Aemon Targaryen (98 A.C. Tenth Moon)
Tower of the Hand
"So, Grandfather has announced your appointment to the realm," he asked his father in the study tower of the Hand.
"Yes, a tourney will be held on the first moon of the new year," his father replied, smiling at him. "How are your sisters, Aemon? Is Visenya still following you around?"
"She has, and together with Rhaenyra, they have been begging me for a ride with Balerion almost every day," he said with a chuckle.
"Please don't those girls sway Aemon or your mother, and good-sister will have your hide." His father noted with a chuckle.
"Yes, I know. Aemma and Muna have warned me repeatedly," he added with another chuckle.
"How is Arya, that little thing, is as quick with walking as you were when that age and quick of tong too." His father grinned.
"Arya also seemed to enjoy puppies, horses, and the godswood the most," Aemon added.
"Yes, she has an affinity for those things. Who knows, maybe in the future, a foster to maybe the Rywells or the Caswell's they do breed quite great horses." His father mused aloud. 'It wasn't a bad idea, although Arya would probably fit. The Rywell's better, considering they are more open to unladylike pursuits. His uncle Ned would have made the right if she had been fostered with the Mormonts.' Aemon mused to himself.
"Perhaps Kepa. Will see what Arya becomes." He added.
Then, his father gave a suspicious grin. "So, are you excited to see Laena again? I've heard she will join her mother and father for the celebration."
"I am, Father. Rhaenyra, Visenya, and I always enjoy it when Laenor and Laena come to the city. It will be nice to see them again, Kepa," he said, smiling at his father.
"Come, son. I've done enough work for today. Up for a flight?" His father asked.
"Yes, Kepa, I'm up for a flight," he replied childishly.
Soon, they arrived at the royal stables. "Your Graces," Martin began with a bow. "At ease, Martin, have Ash and Pebbels saddle. My son and I are going to the dragon pit." His father commanded.
"As you wish, your Grace." Martin bowed, and soon Ash, his black pony, and his father, grey mare Palfrey, were saddle.
As they rode through the city, he generously distributed coins to the common folk. The joy on their faces always warmed his heart.
He had even asked his mother to look into finding opportunities for some of them at Sea Dragon Point, where they might have a better future. King's Landing, especially Flea Bottom, was overcrowded, and he hoped to help those who wished for more.
Soon, the great Doom of dragonpit came into view.
"My princes, will you be flying today?" Tymon asked in High Valyrian. He almost didn't register the question, as the armor Tymon wore never failed to leave him in awe. The head dragonkeeper was in a position of great power and influence, and his armor reflected that well. The dragon-shaped helm, the scaled vest crafted from actual dragon scales, the black chainmail beneath it all, and the cape, made from shed dragonskin, only added to his imposing presence, making him look every bit a herder of dragons.
Yet, he had seen my father in his own armor, and the difference was stark. It was partly valyrian steel. It made me wonder again what had become of those relics. 'Dragon-scale and Valyrian armor, once prized beyond measure, was nowhere to be found in my past time. Had it been Baelor? Had the man destroyed such artifacts, just as he had burned books and cut down the weirwood in the godswood? Or did they burn with Aegon V at Summerhal. Even the dragon eggs didn't survive that fire.'
"Indeed, we will be." His father replied. The roar inside the dragonpit made the ground slightly rumble. He then felt his strong connection with Balerion. "Ah, my friend, are we flying again." His bonded asked.
"Yes, my friend," he responded mentally, feeling Balerion's approval of their bond.
"Mmm, it seems Balerion already senses you, my prince," Tymon murmured. "It's astonishing your connection with the Dread, my son. It never ceases to amaze me," his father added.
Soon, the ground shook as the massive black behemoth walked out of the dragon pit.
"Balerion," he exclaimed happily, running toward the massive dragon, stroking its head. One of the other dragon keepers remarked in Valyrian, "That boy is a dragon himself. Not even the history books speak of such a bond."
Then Balerion, as had done before, like a feather, lifted him on top of his back. "Thank you, Balerion." He said. The dragon rumbled in return. "You're welcome."
Soon, Vhagar emerged from the pit as well. Even atop Balerion, Vhagar was still massive. The great green-blue she-dragon was a massive creature measuring 100 meters in length.
"Let's fly, Kepa," He shouted to his father after he had climbed the ropes and saddled himself in Vhagar's saddle.
"Soves," he commanded. Balerion made a small run toward the edge of the landing area with a mighty clap of Balerion's wings. He jumped off the cliff, and they made a small dive before Balerion took him into the sky.
"Oh, I missed this, my friend," He said. Balerion purred like a cat, a contrast to their terrifying reputation. Even dragons could be affectionate, much like humans, especially when treated kindly.
"Me too, my friend," the old dragon rumbled. Vhagar and Balerion soared through the sky, and a third dragon soon appeared. It was the brown she-dragon belonging to his elder brother. All three dragons roared in happiness. "Sȳz mandia, Viserys," he shouted as he flew toward them. He saw Aemma smiling happily with her arms around Viserys for support.
"How is the flying." He asked as he came closer, and the dragon hovered in the same position.
"Quite good, Aemon. Look around," Viserys replied happily. As gestured with his hands.
The weather was perfect for a peaceful dragon ride, with no wind or clouds, just the sun, which made conversation easier, requiring no shouting. However, even the flapping of dragon wings could produce some noise if they wished to pick up speed.
"Indeed, what you say, we race toward Dragonstone. Come, Balerion," he shouted with a grin. The dragon obeyed, making their way to Dragonstone. They didn't take as long as they usually did; they only took about an hour or two at most. At high speed, they were flying.
He grinned as he saw that neither his brother nor his father weren't close behind him. Balerion landed on the Dragonstone beach near the Ceremonial gates. This beach always brought memories of the past forward. 'Dany would always be in his heart no matter how hard he tried to forget it.' The shrieks of Goynogar and Vhagar stopped his musing.
"Ah, Kepa, I would love to be here more. The castle feels more like home than Kings Landing," he said to his father. After he, Viserys, and Aemma had dismounted.
"Well, it is our ancestral home, Aemon," his father noted, ruffling his hair. "But yes, we and the dragons do seem more at home here."
"I agree, Father. This is where we belong," He added.
"Dragons made us rulers, my son, but they can also destroy us. My father always said that the only thing that can destroy the House of the Dragon is itself," his father told him, coming up behind him and placing his hands on his shoulders. 'You have no idea how right he was.' He thought.
"Only when we are united are we the most powerful family in the world. Not even all the gold in the world, or whatever may come, can stand against us when we are united. That's the key, something I've also told your brother." Baelon said, looking at Viserys. "Perhaps one day, or hopefully never, you will understand the truth of what I'm saying," Baelon added cryptically, casting a meaningful look at Aemon's elder brother.
"Do you understand, Aemon?" his father asked.
"Yes, Father. The dragons must stand united," he replied, showing a brave resolve. Little did he know that this unity would prove crucial in the future, as the world would descend into chaos in 200 years, with a terrible winter and the rise of the dead, and unity was nowhere to be found in the Seven Kingdoms. The memory sent a shiver down his spine.
"Is everything alright, Aemon? You seemed lost there for a moment," his father said, looking at him with concern.
"Everything is alright, Father. I was just lost in thought for a moment," he said, smiling at his father.
"Well, let's go. We need to return to King's Landing before darkness falls," his father said, and they mounted their dragons and took off into the sky, with the setting sun casting a wondrous glow on the world below.
Aemon Targaryen (99 A.C. first moon)
Tourney Grounds
"Come on, Vis and Nyra." He said as he took both their hands and led them to the tourney stands. Harold chuckled at him as he let them both. Currently, the lower joust was being held, and he wanted to see if there were any new knights. Ser Ducan the Tall was supposed to start in one of those to gain his renown.
Visenya and Rhaenyra might still be four, almost five. They enjoy spending time with him, and part of him hoped Laena and Laenor were also there.
Soon, they were in the stands and walked down toward the lower seats. "Aemon! Vis, Nyra!" a voice called out. He looked toward the familiar voice. Laena was there too, her amethyst eyes shining brightly with delight.
"Laena!" He called out as he hugged her. "I hoped you would be here too. I don't see Gyawne or Alicent." Orys noted as he looked around.
"No, they are with father and uncle. I went to ask if they could come, but Otto forbid it, as he said they would spend time with their kin." Laena replied sadly.
"Alright, a pity. Did we mis any joust?" He asked. "Yes, although it was a quick one. Hmm, it was a Ser Gerbolt Crackhall vs Ser Hullen Piper. Ser Gerbolt unhorsed Ser Hullen in the second bout." Laena replied. "Mmm, okay then." He added as they all took their seats.
He deliberately went to sit beside Laena, and she smiled as he did. Visenya and Rhaenyra sat to his left side, giggling excitedly to watch the joust.
Then, the herald stepped forward and raised his voice for all to hear. "Now we see a contest between two knights of the same land. Ser Desmond Caron, a well-regarded jouster known throughout the realm, shall face Ser Corin Swann, a newcomer to the lists and nephew to Lord Galwin Swann. Let us see who shall carry the day. Riders, take your positions."
The knights bowed toward the stands, acknowledging the presence of the royal family. Though much of the royal stand remained empty, only them and the queen and her ladies-in-waiting were there. He knew his father and grandfather were occupied, entertaining Lord Boremund, who was presently engaged in a discussion on trade and the potential for tax cuts on certain goods leaving the Stormlands. If he recalled his mother's words correctly, Viserys and Daemon were absent, their whereabouts unknown. His mother, however, was speaking with Lords Glover and Forrester about the construction efforts at Sea Dragon Point.
Then, jousters took their places at opposite ends of the field. Ser Desmond rode a sturdy brown destrier, his cloak a bright yellow spotted with nightingales. Ser Corin's white charger gleamed in the afternoon sun, his black-and-white swan sigil displayed proudly upon his surcoat.
The trumpet sounded, and the riders spurred their mounts forward, thundering across the field. They met in the center, both striking their opponent's shield. Splinters flew as their lances cracked, yet neither man was unhorsed.
As the crowd murmured in approval, he felt a small hand slip into his own. It was Laena. A warmth rose to his cheeks, though when he stole a glance at her, he saw the faintest blush upon her face as well.
The second pass saw Ser Corin miss his mark while Ser Desmond's blow landed true. Yet the younger knight kept his seat, refusing to fall.
Both knights struck hard and clean on the third pass, yet neither was unhorsed.
Then came the fourth tilt. Ser Desmond shifted his weight slightly, just enough to throw off his opponent's aim. Ser Corin's lance missed its mark, and an instant later, Ser Desmond's strike landed solidly against his chest. The force of the blow sent Ser Corin tumbling from the saddle, crashing into the dirt below.
"The winner of this fine joust, Ser Desmond Caron!" the herald declared. "Yet let none say the newcomer has shamed himself. Ser Corin Swann rode well, and I daresay he shall find victories of his own in the days to come."
The crowd cheered, and Ser Desmond raised his lance in salute. Ser Corin, now standing, dusted himself off and bowed to his opponent before making his way from the field, his head held high.
The end of the tourney will be a few days later.
The tourney had been a splendid affair. He wanted to participate but found great joy in watching it alongside Rhaenyra, Visenya, Laena, Laenor, Gywane, and Alicent. The last two had been able to come on the second day of the tournament.
They watched excitedly as the tournament's final joust began and featured his father facing off against Ser Raym Redwyne, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
"Father looks amazing, doesn't he?" he exclaimed, and his mother looked at him with a wide smile and nodded. As she held Arya in her arms, her eyes wide in excitement. 'She likely recalled the two previous occasions when she had been crowned Queen of love and beauty. He hoped that he would witness his father's triumph. As he thought about it, he cast a knowing look at Laena,' the thought of crowning his wife bringing a smile to his face.
'She is even now at a young age. Laena was a pure Valyrian beauty with silver hair, amethyst eyes, and milky skin. She also bore a striking resemblance to her mother. Rhaenys also possessed Valyrian beauty, save for her Baratheon black hair, yet both Laenor and Laena inherited their father's hair.' His musings were interrupted by the herald's announcement.
"Here comes Prince Baelon Targaryen, the Hand of the King, Crown Prince, and Prince of Dragonstone! He rides in the final joust against Ser Raym Redwyne, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!"
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause as spectators rose from their seats in excitement. The two riders guided their steeds to the center of the field, offering respectful bows to the stands. Even the Crown Prince inclined his head to the King of the Seven Kingdoms. His father responded with a bright smile before lowering his visor. With that, the riders turned and rode toward their starting positions.
Clad in armor, Aemon thought his father looked as formidable as ever. His breastplate, forged from Valyrian steel as black as night, bore the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The sigil was adorned with gleaming red rubies that shimmered like fresh blood in the firelight, a relic of forgotten Valyrian craftsmanship. In his previous post, the breastplate had once been passed down to Daemon along with Dark Sister but was lost with Daemon's body during the Battle of at the God's Eye.
Though the rest of his armor was hardened steel, it was no less impressive. His pauldrons, shaped like dragon wings, swept outward with sharp spikes, lending him a fearsome presence. His gauntlets and greaves were etched with intricate scaled patterns and Valyrian glyphs, each detail a testament to the smith's skill. His greathelm, designed in the snarling visage of a dragon, was crowned with fierce horns while ridged spikes trailed down its back.
The black-scaled faulds, greaves, and sabatons added to the armor's imposing effect, while golden-inlaid poleyns provided a final touch of elegance.
Yet, the blare of trumps stopped his wonderings as the joust commenced.
Both riders spurred their horses into a gallop, thundering across the field. The first impact was resounding, each man's lance striking the other's shield to the roar of the crowd. The second pass came swiftly; Ser Raym's lance hit its mark more precisely this time, but Baelon adjusted, regaining the upper hand by the third round. They remained evenly matched through the fourth and fifth tilts. Then came the final charge.
The sixth and decisive pass.
Baelon's lance struck true, sending Ser Raym crashing to the ground. A hush fell over the crowd for a heartbeat before a deafening cheer erupted across the stands. With practiced ease, Baelon swiftly dismounted, striding toward the fallen knight. He extended a hand, helping the older man to his feet. The two warriors clasped forearms in mutual respect, and the crowd's cheers grew even louder at the display of camaraderie.
Baelon then mounted his horse once more and rode toward the royal box, just as Aemon had hoped.
"My lady wife, I would crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty," Baelon declared, his voice rich with affection as he placed a wreath of blue winter roses in her lap. His father had arranged for the flowers to be brought from the North by his brother-in-law, Benjen Stark, knowing they were her favorite. Aemon's heart swelled with pride as he watched his father honor his mother with this tender gesture.
"Well done, Father!" He called out, jumping down from the stand and rushing toward him.
His father laughed, dismounted from his horse, reaching down to ruffle Aemon's hair before Viserys stepped forward in the stands with a knowing grin.
"Indeed, Father, an excellent choice for the Queen of Love and Beauty," Viserys said. "And for your victory, I have a surprise for you." He paused for effect before continuing, his voice brimming with excitement. "Aemma is with child again. I hope to make you a proud grandfather once more."
His father's face lit up with joy. "That is wonderful news, my son! May the gods bless you and Aemma with a healthy babe."
Aemon watched as everyone gathered in celebration. Even Daemon hadn't caused problems after making the journey for the tourney, standing alongside them in rare unity. Everything was as it should be. The realm was at peace, and his father was Hand the King almost two years early. 'Let the rest come.' He thought confidently.
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