(Return to the present, opening day of the tournament)
The memories of the war, the decisions of the Small Council, and the queen's silent worries already belonged to the past. A few moons had gone by. Now, Westeros awoke to a different day, one turned toward the future: the first day of the Grand Tournament of the Princes.
Morning was only just breaking over King's Landing.
Mist still clung to the rooftops, but already the rumble of a city awakened by the promise of splendor rose into the air. The tournament announced by Aerys II Targaryen—ten days of games, jousts, duels, and celebrations—had rekindled thousands of hearts.
The smallfolk spoke of gold.The nobles spoke of glory.And the king spoke of the future.
The streets trembled with anticipation as the royal family's carriage departed from the stables of the Red Keep.
Inside, Rhaella held Rhaegar in her arms, while Aemon rested against the chest of her lady-in-waiting. The two four-month-old babies observed, each in his own way, the movement of the world around them. Rhaegar cooed from time to time, distracted by the light filtering through the velvet curtains. Aemon, on the other hand, watched every silhouette, every sound, every vibration with a seriousness almost unsettling for a child of his age.
He was not anxious.He was not agitated.He was observing.
And though no one could have guessed it, he understood far more than he should have.
The carriage was escorted by Ser Jonothor Darry and Ser Oswell Whent, along with a formation of ten guards from the Red Keep, reinforced by a cordon of Gold Cloaks tasked with holding back the crowd.
The two knights of the Kingsguard rode on horseback on either side of the vehicle, eyes sharp, their auras perfectly controlled. Rumor had it that thousands of people would be gathered around the great arena built for the event. The slightest incident could turn into a catastrophe.
The king did not wish to take that risk.
Rhaella, however, seemed serene. Her fingers gently traced Rhaegar's back as he began to drift to sleep. Aemon remained awake, his violet eyes fixed on the city sliding past beyond the open window.
He had been brought here to be seen.To be presented.To become real in the eyes of the people.
And even if he did not grasp all the political stakes, he felt the tension in the air—a tension that did not belong to an ordinary baby.
When the carriage emerged onto the great avenue leading to the arena, a roar rose from the crowd.
"Long live the princes!""Long live the dragons!""May the gods bless their birth!"
People pressed against the barriers. The Gold Cloaks held the crowd back with difficulty, but without violence. The atmosphere was too joyful, too fervent, to give way to disorder.
To receive the people's blessing before their sixth month…
That was Aerys's wish.
Not merely for celebration.Not merely for tradition.
But because the king needed to show this:
Westeros was not weakened.Targaryen blood still flowed.The future of the realm shone in two barely born children.
Aemon felt every shout as a vibration against his sternum.
He blinked.
Then rested his head against the shoulder of the lady holding him.
He had never been applauded in his first life.He had never been looked upon with admiration.
It was strange.Comforting, but strange.
The arena built especially for the tournament stretched out like a monster of stone and wood.
Targaryen banners rippled in the wind, while controlled flames—shaped by a few knights mastering fire aura—danced atop carved pillars.
Rhaella drew a deep breath.
"All this… for them."
Ser Jonothor replied calmly,"For them, but also for the realm, Your Grace. The people needed something to celebrate. The war is now only a memory—but a heavy one."
"Yes… heavy," Rhaella echoed pensively.
The carriage came to a halt in an area reserved for the royal family. Gold Cloaks opened the doors, while the ladies-in-waiting descended with perfectly rehearsed grace. Aemon and Rhaegar were immediately surrounded, protected.
Their appearance would be brief.Just long enough to be presented.
The babies were still far too young to remain long in such a noisy crowd.
When Rhaella entered the royal box, the entire crowd seemed to explode with joy.
The herald stepped forward, his voice amplified by a simple aura device:
"People of King's Landing!Today begins the Grand Ten-Day Tournament, celebrating the return of peace and the birth of our two dragons!
All hail Prince Aemon Targaryen, heir to the throne!And his noble brother, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen!"
The crowd roared.
Tears welled in Rhaella's eyes.
Aemon did not understand the reason for her emotion… but he felt it, absorbed it.
Even sealed, his aura vibrated softly, like a faint yet present pulse.
Rhaegar burst into laughter at the sight of all the hands waving in the stands.
Rhaella kissed their foreheads.
"My little dragons…"
Then, as planned, the princes did not remain long.
After a few minutes, the ladies-in-waiting departed with them back toward the carriage, escorted by the Kingsguard and the Gold Cloaks.
Aerys II remained in the arena.
He had risen when his sons were announced, and his face had lit up beneath the acclamations.
He had saluted the crowd, majestic, blazing in red-and-gold robes.
But when the carriage departed, his expression changed.
It hardened.It tightened.
He took his seat in the stands, the lone king atop a theater of war where men would fight for honor, glory… and the attention of a demanding monarch.
Aerys drew a deep breath.
"Ten days…" he thought.
Ten days to find the one who would protect my family when I can no longer do so myself.
A brief but sharp pain stabbed through his abdomen.
His hand clenched on the carved stone armrest.
No one noticed.
Or almost no one.
Ser Gerold Hightower stood behind him, impassive… but his hawk-like eyes missed nothing.
The king masked his pain with an elegant gesture.
Then he rose to deliver his speech.
Aerys advanced slowly.
His cloak trailed behind him like a train of dark flames.
When he reached the balcony overlooking the arena, the clamor fell silent of its own accord.
He opened his arms.
"People of Westeros!
Today, we celebrate not only the birth of my sons…but also victory, peace, and the strength of our realm!"
The crowd applauded.
Aerys continued, his voice vibrant:
"For too long, we have lived under the shadow of war.For too long, our men have risked their lives on lands not worth their blood.
But today, we turn the page.Today, we celebrate the future!"
He raised his hand.
"For ten days, you will see the greatest archers, the most skilled warriors, the most brilliant knights compete!
And the champion of the joust shall receive the greatest reward ever offered by the Crown: seventy thousand gold dragons!"
A thunder of cheers erupted.
Aerys smiled, satisfied.
He loved this power over the crowd, this almost physical warmth it returned to him.
But deep within, a darker thought whispered:
May these ten days be favorable to me…
No one caught the tremor hidden in his voice.
No one—except perhaps Ser Gerold, who watched the king with silent concern.
As the first events were announced, the carriage was already returning Rhaella and the princes to the Red Keep.
Aemon had dozed off slightly, his head resting against his lady-in-waiting's neck.
Yet even in sleep, he seemed to listen to the world.
Rhaella placed her hand against the glass.
"I hope they will be proud of what we are building for them."
Ser Jonothor replied softly,"They will be, Your Grace. The realm already sees in them a sign of renewal."
Rhaella looked at Aemon.
"He feels everything… in a way I cannot explain."
She had no idea how right she was.
The carriage disappeared into the streets, protected by the Gold Cloaks and the guards of the Red Keep.
Flower petals rained down from balconies.
In the castle's inner courtyard, the wheels finally stopped.
The doors were opened with silent reverence.
The guards deployed at once, forming a protective corridor. The red cloaks of the Red Keep's men, the golden cloaks of the city guards, and the pure white of Jonothor and Oswell composed a tableau any painter would have dreamed of capturing.
Rhaella descended first, Aemon in her arms.
A light breeze brushed their faces.
The castle breathed a deceptive tranquility. Here, the roar of the crowd was gone—only the steady beat of boots on stone and a few hushed voices remained.
Rhaegar was handed to a nurse, who carried him toward their chambers, followed by two guards.
Once inside the room reserved for the princes, the tension eased slightly.
The guards took position outside.
The door closed.
The world shrank to a softly lit chamber, to a child's bed, a cradle, a few wooden toys.
Rhaella laid Aemon down with infinite care.
He looked at her, suddenly feeling… exposed. Not physically, but stripped of all trappings.
No more crowd.No more banners.No more armor.
Just her.Just them.
She sat on the edge of the mattress and placed her hand on his small chest.
He felt the gentle pressure of her fingers.
A part of him—irreparably adult—wanted to take her hand, squeeze it, tell her that he understood.
The other part simply let out a small, indistinct sound.
"You saw many things today," she whispered. "Perhaps too many."
She closed her eyes for a moment.
"You don't know it yet… but from now on, every gaze cast upon you will ask something of you. Hope, glory, stability, promises… They will demand things from you that no one should ever demand of a child."
She opened her eyes again.
"I'm sorry."
Something stirred in Aemon's chest.
Not his aura.Not the seal placed by his father.
Something else.
A painful form of recognition.
In his first life, no one had ever asked anything of him.He had been nothing but a burden, a silent weight.
Here, they already asked everything of him.
It was frightening.
And at the same time, almost… intoxicating.
Rhaegar babbled in the nearby cradle, restless in his half-sleep.
The nurse rocked him gently.
Rhaella looked from one to the other.
Two lives. Two destinies.And around them, the world turning feverishly.
"Rest, my dragons," she finally murmured. "Your father wishes to make this tournament a symbol. I only fear… that he is exhausting himself by carrying too many symbols."
She said no more.
She did not know.
She only sensed that Aerys was burning too quickly, like a fire fed with too much dry wood.
Before sleep claimed him, Aemon had one last clear thought:
You are not the only one carrying more than you should, Mother.
In the arena, the archery contests were beginning.
Aerys, seated in his box, watched the first archers take their places, already judging not only their skill… but what, perhaps, they might one day represent for his sons.
Ten days of blood, steel, and masks had begun.
📌 Announcement — Official Discord + Early Access on Patreon
Hello everyone!
I've just created an official Discord for the novel, as well as a Patreon for those who want to support the project and get early access to the story.
✅ Patreon — Early Access
On Patreon, you will eventually get access to more than 30 chapters in advance compared to the normal release, along with exclusive posts and behind-the-scenes information about the novel.
👉 Patreon: patreon.com/empereur300
Note: If you can't see the Patreon page yet, that's completely normal — it simply means the page hasn't been approved by Patreon yet. It will become visible as soon as the approval process is complete.
💬 Discord — Community & Discussions
I've also opened a Discord server to bring the community together:
Polls (preferences, choices, and direction of certain elements)
A place to discuss the book, the chapters, and theories
A space to talk directly with me
👉 Discord: discord.gg/T97quQvCGC
Thank you all for your support, and I'm looking forward to seeing you there 🔥🐉