The roar of the tournament did not die out all at once. It frayed slowly, like a cloth being folded away, like a wave retreating and leaving behind the foam of shouts and laughter.
From the heights of the Red Keep, the rumor of King's Landing still rose to the terraces: a muffled rumble, bursts of voices, distant music. The city vibrated, saturated with people, wine, hope, fatigue, and fire.
Around the lists, the ring of torches still drew a crown of light in the night. The pavilions of the great houses raised their colorful bellies above the crowd, banners snapping in the wind, dragons, lions, stags, and fish rippling in the flickering glow. The first day of the tournament was coming to an end, but no one truly wanted to sleep.
King's Landing had waited too long for this.
On an open terrace overlooking the city, Aerys II Targaryen had stopped. His hands rested on the cold stone of the balustrade. The sea wind lifted the folds of his scarlet cloak from time to time, bringing to him the smell of salt, smoke, and that heavy tang made of sweat, beer, and packed crowds.
He let his amethyst eyes drift over the scene, slowly, as if to carve it into himself. The arena below, ringed with fire. The black roofs speckled with lanterns. The streets still overflowing with silhouettes. Bonfires were being lit in certain squares. Musicians played fast tunes, and the notes rose in irregular bursts up to him.
A smile stretched his lips.
— Magnificent, he murmured.
Yet the word felt too small.
This tournament—he had wanted it on this scale for precisely that reason: so that even those who would criticize him would be forced to admit they had never seen anything so great. He had wanted it excessive, crushing, unforgettable.
For the people.
For the lords.
For Essos.
For History.
And for his sons.
For an instant he saw again, like an echo, their two tiny silhouettes advancing beneath the clamor. Only one year and six moons, and already the entire realm had set its eyes on them. Two little dragons, carried in their parents' arms, offered to the judgment of thousands of strangers.
They had held on.
They had not cried.
It was already a victory.
A stab of pain suddenly crossed the king's side, brief and sharp like the scratch of a blade.
Aerys let nothing show. His shoulders did not move. His profile remained still, turned toward the city. Only the knuckles of his fingers whitened for a second on the stone before he loosened his grip.
The pain passed.
As always.
Like a reminder.
Like a threat he refused to listen to.
Behind him, a little way back, Ser Gerold Hightower followed each of his movements without seeming to. The whiteness of his cloak cut through the shadow.
With a practiced eye, he noted that tiny flinch, that breath just a touch deeper than the others. He said nothing.
Not yet.
Aerys inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cold night air. His chest rose, his cloak trembled slightly. He stared at the arena, the torches, the motley pavilions.
— They saw my sons, he breathed to himself.
They saw the future.
A deep satisfaction boiled within him, almost burning. The people had shouted so loudly at the princes' appearance that, for a moment, everything else—criticism, accounts, silent worries—had vanished. There was only that cry: a mixture of faith, relief, hope. People needed to believe that the reign would not falter. That after Aerys, other dragons would still rise.
He had given them that tableau.
He had offered himself—and offered his children—as spectacle.
And it had worked.
A feverish glint passed through his gaze.
Lower in the Red Keep, sheltered from the wind, the princes had been brought back into a large room warmed by a brazier and a fireplace. The stone walls, usually cold, were dressed in golden reflections. Shadows danced across the ceiling, stretched and shifting, like dragons being formed.
Aemon sat on a thick rug, legs spread slightly to keep his balance. He wore a small dark cloak embroidered with red, already slipping to one side as he moved so much. Rhaegar, a few steps away, held out a wooden horse to him, repeating insistently:
— Hor-se! Hor-se! Hoooorse ruuuuun!
He accompanied his words with an approximate galloping sound, slapping his hands on the rug. His violet eyes still shone with the day's excitement.
Rhaella, seated in an armchair nearby, watched them with a tender smile at the corner of her lips. Two nurses stood back, ready to intervene at the slightest misstep, but for now they let them explore.
Aemon did not answer. He looked at the horse, then the flames, then his brother.
His hands settled on the wood. He grabbed it, turned it, placed it, let it fall. His movements were slow but precise. He seemed to weigh everything, as if the smallest detail mattered.
He did not need many words. His eyes spoke for him.
Rhaegar, on the other hand, had too many.
— Papa… big! he suddenly declared, raising his arms above his head to illustrate the extent of their father's greatness.
He burst into laughter, as if his own exaggeration amused him.
Rhaella laughed in turn.
— Yes, my heart. Your father is big. Very big.
— Papa… dra-gon, Rhaegar added, pleased with his discovery.
He turned to Aemon, seeking his approval.
— Dra-gon, Aem'?
Aemon lifted his eyes to him. Something shone deep in his gaze, a glint that had nothing childish about it. He nodded with a small movement of his head.
— Dragon, he repeated softly.
The word slipped from his lips like an obvious truth.
But inside, the thoughts were more numerous, heavier, older.
He saw again, as though through a veil, the hospital of his other life. The white walls. The too-clean ceiling. The hum of machines.
The exhaustion, the fear, the loneliness.
And then the old woman with violet eyes—Alysanne—and that silent promise of a second chance.
I really am a dragon now, he thought.
This time, I won't die in a cold bed.
Rhaella leaned slightly toward them.
— You were very brave today, she said. Both of you.
Rhaegar immediately lifted his arms.
— People! he shouted. Loooooot people!
He punctuated his words with a vague gesture outward, as if pointing to the entire arena.
— Yes, Rhaella confirmed. There were many people. They wanted to see you.
She turned her head toward Aemon.
— And you, my angel? Were you afraid?
Aemon thought.
He remembered the crowd: a sea of faces, shouts, raised hands. A flood of mixed emotions that had struck his seal like a wave hitting rock. Joy, curiosity, fatigue, worry, admiration… all of it had clung to him for a moment.
He had wavered inside, without his legs buckling.
He shook his head.
— Not afraid, he said, in a small voice.
It was not entirely true. But it was not entirely false either. He had not been afraid the way a child might fear a shout. He had been dazzled, saturated, as if lost in a light too bright.
Rhaegar, meanwhile, had simply opened his eyes wide and clapped his hands.
— People shout loud! he added, very proud of his description.
Rhaella burst out laughing.
— Yes, my heart, they shouted loud. Very loud.
She stood, came closer, and crouched beside them. Her gown slid over the rug, surrounding her sons with a circle of fabric and warmth.
She ran her hand through Aemon's hair. He let her, but his eyes were still elsewhere.
He was still out there.
In the stands.
Before thousands of gazes.
Above all, he was still under his father's hand.
When Aerys had taken him in his arms earlier that day, his aura had wrapped around Aemon like a cloak of warmth. He had felt that power—both close and distant—burning, ordered, almost crushing. And behind it, in a fold the others did not perceive, something had vibrated.
A crack.
A hesitation.
An irregular beat.
It was not much.
Not a gaping flaw.
Just a point where the light trembled a little.
Aemon had felt it.
Rhaella stroked his cheek.
— What are you thinking about, my Aemon?
He turned his head toward her. The words he carried were too big for his child's mouth. He said none of them.
— Da…da, he breathed simply.
Rhaella smiled.
— Yes. Daddy is still outside. He's watching the tournament too.
Rhaegar rested his head against his mother's leg.
— Daddy… strong, he declared with certainty. Da-da strong.
Rhaella nodded gently, but her eyes clouded a little.
— Yes, she repeated. Your father is strong.
She did not know whether she was saying it for her sons… or for herself.
When she left the room a little later, leaving the nurses to care for the princes, the corridor seemed quieter than on the way in. Carpets muffled the sound of her steps. From time to time, a Red Keep guard or a Kingsguard knight bowed as she passed.
She headed toward the terrace where Aerys liked to stand. She knew she would find him there. He always returned, as one returns to an invisible altar.
She saw him from behind: a straight silhouette facing the night, red cloak lightly beaten by the wind. The city's flames reflected in his silver hair, giving it almost coppery highlights.
— Aerys, she said softly.
He did not turn right away.
— Are they asleep? he asked simply.
— Not yet. They're tired, but… excited.
A small smile escaped her.
— Rhaegar keeps saying "people shout loud." And Aemon… he watches the fire.
Aerys let out a little air through his nose, a very quiet laugh, almost a breath.
— Of course they shouted loud, he said. They saw their princes. They saw the future of the realm.
He turned at last. His eyes shone—not with tears, but with an intense inner brightness, almost burning.
— Did you see them, Rhaella? Did you see their faces? Their relief? Their… hunger?
She nodded.
— Yes. They needed that.
— They needed me, Aerys corrected softly. Us… and them.
He meant their sons, of course.
The wind snapped a banner above their heads. A chain clinked somewhere. Below, someone shouted with joy around a campfire.
Rhaella hesitated for a moment. Then she said:
— Some are already talking… about the cost.
Aerys's smile weakened a little.
— Of course. There is always someone counting copper coins while others make History.
His voice had grown harder without him raising it.
— The tournament is… immense, she continued. They wonder if the Treasury—
— The Treasury exists to serve the realm, he cut in. And we serve the realm by giving it a vision of itself. Today, they saw themselves strong, united, gathered around one name. That is worth more than any chest of gold.
He stepped closer, planted his eyes in hers.
— Tell me, Rhaella. What will remain in a hundred years? A maester's accounts, or the memory of a tournament that lit up an entire realm?
She had no answer to give him.
She knew it.
He was right on that point.
And yet…
She placed her hand on his arm.
— You could at least spare your strength.
A pain sharper than the previous ones suddenly rose in Aerys's chest, bracing under his ribs, climbing toward his collarbone. It was so direct, so clear, that he had to close his eyes for a half second longer than usual to endure it.
He straightened as if a wave had struck a rock.
When he opened his eyes again, his face was perfectly smooth.
— I'm fine, he said. It was a long day, that's all.
Rhaella had seen that beat of shadow.
That intangible hesitation.
— Aerys…
— I'm fine, he repeated, more firmly.
He gently freed himself from her hand and took a few steps toward the balustrade.
— Kings don't collapse from fatigue over a small celebration, he added with a hint of mockery.
— It isn't a small celebration, she replied. It's… all of Westeros.
— Exactly, he said. So I have no right to show anything but strength.
She stood still behind him for a moment. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her gown. She wanted to tell him he didn't need to be a god. That he was a man. That a man had the right to rest. But the weight of his crown, invisible yet present, seemed to slip between them like a wall.
She took a step back.
— Try to sleep a little, at least, she breathed.
— Later, he answered without turning.
She walked away reluctantly, her shadow dissolving into the corridor.
Gerold Hightower moved forward then, like a statue set in motion.
— Your Grace, he said.
Aerys barely inclined his head, without taking his gaze off the city.
— Hightower.
Silence fell between them, pierced only by the wind and the distant sounds of the celebration.
— You endured the whole day, Gerold observed. Without sitting for long. Without leaving the lists even once.
— And you thought I would collapse in the middle of the crowd? Aerys replied with a touch of irony.
— No, the Lord Commander answered simply. But I know what a day of battle represents. Or a day of spectacle. Even for a strong man.
Aerys smiled.
— I am not "a strong man," Gerold. I am king.
— Kings remain men, Hightower said softly.
It was bold. But he said it without challenge, without irony. Only as a fact.
Aerys turned his head slightly toward him. In the trembling torchlight, his features seemed finer, almost hollowed. Yet the flame in his eyes remained intact. Too bright, perhaps.
— You worry about me? he asked.
— I watch, Gerold replied.
That was his way of saying yes.
— I see things others do not see, he continued. It is my role.
— And what do you see? Aerys asked, this time without mockery.
Gerold hesitated a moment.
— I see a king who carries more than before, he finally said. Who leaves no room for doubt. Not for himself, and not for others.
Aerys let out a breath.
— Doubt is useless, he replied. It makes swords hesitate and kingdoms collapse. I have no time for that.
Gerold bowed his head slightly.
— Perhaps, he said. But… even the strongest sword can crack if it is pulled too hard.
Aerys's eyes hardened for a fraction of a second.
A fraction only.
— I will not break, he said coldly. Not before my sons are ready.
He turned fully toward Hightower then. His aura, invisible yet present, seemed to thicken around him like rising heat.
— Have you ever seen me bend, Gerold?
— No.
— Then don't start imagining it.
Gerold held his gaze for a moment, then bowed.
— As you wish, Your Grace.
He stepped back, returning to the shadow. He did not insist. He was not a maester, nor a priest, nor a brother. He was the sword that stands, the wall that holds. But deep inside, a thread of worry had tightened. It did not snap yet. But it was there.
The wind rose a little, making Aerys's cloak ripple. Night beyond the walls thickened. The sky was clear. Only a few stars managed to shine above the city's smoke.
The king breathed deeply once more.
For now, the pain had fallen silent.
His heart beat hard, powerful, overwhelming.
He felt alive.
Too alive, perhaps.
— They think this first day was the high point, he murmured. They have seen nothing.
His fingers brushed the stone, then curled into a fist.
— Tomorrow, they will see more. And the day after, more still. This tournament will not be only a celebration. It will be a line in time. Before it, there will have been war. After it, there will have been… me.
He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to something no one else could hear.
— Let the world watch, he said at last. And let it remember.
Below, the city burned with a thousand fires.
In a lower chamber, two little dragons were beginning to fall asleep, nestled under warm blankets, still steeped in the noise of the crowd.
Aemon, before his eyes closed completely, thought one last time of his father. Of that aura vibrating too strongly. Of that light trembling a little.
Hold on, he thought, unable to say it.
I'm not big enough yet.
Then sleep took him.
And above him, under the dragon's invisible wings, something—already—was cracking in silence.
📌 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.
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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)
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👉 Discord: discord.gg/T97quQvCGC
Thank you all for your support, and I'm looking forward to seeing you there 🔥🐉