Viserys

"—far too long! He has extorted us and our business, Your Grace, I beg you to intervene—" the short, red-faced merchant pleaded, hands shaking as he gestured toward the taller man beside him.

"Extorted you?" the armoured man retorted, his voice dripping with indignation. "Never! I simply asked for a reasonable fee to protect your—"

"Silence!" Viserys's voice rang out across the chamber, sharp and authoritative, cutting through the dispute. His eyes, usually mild, were now hard as they fixed on the two men before him, their arguments dying on their lips.

"You wear the gold cloak," Viserys said, his voice low. "And with that comes responsibility. You will return every coin you have taken within the moon's turn." He leaned forward. "If you do not, I will tear that cloak from your shoulders myself."

The armoured man paled, his mouth opening to protest but closing just as quickly. Viserys waved a hand frustratedly. "Now go."

Both men scurried from the hall, their dispute forgotten as Viserys slumped back in his seat. Another petty squabble, another problem that should have been handled by someone else long before it ever reached him. 

His gaze swept over the court again, settling for a moment on Rhaenyra, who stood idly at the base of the throne. She looked bored, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of her having to deal with the endless bickering of merchants and lords someday.

He motioned lazily to the guards at the door. "Next petitioner."

The doors creaked open, and whispers stirred through the court. Viserys barely paid it any mind—until the murmurs grew louder, the atmosphere around him shifting. His smile faded as his eyes flicked toward the source of the disruption.

And then he saw him.

Viserys' breath stilled in his chest. His heart seemed to skip a beat as his gaze locked on the figure entering the hall. There, walking in with quiet confidence, was a young man with dark hair and piercing purple eyes—eyes that were all too familiar.

The familiar young man, for he could not be a day over six-and-ten dragged an armoured corpse behind him by one of its shoulder plates with a single arm, the sound of the armour dragging against the tile floor cutting through the whispers and murmurs. 

Almost carelessly the boy dropped the corpse, its destroyed face hitting the tile floor with a sickening thud. Viserys' hands involuntarily clenched around the armrests of the deadly throne, his purple eyes wide as he took in the boy's face. 

The boy kneeled and bowed his head, Viserys' strange shock fading as the boy spoke. 

"Your Grace" he said, casually, as if there wasn't a corpse laid at his feet. His eyes met with The Kings, those eyes almost burning him with memories of years passed. 

"What is the meaning of this" Otto Hightower suddenly coldly exclaimed from the bottom of the large, towering throne, in that moment his face looked as if carved from stone. 

"This, is the tattered Knight" The young man said, the courts whispering only further spiking as his words left his mouth. "Who I've only just learned, has become quite infamous for his…brutality" 

Otto's surprise shifted to a glimmer of delight, and Viserys understood why. The tattered knight had become an issue—an aggravating thorn in the side of the crown. But Viserys was currently not interested in bandits and thieves.

"Your name?" Viserys asked, the words almost spilling out of his lips. A flash of disappointment ran across the boy's features before it was hidden. A moment of silence passed, some of the court clearly recognised the boy going by their whispers. 

"Aerion Rivers" 

Viserys brow furrowed, the name was most definitely familiar, memories of Aegon's Tourney seemed to replay through his mind. The young boy luckily unseating Ser Criston, his own Kingsguard.

His mind then went back to…that…tourney, memories of a fierce squire running through his mind, knighting the very boy with Blackfyre. 

He swallowed as memories of Aemma tried to invade—he closed his eyes briefly, banishing the thoughts with a deep breath. A moment of concerned silence passed. His eyes opened once more, locking onto Aerions own familiar purple ones.

"Aerion Rivers" he repeated, almost as if tasting the name on his tongue. "I remember you unseating Ser Criston at my son's tourney" Viserys spoke slowly, noticing the surprise and slight delight crossing Aerions face at the words. 

"You've done the crown a great service" Viserys words were practised, his eyes still absorbing the boy's familiar, nostalgic features. "Name your wish, I shall grant it" he offered.

Aerions eyes widened before he broke eye contact, his mind clearly racing as he thought through the options, a moment of silence passing before he spoke.

"Your Grace" he began, his voice steady. "I only ask permission to stay within the Red Keep for but a week" Aerion requested, Viserys hiding his surprise easily.

"Why?" Viserys questioned, leaning back in slight confusion. Aerion smirked, a pang of…sadness running through Viserys at the look.

"There is a Tourney in the city, and the inns are getting quite pricey, Your Grace" Aerion said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Then your wish is granted" Viserys commanded. 

—-

Thoughts? Definitely a short chapter but wanted to scene to end here and didn't wanna drag it sorry lol