Chapter 5.

Aemon Targaryen, 101 AC. 

The past couple of days had been odd, to say the least. After their initial encounter, the old king had taken an unexpected liking to the twins, a fondness that astonished everyone within the castle walls. Almost daily, he summoned them to dine with him, sometimes even twice in the same day.

Whispers spread quickly through the corridors: the king was smiling again, and a trace of his old vigor had returned. Some dared to suggest that the twins were, in fact, the king's own offspring. These rumors, however, were swiftly quashed with a few heads rolling. To question the parentage of the twins was a crime of treason, but to doubt the king's loyalty to his sister-queen was an even graver offense.

The fact that the offenders were spared from torture was considered lenient enough.

The twins were currently in the library, a place that had become their habitual retreat. Aemon tapped his fingers distractedly on the table, the rhythmic sound breaking Rhaenyra's concentration. Annoyed, she closed her eyes and spoke.

"What's on your mind, stupid brother?" she asked, her voice tinged with irritation.

Aemon, unfazed by her tone and choice of words, replied, "I was thinking about the old man. He seems kind of odd these days, don't you think?"

Rhaenyra couldn't deny it. Over the past few days, the old king had become increasingly distracted during their dinners. Initially, he had peppered them with questions about their daily activities and interests—typical, mundane topics. But recently, his inquiries had grown more nuanced and filled with hidden meanings. Just the other day, he had asked what they would do to solve economic crises in certain regions, and had even engaged them in strategic games, as if testing their tactical expertise.

Although they had made a point to underperform slightly to avoid drawing too much attention, their responses still revealed a remarkable level of insight—just enough to be noted as prodigious, though not quite as monstrous as they would if they really tried.

Rhaenyra sighed, recognizing the truth in Aemon's observation. "Yes, he's been different. His questions, his demeanor... It's like he's assessing us."

Aemon nodded, his tapping fingers finally still. "We need to be careful, sister. There's more to this than meets the eye."

~~O~~

Jaehaerys I, 101 AC. 

The king sat alone in his chambers, quietly staring into the fire blazing in the hearth. In his hands, he held a dagger unlike any other, its design both beautiful and ancient. The hilt seemed to be fashioned from bone, and it bore a red jewel carved into it. The steel blade, reflecting strange patterns in the firelight, was unmistakably forged from Valyrian steel.

As he gazed into the flames, he muttered to himself, "From my blood will come the Prince That Was Promised, and his will be the Song of Ice and Fire."

These were the words of his father, a prophecy passed down through generations. It foretold infinite glory but also hinted at hidden disaster. The meaning was something he could only ponder, but he knew the prophecy was true. His family was bound by destiny, their lineage interwoven with dreams and prophecies since before the Conquest.

'Is Aemon the prince who was promised?' he wondered. After days of observing the twins, he couldn't help but arrive at this unsettling conclusion. The twins were geniuses—no, that word was insufficient. They were monstrously brilliant. Never in his life had he encountered children as capable as they were, whether in political matters, strategy, or combat.

A few days ago, the twins had pleaded with him to have a knight train them in swordsmanship. At first, he laughed, thinking they were finally behaving like typical children. But he was so very wrong. He assigned his trusted knight and commander of the King's Guard, Ryam Redwyne, to supervise their training. Ryam's report nearly made him doubt his ears.

"Your Grace," Ryam had said, his tone full of incredulity, "I don't know how long I can teach them. They learn everything too fast, and although it will take a few years for them to fully incorporate what I've taught, I can state for a fact that they've absorbed it all completely and even improved upon it, especially Aemon. Pardon my rudeness, Your Grace, but that boy is a freak of nature when it comes to swordsmanship."

Ryam was not exaggerating. Aemon was alarmingly talented with the sword. Though both twins were exceptional, the king could see where each truly shone. Rhaenyra was the brains of the duo; while both were intelligent, she possessed a keen political mind and was less naive. Aemon, on the other hand, was a natural-born leader, effortlessly devising battle plans and contingencies. His natural charisma drew people to him.

The twins reminded the king of himself and his sister-queen, though with far greater potential. 

As he contemplated their future, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of hope and dread. The prophecy loomed large over his thoughts, and the twins, with all their prodigious talents, seemed destined to play a pivotal role in the unfolding saga of their house.

"Perhaps," he whispered to the flickering flames, "the true test of their abilities is yet to come."

He made up his mind. 

~~O~~

Rhaenyra Targaryen, 101 AC. 

In the courtyard that had become the twins' hideout, the faint clashing of wooden swords echoed through the air.

"Don't be a brute, Aemon. Have some class," said Rhaenyra, her breath labored.

For the first time in her life, she was genuinely shocked by her twin brother. It had only been a few days since they began their swordsmanship lessons with Ser Ryam, and the progress they made was astonishing.

Both Rhaenyra and Aemon had shown remarkable improvement with the sword, so much so that even their knight instructor was frightened by their rapid advancement. It wasn't just that they were quick learners; they grasped everything Ser Ryam taught almost immediately, an unprecedented feat, especially for children.

Their extraordinary abilities were partly due to their adult minds, making them appear unnaturally clever and adept for their age. They also possessed good physiques and were naturally talented, which certainly contributed to their success. Rhaenyra often referred to them as "fake geniuses" in jest, but that changed when Aemon picked up a sword.

'Now that is a real monstrous genius,' she mused, looking up at her brother from the ground, having just been bested by him with a wooden sword.

Despite training at the same intensity and starting at the same time, Aemon's rapid and abnormal talent with the sword was undeniable. As someone with martial experience from her past life, Rhaenyra considered herself a master, yet her brother's prowess was otherworldly.

While she could best Aemon in hand-to-hand combat due to her experience, his proficiency with a sword put him in a different league. Initially, she could exploit his weaknesses using her vast fighting experience, but within days, he had adapted. He deflected her strikes with beast-like instinct and countered with his own, leading to prolonged stalemates that ended only when she tired and he seized the advantage.

'I guess I deserve that a little,' she thought, recalling the many times she had humiliated him with taunts like, "Beaten by a girl, little brother? How sad~"

Aemon, flashing a victorious smile, laughed at her sorry state. "This is for all the times you mocked me, Rae! Now I'm the strongest sibling!" He continued to flaunt his victory, oblivious to the cunning in Rhaenyra's eyes.

With a swift movement, she kicked his unprotected calves, causing him to lose balance and fall. Moving quickly, she grabbed his arm and put him in an armlock, squeezing tightly.

Aemon screamed in pain. "I yield! I said I fucking yield!" His cries were filled with pain and anger.

Rhaenyra, still nursing a bruised ego, didn't release him immediately. She whispered a question in a somewhat sadistic tone, "Who's the strongest sibling?"

For a brief moment, he saw a pair of dark stars in her violet eyes, sending a shiver down his spine. With resignation, he said, "You are..." But in his mind, he vowed, 'Just you wait, I'll have my revenge one day.'

Rhaenyra saw the defiance in his eyes but knew when to stop. She released him before causing any permanent damage to his arm. With a quick flip, she got to her feet and offered him a hand, smiling.

"Good. Now let's get something to eat, stupid brother."

Aemon stared at Rhaenyra's offered hand, still a bit angry, but he sighed and took it, allowing her to help him up. She dusted off his hair and clothes, and he accepted the treatment with a resigned smile, accustomed to her fussing.

Before they could head off to find something to eat, a servant came running towards them, a letter in hand. Bowing respectfully, she read the message aloud:

"By the command of King Jaehaerys I, all the lords are required to be present by tomorrow's noon. The king shall make an announcement then."

The twins were taken aback. They had known this announcement was imminent, delayed only to allow time for the distant lords to arrive at Harrenhal. Now, it seemed the moment had finally come.

Rhaenyra and Aemon exchanged a look of shared understanding and concern. Aemon dismissed the servant with a wave of his hand. As soon as she left, he turned to his sister.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked, his voice edged with nervousness.

Rhaenyra understood his anxiety. If their father was named the heir, it put Aemon directly in the line of succession, a position fraught with peril and immense responsibility. She grabbed his hand instinctively, noting how cold it was, and how it trembled slightly.

She squeezed his hand tighter, trying to reassure him. "No matter what comes of this, we will always be together, just like we always have been." She smiled, hoping her words would calm his turbulent thoughts.

Her efforts succeeded. She felt warmth return to his hands, and the trembling ceased. He returned her smile, nodding. "Yes, we will always be together."

With that vow reaffirmed, they walked away hand-in-hand towards the castle, mentally preparing for what lay ahead.