne and I have become nothing but collateral damage!" Aerion argued his case. He couldn't even remember how in the seven hells they managed to make it down the tavern docks and made it back to the Red Keep.
Then again, he wasn't aware how much Alfered worked just to keep them alive.
"Is that why the son of the Hand was found sleeping in the stables besides your grandfather's prized stallion?" Rhea raised her brow, "and why Ser Laenor was said to trying to serenade the guards at the front gate about a drunken fish?"
Aerion opened his mouth, letting out a slight — ah. A realization as he tried to look into his memories despite the lack of them all, sending a painful throb through his forehead. "Alfered reported the entire thing, didn't he?"
"You were lucky he had the sense of being sober for you," Rhea couldn't help but take in the opportunity to tease his normally grounded son as she sat at the edge of his mattress. "Now, the princess and the Lady Jeyne expect you to join them for tea in the garden. You have two hours to be presentable."
"Surely, Rhaenyra wouldn't truly—"
"I have made your excuses," Rhea cut off her son, as she tried smoothing the strayof his silver-gold hair from his forehead, "that you were suddenly inflicted with a stomach affliction."
"And?"
"She didn't believe a word of it," Rhea smiled. The same smile of mischief that he would mirror most often as a child. "Now, wash, dress, and get some food in you before the princess decides to punish you involving the very same muck from the stables Ser Gwayne seemed to have fondly slept in."
Aerion wasn't sure if he would have the strength to look presentable to his princess and warden of the east in two hours, but he was very sure he wouldn't be able to eat while trying not to vomit it out all the same.
Lady Rhea stood up, gathering her skirts as she walked towrads the chamber's door before she paused. "And Aerion?" She looked back over her shoulder with a smile still on her lips, "next time you decide to match Ser Laenor drink to drink, at least have the decency to win."
Aerion collapsed back on his bed, his gaze staring on his cieling, hearing the familiar footsteps of his constant companion, Alfered who brought an army of handmaidens who carried the linens he would wear for the day. Alfered began to speak of his own version of scoldings, but the words, as always, went nowhere as the prince's thoughts was somewhere else.
Rhaenyra had been looking for him. He couldn't help but wonder if she had thought of his offer — if she would be so kind as to accompany him to his home. To see where her mother was born and raised before showing her Runestone. Although he shared the thoughts to his friends, he has yet to inform his mother that he extended such an invitation to the princess.
In King's Landing he is a prince, the son of Prince Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince. Where as in Runestone he was Aerion, son of Rhea Royce and second in line.
It didn't occure to him how his grandsire would feel if he insisted on bringing Silverwing, after all, Runestone was not equipped to hosting a dragon for how many fortnights, let alone two if Rhaenyra says yes. Aerion didn't want to leave his silver companion alone at the dragonpit. He didn't even take flight with her due to the stress of the wedding preparations of his uncle.
He recalled what his mother said. Lady Jeyne was accompanying the princess. He was rather certain his royal headache was returning just by thinking it. Although only a few years his senior, the Lady Jeyne was a…. very unique companion from his young childhood when his grandsire was acting as regent to their Warden of the East until she was of age.
"My Prince, are you listening?" Alfered constantly snapped his two fingers infront of his eyes.
"If I were a cruel man, Alfered I would have ordered someone to cut off your hand," Aerion complained as he pushed the hand away. Allowing the handmaidens to straighten his attire for the day.
"Thank the gods that you are no cruel man," Alfered rolled his eyes, "you seem distracted. You wouldn't want the princess to worry."
"Rhaenyra? Worried?" Aerion scoffed. "You act as if you have never met her."
"Ah," Alfered seemed to have connected it all together as he strapped the sword on Aerion's hip, dismissing the handmaidens from the prince's chambers. "You worry that she has find herself in the company of Lady Jeyne. More specifically, worry that the Lady Jeyne might speak of the moon door incident—"
"We do not speak of the moon door incident." Aerion immediately interjected. "I was ten."
Alfered let out a chuckled as he handed the prince a cup of water to drink. Out of all the nonsense Aerion had done as a child, his time at the Eyrie was as eventful as it was torterous for a boy around that age. He didn't want to relive such emberassment.
"Yes, yes," Alfered nodded as the young lad opened the door of his lord's chambers, "we wouldn't want Princess Rhaenyra to know how you—"
"I will feed you to Silverwing and have her spit you out."
"Such brutality, my prince."
"Better be fed to a dragon than a headsman, Shett?"
"I would rather choose the headsman, my Prince."
Of all the places Rhaenyra would call him for, it had to be the garden. Alfered went on ahead to speak withhis brother and father while the young prince would smile and nod to the greeting lords and ladies with their daughters. As the wedding festivities have yet to be finished, the moment he stepped into the godswood he noticed that there were little to no people close to the tree.
"Prince Aerion," Ser Arryk Cargyll greeted the princeling.
"Ser Arryk," Aerion nodded, his head turning around to see another of the kingsguard, Ser Lorent Marbrand and Hightower men on station. "Is… the Queen…?"
Aerion didn't need to finish the sentence to know what Ser Arryk was thinking when he nodded his head towards the tree. There she was sitting by the godswood alone with the absence of the new noble ladies who were supposed to be by her side, or any handmaidens to assist her.
She was alone with no familiar companion to her side.
Aerion could not fault Rhaenyra for her frustrations towards Alicent, nor could he ever say that he could truly fault the new Queen for this marriage.
"Please ask the Queen if she is willing to accept my audience." The lad wasn't sure as to why he suddenly wanted an audience with the new Queen — he had been summoned by the princess and yet, a part of him didn't want to leave Alicent alone on a day where she should be celebrated.
"Of course, my prince," Ser Arryk nodded as he made his announcement to the Queen.
Alicent turned her gaze to meet his, her expression immediately shifted into a sense of relief at the sight of a familiar face.
"Prince Aerion," Alicent greeted softly as she began to rise as he was about to curtsey to the young prince.
"Your Grace," but Aerion immediately bow in her presence, a subtle reminder that she now outranks him. And by the demands of royal protocol, it was he who should show respect to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, "please, there is no need for you to rise on my account."
Alicent pressed her lips together, the fidgeting of her fingers did not go unnoticed by the young prince. Ever since the wedding, she had been constantly surrounded by noble men and ladies seeking for favors along with their congratulations. Lords offering veiled hope that she would one day bare the king a son in which the late Queen Aemma had failed. She, who had climbed the ladder unwillingly with the reflection of either an ambitious woman of the princess' place or a mere broodmare for the king. There was no kindness found in a nest filled with vipers, Aerion knew that the longer he stayed in the presence of the King. That the authenticity of kindness is nothing more than a rare currency in the Red Keep — one that Alicent could would never find with the company that she surrounds herself with.
"I do not wish to intrude, but if it pleases you, Your Grace… may I join you for a moment?" Aerion's gently offered, as he gestured slightly to the usual spot where she and Rhaenyra would often sit where the warm mornings greet the weirwood tree.
"There is no intrusion at all, Prince Aerion," Alicent replied, offering a faint genuine smile that she could not hide at the sight of him. "However, I believe you were on your way to see Rhaenyra. I know she has sent for you."
"She did," Aerion nodded, "and I will answer her summons shortly. But…" Aerion paused, his gaze lingering over the empty grounds of the godswood with nothing but necessary protection for her, "…it did not feel… right to walk pass you. Royal wedding feasts are ment to be a celebration, and yet you sit here without the company of even your ladies."
A soft sigh escaped Alicent's lips as she looked down on her hands, a habit of twitching her fingers as she absently picking the skin under her nails, a habit she couldn't break even now as the most noble lady in the Seven Kingdoms.
"Noble ladies were rather eager to dance with yourself, and those who aren't were whispering in the Great Hall," Alicent said, a tone carrying the solemn acceptance of their situation, "I merely thought… a moment of quiet here in the godswood might offer some peace. Although, I fear I am merely wearing out my welcome along with the silence instead."
"The comfort of the old gods does bring something… calming, I admit," Aerion resopnded with a warm smile as he stood before her, close enough to offer comfort and yet distant enough in respect of her new position. "This godswood has stood for more than a hundred years, I doubt a mere few minutes of quiet companyu would wear out its patience."
The prince's looked towards the carved face of the weirwood tree, where its sap was running down as if they were tears made out of crimson across the pale bark.
"Rhaenyra is angry," Aerion spoke softely, knowing that ignoring the unspoken truth would simply make things worse for anyone involved, "she feels betrayed, but she would come around, eventually…"
Alicent closed her eyes, knowing full well that he wasn't just addressing Rhaenyra's anger — but his as well. Not towards her, but to his Uncle Viserys. She turned her head to look up at the young prince, as if searching anything that would resemble a slight hint of mockery or mayhaps deceit in his eyes — but she only found a quiet empathy. Mayhaps, even pity.
"She has every right to her anger," the Queen whispered in silent grief.
"Yes," Aerion agreed as his gaze upon Alicent softened, "duty and sacrifice are two sides of the same coin. Heavy as its currency demands of people like us. But, you should not have to carry the weight of the entire realm on your shoulders alone, Alicent."
For a brief second, Alicent felt the heavy tension of her shoulders disappear as he addressed her name. Not the title that was recently bestowed on her upon marriage.
"Thank you, Aerion," she said quietly with eyes that spoke of gratitude, "for… seeing me."
"Your Grace," Aerion gave a reassuring smile, as he bowed once more. "I suppose I should go and face the dragon before she burns the garden down waiting for me."
Alicent let out a soft laugh. The first genuine laugh since her wedding day. "Go, best not to keep the Princess waiting."
Aerion felt the gazes of Ser Arryk and Ser Lorent as he turned to go to the direction of the garden where Rhaenyra and the Lady Jeyne were waiting for him.
Alicent stood slightly upright behind him, as she no longer appeared quite so deserted under the old red leaves of the weirwood tree.