92 AC
By the eighth moon of the year, King's Landing buzzed with hushed whispers and heavy hearts. The city, usually stirred by market gossip and noble frivolity, now found its voice unified in mourning: the Crown Prince was dead.
Prince Aemon Targaryen, eldest son and heir to King Jaehaerys I, had fallen. Word came swift and cold—cut down in battle while fighting Myrish pirates. A warrior's death, some said. A tragedy, said all.
The Red Keep stood quieter in the days that followed. The smallfolk spoke of the king's deep sorrow, of his rare retreat from council, and of Queen Alysanne's grief. The realm had lost not only a prince, but a future king, and the very question of succession now loomed like a gathering storm.
News 1: The King's Decision
The raven arrived on a black wing, its message a dagger of ice to the heart of the Red Keep. Aemon was dead. Jaehaerys, the Old King, whose wisdom had steered the realm through decades of peace, now sat shrouded in mourning. His trembling hands held the burden of choice. Aemon's only child, Rhaenys—bright, capable, and of Targaryen blood—stood as his rightful heir. Yet, doubts whispered through the halls like restless spirits. Could a woman rule?
Haunted by the memory of Maegor's tyranny and fearful of future division, the king turned to his second son, Baelon the Brave. Loyal, valiant, and dragonrider of Vhagar, Baelon offered stability, or so the king hoped. But the weight of that decision would echo far beyond his reign.
News 2: The Queen Who Should Have Been
Rhaenys Targaryen received the news with hollow silence. Her father, her anchor in a world of iron and flame, was gone. As the days passed, condolences came wrapped in politeness and pity, but always followed by the same sidelong glances—toward the Iron Throne.
She was the heir by law, by blood. But she saw it in their eyes: doubt. Not of her ability, but of her gender. The Red Keep whispered behind her back, the same old tale: the realm was not ready for a queen. She smiled through the grief, but in her chest grew a silent fury. History would remember her—not as Queen, but as the Queen Who Never Was.
News 3: A Rift Between King and Queen
Queen Alysanne felt the death of Aemon like a blade to her heart. But the deeper wound came days later, when Jaehaerys named Baelon his heir. She stood in his chambers, eyes fierce with grief and conviction.
"Rhaenys is the rightful heir," she said. "Our granddaughter. Aemon's daughter."
The king's reply was silence—he looked to the realm's peace, to precedent, to fears he dared not voice. Alysanne's gaze hardened. She had spent her life fighting for women's rights in the realm, only to see her own blood denied. That night, they did not speak again as husband and wife. The decision had been made—but its cost would grow with every passing year.
News 4: The Beginning of the End
Prince Aemon's death was no isolated tragedy. It was a tremor that foretold the quake. In bypassing Rhaenys, the king planted a seed of discord that would grow in secret and bloom into war.
The Lords of Westeros, watching, learned a bitter lesson that day: even the most enlightened king might bow to tradition over truth. And in the silence that followed, resentment took root. One day, dragons would dance—and it would all begin with this moment.
As the city mourned and the court turned inward, I—just another boy among the cobbled alleys—watched history unfold from the shadows. No banners flew in my name, no lords whispered of my fate. Yet, even as a page under Ser Erryk, I knew this: the world had shifted.
And the game, as they say, had begun.