The reign of King Viserys I Targaryen had brought peace to the Seven Kingdoms, but beneath the surface, the question of succession threatened to divide the realm. The king’s eldest children were twins. Prince Aerion Targaryen, firstborn and heir to the Iron Throne. Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm’s Delight. The twins were inseparable, though very different. Rhaenyra loved flying on Syrax and spending her afternoons with her closest friend, Alicent Hightower. Aerion preferred the training yard, where he sparred daily and earned a reputation as one of the finest young swordsmen in the realm—but also one with a fiery temper. Viserys had tried to temper that fire with lessons on duty and restraint, while Aemma was the only one who could usually calm him with a hand on his cheek and a quiet word. But as the heir, Aerion felt every lesson, every glance, and every mistake as if the whole realm were already judging him. When the grand tourney began to celebrate the expected birth of Queen Aemma’s child, Aerion and Prince Daemon Targaryen rode proudly for House Targaryen. Aerion fought brilliantly through the early rounds, but his temper quickly got the better of him. After one opponent yielded, Aerion continued attacking until the kingsguard rushed in to separate them. The crowd fell silent. King Viserys stood. “That is enough.” Against Aerion’s protests, he was removed from the tourney. Furious, the young prince was escorted to the royal viewing box and ordered to remain there beside Rhaenyra and Alicent for the rest of the competition. “You embarrassed Father,” Rhaenyra whispered. “They were trying to kill me,” Aerion muttered, folding his arms. Alicent hid a small smile as the twins continued arguing while Daemon rode on below. By day’s end, Daemon had secured victory for House Targaryen. But celebration soon turned to heartbreak. Queen Aemma died during childbirth. Her newborn son, Prince Baelon, survived only briefly before passing as well. The Red Keep was consumed by grief. When the day of the funeral arrived, Aerion refused to leave his chambers. He blamed his father for his mother’s death and could not bear to watch the ceremony. Viserys had always seemed unshakable to him, and that made the loss feel like a betrayal Aerion could not forgive. Aemma had been the gentlest part of his life, the one person who could soften his temper before it turned to rage. A quiet knock came at his door. It was Alicent. “Your sister shouldn’t face this alone,” Alicent said softly. Together, they walked to the funeral in silence. Before the gathered lords of Westeros rested the funeral pyres of Queen Aemma Arryn and Prince Baelon Targaryen. As ancient Valyrian tradition demanded, it fell to Rhaenyra to give the final farewell. Standing before Syrax, tears streamed down her face as she looked one last time at her mother and baby brother. Her voice trembled. “Dracarys.” Syrax unleashed a stream of dragonfire, and the flames consumed the funeral pyres. Aerion lowered his head, unable to watch. Beside him, Alicent quietly reached for his hand. For the first time since the tourney, the prince’s anger disappeared, replaced only by grief as he watched the smoke rise into the sky. From that day forward, nothing in House Targaryen would ever be the same.