.
. .
. . .
| Author's Note: As you've probably noticed by now, these early chapters serve as the foundation for Aenys' story.
Rather than following a strict day-to-day timeline, I'm focusing on key moments that shape his character and provide meaningful background and relationships before we fully step into the present timeline.
The main story will begin in 90 AC, at which point events will unfold in a more structured sequence, with only occasional time skips between scenes when necessary.
I hope you enjoy the journey so far! Let me know your thoughts in the comments about everything you have read until now,— what do you think of the story, and what would you like to see next!
. . .
. .
.
"The young prince is a curious thing,— too keen of mind for his tender years. Knowledge clings to him like a second skin, and yet, I wonder if wisdom will find him just as swiftly. A sharp mind is a gift indeed, but in the hands of a boy, it can be a blade without a sheath."
.
.
.
- A few moons after Daella's wedding, the Red Keep, 80 AC:
The morning light slanted through the tall windows of the Red Keep's library, casting golden streaks across the polished wood of the long table where Aenys sat, small feet swinging idly above the floor. Dust motes danced in the air, stirred by the occasional rustle of parchment as Grand Maester Elysar arranged the day's previous and current lessons before them.
Aenys was barely paying attention, after a few hours of studying, his violet eyes wandering across the high shelves that loomed around him, their endless rows of leather-bound tomes and scrolls seeming far too vast for his five-year-old mind to comprehend. He shifted in his chair, fingers tapping against the table's surface as if willing time to pass more quickly.
The Grand Maester watched him with the patient gaze of a man accustomed to dealing with restless young royals, sons and daughters of Jaehaerys and Alyssane Targaryen,— much of whom had died already, unfortunetly. "Your family's history is vast and grand, but I imagine you have heard much of it already, my young prince." Elysar began, voice smooth as parchment unfurling. "Shall we test what you have learned so far?"
Aenys tore his gaze away from the bookshelves, blinking at the old man.
He had no particular interest in ledgers of coin, records of trade, or the dull genealogy charts that Elysar so often laid before him,— but history? History was different to him.
History was dragons, and kings, and great battles, and that, at least, made him sit up a little straighter. "I can try." he answered, his voice soft, the slight lilt of childhood still clinging to his every word.
"Very well then." the maester said with an encouraging nod. "Who was the first king of the Targaryen dynasty?"
That was an easy one, and his lips curved faintly as he answered, purple eyes shinning in interest. "Aegon Targaryen."
"That is correct, my prince." Elysar said, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "And who came right after him?" This time, Aenys hesitated.
He knew the name, of course, had heard it spoken in stories told by his grandmother, but the weight of being asked in such a setting made him pause for just a moment.
"Aenys Targaryen, just like me." he finally said.
"That is indeed correct." Elysar's head dipped in approval, but then he leaned forward ever so slightly, the firelight catching in his eyes. "And tell me, what do you know of your namesake, King Aenys Targaryen?"
Aenys frowned in thought, his small brow furrowing in concentration, as his unfocused eyes roamed the shelves. "Grandmother says he was kind, when she tells me stories of our family!" he began, voice gaining a bit of enthusiasm now that he was speaking of something he had actually heard before.
"She says that he loved songs and dancing, that he had a sweet voice, and that people liked him. He was also the rider of a dragon named Quicksilver!" Elysar inclined his head, clearly pleased by the boy's memory.
"A most intriguing summary of the late king. But then tell me, my prince,— do you think he was a strong king? When your grandmother speaks of him, do you think she paints him as a strong king?"
Aenys hesitated again, this time longer. He was only five, but even he understood that being strong meant something different from being kind. He chewed on his lip, staring at his fingers where they played absently with the embroidered edge of his black and red tunic.
"He was a good person, as everyone around me often says." he said at last, slow and careful with his words, pondering each quote eith care, "And he wanted people to love him,— but love wasn't enough to make him strong like my grandfather is, was it?"
And Elysar smiled, a quiet, knowing smile, folding his hands together. "No, young prince, it was not. To be remembered as a strong king throughout history, one must be more than simply loved." Aenys lowered his gaze, considering that for a few seconds.
But before the Grand Maester could even guide him further down the path of thought however, a soft knock came from the doorway. "Grand Maester." came a familiar voice, smooth as the silk she so often wore, "Forgive the interruption, but the King and Queen would like the young prince's company for lunch rather earlier today."
Aenys turned happily to see his aunt standing in the archway, dark-haired and regal even in the simple gown she wore.
Jocelyn Targaryen, nee Baratheon, had the eyes of a woman who saw more than she let on as she gazed upon the duo. "Ah, but of course, princess." Elysar said, nodding graciously. "We shall continue our studies another time, my young prince."
Aenys didn't need to be told twice. With an eager scramble, he slid from the velvet chair he had occupied for what felt like an eternity and darted toward his Aunt like a silver blur.
"Hello there, little hatchling." she murmured, warmth flickering in her expression as she bent slightly to scoop him into her arms for a quick hug. "Aunt Lyn, I'm hungry..." he informed her, as if it were the most important thing in the world, having completly disregarded everything else from the previous study session.
Jocelyn chuckled, adjusting his weight with practiced ease, before letting him down to the ground once more. "Then let's not keep your grandparents waiting, shall we?" And as they turned to leave, Elysar watched them go, the corners of his mouth twitching in quiet amusement.
Aenys had much to learn still,— but there was something in the boy, something thoughtful and wise beyond his years,— and time would tell what kind of man he would grow into.
As for Aenys himself, he hardly thought of the lesson now, his small hand tucked securely in Jocelyn's larger one as they walked toward Maegor's Holdfast, his mind already shifting from kings of old to the sweet, honeyed bread he hoped would be waiting for him at the table.
.
After lunch, Aenys found himself where he loved best,— curled up beside his grandmother, Queen Alysanne. The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of her chamber within Maegor's Holdfast, bathing the room in a golden glow.
The air carried the faint, soothing scents of lavender and myrrh, fragrances that clung to Alysanne's robes and the soft linens swaddling her newest child.
Little Gael slept peacefully in her cradle, her tiny chest rising and falling with each steady breath, and near her, Rhaenys, having finished her own lessons earlier that day, sat cross-legged on a cushioned chair near their grandmother's feet, idly braiding strands of her thick black hair.
She had only recently finished her meal with her parents, but rather than play, she had chosen to linger here, basking in the comfort of their grandmother's presence.
Aenys, meanwhile, was nestled against Alysanne's side, small fingers tracing absent patterns along the embroidered edge of her sleeve. On the floor, his youngest brother, Viserys,— three years old, or near enough,— crawled about, clutching a carved wooden dragon between his chubby hands.
He growled and huffed as he dragged it across the stone floor, his silver curls bouncing with each excited movement.
The warmth of the chamber, the gentle cadence of his grandmother's voice, the simple closeness of his family,— it made Aenys feel safe.
"Did you know..." Alysanne began, her voice rich with memory, "... that when I was young, your grandfather and I ran away to be married in secret?"
Aenys blinked up at her, violet eyes wide with curiosity. "Really? Why?"
His grandmother chuckled at his quick interest. "Your great-grandmother did not approve of our match. She feared the Faith would speak against our union, and so she sought to wed your grandfather and me elsewhere. When Jaehaerys and I learned of it, we fled the Red Keep. We took to the skies on Vermithor and Silverwing, flew to Dragonstone, and there, we wed in secret."
Aenys hung on every word, his little mouth opening and closing as if searching for a question grand enough to match the tale. In the end, he only managed a simple: "Why?"
Alysanne smiled, eyes distant with old recollections. "Because we are Targaryens, dear. And Targaryens are not like other Men,— we are something different, something more." She turned her gaze toward each of them in turn. Aenys, Rhaenys, Viserys, and even sleeping Gael. "Our family has always remained united, and your grandfather and I believed it should stay that way. That is why we wed as we did." That was a half-truth, but a great way to put it in front of the children, she thought.
Rhaenys, ever quick-minded, tilted her head.
"But weren't you betrothed to someone else first, Grandmother?" Alysanne let out a soft laugh. "Indeed, I was,— to a Baratheon lord. But Jaehaerys and I had already made up our minds long before. We were quite young, but we knew what we wanted." Aenys gasped, wonder lighting his face. "Just like those stories mother sings to me?"
Alysanne laughed again, melodic and bright. "Something like that, yes, my dear."
Rhaenys' eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Were you frightened when you ran away with Grandfather?"
"Oh, certainly." Alysanne admitted, her smile touched with fond amusement. "But I had Silverwing with me as well, and she gave me more strength than I ever could have imagined. Besides, more than fear, I was determined,— I loved your grandfather, and he loved me, and that was enough for us."
Aenys rested his chin on her lap, utterly enchanted. He loved these stories,— they made the world seem bigger, grander, as if he were part of something ancient and important.
Viserys, oblivious to the tale, crashed his wooden dragon into the leg of a chair, letting out a high-pitched "RAWR!" Alysanne chuckled, reaching down to ruffle his soft curls. "Careful, sweetling, or you'll wake your aunt if you roar too fiercely." Viserys grinned up at her before shuffling closer to Aenys, pressing his round cheek against his brother's arm.
Aenys huffed but made no move to push him away, while Rhaenys, watching, reached over and tapped his knee. "When I marry, I want it to be like that too. A secret,— just for me." Aenys scrunched his nose at those words innocently. "I don't want to marry."
Alysanne chuckled, brushing a gentle hand over his silver hair. There was something knowing in her gaze as she regarded the older two. "You say that now, my love. But the world has a way of changing us when we least expect it,— so who knows, perhaps one day you will wish for it."
Aenys wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, but for now, with his grandmother's warmth beside him, his little brother tucked close, and Rhaenys smirking at him as if she knew something he didn't, he decided he could let the future wait.
.
Time passed like a loosed arrow, swift and inevitable, and soon it was time for Alysanne to rest.
The newborn already Gael stirred lightly in her cradle, a soft rise and fall beneath the blankets, while Rhaenys had already been taken by Jocelyn, while a wet nurse had spirited Viserys away to his own chambers where Alyssa awaited him.
Only Aenys remained, perched near the window, his small hands pressed against the cool stone. His gaze was fixed on the looming silhouette of the Dragonpit, a silent guardian against the horizon.
Alysanne, ever watchful, noted his rapt attention and crossed the chamber with the effortless grace of a woman born to rule, the train of her gown whispering against the floor as she came to stand beside him.
"What occupies your mind, Aenys?" Her voice was soft, but knowing. He did not turn to her immediately, his violet eyes still trained on the great dome in the distance. "I wish I had a dragon too…"
The words were barely above a whisper, but Alysanne heard them as clear as a bell, and her hand came to rest atop his silver hair, threading through the strands with a touch both affectionate and grounding.
"And why do you wish for one?" she asked.
He hesitated, thinking it over before tilting his head up to meet her gaze. "Because everyone has one,— and I want a new friend." Alysanne's lips curved ever so slightly. "Isn't Rhaenys your friend? And Viserys?"
Aenys shook his head, his brows furrowing just a little. "It's not the same… I want a dragon so I can play with him, so I can fly,— just like you and Grandfather did." Alysanne hummed, considering his words. "You are still young, dear, I'm sure there is time yet for you to bond with a dragon."
He sighed, clearly unimpressed with the answer. "That's boring… I want a dragon now." His tone was dejected but not petulant, a child's quiet longing rather than a demand.
Alysanne smiled, drawing him closer to her side. "In time, my love, I am certain you will bond with an incredible dragon,— perhaps one even greater than Silverwing." She wanted to tell him that, in her heart, she believed he might even be the one to claim her beloved Silverwing one day, but she also wished for it to be possible to see him fly as well one day...
Before the conversation could continue, a knock at the chamber door interrupted them.
"Mother, may I enter?" Baelon's voice carried through the wood, deep and steady.
Alysanne turned toward the door. "Baelon, of course, you may enter." The door swung open, and in strode her beloved son, his broad frame filling the entrance. "How was the day?" he asked, his gaze flickering between his mother and son.
Alysanne smiled while Aenys turned toward his father, beaming. "It was fun, kepa! Grandmother told us lots of stories."
Baelon hummed in amusement, glancing at his mother with knowing eyes. "Is that so?"
Alysanne simply gave a small nod, the same silent language they had shared since his youth. Baelon turned back to Aenys, his expression shifting into something conspiratorial. "Well then, how about we go have some fun of our own? The woods are calling, and I think it's about time you learned a thing or two."
Aenys perked up immediately. "Hm!" He hummed approvingly before turning to throw his arms around Alysanne in a quick, tight embrace.
Baelon smirked at his mother, as she asked him what was on her mind. "Will we see you both for dinner?" And he shook his head fondly. "I think not, mother. I prepared food for the two of us,— we'll be staying in the woods a while this time."
Alysanne sighed, though there was no true exasperation in it. "Very well, have fun then, children." Baelon let out a low chuckle. "Very funny, mother."
Aenys, already eager, tugged at his father's hand. "Come on, kepa!" And with that, they were off.
.
By the time they reached the stables, the late afternoon sun had dipped low enough to cast golden light across the rooftops of King's Landing.
Mounting their steed,— a tall, muscular courser the color of dark chestnuts,— Baelon settled Aenys in front of him, securing him with one firm arm as they rode through the winding streets.
They moved at a leisurely pace, the rhythm of the horse's hooves steady and measured against the cobbled roads. The scent of warm bread drifted from open stalls, mingling with the salt-tinged breeze that wafted in from the Blackwater Rush.
Baelon was in no hurry. "So, how was today's lesson with Elysar?" he asked, his voice unhurried as they passed through the quieter streets, and Aenys, who had been taking in the sights, turned his head slightly.
"It was okay. We spoke of our family kings today." Baelon's brow lifted. "Oh? Which ones?"
"Aegon and Aenys." Baelon leaned forward a little, his interest piqued. "And? Was it difficult?"
Aenys shook his head. "Not really… it was fun."
"That's good." Baelon nodded, satisfied. He made a habit of asking Aenys about his lessons every day,— not because he doubted the boy's learning, but because he wanted to instill the habit of reflection.
The conversation quieted for a time, but the silence was comfortable.
Aenys, however, had noticed something earlier. His eyes flickered toward the small wooden sword secured in Baelon's saddlebag. "What will we do today, kepa?"
Baelon smirked. "I think it's time I teach you how to hold a sword." Aenys sat up a little straighter. "Really?"
Baelon nodded. "You're nearing the age where you'll begin proper training, and no better way to start than learning the basics now." Aenys' eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Mhm, I get it." Baelon only chuckled, urging the horse onward. Ahead of them, the great stretch of the King's Wood awaited.
.
The clearing in the Kingswood was quiet but for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant caw of a crow. The air smelled of damp earth, fresh from the afternoon sun melting away the last traces of morning dew.
Baelon dismounted first, steadying Aenys as the boy clambered down from the saddle, his small hands gripping his father's arm.
"You'll want your feet firm on the ground when we start." Baelon said, setting Aenys down. "Balance is the root of every warrior."
Aenys looked up at him, eyes wide with excitement. In his little hands, he clutched a wooden sword, freshly carved and light enough for a boy his size, while he swayed slightly as he adjusted his grip, testing the weight.
Baelon chuckled. "You're holding it like a fishwife swinging a gutting knife." He knelt, adjusting Aenys's hands so that his grip was firm but relaxed. "Too tight, and you'll tire yourself. Too loose, and it'll fly from your hands at the first clash." Aenys nodded, his face scrunching in concentration.
He lifted the sword again, this time with more confidence. "Good." Baelon praised.
He stepped back and tapped the ground with the tip of his own sword. "Now,— stand like this. Feet apart, knees bent." He demonstrated the proper stance, and Aenys mimicked him as best he could.
His feet were too close at first, his weight awkwardly placed, but he was eager, determined to get it right, and Baelon let him stumble through it for a while before stepping in to adjust his posture.
"Your feet are the foundation." he said. "And a warrior without balance is as useless as a dragon without wings." Aenys pouted slightly, shifting his stance again. "But dragons have wings, kepa." Baelon grinned.
"And princes have swords." He tapped Aenys's wooden blade with his own, just enough to make the boy adjust his footing.
"Come, let's put that sword to use." What followed was a slow but enjoyable training session. Baelon had no intention of exhausting the boy,— he was only five, after all,— but the fundamentals were important.
He showed Aenys how to step forward and back without tripping over his own feet, how to hold his sword high to defend, and how to swing without overextending. Aenys stumbled often, his little limbs uncoordinated, but he never stopped trying.
Baelon kept the mood light, turning the lesson into a game. He would tap at Aenys's blade and make him block, laughing when the boy squeaked in protest. "Faster." he urged. "Again."
"I am going fast!" Aenys huffed, trying to hold his ground. "Are you?" Baelon teased, knocking gently at his side with the flat of his sword. Aenys yelped and tried to swat him away. "A good warrior doesn't complain, he adapts."
Aenys puffed out his cheeks but took the lesson to heart. He adjusted his stance again, more mindful of his footing. Baelon saw the way his son's frustration melted into focus, and for a moment, he was reminded of himself at a younger age, training under his father's watchful eye.
They continued like that for a while,— Baelon teaching, Aenys learning, both of them laughing in between.
And as the sun lowered, stretching golden light through the trees, Aenys's movements slowed. Sweat clung to his silver hair, and his little breaths came heavier. Baelon ruffled his head. "Enough for today, I think." Aenys, despite his exhaustion, looked up at him with bright eyes. "Can we do it again tomorrow?"
Baelon chuckled. "Perhaps. But only if you don't whine about how tiring it is."
"I didn't whine!" Aenys protested, crossing his arms. "Mm." Baelon only smirked.
And then the woods went silent.
Not silent in the way that meant nothing was there,— but silent in the way that meant something was.
Baelon stilled, his instincts, honed from years of hunting in these very woods, prickled at the shift.
Aenys, sensing his father's change in demeanor, turned to look in the same direction,— and there it was.
A white hart.
It stood at the edge of the clearing, its coat pale as fresh snow, its antlers like great crowns upon its head. The air seemed to hold its breath around it, as if the woods themselves bowed to its presence.
Aenys gasped softly, gripping Baelon's sleeve. "Kepa…" Baelon did not move, nor did he reach for his bow. He only watched, as did the hart, the great beast staring at them with dark, knowing eyes.
"Do you know what that is?" Baelon murmured, and Aenys nodded slowly. "A white hart…?"
Baelon smiled. "A rare thing. Some say it is a sign of the gods, a blessing."
Aenys's eyes widened. "Really?" Baelon knelt beside him, lowering his voice as if speaking too loudly would scare the creature away. "It is said that kings who hunt the white hart prove their greatness."
Aenys swallowed. "Are we going to hunt it?"
Baelon tilted his head, watching the way the great stag held its ground, unafraid. "No, not today. And that would be something that your grandfather and uncle would want to do, not us..."
Aenys seemed relieved, and he turned back to the hart, his small fingers still gripping Baelon's tunic. The stag stood there for a while longer, regarding them with that same quiet majesty,— then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it turned and bounded away, vanishing into the trees.
For a long moment, Aenys simply stared after it, wonder in his gaze, and Baelon smirked. "Seems like you were blessed today, little dragon."
Aenys beamed at that, the fatigue from training momentarily forgotten.
Then came the night, and after they had spent some more father-and-son time together, it was time to go back home.
The journey back was even slower, with Aenys, now drowsy from the long afternoon, leaning against Baelon's chest as they rode.
His little wooden sword still dangled loosely in his grip, his breaths soft and steady.
Baelon glanced down at him and shook his head with amusement. "All that energy, and now you can't even stay awake."
"M'not asleep…" Aenys mumbled, though his eyes remained closed, and Baelon hummed, adjusting his hold so Aenys rested more comfortably against him.
He now rode through the city at a leisurely pace, passing through torch-lit streets and past the quiet hum of evening life, a few spies and guards keeping a watchfull eye on them, for their safety.
By the time they reached the Red Keep, Aenys was fully asleep, his small body limp in Baelon's arms.
The guards at the gate stepped aside as Baelon dismounted, holding his son effortlessly. He carried Aenys through the halls, his boots echoing against stone, until he reached the boy's chambers.
Carefully, he set Aenys down onto the bed, pulling a soft blanket over him, and Aenys stirred only slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling once more.
Baelon watched him for a moment.
The boy had done well today, more than that, he had enjoyed himself,— they had enjoyed themselves.
He reached forward, brushing a stray strand of silver hair from Aenys's forehead. "Sleep well, little dragon."
And with that, Baelon turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him, his mind already turning to his wife, and how she should be abed by now.
Boy, would he listen to her rant about how their son was too young to be training with swords...
.
. .
. . .
|| Fire & Blood ||
. . .
. .
.