Brighter Flames (ASOIAF/AU)

Dawn's first light filtered through the narrow windows of Aemon's chamber, casting soft rays of gold across the room. The Red Keep was quiet in the early morning, save for the distant caw of gulls circling over Blackwater Bay. Aemon lay nestled beneath thick blankets, his breathing steady and peaceful as he dreamed of faraway places and great deeds, like the heroes of old.
It was a prickling against his belly that roused him. He stirred, instinctively brushing across his torso, only to feel something soft and warm beneath his fingers. Blinking sleep from his eyes, Aemon slowly opened them and was met with a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at him.
The kitten was tiny, barely bigger than a man's hand, with fur as black as a starless night. Its little pink nose twitched as it mewed softly. Blue eyes studied him curiously. He sat up carefully, cradling the kitten against his chest as though it were made of spun glass.

"Where did you come from, little-" he whispered, his voice full of wonder. With a searching eye, he found what he was looking for, "little guy?"

The kitten merely blinked up at him, its small body trembling with gentle purrs. Aemon's smile widened as he looked at the tiny creature. How had the tomcat gotten here? Unwilling to startle the foundling, he remained carefully still.

A cough caused him to look away from his new feline friend. His mother stood in the corner watching him with a bemused grin. Her golden hair was braided and pinned back elegantly, and she wore a gown of crimson and gold, the colors of House Lannister..

"Ah, I see you've met your new friend," Genna said, her voice warm and amused. "Do you like him?"

Aemon looked up at her with wide, excited eyes. "I love him! He's the best cat in the whole Seven Kingdoms!" he exclaimed. Then he muttered, "Well, the best kitten I've met. Loreon was awesome too." He drew up short as his brows furrowed, and a thought interrupted his ruminations. "What's his name?"

"I should think that is your decision," she replied, stepping closer and gently brushing a stray curl of hair from his face. "You're old enough now to care for him. He'll need feeding, warmth, and plenty of love. Only right that you name him yourself."
Aemon nodded eagerly, looking down at the kitten in his hands. The name came to him easily. He pictured the tomcat stalking through shadowed corridors, sleeping by day hunting during the Hour of the Wolf.

"Midnight," he whispered. Then he sat up and with an adorable air of command, he proclaimed, "He shall be called Midnight."

Genna's gentle laughter caused Aemon's cheeks to flush, her green eyes twinkling with approval. "A fitting name for such a dark little creature. I'm sure someday he will be the Terror of the Rock, but remember a pet is a great responsibility, Aemon. You will not pawn him off on the servants nor on your siblings. You must care for him properly. If you run off on one of your forays and forget him, he will surely be the one to suffer."

"I will, Mother," Aemon promised earnestly, his small hands gently stroking Midnight's fur. "Me and Midnight are going to be best friends! Nothing will harm him while I draw breath, I swear."

She chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss her son's forehead. "I know you will, my little dragon."

Earnestness and excitement faded into doubt. "But, I don't know how to take care of a baby."

There was nothing in the books about this, nothing in the maesters' lessons.

"A boy might seek out the wisdom of their elders, and hold their lessons close to his heart." Genna said airily.

Aemon's face lit up, his worries eased as he immediately thought of his favorite uncle, Ser Kevan Lannister. Competent and dependable, solid as Casterly Rock. He could go find father, but Maegor had been kept exceedingly busy during their stay at the Red Keep. Uncle Kevan would know what's what. "Thank you, Mother!"

He hugged the kitten close, his heart brimming with joy. Midnight squirmed a little in his grasp, letting out a soft meow, but Aemon was careful not to hold him too tightly.

Genna straightened and smoothed out her gown. "I'll leave you to get ready for the day, then. There's much to do before the tourney. I expect you to be on your best behavior, my love."

Aemon nodded, still lost in admiration of his little friend. He barely noticed when his mother left the room, so enraptured was he by his new companion. The kitten nuzzled into his palm, and Aemon felt a surge of determination to take care of him properly. He would not let his mother down.

As the sunlight grew brighter and the sounds of the waking Red Keep began to fill the air, Aemon carefully set Midnight down on his bed and began to prepare for the day. No fooling about until Midnight's sorted out!

The midday sun was high in the sky when Aemon found himself in the training yard of the Red Keep, cradling Midnight in his arms as he made his way through the bustling grounds. The clang of swords and the grunts of sparring knights and men-at-arms echoed around him, a familiar soundtrack to the day. The air was warm, carrying with it the scent of sweat, leather, and metal.

Ser Kevan Lannister stood at the edge of the yard, overseeing the training of a pair of household knights. His golden hair gleamed in the sunlight, and his stern face was set in concentration as he watched two knights exchange blows with heavy tourney swords. His armor, polished to a high sheen, reflected the brightness of the day. His tabard was the golden lion on crimson and his presence was one of quiet authority.

Aemon approached his uncle with the kitten nestled against his chest, his steps quick and eager. Kevan's sharp eyes caught sight of him before he even spoke, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he turned to greet his nephew.

"Aemon," Kevan said, his voice gruff but kind. "What brings you to the yard, my boy?"

Aemon beamed up at his uncle, holding up Midnight as though presenting a prize. "Mother gave me a kitten!" he announced, his voice bubbling with excitement. "His name is Midnight, and I'm going to take care of him… I just don't know how quite yet-"

Kevan's smile grew slightly wider as he glanced down at the tiny black kitten. He took off one of his gauntlets, and reached out a gloved hand to gently stroke Midnight's head. "A remarkable little creature," he remarked. MIdnight playfully swiped at Kevan's hand. The knight chuckled. "Seems to have some spirit in him. And a good responsibility for a boy your age. How can I help?"

Aemon's face grew serious as he rattled off a deluge of questions. "What should I feed him? How much should he eat? How do I make sure he doesn't get cold at night? Can he sleep in my bed? And… and when will he be big enough to hunt?"

Kevan chuckled softly, raising a hand to calm the barrage of questions. "One at a time, lad," he said. "Kittens need meat, but not too much at once. You can ask the cooks for scraps, but make sure they're small enough for him to chew. He'll also need a warm place to sleep—your bed should be fine for now, but make sure he has a spot of his own, too. I can help you get a box for Midnight to use as the necessary. As for hunting… that it'll come in time, once he's grown. When I was a year older than you are now, my lord father gifted me a fine tabby…"

Aemon listened intently, nodding with each piece of advice. He repeated Kevan's words under his breath, committing them to memory. "I'll ask the cooks," he said determinedly. "And I'll make sure he has his own spot to sleep. Thank you, Uncle Kevan."

Kevan patted Aemon's shoulder with a gloved hand, his expression softening with affection.

"Caring is the first step," he said. "Midnight will be lucky to have you."

Aemon's chest swelled with pride at the compliment. He held Midnight a little closer, feeling the warmth of the kitten against him. "I'll take good care of him."

Kevan's smile was brief but genuine as he turned back to the training yard. "Go on, then. Enjoy the day with your new friend. And remember—taking care of others is a lifelong duty. Not just for a kitten, but for all those who look towards you."

Aemon nodded solemnly, the weight of his uncle's words settling in his young mind. Doing as you please is all well and good, but a man must also keep duties in mind. With a final grateful glance, he left the training yard, heading back toward the gardens where his siblings and cousins would be waiting. Midnight purred contentedly in his arms, and Aemon felt a newfound sense of responsibility as he made his way through the Red Keep's corridors.

Daeron and Visenya joined him after speaking with a cook. Midnight would not go hungry, now. Visenya ended up carrying and cooing over Midnight as they headed out of the castle proper.

The gardens of the Red Keep were awash in color and life, with blooming flowers of every hue lining the paths and marble fountains bubbling gently in the background. Birds flitted from branch to branch, their songs blending with the soft laughter of noble children playing amongst the greenery. The scent of jasmine and roses filled the air, mingling with the fresh breeze that drifted in from the sea.

The trio found their cousins, Jaime and Cersei, already talking with a group of other children. They were gathered near a tall fountain adorned with dragons, their bright house colors standing out against the lush greenery.

As they drew near, Aemon recognized a few of the faces from earlier ceremonies. Mace Tyrell, heir to Highgarden, was the loudest of the group, his booming laughter ringing out as he regaled the others with a tale of his latest hunting trip. He was a broad-shouldered boy with an open, friendly face.

Beside him stood Garth Hightower, tall and sharp-eyed, the second son of Lord Leyton Hightower. Garth's gaze was watchful, taking in everything around him with a quiet intensity. His clothing was impeccable, the white and grey of House Hightower complimenting his blonde hair

Aemon spotted Randyll Tarly, the heir to Horn Hill, a little apart from the others, his plump form decidedly spoiling the cut of his fine clothes. The boy's face was flushed, and he fidgeted nervously with the edge of his tunic. Matthis Rowan and Paxter Redwyne were whispering to each other nearby, their expressions mischievous.

As Aemon approached, he noticed orange haired Paxter Redwyne nudging Randyll toward the fountain. Paxter was older and taller, with the confident swagger of a boy used to getting his way. Randyll, on the other hand, looked on the edge of tears as Paxter shoved him closer to the edge.

"Go on, Tarly," Paxter sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "I could swim before I could even walk! Show us the bravery of a Horn Hill man! Hopefully all that lard won't make you sink!"

Most of the children laughed. Aemon's eyes narrowed at the scene, but he remained aloof. Jaime and Daeron, however, were quick to step forward. Jaime, ever bold, placed himself between Paxter and Randyll, his green eyes flashing with anger.

"Shove off, Redwyne," Jaime said sharply.

Paxter bristled, his face flushing with indignation, but before he could respond, Daeron stepped up beside Jaime, his voice cool and calm. "We're all friends here," Daeron said, his tone cutting through the tension. He was taller than Paxter, and at this moment, he looked every inch the Targaryen. "We're here to enjoy the tourney, not to make enemies."

Paxter hesitated, glancing around at the others. The laughter had died down, and the other children were watching with uncertain expressions. Cersei chimed in with a mocking laugh, "I guess the men of the Arbor aren't made of much after all."

Something in the Redwyne boy's features hardened, and he with a rapid lurch he pushed fat Randyll Tarly into the pool at the base of the fountain. There was a loud splash and a keening wail to match that of any sow fit for slaughter. Then, there was a general melee as Jaime leapt at Paxter Redwyne. Daeron moved too, and Aemon was there before he could think. Garth Hightower and Matthis Rowan jumped into support their fellow Reachmen.
No boy worth his salt could resist the allure of the scrum. Randyll Tarly loudly flopped around in the pool.

Knees and elbows flashed as all the boys had a rambunctious row. The might of the Westerlands did battle against the strength of the Reach. Aemon tasted flesh as he bit an unfortunate boy's ear. He tasted blood as Mace Tyrell's hammy fist caught him on the jaw. A glorious struggle unfolded for all to see.

The girls, the future ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, cat-called and cheered on their favored sides as raucously as any commoner might.

It was over all too quickly as the adult minders stepped in to restore order.

When they were separated, baleful looks turned to laughter.

"Oy, Lannister, you've got a right hook there." Mace Tyrell laughed as he spit out some bloody phlegm.

"Tyrell, you got a stone jaw. Near broke my hand!" Jaime guffawed as he rubbed bloody knuckles.

"Let's go

And the fierce foes became fast friends.

As the other lads filed away with talk of the tourney to bind them together. Aemon moved to Randyll Tarly. The unfortunate boy finally found his feet, but he was soaking wet.

"Come on." Aemon proffered a hand..

Randyll sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I… I'm fine," he mumbled.

"As you like." Aemon lowered his hand and rubbed it against grass stained breeches. He thought of turning away, but then he thought of what his father would say, what his Uncle Kevan would do. "You shouldn't let anyone push you around. Next time someone tries to bully you, stand up to them. Punch them in the nose."

Randyll looked at him with wide eyes, clearly shocked by the suggestion. "But… but they're bigger than me," he stammered. He patted his fat belly. "Look at me."

Aemon shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Your master-at-arms will be happy to whip you into shape. If you don't want to be weak, simply don't be weak. Punch them hard enough, they'll think twice before picking on you again. Just keep punching until you can't punch any more."

Randyll blinked in surprise, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Really?"

"Really," Aemon confirmed with a nod. He spat. "They are the ones who are really afraid."

Randyll looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding slowly. "I'll… I'll try," he said, his voice a little stronger.

Aemon smiled brightly. "Good, let's get you into some dry clothes. Then food. I'm starving."

Together, the two boys joined the rest. Visenya, still holding a napping Midnight, watched them all with judgemental eyes. Whatever. Just jealous because she couldn't get into the fight. Paxter Redwyne sent a hard look at Randyll, but he was soon distracted by another outlandish tale from Mace Tyrell.

The afternoon sun bathed the tourney grounds in warm light, casting long shadows across the field as the nobles of King's Landing gathered to watch the spectacle. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, representing the great houses of the realm, while the stands buzzed with excited chatter. Lords and ladies filled the seats, their rich garments gleaming in the sunlight, and the smell of roasted meats and sweet wines drifted through the air.
Aemon sat with his family in the royal stands, his small frame perched between Jaime and Cersei. From their vantage point, he could see the entire field, with its long lists and pavilions set up for the jousting knights. His heart raced with excitement, his eyes wide as he took in the sights and sounds of the tourney.

At the head of the stands sat the royal family: King Aerys II, his dark hair streaked with silver, and Queen Rhaella, their expressions regal as they observed the proceedings. Prince Rhaegar sat beside them, his silver-gold hair shining in the sunlight, his face composed and distant. Aemon's sister, Visenya, sat nearby, resplendent in a gown of deep Targaryen black and red, her sharp features softened by a rare smile as she peered down at the black blob of fur in her hands..

Aemon silently groused that Visenya was still holding Midnight. My cat. She would get hers. His frown turned into a grin when he thought of her prized rapier going missing.

Below them, the knights were mounting their steeds, adjusting their armor and readying their lances for the first tilt. The sound of hooves striking the earth echoed through the grounds as they lined up, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. Among them was Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, towering above others on his massive destrier. His white cloak flowed behind him like a river of snow..

Aemon watched in awe as the first tilt began. Ser Gerold rode against a knight of House Florent, their lances aimed true as they charged at each other with thunderous speed. The crowd held its breath, and Aemon leaned forward, his heart pounding in his chest.

The clash of lances echoed across the field as the two knights collided.

The Florent knight was unhorsed in a violent clash, his body tumbling from his saddle as Ser Gerold's lance struck true. The crowd erupted in cheers as the White Bull raised his visor and saluted the stands, his expression calm and composed.

Aemon's hands clapped together excitedly, his admiration for the knight growing larger still.

As the tourney progressed, knights from all over the realm displayed their skill and valor, each seeking glory in the eyes of the royal family. Aemon watched intently as one knight after another was unhorsed, the clashes between armored men producing a rhythmic cadence of violence and honor. The names of the houses blurred together in his mind, but the White Bull remained a constant figure, unyielding and victorious in every match.

Lord Luthor Tyrell, the lord of Highgarden and Mace Tyrell's father, would face Ser Gerold Hightower in the next tilt. The crowds grew quiet with anticipation as the two knights took their places. Lord Luthor was a man of considerable girth, his armor adorned with the green and gold of House Tyrell, and though he was not especially known for his skill at arms, he was still the lord of one of the most powerful houses in the realm.
Ser Gerold remained an imposing figure, his white cloak still as he settled into his saddle. The White Bull exuded an air of quiet confidence, and Aemon could hardly contain his excitement as the signal was given for the knights to charge.

The hooves of their horses pounded the earth as the two knights sped towards each other, lances leveled. The tension in the air was palpable, and for a brief moment, it seemed as if the whole world had narrowed to the single point of impact between the two men. When it came, it was swift and decisive.

The clash of lances resounded across the tourney grounds, and Lord Luthor Tyrell was thrown from his horse with a mighty crash, his armor clattering as he hit the ground. The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and gasps, and Aemon found himself cheering along with them, thrilled by the spectacle.

Ser Gerold rode around the lists, his face impassive behind his visor as he acknowledged the cheers of the crowd. Lord Luthor, bruised but unharmed, was helped to his feet by his retainers and led off the field, his face red with embarrassment. Mace Tyrell, sitting not far from Aemon, looked crestfallen as his father limped away.

But the tourney was far from over. Next came a surprise match that left the crowd buzzing with excitement. Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun, known more for his leadership than his martial skill, would face Barristan the Bold. Aemon had heard stories of Ser Barristan's legendary prowess all his life, and he leaned forward eagerly, not wanting to miss a moment of the action.

Lord Hoster was a broad-shouldered man, his auburn hair streaked with grey, and though he lacked the reputation of Ser Barristan, he rode with determination. As the two knights lined up, the tension in the stands grew thick enough to cut with a knife. Even Jaime, who rarely sat still, was leaning forward, his eyes glued to the field.

The charge was swift, both knights spurring their horses forward with expert precision. The impact was thunderous, and in a stunning turn of events, Lord Hoster's lance struck true, unhorsing the great Ser Barristan. A collective gasp swept through the crowd as Ser Barristan tumbled to the ground, his armor clanging loudly.

Aemon's mouth fell open in shock. Even the king sat forward in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Lord Hoster with newfound respect. The cheers that followed were deafening, and Lord Hoster raised his lance in triumph as he circled the lists, his face beaming with pride.

"Never underestimate your foe, my son." Aemon's father spoke from behind him. Maegor's usual smile was absent, and he watched the inert form of Ser Barristan Selmy with a sharp violet gaze. "Ser Barristan saved my life in Stepstones. Maelys would've ended me were it not for him." Barristan stirred, but Maegor continued, "He is the best knight I've ever seen, but he still lost today. Remember that."

Though Ser Barristan recovered quickly and graciously accepted his defeat, the match had set the stage for a climactic final tilt: Ser Gerold Hightower versus Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun.

The two knights took their places at opposite ends of the lists, the crowd buzzing with excitement. This would be the final match of the tourney, and the stakes could not have been higher.

Aemon could feel his heart pounding in his chest as the knights readied themselves. Visenya, sitting a few seats away, looked calm and composed, though Aemon knew she was watching the field with keen interest. She mechanically petted the sleeping kitten. After all, this tourney was in honor of her betrothal, and the Queen of Love and Beauty would soon be named.

The signal was given, and the knights charged. Aemon held his breath, his fingers gripping the edge of his seat. The White Bull's lance struck Lord Hoster squarely, shattering with a loud crack, but the lord of Riverrun held his seat, his own lance finding its mark on Ser Gerold's armor. The impact was tremendous, but neither knight fell. The crowd roared as they circled back for another pass.

On the second charge, it was Lord Hoster's lance that splintered against Ser Gerold's shield, while the White Bull's blow struck with such force that it knocked the lord of Riverrun from his saddle. Lord Hoster hit the ground with a thud, and the crowd erupted in cheers as Ser Gerold Hightower was declared the victor of the tourney.

Aemon clapped furiously, his excitement reaching a fever pitch as Ser Gerold removed his helm and saluted the stands. The White Bull, ever the stoic knight, rode with quiet dignity to the royal box, where King Aerys stood to acknowledge his victory. With a deep bow, Ser Gerold turned to the stands where Visenya sat, and in a booming voice, he declared her the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Visenya smiled graciously as a garland of red roses was placed upon her brow. She was radiant, her Targaryen features illuminated by the sunlight. Though still only a girl of eight, she looked every bit the queen she would one day become. Aemon beamed with pride, his sister's triumph. Beside him, he could feel Cersei's jealousy, as if it were a physical thing.

As the White Bull withdrew, Aemon could not contain his enthusiasm. "You were wonderful, Visenya!" he exclaimed, rushing to her side as she stood with their father and mother. "The Queen of Love and Beauty! Just like in the songs!"

Visenya smiled at her younger brother, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Thank you, Aemon," she replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But it was Ser Gerold who won the tourney, not I."

Ignoring his sister, Aemon puffed out his chest, standing as tall as his small frame would allow. "This day I shall be your loyal subject and most ardent champion!" he declared, earning a chuckle from his father and others..
"And what will a six-year-old champion do to protect his queen?" Prince Maegor teased, ruffling Aemon's hair affectionately.

Aemon frowned in mock seriousness. "Anything I must! I'll fight off the hungry giants and protect the honor of the Queen of Love and Beauty!"

"You have my sword," Jaime added, mimicking Aemon's bravado.

"My lady," Rhaegar interjected heroically, "you are blessed to have such brave and loyal retainers."

Visenya smiled at them all. "Then I can only humbly accept."

As the laughter died down. The evening passed with Aemon doing odd chores and enthusiastically serving the Queen of Love and Beauty.

With one of their number now betrothed to the Prince of Dragonstone, the Western Targaryens and Lannisters prepared to leave King's Landing on the morrow. Aemon looked forward to returning home. He'd met some interesting people here–little Randyll Tarly had promised to write!--and learned many interesting things.

But, he missed the Rock.

In plan format, please list activities Aemon focuses on in descending order of importance. Aemon will still do many things, like emphasizing studying, but these are actions inspired or reinforced by his experiences in King's Landing.
[] Secrets of the Rock- Inspired by his adventures in the Red Keep, Aemon would search out the secret paths within Casterly Rock. The greatest fortress in Westeros has been continuously inhabited and mined for 8,000 years. The tale of Lann the Clever rang in his mind. Surely, there must be many secret passages to uncover.
[] The West's Fosterlings- Lord Tywin has brought highborn children from across the Westerlands to foster at the Rock. This will provide suitable companions for the exceptional younger generation, and ideally build a strong network of relations to further bind the Westerlands under the Lannister banner.
[] Tourney Knight- The glory of the tourney caused him to redouble his arms training. He very much desired to ride in the lists, to test himself against the likes of Barristan the Bold and the White Bull. That sort of fame and glory is something that neither the gold of Casterly Rock or the weight of the Targaryen name can garner.
[] Mysteries of the World- King's Landing opened a broad new vista for Aemon. The sights and sounds of the Red Keep, the tangible feeling of long dead dragons peering down at him were carved upon his soul. He would seek out every morsel of knowledge he could get his hands on. Seek out the deeper mysteries of the world.

Included in the plan: The days ahead will be filled with routine, and Aemon shall be surrounded by family. A child of both Targaryen and Lannister descent, his agency is limited, yet there are more choices to be made. Who does Aemon choose to spend his time with? Choose two options.
[] Cersei. She has begun to spend quite a lot of time in Casterly Rock's ever-growing library. Aemon will join her in reading all sorts of books when able.
[] Daeron. The always serious heir to Maegor's Hold takes his lordly training very seriously indeed. Aemon is the spare, and he will match his elder brother's interest.
[] Jaime. Aemon's milk-brother often shirks the lordly training expected of him. Instead, he relentlessly trains in the yard. Aemon will not be outdone by the heir to Casterly Rock.
[] Kevan. Serving as Lord Tywin's right hand, Ser Kevan takes many vital duties on to himself. It is thankless work, but no one is better at getting things done. Become his cupbearer.
[] Maegor. Maegor the Kind is engaged with building his keep and ordering his lands, but he shows a true devotion to the Seven and a love of gardening. Learn well from him.
[] Visenya. Aemon's elder sister loves sailing. Anything to be free of the three Septas that otherwise shadow her day and night. Aemon grows to love the freedom of the sea too..