𝖆 𝕮𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ ᴀᴇʀɪᴏɴ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x oc
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍-𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖶𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗌, 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗈𝖺𝗅, 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖠𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖳𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗒𝖾𝗇, 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾.
📖: Wattpad, Masterlist, AO3
ﮩ status ــــــــــﮩ٨ـ ongoing ﮩ
𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓 ── 𝖙𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖓𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖘
I've been confined in these halls for quite a while now.
I wanted to go back to Madam's House—just to ask more about Aesarys' past before we leave for King's Landing—but those guards are under tight supervision. Scratch that. I'm under tight supervision.
It's alright. I have other ways of getting what I want.
The dungeons were wet, the air thick with the squeaking of rats that infested the place. The smell of rot clung to the stone, and the dim light made every step feel uncertain, like the ground itself might give way beneath me.
Before I left, I wanted to visit Duncan... make sure he was alright. Confinement is better than death—but ten months in a place like this? Hell would've been kinder. Right?
I slowed as the cells came into view, my gaze settling quickly—finding him.
Duncan sat near the wall, shoulders slightly slouched, quieter than I was used to seeing him.
He looked up when he heard me. And for a moment—he smiled.
"Thought they'd locked you up too," he said.
I stepped closer, handing him a piece of fried fowl I'd stolen from the royal kitchen.
"Try not to miss us while we're gone," I said, attempting to make light of a situation that refused to be anything but miserable.
He took a bite, then glanced back up at me, his eyes lingering on my hair.
"Thought you wouldn't notice."
I twirled slightly, letting it move with me like it mattered more than it did.
He smiled again—but softer this time.
The bars between us felt deliberate.
"I saw you," he said after a moment. "On the field."
"Uhm… That—" I started. Then stopped. There wasn't a version of that sentence that made sense.
Duncan studied me, unsure of whether or not he should confront me or let the fact pass.
"I'm sorry," I said. The words felt strange. Unnecessary. But still—there.
"You're safe," he said. "That's enough."
It shouldn't have been, but I knew he meant it. Silence settled between us. For a moment, I felt deep guilt. Here he was stuck in a cell, and I was…
"Was this what you were searching for?" he asked.
That pulled me back. I hesitated—only a second.
"No," I sighed. "I'm going back to Madam's house tonight. I need to know where I came from." Sometimes, when you're lost, a few steps back is the only way forward.
That was when the silence changed. Not between us. Behind. A soft scoff echoed from just behind the barrels. Familiar. Annoying.
"Well," came the voice, smooth and unimpressed, "this is disappointing."
I didn't turn. I knew exactly who owned that stupid voice.
Aerion stepped into view, hands loosely at his sides, a smug expression resting easily on his face.
"You risked a battlefield," he continued, glancing briefly at Duncan, "and this is what you choose to concern yourself with?"
"Don't you know how rude it is to spy on people?" I asked flatly.
"Yes," he said. "And I don't care."
Not even a hint of shame.
His gaze moved between us. Slow. Assessing.
"Should I be concerned?" he added lightly. "Or is this merely... misplaced loyalty?"
Duncan's expression hardened.
I stepped forward before that could turn into something worse.
"You should mind your own business."
Aerion's attention snapped back to me—amused.
"You are my business now."
"Yeah, well I'm going out whether you like it or not," I said. Direct. Clear.
He looked me over once. Then again. Slower—from down to up.
"You won't make it past the gates," he said.
Not mockery—just a part of his assessment.
His fingers brushed lightly against a strand of my hair as he circled me, leisurely, deliberately—like he was studying something he'd already decided was flawed.
"You think covering yourself in rags will hide the quality of what's underneath?" he scoffed. "You'd be lucky if the first thief you pass is blind."
"No," he said simply. "You won't."
Silence stretched for a moment.
“If you decide to stop me—”
"I said," he continued, almost bored, "I'm not stopping you."
My brows furrowed at his response. Then what exactly…?
"But I am coming with you."
Duncan let out a disbelieving breath.
"That's a terrible idea."
"Yes," Aerion agreed easily.
Then his gaze returned to me.
"How terrible would it be," he went on, voice laced with sarcasm, "for a prince to accompany his betrothed, rather than letting her get stabbed in some alley?"
"Spare me the theatrics," I said, sharper now. "Tell me why you actually want to come."
He bit his bottom lip, nodding before scoffing.
His gaze didn't leave mine.
Curious? Curious about what exactly?
"And you," he added, almost lazily, "you need someone who knows how not to be seen."
I didn't answer immediately. Because—annoyingly—he wasn’t wrong.
Aerion turned as if the decision had already been made.
He raised a brow, conceit oozing from him.
"What are you waiting for?"
His gaze flicked briefly toward Duncan.
"Better a dragon than dead weight."
By the time we left the castle grounds, there was no turning back.
I was dressed in full disguise—hair twisted into a tight bun and hidden beneath a hat that swallowed any trace of it. Aerion's clothes hung off me like I'd stolen them off a scarecrow.
They were too big. And they reeked.
Not even a normal smell—no. Citrus. Aggressively so. Like he had drowned himself in perfume, set it on fire for dramatic effect, then decided it was wearable. Either that, or he'd pulled them straight out of a laundry basket he'd been ignoring for a week.
I shot him a narrow look.
"What?" he asked, like the smell wasn't staging a full assault on my senses.
To be fair, he probably couldn't tell.
"Did you give me clothes you've just worn," I said, tugging uselessly at the sleeves, "or do they always smell like they've survived a plague?"
"Funny," he replied, entirely unbothered. "I think they smell exactly how a dragon should."
I resisted the urge to gag. Barely.
"I think dragons might have better hygiene than you, my prince."
He ignored me. Naturally. A man like Aerion doesn't hear what he doesn't like. The world simply rearranges itself around him.
The guards glanced at us as we approached the gate—just doing their job.
Unfortunately for them. Aerion slowed. Just slightly. The air shifted before he even spoke. It always did. Like the world itself braced.
"What are you looking at?" he asked, quiet—too quiet. Like the question itself was an insult.
Of course they didn't—they knew him.
They knew the stories. What he did for amusement. How suffering seemed to interest him.
"You will keep your eyes on the ground when I pass," he continued, voice even, controlled. "Unless you would prefer I give you a reason not to."
Silence fell instantly. Thick. Suffocating.
He didn't wait for obedience. He simply moved. And they let him. Eyes on the ground. Allowing me to pass freely.
I followed behind, adjusting the ridiculous sleeves again, trying not to think about how easily fear parted people for him.
I still didn't understand why he insisted on coming.
Didn't he have anything better to do?
Then again—this was probably the best possible use of his time. Keeping him occupied meant fewer unfortunate souls caught in whatever mood struck him next.
The road stretched ahead, trees closing in around us as the horse's hooves sank into wet earth. Mud splashed up against the hem of the trousers—his trousers—already too large, now ruined.
I clicked my tongue under my breath.
"So," he said after a while.
His voice cut clean through the quiet, like he'd been waiting for it to stretch just long enough.
I frowned slightly. "Know what?"
He glanced at me, expression unreadable in that irritating way of his.
"That your whore mother somehow managed to bear my uncle a spawn."
I swallowed the immediate urge to roll my eyes.
He studied me for a moment longer than necessary, like he expected something more—shock, outrage, embarrassment.
I gave him nothing but a good stare.
He chuckled, then reached for the reins of the horse.
"It's a long journey," he added, almost lazily. "You wouldn't want your pretty little feet tiring out."
There was something definitely off about him. Not the words—those were exactly like him. Mocking. Dismissive. But the gesture?
I hesitated a second too long. Suspicious. Then, against better judgment, I took his hand.
He pulled me forward without warning, his grip firm at my waist as he lifted me onto the horse in one smooth motion.
"—Wha—" I muttered, caught off guard.
"This way, we'll reach faster," he said. "You're far too slow on your feet."
"I can walk perfectly fi—"
He had already turned away, urging the horse forward.
The sudden movement made me pitch forward slightly, my hands gripping onto the saddle to steady myself.
Below me, I caught it. That smirk. Subtle. Satisfied.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
My brows furrowed, eyes narrowing.
I didn't trust that look.
The road had long since stopped looking familiar.
Not that I trusted it to begin with. I barely knew this place. I had only assumed Aerion might know where the brothel was—Targaryen princes rarely lacked coin for such things, remember?
I glanced at him, narrowing my eyes slightly.
"Do you even know where we're going?"
"I know where people who might know where we're going are," he said calmly.
I stared at him. "You're joking."
Before I could press further, music reached us—loud, and uneven. Laughter followed, along with the clatter of mugs and someone shouting for more wine.
A tavern revealed itself soon after. Small. Crowded. Filled with men who looked like they had nowhere better to be and no intention of leaving.
They sang together—badly might I add—but with enough enthusiasm to make up for it. The sound of the bard's strings blended with clinking dishes and raised voices, forming a kind of chaos that almost felt... alive.
"See?" Aerion said, offering his hand as I stepped down from the horse.
I hesitated. Then took it anyway.
It was loud even before we stepped inside. Broad men filled the space. Drunk, careless. The kind that looked first and thought later—if at all.
I didn't slow. I didn't flinch. I didn't bother meeting their eyes either.
Behind me, I could feel it. His attention.
"Charming place," I muttered under my breath.
"Ah yes. As charming as a festering sore." He said, clearly annoyed at the thought.
My eyes narrowed. "Don't you frequent these? You brought me here."
He let out a quiet laugh.
"As if I'd ever waste my time like this." He moved toward the bar. "I have better things to do than dally with useless men."
He pulled out a chair for me. Tilting his head to direct me onto the seat.
"I only know of this place because it's my brother's favorite inn in Ashford."
That told me nothing. Which, I suspected, was exactly what he intended.
"We're looking for a man who knows Madam's House," he said to the bartender.
The man barely looked up until a heavy pouch of silver landed on the counter. That got his attention.
"I may know someone," he said quickly.
He gestured for us to sit. Then disappeared.
Aerion turned back to me.
A chair scraped sharply to the left. A man raised his voice, urging the other to leave. He didn’t. Then—impact. A fight broke out. Fists. Shouting. Broken dishes scattering across the floor.
I watched. Not out of concern. Why would I be? I was just observing. Like it didn't involve me. Because well—It didn’t.
Across from me, Aerion wasn't watching the fight.
I could feel it like a weight pressing between my shoulders.
I didn't bother turning. "You'll have to be more specific. I disappoint in many ways."
"For someone raised in a brothel," he continued, tone almost thoughtful, "you don't seem particularly... reactive. Should I be impressed?"
I shrugged lightly. "Would you prefer I scream?"
He shot me a knowing smirk.
"But I expected a flower to flinch."
I glanced at him then. "Well, you expected wrong."
He scoffed, as if my defiance was mere play to him.
I leaned my head into my palm, tapping lightly against the table. God, my head hurt. It has been ever since I somehow got into this body. It loomed in my head. Buzzing like a voice I swear I could sometimes hear.
Aerion caught something on the table.
Then he nudged it toward me. A chess board. Pieces already shifting beneath his fingers.
"You know," he said, moving first, "my uncle was called Baelor Breakspear for a reason."
"I don’t remember ever asking."
"I'm not quite sure you know exactly what you got yourself into."
I marched forward. "I assure you I'm perfectly capable of handling myself."
I didn't know how to play. Not properly. But I understood patterns—and I learned fast. Though I knew this game wasn’t merely a game of chess.
He leaned back slightly as he moved, smirking. His gaze moved up to mine. "Are you?"
I paused. Then moved anyway.
"I don't need your protection. This betrothal is merely... temporary. I'm perfectly fine by myself." I said.
He scoffed as he pushed again. "Oftentimes people lose, because they think they're capable enough."
"That or they just didn't see the enemy coming."
My jaw tightened as I took his pawn.
"That's rich coming from you."
I blocked with my pawn, g6.
But his Queen took it. Qxg6+. Another Check.
Stop moving so callously.
"My uncle often fought on fields already soaked in his enemies' blood."
"You speak of your uncle's victory and yet–" I captured back. "You lose your own queen?"
A satisfied smirk shot across my face.
How can you play without the most important piece—
Then that flicker was gone the moment I looked up at him. My eyes narrowed.
"My uncle was called Breakspear for famously breaking his lance–" his bishop moved. Clean. Precise. "And yet victory had always been his."
I stared at the board. Then at him. He didn't gloat. Which was worse.
"You rush," he said simply. "You only see the move in front of you, not the ones that follow."
I leaned back slightly, folding my arms. Unable to accept this.
That earned me something. A flicker of amusement.
But before he could reset the board—
The voice cut through the noise.
His gaze flicked back to mine.
"I overestimated your knowledge."
“Best to learn the game before you decide to play in a different field.”
Taglist: @oh-miniso, @snorklingfae, @mckaylarkendra5608
