Chapter 3

In the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, the echoes of a heated argument reverberated off the ancient stone walls. Viserys, his face flushed with frustration, paced back and forth.

His marriage to Aemma had been a harmonious union until this fateful evening when a single, contentious issue threatened to unravel the fabric of their relationship, Aemma was overwhelmed by the current and previous guilt and regret she felt for her half sister and son.

Meanwhile Viserys was also in a similar situation but he was like always unable to take decisive decision in this matter, on one hand the child was his blood and as his wife said he was at fault but on the other hand he had to consider the possible backlash of his wife's request.

Aemma, her eyes ablaze with defiance, stood her ground. "I will not yield on this, Viserys. Aerion deserves more than the shadow of illegitimacy over his life," she declared, her voice unwavering.

Viserys, caught between the love for his wife and the weight of tradition, felt the sting of defeat. He knew well that his hands were tied; he was not yet king, and his influence was limited. But he also knew the power his grandfather wielded.

"Aemma, my dear," Viserys began, his tone softening, "you must understand that I cannot legitimize Aerion. No Targaryen can, except for my grandfather."

He paused, searching her eyes for a glimmer of understanding. "I can promise you nothing, but we can petition Grandfather. If he consents to legitimize Aerion, then we shall have our way."

"And if he refuses?" Aemma's voice was a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a thousand fears.

"Then," Viserys replied, "he will grow up as my son, albeit illegitimate. Upon his sixteenth name day, I will bestow upon him a lordship, a name, and lands to call his own."

Aemma studied her husband, the man who held her heart. She saw the sincerity in his eyes and knew he offered all that was within his power. "If Grandfather denies us, then I shall make arrangements for Aerion myself," she said, a resolve settling in her heart.

With a heavy sigh, Aemma turned and left the king's chamber. She retreated to her own quarters, where she sat by the window, cradling Aerion in her arms. The night sky stretched endlessly above, the moon casting a serene glow over King's Landing. In the quiet of the night, Aemma made a silent vow to protect her son, no matter the cost.

The dawn's light crept over King's Landing, casting a golden hue upon the city as it awoke. In the heart of the Red Keep, Prince Viserys and his wife, Lady Aemma Targaryen, cradled their son Aerion, preparing to face a moment that could alter the course of their lives.

As they approached the chamber of the former King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, two Kingsguard stood sentinel, their armor gleaming in the morning light. "Prince Viserys, Lady Aemma," they greeted, their voices echoing with respect. The guards' eyes lingered on the slumbering babe before they pushed open the heavy doors.

Inside, the chamber was suffused with the fragrance of scented candles. A maid and a Maester flanked a large bed where an old man lay, his presence as commanding as it had been in the days of his reign. This was Jaehaerys the Conciliator, the Old King, whose wisdom and strength had once guided the Targaryen dynasty to its zenith.

"Grandfather," Viserys called out, his voice tinged with both reverence and urgency.

The aged monarch's eyes, still sharp and discerning, opened to behold his kin. "Help me up," he commanded, his voice a mere shadow of the powerful timbre it once held.

With the assistance of Viserys and the servants, Jaehaerys propped himself against the pillows. "Hand me the child," he instructed, extending his arms.

Aemma, without a moment's hesitation, passed Aerion to the Old King. "Grandfather, this child—"

"There is no need for explanations," Jaehaerys interjected, his gaze fixed on the infant's silver hair and fair complexion. "I am well aware of all that has transpired and the purpose of your visit."

The room fell silent, the gravity of the moment settling upon each occupant like a heavy cloak. Jaehaerys studied the babe, his expression inscrutable.

Viserys and Aemma exchanged a glance, their anxiety palpable. The decision of the Old King would not only determine their son's legitimacy but also the stability of the realm.

In the royal chambers, where the weight of history pressed upon the present, King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the Old King, cradled the infant Aerion in his arms. His gaze, heavy with the burden of his crown, fell upon Prince Viserys and Lady Aemma.

"Viserys, Aemma," Jaehaerys began, his voice resonating with the authority that had once commanded armies and quelled rebellions. "The matter of legitimizing Aerion is fraught with consequences that extend beyond our lifetimes. It is a decision that will echo through the annals of our House."

Viserys, whose youthful face was etched with the first signs of kingly burdens, stood by his wife, her hand clasped in his. "I understand, Grandfather," he replied, "but Aerion is my son, born of my blood. He should not suffer for the circumstances of his birth which I was in fault."

Aemma, her gaze fixed on the babe, added, "Aerion deserves a life free from the shadows of doubt and scorn. He is innocent in all this."

Jaehaerys nodded slowly, the weight of the crown apparent in his stooped posture. " Right or wrong, our emotions can't affect our decision, especially when you have a responsibility to the throne Viserys."

He turned to Aemma, his great-granddaughter by marriage. "And you, Aemma, must consider the precedent it sets. What of the other lords who seek favor or advantage? What of the whispers in the dark corners of the court and the people of the kingdom?"he asked.

"Even if you legitimise him, what of it, what will it achieve at the end of all this he would still be called a Basterd by everyone with the only difference being that it would only be in the dark" Jaehaerys explained.

The room fell into a hushed silence, the gravity of the decision pressing upon them all. Aerion, oblivious to the high stakes, cooed softly in the Old King's arms.

"Viserys, you stand as heir and the next king of westeros. What say you on this matter?"

Viserys, torn between the love for his son and the duty to his dynasty, struggled with his response. He glanced at Aemma, whose determination shone like the blade of Valyrian steel. In her eyes, he found his resolve.

"Grandfather," Viserys finally said, "I stand with my wife. Aerion is my blood, and he deserves a name befitting a Targaryen."

The Old King studied them, his eyes reflecting the wisdom of his years. "Very well," he conceded, the lines of age etched deeply into his face. "I shall grant your request to legitimize the child and name him Aerion Targaryen. But," he raised a finger, silencing any premature celebration, "there will be conditions."

Jaehaerys laid out his terms with the precision of a maester's quill. "Firstly, Aerion shall have no claim to the Iron Throne. Secondly, no dragon egg shall grace his crib. Should he ever claim a dragon, it must be a wild one, earned by his own merit."

He then turned to Viserys, his expression solemn. "I am a relic of the past, and the future is yours to shape. Remember, every action bears its consequence. Hope you are prepared to face what comes?"

Viserys and Aemma exchanged a look of mutual understanding. They knew the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, but together, they would navigate the uncertain waters of destiny.

As the Old King handed Aerion back to his parents, as he asked Viserys to called the lord's for meeting he was going declare his final edict and name Viserys king officially.