Chapter 12: Chapter 12: Reunions, Unresolved Matters
Dragonstone - Main hall…
Aeonar sat on Dragonstone's throne with his eyes closed in deep meditation, silently breathing through his nostrils, and exhaling without making a sound. The throne he sat on was built with obsidian and marble and was easier to sit on than the Iron Throne, yet it was harder and smelt of smoke and brimstone. Shaped from stone to look like dragons, the castle has a dark reputation: it was a grim place built by the ancient Valyrians with arcane arts, fire, and sorcery. Throughout every interior and exterior corridor, there was dragon-shaped architecture, such as small dragons framing gates, dragon claws holding torches, a pair of great wings covering the armory and smithy, and dragon tails forming archways and staircases. Hanging from the entryway were banners depicting the colors of House Targaryen - a red three-headed dragon on a black field.
Yet this place felt like a military base, not a palace. Quite different from the luxurious lifestyle the prince was accustomed to growing up.
Quiet, and easy to concentrate… but it is not like the Red Keep. No, this castle is my home now.
A few days have passed since Aeonar reclaimed Dragonstone from his renegade uncle, Prince Daemon. Since then, there have been some significant modifications to his castle; Dragonstone now held a garrison of thirty knights, one hundred archers and crossbowmen, and four hundred soldiers stationed inside and outside taking control of catapults and trebuchets. Not too far from where he was, the Dragonmont had Dragonkeepers stationed at the foot of the volcano near a neighboring village tending to the lair for dragons residing on the island. And if Aeonar wanted something to eat, his staff would serve him seafood gathered from nearby fishing villages.
But that was not the only thing different. A small group of twenty individuals who accompanied Aeonar from Essos kept their faces covered with their platinum-hooded cloaks. Like the Dragonkeepers, they hailed from a monk-like guild, but their now-defunct organization trained a generation of highly skilled assassins specializing in stealth, maneuverability, archery, concocting poisons, infiltration… and, if necessary, combat. For these assassins, speed and stealth were the keys to the success of the missions they were given. Failure was not an option. And without a place to call home, Aeonar brought these people to live with him on Dragonstone in exchange for their service in perpetuity.
"Ñuha dārilaros. (My prince.)" one of the acolytes informed him. "Konīr iksis iā lōgor nyesha. (There's a ship approaching.)"
Aeonar awakened from his trance-like state. "Se skoros ēnka gaomagon se soltan emagon? (And what color do these sails have?)" he inquired.
"Zōbrie se mele. Se bartan va pōja soljagon iksis keskydoso hae aōhon. (Black and red. The sigil on their sales is the same as yours.)"
Aeonar shifted slightly. So, he's finally decided to show himself. "Nyke ūndegon. (I see.)"
"Kessa eman īlva lēkia se mandia gūrogon ūbrēdan hen zirȳ? (Shall I have our brothers and sisters take care of them?)"
"Daor. Ivestragon se Karys Āeksio bona zȳhon jollōriros issi naejot iōragon ilagon. Kesan gūrogon lēda zirȳ nykēla. (No. Inform the Grand Master that his acolytes are to stand down. I will deal with them myself.)"
The acolyte bowed in acknowledgment and turned to the household guards. "Let them in," he said in a thick Lorathi accent. Once the main doors were opened, the acolyte quickly departed. Moving with the silent yet swiftness of a cat, leaping off one of the bridge's pillars, the foreigner quickly disappeared to inform his brethren.
As the guards lined up in an orderly fashion, Aeonar merely sat on the Dragonstone throne awaiting the arrival of these uninvited guests. Regardless, he long suspected that he already knew who was coming. And if the reports from his spies were accurate, they would come to see him. But this time was different. This time, Aeonar was not running. Instead, he would face them with renewed vigor. His time away had changed him. No doubt he suspected Otto told the king what had happened during the occupation of Dragonstone.
It has been a long time… father.
Dragonstone - Near the shores…
Viserys had not thought to step on Dragonstone again after a decade had passed. The castle that once belonged to his uncle, his father, himself now belonged to his son. And when he received a report from Otto, Ser Harrold, Ser Criston, and even his daughter Rhaenyra all confirming that Aeonar had indeed returned to retake Dragonstone from Daemon, the king had to see himself. Following the funeral of his late wife Queen Aemma and their newborn son Prince Baelon, Viserys had not seen Aeonar for six months. No doubt he had a lot to say; the king was mixed with an overwhelming urge to apologize for everything he did to hurt his only living son, but at the same time berate him for disappearing without a trace.
No, that would make matters worse. Things are estranged enough as it is. Viserys turned to see his other advisors of the small council accompanying him on the voyage as well. You are some of the wisest and most powerful men in the realm, and yet none of you had been able to find my son? I had to learn about this a few days ago when you came back, Otto.
Rhaenyra, who remained silent, finally spoke up. "He still blames you, father. For mother's death," she mentioned.
Viserys had not forgotten that day. He could still remember the look in Aemma's eyes - full of fear and terror in her last moments before he ordered a cesarean section be done on her which cost Aemma her life. And he had not forgotten Aeonar's face when he walked in on the aftermath of losing both Aemma and Baelon - shock, pain, and anger… but somehow, he could sense hatred. He still remembered his son's voice echoing that day.
"What have you done…? What have you done? What have you done?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"
Viserys looked stricken as he buried his face into his hand.
"Princess," Grand Maester Mellos lectured, "birthing is always a dangerous time. There was nothing that gods or man could have done to prevent what happened to your mother or Prince Baelon."
Lord Strong resisted the urge to roll his eyes, it was whispered that it had been Mellos's incompetence that had contributed to the death of the queen.
"Try explaining that to Aeonar. We have asked you repeatedly not to put mother through that," Rhaenyra countered, "and it killed her."
"A King must produce offspring to secure his dynasty and further a family line, princess," Otto said calmly. "Your late mother understood this and one day you shall too when you are wed."
"We'll how unfortunate because I no desire to get married."
Viserys sighed deeply. "How can a house divided be expected to stand?" He asked no one in particular, though as always it was Otto who answered.
"Your noble grandfather faced many similar challenges among his children. The prince and princess are still young, with time they will see that you did what you thought was right."
"Land ho!" one of the sailors called out.
Viserys observed Dragonstone from a distance. Once the ships were able to get close enough, the royal party would have to get to shore on smaller rowboats. The others were simply too big and would risk crashing against the nearby rocks. But by the gods, he hated sailing! Viserys felt nauseous and forced himself to swallow the bile rising into his throat - but alas, even while in a rowboat, he leaned over the side to vomit. After a while, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and slunk over.
Still seasick, father? Pffft! That is sad. Rhaenyra shook her head in disgust.
Once the rowboats hit the sandy shores, everyone began to disembark. Viserys was the first to step out - almost yearning to set foot on solid ground as quickly as possible. Rhaenyra followed suit, as did Otto, Alicent, and other members of the small council. The king surveyed the area closely; Dragonstone had changed drastically since he last set foot on the island - but a noticeable difference was the increased state of security and these familiar faces donning cloaks meditating or training. Viserys did not recognize them at all. These people were not Dragonkeepers.
"Greetings, Your Grace," the household guards acknowledged.
"Where is Prince Aeonar?" Lyonel demanded. "He should be here to receive the king."
Four acolytes approached. Each of them had their hoods down to cover their faces and wielded quarterstaves in their hands.
"Issi pōnta se mēre? (Are these the ones?)" one of them whispered.
"Mijegon iā másino. (Without a doubt.)" another replied.
"Bony jurnegon oiro. (That one looks fat.)"
"Se uēpa. (And old.)"
Otto stepped forward. "You stand before King Viserys of House Targaryen, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," he informed them. "It is customary to kneel when in the presence of royalty."
"Bona ēdruta sagon Ondossa hen Dārys, lēkia. (That must be the Hand of the King, brother.)"
"Kiz. Ziry vēttīlaksir se vestriarzir se dārilaros ȳdragon hen. (Indeed. He matches the description the prince spoke of.)"
"What is the meaning of this?" Lyonel was growing impatient. "Is this how the king's heir greets his father?"
Viserys, on the other hand, ignored the Master of Laws' remarks and approached. "Udrirzi valyrio ȳdrā? (You speak High Valyrian?)" he spoke to them.
One of them nodded. "Ah. Sīr gaomā shifang skoros iksi vestretir. (So, you do understand what we are saying.)" the acolyte replied. "Kessa, Dārys Visērȳs. Dārilaros Aeonar ēza issare ūbnon ao (Yes, King Viserys. Prince Aeonar has been expecting you.)"
Do they know who I am? Well, I suppose I should not be surprised. If you want something looked at, something no one else might have noticed the first time, always turn to Aeonar to uncover the secrets. "Iksan ūbnon? (I am expected?)"
"Hen rhinka. (Of course.)" The other answered coolly. "Ziry volpe aōha umāzigon syt olvie mirri jēda sir, Osh Eghlish. Zaldrīzdōron va moriot sytilībagon naejotTargārio Lentrot. (He foresaw your arrival for quite some time now, Your Grace. Dragonstone will always belong to House Targaryen.)"
"Kostagon nyke ȳdragon lēda Aeonar? Issa ñuha tresy. (Can I speak with Aeonar? He is my son.)"
"Aōhoso. (As you wish.)" The acolytes turned to the Dragonstone garrison and grunted, motioning their heads to acknowledge the request.
"If you would accompany us, Your Grace," one of the guards approached respectfully, "Prince Aeonar Targaryen is awaiting you in the main hall." He silently whispered to the king. "Just a bit of a heads up, Your Grace, you might not receive a warm welcome."
"I know," Viserys acknowledged. "But all that matters now is mending relations with my only son and heir. So, let's just get on with it."
Rhaenyra, accompanying her father, quietly observed the archers and crossbowmen above. Hidden discreetly in the Stone Drum, the Sea Dragon Tower, and the Windwyrm, and with their bows always locked on, they were positioned perfectly to set up an ambush. And the catapults and trebuchets would make an amphibious landing very risky as they would be under fire from a greater distance.
"It's been six months since he left the capital," Alicent mentioned. "Things don't seem the same as they used to." She almost picked at her fingers. "How could he…?"
"I know, I've been wondering that myself," Rhaenyra agreed. "Though I suspect he'll have much to tell us. So, we're just going to have to force it out of him - one way or another."
Dragonstone - Main hall…
Viserys and his entourage were guided through the main corridor of Dragonstone. Alicent and Rhaenyra were seeing the interior of House Targaryen's historical seat for the first time, and Seven hells it was dark and gloomy - lit only by candles to light their pathway. Upon reaching their destination, Dragonstone's household guards pushed open the heavy doors and allowed the king and his guests entry into the audience chamber.
Rhaenyra was visibly impressed by the architecture of her ancestors, remarkable stonework, and masonry that have now long since been forgotten. The artisanship of ancient Valyria would not be seen in the known world again. But what caught her attention was along each side of the room was a mixture of Targaryen household guards and those monk-like people from outside.
"Ao iōragon gō Aeonar Targārien, Dārilaros hen Zaldrīzdōron se dārilaros naejot se Dēmalion Āegenko." one of the masters announced.
"You stand before Aeonar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne," Alwyn translated.
"Prince Aeonar," Lyonel recognized. The Master of Laws was one of the first to notice how much his appearance had changed in six months.
Viserys was still focused on his son. You… You have grown so much. I-I hardly recognize you anymore. "Aeonar… you… how… you have changed," he said stammering slightly as he tried to find his voice.
"Father," Aeonar acknowledged. He turned to his staff, guards, and acolytes. "Jikagon. Henujagon īlva. (Go. Leave us.)"
Acknowledging the prince's orders, most of the attendees in the chamber began to leave to give him some privacy. Now doubt Aeonar and Viserys had a lot to talk about, including their estrangement and tense relations considering the major fallout they had since Queen Aemma's passing.
"Out," Viserys said, so softly that many scarcely heard him.
"Your Grace?" Otto asked.
"Out, all of you." Viserys said loud and firmly, "I would speak with my son alone."
Every council member stood up and bowed, Otto was the last to leave the room, giving a hard icy stare at Aeonar before taking his leave and shutting the door behind him.
Viserys removed his crown and wiped his brow, sighing. "There are many who have or sought to take advantage of my forgiving nature. I never thought you would be one of them, Aeonar." He said as he looked at his son. "I will not deny the merit of your plans and the logic of your words throughout our past council sessions. But to vanish for half a year? What happened to you, Aeonar? Do you hate me that much?"
"That's pretty rich coming from you," Aeonar retorted, rising from the Dragonstone throne, and descending the steps. "Everything I did was for our family, but not once did you ever seem to understand that. I did not accept your offer to become your spymaster just to be undermined, have my responsibilities delegated to someone else or watch you downplay affairs as important as this… Again, and again and again."
"Aeonar, I've told you can't afford to be biased-"
"To put it bluntly, father, I'm rather tired of it. When did you ever stick up for me before the council? Well, guess what? This time you will listen. The right choice is never the easiest one to make. It feels right, you are doing it wrong. But if it feels wrong, you are doing it right. Yet not once did you ever get it. Unlike you, I have seen the world. Braavos, Pentos, Lorath, Norvos, Qohor, Volantis… and yes, even the Dothraki Sea and near the ruins of Old Valyria. I have seen them all with my own eyes and learned so much more. I have been to places that exist only in history books and your very dreams. Everything I have done has been the requirements needed to rectify past mistakes due to your passivity, father. You want me to trust you again? Then you are going to have to start over from scratch. If not, then you can simply find yourself another heir."
As a father, that jab struck Viserys's heart to hear his son saying he does not trust him. I know that look in those eyes. He still blames me for Aemma. The king sighed deeply and observed the architecture before returning his attention to Aeonar. "You blamed me for your mother's death and… you were right. After the stillbirths and miscarriages, she suffered after you and Rhaenyra. You were right. I should never have placed her in that position in the first place." He looked down at his hand, where he wore Aemma's ring. "I loved your mother and if I could bring her back to life, I would move the Seven heavens and earth to do so." He then looked over his shoulder at Aeonar. Walking over to the Prince of Dragonstone he placed a hand on his shoulder. "But she would not want us to fight. You are our only son and my heir. Perhaps… I have not been as good a father to you as I should have. But I do not want us to become strangers. You and your sister are all I have left."
Forgive and forget, is it that simple for you? Aeonar simply stared at Viserys and listened. It is true he still blames his father for his mother's death, and it would take a lot of effort to reconcile the once close relationship between father and son. But that would take time.
"I know it doesn't mean much, but I just have to right by you now, Aeonar, if I can." Viserys reached into his pocket and pulled out a violet gemstone, the sigil of the Master of Whisperers' office. "Your sister told me… she was acting in your place at your behest, until your return. The position is still yours… if you want it. I'll even name you Lord Confessor if that's what it'll take to ask you to please come home with us."
Aeonar shook his head. "Maybe we might be able to move past this after being gone for so long, but… I cannot make any promises," he sighed. Reaching out, he took the gemstone from the king. "Just don't disappoint me again."
Viserys interpreted this as a sign of hope. "I understand, my son. I would not expect more than that," he said. "But will you return home with us?"
"Dragonstone is my home now," the prince corrected him. "But I will commute to King's Landing for my duties."
"Of course. We still have your old room just the way you left it."
Aeonar pondered silently. "I heard what happened with Ser Ryam," he mentioned. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for his funeral."
Viserys nodded solemnly. "I know," he nodded. "Ser Ryam was a strong Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. But he was ill for some time. Mellos told me he died in his sleep."
"I… see. Then he died without pain and instead passed peacefully. Then that means Ser Harrold…?"
"Is the new Lord Commander, yes."
"And Ser Criston Cole is the one who filled in the vacancy - at Rhaenyra's recommendation."
"How did…?"
"I'm a damn good spymaster, father. I have ways of gathering information from contacts in high and low places everywhere. Do not tell me you forgot that already?"
"Uh… ha-ha, no, I suppose I shouldn't have."
It was not much, but it is something. Aeonar has not completely forgiven Viserys or forgotten what he did, but at least he and his father are talking again. There was still plenty of work to be done, but the prince needed to settle at least one more matter before they all eventually returned to King's Landing: talking with Alicent. He knew it was wrong of him to leave without saying a word to her and there would no doubt be a lot of screaming and yelling on her part, but the least Aeonar could do was at least try to win back Alicent's trust - which itself would not be easy.
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