**Three Nights After Otto Hightower's Arrival**
The Red Keep slept in darkness, its stone corridors lit only by moonlight filtering through narrow windows and the occasional guttering torch left burning for night guards. Most sensible inhabitants had retired hours ago, seeking rest before another day of courtly obligations and political maneuvering.
Prince Aemon Targaryen was not most sensible inhabitants.
His private chambers glowed with soft alchemical light—not firelight or candlelight, but the peculiar luminescence that came from matter being convinced to rearrange itself at the molecular level. Arrays of transmutation circles covered every flat surface, drawn in chalk that glowed faintly blue when active, and in the center of it all sat a small cube of vibranium approximately two inches on each side.
*Third attempt tonight,* Aemon thought with focused intensity, his golden eyes reflecting the shifting patterns of light as alchemical energy flowed through the carefully prepared arrays. *Previous efforts achieved superficial restructuring but failed to maintain atomic coherence during phase transitions. This time, I'm implementing a modified stabilization matrix based on Edward's memories of working with unstable compounds.*
Pyrion watched from his perch with the sort of patient attention that suggested he'd become accustomed to these midnight sessions of systematic reality manipulation. The dragon had grown considerably—now roughly the size of a medium-sized dog—and his presence filled the chamber with an aura of barely contained power that made the alchemical arrays resonate with additional energy.
*Your dedication to mastering these techniques is admirable,* Pyrion observed through their mental link, his voice carrying undertones of professional respect mixed with mild concern. *Though I note that you've been conducting these experiments for seventeen consecutive nights with minimal sleep.*
*Sleep is inefficient when I have access to materials that could revolutionize civilization if properly understood,* Aemon replied, his hands moving through the precise gestures required to initiate controlled transmutation. *Besides, my enhanced physical capabilities mean I require less rest than baseline humans.*
*Your enhanced physical capabilities do not make you immune to exhaustion,* Pyrion countered with the sort of patient firmness that suggested they'd had this conversation before. *Even supernatural toddlers need adequate recovery time.*
*I'll sleep when I've mastered basic vibranium manipulation,* Aemon muttered, focusing his concentration on the cube before him.
The vibranium responded to his alchemical touch with fascinating resistance—not the active opposition of living matter trying to maintain its form, but the passive stubbornness of material that existed in such a perfectly balanced atomic state that it resisted any attempt at restructuring. Every other substance he'd worked with had molecular bonds that could be convinced to rearrange themselves with sufficient understanding and energy. Vibranium seemed to look at his alchemical theories and politely suggest he try again with better arguments.
*It's beautiful,* he thought with genuine appreciation, studying the way energy flowed through the material's crystalline structure. *Perfect atomic lattice, zero energy loss, complete stability. No wonder it can absorb kinetic impacts without deformation—the molecular bonds are so precisely balanced that displacing them would require overcoming fundamental forces.*
He adjusted his transmutation array, incorporating insights from Edward Elric's memories of working with similarly resistant materials. The key wasn't to force the vibranium to change—that approach had failed spectacularly in his first twelve attempts—but to convince it that the desired configuration was actually a more stable arrangement than its current form.
*Equivalent exchange,* he murmured aloud, channeling energy through the modified array. *I'm not taking anything from you or adding anything foreign. Just... suggesting a slightly different way to organize the same atoms.*
The vibranium cube began to glow with inner light as alchemical energy penetrated its molecular structure. Aemon felt the material's resistance, but this time there was something different—a sort of cautious interest, as though the vibranium was evaluating his proposal before deciding whether to cooperate.
*That's it,* he thought with growing excitement, his enhanced senses tracking every minute change in the material's atomic configuration. *You're considering it. Just a small change—one corner rounded instead of sharp. Prove to yourself that restructuring doesn't mean instability.*
The cube's corner began to soften, its sharp geometric precision gradually giving way to a gentle curve. The process was agonizingly slow compared to his usual transmutation work, but Aemon felt a fierce satisfaction as the vibranium finally—finally—accepted his suggested modification.
Then, just as success seemed certain, he felt his concentration slip slightly. Just a momentary lapse, barely a fraction of a second, but enough to disrupt the delicate balance of forces he'd been maintaining.
The vibranium snapped back to its original configuration with such speed that the released energy created a small localized shockwave, scattering his carefully arranged notes across the chamber and causing Pyrion to spread his wings in alarm.
*Dammit!* Aemon thought with frustrated intensity, immediately analyzing what had gone wrong. *Loss of focus during critical stabilization phase. The material defaulted to its original configuration because I couldn't maintain the energetic justification for the new arrangement.*
*You're tired,* Pyrion observed with the sort of gentle firmness that brooked no argument. *Your concentration is degrading after hours of continuous effort. This is exactly why adequate rest is necessary.*
*One more attempt,* Aemon insisted, already redesigning his transmutation array to compensate for the instability he'd just encountered. *I understand the problem now—I need to establish the new configuration quickly enough that it becomes self-sustaining before my concentration can lapse.*
*Or,* Pyrion suggested dryly, *you could acknowledge that mastering unprecedented applications of alchemical theory to impossibly advanced materials might require more than three weeks of midnight experimentation.*
*Where's the efficiency in that?*
*In not accidentally transmuting yourself into something unfortunate because you're too exhausted to maintain proper safety protocols.*
Aemon paused, considering this. His enhanced intelligence had to acknowledge that Pyrion's concern was valid—alchemical accidents could be spectacular and irreversible, and working while mentally fatigued significantly increased risk factors.
But the alternative was sleeping while knowledge remained unmastered, capabilities remained undeveloped, and civilization remained unoptimized.
*One more controlled attempt,* he compromised. *With additional safety measures and a smaller target modification. If it fails, I'll rest for at least four hours before resuming experimentation.*
*You drive a hard bargain,* Pyrion replied with aristocratic resignation. *Though I note that four hours is still barely adequate sleep for someone your age.*
*I'm making exceptions for supernatural circumstances.*
*Obviously.*
---
The fourth attempt that night approached the problem from an entirely different angle. Instead of trying to restructure the vibranium's atomic configuration, Aemon focused on understanding it—treating the material as a puzzle to be solved rather than an obstacle to be overcome.
He cleared his previous transmutation arrays and started fresh, drawing a new circle that emphasized analysis rather than modification. This was pure Edward Elric methodology: study the subject, understand its fundamental nature, identify the principles governing its existence, and only then attempt to work with those principles rather than against them.
*What makes you so stable?* he wondered, channeling alchemical energy through the analytical array. *What's the secret to your perfect atomic balance?*
The vibranium's molecular structure revealed itself under his examination with the sort of crystalline clarity that made his enhanced intelligence practically purr with satisfaction. Every atom was positioned with mathematical precision, every bond was optimized for maximum stability, and the entire lattice was organized according to principles that seemed almost... intentional.
*It's not naturally occurring,* he realized with sudden clarity. *This material was designed—engineered at the molecular level to achieve these specific properties. Someone or something created vibranium with deliberate optimization of its fundamental characteristics.*
The implications were staggering. If vibranium was engineered matter, then its resistance to transmutation wasn't just physical stubbornness—it was the natural consequence of being already optimized to such a degree that any modification would necessarily be a degradation rather than improvement.
*Unless,* he thought with growing excitement, *I can identify configurations that serve the same optimization principles while achieving different functional properties.*
His hands moved rapidly, sketching new transmutation arrays based on this insight. Instead of fighting the vibranium's fundamental nature, he would work with it—propose modifications that enhanced its existing characteristics rather than trying to force it into entirely new forms.
The key was understanding that vibranium's perfection lay not in rigidity but in adaptability. Its molecular structure maintained perfect stability precisely because it could absorb and redistribute energy without permanent deformation. What he needed to do was suggest configurations that expanded that adaptive capacity rather than restricting it.
*Let's try this,* he murmured, activating the new array with careful precision.
This time, the vibranium's response was dramatically different. Instead of resistance, Aemon felt something closer to curiosity—as though the material was genuinely interested in his proposal because it recognized the suggestion as potentially advantageous rather than threatening.
The cube began to change, but not through the agonizing slow process of forced restructuring. This was flowing, natural transformation—the material reorganizing itself because Aemon's alchemical suggestion had convinced it that the new configuration was actually superior for its intended purpose.
The sharp corners softened into gentle curves. The flat surfaces developed subtle texture that increased their surface area while maintaining structural integrity. The entire cube shifted from rigid geometry to organic form, becoming something that looked almost alive in its elegant complexity.
*Perfect,* Aemon breathed, maintaining his concentration as the transformation stabilized into its new configuration. *You're not fighting me anymore. You understand that I'm helping you become more of what you already are rather than trying to make you something fundamentally different.*
The modified vibranium settled into its new form with the sort of permanent stability that indicated successful transmutation. Aemon held the array active for several more seconds, ensuring complete atomic integration, before finally releasing the alchemical energy and allowing the material to rest in its transformed state.
He picked up the now-organic-looking vibranium structure with trembling hands, feeling its perfect balance, its enhanced adaptive properties, its fundamental rightness of form.
*Success,* Pyrion observed with deep satisfaction and pride. *You've not only transmuted vibranium but convinced it to optimize itself according to your suggested parameters. Masterful work.*
*I couldn't have done it without Edward's insights,* Aemon admitted, examining his creation with wonder. *His understanding of equivalent exchange, his respect for material properties, his philosophy of working with rather than against natural principles—all of it was necessary to achieve this.*
He set the transformed vibranium carefully on his workbench and became aware, for the first time in hours, of just how exhausted he was. His hands were shaking with fatigue, his enhanced senses were reporting comprehensive system degradation, and even his normally perfect posture was slumping with the weight of prolonged concentration.
*Four hours,* Pyrion reminded him firmly. *You promised.*
*I did,* Aemon agreed, stumbling toward his bed with the sort of grateful exhaustion that came from pushing capabilities to their absolute limits and achieving something genuinely unprecedented. *Though I want it noted that this was time extremely well spent.*
*Noted,* Pyrion replied with fond amusement. *As is the fact that you're currently walking into furniture because you're too tired to properly navigate your own chamber.*
*Details,* Aemon muttered, finally reaching his bed and collapsing onto it with all the grace of a sack of flour that had given up on maintaining dignified appearances.
But before sleep claimed him, he managed one final coherent thought: *Edward Elric integration just increased significantly. Molecular-level material manipulation, respect for equivalent exchange, philosophical approach to alchemical theory—all of it crystallizing into practical capability.*
**[ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: "Master Alchemist"]**
**[Successfully transmute materials previously considered impossible to modify]**
**[REWARD: 1,000 Points]**
**[CHARACTER ASSIMILATION PROGRESS UPDATED]**
**Edward Elric: 17% → 28%**
**Accelerated integration through practical application of advanced alchemical theory**
**[NEW CAPABILITIES UNLOCKED:]**
- Enhanced molecular sensing (can analyze material composition through touch)
- Advanced transmutation stability (can maintain complex arrays with reduced concentration)
- Philosophical integration (better understanding of equivalent exchange applied to political and social systems)
*Note: Continued practical application of alchemical principles will further accelerate integration progress*
---
**The Following Morning**
Septa Maegan found Prince Aemon still sleeping at an hour when he was usually already dressed, fed, and engaged in whatever impossibly advanced activity he'd planned for the day. The sight of the young prince actually resting—curled up in his bed with Pyrion draped protectively across his chest like a scaly blanket—was so unusual that she actually checked to ensure he was breathing properly before retreating to let him sleep.
On his workbench, carefully arranged despite the chaos of the night's experiments, sat seventeen small vibranium samples, each one transformed into a different organic configuration. They ranged from simple geometric modifications to complex crystalline structures that seemed to shift and change as morning light played across their surfaces.
Each one represented hours of focused effort, dozens of failed attempts, and the gradual mastery of alchemical principles that shouldn't have been achievable by someone who wasn't even three years old.
Each one was also evidence that Prince Aemon Targaryen was systematically acquiring capabilities that could reshape civilization if he ever chose to deploy them openly.
For now, they rested on his workbench—small monuments to the sort of dedication that came from possessing the accumulated wisdom of ages combined with the enhanced physical capabilities to actually implement theoretical insights into practical applications.
And when Aemon finally woke, six hours later than usual but genuinely rested for the first time in weeks, his first thought was of gratitude toward his dragon companion for enforcing necessary recovery time.
His second thought was about how the successful vibranium transmutation experiments could be applied to architectural applications, weapon development, and the comprehensive optimization of infrastructure across the Seven Kingdoms.
*Seventeen samples,* he thought with satisfaction, examining his night's work. *Seventeen proof-of-concept demonstrations that vibranium can be worked with alchemical technique if you approach it with respect and understanding rather than brute force.*
*Your methodology parallels your political philosophy,* Pyrion observed with approval. *Convince rather than coerce, optimize rather than replace, work with existing structures to enhance their natural capabilities rather than forcing them into entirely new forms.*
*Consistent principles applied across multiple domains,* Aemon agreed. *Whether I'm transmuting vibranium, redirecting Otto Hightower's ambitions, or arranging marriages between family members, the fundamental approach remains the same—understand the subject's nature, respect their existing properties, and suggest modifications that enhance rather than contradict their essential characteristics.*
*Your comprehensive philosophical framework would make master scholars weep with professional envy,* Pyrion noted with aristocratic amusement.
*Or call for septons to perform exorcisms,* Aemon added with a grin. *Depending on how much of my actual capabilities they suspected.*
He carefully stored his vibranium samples in his dimensional inventory, already planning how to integrate them into future projects without arousing suspicious questions about impossible materials appearing in medieval kingdoms. The Arc Reactor technology would provide clean energy, the vibranium would enable unprecedented architectural and defensive applications, and his growing alchemical mastery would tie it all together into comprehensive civilization optimization.
*One step at a time,* he reminded himself. *Master the techniques in private, develop reliable methodologies, and only reveal capabilities when doing so serves strategic objectives rather than satisfying immediate curiosity.*
*A sensible approach,* Pyrion agreed. *Though I note that your definition of 'one step at a time' still involves juggling multiple civilization-altering projects simultaneously.*
*Efficiency,* Aemon replied with the sort of calm confidence that had historically preceded either golden ages or the fundamental restructuring of reality according to superior planning principles. *Why optimize one thing when you can optimize everything?*
*That,* Pyrion observed with fond resignation, *is exactly what concerns me.*
But as Aemon prepared for another day of apparent toddler behavior masking strategic kingdom optimization, he felt only profound satisfaction with his progress. The Dance of Dragons grew more impossible every day, his family grew safer and more stable, and his capabilities continued expanding in ways that would eventually allow him to protect everything and everyone he valued.
*It's definitely going to be a very interesting few years,* he decided.
And somewhere in the cosmic void, ROB updated his records and added another note about Prince Aemon Targaryen's remarkable ability to master impossible techniques through nothing more than dedicated effort, supernatural intelligence, and the sort of work ethic that made normal concepts of childhood development look like gentle suggestions rather than biological imperatives.
The universe, it seemed, had made an excellent investment.
Even if that investment did have concerning tendencies toward optimizing reality without asking permission first.
—
# The Feast of Joy and Shadows
**The Great Hall of the Red Keep - Evening**
The great hall blazed with light from a thousand candles, their flames reflecting off polished silver and gleaming gold until the entire space seemed to glow with concentrated magnificence. Tapestries depicting the glory of House Targaryen lined the walls—Aegon's Conquest, the building of the Red Keep, dragons soaring above fields of fire—and every noble house of significance had sent representatives to witness what promised to be one of the most politically significant betrothals in recent memory.
Prince Aemon stood near the high table with Princess Rhaenyra, both of them dressed in formal attire that made their royal status unmistakable while maintaining the sort of dignified elegance appropriate for nearly-three-year-old witnesses to dynastic significance. Pyrion and Syrax perched on a specially constructed stand behind them, their presence adding draconic gravitas to the proceedings.
*This is it,* Aemon thought with deep satisfaction, watching as nobles filed into the hall with the sort of eager curiosity that accompanied major political announcements. *The formal culmination of Operation Ultimate Matrimonial Intervention. One historical disaster prevented, two family members optimized for happiness, and the entire succession stabilized through strategic romance.*
*Your great-grandmother's orchestration has been flawless,* Pyrion observed with professional appreciation, his enhanced senses tracking the emotional undercurrents flowing through the assembled crowd. *Everyone believes this betrothal emerged naturally rather than through comprehensive manipulation of circumstances.*
*The best strategy is invisible strategy,* Aemon agreed silently.
At the high table, King Jaehaerys sat with Queen Alysanne, both of them radiating the sort of satisfied authority that came from knowing they'd made decisions that would strengthen the realm for generations. Prince Baelon stood beside them—heir to the throne, proud father, and possessor of his own formidable political instincts—looking genuinely pleased with the evening's planned announcement.
And beside Baelon stood the evening's principal figures: Prince Daemon and Princess Gael, positioned together in a way that made their connection obvious even before any formal declarations.
Daemon had cleaned up remarkably well for the occasion. Gone was his usual casual swagger, replaced by the sort of regal bearing that reminded everyone exactly whose blood ran in his veins. He wore the traditional colors of House Targaryen with the sort of natural authority that suggested he'd been born to occupy thrones, and his violet eyes held genuine warmth as he glanced at Gael beside him.
Princess Gael looked radiant in a way that transcended mere physical beauty. Her silver-gold hair had been arranged in elaborate braids that somehow made her appear both younger and more mature simultaneously, and her gown of deep crimson and gold seemed to capture light and reflect it back with interest. But more than her appearance, it was her expression that drew attention—genuine happiness, unguarded joy, the sort of emotional openness that came from someone who'd finally found what they'd been seeking without quite realizing they'd been searching.
*They look happy together,* Rhaenyra observed with satisfaction, settling more comfortably against Aemon's side. *Really happy. Not the pretend happy that adults do when they're being polite about things they don't actually like.*
*Genuine compatibility,* Aemon agreed with fierce pride in his successful matchmaking. *They complement each other perfectly—his intensity balanced by her gentleness, her kindness protected by his strength.*
The hall gradually filled with nobles, septons, maesters, and various other politically significant individuals. Aemon noted Otto Hightower positioning himself near Septon Barth, already observing the proceedings with the sort of calculating attention that suggested he was mentally cataloging every detail for future reference.
*Our scholarly friend appears interested in dynastic developments,* Pyrion noted with cold assessment.
*Natural curiosity for someone studying political philosophy,* Aemon replied. *Though I note he's paying particular attention to the emotional dynamics rather than just the political implications. Interesting.*
Finally, when the last stragglers had found their places and the hall had achieved that particular quality of expectant silence that preceded major announcements, King Jaehaerys rose from his seat with the sort of deliberate authority that made mountains pay attention.
"My lords, my ladies, honored guests," his voice carried across the hall with practiced ease, decades of kingship evident in every syllable. "We gather this evening to celebrate a union that brings joy to the crown and strength to the realm."
The formal language of royal proclamations, delivered with the weight of absolute authority. Every eye in the hall fixed on the king, and even the servants ceased their movement to witness history being made.
"Prince Daemon Targaryen, my grandson, has in recent weeks discovered what many spend lifetimes seeking—a partner whose spirit matches his own, whose strength complements his courage, and whose presence brings genuine happiness to his days."
Daemon's expression shifted subtly, taking on that particular quality that came from hearing your private feelings acknowledged publicly. Gael's hand found his, their fingers intertwining with the sort of natural coordination that suggested this was already established habit rather than performance for observers.
"Princess Gael Targaryen, my beloved daughter, has likewise found in my grandson a protector worthy of her trust, a companion who appreciates her gentle wisdom, and a partner who will value her gift for bringing peace to troubled hearts."
*Beautiful phrasing,* Aemon noted with appreciation for his great-grandfather's oratorical skill. *Acknowledging their individual qualities while emphasizing their complementary nature.*
"It is therefore with profound joy and satisfaction that Queen Alysanne and I announce the formal betrothal of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Princess Gael Targaryen, to be married on the first day of spring in a ceremony befitting their rank and the realm's celebration of their union."
The hall erupted in applause—genuine enthusiasm rather than polite obligation, as even the most cynical political observers had to acknowledge that the match appeared to be based on actual affection rather than purely strategic calculation.
Daemon and Gael turned toward each other, and Aemon watched with satisfaction as they shared a smile that held no trace of political performance. Just two people genuinely pleased to be committing their futures to each other, witnessed by a kingdom that would benefit from their happiness whether it realized it or not.
*Mission complete,* he thought with deep contentment. *One historical disaster prevented, two lives optimized, countless future problems solved through comprehensive matrimonial intervention.*
*Your great-grandmother looks extraordinarily satisfied,* Pyrion observed, tracking Queen Alysanne's expression with aristocratic interest.
Indeed, Alysanne's smile held the particular quality of someone whose careful planning had produced results that exceeded even optimistic projections. She caught Aemon's eye across the hall and offered a subtle nod of acknowledgment—recognition, perhaps, of the role his initial observations had played in identifying this optimal match.
*She knows I planted the seed,* Aemon realized with satisfaction. *She's too intelligent not to have traced the conversation back to my initial suggestions about Uncle Daemon's restlessness and Princess Gael's isolation.*
*Does she suspect the extent of your strategic planning?*
*Probably not. But she recognizes that I have unusually sophisticated insights into family dynamics and interpersonal compatibility.*
The formal announcement concluded with additional speeches from various nobles offering congratulations, blessings from Septon Barth emphasizing the spiritual significance of marriages based on genuine affection, and the sort of ritualized celebration that transformed political necessity into communal joy.
Aemon found himself genuinely enjoying the proceedings despite his usual impatience with ceremonial formalities. This wasn't empty tradition—it was the public acknowledgment of a match that would fundamentally stabilize the Targaryen succession while ensuring the happiness of two individuals he cared about deeply.
*Worth every minute of strategic planning,* he decided with profound satisfaction.
---
**Three Hours Later - The Height of Celebration**
The feast had reached that particular stage where formality gave way to genuine celebration, where even the most dignified nobles began relaxing into authentic enjoyment, and where the sort of conversations that shaped political futures could be conducted under the cover of wine and music.
Aemon had positioned himself strategically near the dessert table—both because the honey cakes were exceptional and because it provided excellent observational access to the hall's various social dynamics. Rhaenyra had claimed one of his shoulders as a resting spot while Syrax dozed contentedly, and Pyrion maintained vigilant observation from his other shoulder.
*Your sister appears to have mastered the art of strategic positioning,* Pyrion observed with amusement as Rhaenyra reached for another honey cake without needing to move more than one arm.
*She's learning efficiency,* Aemon replied with fond approval. *Why expend energy moving when you can arrange circumstances so that desired resources come to you?*
*Your approach to sibling education continues to be unconventional.*
Across the hall, Daemon and Gael were surrounded by well-wishers offering congratulations with varying degrees of sincerity. Aemon watched with satisfaction as his uncle handled the social obligations with characteristic confidence while ensuring Gael felt comfortable and supported throughout the process.
*They're good together,* he thought with deep contentment. *Natural partnership already developing before the formal marriage.*
"Prince Aemon," a familiar voice interrupted his observations, and he turned to find Otto Hightower approaching with the sort of respectful deference that couldn't quite hide calculating interest. "Might I offer my congratulations on your family's joyous news?"
"Master Otto," Aemon replied with warm formality, automatically assessing the younger man's psychological state and current motivations. "How kind of you to share in our celebration."
Otto settled onto a nearby bench with the sort of casual grace that suggested he'd spent considerable time learning how to appear both comfortable and respectful simultaneously. "I confess, I find myself impressed by the match. In my studies of dynastic politics, I've rarely encountered betrothals that appear to serve both personal happiness and institutional stability so effectively."
*Interesting approach,* Aemon noted. *Leading with acknowledgment of the match's merits rather than immediately analyzing potential complications.*
"My great-grandmother believes that the most successful unions combine genuine affection with political wisdom," Aemon replied carefully. "She has considerable experience identifying such complementary partnerships."
"Indeed," Otto agreed, his sharp mind clearly processing multiple layers of implication. "Though I imagine such identification requires remarkable insight into both individual psychology and broader political dynamics. Not a skill that can be taught through books alone."
*He's fishing,* Pyrion observed with cold precision. *Trying to determine how much strategic planning went into this match versus fortunate circumstance.*
"My great-grandmother has spent decades studying people," Aemon said with the sort of innocent directness that made profound observations sound like simple facts. "She says that understanding what people truly need—rather than what they think they want—is the foundation of lasting relationships and stable governance."
Otto's eyes sharpened with genuine interest. "A profound distinction. Most political theorists focus on managing competing wants rather than addressing underlying needs."
"Maybe that's why so many political systems fail," Rhaenyra interjected suddenly, apparently having been paying attention to their conversation despite her strategic honey cake consumption. "If you only give people what they say they want instead of what they actually need, everyone ends up unhappy even when they get what they asked for."
The silence that followed could have preserved meat for winter storage. Otto stared at the nearly-three-year-old princess who'd just reduced complex political philosophy to a single devastating observation, while Aemon felt fierce pride in his sister's moral clarity.
"Princess Rhaenyra," Otto said finally, genuine respect coloring his voice, "you've identified a fundamental challenge that most scholars spend lifetimes failing to articulate properly."
"It's not complicated," Rhaenyra replied with the sort of confident simplicity that made complex problems sound like arithmetic. "People are like dragons—they need food, exercise, affection, and purpose. Give them those things and they're happy. Try to give them substitutes and they get cranky. Same principle applies to kingdoms, probably."
*Your sister's political philosophy continues to be devastatingly effective,* Pyrion observed with aristocratic appreciation.
*She reduces everything to basic principles of wellbeing,* Aemon agreed with satisfaction. *Which is probably more effective than most elaborate theoretical frameworks.*
Otto appeared genuinely thoughtful, his usual calculated responses temporarily displaced by actual consideration of Rhaenyra's observation. "If governance were truly so simple, why do so many kingdoms struggle with stability?"
"Because," Rhaenyra said with the sort of patient tone usually reserved for explaining obvious things to slow adults, "most people in charge think being clever is more important than being kind. They make complicated plans that sound impressive but forget to check if their plans actually make people happy."
*Devastating critique of intellectual vanity disguised as childish observation,* Aemon thought with deep appreciation.
"And you believe kindness is sufficient for effective governance?" Otto asked, his voice carrying genuine curiosity rather than dismissive challenge.
"Kindness plus paying attention," Rhaenyra clarified. "You have to actually look at what's happening and be willing to fix problems instead of just making rules about how problems should be handled differently."
Otto was quiet for a long moment, his sharp mind clearly processing implications that challenged his established frameworks for understanding political power. Finally, he turned to Aemon with an expression that suggested reassessment of previous assumptions.
"Your family possesses remarkable wisdom, Your Highness. I find myself grateful for the opportunity to learn from such... unconventional perspectives."
*He's genuinely shaken,* Pyrion observed with satisfaction. *Your sister's moral framework doesn't accommodate the sort of strategic manipulation he considers necessary for effective governance.*
*Good,* Aemon replied with fierce satisfaction. *Let him struggle with the implications of kindness as policy rather than weakness.*
Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden commotion near the high table—raised voices, urgent movement, the sort of disruption that suggested something had gone catastrophically wrong.
Aemon's enhanced senses immediately locked onto the source of disturbance: Prince Baelon, doubled over in obvious pain, one hand clutching his stomach while the other gripped the table for support. His face had gone ashen, sweat beading on his forehead, and his breathing came in short, sharp gasps that suggested agony beyond normal tolerance.
*No,* Aemon thought with cold horror, his enhanced medical knowledge immediately recognizing the symptoms. *Burst appendix. Peritonitis. Historical accounts said he died from a burst belly, but I thought I had more time—*
"MAESTER!" King Jaehaerys's voice cut through the hall with the sort of command that made everyone freeze. "Someone fetch the Grand Maester immediately!"
The hall erupted into controlled chaos as servants scattered to summon help, nobles backed away to provide space, and Queen Alysanne rushed to her son's side with the sort of maternal terror that transcended political dignity.
Daemon was already moving, abandoning his position beside Gael to support his father before Baelon could collapse entirely. The prince-heir's face was twisted with pain so profound it was visible even from across the hall, and blood was beginning to seep through his fine clothes where internal rupture was causing hemorrhaging.
*I can save him,* Aemon realized with sudden clarity, his enhanced medical knowledge immediately identifying the necessary interventions. *Alchemical healing, surgical precision, my stored medical supplies from the dimensional inventory. I have everything needed to prevent this death.*
*But,* Pyrion's voice cut through his mounting panic with cold tactical precision, *revealing such capabilities would require explaining how a nearly-three-year-old possesses advanced surgical knowledge and impossible healing abilities.*
*I don't care about cover,* Aemon thought fiercely. *He's my grandfather. He's the heir to the throne. His death destabilizes everything I've been working to protect.*
*Then act quickly,* Pyrion advised grimly. *Because your window of opportunity is measured in minutes, not hours.*
Aemon was already moving, threading through the crowd with enhanced speed that made him appear to teleport between positions rather than run. His mind was racing through possibilities, calculating interventions, preparing alchemical arrays that could stabilize hemorrhaging and repair damaged tissue.
*I can't let him die,* he thought with desperate determination. *Not when I have the power to prevent it.*
But even as he pushed through the last cluster of nobles between himself and his grandfather, he felt hands grip his shoulders—firm but gentle, restraining rather than hostile.
"No, little prince," Septon Barth's voice carried quiet authority mixed with profound sadness. "Not this. Not yet. There are some things even you cannot fix without revealing truths that would destroy everything you've built."
Aemon turned to stare at the elderly septon with horror and rage warring in his expression. "He's dying. I can help him. I have to—"
"You have to be wise," Barth interrupted softly, his eyes holding knowledge that suggested he'd recognized more about Aemon's true nature than anyone had previously suspected. "You have to understand that some deaths serve purposes beyond our immediate comprehension, and that revealing yourself now would create consequences far worse than the loss we're about to suffer."
*He knows,* Aemon realized with numb shock. *Septon Barth knows I'm not just a precocious child. He's been watching, analyzing, recognizing patterns that don't fit normal development.*
"Please," Aemon whispered, his voice breaking with genuine anguish. "Don't make me just watch him die when I could save him."
Barth's expression softened with the sort of compassion that came from understanding impossible choices. "Some knowledge carries burdens too heavy for young shoulders, my prince. And some losses, however painful, serve purposes we cannot yet perceive."
Across the hall, Prince Baelon collapsed entirely, his body convulsing as internal systems failed. Queen Alysanne's scream of maternal anguish cut through the hall like a blade, and King Jaehaerys's face collapsed into lines of grief that aged him decades in seconds.
And Prince Aemon Targaryen—cosmic accident, strategic genius, possessor of capabilities that could reshape civilizations—stood helplessly restrained while his grandfather died, learning the hardest lesson of his new life:
Having power wasn't the same as having permission to use it.
Sometimes, even gods had to watch the world break.
*I'm sorry,* Pyrion's mental voice carried genuine grief mixed with grim necessity. *But if you reveal yourself now, everything you've protected will unravel. The Dance of Dragons becomes inevitable rather than preventable.*
Aemon didn't reply. He just watched as the Grand Maester arrived too late, as desperate attempts at healing failed to address damage already beyond medieval medicine's capabilities, as the heir to the Iron Throne died surrounded by family who loved him and a realm that needed him.
And he learned that optimization had limits.
That some tragedies couldn't be prevented without creating worse ones.
That being nearly three years old sometimes mattered more than possessing supernatural abilities.
*I could have saved him,* he thought numbly as the hall fell silent except for the sounds of grief.
*Yes,* Pyrion agreed quietly. *But at what cost?*
The feast of joy had become a wake of sorrow.
And the future Prince Aemon had been so carefully constructing had just encountered its first genuine failure.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!