"What's in the cage?" Aemon asked, eyeing the shrouded thing warily. It couldn't be a farewell gift, could it?
"Caw! Caw!"
The cage rattled, the croaking of a raven ringing out harshly.
Rhaenyra laughed and gave a playful shrug. "Since you're leaving tomorrow, I arranged something special. Grand Maester Mellos helped me find a raven you can use for private correspondence."
Before Aemon could respond, she shoved the cage into his arms. The weight surprised him.
"Rhaenyra… You're so thoughtful," he said, touched, even if still a little suspicious.
Ravens were, after all, the lifeline of communication between noble houses. Faster and stronger than pigeons, their flight paths were memorized by the maesters who raised them. Each great house had its rookery, but those birds were typically reserved for official messages.
A personal raven, however, meant personal words—safe from courtly gossip or intercepted scrolls.
"Be sure to write," Rhaenyra instructed, clasping her hands behind her back. Her voice lowered slightly, as if she was trying to sound indifferent. "And if I ever feel lonely or troubled, I'll write to you."
Aemon thumped his chest. "Don't worry. I will."
He glanced toward Laena, who smiled softly—just a little too softly for his comfort. What was she planning?
"Laena's leaving too," Rhaenyra added, noticing his look. "The Velaryon ship is bound in the same direction. I asked them to accompany you. Better to travel with an escort."
Aemon caught her meaning immediately. She was ensuring his protection.
"Thank you," he said sincerely.
Laena stepped forward, her voice as warm as spring sunlight. "And I wouldn't miss the chance to get to know the famous Prince of the Dragon Clan."
Aemon stiffened, lips twitching into a strained smile. Laena's beauty was undeniable, but he'd learned to be cautious of pretty faces—especially the ones who smiled like that. She was too calm, too composed.
Beautiful women are dangerous, he reminded himself. At least Rhaenyra was beautiful and chaotic—a harmless kind of trouble.
Laena leaned in slightly. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you."
Aemon's eyes darted to the nearest exit.
---
The Next Morning – Blackwater Bay, Outside the Mud Gate
Two ships rocked gently in the harbor, bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Velaryon. The sky was clear, the water shimmering under the morning sun. But the mood on shore was thick with parting.
Aemon stood tall despite his age, cloaked in the colors of House Targaryen, bidding farewell to each well-wisher.
Viserys himself had come to see him off, an unusual gesture for the king. There was guilt in his eyes, along with something else—pride, perhaps, or anxiety.
"Go, Aemon," Viserys said, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Learn the ways of governance. When the day comes, your people will look to you not just as their lord, but as their protector."
"I will," Aemon replied firmly.
Beside him, Ser Steffon stood silently. Aemon tugged at the knight's white cloak, looking up with wide eyes. The knight avoided his gaze, clearly uncomfortable.
Viserys hesitated, then sighed. "Ser Steffon, accompany him to the Vale. Train him in arms, teach him discipline. Keep him safe."
Relief flooded Steffon's face. "As you command, Your Grace."
Aemon beamed and dashed off to find Rhaenyra. She stood nearby, hands clenched at her sides, her face twisted in a strange mix of pride and sorrow.
"Promise me you'll write," she said, pulling him into a fierce hug.
"Mm-hm," Aemon murmured into her waist. Her stomach was flat beneath his cheek—she wasn't yet a woman grown. But she already felt like family.
She wasn't perfect. Rhaenyra had her flaws—impulsive, often swayed by emotion—but she was loyal. A good sister, Aemon thought, in her own way.
When the Dance of the Dragons began, she hadn't meant for things to become a war. She only wanted to stop Aegon. It was others who made it spiral out of control.
He stepped back, a grin tugging at his lips. "Next time I visit, you'll take me flying, right?"
Rhaenyra chuckled and tousled his hair. "Only if you don't get airsick."
Finally, Aemon turned to Alicent. Her composure cracked, eyes glistening. She didn't say much—just reached out and touched his cheek.
"Goodbye. I'll be back," he promised.
Then the sails rose, the anchors lifted, and the ship began to drift from the harbor.
Aemon stood at the stern, waving until the shore was a blur of color behind him.
---
Aboard Ship – Afternoon
The sea wind whipped through Aemon's hair as he turned from the railing. A cluster of boxes sat on deck, catching his eye.
"Your Highness, what should we do with these?" asked Ser Lyonel, the Knight of Gulls, stepping forward cautiously.
Aemon narrowed his eyes, then smirked. "Ser, I am a prince now."
Lyonel chuckled and bowed. "Apologies, Your Highness."
The boxes were adorned with House Lannister's roaring lion. Inside? Gold. A lot of it.
"Store them in my treasury," Aemon said smugly.
The gold had come from Duke Jason Lannister—though "gift" wasn't exactly the right word. Before leaving, Aemon had made sure the injured lord paid for his misdeeds.
Ten thousand gold dragons. A flat price.
Jason had protested. Loudly. But Viserys had cosigned the loan from the royal treasury. Casterly Rock would repay it. Eventually.
Jason dared not refuse. His younger brother Tyland had been furious—not at the payment, but at Jason's survival. If the white stag had killed him, Tyland might've inherited the seat.
Now they were out ten thousand dragons and still stuck with Jason. The gods have a sense of humor.
"Well done, Your Highness," Lyonel said, motioning for men to secure the boxes. "A tidy sum for a tidy prince."
Aemon grinned. He felt taller already.
Wealth, title, allies. Not bad for a boy of eight.
His mother's guards were proving useful. Gonsal was the silent sword. Lyonel was better with logistics—paperwork, coin, and diplomacy. And now, with Ser Steffon, they had a knight of the Kingsguard watching over them too.
---
King's Landing – Red Keep Gatehouse
The skies had darkened. A soft spring drizzle began to fall over the city.
A carriage rolled away from the Red Keep, its wheels splashing gently through puddles. Alicent stood atop the battlements, skirt soaked from her hurried climb, watching it disappear.
Two partings in one morning.
Aemon was gone.
And so was Otto Hightower.
Viserys had dismissed the Hand shortly after the ship departed. The reason wasn't spoken, but it didn't need to be. The king had grown tired of manipulation. Of control.
Otto had overreached.
The carriage taking him to Oldtown didn't slow. Alicent's chest ached, but she remained still, shoulders squared.
She didn't want this. Otto was her father—her only family left in the capital. But she couldn't let him pull the strings anymore.
A red umbrella appeared above her head. One of the Cargyll twins, the White Knights of the Kingsguard, had stepped forward silently to shield her from the rain.
"Let's go back," Alicent said at last, voice quiet.
As she turned to descend the steps, a servant hurried up with a black-draped cage.
"Your Grace," said Ser Eryk. "The prince left this with me. Said it was a gift."
Alicent blinked.
Eryk removed the cloth.
Inside was a raven.
"He said, if you miss him… you can write."
For the first time that day, Alicen
t smiled.
It was small, but warm.
She turned without a word and headed inside.
She had a letter to write.
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