Fianna, feeling the weight of humiliation and disrespect in front of everyone present, shot a furious glare at Aemon, and without hesitation, verbally attacked him, her sharp voice cutting through the room.
— Even if it were an order from my father, I would never give my hand to you, Aemon Valaryon! — Fianna spat, her anger evident. — I am not a bargaining chip in your desperate ambitions!
The room fell silent, and some of those present exchanged uncomfortable glances. The women around Fianna murmured among themselves, shocked by the tension in the air. However, Aemon remained unshaken. He wasn't in a battle of words with Fianna, but in a much deeper struggle — of wills and gazes — with King Reynar. Both stared intensely at each other, as if the real confrontation was happening in the silent exchange of looks and intentions.
Time seemed to freeze, and the silence stretched, suffocating everyone in the hall. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Aemon broke the silence with a firm, steady voice.
— Sangria Draconyca. — he said, his words cold and precise. He then continued, explaining what it meant. — The potion I took... — Aemon took a deep breath, his eyes locked with Reynar's. — It's meant to connect those who drink it with dragons. There's no other reason to go through such a process... unless there's a dragon.
Reynar listened silently, his eyes still fixed on Aemon, then reacted slightly, as if considering the prince of Volcrist's words. The king knew the potion mentioned was legendary, used in distant times when dragons still dominated the skies. But after so long, the idea of a dragon egg reappearing seemed absurd, almost fantastical.
— Even so... — Reynar began, weighing his words. — The idea that a dragon egg has reappeared after so long is... hard to accept. — He briefly averted his gaze, thoughtful, before returning it to Aemon. — Volcrist carries a debt to Lysanthor, both for the past and the present, for bringing Fianna back safely. That, no one can deny.
The king shifted slightly, gesturing with his hands.
— But alliances... are not made out of debts alone, Aemon. What you're proposing forces us to risk a lot. Volcrist is in a fragile position, a kingdom on the verge of collapse, and risking everything on an alliance with no guarantees could cost Lysanthor dearly. We have other options... other Dominions willing to form safer, more solid alliances.
Reynar's tone wasn't one of outright rejection but of calculated skepticism, something Aemon knew he would have to overcome. Silence once again hung over the room as everyone awaited Aemon's response.
Aemon, realizing Reynar's persistence in mocking the alliance proposal, took a deep breath, his expression growing more serious. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he also understood that insisting at that moment would be pointless. There was a fine line between persistence and desperation, and he wasn't willing to cross it. Still, he wouldn't let the king leave that room without grasping the weight of his words.
— Very well, Your Majesty, — Aemon said, his voice firm and controlled despite the palpable humiliation in the air. — I won't insist any further. Volcrist doesn't beg for alliances, but extends its hand to those who understand the value of a true partnership. — He paused, his eyes locked on Reynar's, while the room grew silent. — However, remember this moment. When the future unfolds before us, your decision not to raise a hand to Volcrist may be one you deeply regret.
Reynar, laughing dismissively, shook his head as if Aemon's words were irrelevant.
— Regret, Aemon? — He asked mockingly, glancing around the room, almost seeking support for his next joke. — And why should I be worried? Count on what, exactly? — The king paused briefly, savoring the moment before continuing. — A dragon? — He laughed louder now, clearly mocking. — Breathing fire on my castle?
The room echoed with a few muffled laughs from the courtiers, who tried to follow the king's humor, but Aemon remained unmoved, his gaze firmer than ever. He would not be shaken by a provocation, especially in a situation where so much was at stake. What Reynar didn't know, and perhaps didn't suspect, was that what Aemon had proposed wasn't just a fantasy — it was a reality about to unfold.
— Be careful with your words, Reynar, — Aemon said in a lower tone, but one filled with unshakable conviction. — History has a way of repeating itself, and dragons, though they've been gone for a time, are not extinct. — He took a step forward, with the same implacable calm. — Don't underestimate what you don't understand.
The hall fell silent again, and the tension thickened. Reynar, even while laughing, felt a slight shadow of doubt pass through his mind.
Reynar stared at Aemon, incredulous at the young prince's audacity before his court, in his own domain. The courtiers around exchanged nervous glances, realizing that the situation was becoming more tense by the second. The king took a step forward, his imposing posture, eyes sparkling with contained fury.
— Courage or madness, Aemon Valaryon? — Reynar roared, his voice echoing through the hall. — Do you dare to challenge me in my own domain? You disrespect a king in his court!
The atmosphere in the hall became suffocating, as if everyone was holding their breath, awaiting Aemon's response. Fianna, still resentful, watched with a cold expression, while Edric remained silent, carefully observing every word, knowing that the next exchange could decide the future of Volcrist and perhaps Lysanthor.
Aemon, however, did not falter. He stood tall, his eyes firmly on the king. His voice came out calm, yet laden with weight.
— Your Majesty, I did not come here to disrespect your crown or your house, — Aemon began, his voice firm yet respectful. — It is not disrespect to speak the truth, no matter how hard it is to hear. Volcrist has fallen, yes. But that does not mean we are defeated.
He took a step forward, facing Reynar without hesitation.
— I am not here to beg for alliances or to plead for aid. I came to propose a partnership, an opportunity for mutual growth. — He paused, letting his words settle. — But if you, a wise and strong king, prefer to see my words as an affront, I can only regret that.
The silence in the hall was absolute. Aemon continued, his tone now softer, but heavy with meaning:
— My intention was never to disrespect. I came with respect, and it is with respect that I continue to speak. Just remember, Your Majesty... the world is changing, and the alliances forged now will define what will become of us when this storm falls upon us all.
Reynar continued to stare at Aemon, his face rigid, but something in his posture suggested that the prince's words had found some echo in his thoughts. Aemon did not back down, waiting, the strength of his conviction clear in his eyes.
When Reynar finally ordered Aemon to leave, his voice sounded like a sharp blow in the heavy air of the room.
— Leave, Aemon Valaryon, and be thankful you are leaving alive. If you persist in your madness, it will be the last time you see daylight. — Reynar looked at Edrys. — Take him away.
Edrys nodded silently, casting a brief, understanding glance at Aemon before following his order. The two began walking toward the exit, and the only sound breaking the silence of the hall was that of their boots on the marble floor. The uncomfortable murmur among the courtiers and women present was muted, and the tension still hung like a cloud about to burst.
As they passed through the gates, Edrys, ever astute, leaned slightly toward Aemon, his whisper barely audible.
— I'm sorry, prince. Things didn't go as expected. — His voice sounded genuine, a mixture of pity and frustration.
Aemon, maintaining the same unshakable expression, did not respond immediately. They advanced toward the massive carved wooden door that guarded the castle's entrance. Edrys gestured for the guards to open the door. As it opened, revealing the exterior and the vast horizon beyond, Aemon paused. He slowly turned, casting one last look at the hall where the king, still furious, muttered to those around him about the "insolence" of the young prince.
With icy calm, Aemon spoke in a tone that echoed clearly:
— As for the king's threat... — his eyes fixed on Reynar from afar, who had stopped talking, his attention captured by Aemon's words. — Even if he wanted to, he could not kill me.
His words landed like a stone, plunging the hall into a deadly silence. Everyone seemed frozen in place, including Reynar, who, for a brief moment, was speechless.
Aemon turned again and walked out, passing through the imposing door with his head held high. Behind him, the great hall remained in absolute silence, with only the echo of his final words reverberating off the walls, leaving a shadow of doubt and respect among those present.
After Aemon's departure, the atmosphere in the throne room remained tense. Reynar, still visibly irritated, turned to Edrys, who was watching him closely.
— What did you think of him? — Reynar asked, his voice laden with disdain.
Edrys, with a serious expression, took a deep breath before responding.
— I can't say for certain, Your Majesty, but if what he said is true, we've lost a great ally. Aemon Valaryon possesses a determination that is uncommon among nobles. He's not just a proud prince; he carries the hope of a people who have risen from the ashes. — His eyes locked onto Reynar's, challenging him to ignore the truth in the words he had just spoken.
Reynar furrowed his brow, his expression becoming more contemplative. He paced back and forth, as if weighing his options.
— He is a reckless young man. He thinks he can enter my domain and challenge me as if he were my equal. This cannot be tolerated. — Reynar shook his head, but Edrys remained unfazed.
— Your Majesty, recklessness may be the mark of someone who feels pressured by circumstances beyond his control. Aemon knows that the survival of Volcrist depends on alliances and, if the dragon he mentioned is real... — Edrys hesitated, thinking about the implications.
— ...if it's real, it could shift the balance of power among the dominions. — Edrys concluded, his voice carrying a weight of urgency.
Reynar stopped pacing and looked at Edrys, his mind racing. He pondered the advisor's words and the possibility of a dragon—something that hadn't been seen for a long time but could change everything.
— Do you really believe he could be an ally? That Valaryon could bring something of value to Lysanthor? — Reynar questioned, his doubts starting to give way to cautious curiosity.
— Not only do I believe it, Your Majesty, but I feel it's an opportunity we should not dismiss. What he offers could be the key to restoring not just Volcrist, but also our position in the current political game. Aemon is not just a prince; he's a symbol of resistance.
Reynar crossed his arms, his gaze drifting into the distance. The idea of a dragon and a determined prince began to stir his thoughts.
— So, what do you suggest we do? — he asked, his voice lower, almost reflective.
Edrys stepped closer, the urgency of his position evident.
— I believe we should reassess the situation. Send a message to Aemon. Perhaps we should open a more respectful line of communication. If he truly has a dragon, the story of Lysanthor could change forever.
Reynar nodded slowly, a new determination beginning to form in his eyes.
— Very well, Edrys. I will prepare a message. But, if Aemon Valaryon approaches again, it will be with respect, not disrespect. He may be a butcher, but he could also be a valuable ally.
Aemon continued his path, the echoes of the conversation in the throne room still ringing in his mind. As he walked, he couldn't help but chuckle slightly at how he had handled Reynar and his court. That disastrous confrontation, full of provocations and challenges, now seemed almost comical to him—a young prince from Volcrist who had entered an enemy dominion and walked out alive.
— What a joke! — he muttered to himself, trying to contain the laughter. The contrast between the brief moment of joy and the reality of his mission made him feel light, but at the same time, a growing concern was forming in his gut.
However, as he moved further away from the great dominion, the laughter faded, giving way to a deeper weight. He began to think about how he would tell Cedric, Thorne, and the people of Volcrist that his attempt to forge an alliance had failed. How could he tell them that he had achieved nothing?
— What will I say? — he questioned himself aloud, gazing at the horizon stretching before him. — "Sorry, I couldn't convince the King of Lysanthor to join us. But at least they didn't kill me"?
The thought made him frown. There was an expectation from those who had supported him, a hope that he would return with something tangible to help Volcrist rise again. Now, instead, he would return empty-handed.
— Perhaps I should have been more diplomatic, — he reflected, feeling a touch of regret. — Or maybe not. What matters is that they need to understand the gravity of the situation.
He imagined the disappointed faces of the people when they heard about his failed visit. They expected a hero, someone who could change the fate of their kingdom, not a prince who came back empty-handed.
— They need to know that hope still exists, that the fight isn't over, — Aemon decided aloud, finding a bit of determination. — Even if I didn't secure an alliance, I still have the egg.
That small reminder made him smile slightly. The possibility of a dragon being born was still a light in the darkness.
— I'll find a way to make this work, — he promised himself, the determination beginning to take shape again in his heart. — I can't let Volcrist fall into despair. The fight is just beginning.
And so, with renewed focus, Aemon quickened his pace, determined to return home and face whatever awaited him, prepared to tell his story in a way that would inspire his people to keep fighting.