Cedric and Lady Seraphine, consumed by anger and fear, desperately discuss how to deal with Aemon's imminent arrival at the castle.

Cedric: (with restrained anger, clenching his fists) "Aemon is coming to the castle... This shouldn't be happening! If the King and the councilors find out that we orchestrated the assassination attempt, we're finished."

Lady Seraphine: (with a worried but firm expression, her eyes shining with determination) "We need to think fast, Cedric. If Aemon manages to win the King's and the councilors' favor, especially with King Alaric's condition worsening, he will be chosen as heir. That would destroy everything we've planned."

Cedric: (abruptly stopping, his intense gaze fixed on Seraphine) "We can't let him make a good impression. We need to find a way to discredit him before that happens."

Lady Seraphine: (thoughtfully, furrowing her brow) "Maybe we can plant a seed of doubt in the minds of the councilors. Something that makes Aemon seem like a threat to the kingdom, an unstable person, unfit to rule."

Cedric: (with a malicious look, a dark smile forming on his lips) "Yes... if we can do that, even if Aemon makes it to the castle, he won't be seen as a savior, but as a danger. And if the King dies before he has a chance to redeem himself, I'll be the only viable candidate for the throne."

Lady Seraphine: (with a cold smile) "We must act cautiously, but without hesitation. Every move must be calculated. Aemon cannot succeed."

Cedric: (determined) "I'll summon some of our allies. We need to make sure the right information reaches the right ears. And as for you, Seraphine, keep weaving your intrigues within the circle of court ladies. We need all the influence we can gather."

Lady Seraphine: (nodding) "I've already started spreading rumors among the councilors' wives. I'll intensify my efforts. Aemon won't stand a chance."

Cedric and Lady Seraphine exchange a grim, determined look, knowing that the future of the kingdom—and Cedric's coronation—hinges on the success of their plan.

Scene: The Council Chamber

Cedric strides hurriedly through the stone corridors of the castle, his face marked by a mix of anxiety and anger. He arrives at the grand council chamber, where the councilors are already seated around the imposing stone table. The torches on the walls cast uneasy shadows across the room. Cedric stops in the center of the chamber but does not sit, his presence dominating the space.

Cedric: (with a firm voice, laden with tension) "Gentlemen, I appreciate you responding to my call so quickly. The matter we are to discuss today cannot wait."

The councilors exchange quick glances, curious and concerned about the urgency in Cedric's tone. He moves slowly around the table, as if measuring each of them, before finally speaking.

Cedric: "I want to start by asking your opinions on Aemon. What have you heard about him?"

Lord Reynard: (with a cautious look) "So far, we've only heard rumors. Comments that describe him as violent and impulsive, but nothing concrete that we can confirm."

Lord Barristan: (stroking his beard, thoughtful) "Yes, the stories circulating about him are more gossip than facts. Many say he is just a bastard, not worthy of our attention or concern."

Lord Merek: (with a neutral expression) "The truth, Cedric, is that we don't know much about Aemon beyond these accounts. He's never been in our company, and his reputation is, at best, murky."

Cedric stops pacing and stares at the councilors, the intensity of his gaze causing silence to hang in the room for a moment. He then takes a deep breath, as if about to reveal something heavy.

Cedric: "I went to the prison to see Aemon with my own eyes. The man I found there is not someone we can underestimate. When I saw him, he was covered in blood, like a wild beast that had just devoured its prey."

The councilors look at each other, surprise evident on their faces.

Lord Reynard: (raising an eyebrow) "Covered in blood? Are you suggesting he's dangerous?"

Cedric: (nodding, his tone grave) "Exactly. What I saw was a man who looked more beast than human. If this man is freed, if he wins the favor of the King and the councilors... I shudder to think what might happen. Aemon is a threat, and we must treat him as such."

Lord Barristan: (frowning) "These are serious accusations, Cedric. Are you suggesting we take action before Aemon arrives at the castle?"

Cedric: (clenching his fists, determined) "I'm suggesting we be prepared for any eventuality. We cannot allow someone like him to get close to the throne, or the King, without knowing exactly what he's capable of. We must consider our options and protect the realm before it's too late."

Lord Merek: (thoughtful, after a brief pause) "I understand your concerns, Cedric. But we need more than rumors and a visit to the prison to act against him. However, we will keep a close eye on him. If Aemon truly is the threat you describe, we will not hesitate to act."

Cedric observes the councilors, realizing that while his words have planted a seed of doubt, they still hesitate to take direct action. He knows he will have to continue playing his cards carefully to ensure that Aemon never becomes a real threat to his path to the crown.

As the caravan slowly moves toward the castle, the air is heavy with tension. Aemon sits in the wagon, his hands resting in his lap, his eyes fixed on the void. The guard driving the wagon keeps his eyes on the road, while the other five ride around in a tight formation. The two guards sitting next to Aemon watch him cautiously, especially the guard named Lyra, whose curiosity finally breaks the silence.

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Lyra: (looking at Aemon with a thoughtful expression) "I've heard rumors, Aemon... about what happened that night in Bastion End. You fought three assassins. They say you killed two of them... Is that true?"

Aemon remains silent for a few moments, his gaze still distant. Finally, he sighs and begins to speak, his voice deep and weary.

Aemon: (in a low voice) "Yes... it's true. There were three men, trained to kill. They came for me, but... I saw them first."

The guards exchange glances, clearly impressed but not without a hint of doubt. One of the younger guards, named Bram, asks, his voice laden with disbelief.

Bram: (leaning in a little closer) "And how did you manage to face them? Three assassins? And you came out alive?"

Aemon slowly raises his head, his eyes revealing the exhaustion of someone who has seen more than they should.

Aemon: "Fighting was the only option. I had no choice. The first one tried to take me by surprise, but I managed to dodge and attack him with the same blade he wanted to use against me. The second one... he was tougher. He nearly got me, but I managed to strike back at the last second."

Lyra: (with a serious, yet respectful expression) "And the third?"

Aemon closes his eyes for a moment, as if reliving the scene in his mind.

Aemon: "The third... he caught me off guard. The fight was intense, and I was already exhausted. He was better than the others, more experienced. If it weren't for... if it weren't for her, I wouldn't be here now."

The guards fall silent for a moment, trying to process Aemon's words. Lyra, still intrigued, softly asks:

Lyra: "Her? Who was she, Aemon?"

Aemon hesitates, his gaze growing darker, but he doesn't answer directly. Instead, he turns his eyes to the horizon, his voice heavy with sorrow.

Aemon: "She gave her life for me... And I couldn't do anything to stop her."

Silence falls over the caravan again. The guards around Aemon begin to understand the depth of what happened that night. Young Bram, who was once full of distrust, now looks at Aemon with a mixture of respect and empathy.

Bram: (in a low tone) "It must have been hard... fighting like that, with so much at stake."

Aemon: (with a bitter look) "Harder than any battle I've ever faced. And even though I survived... there's no victory in it."

As the caravan continues its way to the castle, the guards around Aemon remain silent, respecting the weight of those words. The tension lingers, but now it's accompanied by a mutual understanding of the gravity of what Aemon endured. Each of them knows they are transporting not just a man, but a survivor of a battle that still haunts his soul.

As evening falls and night descends, the caravan finally comes to a halt. The guards dismount from their horses and gather around a fire they quickly light. The air is cool, and the flames dance, casting shadows around them. Aemon remains in the wagon, refusing any offers of food or drink, his gaze lost in the darkness.

As the guards tend to the horses and help themselves to their own rations, they begin to talk quietly, their words filled with curiosity and apprehension about the uncertain future of the kingdom.

Lyra: (whispering to the other guards, while her eyes turn to Aemon) "He hasn't said a word since we stopped. He even refused a sip of water. It's like he's somewhere far away, lost in his own thoughts."

Bram: (tossing a branch into the fire, thoughtful) "I don't know what to expect from him. If he really is the next heir... What will the kingdom be like under his rule? He has the look of someone destined for great things, but... After what happened, who knows what kind of king he'll be?"

Lyra: (murmuring, almost to herself) "He's young, very young. But that white hair... it's an unmistakable mark. It's like he carries Corvinus's essence within him. I have no doubt he's a legitimate heir."

Gareth: (one of the older, more experienced, and skeptical guards) "It's not just looks that make a king; it's willpower. And the way he seems right now... I'm not sure he has that strength."

Bram: (shaking his head) "He fought off three assassins and survived. That shows more than many of us would face in a lifetime. Maybe that strength is there, but buried under all the weight he carries."

Lyra: (thoughtfully, looking at Aemon with a respectful expression) "What if he's the king the kingdom needs? Corvinus was a great leader, and maybe Aemon has that within him too. He just... hasn't found it yet."

Gareth: (in a grim tone) "Or maybe he's what the kingdom fears most. A young man full of rage, shaped by betrayal and blood. If he carries Corvinus's fury, we could be facing a reign of iron... or disaster."

Lyra: (replying with a determined look) "Or maybe he's Volcrist's salvation. Whatever it is, it's not for us to decide. But we can't ignore the possibility that he's destined for something great. Something even he may not understand yet."

The guards fall into contemplative silence, their minds wandering over what the future might bring. The night deepens, and the flames of the fire continue to crackle, casting a flickering light over their thoughtful faces. The tension in the air remains, but now it's mixed with a sense of anticipation. Deep in their hearts, they know they're on the brink of a monumental change, and that Aemon, with all his mystery and potential, might be the key to the kingdom's future.

King Alaric, seated on his throne, cannot hide the worry that consumes him. His fingers nervously tap on the arm of the chair, and his eyes are fixed on the door, as if expecting it to open at any moment, bringing news of Aemon.

King Alaric: (with a heavy sigh) "Why are they taking so long, Thorne? The caravan should have arrived at the castle hours ago."

Lord Thorne: (trying to maintain a calm and reassuring tone) "Your Majesty, the prison is far, and the journey is difficult. They must be approaching now that the sun is setting. Aemon's safety is our priority, so the caravan is advancing cautiously."

The king closes his eyes for a moment, struggling against the anxiety pulsing in his mind. He knows that each minute of delay only heightens his concerns about the state of the kingdom and what the future holds.

King Alaric: (opening his eyes, his voice laden with worry) "I hope you're right, Thorne. We can't afford for anything else to go wrong. The fate of the kingdom may depend on this man's safe arrival."

Lord Thorne: (making a slight bow) "I understand, Your Majesty. I've already ordered the servants to prepare the castle for Aemon's arrival. Everything will be in order when he gets here. You needn't worry about that."

Hearing this, Alaric nods, but the weight of his concerns remains evident in his expression.

Meanwhile, Cedric, who had been silently observing the entire situation, keeps a discreet posture, but his mind is constantly at work. He watches the servants rushing back and forth, preparing the castle for Aemon's reception. Every detail is being meticulously attended to, from the lighting to the banquet that will be served.

Cedric: (thinking to himself, his features rigid) "So, Aemon is indeed coming... And with him, a threat to what I've planned for so long. But I won't say anything now. I need to see how things unfold before I act."

He remains silent, watching everything with calculating eyes, planning his next moves. As the servants set the castle in order, Cedric reflects on the possible consequences of Aemon's arrival. If the bastard gains the trust of the king and the councilors, his own position could be at risk. Cedric knows he must be prepared for any eventuality, and that the approaching night will bring with it difficult decisions and perhaps, new betrayals.