Chapitre 28: Larys “Clubfoot”
It was a heavy day for many.
Alicent was restless, hoping Aemon wouldn't stay mad at her.
Among everyone she knew, he was the last friend she had.
Rhaenyra simmered with anger, revolted by Jason Lannister's arrogant proposal.
She hated herself for not being born a boy—perhaps then her father and others would trust her more. Instead, they treated her like a burden, a tempting prize for power-hungry lords.
King Viserys was undoubtedly the most frustrated.
All afternoon, he drank heavily, feeling as if everyone around him mocked and humiliated him.
In the royal hunting party, each member of the family carried their own worries—except for one.
In a forest clearing:
"Don't run, you big bunny! Stop right there!"
Aemon's flushed face was lit with excitement as he gripped a bow and chased after a panicked rabbit darting through the underbrush.
The rabbit zigzagged wildly, moving faster than Aemon expected.
Whizz!
An arrow flew past the rabbit's tail, missing by a hair.
The rabbit leaped high in fright and made a sharp turn to escape.
"Stop running!"
Aemon nocked another arrow and fired again.
Whizz!
This one flew over the rabbit's head, embedding itself in the ground ahead.
The rabbit froze for a split second, its eyes wide with terror, before bolting harder.
Thwack!
The third arrow hit its mark, piercing through the rabbit's hide and lodging into its belly.
Aemon stood still, his bow still drawn, before throwing his hands in the air. "Yes! I hit it!"
Proud as could be, he slung his bow over his shoulder and dashed over to retrieve the rabbit.
It was heavier than he expected.
"Did you actually catch one, Your Highness?"
Ser Steffon arrived shortly after, his voice tinged with surprise.
Aemon puffed out his chest and laughed. "Of course! Aren't I amazing?"
He strutted like a little peacock, grinning from ear to ear.
Ser Steffon examined the rabbit and handed Aemon a handful of red berries as a reward. "Truly impressive, my prince. It seems you've inherited Lady Rhea's skills."
"Not bad, huh?"
Aemon waved a hand dismissively, feigning modesty, though his neck craned back in pride.
His giddy expression left no doubt—he was absolutely delighted.
Ser Steffon didn't tease the boy, recognizing genuine talent in the young prince.
"Let's find some more," Aemon suggested, chewing on berries as his sharp eyes scanned the forest for movement.
He resembled a tiny hoarding squirrel, constantly looking for more treasures to stash away.
Ser Steffon obliged, intending to reunite with the main hunting party after a brief detour.
"Squeak squeak!"
Suddenly, a rustling noise came from the bushes nearby.
Aemon's face lit up as he crouched low, creeping toward the sound.
A furry, golden-nosed mouse peeked out from the leaves, wiggling its rump before disappearing back into the brush.
"What've you got for me this time, Mousey?"
Aemon stretched out a hand, and the mouse scampered up his arm, perching on his shoulder.
He gave the tiny creature a pat, noticing a tuft of white fur in its tiny paws.
"Huh? What's this?"
He held up the silky strand, inspecting it closely.
The mouse chirped excitedly, tugging at his silver-gold hair with one paw and pointing in a specific direction with the other.
"You're saying… it's that way?"
"Squeak!"
The golden-nosed mouse nodded emphatically, its small eyes sparkling with intelligence.
Ser Steffon watched the interaction, amazed. "Your Highness, this mouse of yours is extraordinary."
"Mousey's the best! She finds treasures for me!"
Aemon grinned, his excitement contagious. "Let's go check it out!"
Ser Steffon had no objections and followed the mouse's lead, guiding Aemon across a clearing and through the trees.
Eventually, they reached a small stream.
"Squeak squeak!"
The mouse scurried down Aemon's arm and onto the ground, sniffing around a fresh pile of droppings nearby.
Ser Steffon crouched to inspect it, picking up more tufts of white fur. "These aren't horse droppings. They're more like… a deer's."
Aemon's eyes widened. "Do you think we can track it?"
He remembered hearing rumors about a white hart in the Kingswood—a creature said to symbolize kingship.
Ser Steffon examined the surroundings carefully before shaking his head. "The droppings are fresh, but there are no tracks to follow."
"Oh." Aemon nodded, accepting the assessment.
Sensing the growing chill in the air, Ser Steffon lifted the prince back onto his horse. "It's getting late, Your Highness. Best we head back before it gets dark."
Aemon didn't protest, securing the rabbit to his belt with a grass rope.
If nothing else, he had his prize to flaunt.
By dusk, Aemon returned to camp, proudly carrying the rabbit and looking every bit the triumphant hunter.
Though the morning's incident had been kept quiet, word hadn't spread far.
Onlookers chuckled and teased the boy, assuming the rabbit must have been caught by one of the adults.
To every doubter, Aemon tilted his chin up and declared, "I caught it myself!"
Ser Steffon returned the horse to the stable, leaving the prince to bask in his glory.
After parading his catch around the camp, Aemon made his way back to the royal pavilion.
Before he could enter, a figure emerged from the shadows to block his path.
"Your Highness," said a soft voice, "may I trouble you for a moment?"
Larys Strong, leaning heavily on his cane, gave a polite bow.
Aemon's posture stiffened, his arms crossing defensively. "What do you want?"
Something about Larys set his instincts on edge.
The man was notorious during the "Dance of the Dragons" for his cunning and cruelty—a master manipulator who wouldn't hesitate to kill even his own family.
Larys coughed lightly, his demeanor as meek as ever. "I've heard some… intriguing things during your absence. Matters concerning the princess's marriage."
He shuffled forward with exaggerated difficulty, presenting himself as weak and harmless.
Aemon's gaze remained sharp. "Get to the point."
There was no point in playing coy with someone like Larys.
For schemers, power—not cleverness—was the ultimate trump card.
Larys studied the boy intently, sensing an unusual depth of intelligence behind the young face.
He spoke with careful precision. "It seems that the actions of Otto Hightower and Lord Jason Lannister have caused quite a stir today."
"Is Uncle planning something?" Aemon asked bluntly.
Larys tilted his head, offering a vague smile. "The king is a just man, Your Highness. Who can say?"
He carefully observed Aemon's reaction, marveling at the boy's composure.
For someone so young, Aemon displayed remarkable maturity and foresight—a potential force to be reckoned with in the turbulent years ahead.
"I know many fascinating stories, Your Highness," Larys said, his tone inviting. "Perhaps we might find a quieter place to talk?"
Aemon narrowed his eyes, lips curling into a sly grin. "Lead the way."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone