East Coast, Beach.
Aemon strolled away from High Tide, making his way leisurely toward the beach.
"Squeak, squeak!"
The little gold-nosed mouse peeked out of his satchel, its head darting back and forth, sniffing for treasures.
Aemon smiled and lifted the furry creature, placing it gently on his shoulder.
"You've been loyal," he murmured, recalling how the mouse had stayed by his side on Dragonstone during his dangerous attempt to tame a dragon.
From now on, he silently vowed, if he had food to eat, the little mouse would always get a share.
"The Velaryons are truly wealthy," Aemon muttered, scanning the coastline.
Even in this quiet stretch, ships passed frequently. He knew that at the more bustling ports of Hull and Spicetown, vessels would be as plentiful as pieces on a cyvasse board.
"All it takes is one war to burn it all to ash," Aemon thought grimly.
His resolve to strengthen his own position solidified further.
If the Dance of the Dragons couldn't be stopped, even the grandest towns would crumble into ruin.
After about half an hour, Aemon climbed up a grassy hill and spotted a familiar figure in the distance—a silver-haired woman, seated alone, gazing out at the sea.
"Laena?"
What luck! He hadn't expected to find her here.
Aemon grinned, quickening his pace.
He wasn't here to woo her—he respected her betrothal.
No, he simply wanted to share the thrill of taming a dragon with someone who might understand.
Laena Velaryon sat on a patch of sparse grass, letting the sea breeze tug at her golden-silver curls. Her delicate fingers tucked a stray strand behind her ear.
From behind, her slender figure, draped in a flowing blue gown, exuded grace and natural beauty.
But no matter how lovely her appearance, it couldn't mask the melancholy in her posture.
"What are you doing here?"
Aemon clambered up the hill, his wide eyes full of curiosity.
Laena glanced back, surprised. "Aemon? How did you find me?"
"I was just walking," he shrugged. "Happened to see you."
She smiled faintly at his boyish innocence.
"Well," she said, patting the grass beside her. "Sit with me for a while."
"Sure!"
Aemon plopped down, eager to hear her thoughts.
Laena rested her chin on her hand, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Slowly, she began to share her troubles.
It was clear that her betrothal weighed heavily on her.
The political value of her match had diminished after the assassination of the Sealord of Braavos. Her fiancé was a man of little consequence now—someone who no longer impressed Corlys Velaryon.
"What do you think?" Aemon asked, fascinated.
Laena turned her head to study him, her sapphire eyes calm and steady.
Aemon blinked, suddenly wary.
"Uh…" He shuffled sideways, putting a little more distance between them.
After spending so much time around Alicent and Rhaenyra, he'd developed a healthy caution around clever women.
"She doesn't look like someone to be trifled with."
"Are you scared?" Laena teased, laughing softly.
"I'm not about to kill him, you know."
Aemon coughed awkwardly. "Well… that's not necessarily off the table, is it?"
Laena, oblivious to his thoughts, sighed. "My father will figure something out. He's too cunning not to."
Aemon nodded, impressed by her clarity.
Velaryons. Always thinking three moves ahead.
"Come on," Laena said suddenly, standing up. "I'll show you around."
"Sure."
They walked side by side—or rather, Aemon trailed slightly behind.
Not by choice, of course.
He was just too short.
Laena's tall, elegant frame towered over him, her blue gown flowing gracefully as she walked.
Aemon, meanwhile, realized with some dismay that his head barely reached her waist.
"Why are her legs so long?"
Feeling a bit self-conscious, he kept his distance, worried he might accidentally bump into her.
They soon arrived at a secluded pasture.
"Baa, baa…"
A flock of sheep grazed peacefully in the distance.
Boom!
A massive, dark green dragon slithered out from the trees, extending its neck to unleash a torrent of flame.
In seconds, the poor sheep were roasted to charcoal.
Then, the dragon began to feast.
"Vhagar," Aemon whispered in awe.
He glanced up at Laena, only to find himself facing her hips again.
Quickly, he tilted his head upward.
Laena caught his gaze and chuckled. She reached out to pinch his cheek playfully.
"She's eating. We shouldn't get too close."
Aemon nodded, following her lead as they moved to a safer distance.
He frowned, noting Vhagar's size.
The dragon was enormous—her dark green scales gleaming like an ancient forest in the sunlight.
"She must be over 100 meters long," Aemon estimated.
Even his own dragon, Vermithor, couldn't compare in sheer scale.
Yet…
Aemon's sharp eyes caught signs of age on Vhagar.
Her jaw hung slightly loose, and the horns on her head looked worn.
Despite her imposing size, the dragon bore the marks of time.
"She's past her prime," Aemon thought, lips pressing into a thin line.
Still, he reminded himself of her formidable reputation.
During the Dance of the Dragons, Vhagar, at 180 years old, had slain Caraxes—a younger, more agile dragon.
Even at 160 years old now, she remained a force to be reckoned with.
"She's not to be underestimated."
Laena noticed his intense expression.
"You were thinking of touching her, weren't you?"
Aemon blinked, caught off guard.
"Maybe," he admitted sheepishly.
Laena shook her head. "No. Vhagar doesn't like strangers."
Her tone grew serious. "She's old and irritable. Even feeding her can be dangerous."
Aemon halted, respecting her warning.
Old dragons are unpredictable.
Wiser now, he decided not to test his luck.
Still, he couldn't help but admire Vhagar from a distance.
The dragon's towering form cast a long shadow, her green scales shimmering like armor.
Aemon's heart beat faster as he watched.
"This is what true power looks like."
Suddenly, Vhagar lifted her head, fixing her large, slitted eyes on Laena.
The dragon let out a deep, rumbling growl, her breath steaming in the cool air.
Laena stepped closer, offering a sheep as a peace offering.
"Easy, girl."
The dragon's gaze softened slightly as she devoured the sheep in two bites.
Aemon marveled at the bond between rider and dragon.
"She's magnificent."
Laena glanced back at him, her expression unreadable.
"Come on," she said, smiling.
"Let's not push our luck."
As they walked away, Aemon couldn't shake the feeling that Laena was hiding something.
And then it hit him.
"She's not interested in that Braavosi fool."
No, Laena deserved better.
Aemon silently ticked off the eligible men in House Targaryen.
Viserys? Too old.
Daemon? Still married.
Baby Aegon? Too young.
Which left…
Himself.
"No way…"
The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
"Could she be interested in me?"
It was a terrifying prospect.
Laena Velaryon—the proud dragonrider of Vhagar, eldest daughter of Corlys Velaryon—was no ordinary woman.
And the Targaryens… always married their own.
Aemon swallowed hard.
"The Targaryen men are too few… and the women too many."