120AC, Aenar's Solar
"One and ten years Ser, one and ten years have passed since Viserys placed the bounty on my head. For one and ten years, I have survived assassination attempts from every cutthroat, lowlife and catspaw in Essos. One almost succeeded. One and ten years I have spent evading assassins looking to collect my brother's bounty, and now he has the gall to summon me. Like I am some lowly squire at his beck and call," said Aenar calmly, only his hand curling into a tight fist betraying his anger.
He leaned back in his seat, blindly reaching for a jug of wine only to find it missing. The two of them had returned to his solar in his manse, for the current discussion was not well suited to the prying eyes and ears of the Sealord's Court.
"His Grace always lamented his decision to place a bounty on your head Aenar. He was goaded into it by his advisors. They believed he needed to show strength after Daemon's defiance. And later, he could not overturn his decision lest he appear weak and indecisive," placated the Steffon Darklyn.
Aenar deflated slightly at the words of the Darklyn Knight. While in his youth he had ranted and raged when he had found out that Viserys had placed a bounty on his head, with age and experience, his blood had calmed and he had realised that he had left his brother with few other options. His actions had left Viserys particularly vulnerable.
"Aye, I know I didn't do right by Viserys, but he denied me the one thing I had yearned for my entire life. And after what Daemon did, and what I suffered trying to stop him, did I truly not deserve a reward? You were there when they pulled me out of the Black Cells. You were there when Viserys ran to me and embraced me. When he offered me a boon. And after everything, when Viserys denied me. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be selfish for the first time in my life."
"I know lad. I stood guard and watched then, and I have stood guard for all the years thereafter. I have seen Viserys lost in his sorrow gazing out across the Narrow Sea hoping that you may return. I have seen him hold back his worry every time the Master of Whisperers reports that you have left on another campaign and rejoice every time you return victorious," replied the Knight, his own pride bleeding into his words as he assessed Aenar with heavy eyes.
"He misses you, lad. His Grace has always held his family dear. No one can deny that, and he confided in me all those years ago that placing a bounty on your head was one of the hardest decisions he ever made. For fuck's sake, Queen Alicent might think that the King had Ser Otto dismissed as Hand at the Princess's request, but Ser Harrold and I knew it was for pushing him to take action against you," continued the older knight.
"I was not aware of that," said Aenar quietly, genuine surprise flitting across his features. The silence in the room was palpable as neither said anything, Aenar still processing the knight's words.
"When I heard you'd started hunting Dothraki, I wasn't sure if I should be proud or terrified," Steffon joked, finally breaking the silence.
"To be honest, the first year in the field, hardly a night went by that I wasn't terrified as well," replied Aenar, a wry smile touching upon his face.
"Well the songs they sing about you hardly ever mention that. They only ever tell tale of the Liberator, the Dragonlord of the Dothraki Sea, the dashing conqueror waging a one man war against slavery and savagery," the Knight finished with a mocking tone.
"While other bards sing about the Monster of the Red Mountains or the Black Butcher who reaped the souls of hundreds of thousands of Dothraki men, women and children alike, who burned and razed Vaes Dothrak. Words are wind, Ser Steffon, the songs ever more so. You taught me that," said Aenar, raising his glass in a silent toast.
"You give me too much credit lad. You were always a fast learner. Although I wish you had picked up the sword as well as you spouted philosophy," chuckled the Darklyn knight.
Aenar winced slightly at that, memories of Ser Steffon's criticisms of Aenar's footwork as they drilled resurfacing after many years. While constant training and battles in the Stepstones and the Dothraki Sea had forged Aenar into a hardened warrior, he had never been more than above average with a sword. There was a world's difference between cutting down enemies on a battlefield and facing down an opponent in the yard. And while Aenar had excelled at the former, he had always struggled with the latter.
"Aye, but I have Harrold to swing his sword around like a lunatic for me now, while I burn my enemies from above," quipped Aenar, as Steffon laughed at the response.
Steffon gave the younger man a fond smile, "How is the lad? I haven't heard from my nephew in quite some time now."
Aenar failed to hold in his laugh, "Well he's fucked his way through half the brothels in Essos by now. I'm confident he'll get to the rest soon enough. But his love of whores aside, he's doing well. The men are in awe of him and he's a fucking terror on the battlefield. He's saved my life more times than I can count. I couldn't ask for a better friend and second in command."
"A good lad, that one. Does his Ma proud. His uncle as well. Gunther's always raving about how his nephew is covering himself in glory in Essos. Doesn't hurt that due to mysterious investors in Braavos and Pentos, Duskendale has never seen more trade nor been richer," said Steffon as he wagged his brow at him.
Aenar could but smile sheepishly as he did his utmost to avoid eye contact with the knight, "You know about that then?"
"Well Gunthor never said a word, but the King has had his suspicions for some time now," Darklyn revealed.
"Viserys knows?" the Black Dragon spoke softly.
The Knight hummed, "Corlys Velaryon brought it to his attention some years ago. Probably not all that happy about trade being diverted from Spicetown to Duskendale. Petitioned the King to investigate House Darklyn's associations with possible traitors, but Viserys came down on him pretty hard. Wouldn't hear another word of it."
Aenar smiled softly at that. People always thought his brother was a simpering fool. Weak and pliant. But he remembered his brother in his youth. Full of fire and brimstone. With Aemma, Daemon and Aenar by his side, Viserys had felt nigh on unstoppable. Miscarriages and stillborn children, combined with the weight of the crown, had slowly chipped away at Viserys's spirit.
"The Sea Snake must not have been pleased at the snub," replied Aenar eventually.
"That he was not. But King Viserys was rather adamant, so he let it go," said Steffon.
"I'm surprised Viserys didn't bend," commented Aenar, referring to another time many years ago when the King of Westeros had been coerced by his councillors.
"You'll find that His Grace is in a much better position now than he was all those years ago."
"And how is that? From what I hear, the situation is rather tense."
"One and ten years ago, Viserys had banished Daemon, his heir was a girl barely flowered and he had Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen breathing down his neck. Now, he has five healthy children, a leash around House Velaryon and has ruled over a peaceful realm for nearly two decades. House Targaryen has never been stronger under his rule. And so he seeks to bring his brother back."
"Then why now Steffon. Why now after all these years. The bounty is worth less than the paper that it is issued on. Even keeping my reputation aside, enough lowlifes have died at the hands of me and my men that no one has made an attempt on my life in a few years now. I've made a life for myself here. I have power, prestige, gold and deeds, everything that I lacked in Westeros."
"Aye. And I could not be more proud of you lad. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place and you didn't just survive, you thrived. And I can only guess as to why King Viserys has summoned you to court after all these years. I'm just a lowly Kingsguard. But he asked me to deliver this letter to you," said Steffon as he reached into a pouch on his belt and retrieved a sealer letter.
Aenar took the proffered letter into his hand, the wax seal of the red three headed dragon glimmering in the candlelight.
"I hope you will find the answers you need in it. And for what it's worth, this old knight for one would be glad to have his lads back in Westeros," said the Kingsguard as he stood up and left the solar, leaving Aenar alone holding his brother's letter in his hands.
A Few Hours Later
"I met a familiar face downstairs," announced Harrold Darke as he strode into Aenar's solar.
The Commander of the Sons of the Dragon stood against the window, looking into the gardens of his manse, appearing to be deep in thought. Upon hearing Harrold's words, he turned around and saw his friend walk in and take a seat in front of his desk.
"It's been over a decade since we squired for him. Since then we've conquered the Dothraki nation, fought in countless battles and rubbed shoulders with the greatest leaders of Essos, and somehow the minute Steffon Darklyn walked into the room, I felt the urge to straighten my back and check if my kit was properly maintained," replied the Dragonlord.
"Fucking hell. I thought I was the only one. Uncle or not, that man scares the shit out of me even today. When I walked past him in the courtyard, I thought he was gonna come after me for the state of my dress," chortled Harry.
"I know right? I keep waiting for him to barge in, pick me up by the collar, drag me to the stables and have me muck them out for forgetting to pack his armour away properly."
"Discipline is the refining fire by which talent becomes ability," they chorused before they burst out laughing. The Darklyn knight's constant motto still fresh in their memory.
"Fucking hell. I haven't laughed that hard in ages," said the Darke knight as he thumped his hand on Aenar's shoulder.
"Aye. Regardless of the circumstances, it's good to see the old man again," replied Aenar, a wistful smile framing his face.
"I'm assuming he isn't here for a social visit then. When I walked in here you looked like you were contemplating the meaning of life, death and existence all over again," said Harry, immediately turning serious.
"Indeed. Did he say anything to you?" asked Aenar.
"Aside from telling me that my mother misses me and that I should return to Westeros, marry a decent girl, and breed a small litter? Just that he was here on behalf of Viserys."
Aenar just hummed at that, his mind still preoccupied by the contents of the letter that lay on his desk. He slowly made his way to his chair and sat down, reaching for the pitcher of wine to refill his mug.
"You want some?" he asked, reaching for another mug.
"Will I need it?"
"Probably."
"Then fill it up please," sighed Harry as Aenar poured him a generous serving of Arbor Gold.
"Viserys has summoned me to King's Landing," said Aenar finally.
"And why in the name of the Seven is he summoning you after having declared you a traitor and a criminal over a decade ago?"
"You best read this for yourself," replied the Dragonrider, pointing towards the open letter lying on the desk.
Dear Brother,
I know not how to begin this letter, and if I am to be honest, this is not the first that I have written for you. Over the years, I have lost count of how many such letters I have consigned to the hearth, inadequate as they were to express my guilt.
I have wronged you valonqar.
I know not what else to say, but that I am sorry. I should not have denied you that which all of our blood crave so powerfully. I should have seen you rewarded for your actions. Daemon should have received harsher punishment. I should have stood firmly against my advisors. And I should never have declared you a traitor and placed a reward for your head.
But I did what I had to, and since then, you have suffered for my decisions.
And like a true dragon, you have prevailed against your adversaries and emerged more powerful and glorious than any of us ever imagined. Father would have been proud of what you have accomplished in Essos. As am I.
I know that I have no right to ask anything else of you; but return to Westeros brother.
I know I ask you to sacrifice much and more. In Essos, you are powerful, wealthy and influential as any other. And I know it is a lot to ask of you to leave it behind to return. But I would see to it that you gain all that and more here in Westeros.
None can question your deeds or your martial prowess. I will see you legitimised and granted a Lordship worthy of your station as half-brother to the King, and as a Prince of House Targaryen. Anything else that you desire, I shall see it granted if it were to be in my power.
I ask you now brother, for I believe that in its current state, the family will pull itself apart at my end.
I am not blind. The past year has opened my eyes to reality. A reality of my own making, born of my foolishness. I see now the open animosity between my sons and my grandsons. My wife and my daughter. And the less said about our brother, the better.
I fear that upon my death, House Targaryen will tear itself apart.
And once again, I find myself powerless to stop it.
I am the bloody King of Westeros. And I'm fucking powerless against my own family.
Return to Westeros, Aenar. For I need you aid to save our family. I don't doubt you possess little love for me or Daemon, but I know you love my children. You always told me, family comes first. I marvelled at the time, hearing such profound words from the mouth of a child of just seven namedays.
But I remember you sneaking sweets to Rhaenyra, bouncing Aegon and Helaena on your lap. For any love you might still hold for them, and the rest of our family, return and take your rightful place, and help guide our family to a better tomorrow.
Regardless of your answer, know that even before signing this letter, I rescinded the bounty on your head, and wrote a decree, proclaiming you Prince Aenar of House Targaryen, for as your elder brother, that was the least that I could do.
I hope you shall return, little brother, but in case you do not, know that I am sorry for my actions and am proud of everything that you have accomplished.
King Viserys Targaryen,
Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Well Fuck," said Harrold.
A Few Days Later, Outskirts of Braavos
Aenar enjoyed his time in Braavos. Perhaps it was the culture, the food and the people, perhaps it was the relaxation after hard months on campaign. Mostly, Aenar thought as he wandered the streets, it was the relief from the burden of everyday leadership.
Yet even despite his love for the City of a Hundred Isles. The sycophants and the hustle-and-bustle became tiring after a while. It was this exhaustion that drove him to seek out his most trusted friend.
His relief was palpable as he left the confines of the city, up into the hills that made up the Braavosi hinterland. He observed once again that despite the many wars and conflicts, Essos was truly a continent of beauty. It had been many years since his arrival to a land he once thought the product of an addled mind. Gone were the days of phones and machines, now he resided in a world of fire and steel.
Throughout those years many parts of his character had been shaped by the world around him. The man who entered this world certainly wouldn't have been capable of the brutality required of him while fighting in the Stepstones, much less during his purge of the Dothraki. Despite the still lingering feeling of loss at that revelation, he couldn't help but think it a good thing. Essos was not a place tolerant of weakness, he would not be here today were he unable to change.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes, feet still carrying him towards the hillside abode of his companion. That, he thought, was the greatest change he had overcome.
Dragons.
To be reborn into a world that possessed them, and to the only bloodline capable of wielding them was a wonder.
He passed the trees he knew covered the entrance to the cave the Cannibal occupied, a smile graced his features as he heard the sound of low rumbling snores. His friend often spent the nights hunting and was rather lazy during the days. The exceptions being the excursions taken to burn their enemies.
He entered the cavern and perched himself against the wall, content merely to lay his eyes on the great beast's form. Even now, after a decade bonded to him, he was still a truly wondrous sight.
The Cannibal was black as the night, his tail residing in the depths of the cave barely visible in the poor lighting. Spikes stretched the length of his spine, growing up his long neck before giving way to two enormous horns. The dragon laid on his side, smoke gently oozing from his nostrils, a mere teaser to the destructive fire that lay within.
Aenar stepped closer, watching with a smile as a single great eyelid opened, revealing the black irises beneath. Extending a hand, he stroked the scales adorning the dragon's neck, "Bored of Braavos yet, old friend?"
The dragon puffed out a cloud of smoke in reply, Aenar decided to take that as a yes.
"Do you remember our home?" said the wistful voice of the Valyrian.
Dragonstone, 109AC
He ascended.
His target laid above the wispy clouds. The towering monolith of black rock his ancestors had laid claim to. The same mount he had always believed himself to be unworthy of. He had begged and pleaded for years to be granted this opportunity, yet now he ascended only as a result of his disobedience.
Just as he began to contemplate his family, he was forced to brace himself against the cruel currents of crushing wind. He cursed and wrapped his cloak ever tighter around him, attempting in vain to find some shelter against the elements.
Perhaps it was a mistake, believing himself to be capable of the trip? His brothers certainly found him unworthy.
The wind abated and he began his trek up the path once more, determined not to abandon his last chance seize freedom for himself. Desperate to harness the power of the Bronze Fury.
His research suggested that Vermithor would be nesting a little further up the Dragonmont. He hoped he reached that spot soon. Cursing his lack of preparation, he moved forward.
Hours passed and his feet began to hurt, his legs burning with the exertion of moving uphill. Worse still, he had yet to encounter a single dragon, even the small wild ones weren't present, an abnormality from the patterns his years of research had identified.
He had grown up on Dragonstone, forever eager to embrace his ancestry and bond with one of the great fire wyrms, spending years studying the various inhabitants of the island.
He looked up idly and noticed the setting sun, realising he would need to shelter for the night, he stopped walking and settled down at the base of a rocky outcrop, groaning at the thought of the uncomfortable sleep he was about to endure, he comforted himself with the knowledge that it couldn't be worse than the dirt and dank of the black cells.
On his second day atop the mount, morale was low. His meagre food supplies had all but run out and the constant wandering left him bone tired in a way he hadn't felt even during his days on the Stepstones. The black cells had certainly left their mark on him it seemed.
He shouted in frustration at his lack of progress. Sitting down against one of the shrubby trees the Mount provided, some of the only greenery within sight, as his tired body finally gave out after days of marching.
It appeared his struggle had been for nothing, he would die up the godforsaken mountain, doing nothing with his life but proving his brothers right.
He should have just stayed home.
His self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by a low, rumbling snarl. Eyes widening in panic, he quickly turned to assess the source of imminent peril. He froze as his eyes met the large and luminescent eyes of the ultimate predator.
It seemed his prayers had been answered, with death, for he did not expect to meet the Cannibal during his journey. The Great Black Dragon had never been tamed and possessed a most fearsome reputation.
He attempted to calm his breathing and spread his arms out, slowly backing away from the giant, current sniffing the air in anticipation of what he was sure would be a delicious meal.
A thousand strategies for escape crossed his mind, but all ended, ultimately with the same conclusion. His painful death.
Oh, what a fool he'd been. There was a reason his family often hatched eggs for its scions. Fully-grown dragons fucking eat people.
He took another step back and lost his footing, stumbling slightly and ending up on his arse on the hard volcanic ground. The Cannibal, of course, took great offence at this clumsiness, with a great challenging roar he leapt forward, mouth agape and Aenar closed his eyes, futilely covering his face with his arms, letting out a gasp of pain as a great weight was placed on his chest; preventing him from breathing.
When death did not immediately grasp him, he opened his eyes a crack, and found the curious eyes of the Black Beast. Staring at him, unblinking, unflinching. Aenar stared back, fear slowly abating.