Claw Isle, 181 AC
He found himself weightless, floating in what appeared to be an endless darkness where time had lost its meaning, with only his thoughts for company.
Eventually, the feeling of limbs returned, and he opened his eyes.
An unfamiliar ceiling greeted him, and he blinked in confusion. He remembered… nothing? After a few moments of hesitation, he lifted his arm above his face and was greeted with a thin, childish limb, which seemed oddly wrong for some reason…
A minute later, he groggily stood up and warily looked around the room. It was foreign, and panic bubbled within his chest, especially at the sight of a stranger.
The stranger was a balding middle-aged man who had various circular chains over his neck and was wearing a grey robe like some sort of beggar or monastic monk.
The thinning brown hair and brown eyes gave him a common look, but his face, on the other hand, showed signs of premature ageing and immense stress, and these factors caused him to look rather harmless and reliable.
The older man was sitting on a chair adjacent to the bed, staring at the window, seemingly deep in thought, he seemed troubled. He did not even notice the boy getting up.
After a while, the robed man glanced towards the bed, and surprise bloomed on his face.
"Aerion!" The man coughed into his hand in embarrassment, regaining his seemingly dignified composure before continuing, "You're awake! Are you well, my boy? Is there any discomfort?"
The boy- or, well, Aerion, simply stared at the man in the weird getup incredulously while trying to suppress his nervousness.
"Err... excuse me, but who are you?"
Most of the tension bled out of the balding man, but his brown eyes still shone with worry as he carefully observed the boy.
He began to tug and caress his chain soothingly, and after a moment of brief pause, he took a deep breath.
"Do you, by chance, seem to remember anything of the fall?"
Aerion felt extremely confused and frustrated. What did he mean by fall? The boy failed to recall anything, his mind felt empty, as if something was missing.
"I apologise, But I am unable to recall anything," Aerion said, "Excuse me, I didn't catch your name, also what did you call me, 'Aerion' was it?"
The man in the weird get-up strictly gazed at the boy as if staring as if to detect any malice or mischief in the question, and after a moment, his expression softened.
"My name is Maester Wyman, and you, my dear boy, are Aerion Waters, the nephew of the Lord Arthor Celtigar, Lord of Claw Isle, and I am the Maester from the Citadel in service to the Lord of Claw Isle."
"Aerion, Aerion, Aerion…" the boy repeated his name a couple of times as if trying to taste it. It felt familiar and comforting. At that moment, Aerion realised he was ignoring the Maester and turned to him. "Where are my parents?"
The maester seemed abashed before his face turned even more visibly sadder, and he gave me a long sympathetic look.
"I regret to inform you, your mother Elinor passed shortly after you were born. She was always ill of health, and the pregnancy took a great toll on her. Unfortunately, she succumbed to a fever shortly after bringing you into this world."
The boy felt his stomach twist into a painful knot, and he had to consciously hold back the tears from flowing. His throat felt as dry as a desert, but he forced himself to ask, "What about my father then, Who is he? Where is he?"
Maester Wyman, upon hearing my question, threw him a pitiful gaze, before tiredly running a hand through his sparsing brown mop of hair and took a deep breath. "You are the bastard son of King Aegon Targaryen, Fourth of His Name. His Grace is currently in King's Landing, ruling the realm from the Iron Throne."
The Maester gave the boy a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and left the room. His final words repeated in Aerion's mind like a clap of thunder.
'You are the bastard son of King Aegon Targaryen, Fourth of His Name.'
'You are the bastard son of King Aegon Targaryen, Fourth of His Name.'
'You are the bastard son of King Aegon Targaryen, Fourth of His Name.'
Aerion's eyes shone with confusion, fear, and anger. Suddenly, he clutched his head and cried out in pain as he began writhing on the floor.
Unfamiliar memories flooded into Aerion's mind, and every single inch of his body felt as if it were on fire as he instinctively tried to hold it all down.
He trashed and trashed, and blood began to drip from his ears, and nose, and he also raked his nails through his own palm.
After what felt like an eternity of torment, the dam broke, and the flood of memories rushed out.
The memories, which were the lifetime accumulation of Aerion Waters's life, were unleashed as a tidal wave as they seared themselves into his mind. But there was more, memories of an entirely different person also rushing into my mind as the boy desperately tried to cling to consciousness.
He failed.
By the time Aerion Waters awoke, it was clearly night as it was pitch black within the room, the soft light of the moon gently peaked through the open shutter.
Memories of a different life, a different place dominated his mind. Tall buildings kissing the sky, roaring steel carriages, and endless panels of steel and glass. Soon enough, the pain slowly abated. He gave a mirthless chuckle as he forced himself to stand up and look at the polished copper mirror hanging on the wall. He gazed into the reflection, which showed flowing silver-gold hair and amethyst eyes upon a painfully young face, and joyless laughter bubbled out of his gut.
Author's Note: This is my first time writing a fic let alone publishing one, so if there is any problems I apologise and am open to criticism and any potential suggestions in the comments.
Acknowledgments: This chapter was edited by Gladiusx, and a lot of credit goes to Gladiusx for his immense help in regards to helping me get into writing and convicing me to publish.