After Viserys Targaryen was named Prince of Dragonstone, he wasted no time in organizing a grand celebration. The occasion served a dual purpose: to honor his son Aemon's sixth name day and to formally declare him the crown prince of the realm.
Aemon's 6th Name Day — Dragonstone
-Aemon's POV-
Things were finally starting to move. The wheels of fate had begun to turn again, and I could feel it in my bones. With this momentum, it was time to begin laying the foundation for everything to come. Fixing the cracks in House Targaryen would not happen in a day. It would take years of carefully planned moves—covert, political, and overt. I would need to be patient, smart, and relentless.
"Hey, what are you thinking about with such a serious face on your name day?" Rhaenyra asked, interrupting my thoughts with a teasing smile.
I turned to look at her and the girl standing beside her—Alicent Hightower, wearing an overly formal dress for a children's celebration. She was holding something in her hands.
"Congratulations on your name day, prince," Alicent said, offering me a cloth. "I embroidered this napkin with the seven-pointed star. I hope you like it."
I forced a warm smile. "Thank you, Alicent. It's a sweet gift."
In my mind, though, I sighed.
Seven-pointed star on a napkin? What am I supposed to do with that, mop up divine tears?
Still, I accepted it graciously. Public image was everything.
The ceremony continued as expected. Lords and ladies from across the realm arrived, all dressed in their finest silks and velvets. Each one presented themselves with smiles, grace, and honeyed words. I matched their smiles and returned their compliments. These people would one day be my allies—or pawns.
Despite the string of deaths that had recently cast a shadow over our family, the celebration managed to lift spirits, even if only for a day. But I knew it wouldn't last. Too many preparations still lay ahead.
As the feast reached its peak, my father rose from his chair and raised a goblet of wine. The room fell quiet.
"To all the lords who have supported me, and placed their trust in my claim to the throne," he began, voice strong, "I am honored by your loyalty. I promise to lead the realm in peace and prosperity. I shall do my utmost to honor King Jaehaerys's legacy."
The room erupted in applause and cheers. Cups were raised. Plates clattered. It was the first moment in weeks that had felt remotely hopeful.
As the feast continued, my family gave me their gifts in turn. Mother handed me a leather-bound book of Valyrian myths—old tales she used to read to me when I was younger, now rewritten in her own hand. "So you don't forget where we come from," she said softly. Father gave me a black dagger with a dragonbone hilt, the Targaryen sigil carved faintly into the blade. "For the burdens you will one day bear," he said. Rhaenyra's gift was simpler, but somehow meant the most—a hand-carved wooden dragon she'd made herself, its wings slightly crooked. "It's supposed to be Zalrazar," she mumbled, embarrassed. I smiled and placed it carefully beside me. That one would stay with me.
Later that night, in my bedchamber, I sat alone on my bed. The window was open, letting in the sea breeze. I was waiting for the gift I looked forward to the most.
Eventually, a man climbed in through the window, face partially covered by a scarf. He moved silently, like a shadow. When he removed the scarf, I frowned.
Unfamiliar face.
I raised an eyebrow. "Can you not wear a scarf next time? What's the point of disguising when you're from a guild of faceless men?"
"I am not him," the man replied in a deadpan tone. "Two men cannot share the same face. A man has come to fulfill the promise a man made."
His words were slow, measured. Dull like dry parchment.
"Aww, and here I thought he might show up to wish me a happy birthday," I said, amused, ignoring the strange way he dodged my question.
The man gave a small, unpleasant smile. "A man did not like you. A man believed you were dangerous. A man advised caution."
"Hah. I'm wounded," I replied in mock pain, clutching my chest. "To think I have a Faceless Man out there backbit*hing about me. What is the world coming to?"
Without missing a beat, he dropped a book and a small leather pouch onto the bed.
"This is the book you asked for. It contains all you need to know about the Assassin's Body. The pouch holds bank papers from the Iron Bank and several treasure maps—locations of caches left by past clients and guild assets. I will stay with you for one year, to help you begin your training. After that, you're on your own."
His tone lost its previous weird rhythm. For a moment, he just sounded like a man. Serious. Tired. Focused.
"I'm in your care, then," I said, picking up the book. "With this, I can finally push forward. I can begin production on the inventions I started working on at the Citadel."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I read the book from cover to cover, my fingers tracing diagrams and strange runes. There was magic in it—real magic. Potions, sigils, breathing techniques, and pain rituals meant to temper the body into something more than mortal. It wasn't just training—it was transformation.
But it was flawed. Dangerous.
Some of the methods required use of strange potions to have magic in your body . Others called for blood magic, self-curses, and physical mutilation to increase endurance. All of it lacked balance. There was no understanding of long-term health or sustainability.
This wasn't the path for me. Not exactly.
I would need to adapt it—modernize it.
My knowledge of calisthenics, yoga, nutrition, and modern strength training from my previous life would come into play now. I would create a hybrid system, a smarter system. Pain would still be part of it—but not recklessness.
Years of forcing myself to train ambidextrously, of working silently in the background all , those years had paid off. My path was set.
The path of dual blades. Dual minds. Dual lives.
This was just the beginning.
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I want to take a moment to quietly thank everyone who has gifted me power stones and collections over time — your support means more than words can say, even if you don't always speak up. And to those who've taken the time to leave reviews, your encouragement fuels my passion to keep writing. Every bit of your kindness, seen or unseen, helps me grow. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
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