Chapter Text
Aerion woke with a startled gasp, clutching at his throat.
The burning sensation was all consuming, causing a cold sweat and bout of nausea so strong that Aerion was forced to stumble his way to the chamber pot. After expelling a meal he didn’t remember eating, for it had been so long since Aerion had craved food of any kind, he knelt on the floor, trying to catch his breath. Trying to allow his frantic thoughts to settle.
How was he alive?
Raising his shaking hands to his face and throat once more, he did not feel the blistered, charred skin he’d felt form when consuming that fatal dose of wildfire. Instead, his skin was smooth and soft, softer than it had felt in years. When he could not find the scar on his cheek from that wretched Trial of Seven, nor the one he gained above his right eyebrow during his time with the Second Sons, Aerion once again jerked himself to his feet, this time in search of a mirror.
Finding one near the changing screen, Aerion hurried to it and looked at his inexplicably young face. He had turned 40 almost a moon ago, yet staring back at him was his teenage self. One that had not seen a true battle. One who had not been exiled and brought back to fight for his family as a last resort. One who had not, he noted as he affirmed the absence of the marks left by Ser Duncan the Tall’s gauntlet, killed his uncle. Or at least, led his uncle to his death with his request for that antiquated trial.
A pinch to his cheek caused the expected pain, which meant this wasn’t a dream. Somehow, by some magic or the will of bored gods, perhaps, he was young again. And – based on the chaise in the corner, one he had disposed of shortly before his seven and tenth name day – he was displaced in time, not just youthfully renewed by previously unknown, groundbreaking cosmetics that may have the side effect of melting stone. If Aerion was truly back some twenty years in time, then that means he could prevent that great tragedy at Ashford!
His elation at this thought, for Aerion did love his uncle and regretted his hand in Baelor’s death, was short lived however. Because while this meant his family was alive, that Baelor, Valarr, Matarys, and Daeron were all still alive, it meant his baby was not. His beautiful Maegor, whom he birthed and fed from his own breast, was gone. He would not be born for another twenty years at least and most likely wouldn’t even then, if Aerion changed things.
And he did want to. His uncle had the makings to be the greatest Targaryen king yet. Baelor was kind, yet just, and he was smart. He knew when to stay his hand and when to crush his opponents, when to become Breakspear. And while Aerion was always more eager to act in the face of opposition, instead of turning to negotiation as his uncle was wont to do, Baelor was beloved by smallfolk and noble alike, so he must have been doing something right. Aside from his own credentials, no one else in the family had the desire or ability to fill the role. Baelor’s death caused echoes of pain and destruction to ripple through the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. Aerion’s obligation to himself, at least, demanded he save his uncle.
So yes, Aerion was prepared to change his uncle’s fate and perhaps even try to help the rest of his family. King Daeron, Valarr and Matarys were lost to the Spring Sickness, and while he couldn’t prevent the pandemic, he could convince his family to isolate their keeps earlier. He could even chase his brother Daeron from brothels to prevent his death by pox, passed to him by a random unlucky whore.
But all of these changes, for the good of his family and kingdom, would most likely alter his personal future. He married and mated his alpha cousin Daenora due to the urging of his father, Maekar, who had become king and needed Aerion to strengthen the flagging family tree. They’d most likely not be encouraged to court if he succeeds in saving his family and instead relegated to forging alliances. It’d only be a love match and approval from their amenable uncle that could circumvent this process, and they were never a love match.
While Daenora and Aerion found some peace in their union and he would always be grateful for the babe she gave him, she was a distant alpha. She had the wandering mind of her father, Prince Rhaegel, and little of his warmth, so her relationship with Aerion never progressed much further than that of cousins. Family, but a detached kind. He’d do it again, join in a stale marriage with Daenora, if it meant he’d be blessed with Maegor. His sweet babe, the only one to smile at and hearten his widely reviled omega father. But Aerion and his alpha had struggled for years to conceive, Maegor was somewhat of a miracle. Would he have to replicate the conception, something he had only the vaguest recollection of? What if they failed this time around?
No, he couldn’t do it. Aerion couldn’t keep up hope, fight against all odds for Maegor's conception, then be denied his baby. He wouldn’t be able to cope. So now he has to contend with the fact that, in gaining back his family, he lost the precious boy who had become his life.