Small Council

As the King returned laden with spoils, the Kingswood Hunt ended early.

Everyone knew why.

The princess had been frightened, and the Duke of the West had nearly been killed by a deer.

The King had personally ordered it ended. No one dared utter a word of objection.

The next day.

Morning, at the gates of King's Landing.

The White Carriage Palace, symbolizing a royal procession, slowly passed through the city gates as countless commoners lined the streets to welcome it.

As the heir to King Jaehaerys's legacy, Viserys I had come to rule the most prosperous dynasty in history upon ascending the throne.

There was no war, no famine.

The people lived and worked in peace. They deeply loved the current "young King" and supported the Targaryen name.

"Big White, don't eat other people's things."

Aemon followed behind the White Carriage Palace, clutching a handful of silky white mane.

"Yip, yip."

The White Hart was lively by nature. Resisting its craving, it pulled its head back and gave up on the bright red apples at the fruit stall.

Yet with the slightest movement, the enormous antlers atop its head, each more than three meters across, swung like pendulums and inspired dread.

"A White Hart!"

"It's the White Hart, symbol of royal power..."

"..."

Such a rare and extraordinary beast drew every eye the moment it entered the city, prompting fervent cries from the people.

Look at those massive antlers, that powerful and agile frame, those clear and intelligent eyes.

It was a genuine White Hart.

The King had truly caught a White Hart and brought it back to King's Landing.

Bravo!!

"Yip, yip."

The White Hart moved forward slowly, its noble bearing earning countless admiring gazes.

Aemon sat upon its back, both hands holding the reins.

He was already fair and handsome, with short silver-gold hair draped over his shoulders, shining purple eyes, and a splendid black outfit.

Behind him—

Ser Steve rode a White Horse, carrying a Three-Headed Red Dragon banner.

Gonsal rode a black steed, holding aloft a banner bearing "a pile of pebbles between two rows of runes on an orange field."

At a glance, the people could recognize the dual identities represented by House Targaryen and House Royce.

Further behind them, dozens of imposing Vale Knights in iron helmets guarded both sides.

The people were all astonished, and for a time, the streets fell completely silent.

High-profile! Extremely high-profile!

Aemon looked around and nodded inwardly, straightening his back even further.

This was exactly the effect he wanted.

Riding a White Hart, he could not have kept a low profile even if he wanted to.

So he might as well take it all the way and rub salt in the wounds of his uncle Viserys, who had hunted a Wild Deer.

The King's own nephew had tamed a White Hart, displaying the first signs of Kingly Demeanor.

It was even more likely to win hearts than when his own younger brother Daemon had commanded the Gold Cloaks and restored order to King's Landing.

How would the King, already troubled by the question of an heir, respond?

Aemon's eyes flickered as he murmured softly, Isn't this just giving him ideas about how to send me away?

Inside the White Carriage Palace.

Viserys felt stifled. He quietly lifted the curtain and saw his nephew's spirited appearance.

He had such presence.

Even more flamboyant than Daemon, and he knew how to draw attention.

This scene was almost...

"Exactly like the son in my dreams."

Viserys's gaze dimmed. His expression complicated, he quickly looked away.

Damn Daemon. What absurd luck.

Red Keep.

Council chamber.

At noon, a Small Council meeting quietly commenced.

Bang!

The doors shut tightly as the ministers took their seats.

"Gentlemen, what reward should we give Little One Aemon?"

Viserys sat at the head of the table, smiling as he surveyed the ministers.

The council table was rectangular.

At the first seat on the left, Hand Otto sat upright.

At the first seat on the right, Master of Laws Lyonel hurriedly took his seat and placed the stone ball symbolizing his council office into its slot.

Further down the right side sat Grand Maester Mellos and Master of Coin Lyman.

At the narrow end of the table, opposite the King—

The seat once held by the former Master of Ships, Sea Snake Corlys, was now occupied by Tyland, the least experienced among them.

Upon hearing the King's question, the ministers wore varied expressions.

Lyman was the oldest. The wrinkles on his forehead scrunched together as he hesitated. "Your Majesty, he is your nephew. He ought to..."

Before he could finish—

"Your Majesty, I have a suggestion."

Otto understood the King's thoughts best and directly interrupted him.

Lyman froze for a moment, then shut his mouth unhappily.

Viserys glanced at him but ignored it, asking with a smile, "Let's hear it. Aemon saved Rhaenyra and Duke Jason, after all."

His merits were great. He could not be stingy.

Otto's gaze was profound. "Though Prince Aemon is young, he lacks neither determination nor courage. Perhaps we could consider rewarding him with lands."

"Prince Aemon has no lands."

Tyland wore a strange expression as he picked up the thread.

Otto paused, casting the young man an expressionless glance. "He will."

Tyland smiled awkwardly.

Viserys waved a hand as his thoughts turned. "Continue."

Otto adjusted his robes and said solemnly, "Prince Aemon will eventually return to the Vale. Wealth such as gold, silver, and gemstones would be of great help to him."

In just a few words, he sought to send the Little Prince, whose fame was at its peak, out of King's Landing.

"Gold, silver, gemstones."

Viserys muttered it once, then shook his head.

"It could also be..."

"Your Majesty, Prince Aemon only returned to King's Landing recently."

Lyonel suddenly spoke, interrupting the Hand in the same manner.

Otto's brow furrowed tightly, and a subtle, thoughtful expression appeared on his face.

Viserys came to a realization. That was true. He made his stance clear. "Aemon has only just returned to the family's embrace. I like him very much."

"Precisely."

Lyonel raised his head and chest, saying seriously, "We can ask for his opinion. What does he want? Children are not greedy."

Viserys nodded.

But Otto said in a low voice, "We cannot judge everything by age alone. He is Daemon's son and has already displayed the same unrestrained nature as his father."

He had ridden a White Hart through the streets in ostentatious fashion, overshadowing the King and his family.

By now, Silk Street and Flea Bottom were probably full of rumors.

At that, Viserys first frowned, then his brow furrowed even more deeply.

He wanted to keep his nephew Aemon because he was his brother's only bloodline.

But Aemon was too extraordinary.

Neither Rhaenyra nor Little Aegon could conceal his brilliance.

"He is still young. He can be taught."

Lyonel did not agree with sending Aemon away.

Keeping him under control was the safest course.

Otto held to his view and objected, "Who can guarantee that he will not become a second Daemon and threaten the princess's claim to the succession?"

To this day, Aemon's status as King Jaehaerys's Great-Grandson still made him a powerful contender in the line of succession.

He ranked only behind Daemon and Little Aegon.

The others remained silent.

The meeting turned into a fierce dispute between the Hand and the Master of Laws. The two men, who had never clashed before, now confronted one another head-on.

"Enough!"

Viserys slapped the table and said irritably, "This matter ends here. I will ask for his opinion myself."

Seeing the King angered, the two men ended their argument.

Soon, the meeting adjourned.

The Queen's Bedchamber.

Knock, knock!

The door was knocked upon, and Alicent rose to answer it.

Like a little cannonball, Aemon pounced on her and hugged her soft, slender waist, shouting, "Alicent, you have to help me."

He wanted to leave King's Landing and return to the Vale.

But he also had to get enough benefits. He could not leave in disgrace.

He had spent so long cultivating this connection; now was the time to use it.

This was the critical moment to cling to a powerful thigh.

One extra chapter, awo~