POV: Aemon Targaryen
The company is making a lot of noise. Word has spread about how a 7-year-old prince struck a fortune. Father is seriously considering our bet and is forcing adults to get involved in such a big matter, which is understandable. Inventing something useful is one thing, but running a company is big, nasty, tedious, and meticulous work—very difficult for a 7-year-old. It's difficult even for me.
Grandfather Jaehaerys has called me to King's Landing for a meeting. Father will be there, so will Mother and Rhaenyra. I know I will face the Small Council. They will force me to let go of control over the company and give some "for the realm" or other bullshit reason.
I have prepared a surprise for them. My secret project in King's Landing has been going on for six months now. It's time to show them hell.
POV: Jaehaerys Targaryen
After the Great Council, I thought I'd earned peace. Thought I could live out my final days in quiet reflection, wandering the gardens with old ghosts.
I've ruled longer than most men live. From my father's reign to Maegor's terror, and then my own. I thought I'd seen it all. But now—now there's this boy.
A child who built something the realm can't stop talking about. A factory. Pens. Paper. It sounds absurd... until it isn't.
Maybe that's what the realm needs, after me. A boy who sees the world differently. I remember him—how he stood before me and the Small Council, daring to challenge me, for Gael. The way he looked at me... like he saw something no one else did. Like he knew.
I never spoke to him after that. I wanted to. But something in me hesitated.Maybe I was afraid. Not of him—but of what I'd become. Of the silence I'd surrounded myself with. The voices around me told me what I wanted to hear. I started believing them. They made me the image of a wise king—and I clung to that image, too tired to look in the mirror.
Then there was a knock on the door. I looked up, and in came Aemon. That surprised me. No one comes to me without letting me know they are coming.
"Hope I'm not interrupting," he said.Then he stopped. Looked at me. I saw surprise... then sadness... then understanding.
"You don't recognize your great-grandsire?" I said, trying to smile. "Time takes its toll on everyone."
He didn't return the smile. "What's it like… being king?"
I looked away. "Tiring. The weight of the crown tests the best of men."
"Do you think your grandsire, Aegon the Conqueror, did the right thing?" he asked.
"You disagree with my grandsire? He united the kingdom, made us royalty. Else we'd all still be stuck on Dragonstone."
"He didn't unite the Seven Kingdoms," Aemon said. "He just beat the petty kings and crowned himself king of the petty pile."
He didn't sound angry. Just… disappointed.
"What do you mean? What is disappointing about it?"
"I cannot explain to you what you cannot understand. You are limited by your era and tradition you grew up with. I want you to fight one last time. I want you to take the throne and call the Small Council. There, I will take a step toward fixing the mistake your grandsire made," he said with resolve.
"I am grateful for whatever you did for our family," he said while leaving. "And you did the best you could, Jaehaerys."
I saw another man in him say the same thing long ago. It's a memory—the last memory of his older brother Aegon, who was killed by Maegor.
King's Landing — Throne Room
The throne room was packed. Lords. Even peasants were allowed today. All members of the Small Council were seated. The royal family was there — Prince Viserys, Prince Aemon, Princess Aemma, Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Gael, and Prince Daemon. All waiting for the king.
The herald prepared, and the room quieted down. Everyone stood still.
Herald: "King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!"
POV: Aemon Targaryen
Mother held my hand tightly and requested I not make a scene. Be respectful, but show them who birthed me. Rhaenyra was visibly nervous, and Father looked like he wanted to shit himself.
Whatever.
The king walked in slowly, made his way to the Iron Throne. I was scared he might fall over, and this day would turn into crowning my father as king. If that happened, Father might actually shit himself.
"Today we are here to discuss AemTech Ventures, started by Prince Aemon, the mark it's making, and how to address the... handling of it," said Otto.
"Aemon Targaryen, step forward," said someone. Who was that anyway?
I came forward, made eye contact with everyone, and finally looked at the king.
"Your Grace."
"You're not on trial. We just want to know about the first company of Westeros. No need to be so grim," said the king.
"Prince Aemon, you with your brilliance started your company. At first, we thought it would be a good learning experience for you, and you exceeded our expectations. Now we have a company trading throughout the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. According to what we found, the earnings from selling paper, pen, and ink have exceeded 20,000 gold dragons in two moons."
That left gasps throughout the crowd, because that's the tax amount collected by a great house in one moon. Most people here won't see that kind of money in their lifetime.
"This is an achievement that even I can respect. Even I didn't make that much at your age," said Corlys, with eyes that were already making new calculations.
"What's interesting here is that AemTech is not owned or supervised by the royal family or king, but just by Prince Aemon. Well, it's an achievement to make that much at your age, but running the company is quite draining. Isn't it?" said Lyman Beesbury.
"The more important matter here is the taxes. It's not a crown-owned company, so it must pay taxes," said Otto.
"All of you make fair points. A company not owned by the crown must pay taxes. So why do the Citadel and High Septon of the Starry Sept never pay taxes?" I asked.
"My prince, both of them are sacred organizations vital to the working of Westeros. Their existence itself is a gift to the realm. They do more than money can," said Otto, like explaining to a child.
"Yes, they are vital to our realm. Their existence prospers our realm, but so do my factories. In just more than a year, my factories have given livelihood to so many families. And I promise to all present," I said, turning toward the audience, "that all those who work in my factories are given fair pay and a safe work environment, for both men and women. There will be no discrimination among those who want to make a fair living. My people deserve to have their own homes, their own families, their own lives. I promise that one day my factories will employ more than 100,000 people. I swear this on my blood and honor."
The crowd was taken aback.
"I did not start this company to make gold. I was born with all the gold I needed. I did it because I was ashamed. Ashamed of my own house."
That drew gasps. My father was almost fainting.
"Since Aegon the Conqueror became the first king of Westeros, he stopped the wars but taxed the realm. Gold from all over Westeros entered the Crownlands, making the rest poorer. And we now have King's Landing — a stinking city built at the expense of the realm.
But no more. The Crownlands will become a land of dreams, where everyone who wants to make an honest living will find work.
As a gift to this city, I declare no one will ever go thirsty in King's Landing again. I have built a new invention that gives you as much water as you want for drinking. I give this city and its people the HandPump. As of today, I have built four of them in the city. I have put flags so you can find them. No, it's not a well — it's the fight against thirst, and King's Landing is the first city to overcome it.
And I promise, in the coming moons, I will give work to 5,000 people. Rejoice!"
The crowd went wild.
FIRE AND BLOOD! FIRE AND BLOOD!
The chanting shook the hall.