Coin

He pulled his hood low, blending in with the throngs of smallfolk as they bustled about their evening tasks. The air was heavy with the stench of rot and piss, but also with something else—something darker.

He had spent the last few hours slipping through different parts of the city, visiting taverns and street corners where information often changed hands. But today, anytime he mentioned a missing child the conversations dissolved into thin air.

A beggar woman sat hunched on the corner of Flea Bottom, her milky white eyes staring blankly ahead as she gnawed on a piece of stale bread. Aerion crouched beside her, his voice low.

"You hear things in the streets, don't you?"

The woman didn't respond at first, only muttering to herself between bites. But when Aerion slipped a silver coin into her lap, her gnawing stopped. She glanced down at the coin, her bony fingers curling around it.

"Aye, ser. I hear plenty," she finally rasped, her voice cracking with age and disuse.

Aerion leaned in, keeping his face hidden beneath his hood. "A boy—black hair, purple eyes. He's gone missing."

The woman's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the coin. For a moment, Aerion thought she might speak, but then her lips clamped shut, and she shook her head fiercely. "No, ser. I don't know nothing about no boy."

Aerion narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure? Others say—"

"I don't know nothing," she interrupted, her voice trembling. She turned her face away from him, muttering again under her breath, her body shrinking into itself like she wanted to disappear.

Aerion's jaw clenched. The fear was palpable, radiating from her in waves. He could see it in the way she hunched over the coin, clutching it as if it might shield her from something much worse than hunger.

He stood up, frustrated but more determined than ever. Whatever had this woman terrified, it wasn't the city guard. There was something bigger at play—something darker, lurking in the shadows.

—-

Aerion continued his fruitless quest, his eyes narrowed as he seamlessly moved through the groups of people, he eyed a group of playing boys. His mind whirring in thought as he approached a brown haired boy on the edge of the group. 

The boy eyed him curiously, his green eyes locked onto Aerions bright purple. His gaze momentarily flicked down to the sword on his hip, his eyes glittering in curiosity. 

"Seen anything strange?" Aerion asked bluntly, his voice calm but firm. "People going missing?"

The boy blinked, his eyes going back to Aerions sword. "Are you a knight?" The boy asked, ignoring Aerions query. The bastard sighed, before nodding.

"I am" he mentioned, dropping to a knee in front of the boy, showing him a silver coin. "Have you heard rumours, even just stories of a boy that went missing recently" Aerion asked, this seemed much bigger than just the one boy now.

The young boy blinked, startlingly blue eyes looking up at him. "Well—well my mothers told me stories ser" the boy said hesitantly, his eyes flicking to the coin in Aerions grasp.

"What kind of stories" he asked, his attention piqued. The boy shuffled uncomfortably, his brown hair covering his eyes for but a imminent before he spoke. 

"Of—of people going missin', especially in flea bottom" the child murmured, his right foot tapping against the ground anxiously, but his gaze focused on the silver coin.  

"What types of people, kids?" Aerion pressed, his eyes narrowing, were these just stories or was there fact hidden within. The boy nodded slowly, his eyes flicking around the busy street, their interaction going unnoticed. 

"She says it happens all the time" he whispered, leaning forward slightly "she complains to auntie that it's the gold cloaks fault" the boy said. 

Aerion's brow furrowed as the boy's words sank in. "The gold cloaks?" he repeated quietly, glancing around the street, but the crowd seemed indifferent, too wrapped up in their own business.

The boy nodded again, his voice barely a whisper. "She says they don't care. That they turn a blind eye. Says it's always the poor folk's kids that go missing. People like us."

Aerion stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He offered the coin to the boy, who snatched it quickly and ran off to rejoin his friends. As Aerion watched him go, a cold, familiar weight settled in his chest.

His search continued throughout the day, but every lead he followed dissolved into the same whispers. Old wives' tales, people gone missing in the dead of night, vague references to the gold cloaks' indifference. Flea Bottom was riddled with rumors, but nothing solid. No names. No faces. No one willing to speak openly about what might be happening.

He stopped at a tavern on the outskirts, buying a drink and settling in at a shadowy corner. He listened closely to the idle chatter of the patrons, hoping for something more than the scattered hints he had already gathered. The same stories repeated: children disappearing, no one held accountable, people too afraid to speak up.

—-

He was in front of the familiar, oddly nostalgic weirwood, the garden around him quiet, the morning sun casting large, dark shadows that seemed to wrap around the weirwood.

He eyed the pale tree, he was standing, his hand resting gently on the hilt of his sword as he thought to himself. Yesterday had been a failure, he had no clues, no potential leads to follow. 

All he knew was that more kids were going missing, he narrowed his eyes at the bark. He came here hoping for a vision, a glimpse of the future that could clue him in. Even the drunkards in the tavern hadn't spilled, merely telling him to piss off.

The black-haired boy still haunted his mind. He had dreamed of him for a reason. The gods, or whatever force granted him these visions, wanted him to find the boy.

They had to.

The clink of armour interrupted his thoughts, pulling him from his reverie. A wave of nostalgia washed over him at the familiar sound.

He turned, his gaze meeting the light lilac eyes of Princess Rhaenyra. She was wearing red, her platinum blonde hair done in an intricate braid. Rings on her fingers, glinting in the morning sun. 

Behind her, Criston Cole stood at a respectful distance, his hand resting lightly on his blade.

"That was quite the entrance to the throne room" she said lightly, her eyes roaming over him. Aerion shifted, his body's turning towards her, his lips tugging gently into a small smile. 

"It was…a tad dramatic." Aerion admitted, slightly sheepish, the memories leaving him slightly embarrassed. Rhaenyra snorted, the unladylike gesture not surprising him. 

"It was," she admitted, a smile tugging at her own lips. "But it was an…enjoyable show" she admitted, her eyes locking onto his. 

"I'm glad you think so, I'm not particularly sure His Grace enjoyed it, he looked rather peeved" Aerion confessed, The King definitely didn't look happy.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes "He's been speaking of you ever since" Aerion blinked in shock, his eyes widened. "He's obsessed" she said casually, Aerions mind blown. 

The King?

"Truly?" Aerion asked, knowing The King was asking about him sent a burst of pride through him. Rhaenyra sighed before she nodded.

"Truly" she confirmed, Aerion took a deep breath, his mind lingering on the remnants of pride. "Are you entering the tourney?" She asked, though she already knew the armour. 

Aerion nodded "I made a promise did I not?" He responded, his purple eyes meeting her lilac ones. Rhaenyras lips tugging into a smirk, memories of him promising to crown her Queen of Love & Beauty replaying through her mind.

"I believe you did Ser" she said, nodding at Aerion, the bastard feeling a grin grow on his face at her words. 

The tourney was tomorrow, and he'd win. 

—-

He was in King's Landing, the air thick with an unsettling stillness that clung to him like a shroud. The streets lay eerily empty, the usual sounds of life muffled to a distant whisper. He had been wandering the city for what felt like hours, each step heavy with dread.

This was clearly a dream. His feet slapped against the cobble, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence as he slipped into a familiar alley—the one where he had seen the black-haired boy kidnapped. 

The rancid smell of decay hung thick in the air, a grotesque reminder of the horrors that lurked in the shadows. Luckily, his senses felt muted, as if some unseen force shielded him from the full weight of the stench. Yet, with every breath, a sense of foreboding seeped deeper into his bones.

Turning a corner, Aerion halted, his breath catching in his throat. There stood a brown-haired boy, staring at him with blue cold dead eyes.

An icy tendril of fear curled around his spine. Aerion turned quickly, scanning the surroundings, but found nothing—only the eerily empty streets of Kingslanding. 

"Kid" he said, hiding the shakiness beneath a calm tone as he spoke. This was the kid he'd spoken to, who he'd given the silver stag for the information. 

Aerion stood a hesitant step forward, the cold blue empty eyes suddenly locking onto with unerring focus. Aerion swallowed, his jaw cleaning as he eyed the boy. 

"Kid" he spoke again, hoping for some kind of clue, a hint, anything, so he took another step forward, the ground suddenly shifting beneath his feet. He stumbled forward, falling through the kid.

With a jolt, Aerion suddenly woke, his body shaking, gasping for breath. Sweat coated his skin, and he sat up, disoriented. The early morning sun poured through his window, the brightness stinging his eyes.

Quickly he ran a hand through his hair, his mind focusing on the dream, an odd pit of dread flashing through his mind.

He needed to find that kid.

—-

He rushed through King's Landing, the city's bustle a maddening blur as Aerion shoved through the sea of bodies. He could feel the tension in the air, a weight pressing down on him, thick with something unspeakable.

The vision from his dream haunted him. The city seemed louder today, the noise grating in his ears, but beneath it was a sense of unnatural quiet, like the city itself was holding its breath.

He needed to get to the alley. The familiar twisting path appeared ahead, and Aerion's gut clenched. Something was wrong. There were more people gathered than usual—an uneasy crowd huddled at the entrance. Whispers, low and frantic, flitted through the air like shadows.

His pulse quickened. He pushed harder, shoving through the bodies, not caring for their angry protests. His breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers twitching for the hilt of his sword, though he wasn't sure what he'd need it for. The crowd thickened as he neared the alley, a knot of fear tightening in his stomach.

"Move," he growled, his voice low, his shoulder driving into the throng. They barely budged. His mind raced, every second making the space between him and the truth stretch unbearably thin.

And then, he broke through. The narrow alley opened before him, but the sight that greeted him nearly stopped his heart.

The boy was there, but he was no longer whole. Aerion's breath caught in his throat as his eyes took in the grotesque scene. The brown-haired boy lay crumpled against the wall, his arm twisted at an unnatural angle. His bright blue eyes, once filled with fear, were now dull, lifeless. A pool of blood soaked the ground beneath him, its metallic stench overwhelming.

Aerion felt his stomach lurch as he took a step forward, the crowd's whispers dying to silence behind him. The boy's face was frozen in a twisted expression of agony, mouth open as if caught in a silent scream. His small fingernails were reddened and bloody as if he had clawed at something—or someone—in his final moments.

But the most horrifying detail was the silver coin, melted into his forehead, gleamed dully in the murky light. The skin around it had bubbled and seared, the flesh warped from the heat. Aerion's eyes locked on the coin, bile rising in his throat.

That was the same coin Aerion had given the boy.

—-

I'm not too sure on the Rhaenyra and Aerion interaction, it felt slightly off?

Anyway thoughts on the plot line so far? Anything you wanna see, anything you don't etc etc