Before the sun dipped below the horizon, the silhouette of a town emerged in the distance—its white stone walls low and neat, cradling the settlement like gentle arms.
Seagull Town stretched wide across the land, smoke rising lazily from chimneys in the amber dusk. The hum of life—footsteps, laughter, the clatter of market stalls—spoke of a place that thrived.
As an ice-free harbour, trade by sea never ceased here.
"Halt!"
A voice rang out ahead. An armoured knight spurred his horse forward and blocked the road with a raised hand.
There was no hostility in his approach. The moment he caught sight of the entourage—dozens of proud and imposing knights from Runestone—he swiftly dismounted and knelt.
"Honoured lady," he said solemnly, "the Shetter family of Seagull Tower welcomes you."
The knight bowed low in deference.
The commotion roused Aemon, who had dozed off in the carriage. Blinking sleep from his eyes, the silver-haired boy pushed aside the curtain to peek out.
The man kneeling outside wore gleaming silver-grey plate armour, his face handsomely framed by dark brown curls and a neatly trimmed beard. Broad-shouldered and well-postured, he radiated competence.
When he looked up, his eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence.
Aemon tilted his head, studying the knight curiously. He looked to be in his thirties, still in his prime, and certainly more presentable than that gloomy oaf Gunsor.
"Rise, Ser Lion," said Lady Rhea Royce, voice calm and regal. Though dust-covered from the road, she carried herself with the dignity expected of a great noble.
"My lady," the knight replied, standing with a grateful nod.
Aemon, chin resting on his little palms, leaned against the window frame, thinking only of food and sleep.
Thankfully, the Royces had long established roots in Seagull Town, along with loyal vassals.
Ser Lion Shetter, as it turned out, was as shrewd as he was courteous. After sending word ahead to ready the house, he stayed behind to personally lead the Royce party through the streets.
Seagull Town was beautiful, the buildings painted in shades of white and burnt orange. Slender towers dotted both the town centre and the coastline, a stark contrast to the purely defensive bulk of Runestone.
The town seemed almost idyllic as it basked in the last light of day.
Their destination soon came into view: a tall, white tower rising elegantly from the heart of town.
"My lady, please," Ser Lion said, gesturing toward the entrance.
Inside, a woman and two children stepped forward bearing a tray with broken bread and a dish of salt.
"We thank you for your hospitality," Lady Rhea said, smiling as she dipped a piece of bread into the salt and took a bite, then handed a chunk to Aemon beside her.
"Mmnn~" Aemon chewed heartily. He really was starving.
Past the threshold, a banner hung in the entrance hall: three golden wings unfurled across a black-and-gold checkerboard background.
Aemon recognised the heraldry almost at once. He recalled the family histories taught to him by the old maester.
The Shetter family of Seagull Tower—loyal bannermen of House Royce.
But the truth of Seagull Town was more tangled than simple allegiance.
The town was a wealthy and influential port, and over generations, noble bloodlines had knotted into a complex web.
The Shetter family was one of the oldest, once rivals to the Royces. They had once ruled Seagull Town in their own right, before the last Bronze King of House Royce defeated them and took the town.
Desperate to reclaim their home, the Shetters had tried hiring Andal sellswords across the Narrow Sea. But the Andals cared little for contracts or loyalty. After helping repel the Royces, they turned on the Shetters and smashed them as well.
In the aftermath, another noble family seized the opportunity and claimed the town—the current ruling house: the Grafsons of Seagull Town.
Though the Shetters had been ousted from power, they weren't wiped out. They bent the knee to the Grafsons and remained in the town as landed knights.
Much like the Royces, the Shetters had survived by yielding rather than dying out.
And over time, the great house had branched. Ser Lion Shetter belonged to a cadet branch that had long held the ancestral tower now bearing his name.
He was often called "the Seagull Knight," after both his castle and the town itself.
"Your Highness, if you're tired, feel free to rest upstairs," Ser Lion said kindly when he noticed Aemon gazing around with sleepy eyes.
"Thanks," Aemon replied cheerfully. "But can I eat first?"
He gave the knight a grin that was all childlike honesty.
At that, the whole household snapped into motion.
If a Targaryen prince wanted dinner, not a soul in Seagull Tower would delay it.
A grand meal was laid out, using fine ingredients that even Runestone rarely saw. Every dish was chosen with care.
Aemon's eyes lit up as he took small, careful bites—each one savoured. He might've been a child, but he remembered the maester's teachings well: never gorge, never show gluttony. Eat like a prince.
And so he did. The meal was a delight, and the mood warm between host and guests.
The next day dawned clear and busy.
The docks of Seagull Town bustled with life. Hundreds of ships—large and small—bobbed on the sea, their sails fluttering in the wind.
Aemon held his mother's hand as they walked the crowded port, flanked by guards.
It felt like a true city—traders shouted over the din, sailors hauled crates onto wagons, and the salt air was thick with life.
"This is incredible," Aemon whispered, staring out at the endless stretch of blue.
In both his lives, this was the first time he had ever seen the sea.
He stood in awe as sailors heaved cargo with practiced grace, his wide violet eyes reflecting the light off the waves.
"My lady, Your Highness—our ship awaits," Ser Lion said, gesturing towards a sleek, three-masted vessel docked nearby.
Aemon followed his finger to the ship. Atop the highest mast fluttered a pennant stitched with striking colours: a black triangle, a burning golden tower at its centre, set against a crimson background.
"That's a Grafson ship," said William, appearing at Aemon's side with a knowing smirk.
"I know," Aemon replied with a nod.
The Grafsons ruled Seagull Town and operated countless merchant vessels. To be invited to the royal hunt, they'd surely send a ship—both for appearances and for the profit of transporting goods to King's Landing.
"Let's board!" Aemon said excitedly.
Lady Rhea needed no convincing. With her usual briskness, she led the party up the gangplank to meet the captain, whom Ser Lion introduced.
The captain was a stout, oily man with a merchant's smile.
When he heard he was carrying a Targaryen prince, he nearly tripped over himself in excitement.
"An honour! A blessing! I ought to rename the ship 'Prince Aemon' at once!"
Aemon blinked. "…Please don't."
Something about being called "lucky" made his skin crawl.
But the captain was already bustling off, barking orders and ensuring two spacious cabins were made ready for his royal guests.
No doubt he saw gold in Aemon's hair and future power in his title.
Smart move. If Aemon ever inherited Runestone, it would be wise to have friends in Seagull Town.
As Aemon realised what the man was doing, he could only sigh. All merchants were cunning—playing games behind every smile.
Soon after, the sails were raised. The ship eased away from the dock, cutting through the surf with grace.
Aemon stood at the bow, watching the shoreline retreat. Dozens of ships travelled alongside them, like chess pieces gliding across a giant board.
On either side of the port rose steep cliffs, forming a massive triangle that cradled the harbour like a natural fortress.
These mountains kept the cold winds at bay, shielding the harbour from ice even in the depths of winter.
No wonder Seagull Town was rich. It had the blessings of gods and geography alike.
Aemon gazed at it all with sparkling eyes.
"If I lived here, I'd definitely collect more magical items," he murmured, hand to his cheek in dreamy thought.
He made a quiet vow then and there.
One day, he would claim a land as rich as this—where trade flowed, towers gleamed, and life was full of wonder.
He would live well.
And the journey was only just beginning.
Set sail!