**A Few Months Later - The Red Keep, Prince Aemon's Private Chambers**
Prince Aemon Targaryen—now twenty-one months old chronologically, ancient and calculating mentally, and built like someone had asked a master sculptor to carve the theoretical concept of "intimidating competence" from marble and then given it life, personality, and the ability to reach exactly three feet and two inches without assistance—stood at his chamber window with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for generals planning the conquest of continents.
The morning sun painted King's Landing in shades of gold that reminded him uncomfortably of melted crowns, forgotten promises, and the sort of political opportunities that required both delicate handling and overwhelming force applied with surgical precision. His reflection in the polished glass showed features that had settled into something approaching their final magnificent form—strong jaw, piercing golden eyes, and the sort of natural authority that made people want to either follow him into battle or immediately surrender before things got complicated.
The storm season had passed, leaving behind crisp autumn air that made dragons restless, princes contemplative, and political situations significantly more volatile. In the months since his legendary gacha event, Aemon had thrown himself into what Hestia diplomatically called "aggressive self-optimization through strategic mission completion" and what he privately thought of as "becoming worthy of the cosmic investment in my success while avoiding accidentally terrifying anyone into calling for septons."
"Status review, if you please," Aemon said aloud, his voice carrying the rich baritone authority of someone who'd grown into his enhanced capabilities like a perfectly weighted weapon settling into a master swordsman's grip. Even at twenty-one months, he spoke with the kind of natural command presence that made hardened knights automatically stand straighter and career politicians mentally update their assessment of potential threats.
Pyrion, currently perched on the windowsill like the world's most dangerous ornament, turned his magnificent head with the sort of fluid grace that suggested he'd been personally designed by cosmic forces with excellent taste in apocalyptic weaponry. The dragon had grown considerably—now the size of a large housecat, but a housecat forged from living shadow and barely contained violence, with scales that seemed to absorb light and eyes that burned with the accumulated wisdom of ancient civilizations and modern tactical doctrine.
*The morning light suits you, my dear companion,* Pyrion observed through their enhanced mental link, his mental voice carrying the sort of cultured precision that could make discussing grocery lists sound like matters of international significance. *You appear increasingly formidable, though I detect undertones of strategic contemplation that suggest either impending brilliance or catastrophic overreach. Possibly both, knowing your particular methodology.*
*I prefer 'comprehensive planning with flexible implementation protocols,'* Aemon replied, settling into his specially designed chair with the unconscious grace of someone whose physical enhancement had reached the point where even basic movements looked like choreographed demonstrations of ideal human capability.
"Recent mission highlights," announced Hestia, materializing in her usual spot with the casual authority of someone who'd appointed herself head of intelligence operations and had very strong opinions about proper documentation. She appeared as a shimmering presence that somehow managed to suggest both divine wisdom and the sort of cheerful confusion that made complex philosophical concepts sound like observations about the weather.
"You know," Hestia continued thoughtfully, settling into the cosmic space she'd claimed as her own, "I've been thinking about thinking, and I realized that thoughts are just ideas that got tired of being quiet. Like how silence is just sound having a rest, except more... thinky."
Aemon paused in his morning routine to consider this observation with the gravity of someone who'd learned that Hestia's seemingly nonsensical comments often contained layers of unexpected insight. "That's... surprisingly accurate, actually. Most people's thoughts do seem to be ideas that couldn't stay properly organized in their minds."
"Exactly! Like how books are just words that decided to live together in groups, but thoughts are more independent. They come and go as they please, like cats, but made of concepts instead of fur and attitude."
*Your cosmic advisor's relationship with conventional logic continues to fascinate me,* Pyrion observed with the sort of aristocratic amusement usually reserved for watching particularly entertaining theatrical performances. *She approaches wisdom through a methodology that can only be described as 'aggressively unconventional,' yet consistently arrives at conclusions that prove surprisingly astute.*
"She's like a compass that points to truth, but takes the scenic route through several different dimensions of possibility," Aemon agreed fondly.
---
**[CURRENT STATUS - PRINCE AEMON TARGARYEN]**
**Age:** 21 months, 14 days, 8 hours, 23 minutes
**Physical Development:** "Concerningly Magnificent" (Enhanced to theoretical peak human capability for chronological age)
**Height:** 3'2" (Tall for age, but within parameters that don't require divine intervention to explain)
**Weight:** 38 lbs (All muscle, bone density, and concentrated authority)
**Appearance Rating:** "Could Launch Fleets and Negotiate Peace Treaties Simultaneously"
**Mental Status:** Dangerously Brilliant with Strategic Moments of Crushing Responsibility
**Political Influence:** Minimal but Radioactively Effective
**Cuteness Factor:** Weaponized (Tactical deployment available on command)
**Character Assimilations:**
- **Geralt of Rivia:** 22% (Enhanced senses capable of detecting lies at fifty paces, supernatural awareness of threats, immunity to toxins including political manipulation)
- **Edward Elric:** 21% (Advanced alchemical mastery, molecular manipulation with artistic flair, equivalent exchange understanding that extends to political bargaining)
- **Tyrion Lannister:** 59% (Political genius that borders on precognitive, strategic cunning that makes chess masters weep with inadequacy, wit sharp enough to be classified as a weapon)
**Available Stored Assimilations:** 7 legendary options awaiting slot availability
*(Including Superman, Batman, Iron Man, Captain America, and three others that would fundamentally alter the political landscape of Westeros)*
**Dragon Bond:** Pyrion - Partnership Level: "Legendary Symbiosis Approaching Mythic Unity"
*Current Pyrion Status: Tactical nuclear weapon with wings, conversational skills, and loyalty levels that approach religious devotion*
**Gacha Currency:** 3,247 Points (Accumulated through comprehensive optimization of daily existence)
**Daily Missions Completed:** 127 consecutive days without failure
**Major Achievements:** 23 (Including "The Optimizer," "Baby Machiavelli," "Definitely Not Normal," and "Probably Blessed by Multiple Gods Simultaneously")
**Current Threat Assessment:** "Adorable but Potentially Kingdom-Restructuring"
**Likelihood of Accidental World Domination:** Moderate to High
**Probability of Doing It Politely:** Near Certainty
---
The months had been spectacularly productive in ways that would have impressed efficiency experts and alarmed political philosophers in equal measure. Daily missions had evolved from simple objectives into a carefully orchestrated symphony of demonstrated competence that pushed boundaries without crossing into "obviously supernatural baby who probably shouldn't exist" territory.
His reputation within the Red Keep had undergone what could politely be termed "comprehensive evolution"—from "remarkably clever infant" to "genuine prodigy who makes seasoned politicians question their life choices" to his current status as "the prince who somehow makes everyone's problems slightly less problematic just by existing in the same room."
"The small clever one continues his relentless campaign of optimization," Pyrion observed, his mental voice carrying undertones of pride, amusement, and the sort of philosophical satisfaction that came from watching a perfectly executed long-term strategy unfold according to plan. "Though I note that his expressions have acquired additional layers of complexity that suggest either increased wisdom or an increasingly sophisticated understanding of how to manipulate reality through the strategic application of enhanced adorability."
*Both, obviously,* Aemon replied with the sort of casual confidence that could make mountains move out of politeness. *Why limit myself to one approach when I can optimize multiple methodologies simultaneously?*
"Right then," Hestia announced with characteristic efficiency, "let's review your greatest hits, shall we? Like a parade, but for achievements instead of horses, and with more actual accomplishment and less people standing around wondering why they're watching other people walk in circles."
---
## Recent Achievement Highlights: The Chronicles of Strategic Baby Genius
### Mission: "The Young Sage" (1,200 Points)
*Successfully provide political advice that prevents three separate minor crises while maintaining plausible baby cover*
"Remember the Tyrell trade situation?" Aemon said with the satisfied tone of someone reviewing a particularly elegant victory against institutional stupidity. "Lord Tyrell was about to commit economic suicide by agreeing to a trade deal so catastrophically unfavorable it bordered on performance art."
The situation had required delicate handling. During a formal dinner where the proposed Braavosi trade agreement was being discussed, young Prince Aemon had simply looked up from his specially prepared meal and asked, in his most innocently curious voice, "Papa, why would anyone pay twice the price for grain when Uncle Daemon told me yesterday that the Dornish are selling the same grain for half as much?"
The silence that followed could have been used to preserve meat for winter storage.
"The Braavosi delegate's face went through approximately seventeen different expressions," Aemon recalled with lingering amusement, "starting with condescending dismissal and ending with what could only be described as existential horror at the realization that his carefully constructed swindle had just been exposed by someone who still needed assistance cutting his food."
"That wasn't even the best part," Hestia added cheerfully. "The best part was when Lord Tyrell started frantically calculating actual numbers and discovered that accepting the Braavosi terms would have cost the crown more gold than most kingdoms see in a decade. Like finding out you've been buying water from someone who was just filling bottles from the rain, except with more international implications and less actual water."
"I prefer to think of it as applied mathematical diplomacy," Aemon said with the sort of modesty that wasn't fooling anyone. "Knowledge is power, power properly applied becomes influence, and influence skillfully wielded becomes the ability to prevent catastrophic stupidity before it metastasizes into royal policy."
*Your talent for asking precisely the right question at exactly the right moment continues to develop in fascinating directions,* Pyrion noted with aristocratic approval. *It's as if you possess an instinctive understanding of which conversational threads, when pulled, will unravel entire tapestries of political incompetence.*
"It's all about timing and presentation," Aemon replied, flexing his fingers in a way that made his enhanced physical development subtly apparent. "The same information delivered by an adult advisor would be seen as criticism. Coming from an adorable baby prince, it's just innocent curiosity that happens to expose fundamental flaws in strategic thinking."
### Mission: "Dragon Whisperer" (800 Points)
*Successfully calm and redirect three adult dragons using enhanced authority without causing political incidents*
The incident at the Dragonpit had been educational in ways that still made Aemon smile with satisfaction. Princess Rhaenys had brought her young great-nephew to meet Meleys, expecting a pleasant introduction between royal child and royal dragon that would make for charming stories and family bonding.
Instead, she'd gotten a demonstration of why Aemon's Dragon Lord Authority was approaching legendary status.
"The Red Queen took one look at me and practically genuflected," Aemon recalled, his voice carrying the sort of quiet pride that came from having one of the most dangerous creatures in existence acknowledge his superiority without question. "A dragon older than most kingdoms, with enough accumulated attitude to power small wars, looking at me like I was Aegon the Conqueror's personal representative."
Meleys had actually lowered her massive head in a gesture of respect so profound that the dragonkeepers had spent an hour afterward trying to understand what had happened. Ancient dragons didn't bow to anyone, especially not to babies who couldn't even reach their own saddle straps.
"I told them I'd asked nicely," Aemon continued with the sort of innocent expression that could fool anyone who wasn't specifically looking for signs of supernatural competence. "Which was technically accurate. I did ask nicely. I just asked in High Valyrian, with the proper inflections for addressing subordinate dragons in the ancient ceremonial manner, while radiating enough Dragon Lord Authority to make it clear that cooperation was expected rather than requested."
"That sounds very polite," Hestia observed brightly. "Like asking someone to pass the salt, except the salt is a giant fire-breathing creature that could level cities, and instead of passing it, you're asking it to acknowledge your inherent superiority as a member of the blood of Old Valyria. Much more complicated than regular salt-passing."
*The great dragons recognize strength when they encounter it,* Pyrion said with the satisfaction of someone whose rider had just demonstrated capabilities that elevated both their statuses considerably. *You carry yourself with the presence of one who could command the descendants of Balerion himself, should the need arise. Which, given your ongoing optimization projects, may indeed prove necessary.*
"The political implications alone are staggering," Aemon mused, his enhanced intelligence already calculating the various ways that having every dragon in the Red Keep acknowledge his authority could be leveraged into strategic advantages. "When the time comes for more... comprehensive negotiations, having the enthusiastic support of flying tactical nuclear weapons will significantly improve my bargaining position."
### Mission: "The Baby Economic Advisor" (950 Points)
*Implement disguised economic reforms that increase crown revenue by 15% while appearing to be innocent observations about mathematics*
"My suggestions about 'making the numbers prettier' revolutionized the entire royal taxation system," Aemon noted with particular pride, settling back in his chair with the satisfied expression of someone who'd just optimized an entire kingdom's fiscal policy during what everyone else thought was naptime.
The reforms had been masterpieces of disguised competence. During a Small Council meeting that Aemon had been allowed to observe (because who could object to an adorable baby prince sitting quietly in the corner?), he'd simply pointed at the taxation charts and asked why the numbers were so "messy and hard to understand."
"Wouldn't it be prettier if all the numbers made sense?" he'd asked with the sort of wide-eyed curiosity that made adults want to explain things in ways that demonstrated their own intelligence and helpfulness.
The resulting "simplification" efforts had actually implemented sophisticated economic theory that wouldn't be formally developed for several centuries. Tax collection became more efficient through streamlined processes that eliminated redundancy and corruption. Revenue tracking became more accurate through improved record-keeping that made creative accounting considerably more difficult. Resource allocation became more optimal through mathematical models disguised as "making sure everyone gets their fair share."
"You convinced the entire Small Council that comprehensive economic optimization was just good housekeeping," Hestia said with the sort of admiration usually reserved for particularly impressive magic tricks. "Like organizing your sock drawer, except the socks were taxation policies and the drawer was the entire kingdom's financial structure."
"I prefer to think of it as applied mathematical aesthetics with practical fiscal applications," Aemon replied with the sort of modest dignity that couldn't quite hide his satisfaction at having improved the kingdom's economic efficiency by double digits while everyone thought he was just making helpful suggestions about arithmetic.
*Your ability to frame revolutionary changes as minor improvements continues to impress me,* Pyrion observed with aristocratic amusement. *You approach political transformation with the delicacy of a master surgeon and the ambition of a conqueror, yet somehow make it appear as though you're merely offering helpful advice about proper organization.*
"The key is presentation and expectation management," Aemon explained, unconsciously demonstrating his enhanced physical coordination by spinning a gold coin across his knuckles with casual precision. "Adults expect children to ask simple questions about complex topics. They don't expect those questions to expose fundamental flaws in their methodology or lead to comprehensive systemic improvements."
### Mission: "Future Sight" (1,100 Points)
*Successfully predict and prepare for political developments without revealing anachronistic knowledge*
The crisis involving House Velaryon's shipping routes had been prevented before it became a crisis, thanks to Aemon's "remarkably prescient" observations about seasonal trade patterns, weather forecasting, and what he'd innocently described as "curious coincidences" in cargo manifests.
"Amazing how a baby's innocent questions about why certain ships seem to have problems only when carrying specific types of cargo can expose entire smuggling operations," Aemon mused, his enhanced senses automatically cataloging every detail of his surroundings while his conscious mind focused on the satisfaction of having prevented a political incident that could have destabilized trade relationships across the Narrow Sea.
The solution had required subtle maneuvering. Rather than directly accusing anyone of smuggling, Aemon had simply expressed curiosity about maritime logistics during a family dinner, asking questions that led his father to investigate shipping patterns more thoroughly. The discovery of systematic cargo diversions and creative manifest management had been presented as the result of improved oversight rather than targeted investigation based on supernatural foreknowledge.
"You essentially conducted a counter-intelligence operation using nothing but strategic curiosity and enhanced adorability," Hestia observed with genuine appreciation. "Like being a spy, except instead of sneaking around in shadows, you just asked really good questions while looking impossibly cute and everyone wanted to help you understand things."
*Your talent for asking precisely the right questions at exactly the right moment suggests either remarkable intuition or comprehensive advance intelligence,* Pyrion noted with the sort of aristocratic precision that made even casual observations sound like matters of international significance. *Either possibility is appropriately impressive for someone of your demonstrated capabilities.*
"Information gathering through enhanced social engineering," Aemon agreed, his golden eyes reflecting the morning light with the intensity of someone who'd learned to treat every conversation as a potential source of strategic intelligence. "People love explaining things to curious children, especially when those children ask questions that make the adults feel clever for knowing the answers."
---
But beneath all the achievement and optimization, a darker awareness gnawed at Aemon's consciousness with the persistence of a toothache and the weight of pending tragedy. His enhanced memory, combined with his comprehensive knowledge of future events, had created an increasingly urgent problem that all his accumulated wisdom, enhanced cunning, and political genius couldn't quite solve through conventional means.
Gael.
Princess Gael, currently seventeen years old and already showing the signs of melancholy that would eventually consume her like a slow-burning fire. Sweet, gentle, trusting Gael, who possessed the sort of innocent kindness that made hardened knights want to compose poetry and whose laughter could make even the most cynical courtiers remember what hope felt like.
According to the books—and his increasingly detailed understanding of historical timelines and their catastrophic implications—she was walking toward a tragedy that would break Queen Alysanne's heart and hasten the end of one of the greatest reigns in Targaryen history.
*The small sad princess grows more fragile daily,* Pyrion observed through their mental link, his thoughts carrying overtones of genuine concern mixed with the sort of strategic calculation that came from having a rider who thought in terms of kingdoms rather than individuals. *Her emotional patterns suggest someone preparing for catastrophically poor decision-making, though I suspect she remains unaware of the trajectory of her current psychological state.*
*I know,* Aemon replied grimly, his enhanced features settling into lines of determination that would have been intimidating on someone who could reach doorknobs without assistance. *And I know exactly what's going to happen if I don't intervene. The question is whether intervention will create worse problems than the original tragedy.*
According to the historical record—which his enhanced memory could access with perfect clarity—sometime in the next few months, a traveling bard would arrive at court. This bard would possess enough skill to gain audiences with members of the royal family, enough charm to seem trustworthy, and enough calculated manipulation to identify Princess Gael as a target worth pursuing.
He would seduce her. She would become pregnant. King Jaehaerys, discovering the situation, would force her to drink moon tea to end the pregnancy—but she would be too far along in her term, resulting in a stillborn child that would destroy what remained of her emotional stability. The guilt, shame, and grief would overwhelm her, and she would walk into Blackwater Bay to end her suffering.
Queen Alysanne, heartbroken by the loss of her youngest and most beloved daughter, would never recover from the tragedy. The Good Queen, whose wisdom and strength had helped guide the realm through decades of prosperity and peace, would die within months, her spirit broken by preventable loss.
Two deaths. Two unnecessary, preventable, catastrophic deaths that would ripple through history, weakening the Targaryen dynasty at precisely the moment when it needed to be strongest for the challenges ahead.
"I could prevent it," Aemon said aloud, his voice carrying the weight of someone contemplating interventions with kingdom-altering implications. "With Tyrion's enhanced political cunning at eighty-nine percent integration, I can see exactly how to manage this situation. Multiple approaches, contingency plans, fail-safes to ensure success without creating worse problems."
He turned from the window, his enhanced features set in lines of grim determination that somehow managed to look both adorable and vaguely terrifying. At twenty-one months old, he possessed the sort of presence that made people automatically assume he was older, more capable, and significantly more dangerous than anyone his size had any right to be.
"The bard hasn't arrived yet. The seduction hasn't begun. Gael is still innocent, still trusting, still saveable. I have time to implement a comprehensive solution that protects her without revealing the extent of my capabilities or knowledge."
"But changing things is complicated," Hestia observed with the sort of philosophical gravity that could make discussions about weather patterns sound like matters of cosmic significance. "Like when you move furniture and then everything else looks wrong, except instead of furniture, it's history, and instead of looking wrong, it creates different problems that might be worse than the original problems."
"Exactly," Aemon agreed, beginning to pace with the focused intensity of someone planning either a rescue operation or comprehensive regime optimization. Possibly both. "The butterfly effect applied to royal succession could create problems I can't fully anticipate. But..."
His enhanced political intuition, sharpened by months of Tyrion's accumulated wisdom and strategic cunning, showed him the threads of possibility spreading out from potential interventions. Save Gael, and Alysanne lives. Keep Alysanne alive and politically active, and the realm remains stable through the critical transition period. Maintain stability during succession questions, and the civil war that would eventually tear the kingdom apart might never develop.
*The queen-grandmother possesses wisdom and institutional knowledge that serves as a stabilizing influence throughout the realm,* Pyrion added thoughtfully, his mental voice carrying the sort of measured consideration usually reserved for matters of international significance. *Her loss would create political vulnerabilities that could be exploited by individuals with less benevolent intentions regarding optimal governance and social organization.*
"More than that," Aemon continued, his voice gaining the sort of authority that made people want to listen even when they didn't understand why. "Queen Alysanne's death marks the beginning of the Targaryen dynasty's decline into the political chaos that eventually becomes the Dance of Dragons. If I can prevent that decline, stabilize the succession, and maintain competent leadership through the transition period..."
The implications were staggering. A stable succession meant no civil war. No civil war meant dragons didn't die in unnecessary conflicts. Dragons remaining alive meant the Targaryen dynasty retained its ultimate strategic advantage. A strong dynasty with aerial supremacy meant better governance, more prosperity, and significantly fewer opportunities for ambitious nobles to destabilize the realm through creative interpretation of succession law.
"It's not just about saving two lives," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd learned to think in terms of kingdoms, generations, and historical consequences rather than immediate personal concerns. "It's about preventing the cascade of failures that leads to dragons dying, cities burning, and thousands of people killed in wars that start because nobody was competent enough to handle basic succession planning."
"So you'll save them?" Hestia asked with the tone of someone who already knew the answer but wanted to hear the commitment made explicit. "Like a hero in stories, except you're still wearing a diaper and need help reaching tall things?"
"I'll save them," Aemon confirmed, his golden eyes reflecting the morning light with the intensity of someone who'd just committed to rewriting history through the strategic application of enhanced adorability and political genius. "But I'll do it carefully. Subtly. Using every tool at my disposal to arrange things so that the tragedy never has the opportunity to develop in the first place."
*How?* Pyrion asked with genuine curiosity, his mental voice carrying undertones of anticipation for what promised to be either brilliant strategy or spectacular entertainment. Possibly both.
Aemon's smile acquired the particular quality that historically preceded either brilliant victories or catastrophic disasters, depending on which side of the intervention you happened to be standing on. "Simple. I'm going to deploy the most powerful weapon in my current arsenal."
"Which is?" Hestia prompted with the sort of innocent curiosity that suggested she found the concept of weaponized baby behavior genuinely fascinating.
"Strategic adorability combined with advanced social manipulation," Aemon replied, his enhanced features arranging themselves into an expression of innocent determination that could have been used as a diplomatic weapon against hardened negotiators. "I'm going to convince Gael to let me protect her, and I'm going to make it seem like it was entirely her idea."
*Your approach to heroism continues to be both admirably effective and philosophically concerning,* Pyrion observed with the sort of aristocratic amusement usually reserved for watching particularly entertaining political theater. *You propose to save someone from tragedy by manipulating them into making better decisions while believing those decisions are entirely their own initiative.*
"The best kind of intervention is the kind where everyone thinks they came up with the solution themselves," Aemon replied, already calculating the precise combination of innocent questions, charming observations, and strategic suggestions that would guide Princess Gael away from catastrophic romantic entanglements and toward a future that didn't end in Blackwater Bay.
"It's like being helpful, but in a sneaky way," Hestia said approvingly. "Like when you give someone an umbrella before it rains, except instead of rain, it's tragic life choices, and instead of an umbrella, it's clever manipulation disguised as adorable concern."
"Exactly. And the beauty of it is that Gael will genuinely be making her own choices—I'll just be ensuring that she has better information and more appealing alternatives when those choices need to be made."
*This should prove fascinating to observe,* Pyrion said with satisfaction. *I anticipate either glorious success in preventing historical tragedy, or spectacular failure that creates entirely new categories of political complication. Either outcome promises to be appropriately dramatic.*
"Oh," Aemon said, settling into his chair with the confident smile of someone whose plans typically worked out exactly as intended, even when they shouldn't have been possible in the first place, "it's going to be legendary."
He paused, his enhanced senses automatically cataloging the sounds of the Red Keep coming alive for another day of political maneuvering, economic optimization, and the sort of royal family dynamics that would have made normal families question their life choices.
"Besides," he added thoughtfully, his voice carrying the sort of casual authority that made mountains move out of politeness, "what's the point of having the political cunning of Tyrion Lannister, the enhanced physical capabilities of someone designed by cosmic forces with excellent taste in heroic proportions, and the loyalty of a dragon who could level cities if I asked him nicely, if I don't use those advantages to save people who deserve saving?"
*Your philosophical framework continues to evolve in directions that are both admirable and potentially terrifying,* Pyrion noted with characteristic precision.
"I prefer 'comprehensively optimistic with realistic implementation strategies,'" Aemon corrected mildly.
*Naturally. Your relationship with conventional terminology remains fascinatingly flexible.*
Outside his window, King's Landing continued its daily routine of commerce, politics, and the sort of controlled chaos that came from half a million people trying to coexist in the same geographical area without accidentally starting riots or trade wars. The city remained completely unaware that a twenty-one-month-old prince had just decided to casually prevent multiple historical tragedies through the strategic application of enhanced adorability, political genius, and the sort of long-term planning that would have made master strategists weep with professional envy.
History, Aemon reflected with the satisfaction of someone who'd just loaded the cosmic dice in favor of optimal outcomes, was about to become significantly more optimized.
And if his methods were unconventional, well—conventional methods had historically resulted in Princess Gael drowning herself and Queen Alysanne dying of a broken heart.
Sometimes, he decided, unconventional problems required unconventional solutions delivered by unconventional people who happened to be technically infants with supernatural competence and questionable judgment.
It was definitely going to be an interesting few months.
—
Aemon's philosophical musings about historical intervention and optimized outcomes were interrupted by the most devastating force known to his carefully controlled existence: his twin sister having opinions about his daily schedule.
"AEMON!" The voice carried the sort of imperious authority that suggested its owner had been born expecting the world to rearrange itself according to her preferences and had never encountered sufficient evidence to suggest this expectation might be unrealistic.
The chamber doors burst open with theatrical flair as Princess Rhaenyra—twenty-one months old, two-and-a-half feet of concentrated determination, and already possessed of the natural presence that made dragons pay attention and diplomats practice their most respectful forms of address—marched into his sanctum with the focused intensity of a general launching a carefully planned invasion.
Syrax perched on her shoulder like a living crown jewel, cream-and-gold scales catching the morning light in ways that made reality seem slightly more magnificent just by association. The young dragon regarded Pyrion with polite interest, while Pyrion responded with the sort of dignified acknowledgment usually reserved for diplomatic encounters between sovereign nations.
"You're thinking too much again," Rhaenyra announced with the confident authority of someone who'd appointed herself Chief Executive of her brother's recreational activities. "I can tell because you get that look."
"What look?" Aemon asked, automatically shifting into his 'normal baby genius' persona—impressive enough to maintain his reputation, carefully calibrated to avoid crossing into 'obviously possessed by ancient spirits' territory.
"The look like you're planning something complicated and probably dangerous while pretending to just sit quietly," his sister replied with the sort of precision that suggested she'd been studying his expressions with scholarly dedication. "It's the same look Father gets when he's trying to solve problems that don't want to be solved."
*Your sister possesses remarkable observational skills,* Pyrion noted privately, his mental voice carrying undertones of professional respect. *Her ability to read your expressions suggests either enhanced intuition or considerable experience with your particular methodology for concealing complex thoughts behind innocent facades.*
*She's always been perceptive,* Aemon replied through their bond. *It's one of her most dangerous qualities.*
"I was just enjoying the morning," he said aloud, demonstrating the sort of innocent smile that had historically convinced adults to change their minds about important policy decisions. "Sometimes thinking is recreational."
"Thinking is what you do instead of playing," Rhaenyra corrected with the logical precision of someone who'd clearly given this matter considerable philosophical consideration. "And today is for playing, not for whatever complicated thing you were planning that would probably work perfectly and make everyone wonder how you knew exactly what to do."
She crossed to his chair with the purposeful stride of someone implementing a carefully rehearsed strategy, then fixed him with the sort of look that could make hardened knights confess their secrets and career politicians question their fundamental assumptions about effective negotiation.
"Syrax wants to practice flying patterns with Pyrion," she continued, her voice carrying the sort of casual authority that made her suggestions sound like inevitable conclusions. "And I want to practice the sword forms Ser Harrold has been teaching us. Real practice, outside, where there's proper space and fresh air and no opportunities for you to accidentally optimize anything while pretending to just be helpful."
*Your sister has developed countermeasures against your tendency toward comprehensive environmental improvement,* Pyrion observed with what sounded suspiciously like amusement. *She appears to have identified outdoor recreation as a method for limiting your access to political situations that require subtle manipulation.*
*She's not wrong,* Aemon admitted with fond resignation. *It's hard to revolutionize economic policy while chasing dragons through courtyards.*
"Besides," Rhaenyra added, settling the matter with the finality of someone who'd already won the argument and was just being polite about explaining the conclusion, "when you spend too much time thinking, you start getting ideas that make adults look at you like they're trying to solve puzzles they don't have all the pieces for yet."
She wasn't wrong about that either. His recent missions had been perhaps too successful, generating the sort of results that made people notice patterns and ask questions that required increasingly creative explanations.
"Fine," Aemon said, rising from his chair with the sort of graceful resignation that came from recognizing superior tactics when they were deployed against him. "But I get to choose which sword forms we practice."
"Obviously," Rhaenyra agreed with the magnanimous tone of someone graciously permitting a minor victory within the context of total strategic dominance. "You know more about swords than anyone except maybe Ser Criston, and he's old enough that he doesn't count as anyone our age."
*Your sister's negotiation style combines direct assault with strategic concessions,* Pyrion noted approvingly as both dragons prepared for outdoor adventure. *She achieves her objectives while allowing you to maintain the illusion of equal participation in decision-making. Quite sophisticated for someone who officially knows nothing about political maneuvering.*
*She's a Targaryen,* Aemon replied, allowing himself to be led toward the door by someone who'd clearly inherited the family talent for getting their way through superior force of personality. *Political maneuvering is probably genetic.*
The morning sun beckoned through his windows, promising fresh air, physical activity, and several hours of normal sibling interaction that wouldn't require any enhanced abilities more sophisticated than not accidentally demonstrating superhuman sword technique while his sister was watching.
Sometimes, he reflected, the most complex plans required the simplest solutions: let his remarkably perceptive twin sister drag him outside before he could talk himself into implementing comprehensive historical interventions before breakfast.
---
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