"Aemon" of Runestone

"Aemon" of Runestone

Westeros.

Ever since Aegon the Conqueror rode his dragons, bringing his wives and sisters, Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys, to defeat the Seven Kingdoms,

the continent had been united.

From Aegon's ascension onward, it was called Aegon's Conquest, or 1 AC.

That year marked the dividing line.

Before unification was BC; after unification was AC.

109 AC.

The Vale, Runestone.

"House Royce is one of the Vale's oldest and noblest houses. Its sigil is a pile of stones between two runes on an orange field."

In an attic within the castle, the Old Maester held a book and lectured at length.

The furnishings were quite decent. Bearskins and swords hung on the walls, revealing understated luxury and martial strength.

Two students sat side by side before him.

Aemon used his upright book as cover, lowered his head, and yawned fiercely.

So sleepy. He really couldn't take it anymore.

He had slept badly again last night. Whenever he closed his eyes, he was plagued by all kinds of chaotic dreams.

William, the boy seated to his left, shot him a disdainful glance before straightening his back and listening attentively.

Aemon noticed, but did not care in the slightest.

Poor thing. He was only eight years old, a full five years younger than the other boy.

He could not be bothered to argue with someone brought along merely to keep him company.

People said that children without mothers were like grass, while children without fathers never had enough to eat.

His circumstances were different.

He had a countess mother who loved hunting and a father who was never home.

Both were hands-off parents who had forgotten all about their only son, Aemon.

What a miserable life for the child.

Aemon had long grown used to it. The soul of a transmigrator was more than happy with the arrangement.

He had once been a clear-eyed high school student, eating a popsicle and humming a tune when he got hit by a truck while crossing the street.

After closing and opening his eyes, he had already been reborn.

Now, his name was Aemon Targaryen, a pure-blooded descendant of the true dragons.

His father was Daemon Targaryen, a man of formidable skill and unruly temperament who happened to have a king for an elder brother.

He was extremely powerful.

His mother was Rhea Royce, born into House Royce of the Vale and the current Lady of Runestone.

Unfortunately, the couple's relationship was terrible and nearly broken beyond repair.

Thankfully, during the Great Council of 101, Yobert Royce, then Regent of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, had stepped in and painstakingly made plans for his younger relatives.

He was Lady Rhea's uncle and passed Runestone down to his niece.

Daemon and the wife of his brother Viserys both came from the Vale. If they wanted to contend with their rivals in terms of hard power, they naturally needed the Vale's support.

Yobert's condition was simple: Daemon only needed to consummate his marriage with his niece.

Daemon despised his wife, calling her the "Bronze Bitch" and mocking that even the Vale's sheep were more attractive than women.

Thus, the two had never consummated their marriage after the wedding.

With the motivation to help his brother contend for the Iron Throne, along with Yobert's threats and inducements,

Daemon agreed.

Just once, and it created an Aemon who should never have existed.

"Mom is clearly very pretty. He really has no taste."

Aemon's eyelids drooped, and his body was nearly sprawled across the desk.

After living a second life, his mindset was exceptionally steady.

Since heaven had made him a child, he would do what a child ought to do.

He would live happily and enjoy the childhood adults dreamed of.

Once he grew up, he could stop the tragedy of the Dance of the Dragons.

Knock, knock!

The Old Maester immediately fixed his gaze on the student who disliked studying. He closed his book and knocked on the wall, ending the lesson. "Aemon, tell me House Royce's words."

"We Remember!" Aemon answered.

"That's right. We Remember."

The Old Maester nodded in satisfaction, his meaningful gaze making Aemon feel uncomfortable all over.

Aemon secretly yawned again and muttered softly, "Maester Hugh, why don't you ask about House Targaryen's words?"

"Because your mother does not like Targaryens."

The Old Maester replied without hesitation.

Aemon furrowed his little brows and pointed at himself. "But I am a Targaryen."

Just look at this smooth silver-gold hair and these violet eyes.

He looked very Targaryen, did he not?

The Old Maester gave him a sympathetic look, slowly closed his book, and shuffled away to end the lesson.

"Hm?" Aemon tilted his head.

Then he understood. His mother did not like him very much either.

Who told him to have such a hated father?

Class was over.

Aemon pulled himself together, shook off the boy assigned to accompany him, and briskly made his way around the corridor back to his room.

Runestone was enormous, but there was nowhere suitable for a child to wander around.

The moment he entered, the old septa responsible for his upbringing greeted him. "Prince, would you like to eat lunch first, or recite the Seven Holy Scriptures?"

Aemon's expression fell slightly. He waved a hand. "I'm tired. Let me sleep first. We'll talk again in half an hour."

He was truly a little sleepy. It was absolutely not because he did not want to recite the rules of the Seven.

After sending the old septa away, Aemon lay listlessly on his bed. He looked entirely unlike the lively, mischievous child he was outside.

After lying there for a while, unable to suppress the anxiety in his heart, he looked around to make sure no one was present.

He rolled out of bed, walked to a corner beside it, and moved aside a round black steel brazier.

Click!

He lifted the lid, and steaming heat rushed out.

Aemon's cheeks turned red from the heat as he pulled a pitch-black egg from the brazier filled with glowing red coals.

The egg was oval and over a foot long.

Aemon seemed unable to feel the heat. He turned the black egg over in his hands and muttered, "Why hasn't it hatched yet?"

An egg possessed by a Targaryen was naturally a dragon egg.

His small hand stroked its surface. The shell was covered in diamond-shaped scales, as hard as stone.

Whenever a Targaryen child was born, a dragon egg was placed in their cradle.

If it cracked and hatched, the hatchling could grow alongside the newborn.

As a child unloved by either father or mother, Aemon had not even drunk a mouthful of breast milk.

The Black Dragon Egg in his hands had been taken from the Dragonpit by his great-grandfather, King Jaehaerys, and personally placed in the cradle of his Great-Grandson.

That old man had already died in 104 AC.

"Your Dragon Mother is so fertile, yet you're such a disappointment."

The more Aemon looked at it, the more troubled he became, pointing and gesturing at the dragon egg.

He had heard that the egg came from Dreamfyre.

That was an old, enormous, and exceptionally fertile Pale blue Dragon.

Aemon could not be blamed for worrying. The course of future history was simply too fraught with hardship.

The present era was the height of Targaryen rule.

In the near future, the number of Dragonriders in the family would surge to an unprecedented level, leading to the brutal and bloody Dance of the Dragons over the Iron Throne.

After that civil war, dragons would nearly go extinct, and their bloodline would grow thin and wither away.

The honor granted by their surname would be lost, and the Seven Kingdoms would gradually forget their former terror.

Now that Aemon was here, he naturally hoped to prevent this tragedy.

But if he wanted to make a difference, he first needed the means to protect himself.

He knew perfectly well that dragons were the fastest way to turn his fortunes around.

A Targaryen without a dragon was worse than a salted fish!

Ever since moving to Runestone at the age of three, he had secretly hoped the dragon egg would hatch so he could tame a dragon that had been with him since infancy.

Though the hatched dragon might not be as powerful as the wild dragons roaming the world or the great dragons left behind by the former kings,

it was still a bright path, one worthy of his wholehearted effort.

"Sigh!"

Little Aemon lay back helplessly. Where was he supposed to find a dragon?

The dragon egg was useless. Eight years had passed, and it still had not hatched.

There were no dragons at Runestone. Did he have to go to Dragonstone...

Just as he was about to put down the scalding dragon egg, he suddenly heard a voice.

"Detected an item containing magic. Magic Essence acquired: +3."

Aemon froze at the sound, then shot upright.

A new book is starting! So happy! Scatter flowers!