Brighter Flames (ASOIAF/AU)

Rolls have been had. Discuss in spoilers until the update drops.

The wheelhouse jolted forward, its wheels creaking as they passed over a worn cobblestone street. Aemon jostled aside on the cushioned seat, leaning against the well polished wood of the window frame, his eyes wide as he drank in the sights of King's Landing. The city sprawled before him, a confusing labyrinth of streets and buildings, its breath hot with the smell of sweat, baked bread, and sea salt.

Through gauzy curtains he investigated the city before him.

So much more interesting than the monotonous wilderness that spread out on either side of the Gold Road! He'd hoped to catch sight of a giant or a griffin during their travels, but father and the other knights must have scared any such monsters away. Instead, he had to endure weeks stuck in this cursed wheelhouse! Whenever they made camp or slept at an inn, any opportunity for adventure met a swift and final end. His mother kept him close, and every knight seemed to watch him constantly.

The attention and constant company of Ser Ilyn Payne was tiresome, but Aemon knew that the knight was appointed as his minder by Lady Joanna herself. Nothing to be done about that.

Honestly, they had the wrong idea. Aemon just wanted to be friends with the caged lion. It had been hungry and lonely in its gilded cage within the heart of the Rock. A Dragon has no reason to fear a lion's claws or teeth! He said as much to Cersei when she insisted dragons were just a story like grumkins and snarks. And he'd been right. Offering a leg of lamb secretly borrowed from the kitchens to the prowling lion had slaked its hunger, and then it'd been easy enough to make friends with the beast.

Aemon was quite good with animals, and just now he was quite wroth with the twins. There was no cause to snitch to Lady Joanna. He was sure it was Cersei. He loved her like a sister, but she always delighted in playing tricksome and cruel games. Even now, Aemon could picture it with startling clarity. He had been leisurely lounging against Loreon's surprisingly soft coat, regaling his newest friend with the old tale of Loreon the Limp, when a half dozen armsmen came barreling into the enclosure bearing wicked spears.

They'd meant to slaughter his leonine friend, he was sure of it. Aemon acted on instinct. Gifted with a strong and able body, he leapt away from the lion, and made a loud squealing racket as he scrambled out of the cage. He'd learned well how to cry false tears from Cersei. It worked. The cage slammed shut, and Loreon was forgotten as the knights inspected Aemon for injuries.

The lion still lived, but Aemon yet planned to visit ruinous vengeance upon sweet Cersei!

Everyone said the Tyroshi dyed their hair. Aemon grinned as he thought of Cersei and Jaime with blue hair!

Outside, the bustling city teemed with frenetic vitality—vendors hawking their wares, dirty urchins darted through the streets, and the distant bell of the Sept of Baelor tolled, a soft chime that drifted through the din of the city. Aemon automatically said a prayer to the Seven before catching sight of a fist full of the famed Gold Cloaks! Lannisport had its own Red Cloaks, but the Gold Cloaks figured into many stories.

Aemon was tempted to fish a story from his mother, however his attention was fastened on the view unfolding before him. The great stone towers of the Red Keep loomed in the distance, red as blood against the pale cloudless sky. Tiny compared to the Rock, but many kings, both great and terrible, ruled all the realm from here.

So said all his tutors and the books they gave him to read.

"This city is so, so vast!" Aemon squeaked out in awe. His elder brother, Daeron, sat beside him, his expression reserved, though his dark violet eyes studied the same scenery as Aemon's. Visenya, their elder sister, rested on the opposite side next to their mother, her silver-gold hair catching the light as she smiled at the wonder on her younger brother's face.

"Bigger than Lannisport?" Visenya teased. Though she was only two years older than Aemon, a scant few minutes older than Daeron the Heir, she wore a fine velvet red dress. Cut modestly for a child–no matter what Visenya said, she was a child still!--it was colored in red and black with golden accents. Mother said it was suitable for an audience with the king! Visenya sat prim and proper in a perfect imitation of their mother.

Aemon roughly pulled at his own finely tailored collar, his smile fading as he wrinkled his nose. "It smells worse, though. Did they forget to muck out the stables?"

Such laziness would never be allowed in the West!

Visenya laughed, and even dour Daeron let out a small chuckle.

"Of course it stinks of fish guts and worse," their mother said from the opposite seat. Lady Genna Lannister's lips curved into an amused grin, "Our city has been built up over many generations, and no small amount of our gold has funded its growth and upkeep. Whereas Aegon the Conqueror founded what would become King's Landing less than three hundred years ago. It is growing too fast. The sewers cannot keep up, my darlings."

The words seemed wise, but Aemon was only six after all. He distractedly glanced back to the city, to the towering walls of the Red Keep that drew closer with every turn of the wheel. How he'd love to climb and explore the walls his ancestors wrought. It was easy to envision fighting back attackers from atop the parapets, slaying them with each strike.

He shook his head, and glanced ahead through the window. His lord father, called Maegor the Kind, and many shining knights rode before them.

Aemon could not wait to learn to ride as well.

For a moment, he envied that Daeron already had his own handsome pony back home. He'd been so overproud of his riding lessons. Then Aemon smiled to himself. Daeron might have a pony, but he still had to ride all along the Gold Road in the wheelhouse, too. Mollified by the shared suffering of his stuffy elder brother he focused again.

He looked from whence they came, and imagined another wheelhouse with Auntie Joanna and the treacherous twins guarded by Lord Tywin, Uncle Kevan, and many more Westermen following in the distance. Aemon's mother said they couldn't arrive at the Red Keep together. Had to do with Visenya marrying their kinsman, Prince Rhaegar, and their own status as Targaryens.

Aemon thought the whole idea of getting married sounded utterly stupid! Tied to one person forever? How could one have adventures if they had to look after babies all the time? Much better to be like Ser Serwyn of the Mirror-shield, no one talked about him having a wife when he crept up and slew that dullard Urrax!

Other stories, the stories of Old Valyria, of dragons and conquerors, echoed through the child's memories as he viewed the city his forbearers wrought. He imagined what it must have been like for Aegon the Conqueror, standing atop that very hill, looking down upon the land he would make his own. Or to fly through the sky upon the Black Dread.

When they finally entered the gates of the Red Keep, Aemon shivered. The forbidding walls closed in on him, the stones old and worn by the centuries.

Their arrival at court was a grand affair. The Hand of the King, a tall and burly man with piercing blue eyes and hair as black as midnight, greeted them in the courtyard. Aemon glimpsed his father and the newcomer talking as if they were old friends. The boy ate salt and bread as it was offered, and did his best to move through the crowd. Here, Ser Ilyn seemingly appeared out of thin air as he firmly guided the young Targaryen away from an injured warhorse.

Feeling very wronged, Aemon just wanted to take a look at the horse's bad hoof, the boy allowed himself to be lead back to Daeron and Visenya's side. Both glowered at him with stiff necks. Aemon simply stuck out his tongue at the pair of them.

"Don't shame mother and father before our kin." Daeron hissed at him before leaning in and speaking more quietly, "There'll be plenty of time for play later. If you're good, we can play knights and bandits in the godswood!"

Aemon grinned, his irritation disappearing like morning mist. He held out his hand solemnly, "I get to be Ser Symeon this time!"

"Fine, as long as you behave." Daeron replied shortly, as he shook Aemon's hand.
A man is only as good as his word, thus Aemon would be the very picture of princely etiquette!

Many boring words were said. Aemon pushed down his irritation. He stood straight and puffed out his chest. He wouldn't budge while he looked around in wonder at the Red Keep. He caught sight of two of the Kingsguard in pure white cloaks, and his breath caught. Their gleaming armor shone in the midday sun. Aemon wanted to go over and see whether the big one was the famed White Bull, and if the other could be Barristan the Bold!

However, he steadfastly resisted the allure of glory to remain next to his family. The towering Hand of the King peeled off from their father to speak shortly to each one. Finally, he arrived before Aemon, and knelt down to be eye level with the boy.

"And, you must be young Aemon. I am Steffon. I fought with your father in the Stepstones." The Hand smiled kindly. He was a handsome man in a black and gold doublet with piercing blue eyes and a well groomed black beard. "Already so big and strong. Surely you will be a formidable knight like your father!"

"I will be the best, my lord!" Aemon's jade eyes flash as he responds with equal measures of conviction and valor.

The Hand of the King chuckled and reached one large hand out to ruffle your silver-gold hair. "That's the spirit, lad!"

He stood up. The kindly man became the Hand of the King once more. Orders were given. Men in armor and servants in the red and black of House Targaryen leapt to obey.

The horses were taken to the stables by groomsmen, refreshments were provided. Aemon relished the cool clean water as it washed the last remnants of salt away.,

The party left the courtyard following in the Lord Hand's wake.

There were many lords and ladies in the throne room as they were presented to the king. He bowed as was proper and remained silent as he was bade. See, he could obey when he chose to!

First and foremost, Aemon's attention fastened upon his kinsman, the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

King Aerys II sat high upon the monstrous Iron Throne, his silver-gold hair well kept under a large and heavy crown of red gold, each of the crown's points a dragon's head with gemstone eyes. His violet eyes sharp with a gleam that made Aemon uncomfortable. His father, Maegor, a kind and generous man, was usually seen with a beaming smile. It must be said there was a strong likeness between Aerys and Maegor, but Aemon had never seen his father look down upon others with ill-concealed contempt.

The king's gaze swept over them, lingering on Visenya with a cluck of faint approval—she looked every inch the Targaryen maiden, and moved with a poise that defied her age. The king's attention also lingered upon Aemon's father.

The same could be said of the Prince of Dragonstone and Daeron. For the heir, standing at the foot of the Iron Throne might well have been an older rendition of Aemon's elder brother. King Aerys nodded when he saw Daeron.

Once King Aerys's gaze met Aemon's, the silent approval vanished, replaced by something colder. The king's eyes narrowed, lingering on Aemon's own visage. Aemon felt himself blushing under the monarch's regard, but he returned the stare without turning away. Before long, the king moved on, his features smooth and finally addressed Maegor.

"Welcome cousin, you have been gone too long." Aerys said. A smile, the same type of smile Cersei bore when she was playing a particularly vicious trick, settled on the sovereign's features.

Aemon stood quietly alongside his mother and siblings as his father, Maegor, spoke to the king, his voice deep and clear. There was a certain tension in the air, but father would surely handle matters. If he couldn't, Lord Tywin and Uncle Kevan would be along shortly to render aid. Aemon's attention wandered as pleasantries were exchanged.

His gaze was pulled to the glorious knight's of the Kingsguard. Seven of the finest knights in all the land, oathbound to serve and protect the king. Yet, they paled compared to the great dragon skulls lining the court's walls. Eyeless sockets seemed to stare down and judge Aemon.

They stood before the enormous steel throne, thousands of weapons forged into the symbol of Targaryen power. Aemon tried to pay attention, he really did, but the mention of a tourney set his mind coursing through all sorts of fantasies. Knights from across the realm gathered to demonstrate their chivalry and prowess.

He was still happily daydreaming about the tourney when their family was ushered out of the throne room.

Their apartments were elegant, if inferior to the lavish rooms of Casterly Rock. He went and warmed his hands over a brazier, and the excitable child felt a touch of tiredness. Maids and other servants moved their luggage into the rooms he would share with Daeron and Visenya.

As Aemon awaited his turn to bathe, he tiredly looked around the room. Everything was decorated in red and black. The three-headed dragon sigil of his ancestral house seemed to stare down at him. Under their scrutiny, the boy found a likely spot on a bed and curled up. A long day for a six year old.

Aemon had long heard stories of the history of House Targaryen. His father did not talk much about their family's history, instead sharing Faithful sermons or war stories from the time of the Ninepenny Kings. Aemon heard much and more about his maternal family's lineage, but the history of the Targaryen dynasty was carved upon the Seven Kingdoms with Fire and Blood.

Now, with a moment to himself, he felt a deep connection settling upon his shoulders. Aegon the Conqueror cast a long shadow from the past, but there were many great figures among your ancestors. Men who never sat the Iron Throne. Men who left their own mark upon the Westeros.

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Which Targaryen is your greatest hero? This choice will have an effect on the character going forward. Aemon is only six, and he is still very malleable and open to ideals.
[] Baelon the Brave- Second son of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, Baelon is famed for striking Balerion the Black Dread in the snout as a child. Flying alongside his beloved brother, Aemon, and his father he helped crush an invading dornish navy before it could make landfall. They won a battle without losing a man! After his brother was felled, he avenged him before being hailed as the Prince of Dragonstone. Everyone expected Baelon to be a great king in his turn, yet the Stranger claimed him for his own before he could ascend to the throne.

[] The Rogue Prince- Second son of Baelon the Brave, Daemon Targaryen was once famed as a warrior and tourney knight. His history remains complex. He founded the Gold Cloaks. Warred alongside the Sea Snake, and he was declared and crowned the King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. After laying his crown before the Iron Throne, he went on to support his niece-wife's claim to the Iron Throne during the Dance of Dragons. Riding the Bloodworm, he famously slew Aemond Targaryen, dragonrider of mighty Vhagar, over the God's Eye.

[] The Dragonknight- Second son of Viserys II, Prince Aemon might have been the noblest knight who ever lived, and he is still a popular figure among the highborn and smallfolk in songs, stories, and fables. After taking the vows of the Kingsguard at seventeen, the Dragonknight would go on to help the Young Dragon conquer Dorne, though he could not save his cousin from being murdered under a peace banner. Under Aegon the Unworthy, he shielded his beloved sister's honor by slaying Ser Morgil Hastywick in a Trial By Combat. In the end, Aemon Targaryen died doing his duty, protecting his king from assassins.

[] Write-in (Must be a famous Targaryen from the past. Second sons only!)