Chapter Text
Night had nearly fallen, yet the servants of Summerhall could not find the second prince. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. Prince Maekar was currently shouting at the guards to find his son.
A few moons before Aerion woke up gasping for air, his throat felt like it was burning itself, and his body felt like fire. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to finally breathe normally and it was then that he realized that he was back in his room at Summerhall which he last saw before going to the city of Lys. The chamber was exactly as he remembered it, the familiar bedposts carved with a three headed dragon, The tall, narrow windows were open to the summer breeze, pale curtains shifting like ghosts in the light. His riding cloak lay thrown across the chair where he had left it the previous day, nd the faint scent of lavender still clung to the room.
Aerion sat up slowly. His hands trembled. Wildfire, he remembered. His hands moved to his throat. No burns. No blistered flesh. No taste of smoke or ash. Only the memory remained. He remembered the cup. The green fire swirling like liquid emeralds. The heat that followed. The certainty, burning and glorious, that he would shed mortal flesh and rise as a dragon reborn. Instead, there had been pain. He thought that the flames would reveal his true form. Instead, they had only revealed the truth. He had not been a dragon.
Only a fool.
He had always believed himself the embodiment of Targaryen greatness. The blood of Old Valyria made manifest. Yet the truth was far simpler. He had been a crack in the foundation. A needless prince whose pride had weakened the dynasty he claimed to serve. Aerion rose and crossed to the mirror. The man staring back at him was not the one who had died. There were no lines carved by excess or madness, no shadow of something unhinged behind his eyes. Just a boy. A prince. A fool waiting to become something worse. Silence stretched.
Then, slowly, understanding settled in. He remembered Ashford. He remembered the trial. He remembered his Uncle Baelor riding towards the opposite side. And he remembered how it ended. Aerion’s jaw tightened. What had it been to him then? A game. A display. A reminder of power. And his uncle, the one whose approval he so desperately craved, died for it. The realm had quietly shifted after his uncle Baelor’s death. Not all at once, but enough. Enough that cracks formed where strength should have been. Enough that everything that followed… followed. His grandfather, the king, died, followed by him and Matarys, his uncle Rhaegal, and his twin cousins, all dead before their time.
And Aerion Aerion had been there at the beginning of it. Not the cause of everything. But a cause. A fracture. His lips parted slightly. “If I had not been born…” he said softly. The words did not feel dramatic. They felt… factual. The room did not answer him. Aerion looked away from his reflection. He had believed himself a dragon. He had died as something far smaller. A long breath left him, steadier this time. “If I live this again,” he said, quieter now, “I will not live it as that.” No grand vow followed. No declaration. Just a decision.
~~~~~
He did not go for breakfast. Servants noticed. They always noticed him, if only because they had learned to anticipate his temper, the sharpness of his voice, the ease with which irritation turned to punishment. But that morning, there was nothing. No summons. No anger. Just Silence. It was when finally, that the noises near the window grow louder, his own thoughts went quieter and the brightness of his room increased that he decided to call the servants inside his room to fetch him some food.
After a while he decided to venture outside. Aerion moved through the halls of Summerhall like something half-remembered, his presence quieter than it had ever been. When a servant nearly collided with him in a corridor, she froze immediately, eyes wide, bracing. Aerion paused. In another life, he would have said something cutting. Something to remind her of her place. The words rose automatically and stopped. He looked at her for a moment, expression unreadable. Then he stepped past her without speaking. Behind him, silence lingered longer than it should have. And that silence would become the new routine as the servants would later learn for the Brightflame had lost his fire and spark and became something quieter.
~~~~~~~~
This becomes his daily routine for a while. Waking up, eating breakfast alone in his room, going towards the training area for a few hours and then going to back to his room and quietly remembering things from his past life and sorting them in his mind.
His thoughts always returned to his precious son Maegor, in the end, who he had birthed himself and had left behind alone with his mad, yet gentle, alpha Daenora, the only person who could tolerate him near the end. It had been nearly a moon since he found that he had returned to the past.
He had yet to interact with any of his siblings and it was not like they were looking for either. His father Maekar was currently in Kings Landing for some business with his sister Daella, who his grandmother wished to see.
~~~
It was during the early hours of morning that he found Rhae near the outer grounds. She was crouched near a bush in the garden and quietly crying her heart out. Aerion stopped a few paces away. For a moment, he simply watched. He had not spent much time with her. Not truly. She had been… there. Another sibling. Younger. Unimportant in the grand shape of things. Now, she felt… uncomplicated. Safe. “What are you doing?” he asked. Rhae startled, nearly losing her balance as she turned. Her eyes widened immediately upon seeing him. “…nothing?” she said, uncertain, her voice still shaken with sobs. Aerion frowned slightly. The answer made little sense. Still, he did not press.
For now, this sibling of his reminded him of his sweet Maegor, who would cry after being separated from him for only a few minutes. “Come with me,” he said instead. She blinked. “Where?” Aerion hesitated. He had not thought that far. His gaze drifted briefly toward the trees beyond the garden, toward the open land stretching past Summerhall. “…the river,” he decided. Rhae studied him for a long moment, as if waiting for something else like for mockery, perhaps, or a trick. When none came, she slowly stood. “…alright.”
~~
The walk was quiet. Aerion had never noticed how quiet the world could be. Wind through leaves. The soft crunch of dirt beneath their steps. The distant sound of water grew louder as they approached. Rhae stayed close, though not too close. Careful. Watching him from the corner of her eye. Aerion was aware of it. He did not know what to do with it. They reached the river by midday. The water moved lazily, catching sunlight in shifting patterns. Aerion stood there for a moment, staring at it as if expecting something profound. Nothing came. Rhae crouched near the edge again, more confident this time. “You can catch fish here,” she said after a while. Aerion glanced down at her. “…can you?” She nodded. “I almost did once.” A pause. Aerion considered that. “Really?” She looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t know how?” The question was simple. Innocent. It struck strangely. Aerion exhaled softly. “No,” he said. Rhae seemed to accept that without judgment.
“I miss Daella and father. There is no one to play with anymore.” And with that opening, Rhae started pouring out all her thoughts. Aerion listened. Once or twice, irritation flickered, at the slowness, at the simplicity, but it faded just as quickly. He did not voice it. Time passed. After a while, when it seemed that Rhae had finally spoken everything, they just went back towards the castle in silence. After that, it seemed a new routine was added to his daily tasks; he spent nearly two hours of his noon with his youngest sibling. At some point, Rhae began talking more freely about small things, scattered thoughts, nothing of consequence. Aerion found that he did not mind. He thought it went unnoticed. It did not. They were seen. Of course they were.
~~~~~~
While walking together, they made quite a weird sight. The cruel omega princeling was walking with his youngest sister with Rhae talking quietly, Aerion walking beside her without visible irritation on his face. It was… noticeable.
Daeron was the first to notice the gradual changes that appeared in his brother in past weeks.
Later, Egg too noticed the odd behaviour and started watching from a distance, frowning as Rhae spoke animatedly while Aerion listened. That, more than anything, unsettled him. Aerion did not listen. Not like that. And certainly not for his siblings. It did not stop. Days turned into weeks. Aerion did not transform into something soft or gentle. He did not smile easily, nor did he suddenly become warm. But he changed. The outbursts lessened. The sharp words became fewer. Servants learned, slowly, that silence now followed mistakes more often than punishment.
And Rhae, Rhae remained at his side. They walked. They talked. Sometimes they said very little at all. He even showed her small things like plants, mixtures, things he remembered distantly and things he simply rediscovered alongside her. She, in turn, attached herself to him with quiet certainty. Others noticed. And they waited. Because this was Aerion. And Aerion did not change. Not without reason.