Ghostrider0002
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-Chapter 123-
🕑 Added 2024-12-26 02:03:14 +0000 UTC-Chapter 123-
-POV Aemon Targaryen-
I observed with no apparent emotion as the Lord of House Stark indirectly confirmed that, before the battle for succession, he would not publicly oppose Viserys.
It made my blood boil, for I knew full well that this was due to Daemon’s return to the capital.
In less than a week, Daemon had regained control of most of the City Watch, who had been awaiting his return, thanks to Luthor Largent, one of his staunchest supporters.
Since then, he had relentlessly hunted the spies I had placed throughout the city, partially blinding me.
‘Because of him, I now have to rely on Larys’s intelligence, and I’m certain my pet rat isn’t telling me everything,’ I thought angrily, convinced he was afraid of the Daemon-Viserys alliance.
Those two bastards had even begun orchestrating raids on my establishments within the capital.
‘Fortunately, I had anticipated this and secretly sold everything months ago to Pentosi magisters,’ I thought, relieved to have mitigated potential colossal losses on the investments I had made in the capital, investments that now benefited Viserys and Daemon.
‘Viserys would never have had the guts to do something like this on his own. It’s Rhaenyra and Daemon pushing him to confront me,’ I mused, knowing both of them—and knowing they considered me a threat to each of their crowns.
“This is a fair deal: we continue supplying you with wood so you can expand the Vale’s fleet, which grows larger and…”
I turned toward Bennard Stark, who seemed to have rediscovered his backbone, and coldly said to him, “I’ve already told you once that I don’t speak with lackeys. There won’t be a third time.”
“Be quiet, Bennard,” Rickon Stark interjected, noticing how his brother’s interruptions were pushing me to the edge.
‘This snake is likely the cause of all this,’ I thought, observing their behavior. It was clear to me that Bennard feared me the most, but also respected me the least.
‘A problematic attitude with few explanations—he must have an ally who’s given him this confidence, feeding him the poison he now whispers to his brother,’ I speculated, shifting my gaze away from the man.
‘Perhaps Daemon,’ I pondered as Rickon began speaking again.
“What Bennard says is not entirely untrue, Your Grace,” Rickon said, defending his brother’s point.
I raised my eyebrows but said nothing, prompting Rickon to continue after a moment of hesitation.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the King is very displeased with your actions and the events that took place in the Vale.”
I shrugged indifferently, waiting for him to elaborate. He added, “He will likely punish you for this—not severely, of course, to avoid sparking a war, but enough to put you back in your place.”
‘Put me back in my place,’ I thought mockingly. That coward Viserys would never dare declare war on me.
‘He didn’t even dare declare war on the Triarchy when they invaded the Stepstones and crippled Westeros’s economy. And they think he’ll come after me?’ I silently mused, knowing Viserys had too many enemies and too little confidence in his supposed allies to commit to war.
“My advice to you is to accept this loss and retreat for now. You are young, and a loss at this moment means nothing—you will outlive him,” Rickon said, attempting to gently convince me to tuck my tail and bow my head.
‘But I’ve worked too hard to get to this point. Now that the Vale is entirely mine, and I’ve unified all claims under my own, this is the perfect time for me to set my own pace, not shrink back and wait for him to die.’
‘The Gods know it won’t be as simple as it is today,’ I thought, reflecting on the numerous dragonriders who would emerge in the next fifteen years and completely change the balance of power.
‘This is my moment—the most vulnerable time for Viserys’s branch of the family. I can’t show weakness now, even if it means sacrificing Daemon and becoming a Kinslayer in the eyes of all,’ I resolved, determined not to back down against my father, no matter the cost.
“You’re afraid of one man. You’re afraid of Daemon, of that… sub-human,” I said slowly, truly aggravated by this sudden cowardice, especially from a Stark.
‘My admiration for this House must have clouded my judgment,’ I thought, glancing briefly at Bennard, the snake.
Rickon Stark furrowed his brow slightly before responding, “It’s easy to say that when you have a dragon, my Prince—especially when you have three, two of which can decimate entire armies. But we have none. If a dragon ever approaches Winterfell, who will help us?”
“I will,” I stated firmly.
Rickon persisted, but I had stopped listening. His reasoning was steeped in palpable fear, thinly veiled behind a guise of caution.
“You can’t be everywhere at once. You only have two dragons ready for battle…”
“…And they only have one!!!” I snapped, cutting him off, my patience wearing thin.
They were putting too much stock in these young, undeveloped dragons.
Yes, Rhaenyra, Helaena, and Aegon had dragons, but none of Viserys’s children were battle-ready.
As for Laenor, he would follow his father’s orders to the letter, which meant staying neutral in this affair.
Rhaenys, too, loyal to her principles, would avoid entanglements, aiming only to protect the Velaryon legacy.
‘The Velaryons will never engage in open conflict. They’ll back the side with the highest odds of victory,’ I thought.
‘And in the current situation, that side is mine—with two dragons over 300 feet long.’
My gaze hardened as I fixed Rickon Stark with an icy stare. “This is not about combat; it’s about politics. No one will fight if we apply enough pressure to the other side. The benefits we’ll reap will…”
Bennard interrupted again, his smirk irritating. “The King is also a dragonrider. You’ve lost your advantage.”
I frowned, puzzled. “What nonsense are you spouting? Balerion has been dead for years, and everyone knows it.”
“That’s not what the King says,” Bennard replied, pulling out a letter, his smug grin unwavering.
“Oh, really? And what does the King say?” I asked, genuinely curious about the ridiculous claim he was making.
“The King sent me a message stating that he plans to host a tournament in just over a moon’s time to honor his new companion—the true bronze dragon, Vermithor,” he said, handing me the letter.
I read the missive, my brows furrowing deeper with each line.
The tone was an insult, and the fact that it was addressed to Bennard instead of Rickon only added to the sting.
“This is impossible,” I murmured, scanning the letter.
Bennard, reveling in my disbelief, added gleefully, “And yet, it’s true.”
He stepped closer, reaching to retrieve the letter from my hands. "You have no other choice," he continued. "As you yourself said, there will be no war. House Stark will not join an open rebellion against the King, nor will House Velaryon. Everyone knows your dragon has reached its full growth. You’ve lost your advantage, and you’re alone now. You’ve played your hand and lost. The wisest course is to return home and lay low…”
He didn’t finish his sentence.
My hand struck his face hard, the back of it sending him sprawling to the ground.
‘You’ve gotten what you wanted,’ I thought coldly.
Blood and teeth spilled from Bennard’s mouth as he looked up, his eyes flashing with momentary fury and bloodlust.
It lasted only a heartbeat before he masked it, but I had seen it.
Now, I truly understood who I was dealing with.
‘Not a wolf—a snake,’ I realized. No wonder he had been able to manipulate Cregan in the original story.
Bennard turned his gaze to Rickon, who looked utterly shocked.
Rickon snapped out of it when he saw his brother on the ground, and his tone turned severe.
“We extended you our hospitality, and this is how you repay us?! You are no longer welcome in these halls, Prince Aemon!”
I didn’t spare Rickon a glance.
My eyes remained on Bennard, still kneeling as he wiped the blood from his mouth, but a faint glimmer of satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
‘You’ll pay for this, you little viper,’ I thought, restraining the urge to pummel him further. Acting on that impulse would yield nothing now—he had already achieved his goal. My brief lapse in control had sealed any chance of negotiating with the Starks.
‘It’s not the right time to secure their troops anyway. All I needed was their support, and even that they cannot offer,’ I reflected, slowly unclenching my fist. There was still over a decade before the battle for succession.
I turned to Rickon Stark and said coldly, “It’s a shame you’re so blind as to shelter such a serpent under your roof.”
Then, I addressed his son, who stood frozen, wide-eyed at the scene unfolding before him.
I placed a hand on the boy’s head and said, “I would have made you the greatest lord the North has ever known. But your father has just condemned your people. I even considered choosing the future Princess of Runestone from among you.”
Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to Rickon, who now stared at me with furrowed brows and an icy glare.
“You will regret this day until your dying breath. I’ll make certain of it.”
“You are in no position to threaten me,” Rickon said, clearly referencing the precariousness of my current situation.
I smiled faintly before replying, “And you hold no leverage. I will ensure every Northerner remembers why Torrhen Stark bent the knee to the dragon… and whose fault it is that they will suffer from now on.”
With that, I turned and left, resolved to depart Winterfell within the hour.
