Chapter Text
Flocks of people fled to the stands, many gripping the fencing as they leaned forward in anticipation of the fight that was to come next.
Any fight was a good fight, but this one in particular involved some very prestigious people.
“Son of Maekar, Grandson of King Daeron the Good, and Prince of House Targaryen, Prince Aerion Brightflame!”
Aerion let the sound of the crowd wash over him as he galloped onto the field. Once he was in the centre, he pulled his horse to a stop just long enough to lift his helmet so that he could look up into the stands. Baelor sat beside Lord Ashford as he fiddled with the ring on his finger. After a short pause, he gives Aerion a small nod.
Prince Maekar’s chair remained empty. Baelor was hoping that it wouldn’t be a problem, but knowing his nephew, he had a feeling that no matter what he did, Aerion was about to start a problem simply because he could.
That feeling was only confirmed when Aerion flashed him a bright smile before riding away.
Aerion had noticed right away that his father’s chair was empty, and so he had taken that as permission to do whatever he so pleased.
It would be incredibly easy not to play by the rules, to ruin someone's day. He wouldn’t even need to face any real consequences. Any sane man would know better than to lay their hands upon the blood of the dragon. Even if they did, he had the Kingsguard.
But lately, Aerion had grown bored.
So, just for today, he has a better idea.
Aerion wondered briefly what his father’s face would look like when he heard about this.
His horse galloped menacingly down the path. On the other side of the fences stood the other knights, their tents behind them and their trusty steeds hitched nearby. They stood waiting to see who Aerion would challenge, to see whose shield Aerion would strike with his lance.
But Aerion didn’t go to just any knight.
He went straight to his cousin, Valarr.
At first, Valarr had not realised that Aerion had been headed his way. He had been lounging in a chair, certain that he would not be challenged. He only noticed that something was wrong when the shadow of Aerion's horse grew closer and closer. When Valarr looked up, Aerion had stopped tight in front of him.
He tensed immediately, standing up and tucking his helmet under his arm.
Aerion only lifted his helmet once Valarr had approached and was close enough to hear him.
Aerion didn’t speak right away. Instead, he drank in the sight before him, the way he had so easily put Valarr on edge. The crowd around them had grown silent as they watched with anticipation, because to them it seemed Aerion wanted to challenge Valarr. And he could tell that’s what Valarr was thinking too, based on the way his jaw had tensed, and the tense set of his shoulders.
Challenging his cousin was a very bold move, and if Aerion struck the shield, it was not a choice that could be undone.
Aerion had his back turned, but he imagined that his uncle must have been cringing, thinking the same thing, praying that his nephew was not that stupid.
Aerion had not meant to smile, but the anxious look on Valarr’s face was enough to bring out the grin he had been trying to hold back.
“You seem nervous, cousin.” He taunted.
Valarr didn’t respond to him verbally. He only narrowed his eyes.
Aerion let the silence linger for just a moment. The people around them had grown almost silent, straining to hear what was being said, but what Aerion had to say was for Valarr alone.
Despite what his cousin might be thinking right now, Aerion had not come here for the sole purpose of making him uncomfortable. The fact that he had managed it was just a happy bonus. He sighs and lets the smile slip from his face.
“Relax. I’m not here to challenge you. If I were, I would have done so by now.”
Valarr had been hoping that Aerion would turn and ride away, but now the silence was starting to stretch, and Aerion remained where he was, giving his cousin a pointed look. Clearly, he wanted Valarr to respond, and he wasn’t leaving until he did.
“If not a challenge, what do you want from me?” Valarr said, finally.
Aerion glanced away, idly adjusting the reins.
“Since I didn’t come here for a fight, I thought I could have your favour instead.”
Valarr froze. Then, as the realisation settled on him, he tilted his head like a very confused dog and stamped his foot.
He must have heard that wrong.
“You rode all the way here to ask if I could give you my favour?”
“Yes,” Aerion said simply, because by now, it should have been obvious.
Valarr couldn’t help himself. He snorted and gave him a small, teasing smile. “You do understand what you’re asking for, right?”
Generally, during a tournament, it was a knight who was asking a lady for their favour. It was often a way to signal romantic interest and to announce one's intentions.
Aerion wrinkled his nose at the insinuation. “Don’t be incestuous. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how do you mean it?” Valarr narrows his eyes, deeply confused.
“I mean, we are being watched by many other houses, and lords and with Daeron and Aegon still missing, it might benefit them if they saw a united house.”
“I don’t think this is the kind of union they’re looking for.”
Aerion rolled his eyes. He was starting to lose his patience with this conversation.
“Don’t make a spectacle. It’s as simple as showing your cousin some support. A small gesture that will go a long way.”
“It's already a spectacle,” Valarr mumbled. The sounds of the crowd had picked up now.
Back in the stands, Baelor leaned forward in his chair and narrowed his eyes. All around him, he heard the confused whispers of the audience as they wondered what was going on. He had no answers for them. As soon as he had seen Aerion approach Valarr, he had been on edge. He kept waiting for Aerion to strike the shield with his lance, but it never happened. Aerion was often very vocal with his intentions, but now, the minutes were ticking by, and Baelor still had no inkling as to what was happening, and his son and nephew were too far away for him to see their expressions clearly. From his spot in the stands, it looked like they were just having a normal conversation. Which both surprised him and made him suspicious. These people were waiting for a fight, and Aerion had picked that exact moment to chat with his cousin. Baelor fiddled with his ring, growing more and more agitated, but there wasn’t much he could do from where he was.
“And if I don’t give it to you?” Valarr asks.
Aerion considered his cousin with a lofty boredom. “Then I’ll ride without it.” He drawled, voice heavy with mockery.
“Then you will ride without it,” Valarr said with sudden confidence. “Because if you perform poorly, it's going to reflect badly on me. I’m not about to gamble my dignity on your skill.”
“If I perform badly, with or without your favour, it's going to reflect poorly on all of us anyway.”
That was true enough.
“And you forget,” he said, that wicked smile sliding back on his face. “I am a very good rider.”
A sudden spike of noise came from the crowd. People were impatient now. The sound of them booing Aerion had started. They wanted him to fight, and they were sick of waiting. Aerion turned his head slightly, a frustrated frown set on his face. He didn’t turn to face the crowd fully, but he had turned just enough to acknowledge them.
Valarr stared at him for a moment, and just as Aerion was about to kick his horse into motion to end the discussion and give up on his request, Valarr came to a decision.
“Wait!” He said, then quickly turned back towards his tent, dumping his helmet in his chair. He didn’t pause to see if Aerion was waiting for him.
It was true that House Targaryen could benefit from some unity, and even if Valarr didn’t want to admit it, Aerion was not a terrible fighter.
He just wasn’t very honourable.
Valarr didn’t have anything on him, so he ducked into his tent and rummaged around for a few short seconds, and eventually he found a red ribbon.
It would have to do.
Surprisingly, Aerion was still there when he came back out.
“If you make me regret this,” Valarr waved the ribbon “, I will strangle you with it later.”
Aerion only grinned and lowered his lance in a silent offer.
Valarr very deliberately and slowly tied the ribbon firmly just below the lance head, where everyone would see it. It was a small gesture, but it had the desired effect on the crowd. Valarr could pick the exact moment when their audience understood what was happening.
Suddenly, they were no longer interested in shouting obscenities.
Aerion gave Valarr a salute that left him wondering if he was being mocked.
“Not to worry, I won't embarrass you today.” Then Aerion turned his horse, slid his helmet back into place, and rode away. Valarr didn’t sit back down, suddenly more interested in the tournament.
Aerion’s horse thundered down the path, a new energy filling the field.
This was exactly what the people wanted.
Aerion flew past several shields and did not bother to slow when he used his lance to strike against a shield covered in a field of red and white diamonds.
“Come out, come out, little knight.” Aerion taunted, and Valarr could hear the smile on his cousin’s face. “It's time you faced the dragon!”
This was more along the lines of the kind of behaviour Valarr had been expecting.
Aerion moved his horse to the starting position, doing his best to rile up the crowd.
The knight he had challenged was slower to respond, a look on his face that promised he would enjoy knocking Aerion from his horse.
Aerion paid it little mind.
The challenged knight charges onto the field, his white horse pawing at the ground. Aerion’s own horse gave a low snort.
Then, the white horse rears, and with a swift kick, they charge.
Aerion is quick to do the same.
Valarr leans forward.
If Aerion rode poorly now, then none of this would matter. They would not notice their house's strength or their unity. Only the foolish theatrics that had been followed by failure.
The distance between them closed rapidly.
Their lances lowered.
And right when they should have collided, Aerion ducks out of the way.
Valarr immediately dips his head in frustration.
Of course, Aerion had to turn this into some kind of performance.
The crowd went back to jeering at him.
Across the field, the knight wheeled his horse around sharply, clearly irritated. A squire rushed forward with a fresh lance, and the man snatched it without taking his eyes off Aerion. He kicked his horse into motion once more.
But Aerion was already coming for them.
Once again, Valarr held his breath.
The knight was angry now. His face twisted into a poisonous expression.
And Aerion, who was notorious for his violence, who moved quickly and efficiently, did not move as he usually did. Everything about Aerion was mean.
Today, he twirled his lance in his hand and met the knight with a lazy confidence.
Valarr’s jaw tightened.
Enough games, Aerion, hit him.
The horses surged forward again, and this time, Aerion did not move out of the way.
A sharp crack split the air as Aerion’s lance struck true, shattering against the knight’s chest. The force of it tore the man from the saddle and sent him crashing hard into the dirt.
Valarr didn’t cheer, but he felt the tension ease just slightly from his shoulders.
He watched as Aerion reined in his horse, turning it with practised ease as the noise of the crowd swelled around him.
Aerion moved on to challenge the next knight.
And the next.
And the next after that.
Valarr’s ribbon remained, secured tightly on his lance, fluttering in the wind where everyone could see it.
Aerion won every time.
That night, they decided to have a feast to celebrate their success in the lists. They kept it within the family, or whatever family was able to attend. Maekar had still not returned and that meant that Daeron and Aegon were nowhere to be found. So, for the moment, it was just Baelor and Valarr.
Resting in the centre of the table was a roasted capon, its skin burnished golden and glistening with herbs and butter. Next to that was a platter of sliced venison, still steaming, the meat dark and tender beneath a drizzle of thick blackberry sauce. A smaller dish held river trout baked with lemon and onions, the scent of it drifting gently through the chamber.
There were bowls of buttered carrots and honey-glazed parsnips, fresh greens dressed lightly in oil, and small roasted potatoes dusted with salt and rosemary. A basket of warm bread had been placed within easy reach, along with a crock of soft white cheese and another of sharp yellow cheddar.
Baelor had already poured the wine. A deep red from the Arbor rested in their chalices, catching the light of the candles that burned low along the table.
For a moment, the room was quiet save for the soft clink of cups and the low crackle of the fire.
It was a simple meal by royal standards.
But it was more than enough for the family of Targaryens.
“Uncle, Cousin.” Aerion greeted as he strode into the room. Baelor had only given him a nod. It wasn’t exactly that Baelor wasn’t happy to see his nephew; he just didn’t approve of his lateness. Aerion had taken so long to get there that both he and Valarr had started eating without him.
“Do you still have my ribbon?” Valarr asked him in place of a hello.
“Yes.”
Valarr raised a brow.
“Might I have it back?”
“Depends,” Areion said, moving towards Valarr's side of the table. “Are you planning to strangle me with it?”
But Aerion was already reaching into his pocket for the ribbon, clearly not caring about Valarr’s answer. Without any care, Aerion tosses the ribbon onto the table.
“No.” Valarr slips the ribbon into his pocket. “It didn’t go as badly as I thought it would.”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” Aerion muttered, walking over to the complete opposite side of the table where he would be the farthest away from everyone.
Baelor watched the small exchange with quiet curiosity.
“You rode well today, Aerion.” He said once the boy had taken his seat.
“Thank you, uncle.” He replied absent-mindedly, clearly more intrigued by the food.
Baelor was uncertain how far he should push his nephew. Aerion’s reputation for trouble was legendary, and if he chose to be stubborn and refuse to explain himself, Baelor could only push him so far. However, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.
“It was an interesting choice,” Baelor remarked, picking up his chalice and peering at Aerion over the rim. “To ask for Valarr’s favour.”
Aerion still had not looked at him. He had just started helping himself to the food, lumping things on his plate and pouring himself a drink.
“Perhaps it is because I find the woman to be dull.” Aerion finally looks up at him. He had that little twinkle in his eye that said he was up to no good. “Maybe Lord Ashford really does fuck his sheep. Out of everyone I've seen here, they seem to be the better company.”
“Aerion-” Baelor scolded, leaning forward in his chair, but before he could lecture him, Aerion added.
“Prettier too.”
Aerion smiled when Valarr put down his fork, looking like he had just lost his appetite.
“Besides.” Aerion flicked his fingers. “It was sorely needed.” Before Baelor could ask what he meant by that, the sound of footsteps caught their attention.
Maekar shrugged out of his coat and tossed it away without much care about where it landed. He took one look at the warm meal that had been put out and slumped down heavily in the chair, heaving a big sigh.
“Any luck?” Baelor asked.
“I found Daeron,” Maekar confirmed. “Hiding away in some inn, doing his best to avoid fighting in the tourney.”
“What of Aegon?”
“Taken by some fucking hedge knight. Daeron said he was here somewhere. I have people out looking. I’ll join them shortly.”
Maekar quickly started piling food onto his plate.
“How are things here? Did I miss anything important?” He asked, with a quick look to Aerion. He gave a slight shake of his head at the same time Baelor answered.
“Nothing much. You did, however, miss a curious moment.”
“Oh?” Maekar responded around a mouthful of food, clearly eager to get back out there to look for Aegon. “And what exactly was the moment I missed?”
“For starters, Aerion didn’t rush to challenge the knights. The first person he saw was Valarr.” Baelor said, looking back to Aerion, trying to put the conversation back on track.
Maekar froze. He gave enough time for Aerion to respond, but when he remained quiet, Maekar swallowed his voice and asked in a dangerously low tone.
“Do not tell me you challenged your cousin in front of half the bloody realm.”
“Alright,” Aerion said, almost lazily. “I won’t.”
“What did you do?” Maekar’s voice had an edge to it that Baelor didn’t like. His brother had just come back from his search for his missing sons, and whatever had transpired between them had not left him in a good mood.
“He asked for Valarr’s favour,” Baelor said, but he wasn’t looking at Maekar when he said it.
Maekar stayed quiet, eyes flicking between the three of them, waiting for someone to argue.
No one spoke.
“You asked for your cousin's favour?” He clarified very slowly.
“Yes.”
Maekar narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to follow and failing.
“Why not just ride without his favour? Of course, I don’t mean to slight you, Valarr.” Maekar gave a little nod towards his nephew.
Valarr didn’t say anything to that; he just raised his chalice in a silent acknowledgment.
“Asking your cousin might send the wrong message, don’t you think?”
“Valarr agreed because he understands the value of small gestures that improve the mood of the evening.” He glanced at his father. “Even if only for one of us.” It took Baelor a moment to understand what Aerion meant. Then it clicked.
The only one enjoying himself was Aerion, and by asking for Valarr’s favour, he’d ensured the rest of them wouldn’t. Worse, he’d implied Valarr knew that and agreed anyway. Baelor hadn’t yet heard Valarr’s side of it, but he doubted that was the truth.
Had Aerion been sitting beside him, Valarr would have happily driven an elbow into his gut, on the proviso no one was looking. Unfortunately, Aerion had been wise and had chosen to sit at the opposite end of the table.
He took a sip of his drink, pointedly not looking at his uncle.
“That’s not how the conversation went.” He muttered before taking a sip.
Maekar had remained very quiet. Aerion must have sensed that his father was close to snapping because he sighed, put down his food and straightened up. He looked him directly in the eyes as he spoke.
“Those stands were full of knights, lords, bannermen,” Aerion lifts his own chalice to take a drink, “potential rivals.” He adds. “If anyone was looking for a sign of division within our house, they weren’t going to find it after I got Valarr’s favour. I thought if a prince of House Targaryen was riding with another prince's favour, we would look rather united. Valarr was showing his support, that’s all it was. And if everyone’s talking about the tourney, nobody is talking about the mess that happened with Daeron and Aegon.”
Both Baelor and Maekar slowly turned to look at him, neither one of them hiding the look of utter confusion on their faces.
Aerion soaked in the moment, hiding his smile behind his chalice.
Oh yes, this had definitely been worth it.
Baelor tilts his head and lifts a brow.
“I suppose it’s sound reasoning.” He says to Maekar. “Even if the execution was lacking.”
“So, you’re telling me you did this on purpose? Hoping we can pass it off as a show of strength to make our house look good.”
Aerion just gave a slight nod.
Maekar went quiet again after that.
Aerion could see the gears turning in his head. Then he looks down at his food and takes one last bite, promptly deciding this conversation was not something he wanted to deal with right now.
“Next time, you could avoid making such a spectacle.” Maekar wipes his face with his napkin, abruptly stands, collects his coat from the floor and heads out once more.
“Incredible,” Valarr says after watching him leave. “You managed to confuse the spectators, scare everyone by making them think you were going to challenge me, and aggravate your father in the same day, all while maintaining a positive political stance for our house.”
At the heart of it, Aerion had not actually done anything wrong. He had made a spectacle and scared a few people, and for once, his intentions hadn’t been malicious. So, technically, Maekar couldn’t be too upset with him.
Valarr didn’t think for a single second that wasn’t how Aerion wanted it.
Aerion wasn’t even trying to hide his smug, arrogant grin.