Chapter 16
AERION TARGARYEN
Inadequate.
That was how he had always been made to feel by his own father. His own family. Had always treated him as lesser all because of him.
Matarys Targaryen.
He was nothing more than a spare, same as him. They were second sons. Princes born to prevent a collapse of their lineages, and yet they hailed him as a miracle. Matchless, they called him, and lords, ladies and even small folk could not help but sing praises of the king boy Prince.
Even his own father would belittle him, continuously comparing him to that wretch, and for what. For farming out a piece of land given to him by his father, or for robbing and stealing from the small folk of the city and paying them to sing his praises.
Aerion saw through his cunning ploys. He could never fool him.
His own brothers would turn their backs on him and sing praises of this foreigner who did not even have the hair or eyes of Valyria. He looked nothing like the blood of a dragon, and much resembled his commoner whore of a mother, with his orange hair and dark eyes.
He was a disgrace to their House, and yet they all loved and cherished him like a hero. It was a disgrace. Even the Ashford girl had given him her favor, thinking him to be the magical knight the stories portrayed him as.
Matchless. He would show them his truth. All of them.
He was the blood of the dragon. A true dragonlord. His white hair and amethyst eyes were a symbol of old Valyria itself, and yet he had failed. Years ago, they had been equals in the yard, but this was the first time he would be joining the lists after he had gone into those Red Mountains to deal with that vagabond.
The Vulture King they called him, and yet he was nothing more than a glorified thief and the entire realm had declared his dear cousin a hero for killing a thief. In that way the jailors of Kingslanding should be made lords.
He was no hero. He was a pretender, and yet his myth would continue to and the pain in his arms would continue to remind him of his failures. He sat alone in his pavilion, as he drowned himself in his sorrows and the servants knew better than to disturb him.
Still, he felt the noise die down and realised that the day must have come to its end, and so after some half an hour when the pain in his arm had dulled he pushed himself up and walked out of the tent, and saw the guards outside straighten up at once because of his presence.
"The day is over?" he asked, and the man nodded.
"Aye, your grace. Prince Matarys faced Lord Baratheon in the last bout. They broke sixteen lances," and he ground his teeth, as he saw the glint in those eyes.
It was no surprise. Matarys was skilled with the lance, and the laughing storm was one of the better fighters in the list.
"It was absolute chaos in the crowds. The match took a few hours," he said, and all around him he could see knights, and squires whispering to one another, as they celebrated the end of the first day.
"They are holding a feast in honor of the Prince as we speak," and now his head snapped towards the man.
"What?" he asked, absolutely irate.
"Aye, your lord father sent summons for you as well," and now he hesitated as he lowered his head.
"But you had ordered to not be disturbed under any circumstances," and they had done right.
"Lord Ashford's a bigger boot licker than I had thought," he whispered, and he had no doubt why he had thrown the feast. The entire realm knew that that his cousin was to be wed soon, and Lord Ashford's daughter had just come of age.
She was younger than Matarys, but if the young maiden was to catch his cousin's eye.
"What?" the guard asked.
"Nothing," he said, and turned towards the Ashford castle, and felt his stomach turn at the thought of attending the feast. His mood was foul enough, and he had suffered enough shame for the day.
"I am in mood for a feast," and he had heard enough praises being sung of his cousin.
"Let us go the meadow, and see what it has to offer," and a merchants and mummers followed a tourney, and he had no doubt that a market may have sprung up around the city.
"But your fat...," and one look from Aerion was enough to silence them as he walked towards the markets, and saw them buzzing with people.
The smallfolk were dancing and singing and drinking. He spotted whores standing and sitting outside tents, tempting men with their bare skin, as they passed around the stalls.
He picked up a flagon of wine, and some meats from one vendor and continued to walk around the place. Sometimes if he slowed he could hear whispers of his name, and how they spoke ill of him and praised his cousin.
Yet Aerion restrained himself as he walked through the tents and pavilions, until he came across two boys running into tent.
"Come this is place is said to have the Prince Matarys's favor. He came here himself to watch a show," and now he was interested, as he followed after the boys and slid into the tent.
The place was fairly packed, and it was a puppet show, and they seemed to have dressed someone in as a dragon, and a knight. The setting piqued his interest, and he found himself impressed by the show of fire coming out of the dragon's mouth.
"Pollen," he realised as he sipped his wine, and the boys from earlier were infront of him.
"They say that the Prince has befriended the owner here, and offered him his support. He has even commissioned a play for himself," and they were dirty, and wore rags and then suddenly their eyes fell onto him, and they were not the only ones.
Whispers erupted, and they all parted way as Aerion found himself stepping forward, while the noise in the tent began to die. The performers were yet to see him, yet the knight thrust the blade into the dragon's neck.
"DIE YOU BEAST!" and there was a gush of some red liquid, as the dragon screeched in agony and fell to the ground, and now the knight finally turned towards the audience and stilled at the sight of him.
It was a woman, and Aerion found himself smirking as his eyes narrowed.
THUNK!
Her sword hit the ground, and he saw terror fill her eyes as he raised his hand and pointed his finger at her.
"Put that traitor down," and that was all it took, as his guards rushed forth.
"PRINCE!" "RUN!" "TRAITORS!" and four of men stepped forward while two pushed back the people, as the girl fell to the ground.
"She is no traitor your grace! We are no traitors," a burly man stepped forward.
"A man slaying a dragon," he said, as his men lined up all of the pupetters.
"Do you think me a fool?" he asked, and the man shook his head.
"No your grace. We would never dare. Tis was but a play, please forgive us for any transgression we may have caused," and he scoffed.
"There is no forgiveness for treason," he said, as he turned towards his guard.
"She is the dragonslayer isn't she," he warned and saw her pale at his words.
"Lower her head!"
"NOOO!" the others screamed, but the guards kicked them away, as one of them lowered her head.
"FORGIVE US MY PRINCE! PLEASE! WE ARE NO TRAITORS!" the burly man screamed.
"WE ARE FRIENDS OF THE PRINCE! PRINCE MATAR...." and the guard kicked him hard.
"Don't you dare take the Prince's name out of your mouth, you filthy traitor!" and the girl was shaking now.
"No," as Aerion stepped forward.
"Take her head," he ordered, and the guard hesitated but his command was final.
"NO! WAIT..." the man tried to scream but another kick silenced him, as his man brought down his blade, and the girl could only scream.
"NOOO!"
THUD!
Blood hit his face, as the sword cut clean, and he couldn't help but smile as her head rolled to the ground.
"Kill them all..." but before he could finish the order, he heard a shout from behind.
"Your grac.." and before he could turn he felt a giant smash into his side, as Aerion was flung back.
"AGHHH!" he grunted as his back hit the pole, and he looked up to see a man raging towards her.
"You killed her! You killed her!" and his hair were short, and his face unremarkable, and Aerion could not reach for his blade when he punched him in the face hard.
"AGHH!" and then he kicked him away, and then the guards finally caught him,
"PUT HIM DOWN!" they ordered, and it took four of them to push him down, as the man continued to shout, as tears slid down his face.
"YOU KILLED HER! WHY!" he screamed, and rage flooded his entire being as Aerion turned towards his guards.
"KILL HIM! KILL THEM ALL!" and the man his sword once more, yet a loud voice cut through the air once.
"In the name of the Crown hold you blade," and he looked up, and saw that familiar face standing there.
"CUT OFF HIS HEAD!" he shouted again.
"Don't you dare move that blade Yorkel," and Matarys had come, and despite his command Yorkel held his blade, as Aerion grit his teeth while his cousin looked around the place, his eyes stopping as they stared at the lifeless head of the traitor he had sentenced.
Just then the tent flapped once more, as he saw his father and his uncle walk into the tent.
"What bloody mess is this!"
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