Chapter 13.

A/N:

Hello there, my lovely degenerates ~ 

Sorry for the late chapter; I've been really busy these days. 

I just want to address some things about the plot before you read the chapter.

As many of you have noticed, I've been following the canon for the most part. Why? Because I want to, lol. 

Just kidding, the real reason is that it serves my story perfectly, at least in the beginning. I have no plans to change a lot of things until the War of the Stepstones, which is actually pretty close already. 

The first volume will follow the canon and build up some of the things I want to explore in later chapters. But as I repeatedly said before, trust me, I don't plan to write the same thing as the books or the show. The whole scope of what I want to write is much, much bigger than the original. But I need to build the road to get there, and for that, the canon serves my purpose. That's basically it. Just chill, read the story, and let me do my thing.

And just one more small thing: I don't know much about jousting. I did a quick research during my break at work, so if I make mistakes, I won't apologize, because I couldn't care less about this sport, lol. I will never write about jousting in this novel again anyway, so just bear with me if you are some kind of enthusiast as I even made some things up, just take it as liberty of mine.

Anyway, don't forget to send me stones and leave a review. It helps not only with visibility but also keeps me motivated to write more.

I hope you enjoy the chapter! The next one will be released in about 2-3 days.

~~O~~

Aemon Targaryen, 110 AC. 

A few hours before the tourney.

Aemon paced back and forth in his chamber, his face etched with worry. The tension in the room was palpable, broken only by the creak of the door as it opened to admit the person he had been anxiously awaiting.

"Father," said Aemon, looking directly at Viserys.

"Son, what's wrong? Why did you call for me so urgently?" Viserys asked, clearly confused yet concerned for his dear son.

The more Viserys looked at Aemon, the prouder he became. Aemon embodied all the best qualities of House Targaryen, and Viserys could scarcely find fault in his heir. At the tender age of thirteen, Aemon already towered over most adults at a height of 5'10". His broad shoulders and toned body bore the marks of rigorous training with Rhaenyra and Ser Harrold, who never tired of praising the boy's exceptional swordsmanship. Harrold often said that if Aemon continued at this rate, it wouldn't take more than five years for him to become the greatest swordsman in the realm.

He was clad in bronze colored armor, reminiscent of the one he wore years ago as a Mystery Knight, but this one was more detailed and ornate. Many elements of its design were drawn by Aemon himself, inspired by his loyal dragon, Vermithor. The armor was full of intricate details that mirrored the majestic beast, and he had even used a piece of Vermithor's shed horns to carve smaller versions for his helmet, giving it an even fiercer look to complement his already imposing armor.

His purple eyes reflected the worry in his heart. He looked up at his father with those eyes and said, "It's about mother, father."

Viserys sighed upon hearing this, replying in a weary voice, "We've already talked about this, Aemon. Your mother will be fine. This isn't her first rodeo, and she's a strong woman."

Aemon, still serious, countered, "Not anymore, Father. With each miscarriage, Mother's body grows weaker. She can't go on like this." He held back from saying what he truly felt: 'You are killing her.'

Viserys, confused and hesitant, thought for a moment before speaking. "It's her duty, son. Just as you, your sister, and I have our duties to House Targaryen, she has hers as well."

Aemon, now visibly irritated, lashed out, "Duty? She has already fulfilled her duty! You have me as your heir. Or am I not enough?"

Viserys was shaken by his son's rebuke. "Of course you are, son! You and Rhaenyra are my greatest pride. But accidents happen, Aemon. Just as your grandfather died suddenly, the same could happen to me or you."

Aemon calmed a little but retorted, "What about Rhaenyra? Why not make her your spare heir? She is just as capable of governing as we are."

Viserys sighed again. "She's a woman, son."

"And? We're not asking her to fight in tournaments, but even if we were, she could still beat most of them," Aemon retorted. "And even if she couldn't, her physical disadvantages are not a concern when it comes to decision-making."

Viserys shook his head. "Yes, but the realm might not take it well."

"The realm?" Aemon scoffed, his voice tinged with disdain. "You always forget something, Father. We are dragons. A dragon does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep!" As he spoke, his aura changed, and Viserys could feel the majesty in his words. For a fleeting moment, he saw the shadow of their great ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, in his son.

But then Aemon continued, "Let them talk. It gives us an excuse to burn those traitors."

Even Aemon himself was taken aback by his own words. He wondered to himself, 'This is messed up. Is this the result of years living in this wretched world, changing my views? Or is the madness that lurks inside my Targaryen blood trying to burst forth?'

The thought unsettled him. Aemon prided himself on his self-control and rationality, traits that set him apart from the more volatile members of his family. Yet, here he was, entertaining thoughts that could be considered treasonous and ruthless. He had always known that the Targaryen blood carried a certain madness, a propensity for both greatness and cruelty, but he had hoped to avoid it, to be better than those who succumbed to it.

Shaking off these thoughts, Aemon decided to refocus. There was no time to dwell on such matters. 

Viserys was startled by his son's words, memories of Maegor the Cruel flashing through his mind. "Don't say such things, Aemon! The walls have ears. You don't want people in the realm to compare you to Maegor!"

Aemon stared coldly at his father for a few moments. "I'm not going to change my mind, Father. You have to stop putting her in this situation. She's getting sicker with each pregnancy! When will you stop this madness?"

He paused, and for a second there Viserys could hear the vulnerability in his voice. 

"Father, I have a terrible feeling," his voice unsteady. "Something bad is going to happen. I can't shake it off."

Viserys frowned, stepping closer to his son. "Aemon, you've always had strong instincts, but what could possibly go wrong? This is meant to be a joyous occasion, a celebration."

"I know," Aemon replied, his hands clenching into fists. "But my dreams... They've been getting worse. I see blood, fire, and chaos. I see mother..."

Viserys's face softened with concern. "Your mother is well, Aemon. You know how much she loves you and Rhaenyra. These dreams, they could just be the stress of everything weighing on you."

Aemon shook his head vehemently. "It's more than that. I can feel it in my bones. Something is coming, and I don't know how to stop it."

Viserys sighed, placing a reassuring hand on Aemon's shoulder. "We'll keep an eye on things, I promise. But you mustn't let fear cloud your mind. You're a Targaryen, and we face our challenges head-on. Remember, you have your family and your dragon by your side."

Aemon nodded, though his worry didn't completely fade. "I'll try, father. But please, just... be cautious."

Viserys embraced his son briefly, a rare display of affection. He, seeing his son's stubbornness, finally relented. "Alright, son, you convinced me... I promise this will be the last time."

Aemon's intense gaze softened slightly at his father's concession, though the tension in his posture remained. "Thank you, Father," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "For Mother's sake, I hope you keep this promise."

Viserys nodded, clearly unsettled by the conversation but also moved by his son's deep concern. "I will, Aemon. Now, you should focus on the tourney. Your mother would want you to shine today."

Aemon nodded, though his worry didn't completely fade. 

Viserys placed a reassuring hand on Aemon's shoulder. "Now go, show the realm what it means to be a true Targaryen."

As Viserys left the chamber, Aemon took a deep breath, attempting to steady his nerves. The upcoming tourney was important, but the welfare of his mother weighed heavily on his mind. As he donned his helmet, feeling the weight of the bronze armor, Aemon whispered to himself, "For my family. For Rhaenyra."

He stepped out of his chamber, ready to confront whatever awaited him at the tourney, his heart heavy but his resolve unyielding.

~~O~~

Rhaenyra Targaryen, 110 AC.

Rhaenyra ascended the stairs to a large balcony overlooking the arena. The highest and most important members of the royalty were all present, with the exception of her brother, mother and their uncle. She had just left her mother in the care of the maesters and healers, after giving strict instructions to call her if anything went awry.

Her mother had begun her labor. This wasn't the first time Rhaenyra had assisted her in such matters. She was very worried for her mother, but labors could take hours, and her father had ordered her to be present at the tourney. Even Aemma had said to her in a tired voice, "It's alright, dear. This is not my first rodeo. I'll be done with this in a few hours. You should go and be with your brother, keep him safe and don't let him be reckless." It pained her greatly to leave her in this state, but unfortunately, it was all she could do for now. She was beginning to understand Aemon's hatred for duties..

She approached her seat as her father addressed the crowd.

"Be welcome!" he said in a jovial and loud voice. "I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed."

He looked in her direction for a moment before continuing. "When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!"

The crowd cheered at the news, and he smiled contentedly as he said, "May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!"

Rhaenyra, sitting beside Alicent, watched as two knights approached the stadium on horseback. As they entered, the crowd roared, raising their voices when their favored knights made an appearance.

Soon, the two engaged in a fierce duel, and the knight with a green shield was defeated by his opponent. Rhaenyra eyed the victor with curiosity and asked her friend beside her, "A mystery knight?" She didn't recognize his coat of arms.

Alicent, eyes glued to the gates of the arena, expecting a certain someone, answered absentmindedly, "No, a Cole, of the Stormlands."

The Cole knight bowed to them before leaving the arena.

Rhaenyra nodded, also looking around for someone as she said, "I've never heard of House Cole."

As they looked around, Boremund Baratheon approached the balcony on horseback. He looked in their direction and said in a loud voice, "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of 'The Queen Who Never Was.'"

This caused the nobles to display varying expressions. Rhaenyra frowned deeply at Baratheon's audacity. Rhaenys, her ever-composed and elegant older cousin, approached and dropped a wreath on Boremund's lance.

"Good fortune to you, cousin," she said curtly but politely.

Boremund scoffed, replying sarcastically, "I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it." They exchanged insincere smiles.

Rhaenyra watched this exchange with interest. She noticed Otto whispering something to her father, but the king dismissed him and soon returned to watching the show.

She engaged Alicent in pointless gossip, just to pass the time and perhaps gather some information.

Soon, Boremund was defeated by the Cole knight, groaning in pain on the ground, much to her delight. She had come to admire her older cousin Rhaenys greatly over the past years and did not appreciate the loud and annoying Baratheon mocking her in front of them.

Even her father clapped a bit, a subdued smile on his face.

Rhaenyra was curious about this knight. He was clearly very skilled, and it was strange to her that she had not heard of him before. She signaled to Ser Harrold to come to her side. He soon approached and knelt next to Rhaenyra's seat as she asked, "What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?"

He gathered his thoughts for a second before answering, "I'm told Ser Criston is common-born, son of Lord Dondarrion's steward. But other than that, and the fact that he's just unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I really couldn't say."

Rhaenyra nodded and dismissed the knight.

Suddenly, rhythmic drums echoed through the arena. Flags of House Targaryen were planted in the arena, and the cheers grew louder.

Rhaenyra smiled a little, already knowing who was coming.

A group of knights rode into the field, their galloping making the closer stands tremble. They quickly lined up and waited.

Galloping noises were heard, and a knight donning a bronze, draconic, and fierce armor mounted on a black and beautiful horse could be seen.

The crowd, especially the females, grew excited and began screaming.

Alicent beside her shifted in her seat, her hands clenching in anticipation as her eyes followed the dashing figure.

She also saw the Velaryon siblings, Laenor and Laena, excitedly talking and staring unblinkingly at the knight.

A man donned in clothes with the Targaryen sigil approached the stage to announce the knight.

In a loud voice filled with pride and reverence, he said, "Prince Aemon of House Targaryen, Heir to the Throne, will now choose his first opponent!"

He omitted the various other titles of Aemon, probably because Aemon had asked him not to. Aemon really didn't like to be called by so many different names, especially the Silver Minstrel one.

As Aemon entered the arena, and the cheers exploded. He waved gently at the crowd, causing a ripple effect of screaming females that almost made Rhaenyra block her ears from the deafening noise as the crowd chanted Aemon's name. Even Alicent beside her was trembling with excitement, and she could see that she was restraining herself from also screaming.

King Viserys was also clapping and smiling proudly at his son. You could practically feel his joy and pride radiating from his body.

Aemon slowly approached the knights, feeling a twinge of disappointment. He had already expected that his uncle Daemon wouldn't be on the list of knights he could choose. Though it was tradition for royalty to select their opponents first, Daemon, a seasoned knight with many jousts to his name and Aemon's senior, was exempt. Even as the heir, Aemon couldn't surpass the many pointless traditions of their world. Daemon would be the only one who could choose any of the knights after him, and Aemon had hoped to be picked by him. For many reasons, they had never been at the same tourney at the same time. It was unfortunate for Aemon, who yearned to unhorse his uncle and beat him in combat. Now, he had to choose from the knights before him.

He stopped in front of a random knight of House Tyrell and chose him. To Aemon, it didn't really matter who his first opponent was if Daemon wasn't there.

They galloped to their marks as the master of revels announced loudly, "For his first challenge, Prince Aemon Targaryen chooses Ser William Tyrell of Highgarden, eldest son of the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South!"

Aemon glanced at the crowd one last time to make eye contact with Rhaenyra. She could see his purple eyes through the armor staring at her, and she sensed his excitement. He kicked his horse's sides and charged forward fast, his galloping gained momentum with each powerful stride of his horse.

Aemon's previously relaxed and nonchalant demeanor transformed, becoming serious and concentrated. He skillfully leveled his lance, aiming with precision at Ser William's chest.

William could see the glowing eyes of Aemon, and for a fleeting moment, he saw the shadow of a colossal bronze beast looming behind the prince. Then he felt it—a tremendous impact unlike anything he had ever experienced. The air in his lungs escaped violently through his mouth and nose, leaving him gasping for breath. His right arm, which held his lance, twisted grotesquely as it shattered into countless places upon his lance colliding with Aemon's shield. The force of the impact coursed through his body as if he had slammed into a brick wall.

Catapulted from his horse with brutal force, he tumbled like a ragdoll for several meters before finally coming to a halt. The crowd watched in stunned silence, the knight's fate hanging in the balance, his life or death unknown to all.

The tournament grounds fell silent in the wake of the brutal collision. Dust and debris settled slowly as the audience tried to comprehend the spectacle they had just witnessed. Aemon sat astride his horse, his posture still rigid and eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. For a moment, he was not just a prince but the embodiment of the Targaryen legacy—a living dragon.

The crowd's initial shock began to transform into a low murmur of awe and fear. They had heard tales of Aemon's prowess, his riding abilities, and his formidable skills with the lance, but to witness it firsthand was another matter entirely.

Aemon dismounted with fluid grace, his every movement measured and purposeful. He handed his broken lance to a squire and removed his helmet, revealing his sweat-dampened silver hair and the same haunting violet eyes that seemed to pierce through everything they beheld. He walked towards where William lay, his expression unreadable.

A group of attendants and healers rushed to William's side, their faces pale with concern. They worked quickly, assessing the damage and preparing to move him to the infirmary. It was clear that William's condition was grave; his right arm twisted unnaturally and his breathing shallow.

"Are you alright, Ser?" Aemon asked, his voice calm yet filled with genuine concern.

William, still staring at the sky in confusion, his whole body hurting, finally looked at Aemon and asked, "What happened?"

Aemon chuckled a bit and said, "Well, you're talking, that's good." He then added more seriously, "Don't move just yet, let the healers help you."

As the healers worked around him, it finally dawned on William what had transpired. He had lost, and lost badly. He shook his head, feeling downcast.

Sensing the knight's disheartenment, Aemon spoke encouragingly, "Hey, don't let it get to you. I'll win this tourney, so sooner or later, you would have lost." Although his words were bold, William could tell that Aemon was trying to lighten the mood and offer some comfort.

Despite the pain, William managed a chuckle. He didn't take it personally; this was a dangerous sport, and both he and Aemon had risked their lives. He had lost, and that was it. He sighed and smiled at the prince, thinking, 'If he is already this skilled at this age, imagine him some years in the future'. He realized he might have just witnessed the birth of the strongest knight in the realm, and his mood lifted a little despite the agony coursing through his body.

The crowd, witnessing this display of sportsmanship, erupted in cheers. They admired not only Aemon's prowess but also his humility and honor in victory. His actions cemented his image as a noble and valiant prince, worthy of their admiration.

Aemon mounted his horse again, his earlier intensity giving way to a more relaxed demeanor. He turned towards the balcony where his sister stood, a smug smile playing on his lips. He galloped confidently in her direction, his head held high.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and smiled, saying, "Nicely done, brother."

Alicent beside her nodded and added, "It was impressive, my prince, and very gentlemanly of you to help Ser William." She genuinely meant it. To her, Aemon was the perfect example of a dashing knight in shining armor, gallant and handsome, filled with honor.

Aemon nodded at her and, with his eyes fixed on Rhaenyra, said, "Thank you, my ladies. I would like to ask for the favor of Princess Rhaenyra. With it, I can be sure to win this tourney in her honor." His deep purple eyes bore into hers, and she felt a sudden pang in her heart as she watched her handsome brother, donned in armor, looking at her with such fervor.

Rhaenyra felt herself becoming breathless, momentarily lost in his mesmerizing eyes. She was not used to feeling flustered, yet here she was, her heart racing. She heard him call her name, "Rhaenyra?" Realizing she hadn't answered his question, she felt flustered for the first time in her life and tossed her wreath down to him, saying a bit incoherently, "O-of course. Be safe out there."

Aemon caught the wreath with ease, his gaze never leaving hers. He looked at her, a little surprised by her uncharacteristic hesitation. It was a first for him to see his sister so unsettled. However, he soon had to refocus on the tourney, reminding himself to ask her later about what had happened.

Rhaenyra, having calmed down a little, couldn't help but to curse him in her heart, 'Stupid brother...' She watched as Aemon rode away, the wreath she had given him proudly displayed. The flutter of emotions she had felt moments ago left her both irritated and amused. Aemon always knew how to get under her skin, even in the most public and grandiose of settings.

She chuckled a little and shook her head, she couldn't help but think about how much their mother would love to hear about this later.

If only she knew how precious these happy moments were, perhaps she would have appreciated them more...