The two brothers sat on the edge of the well, facing the three young ladies who were keeping a respectful distance.
Rhaegar draped an arm over Aemond's shoulder and lowered his voice. "You've spent several days with the Four Storms. Do you have your eye on any of them?"
Hearing that this was about marriage, Aemond immediately lost interest and lowered his head.
"You'll have a wife sooner or later. At least you have four options now." Rhaegar chuckled and shook his head.
It seemed that every proud man rejected arranged marriages—unless the bride was truly a stunning beauty.
"To be honest, I haven't really thought about marriage," Aemond said, looking frustrated, like a defeated rooster with his head drooping. "If I had to choose, I might pick Cassandra."
Rhaegar discreetly glanced at Cassandra.
She had inherited the Baratheon family's signature features—long, jet-black hair that cascaded down her back and bright, piercing eyes that exuded a noble and striking presence.
Among the Four Storms, Maris was intelligent and quick-witted, but her looks were lacking.
The other two girls were far too young—one was only three, the other four—so they were obviously not an option for Aemond.
By comparison, Cassandra, at seventeen, was vibrant and beautiful, with long, slender legs that accentuated her tall figure.
It made sense that Aemond would choose her.
Rhaegar blinked and smirked. "Not a bad choice. She's only six years older than you. Rhaenyra and I have an eight-year gap."
Aemond snapped his head up, his face filled with frustration and indignation. "Rhaenyra is a Targaryen. She's just a foolish Baratheon!"
"Oh, my apologies." Rhaegar was momentarily taken aback by Aemond's intense reaction.
But rather than being angry, he saw potential in his younger brother.
To him, family status mattered above all else.
Realizing his outburst, Aemond quickly stole a glance at Cassandra and her sisters in the distance, not wanting his true thoughts to be overheard.
Confirming that they hadn't noticed, he let out a breath and muttered awkwardly, "I should be the one apologizing. Only you and Aegon are truly worthy of marrying a Targaryen."
That was simply the family tradition.
The eldest son married within the family, while the younger siblings formed alliances with other noble houses.
Rhaegar's lips curled slightly—he had caught a deeper meaning in Aemond's words.
Thinking it over, he chose not to address it directly and instead carried on with casual conversation. "Does Alicent approve of you marrying Cassandra?"
"She's been pushing me to choose the eldest sister to win Lord Borros' favor," Aemond said, clearly displeased.
Rhaegar let out a small laugh, tightening his arm around Aemond's shoulder in encouragement. "The Baratheon family is powerful. The marriage would benefit both you and our house."
Before Aemond could respond, Rhaegar changed the subject. "Vermithor and Silverwing are both resting on Dragonstone. To be safe, I suggest you try bonding with Silverwing first. As you said, she's the gentler one."
The conversation about marriage had served its purpose, so Rhaegar left it at that.
It was clear from Aemond's words that Alicent had likely tried to persuade him multiple times to choose Cassandra.
Although the reasoning was a bit forced, it was undeniable that Cassandra stood a strong chance of inheriting Storm's End, which would simplify matters.
The young Aemond, unaware of his brother's deeper intentions, reacted like an honest man, his emotions flaring. "I want to tame Vermithor. He's stronger—he can help me wash away my shame!"
Rhaegar frowned slightly, studying Aemond's outburst.
He could sense a deep, suppressed bitterness—never a good sign.
Under his brother's piercing gaze, Aemond lowered his head again, his voice filled with resentment. "Aegon always mocks me. The lords and courtiers whisper behind my back, saying I'm not even as good as little Daeron."
Rhaegar's eyes darkened at that, immediately understanding the root of the problem.
Truth be told, a flicker of anger rose in him.
Aemond was his brother.
Even if they weren't particularly close, blood still bound them together.
With an icy expression, Rhaegar pulled Aemond's head to his chest and murmured coldly, "If anyone mocks you again, cut out their tongue."
Aemond struggled to lift his head, looking at his brother in shock.
Rhaegar's face remained impassive, his tone serious. "As long as you can be sure they laughed at you, you have the right to do it."
"Mother always told me not to start conflicts with others," Aemond stammered, recalling her teachings.
It was clear that Rhaegar's words were the complete opposite of what Alicent had taught him.
Staring into Aemond's wavering eyes, Rhaegar lowered his voice, his tone filled with wisdom and certainty. "Alicent is not a Targaryen. She cannot raise you properly."
"But—"
"She is a Hightower, from a house of calculated self-interest," Rhaegar interrupted, delivering a sharp truth.
Aemond glanced around in confusion, his mind a tangled mess.
Rhaegar didn't interrupt his thoughts, simply watching with an amused smile.
He believed Aemond would figure it out on his own.
The Targaryens came from Valyria. They were unlike any noble house in Westeros.
Chaos, disorder, nobility, fire…
These were the true marks of a Targaryen.
While Aemond wrestled with his thoughts, Rhaegar didn't remain idle. He reached into his enchanted bracelet and pulled out a palm-sized square stone and a carving knife.
*Scrape, scrape…*
In Rhaegar's hands, the knife moved as if it had a soul, sketching intricate lines on the smooth surface of the stone.
Within minutes, an image of a three-headed red dragon emerged.
The soft sounds of carving pulled Aemond from his daze, and he turned to watch.
Rhaegar flipped the stone over and continued carving.
Valyrian script, strange symbols, peculiar lines…
Aemond's eyes widened in confusion, his lips pressing into a tight line.
Soon, an intricate design took shape—a circular emblem edged with symbols.
The outer circle resembled a dragon.
Its slender body coiled in an ouroboros-like loop, its wings folded, and its short hind legs tucked beneath it. Its head met its tail, forming an eternal cycle.
Both sides of the pattern were complete. Rhaegar extended the index finger of his left hand, and the sharp carving knife sliced through the pad of his finger.
Drip.
A drop of blood, as red as fire, welled up and fell onto the prepared stone pattern.
The blood dripped continuously, flowing along the circular outline of the design, quickly spreading across the entire pattern.
First, the thin, dragon-like outline of the circle was stained crimson, resembling a fierce, clawing beast.
Next, a series of strange runes—ones that Aemond couldn't understand—were gradually infused with the same deep red hue.
Before long, the pattern was fully dyed in blood. Rhaegar calmly withdrew his finger.
The tiny wound that had bled a single drop began to close, stopping the flow entirely.
According to the theory of blood and fire being intertwined, Rhaegar could manipulate the magic within his blood, allowing him to exert minor control over the flow of blood in a specific vein.
"Here, take it."
Rhaegar admired his work for a moment before casually tossing the stone piece to Aemond, who stood beside him.
Aemond fumbled to catch the square stone tablet and, full of curiosity, asked, "You know stone carving?"
"Obviously." Rhaegar chuckled, unconcerned.
He had learned the craft from his father, Viserys. That period had been one of the few moments of respite in Rhaegar's life after becoming the Crown Prince—
A time to carve stone instead of enduring the maesters' relentless, tedious lessons.
Aemond looked at his older brother with admiration and turned the stone tablet over in his hands. "What does it do? I saw you drip blood onto it."
"Be still."
"Huh?" Aemond blinked in confusion.
Rhaegar smiled and explained, "Say those words in High Valyrian. It means 'focus and steady your mind.'"
Aemond tilted his head, still not quite understanding.
Rhaegar, unconcerned, chuckled softly. "When you face a dragon you want to tame, hold up the tablet and shout these words. It will help."
The tablet was engraved with a calming technique from a 'forbidden spell.'
He didn't trust his younger siblings enough to hand over the entire incantation, but he wanted to give Aemond a slight advantage.
The tablet, infused with Rhaegar's blood, would hold a temporary effect.
When Aemond attempted to claim a dragon, it wouldn't guarantee success, but at the very least, it would keep him from being burned alive.
"Really?"
Aemond's mouth fell open as he stared at the tablet.
He had heard his sister, Helaena, mention that their eldest brother possessed some kind of mysterious power.
So, he held onto a skeptical yet hopeful belief.
"Of course."
Rhaegar replied simply.
Aemond still had doubts and continued to examine the tablet from every angle.
Rhaegar shook his head, stood up, and brushed the stone dust off his black robe. Then, he extended the Valyrian steel carving knife toward Aemond.
Aemond looked at it, confused.
Sizzle—
A sudden burst of flame ignited in Rhaegar's palm, distorting the air with its intense heat. Aemond instinctively leaned back.
Under the searing fire, the Valyrian steel knife twisted and melted, turning into liquid metal. Droplets of molten iron sizzled as they dripped through Rhaegar's fingers onto the ground.
Aemond was stunned.
He watched, wide-eyed, as the molten metal landed on the damp soil near the well, sending up a plume of smoke and releasing a sharp, acrid scent.
Rhaegar shook his hand, leaving not a single trace of molten metal behind, and asked calmly, "Do you believe me now?"
Aemond sat dumbfounded on the edge of the well, his breathing suddenly rapid. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.
"I believe you."
"Good."
Rhaegar clasped his hands behind his back and instructed, "I've arranged for an experienced dragonkeeper to take you and Helaena to Dragonmont to get familiar with the area. I have other matters to attend to, so I'll be going now."
With that, he turned to leave.
But after just one step, Aemond's voice rang out in alarm.
"Wait!"
Rhaegar paused but didn't look back.
He wanted to support this overlooked younger brother—perhaps even mend a long-suppressed, fragile heart.
While carving the tablet, his thoughts had been clear, forming a careful plan.
Yet the moment he tossed the tablet to Aemond, many of those thoughts faded.
In the end, he simply wanted to help his brother, without complicating things by dragging politics into their bond.
If Aemond was smart and grateful, perhaps he would reciprocate in time.
"Wait, Rhaegar."
Aemond jumped down from the well's edge and hurried to stand in front of him.
This time, instead of calling him 'big brother' as he usually did, he addressed him by name—just as he did Aegon.
Rhaegar's lips curled into a faint smile. "What is it?"
"Well… I just…"
Aemond struggled to find the words, clutching the stone tablet tightly, his eyes fixed on his older brother.
Rhaegar remained silent, patiently waiting.
"I… I want to say thank you."
For the first time, Aemond felt the weight of his own inadequacy in expressing gratitude.
It took all the courage he had to finally say those words.
The moment he did, he lowered his head, closing his eyes in embarrassment.
He feared Rhaegar would mock him.
Aegon was a troublemaker, and whenever they interacted, his older brother would always laugh at his 'politeness.'
But the ridicule he imagined never came.
Instead, Rhaegar simply reached out and ruffled his hair, chuckling. "Aemond, you're my brother. Daemon never thanked Father, did he?"
With one last pat on Aemond's shoulder, he stepped past him.
"This is different!"
Aemond grabbed the hem of his black robe in a panic. "I understand the conflict between you and Grandfather."
At last, Rhaegar turned fully to face him, his gaze deep and searching.
"I'm not a fool," Aemond continued. "I can tell right from wrong."
His eyes flickered with uncertainty, as if struggling with his own words.
Rhaegar waited patiently.
Finally, Aemond clenched his jaw and made his decision.
Raising the stone tablet with one hand and pressing his thumb and pinky together with the other, he lifted his head and declared, "I swear to the Old Gods and the New—no matter what happens in the future, I will never betray my family or my kingdom!"
For the first time, he stood tall, meeting his brother's gaze with unwavering determination.
He didn't even know why he swore such an oath—it had just burst out of him.
But one thing was certain.
Aside from Helaena, Rhaegar was the only one in their family who truly saw him.
**Attention! This is about mutual respect and equality.**
Rhaegar gazed at his younger brother with a smile in his eyes and gave a slight nod. "Very good!"
Honestly, the more he looked at Aemond, the more satisfied he felt.
"Whoo~" Aemond let out a breath of relief upon hearing those words, placing his right hand—the one he had used to swear his oath—over his rapidly beating heart.
But Rhaegar didn't give him a chance to catch his breath. He reached out, pulled Aemond into an embrace, and rested his head against his chest.
Aemond looked up in confusion.
"Your mother raised Aegon the wrong way, but you… you turned out quite well."
Rhaegar's gaze was full of warmth. He gently brushed aside the strands of hair that had fallen over Aemond's forehead and placed a soft kiss there.
Targaryen affection was always this direct.
Feeling the touch on his forehead, Aemond froze, his eyes widening as he stood there, trembling slightly.
After a long moment, Rhaegar finally lifted his head.
Aemond slowly regained his composure. In response, he pulled Rhaegar into a tight bear hug and murmured softly, **"Brother."**
*(End of Chapter)*