Game of Thrones: The King of Bronze and Fire

Once upon a time, Aemon himself might have been the wailing baby in a swaddling cloth.

Curious, he leaned in for a closer look at the infant in Alicent's arms.

"Let me have her. Her brother should meet her," Alicent said, her tone indulgent as she took baby Helaena from the maid and handed her over.

Aemon wasn't prepared, yet the baby was already nestled in his arms.

"What do I do? How do I hold her?" Aemon froze, afraid he might drop her.

"Just support her bottom. Don't be so tense," Alicent said, laughing lightly.

"Oh, okay."

Aemon carefully adjusted his hold, his movements slow and deliberate. To his surprise, the tiny bundle in his arms felt incredibly soft.

"Gah gah!"

The baby wiggled and squirmed, her silver-gold hair shining as she turned her head left and right. Finally, she settled against Aemon's shoulder, squirming against the confines of her swaddle.

"She's biting me," Aemon said, bewildered as he felt a cool, damp sensation on his neck.

Alicent covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. "She likes you. See? She's not crying anymore."

"That's because she's chewing on me!" Aemon complained, his expression darkening.

"Gah gah!"

Not satisfied with merely nibbling, little Helaena wriggled her tiny hand free from the swaddle. She grabbed Aemon's face and leaned in for another bite.

Aemon winced, shifting his head away to avoid her relentless little mouth.

"She should be pulling grass instead," he muttered under his breath, inwardly impressed by her strength.

Knock, knock.

Just as Aemon was wrestling with the overenthusiastic baby, a knock came at the door.

A portly, balding man in a scholar's robe entered. His movements were deliberate and slow.

"Your Grace, Prince Aegon is crying incessantly. We require your presence," said Grand Maester Mellos.

Alicent frowned. "What about the maids? Where are they?"

"They've tried everything, but to no avail," Mellos replied, spreading his hands helplessly.

Alicent sighed and straightened her dress, giving Aemon an apologetic look. "Stay with Helaena for a while. I'll be back soon."

"No problem. Babies cry. It happens," Aemon said, shrugging as Helaena nearly headbutted him in her excitement.

"Bring some snacks and tea for them," Alicent instructed the maids before leaving to soothe her other child.

Mellos lingered in the doorway, his gaze lingering on Aemon for a moment.

Aemon noticed.

"You're busy, too?" Aemon asked, offering a polite, innocent smile.

The grand maester nodded genially. "Indeed, His Grace has much to attend to."

Without elaborating further, Mellos turned and left.

Aemon frowned.

Wasn't the king supposed to be in a council meeting? Shouldn't the maester be there, too?

"Something's off," he muttered, shaking his head to clear the thought. He didn't linger on it for long.

While Aemon wasn't one for politics, he was aware that the grand maesters were aligned with the Hightower family. With Alicent's position secure, there shouldn't be any immediate issues.

If there was trouble brewing, it likely involved someone eyeing him instead.

"Now, you listen up—no biting me, got it?"

Aemon held the overenthusiastic Helaena firmly under one arm, taking a sip of tea brought by the maids.

"Gah gah!"

Helaena puffed her pink cheeks, squeaking indignantly as her tiny teeth showed.

Aemon gave her a light swat on the diapered bottom and adopted a stern expression. "Behave! Your mom's not here, and you're still giving me trouble?"

His round, chubby face tried its best to look serious, and surprisingly, it worked.

Helaena pouted and fell silent, as if realizing her mischievous ways wouldn't be tolerated.

The little bundle in his arms proved to be a quick study, capable of adapting to the mood of the room.

"Now that's a good girl," Aemon said approvingly, satisfied with her obedience.

Sitting quietly, she didn't cry once.

Maybe Alicent's struggles with her kids were just because he'd been such an unusually well-behaved baby, Aemon mused.

No wonder she went on to have so many children later.

As the day turned to dusk, Aemon sat cross-legged on the carpet, nodding off as he cradled the now-sleeping Helaena.

The tea tray beside him was littered with crumbs and empty cups.

Shivering awake, he muttered groggily, "She's still not back?"

Yawning, he placed Helaena back in her cradle.

The baby stirred slightly but settled down again, her little face scrunching in her sleep. Her furrowed brows and lingering tear streaks made her look adorably pitiful.

"I'm heading out," Aemon informed the maids, rubbing his eyes as he left.

The hallway outside was quiet, lit by the glow of candelabras.

Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, Aemon mumbled, "It's spring, but King's Landing is still so chilly."

The sun had fully set, and Aemon figured it was the perfect time to act.

His purple eyes sparkled mischievously as he rubbed his hands together.

Runestone hadn't yielded many magical items. Perhaps King's Landing would prove more fruitful.

Time to start my rise to glory, he thought, setting off with determination.

First stop: the king's chambers.

Moving swiftly, Aemon slipped through the halls, avoiding the notice of maids and servants.

Bang!

The doors to the king's chambers burst open with a well-placed kick.

"Prince Aemon!" gasped a passing servant, looking horrified.

Aemon turned and raised a finger to his lips. "Shh! Don't panic. Feel free to report me."

It's just the king's chambers, he thought smugly. I lived here three years before Uncle Viserys did.

Pushing the doors wide, Aemon strode inside confidently, leaving the entrance open.

The servant stood frozen, cold sweat dripping down his face.

Inside, Aemon began his search, rifling through furniture without a care in the world.

Predictably, most items were ordinary.

He had anticipated this, and his eyes gleamed as he spotted the black-sheathed sword hanging above the fireplace.

The longsword was sleek and sharp, its hilt forming a perfect crossguard. At its pommel was a seven-pointed star, symbolizing the Faith of the Seven.

"Blackfyre, my great-grandfather's sword," Aemon murmured.

Climbing onto a chair, he reached for the ancestral Valyrian steel blade.

The moment he touched it, the familiar voice of the system whispered in his ear:

"Discovered a magical weapon. Gained +10 Magic Essence."

"I knew it," Aemon grinned, fondly stroking the sword.

He examined the pommel closely and frowned.

"Uncle Viserys, why'd you replace the ruby with a seven-pointed star just to appease Oldtown and the Faith?"

It didn't suit the Targaryen aesthetic at all.