"Congratulations, Prince."
Jansif stepped forward and immediately offered her congratulations.
Aemon smiled and asked, "What are you congratulating me for?"
"Forgive my shallow knowledge." Jansif lowered her head humbly and pointed at the light gray wild dragon. She whispered, "But you blew the whistle to call them, didn't you?"
"Guessed right."
Aemon's smile deepened.
He had dug out a piece of dragon bone from Dragonmount on Dragonstone Island and polished it into the hilt of the mithril sword, Light of the Kingdom.
He had carefully carved the leftover piece of dragon bone over and over again until it became a small whistle no longer than a finger.
Jansif eyed the whistle and timidly asked, "If I blow it, could I call a dragon?"
The curiosity in her eyes was obvious—she truly wanted to try.
"You could."
Aemon removed the dragon bone whistle and handed it to her. "If someone without a dragon blows it, there might be a surprise."
"What kind of surprise?"
Jansif was clearly tempted.
Aemon replied calmly, "Dragon flame...or something else."
Either was possible.
"Then you'd better keep it safe."
Jansif smiled awkwardly and retracted her hand.
She had never ridden a dragon before and wasn't eager to be burned.
Aemon said, "I'm heading to Iron Oak City. Tell Johanna to begin preparations for building a dock."
"Prince, Lord Waywood..." Jansif tried to stop him again.
But Aemon was already turning away and climbing onto the bronze dragon's back. He was determined to see the true nature of the nobles in the Vale.
Jansif frowned slightly and fell silent.
Regardless of what would come of the visit to Iron Oak City, building the dock was imperative.
"Hiss—"
Vermithor raised his head, roared, and spread his massive brown wings as he lifted off the ground.
Silver Wing emerged from the clouds, faithfully following his partner.
One was a hundred meters long, and the other was fifty meters long.
At first glance, they seemed to be twice the size of each other, but the visual impact was even greater.
Vermithor was massive, comparable to a sturdy fortress. With his wings outstretched, he could engulf Silver Wing completely in his shadow.
Flying side by side, the contrast was as stark as an eagle compared to a sparrow.
"Hiss—"
Gray Shadow glanced around, then turned and flew back toward Long Lake.
He was too small.
Even if he followed them, no one would notice a small wild dragon blending with the clouds.
Half an hour later:
Aemon broke through the cloud cover while riding Wormithor and began to descend.
The scenery below shifted.
A vast freshwater lake stretched out, surrounding an ancient castle built on a central island.
Fishing boats of various sizes were docked along the shore.
The castle looked weathered, its surface covered in moss and vines.
"Land, Vormithor!"
Aemon narrowed his eyes. This was Iron Oak City.
"Hiss—"
"Hiss..."
Vermithor and Silverwing let out a chorus of roars as they circled the old castle and slowly landed on the suspension bridge connecting it to the mainland.
Their cries echoed for miles, startling birds and beasts alike.
Aemon leapt from the dragon's back and landed with a thud.
At the far end of the bridge, the butler and several attendants had already arrived to greet him.
...
Driftmark Island:
High Tide, Nine Flights Hall.
"Did the trip go well?"
Corlys, the Sea Serpent, descended from his driftwood throne to greet his daughter, who was dusty from her travels.
Laena smiled proudly. "Of course. Seagull Town and Crab Island both agreed to form an alliance."
In front of her father, she allowed herself to act like a playful daughter.
"Well done. We need allies."
Corlys smiled and openly praised his daughter.
His children were his greatest pride.
"Mother."
Laena walked over to the wine cabinet and took a sip of sake.
Rhaenys only murmured in reply, showing little interest in the conversation.
Ever since the failed Great Council of 101, she believed that women should stay out of politics.
Or perhaps, if they did get involved, they would never be truly accepted.
Even if her daughter was capable, Driftmark would go to Laenor, the secondborn.
Corlys noticed his wife's distant mood. His eyes flashed as he casually mentioned, "I heard you met Daemon's son in Seagull Town."
"Yes, the valley nobles seemed intent on making things difficult for Aemon."
Laena answered cautiously.
"It's no surprise. That burden should've been Daemon's, but now it's on him."
With age and experience, Corlys understood the deeper story.
The old king had hoped to spread his bloodline and had pinned his hopes on his young, ambitious grandson, Daemon.
However, Daemon had no interest in taking responsibility.
When one generation shirks duty, the next pays the price.
Laena's eyes flickered. "Aemon has done quite well. The river valley is thriving."
She was testing her father's attitude.
She'd heard him speak poorly of Aemon and his lineage before.
Corlys gave her a sharp glance and asked with a smirk, "That boy seems impressive. Did you seduce him?"
"Father!"
Laena flushed.
Rhaenys frowned and scolded, "Corlys, that's enough."
What kind of father says such things?
"When it comes to bloodlines, we should be honest."
Corlys chuckled, clearly pleased. "So my daughter really did charm that boy."
Damn Daemon. He'd sired a perfect replica of himself.
It was still his fault.
Laena's expression turned grim. She remained silent.
She'd only wanted to test her father's feelings, and now he was bringing up the past.
She didn't say anything, but Corlys wasn't finished.
He took the wine from Rhaenys's hand and drank it. "Didn't the king betroth that boy to the princess? Perhaps she offended him on her tour."
Another classic Targaryen drama.
It had played out for generations.
Laena remained silent.
Aemon's behavior made it clear that he had a connection with Rhaenyra.
She had come in second.
Old and sharp, Corlys caught on immediately. He scowled. "Daemon's child trying to straddle the royal family and House Velaryon? He's playing with fire."
"And he won't be the one who gets burned?"
"Enough, Corlys," Rhaenys said sternly.
She patted Lanar's arm. "Go rest. Don't listen to your father."
Laena turned and left.
Bang!
The door slammed shut behind her, breaking the silence.
Corlys drank his wine, his eyes as deep as the abyss.
"You shouldn't say such things to your daughter. She's still engaged."
Rhaenys spoke with pride.
"So what?"
Corlys replied confidently. "I can break the engagement whenever I want."
The match with the son of the former Prince of the Narrow Sea was only meant to keep suitors at bay.
"You're the most powerful noble in the Seven Kingdoms. Act like it."
Rhaenys rolled her eyes.
"Pride won't turn Driftmark into High Tide, nor will it remove the 'uncrowned' label from your name."
"But careful planning can weather any storm."
That was the wisdom of an old sailor.
His success was built on it.
Seeing that she couldn't sway him, Rhaenys sighed. "You're still bitter over the Council."
"That throne should have been yours."
Corlys looked at her intensely. "Don't you ever dream about the day they voted against you?"
Rhaenys said nothing.
Of course she cared.
That moment had denied her the meaning of her life—it still played in her mind.
"Viserys was weak and mediocre. Why did he get the Iron Throne?"
Corlys's voice rose in anger. "All I want is for our bloodline to be closer to it. Is that so wrong?"
His children are worthy!
Some past Targaryens couldn't even ride dragons!
Why couldn't Viserys marry his daughter to Laenor? Why couldn't Daemon's son marry her?
Even Aegon the Conqueror's mother was a Velaryon.
His words cut into Rhaenys's heart like knives.
Rhaenys clutched her chest, nearly suffocating. "Stop, Corlys."
"I'm only venting."
Corlys softened and helped steady his trembling wife.
He knew she was just as frustrated.
But they shared one core value: family.
They lived for it.
Rhaenys closed her eyes and sighed. "I don't care about Laena, but don't ever suggest marrying the princess to Laenor. He's unfit to be a husband."
No one knows a son like his mother does.
She knew the truth.
He couldn't even carry on the family bloodline.
Corlys thought for a moment and nodded. "Fine. I'll let them choose for themselves."
"I'll go find Laena. She's scared of you."
Rhaenys felt relieved.
After she left, Corlys summoned a servant.
"Where's Laenor? Where did he go?"
The servant blushed and stammered.
"Out."
Corlys's face darkened as he waved his sleeve.
There was no need to ask—he was out with another lover.
...
Vale, Iron Oak City.
Aemon crossed the wooden drawbridge and approached the castle's closed gate.
"Prince, this way, please."
The old butler took a tray from a servant and respectfully held it out.
Aemon eyed the butler, who began to sweat.
"Thank you for your efforts."
Aemon took a piece of bread, dipped it in salt, and ate it, completing the guest ritual.
Boom!
The castle gate slowly opened, revealing a dim, narrow hall.
Iron Oak Castle was built on an island in a lake, so space was limited.
Compared to other castles, its great hall was cramped.
Aemon stepped onto the bluestone tiles and looked up.
Sitting on the high seat was an old man with a mustache who looked to be in his forties or fifties.
His hair was thinning and his temples were gray. His face was deeply lined from age and calculation.
He had sharp eyes, high cheekbones, and thin lips. At first glance, he looked cunning and cruel.
"Are you Prince Aemon Targaryen, the 'Dragon Slayer'?"
Lord Red Waywood tilted his head and held a rustic-looking young girl in his arms.
To his left stood a row of girls with their heads bowed. Each wore modest accessories bearing their family emblems.
Aemon approached the center of the hall and glanced around without shame.
The Waywood banner, bearing a broken rudder on a dark green field, hung behind the seat.
---------------
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