At the age of one year and two moons, Aemon Targaryen had already learned that the world could be vast, noisy, and wonderfully alive. Days flowed like a slow river in the Red Keep, bathed in sunlight and murmurs, paced by the light footsteps of the handmaidens and the cheerful babbling of his twin brother.He did not yet understand all the rules of the realm that surrounded him, but he knew one thing: here, he was not alone.Here, warm arms held him.Soft hands caressed him.Voices called him by a name that had not existed in his former life.
Aemon.
The Prince of Westeros.The son of a king.The son of a queen.
It still felt strange.
That morning, Rhaella had decided to take her sons into the gardens of the Red Keep.The sun was high but gentle, filtered through branches heavy with blooming orange trees. A sweet fragrance drifted through the air, mingled with the fresh scent of fountains and the faint clinking of armored guards.
Aemon loved this place.He felt strangely free here.
Rhaella settled on a stone bench polished smooth by the years. Rhaegar babbled happily in her arms, tugging occasionally at her silver hair. Aemon, meanwhile, was on the ground, crawling on all fours, determined to explore every corner.
His hands touched the damp grass.His violet eyes followed the dance of a white butterfly.Every sensation was new.
In his first life, the only landscapes he had known were hospital sheets, a dull ceiling, and the pale walls of a medical ward. Here, everything was movement, color, life.
Rhaella watched her eldest son with a soft smile.
— He is so calm… so focused, she murmured.
The nursemaid, standing a little further away, nodded.
— It's as if he's studying the world, Your Grace.
She was right.
Aemon observed everything.He wanted to understand this world into which he had been placed — or given — by that sorrowful-eyed woman who had sent him into a new life.
He thought of her often.Of her gesture.Of her sacrifice.
She existed only as a hazy memory… but a precious one.
I won't waste this gift, he thought.
That day, something was burning inside his chest — a new, insistent desire.
He wanted to walk.
He had been trying for days, in secret. He would pull himself up against the bars of his crib, stand for a few seconds, fall onto his backside, then try again. His body was that of an infant: weak, unstable, clumsy. But his will was that of a fifteen-year-old boy who had spent too long imprisoned in a bed.
Today, he felt he could do it.
Aemon placed one tiny hand against a moss-covered low wall.His fingers trembled.His legs quivered.But he pushed himself upright, slowly.
Rhaella looked up at that exact moment. Her eyes widened.
— Aemon…?
The little prince, standing on his own two feet, wavered.Then he planted them firmly in the grass.
Rhaella raised a hand to her mouth, breath caught.
— My sweet… you're standing!
Even Rhaegar stopped babbling, staring at his brother in fascination.
Aemon furrowed his tiny brows.
One step.
He took it.
Then another.
His balance was unsteady, but his determination was solid.
Rhaella choked on a joyful sob.
— Come, Aemon… come to me.
He moved forward again, tottering — a tiny dragon taking his first steps in the world.
Then he fell straight into her open arms.
She burst into laughter, full of tears.
— By the gods… my baby! You're walking!
Aemon let himself be held, happy and proud.He had never seen Rhaella look so radiant.
— Where is Aemon? Rhaella! Where is he?
Aerys's voice arrived before he did, echoing through the orange trees.
Moments later, the king appeared, striding toward them, without ceremony, without escort.
His silver hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had rushed away from a council meeting. His violet eyes were already searching for his son.
When he saw Rhaella kneeling with Aemon in her arms, he slowed.
— Is it…? Rhaella, did he…?
She nodded, smiling brightly.
— He walked, Aerys. Just now.
The king didn't hesitate for a heartbeat.
He knelt — a king, a dragon, a still-whole man — before his son.
— Aemon… come to me.
His tone was not commanding.Not anxious.It was… proud.Simply proud.
Aemon felt warmth bloom in his chest.
He gently freed himself from Rhaella, set his feet into the grass, and took a step.
Aerys opened his arms, beaming like a child.
— That's it, my son! Again!
One step.Two.Three.
He tumbled into the king's embrace, and Aerys laughed aloud.
— By the Seven! Look at you! You're walking already! My little dragon!
He lifted him into the air, holding him close with a warmth no one could fake.
Rhaella watched them with wet eyes.
— I knew this would make you happy, Aerys.
— Happy? the king repeated, shining even brighter. I am overjoyed!
Aemon pressed himself against him.He felt his father's heart beating — strong, steady, alive.
He had never known such paternal presence in his first life.He clung to it.
Then, suddenly…
A pulse.
Soft.Warm.Gentle.
Aemon stiffened slightly — not in pain, not in fear.Just surprised.
The seal.
It had never moved.Never reacted.Never vibrated.
But at the king's touch…a faint, imperceptible glow seemed to stir within him.
Aerys raised an eyebrow.
— He's… warm, he noted. Very warm.
Rhaella smiled.
— He's a true Targaryen. Fire in the blood.
The king nodded, clearly pleased.
— Yes. That's all it is. My son burns with life.
Aemon understood something in that moment:the seal was not punishing him.Not crushing him.Not imprisoning him.
It was responding.
As if it recognized the man who had placed it there.As if it whispered: you are safe.
The pulse faded, settling back into perfect calm.
Aerys paid it no further mind.Nothing about it seemed strange to him.
— You will be strong, Aemon. I can feel it. You will go far.
Aerys rose with Aemon in his arms.
Rhaegar reached out eagerly toward his brother, smiling all teeth — or the ones trying to grow.
Aerys chuckled.
— You too will walk soon! And your mother will have to run everywhere to keep up!
Rhaella laughed, shaking her head.
— You too, Aerys. You won't escape it.
The king made a dramatic grimace.
— I suppose I must prepare myself…
They all laughed together, their voices blending with the birdsong and the glittering sunlight through the orange leaves.
Aemon watched this scene with wide eyes.
A family.A real family.
There, a proud father.There, a gentle mother.There, a brother looking at him like a hero.
He had never known any of this.
He held onto Aerys a little tighter.
As they walked deeper into the gardens, Aemon lifted his gaze to the clear sky.
A memory brushed against his mind.A touch.A trembling voice.Sad violet eyes.
The old woman.Alysanne.
The one who had chosen him.The one who had given him to this family.The one who had gifted him a second chance.
He could not speak — not truly —but in his heart, he formed a clear thought:
Thank you. I will live well. For myself. And for them.
A soft breeze blew.The scent of orange blossoms wrapped around him like a caress.
The twins ended the day in their parents' arms, surrounded by warmth, laughter, and light.
The sun slowly set, painting the sky gold and pink. Shadows lengthened, but none of them felt threatening.
Today, Aemon had taken his first steps.
Not just in the gardens.Not just toward his father.
But into his new life.
The seal slept.His fire slept too.
Yet in that moment, Aemon felt he was ready to move forward — slowly, timidly, but surely.
One step at a time.
Like a little dragon learning to fly.
And that night, for the first time, he fell asleep without worry, without questions, without pain.
He fell asleep a prince.He fell asleep a son.He fell asleep happy.
And far, far away, in an unseen world, Alysanne Targaryen smiled.