Chapter 17

The air in the Dragonpit was thick with tension, the weight of unspoken accusations pressing down on everyone present. Aerion Targaryen stood tall, his silver hair catching the dim light as he faced Maester James. The middle-aged maester trembled under the prince's gaze, his eyes darting nervously between Aerion and Dreamfyre, the dragon who had clearly marked him as an enemy.

Dreamfyre's growl reverberated through the pit, her eyes blazing with an intelligence and fury that belied her beastly nature. Aerion, his voice calm yet laced with menace, addressed Maester Aemond, the elderly overseer of the dragons.

"Maester," Aerion began, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "I want Dreamfyre to be treated properly. I will be checking on her daily. As for this traitor," he glanced at James, "I will be taking him with me."

"Prince Aerion, this is a misunderstanding," Maester James stammered, his voice quivering. "Dreamfyre came back injured. It wasn't wise to let her roam free with her wounds."

"Oh!" Aerion's retort was sharp, cutting through James's excuses. "So you imprisoned her and let her bleed? How righteous of you."

The maester's face paled, and Aerion's smile widened. "Let's let the dragon decide. They may not be as intelligent as us, but they can certainly identify those who mean them harm."

The silence that followed was thick with fear. Maester James's eyes widened, and he began to shake uncontrollably. Dreamfyre's gaze was locked on him, and it was clear that, given the chance, she would reduce him to ashes.

"Alright, I don't have all day. Let's go," Aerion said casually, his words a stark contrast to the tension in the room.

"No! You can't arrest me or put me on trial. I'm a Maester from the Order of Maesters. Only the king or the Citadel can do that," James protested, panic coloring his voice.

Maester Aemond nodded in agreement. "He speaks the truth, my Prince."

Aerion's smile never wavered. "Oh, really? Watch me," he said without hesitation. "For your information, neither my father, his heir, the Hand, nor the Citadel is here. As the only member of House Targaryen present, I can arrest you and conduct an investigation."

His gaze swept the room, challenging anyone to disagree. "Does anyone have a different opinion?" His voice was cold, and he subtly released his Dragon Might ability. The effect was immediate—everyone in the room shuddered and stepped back. Aerion focused his aura on Maester James, who crumpled under the pressure, his protests dying in his throat.

Even Maester Aemond stood frozen, his body betraying his fear.

"Good," Aerion said with a satisfied smile, withdrawing his aura. He walked towards the now unconscious Maester James, lifting him effortlessly. As he approached Dreamfyre, he gently stroked her head, speaking to her in High Valyrian. "Stay here. They will tend to your injuries. Afterwards, I will take you back to Dragonstone."

He sent his personal raven to summon two of his soldiers. Turning to the guard outside the Dragonpit, he issued his command, his voice steely. "Arrest everyone who has been working with this bastard. Make sure none of them die before my father's return, or else you will hang in their place."

By the time he exited the pit, two soldiers in black armor stood ready. "Take him to the secret chamber. Don't kill him or break his mind—I need him intact for my father's judgment," Aerion instructed.

The soldiers nodded and saluted, their experience evident in their disciplined movements. These men were part of Aerion's elite guard, trained to protect his interests and extract information from spies and traitors. The two before him were the best at what they did.

Satisfied, Aerion left the Dragonpit and made his way to the Red Keep. In his chambers, he changed into more comfortable attire with the help of his maids. He then headed to the royal library, his mind set on reviewing his father's medical records and the mysterious deaths of several Targaryens.

Back in the Dragonpit, the tension slowly eased. The Dragonkeepers, their bodies still trembling from the encounter, began to recover. Guards moved in, arresting everyone associated with Maester James.

Maester Aemond, his face ashen, hurried to the Grand Maester's chambers to inform him of the day's events. The weight of Aerion's actions hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the prince's authority and the power he wielded.

As Aerion entered the library, he felt a sense of calm determination. He would uncover the truth behind the recent events, and justice would be served.

The royal library of the Targaryens was a grand chamber, its high ceilings and intricate tapestries speaking of a long and storied history. Shelves upon shelves of scrolls, tomes, and manuscripts chronicled the deeds and misdeeds of Westeros and House Targaryen. Here, Aerion felt the weight of centuries pressing down upon him as he delved into the records of his forebears.

He moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the ancient texts. His fingers traced the spines of books dedicated to the comprehensive history of all Targaryens, legitimate and illegitimate alike.

These documents were a testament to the victories and calamities that had shaped his house. Each account he examined intensified the burden of his lineage on his shoulders.

His gaze settled on his grandfather's record, a tale of valor and wisdom that ended with a peaceful death. Aerion scrutinized the cause of death and the medical interventions administered, meticulously documented by the Maesters. It seemed straightforward, yet there was an unsettling sense of finality in the details.

Next, he turned to the records of the heirs before his father, King Viserys, and other kin. Aerion noted a disturbing pattern: those who possessed strong character, wisdom, or talent had perished one after another. Their deaths, though officially recorded as natural, occurred in such rapid succession that it seemed more than mere coincidence. Each demise appeared abrupt, the intervals between them unnervingly short.

Aerion's brow furrowed. The suspicion gnawed at him, but he decided to probe further later. He then picked up the records of his mother, Aemma Targaryen. Here, too, he found inconsistencies. Rhaenyra's birth was noted as smooth, and his mother was recorded as being in good health.

Yet, following his father's ascension to the throne, all of his mother's subsequent pregnancies ended in stillbirth until Baelon Targaryen.

The medical treatments administered during and before Baelon's birth were crude and unprofessional. Aerion compared these records with those of Alicent Hightower and other Targaryens. The disparities were glaring; Alicent and others received far more sophisticated care.

Even though Westerosi medical practices were not advanced by modern standards or compared to the ancient martial arts world of Bloodmist, they were not as primitive as the treatments Grand Maester Mellos administered to his mother. It was an unsettling revelation.