Work Text:
"Have you ever been to Dorne?"
"Hm?" Daeron looked up, scratching his chin and reflecting. "Once, when I was a boy. You were there too, though you must have been too young to remember."
Aerion's stare was hard, and all of the rooting around he was doing in his mind was turning up blanks. He was trying to pull a memory that he did not have back out of the depths of his mind, though it was in vain. His pale eyebrows furrowed so hard his whole face scrunched up in the middle. "What was it like?" He asked after a moment, as if that would spur his memory.
"I do not remember much," Daeron shrugged, and it seemed to him like he wasn't trying to remember much. "We were there with mother and father, in this big castle by the sea. It must have been Starfall. What I do remember was that it took forever to get there, and even longer to get back. Father complained the whole way."
The answer did not sate Aerion’s interest. He wanted to know more. He needed to know more. Was the castle big like Summerhall? Was it bigger? More sprawling? He had read of Dorne in his books, and of the seat of their mother's family at the edge of the Summer Sea, but what was it really like? The words on a page could not compare to a lived experience.
The gap in his memory nagged at him still. It seemed unfair that Daeron should remember it, and that he had nothing at all. "Why has father not brought us back?"
Daeron turned to look at him with a lazy tilt of his head, levelling him with a flat look that said he already knew the answer. Which, he did. Aerion wasn't stupid, and neither was his brother.
"I would like to go there," He added, swinging his feet and feigning innocence.
Daeron gave a laboured sigh, so deep his whole chest raised and fell with the effort, and exasperation lined his plain features. "Well, there is no luck of father making that trip. No matter how much you bat your lashes at him," He drawled. Unfortunately, Daeron knew all of Aerion's tricks, and he was well aware of how much Maekar favoured him.
Yet, Aerion had an answer regardless,"Then we should go. Together."
How exciting would that be? Daeron slipped out from Summerhall's gates time and time again. He never stayed out for long and returned before dawn, but what was the difference? Aerion had discovered his chambers empty more than a few times, and had wondered at length where his brother had disappeared to. An adventure that was just for the two of them? Away from father's stern hand and the nagging of all of their siblings? It tasted like freedom was waiting for them just on the other side of the castle's walls.
But, Daeron shut it down with a tired wave of his hand. "Not happening, little dragon."
He was using the nickname to placate him, Aerion knew. He didn't let it fool him. "Why not?" He tilted his head, leaning forward. "If we leave during the night, we will be far gone come morning. Father would not be able to catch us." If they rode hard, there was no way for father to know where they had gone with enough certainty to find them. He would waste hours checking the castle halls and the villages that surrounded it, and all of Daeron's usual haunts on top of that. For a time, it would be just the two of them and the long road south. With luck, they would evade Maekar entirely, and once far enough away they could send a raven to assure him that they still lived.
"And you would torment our dear lord father so?"
Aerion could only laugh, a soft, tinkling sound, "Of course. I have learnt all my tricks from you, sweet brother," A smile split his lips, and it was full of pointed teeth.
Daeron smiled, turning away from him with a shake of his head. Try as he might to seem disappointed, Aerion knew he was not really. He had perfected the art of deceiving their father, and Aerion had done the same all while retaining his favour. It was an art, and one that Daeron would instill in all of them.
"If we go-" Daeron started, doing a slow turn to face him again. A slight smile played on his lips. Aerion knew that he had caught him. "If. How would we get there? It is a far, far way to Dorne, little dragon, and neither of us can fly."
"We take our palfreys, and perhaps another pony to carry our belongings, and we follow the road south," Proud of his answer, Aerion sat up straighter. They would be like the knights in their books, who travelled the realm with horse and sword and knew not the scolding of temperamental fathers. And when their fun was done, they could return to the easy living that Summerhall promised.
"And where would we sleep? And find our coin?"
"We would have no want of coin if we took some of father's."
Daeron raised a brow. It would be difficult to swindle Maekar out of his gold, but it could be done.
"It would be easier to sell some of your things."
He was only teasing, though Aerion scowled regardless.
"If you did not drink so much we wouldn't have need for so much coin," His voice was low, though still as soft as it always was. Aerion could make the cruelest things sound sweet. Yet, Daeron was not affected by his words. He could say nothing to him that he had not already thought of himself. He was not soft, despite how he may seem.
"If we are to travel together, then I will be doing what I like," Daeron shrugged, unaffected.
He made it sound like the trip was going to happen, or at the very least like he was considering it. Aerion brightened at once. He could ready the horses while Daeron gathered the more practical supplies. He always had a knack for sneaking around, and he could slip into the kitchens and the servants quarters without so much as making a sound.
It was starting to seem like a solid plan, one that was actually achievable and the two of them could do with ease. Yet, Aerion could see Daeron working up to speak once more.
"And how will we protect ourselves? The road can be a dangerous place," He looked up, seemingly blind to how ridiculous of a question it was.
"We are blood of the dragon, brother. Who could harm us?" They had some of the best men-at-arms training them by day, and while Daeron was not so proficient with the blade, Aerion was. He would bring their swords, and that was the end of that.
"You are but a boy, little dragon, and I am no use with a sword."
Aerion's gaze sharpened into a glare, shooting daggers where his brother stood. "I am not much younger than you, dear brother, and we are better trained than most of the knights in the realm. You shouldn't be so spooked by your own shadow," He wrinkled his nose, turning up his chin with a look of disgust. Aerion would protect him, if he must, but he was acting like a craven. He had spent too long within the castle walls, and had squired for too simple of a man.
Daeron didn't look convinced, though Aerion liked to think he was winning him over slowly but surely. "And what would we do once we got to Dorne?" He had so many questions. Too many questions. He could've made it all the way to Dorne and he would still be answering questions.
"We could visit Sunspear, and Starfall, and see mother's family."
There was a flicker in Daeron's expression, something indistinct that Aerion couldn't discern. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, and it seemed to him like he would concede. Why wouldn't he? There was nothing stopping them.
Daeron's jaw worked, thinking. He had all of their father's mannerisms, though none of his Targaryen looks. He was plain, all in all. His hair was a murky blonde, and had grown longer than usual. It was starting to fall in his eyes and stick out from behind his ears. The length would suit him, in time, when it was no longer this awkward in-between of long and short. On their trip south, it would grow longer still. He would look like a real beggar. "You have this all figured out," He murmured at last. He shouldn't have expected anything different.
"I can saddle the horses if you gather the supplies."
"Leaving the harder job to me?"
Aerion only smiled, tilting his head in a way he hoped made him look sweet enough to win Daeron over. His brother tsked, but didn't say anything else.
"We can leave in a fortnight, after father has retired to his chambers. It will give us enough time to prepare, and you will meet me here with everything you gathered."
"Giving me orders now, little dragon? My hair will be as white as father's by the time we return." It wouldn't suit him, Aerion thought at once, but he breathed out a laugh at the joke regardless.
They had been loitering too long, stuck in a daydream tucked away in a corner of the courtyard to dodge responsibilities after their morning's training. Daeron looked out into the yard, though his gaze seemed distant. Staring at nothing, as he tended to do. If Aerion waited for his attention to return naturally, he would be left waiting all day.
"Go. Father is probably looking for you," Aerion waved him away, slipping off the post he was sitting on and losing inches off of his height. He brushed the dust off of his clothing.
Daeron gave a nod in his direction before bidding his leave, "In a fortnight, little brother."
"In a fortnight."
——
Aerion was light on his feet. When he crept from his chambers, his footsteps didn't make a sound. Beneath his arm he carried a bundle of clothes and all of the things Daeron would not have been able to source for him. He had spent a long time trying to narrow down what he wanted to bring, and in the end still was not fully satisfied with his selection. Fortunately, he could buy more in Dorne. Fine silks embroidered with the three-headed dragon danced in his mind, and all he could think of was how ravishing he would look on his next name day. A lightness filled his chest, and it felt as if he were floating as his steps ghosted across stone floors.
The castle was unnaturally still at night. The dogs were quiet in their kennels, the birds did not sing their songs, and his siblings' babble and laughter was nowhere to be heard. As he moved towards the stables, he pulled up the hood of his cloak to cover his face. The stable boys would have long since bedded down for the night, and they could easily be bought with a bit of silver, but Aerion remained cautious.
The palfreys were saddled as quickly as he dared. So close to leaving through the gates, so close to their freedom, Aerion couldn't help but smile to himself as he finished adjusting the saddle straps. So close, yet so far. The only thing left to do was wait, as he had been waiting for the last fortnight.
He tried to bide his time as best as he could. He brushed the horse's flanks, like a squire might, and quickly grew bored of the task. After all, it was not a prince's job to tend to his own horses. After that, he unrolled and rerolled his bundle just to have something to do, but that only occupied him for a couple more minutes. Once everything was repacked, he leaned against the stall wall and looked out into the darkness.
Daeron's task had more components than his own. He had to steal down to the kitchens and collect enough food to last them the length of their weary trek, and carry it back unnoticed. He would not be gone much longer, or so Aerion hoped.
The gods did not have much regard for his hope. The stars moved across the sky and the moon rose higher, and all the while Aerion waited.
The elation he had felt before began to shrivel up and die, leaving in its wake a festering feeling that scraped at his lungs and wiped the smile from his lips. Daeron, the fool, must have let himself be caught. He had waylaid the plans that Aerion had so carefully crafted for them. Ungrateful.
Aerion ripped his bag from the saddle, storming away from the stables with no regard for who saw him. How could Daeron be so stupid? Well, Aerion had no need for him. He was the better rider, and better with a sword, he didn't need his brother slowing him down. He would go alone.
The hallways were empty and void of light, but he knew his way. A hand against the wall orientated him enough to guide his steps, and soon he had made it down to the kitchens. There were no servants to block his path, no household guard lingering to question him. It made the trip quicker.
Beneath the heavy wooden pantry door came a glimmer of warm light, cast from a lantern or something similar. It was too early for any of the cooks or the scullery maids to be about, but Aerion moved carefully regardless. He did not want to face his father’s wrath at this time of day. He crept closer, pressing his face to the doorframe and peering inside.
There was no one there. A lone lantern with a candle burning low sat atop of a table, and it covered the room in golden, flickering light. His gaze narrowed. Was it Daeron? Had he gotten himself caught in a sack full of carrots?
Aerion pushed open the door and slipped into the room. There was no sign of his brother, or so it seemed. Bundled in one corner was a healthy stash of food, ready to be packed away. Daeron was here. He had been getting ready for their trip. So where was he now?
There were not many places for a tall man like him to hide, though Aerion had a sinking feeling that he was not hiding. On the opposite end of the room, the door to the cellar sat ajar.
The cellar was set into the stone under Summerhall. With each step lower, the temperature grew colder and colder. The air was stagnant this far beneath the earth.
"Daeron?" Aerion called out, and his anger returned tenfold at the mere thought of finding his brother in an awful place such as this. Wine barrels from the Arbor, and Lys, and Volantis, were each stacked to the ceiling in winding rows. He looked up each as he walked past, and with every step he knew at the end he would find his brother.
As expected, there he was. Wrapped in his dark cloak, as if he were sleeping beneath the stars in one of those ditches he had become so fond of as of late. Aerion approached on silent feet. He stopped close to him, looking down on his brother's pathetic, slumbering form. The sight of him disgusted him.
Aerion delivered a strong kick into his back. Daeron cried out like he did from one of his nightmares. Pitiful. Aerion's foot came down hard on his ribs, leaning over him on his knee.
Daeron was awake now, bleary-eyed but conscious, and his breaths came in short puffs of air. He looked around frantically. He was unable to discern whether it was a dream or reality, not until his eyes landed on Aerion's face. Then, realisation dawned. "Aer-?"
"Be quiet," He hissed. The slur in the other's words was like a knife to the heart. "Are you drunk, or just stupid?"
Daeron opened his mouth to answer, but Aerion silenced him with another kick to the ribs. A groan was pulled from him in place of any coherent response, and he curled in on himself like a disgusting, dying insect.
"You could do this at any time, but you do it now. Is it to spite me, dear brother? Or did you lose your courage? I will do more harm to you than any lawless brigand out there could." His frustration was turning visceral. It was the kind that squeezed his throat and made his fingers itch for blood.
Intimidation had little effect. Daeron forced a dry laugh. His lips were chapped and crusted with wine dried so dark it looked as if he were bleeding. Dying. He pressed his forehead into the cold stone, and despite the freezing bite in the room there was a thin sheen of sweat across his face. "You may try, little dragon." His voice was thin and brittle. "I was getting our things-"
"And you tripped and fell with your open gullet into a wine barrel? Did it force itself upon you? Is that it?"
Daeron winced. Aerion could see the grimace in his eyebrows even though the majority of his face was hidden in stone. "I thought I had time for a drink-"
"A drink? I can smell the whole of the Arbor on your breath. When you lie to me next, show me some respect and do better," Aerion spat, digging his heel between bones. Cracked ribs would heal by themselves, but they would ache for days to come. Every time Daeron swung his sword, his body would protest against the very motion. The thought brought a smile to his lips, and he left his brother with a final kick, harder than the last.