Several days later.
At Runestone's courtyard, Ser Steffon sparred against Prince Aemon with wooden weapons.
Aemon dodged left and right, nimble as a hare.
Clang!
With his left hand, he blocked with the Dragonfang dagger. His right hand slashed forward with the Dragonclaw dagger.
Steffon's face tightened as he pulled back his wooden sword to deflect the sharp strike aimed below his belt.
The exchange showcased Aemon's skill, forcing Steffon to shift from offense to defense.
Aemon exploited his shorter stature, relentlessly targeting low angles.
Within minutes, sweat streamed down Steffon's face as he fought to keep up.
"Alright, that's enough for today!" Steffon called out, lowering his sword with a wry smile.
"Your swordsmanship is unparalleled, Ser," Aemon teased with a cheeky grin.
"Your dexterity is impressive, my prince. You should consider dual-wielding swords one day," Steffon replied with a hint of exasperation.
The boy's unconventional fighting style was unorthodox, but his natural talent made it effective.
Wiping sweat from his brow, Aemon found himself lost in thought.
Steffon, noticing the prince's distracted demeanor, asked softly, "Still plagued by nightmares, my prince?"
Aemon froze for a moment and touched the faint dark circles under his eyes.
"Is it that obvious?"
Since Daemon's departure, Aemon had been haunted by recurring nightmares.
Each night, he dreamt of Dragonmont on Dragonstone erupting, not with lava but with torrents of molten bronze.
Worse, with each dream, he found himself closer to the mountain's base, leaving him with less and less time before being engulfed.
"Could it be a dragon dream?" Aemon pondered privately.
The Targaryen gift, unique to their bloodline, felt like an unshakable curse this time.
Perhaps it was time to consider taming a dragon during his next visit to King's Landing.
Dragons are the source of Targaryen power, he mused.
As his thoughts churned, the old maester approached, holding two sealed letters.
"Prince Aemon, messages from King's Landing."
"From whom?" Aemon asked curiously.
Could it be from both Alicent and Rhaenyra?
"One is from the king, the other from the princess," the maester replied, handing over the first opened letter.
"This one is an invitation from His Grace, inviting you to visit King's Landing as his guest."
Aemon's expression turned wary.
Daemon had just declared himself the King of the Narrow Sea, and now his uncle was sending an invitation?
Something felt off—no, entirely wrong.
"And the second?" Aemon asked, unsealing Rhaenyra's letter.
Skimming through the contents, his face grew grim.
It wasn't about him—it was about Corlys Velaryon.
A few days earlier, Corlys had visited King's Landing.
Ever since Viserys refused to marry Rhaenys's daughter Laena, relations between House Velaryon and the crown had been strained at best.
"Nothing good comes of sudden hospitality," Aemon muttered, furrowing his brows.
Sure enough, the details were alarming.
Corlys had brought half the Velaryon fleet and was accompanied by his son, Laenor Velaryon, who rode the dragon Seasmoke.
Their arrival wasn't subtle—it was a show of force.
At the feast, Corlys had brazenly slighted King Viserys, leaving the atmosphere tense and uncomfortable.
The message was clear: the Stepstones campaign had empowered House Velaryon.
Before departing, Corlys extended an invitation to the royal family for Rhaenys's name day celebration on Driftmark, with the added pretense of discussing potential marriages.
Most notably, Corlys mentioned Laena.
After Viserys rejected her, Laena had been betrothed to the son of the Sealord of Braavos. However, that marriage had been delayed due to the Stepstones conflict, and recently, the Sealord himself had been assassinated.
"An invitation for the royal family and a 'prospective son-in-law'? Corlys is up to something," Aemon muttered, deep in thought.
Rhaenyra's letter served as a warning for him to prepare himself mentally.
"Looks like I'll be traveling again," Aemon sighed, already anticipating a detour to Dragonstone along the way.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind swept across the courtyard, scattering leaves and grass.
A deafening dragon's roar followed.
Startled, Aemon looked up to see a golden dragon descending from the skies.
"Rhaenyra?"
What was she doing here?
"SSSKRREEEE!"
The golden dragon, Syrax, circled Runestone once before landing gracefully in the open courtyard.
Compared to Caraxes's earlier visit, Syrax's smaller size caused less panic.
Servants still scurried to hide, but the knights held their ground this time—albeit with trembling legs.
Rhaenyra dismounted with a casual leap, pulling off her leather gloves and exhaling. "The roads to the Vale are terrible."
"You flew here on a dragon," Aemon deadpanned.
Rhaenyra ignored the remark and gave her younger half-brother a playful hug. "Surprised to see me? I'm here to take you to King's Landing."
Aemon, now taller than before, found himself awkwardly pressed against her.
"You smell like dragon," he muttered, leaning back to avoid getting too close.
Rhaenyra smirked mischievously and released him. "Come on, Syrax can carry both of us."
Aemon grumbled, "You could've just sent word instead of flying all this way."
"Well, where's the fun in that?"
After securing Lady Rhea Royce's permission, Aemon quickly packed his belongings.
There wasn't much to bring—his guards couldn't accompany him, and the white stag wouldn't fit on Syrax's back.
In the end, he carried a small pack with essentials: his two daggers, the goldnose mouse, and an ultragrass pillow.
"Ready," he said.
Syrax, having gorged itself on a goat mid-flight, was in no mood to entertain a second rider.
Rhaenyra spent several minutes calming the beast before Aemon clambered onto the dragon's back.
"Hold tight," Rhaenyra instructed, kneeling behind him with her arms around his waist.
"SSSKRREEEE!"
With a mighty leap, Syrax took to the skies, leaving Runestone far behind.
Two days later.
At King's Landing, in the Red Keep's council chamber, Viserys sat with a somber expression as the Small Council debated Driftmark.
Some argued Corlys's intentions were hostile, while others suggested using a marriage alliance to mend relations.
The room was a cacophony of voices, each presenting a different perspective.
Bang!
The doors to the chamber burst open.
Viserys looked up to see two figures—a boy and a girl—enter the room.
"Aemon?" he exclaimed, surprised.
The young prince grinned mischievously. "Uncle, I'm back!"
Rhaenyra followed with her usual poise, fetching a pitcher of wine and pouring herself a drink.
Viserys blinked in confusion. "How did you two—oh, never mind. Rhaenyra brought you?"
Aemon played the part of an aggrieved child, pouting. "She insisted. My back is killing me."
"What?" Viserys froze for a moment, then realized he had misunderstood.
"My back's sore from two days on Syrax. I'm practically windburned."
Despite Aemon's complaints, the truth was clear: riding a dragon was exhausting, and Rhaenyra had all but shattered his dreams of taming one.