POV: Aemon Targaryen
The reaction Ser Harwin gave me when I pulled out a glaive and katana? Same energy as your teacher when you remind her you shit your pants in second grade. Pure horror mixed with judgment ━━(￣ー￣*|||━━.
Well, that's none of my business. A prince need not concern himself with peasant opinions. He straight-up said he'd only teach me bastard sword and basic sparring. Lame. But whatever, it's a start.
That became my new life loop:
Train → Work → Eat → Sleep → Repeat.
Clocking in like a medieval Elon Musk, but shorter and with less Twitter or X addiction ;)
I dragged Hobb, Rolly, and Todric into training too. They're thirteen now—been training four years already, so naturally they kicked my ass. No shame though. Everyone starts somewhere, and I'm stubborn as hell. I'm not aiming to be flashy—I just want to be dangerous.
I ordered dumbbells, weight plates, and a metal rod from the blacksmith. Nothing fancy, just iron and sweat. The boys already had their own, and yeah, they showed off. Rolly even tried to flex at a maid once. He dropped the dumbbell and bruised his foot. We don't talk about it.
Meanwhile, the factory was nearing launch.
Pens. Paper. Ready.
Just one step left until I go full medieval sugar dadd—uh, independent businessman. Yeah. That.
The plan? Simple. I had pamphlets handwritten (not by me, I'm not insane—I hired scribes for that). Each one advertised the product line, the uses, the price. Basically the medieval version of an Apple keynote, but less "think different" and more "write different."
The Lineup:
Wooden Pen – Cheap, ugly, does the job. Starter pack for broke nobles and ambitious merchants.
Iron Pen – Strong, rusts if you cry on it.
Steel Pen – Sleek, light carving, feels professional.
Luxury Pen – Gold, silver, platinum. Embedded with gems. Made for lords who want to look smart without reading. Basically di*k measuring among pompous lords . Ironborn are banned from using it .
{ Bro they wouldn't even know that you banned them. }
God-Tier Pen – Made from Valyrian steel and dragon bone. Only two exist. More flex than function.
The scribes took a month just to write the promos. I also called in some of the Essosi merchants I met during the Great Council. They were more than happy to do business with a "future king." Yeah, they simped a little. I didn't mind.
Once everything was prepped, I sent out runners, riders, and ravens. Every major town and holdfast got word, except for the Iron Islands and Skagos. I'm not trying to sell pens to people who eat rocks and seaweed.
Whispers spread:
"Prince Aemon's company is open."
"He's selling writing tools like wildfire."
"A dragonlord turned merchant prince."
Small-time merchants carried samples. They trickled into castles, libraries, and maesters' towers. That's when the gears started turning.
The maesters went feral.
They'd spent their whole lives hunched over crusty parchment with dying quills and messy ink. Now here comes my pen—clean, smooth, reusable. My paper? Flat, white, easy on the eyes. Even the grumpy old guys in Oldtown started sending ravens, begging for bulk orders. One even wrote a poem. (It sucked, but I appreciated the effort.)
Meanwhile, Essosi merchants rolled up deep. I had Alister, Baelor, Perestan, and Theon ready. Perestan and Theon were putting finishing touches on my next invention (top secret). Some merchants said they represented magisters. One guy whispered he was from the Iron Bank.
(￣▽￣)" for real ??
Anyway . I was ready.
I went full Gary Vee meets Steve Jobs, hyping my vision, Alister and Baelor filling in the details. One guy asked for exclusive rights. Another tried to buy the secret formula. Bro thought this was Coca-Cola.
I reminded them that the word "Prince" in front of my name wasn't just for flex. Anyone caught stealing trade secrets? Declared enemy of House Targaryen. I told them I'd personally bring dragon fire to their city gates.
I also kicked that guy out. Politely. With guards. Okay, maybe not politely.
After the show, I negotiated. No exclusive deals. No monopolies. They tried their haggling tricks—gold, favors, even offers to "entertain" me. I asked some of them to do some weird stuff for my amusement. One of the merchants from Pentos—dark-skinned, with a ridiculous robe and a hairstyle that looked like it lost a bet—actually agreed to it. He was praising me for my brilliance while saying random words that I asked him to say if he wanted a discount.
{ y'all will know what Aemon made him say in last part }
Sales blew up. AemTech Ventures was officially a beast in making .
Of course, success brings attention.
King's Landing – The Hand's Tower
"It's been one moon since the prince's company began selling, my lord. Just two weeks ago, he met with merchants from the Free Cities and charged a premium from them. He's selling fast. Profits are already flowing," said the man kneeling before a figure in the shadows.
The figure didn't respond at first. Then:
"Did you learn what he discussed with them?"
"I asked around the merchants who were there. They said... he didn't agree to a single exclusive contract or long-term deal. And..." the man hesitated.
"And what? Speak," said Otto Hightower, stepping out from the shadows, his voice low and cold.
The man cleared his throat awkwardly. "He told a merchant from Pentos that he'd give him a discount... if he said... 'BOMBACLOT,' my lord."
{Aemon be wildin' again}
Otto blinked.
"Bombaclot?" he repeated, slowly, as if the word had physically offended him.
{Somebody get this man a translator}
"Yes, my lord. That is... what he said."
Otto narrowed his eyes, muttered, "I'll have to consult the Grand Maester on this… perhaps it's code."
He flicked a coin toward the man. "Here's your reward. Go."