The brothers sat by the well, facing the three girls who kept their distance.
Rhaegar placed his hands on Aemond's shoulders, his voice gentle. "You've spent days with the Four Storms. Is there one who has caught your eye?"
Aemond's head drooped at the mention of marriage, clearly disinterested.
"You'll marry sooner or later, and at least now you have four candidates," Rhaegar said, shaking his head with a faint smile. "Every proud man resists an arranged marriage unless the match is truly exceptional."
"Actually, I'm not keen on this marriage," Aemond muttered, looking defeated. "If I had to choose, it would be Cassandra."
Rhaegar glanced at Cassandra. She had the classic Baratheon features: long black hair down to her waist and bright, captivating eyes that exuded an aristocratic aura. Among the Four Storms, Maris was clever but plain, and the other two were too young, only three and four years old. Seventeen-year-old Cassandra stood out with her intelligence and beauty, her long legs complementing her tall figure.
Rhaegar winked and chuckled softly. "Not a bad choice. She's only six years older than you. Rhaenyra and I have an eight-year gap."
Aemond looked up indignantly. "Rhaenyra is a Targaryen; Cassandra is just a Baratheon!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Rhaegar said, taken aback by Aemond's vehemence. He wasn't angry; he found Aemond's fierce loyalty to their lineage commendable.
Realizing his outburst, Aemond glanced nervously at Cassandra and her sisters, ensuring they hadn't overheard. Relieved, he sighed. "The regret is mine. Only you and Aegon were ever fit to marry a Targaryen."
Family tradition dictated that the eldest male heirs married within the family, while younger heirs allied with other noble houses.
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow, sensing deeper implications in Aemond's words. Deciding not to press, he asked casually, "Does Alicent support you marrying Cassandra?"
"She can't wait for me to pick the eldest and win Lord Borros' favor," Aemond said bitterly.
Rhaegar smiled coldly, tightening his grip on Aemond's shoulder. "House Baratheon is powerful. Their support will strengthen you and our family."
Shifting the conversation, he said, "Vermithor and Silverwing are resting in Dragonmont. For safety, I suggest you bond with Silverwing first. It's more docile, as you said."
The topic of marriage ended there. It was clear Alisant had urged Aemond to choose Cassandra, likely knowing she would inherit Storm's End.
Aemond, oblivious to his brother's machinations, said earnestly, "I want to tame Vermithor. It's stronger and can help me regain my honor."
Rhaegar frowned at Aemond's candidness, sensing a dangerous negativity in him. Under his brother's stern gaze, Aemond lowered his head, admitting, "Aegon always mocks me, and courtiers whisper that I'm not even as good as little Daeron."
Rhaegar's eyes flashed with anger. Aemond was his brother, blood of his blood, and no one had the right to demean him.
With a cold, determined look, Rhaegar pressed Aemond's head to his chest and whispered fiercely, "If anyone mocks you again, you will pull out his tongue."
Aemond looked up, shocked by his brother's intensity.
Rhaegar's expression remained stern. "You have that right, as long as you're certain they laughed at you."
"Mother always taught me not to shame myself with others," Aemond stammered, recalling his mother's teachings.
It was clear that Rhaegar's approach starkly contrasted with his mother's advice.
Rhaegar gazed into Aemond's trembling eyes, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Alicent is not a Targaryen; she can't raise you properly."
"But..."
"She's a Hightower," Rhaegar interrupted, his tone sharp. "A name synonymous with self-interest."
Aemond looked around, confusion and turmoil churning inside him. Rhaegar let the silence stretch, confident that Aemond would come to understand. The Targaryens were from Valyria, a lineage unlike any other in Westeros—marked by chaos, nobility, and flame.
As Aemond wrestled with his thoughts, Rhaegar pulled out a small square stone and a carving knife from his Space Bracelet. The blade moved swiftly, almost as if it were an extension of Rhaegar's hand. Within minutes, a three-headed red dragon emerged on the stone's surface.
Aemond, distracted by the sounds, watched Rhaegar's deft movements. Rhaegar continued carving on the other side, etching intricate High Valyrian symbols and strange lines. Aemond's eyes widened as he tried to make sense of the symbols.
The stone was soon adorned with a pattern of circular lines, resembling a slender dragon coiled around the surface. With both sides complete, Rhaegar cut his finger and let a drop of blood fall onto the carved stone.
The blood flowed through the grooves, staining the dragon and runes a deep crimson. The transformation was swift and mesmerizing, turning the stone into something otherworldly. Rhaegar, satisfied, sealed his wound with a touch.
"Here, keep it," Rhaegar said, tossing the stone to Aemond.
Aemond caught it clumsily, inspecting the now-blood-stained carving. "You know stone carving?"
"Obviously," Rhaegar replied with a nonchalant smile. He had learned the skill from his father, Viserys, during one of the rare peaceful periods after becoming the heir. It was a respite from the rigorous education demanded by the Maesters of the Citadel.
Aemond gazed adoringly at his older brother, turning the stone tablet over in his hands. "What does it do? Why did you drip blood on it?"
"Obey," Rhaegar instructed.
"Huh?" Aemond's eyes widened in confusion.
Rhaegar smiled. "It's High Valyrian, it means 'Obey'."
Aemond cocked his head, still puzzled.
Rhaegar continued, "When you face a dragon you want to tame, raise the stone plaque and shout that phrase. It will help."
The engraving on the stone tablet was a pacification technique from the Forbidden Spell. Rhaegar didn't trust his siblings enough to give them the full spell, but he wanted to help Aemond a little. Infused with his blood, the stone held a momentary effect. Using it while taming a dragon wouldn't guarantee success but would at least protect Aemond from dragonfire.
"Really?" Aemond asked, eyes wide as he stared at the tablet.
He had heard rumors from his sister Helaena about Rhaegar's mysterious powers, so he was half-skeptical.
"Of course," Rhaegar replied simply.
Still unsure, Aemond examined the stone tablet.
Rhaegar shook his head, stood up, and brushed the stone chips off his black robe. He held out the steel carving knife for Aemond to see.
Aemond glanced away, uncertain.
With a flick of his wrist, Rhaegar's palm burst into flames, the heat distorting the air and forcing Aemond to lean back. The steel carving knife twisted and melted, dripping molten iron onto the ground.
Aemond was stunned, watching the iron cool and smoke on the damp soil.
Rhaegar shook his hand clean of any residue and asked calmly, "Do you believe now?"
Aemond, still in shock, nodded. "Yes, I believe."
"Very well," Rhaegar said, putting his hands behind his back. "The experienced Dragonkeepers will take you and Helaena to Dragonmont to familiarize yourselves with the environment. I have other matters to attend to."
As he turned to leave, Aemond called out, "Wait!"
Rhaegar stopped but didn't turn around.
He wanted to support his underappreciated younger brother and, in doing so, gather a fragile heart that had been suppressed for a long time. When carving the stone tablet, he had thought through his plans. By giving it to Aemond, he hoped to foster their brotherly bond without destroying it.
"Wait, Rhaegar," Aemond called again, running to stand in front of his brother.
This time, he didn't call out to his older brother as he usually did but addressed him as he would Aegon.
Rhaegar's mouth curled into a slight smile. "What's the matter?"
"I... I wanted to say thank you."
Nervous and unable to find the right words, Aemond clutched the stone tablet and looked up at Rhaegar with one eye.
Rhaegar remained silent, gazing at him calmly.
"I... I wanted to say thank you," Aemond repeated, summoning all his courage. As soon as the words left his mouth, he lowered his head, closing his eyes in embarrassment.
He feared Rhaegar's ridicule, having been teased often by Aegon about his knowledge of manners. But the expected mockery never came.
Rhaegar reached out and ruffled Aemond's hair, smiling warmly. "Aemond, you are my brother. Just as Daemon never says thank you to our father, you don't need to thank me."
He gave Aemond a final pat on the shoulder and turned to leave, but Aemond grabbed his black robes in a fluster. "This is different!"
Rhaegar turned back, curiosity in his eyes, waiting to see what Aemond had to say.
"I understand the conflicts you have with Grandfather and the others," Aemond continued. "I am not a fool and can recognize good from bad."
Rhaegar waited patiently as Aemond struggled to find his words.
"What I'm trying to say is..." Aemond gritted his teeth, finally making up his mind. Holding the stone tablet with one hand and making a solemn gesture with the other, he declared, "I swear to the old and new gods that no matter the future glory or disgrace, I will never do anything to betray my family or my kingdom!"
For the first time, Aemond met his brother's gaze firmly, his eyes full of determination.
Rhaegar smiled and nodded. "Very good!"
The more he looked at Aemond, the more satisfied he became. Aemond exhaled in relief, his hand covering his racing heart.
Without giving Aemond a chance to catch his breath, Rhaegar pulled him into a tight embrace, resting his head against his chest. Aemond looked up in bewilderment.
"Your mother may have raised Aegon wrong, but you, you are still good," Rhaegar said, his eyes filled with relief. He ruffled Aemond's hair again and gave him a light kiss on the forehead—a blunt display of Targaryen affection.
Aemond stood trembling, feeling the warmth of his brother's touch. After a moment, Rhaegar raised his head. Aemond, regaining his senses, hugged Rhaegar tightly and whispered, "Brother."
(Word count: 1,646)