Heir

He walked through King's Landing, his uncle at his side. He yawned, his eyes squinting slightly as the sun beat down on him. His sleep last night wasn't the worst, better than the nights before at least.

He brushed past a short merchant and followed his uncle into a nearby smithy. The shouts of smiths and the clashing of steel on steel fading slightly. 

His uncle had placed the order the day after the tourney, so it was a simple matter. They exchanged a few quiet words with the smith, who nodded and retrieved the already paid-for item.

Wrapped in yellow cloth, the object was still concealed, but Aerion's eyes followed it eagerly. His uncle chuckled at the anticipation on his face before holding out the wrapped sword.

Aerion took it carefully, cradling it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. Slowly, he unwrapped the cloth, revealing the gleaming steel of a real sword—no mere tourney blade or practice weapon, but genuine steel. A small grin spread across his face as he traced the edge with his eyes.

The sword was a bastard sword, with a plain but sturdy hilt wrapped in dark leather. Aerion's fingers clenched around it, feeling the weight and balance of the weapon. It was perfect, and he was filled with a deep, satisfying pride.

"Here," his uncle said, his voice tinged with amusement as he handed over a dark leather sheath. Aerion took it and carefully slid the blade into its new home, securing the sheath to his waist with a sense of accomplishment.

"Thank you," he said, his grin widening. His uncle's gaze drifted to the crowd just outside the smithy, a flicker of dread crossing his features. Aerion snorted and glanced at the bustling street.

"You don't see crowds like that in Stonebrook," Garth grumbled. The mention of Stonebrook stirred a complex mix of emotions in Aerion. The thought of returning there felt oddly dissonant.

His mind drifted back to the previous day's conversation with Princess Rhaenyra in the Garden. He had never really opened up to anyone like that before, except for his Uncle.

—-

He leaned back, the training sword missing his face by inches. He wasn't training with a helm, if his Uncle were here he'd have been suitably chastised and then most likely slapped up the back of the head.

Aerion stepped around another sudden swing, he hadn't trained in a few days. So he came by the training yard, his exhaustion tempered by the sound of steel on steel. 

"You're good at defence" his training partner complimented, Aerion grinned as pride ran through him at the words. 

He suddenly swung at the older man, the aggressive move not catching the dornish man off guard as he deflected it with his sword. 

"Do you usually use a sword?" Aerion asked curiously, his breath coming in short gasps as he eyed the man across from him. "You had a morningstar in the tourney" he clarified as he leaned back from a strike. 

"I'm good with both" Ser Criston Cole responded as he deflected a blow from Aerion, then before the teenager could fully recover he got in close and struck. The teenager stumbled back to avoid the swing of his blade, only to trip on Cole's foot hooked behind his ankle.

Aerions eyes widened, his back hitting the ground with a thud. A blade gently pressed against his throat. "I yield" he said in slight annoyance as he slowly got back to his feet. 

"I saw you use that move in the tourney" Cole remarked, eyeing the frustrated Aerion, said teenager perked up slightly at the words.

"You were watching that?" He asked, he couldn't shake off the slight admiration. He'd sparred the man three times now and had lost handily in less than a minute every time. 

Cole snorted and nodded "My first time in Kingslanding and I see a squire win a duel with a helm" he said with a hint of amusement in his tone. "Your fights left an impression"

Aerion couldn't help the surge of pride that shot through him at the older man's words. He also couldn't help the urge to fight again, he was learning a lot from the man.

Aerion raised the dull blade into a guard, the older man smirking as he raised his own. 

—-

The noise of the crowd buzzed like a distant storm, but he was high above it all, watching from a balcony that overlooked the throne room. He'd heard about this not even an hour ago, it was a sudden thing.

Servants surrounded him atop the balcony, all wanting to watch this historical moment.

The room was packed, a sea of noble faces turned toward the front of the room where King Viserys I stood, the crown on his head gleaming under the torchlight. 

Aerion's gaze was fixed on Princess Rhaenyra; she was wearing a golden silky cloak over a red dress. A jewelled encrusted headdress framed her face like a halo. He could see the determination in her lilac eyes, a fierce contrast to the serenity of her pose. 

The King's words echoed through the hall, officially naming her as the heir to the Iron Throne. The significance of the moment was palpable, and Aerion could feel the weight of the declaration even from his elevated vantage point.

The lord and ladies of the kingdom approached the Princess and slowly, methodically each and every single one kneeled. Aerion felt goosebumps rise on his flesh as he eyed Rhaenyra.

An odd ball of tension building in him, this moment felt…he couldn't even put it to words. His neck tingled, his eyes fixed on the Princess and then suddenly he was elsewhere. 

He was in a plain field, the grandeur of the throne room long gone as he looked around. Nothing but long grass, the sound of insects engulfing him.

He was about to take a step forward—

CRASH!!

—Aerion turned suddenly, the ground shaking and dust flying through the once peaceful air. His heartbeat raced, the sheer sound almost tearing his ears asunder. 

He stumbled back, the dust filling his lungs as he coughed desperately. His skin felt cold as he wiped his now stinging eyes, the dust was settling though he could see a faint black outline.

It was massive, he swallowed as he watched wide eyed as the dirt settled. A black dragon revealed to him, it had a small cut in its chest, bubbling blood dripping onto the dirt below.

He took a shaky step forward, his eyes wide, not in fear but fascination. His eyes flicked over the form, freezing when he met its eyes.

The familar pretty lilac staring back at him. 

—-

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE 80 POWERSTONES!!! Also thanks for the two 5 star reviews!

I know this was rushed, definitely not my best stuff but man I hate just rewriting cannon scenes, but the butterfly effect is now in motion!