— Aemon's POV —
The sun rose, and a boy greeted it with a song worthy of the gods.
My voice still echoed in the dawn-lit cliff. Around me stood my family, their faces caught between awe and confusion. The silence that followed felt heavier than any roar of applause.
"How did you come up with that song?" someone asked.
"Who wrote it?" another echoed.
Before I could answer, my old singing master, Kaevor Myrathi, stepped forward. "It was all him," he said. "He's been working on that song—and many more—for a long time. I just helped him with tone and flow."
That surprised them more than anything else. Eyes widened. Even Grandfather Baelon blinked, stunned.
He finally asked, "How did you come up with the lyrics?"
I hesitated, unsure if they'd believe the truth. "It was a dream," I said softly. "A lone woman stood on a cliff, sad and broken. I wanted to sing something that could turn her head… something that might make her believe again. That wish became the song. I don't know—" I paused, hand on my chest. "It felt like the song was already inside me, waiting for her pain to wake it."
A breathless silence followed. Even the wind seemed to pause. And then Queen Alysanne stepped forward and gently placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Come," she said. "Let us return to Dragonstone."
That evening, as the maester arrived, Queen Alysanne handed him a sealed letter. She didn't say what it contained. She only looked out toward the sea, her expression unreadable.
Later, I found myself alone with Princess Rhaenys in the garden, where lavender and dragon's breath bloomed under moonlight. She gave me a faint smile.
"You are very talented," she said.
I looked at her. "You were wronged."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Even if I was, your place in the line of succession came because of it. That benefits you, doesn't it?"
I didn't flinch. "Every Targaryen is worth more than that throne," I told her. "The back of a dragon is the only true throne."
Her brows rose. She chuckled softly. "You are truly different, young dragon. Come to Driftmark when you can."
And then she left me in the stillness.
The next morning, a raven bearing the King's sigil arrived. We had been summoned to King's Landing.
There was no delay. We departed the following day, streaking across the sky like a living storm.
Queen Alysanne, my mother Aemma, and little Rhaenyra rode Silverwing.
My father Viserys and Grandpa Baelon flew on Vhagar.
Rhaenys rode Meleys.
Gael rode Dreamfyre.
And I rode Zalrazar, his black wings slicing the clouds with fury.
Our arrival in King's Landing was a spectacle. The people filled the streets, pointing skyward in awe and fear. When dragons arrive together, the world notices. The Red Keep's gates opened to us without question. We were led straight into the throne room.
Throne Room – Red Keep
The Iron Throne loomed above us, jagged and cruel. King Jaehaerys sat upon it like a man carved from old stone. His eyes, once warm, were cold now. Around him stood his council—stern men with narrow minds.
"Gael," the King called. "Step forward."
She did, her head bowed, her steps slow.
"Your actions have brought disgrace to our house," he said coldly. "You've tarnished the honor I spent my life earning. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
Gael's voice trembled. "What I did was selfish," she said. "I let myself be fooled by a charlatan. And my child died because of me."
Grand Maester Elysar stepped forward. "What you did," he said, "was an affront to the virtues of the Seven. By the laws of Westeros, your child was a bastard. His death spared him a life of scorn."
The words made my stomach churn.
"You will marry the son of Lord Hollard in the coming moon," the King declared, voice like a hammer on stone.
That was my breaking point.
I stepped forward before I could stop myself. "This is wrong," I said. "She is not a tool to be wielded."
Gasps rippled through the court.
My father reached for me, but the King raised a hand, stopping him.
"Injustice, you say?" the King asked. "What of the injustice she committed? As her King—and her father—I will see that she obeys."
"You are not worthy to call yourself her father," I said. "A true father does not treat his daughter like a pawn. Her child died, and you call it a blemish. You sell peace by trading daughters like coin. No Targaryen man or woman should be anyone's pawn."
Another wave of gasps. Even the court didn't know how to breathe.
The King's face twisted. "A boy of four namedays tells me how to rule? A daughter's duty is to obey. I am not selling her—I am arranging her duty as a princess."
"Then what is a father's duty?" I asked. "Targaryen women are not ordinary women. They carry fire in their blood. They deserve to choose their path. Are you angry because she lived the life you gave her? Or because she didn't follow your script?"
Daemon chuckled from the shadows, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the chaos. Rhaenys gave the slightest of nods.
The King gripped the throne's arm tightly. "So what will you do, boy? If I force her to marry, what then?"
I met his gaze. "Then I believe it's time for you to step down."
The words fell like an axe. Silence crushed the room.
"You would rebel?" he asked, voice like ice.
"No," I said. "But we will choose a new king—or queen—among us. We are not your slaves. You cannot rule us with fear. We are as much Targaryen as you are. And I am not alone."
The King scoffed. "You think others will support you?"
"He is not alone," Queen Alysanne said, stepping forward.
The throne room erupted in whispers.
The King turned to her, disbelief etched across his face. "Alysanne… you?"
She cut him off. "I've given enough of my children to your cause. Not anymore. And I question your ability to rule—not the realm, but us."
Rhaenys stepped forward next. Then Daemon. Then my mother and father.
The King looked around, betrayed by the blood that once followed him without question.
"So be it," he growled. "Let her live her life. Let her do whatever she wants. But she will never appear before me again."
He stood, robes billowing behind him, and walked out.
The throne room emptied slowly. I stayed behind, staring at the Iron Throne—still gleaming, still dangerous.
Queen Alysanne rested a hand on my shoulder. "You've lit a fire, Aemon. Let's pray it doesn't burn us all."