**A Month Later - The Red Keep**
The morning bells had barely finished their song when Septa Maegan burst into Prince Aemon's chambers with the sort of barely contained excitement that suggested either divine revelation or particularly scandalous gossip. Given her history, Aemon suspected the latter.
"My prince," she gasped, clutching her seven-pointed star with one hand while gesturing dramatically with the other, "there's a new bard at court. Arrived last night from Oldtown, they say. Such a voice! Such presence! The kitchen maids are already sighing over him like lovesick doves."
Aemon, who had been practicing alchemical transmutation exercises by turning bronze buttons into silver ones, carefully set down his work and fixed the septa with his most innocent expression. "A new bard? How delightful. I do love music."
*Kitchen maids sighing,* Pyrion observed with aristocratic disdain from his perch on the windowsill. *That suggests either exceptional talent or exceptional manipulation. Given the timing and your suspicions, I lean toward the latter.*
"What does he sing of?" Aemon asked, his tone carrying just the right note of childlike curiosity to encourage Septa Maegan's natural inclination toward comprehensive gossip distribution.
"Oh, the usual—love, loss, heroic deeds," she said, settling into her favorite chair with the comfortable air of someone preparing for a lengthy discourse. "But there's something... refined about him. Well-dressed, well-spoken, with the sort of easy charm that makes even the most reserved ladies blush. They say he's performed for several noble houses across the Reach."
*Several noble houses,* Aemon repeated silently, his enhanced intelligence immediately cataloging the implications. *A traveling performer who specializes in noble households. Either he's building a very specific reputation, or he's building a very specific hunting ground.*
"Has he expressed any particular interest in performing for the royal family?" Aemon asked, absently scratching Pyrion's chin while mentally calculating probabilities.
"Well," Septa Maegan leaned forward conspiratorially, "I did hear him asking about the daily routines of various court members. Purely for scheduling purposes, he claimed, but..." She trailed off meaningfully.
"But?" Aemon prompted with the sort of wide-eyed attention that made adults feel clever for sharing their insights.
"He seemed particularly interested in Princess Gael's afternoon walks in the gardens. Asked about her... preferences in music, her favorite stories, whether she enjoyed private performances or preferred larger audiences."
*There it is,* Pyrion said grimly. *Target acquired, reconnaissance conducted, approach vector planned.*
Aemon's expression remained perfectly innocent even as his mind shifted into tactical mode. "How thoughtful of him to consider everyone's preferences. I'm sure Princess Gael would appreciate such attention to detail."
"Indeed, my prince. Such a considerate young man."
*Young man,* Hestia's voice chimed in with characteristic insight wrapped in apparent confusion. *That's interesting, isn't it? Most traveling bards are either very young and inexperienced, or older and settled into their craft. A young man who's confident enough to approach noble houses specifically... that takes a special kind of arrogance. Or experience. Like a cat that's learned exactly which houses have the best cream and unlocked windows.*
*I was thinking more like a wolf that's learned to hunt in sheep's clothing,* Aemon replied silently.
*Wolves are just dogs with commitment issues,* Hestia observed. *Though I suppose that makes them more dangerous. Dogs at least pretend to be loyal.*
After dismissing Septa Maegan with promises to be suitably impressed by the new bard's inevitable performance, Aemon settled into his chair with the focused intensity of a general planning a campaign.
"Right then," he said aloud, knowing Pyrion could hear him perfectly well. "Time to meet our potential problem."
*You suspect this is your mysterious seducer?* Pyrion asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"The timing is too convenient, his questions too specific, and his approach too practiced. Either he's our target, or he's coincidentally exactly the sort of person who could become our target." Aemon stood, adjusting his clothes with the unconscious grace that came from enhanced physical development. "Either way, he bears watching."
*And if he proves to be a threat?*
Aemon's smile acquired the particular quality that historically preceded either brilliant diplomatic solutions or the total destruction of anyone foolish enough to threaten something he valued.
"Then we remind him that dragons protect their family," he said softly. "But first, let's see how he handles unexpected company."
---
The gardens were particularly lovely that afternoon, with autumn sunlight filtering through golden leaves and the sort of crisp air that made everything seem more vivid, more significant. Princess Gael had chosen her usual spot beneath the ancient oak, a book of poetry open in her lap, while Syrax dozed contentedly on a sun-warmed stone nearby.
She was alone, as had become her custom during these peaceful afternoon interludes.
Or rather, she would have been alone, if not for the approaching figure of a young man carrying a lute and wearing the sort of confident smile that suggested he'd used it to great effect in the past.
He was handsome in the way that spoke of careful grooming and natural gifts equally applied—dark hair that caught the light just so, green eyes that seemed to hold secrets worth discovering, and the sort of easy grace that made people want to trust him immediately. His clothes were well-made but not ostentatious, his bearing confident without appearing arrogant.
In short, he looked exactly like the sort of man who could convince a lonely princess that he found her uniquely fascinating.
*Oh, this is him,* Hestia said with immediate certainty. *Look at him. Just look at him. He's practically radiating 'I'm sensitive and artistic and definitely not here to cause any problems.' It's like he's wearing a sign that says 'Trust Me, I'm Harmless' except the sign is made of his entire face.*
*Agreed,* Pyrion's mental voice carried the sort of cold assessment usually reserved for evaluating potential threats to the realm. *He moves like a man accustomed to being welcome wherever he goes. That level of confidence comes from extensive practice.*
Aemon, concealed behind a nearby hedge with the sort of casual espionage skills that would have impressed professional spies, watched as the bard approached Princess Gael with what appeared to be respectful hesitation.
"Your pardon, my lady," the bard said, his voice carrying just the right note of diffident charm. "I hope I do not intrude. I am Ser Roderick of Oldtown, newly arrived at court, and I could not help but notice you seemed... contemplative. Perhaps melancholy? I find that music often provides comfort for troubled thoughts."
*'Ser' Roderick,* Aemon noted with interest. *Claims knighthood but carries himself like a performer. Either he's lying about his rank, or he's a knight who's chosen a very unusual career path.*
*Or he's neither knight nor common bard,* Pyrion suggested grimly. *But something else entirely, wearing titles like costumes.*
Gael looked up from her book with the sort of polite interest that acknowledged the interruption without encouraging it. "You are kind to offer, ser, but I am quite content with my book."
"Of course," Roderick agreed immediately, though he made no move to leave. "Poetry, I see. Might I ask which collection has captured your attention so completely?"
*Classic misdirection,* Aemon observed silently. *Acknowledge her refusal while simultaneously engaging her in conversation about her interests. Gets his foot in the door without seeming pushy.*
*Manipulative bastard,* Hestia added with uncharacteristic venom. *Like offering to leave someone alone while simultaneously sitting down next to them. Very clever, and also very annoying.*
To Gael's credit, she seemed to recognize the technique, though she answered politely. "Songs of love and loss from the Age of Heroes. Rather old-fashioned, I'm afraid."
"Not old-fashioned," Roderick said with the sort of warm enthusiasm that suggested he'd found her answer personally fascinating. "Timeless. The greatest truths are often found in the oldest songs. They speak to something eternal in the human heart."
*Oh, that's good,* Pyrion admitted grudgingly. *Flattery disguised as philosophical observation. Makes her feel sophisticated for enjoying classical poetry while positioning himself as someone who appreciates her refined tastes.*
*He's definitely done this before,* Aemon agreed grimly.
"You speak as though you know such songs well," Gael said, and Aemon noted with satisfaction that her tone remained carefully neutral rather than warming with interest.
"I have studied them extensively," Roderick replied, settling onto the grass near her bench with practiced ease. "There is wisdom in the old tales, lessons that speak to our modern hearts. For instance, the tragedy of Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys—surely one of the most beautiful expressions of love constrained by duty ever written."
*Clever choice,* Aemon thought with grudging respect for his opponent's tactical acumen. *A tragic romance that positions forbidden love as noble rather than destructive. Plants the idea that sometimes the heart must defy convention.*
*He's grooming her,* Hestia said bluntly. *Like when you train a dog to sit by giving it treats. Except instead of treats, he's giving her validation, and instead of teaching her to sit, he's teaching her to think romantic tragedy is beautiful.*
That was when Prince Aemon decided subtlety had served its purpose.
"Oh, how wonderful!" he exclaimed, emerging from behind the hedge with the sort of boundless enthusiasm that only small children could deploy as a weapon. "A new friend for Aunt Gael! And a bard, too! I simply adore music!"
Pyrion immediately took wing from his concealed perch, landing on Aemon's shoulder with a flutter of wings that drew every eye in the garden. The dragon fixed Roderick with the sort of stare that suggested he was mentally calculating how long it would take to reduce him to ash.
Roderick's carefully composed expression flickered—just for a moment—with something that might have been annoyance or calculation, before settling back into pleasant surprise.
"And you must be Prince Aemon," he said, rising gracefully to offer a respectful bow. "Your reputation precedes you, my prince. They say you are remarkably gifted for one so young."
"Oh, I am," Aemon agreed with the sort of cheerful arrogance that made adults simultaneously charmed and concerned. "Pyrion and I were just discussing the philosophical implications of tragic romance in classical literature. Weren't we, Pyrion?"
Pyrion, understanding his cue perfectly, released a small puff of smoke that somehow managed to convey both agreement and vague menace.
*Well played,* the dragon noted privately. *You've established both your intellectual credentials and your constant presence in one move.*
*And reminded him that Princess Gael comes with a dragon-armed escort,* Aemon added with satisfaction.
Roderick's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he reassessed the situation. A lovely, lonely princess was one thing. A lovely, lonely princess with a precocious nephew and his fire-breathing companion was quite another.
"How... delightful," he said, his smile maintaining its warmth despite the slight tension around his eyes. "Perhaps you would both enjoy a song? I know several pieces that young princes find entertaining."
"Actually," Gael said with timing that suggested she'd learned her lessons well, "I believe my afternoon is already spoken for. Aemon and I had planned to continue our discussion of classical poetry, and I wouldn't want to disappoint him."
*Perfect,* Aemon thought with fierce pride. *She's giving herself an excuse to leave while making it seem like she's protecting my feelings rather than avoiding his advances.*
"Another time, perhaps," Roderick said graciously, though Aemon's enhanced senses caught the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested genuine frustration beneath the polite facade.
"Oh, certainly!" Aemon said with enthusiasm that was only partially feigned. "I do love meeting new people. We should definitely spend more time together. All of us, I mean. Together."
The emphasis on 'all of us' was subtle enough to maintain plausible deniability while making the message absolutely clear: there would be no private meetings, no quiet conversations, no opportunities for the sort of intimate manipulation that relied on isolation.
As they walked away—Aemon chattering cheerfully about poetry while Pyrion rode his shoulder like a living reminder of exactly who was under royal protection—Aemon felt a grim satisfaction settle in his chest.
Round one to House Targaryen.
But he knew this was just the opening move in what promised to be a much longer game.
---
"Septa Maegan," Aemon said that evening, settling into his favorite chair with the sort of casual authority that made even seasoned politicians pay attention, "I've been thinking about that new bard you mentioned."
The septa looked up from her embroidery with immediate interest. "Ser Roderick? What about him, my prince?"
"Well," Aemon said, deploying his most innocent expression, "I was wondering about his background. You mentioned he'd performed for several noble houses in the Reach?"
"Indeed, quite extensively from what I've heard."
"How fascinating. I do love hearing about talented people's careers." Aemon leaned forward with the sort of wide-eyed curiosity that made adults eager to demonstrate their knowledge. "Do you happen to know which houses specifically? I'm always interested in the cultural patronage of great families."
*Subtle,* Hestia observed approvingly. *Frame intelligence gathering as intellectual curiosity about aristocratic cultural support. Very sophisticated for someone who still needs help reaching high shelves.*
*I'm tall for my age,* Aemon protested silently.
*You're two years old. Everyone's tall compared to you.*
*Nearly two and a half.*
*Still counts as two. Mathematics doesn't round up for princes.*
Septa Maegan, meanwhile, had launched into exactly the sort of detailed exposition that made her invaluable as an intelligence asset despite her complete lack of awareness regarding her role in espionage operations.
"Let me see... House Hightower, certainly, though I believe his time there was brief. Something about a disagreement over payment, though the details were unclear. House Tyrell as well, performing for several feast days. House Tarly—though again, his departure was rather sudden. They say he left in the middle of the night after some sort of... incident."
*Incident,* Pyrion repeated with the sort of cold interest that suggested he was filing away details for future reference. *A pattern emerges. Brief stays, sudden departures, disagreements and incidents.*
*Classic signs of someone who overstays his welcome,* Aemon agreed grimly. *The question is whether these are professional disputes or personal ones.*
"What sort of incident?" Aemon asked with the innocent curiosity of someone who'd never encountered anything more scandalous than arguments over dessert portions.
"Well," Septa Maegan leaned forward conspiratorially, "the rumors suggest it involved Lord Tarly's youngest daughter. Something about inappropriate attention, though nothing was ever proven. These noble families, they prefer to handle such matters quietly rather than risk scandal."
*There it is,* Aemon thought with grim satisfaction. *The pattern I was looking for. Young noble daughters, inappropriate attention, quiet departures. He's done this before.*
*Multiple times,* Pyrion added with the sort of cold fury that made the air around him shimmer with heat. *This is his method. Travel from house to house, target vulnerable young women, and disappear before consequences can catch up with him.*
*But this time,* Aemon replied with the sort of quiet determination that historically preceded either brilliant victories or spectacular disasters, *consequences have a dragon.*
"How terrible for the poor girl," Aemon said aloud, his voice carrying just the right note of sympathetic concern. "I do hope such misunderstandings don't plague his time here at court."
"Oh, I'm certain they won't," Septa Maegan said with the confidence of someone who'd never encountered truly determined predators. "Our princess is far too clever to be taken in by smooth words and pretty songs."
*If only she knew how much work we've put into making that true,* Hestia observed with satisfaction.
*She's about to find out exactly how clever our princess can be,* Aemon replied, his golden eyes reflecting the candlelight with predatory intensity.
---
Over the following week, Ser Roderick of Oldtown discovered that spending time with Princess Gael had become significantly more complicated than his previous experiences had led him to expect.
Every attempt at private conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Prince Aemon, who possessed an uncanny ability to appear at precisely the moment when discussions were becoming interesting. Every invitation to intimate musical performances was countered by suggestions that such entertainment would be much more enjoyable with additional audience members. Every carefully crafted moment of romantic vulnerability was disrupted by the presence of dragons who seemed to view him with the sort of suspicion usually reserved for plague carriers.
"It's remarkable," Gael commented one afternoon as they watched Roderick's latest attempt at seduction—a carefully choreographed "chance" encounter near the sept—founder on the rocks of Aemon's enthusiastic insistence that they all pray together for the souls of tragic lovers, "how exhausting some people's company can be."
"Exhausting how?" Aemon asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"Like they require so much... performance. So much attention to their feelings, their interests, their need to be fascinating." She paused, watching as Roderick realized that his romantic gesture was about to become a group religious experience. "It makes conversation feel like work."
*Perfect,* Pyrion purred with satisfaction. *She's beginning to recognize emotional manipulation as the labor it requires from its targets.*
*She's learning to value her own energy,* Aemon agreed with fierce pride. *To recognize when someone is taking more than they're giving.*
"Some people," Aemon said thoughtfully, "mistake intensity for intimacy. They think if they can make you feel something—anything—then they've created a connection. But real connection doesn't leave you feeling drained."
Gael turned to study him with those perceptive violet eyes. "And how do you know the difference? Between someone who genuinely cares and someone who's just... skilled at seeming like they care?"
Aemon considered this with the gravity of someone who'd learned to recognize the difference between strategic manipulation and genuine affection at an unusually early age.
"Real care is easy," he said finally. "It doesn't ask you to be someone else, or feel something specific, or prove that you deserve it. It just... is. Like sunlight. It's there whether you're watching it or not."
*Your wisdom continues to develop in directions that are both impressive and concerning,* Pyrion observed with aristocratic amusement.
*I've had good teachers,* Aemon replied, scratching the dragon's chin affectionately.
*Indeed. Though I suspect most of those lessons came from recognizing what you didn't want to become rather than what you did.*
*The best education often does.*
From across the courtyard, Ser Roderick caught sight of their intimate conversation and began making his way toward them with the determined stride of someone who'd identified an opportunity.
"Incoming," Aemon murmured, just loud enough for Gael to hear.
She sighed. "I suppose we should be polite."
"We should," Aemon agreed, rising to his feet with the sort of predatory grace that made him look older and more dangerous than his years should have allowed. "But we don't have to be helpful."
*This should be entertaining,* Pyrion noted, settling himself into a position that would allow him to incinerate the approaching bard at a moment's notice.
*Or educational,* Aemon replied, his smile taking on the particular quality that historically preceded either diplomatic triumphs or the complete destruction of his opponents' credibility.
*Why not both?*
Indeed, why not both?
---
## Current Status: Prince Aemon Targaryen
**[PERSONAL STATISTICS]**
**Age:** 2 years, 3 months, 1 week, 4 days
**Physical Development:** "Concerningly Advanced" (Peak human capability for chronological age + 15%)
**Height:** 3'4" (Tall enough to be noticed, not tall enough to avoid questions)
**Appearance Rating:** "Could Negotiate Peace Treaties Through Strategic Deployment of Dimples"
**Mental Status:** Tactically Brilliant with Appropriate Paranoia Levels
**Political Influence:** Minimal but Increasingly Radioactive
**Character Assimilations Active:**
- **Geralt of Rivia:** 15% (Enhanced senses now capable of detecting lies, fear, and hostile intent at considerable distance)
- **Edward Elric:** 14% (Alchemical mastery sufficient for casual matter transmutation)
- **Tyrion Lannister:** 67% (Political genius approaching supernatural levels)
**Available Stored Assimilations:** 7 legendary options (Superman, Batman, Iron Man, Captain America, and others that would fundamentally alter the political structure of reality)
**Dragon Bond:** Pyrion - Partnership Status: "Legendary Symbiosis with Tactical Nuclear Capabilities"
*Current Pyrion Assessment: Fire-breathing weapon of mass destruction with impeccable timing and questionable attitude toward authority figures*
**[MISSION ACCOMPLISHMENTS - RECENT WEEK]**
**Completed:** "The Chaperone Protocol" (400 Points)
*Successfully prevent potential romantic manipulation through strategic omnipresence*
**Completed:** "Intelligence Network Activation" (300 Points)
*Gather actionable intelligence on potential threats using unwitting civilian assets*
**Completed:** "Educational Intervention" (500 Points)
*Teach vulnerable family member to recognize manipulation tactics without revealing supernatural knowledge*
**Completed:** "Tactical Cock-Blocking" (200 Points)
*Disrupt predatory courtship through creative interpretation of family obligations*
*Note: The system's terminology for this mission category continues to be unprofessional*
**Total Recent Points:** 1,400
**Current Gacha Currency:** 4,647 Points
**Achievement Streak:** 134 consecutive days without mission failure
**[THREAT ASSESSMENT]**
**Immediate Threats:**
- Ser Roderick of Oldtown (Professional seducer, confirmed pattern of targeting noble daughters)
- Growing political attention to Prince Aemon's "unusual capabilities"
- Increasing difficulty of explaining supernatural competence as "precocious development"
**Medium-Term Concerns:**
- Succession politics becoming increasingly volatile
- Dragon dynamics within the royal family showing signs of future territorial disputes
- Economic reforms implemented through "innocent suggestions" beginning to show results that require explanation
**Long-Term Strategic Considerations:**
- Preventing the Dance of Dragons through comprehensive historical intervention
- Managing the implications of having stored assimilations that could fundamentally alter the balance of power in Westeros
- Maintaining cover identity while implementing kingdom-wide optimization protocols
**[CURRENT CAPABILITIES]**
**Physical:** Enhanced strength, speed, and coordination sufficient to handle adult-level tasks while maintaining plausible infant cover
**Mental:** Political cunning that approaches precognitive levels, enhanced memory with perfect recall, supernatural charisma capable of influencing major political decisions
**Magical:** Alchemical abilities allowing molecular-level matter manipulation, Dragon Lord Authority providing command over all draconic entities within considerable radius, various legendary items providing comprehensive magical protection
**Social:** Strategic omnipresence protocols allowing intervention in family crises, intelligence network providing real-time information on court politics, reputation management maintaining "gifted prodigy" cover while avoiding "obviously supernatural entity" territory
**[IMMEDIATE OBJECTIVES]**
1. **Complete neutralization of Ser Roderick** through evidence gathering and strategic revelation of past misconduct
2. **Maintain Princess Gael's emotional stability** while ensuring she learns to protect herself from future manipulation
3. **Continue optimization of kingdom resources** without triggering investigations into the source of policy improvements
4. **Prepare for character assimilation slot opening** (Tyrion integration approaching completion at current rate)
5. **Monitor dragon growth rates** and political implications of increasingly obvious supernatural capabilities
**[PHILOSOPHICAL STATUS]**
**Current Ethical Framework:** "Benevolent Optimization Through Strategic Intervention"
**Operational Philosophy:** "Work Smarter, Not Harder, But Always Be Prepared for Violence"
**Long-term Vision:** "Comprehensive Kingdom Improvement Whether People Want It Or Not"
**Risk Assessment:** Moderate to High probability of accidentally optimizing Westeros into unprecedented prosperity while maintaining plausible deniability regarding supernatural intervention
**Satisfaction Level:** High (Plans proceeding according to enhanced calculations)
**Confidence Rating:** Maximum (Enhanced by supernatural charisma and dragon backup)
**Likelihood of Success:** Near Certainty (Enhanced by perfect battle precognition and comprehensive tactical preparation)
---
*So,* Pyrion observed as evening fell over the Red Keep and they settled into their chambers for another night of strategic planning disguised as bedtime routine, *our mysterious predator proves to be exactly the sort of accomplished manipulator you suspected.*
*Predictable,* Aemon replied, settling into his chair with the satisfaction of someone whose tactical assessments had proven accurate. *But predictability makes him vulnerable. He's operating from a playbook, and now that I know which one, I can counter every move.*
*And Princess Gael?*
*Learning faster than I'd hoped. She's beginning to trust her own judgment instead of other people's flattery. That's the most important lesson—not that everyone is dangerous, but that she has the skills to recognize when someone is.*
*Your methods continue to impress,* Hestia added with warm approval. *Teaching someone to fish instead of just giving them fish, except instead of fish, it's the ability to spot emotional manipulation, and instead of a fishing rod, you're using enhanced political cunning and strategic dragon deployment.*
*That analogy needs work,* Aemon replied fondly.
*All my analogies need work. That's what makes them charming. Like a badly tuned lute that still somehow plays pretty songs.*
Outside his window, King's Landing settled into its evening rhythms, completely unaware that a two-year-old prince had just successfully deployed counter-intelligence operations against a professional seducer while maintaining his cover as an unusually bright toddler with a well-developed sense of family loyalty.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities for optimization, and quite possibly the chance to demonstrate that threatening a Targaryen princess was the sort of career-limiting decision that tended to involve fire and significant regret.
*It's going to be a good week,* Aemon decided with the quiet satisfaction of someone whose plans were proceeding exactly as calculated.
*Or a very bad week for certain traveling bards,* Pyrion added with anticipatory satisfaction.
*Same thing, really,* Aemon replied, his smile taking on the particular quality that historically preceded either brilliant diplomatic victories or the spectacular destruction of anyone foolish enough to threaten his family.
Either outcome promised to be appropriately legendary.
—
# Roderick's Growing Frustration
The Red Keep's upper corridors were mercifully empty as Roderick paced the stone walkway, his carefully maintained facade finally cracking in private. His fists clenched and unclenched as he replayed the afternoon's latest failure—another "chance" encounter with Princess Gael that had somehow transformed into an impromptu theology lesson courtesy of her dragon-riding nephew.
*Seven hells,* he thought viciously, abandoning the smooth mental voice he used for public consumption. *Three weeks. Three bloody weeks, and I haven't managed a single moment alone with her.*
It defied everything he'd learned about noble ladies. They were supposed to be lonely, starved for attention, eager for someone who understood their refined sensibilities. Princess Gael should have been the easiest mark he'd ever encountered—isolated at court, unmarried despite her beauty, with that melancholy air that practically screamed for a sensitive artist to rescue her from her gilded cage.
Instead, she treated him with the sort of polite indifference she might show to particularly persistent furniture.
*That damned boy,* Roderick snarled internally. *Always appearing at exactly the wrong moment, always with some innocent question or enthusiastic suggestion that turns every intimate moment into a family gathering.*
The worst part was that Prince Aemon seemed genuinely fond of him. The child's enthusiasm appeared completely authentic, his delight in Roderick's company utterly sincere. Which made it impossible to object without seeming churlish—who could complain about a lonely boy wanting to spend time with his beloved aunt?
But there was something about those golden eyes that made Roderick's skin crawl. Something too knowing, too calculating for a child barely past his second nameday. And that dragon of his—Pyrion watched him with the sort of cold assessment that suggested it was mentally cataloging his weaknesses.
*Impossible,* Roderick told himself firmly. *They're a child and an animal. I'm letting frustration make me paranoid.*
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that every move he made was being observed, analyzed, countered with surgical precision.
—
The next morning found Roderick in the Red Keep's great hall, breaking his fast among the lesser nobles and court functionaries who comprised his natural social circle. These were people he understood—ambitious but insecure, hungry for connection with someone who seemed more sophisticated, more worldly than their usual company.
"Ser Roderick," called Lady Meredyth Crane, a young woman whose father had sent her to court in hopes of securing an advantageous marriage, "we were just discussing the upcoming feast day celebrations. Surely you'll grace us with a performance?"
"Of course," Roderick replied with practiced warmth, settling into the role of charming entertainer. "Though I confess, I've been hoping to arrange something more... intimate. A private performance for select company."
He let his gaze linger meaningfully on Lady Meredyth, who blushed prettily and looked away with the sort of flustered pleasure that normally indicated a successful opening gambit.
"How delightful," she murmured. "I'm sure Princess Gael would appreciate such attention. She seems rather... isolated sometimes, don't you think?"
*Finally,* Roderick thought with savage satisfaction. *Someone willing to discuss the princess directly.*
"I have noticed she spends much time alone," he agreed carefully. "Though young Prince Aemon seems devoted to her company."
"Oh yes," Lady Meredyth laughed. "Such a precocious child. Always asking questions, always wanting to be included in everything. It must be exhausting for the poor princess, never having a moment's peace."
*Exactly,* Roderick's predatory instincts purred. *Frame the boy's protectiveness as an inconvenience rather than recognizing it for what it actually is.*
"Children that age do require constant attention," he said with false sympathy. "I imagine she might welcome the company of adults who understand the need for quieter... more mature conversation."
"I'm certain she would," Lady Meredyth agreed eagerly. "Perhaps I could arrange something? A small gathering where she might feel more comfortable accepting your invitation?"
*Perfect,* Roderick thought. *Use the girl's desire for court influence to create the opportunity I need.*
"You're too kind," he said with a smile that had convinced dozens of other well-meaning accomplices to facilitate their own friends' seductions.
—
That evening, Roderick made his way to a discrete tavern in the city proper, where a hooded figure waited in a dim corner booth. The man's face was unremarkable—the sort of forgettable features that made him invaluable for certain types of work.
"Having difficulties?" the man asked without preamble, his voice carrying the flat accent of someone who'd learned to speak without revealing his origins.
"Complications," Roderick corrected grimly, settling into the opposite seat. "The target is proving more... resistant than anticipated."
"Resistant how? Usually noble ladies are eager for attention from traveling performers. Especially ones with your particular talents."
*Talents,* Roderick reflected bitterly. *If only he knew how much effort goes into appearing effortlessly charming.*
"She's not isolated," he explained. "There's a child—her nephew, Prince Aemon. He shadows her constantly, always interrupting at crucial moments. And he has a dragon."
The hooded man raised an eyebrow. "A dragon is hardly a concern for someone of your expertise. Children are easily distracted."
"This one isn't." Roderick's jaw tightened as he remembered those calculating golden eyes. "There's something... off about him. Too intelligent, too aware. And the dragon responds to him like it understands every word he says."
"You're being paranoid."
"Am I?" Roderick leaned forward intensely. "Three weeks, and I haven't managed a single private conversation with her. Every approach is anticipated, every strategy countered. Either I'm losing my skills, or someone is deliberately interfering."
The hooded man was quiet for a long moment, considering. "What do you need?"
"Information. About the boy, about their routines, about any weaknesses I can exploit." Roderick's voice dropped to a whisper. "And perhaps... assistance in creating a distraction. Something that would require the child's attention elsewhere."
"That could be arranged. For the right price."
"The princess is worth any price," Roderick said with the sort of cold hunger that revealed exactly what lay beneath his charming facade. "She's the ultimate prize—a Targaryen princess, beautiful, vulnerable, unmarried. Taking her would be the crowning achievement of my career."
"And if the boy continues to interfere?"
Roderick's smile turned predatory. "Then we'll have to find a way to deal with Prince Aemon permanently."
—
Later that night, alone in his room, Roderick allowed his carefully constructed persona to dissolve entirely. Gone was the charming bard, the sensitive artist, the respectful courtier. In their place sat something much more honest and infinitely more dangerous.
He stared at his reflection in the polished metal mirror, seeing past the handsome features to the calculating predator beneath. Every smile was a weapon, every song a trap, every gesture of apparent kindness a step in a carefully choreographed seduction designed to isolate and destroy.
*Forty-three,* he thought with grim satisfaction, mentally reviewing his conquests. *Forty-three noble daughters across the Seven Kingdoms. Virgins made whores, reputations destroyed, families shamed. And I walked away from every single one without consequence.*
The technique was always the same: arrive with impeccable credentials, establish himself as a sophisticated alternative to the boring local nobility, identify the most vulnerable target, and begin the systematic destruction of her defenses. Poetry to make her feel understood, music to stir her emotions, philosophical conversations to convince her that she was uniquely intellectual. And always, always the suggestion that her family couldn't understand her the way he did.
By the time they realized what was happening, it was far too late. He'd be gone with the dawn, leaving behind another broken girl and moving on to the next house, the next target, the next conquest.
But Princess Gael was different. She wasn't just another victory—she was the ultimate prize. A Targaryen princess would cement his reputation forever, open doors that had previously been barred to him. Noble houses across Westeros would compete for the man who'd seduced dragon blood.
*If that brat would just stay out of my way,* he thought viciously.
Prince Aemon's constant presence was more than an inconvenience—it was a personal insult. Children were supposed to be easily manipulated, charmed with simple gifts and distractions. The fact that this particular child seemed immune to his considerable skills was both professionally embarrassing and personally infuriating.
*Something will have to be done about him,* Roderick decided with cold finality. *The princess will be mine, no matter what it costs.*
He began to plan, his handsome features twisting into an expression that would have sent Lady Meredyth running for the Sept in terror. The charming bard was just a costume he wore when it served his purposes.
Underneath, he was something much more dangerous—and he was done playing games with children who thought they could outwit him.
*Time to remind everyone exactly who they're dealing with.*
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