Gardens

Aerion woke with a gasp, his body once again covered in a sheen of sweat, the taste of blood filling his mouth as his hand desperately grabbed onto the mattress below trying to ground himself.

His heartbeat felt unsteady as he tried to remember the dream but recalled nothing. 

He sighed, this was becoming all too common. He threw the blanket off of himself, his feet pressing against the cold stone ground below.

A shiver ran up his body as he stood, absentmindedly wiping his eyes as his blood rushed to his head. Gently steadying himself on the stone wall, his throat parched as the acrid taste of blood seemed to cling to his throat.

He pressed his forehead against the cold stone, the relief palpable as he took a deep breath, slowly steadying his frantic heartbeat. 

—-

He walked through the street of steel, his eyes roaming over the loud blacksmiths, the sounds of metal clashing, men bartering and children shouting in excitement were oddly muted 

His exhaustion running through his body as his eyes wandered onto his uncle, the man carelessly walked through the busy crowds, Aerion trailing in his wake.

Neither had mentioned what had happened yesterday, Aerion had almost instantly left, shame and embarrassment filling him to the core. 

Even the mention of the incident sent a wave of embarrassment through him even now. He clenched his jaw in annoyance, his sleepless nights only exacerbating his emotions further.

His uncle turned into a large smithy suddenly, Aerion following behind after a moment of hesitation. Memories of the day before, crying like a woman ran through him.

He was a man grown, a squire, he would be fighting at a tourney tomorrow morning. He couldn't be…be so pathetic. He stubbornly thought to himself as he pushed through the crowds, his mind clouded with frustration.

They entered the smithy, his uncle walking over to the smith. The sound of the crowds outside leaving Aerion deaf to the conversation as his eyes wandered over the store. 

"Aerion" his uncle said firmly as he gestured him over, Aerion hesitated before walking over to the duo, the smith grabbing a measuring stick.

Aerion blinked in surprise as the man started to measure the distance between his shoulders, his height and every other possibly thing.

He looked over to his uncle in confusion, his eyes asking for the man to explain.

"Armour" his uncle replied, Aerions eyes widening in surprise as he turned away. Getting happy, excited or at all excited felt wrong…the events of the previous day still weighed down on him. 

"I should 'ave most of what you need" The smith said to his uncle as he stopped measuring and started to look through the large room behind them, the door left open allowing Aerion to watch as the man dug through breastplates. 

The clinks and clashes as metal rattled around barely heard, the crowd outside still exuberantly shouting, creating enough noise to put a banshee to shame.

His eyes wandered to his uncle, only to look away once more. Silence embracing the duo until the smith came back with a pile of dark grey armour plates in his arms as he placed it atop a wooden table, carefully making sure none fell to the floor. 

"Test it" the smith gruffly said as he gestured to the armour "Second 'and" he informed as Aerion approached the armour.

He'd only ever had guardsmen's armour, dulled grey that shined oddly in the sun. This though, this was different, an image of him fighting against other squires shot through his mind. 

He was in all black, avoiding a swing of a mace, the sun shining spectacularly as the crowds cheered for him. The image taking his thoughts away from the shame.

Each piece fit him perfectly after certain adjustments made by the smith who seemed all too happy to be rid of the armour. 

Aerion felt a sudden hand grip his shoulder, his head turning slowly to his uncle. Confusion and a hint of fear running through him.

"Here" the man said simply as he handed over a long small banner, the familiar red stallion on a yellow background causing Aerion to widen his eyes in shock. 

This was a Bracken banner. 

"For the tourney" his uncle said almost hesitantly, Aerions mind racing at the implications. His uncle was allowing him to represent House Bracken at the tourney. 

An odd warmth filled his chest, a tightness filling his throat as he looked down at the small banner laid across his open palm. His fist clenched around the small banner and he nodded seriously.

"Thank you" he said genuinely, a long silent pause filling the space afterwards. "Thank you Uncle" he repeated, this time the thanks wasn't for the banner, memories of last night running through his head.

"Just win" His uncle snorted, lifting his hand off his nephews shoulder as he eyed the smith, the man had been writing notes 

His uncle handed over the necessary coin, not another word shared between the relatives as Aerion trailed in his uncle's wake, a heavy, large amount of armour held in a small wooden crate the older man effortlessly held as they made their way back to the horses.

—-

Aerion eyed the Targaryen banners as he passed them in the Red Keeps hall, a churning mix of emotions rising in him as he shook his head, focusing on the path ahead.

The halls of the castle only seemed to get busier, the day of the tourney was tomorrow. The servants rushing past him, the clamour of the hall was again, oddly muted.

The world had just felt…different, quiet since he'd—he snarled as he thought back to the previous day. His head desperately trying to rid itself of the image, what must his uncle think of him now?

He was pathetic, needy and weak, he was meant to win this tourney. He was suppose to fight, make sure no other squire was standing and be knighted by the King himself. 

Yet here he was, moping again.

His eyes fixed on the garden he was approaching, the familiar Weirwood almost calling out to him. He walked into the garden, the guards eyes running over him as he passed the man.

He needed to clear his head, rid himself of this…this distraction.

So he approached the tree, gently dropping to both of his knees directly in front of it and closed his eyes. The familiar action seemed to mute the clamour even further.

He remembered doing this for years in Stone Hedge, he was the only person to ever use the Godswood. Even when he was young he was drawn to the Godswoods, they were calming, most of the time. 

All he could hear was a faint ringing, his jaw clenched as his mind tried to focus on the approaching tourney. This was his chance, his real chance! He could be a knight tomorrow, he could begin his life. 

Leave his bastardry behind.

Yet memories of Rhaenyra Targaryen plagued his mind, her casual dismissal. No matter what he did tomorrow, she would not recognise him for what he was. 

What he truly was.

Neither would anyone, ever. 

'You'll be killed' the words of his Uncle seemed to echo through his head as he felt the familiar stinging pain run down his chest. 

He wasn't a Targaryen, he wouldn't ever ride a dragon, he needed to drill that through his head.

He was a bastard—a bastard—

"I see you've taken to the gardens" A familiar voice broke through his thoughts, his head snapping to the source, his eyes opening wide at the sight of Rhaenyra Targaryen.

He quickly stood, taking a step backwards and bowed his head "Princess" he said warily, "This is the only weirwood in Kingslanding" he tried to explain as his eyes shot to the familiar bald Kingsguard stood behind her.

She blinked, her eyes wandering to the tree "You're praying?" She quickly put together, her curiosity prevailing as her eyes narrowed slightly on the brown haired boy. 

"Yes Princess" he lied, he wasn't really praying, he was more using it to relax, calm and clear his mind. 

"How does it work?" She asked as she took a step closer, her eyes on the pale tree "The praying" she reiterated. 

"I—I just think to the Gods" he lied with a shrug, he really thought to himself but that…that felt too personal. 

She hummed as she took another step closer to the tree, her attention on the pale bark "The ones in the north have faces don't they?" She asked, though she clearly knew the answer.

"Carved by the children of the forest" he agreed, the familiar old tales he heard when he was younger rolling past his lips with ease as his eyes ran across her form. This time she was wearing a red and gold dress, the silver rings still on her fingers.

Her finger gently brushed against the bark of the Weirwood, her eyes flicked to the yellow banner held loosely by his belt. 

"House Bracken" she remarked slightly amused, her eyes running over his slightly uncomfortable form. "I didn't know Lord Bracken had any bastards"

"He doesn't, I'm his sister's son" he confessed, feeling an odd prickling sensation build at his nape, the bald Kingsguards eyes flicking around the large garden.

"Oh" she replied with amusement in her tone "Well get back to your praying" she said as she walked to the other side of the tree, sitting down gently between the large roots.

He blinked, his eyes staring at the tree in confusion as he heard the faint sound of fabric shifting from the other side of the large tree. 

She didn't dismiss him.

He swallowed tensely, he should leave anyway, go back to his chambers…but, this could be his sister…he wanted—no needed to sate his curiosity. 

'They'll kill you'

So he gently dropped back to his knees in front of the tree, his knees pressing down into the ground as he closed his eyes. Clasping his hands and bowing his head. 

A few minutes of silence passed, the occasional sound of a page flicking or the shifting of fabric passed his ears, his mind oddly silent.

"Are you entering the tourney?" Her voice softly rang out, clearly speaking back towards him, he opened his eyes in slight shock, how did she guess?

"The squires melee Princess" he answered back hesitantly, oddly nervous. He felt like a child, he should be in the jousts, with the knights. She hummed gently the sound carrying across the beautiful garden.

"Are you any good?" She asked bluntly, he despite his nerves felt a small smile rise on his face. 

"I'd like to think so Princess" he replied softly, his attention on the pale tree lost as he wished to stare through it. Though he couldn't see it, a small smirk rose to her face. 

"Do you want to be a Knight?" The sound of shifting fabrics ran through the garden. 

Aerion hesitated "I" he thought for a moment before responding "I do" he said as the sunlight shone through the red leaves, the sunlight seemed to bring golden life to his hair.

"Why?" She asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I've never understood the desire" she admitted with a tilted head that Aerion couldn't see. 

"I want to prove myself" he responded quickly. 

"To the Brackens?" It wasn't really a question, in her mind she had the younger boy figured out already. 

"Yes" he lied, he really wanted to prove himself to her, to her family, to his uncle. He looked down at his belt, the yellow banner still hanging gently. He gently grabbed it, running it across his hands. 

"Well, good luck in the tourney" she said almost commandingly, he blinked in surprise and felt a warm feeling build in his chest. His fist clenched hard around the Bracken banner as he gently, slowly stood.

"Thank you Princess" he said genuinely, his words soft spoken as his eyes flicked to the pale tree before he slowly, hesitantly turned and started to walk towards the garden exit.

—-

Sorry if this chapter sucks! I'm super tired as of writing and editing so point out any mistakes please! Good night