Chapter 30
One year later.
104 AC
{Aemon Targaryen, 10 years old}
One year has passed.
A lot has changed.
King's Landing is starting to look… different. Just a little, but the difference is real. You can feel it. The streets aren't as desperate. The markets stay open longer. People smile more often. The main reason?
Food.
There's so much of it now, we've stopped importing grains and herbs from the Reach altogether. Something no one thought possible. I underestimated just how vast Westeros really is—and how much the seasons affect everything. In good years, the harvest here is many times more bountiful than anything I ever saw in my past life.
And when the reason for this sudden boom came out… well, let's just say the looks on my father's and the council's faces were priceless.
They stared at me like I'd unlocked the Mangekyō Sharingan at age ten.
Mother couldn't stop smiling. She was proud. So proud. And that moment? That sealed it.
I was officially "Aemon the Blessed."
Propaganda at its finest.
Honestly, I would've made one hell of an American. Capitalism, propaganda, and show-off ? Check.
Alas…
Now the other kingdoms are practically begging to learn how I did it.
The truth? There's no single secret. It's a combination: handpumps, fertilizers, and the four-field rotation method. None of this is exactly new or sacred knowledge—just really hard to pull off without the proper tools and systems. Some are already trying to imitate, but they want the real thing. They want my tech.
And that's exactly what's about to happen.
Today marks the official opening of my company headquarters in King's Landing. I asked my father to attend. It also happens to be Rhaenyra's nameday, so we're combining the two. Celebration and innovation, side by side.
Preparations have been underway for weeks. Everything's on track.
The training of the 100 orphan children is going well, too. Nothing too harsh. Just the basics—exercise, reading, writing, and some early lessons in morality, politics, and psychology. Loyalty born from respect means more to me than fear or force ever will.
Then comes the big day.
The grand opening.
The company building looks like something out of another world.
{A/N : This is what it looks like}
Well—for the people of Planetos, it is.
I made sure everything was just right. White tile flooring, bright stone walls, polished steel frames. And hidden within it all? Ancient technology, reborn: Thermal draft ventilation (shoutout to the Romans) and windcatchers (Middle Eastern genius).
{A/N: Go Google them. Do your homework.}
The temperature inside? Cool and crisp. Camphine lamps lined the halls, giving off a soft white glow. For daylight, I installed suncatchers. Everyone who stepped inside stood frozen in awe.
Even the most seasoned lords stared, wide-eyed.
Then Father stepped forward and cut the ribbon.
Cheers erupted.
And the event began.
People wandered the halls, marveling. I overheard lords muttering things like "What sorcery is this?" and "Are we in Valyria?"
When I looked around, all I saw were wide eyes and open mouths.
But the first person who came to speak to me was my father.
"I am quite proud of you, Aemon," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"You've achieved so much at such a young age. I couldn't be happier."
Mother had tears in her eyes.
Right then and there, I took the moment to make my announcement.
I stepped up before the gathered lords and ladies, cleared my throat, and said:
"AemTech Ventures will now unveil its first line of revolutionary products. Everything you see around you—every wall, every tile, every column—was built using cement and concrete. Some of you may have heard of Valyrian blackstone. This is similar, but not magical. It's what I call liquid rock—it hardens when it dries and lasts forever.
Then there are my fertilizers, capable of doubling crop yield.
My steel—stronger and purer than any Westeros has ever seen.
And there's more, much more.
Let us build a new Westeros.
Let us make Westeros great!"
"Aye! Aye!"
Glasses clinked. Wine splashed. Applause roared.
Then the birthday celebration began.
The entire menu was modern cuisine—fast food-style starters, flavorful sauces, soft breads. The centerpiece?
A four-layer cake with smooth white frosting and fruit syrup drizzled between the tiers.
When it was brought out, the room gasped.
Everyone turned to Rhaenyra.
She stepped forward to cut it, but her face was… blank. She cut the cake quietly. The party continued, but something in her eyes told me she wasn't really there.
She was drifting. Distant. So I made a call.
"Rolly," I whispered, "bring me my guitar."
He ran.
POV: Rhaenyra Targaryen
Today started beautifully.
It was my nameday—and Aemon had promised we'd celebrate it at his new company building. Everyone was kind to me. They smiled. Gave me gifts. Called me sweet things. I felt special.
Then evening came, and we all went to his building.
From the outside, it looked like something from a dream. But inside? It was even better. I had never seen anything like it. Not in the Red Keep. Not in any of Father's palaces.
Everyone—Mother, Father, even the smallfolk—looked at Aemon with admiration.
And I was proud of him.
I really was.
But as the night went on, I started to feel smaller. Fainter.
The center of attention wasn't me—it was him. Always him.
He's only a little older than I am, but he acts like an adult. Talks like one. Plans like one. Wherever he went, people followed. They called him Blessed. They looked at him like he was already a king.
They call me Realm's Delight, but I don't even know what that means.
I tried not to think about it. I tried to stay happy.
He prepared so much. I didn't want to ruin it.
Then the cake came out. It was beautiful. But even as I stepped forward to cut it, I heard whispers—not about me, but about how Aemon arranged everything.
I smiled. Cut the cake. Went back to my seat.
And quietly, I held my mother's hand.
There was a small pain in my chest. I held back tears the whole time.
I was surrounded by people—but I felt alone.
I just wanted it all to be over. To go back to the Red Keep.
Then Aemon returned—with his lute in hand.
He clapped once and asked everyone to sit.
Then he jumped up on a table and looked right at me.
"Today is a special day for me," he said, loud and clear.
"I've waited for this moment for a long time. My company is successful because I was born a royal—because I have a king for a father.
And that father never stopped me from growing or dreaming.
But today is not about him.
Or this company.
Or me.
Today is the day my mother gave me my best friend.
A piece of my heart.
Today is my sister's nameday.
And I couldn't be more honored to open this building on the same day she came into my life."
The entire room looked at me. They smiled.
I looked down at my shoes, suddenly overwhelmed. I gripped Mother's hand tighter.
{ A/N:
Yeah, I know. Some of y'all called my music scenes cringe. Said they were unnecessary. And for a while, I thought maybe I should stop doing them.
But screw it.
This is my fanfic. If I'm bad at something, I won't run—I'll face it and try to do it better.
To the readers who stuck with me, dropped reviews, power stones, and comments—you didn't think I was that insufferable, right? }
Aemon strummed his guitar.
The room quieted.
He didn't look nervous. Not even a little. Everyone was staring at him, waiting, expecting something clever or grand. He just sat there on the table like he didn't care how many lords or ladies were watching. He only looked at me.
Then he played the first few chords and began to sing.
"If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea,
I'll sail the world to find you..."
I froze. My eyes didn't blink. He wasn't looking at anyone else — just me.
"If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see,
I'll be the light to guide you..."
He was smiling softly. Not the smile he gave at court, or the one he used when mocking me. A different one. Like it was just him and me. Just Aemon and Rhaenyra. The way it used to be before... all of this.
"Find out what we're made of
When we are called to help our friends in need..."
I swallowed. My chest felt tight again, but not in a painful way. More like... something was stuck in there.
"You can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there..."
He strummed slow, steady. His voice was perfect. Honest. Strong. Just like the first time he sang to me when I couldn't sleep as a child.
"And I know when I need it I can count on you like four, three, two
You'll be there..."
I bit my lip. I could feel mother's hand in mine, squeezing. But I couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at anyone. Just him. My big brother.
"'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah..."
"Ooooooh, oooohhh
Yeah, yeah..."
I wiped under my eye fast.
"If you're tossin' and you're turnin' and you just can't fall asleep
I'll sing a song beside you..."
He nodded toward me like he was saying this part's real. My lip trembled.
"And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me
Every day I will remind you..."
He sang that part softer. And gods, it hurt. In a good way. Like someone finally saw how I'd been feeling all day. Like he always saw it.
"Find out what we're made of
When we are called to help our friends in need..."
Everyone else was clapping gently, or swaying. But not me. I just stood there frozen, holding my own hand now, watching the boy who somehow made a whole world bend around him — stop everything — just to make me feel better.
"You can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there..."
"And I know when I need it I can count on you like four, three, two
You'll be there..."
I laughed. Just a little. Quiet and shaky. It slipped out.
"'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah..."
My heart felt full and heavy all at once. I felt stupid for ever thinking I was alone.
"Ooooooh, oooohhh
Yeah, yeah..."
"You'll always have my shoulder when you cry
I'll never let go, never say goodbye..."
I couldn't stop the tears anymore. One slipped down my cheek. I didn't even wipe it.
"You can count on me like one, two, three
I'll be there..."
"And I know when I need it I can count on you like four, three, two
You'll be there..."
"'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah..."
"Ooooooh, oooohhh
You can count on me 'cause I can count on you..."
He ended the song with a soft strum. Everyone clapped. Loud. Some even cheered.
But I didn't hear them.
I just ran to him. Not like a princess. Not like a lady.
I threw my arms around him and held him tight. My face buried in his shoulder.
He didn't say anything. He just hugged me back.
And for the first time all day, I wasn't alone.
*****END*****
{ A/N : If anyone found this cringe or is dropping the novel after reading this, I've prepared an alternate ending just for you. It goes like this:
As Aemon was singing, he tripped and fell on his sword, dying in front of everyone.
End of story.
To honor him, a song was sung at his funeral. It went like this:
Here lies the prince, bold and proud,
Who sang too loud, and drew a crowd.
He thought he'd charm them with a song,
But gods above... it all went wrong.
They begged him, "Stop," he said, "Too late,"
The cringe took hold. That was his fate.
He dropped a wink, struck one last chord,
Then fell face-first into his sword.
Ohhh, brave was he, with heart so wide—
But cringe and rhythm both defied.
He sang of friends, of counting too...
Now we just count the ways we're through.
Daemon lit the pyre with glee,
Rhaenyra whispered, "He died as he lived: off-key."
Gael cried loud, "At least he tried!"
But Hobb just nodded. "Yeah, but he died."
And Zalrazar, high in the skies,
Let out one mournful, dragon sigh...
Then flew off fast, to parts unknown—
Ashamed to be claimed by this tone.
So here's to you, our cringeful kin,
Who died before the song could end.
Your soul departs, your voice now still...
The gods have ears—may they have will.
**** Applause****
A lot of y'all have been accusing me of doing cocaine before writing these chapters.
To those haters, here's my official reply:
I DON'T.
} ( I put this bracket here to not get syntax error)