Greetings everyone, welcome to my fic 'Like Father, Like Son' = You may find this fic to be familiar, that is because it was previously going under the name 'The Bronze Prince'
[No more resets, I promise]
I wanted to change the way the OC interacted with the world, feeling he may have been too extreme beforehand and bordered on 'edgy'. also some of the plots were not good.
114 AC
King's Landing
The doors burst open, and a man clad in runic bronze armour walked over towards the curtains, drawing them open and allowing the sun to shine through.
"Are you still abed?" the man sighed "how often must I wake you, hm? Perhaps until you are old and frail."
"You'll be dead before then." the prince mumbled, running his hands across his eyes before letting out a loud yawn and throwing the covers back. Aerion then sat and stretched his arms, looking towards the man, who looked less than impressed.
"I jest of course, Rodrik." Aerion continued, a fake smile forming on his lips "Knowing the god's love for you, you'll live until the ripe old age of a hundred."
"I certainly hope not." he chuckled. Aerion pushed himself up and walked over towards the window, his gaze falling upon the inner courtyard "Are you prepared for today? It is an impressive feat to compete in a tourney at the age of six and ten."
The castle was busy with preparations of the wedding celebrations between his cousins, Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor. Servants walked with haste and the knights prepared themselves for the tournament.
"Of course, King Maegor won a tourney at my age." Aerion looked back "As did my father, it is in my blood."
"It has nothing to do with blood, my prince. Both your father and Maegor the Cruel were fierce warriors, they trained from a young age, just as you have." Rodrik said "Now ready yourself and meet me in the courtyard, we must train before the melee."
As Rodrik made his departure, Aerion turned back towards the window, looking out at the sprawling city below. Rodrik had always been in his life since a young age, serving as his sworn shield, though nothing was known of him before then or how he came into his service.
Servants came in shortly after, each carrying jugs of boiling water to fill the tub that sat in front of the fireplace. He stepped over towards his desk, removing a pendant from his neck with the Targaryen coat of arms on its face.
As he removed the pendant, he looked at himself in the mirror against the wall.
He bore an uncanny resemblance to that of his father, Daemon Targaryen, with a chiselled jawline and porcelain skin. His silver-gold hair flowed like a cascade, and his lilac eyes burned with the fire of dragon's blood. Aerion's straight nose, sensuous lips, and enigmatic smile added to his regal allure.
"The bath has been drawn, my prince." one of the male servants gained his attention, and he placed the pendant down on the desk, a few of the servants remained in his presence as he undressed from his smallclothes.
He stretched a foot into the bath, and at the corner of his eyes he noticed as one of the servants moved their eyes from him, and he let out a small smirk, he submerged the rest of his body into the scalding water, unflinching at the temperature.
The servants were dressed in red with the three-headed dragon embroidered on the chest "Have my clothes been prepared?" he asked, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the tub.
"Yes, my prince." a female servant responded.
"Good." he replied, briefly opening his eyes before addressing them "You all may take your leave." his gaze lingered on the girl, and halted her leave with a gesture "No." he said "You shall remain."
"As you command, my prince." she bowed her head, though kept to the ground, refusing to share eye contact with Aerion.
"What is your name?" he inquired, his gaze slowly tracing the contours of her slender, petite form, his lips lightly grazing his bottom lip in contemplation.
"N-Nyssa." she stammered nervously, her voice quivering as she met his intense gaze finally.
"Nyssa… what a beautiful name." he grinned, his mind drifting to how she may look underneath her dress "Tend to me.." he commanded her, closing his eyes once more.
As Aerion sank deeper into the bath, the soothing heat eased the tension from his aching muscles. With a languid grace, he lifted his arms from the water, and Nyssa's gentle smooth hands began their upward journey, her touch providing further solace and relaxation.
His mind began to drift towards the thoughts of Runestone. Alongside those memories came reflections of his mother, Rhea Royce, with whom he never shared the closest of relationships during his upbringing. His striking silver-gold hair and Targaryen lilac eyes had always served as a constant reminder to her of his father, a man she fiercely despised.
Aerion was often compared to the Rogue Prince in both his looks and behaviour. He was said to be his father come again, as his face reflected Daemon's features and none of his mother's.
Growing up in the Vale, he had heard conflicting tales of Daemon Targaryen; whispers of the violence and depravity the Prince brought so often to the Street of Silk and yet the awe surrounding tales of his exploits as the bearer of Dark Sister cast him in a different light altogether. He was renowned as the King's best enforcer, as ferocious as the beast he flew.
Aerion hadn't always disliked his father. As a lonely child he had idolised him, sitting at his window each day awaiting his father's grand return to the Vale on dragonback. That day rarely came. Throughout his life, he had seen his father but four times, and only ever spoken to him on two occasions.
A part of him still revered the warrior his father was, and trained mercilessly with a sword in the hopes he could one day surpass him in reputation and skill, and earn the right to wield Dark Sister just as his father had.
He quickly rose from the tub, causing Nyssa to pull herself backwards in shock, not expecting him to do so. As he wet his hair under the water, he stepped and nodded his head towards the towel, which Nyssa soon wrapped around him.
"Do I happen to scare you, Nyssa?" he asked, raising a brow as he walked over to his bed and looked through the clothes that had been prepared for him "Did you expect me to do something to you?"
It was a black gambeson with four small golden dragon clasps and a white tunic to wear underneath. Alongside it was a pair of black trousers with boots that added an inch to his height and a black belt with a golden buckle adorned with a ruby in the centre.
"I - uh - ofcourse not, my prince, I would never hint towards such a -" she was cut off by Aerion, who held his finger at her lips.
"It is quite alright, you need not speak further on the matter." he interrupted "I could if I wanted to, ofcourse, as I am your prince - but I do not seek to make whores out of servants." he chuckled "You will be mine from now on, only you shall enter my chambers, understood?"
"Yes, my prince." she replied, keeping her hands clasped together at her stomach.
"Have some bread brought to be shortly in the courtyard." he requested, and she bowed her head "Go on now." he dismissed her.
Pulling on his clothes, Aerion brushed back his hair and secured it at the nape of his neck There was nothing he hated more than having his hair falling into his eyes when training, though only continued to keep it long knowing how much his mother hated it.
Feeling refreshed and restored after bathing, Aerion left his bedchambers and strode through the corridor, inclining his head at passing nobles whose conversations descended into hushed whispers as the heir of Daemon Targaryen was seen at court for the first time.
He found Rodrik in the courtyard, his hand resting casually on the sword that dangled from his belt speaking with a knight adorned with the snow-white cloak of the Kingsguard.
Each turned in his direction as reached them, his very presence receiving a bow of respect from the knight. Rodrik held another sword encased in its sheath. His sworn shield tossed it in his direction, and the prince caught hold of it.
Taking a look at its hilt, he ran his hand over the dragon's head that sat on the pommel with eyes of ruby, before hooking it to his belt.
"A gift from his grace, my prince." Rodrik revealed. "While it may not be the Valyrian Steel you dream of, it was forged by the finest blacksmith on the Street of Steel, is that correct, Ser Steffon?"
"It is, Ser Rodrik." he nodded to Rodrik, turning his gaze back to Aerion "King Viserys was most displeased that he was not made aware of your arrival last evening, and wishes for you to join him tonight for a feast between family."
"I thank the King for his invitation." Aerion replied "I would be most pleased to attend, it will good to finally meet the rest of my family."
Ser Steffon bowed his head respectfully once again before taking his leave, vanishing into the shadows of the Red Keep.
Aerion turned to Rodrik with a raised brow "Did he say much else?" he inquired.
"Aye, he reported that the King is eagerly anticipating watching you in your melee today." Rodrik nodded.
Aerion couldn't help but smile "Is that so?" He gave a nod of gratitude to Rodrik "Then I shall ensure he witnesses the prowess of a true Targaryen warrior, though I shall thank him for this fine gift."
A smirk remained on his lips, such a gift gave him some hope that he would be well received by his uncle, despite having grown up far from court and secluded from his Targaryen family.
"Ensure that you do." Rodrik responded "Now come, it is time we practise; you have already wasted enough time, I have heard that you will be battling against a knight of House Bracken, their men are renowned for their prowess."
The prince was stopped in his tracks as he moved towards the rack of training swords "No." Rodrik said, causing him to look back "We practise with steel today."
His sworn shield removed his sword from its sheath "It will give you time to train with your new weapon." he pointed out.
Aerion smiled broadly as his hand instantly moved towards the hilt of his new blade, removing it from its' sheath. As he drew the blade, the edge of the steel shone brightly in the sunlight and he twirled it in his hand, testing the weight. "It fits my hand perfectly, and the steel is forged so as to be incredibly light. A fine gift from His Grace."
Aerion turned his body to face Rodrik, placing his right foot in front of the left, and positioning both hands d on the blade's hilt. He studied Rodrik carefully, looking at his opponent's stance and watching carefully for any tells.
Rodrik stood silently for a few moments, and Aerion raised a single eyebrow in response. Whilst the older man may think to take him by surprise, they had been sparring together long enough that a single twitch of a finger was enough to make Aerion spin quickly to the left, narrowly avoiding Rodrik's blade as it cleaved the air he had just vacated.
Rodrik twisted and brought his blade swinging up towards Aerion's right side and the prince blocked the blow hastily. He pushed Rodrik away and readjusted his stance; now he was on the attack. For a man nearing his fiftieth name day, Rodrik moved far more swiftly than one would expect.
Moving suddenly, Aerion struck at Rodrik's exposed right leg, which was blocked with ease and so he changed tactics, bringing his left fist up to punch the older man in the jaw. Rodrik stumbled backwards and Aerion relaxed his body, circling his opponent and idly spinning his new sword in his hand.
His eyes cast about the courtyard and saw that various castle residents and nobles had gathered to watch the mysterious prince in the training yard. He knew that the whispers that flew between them evaluated his strength, his strategy and were assessing changes at court that would surely occur now that the son of the Rogue Prince was here.
A bird cawed and distracted, he glanced upwards towards the balcony where to his surprise, the silver haired Targaryen King stood watching. Viserys was accompanied by his Hand, Lyonel Strong, and the two men murmured quietly to one another even as their eyes never moved from the fight.
"That was a cheap move, my prince." Rodrik said, clearly frustrated at being hit in front of such an audience. He advanced quickly and answered the attack with a powerful swing from the right aimed at Aerion's neck. Aerion swiftly ducked beneath the blade with only inches to spare and he quickly retreated a few steps.
"Haven't you always told me not to shy away from fighting a little dirty?"
Rodrik was much better defended when Aerion went to attack, blocking every move he attempted, and returning an unexpected blow to the face.
"Not so principled are we now, Rodrik?" Aerion chuckled as he wiped the blood from his nose and flicked it onto the ground.
Each strike was met blow for blow as the two men sparred, darting all over the training yard as they hunted for openings in the other's defences. Rodrik raised his sword high above his head and brought it down at Aerion, who swiftly swung his blade overhead to parry the blow. They struggled against one another for a few moments until Aerion quickly dropped his sword and spun away, using his momentum to kick at Rodrick's leg and knocking the man to his knees. Aerion held his sword at the man's throat in victory.
"Yield."
"I yield, my prince." he replied, grinning even as he conceded the match. Aerion sheathed his sword and grabbed the other man's hand and hauled him to his feet. Rodrik clapped him on the shoulder as they walked to where servants had left drinking water for them.
"I am most impressed, my prince." Rodrik smiled, "You are more than ready to face what is ahead of you."
As they drank their fill and wiped the sweat from their faces, Aerion noticed that the whispering he'd heard earlier was growing in volume now that the fight had been won.
"Pay them no mind." Rodrik was quick to say "They will only distract you."
"They applaud me and spread praise amongst each other, is that not a good thing?" he asked.
"Not always."
"Aerion! Well fought, nephew." cried a voice, and Aerion turned to see the King walking towards him, the Hand close behind. He set down the goblet he had been drinking from and took a knee.
"No need for such formalities, nephew!" Viserys exclaimed, gesturing for him to rise. "We are kin afterall. Call me uncle."
"As you wish, your gra- uncle."
"You have taken well to my gift, I see." Viserys smiled, although there was a shadow of regret that passed over his face briefly "As I watch you fight, I could see a glimpse of your father in the way you move. You truly resemble in more ways than one, nephew."
The king's hand reached out to grasp Aerion's shoulder, and the prince shot back slightly, though not enough to cause a concern to Viserys "I look forward to you dining with us tonight. It will do you well to meet your cousins, especially my daughter."
"As am I, uncle." Aerion nodded, and to his horror he felt a blush rise from his cheeks as Viserys affectionately brushed his cheek, it threw him off balance, never having experienced physical affection from family; at least that he could remember.
His mother was often a cold woman. Never having embraced him as a child. It was a weakness he was embarrassed to expose in front of such an audience as had gathered to witness his training.
Before the touch could linger, the King withdrew his hand and clapped him on the shoulder once more.
"While I would greatly like to speak with you further, Uncle." Aerion began "I must ready myself for the melee, but I would like you to know that it is the honour of the Targaryen's that I fight for."
"Well I certainly do not want to keep you." Viserys smiled warmly "Go now."
Aerion bowed to his King and left the training yard, Rodrik a few steps behind him.
"That went well, my prince." Rodrik stated, handing a cloth over to Aerion, allowing him to wipe the blood from his nose.
"I suppose it did, though did you notice anything off about him?" the prince questioned, though received a confused look from Rodrik.
"The rumours are true; our king is sick." Aerion passed the cloth back to him, and clasped his hands behind his back. "I spotted it by the way he walked, how he looked, and something was wrong with his hand, it felt as if fingers were missing."
They kept their voices down as they spoke.
"It may just be a rough day for his grace." Rodrik remarked "Let us not make assumptions before watching further. If we are to report this to your mother, it will need to be confirmed."
They made their way into the keep's well-stocked armoury, and among the young attendants that had accompanied their party, Colrin diligently toiled away at cleaning his armour.
Aerion, curious about the progress, inquired "Are you nearly finished, Colrin?"
The armour was a formidable sight. It bore a deep black hue, its surface intricately scaled like that of a dragon. The breastplate proudly displayed the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, with each eye of the dragon represented by tiny, glimmering rubies. Just beneath the house emblem, his house words "Fire and Blood." were elegantly inscribed in Valyrian.
Colrin, no more than ten name days old, had light brown hair and bright blue eyes. He glanced up from his task and nodded earnestly, a touch of pride in his voice. "Yes, my prince, I just finished with the gauntlets, is it to your liking?"
"Yes, it is fine work, Colrin, very clean," Aerion commended with a pleased tone, offering the young boy an approving clap on the shoulder. "Now, assist me in putting this on."
Colrin nodded eagerly, dropping the cleaning rag he had been holding and calling for another of the armoury boys to come and assist. Together, they worked with practised efficiency, and in no time, Aerion was fully outfitted in the meticulously crafted black-scaled armour.
Aerion grabbed his closed helmet, which matched the armour he wore with dragon wings on either side and a dragon's face at the forehead.
Him and Rodrik soon found themselves among the various tents that had been erected to house waiting knights and their squires, as well as vendors selling wine, ale and food to the crowd. Rodrik touched his arm and gestured towards a tent with a Targaryen banner by the entrance.
The tent itself was decorated rather lavishly. A rug covered the ground and in one corner there was a comfortable-looking daybed. Opposite, a dark wooden table was laden with fruit and wine.
"You look like a true prince in that armour, I must say." Rodrik remarked, sitting on the bed with a punnet of grapes.
"That means alot coming from you, Rodrik." he tapped his fingers on the table before looking back at Rodrik "What do you think of my chances? I have heard much of the other men, there are many more skilled than I taking part."
He attempted to hide his nerves, fiddling with his vambraces, however Rodrik was the one man that could see through that. He was taking a chance by making such a public arrival in the capital, his reputation and position would depend greatly on his performance.
"That is a matter of perspective, is it not?" Rodrik shrugged "While they may have been doing this longer, I would say none have your drive and determination." he looked at Aerion fondly as he spoke "Do you remember what I told you when you were a young boy? When faced with the same worry I see in you now."
Aerion shook his head.
"I had to remind you of your Targaryen parentage; it appeared that growing up in the Vale dampened that fiery spirit so characteristic of your lineage. Such a shame at the time." Rodrik shook his head.
"What are you getting at, Rodrik?" Aerion sighed.
"You should not fear the thoughts and opinions of the sheep - you are a dragon, my prince - it is high time you act like it."
"Believe me, Rodrik, I more than anyone know how to act as a dragon - is it not why I am here? Why my mother sent me away over a misunderstanding?" he threw a cup against a mirror, smashing it "Let us not act as if you are here as my protection, you're keeping an eye on me."
"My prince, I thought you had not wished to bring it up again, but as you are now - you and I both know it more than just a misunderstanding, you -" they were both interrupted from a servant entering the tent.
"My prince." the man bowed, "the melee will begin shortly, all those competing are requested to make their way into the arena now." he bowed again, and retreated from the tent.
Aerion shook his head, taking a small swig of wine to his lips "this conversation bores me, let us get to it." he looked to Rodrik and reached for his sword, which he quickly attached to his belt.
The prince strode from the tent with Rodrik close at his side. He cut an intimidating figure in his all black armour and the path before him was cleared easily despite the hundreds of people that advanced towards the arena.
He entered the arena and gazed around at the huge crowd before him. It was made up of people from all over the realm; he could clearly see the many sigils of houses from the Crownlands, Riverlands, the Reach and the Westerlands. The representation of Northern houses was smaller but still present.
As Aerion's gaze roved over the crowd, it was naturally drawn to the royal box, where the King sat conversing with Lord Velaryon. Despite his conversation, Viserys' eyes rested on a silver haired young woman who sat stoically by herself, observing the crowd beneath her.
"Rodrik, is that the Princess?" he asked, not taking his eyes off ther.
"Yes, my prince. Rhaenyra, the heir to the Iron Throne herself, or as she is better known to the smallfolk, the Realm's Delight. She is your cousin, Aerion." Rodrik responded as they waited to be announced to the crowd.
"I am more than aware, Rodrik." Aerion replied, he had never seen a woman quite so beautiful as Rhaenyra and he had trouble taking his eyes off her as the queue moved along.
Finally, the two men reached the fighting area and the herald bowed to the prince before turning to the crowd.
"Prince Aerion of House Targaryen, Heir to Runestone!" he yelled, sweeping a hand towards Aerion who raised a fist as the crowd cheered for him. The anticipation for the melée to begin was palpable and coin was changing hands as men bet on their favourite to win.
He moved to stand amongst the group of armoured men, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. Having listened carefully when the other knights were being announced, he reviewed what he knew of them and picked out who he considered to be his greatest threat.
Aerion noticed quickly an extremely tall man wearing the red stallion and golden shield of House Bracken; the man Rodrik had warned him of just that morning. He was powerfully built and wore bulky, plated armour under a brown tabard. Just as he did himself, the knight rested a hand on the hilt of a large sword and Aerion knew this man would indeed pose a threat to his ambitions.
He reminded himself of his strategy but found himself doubting it. Should he go on the offensive? Set his sights on an easy opponent and tear through the fighters one by one? Or stay defensive and wait for them to come to him?
Much to his annoyance, he could not identify any weaknesses in his opponents as they stood in formation before the crowd. That would have to wait until the fighting began.
Even as he tried to concentrate, Aerion could not help his eyes wandering over to the royal box again, to the Princess. She stood now, leaning against the wooden railing of the balcony, gazing into the distance and fiddling with the pendant at her neck, which was strikingly similar to his own.
It was a feeling he could not understand, could not explain. It was as if there was something pulling him towards her, drawing him in. He stood staring at her, transfixed, until he was abruptly brought back to the moment when the herald began to speak to the crowd.
"Lords, Ladies, and good folk of the realm!" he roared, somehow managing to project his voice about the noise of the crowd "Today we see which man among these warriors will compete in the duels to celebrate the marriage between Princess Rhaenyra to Ser Laenor Velaryon!"
Aerion's gaze snapped back to the royal box as he watched a young man with white hair come to clasp Rhaenyra's hand as they lifted them aloft, to the cheers of the crowd. The man was of a similar age to Rhaenyra, with evidence of Lord Corlys' dark skin and a strong jaw. He seemed kind and fond of the Princess but Aerion could not help the unprompted pang of jealousy he felt as he looked at their joined hands.
"Great thanks, of course, to our good King Viserys who has arranged this celebration for us. His Grace has asked that no bloodshed occur on this fighting field, so as not to cast a shadow over these happy days."
Viserys raised a hand in acknowledgement as the crowd cheered again; this time shouts of "Long may he reign!" were clearly audible. He came to the front of the royal box and rested a hand on his daughter's shoulder.
"Welcome, all! Now, let the fighting begin!" he cried out, and the crowd roared again as the herald left the fighting field and the armoured men began to spread themselves around the space as a bell rang to allow them to draw live steel.
Aerion drew his sword from its sheath and assumed a defensive position, his right foot slightly forward of his left. He kept an eye on the man immediately to his left, who had not taken his eyes off him since he had been announced on the field.
The second ring of the bell signalled the beginning of the fight and as expected, the night to his left immediately set upon him, slashing at him viciously with a shortsword. Aerion twisted quickly and swung his sword in an arc to attack the man's left side but was thwarted by the small shield his opponent carried.
The knight knocked his sword away and in retaliation brought his sword close enough to his neck that Aerion was forced to duck and roll, coming up behind him. The knight spun and renewed his attacks.
The prince easily parried the blows and eventually manoeuvred his body close enough to kick the man in the chest. The knight crashed to the floor, knocking the base of his head hard on the ground. Aerion advanced quickly and knelt on his chest, his sword laid across the base of the knight's neck.
"Yield."
"I yield, good luck my prince." the knight replied respectfully, gasping for breath slightly after having been winded so thoroughly.
Aerion turned from his first opponent and rejoined the thick of the melée, and lost himself to the blur of the fight. Others attacked him and he knocked them down with skill and ease. He had prepared for too long, trained too hard to allow lesser men to defeat him.
He remained on the defensive, allowing his opponents to find him as they wasted energy on charging around the field. Aerion let his mind slow, focusing on each blow as they came and before long he was allowing another man to yield and realising that his final opponent was the knight from House Bracken.
He was still facing his fallen opponent when a deep voice echoed around the arena. "Are you prepared to lose, prince?" the knight's tone turned mocking as he spat out his title and Aerion could feel his blood begin to heaten. His grip on his sword tightened and he turned his head towards the voice, his lips curling into a sneer.
Aerion watched the knight walk towards him deliberately slowly; his size would slow him down but he was wary of the greatsword he bore, which required great strength to even lift, let alone wield in battle. It could split him in half with a single blow.
"I have always wanted to best a Targaryen in battle." he smirked, hefting the sword above his shoulders "I shall enjoy crushing you, little prince."
With that, he swung the sword down at Aerion with alarming speed and he dodged quickly, moving out of arm's reach and beginning to circle the knight. He bent his knees and remained loose, able to react instantly to the knight's movements.
"I do hate to disappoint you, Bracken, but you seem to have a twisted idea of what will happen here."
As the fight began in true, Aerion toyed with the knight, refusing to return any of his blows and moving away from each of them. He would dodge, slip around his opponent and make an attack of his own and then the cycle would begin again.
As the knight began to lose patience, his attacks came faster and became increasingly sloppy. Aerion's tactic was working, but the knight's anger would make him a more dangerous opponent.
"You are a disgrace to that armour, boy!" the knight yelled "They will remember you as Aerion the Dragonless, the Spineless, an unwanted son who could not even claim his birthright!" he spat, striking air once more as Aerion, his blood well and truly boiling, saw red.
He spun in a tight circle, lifting his blade and driving into the back of his knee. The man let out a pained yell and his leg gave out beneath him. Aerion wasn't thinking as he pulled the sword of the knee, blood spurting and covering his armour.
"You were saying, ser?"
He brought his leg up and slammed his boot into the back of the man's neck and he fell to the floor, Aerion close behind. He knelt on his back and his left hand yanked the man's head up by the hair.
"Do say it again, I could not quite hear you the first time." He dug his knee harder into the knight and he gave a pained grunt. "SAY IT!"
"I yield!" the knight pleaded "Please, my prince." Aerion chuckled and brought his blade to the man's neck.
"You do?" Aerion questioned "Where are the insults now, ser?" he looked up at the crowd, who stopped their raucous cheering and were now murmuring in shock "Dragonless, Spineless, Unwanted, were those your words?"
Aerion focused his gaze on the Princess, who was leaning forward in her chair. She did not look horrified, more intrigued and that realisation sent a jolt of wanting through him
"Mere talk, my prince, I - I did not mean them." Bracken replied, and he removed himself from the knight, fiddling his hand with the hilt of his blade as he contemplated his next move.
As the knight struggled to rise from the ground, Aerion shook his head in disappointment. Without hesitation, he deftly sliced his blade through the air, targeting the man's arm. In one swift, clean strike, the limb separated from his body, and a chorus of horrified screams and gasps of shock echoed through the arena.
Blood sprayed across his helmet and with no care of the man moaning in pain under him, he moved closer to the royal box, removing his helmet and throwing it carelessly on the ground and knelt, proffering his sword in deference to the king.
Cheers began hesitantly and when he rose, the crowd regained their usual fervour as he lifted his sword in the air.
"The victor of the melee, Prince Aerion Targaryen!" the herald exclaimed as he entered back into the arena, lifting his other hand aloft.
Aerion grinned as the crowd acknowledged his win. Finally, finally, he had achieved this great feat. He could do it, he could prove himself worthy.
Aerion turned once more to the Princess and his face broke into a smile when he saw the expression on her face: pleased and intrigued. When she saw him looking at her, she approached the gallery of the box once more and planted her hands on it.
"Princess." he called out to her "Cousin, may I have your favor? It would be an honour to fight for the Realm's Delight."
Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder at her father, who was watching the display with mild concern and disbelief.
She turned back to Aerion with a smirk, pulling a red silk handkerchief from some pocket of her dress.
"I look forward to watching you further, cousin." she tossed the silk and it fell slowly to his sword, slipping down the blade towards his hand. He snatched up the silk, and kissed it quickly as he winked at the princess.
"I will be sure to not disappoint you, Princess." he remarked, bowing his head and turning to leave in search of Rodrik.
He found the man standing near to the entrance, his arms crossed with a dark expression on his face. His sword now sheathed, Aerion smirked at him.
"It is like you said, Rodrik - I am a dragon." Aerion placed his bloodied hands on his shoulder "Now they know what happens when they disrespect me."
A wicked grin crossed his lips as he patted Rodrik's shoulder a final time and continued past him, running his bloodied hand through his silver-gold hair and making him a more menacing figure than before.