Chapter 18

Another troubling detail caught Aerion's attention. Contrary to his recollections from the tv series, where the Maester advised his father that only one life could be saved, and even then with a high risk to Aemma Targaryen, these records stated something far more sinister. The documents claimed that his father had chosen the baby over his wife, driven by the desire for an heir. The method was brutal, and his mother had not even been provided poppy milk to numb her pain.

Aerion felt a surge of anger and sorrow. He could almost hear his mother's cries echoing through the silent halls of the library. The pain and betrayal she must have felt resonated deeply within him. His fists clenched as he closed the scrolls, the rustle of parchment the only sound in the vast chamber.

His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of truth hidden within the records. There was a pattern, a deliberate manipulation of events.

The Maesters, those trusted with the health and wellbeing of the Targaryens and all other lord's, had been involved in a web of deceit. The implications were profound, suggesting a conspiracy aimed at controlling the succession and weakening House Targaryen from within.

Aerion took a deep breath, steadying himself. He had to tread carefully. Exposing this conspiracy required proof, and the stakes were perilously high. The future of his house depended on his next moves. He resolved to continue his investigation discreetly, gathering evidence and allies.

The royal library's silence was only broken by the occasional rustle of parchment as Aerion continued his painstaking search. Every treatment for his mother and newborn brother was crude and unprofessional, even by the standards of the era. The detailed records of these treatments contrasted sharply with what other Targaryen had received especially in the case of Alicent.

As he leafed through the pages, a chilling realization struck him. His father's record was glaringly absent. There was no mention of the illness that had plagued King Viserys, no evidence of the treatments he must have received, and no name of any maester who had cared for him. It was as if his father had never been ill.

Aerion knew better. His inherited memories informed him that his father had suffered from a debilitating illness that would eventually claim his life. The Maesters, the realm's custodians of knowledge and healers, should have meticulously documented every herb brewed, every treatment attempted, and the prevailing theories about the illness. The absence of these records was not a mistake; it was an intentional omission. Someone had removed these pages, erased these truths, or perhaps they had never been recorded under his father's orders.

Either way he was determined to unearth the truth, Aerion persisted in his search for any hint of the symptoms of the disease his father had suffered from. As the day passed, he remained ensconced in the solitude of the library, delving into ancient texts until the night cloaked the sky in its dark mantle.

Within the Red Keep's stone walls, rumors swirled like a storm, inciting unease among its residents. The gossip of Aerion's arrest of Maester James for treason spread with an intensity that even the city's most distinguished citizens could not ignore.

Amid this chaos, the Grand Maester acted promptly, sending ravens to the Citadel and the King with the urgency the news warranted. He also sought a meeting with Aerion to negotiate the custody of Maester James.

Grand Maester Mellos, with his old and weary body, entered the royal library. In a corner, surrounded by parchment and books, sat Aerion Targaryen. "My Prince," Mellos began, his voice wavering.

Aerion raised his head, his eyes sharp and unwavering. "What brings the old Grand Maester here during these late hours of the day?"

"Prince Aerion, I think there is some misunderstanding…" Grand Maester Mellos started, his tone conciliatory.

Aerion's expression remained cold, cutting him off. "Misunderstanding? Old man, we both know the truth. There is no misunderstanding here." His words were laced with a dangerous edge. "If you're here for Maester James, you're wasting your time."

Grand Maester Mellos fell silent, his eyes briefly flicking over the scrolls and books Aerion had been examining. His expression changed subtly, betraying a flicker of anxiety.

Aerion noticed this. "Old man, there is an old saying: 'No vault is strong enough to imprison the truth indefinitely.'"

"What do you mean, Prince Aerion?" Mellos asked, feigning ignorance.

Aerion smiled, a cold and knowing smile. "You know exactly what I mean. I have made my move. Now it's your turn. Whether to play or surrender is your call."

The Grand Maester left the royal library with a pale and anxious expression. The encounter had left him shaken, and Aerion could see the fear in his eyes. The pieces were falling into place, and he knew that Mellos was involved in the web of deceit that had ensnared his family.

Aerion returned to his chambers late into the night. The day's revelations weighed heavily on his mind. He had uncovered enough to suspect a grand conspiracy aimed at weakening House Targaryen. The Maesters, entrusted with the well-being of the realm, seemed to be playing a dangerous game.

##

Nestled in the heart of King'swood, the Royal Hunting Camp gleamed with radiant joy. The grandest tent, aglow with flickering firelight, served as the epicenter of festivities—a celebration marking Aegon Targaryen's second name day. Nobility and their aides reveled in merriment, their laughter echoing beneath the canvas canopy.

But as night descended, the joyous ambiance faltered with the arrival of an urgent raven from King's Landing. Otto Hightower, the King's Hand, received the message with a furrowed brow. Hastening to the king's tent, he whispered urgently into King Viserys's ear, delivering news that would cast a shadow over the revelry.

King Viserys, adorned in the regal colors of House Targaryen, listened attentively as Otto relayed the urgent message. His expression darkened as he absorbed the gravity of the situation.

"When did Aerion leave for King's Landing, and why was I unaware of his departure?" Viserys demanded, his voice edged with frustration.

Otto, his demeanor composed yet troubled, explained, "Ser Harrold informed me after our return from the hunt, sire. You were exhausted, and I deemed it best not to burden you with trivial matters."

Viserys's anger simmered, but he acknowledged the wisdom in Otto's decision. "Is there any further information on why he arrested a Maester?" he inquired, his tone clipped.

"Sire, rumors from a reliable source suggest that the prince had killed a Dragonkeeper and was also seen riding Dreamfyre over the city before the arrest," Otto replied, his words tinged with uncertainty.

"I think your sources are unreliable, maybe Daemon and maybe even Rhaenyra may do such stupid things but not Aerion." Viserys's immediate dismissal of the rumors surprised Otto, who silently concurred with the king's assessment.

But thinking about it again even Otto himself found it hard to believe this information not to mention Visery's as everyone knew that Aerion was different from most Targaryen he was intelligent, calm, strong and thoughtful and would surely won't do such stupid actions.

"Let's prepare to depart for King's Landing anyway the celebrations are already over. I want to know the truth of this matter," Viserys declared, his resolve unwavering.

Concerned for the Queen's health and the hazards of nighttime travel, Otto voiced his reservations. Viserys nodded in understanding. "Arrange for our departure at dawn, and send a raven ahead to King's Landing. I want answers."

As the camp settled into an uneasy slumber, a second raven departed Kingslanding, carrying a message that would unsettle the Order of Maesters in Oldtown.