Reunion

"How?" Vaeron asked breathlessly, his eyes wide as they locked onto the great beast towering behind Aerion. "You were gone less than a fortnight," the dragonseed murmured, astonishment creeping into his voice.

Aerion's grin widened, a flicker of amusement in his gaze as he turned to his Maester.

"I work fast, Vaeron," he replied, his voice calm, though a hint of pride coloured his words. Around them, the smallfolk gathered, murmurs of awe and fear passing through the crowd as they eyed the dragon.

"My prince…" came the soft voice of a boy no older than ten. His small hand trembled as he pointed towards Gaelithox. "That's a dragon."

Aerion glanced down at the boy, his tone softening. "It is, meet Gaelithox," he said, the name carrying across the courtyard for all to hear. 

The murmurs grew louder, wonder and fear mixed in their voices. Above, the guards along the walls of Crow's Point peered down, wide-eyed and awestruck.

Many of these men and women had never seen a dragon, nevermind one so beautiful as his own Gaelithox. 

Vaeron approached cautiously, closing the distance between them while keeping a wary eye on the dragon. 

"Is it true? About the marriage?" he whispered, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. "We've heard rumours," he continued, brushing a strand of silver hair from his eyes. 

Aerion simply nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.

"It is," Aerion said quietly, as he began to walk forward, the crowd parting for him. Vaeron followed, his wide eyes betraying the thoughts running through his mind—the implications, the power this would bring.

"My prince," Vaeron mumbled as they passed through the familiar halls of Crow's Point, the stone walls echoing with the steps of the men who now followed him. "When is the wedding?"

"In a moon's time," Aerion replied, pushing open the heavy door to his solar. Vaeron stepped in behind him, nodding as the weight of it settled in. 

"What does this mean for House Brightflame?" Vaeron asked as he took a seat in the solar, his fingers twitching, eager for parchment and ink to record the details.

"My second-born son will inherit the Brightflame name and Crow's Point," Aerion replied, his gaze drifting to a red strip of fabric, carelessly draped over a nearby book.

Vaeron hummed thoughtfully. "I assume there will be royal assistance in refurbishing the keep?" he asked, leaning forward, elbows pressing against the polished wood of his prince's desk.

Aerion nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. "There will be, and no Royal taxes, not until it's fit for a prince," he said, dropping into his chair with a satisfied thud.

He was doing it.

Securing his legacy.

Vaeron chuckled softly, a sound of disbelief and admiration. He leaned back in his chair, eyes wide with the thrill of it all. He had been there from the beginning—seen this house rise from nothing. 

Reaching for the wine pitcher, Vaeron poured two goblets, offering one to Aerion. He lifted his cup, his eyes locking with Aerion's, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"To House Brightflame," he toasted, raising his goblet high. Aerion mirrored his gesture, a shared sense of triumph passing between them.

"To House Brightflame" Aerion echoed.

—-

Aerion stood bathed in the moonlight spilling through the narrow window of his solar, the silence of Crow's Point surrounding him like a shroud. 

He had spent the evening catching up on matters missed during his absence, Vaeron had managed well enough in his stead. But still, something gnawed at him.

His dark purple eyes drifted to the strip of red fabric laid carelessly atop a nearby book, Rhaenyra's favour from years ago. The vivid crimson still gleamed as brightly as the day she had given it to him, a token of affection, now a silent reminder of what awaited him.

Aerion reached for it, his fingers curling around the soft silk. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The marriage—this union with Rhaenyra—was everything he should want, everything he had worked for. It would elevate his house, secure his place at her side.

And yet…

His eyes narrowed as the fabric tightened in his grasp.

He'd be living in Kingslanding or Dragonstone.

With Gaelithox, travelling back to Crows Point would be effortless, but would that be enough? Could he truly manage the affairs of his house from afar?

His gaze slid to the empty chair Vaeron had occupied earlier. The man had proven capable, but could he entrust him with his legacy? His fingers squeezed tighter around the fabric, the unease in his chest deepening.

Aerion released a breath, sinking into his chair with a frustrated sigh. His mind whirred with possibilities and uncertainties. 

Suddenly, a harsh caw rang out from across the room.

Grock.

The sound yanked Aerion from his thoughts. His head turned sharply, confusion knitting his brow. The crow flapped his wings, restless.. Aerion frowned, rising slowly from his chair.

But before he could move, a sharp pain lanced through his skull. His breath caught, eyes widening as a wave of dizziness struck him. The room spun—floor shaking and walls bending.

His knees buckled, the world shifting as his body crumpled to the ground.

He found himself staring into lilac eyes, burning with pain, anguish, and seething rage. Aerion staggered back, heart pounding in his chest as he recognized the face before him—an older Rhaenyra, broken and bleeding, kneeling on stone ground.

One of her breasts was bare, a jagged cut running across it, deep and grotesque. Blood gushed from the wound, thick and dark, pooling beneath her. 

The steady drip of it hitting the stone was deafening, echoing like a drumbeat. Her body trembled, but her eyes—those lilac eyes—still burned with fury.

Aerion's breath hitched, his gut twisting as he glanced around, knowing full well what was coming next.

He had seen this vision before, on the Isle of Faces.

But that did nothing to dull the horror of it.

His eyes snapped back to Rhaenyra just as a shadow loomed over her, the stench of decay filling his nostrils. The dragon lunged. Its once regal jaw now mangled beyond recognition, shattered teeth protruding in all directions.

It's jaws snapped forward with a sickening crack, catching Rhaenyra's body in its grip. The sound of bones splintering echoed through the space as her scream tore through the air—sharp, raw, and utterly hopeless.

Aerion couldn't move. He couldn't even blink.

The dragon wrenched its head back, tearing flesh and muscle in a grotesque display of raw power. Rhaenyra's blood sprayed across the ground, splattering the stone ground in crimson. 

Her body was ripped apart, limbs and entrails scattered in a grisly feast as the dragon ripped her apart.

Then suddenly, the ground shifted beneath his feet and he awoke once more. His face was pressed into the wooden floor of his solar, his head ringing oddly.

His arms trembled violently as he fought to lift himself from the floor, his muscles were unresponsive. His vision swam, flickering between the memory of the vision and the familiar walls of his solar.

A wave of nausea surged through him, twisting his insides like a knife. He heaved violently, his stomach wrenching as bile shot up his throat. 

His chest heaved, and he retched onto the floor, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from him as his body rejected everything at once.

His breath came in shallow gasps, cold sweat dripping down his brow as he lay there, his limbs trembling, unable to steady himself.

He hadn't changed anything.