Chapter Text
"I've become what you cannot embrace
Our memory will be my lullaby"
For as long as he could remember, his life had never been easy. He didn’t remember his parents; his earliest memories always took him back to the orphanage. Aerion assumed his parents had died or had simply abandoned him—it didn’t matter to him anymore; years ago, he’d stopped dwelling on the matter.
Of course, at the age of five, it was a constant thought in his mind. Back then, the orphanage where he lived was divided into three sections: Alpha/Beta, Omega, and those without a subgenre. The first two housed those aged 12 and older, and the last section held the youngest children.
Aerion watched hundreds of children his own age, older or younger, come and go; couples who arrived looking for a child and left having fulfilled their dream. They never chose him, and that always saddened him. At first, he changed everything he believed made him less “attractive” as a future child: his behavior, his clothes, his posture—everything.
Every flaw he saw, he changed, but in the end, nothing improved.
Why had his parents abandoned him?
Why didn't any partner seem interested in him?
At six years old, he stopped making friends; he got along with everyone, but not enough to grow fond of anyone. What was the point? In the end, they would leave and he would stay.
“Aerion, sweetie,” Sister Esther said with a smile—he liked her smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to play with the others?”
Aerion shook his head, giving her a smile, and focused on finishing his drawing; his dragon was definitely more important than socializing. That day, Sister Esther didn’t leave his side; she was undoubtedly the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother figure, and sometimes he missed her very much.
“Come out, come out, little knight, it’s time for you to face the dragon!”
At twelve, shortly before the revelation of his subgenre, the answers to his questions came in the form of dreams.
At first he thought they were just that—dreams, too fantastic to be true; the one with the white hair, being older and of royal blood, in an era when people spoke of extinct dragons. He remembers waking up the first time in ecstasy—undoubtedly the best dream of his life; he even had a family that cared for him.
“Why did you waste your life? For this whore?”
Then he realized they weren’t dreams—they were memories, his own memories.
Aerion Targaryen. It was comforting to discover he had a last name, even if it was from his previous life. His first instinct was to scream; he had to cover his mouth with the pillow so as not to wake the children sleeping beside him, but he was furious. He had had it all—a family, money, stability—and now he had nothing.
Why? he thought.
When he managed to calm down, he jumped to a hasty conclusion: he had been punished by the gods.
Thanks to his sporadic memories, he was able to reflect on his previous life, and boy, had he been a real jerk to everyone: his father, his brothers, his wife, his son, even that gentleman.
Damn it, he was even responsible for his Uncle Baelor’s death, and he didn’t mourn when Valaar died either.
He felt his eyes begin to well up; he had to cover his face completely with his bed blankets—he’d hate for his weakness to be exposed.
He’d been a shitty person; of course the gods would punish him.
“Dad…” he whispered between sobs, trying to fall asleep.
Unfortunately, he had no way of knowing if the rest of his family was still alive; being in an orphanage had its drawbacks, and there were limits to what he could and couldn’t do. Going outside was forbidden, the orphanage’s computers were of very poor quality, and there was no internet; he would have to live in the dark a little longer.
“What a load of crap,” he whispered, rereading the red letters on his test.
He confirmed that his current situation was a punishment by revealing himself as an omega two months after regaining his memories. He had been an alpha in his previous life—maybe not quite a top-tier one, but he’d certainly been intimidating back then.
Of course, now he could be an omega. He thought ironically.
He had broken the hearts of many lovers in the past; now he would be the one whose heart would be broken.
“Aerion, you must be very careful,” Sister Esther caressed his cheek.
“We’ve agreed to your request to help with today’s deliveries,” Mother Shu’s stern tone caught his attention. “But you have to be back before dark, and don’t go anywhere near the alphas.”
Selling pastries, natural honey, and other handmade goods had been the sisters’ last-ditch effort to keep the orphanage afloat. It had been a few months after her fifteenth birthday when financial problems began to mount; funds were running low, but the number of mouths to feed wasn’t.
She volunteered for the chance to get out; she could use the opportunity to look for information about her family. Would they still be together? If so, would they be happy to see him alive as well?
He wasn’t going to hide how excited he was to see them again; he had made a promise to himself three years ago: If he ever got to see them again, he would definitely appreciate them this time. He wouldn’t fight with his father anymore, he wouldn’t be cruel to Aegon, he would spoil his sisters, and he would stop ignoring Daeron. He would be a great son and brother.
He was even willing to apologize to Duncan, if, just like in his previous life, he found himself stuck in the shadow of his brother Aegon.
At last, he would have his family back.
He knew the world was no longer the same as when he lived thinking about the return of the dragons, but seeing it with his own eyes was something else; tall concrete buildings, metal structures, cars—things he already knew existed but hadn’t fully grasped the scale of.
Honestly, he didn’t know if he liked this era better than the last one.
He managed to deliver the orders in record time; even though it was his first time leaving the orphanage, he hadn’t gotten lost—or at least not completely. The map the sisters had given him made his task much easier and would now allow him to make the most of the extra time on his quest before he had to return.
His destination was the Central Library; there he would find the books the orphanage didn’t have, and he might learn what happened after his death. The librarian, an omega in her thirties, guided him to the ancient history section, explained the procedures if he wanted to take a book, and told him where to find her if he needed her.
Aerion was grateful that she ignored his faded and slightly torn clothes.
“The Dragon Dynasty” was the most comprehensive book he found; it briefly recounted the most important events of the Targaryen dynasty: Aegon’s Conquest, the Dance of the Dragons, and even the events involving his great-great-granddaughter, Daenerys.
“Aerion Targaryen died in the year 232 AD after drinking a cup of Valyrian fire. The prince, known as ‘Greatflame,’ was convinced that this magical act would grant him the power to transform into a dragon; however, the substance incinerated him from the inside, causing him a horrific death.”
“I would definitely never drink Valyrian fire again,” he murmured softly.
He kept turning the pages; he already knew how it ended, and boy, did he remember how it felt to die.
“Aegon V Targaryen, nicknamed ‘the Unlikely,’ was crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms in the year 233 AD.”
What? His younger brother had become king?
“He ascended the throne at the age of thirty-three during the Great Council, after other candidates were ruled out and his older brother, Maester Aemon, refused the crown.”
What a kid. He thought.
Honestly, he didn’t believe there was anyone more suited to be king than his brother. Aemon was a good son, but Aerion knew that his heart lacked the courage to command and rule—though it was certainly suited for teaching.
He continued reading.
“As monarch, he prioritized the welfare of the common people over the interests of the high nobility, enacting laws that protected commoners and limited the abusive power of the great lords. He married for love and allowed his children to do the same, which broke vital political alliances and caused constant tensions with the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms.”
Marrying for love—Aegon had certainly been lucky in that regard. Aerion didn’t remember loving his omega wife, Daenora, but he didn’t hate her either; they existed solely in a political marriage. The only good thing had been their son Maegor, and he hadn’t been a good father to him either.
“Aegon V was obsessed with bringing dragons back into the world to consolidate his power and secure his reforms. In the year 259 A.C., this quest culminated in the infamous Tragedy of Summerhall. A massive, uncontrolled fire ravaged the castle, claiming the lives of Aegon himself, Crown Prince Duncan, and his loyal friend Ser Duncan the Tall.”
Aegon had met a fate similar to his own; his obsession with dragons was the end for both of them. A great king, a great father, and brother reduced to ashes by an impossible dream—and alongside him, Ser Duncan.
Ser Duncan the Tall.
That noble-hearted alpha giant never left his younger brother’s side, so loyal that he even lost his life trying to save that of his faithful squire.
Ser Duncan had been a much better older brother than he ever was. He wished with all his heart that, if Duncan had been reborn into a good life, he deserved it.
He had spent quite a while catching up on his family’s history, so much so that by the time he left the library, the sun was beginning to set; he had to hurry if he didn’t want to get scolded by Mother Shu.
As he was getting ready to ride off on his bike, a noise from a nearby shop caught his attention. The waiter at the café had just turned up the volume on the television hanging on the wall. Driven by curiosity, Aerion hopped off his bike and approached the shop’s large window.
He felt a tightness in his chest, and his hands began to tremble.
His father, Maekar, and his uncle Bealor were on the screen, holding a young Aegon; both were smiling as they stood surrounded by other people.
“Last Sunday, the president and vice president of Targaryen Industries were seen celebrating the birthday of their youngest son, Aegon; the family set aside their busy schedules to enjoy some quality family time,” the commentator’s voice could be heard in the background.
The screen showing the next images changed. He saw them all, his entire family gathered together, and they looked so happy…
Without him.