POV: Aemon Targaryen
That's how we—by we I mean me, Rhaenyra, and Gael—ended up outside Daemon's chamber. Technically, it's the Chamber of the Master of Coin, but considering how much "mastering" he actually does, it might as well be a glorified nap room.
I stepped up and gave the door a good knock.
Daemon opened it, stared at us… waited a few seconds… and then tried to close it again.
The audacity. I mean, sure, I'm just the Crown Prince, but I know for a fact he'd do the same to my father too.
I shoved the door open. Rhaenyra took the cue and pushed in beside me.
"Uncle, listen—we've got something important to talk about," I said.
"Yeah! You better listen or I'll tell Father," added Rhaenyra.
Yeah, not exactly a strong threat.
Daemon stopped trying to force the door shut and, just like that, let go.
We both tumbled forward. I glanced sideways to see Gael catch Rhaenyra with the reflexes of a mother. I looked the other way, half-expecting Daemon to catch me too.
He didn't.
I hit the cold, hard floor. Headfirst.
I scrambled up and glared at him.
He smirked.
I let it slide. We needed him.
"Haha, Aemon, you fell!" Rhaenyra giggled.
"Oh, so you're laughing? You want me to take you treasure hunting or not?"
She shut up instantly. Victory.
Daemon, however, raised an eyebrow. I turned to him.
"Yes, that's what we're here for. I have a map—an actual treasure map—and we want you to come with us to find it. I'm not joking."
His grin spread like wildfire.
"Hah! You want me to go on a treasure hunt with you three? I assume I'm expected to be the work mule?"
"It's not like that," Gael cut in. "We just need someone to protect us when we're on the ground—and maybe help load the treasure if we find it."
"Come on, Uncle, it'll be fun!" added Rhaenyra, bouncing a little on her toes.
"No. I don't have the time or interest to babysit you lot. And how dare you expect me to act like a peasant lifting bags of gold for you?"
"Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "You don't have to lift anything. Just protect us, alright? I'll figure out the rest. And don't act like you're busy—we all know what a stellar job you're doing as Master of Coin. You're drawing a salary from AemTech and haven't even shown your face at Forgehold."
He gave me a look. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Then he laughed. "Alright. I'll come. I'll make sure none of you die doing something idiotic. But don't expect me to figure out what to eat or where to shit."
"Yay!" Rhaenyra cheered, jumping on him in excitement. He returned the hug awkwardly, like someone patting a squirrel.
"Do your mother and father know about this?" he asked.
"No," I replied, "but now that we have you, our odds of getting their approval just went up."
The Small Council Meeting
Later that day, the Small Council gathered in the Red Keep's chamber. The usual matters had been discussed—grain levies in the Reach, banditry in the Riverlands, a merchant dispute in Gulltown.
Just as the meeting began to wind down, Daemon leaned back in his chair and spoke with deceptive casualness.
"Aemon came to me this morning. He wants to take a short trip. He's seeking your permission, brother."
"With you?" Viserys blinked. "That boy's always up to something."
Daemon shrugged. "Not just me. He wants to bring Gael and Rhaenyra too."
The room shifted. Even GrandMaester Orwyle looked up from his ledgers. Otto Hightower set down his quill.
"He intends to leave the capital with all three of them?" Viserys asked. "No escort from the Kingsguard? Not even his parents?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Daemon said, lips twitching in amusement.
Viserys gestured to the guards. "Bring him in."
Aemon entered a moment later, calm and sure of step. He offered a courteous bow to the table before speaking.
"Well, Father. I assume Uncle told you why I'm here."
"He did," said Viserys. "But he didn't explain where you plan to go—or why you want to bring Rhaenyra, of all people. She's six."
"I remember what you told me," Aemon replied, "about enjoying my childhood. Spending time with my siblings. When I was at the Citadel, I came across a collection of old maps. A few of them might be treasure maps—or at least they claim to be. I brought one back. I want to follow it."
There was a pause.
Then a faint smile from Lord Strong. A small chuckle from Lord Corlys. Even Otto looked intrigued.
"A treasure hunt," Viserys said, almost fondly. "At last, something that sounds like it came from a child's mouth."
"I'm not saying it's definitely real," Aemon continued. "But even if there's no treasure, we'll be safe. We'll stay near our dragons. I'll take my three companions—grown lads, loyal. And Uncle and Gael will keep us in line."
"You're both too young to be flying off on adventures," Viserys said. "What if something happens?"
"If I may," Otto cut in. "Your Grace, I've seen hundreds of such maps in the Citadel during my youth. Most are old sailor tales. Wild guesses. There's no proof they lead anywhere."
Aemon nodded. "That may be true. But I've prepared well. We won't be gone more than two days. We're not flying to Asshai—we're going to the Stormlands. A safe route. Please, Father. Let us go."
Viserys leaned back in his chair, studying him. Then he glanced at Daemon, who offered no help—just a lazy shrug.
"Alright," the king said. "But don't come running back in tears when there's nothing there."
"I won't," Aemon said, grinning. "Because I'll come back with something. And it'll be mine, right? Finder's rights?"
Otto chuckled. "You're the prince. Anything found in Westeros is already yours by law. No one will contest it."
"Perfect," Aemon said. "Then I'm off to tell Mother and Rhaenyra."