Chapter 8

But beneath the veneer of confidence lay a steely determination. "The Triarchy had invaded their kingdom, pillaging ships and enslaving loyal subjects, Instead of looking at the enemy you are here questioning the crown."

Aerion's voice grew firmer as he continued, "My uncle Daemon initiated this war not out of personal ambition, but to protect our land and fulfill his duties as a Targaryen prince while you enjoy your wine and cake."

He swept his eyes across the room, addressing the gathered guests. "We didn't seek conflict. The Triarchy overstepped their bounds, challenging Targaryen authority."

Aerion's conviction rang out. "My father wishes to resolve it peacefully and he has trust in his brother's ability to triumph. Soon, news of the defeat of these foreign invaders will echo throughout Westeros."

Lady Redwyne, ever the provocateur, smirked. "So what if your uncle fails?"

Without hesitation, Aerion's cold expression revealed his resolve. "The Targaryen are never afraid of war and bloodshed our ships, soldiers, and dragons are ready. At the order, they will massacre the Triarchy within days."

Aerion replied sent shockwaves through the crowd.

"Regarding your earlier statement about my sister," he addressed Mrs. Redwyne, "My sister Rhaenyra Targaryen has always been, and will always be, the sole rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

He paused, eyes unwavering. "All lords, including your husband, swore an oath and accepted my sister as heir before my father and the Iron Throne now are you denying it or are you going against the crown and your house."

Lady Redwyne paled, her assumptions shattered. Aerion's boldness, his commanding presence, was unexpected. The man before them was no longer the quiet, bookish lad they remembered. He was a force to be reckoned with.

As he turned and strode purposefully toward his father, the ladies exchanged glances. Alicent, too, stared after him, surprised by the transformation. And Mrs. Redwyne? Panic etched her features. Aerion's final words hinted at reporting her concerns to the king—a threat she couldn't ignore.

In that moment, Aerion detached himself from the cluster of gossiping women, leaving behind a ripple of unease.

Aerion Targaryen moved with purpose, his strides confident as he navigated the grand banquet hall toward his father's imposing throne. King Viserys sat there, a wine glass in hand, his gaze sweeping over the assembled nobles and courtiers.

A discerning palate, Aerion identified the wine as Lannister's, its rich aroma tinged with the arrogance of the lion sigil. "You seem to be relishing the wine and the banquet, father," Aerion remarked, pouring himself a glass. The flickering candlelight danced in his eyes.

"Indeed," Viserys replied, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "On such a joyous occasion, fine wine enhances the celebration."

"And what of you, Aerion?" Viserys inquired, his gaze softening. He knew his son's disdain for such gatherings—the politics, the false pleasantries. Aerion always preferred the solitude of his books and training.

"Not particularly," Aerion stated firmly yet respectfully. "The politics and insincere smiles are draining. I came to inform you that I'll be leaving for the hunt."

Viserys raised an eyebrow. "You're not so young anymore. Instead of lingering around libraries and training grounds, why not mingle with some of the younger ladies? You might find it enjoyable."

"No thank you, father," Aerion replied. "I prefer my freedom. Besides, I'm just twelve, even though I look fifteen."

Viserys sighed. "Well, I suppose you'll one day regret your choices. Gatherings like this are rare occasions, you know."

Aerion shook his head. "Take care and enjoy, father. It's been too long since I wielded a bow and arrow." His voice echoed determination, youthful energy palpable in the air.

Viserys regarded his son with a knowing smile. "You've always preferred the outdoors to these stuffy gatherings. Just be careful out there, son." His voice held paternal warmth, pride shining in his eyes.

Aerion nodded, excitement glinting in his gaze. "Don't worry, Father. I'll be sure to return victorious." With confidence, he left the banquet, leaving behind the cacophony for the tranquility of the wilderness. His silhouette disappeared from the main tent.

As the exuberant noise from the main tent faded, Aerion emerged. His eyes scanned the camp, searching for the familiar figure of Rhaenyra, but she was nowhere to be found. Unfazed, he made his way toward the stables, resolve unwavering.

At the armory, Aerion skillfully selected a bow and quiver, strapping them securely to his back. The familiar weight of the weapon reassured him as he set off on his quest.

In the stables, he chose a sturdy horse, adeptly saddling it before climbing aboard. Freedom surged through him as they charged into the forest, leaving the merriment behind. The hunt awaited, and Aerion was ready to prove himself once more.

The forest, with its mysterious charm, beckoned to Aerion. Memories of past royal hunts stirred within him—the times when he could only watch alongside his sister while his uncle, father, and numerous lords engaged in the exhilarating pursuit, returning amidst applause.

Aerion rode deep into the heart of the ancient forest. His keen eyes, like those of an eagle, soon locked onto a wild boar. Its coarse coat shimmered under the sun's rays, but the creature was agitated, its movements erratic—a consequence of the ongoing royal hunt.

Reining in his horse, Aerion approached the boar. Knocking an arrow, he took aim at the creature's vital spot. "Tuk!" The sound of a dry stick breaking spooked the boar, sending it bolting deeper into the forest. Frustrated yet determined, Aerion spurred his horse into a relentless chase, following the boar's trail through the thick undergrowth.

His steed's hooves drummed against the forest floor, weaving between trees. Aerion's breaths came in ragged gasps, his muscles protesting. But he refused to let his prey escape. After a grueling pursuit, he closed the distance and let loose another arrow.

The arrow grazed a tree, embedding itself in the boar's flank. The beast grunted in pain, stumbling and crashing into another tree, blood splattering and dust rising.

Seizing the opportunity, Aerion circled around to approach from behind. The boar, groggy and weakened, rose with a huff. This time, it faced him, making eye contact, and charged in a desperate, reckless attempt to survive.

Drawing and shooting arrows like bullets, Aerion penetrated both of the boar's eyes. Even though blind, the boar continued its charge. Aerion leaped off his horse, standing firm in front of it.

Unflustered, Aerion materialized a sword in his free hand. He sidestepped, crimson blade flashing with a red aura, and delivered a slash that sliced through the boar's skull like butter, ending its struggle.

He gazed at his sword in awe, then turned to the fallen boar. Its life ebbed away in a pool of blood, body twitching sporadically. This was the thrill of the hunt, a testament to Aerion's prowess and courage.

Inhaling deeply, Aerion surveyed his defeated prey. Satisfaction washed over him. Suddenly, rustling sounds from his right shattered the moment of triumph.

"Rustle! Rustle!"

The warning sounds came from the bushes. Without hesitation, Aerion drew his sword, ready to face whatever danger approached. Emerging from the foliage, two more boars, each as large as the first, charged at him. Their menacing tusks glinted under the sun's rays, hooves thundering against the forest floor.

Aerion knew the first boar had likely led him to its partner, setting up a sneak attack or a coordinated assault. His instincts kicked in, and he braced himself for the impending clash.