Brighter Flames (ASOIAF/AU)

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

The air in King's Landing was thick with anticipation. Banners of great and small nobles fluttered throughout the city, and Aemon cataloged every one that crossed his path. He didn't even mind the wretched smell. As he rode atop his horse, he recalled seeing the city for the first time through the curtains of their wagon. Now, he saw it with new eyes. In little over seven years, the city had grown even more populous, but in many ways, it was less wondrous.

The Grand Tourney, a grandiose affair in honor of his sister's royal wedding, had drawn lords, ladies, knights, and commoners from all corners of the realm. For Aemon Targaryen, however, the city held more than just the thrill of competition—it was where he would reunite with his family. The prospect moved him more than he expected. They corresponded regularly, but it was simply not the same.

Aemon sat tall in the saddle, his silver-gold hair gleaming in the sunlight as he rode through the bustling streets of King's Landing. His jade green eyes flashed as he took in the surrounding crowds. Many of the city's ragged denizens paid special attention to the squire, who proudly bore the colors and sigil of House Targaryen.

The sight of the Red Keep looming in the distance stirred a mixture of excitement and unease within him. All he had to do was close his eyes and think for a moment to recall the many passageways he discovered hidden in its depths. No doubt he would continue those explorations in the days ahead. His father always said King's Landing was a pit of vipers, full of schemers who'd slit their mother's throat to gain advantage. Knowledge of the secret ways of the Red Keep might prove crucial, and Aemon was never one to turn away from an advantage.

Aemon shook his head and refocused. Just this morning, he decided to enter the tourney as a Mystery Knight. He had already decided to fashion his sigil after his faithful companion, Midnight. Aemon relished the challenge. He had honed his skills for years, and now he would prove himself on the grandest stage. His tutors kept telling him he was only fourteen, that he had much room for improvement and growth. Still, the squire truly wanted to test his measure against the greatest knights in the realm.

If he missed the opportunity, he would never forgive himself.

As the gates of the Red Keep opened to welcome him and his cohorts, he bade his friends farewell before being led to familiar chambers within the castle. The room was as he remembered it. Rich iconography of the Faith littered the interior, and a fire crackled in a brazier.

Aemon's heart swelled with joy at the sight of his family. Daeron, his elder brother, presently a sworn knight and the lord of Maegor's Hall, greeted him with a warm embrace. They were of a height now, and purple eyes met jade green. Daeron had grown into a fine man, much resembling their father, though his eyes held a weight that deepened his serious, dour nature. The smallfolk already called him Daeron the Dedicated as far away as Oldtown. Aemon played no small part in that. It was always good to be loved.

Visenya was as radiant as ever. Two years had transformed her into a woman grown. Her beauty was the stuff of songs, rivaling the legendary Shiera Seastar. Aemon grinned when he saw she still wore the familiar bejeweled hairnet she'd worn when meeting Ser Baelor Hightower all those years ago. Others might stand stupefied by her beauty, but to Aemon, it was her strength and compassion that truly defined her. In the city, many folks spoke with open admiration of her devotion to the Faith, her generous spirit, or her exploits at sea; they sang her praises. Visenya greeted him with a warm hug that he heartily returned.

And then there was his mother, Lady Genna. Time and grief had left their marks on her. Aemon's heart ached at the lines on her face, carved deep, and her thin figure. The loss of Maegor, her beloved husband, must have taken a heavier toll than she let on in her letters.

But as she looked up at Aemon, her eyes filled with warmth. "I cannot go on calling you my 'Little Dragon' anymore, can I?"

"Mother, I am yours to command," Aemon said with a flowing bow, the absolute height of chivalry, if he did say so himself. He had picked up a thing or two in the Reach. Aemon grinned. "You may call me anything you like, as long as you call me your son."

"Oh, you always were a little charmer." Genna laughed, and the years seemed to slough off her fine features. Smiling and laughing, Genna Lannister looked twenty years younger. She examined Aemon, much as one did before buying a horse, and then nodded in exaggerated approval. "I'm sure you could woo any maiden in the realm. It is past time you started thinking of your future. There are some highborn girls I can arrange for you to meet. This fool tourney will be a great opportunity to find a suitable match."

Aemon blanched before clearing his throat and giving her his most innocent smile. "No rush, Mother. No rush at all. Visenya and Daeron will be wed soon, and you shall have plenty of grandchildren to dote upon. There is too much of the world I have yet to see. I would not curse a wife with an absentee husband!"

"Always the rapscallion," Genna said with a fond smile. Then she looked at all three of her children, twisting a strand of her golden hair around a finger as tears started to well in her green eyes. "It is so good to have you all by my side once more. A mother without her children is like the sky without the sun or the stars. You should not make your mother wait so long next time."

"Wherever we go, we will carry you in our hearts." Visenya said somberly. There were no tears in her eyes, but the emotion was raw in her voice.

"Well said, sister dearest." Daeron remained stoic, but he fiddled with father's pale ring. To Aemon's sharp and experienced eyes, Daeron the Dedicated was an open book. The Lord of Maegor's Hall was barely keeping a reign on his emotions. It was good to see some things remained unchanged.

Three sets of eyes turned to Aemon, and he just gave another easy smile. "When do we eat?"

He never saw the pillow as it walloped him alongside his head.

The evening passed in a whirlwind of reunions and a family dinner. The Lannisters of Casterly Rock had come in full force, save for Ser Kevan, who remained as castellan of the Rock, and Tyrion, whom Lord Tywin had forbidden from making the trip. Apparently, Daeron had fiercely argued with their uncle to bring Tyrion along, but with Lady Joanna long gone, nothing could move Lord Tywin Lannister when he made a decision.

The family dinner was held in the lavish Lannister manor in the city. Aemon found himself surrounded by kin, all sharing stories of the past two years. Lord Tywin was as imposing as ever, Jaime as dashing, and Cersei… Cersei had grown into a woman of startling beauty and sharp intellect. Apparently, she never gave up her own habit of reading.

While everyone caught up, wine and food flowed freely. Aemon decided not to drink this evening. He watched the way Cersei glared at Visenya when she thought no one was looking. Were it not for Aemon's sister, many would proclaim Cersei Lannister to be the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms.

Only her cruelty surpassed her beauty.

Later, when Aemon privately warned Visenya, his sister simply shrugged it off. "I saw through our darling cousin while you were still dancing to her tune, and she's only become more dangerous. She's gotten better at hiding, but a leopard cannot change its spots." She ran a finger over the hilt of her rapier. "May the Seven have mercy on Mace Tyrell because darling Cersei surely will not."

The following day was filled with official functions. Cersei was aloof as she greeted her betrothed and Jaime presented Malora with a golden replica of the Hightower. She seemed best pleased with the gift, though it was always hard to tell with the enigmatic maiden.

That night, guarded by the six living brothers of the Kingsguard, they supped with the Targaryens of King's Landing. This family dinner held the most weight for Aemon. King Aerys was a difficult host, his reputation darkened by his association with the Red Priests of R'hllor. As the King of the Seven Kingdoms and the Head of House Targaryen, he commanded much authority over Aemon and his kin. Especially while they were in King's Landing, it was no exaggeration to say Aerys held their lives in his hands. Aemon misliked that very much.

Queen Rhaella was a study in contrasts—courteous and reserved, yet with a well-hidden fear of her brother-husband. Aemon keenly noticed how her hands trembled slightly whenever the king raised his voice, how her eyes darted toward Aerys with a mix of dread and resignation. In the summer heat, she wore a modest red dress with a high collar and long sleeves. Some might have thought she painted her face to conceal the marks of age, but Aemon was sure the makeup concealed marks of another kind. He pretended ignorance, but it was useful information all the same.

Rhaegar, the Prince of Dragonstone, was everything the songs proclaimed. Handsome, noble, and charismatic, he treated Visenya with a tenderness and courtesy that made Aemon's heart swell with a mixture of relief and wariness. Rhaegar seemed the perfect match for his sister. She certainly seemed besotted with the older Targaryen, but Aemon was determined to see beyond the surface. Visenya was no one's fool, but she might be looking at her future husband through the eyes of a woman in love. He would need to be even-headed for all of them.

Aemon had heard the whispers of unrest during Rhaegar's two years as Hand of the King, and he knew that appearances were often deceiving. Present the world with what they expect to see, with what they want to see, and people would readily accept it.

Throughout the dinner, Aemon kept his wits about him. Aerys, well into his middle years, kept his own counsel. Occasionally, he would speak to the woman on his left hand. His deep, penetrating gaze was unnerving, and Aemon found it hard to tell whether the king was entirely lucid. The rumors of the Red Priests he kept in his court were equally disturbing, their foreign presence a source of mistrust.

Here and now, rumors became flesh. The priestess, Melisandre of Asshai, sat next to the king, watching and taking note of everything and everyone. Her crimson gaze saw many things, and she exuded a powerful aura of mysticism. The Silent Stone vibrated in Aemon's pocket as her well controlled aura pressed down upon him. It felt something like a shadow draped across a wall. Aemon matched her intense gaze without blinking.

"Do you pray, little lord?" Melisandre asked suddenly during the course of the meal, her voice sultry and commanding. All eyes turned to Aemon, who knew that the priestess' question was as much a test as it was an inquiry.

"Not as often as I should," Aemon admitted, meeting the red gaze without flinching. Maegor's murder left a scar and a certainty that would never fade from his heart.

Melisandre smiled. She was a regal beauty, a ruby glowing at her throat. After what felt like an eternity, she gave a slow nod, apparently satisfied with the answer.

Melisandre continued, her tone deceptively mild, "Know that the Lord of Light will welcome you. There is a great fire in you. I can feel it. The Lord of Light would show you great favor. Your Seven, well… I'm sure you know. They offer only cold silence."

The hall fell quiet, the tension thick. Rhaegar's face was impassive, though his eyes flickered with something akin to warning. Visenya and Daeron glared fiercely. They were both far more religious than Aemon. Lady Genna glowered at the foreigner while Rhaella was carefully neutral.

Aemon was no fool, but he was also no coward.. "Melisandre of Asshai, the Seven have always guided the Targaryens, even through the darkest of times. Their grace has not failed us. The Warrior grants strength, the crone wisdom. The Seven Who Are One has allowed House Targaryen to rule this continent for almost three hundred years. I do not know your Lord of Light, but I do know he has no place in the Seven Kingdoms."

Melisandre remained silent. Next to her, the younger Targaryen could feel the king's attention for an excruciatingly long moment, his expression unreadable. Did I push too far?

Then, unexpectedly, Aerys cackled, the sound echoing through the dining hall. "Woman, that's enough. Leave the boy alone. He's got his father's heart. Neither your fiery god nor your tricks will find purchase there." Aerys turned to the rest of the dinner guests with an apologetic air. "Forgive Melisandre. She is a fanatic, but she can be quite useful. In any event, it is amusing to hear her prattle on. Consider it a test of your faith. You passed!"

Aemon offered a polite smile, though his mind raced with the implications of the priestess' words. Her proximity to the king spoke volumes. The conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the tension remained.

"A pity you are not yet a knight, boy." Aerys said later on during a lull in conversation.. "You would look good in a white cloak."

Both Visenya and Daeron loudly choked on wine. They both knew Aemon's nature well. Despite his skill-at-arms, he was unsuited to being a Kingsguard. Moreover, he detested the idea of being a mere bodyguard bound to celibacy and service for all his days. His ambitions and desires reached much further than that.

Used to King Aerys' barbs, Aemon chuckled goodnaturedly, "Only the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms are fit to serve in your Kingsguard, your grace." Aemon gestured at the sworn brothers of the Kingsguard and then at himself, "I am a squire of no repute. I could only bring low their hallowed reputation."

"Alas, It is good for one to know their own limitations." Aerys nodded, and then turned away to quietly speak with the Red Woman.
Visenya's hand found his under the table and squeezed. He squeezed back and smiled at her. His smile did not fade. A Lannister pays their debts, and a Dragon always has their due. King Aerys had earned himself an unseen foe, but Aemon knew the value of discretion and patience.

Afterwards, Rhaegar attempted to engage Aemon on scholarly grounds, but Aemon's mood was spoiled. He half-heartedly spoke of his time at the Citadel.

Before long, Aerys excused himself alongside Melisandre. Aemon surreptitiously glanced out over the balcony. Sunset was near. The nightfires? Inviting the priestess into what should have been an intimate family dinner already spoke volumes.
The atmosphere improved greatly with the exit of King Aerys and the Red Woman. Genna and Rhaella got along like old friends as they took turns showering praise and pointers upon the silently suffering Visenya. Rhaegar and Daeron bonded over their shared sense of duty and responsibility. Prince Viserys, only a child of four, was taken to bed after Aemon demonstrated some parlor tricks.

Aemon played his role well, listening more than he spoke, and when he did speak, he chose his words carefully. He knew that in this den of lions and dragons, even a single misstep could have grave consequences. The non-threatening Queen Rhaella and the chivalrous Rhaegar both had to be players in the Game of Thrones. That's discounting the white brothers of the Kingsguard or any unseen listeners. If he recalled correctly, there was a passage passing through an adjacent wall, a grate through which one might covertly hear others speak.

After the meal, Aemon retired to his chambers, his mind swirling with thoughts of the day's events. His sister's upcoming wedding, Melisandre's presence and words, and the sense that something was brewing in King's Landing—a storm that could change the course of their lives forever.

As he prepared for bed, Aemon looked out the window at the city below, bathed in the glow of a thousand torches. The Red Keep loomed above it all, a symbol of royal power and danger.
In the following days…
[] Accompany Daeron and Rhaegar as they set about managing tourney logistics.
[] Escort Visenya, Rhaella, and Genna as they see to the arrangements for the wedding.
[] Go and explore King's Landing with your companions.
[] Write-in