OF BASTARDS & DRAGONS || Aenar Targaryen [1]

60 • THE REGENT & THE FETISH LORD

The sounds that echoed on the shores, were the grunts of Aenar Targaryen crashing against the sea, at first light of dawn, the cock crows, the gulls cawed in the sky, birds chirped and the wind blew in flurry of leaves.

Tossing and turning on his bed, Aenar woke up stretching, cracking his knuckles, his room had a window which had an open view of serenity, the ocean springing from afar in waves.

Yawning, he yanked the duvet off his body and proceeded to ring the bells. Immediately the servants came in and prepared him a bathe, then cleaned his chambers.

Rulling the Seven Kingdoms was quite a task, he enjoyed, but sometime dreaded due to the expectations of the people, howbeit he is the Prince Regent and Heir to the iron throne. After he bathed and dressed, and broke his fast.

Gulping down his wine, a knock came on his door. "Enter!"

Hearing the sounds of chains. The Prince Regent turns around to see Maester Gerardys,

"Good morrow....My prince..."

"Good morrow Maester Gerardys....." Aenar went to his study table, to get some signed parchment and missive that is to be sent to Kings Landing, when the old man spoke.

"Forgive my intrusion my Prince, but the Princess Rheanyra has just arrived on a boat. She urgently requests an audience with you, and Ser Arryk Cargyll is here." He muttered in subservience,

Aenar paused and turned to the old man. "Rheanyra and my sworn sword? Here on DragonStone."

"Yes my prince.....They await your presence in the throne room...... Prince Daemon is already there with them."

Aenar inhales deeply, then matched out of the chamber. Arriving at the massive gate to the royal chambers of the inner castle. Militaristic wouldn't be the proper word to describe the inner atmosphere of the castle. Everything was adorned out of necessity and function, not style.

The only aspect that separated the inside of the castle from any normal palace was the abnormal amount of carvings and runes itched onto the walls. Vivid and detailed depictions of various dragons immortalized in their most dangerous of moments. Aenar couldn't wait to meet his niece.

By the time, they reached the throne room of Dragonstone, he dismissed the guards with a subtle nod and walked inside as the doors were opened, Daemon was already sitting at the base of the dias, playing with a dagger while speaking to Rheanyra, Ser Arryk was not on sight.

"Nyra...."

The white haired turned, lips quivering. "Uncle!" Rheanyra rushed to hug him. "Thank the gods I found you."

Aenar felt her body tensed. "What's wrong? Why have you come to DragonStone...."

"Viserys is dead." Rheanyra broke the news.

Daemon furrowed his brows and stood up. "What?"

"I grieve this loss with you, uncles. Your brother, my father...possessed a kind heart. There is more. Aegon will be crowned as his successor." Rheanyra whimpers.

"They crowned him? Or they haven't crowned him?" Aenar narrowed his gaze.

"How did Viserys die?" Daemon questioned, almost on the verge of tears.

"I could not say." Rheanyra shook her head.

"How long ago?" Aenar asked.

"A day past, perhaps two. I was made a prisoner in my quarters, me, Laenor, Laena ans the children were locked in our chambers, while the Queen and the Hand made their preparations. They're on the move." Rheanyra mutters bitterly. "Luckily Ser Arryk helped me escape."