"Should I write back to the princess?"
The old maester pulled out paper and quill, as he did habitually.
"Of course," Aemon replied decisively. "You write it for me and make sure to praise her efforts."
He dared not pick up the quill himself—doing so would inevitably lead to a session of copying historical texts.
The maester chuckled at the prince's wit and shook his head, starting to write.
Aemon, grinning, leaned lazily on the desk before suddenly asking, "Maester, how do I win the recognition of the Royce family?"
"That's a profound question," the maester mused. After a thoughtful pause, he said, "Your great-grandfather, King Jaehaerys I, excelled at this by choosing to integrate."
Aemon frowned slightly, pondering the deeper meaning.
The Targaryen dynasty, established by Aegon the Conqueror, had gone through a tumultuous early history. Aegon, despite his military prowess, failed to fully unify the Seven Kingdoms, with Dorne remaining independent during his reign.
His successor, King Aenys I, was a fragile ruler, ill-equipped to address the challenges left by his father. He died young, leaving the realm vulnerable.
Then came King Maegor I, known as "Maegor the Cruel," who usurped the throne from his nephew and left a bloody legacy. However, his ruthlessness paved the way for the dynasty's long-term survival.
Finally, King Jaehaerys I inherited the throne as a young boy and proved himself a true statesman. He forged alliances with the Faith of the Seven, constructed the King's Road to connect the realm, and defended the kingdom with resolute action.
Had he not lost his heirs late in life, his reign would have been flawless.
Aemon traced his finger along a seven-pointed star sigil on the desk, deep in thought. "The Targaryens adopted the Faith of the Seven to blend into Westerosi culture," he murmured.
Only then were they truly accepted.
The maester nodded. "Indeed. I've heard that the King is a devout follower of the Faith, as are the Queen and the Princess."
Aemon glanced up, catching the maester's knowing wink.
"That's true," he admitted. Alicent was deeply pious, but Viserys and Rhaenyra less so.
The maester's implication was clear: integrating into the culture of the Vale could be a solution.
But...
"I refuse," Aemon declared with unwavering seriousness.
The maester wasn't surprised. Viewing the matter from an impartial perspective, he commented, "Integration requires changing oneself—a painful process."
King Jaehaerys had spent decades pursuing this path. For an eight-year-old, such an undertaking was daunting.
"I'm not afraid of hardship, but I won't compromise my identity," Aemon said firmly, switching to High Valyrian. "I am who I am. This method will not work."
The maester, unfazed, smiled gently. "It seems you have your own ideas."
Aemon forced a grin, his inner conflict evident. He remembered his great-grandfather's final years—marked by regret and loneliness.
To integrate was to strip away the essence of oneself.
The conversation became an abstract discussion of history and philosophy, leaving everyone else in the room bewildered.
Eventually, the maester returned to drafting the letter while Aemon rummaged through a drawer, searching for inspiration.
Fifteen minutes passed before the maester sealed the reply with wax.
Bang!
Aemon slapped the table, his face flushed with excitement. "Maester, what if I did this—could it work?"
He revealed a sigil of House Royce, his hand trembling with enthusiasm.
The maester raised an eyebrow, contemplating the implications. "It could work, but the King would never approve. It would bury your Valyrian heritage."
The Targaryens were few in number, and Aemon's position as a prince in the Vale was already a diluted extension of the royal line. He could not simply abandon his ancestral identity.
Undeterred, Aemon retrieved a three-headed dragon sigil. "What about this? Could it work?"
Again, the maester shook his head. "It could also work, but replacing House Royce's banner with the Targaryen sigil would take generations of diplomacy."
The marriage between Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce, arranged by Queen Alysanne, had been intended to bind Daemon to the Vale and provide him with a stable base of power.
But the union had been fraught with discord, leaving a rift that Aemon now had to mend.
Carefully, Aemon placed the two sigils together and declared, "What if I combine them—can this work?"
The maester's expression turned solemn as he realized the prince's intent. "It could work, Your Highness. But you would need to achieve something extraordinary to win the people's respect."
Creating a hybrid banner symbolizing both houses would be a bold move. If successful, it could unify the factions. If not, it would invite ridicule.
Aemon understood the stakes but saw no better alternative.
Summoning Ser William, he handed him the two sigils. "Take these to the camp and instruct the craftsmen to create a banner."
The camp was a temporary settlement outside Runestone, housing the craftsmen and the fifty knights under Aemon's command.
"Yes, Your Highness!" Ser William saluted and left promptly.
Aemon ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "Maester, I have many ideas but lack wise counselors to help me execute them."
He didn't consider himself exceptionally intelligent—just exceptionally diligent.
But that was fine.
As history showed, many great rulers were not masterminds but excelled at finding and using talented individuals.
The maester hesitated before saying softly, "I am already sixty years old."
Sixty was not an age for ambitious pursuits.
"That's not what I meant," Aemon said with a wry smile. "Do you know anyone from the Citadel who could help? Someone reliable?"
"I do have a nephew studying there. He has forged six chains and surpasses me in knowledge."
"Can you summon him?" Aemon's eyes lit up.
"I can try," the maester replied with a chuckle. "But the Citadel is far away. Sending a message and awaiting a reply will take time."
"I can wait," Aemon said confidently. "I'll go speak to my mother about this right now."
Fueled by determination, the young prince set off.