Chapter 14

Aemon

Maester Aemon awoke to the sound of a raven's cry. It was difficult to say what time it was; he could hear activity out in the yard, but he could not discern whether or not it was a patrol or men preparing for the day's activities. His thoughts wandered to the ravens. It was not unusual for them to be roused in the early morning, though Aemon was sure Clydas had fed them before they had gone to bed. Perhaps Darron was up and about. The lad certainly was diligent, and Maester Aemon was always glad to have a literate hand to help him. Cautiously, the Maester got up, adjusting his chain. His fingers tapped at the links. Then the old maester continued on his early morning routine, carefully navigating his way up the steps. His fingers traced a path along the well weathered stones, and he hummed at the raven's increasing disarray. Reaching the final landing after a time, he paused to lean on his cane. The raven's weren't hungry, that was for certain. He could just barely discern a distinct word. Snow. Strange, Clydas had informed him that it was not like to snow in the next few days. The ravens stopped cawing for a moment. The old Maester was not easily beguiled, however, and continued listening. After a few moments, one raven cawed out another distinct word. King. Most curious. I shall have to ask Darron whether he has noticed them speaking as well. Maester Aemon shuffled closer, running a hand along the table used for letters. His hands came upon the burlap sack he was seeking, and Aemon grasped a fistful of grain, dropping it into the cage.

After that strange occurrence, Aemon continued on his morning routine, marching slowly across the courtyard to break his fast. It was a good fare, Lord Stark having sent several shipments of food north. Lord Commander Mormont - a fine man, recently elected after Qorgyle's unfortunate death - gave him several missives to be sent south, mostly requests for supplies. As Aemon was returning to the tower, however, he heard several horses approaching. Pausing to listen, he heard the creatures thud closer, then one of the sentries called out. "Six riders, bearing Stark banners!" Aemon nodded at the thought. It was likely more recruits being escorted up the Kingsroad. Aemon returned to the tower, heading towards the rookery. No doubt Clydas and Darron were up, and the missives still needed sending. As he and Darron moved to prepare the ravens, however, a knock came at the door below. Clydas answered it quickly. A few moments later, the younger man's voice came bellowing up. "Maester Aemon, you've visitors from the Stark party!" Aemon was admittedly quite surprised. Who would be visiting him?

"Let them up to my room, then." He called down. Quickly passing the missives off to Darron, he moved down to his room. Feeling with his elderwood cane, he found his chair and sat down. His visitors arrived, two of them from what he could discern. Clydas soon followed.

"Will you be needing any assistance, Maester?" Clydas asked, sounding somewhat concerned.

"No, I shall be fine. Go help Darron in the rookery, please." Aemon shifted as his visitors entered the room. One set of footsteps was firm and quick, remniscient of a soldier or ranger. The other set was hesitant, stopping every few moments. Aemon guessed it was someone curious and young.

"Maester Aemon, it is good to see you, even after all these years." That was a man's baritone. "It's me, Arthur Dayne. This is my nephew, Jon Snow." Ah, yes. Aemon recalled a visit, many years ago, when his great nephew and a few friends had come venturing to the Wall - ostensibly on a tour - though their real reason had become evident quite rapidly. Young Rhaegar had come seeking advice about some great council he was seeking to form.

"Is that so? I am surprised you two are visiting me, and not Benjen. I may be related to young Jon here through my mother, but Benjen seems a closer family member." Aemon heard shuffling for a few moments. He could practically see the two looking at each other.

"That's because we're also family, more related than you think," blurted a young voice. A boy, no more than nine or ten. Vague visions of a boy in a straw hat swam through his memory. "My mother was Lyanna Stark, and my father was Rhaegar Targaryen." Aemon blinked at that. It was unexpected, no doubt.

"I was there, Maester, when young Jon was born. He is the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna." That was Arthur again, his voice confident.

Aemon leaned forward, reaching out his hand. "Let me feel your face, lad." A few moments hesitation, then the young man leaned forward. Aemon traced his facial features thoughtfully. Rhaegar's nose, aye… was that some of Aegon's chin in the boy? There was little doubt in his mind, at least. "Tell me, what color are your eyes? Your hair?"

"My eyes are gray, Maester, though Uncle Arthur says there's speckles of violet in them. My hair is dark brown, like my cousin Arya's." The boy pulled back. Aemon paused, thoughtfully. His great nephews letters had been confusing towards the end. Talk of prophecies, a dragon with three heads… and Rhaegar had declared his intent to seek Dark Sister, and claim it for his own.

"That coloring serves you well, lad. Robert Baratheon… Well, he was never a fan of Targaryens." Aemon paused, thinking. "What brings you north, to the frigid Wall?"

"Young Jon… Jaehaerys, that is, wished to meet you. You're the only family the boy has left this side of the Narrow Sea. With the Rebellion winding down, Lady Catelyn finally allowed him to leave and seek you out." Arthur seemed hesitant speaking those words. Aemon was pleased to hear the news; word traveled slowly, and hearing that the realm might soon be at peace again was a good thing. Banners swam through his mind, black and red dragons clashing.

"Aye? I imagine you seek stories of your parents… young Lyanna I could not tell you much of, but Rhaegar and I exchanged letters. He was a very bookish boy, you know…"

...

Aemon was startled to find that dusk was approaching rapidly. His guests excused themselves. I never did get around to sending those ravens, but meeting my great nephew was worth it. They had exchanged tales of their families, young Jaehaerys was quite excited by the tales Aemon had of years long past. Arthur had been surprisingly interested as well, and both had been surprised and excited when he had regaled them with the story of Brynden River's disappearance north. The man had visited him the night before he left, telling him of a greenseer's call he had to heed. Bloodraven had also told him where he was planning to leave Dark Sister, of course. Young Jaehaerys had expressed excitement at the thought of retrieving the sword, and had resolved to seek it out soon. Aemon smiled at the thought. Finally, that old sword might be put to good use.

Jaehaerys

Jon was excited at the prospect of meeting his only living family nearby. Maester Aemon proved to be an interesting person, full of stories and tales as well as advice. And learning that Dark Sister, the famed Valyrian Steel sword was somewhere nearby? Jon found himself having trouble sleeping that night. They had set out few days later, after having visited Uncle Benjen they headed out. Old Lord Commander Mormont had offered them a handful of rangers as guard, after his attempts to prevent them from heading north beyond the wall failed. Together they moved north, through the creepy woods north of the Wall. There was snow on the ground, and many frozen streams. Jon was frightened and excited to hear that one of the rangers had spotted a wildling village, but they travelled around it instead. Their journey was relatively peaceful.

Jon remembered the day his uncle had told him everything. After discovering the strange egg and giving it blood, Uncle Arthur had explained everything. Jon had been confused and surprised to learn that his Aunt Lyanna and the Targaryen prince Rhaegar Targaryen were his parents. It was still difficult to think about, and he was unused to anyone calling him by his other name, Jaehaerys. He had continued to heat the egg, feeding it drops of his blood occasionally, but it still hadn't hatched. Aunt Catelyn had also refused to let him see his great uncle Aemon until she was sure it was safe. Jon considered the thought silly - why would the Ironborn attack the North? After a few months, she finally relented and allowed him to go north with a fair guard. Apparently a battle had happened near the Westerlands and the Ironborn weren't much of a threat. Jon had been incredibly pleased to go, and Robb had begged his mother to let him go, but she had refused. After all, Uncle Benjen had been north of the Wall - who would he visit? Robb had been furious, and had tried to come along anyway, but sadly failed. Jon still remembered Robb watching sadly from the back of his pony as they moved north. Jon regretted that he could not come, but truthfully he was glad. He loved his cousins, and his aunt and uncle, but he wanted answers about his parents, and Aunt Catelyn could provide little beyond a few basic details. She had forced all of his guards and even Jon himself to take an obsidian dagger, just in case. Jon wasn't sure why she was so paranoid about it, but accepted the weapon anyway.

Jon was broken out of his thoughts when one of the rangers came riding back, having scouted the way ahead. "Weirwood grove is ahead. No signs of Wildlings nearby, maybe this will be a peaceful trip." Uncle Arthur nodded, looking ahead before beckoning everyone to get moving again. They continued at a brisk pace for some time, then came upon the cluster of trees. Several weirwood trees were growing, tightly clustered around a pond. The tallest one had a grim face carved into it, and it weeped red sap. Jon felt somewhat uncomfortable at the sight. Heart trees were decidedly creepy. Uncle Arthur stopped at the edge of the clearing. He looked around for a bit, then nodded. He dismounted from his brown garron, then helped Jon off his pony. He turned around crisply.

"Thank you for your escort, men. I would ask that you stay back here and watch for wildlings. I believe we shall be here for some time, and it would be for the best if we were well protected." Uncle Arthur nodded at each of the grizzled rangers in turn. They nodded back, somewhat hesitantly. Then Uncle Arthur clasped his shoulder firmly. "Come on, nephew." They entered the grove at a brisk pace, then stopped before the pond. It was fairly deep, and quite clear. Jon could feel the heavy gaze of the weirwood trees on him, and he shivered.

"It looks cold in the pond. Would Bloodraven really put it here?" Jon asked, looking up.

"Aye. He wanted the sword safe, Jon. If you don't feel ready for the challenge, we can head back now. Or you can enter the pool. But it is your challenge to bear, nephew." Uncle Arthur looked down upon him firmly. Jon nodded, thinking. Then he unclasped his fur cloak and passed it to his uncle. It would weigh him down as he swam. Uncle Arthur took it solemnly, then watched Jon. Hesitantly, he moved towards the edge of the pond. Don't hesitate. Even a moment of hesitation means death, lad. Ser Rodrick's voice reminded him. Jon prepared himself, then dived in. It was frigid, and he shivered uncontrollably, but he continued down. The warmth of his body was evaporating quickly, and Jon was finding it more difficult to move by the second. He continued deeper, the frigid feeling biting in to him. He reached the bottom and felt around. Jon was having trouble moving, and wondered if Uncle Arthur would pull him out. Then his hand happened upon a box. Moving his fingers along the edge, he found the latch and pulled. Air rushed from it, but Jon ignored it. He had to move quickly or he'd freeze, or drown. His fingers moved around, searching. Jon realized he was near the end of his breath. Then his frigid fingers closed around the hilt of a sword. Warmth surged through his body, chasing the cold away. Jon held it tightly, swimming up as quick as he could get. Near the end of his breath, he emerged from the pond, then scrambled up the side. He refused to let go of the sword, even when Uncle Arthur patted his back. "Gods above…"

Jon knew what his uncle meant. The radiating warmth through his body quickly warmed his clothes, and steam rose from his clothes as they dried. "Well, I've never heard of a valyrian sword doing that. Hard to say with Valyrians though." His uncle offered the cloak, and Jon took it for appearances. Warmth still surged through his body, and he had no need of it, but the rangers and guards would surely question it.

"I think it is time we returned to the Wall, Uncle. The sooner the better." Jon looked around at the grove. Strangely, the Heart's tree had changed. Not much, but it's mouth had gone from a grim line to a slight smile. Uncle Arthur nodded, and they mounted their horses. The rangers quickly lit up torches, and they passed unmolested back to the wall.

…

The old man shifted amongst his roots. So the boy had claimed his sword already? It was much sooner than he had expected, but all the better for it. The more valyrian steel swords in the hands of the living, the better. Expending some effort, the old man shifted the roots of the weirwood trees to cover the strange box. No one else would find the weirwood box with his sigil stamped upon it.

There we go! Another chapter done. This one didn't cover much about the Rebellion down south, but I'm sure many of you will be happy with the results.