Small Council Members Present:
The KING: Jaehaerys Targaryen
Hand of the King: Septon Barth
Grand Maester: Benifer
Master of Coin: Lord Lyman Beesbury
Lord Admiral: Lord Daemon Velaryon
Lord Commander of the Kingsguard: Ser Ryam Redwyne
Queen Alyssane Targaryen
Crown Prince Baelon Targaryen
The chamber smelled faintly of parchment, warm wax, and the faint tang of old steel. Light filtered through narrow windows high above, casting thin golden shafts across the long oaken table at the center of the council room. Carved dragons coiled around its legs, and crimson banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen stirred lightly in the breeze leaking through the stone slit-windows.
Eight of the most powerful men in the realm sat in solemn contemplation. The matter before them was no simple policy or dispute between houses—it was Prince Aemon.
He had defied the king. He had openly challenged Jaehaerys's judgment, even spoken of replacing him, and done so before the entire court. A threat from a child might have been dismissed, laughed away. But not this time. Not when the boy's words had found silent allies among House Targaryen itself.
Septon Barth's voice was the first to pierce the tension. "Aemon is bright. What he did for Gael was noble in its own right. But defying the king—that is no small sin. And the real danger lies not in the words of a boy, but in the support he commands."
Queen Alyssane sat still, her face like a chiseled statue. "We did nothing wrong," she said at last, her voice firm. "And neither did Aemon."
The room tensed. The king turned slowly toward her. "You're still angry with me?"
She didn't flinch. "I nearly lost my daughter."
Jaehaerys opened his mouth, but one look from Alyssane silenced him.
Maester Benifer shifted uncomfortably. "Let us speak of consequences. Whether he was right or wrong, a challenge to the throne must be met with discipline. Obedience to the crown is the spine of order."
"Perhaps send him to be fostered," muttered Beesbury. But the glare from Baelon and Alyssane sealed his lips.
"Why not let the boy speak for himself?" said Daemon Velaryon. "See if he understands the weight of what he's done."
The king gave a slow nod. "Yes. Summon him."
Ser Ryam bowed and left. Minutes passed. Then the doors creaked open.
Aemon's Entrance
The chamber loomed before Aemon as he stepped inside. The air felt dense with judgment. He had never seen this room from this side. The council table was longer than he imagined, the chairs high-backed and intimidating. Flames flickered in the hearth, but the stone beneath his feet felt cold.
His boots echoed slightly on the tiled floor as he approached. He noticed Lord Beesbury's anxious fingers drumming against his robes, the way Barth's eyes narrowed behind the folds of age, and how Queen Alyssane gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod of encouragement.
Aemon bowed with crisp grace. "I was told my counsel was needed. I'm honored to assist in whatever small way I can."
The contrast to his earlier outburst in court was striking. Here was no furious boy—but a prince, composed, courteous, and self-aware.
Baelon and Alyssane exchanged proud smiles. Even Jaehaerys tilted his head, intrigued.
"You've been called to speak on your punishment," the king said.
Aemon folded his hands. "I am, first and foremost, a loyal subject. I respect the wisdom gathered here. Before offering my thoughts, I'd like to hear the counsel of those far wiser than me."
They knew instantly what he was doing: putting the burden of judgment back on their shoulders. Rebuke him harshly, and they risked alienating the Targaryens. Be too lenient, and the king might question their resolve.
Grand Maester Benifer leaned forward. "You challenged a man anointed by the High Septon. Jaehaerys rebuilt this realm from the ashes of Maegor's tyranny. That legacy demands reverence."
Aemon did not blink. "I never questioned his greatness. No one, not I or any future ruler, may match his legacy. But peace within our family is the root of peace in the realm. We've seen what division brings—Maegor proved that. Are not prosperity and faith both sacred? Must one outweigh the other?"
That silenced the room. Benifer frowned. Barth's mouth tightened.
Jaehaerys spoke, "Then what do you propose, Aemon?"
"I recognize my ignorance of Westerosi customs and faith. I want to change that. Let me go to Oldtown, to the Citadel and the Starry Sept. Let me learn directly from the High Septon, if he'll have me."
Barth and Benifer glanced at one another, puzzled. The offer was genuine—yet disarming.
Barth cleared his throat. "The Septon will welcome such a student. So will the Archmaesters."
But Alyssane's voice trembled. "You're too young. Only four namedays old. And your mother… your sister… they'll be heartbroken."
Baelon nodded. "You're not prepared for life on your own."
"I won't be alone," Aemon said gently. "I'll take Aunt Gael. And Grand-Uncle Vaegon is there. I will not be without guidance."
The king studied him, then gave a weary sigh. "Very well. Go, and learn. Take Gael with you. And return stronger."
Aemon bowed deeply. "Thank you, Your Grace."
The Farewell
Later that night, in his chambers, the mood was heavier.
Aemma sat beside him on his bed, brushing a lock of his silver hair from his face. Her fingers trembled. "Are you truly leaving?"
"I must," he said softly.
Her eyes filled with tears. "You saved Gael. You spoke truth. And now you leave for it?"
He reached for her hand. "I won't be gone forever. But if I am to protect those I love, I need to understand this world better. The laws. The gods. The hearts of men."
Rhaenyra stood near the doorway, her arms crossed, cheeks pink with unshed tears.
"You're a coward," she muttered. "Running away."
Aemon smiled sadly. "Sometimes you take two steps back to leap four forward."
"I hate you," she whispered, before rushing forward and clinging to him. "But don't you dare forget to write a letter to me."
"I won't," he promised.
Viserys leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You've always had strange ideas. Just… don't get too clever. Men in Oldtown can be snakes in maester's robes."
"I'll remember that."
He looked at them—his mother weeping, his sister clinging, his father distant but worried. He burned the image into his mind.
For this family, he would become something more.
Even if it meant walking through fire.