Could it be true? Really? The Free Cities? It was a cruel joke. His father really intended to exile him, as if it had been Aerion’s mace that dealt the fatal blow to Baelor himself.

In three days time, a ship would take him across the Narrow Sea, past the Step Stones, and all the way to Lys. His father was a good enough man to give Aerion a few days to finish any business he may have in Kingslanding, and pack what little he’d need.

All Aerion could do was stew in his anger. He knew there was no fighting it. All his efforts to make a show of Targaryen strength and power had done nothing but bring about the death of his uncle Baelor, heir to the iron throne. Part of Aerion was surprised his cousin Valarr hadn’t tried to punch him. Valarr was a better man he supposed.

Still, Aerion was left with the knowledge that time in Kingslanding was growing short. He was being sent away like some scorned dog, for an unforeseen future.