Aemon Targaryen (106 A.C. Nineth Moon)
Kingslanding – Baelon's Nursery
He walked into the chamber. His little nephew lay in Rhaenyra's arms, and his breath was so weak. "Rhae? How is little Baelon holding up?" he asked, sitting beside her on the bed and putting an arm around her.
"He still struggles. I hope he lives. Muna gave up her life for him. I don't want to lose more family," Rhaenyra said as she sobbed into his chest. 'He would protect his niece and nephew, which was one of the last things her mother had asked him. He would do so.' As he thought back on Aemma's last request.
"Well, he looks like her, as do you. He has her eyes," he said, stroking her back.
'As he looked at Baelon, his eyes open, he seemed so innocent, much like all the babies he had held. He asked Balerion if something could be done, but the dragon had not been helpful, mentioning that Lord Boremund Baratheon had the same ailment. They had one thing in common: like Aemma, the lady Alyssa had died while giving birth to Boremund. Boremund had caught a cough but recovered; however, not all babes recovered. He had asked if a dragon bond could heal the babe, as it had Balerion, but that was different.
Still, he had brought in the hatchling that he had brought to Kings Landing, hoping that a dragon bonded with the young dragon might help strengthen Baelon's recovery. The little grey dragon with black streaks cuddled beside Baelon in his cradle when he placed it down. The dragon was as large as a small dog now.' He thought as he looked at both of them together. A Targaryen and a dragon were the same as a Stark with a wolf; they just fit.
"I suppose he does. His breathing sounds so weak. He doesn't sleep much and coughs a lot," Rhaenyra admitted. 'It was true; he had slept in the chamber with Rhaenyra to look after the babe. Baelon had a cough for an hour on end sometimes. Patting his back helped sometimes, but he looked at the babe, who had not gained weight but lost it. He ate milk from his wet nurse, but the lack of sleep and energy from the coughing seemed to weaken him.' He thought somberly.
The past two days of Baelon's life were a heavy burden for Rhaenyra and him. They stayed with the babe, Baelon, constantly tending to him. The maester administered potions to Baelon, he and his scribtor's thoroughly checking it beforehand to ensure it contained no poison. He even consulted one of his scribtors in a desperate search for help.
In a private moment, one scribtor revealed a distressing truth: Aemma could have been saved. There was a procedure, but it required sacrificing the babe. Even then, there was no guarantee Aemma would have survived, and she would likely have been rendered barren. During their training, the maesters knew of this option, as Arch-scribetor Dussard had informed them. This revelation crushed me, and I resolved to discuss it with the King. I also suspected Melos, in league with the Hightowers, was beginning to make their move for the throne. Why else not also give that option?
As I sat with Rhaenyra, my thoughts wandered. I held Baelon at times while Rhaenyra lay in bed, cradling his little nephew and praying to the gods for his recovery. Anger simmered when I thought of my brother during that time, who never showed up. I had gone to his chambers, but Ser Ryam had denied me entry. I must confront my brother about this. He should have been here, not hiding away. Though I love him, his tendency to bury his head in the sand during times of adversity is maddening.
I was with Rhaenyra when it happened. I held Baelon in my arms when the babe simply stopped breathing. In that moment, my heart broke. Rhaenyra and I clung to each other, weeping, with little Baelon between us.
Death of Baelon Targaryen, Son of Aemma Targaryen Arryn and Viserys Targaryen in 106 A.C.
Page out of the Journal of Aemon Targaryen the White Dragon.
Aemma's and Baelon's Funeral
Aemma lay on the pyre together with her son, little Baelon. 'She had died just like history foretold. He had been in the room with Rhaenyra and his mother as little Baelon struggled for life. He saw him fighting for it, but on the third day, Baelon lost that fight. During those three days, his mother told them what happened in the birthing chamber. Aemma had given up her life so the babe could live. But it wasn't meant to be. Even with him here, he couldn't persuade his brother not to try for more children.' He thought back in sadness as they now were waiting for Viserys and Rhaenyra to light the pyre. Goynogar and Syrax were ready for the instructions of their riders. He walked over to Rhaenyra, took her hand, and spoke in High Valyrian. "They are waiting for you."
Then she spoke, "I wonder if during those few days my brother lived, my father finally found happiness." He squeezed her hand then, trying to offer some comfort. "Your father needs you to know more now than he ever has. Your mother was very proud of you, as am I," he answered. "I will never be a son, Aemon." "Oh, it doesn't matter if you are one. You are loved and cherished, my niece." He stroked her tump with his.
They both looked at Viserys. "Go to him and say the words together." She let go of his hand and walked to her father. Taking his hand, they said the words together. "Dracarys." Goynogar and Syrax let up the pyre. A coloring of yellow-gold and dark brown bronze color was seen in the flames.
His brother's head was down as the flames consumed Baelon and Aemma in the tradition of their house. He looked as if the beautiful Queen Aemma had turned to ash. At that moment, he let out tears. And Laena came toward and took his hand. "Grieve now, my friend, for the loss of your kin," Balerion spoke through their bond. Even Ghost and the other gathered direwolves let out a howl.
Corlys Velaryon (106 A.C.)
Kingslanding – Council Chamber.
He picked up some wine and left the table when the King spoke. "Where is Rhaenyra?" His voice sounded full of grief.
"Your Grace," Otto spoke up, "this is the last thing any of us wish to discuss at this dark hour, but I consider the matter urgent." 'Here we go. What does the rat want now?' He wondered.
"What matter?" The King asked, not knowing what his hand meant.
Otto waited a moment before speaking again, calculating what to say. "That of your succession. These recent tragedies have left you without an obvious heir." The gall of the man, the King, had two heirs, Daemon and Aemon. Although having worked with both of them, Aemon was the better choice. But he shouldn't voice his preferences. "The King has an heir and even a spare, my Lord Hand," he spoke.
"Despite how difficult this time is, Your Grace," Otto continued, paying no mind to him, which irritated him, "I feel it important the succession be firmly in place for the stability of the realm."
"The succession is already set," Lyonel spoke up then. "By precedent and by law."
"Shall we say his name?" He spoke then; Otto knew full well who the heir was. The man just had hatred for Daemon. He sat down with a full goblet of wine. 'Nobody spoke up; okay, I will say it then, he thought irritatedly.' "Daemon Targaryen."
Grand Maester Mellos spoke with some arrogance, "If Daemon were to remain the uncontested heir, it could destabilize the realm." 'Why would he say that,' he thought, then? He knew for some time the maester was in play with the Hand. The two, on most occasions, supported each other during arguments.
"The realm?" He asked firmly at the older man. "Or this council?"
Otto spoke up then, "No one here can know what Daemon would do were he king." The King looked at him with irritation, "But no one can doubt his ambition. Look at what he did with the gold cloaks. The City Watch is fiercely loyal to him. An army two thousand strong."
The words made the King shake his head and speak up. "An army you gave him, Otto. When he was master of laws, you said he was a tyrant. As Master of Coin, when Lord Beesbury was away, you said he was a spendthrift that would beggar the realm." The King spoke with some irritation and raised his voice. "Sending him to the City Watch, and in command there was your solution!"
"A half measure, your grace. The truth is, Daemon should be far away from this court," Otto said in response to the King's argument, but that did not make the King happy.
"Daemon is my brother," The King reminded his Lord Hand. "My blood. And he will have his place at my court." The King said firmly, making Otto shake his head. Then the Grand Maester again spoke in disfavor toward Daemon. "Then let him keep his place at court, Your Grace," Mellos spoke before pausing and speaking once again, but in a hushed tone, "But if the gods should visit some further tragedy on you, either by design or by accident."
"Design?" The King cut the maester off. The King's anger rose with every word the two of them were speaking about Daemon." What are you saying? My brother would murder me and take my crown?" The Mellos gave no response, causing the King to yell. "Are you?!"
"Daemon has ambition, yes," The King continued in his normal tone of voice. "But not for the throne. He lacks the patience for it." 'Well, he wasn't sure. Perhaps the man was waiting for Rhaenyra to come of age to claim the throne that way.' As he wondered about Daemon's ambitions.
"The gods have yet to make a man who lacks the patience for absolute power, Your Grace," Otto spoke against the argument. 'Well, speaking of having patience, of having one daughter speaking with the Old King. Now, with that patience, he was the second most powerful man in the realm.' He thought bitterly
The King stared with anger at his hand when Mellos spoke again. "Under such circumstances, it would not be an aberration for the King to name a successor." Why would he need to? He had two heirs, by all the laws of the land?
"Well, who else would have a claim? Besides the brothers?" Lyonel asked.
A long silence lingered over the men, all while he took a long sip of his wine. 'Well, Otto, now you are on set; let's see what you have to say.' He thought, with a smile on his face.
Finally, Otto acquiesced. "The king's firstborn child." 'He got to be kidding! He wanted a girl when House Hightower and many of the Reach and kingdom had spoken against his wife?' He thought in frustration.
"Rhaenyra? A girl? No queen has ever sat on the Iron Throne," Lyonel spoke, bewildered.
"That is only tradition and precedent, Lord Strong," Mellos argued. 'Oh, you... It was that precedent that made his wife wasn't queen right now!' He thought in anger.
"If order and stability so concern this council, then perhaps we shouldn't break one hundred years of it by naming a girl heir," Lyonel spoke irritated.
"Daemon would be a second Maegor," Otto spoke against Lyonel. "Or worse. He is impulsive and violent. It is the duty of this council to protect the King and the realm from him." Then, the man turned toward the King. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but that is the truth as I see it. And I know that others here agree." 'Well, he didn't. If so, his wife should be the heir. If not her, the Aemon.' He thought if the council wanted a different heir.
"I will not be made to choose between my Daemon and my daughter," Viserys spoke, his voice closer to a hiss as his anger rose.
He decided to speak then, "You wouldn't have to, Your Grace." Lord Corlys spoke from across the table. "There are others who would have a claim. Like your younger brother, Aemon."
This made Lyonel look at him with a smile. Did he know, or was he hoping for it? Was this Aemon's work? He wondered as he looked at the man as the Master of Laws spoke. "I agree, Your Grace. If this council is so worried about Daemon, it would be better for the realm. Aemon is an accomplished lord and rider of the ride of Conquer's dragon."
At that moment, he spoke up again, feeling the momentum. "Aemon is his grace, his brother, and his impending marriage with my daughter would give their children more of a claim through Rhaenys, the only child of Jaehaerys's eldest son." He responded. "She had a strong claim at the Great Council, and both claims of Jaehaerys his son's would be united." He ended his reasoning for putting Aemon forward as the heir.
Otto looked at him as if he had swallowed a lemon and turned to a bitter laugh. "Just moments ago, you announced your support for Daemon!"
"Well, Lord Hand, you didn't want Daemon as heir. Aemon wouldn't be him, or so you made it sound..." Lord Strong asked.
His words were cut off by the King, who bellowed in anger. "My wife and son are dead!" The King bellowed, causing everyone in the room to flinch, and the argument was closed as the King rose from his seat. Stamping his hand on the table in anger. "I will not sit here and suffer crows that come to feast on their corpses!" And with that, he stalked out of the council chamber, with Ryam following on his heels.
The rest of them slacked back into their seats as the King left the chamber.
Viserys Targaryen (106 A.C.)
Kingslanding - King's chambers
He sat in his chambers, meticulously working on his Valyrian model. 'As he looked, he could see a vision of it now materializing. With Aemon's inventions, it would now be possible. His younger brother represented a true blend of Valyrian and Westerosi heritage, garnering support from many lords and common folk. Tales of Aemon's prowess and honor in the tournament as a mystery knight honoring his lady love would soon be heard through the realm. He sometimes wished he weren't the firstborn son but Aemon, who embodied a mixture of himself and Daemon. Despite Aemon's ruthlessness, there was a kindness in him, a dedication to family, and a duty to the realm, much like himself.' His contemplations were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"The Lady Alicent Hightower, Your Grace," Ser Ryam announced. Alicent entered, holding a book. "What is it, Alicent?" he inquired, rising from his seat. She spoke timidly, "I came in to look into you, Your Grace. I brought a book." As Ryam closed the door behind him, He smiled at her and spoke, "That is very kind."
"It's a favorite of mine. I know how passionate you are about the histories," Alicent said as she sat on the opposite chair across from the Valyrian model. Viserys responded uncertainly, "Yes, I'm..." His words trailed off as he glanced over at his daughter's friend.
As he resumed sculpting the model, Alicent spoke again, "When my mother died, people only ever spoke to me in riddles. All I wanted was for someone to say that. They were sorry for what happened to me." She paused before continuing, "I'm very sorry, Your Grace." He nodded. 'his thoughts drifting back to the painful memory of his wife dying in his arms. To be honest, hearing someone say that felt like a warm hug. He needed it. These past days had been hell. Alicent had come and given him some clam in his heart.' He thought with a smile toward Alicent.
Council Chambers
The following day, in the council chambers, he sat in his chair as Otto began to speak as the council meeting had commenced.
'The entire room, including Aemon and Rhaenyra, was draped in somber black. The court was still in a melancholy state of affairs. He felt that sentiment all too well.' He thought as Otto began.
"Last night, Prince Daemon bought out one of the pleasure houses on the Street of Silk to entertain officers of the City Watch and other friends of his. He spoke of you and the council. Expressing the regret of the council of his position as presumed second in line to the throne. To be fair, I've had my reservations toward the Prince, so what he spoke about is true. Although he spoke more," Otto reported with a sigh, igniting his frustration at the ongoing infighting between Otto and his hand.
"He toasted Prince Baelon, Your Grace, styling him the heir for a day," Otto revealed, shocking him. 'No brother, please don't these suppose it actions were beyond belief.' He thought he was too shocked to speak.
Instead Aemon spoke. "Lord Hand, I know you dislike my brother, but I hope for your own hide you have evidence," Aemon spoke, irritation and a genuine threat to Aemon's voice.
"Of course I did, my Prince. I corroborated this report with three separate witnesses. The evening was, by all accounts, a celebration," Otto affirmed, glancing at Aemon, who displayed anger and disdain on his face.
"Out of all of you!! Aemon, stay. I have a word," He raged, dismissing even his daughter and the Kingsguard, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Trying to calm himself, he drank his glass of wine in one go. The burn helped somewhat. "Damn him, damn him by all the gods. How could he do it?" he raged when they were alone. In the distance, he heard three separated roars rising. "Daemon, let his mouth speak before he thinks. The man has been in limbo for the past four years, always speaking of how he is the heir. Now he is again, although I wished it otherwise. Baelon was all Aemma, a beauty, a new light for the kingdom. I'm just sad, and I'm not surprised by Daemon's actions. You know the dagger I crafted for him; he spat it back in my face when I tried to gift it to him," Aemon spoke, his voice filled with melancholy.
Pacing back and forth in the council chamber, he battled with his anger as he attempted to maintain composure while contemplating the crucial decision of selecting an heir that would shape the fate of the Iron Throne and the Targaryen dynasty.
His brother observed him closely, understanding the weight of the situation. "Your grace," Aemon spoke formally, his tone measured, "As much as I wanted to rage about what Daemon said, we must consider the realm's future. Clearly, our brother's ambitions have never waned, and his actions may have irreparably damaged his standing. He openly mocked you for the lack of an heir and dishonored your passed-away son and Aemma's sacrifice. I do care for my brother, though we have never been close. But right now, having him around isn't worth what it gives us."
Sighing deeply, he acknowledged the truth in his brother's words. "You are right, Aemon. The realm cannot afford to have a contentious heir. It could lead to another devastating civil war, something we must avoid at all costs. We can't have another Aegon the Uncrowned and Meagor the Cruel."
Aemon nodded in agreement before proposing a solution. "Rhaenyra, your daughter, has always been strong and with you in the small council, doing her duty and learning at your side. Naming her as your heir could help maintain stability in the realm. It would continue Aemma's legacy and yours. However, it might bring anger to those who are not inclined to have a woman rule over them. Still, it is a reasonable choice. If the realm will be prepared for Rhaenyra's rule, that is."
Surprised by his brother's suggestion, suspecting Aemon to support himself for the position, he considered the implications. So he spoke his thoughts aloud. "But the tradition has always favored a male heir. Naming Rhaenyra would cause controversy, perhaps even rebellion from those who hold to the old ways. I will be pressured to remarry, and a son might be born, but I can't see it happening. Aemma has been gone for not a week, and I pushed her to it. I won't do it again."
'Contemplating the potential repercussions of naming Rhaenyra as his heir. He had another idea forming in his mind—a compromise to preserve Aemma's legacy and ensure the continuity of their line while adhering to the traditional notion of a male heir. The notion of marrying his daughter to Aemon emerged though he wasn't entirely sure. It would wroth Lord Corlys for sure if he broke off the betrothal, and he wasn't sure if he could expect Aemon to stand by. He seemed to care for Laena, although he had also seen the affection between him and Rhaenyra.' He wondered if it could work.
With a serious tone, he turned to Aemon and asked, "Aemon, would you do what your King asks of you? Unlike Daemon has done, would you put the good of the realm and our house above personal desires?"
Aemon met his' gaze with unwavering determination and answered dutifully, "Your grace, my duty to our house and the realm, has always been my foremost priority. I will do whatever is necessary to serve the Targaryen dynasty's best interests and ensure the realm's stability. My desires come second to my duty, as they should for any loyal subject." It was the answer Viserys had hoped for.
"I leave. You now to contemplate your choice, brother. I know you will make the right decision. Good day, Your Grace." Aemon said, bowed, and started to leave. "Thank Aemon." He said as his brother left. 'The conversation had revealed Aemon's commitment to their house and the realm, giving him the confidence to consider him a potential heir. Aemon's marriage to Rhaenyra remained unspoken for now, but it was clear Daemon could not stay as his presumed heir.' He thought as Aemon left the Council chambers.
The Throne Room
The Throne Room. Then, the main doors opened from the other end of the hall. He was seated on the throne, the pointed blades sticking out. He watched as his brother walked in with a smug expression on his face. The nonchalant demeanor infuriated him, his blood boiling at the sight.
"You cut the image of the conqueror, brother," his brother spoke casually, his eyes fixed on the throne.
"Did you say it?" His voice was low, anger simmering beneath the surface, hoping against hope that his brother's words were untrue.
His brother stopped just at the foot of the throne and replied, "I don't know what you mean," a look of unconcern and confusion on his face.
He now needed to assert his authority as King and spoke harshly, "You will address me as 'Your Grace,' or I will have my Kingsguard cut out your tongue. 'The Heir for a Day.' Did you say it?" His voice resonated with anger.
His brother averted his gaze, avoiding eye contact. There was a flicker of recognition, and then he spoke, his voice devoid of authority, "We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace."
Frustration mounting, he hissed, "My family has just been destroyed. Instead of being by my side, or Rhaenyra's... like Aemon did, staying with my son, you chose to celebrate your own rise! Laughing with your whores and lickspittles!"
"You have no allies at court but me!" He bellowed. ''I have only ever defended you! Yet everything I've ever given you, you've thrown back in my face! Why couldn't you do your duty? Why couldn't you be more like Aemon?"
His brother retorted, "You've only ever tried to send me away. To the Vale, to the City Watch, anywhere but by your side. Four years you've been King, and not once have you asked me to be your Hand!"
He realized then his brother's long-suppressed resentments and responded, "Why would I do that? You have never done your duty or been respectful. You could have done it, even proved to me you could, with your wife. Your child could have been the heir to Runestone. But your damn pride got in the way. So why should I give you the Handship, something you aren't prepared for?"
"Because I'm your brother. And the blood of the dragon runs thick," his brother pleaded, Trying to speak of his brotherly bond. But he just huffed. 'Hadn't he treated most dragon-blooded like dirt? Aemon was a true brother, fighting and serving his family. Daemon had never been since the Great Council he had been prideful. Too proud of his own good.' He thought about Daemon't words.
"That's rich coming from you, brother. You have treated your own blood like second tier. You cut us so deep with your actions," he retorted, his anger giving way to deep sorrow.
"I've only ever spoken the truth about the wolflings, and I see Otto Hightower for what he is," his brother defended.
"What about them, Daemon? And Otto is an unwavering and loyal Hand?"
"A halflings, that was whelped from a whore who seduced our father and dishonored our mother's memory. As for Otto, he is a Cunt. A second and third son who stands to inherit nothing he doesn't seize for himself. Aemon has a rocky cliffside ruin somewhere in the North as if they are worth anything." 'That dishonorable bastard.' He thought before he spoke again.
"Aemon, Visenya, and Lyanna are family. Aemon has done more for our house than you have ever done. He and Otto Hightower are more honorable men than you could ever be," he responded, his anger still evident.
"They don't protect you." His brother's accused tone came back. 'Protect him? Form Aemon? Aemon had been working in the North, projecting power to their house. That was the definition of protecting.' He thought in wonderment to Daemon's words. "I would."
"What are you speaking of? From what?" He questioned. He really didn't know.
"Yourself," his brother replied. 'Unbelievable. The gall of the man.' He thought, and his anger rose again. "You're a weak king, Viserys. And the council of leeches knows it. They all prey on you for their own ends." He laughed then.
'He found it laughable. He and Aemon had just discussed the succession to the throne before, and in it, Aemon did not suggest himself as heir.' Not to replace the man he now looked at, and Aemon had even defended Daemon.' He thought about this all of this shit that happened that landed them here. Daemon's words made the decision he was about to make much easier. He had hoped to give his brother perhaps a chance to redeem himself, but that was vain hope based on what happened in this conversation.
Then he spoke, his voice full of ice. "I have decided to name a new heir." It broke the silence.
"I am your heir," his brother said, wondering. 'No, that chance was gone the moment you betrayed and insulted your family.' He thought bitterly.
"Not anymore. You are to return to Runestone and your lady wife at once. And you are to do so without quarrel. Let's see if you still can do your duty. That is an order by your King," He spoke harshly as he ordered his brother away.
His brother walked forward, but the Kingsguards swiftly unsheathed their swords and blocked his access. Ryam's white blade caught the torchlight, flickering dramatically. His brother looked at the Kingsguard with a mix of shock and disdain.
"Your Grace," he spoke lowly, lowering his head in a bow before walking out of the main hall. He leaned back into his chair and rested. His heart was heavy with pain, but his resolve was true in his heart on the decision he was about to make.
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