Weirwood

"You lost."

The words pierced the quiet, their teasing edge unmistakable. Aerion's head tilted, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the Princess approaching. A flicker of annoyance stirred in his chest at her words, no matter their teasing nature.

"Princess." He bowed his head slightly, though his posture remained lazy as he leaned back into the weirwood's roots. The warmth of the feast hall and its revelry seemed worlds away, but here—under the flickering torchlight—it was calm.

"You're not at the feast?" she noted, settling herself among the roots with surprising ease. The rich crimson of her gown was too fine for the earth, too delicate for the gnarled wood, yet she sat as if she belonged there, unbothered.

"Neither are you," he dodged, his eyes lifting to the night sky, stars barely visible in the halo of torchlight surrounding the garden. A faint breeze stirred the branches, the cool air a balm after the heat of battle.

"I came looking for you." Her voice was soft, teasing—yet held something else, something that tugged at him. Aerion swallowed, his gaze dropping back to the ground. How could he answer that? Silence seemed safer.

The pause stretched between them, but Rhaenyra broke it first, her tone shifting. "My father named your tilt the best of the tourney."

Aerion blinked, his dark eyes meeting her lilac ones, startled by the declaration. He couldn't tell if the approval in her eyes was playful or genuine.

"That's…a thing?" he asked, his brows drawing together in confusion.

"It is now," she said, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "By the King's decree." A momentary smile broke onto his face at the words. 

Aerion fetched her favour from his pouch, the red ribbon slipping between his fingers, laying in his open palm as he reluctantly offered it back to Princess Rhaenyra.

"Keep it," she said casually, leaning back against the tree. Her ease felt out of place here, beneath the ancient weirwood. Aerion blinked, hesitating a moment before tucking the fabric back into his pouch.

"When are you leaving?" she asked, her voice soft yet curious, as though the question held more weight than it seemed.

Aerion paused, thinking. "Lord Bracken seems intent on…uh—"

"Bestowing favours upon my brother?" she cut in smoothly, her tone sharp, with a faint bitterness underlying the word brother. Aerion shrugged, feeling the tension in the air but unsure how to respond.

"Most likely," he said with some reluctance. He could feel Rhaenyra's gaze linger, and though her expression softened, something simmered just beneath the surface.

"We'll likely be here for another week or so," he added quietly, he was estimating.

A silence settled between them, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The flickering torch light made shadows dance along the gnarled roots of the tree, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire garden was holding its breath.

"What if you didn't have to leave?" Rhaenyra's voice was quieter now, serious—without the teasing tone that usually coloured her words. Aerion's brow furrowed as he turned to look at her, confusion flickering across his features.

"It would be…nice," he admitted cautiously, unsure of where she was leading. The idea of staying longer in Kingslanding was appealing, but also dangerous. Everything here felt both promising and perilous at once.

"I could have you serve as my sworn shield," she offered, her words lingering in the air like a challenge. Aerion's eyes widened at the proposition.

For a moment, he didn't move. Then slowly, deliberately, he stood and extended his hand to her. Rhaenyra took it, her touch soft yet firm, and he helped her rise to her feet.

"It would be an honour," Aerion said quietly, the weight of the offer pressing on his chest. "But I have my own duties—I'm a knight, and I have a squire, I cannot pawn him off." Her composure slipped, a brief flash of disappointment revealed beneath the confidence,

He felt her disappointment as if it was his own, the offer…it was tempting too tempting. But what type of man would he be if he just pawned off his squire, the boy looked up to him, that was his cousin.

'She could be your cousin' a voice seemed to whisper into his head, as he looked away from her. Sudden discomfort running through him. 

"I'll be back when the next Major tourney happens" he answered, though it felt weak, pathetic and a compromise. But he didn't have the privilege to live in Kingslanding, he didn't have the status nor the coin. Tourneys were his only way in, the only way he could get his foot in the door. 

Rhaenyra's smile was small, and it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Very well," she said, as if the whole matter were trivial to her now.

He swallowed, his pulse thrumming in his ears. Suddenly, the weight of the space they shared under the weirwood felt unbearable. He needed something—anything to bridge the gap between them.

"I can promise you this." His voice was lower now, more deliberate, his gaze locking onto hers with intensity. He stepped closer, the faint rustle of the tree's leaves the only sound between them. "I will win the next tourney. And when I do, I will crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty."

The words hung in the air, heavier than they had seemed in his mind. But here, spoken under the weight of the ancient tree and the gaze of a Targaryen princess, they felt monumental.

Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled, and she tilted her head, her lips quirking into a familiar, teasing smile. "Oh? And if you don't win?"

"I will" he said, more firmly now, refusing to back down from the challenge in her eyes. "I swear it."

Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm, her lilac gaze never leaving his. "You'll crown me, will you?" she asked, her voice light, almost mocking, yet there was something deeper there—a quiet dare.

"I will" he was resolute.

Her eyes searched his face, as if weighing the sincerity of his words, and then she smiled—a real smile, soft but radiant, the edges of tension between them easing for a moment.

"Then win," she said simply, her voice regaining a sliver of its earlier confidence, "and we shall see."

The flickering torchlight cast long shadows over them both, but in that moment, the world outside the garden ceased to exist. There was only the quiet between them, and the unspoken promise that tied their fates together.

—-

I feel like I'm just writing the same arc again and again and again. Seriously just Aerion, Tourney, Rhaenyra repeat. It's getting boring asf to write, I need some help on different arcs I could write.

Any ideas seriously leave them, I don't care if it's the most ridiculous shit ever, I need them lol