Author's Note:

Some mistakes in the previous chapter have been corrected.

Chapter 3 – Aerion the Younger

For eleven years, Daemon saw as his only child grew up.

From the small infant to the boy he was now, Aerion was in appearance a rather curious mixture of himself and Jeyne. As he grew older and gradually lost the pudginess of youth, it became clear what he had inherited from who. The diamond shaped face had been from Jeyne, as well as the nose and the green colour of his eyes, yet the rest was all his – the other facial features and the silver hair.

Besides his Lannister features, Aerion was the archetypical Targaryen.

And as the years passed, both he and Jeyne had made sure to give the best education possible to their son, considering he would one day inherit the Stepstones. Affairs of the court were taught by the two, and also by observation, something which Aerion usually did when he was inside the throne room. Matters of war and battle were given to Daemon, while naval matters were given to the Warden of the Summer Sea, who was considered by many as the best admiral in the known world. Ser Kevan had once proposed that he foster Aerion at Casterly Rock and take him as a squire, but Daemon had to decline. At least for the time being.

The training had been happening for nearly an hour, and Daemon had been rather relentless in his training. He had received the same sort of training from his father, and considering how successful it had been, there was no reason why Aerion would be free from it. He blocked another blow from his son, in his hands a sword that seemed foreign to him. It was different from the Valyrian steel he usually wielded, but in training Aerion, it would be dangerous to use such a weapon. Normal steel was good enough for now.

"You can do better than that."

The child had potential, but his mood usually could either make a session successful, or a complete failure. Unfortunately, it seemed that today they were leaning towards the latter, given the amount of frowns and grinding of teeth coming from his son. Of course, he had not been expecting his son's next move, and nothing could have prepared him for it. Being kicked in the groin, regardless of the strength, was never a pleasant thing. The sudden attack was enough for Daemon to drop the sword in shock and to fall to one knee in pain.

"Shit… Aerion what was that for?"

But the young prince had thrown away his sword, and was now angrily leaving the small courtyard, disappearing into a corridor.

"Aerion!" he shouted, receiving no answer. "Balls…"

He had to find him, but only after getting rid of the pain.

"I should have known you came here."

Having searched the most obvious places in the castle for Aerion to be, and finding these empty, Daemon knew there was only another place where his son could be. The dragon cave was as it had always been, except it now housed four dragons. The oldest of the four were Vytalion and Elyrion, hatched from the two eggs which had survived Summerhall. Daemon was bonded to Elyrion, while Vytalion was his father's. He had produced two eggs, the oldest of which was Urrax and whose rider was Jeyne. Well, "rider" was a bit of a misnomer, considering Jeyne had an aversion to heights. She had flown with Urrax once and hated the experience.

Urrax's younger sibling was Artaxes, who had hatched a few days after his egg was put next to Aerion.

"They don't like it here," mumbled Aerion as he threw a bloody piece of meat at Artaxes. "They belong in the skies."

The youngest of the dragons was very similar to its progenitor. His body was covered in dark scales, although his wings and frills were of a black and red mixture. He was smaller when compared to the other three, but considering how they had grown over the last decade, Artaxes would soon grow to be their size as well.

"The Targaryens made the mistake of locking them away in the dragon pits, putting the dragons in chains. We shall not make the same mistake," said Daemon as he sat next to his son. "There will come a time when we'll soar freely through the skies once more, in open day. No more hiding them from the world."

"When?"

"In time," said Daemon, before looking at his son. "You've been having those dreams, haven't you?"

The boy was silent for a moment, before giving a small nod. "How do you know?"

"You are usually moody when it happens," answered Daemon. "Tell me… what did you see?"

There was a moment of silence where the only sound came from either the dragons, or the sea. But the voice of Aerion soon joined them.

"There was that castle again, the one with many tall towers. But then I was somewhere else… a strange place with many trees and ruins. It was day, I think… no sun, but there were many shadows and shapes which moved above me, leaving behind them trails of fire," said Aerion as he attempted to recall the dreams.

"What happened next?"

"I woke up."

Dreams like these were not normal, that much Daemon knew. He also knew that those with old Valyrian blood were predisposed to have strange visions in their dreams, visions which were known to be prophetic. It had been so with Daenys Targaryen, when she allegedly dreamt of the Doom of Valyria, and event that would happen a decade later.

"But… they're just dreams, right?" asked Aerion.

At this age, it was best for the boy to be focused on other things. Prophecy was often the mistress of death.

"It's difficult to explain what they are. I don't even know if what I believe is true. For now, I'll keep it a secret."

Aerion frowned. "I don't like secrets."

In turn, Daemon chuckled. "No one likes secrets unless they're the ones hiding them. You also have secrets, don't you?"

"No."

That was possibly the least convincing lie he had ever heard.

"Dwelling on dreams is seldom good, Harry."

Harry.

That nickname had been given to Aerion by Jeyne, and now it had stuck. It was only used when they were alone, but for some reason, Aerion liked it. He wasn't sure why, but it felt right.

The two were suddenly startled as a bird flew right between them. They looked at the animal and saw that it had been a crow.

"Oh, it's that old thing," he mumbled, looking at the crow as it landed on top of a rock, away from the dragons. "What's it doing here?"

"Maybe it's exploring," suggested Aerion.

Daemon shrugged. "Well, it's just a crow. Speaking of birds, you should go and meet with the Maester Marwyn. Your sessions will start soon, I believe."

Marywn enjoyed these sessions with the young prince. What he knew of the other maesters under the employ of the Westerosi lords, the children under their tutelage rarely gave importance to both the mystical, or what the Citadel wanted to teach, neglecting certain things about the world. The intentions were noble… most of them. He was all for advancements in technology and medicine, were it not the fact that most of these were kept in books who were then shut behind bars or placed in vaults beneath the Citadel, never to be seen again. The problem was with the Citadel's attitude towards the magical, or rather what they considered magical and unnatural.

If something was unnatural, then it would not exist. As simple as that. Magic was part of the world, born with it. What right had the Citadel to decide it had no place in the world?

None.

But Aerion was a rather curious exception to all that. The boy enjoyed his teachings, both the mundane and the non-mundane, and also everything else, be it martial or of the court. There was a reason people called him Marwyn the Mage, but the boy before him seemed to be on the way to earn the title for his own.

The horn of the unicorn was on another table, its tip broken off and grinded into powder. The moonstone had been broken in half, one turned into powder, while the porcupine quills had suffered the same fate.

"Powdered moonstone, unicorn horn, porcupine quills… and paste of hellebore…? What in the seven hells are you doing?"

He watched as the young prince added a pinch of powdered unicorn horn to the boiling liquid, which quickly turned into a pinkish tone.

"You called it trial and error, I think," replied Aerion as he now stirred the liquid.

He looked at the notes he had taken, remembering them from his dreams. Unfortunately, most were fragmented, and he had to resort to trial and error in order to fill in the blank spots. This potion had eluded him for five months, but he was sure that this time… he would succeed.

The pink had now turned into red.

"Why are you so certain this will work? You have spent five months with this."

"Well… don't maesters do the same thing with their experiments?"

At least that was something he was certain of.

"There's a difference between an initiate in the medicinal and alchemical arts and a maester."

Aerion did not look away from his work. "One is young while the others are decrepit old men?"

"Can't argue with that," mumbled Marwyn. "I'm a maester. Am I old and decrepit too?"

"No. You're different. Besides, I like you."

Aerion grabbed a vial with a green liquid which he had managed to extract from the paste of hellebore, having needed to do so in order to remove the poisonous elements of the plant, and added seven drops into the potion. When the seventh drop fell into the potion, he felt very anxious. It was ironic, really, considering what the potion was for, but the sudden emergence of silver fumes dissipated the nervousness.

There it was. Aerion knew that this was somehow the expected result. The silvery fumes that now came from the liquid meant he had successfully brewed this… calming potion? It was certainly that, if his visons were true at all. He had a hunch that it calmed down whoever drank it, but nothing would be proven unless it was tested.

"Done!"

"Is it? What's it supposed to be?"

"A calming potion," explained Aerion. "A substitute for sweetsleep, without the side effects."

Marwyn stepped closer to the small cauldron and smelled what the prince had brewed. Curiously enough, it had no discernible smell, despite the ingredients used in its creation.

"And how are you about to see if this works, eh? Certainly, you won't be testing it yourself."

"I was thinking about one of the prisoners," admitted Aerion. "They're usually the most anxious people around."

To say that the look Marwyn gave was sceptical would be an understatement.

"I was thinking about the really bad ones. You know, murderers and the sort."

"I would not consider it to be ethical," pointed out the maester.

"This won't kill anyone," claimed Aerion. "Worst case, it puts them to sleep… hopefully."

Marwyn snorted. "Hopefully."

Yet when they had returned from the dungeons, Marwyn was in a state of near shock. The potion had functioned exactly as his pupil had said it would. His experiences with Aerion had already made him aware that the boy was clever, even for someone near the age of twelve. But this was something completely unexpected. But now he had the imprisoned pirate under observation. If the man showed no ill effects, then Aerion Targaryen would be known as the first non-maester to have made a breakthrough in the field of medicine.

At least the first that history would remember.

Of course, neither expected the man waiting for them in Marwyn's study.

"Excuse me, Lord Maester," said the herald. "But the King has called an extraordinary session of court. Your presence is requested."

Marwyn grimaced.

"Ah, the joys of court," he said. "Do you know when the last extraordinary session was called?"

Aerion shook his head. "Not really."

"The Greyjoy Rebellion," said Marwyn as he quickly tidied up the room. "Hopefully the matter of court won't be as problematic."

If it was problematic, Aerion didn't know, for Marwyn spoke nothing of it the next time he saw him. And neither did the other members of his grandfather's inner court.