The Last Hope of House Targaryen

Chapter 6: The Last Hope of House Targaryen

283 AC - Dragonstone

Ser Barristan Selmy

The rebellion had reached its deadly crescendo. The Battle of the Trident had taken the life of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the shining hope of his house, leaving the Targaryens fractured and broken. Robert Baratheon's warhammer had fallen upon Rhaegar with the force of a storm, and the prince had fallen, bringing an end to the man once known as the Dragon Prince. The red rubies of his armor scattered like broken stars across the river's surface.

Ser Barristan Selmy had heard of it from Dragonstone, the weight of the news pressing heavy on his chest. Rhaegar was dead, and with him, the heart of the Targaryen hope. Yet news said that Aerys rested the future of house Targaryen upon the shoulders of one child—the Prince that was Promised, Aerion Starborn, born of both prophecy and blood. Though he did not name him his heir.

Thoros of Myr

Back on Dragonstone, the winds had begun to shift. Thoros of Myr was frantic, his eyes flickering with firelight as he gathered the remaining forces around him. Barristan stood beside him, his face grim, his eyes reflecting the unease that had taken root in the heart of the realm.

"Ser Barristan," Thoros said in a low voice, "we must act quickly. The king is gone, and the madness has spread. We must protect the child—Aerion is our last hope."

Rhaella, still mourning the loss of Rhaegar, stood on the balcony overlooking the sea, her eyes dark with sorrow. She had already decided to sent Aerion away with the fleet, watching the ships depart with a heavy heart. Her mind was clouded with grief, but her motherly instincts had not faltered. Viserys, her remaining son, had not yet come to understand the weight of the crown, but the time was near and they would be needed at Dragonstone.

"I cannot go with them," Rhaella said softly, her voice cracked with sadness. "I will stay here. Viserys needs me, and the war is coming to us. I will stay in the heart of my home, at Dragonstone, while the rest of you flee."

She looked down at her swelling belly, the child she carried—another Targaryen—hidden from the world. It would not be safe here for her and Viserys, but she could not abandon her son, not now. She knew her place was at Dragonstone, while Aerion needed to be hidden away.

Ser Barristan

Ser Barristan exchanged a glance with Thoros. The decision had been made, and it was time to move. Rhaella had made the difficult choice to remain behind, but Aerion would not be alone.

The fleet, led by Monford Velaryon the 14 year old heir of Driftmark, set sail from Dragonstone. Among them were the few fastest ships that had been chosen to protect the future Prince of House Targaryen. Aurane Waters, Monford's younger half-brother, would accompany them, as would Ser Guncer Sunglass the Lord of Sweetpoint Sound, a man loyal to the Targaryens. They also brought Clement Celtigar, the heir to Celtigar, though only a child of five years old, a reminder of the power and legacy of their house.

The air was thick with the smell of salt and the weight of loss as the fleet left Dragonstone behind. Queen Rhaella watched from the shore, her heart torn in two. Her son was gone, but she had made sure the last hope of her house would survive. She could only pray this Lord of Light would guide him through the darkness to come.

Thoros of Myr

The fleet, led by Thoros of Myr and Ser Barristan Selmy, cut through the waves of the Narrow Sea, its course steady toward Volantis. The journey had been long, the men weary, but their purpose remained clear—to deliver Aerion Starborn to the one place where he could be protected.

The child, barely three years old, stood at the bow of the ship, his small hands gripping the railing as he stared at the endless blue horizon. His red eyes, bright as burning coals, reflected the morning sun. He did not yet fully understand the world shifting around him, but he sensed it, the way a dragon senses the coming storm.

Barristan stood beside him, ever watchful, while Thoros leaned against the mast, his red robes billowing in the salt-kissed wind.

"Volantis is a city of faith," the red priest said. "There, the prince will be safe."

Barristan frowned. "Safe among zealots?"

Thoros only chuckled. "Faith is a sword that cuts both ways. But for him, it will be a shield."

Aerion turned his head, his voice small but insistent. "Big fire?"

Thoros grinned. "Yes, little dragon. The biggest fire you've ever seen."

Aerion's lips curved into a small smile. "Dragon fire?"

"In a way," Thoros mused. "You will see soon enough."

When they finally reached Volantis, the city of flame did not disappoint. Its black walls, massive and ancient, loomed over the river, its streets bustling with life. The scent of spice, smoke, and incense filled the air, and the great temple of R'hllor stood like a burning beacon in the distance, its flames ever-burning.

At the docks, a group of red priests and priestesses awaited them, their crimson robes gleaming beneath the sun. At their head stood Kinvara, High Priestess of the Lord of Light, her eyes bright with knowing. She stepped forward as Barristan disembarked, her gaze falling upon the child in his arms.

"The flames have foretold this," she murmured, her voice smooth as silk, edged with quiet reverence. She knelt before Aerion, her eyes filled with something like wonder. "The prince has come, as was written in the stars."

Aerion blinked at her, tilting his head. "You…know me?" he asked slowly, his words not yet steady but clear enough.

Kinvara smiled. "I have seen you in the flames, little one. You are fire given form." She reached out, brushing a hand lightly over his silver hair. "Your mother's gift burns within you."

Aerion's face scrunched up, his small hands clenching Barristan's cloak. "Mama?" His voice was softer now, uncertain.

Kinvara's expression softened. "Yes. She, too, was chosen by the Lord of Light. She gave her life to bring you into this world, prince. And now, you are ours to guide."

Barristan shifted, his discomfort clear, but he said nothing. He had never trusted the Red God or his priests, but they were allies, and Aerion needed allies.

From the ranks of the Volantene nobles, another man stepped forward—Narion Qoherys, the last known descendant of the ancient House Qoherys, his features sharp and proud, his eyes burning with Valyrian intensity. He knelt before the child, one fist over his heart.

"The Lost Legion stands with you, my prince," he declared, his voice unwavering. "Eight thousand strong, Valyrian-born, sworn to the fire."

Aerion stared at him, eyes wide. He turned to Barristan, searching for understanding. "Fight…for me?"

Barristan hesitated, then nodded. "It seems so, little one."

Aerion grinned. "Good."

Nearby, Ser Guncer Sunglass, a Westerosi knight exiled for his loyalty to Rhaegar, scowled. "You put too much faith in these red priests," he muttered to Kinvara. "Faith should be in the Seven, not in fire and shadows."

Kinvara's smile did not waver. "The Seven did not see this child in their prayers. The Lord of Light did. He guided his mother, he sent the star that marked his birth, and he brought him here. Do you still doubt?"

Guncer folded his arms. "I trust in steel more than in prophecy."

Kinvara let out a quiet laugh. "Steel breaks. Fire does not."

Aerion, oblivious to their argument, clapped his hands. "Fire!"

Kinvara turned her gaze back to him, her expression almost motherly. "Yes, little dragon. Fire."

And as the flames of the temple burned high into the Volantene sky, the boy who would change the world took his first steps into his destiny.

Back at Dragonstone, the winds of change had swept through the land. Rhaegar Targaryen was dead, and with his death came the loss of the last hope for a peaceful reign. Robert Baratheon's rebellion had gained more ground, and the Starks were making their moves in the north, their forces growing stronger by the day. Gulltown had fallen to the rebels, while Robert had won the Battle of Summerhall and the Battle of Ashford, though Randyl Tarly had chased him from the field at Ashford, costing the rebels a chance to strike a decisive blow.

In Volantis, though, the flames burned bright. The Targaryen fleet had arrived, and with it, the future of House Targaryen was safe—at least for now. Rhaella's sacrifice had ensured that her son, Aerion, would live on, hidden from the storm that raged back in Westeros.

The next few days in Volantis were spent acclimating to the strange land and its people. The temple was grand, but the Triarchs of Volantis did not look kindly upon the presence of foreign Targaryens. They feared the shifting tides of politics, and the rise of the Lord of Light had created tensions.

Kinvara, however, assured them that the faith would keep them safe. Aerion would be hidden, his identity known only to a select few.

And then came a new, uncertain future. Rhaella had stayed behind on Dragonstone, pregnant with her second child, while her son had been sent to safety in Volantis. For now, Aerion was safe. But with the fall of Rhaegar, the rebellion was far from over. The Starks and Baratheons would not rest until the last Targaryen had been burned from the face of the earth.

But Aerion Starborn, one of the last dragons, was safe—for now.

And his story was just beginning.