Chapter Text
“The feast held by King Viserys I in 132 AC, remembered chiefly for the brief reconciliation between the rival branches of House Targaryen, concealed another matter of no less importance. Following the evening's festivities, His Grace received Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon in private, where he proposed that Prince Joffrey Velaryon, Rhaenyra's third son, be betrothed to his own fourth child, Prince Aerarys, believing such a union might help heal the widening breach within his House.”
The dinner had been dreadful.
Aerarys usually did not attend family dinners — for one, they barely held those without Rhaenyra and her brood and when they did usually half of them would have left before anyone had even gotten to take a piece of their meal.
However, their Father had commanded it, and so they had no choice but to attend the whole feast.
Everything was going alright, he supposed. The two sides of the table kept to themselves, until Aemond had spoken that toast and both he and Aegon had been in a fight — could it be called a fight? — with the two eldest sons of Rhaenyra.
Luckily after that they’d all been dismissed and let loose to go to their apartements.
Aerarys was in the middle of letting two servant girls take out the braids in his hair when a member of the Kingsguard had knocked on the room.
This member was one he knew well — Ser Criston Cole.
“The King wishes to speak with you, My Prince.”
Aerarys slowly raised an elegant brow, but nodded. “Very well. Then I shan’t keep my Father waiting.”
He rose, dismissing the girls with a small hand gesture, and followed Ser Criston without haste.
Half an hour earlier…
Daemon and Rhaenyra had been summoned by Viserys after the disaster that was the dinner, and Rhaenyra had been nervous, so could Daemon tell.
She’d recently gained a habit of scratching at her fingers when she’d been nervous. Something she no doubt had caught from Alicent Hightower.
When they’d arrived, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard — Ser Harrold Westerling — had opened the door and let them in, before once again closing it.
Viserys sat in a chair, a thick blanket laid over his lap and new bandages around his rotting eye.
Rhaenyra softly walked up to him, placing a careful hand on his shoulder. “Father, how are you feeling?”
Viserys slowly opened his working eye, and smiled ever so softly. “Rhaenyra, I’m happy to see you came. You as well, Daemon.”
Daemon let out a hum, walking up to the two.
“Whatever did you want us for, Brother? I assume it is not for Small Council matters.”
Viserys gave a faint shake of his head.
“No,” he agreed, “it is about Aerarys.”
Rhaenyra stilled beside him. Daemon, too, did not move.
Neither of them knew the boy well. Few did.
Rhaenyra had seen him often in passing during her years at court, though Alicent had ensured distance between them whenever possible. Daemon, on the other hand, had barely laid eyes on the child until the recent events of Driftmark — and even then, no words had passed between them.
Only a glimpse, really. However, that was enough, for the boy was easy to remember in appearance.
The boy stood out in the ways even most Targaryens did not. The same silver hair, yet streaked with dark strands of brown.
One of his eyes had the beautiful pale violet so many of them carried, whilst the other was of brown in colour. Even his eyelashes had not been spared, whilst at his violet eye they were pale silver, at his brown eye there was a mix of brown and silver.
His appearance alone was special, but so was how he’d been born; with both the organs of a man and a woman.
When he’d been born, the Maesters had actually assumed him to be a woman, until they’d fully examined him and found that he had both a cock and a cunt.
However, whilst many around the Prince seemed to force a more masculine role on him, the Prince wasn’t afraid to wear dresses or a large amount of jewelry.
Was that what Viserys would speak about? No, it couldn’t be. If he’d cared so much about the boy’s habits, he’d have called Aerarys himself.
Daemon found that the most interesting part of the boy.
Rhaenyra spoke first.
“Father, what is it about Aerarys? Has something happened to him?
“No, not at all,” Viserys said at once. “I want your counsel,” he continued. Aerarys is already five-and-ten, and I believe it is time to consider a match for him.”
Daemon exhaled through his nose
Ah.
Rhaenyra’s brows knitted. “A marriage?”
Viserys nodded.
“He is not… easily placed,” the King admitted. “And I would not have him overlooked or left to those who do not… understand his condition.”
His gaze lingered between them. “I thought perhaps — given that you are family — you might consider him for one of your sons. Joffrey, perhaps. They are closer in age than Aegon or Viserys.”
Silence covered the room.
“Joffrey? Are you certain, Father?” Rhaenyra asked.
Viserys inclined his head.
“I am. Aerarys has never cared about much for leaving the Red Keep. It is the only home he has truly known, and I would spare him the hardship of being sent away if I can.” His voice softened. “And… perhaps it might mend what was broken between our family. A marriage has healed greater divides than ours.”
A quiet chuckle escaped Daemon.
“You have always been an optimist, Brother.”
Viserys looked at him.
Daemon folded his arms. “I do not question your intentions.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “However, do you truly believe Queen Alicent will give the boy so willingly? She has guarded him closely these many years. I cannot imagine she would look kindly upon the proposal.”
Rhaenyra was silent for a moment before speaking.
“I think Father is right.”
Daemon turned his head toward her.
“If this marriage succeeds, it could do more than give Aerarys the security he needs, it could begin to heal the rift between our houses.” She paused, considering her next words. “And if Alicent fears for Aerarys, then perhaps we should not dismiss those fears outright. We could allow her to oversee their meetings, at least in the beginning. It would show her that Joffrey means him no harm.”
Daemon regarded her for a long moment before letting out a thoughtful hum.
“A generous offer,” he agreed. “Though whether Alicent sees it as generosity or insult is another matter entirely.”
“Perhaps,” Viserys said gently, “we should ask Aerarys what he thinks of the matter. If he were to agree, it might help ease Alicent’s fears before we approach her ourselves.”
Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a glance before giving the King a silent nod.
Daemon looked toward the door.
“Ser Harrold,” he called, “have someone fetch Prince Aerarys.”
Present time…
Aerarys and Ser Criston walked together through the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast towards the King’s chambers. Aerarys hadn’t spoken to Criston throughout the whole route, however curiosity gnawed at him.
Why had his Father summoned him?
Especially at this hour.
Viserys had scarcely called upon any of his children in years. His worsening illness had confined him to his chambers more often than not, leaving audiences to the Small Council or the Queen whenever possible. For the King to request Aerarys's presence now — mere moments after the disastrous family dinner — could scarcely bode well.
At last, he broke the silence.
“Ser Criston,” he said, turning his head to the other man, “do you know why my father wishes to see me?”
Ser Criston kept his eyes ahead.
“I do not, My Prince. The Lord Commander instructed me to escort you to His Grace’s chambers. He offered no explanation.”
Aerarys gave a quiet hum.
Of course.
His gaze drifted to the torchlights covering the walls.
A reprimand, then.
It was the only explanation that made any sense. Viserys had likely spoken with Aegon and Aemond, and now it was his turn.
They arrived at the King’s chambers not long after, where Ser Harrold Westerling stood guard.
Ser Harrold Westerling stood watch outside the heavy doors, hands clasped behind his back. At their approach, he inclined his head to the prince before pushing one of the doors open.
“Prince Aerarys has arrived, Your Grace.”
As Aerarys stepped inside, Ser Criston moved to follow, only for Ser Harrold to raise a hand across his path.
“The King requested the prince alone.”
Criston gave a curt nod and stepped back.
Behind Aerarys, the great oak doors swung shut with a dull thud.
The chamber fell quiet.
Viserys sat near the hearth, a thick blanket draped over his legs. Beside him stood Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.
Aerarys inclined his head in a shallow bow.
“Father,” he said evenly. “You sent for me?”
Viserys looked up, a weary smile settling across his face. Age and illness had claimed much of the man Aerarys faintly remembered. Even his smile had become uneven, exposing teeth darkened by decay.
Aerarys forced himself not to stare.
“Aerarys, my child,” Viserys said warmly. “Come. Sit with us.”
Aerarys remained where he was.
“I am quite comfortable standing, Father.”
A quiet snort escaped Daemon.
Rhaenyra shot him a pointed look and nudged him sharply with her elbow, silencing him before the sound could become full laughter.
Viserys did not press him. Instead, he gave a small nod.
“How have you been, my child?” he asked. “Did you enjoy the supper?”
Aerarys arched a pale brow, folding his hands neatly behind his back.
“I have been quite well, Father.” A faint pause. “As for supper... it was pleasant enough, all things considered.”
Silence settled over the chamber once more.
Aerarys broke it first.
“Is that what you wished to speak to me about?”
Viserys slowly shook his head, lifting a trembling hand.
“No... no.” His smile returned, though it carried a weariness that had become impossible to hide. “The evening did not unfold as I had hoped, but I do not hold you responsible.”
Aerarys said nothing.
“In truth,” Viserys continued, “I have what I believe will be welcomed news.”
Aerarys's gaze lingered on his father before drifting to Rhaenyra, then to Daemon. Neither offered so much as a hint.
Whilst he never attended courtly matters, he knew that good news seldom required an audience.
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“And what, precisely, is this welcomed news, Father?”
“We have found a match for you.”
Aerarys stilled, his hands falling to his sides. His eyebrows were both raised, eyes wide.
This… was not what he had expected.
In fact, he had expected to never receive such news, what with his condition of being neither fully man nor woman. He’d expected to be left behind, left to live and die alone. For what sane person would love someone as incomplete as him? He looked neither fully Targaryen nor fully Hightower, he was neither sexes and he did not care for much in life to begin with.
Whom had they found that was mad enough to want him?
“Who?” It came out quieter than he wanted.
He hated to admit that he felt excited. But could he truly be blamed? After assuming that no marriage would ever be for him, suddenly receiving it after such a day, made him truly feel shaken.
It was Rhaenyra who answered.
“My third son.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, to everyone's surprise — including his own — a quiet laugh escaped him.
It began as little more than a breath through his nose before growing into a low chuckle. His shoulders trembled, setting the small emeralds woven into his braids gently chiming against one another.
The sound only grew.
He raised a hand to his mouth, trying — and failing — to smother the laughter.
Somewhere to his right came the unmistakable scoff of Prince Daemon.
Aerarys looked at them now that he had quieted his laughter, noticing that none of them were laughing, not even a chuckle.
Oh.
Oh.
His face fell once more.
“… You are serious?”
Viserys inclined his head.
“We are. But hear me, Aerarys. This is not meant to—”
“No.”
Aerarys's answer came before the King could finish.
He stared at his father as though he no longer recognized him.
“No,” he said again, quieter this time, but no less resolute. “I refuse.”
Daemon took a step forward, his hand resting on the Dark Sister sword. “And why,” he spoke calmly, though his voice had an authoritative tone to it, “do you refuse, Nephew?”
Aerarys turned to him, letting out a soft laugh of disbelief.
“Why do I refuse?” he asked to no one in particular. “Why do I refuse? Why would I not refuse?!” His voice echoed throughout the chamber. “This — this is an insult! That boy is barely seven years of age, he hasn’t even had a ride on his dragon! I am twice his age, Father! How could you do this?!”
Viserys attempted to stand, though it was interrupted by a burst of coughs.
Rhaenyra immediately went over to their Father, though he shook his head. “Aerarys,” he wheezed out.
“This is… not an insult. You must calm yourself.”
Aerarys blinked at him. “Calm myself? Calm myself?” he looked at Daemon, taking a step back when he noticed that the man had gotten closer.
“You wish to wed me to a boy half my age, do you think the Lords and Ladies will not talk of this? Do you not realize that they will laugh? You—” he stopped himself, taking a breath to attempt to regain his composure.
“I will be the laughing stock of the court, Father,” his voice cracked softly.
Viserys made another attempt to speak up, however Aerarys interrupted him.
“Where is Mother?” he demanded. “Does she know of this?”
His gaze swept over the room. “Why is she not here?”
“She is not here,” Daemon said flatly.
Rhaenyra gave him a look. “We thought it best to tell you first of our decision, Aerarys. After all, it is your future.”
“That does not answer my question,” Aerarys snapped.
Daemon’s gaze turned to him.
“Careful.”
Aerarys could feel his blood begin to boil. He wanted to say more, he should say more. He should demand that this changes, that he will not marry that child.
But his legs moved faster than his brain did.
Swiftly, he turned around and knocked on the doors.
They were opened by Ser Harrold, and by his side stood Ser Criston still.
Viserys let out a grunt, calling out to him. “Aerarys, this conversation—”
“Is over,” Aerarys cut him off and marched out of the rooms, his heels clicking against the stone as Ser Criston followed him.