Chapter 4.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, 101 AC.

Labored breathing echoed through the courtyard, and a silvery shadow could be seen running rapidly, deftly avoiding the carefully arranged obstacles on the ground.

It was clear that whoever had set this course was an expert in the craft, someone who knew how to train the body's reflexes to their limits.

Aemon's steps were light, and it was evident that this was not his first time performing this kind of exercise.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a fast object cutting through the air and something heavy hit the ground.

Nimbly moving his head to the side to avoid another one, he felt a breeze pass in the direction his head had been moments ago

Following the trajectory of the thrown object, he spotted a small figure standing beneath a tree. His sister, Rhaenyra, stood there with a pile of rocks beside her.

She was wearing the closest thing to sports clothes they could find in this period—a pair of custom-made shirts and black trousers. Although they seemed simple, it was evident they were crafted from the finest materials, offering both extreme durability and comfort. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and each time the wind passed, Aemon could see her silky silvery locks dancing in the air, creating a stunning visage.

He was momentarily distracted by it.

And that distraction cost him; another flying rock came right at him. This time, he couldn't dodge, and the rock smacked his head with enough force to hurt like hell, though it wouldn't leave any permanent damage.

Scratching his head in pain, Aemon asked with a deadpan expression, "Is this really necessary?"

Rhaenyra, cleaning her hands, responded, "It's part of your training, Aemon. You have to train your spatial awareness. What if you were in a sword fight and suddenly an arrow came at you? I know a family member of ours who would've appreciated that same level of awareness..." She mercilessly crushed any arguments he might have had, even mocking him by mentioning their granduncle Aemon, who had died from a stray arrow years ago.

He sighed in defeat and got back to his training.

Rhaenyra nodded with satisfaction. Aemon had the right attitude when it came to matters of physical prowess. He knew he needed to train as hard as he could to better protect himself and those he loved.

Fortunately, Rhaenyra had plenty of experience on the matter. In her past life as Aqua, after losing everything, she had embarked on a journey of self-harm and vengeance through relentless training. She trained so much that her body collapsed multiple times, and she lost count of how many bones she broke fighting strangers to hone her skills.

She even got in contact with assassins and hitmen, using them as practice targets and almost losing her life in the process countless times. The only reason she died in her past life was because she let rage blind her, leading to a fatal distraction that allowed Hikaru to wound her mortally.

She was perhaps, at least in theory, one of the top experts in the realm on the subjects of hand-to-hand combat and muscle training. Of course, this didn't mean she could defeat them in a fight, especially now that her body had biological disadvantages in terms of strength. But her theoretical knowledge encompassed years of technological development from her former world, placing her light-years ahead of what Westeros currently understood. They didn't even know what 'protein' was, nor how to maximize muscle results without causing permanent damage.

She had devised training regimens for both herself and Aemon. As they were still growing and developing physically, she focused more on their reflexes and flexibility, and she also imparted some of her knowledge of mixed martial arts to him. While this knowledge wouldn't be immediately useful, she was certain it would make a significant difference in the years to come.

Although people of this era began training as children, their methods were rudimentary at best, especially in the areas she was teaching Aemon. 

Not to forget, in her first life, she had been a doctor. Aemon was, therefore, in the best hands when it came to ensuring his development without leaving any hidden injuries that could affect his future.

With her medical expertise, she meticulously monitored their training, ensuring every exercise was executed with precision. She knew how to push their limits without causing harm, how to strengthen their bodies while avoiding the pitfalls of overexertion.

His muscles would be built with the understanding of anatomy and physiology far beyond the grasp of any maester in Westeros.

She balanced their diet with an awareness of nutrition unknown to this world, compensating the lack of essential nutrients.

Together, they trained under the watchful eye of a sister who was both a fighter and a healer, ensuring that both her and especially Aemon would grow into a formidable force—strong, agile, and unbroken.

Swordsmanship and weapon training, on the other hand, were far more advanced than in her previous world. Perhaps because humans here were physically stronger or had to contend with supernatural creatures, they had developed remarkable proficiency with cold weapons.

She and Aemon had already started observing some of the knights in their family's service to determine which would be the best for training them. As a princess, she would have to convince her parents to let her take up arms when the time came, but she wasn't overly concerned. She wasn't the first Targaryen princess to take up swordsmanship; their ancestor Visenya was known as one of the finest swords of her time, even besting her brother Aegon with her legendary sword, Dark Sister.

'I have to get my hands on that sword somehow,' she mused silently, plotting ways to have the sword, currently in the possession of their Uncle Daemon, transferred to her in the future.

Aemon was most definitely getting Blackfyre, so she had to secure Dark Sister no matter what.

Soon, the sound of footsteps interrupted their training. A servant followed by a knight was approaching them.

Aemon stopped in his tracks and walked to Rhaenyra's side, awaiting their uninvited guests. Rhaenyra used a towel she had prepared to carefully clean his face and hair, a sign of affection and care she had come to develop unconsciously, and offered him a cup of water so that he could speak more comfortably if needed.

"Thanks," he said with a smile, already used to his sister's timely care and assistance.

She just smiled back in response, and soon their new company arrived.

The knight gave them a slight bow and said directly, "The king summons both of your presences to dine with him in an hour's time."

Rhaenyra and Aemon exchanged glances, silently communicating with their eyes.

'What does the king want with us now?' they seemed to ask each other without words.

Aemon took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, while Rhaenyra's mind raced with possibilities. Without a word, they both knew it was time to prepare for whatever awaited them in the king's court.

~~O~~

Jaehaerys I, 101 AC.

The king sat on his chair with a pensive face. He stared at the room, lost in memories of the past.

His journey, which some considered legendary, had been tiring and fraught with perils. He had lost many things along the way, including many loved ones. Even after the worst of it, when he finally ascended to the throne, his life remained full of pain. Almost every one of his children was dead now, and there is no greater pain for a parent than to see his children die before him. Once, he had his sister-wife to share his grief, but now she was gone, and his life had lost its meaning. 

Multiple times he had thought of ending it all, just drinking some poison to end his suffering, but he couldn't. He just couldn't. Perhaps it was because of old age, or perhaps he was losing his mind, but every time he touched the bottle of poison he kept in his chambers, he saw the ghosts of his family looking at him. His children gazed at him with pain in their eyes, his brothers, especially Aegon, looked disappointed in him, and most importantly, his wife Alyssane looked at him with a disheartened expression, as if she were let down by his actions.

He would always quickly give up and cry silently at night, clutching his wedding ring and repeatedly asking for forgiveness.

He had to live—he just had to. If not for himself, then for his lost loved ones, and for the realm.

The only thing in recent years that had caught his attention was his peculiar great-grandchildren, Aemon and Rhaenyra. The pair of twins were already famous throughout the realm for some of their exploits.

At the tender age of four, both had shown incredible intellectual prowess and were already fluent in Valyrian, a feat that had eluded even him at their age. He had heard tales of their thirst for knowledge, as the twins were almost always in the library or carrying books, discussing various topics with vigor. Even their parents couldn't quite comprehend how they had given birth to such a pair of geniuses seemingly out of nowhere.

He also heard from a trusted source he had tasked with gathering information about them that the twins maintained a very peculiar schedule, filled with uniquely devised training routines and a strict diet. Even here in Harrenhal, they had specifically ordered their meals to be prepared in a particular way and delivered at precise times.

'Such odd children...' he thought as he awaited their arrival, a bit eager to witness the pair and judge them for himself.

He didn't have to wait long, as soon they arrived.

His heart lightened the moment he laid eyes on the pair, especially Aemon.

Perhaps it was because of old age, or perhaps he was just projecting his desires onto them, but Aemon was almost exactly like his son Aemon had been. Even their eyes looked the same in his memories. Although he had loved all his sons equally, it was Aemon's death that had pained him the most. Not just as a parent, but as a king. Aemon had been everything he could have asked for in an heir. He was smart but powerful, cunning but kind, serious but charming. The day Aemon died felt like a sword stabbing his heart, and he had almost gone insane with grief. It was only his sister-wife, Alyssane, who had brought him back to his feet. Holding back her tears, she had said, "We may have lost Aemon, but we still have to be there for our other children, my love."

Jaehaerys gazed at Aemon and Rhaenyra, a hint of a smile touching his lips. The sight of them stirred both painful memories and a glimmer of hope. He saw in them the future of his lineage and perhaps the redemption of the past's sorrows.

Soon, the twins bowed before him, Rhaenyra stepping forward as the lead.

"We present ourselves to you, Your Grace. I am Rhaenyra, and this is my twin brother, Aemon." Her voice was serene and steady, a small smile playing upon her lips, devoid of any hint of fear or nervousness.

Jaehaerys's gaze shifted to Rhaenyra, and his eyes grew misty for a moment, lost in the memories of better times.

"Jae, can you pass me the ink, please?" Alysanne had asked, her attention fixed on the book in her hand as she took notes with the other. She wore a white dress that almost blended with her pale skin, her violet eyes shining faintly with the sunlight reflected off the pages. Jaehaerys just stared at her across the table, spellbound by her beauty.

Alysanne looked up, her piercing gaze meeting his after receiving no response for too long. His heart skipped a beat, her melodic voice mingling with his memories, as he heard both her and Rhaenyra's voices ask with a hint of worry, "Is everything alright, Jae/Your Grace?"

He shook his head, dispelling the memories and focusing himself in the present.

He smiled fondly at the twins, a rare sight that would astonish many across the realm, for it was well known that the king had not smiled since the queen's death.

"It's alright, my dear. Forgive this old man's moment of distraction. Please, sit down," he said, his tone not of a king but of a kindly grandfather.

This unexpected warmth shocked the twins, who had not anticipated such a welcome from the old king, who had scarcely acknowledged them before.

The twins shared a quick look of confusion, a silent exchange that did not escape the king's notice. Yet, he chose to overlook it, chuckling softly at their innocent bewilderment.

'Perhaps death can wait a little while,' he mused to himself, a rare spark of warmth flickering in his heart.