The months that followed the birth of the twins passed like a breath over King's Landing.Summer still clung to the world, and the Red Keep hummed softly with life.But behind its walls, a quiet event had already begun to shape the kingdom's future.
Two princes had been born.But one of them was not like the others.
When the Grand Maester officially announced that Aemon — born a few heartbeats before his brother — was the heir to the Iron Throne, the lords present exchanged relieved looks.
"The realm may sleep peacefully," declared Lord Chelsted. "Two princes, one recognized heir… the gods have denied us such reassurance for far too long."
The court saw it as a blessing.Two sons.Two dragons.An unshakable continuation of the royal line.
Rhaella, however, saw only two beats of her heart.She loved Aemon and Rhaegar with equal tenderness — absolute, instinctive.If she noticed that Aerys sometimes watched his firstborn with a bit more attention, she did not show it.
Aerys was not yet mad.He was only unstable, tense, but still capable of love — and of fear.Rhaella had nearly died giving birth.That fear had cracked something inside him.
Rhaegar cried like any baby.He screamed, demanded, laughed sometimes.
Aemon, however… was different.
The nurses noticed it before anyone else.
"He almost never cries," murmured Myrielle as she held him in her arms. "It's as if he understands us…"
His violet eyes, with an almost adult clarity, fixed on faces with unsettling intensity.He did not wiggle randomly.He did not cry for attention.He did not fight when being changed.
He observed.
"It looks like he is judging us," whispered the young nurse.
Septa Ellyn shot her a reproving look."He is the heir. And a child does not judge."
Yet… Aemon sometimes seemed to be thinking.
And when they rang a small silver bell, Rhaegar would coo immediately…but Aemon stayed silent.
Sometimes, he even tried to imitate the babies.He opened his mouth, forcing out a small, mechanical "ah," almost rehearsed.
Like an adult awkwardly pretending to play a role.
Myrielle shivered.
"It's like he's trying… but doesn't know how."
They did not understand what they were feeling.This baby was not frightening… just different.Too present, too aware for his age.
At night, the king sometimes came, barefoot and silent, to watch his sons sleep.His Golden aura always vibrated beneath his skin, ready to burn, destroy, impose.
But before approaching, Aerys inhaled deeply…
…and held it back.
He reined in his aura, folding it inward, crushing it until it was no more than a contained breath trapped in his chest.Sweat pearled on his forehead — restraining his aura demanded more effort than any battle.
But he did it for them.
Thus, when he leaned over the cradles, Aemon was not crushed beneath the presence of a level III Golden Dragon.
That night, Aemon briefly opened his eyes.The baby recognized something.A warmth he did not fear.
Aerys whispered:
"You must stay… discreet.The world is not ready for you."
Aemon closed his eyes again.
Aerys placed his hand near him, without touching.He was not a king, nor a dragon.He was a father — and that terrified him.
Rhaella preferred to feed her sons herself when she could.That evening, she took Aemon into her arms, sitting near the fire.She loosened her bodice, guiding the infant gently to her breast.
Aemon hesitated.His fifteen-year-old mind took over:
Shyness, confusion, embarrassment.
I'm a teenager… this is so strange…
But instinct eventually prevailed.He suckled, awkward at first, then more naturally.
Rhaella smiled."You're so calm… so wise, my little dragon."
He relaxed completely.His aura, usually compressed, softened into something almost pure.
Aerys entered at that moment.Seeing the scene, he immediately restrained his aura again, smothering it like a flame being suffocated.He did not wish to disturb this sacred moment.
He approached slowly.
Aemon, internally burning with embarrassment, shut his eyes even tighter to avoid meeting his father's gaze.
Rhaella stroked his head."He's shy," she whispered.
Aerys did not answer.But in his eyes glimmered a light he never showed in public —a fragile, quiet affection.Almost human.
The decisive night came when Aemon, deeply asleep, reacted to a dream no infant should have.His blanket caught fire.A small flame at first, then a hungry tongue of heat gnawing at the embroidered three-headed dragon.
Rhaegar screamed.The nurses rushed in.They threw water, tore the sheets away, cried miracle — the prince was unharmed.
But when Aerys arrived, he understood the truth.
It wasn't the fireplace.Nor a spark.
It was Aemon.
He placed his hand over the baby, sensing his aura — agitated, repressed, but undeniably present.
Rhaella whispered,"He survived… that's all that matters, Aerys."
The king did not reply.
He already felt the shadow of a particular destiny around his son.A fire that, one day, would be too powerful to contain.
That night, Aerys returned alone.He approached the cradle with ritual-like slowness, his face lit by flickering torchlight.
For a long moment, he watched Aemon sleeping, peaceful… yet threatening simply by existing.
Then he placed his hand a few inches above his son's chest.And he did what no father should ever have to do.
He sealed him.
Not a simple veil, not a temporary suppression —a true aura lock, forged from his own Golden essence, an invisible, powerful knot meant to block access to the infant's inner fire.
Aemon's aura tried to resist, weak but alive, like a hatchling beating its wings against cage bars.
The seal closed around it, tightening, immobilizing, nearly extinguishing it.
Aemon whimpered in his sleep, uneasy, his inner flame curling inward like a coal crushed under ashes.
From the half-open doorway, Rhaella watched, pale and trembling.
"You shouldn't do this…" she whispered. "His fire is his. Not yours."
Aerys remained still for a few seconds, his hand still suspended above his son's heart, before answering in a hard, nearly broken voice:
"The realm is not ready.Not for a child like him."
He withdrew his hand.
The seal remained.Invisible.Silent.Unbreakable.
And the little dragon, his wings already bound, slept on without knowing that his first enemy…was his father's fear.
Flashback — Some months earlier
The days following his birth were for Aemon a strange whirlwind where sensations and thoughts mixed without always fitting together.
His new infant body obeyed him only halfway.His hands trembled when he tried to grab something.His voice, when he tried to form intent, was only a cry or a breath.
I'm alive… truly alive…
The thought returned each time he opened his eyes to this new world.Everything was sharper.Louder.More real.
The colors of fire, the scent of milk, the warmth of his mother's body, the light glinting on the guards' armor…Things he had never truly known in the gray monotony of a hospital.
But it wasn't the novelty of the world that shook him the most.
It was the sensation of being… expected.Held.Loved.
Each time Rhaella pressed him to her chest, each time Aerys — so clumsy, yet sincere — approached while restraining his aura, Aemon felt a warmth he had never known.
He was no longer alone.
The first days were difficult, though.He struggled to accept his own fragility.He wanted to move, speak, sit up…but his body refused.
A quiet frustration suffocated him.
I'm fifteen… why am I so weak?
And each night before falling asleep, a bittersweet thought came back.
The old woman.The queen with the sad eyes and wrinkled hands.The one who had granted him the second chance he had begged for without truly believing he would receive it.
Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he still felt the warmth of her hand on his cheek.A warmth of love, faith, sacrifice.
I don't even remember her name… but without her, I wouldn't be here.
He wanted to thank her.He wanted to promise that he wouldn't waste this life.
I will live… I will protect your family. I swear it.
But the only sound that left his lips was a weak baby's coo.
So he kept everything inside, held against his heart — minuscule yet burdened with destiny.
In his mother's arms, lulled by the warmth and rhythm of her breathing, he made a silent vow:
I will not be a burden.I will become strong.Strong enough to honor your sacrifice… and deserve this new life.
And each day, when the sun rose over the Red Keep, Aemon opened his violet eyes with a mix of fear, wonder… and determination.
Far away, in an unseen reality, Alysanne Targaryen felt Aemon's spark flare.She smiled.
The heir of Westeros had just taken his first step—A step of fire.
And the world, without knowing it, had already changed.