Before setting foot in King's Landing, Aemon had made himself a promise.
But the moment he stepped off the ship, his resolve was tested.
The noon sun hung high over the calm waters of Blackwater Bay.
Prince Aemon stood at the bow, the wind tousling his silver hair, eyes fixed on the towering walls and the grand Mud Gate in the distance.
"There's so many people," he muttered, propping himself up on the railing to peer down at the bustling port where tiny figures scurried about like ants.
Behind him, the Knights of the Vale stood in orderly formation, waiting for the ship to dock.
The voyage had been smooth, uneventful—until now.
BOOM!
A golden blur tore through the sky above, soaring over the city wall like a spear of light, breaking through a thin veil of clouds.
In the next instant, the calm skies burst into turbulence.
"Hissss!"
Before anyone aboard could react, the golden shape dipped low, its wide leathery wings skimming the surface of the sea, sending up sheets of seawater as it passed.
"Dragon! Protect the prince!"
The Seagull Knight let out a startled cry, rushing forward to shield Aemon with his body.
Everything shook. The ship rocked violently under their feet. Salt spray erupted on all sides.
Nearby vessels reeled in the sudden gust. Knights stumbled. Shouts rang out across the decks as even the most seasoned men lost their footing.
And just as suddenly as it had come, the golden beast vanished into the clouds above, disappearing beyond the bay.
"What was that? A dragon?"
Aemon squirmed out from under the knight's arm, breathless but unafraid.
Sir Ryam scanned the skies, only straightening after the air had gone still. "Aye. Looked like the Princess's dragon."
He had caught a glimpse of the beast once before, from afar in Gulltown. It was much bigger now.
Aemon brushed himself off, eyes gleaming. "It's grown," he said simply.
A dragon. Hardly the first he'd seen.
Once the brief chaos passed, the ship came into port swiftly.
Surrounded by his guards, Aemon leapt off the deck with the easy energy of a boy half his age. His boots hit the dock and he took in the scene before him—and frowned.
No honour guard. No royal herald. Not even a carriage.
Mud Gate bustled like any common harbour—fishermen hawking their catch, traders shouting over carts of goods. The noble banners scattered around did little to elevate the chaos.
Among them fluttered the sigils of House Royce, raised proudly by the Knights of the Vale—though the bronze falcon looked meek beside the roaring lion of Lannister and the crowned stag of Baratheon.
"Let's go," Aemon muttered.
Sir Gunthor didn't need to be told twice. He moved forward like a living wall, parting the crowd with his sheer size. Aemon followed close behind, eyes scanning the sprawling city before them.
Lady Rhea had stayed behind to arrange lodging. That—or she had no interest in seeing the King again.
As they neared the gate, the clatter of hooves echoed behind them. A white carriage, gleaming in the sun, rolled down the street flanked by Royal Guards bearing the red three-headed dragon.
Two gongs sounded. The crowd stepped back in awe as the guard detail came to a halt.
A knight clad in silver plate and white cloak leapt from the carriage and knelt.
"My apologies, Prince Aemon. There was a delay on the road."
Aemon arched an eyebrow. Too convenient.
Had they simply forgotten him?
"Is His Majesty occupied?" he asked, voice cool.
The knight kept his gaze low. "The King is holding council. Her Grace the Queen will receive you."
Aemon tilted his head slightly. Something about it still felt off—but he nodded. "Very well. Thank you for coming."
"It is an honour," the knight said, standing and escorting him into the carriage.
A pair of horses was left behind for the Vale knights who accompanied Aemon.
And so, under the watch of the red dragon banners, the white-painted carriage made its way through King's Landing, toward the Red Keep.
People lined the streets, murmuring and pointing. A foreign prince was more interesting than the usual pageantry of the capital.
Maegor's Holdfast, Red Keep.
The carriage passed through the castle gates and rolled to a stop in the inner court, where few outsiders were allowed. The white knight bowed once more and departed, leaving Aemon standing alone.
He stared at the heavy doors for a moment, then rapped them twice.
Knock, knock.
Inside, the sound startled the young woman near the window.
Alicent Hightower turned her head, humming ceasing mid-note. She cradled a bundled infant in her arms, swaying gently.
A small silver boot peeked from behind the door—then a cherubic face, silver-haired and violet-eyed, beamed at her.
"Hello, Alicent."
Her surprise melted into delight.
"Aemon? Is that you?"
She passed the swaddled baby to her maid and hurried over, skirts swishing, smile lighting up her pale face.
"I've just returned from Runestone," Aemon said proudly as she pulled him into the room.
His boots sunk into the plush black-and-white carpet as Alicent knelt, hands cupping his cheeks.
"How was it?" she asked, checking his face like a worried older sister. "I heard Lady Rhea is a bit… difficult."
Aemon puffed out his cheeks. "She's alright. I mean, I am her son."
"Still, I worried you'd hate the Vale's cold air."
Her laugh was warm, her touch gentle. There was something about Alicent—always had been. She looked every bit the Queen now, but to Aemon, she was still the kind girl who'd once fed him sweet milk in the gardens of the Red Keep.
She was beautiful, too. Her soft curls framed a face full of grace and strength, her green eyes glowing with the quiet confidence of someone used to holding others up.
Aemon settled into her lap like he'd never left, chattering about Runestone life. She listened intently, brushing his hair from his forehead, eyes shining.
When she spotted the hand-embroidered satchel on his belt, her smile deepened.
They'd always been close, ever since Aemon was a baby and Alicent had entered the palace with her father to attend the ailing King Jaehaerys.
With his parents distant and cold, it had been Alicent who truly raised him, alongside the old king who doted on him like a cherished heir.
The court had once joked that the dying king was watched over by two angels—one silver-haired, one green-eyed.
After Jaehaerys passed, Aemon was sent to the Vale to live with his mother, Lady Rhea. But he never forgot who had held his hand in the cradle.
"Now you have a baby," Aemon said slyly, pointing to the wailing bundle in the maid's arms.
Alicent laughed, eyes softening. "Yes. I do."