Aemon Targaryen (103 Sixth Moon)
King's Landing – Maegor's Holdfast
Aemon awoke croaky and sore, the wine and ale of the previous night still lingering in his head. The long ride from Harrenhal to King's Landing before that had not helped. His body ached, yet he was here at last, and today he, and many others, would swear their oaths of fealty.
He rose, relieved himself in the chamber pot, then splashed cold water across his face at the basin. When he glanced into the polished steel mirror, he found the sight of himself still strange. His hair was shortest, it had ever been, at least it was growing back, and for that he was glad for it.
A knock came at the door. Likely his temporary page, Gerrin, or one of the servants. He left his servants behind and brought only four guards with him, two not even his own. Ser Clement had been tasked with keeping his mother and sisters safe in Winterfell, while Edwin served as swordshield to their cousin. It mattered little. His stay in King's Landing would be brief, ending with of this moon.
"Come in," he called.
A boy around his age stepped inside and bowed. "Good morning, my Prince. I trust you slept well?"
"I did," Aemon replied, his voice still rough. "Though a bit croaky. I would dress and join my family for breakfast."
The boy helped him into his chosen attire: a northern-styled Targaryen tunic, the familiar blend of wolf and dragon altered to suit the heat of the south.
Outside his chamber, Ser Jeffery awaited, armored and alert. Aemon gave him a nod. "Good morning, Jeffery. I see you've taken Ser Harrold's duty today."
The knight inclined his head in confirmation. Beside him stood another guard: an older man with a greying mustache, broad shoulders, and near Jeffery's height, clad in the surcoat of House Targaryen.
"And you, good ser," Aemon said. "What is your name?"
"Tommard, my prince. At your service," the man answered with a small bow.
"Well met, Ser Tommard. I've no doubt you'll do your duties well." With that, Aemon walked on, and made his way toward the dining hall.
The closer he came, the richer the scents grew: warm bread, smoked bacon, fried eggs, and honeyed fruit. His stomach gave a growl. Passing through the open doors, he found his mother and little sisters already seated. Rhaenyra sat with her hair neatly braided, while Aemma laughed softly at something his mother had said.
"Good morning, everyone," Aemon greeted them with a grin.
"Good morning, Aemon," came their chorus in reply.
"I see my brothers have not graced us with their presence," he said as he walked to his seat.
"Do not speak too soon, brother," came a voice from behind. Aemon turned to see Viserys stride in, dressed and ready for the day, flanked by Ser Addam Tarth and Ser Ryam Redwyne.
"Morning, husband," Aemma said warmly as Viserys bent to kiss her cheek before taking his place at the head of the table.
Aemon smirked as he sat down. "I'm starving, must be the journey from yesterday." He reached for a trencher of bread and tore off a piece.
"Indeed," both his sisters said at once.
Before another word could be spoken, the doors opened again. Rickon entered with long strides, hair still damp from the morning wash. "Good morning to you all. Your Graces," he added with a small bow toward Aemma and Viserys.
"We bid you welcome, Lord Rickon. I trust your chambers were comfortable?" Aemma asked kindly.
"Indeed. I thank you for agreeing to have me stay in Maegor's Hold. It is an honor," Rickon replied.
He then turned and took a seat beside Aemon.
"Here you go, some southern bacon," Aemon said with a grin, passing him the platter.
"Thank you. I wonder if it tastes as good as our northern meats. Yesterday's feast was different from what I'm used to, but good nonetheless," Rickon said to the room.
"I know, nephew. Just wait until you experience a tourney or wedding. Then you are in for quite a show." His mother stated, and Rickon looked up hopefully. It was one of the things he had come around in the time he spent in the south. Attending tournaments was a way to enjoy live events, and it seemed to bring enjoyment to the common folk, while also inspiring trade. When managed well, the area where the tournament was held also generated income. His mother had told him that during the last time his father won a tourney. The crown made quite a lot of gold.
"Hopefully, in the future, I will be able to attend one," Rickon said, looking toward Viserys.
"It would be an honor to host the heir to Winterfell," Viserys replied. "Mayhaps, if the gods bless us, we may hold one in honor of our future child." He smiled broadly at the table, though Aemma looked more apprehensive.
"I said yesterday, brother, goodsister, congratulations. May the gods grant you a healthy child," Aemon said warmly, smiling at them both. Those who didn't know gave their congratulations. While Rhaenyra smiled hopefully at her parents.
When the meal ended, Aemon lingered a moment to exchange a quiet word with Viserys before returning to his chambers. There, he clothed himself in finer garments suited for the ceremony and draped over his shoulders the cloak he had been gifted on his tenth birthday: the white dragonwolf stitched across its back with blazing red eyes. He ran a hand across the embroidery, a pang tugging at his heart as he thought of Ghost, and of the rest of his friends he made along the way. Gone but not forgotten.
Ghost had been wounded during the battle against the Night King, protecting Sansa in the crypt, and when he had marched south, the direwolf had remained behind. He had asked Tormund to watch over him until his return, though that day had never come to pass. The thought brought a sad smile to his lips.
Closing the chamber door behind him. Looked and saw that Ser Harrold had joined Jeffery. "Ah, Harrold, I hope you were able to get some rest." He asked.
"Indeed, My Prince. It was a comfort sleeping in the white tower again. Was able to break my fast with the Lord Commander, and he spoke of all the security measures he has implemented for the upcoming ceremony." Harrold replied, smiling.
"That's good to hear." He replied, giving the man a smile. "Well, let's move, sers. It's time to make our oaths to our new King. It would be rather rude to arrive late for it." He said while grinning.
The Throneroom
Aemon arrived at the great doors, where many nobles were already gathering. As they caught sight of him, the crowd parted to let him pass. Even after eleven years, he still was not used to it, people stepping aside for him, their eyes following him with fear, awe, envy, or reluctant respect. The last he had only earned in the later years of his life.
He recognized familiar faces among the lords. Lord Lyonel of Harrenhal stood with Ser Harwin beside him. No wonder Larys felt little warmth toward them, or at least his father; they had left him behind at Harrenhal while they traveled to King's Landing. They had not seen his worth. Yet Aemon had. During their stop at Harrenhal, he had discovered Larys's gift for warging. They had spoken before at the Great Council, where Aemon found him shy but well-learned, a boy who reminded him of himself at that age, always on the outside looking in.
Larys was two years older than Aemon, his talent for warging still raw and untrained. Aemon had already spoken with the lad about coming to Seadragon Point and intended to speak further with Lord Lyonel. If things played out well, he and Arya might become his informers. Another candidate lingered in his mind, Mysaria. She was still only a whore, not yet the infamous woman she would one day become, but even now, he knew the potential in her.
Still, bringing the Lord of Harrenhal to his side was something he intended, and perhaps taking Larys under his wing would be the first step. He remembered the visions of what Harren had done to the weirwoods and swore he would see that mistake undone. Harrenhal, for all its might, was a broken castle, meant for kings, yet cursed. Every house that held it had fallen into decline. If the Old Gods punished those who dared sit in its seat. If he could gain enough influence and gold, perhaps he could argue for the destruction of the ruin and build new castles and a sacred grove to be rebuilt, in it's place.
For now, it was a distant dream. He would work toward it in time, when his word carried more weight. Even Viserys had begun to listen to him more, had even heeded his advice to wait before lying with Aemma again. That alone was proof enough of his growing influence.
He walked on toward the raised platform where the small council stood and where the Iron Throne loomed above them. He had already spoken with Lord Beesbury and Corlys, but the new Master of Laws had greeted him with thinly veiled disdain. The man was a Westerlander, a creature of the Hand. Aemon disliked him on sight. Even though he liked Gywane and Alicent, he didn't like Otto, the man who had always been too ambitious. He knew what the Hand planned, and he wondered whether this Westerlander was another piece of Otto's game. A missing piece of the history books, as he knew in time Lyonel Strong would replace the man.
"My prince, welcome," Lord Beesbury said warmly as Aemon approached the throne. Aemon gave him a smile and went to join his family. He saw Rhaenys already seated with Laena and Laenor, while Gael sat with her two young children beside her husband, Lord Bartimos Celtigar. Daemon was there as well, though they had yet to speak a word. Aemon had half-hoped his brother would join them for breakfast, but it seemed Daemon had other plans.
More nobles and courtiers poured in until at last the hall was filled. Then Ser Ryam entered the throne room. That meant his brother would soon follow, and Aemon suspected Aemma and Rhaenyra would be at his side.
"All hail His Grace, King Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. His wife, Queen Aemma Targaryen, and their daughter, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen," Ser Ryam declared.
The heralds opened the doors, and in walked Ser Addam Tarth, followed by Viserys himself, with Aemma and Rhaenyra beside him.
Viserys looked every inch a king in his black, red, and gold, wearing the crown of Jaehaerys and a heavy chain linking together the sigils of the great houses of Westeros, all bound by the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. At his side, Aemma was radiant, her gown styled in the fashion of House Targaryen but with Aryn blue tints worked into its design. Upon her head rested the crown she had been given at the coronation. And Rhaenyra, Aemon could not help but think she was becoming a beauty, the Realm's Delight indeed.
Behind them followed the remainder of the Kingsguard: Ser Simon Derry, Ser Rickard Thorne, and Ser Steffon Darklyn.
As they passed the onlookers, all bowed their heads in deference. Soon enough, Viserys reached the Iron Throne. All of them did the same and bowed their heads, and then Aemma and Rhaenyra took their places beside him. Viserys took his place upon the Iron Throne. His steps were deliberate, for one mistake could slice him open. One King had died upon its spikes already.
He turned and seated himself, and then there was applause as his brother sat on the throne for the very first time. After the hall quieted, his brother spoke. "Let us begin. Today I will accept oaths of fealty from my loyal bannermen, councillors, lords paramount, any vassals who have traveled to be here today, and those I hold close to my heart." He looked toward his family.
Ser Otto gave a nod to the herald, who unrolled a long list. Aemon knew it would be a long day.
Soon enough, the first to pledge their fealty were the bannermen of the Crownlands and those sworn to Dragonstone. Even the lords of Crackclaw Point had arrived, speaking and acting in a manner similar to what he was used to in the North. Even their oaths were similar. The first great lord of the Crownlands to make his oath was Gael's husband. Lord Bartimos looked Valyrian, regal in red and white, with a silver crab chain around his neck. He knelt and began to speak. "I, Lord Bartimos Celtigar, Lord of Claw Isle and Claw Keep, promise to be faithful to His Grace, King Viserys. I pledge fealty to him and shall defend him and his against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New."
Aemon smiled at the lord and glanced toward Gael, and saw her smiling just as much. She looked happy. It seemed Claw Isle was the perfect place for her.
Then the vassals of other lords paramount stepped forward. Among them were Lord Desmond Manderly, the new lord of the New Castle, Lord Allard Reyne, Lord Gellard Darry, brother to Ser Simon Darry, Lord Yobart Royce, the current Regent of the Vale and father of Rhea Royce, Lord Lyonel Strong, the now still‑young lord, Rodry Dustin, and one of the final lords, and perhaps one of the strongest vassals under any lord paramount, Lord Hobert Hightower.
Aemon understood why Aegon had made no powerful vassal Lord Paramount of the Reach. It was probably the most strategic area in the Kingdoms because of its food. Leaving it in the hands of powerful vassals would cause problems. As for the Tyrells, they would always be looked down on, as they had only been stewards before Aegon raised them to Lords of Highgarden and Lords of the Reach. Yet it came with a side problem for the Tyrells and the Crown, for houses like the Hightowers, Tarlys, and Rowans wanted more. They could not be easily controlled, especially the Hightowers with their seat at Oldtown. As was shown in all the years of Targaryen rule, only the Hightowers, besides the Velaryons, had placed two queens upon the throne, which gave them a prestige no other Reach house had. Power resides where men believe it resides, and many believed that House Hightower held most power in the Reach.
Still, as the man stepped forward in green and white, his demeanor and appearance made him more resemble a lord paramount than a mere vassal. "I, Lord Hobert Hightower, Lord of the Hightower, Beacon of the South, Defender of the Citadel, and Voice of Oldtown, promise to be faithful to His Grace, King Viserys. I pledge fealty to him and shall defend him and his against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Seven Who Are One."
Aemon frowned at that, and when he looked to his mother and cousin, he saw them frowning as well. To renounce the Old Gods before the throne, pious fool. Hobert rose proudly and returned to his place.
Then came the lords paramount themselves. The last of them was his cousin. "I, Rickon Stark, son of Benjen Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North, in the name of my father, promise to be faithful to His Grace, King Viserys. I pledge fealty to him and shall defend him and his against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by iron, earth, bronze, and fire, and by the Old Gods. May they bear witness to this pledge." Rickon rose, his eyes cold as ice as he cast a glare toward the Lord of Oldtown.
Rickon rose and gave an icy glare toward the Lord of the Hightower.
Then it was the council giving Viserys their fealty. What was odd was that the Master of Laws ended his pledge as the Lord of the Hightower had done. Otto followed his brother's example. The man rose far too proudly in Aemon's opinion; he understood why the history books would call him imperious.
After that was done, the Targaryen family was called to swear their oaths. After his mother and sisters had said their fealty, Rhaenys and her children were in turn. Rhaenys held herself with duty and spoke the words of fealty to her cousin, who had been chosen by the realm.
Then the herald spoke Aemon's name. He stepped forward, knelt, and declared, "I, Prince Aemon Targaryen, Lord of Seadragon Point and Seadragon Holt, promise to be faithful to His Grace, King Viserys. I pledge fealty to him and shall defend him and his against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by iron, earth, bronze, and fire, by the Old Gods, the New, and the gods of my ancestors. May they bear witness to this pledge."
He lifted his gaze to the throne. Viserys gave him a grateful nod.
And at that moment, Balerion's shadow passed over the Red Keep. The Black Dread let loose a roar that shook the hall. Gasps rose among the lords and ladies, but Aemon only smiled. Let them feel my power. Let them know the throne stands strong.
He rose and returned to his place among his kin.
Then came Daemon, last to kneel.
"I, Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, promise to be faithful to His Grace, King Viserys. I pledge fealty to him and shall defend him and his against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by fire and blood, and by the gods of my ancestors. May they bear witness to this pledge."
He saw Viserys's face tighten at that. Hmm, it seems that was not what had been agreed.
Aemon sighed as Daemon stepped aside, grinning as if nothing were amiss. He only hoped his brother would master his temper, for Viserys could be wrathful when provoked.
At last, Viserys rose from the throne. The scrape of steel rang out as the Kingsguard struck their swords against the stone in salute. The hall fell into silence, hundreds of eyes fixed on the new King.
"I thank you all for your pledges of fealty," Viserys proclaimed, his voice carrying across the throne room. " You have sworn to defend my house, my queen, and my heirs. In turn, I swear to defend the realm, to deliver justice when it is called for, and to rule with wisdom and strength." At the hall, appalled, Viserys' reign would truly begin.
Viserys Targaryen (103 A.C.)
A day later
King's Landing – The King's Solar
Viserys sat alone in his solar, the last murmurs of the coronation still echoing in his mind. The oaths of fealty had been spoken, yet it was his youngest brother's that lingered most.
Aemon had knelt before him and sworn by iron, earth, bronze, fire, the Old Gods, the New, and the gods of Valyria. It was unlike any other pledge that day.
Still, he wished Aemon were staying longer in the capital. His brother's presence had steadied him more than he cared to admit. But duty called him back to Seadragon Point, and Viserys understood well enough the burden of a lord, and now a King.
His thoughts were broken by a knock. Ser Ryam entered, bowed, and said, "Your Grace, Prince Daemon is here to see you. Shall I let him in?"
"Yes. Send him in."
Daemon strode inside, clad in black and red, the dragon sigil bold upon his chest. He did not bow, only smirked.
"Brother," Viserys said, forcing calm into his voice. "I trust you are not yet bored since your return. I hope your time in the Vale was useful."
"Not bored at all, and I'm grateful for finally leaving that fucking place," Daemon replied as he dropped into the chair opposite, "As of now, I'm merely restless. The realm may be at peace, but peace can be dull. Speaking of something that wasn't dull, our wolf-brother with his entrance. And today he impressed the court again. The Black Dread roaring over had just after he swore his oath, and a strange oath at that, like the Stark boy did. He knows how to play to the crowd." Daemon noted with grudging respect.
Viserys narrowed his eyes. "He is dutiful. More dutiful than most. And he has given me no trouble, unlike some. What were you thinking of styling yourself as Prince of Dragonstone?"
"It's my right, is it not, as your heir?" Daemon replied.
"Well, I haven't officially named you as one. As my predecessor set a precedent that a King can choose his heir." Visery stated.
"I'm your heir brother, I'm your eldest male relative, and we all know the realm prefers a male. So far, you only have a daughter." Daemon stated that his voice was colder than before.
Viserys grinned his teeth for a moment. "Indeed, you are. Yet my wife is currently with child, and as of now, I have plenty of time until I can have a son. Which is something that I will have. So until then, I will not name an heir. Yet I know this isn't why you came here, so what is it that you want?"
Daemon's eyes darkened before he leaned back into his seat and looked at him seriously. "I want you to annul my marriage to that bronze bitch. The match was forced on me by the old King, and it has never been consummated. Now that you are King, you can free me of it. I should wed a true Valyrian, not a First Man woman or a Vale Bitch or whatever you want to call her."
Viserys felt his jaw tighten. Days after the coronation, and already this. He shook his head. "No. Not now. The realm is watching. We cannot afford a scandal so soon after my crowning. What does it say, when one of my first acts is to annul a match made by the old King?"
Daemon's smirk twisted into a scowl. "No? After all I've done to secure you the throne? I was your sword when others doubted. I spoke with lords, I gathered arms, I showed strength. And you deny me this? You even just stated I'm not your heir."
"Daemon." Viserys's voice dropped low. "Go to your wife. Summon her here if you must, but make something of your marriage. If you will not do that, then take your place on my council. Serve me as the temporary Master of Coin. Beesbury plans to visit his lordship, and if you fulfill your duty admirably, you can stay in the position. But I will not break your vows for you."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Daemon rose, his grin returning, though his eyes burned. "This isn't over, brother. But very well. If you command it, I will serve as Master of Coin." He gave a mocking bow and left the solar, his cloak trailing behind him.
Viserys let out a long breath once the door shut. He prayed the new duties of office might temper his brother's fire. Yet in his heart, he doubted it.
Chapter 30 : Corlys Velyaron
Two days later.
Coryls Velaryon (103 A.C.)
King's Landing - Small Council
Returning to the council chamber after the Great Council was not easy. His wife, the beautiful Rhaenys Targaryen, would now be known as the Queen That Never Was. The monarch's seat that should have been hers was now occupied by King Viserys. He thought as he ground his teeth. He snapped out of his musing when the princess filled his cup.
He couldn't help but glance at Rhaenyra, the King's cupbearer. She possessed the Valyrian looks and was beginning to blossom into a beauty, despite being only nine namedays old. Any future husband would be fortunate to wed a daughter of a king. While his own son would make a suitable match, for now, he had to be content with Aemon, the Northern Prince. He took pride in the fact that the man marrying his daughter showed promise as a great leader and held himself well at court. He found himself feeling proud because of it as both a father and a future father-in-law.
"Your Grace, it's perhaps time to reduce the funding for Seadragon Point," Grand Maester Ruciter suggested. "The keep has been built, as rumors say, yet the cost of that rumor, for example, the city's harbor, has already cost a fortune. As for the rest of the construction, there is yet no city wall, no true buildings of note, not even a sept. From what I know, there is only a moat, a wooden palisade, and a wooden keep in the center of the town."
This statement made him scoff. He could not fathom why the Grand Maester would propose such a thing.
"Why? That would be a slight to the Starks. And as for the lordship, the letters exchanged between my daughter and Aemon speak clearly, the town and keep have already been built, with farmlands, fishing villages, and lumberyards thriving. Seadragon Point hasn't been this bustling in a hundred years," he retorted, his voice unwavering.
"What say you, my King?" Ruciter asked.
"There is no need for concern. I have spoken with my brother, and he told me the project is coming along splendidly. Even better than I had hoped," Viserys stated.
"To interject, Your Grace," the Hand said. "Reports have emerged that the Prince has been using his dragon to melt stone, causing injury to several stonemasons. He personally labors at the construction sites, including a smithy at the center where Seadragon Holt is built. He was reportedly learning smithing in Winterfell; these are hardly worthy behaviors for a Prince of the realm to labor away like a common smith. I would suggest summoning the Prince to explain these matters before the King and council."
"I can tell you, my brother has the best intentions, and he also always has his hobbies. He even told me he had been informed of an incident where he had to suppress justice brutally. Ordering the death of the entire family, by dragon flame." Viserys stated, and it seemed Otto was about to say more, but the King held his hand up.
"Before you say something, they were attainted for treason and executed in kind. As for the method, dragonflame burns hot, my lords. It would bring almost instant death," Viserys replied.
"My brother has the blood of the dragon in him, after all," Daemon said with a smirk.
"If there are issues, I'm sure Lord Stark and the Northern lords will voice their concerns directly to me, their King. This discussion ends here. My brother will marry Lady Laena after they both turn five-and-ten, and after that moment, we may discuss the matter again. Until then, Seadragon Point will continue to receive funding from the crown. If it continues after that, it will be discussed then." Viserys proclaimed, his voice rising with authority.
"As you wish, Your Grace. We only wish to inform you. The Prince has control of the Black Dread and has even arrived on another dragon. We cannot ignore this," the Hand conceded, bowing his head.
Viserys's patience snapped. "Enough. You will not lecture me on the dangers of my own blood. I know Aemon better than any of you. He acts with purpose, not recklessness. His strength is the strength of House Targaryen. And while I sit on the Iron Throne, he will have the crown's full support. Speak against it again, and you speak against me."
The chamber fell silent at his words.
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