The arena was filled with cheers as two men fought: A silver-haired Targaryen, and Ser Criston Cole, the commander of the Kingsguard. Princess Rhaenyra’s children, Jacaerys and Lucerys, pushed through the crowd to see who was fighting and realized it was their uncle, Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond moved quickly and skillfully, dodging Ser Criston's attacks with ease. He soon disarmed Ser Criston, earning applause from the crowd. Aemond's chest heaved as he sheathed his sword, his silver hair glistening with sweat.

Aemond looked at the crowd, his gaze landing on his nephews, especially Lucerys, whom he disliked intensely. Before he could approach them, the knights stationed nearby greeted the Maester of Swords, who taught royals and nobles.

"Why wouldn’t you look at me with the same affection . . Have i not done enough ". The thought brew in aemond's head as he unconsciously tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword .

Instead, he just stood there, observing the two nephews around their shared instructor.