Chapter 14.

A/N:

Hello, my lovely degenerates ~

This time, it's the real chapter. Just a few things I wish to say before you read it.

First of all, thank you for the votes and patience. I appreciate it.

Second, consider this a warning. As I've said before, this is not my first time on Webnovel, and because of that, I know how things work around here and how to deal with them. Sadly, there are some who can't/won't read the warnings or my notes about how the plot will proceed, and they release all of their frustrations in reviews and comments. How amazing ~

Know this: I'll delete them. Why? Because I've warned you before and you didn't listen. Don't like my story? Go read something else. Have some valid criticism that I haven't already addressed? Sure, you can talk to me. But I don't want any "Ur aRe FoLlOwiNg tHe CaaAnOn" complaints anymore. I'll delete them and be done with it. Why? Because I can, lol. I don't get paid for this. The only reason I'm writing is because I feel like it, and now because I want to entertain those who like my story.

Don't like it? Read the ending of one of my first warnings and f#ck off.

Anyway, enjoy the chapter.

Finally, inner peace ~

~~O~~

Rhaenyra Targaryen, 110 AC.

The next rounds of the tourney continued with great excitement. Aemon's performance was nothing short of spectacular. He unhorsed knight after knight, each victory more decisive than the last. The crowd roared with approval, chanting his name and celebrating his skill.

Soon they heard the rhythmic beat of the drums, and Rhaenyra frowned, already knowing who was coming.

She was well aware of the rivalry between Aemon and their uncle Daemon. She wasn't entirely sure when it had started, but she knew both of them took it very seriously. Initially, it was one-sided, with Aemon harboring a deep dislike for Daemon. But as Aemon was named heir and grew into a formidable warrior himself, Daemon began to see him as a threat—perhaps not to the throne, but certainly to his title as the strongest Targaryen.

'It was only a matter of time before they clashed,' she thought silently. She could only hope that their training and recent boost in skills would help Aemon. Daemon was a tough opponent, very tough. If she was being honest, she didn't really see Aemon winning this match—not yet. Aemon was still growing, but Daemon was at his peak.

The crowd was going absolutely wild as they cheered the new contender. The master of revels announced him. "Prince Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of the City, will now choose his opponent!"

They saw Daemon galloping to the line. He was wearing draconic armor like Aemon's, but unlike Aemon, his helmet didn't cover his face. This was his arrogance and narcissism on display, as if to say he didn't even need to hide his face for protection.

He rode with his head held high in pride, his tall and towering figure looking down on every single contender. He paused slightly when he stopped in front of Aemon, staring back at the young Targaryen's fervent gaze. Everyone held their breath as they watched the scene unfold, the tension in the air palpable, as if two dragons were about to clash. But soon his expression gave way to a smug smile, and he passed Aemon, stopping in front of Otto's son, Gwayne. He pointed his lance directly at Gwayne's chest.

The crowd exploded with cheers, not realizing that things were about to get ugly. Rhaenyra saw the boiling anger in her brother's eyes, but he took a deep breath and calmed down. She thought to herself, 'Good, he's getting better at controlling his temper.'

As the years had gone by, she had noticed that both Aemon's and her own temper had become more volatile. They tried to blame it on the hormones of puberty, but that wasn't enough to explain the sudden shifts in their behavior. Even she, with three lifetimes of experience, sometimes struggled against those feelings. Aemon suffered the most, getting irritated and angry at every corner. The fact that he couldn't control his temper made him even angrier, creating a vicious cycle of rage. She found it both funny and worrying. She was pleased to see him making progress, especially since Daemon was perhaps the one who riled him up the most.

The master of revels soon announced, "For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King!"

Rhaenyra observed the various reactions around her. Otto shook his head irritably. Corlys looked mildly amused, waiting to see a good show. Daemon and Gwayne took their marks. Alicent, beside her, was picking at her nails, a habit Rhaenyra noticed she had when nervous. She grabbed Alicent's hand gently, trying to calm her down. She saw Lyman betting with an attendant, likely wagering on one of the combatants.

Daemon glanced at the crowd one last time to make eye contact with Otto before charging forward. The first round was quick, with Daemon getting hit and losing his lance, much to her twin's delight. Otto also looked pleased, clenching his fists in victory. Both riders took new lances and charged again.

The crowd wasn't prepared for what they were about to witness. At the last second, Daemon swung his lance in front of the hooves of Gwayne's horse, sending both horse and rider tumbling aggressively.

She saw the shock on her brother's face; he even removed his helmet to watch the fight. He clearly hadn't expected their uncle to use such an inventive and somewhat despicable method to win the joust. His visage grew solemn, and she could see him strategizing on how to beat such an erratic and unpredictable foe.

Gwayne was clearly injured but managed to get up, limping with varying reactions from the crowd and nobles. By the looks of it, he might be crippled for life. Daemon rode in front of the balcony after the win. Puzzled by his approach, Rhaenyra asked as she and Alicent got closer, "That was an interesting move, uncle. But why are you here with us and not gloating over Otto right now?" Alicent looked uncomfortable at her remark, knowing of her father's rivalry with Daemon.

Daemon chuckled at his niece's commentary and said with his ever-present smug smile, "Thank you, Princess." He shifted his gaze to Alicent beside her and said, "Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it."

This caught both Rhaenyra and Alicent by surprise. But soon Rhaenyra saw his intention. Alicent was hesitant to give him her favor. She wanted Aemon to ask for it, but he already had his sister's, and she didn't want to anger her father. But her politeness won out, and she smiled a little, grabbing a wreath. "Good luck, my Prince." She gave a quick look at her father, who was visibly displeased, but still dropped the wreath on Daemon's lance.

He stared back at Otto defiantly one last time before turning his gaze to Aemon, who met his eyes without flinching. Both of them shared the same thought: 'It's your turn next.'

The master of revels announced loudly "Ser Daemon Targaryen will now tilt against Ser Aemon Targaryen, Heir to the Throne!"

The crowd went ballistic at the news, their cheers reverberating throughout the arena, shaking the very structure. They couldn't contain their excitement—it was the fight they most wanted to see. Their beloved Prince Aemon, whom many considered the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror, against the infamous Rogue Prince, Daemon. The nobles began happily discussing and placing bets on their favorite knights. Even Corlys, who typically abstained from such matters, found himself anticipating the fight. He glanced at Aemon, who was preparing for the match, and at his daughter Laena, who was casting worshipful stares at the young prince. He ignored the fact that his son was also doing the same. His eyes held a hint of calculation as he thought, 'Let's hope the prince can hold his ground.'

Rhaenyra and Alicent had different reactions, but both were worried.

Alicent, ever the faithful, began praying silently for Aemon's safety.

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, was staring at something. She was worried about Aemon but also trusted his capabilities to at least hold his ground against Daemon. She turned to look at her father's direction to see his reaction, but what greeted her was an empty chair. This caught her off guard, as she knew that her father would never abandon his seat, especially with Aemon's match about to begin, without a very good reason. Suddenly, she felt her heart go cold, and a horrible possibility dawned on her: 'Something happened to Mother.' She immediately got up from her seat and was about to run toward her mother's chamber. But before that, she hesitated and looked in Aemon's direction. He was already at his mark, preparing for the match, his blazing gaze fixed on their uncle.

She shook her head and proceeded to the chambers, thinking, 'Aemon will be fine, he will also understand.' She trusted her brother with all her heart. She knew that if he understood the reason for her absence, he would not blame her.

Focusing on the most important matter now, she quickened her steps, thinking to herself, 'Please hold on, Mother, I'm coming.' With that thought in mind, she left the arena.

~~O~~

Aemon Targaryen, 110 AC. 

Meanwhile, in the arena, Aemon adjusted his grip on his lance, his eyes locked on Daemon. He could sense the anticipation of the crowd, their collective breath held as they awaited the clash of the Targaryen princes. Daemon, ever the provocateur, gave Aemon a mocking salute, his smirk visible even at distance.

Aemon's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He recalled his conversation with his father earlier, the unspoken fears about his mother's condition, and his own internal struggle with the dark thoughts that had surfaced.

'Focus!' Aemon couldn't afford to get distracted right now, no matter what. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out, recalling all his training and struggles with Rhaenyra. He really wanted to smash that smug smile off Daemon's face.

The trumpets blared, signaling the start of the match. Aemon took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. As he spurred his horse forward, he could hear the crowd's roar growing louder, but he blocked it out, zeroing in on Daemon. The Rogue Prince charged towards him, their lances aimed and ready.

Time seemed to slow as they closed the distance. Aemon's training, his natural skill, and his determination all came into play. Sadly, his opponent was also a fierce one. Just as he was about to strike Daemon in the middle of his chest, he felt an impact. This was not the first time he was hit by a lance, but it was the first time he felt pain like this. Daemon wasn't the strongest opponent he had faced in terms of physical strength, but he was cunning and knew how to exploit his advantages. He knew he couldn't compete against Aemon's monstrous strength head-on, so his tactic was to soften Aemon's power by striking him a millisecond before being struck.

Both of them felt the impact as they passed each other and galloped to the other side. Aemon threw his broken lance to the ground as a squire provided him with a new one. He barely got his hands on it before he was already galloping again in Daemon's direction, who was also doing the same.

They collided once again violently. Daemon was beginning to get frustrated with this and thought about applying the same strategy he used with Gwayne. But he shook his head after. Not only did he know that Aemon would be prepared for that, even if he didn't, Daemon didn't wish for their duel to end just like that. He wanted more. This nephew of his, whom he knew greatly disliked him, was someone he had come to respect as the years went by. At first, he just thought that Aemon was a smart, irritable brat who didn't know his place, and he was even a bit jealous of the treatment Aemon received from his grandfather Jaehaerys, and also from his brother Viserys. But after witnessing Aemon's exploits, Daemon grew to like the young Targaryen and enjoyed teasing him every chance he got. But this liking had grown into a rivalry, as he also didn't want to lose to the new generation. 'You are still too young to carry the title of strongest Targaryen, Aemon. I'll win this one,' he thought. In his mind, it was also a form of shielding Aemon against the vultures and snakes surrounding their family.

Just as he got closer to Aemon and was planning on unhorsing him, he was greatly shocked by what he saw. Aemon's eyes, which were supposed to be purple, were shining with a strange and majestic glow. He could swear he saw them reflecting a golden light, and for a second, he saw the shadow of Vermithor's eyes in the young prince. The last thing he heard was a roar that reminded him of a dragon as Aemon struck his lance with all his might on his chest, sending him flying against the barrier. He could barely register what had just happened as he got up from the ground after rolling.

Every thought he had before was clouded by rage and humiliation as he screamed, "Sword!!!"

A squire hurriedly brought a sword to him as he walked angrily towards his nephew, who had also dismounted his horse and was already carrying his sword in his direction.

The crowd's cheers grew even louder, anticipating the next phase of this epic duel. Aemon's mind raced as he approached Daemon, his grip on the sword tightening. He could see the fury in his uncle's eyes, and he knew this fight was about more than just the tourney. It was a clash of wills, a test of strength, and a statement to the realm.

"Ready for round two, uncle?" Aemon taunted, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Always," Daemon snarled, swinging his sword in a wide arc.

Aemon parried the blow, their swords clashing with a sound that reverberated through the arena. The crowd gasped and cheered, enthralled by the fierce combat. 

Aemon was in a strange state. His heart pounded faster, and his blood felt like it was boiling. This wasn't just adrenaline; it was something else. His vision sharpened, and sometimes he saw Daemon's blows coming at him slower. He couldn't fully control this heightened perception, and it distracted him until he felt a sharp pain at the junction of his armor. He saw a cut, not too deep nor too shallow. Daemon's Valyrian sword had sliced through his chainmail. Seeing the blood, something snapped in Aemon's mind. His already hot blood seemed to boil. His body felt light and strong like never before, and for some unknown reason, he felt like laughing.

"Hahaha!" Aemon laughed as he traded blows with Daemon, each of his strikes growing stronger and faster. Daemon was strong, perhaps the strongest foe Aemon had ever fought against. As their duel grew fiercer, the crowd fell silent, and a solemn atmosphere gripped the arena. To the spectators, it looked like two bloodthirsty beasts trading wounds without fear of the consequences.

Corlys, a bit worried and astonished, said to his wife, "Someone should stop them before they kill each other." Rhaenys nodded, equally concerned. Though she didn't much care for Daemon, she was very fond of Aemon, her polite and handsome little cousin, whom she sometimes wished could marry her daughter Laena.

Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, was also growing worried. He despised Daemon, and seeing him bested by his nephew greatly pleased him. But he also knew that if something happened to Aemon, the heir, under his watch, the consequences would be grave. He was about to order the guards to intervene, even if it was against the rules of the tourney. But suddenly, things changed in the arena.

Aemon, laughing maniacally, was going faster and faster. Soon enough, Daemon couldn't keep up with him. Daemon's sword was thrown to the side, and he could only stare aghast at his nephew. The sight before him was haunting. Aemon was covered in cuts of varying degrees. None were deep enough to threaten his life, but together they should have at least put him on the ground. But no, he was standing, his bloody visage causing everyone to doubt their eyes and ears as they heard the young Targaryen's sinister laughter echoing through the arena.

Aemon stared down at his uncle, his mind scattered. He tried to think of something, anything, but he couldn't. The only thing that filled his mind was euphoria and hatred. He felt good, really good. He threw his completely chipped sword to the side and picked up Daemon's Darksister. He removed his helmet, revealing a twisted smile. Now in close range Daemon knew his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He could see the golden, fierce glow in his nephew's eyes. Just as he thought, it really reminded him of Vermithor's eyes, a sight that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. 

As he lay on the ground, catching his breath, he couldn't shake the image of Aemon's transformed visage. It wasn't just the physical prowess that had overpowered him; it was something more primal, more draconic.

He couldn't deny the respect he felt for his nephew, a respect that now mingled with a sense of awe and trepidation. The young prince had tapped into something ancient, something that lay deep within the blood of the Targaryens. Daemon knew that whatever it was, it was both a gift and a curse, a power that could elevate Aemon to greatness or drag him into madness. Unfortunately, it seemed he would not be able to watch this with his own eyes.

With each step, Aemon's aura grew, and some onlookers felt cold seeing his smile. He raised the sword, about to strike down his uncle. Many nobles gasped and closed their eyes at the brutality of the scene.

Just as he was about to strike, a piercing scream filled with desperation echoed in his mind. 'Aemon!!' He recognized that voice, and he felt his head finally clear up. His hot, pounding heart grew cold. A sudden dread, worse than his worst nightmares, washed over him. His instincts screamed that something horrible was about to happen, and his sister needed him. He stopped his hand, surprising the crowd and Daemon on the ground. They watched as he dropped the sword, turned around, and started running frantically as if his life depended on it. He zoned out completely from the whispering, confused voices that echoed through the arena. Only one thought filled his mind: 'Rhaenyra!'

Aemon sprinted through the corridors of the keep, his mind a whirlwind of panic and fear. He could feel his sister's desperation as if it were his own. His boots pounded against the stone floors, each step echoing the urgency in his heart. He burst into the main hall and dashed up the stairs, not stopping for anything or anyone.

Finally, he reached his mother's chambers, which were strangely surrounded by fallen guards. He threw the door open and saw his father, Viserys, standing beside the door, his face ashen. When he looked in the direction of the bed, his entire world collapsed as he could only whimper one word, "M-mother?"