A Dragon's Roar

by zuperez66

game of thrones

The Dragon's Roar Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/14172975.

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con Category: F/M Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Relationship: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth,

Jaime Lannister & Jon Snow Character: Jon Snow Aegon Targaryen, Jaime Lannister, Ned Stark, Barristan

Selmy, Catelyn Tully Stark, Robb Stark, Arya Stark, Varys (ASoIaF), Brienne of Tarth, Daenerys Targaryen, Maester Aemon, Robert Baratheon, Podrick Payne, Margaery Tyrell, Tyrion Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Petyr Baelish

Additional Tags: Action/Adventure, Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Romance, Drama, Politics, The Prince That Was Promised, jaime redemption, Slow Burn, Implied Daenerys/Drogo, the slowest of slow burns, Jaime/Brienne meet Chapter 33, King Jon Snow, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow hatches a Dragon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, No Mad!Queen Daenerys, Slow Build, Don't copy to another site

Series: Part 1 of The Dragon's Roar Universe Collections: ASOIAF/GOT Marked For Later, Fics to reread, Let's Try This One

Again, All Jonerys Fics, My Heart Adores Stats: Published: 2018-04-01 Updated: 2020-06-27 Chapters: 76/? Words:

317770

The Dragon's Roar by Priestess_of_Groove

Summary

Humanity failed to stop the Night King and his legion of undead until it was too late. The displeased gods decide it should take a greater role in the fate of humanity and wind back to a time before the world fell apart. Jon Snow, the Prince Who Was Promised, and Jaime Lannister are sent back to prevent The War of the Five Kings and unite Westeros under a single banner to avoid a terrible fate. Even with the advantage of hindsight, things never go as planned.

5/27/19 - I began writing this post S7. The events of S8 do not apply to this fic.

Russian translation: /works/20439824/chapters/48493295 Hindi translation: /users/Priestess_of_Groove/pseuds/Priestess_of_Groove

As the summary suggests, this is another "the gods send someone back in time to fix things." I have had a lot of fun writing this (and I'm not finished with it. This is an ongoing project).

I do want to make it clear that even though I mention that there is rape/non-con, that is currently only one event in the story. It is explicit, so I recommend you read with caution. I will make a note at the top of the chapter when it's going to happen.

Please enjoy!

Prologue - Jon I

Prologue

Jon I

"They're coming," Tormund said. His face was pale and drawn and his hair and beard were an even greater tangle if that was at all possible. Even under his numerous furs, he shivered. They all did now.

"Thank you. Care to share our fire?" Jon Snow waved at an empty spot next to him, one of the few spots that was cleared of snow and ice.

The wildling hesitated for a moment, but then sat down. Jon considered teasing him for his sentimentality, but...they were all sentimental these days with how few of them were left.

Jon Snow had only ten thousand men left to his name and the closest thing to a maester was Tyrion Lannister, who sat at the same fire huddled against his brother. Everyone else...Ser Davos Seaworth, Samwell Tarly, Gilly, Bran, Ser Jorah Mormont, Ser Beric Dondarrion, the Hound, Lady Brienne, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Lord Edmure Tully, and Queen Daenerys had all joined the Army of the Dead. He had no idea where his cousins Sansa and Arya were, nor Ser

Podrick Payne, but he could only assume they were dead. The Night King now easily boasted half a million souls, but if there was a silver lining to this dark cloud, he held no dragons. They were able to kill the first one he rode, and the other two had had their heads cut off and their carcasses burned to the best extent after they were mortally wounded. Without the mighty power of the dragons, their attempt to fight back the Long Night were crippled. Now the odds were impossible.

At the moment, the army was holed up in a burnt out husk of a castle. Tyrion estimated they were somewhere in the Reach, but with the snow blanketing everything, identifiable landmarks were too difficult to come by. Regardless, everyone north of this point was dead.

"Before we march out to meet our deaths, does anyone want any hot water?" Tyrion asked.

"Anything to drive this cold away," Tormund said with a hollow chuckle.

Tyrion pulled himself away from his brother, grabbed a copper pot and stumped out of the dilapidated bedroom they had turned into a shelter to stave off the wind. Jon reached into his pack and pulled out the last of their rations. A piece of hardened bread and slices of salted venison. He passed what little he had around, giving Tyrion double rations. Jaime remained unmoved, appearing to be hypnotized by the fire.

Jon heaved a sad sigh. Jaime was never quite the same after his head injury, but he was a shadow of his former self after Brienne died. Time was impossible to tell during the Long Night where the sun failed to rise, but a year earlier, Jon had been going over maps in his tent hoping to make sense of the landscape they were in, but the snow made it difficult.

Tormund's gruff voice had sounded outside the tent flaps, "Snow, a rider's arrived."

"A rider?" Jon asked, incredulously.

"Yeah, he says Ser Podrick sent him."

"Send him in," Jon called out eagerly. They hadn't heard from his cousin's party in months. They had gone to seek refuge in the Vale and with the blustering winds, ravens could no longer be trusted to deliver messages.

Tormund led a young man, weak and shivery before him, and Jon immediately called for hot water

and some venison, then wrapped the boy up. "Tell me, what news do you have to deliver?"

The man couldn't speak, but he dug around the inside of his vest and held out a stamped letter with trembling hands. Jon snatched it and tore it open.

King Aemon Targaryen, first of his name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms...

It is with great sadness that I must announce the passing of Lady Brienne of Tarth. We are still working to make our way to the Vale, but the snow is deep and the going is slow. Bandits jumped our camp. They grabbed me and tried to drag me away, but Lady Brienne was able to save me. She was surrounded and fought valiantly, but help did not arrive in time to save her. Ser Podrick now carries Oathkeeper.

I know she and Jaime were close. Please tell him of these unfortunate circumstances. We are still trying to climb our way to the Bloody Gate. Arya and I miss you terribly and we hope the fight against the Night King is going well.

Warm wishes,

Lady Sansa of House Stark

Jon felt like the breath had been frozen in his lungs. He numbly stumbled over to the tent flap and said, "Tormund, would you bring Jaime to me?"

The wildling sighed, but nodded and set out. By the time he found Jaime, the messenger had been given his meal and was frantically eating his food like it was going to be taken from him. "Here's the cunt," Tormund said and Jaime threw him a withering glare.

"You can stay, too, Tormund."

Tormund frowned but went to stand by Jaime.

"You asked for me?" Jaime asked. Formalities had long fallen by the wayside and no one called him king anymore. He could hardly be a king without a kingdom to rule.

Jon studied him for a moment. Jaime kept a scarf perpetually around his head and had pulled it down to address him. Though the cold seemed to bother him more than the others, he had been in relatively good spirits and proved himself a valuable fighter and commander.

"It is with great sadness, that I have called to inform you that Lady Brienne was killed defending my sister, Lady Sansa. I'm sorry for your loss." He held the letter out to Jaime to read.

Tormund gaped in dismay and pain. Jaime instantly snatched the letter from Jon and read it feverishly, shaking his head. "No, no, no, no! She can't be dead!"

"I'm sorry, Jaime. I know what she meant to you," Jon said patting him on the back, but Jaime shoved him away. The knight wasn't one to show much emotion, but the anguish on his face and tears in his eyes was unmistakable. He tossed the letter and stormed out into the blistering wind.

Tyrion had found him hours later half-buried in the snow and on the brink of death. It had taken days to nurse him back to health and when he finally opened his eyes, he refused to say another word again.

Jon was brought back to the present when Tyrion placed the copper pot now filled with snow on the fire. He had to rearrange the logs a bit, but finally got it going. He grinned at Jon when he noticed the venison and bread.

"Ah, one last hearty meal as well. I can think of worse ways to end this life. Come, brother, I'm sure you're hungry," Tyrion said, waving the pork in front of his face. He grabbed his brother's good hand and put the food in it and closed it.

Jaime stirred, tearing off bites of the bread that he chewed for an eternity before swallowing. Jon sighed again. Tyrion was the only one who could get Jaime to eat and even when he did, he looked like he took no pleasure from the food. If Tyrion had not lasted to the end, he had a feeling that Jaime would have simply sat there in front of the fire and withered away before his very eyes.

"So, Snow, what's the plan?" Tormund asked while scarfing down his food.

"Well...we don't have any more dragonglass arrowheads. We can't reasonably expect to barricade the door and shoot the wights, though trying to stay locked up in here might be our best chance."

The snow over the fire had melted and they each took turns sipping from the pot. Jon sighed in relief at the fleeting sense of warmth awashed his insides. It was torturous to hand the pot off to someone else.

"I think there are a few too many holes to make that a truly viable plan," Tyrion said, glancing around. Although the walls were made of stone, half of them had collapsed. The floors for the upper parts of the castle had almost completely fallen away. They were in one of the few rooms that were still intact with all four walls, but there was a hole in the roof where snow trickled down onto them. Tattered wall hangings stirred in the gusts that came through the ceiling and the once plush rugs they now sat on were frozen solid.

"Maybe it would just be better to meet them in an open field," Tormund said. "What do we have to lose? Sure ain't no fuckin' women or children to protect anymore." He gave a pointed look at Jaime who was still slowly eating his own rations.

Jon nodded slowly and felt another pang in his heart. Once upon a time, Jaime and Tormund were at each other's throats over Brienne of Tarth before she had quickly and concisely shut the wildling down. At the time, everyone had been aghast that the honorable Brienne could ever care for a cad like Ser Jaime Lannister, a man with shit for honor and was well known for fucking his own sister. It took some time but the overall opinion of Jaime had changed to a favorable one. Even Tormund had grown to respect the man who had captured Brienne of Tarth's heart.

"We can't keep running from them, Jon. We have nothing left," Tyrion said, giving him a sad smile.

"I know," Jon whispered, stirring up the fire with a stick to give himself something to do.

He couldn't keep himself from thinking back on how wrong everything had gone. It truly started with the War of the Five Kings tearing the entire country apart, and all of it had been orchestrated by that slimy worm Petyr Baelish. It had taken his cousins, which included Bran, the Three-Eyed Raven who could look into the past, in order to trap that rat and execute him.

However, it had never been just Baelish. Jaime Lannister and Robb Stark both had acted like hot- headed fools. Robb had been murdered for his mistakes and Jaime had lost his hand. Cersei Lannister couldn't contain her lust for power and slept with anyone willing to help her maintain it. Her refusing to ally with the North and provide necessary forces and rations had been one hole among many that had sunk their ship. His own uncle, Eddard Stark, had been a naive fool when confronting Cersei Lannister with her attempts to grab power without making certain he had the necessary support. Tywin Lannister, Walder Frey, and Ser Gregor Clegane had torn the realm

apart with their murderous tendencies. Even his own beloved Dany had been hot-tempered and unyielding, leading to the destruction of House Tarly when just a little mercy would have tamped down on the rumors that she was merely following in her father's murderous footsteps.

If the realm was a tower of cards, Petyr Baelish had been the main support that, when pushed, had tipped the whole damn tower over.

Jon bit to stifle a moan as he thought of Dany. Her kind and gentle smile still shined in his memory and he held onto it as a saving grace. He could still remember the feel of her skin and he remembered running his hand over the soft supple curves of her breasts and thighs. She died when Drogon fell from the sky, felled by the Night King's spear, just as his brothers Viserion and Rhaegal had. Jon had tried to reach her, but the flood of undead standing between them meant that he was watching when she was pulled from her saddle. Her screams rent the night as they tore her apart.

Drogon hadn't quite been dead and with the last of his breath he went on a rampage, setting ablaze almost the entire field of undead before him. The White Walker who had led the attack was eventually felled by Jaime's blade and the undead shattered to pieces around them and blew away on the wind.

Jon scoured the terrain around Drogon for Dany's body, but found nothing. If she had been turned into a wight, it was only for a short time, and she had surely been set free. The knowledge did nothing to ease the pain in his heart. He simply fell to his knees and felt the tears burn his skin as they trailed down his cheeks. Tormund used Widow's Wail to cut the dragon's head off.

Everyone had looked at him piteously, including Jaime Lannister. It wasn't long after that Jon had been forced to deliver the news to Jaime that Brienne had been killed in battle. Two men who had been complete opposites when they first met now shared the same status and the same torment of having to move on without their lovers. Only Jaime hadn't moved on. He simply wasted away, going through the motions of living. He hadn't tried to kill himself since that first night, but Jon had no idea what kept him putting one foot in front of the other. Perhaps he and Tyrion were tied closer together than he realized.

"Were we able to get an idea of their numbers?" Jon asked.

"A lot?" Tormund said and shrugged. "You get any closer and they'll catch ya and turn you into one o' them."

"Just a wide line of them marching this way?"

"Aye."

"Very well. We might as well meet them in an open field. Any estimates on when they'll get here?"

"Prolly not for another couple hours. You know how slow they walk."

Jon nodded. "Let's let everyone rest for now. We'll get them stirred up soon enough."

"Aye."

"Ser Jaime, I know I say this before every battle, but we need to focus on the White Walkers and the Night King, since we have the only Valyrian steel swords left."

Jon's eyes were on Jaime, but he continued to stare at the fire. He didn't even so much as twitch a muscle. Jon had hoped that with it being their last fight, he might actually pull a word from the Lannister, but even impending doom couldn't seem to stir anything in him anymore. They polished off the pot of water and Tyrion went to get some more to melt and they continued sipping on another pot. Jon checked his sword and then glanced up at Tormund and Tyrion, "Rally the troops. Get them training in the yard. I want their blood pumping when we march out to battle."

"My Lord," Tyrion said with a small bow.

Tormund gave him a savage grin. "It shall be a fine battle and a fine death."

"We need the troops hopeful, not despairing, Tormund."

"I know what I'm doin'."

Jon lingered around the fire for a little longer. Since a head injury, Jaime couldn't fight for more than an hour at a time before seizing in some type of fit. The cacophony of noise and chaos of battle seemed to trigger the fits the most. The last thing they needed was for their last Valyrian

steel fighter to collapse in the midst of battle. A few minutes later he could hear the men shouting down below and the ring of steel as the men trained. It was enough to key Jon and he began pacing the tiny room they were in.

Finally he felt enough time had passed and he clapped Jaime on the shoulder. "Come now, we need to get our own blood moving." He reached down and grabbed a burning stick to light their way. With the onset of the Night King, constant darkness enveloped them. None of them had seen even so much as a hint of the sun in roughly six months.

Jaime rose as swiftly and smoothly as the lion his family took for their symbol and followed Jon through the crumbling halls. Once outside, Jon rounded the castle, looking for a quiet place to train, all the while glancing back at Jaime nervously, but his friend seemed unperturbed by the noise echoing around them.

They stepped into what looked like a garden that would be overgrown if the castle had not fallen into disrepair during winter. They made no formal declarations. Jaime tapped the ground with the tip of his sword to indicate he was ready and Jon lunged forward to engage.

Their swords met time and time again as both they and the snow whirled together. Away from all the others, the silence besides the sound of the swords was deafening. For a moment, it felt like they were engaged in a fight outside of time, where the world froze for just a moment as though their training exercise was what might determine the fate of the world.

For having lost his dominant hand, Ser Jaime Lannister was impressive. For a time, he was able to meet each of Jon's blows. A shield was strapped to his gold hand and he used it to deflect blows his left hand couldn't quite take. Jon was still the better sword and after a few minutes, Jon was able to slap the sword out of his hand.

Jaime looked unperturbed about this and simply picked up his sword and they started again. He lasted a little longer this time, even going on the offensive to put Jon in closer quarters, but Jon managed to duck out of getting cornered and used his sword to slap Jaime's hand. Jaime held onto Widow's Wail only just and danced out of the reach of Longclaw, before stepping in to meet sword for sword.

Another minute later, Jaime was disarmed. He picked up his sword and readied himself again. Jon opened his mouth to suggest that they end their matches for now, when the eerie low tones of a horn blasted through the air.

"They're here," Jon whispered and he rushed around the building to see that their troops had

already vacated the courtyard and formed up into ranks outside the walls. The remaining soldiers wore a mishmash of armor and furs, anything to keep themselves warm and protected. Most of them held banged up shields and swords, but a few had spears that appear to have been pillaged from Dornish soldiers, but instead of the usual steel spearhead, all of them had dragonglass spearheads. It was one of the few things of value they still had left. Those without dragonglass either adapted or died.

Jon found Tormund and Tyrion by the front, staring out at the vast white plain as they tried to peer through the dark and the blizzard. Like blue torches, the eyes of the wights shown in the dark as they steadily slogged forward and slowly their ragged forms took shape.

"I just want to let you all know, I feel fortunate to have you by my side. You've been good friends. I thank you for your companionship," Jon said.

Tyrion gave Jon a weak smile and then went to stand over by his brother and he grabbed his hand in comfort. Jaime's expression didn't change, but Jon could tell he squeezed Tyrion's hand back. Jon felt his heart swell at the sight and he clapped a hand on Tormund's and Jaime's shoulder.

"Whatever the outcome may be, it ends today," Jon shouted. The wind kicked up to carry his voice away, but the army heard and raised their weapons and their battle cries sang through the night. Tormund let out a monstrous howl and lunged forward, swinging his axe aloft. Jon hesitated only for a moment before he took off after him and the rest of the army followed.

The first wight had his spine snapped in half, the second his head, and so on and so on. With every swipe of the sword, Jon made sure an undead never rose again, but with every death five more wights took its place. The swipes were practiced and rote like he was reaping wheat more than slicing through bodies. He couldn't see any of the people he had come to call friend. He thought he heard Tormund screaming in delirious excitement, but Tyrion and Jaime were nowhere to be heard or found. He sincerely hoped that Jaime didn't go into one of his fits.

He spotted a White Walker on his horse and Jon began to cut a path to it. He somehow managed to take it by surprise and used his sword to knock it off its mount before he plunged the blade into its chest, causing several hundred, if not thousands of wights to disintegrate into dust. A victorious cry swept the army, but the undead were relentless.

Jon felt the claw of an undead hand dig into his left arm and cleaved through it. Another wight swung wildly with his rusted dagger and nicked him on his shoulder before falling headless to the ground. Wherever Jon turned, he didn't see a single live person he could call ally and he felt his heart bottom out in his stomach. Was there anyone left?

Suddenly, another large swathe of undead disintegrated in the air and he let out a ragged breath of relief. Jaime had to be alive out there somewhere. That was hopeful at the least. Another cheer rose from his distant army, but there seemed to be even fewer voices and it fizzled out almost immediately.

Jon breathed heavily and launched himself into the enemy again. He wasn't sure how long he kept cleaving through skeletal bodies, just that they were numerous and at the same time endless. Suddenly, the wights had fallen away from him. He glanced around as they formed a circle like they were preparing to see him duel and when he turned the Night King himself stood behind him with a sword that appeared to be made of ice.

The snow crunched under the Night King's feet and it seemed at his behest that the wind suddenly picked up and caused Jon's hands to trembled. He tightened the grip on his sword and stomped over to the Night King with as much purpose as he could muster. Was that a mocking smile on its face? His temper flared and he launched himself at the Night King.

With a fluidity that belied his appearance, the Night King met sword for sword. Jon leapt back just barely to get out of reach. The Night King closed quarters on him and he had to manipulate his sword faster than he'd ever been forced to. He'd already been fighting for some time and his muscles were now beginning to tremble with weakness as he attempted to hold the Night King back, stepping back and side-stepping to continue to create some distance between him and it.

Suddenly, the Night King swung high and Jon raised Longclaw up to meet it and he gasped at the tearing jab that cut deep into his ribs and he collapsed to his knees. The Night King held a wickedly sharp pyramid-shaped dagger in his free hand that now dripped with his own blood.

Jon glanced at his side that was already soaked with blood and held a hand to it. He attempted to get to his feet again, but his legs wouldn't support him.

I'm done. This is it. Humanity has lost. He peered up at the Night King in sadness. It wasn't supposed to end this way.

There was no mistaking the pleased smirk on the Night King's face now. Once he was dead, his Valyrian steel sword would be lost and then all that stood between him and total victory was Jaime Lannister and his sword Widow's Wail.

The Night King raised his sword out, ready to sweep through and behead him. Jon fearlessly met the Night King's electric blue eyes.

Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around the Night King, pinioning his own arms to his side. Jon blinked in surprise and if it was at all possible the Night King looked almost befuddled. Even in the darkness, Jon recognized the dirty blonde hair and there was still a wooden shield attached to his right arm. Jaime Lannister had leapt onto the back of the Night King and now held his arms in a vice. He met Jon's eyes over his shoulder and gave him a rather pointed look. But where is his sword? He must have lost it in the melee and Jon felt his heart sink even further.

The Night King seemed almost fascinated that he had been contained and he looked down at the arms containing him and then delicately touched a finger to Jaime's arm. Jon's eyes widened as he could see the transition to a White Walker happening before his eyes. He knew he should do something, but he felt too weak and frozen to the ground. Once again he met Jaime's eyes. He could see their urgency and plea, but it was only when they started to change from green to electric blue that he made his move.

He got to his feet before he even realized it, and then with a burst of strength he ran the Night King and Jaime Lannister through. For the first time since Jon actively worked with Jaime, peace seemed to descend on the Lannister's face. His eyes fluttered close and he fell off the end of the sword, sprawling in the snow.

At the same instant, Jon's sword Longclaw burst into flames. The Night King instantly became alight as he gaped down at the sword still stuck in him. Jon withdrew the sword slowly and with the last of his ebbing strength, swept the sword through and removed the Night King's head and then fell to his knees.

All of the wights instantly disintegrated and their remains blew away in the wind. The White Walkers screamed, the noise shrill and agonizing even as they carried over the wind. The Night King's body stood for half a moment, before it burst apart as though torn asunder by the magic that had been holding it together all this time.

There was a stunned moment of silence, before the remaining humans shouted to the heavens, raising their weapons to the sky.

Even now that the Night King was dead, Jon's sword burned merrily where it layin the snow, but he paid it little mind. He glanced down at his side to see the blood still leaking away. The war had finally been won, but he knew there wasn't a man alive left in the vicinity who could treat this wound. He simply nodded to himself and then glanced up. Already the snow was hurrying to bury Jaime Lannister's body and so he crawled over to him with agonizing slowness. It was no more than a few feet away, but even that small action left Jon breathless.

He peered into the Lannister's face. Already the skin was going blue underneath his scraggly beard and even with his eyes closed at peace, deep worry lines cut into the crevices of his face. Jon peeled back a lid and was pleased to see that it was the natural emerald green that stared back at him instead of the lightning blue. He closed his eye again.

"Thank you, Jaime. It was because of your actions that we were able to end this war. It could not have been done without you," Jon whispered. "No one will know of your sacrifice, but you were a truly honorable man in the end. You deserved to be remembered throughout the ages. I hope you've finally reunited with Brienne."

A sudden light and warmth hit his face and he flinched away for a moment before turning to stare incredulously. The sun was rising. It cut through the night sky with such stark contrast, the sight seemed illusory. The cheers from around him rose to an even greater pitch as they all once more bathed in the warm light that none of them had ever thought they would feel on their skin again.

Jon smiled and felt tears cut across his face. If only everyone had lived to see this sight. He didn't think he had ever seen anything more beautiful in his life, and only the sight of Daenerys smiling at him could make it more beautiful. His strength finally gave out and he slumped over in the snow, but he continued to stare at the sun with a small smile on his face, until the light faded from his eyes.

As soon as Jon Snow's soul departed, the flame engulfing Longclaw sputtered and died.

--The Dragon's Roar--

"They did it. They made it."

"Did they? Good for them, but to what purpose? Every single person of note is dead. The King didn't live to lead his people. It's all been for naught."

"The prophecy came to fruition."

"At the very last moment. Lightbringer should have heralded The Prince Who Was Promised long before now. He missed his window. He failed and humanity failed with him."

"It certainly wasn't all of his fault."

"Certainly not. There were plenty of other humans that, if I didn't know better, appeared to be working with the Night King all along. They sowed their destruction and chaos and they ultimately won. Humanity will never come back from this and it will tear itself apart trying to. They are leaderless. Without direction, they'll simply wander off and die like a wounded animal. Our legacy is dead."

"What would you propose we do?"

"Fix it. Abandon this world's reality. It has nothing left to offer us. We need to take a firmer hand in the direction the next one goes."

"...what you're proposing is dangerous."

"Any worse than what's happened here? Let's salvage what we can."

"Salvage? How do you mean?"

"It may be easier if the Prince Who Was Promised himself knew how dire the situation can be. He can take a firmer role instead of wasting his time on the Wall."

"But...if he knows, that would defeat the point of the prophecy."

"He doesn't know everything, just has bits and pieces of it. If I can reach him in the real world, I can influence his direction so that he doesn't flail around like a fledgling learning to fly."

"We have never taken a direct hand into the humans' affairs before. Do you think it wise?"

"I think it's the only option we have left. But I don't want him to be alone. He needs at least one other person to anchor him to that world, otherwise he might think himself quite insane."

"The next most influential person when the world erupted into war."

"But who?"

"I know just the one."

Chapter 1 - Jon II

Chapter Notes

Thank you all for your kind words!

I forgot to mention in the last chapter that I changed Jon's Targaryen name from Aegon to Aemon, because I don't like the idea of two boys from the same father and the same generation having the same name, even if one of them is long dead at this point.

Book I: The Targaryen King

Chapter 1

Jon II

Jon snapped awake and gasped in a breath that he never thought would expand in his chest again. He fiddled with the blanket on his bed and looked at where the Night King had torn a hole in his side to find it smooth and unblemished. He checked the rest of his torso and found the stab wounds he had collected from the traitors on the Wall had similarly vanished. He released a shuddering breath and glanced around in confusion. He remembered this room. He had vague memories of a place like this that seemed from a lifetime ago.

It was a lifetime ago .

He turned his head. The thought had come to his head like it had been whispered into his ear, but there was no one. He was all alone in the tiny space that had been his bedroom in Winterfell when he was the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark.

You are a bastard no longer.

Again, the thought seemed to come outside his head, but he didn't reflect on it. Memories scrawled across his mind like flipping the pages of a book. He was not the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, he was the last legitimate heir to Rhaegar Targaryen, born to Lyanna Stark, sister of the Warden of the North. His mind wrangled with the idea. How was that possible? How was any of that possible?

But Jaime and Tyrion Lannister had ended up being his staunchest supporters and though he had yet to meet either of them, he knew their faces. One already had a dusting of silver in his short hair and beard, lines drawn across his face, but before things went dire, there had always been a wicked light in his eyes and an arrogant smirk on his face. The other had dark blonde hair and a darker beard, barely coming up to his waist, but he always had a clever word on his lips. They had stayed with him, even when the worst had happened.

Tormund Giantsbane. The giant man with the tangled red hair and beard had died as bravely as any knight of the realm. He was always full of vigor and life and somehow had even become the heart of the army. He was the emotional weathervane. Jon only need look at his face to see what ailed the rest of his men, when he often sat in comfort by a small fire and a tent of his own, though his luxuries had been few and far between there at the end.

He glanced around again at his room. The last time he had been here, it was before any of the Starks had gone south to King's Landing. But when was it, really? He didn't see Ghost. He smiled for a moment at the thought that he might get Ghost back. The last time he'd seen Ghost had been about a year prior. They had been ambushed while marching south, and the direwolf had leapt between him and a White Walker, taking the spear meant for him. He had been allowed to do his wolf the solemn favor of burning his corpse so that it couldn't be reanimated.

Burning the dead had become the kindest action one could take on a body. Every single one of them had fervently hoped that if they died, they would be burned so as not to bring more devastation to their comrades. In the end, it truly hadn't mattered what part of the world you hailed from, as long as you were human and alive you were considered with compassion.

He went to his window and opened it slightly to peer out. He could hear the soft chirping of crickets and he glanced up to see thousands of stars winking at him in the night sky. The soft breeze that rolled through the window might have had a slight chill to it for a southerner, but to him it was sweetly warm. He had glanced down at himself when he had initially awoken, but feeling the soft summer air on his skin made him realize he was shirtless. When was the last time he had felt warm enough to sleep shirtless? The only time he could think of was when he made love to Dany and they could only manage that because they were in a castle room with four solid walls and a roof overhead.

A wave of emotion he did not expect washed over him like the tide of the ocean and he quietly closed his window and returned to bed to weep into his pillow. His shoulders shook from years of contained guilt, despair, exhaustion, and a most palpable sense of relief. For so long, the cold and despair had been his constant companion, though he was forced to keep them at arm's length. Now that he was no longer the king, he allowed himself to crumble apart for this one moment and revel in his new life.

He was certain that this had been no dream. He had met real people that existed in this world, that

he could hopefully meet again. He quietly whispered a prayer to the Old Gods, even as he was sobbing into his pillow, " Thank you, thank you for another opportunity to make this right. I know I do not deserve it, but I will do my best to not let you down."

He laid in bed for the rest of the night. His mind was racing too fast to return to sleep. Did the gods send me back to correct the mistakes of the past? If they didn't, then why did they? Am I the only one who remembers the time before? He prayed once more that that wasn't the case. He's not sure he would ever be able to be completely comfortable in his skin if he there was no one else to remember. If there was no one else to remember, did he in fact live that life or was it all a dream?

No, it can't be. I may not remember every single detail, but I couldn't make up the part the Lannisters had to play. He couldn't think of a single family so singularly polarizing as them. Jaime Lannister himself had been a strange dichotomy of honorable, self-sacrificing knight and a selfish bastard who nearly let his sister run the realm into the ground. His own twin, Cersei, had seemed Targaryen in her own lust for power and madness, especially once she began to use wildfire as easily as using oil to pour down onto enemies.

He knew his Uncle Ned would think him crazy if he knew, but he looked forward to seeing the Lannister brothers again. It pained him to think that they probably wouldn't remember him. He remembered his first interactions with Jaime had been less than pleasant and distinctly recalled wanting to punch the blond prick in the face for his mocking. In truth though...hadn't Jaime been right? It's not like Jon knew it then, but as important as the fight north of the Wall was, languishing there while the War of the Five Kings raged had done the realm little good. He would not be heading to the Wall this time, not with the knowledge he had now. This time it may very well turn into another War of the Five Kings, but he would be one of the kings contesting.

Proving his heritage as the last true son of Rhaegar Targaryen might be quite the trick. It was only verified in the other timeline by Bran's abilities as the Three-Eyed Raven to see into the past. Jon knew that his former companions had seen the power of Bran at work and none had doubted him, but Bran didn't have that ability yet.

He sat bolt upright in bed again; Jaime was to push Bran from the broken tower. When he had learned of that crime in the other life, it was one of the rare times where he lost himself in his rage and he had sought out the smug asshole. Brienne had been the one to inadvertently mention the crime.

"What did you say?"

She was already so pale that her skin went far past it into gray. "Did...did the Lord Bran not tell you?" She seemed to purposely draw out her words.

"Tell me!"

"I overheard Lord Bran speaking to Jaime when he was recovering from his journey north. He absolved Jaime for pushing him out of the Broken Tower."

It was all Jon needed to hear. He stormed out of tent. Brienne called out to him, "Wait, Your Grace!"

However, he stopped for no one and he saw nothing as he stormed through the camp looking for a telltale blonde head. He caught up with him in mid-laugh to something Tyrion had said and like a tornado, he swept up to him and knocked him flat on his back.

"Wha -? Your Grace?" Jaime had said, clutching at his cheek in shock. To his credit, he looked wary more than afraid.

All sense of time and reason had abandoned Jon and he punched him again and then kicked him repeatedly in the stomach. He only got in a few hits before Podrick and Brienne had both grabbed his arms and pulled him away. "Your Grace, that is enough!"

"My king, what's going on? Why are you doing this to my brother?" Tyrion asked, leaning over Jaime whowas slumped on the ground, barely conscious, but breathing.

"Your Grace, begging your pardon, but you pardoned him of all of his past crimes," Brienne said. It was one of the few times she was bold enough to use loopholes. She truly had loved Jaime to skirt the rules of knights in that way.

"I never pardoned him for this one."

"You said 'all.' Lord Brandon Stark forgave and forgot. You should too," Brienne had said in a low voice. She was trying not to make a bigger scene than he already had, but the damage had been done. The King Aemon Targaryen had attacked, without cause, a man most of the world despised. No one seemed to trust Jaime again and a few months later, he was attacked and beaten until he could see sounds.*

I never should have attacked him like that, Jon thought. He blamed himself for the suffering that Jaime endured later. After being tended to, Jaime came to him and told him the full conversation between him and Bran. After cooling down, he had been tempted to beg the man for forgiveness, but Jaime had easily seen it in his eyes and said with a wave of his hand that, "there was nothing to forgive."

But I did him wrong, as did so many others. Regardless, this Jaime that was soon going to be making his way to Winterfell, was reckless and thoughtless as a young boy going into his first battle. Somehow, in some way, he would need to prevent Bran from climbing that tower. But I also need to make sure he stays in the north. But how?

As Jon stumbled across more problems he needed to make right, that word kept consistently popping into his head: how? For all of his combat experience, he still knew very little of politics. Even when he was in the Night's Watch, refusing to play the politics had gotten him killed - no matter if it was the right thing to do or not - and he had owed all of his successes there to Sam.

Jon's heart leapt in his chest. Sam didn't deserve to suffer on the Wall, stripped of his lands and titles because of his arrogant father. I can't reasonably expect to stop him from the Wall either. He already pledged to go there. At the very least, I can make the time easier for him. Maybe encourage him to study under Maester Aemon.

His heart lurched yet again. My last living relative - who isn't across the sea - is at Castle Black! My namesake. Oh, how he desperately wanted to see the old maester and share the news that his family wasn't quite dead yet. There was hope yet still. He made a mental note to see Maester Aemon before he passed on.

Through all of his fretting, he drifted off at one point, for a hard knock on the door jolted him awake once more.

"Brother, are you coming for breakfast? It's getting late," Robb shouted out to him.

"Y-yes, I'll be right there," Jon shouted back and kicked off his covers and started pulling on clothes. He marveled at how light the material of his shirts were compared to all the furs he'd had to pile on at the end. It had been some time since he'd only had to wear a woolen shirt. He searched for several minutes around his tiny room before remembering that he hadn't yet been granted the privilege of strapping a sword to his waist. It seemed insignificant, but the reassuring weight of Longclaw missing from his side made him feel like he was missing a limb and he found his hand frequently drifting over the area only to find nothing.

Robb had gone straight to breakfast without him, for which he was grateful because he was having difficulty controlling his emotions. Walking through Winterfell again was like walking through a dream. Even when they had built it back up in the other time, it had still been a shadow of its former glory and one need not look closely to see where new wood and stonework began and where it ended. His army had been forced to abandon it again and it likely fell into the same disrepair as the fort they stayed in on their last night alive.

And all around him he could see ghosts. So many ghosts. The help were rushing around doing laundry, taking care of the horses, stacking wood. He could see Hodor feeding the chickens. Jory Cassel was polishing swords. It was difficult to think that every single one of these people would die if he couldn't prevent his uncle from heading south to King's Landing.

When he walked into the hall and saw everyone sitting at the table, he very nearly burst into tears. Uncle Ned glanced up from the head of the table and smiled at him. Lady Stark gave him the cold shoulder and pretended he wasn't there. Sansa followed her stead by continuing to eat her meal like a lady. Arya and Bran both beamed at him with radiant smiles. Rickon shouted joyfully. Theon merely gave him a curt nod and said, "Snow."

"You alright, brother? You look a little pale," Robb said, but it was said with a smile.

"F-fine, fine. I didn't sleep too well, that's all," Jon said. All the grace from his years fighting seem to have deserted him and he fumbled for his seat next to Robb. Theon, Robb, and Bran all snickered at him as he banged his knee on the table trying to sit.

He glanced warily over at Theon. After the hell he put the Stark family through, Jon had never truly forgiven him. He had come back to the mainland with the Ironborn to fight the Long Night. He and his sister had ultimately failed, but they had at least fought. He decided that he would do his best to prevent Theon from being sent back to his father. He didn't know the full details of that part of the war or the reasoning for why Theon had done what he had, but he was determined not to give him another chance to repeat history.

"Now, you four have lessons this morning," Ned said, a finger pointing at each of the boys old enough to attend. "I better not hear from Maester Luwin that you failed to do your duty or I will have all of you mucking the horse stalls for a month. Is that understood?"

"Yes, father," the sons intoned.

"Yes, Lord Stark," Theon mumbled and rolled his eyes.

Jon had faltered over the word 'father.' It had taken him months to address the Lord Stark in his own head as uncle instead of father and now he had to go back to it again. But he perked up again at the thought of lessons. He'd allowed Robb to talk him into ducking them, but knowing now that he was the king, he needed to have a better idea of how the realm worked.

Father's threat did the trick, because everyone showed up for lessons promptly after breakfast. Maester Luwin was pleased to have his pupils, though Bran and Theon looked less than attentive. However, Robb and Jon were both studious and took notes, asked questions, and listened raptly.

"What's gotten into you, Snow? Thought you didn't care about this shit. After all, what are you going to do with it?" Theon said as they made their way to the training yards to begin practicing.

"You never know when it might come in handy, Greyjoy. We have a long life ahead of us. Something's bound to crop up," Jon replied.

"Maybe for me, but the Long Night will come before you could ever be considered someone of status," Theon said with a guffaw.

Jon only gave him a strange look. Did Theon have memories from a past life? But if he did, wouldn't he be walking around Winterfell trembling in his boots, being under the nose of the family he betrayed and all the people here he murdered? He decided it was unlikely the Greyjoy knew anything of his real status and simply waved his words away. Theon always talked bigger than he walked.

Ser Rodrick Cassel was waiting for them all in the training grounds. "Well, what are you lads all waiting for? Grab a sword! No, Greyjoy, not the sharp steel," he said, glowering especially at Theon. "We have to make sure you don't stab yourself in the foot first."

"Ser Rodrick, we've been training for ten years. Don't you think it's about time?" Robb asked. In the south, they might have been married already and Jon agreed that six-and-ten was a little old too still be practicing with blunted tourney swords.

"You act like there's a war on the horizon. Even your lord father doesn't carry around his sword everywhere," Rodrick said, his expression unchanged.

Robb seemed to know when the argument was lost and he went through the wooden swords. After

this long, they all had their favorites. Jon went through the swords with a bit more finesse. He now had enough experience with live steel to know what he was looking for and he was dismayed at how many of the wooden swords were not quite the balanced the way he wanted until he made an uncomfortable realization and quietly berated himself.

He would no longer find himself with Longclaw ! He had to go back to the Wall and become the Old Bear's steward before he would get the Mormont's family sword and he had no intention of sitting on the Wall for near ten years with the knowledge he had. He would have to do without the Valyrian steel. Grudgingly, he picked a heavier sword and stood in front of Ser Rodrick.

"Jon, Robb, in the circle. I want a nice clean battle."

Jon dropped into a stance and quietly studied Robb. He wanted to laugh at the serious expression on Robb's face. For all that they were so eager to bare live steel, Robb's feet were not quite where they needed to be and he was gripping the sword too tightly. They circled each other, until Robb grew impatient and lunged for him. Jon easily sidestepped and brought the wood down on his wrist.

"Ouch."

"Robb, you left yourself wide open there. Snow could've done much worse. Again. Relax your grip!"

His brother did a little better this time, but Jon merely marveled at the leaps and bounds he had made in swordfighting after he'd joined the Night's Watch and it hurt him to think Ser Alliser Thorne had any part of it. Their next round lasted several minutes where Robb tried to stay on the offensive, taking him quickly and viciously, but Jon foresaw every move he made and was instinctively in the right position to counter. Robb raised his sword up to bring it down and Jon immediately flashed to his last battle of the Night King. He brought his sword up to catch it, but then immediately lashed out with a kick straight into Robb's ribs.

"Oof, Jon," Robb cried out. "That was cheap."

"Maybe so, but anything goes in a battle," Rodrick snapped at Robb. "Be prepared for your opponents to cheat. Snow, you're showing much more promise than you did two days ago. What happened?"

Jon froze. His mind cast around for an explanation and he said, "I...I had a dream last night, Ser Rodrick. I fought the Night King."

Rodrick's eyebrows went up into his hair, Robb gaped at him, and Theon burst out into laughter. Robb seemed to get over his shock and buckled over with laughter as well.

"It's true. I had a dream I was fighting the Night King. I'm just...imitating the moves I used against him. He did that same maneuver against me, but...he stabbed me with a dagger in his free hand. That's when I woke up," he said.

"I never took much stock in dreams, but you have seemed to have learned from it, no matter how farfetched. I wouldn't be laughing, lads. Snow might very well show up both of you. He's sloppy now, but with a bit more training he could count himself among the best swordsmen in Westeros."

Jon tried to keep his emotions tamped down, but his heart soared at the complement. He felt not unlike a clumsy puppy in his young and experienced body, but he could now count himself leagues ahead in skill over Robb. He would have to train hard if he wanted to be back where he was.

While Robb was still collecting himself, Jon noticed a movement and glanced over to see his uncle Ned and aunt Catelyn watching them. He had a ghost of a smile on his face and nodded in approval at him, but she stared at him coldly. How it must grate her that he might prove more able than her son.

Jon struggled to keep his face stoic, but privately he imagined with barely controlled glee the look on her face when she finds out he is the true King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Chapter 2 - Jon III

Chapter Summary

When I posted up Chapter 1, I meant to put more detail about Jaime being able to "see sounds." In case you aren't aware, there is a condition called Synesthesia. It generally comes about as a result of a brain bleed and it causes senses to become confused. There are reports of people being able to taste words, see sounds, and see colors when reading words. However, seizures/epilepsy is a common side effect of those who develop Synesthesia.

Chapter 2

Jon III

Jon watched the procession of the king enter uneasily. He was doing a better job at controlling his emotions. There had been a few days over the past six months where he lingered a bit too long watching the activities unfold in the yard and as a result being on the receiving end of awkward questions by his uncle, Maester Luwin, and even worse Lady Stark. Not that he could ever not do wrong in her eyes, but this somehow cast him in a more suspicious light.

The worst were the people. He took greater glee in Arya's antics than he had before, relishing in her childish innocence when he knew that soon after it would be ripped away from her like it was clothes on her back. He was sharper with Bran about climbing the walls of Winterfell, which made Bran a bit more sullen towards him, but he was bound and determined to make sure that the day before the king left Winterfell that he would not be on the tower walls. He clung to Robb's presence like a child with a cloth animal. He hoped it wasn't noticeable, but he was in his presence as often as he could manage. The only time they were apart was when Theon managed to drag Robb to Winterstown or when Lord Stark summoned Robb for personal tutelage.

He had also taken his lessons more seriously this time around. When he was not in the training yard, building his muscles, and retraining himself, he was often seen in the library reading books on governance, economics, and the history of the Seven Kingdoms. He had been going through a particularly difficult book about how the economy worked when a knock came at the library door. He glanced up to see his uncle giving him a rather meaningful stare.

It was only now that he knew himself to be Aemon Targaryen that he understood what that look meant. It was a look that suggested he was doing things above his status, which in turn implied that he knew something about his true heritage. It was an expression that encompassed curiosity, fear, and suspicion all at once.

"Father? Is something wrong?"

"No, son, not at all. Maester Luwin came to me the other day and had nothing but praise for your studiousness. He wished you could influence your brothers to be better students."

"I can't make them want to learn," Jon said with a shrug and a teasing smile.

"I was just curious about what inspired this new found love of learning. Not that I discourage it, by all means. It pleases me that you are taking advantage of your place here in Winterfell. You could be a great asset to a lord some day, but this isn't like you."

Jon very nearly grimaced and set the book down. "I had a dream…"

"You've been having a lot of strange dreams lately."

Again, Jon nodded. He explained away any of his latest strange behavior as attributing to dreams. It's not like he could tell them that he was reincarnated from a future self and knew how the family would crumble and fall like he was a prophet of the Old Gods. Without a doubt, his family found it silly how much importance he placed on his dreams, but it's not like none of them had never been motivated by nightmares before.

"I dreamed I became the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and the first thing that happened was that I was buried in an avalanche of paperwork. But I had never run a castle before! I was flailing around like a fish out of water until I had all but drowned in the paperwork. Even if I never rise to Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, I'll always be useful as long as I have this knowledge on hand."

"Indeed," Ned said. His eyes had brightened when Jon mentioned 'Lord Commander' and at the same time the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. He understood now that part of the reason his uncle hadn't worked really hard to talk him out of joining the Night's Watch is because his heritage there, should it come to light, would mean nothing. He knew that was why his uncle allowed him to join, but at the same time it caused a fire to smolder in his belly. The world fell apart because you were too much of a coward to tell me the truth about my mother. I had to learn it from others, when you should have told me the day I became a man. Or at the very least, the day I left for the Night's Watch. He knew his uncle was not a perfect man and certainly might have changed his mind if he knew the realm would fall apart without that information, but the fact that his uncle ever had the chance and still refused to tell him even when he had the right to know was

galling. "There's always a possibility that you could rise to be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. When that day happens, know that I am proud of you. Keep studying, son! And try to encourage your brothers to keep up their study habits or they'll suffer the same as you did in your dream."

The smile fell from Jon's face as soon as the door clicked shut once more. Forget Lord Commander, he would be the best damned king since Jaehaerys the first.

However, while Jon trained and learned, he still ran across the problem of what he was going to do when the king arrived. The king was clopping through the gate on his horse and even now Jon still had no idea how he was going to prevent his uncle from going south. He shoved that thought to the back of his mind and instead focused on the entourage.

It was the same as before. It took ages for the entire party of the king to arrive and Arya showed up late, just as before, wearing a helmet. Robert Baratheon was just as Jon remembered: fat, loud and brash. The crowned prince Joffrey was just behind him along with the Hound. He had been forced to hide from Joffrey when he had been here before and so he remembered very little about him, but something about his appearance struck him as off. He still looked spoilt and girly, but even his arrogance seemed muted. Sansa grinned and blushed at his appearance all the same.

However it was Jaime Lannister who instantly caught his eye. His hair was short. It was styled in the same way it had been in his old life, but he was clean shaven now. Gone was the arrogant smirk and in its place, a look so serious that it would have been better placed on his uncle. Jon continued staring at him at a length that would be rude if anyone were paying him any attention, but he studied the man as his green eyes swept over the family. When Jaime's eyes fell on his uncle, Jaime obviously clenched his jaw and glared, his lip curling ever so slightly, before he wrenched his eyes from him and then quite suddenly connected with his eyes. Jon froze and his own eyes widened at being caught staring. Jaime's eyes seemed to narrow in suspicious and then after a moment, he gave him a curt nod before proceeding to dismount with the rest of the Kingsguard.

Jon's heart froze in his chest. The vast majority of nobles who looked over the family would have to be straining awfully hard to see him and that's only if they were looking, which none ever were. So why did Jaime even acknowledge him? He would have to figure out a way to approach him.

The next person he sought was Tyrion. He lingered astride his horse and Jon had the feeling it was to temporarily stand taller than anyone else. The dwarf looked on the proceedings with barely concealed amusement and mocking. He never once looked at Jon.

The great carriage the queen and her daughter and son sat in rolled in as slowly as the ocean's tide. The door was open and Queen Cersei descended like she was a goddess descending from on high

to try and pretend like she cared about the peasantry. Behind her, two young girls the very picture of their mother climbed out gracefully. Wait...girls? Where was Prince Tommen? No other children emerged.

King Robert was marching along the line of his cousins, giving Robb a hearty slap on the back and complementing the girls. Jon had to suppress his grin at Arya's terribly concealed eye roll only to be glared at by her mother. Just as before, Robert did not hesitate to drag his uncle off to the crypts where he knew the proposition of Hand and Sansa's marriage would be agreed upon. Jon suppressed a shudder and simply kept observing.

Cersei only just deigned to tilt her head and look at Eddard and Catelyn Stark's numerous children with a small smile. She stopped on Sansa and said, "You're a pretty one. What's your name, little dove?"

Sansa had a look on her face like all of her dreams had come true at once. "Sansa, Your Grace."

"Best keep an eye on her, Lady Catelyn. I imagine the whole of the Seven Kingdom shall be clamoring for her hand," the queen said, but there was no denying the condescending smile on her face. Her eyes appeared almost predatory, but the Lady Catelyn merely smiled graciously and thanked her for her compliments regarding her daughter. Jon's insides churned and he vowed to make sure Sansa didn't go to King's Landing to be preyed upon by Cersei and Joffrey.

Prince Joffrey was introduced, then Myrcella, and the final girl who couldn't have been more than five was Julianna. Jon kept looking at the Lannister brothers' faces. Tyrion now looked just amused and he was gracious to Lady Stark and the children, but Jaime's face could have been carved from stone. Perhaps he was mistaken, but he appeared to be maintaining a certain distance from his sister.

If this Jaime did indeed carry the memories of the life before, there was no uncertainty as to why. Cersei had committed the gravest sin of using wildfire, betrayed both of her brothers, and ultimately tried to have both of them killed. Jon couldn't imagine having to be in forced proximity to the one who tried to kill him. Granted, Cersei wasn't quite as mad now as she was then, but the madness had always been there, it just needed to be unearthed.

Catelyn finally dismissed everyone and Jon was happy to duck out and squirrel away in his room until the feast this evening. Lady Stark had taken him aside earlier that day and told him that bastards were not to be seen. He had nodded at her curtly and then went to the library to take out a book called 'The Great and Noble Houses of Westeros.' He had considered going to the library now, but he expected Tyrion to make a beeline either straight for it or to the local brothel and he wasn't ready yet to meet with the little Lannister. Jaime Lannister was probably on duty protecting either the king or the queen, so there was no chance of pulling him away for a private meeting, if

he even looked at him twice.

For once, Jon was grateful to be positioned outside of the nobility at a separate table. He had a better vantage point to see everyone else without being seen. He rolled his eyes at the pomp and circumstance on display as the King and House Stark came in. The king and queen first were arm and arm, deliberately not looking at each other and they separated at the first moment they could. Lord and Lady Stark followed, looking like one of the only two couples pleased to be there. Joffrey and Sansa followed. Sansa looked like she was floating on a cloud as she beamed at everyone. Joffrey was smiling, but he seemed less enthused. Robb accompanied Myrcella, the latter of whom seemed just as starstruck by Robb as Sansa was by Joffrey. Bran and Julianna walked arm in arm and...Jon had to stifle a laugh. Arya went arm in arm with Tyrion. In the previous life, she had come to hate Tyrion with every fiber of her being, but here she was almost as enthused as Sansa and that was because she found 'the imp' fascinating. Tyrion seemed to find her own enjoyment amusing. The Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Mandon Moore, and Ser Boros Blount were on guard this evening. Ser Mandon and Ser Barristan were positioned behind the king and queen, but Ser Jaime was actually positioned closer to the exit, looking like he couldn't wait to duck out. Of the Kingsguard there, he was the most stolid and easily the most intimidating. The servants who passed him bent around him like water bending around a boulder in a stream.

The people had to remain standing as long as the King did. Robert finally opened his arms wide and said, "Let the feast begin."

Jon ate mechanically. When he had initially come to with memories of his previous life, he had almost gaped at the excess of food available in Winterfell, a place that was already known for its sparity. It had been years since he had been allowed to indulge in an apple and oatmeal with honey and brown sugar mixed in. He was used to it once more, but he glanced around now at the excess of food and wrinkled his nose. Not that this was anything they could save until winter, but he felt a feast like this could have fed the entirety of his ten thousand men at the end.

Mostly though, he was keeping an eye on Sansa and Joffrey. Just as before, this Joffrey was crowing his accomplishments, which he was certain had to be more than a little embellished since he couldn't be more than four-and-ten. But Sansa was lapping it up like he was one of the princes from her beloved songs. Arya was clearly bored with Bran on her right. She, naturally had no interest in what the princesses were saying to Jeyne Poole and she was already fiddling with her silverware, her eyes darting to Sansa with a mischievous look in them.

Robb and Theon too looked bored, since the prince was too busy regaling Sansa to talk about weapons and training. At one point, Robb sighed and looked around. He caught his brother's eye and made a face like he was being hanged and winked at his brother. You're not missing anything, the wink said.

It was interesting how perspective changed with experience. Previously, Jon would have given anything to be known as a Stark and sitting among his cousins, but after having lived with a legitimate title, he knew that he was missing nothing vital and in fact wished he could creep away to his room to continue reading. As it was, he tapped his feet with nervous energy and stirred his food around, occasionally forcing a bite down his throat, determined not to let a single morsel go to waste.

He glanced up at the high table. The king was making an ass of himself by fondling one of the serving girls on his lap and his uncle was trying desperately to appear like he didn't approve of the behavior without looking like he wanted to rain on the king's evening. Cersei was doing her level best to ignore the way her husband was dishonoring her, by having a conversation with Catelyn, but by the bored look on her face, she wasn't even listening to what Catelyn was saying.

A hand clapped on his shoulder. "Jon, good to see ya!"

"Uncle Benjen," Jon cried out, his glee not the least bit forced. It was refreshing to look up into his face and see pink flesh and the light dancing in his uncle's eyes. It was a far cry from what the undead, clammy and too pale thing he'd turned into north of the wall. He leapt up and embraced his uncle. "I hope your journey was pleasant."

"The summer journeys are always pleasant. Not a lot of snow on the road, plenty of game for predator's to catch that aren't me and the horse, and the weather is pleasant, of course."

"I can imagine," Jon said. "Don't get too many pleasant journeys north of the wall?"

"You might be surprised. All is quiet north of the wall."

No it isn't, Jon thought. He knew his uncle wasn't there just for a pleasant visit with his brother's family. He still grinned and asked, "Do you have anymore interesting stories for us?"

"Not particularly. The Wall is as it always is. We don't have enough men to man it and our resources are limited. I've come to see your father on whether he has anymore contributions he and the southern lords can make. I've seen an increasing number of direwolves and shadow cats close to the wall. In fact, I've heard your and your siblings now have direwolf pups of your own."

Jon's smile was real this time. "Yes, mine is Ghost! I can take you out to see him!"

"Oh no, you won't get out of the feast that easy," Benjen said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"It's not like the king will miss a bastard," Jon muttered so that only Benjen could here.

"Maybe so, but your father will miss you. Speaking of, I better go greet him. Nice to see you again, nephew."

"Uncle," Jon said with a nod goodbye.

It was at that moment a girlish shriek rent through the hall. Everyone turned to see Sansa gaping at her beautiful new gown now smeared with potatoes. Arya howled with laughter.

"Arya!"

Lady Stark made a motion with her hand at Robb and he instantly stood and grabbed their sister. "Off to bed with you."

Once Arya and Robb were gone, Lord Stark summoned a small band that kicked up a tune. There was a roar of approval and couples were soon populating the floor. Sansa all but dragged Joffrey to the dance floor.

Jon was just about to stand up and head out into the night for a breath of fresh air when a memory long buried suddenly shot through his head and he froze: Mance Rayder is here. He was sitting around the fire with Mance, his wife, and his wife's sister, sharing a meal. The fire caused the deep lines in Mance's face to cut even deeper as his voice mentioned sneaking into the king's entourage and playing at Winterfell on that first night.

Slowly, Jon's gaze swept the hall. There were a few other men that were still walking around trying to be heard over the den of the band. None of them matched the King-Beyond-the-Wall. He was just walking through the hall to head out the door when he finally spotted him, resting against the wall, knocking back a mug of ale. Jon hurried on and focused on the exit before he could be caught staring again. He wished desperately to be able to approach him, but there was no way of accomplishing that without either causing a riot or Mance Rayder to question his sanity. He made a mental note and went on.

He had to pass Jaime Lannister to get out of the hall. Jaime's gaze seemed to linger on him as he

passed, but there was no noticeable shift in demeanor in the Kingsguard. He did make Jon feel like a child who was trying to sneak a pocketful of sweetcakes past him and he may have passed him at a brisker pace than was normal.

He inhaled deeply once he stepped foot outside. Even though he'd been back for near six months, he still expected a frigid blast of cold air to freeze his lungs, instead of the pleasantly sweet summer chill that was the north. He headed over to the kennel where the direwolf pups had been put up for the night. Ghost yipped happily as he set him free.

"Good to see you, Ghost. I'm sorry you have to be in the cage. Lord Stark's orders, I'm afraid. Come, let's go to the godswood."

Ghost trotted at his feet, glancing up with his tongue hanging out of his mouth happily. A hush fell over them as soon as they entered the Godswood and it was the first time since he'd been back that he felt like the gods were listening. He didn't head straight for the tree, but instead walked around, smiling as Ghost bounded ahead and sniffed the area around the tree, no doubt looking for rabbits or squirrels.

Eventually, he wound back around until he was staring at the bloodied face of the weirwood tree. He studied it meticulously, but it was as plain as it ever was. He reached a hand out to it, hesitated a moment, and then connected with the face, cupping its cheek almost lovingly.

"What would you have me do? I'm still no closer to figuring out how to circumvent what is about to happen. What is your will?"

Jon held his breath. Even Ghost stopped to stare at the weirwood, cocking his head as though the answer would come to his ears. With a gentle brush of the wind, the leaves trembled in the trees, but soon even that too faded away to silence. Still nothing.

This wasn't the first time he had sought out the weirwood tree for answers upon being back. He at least knew now that the gods had to exist in order for him to be back, but so far they remained hushed about their intentions. "Please don't leave me alone in this," Jon whispered to the night sky.

The snapping of a stick caused him to whirl around and he once more reached for a sword that didn't exist at his belt. His hackles were raised and he looked around for anything that could serve as a weapon, but he couldn't even see so much as a large stick. He braced himself and waited.

A figure with a black cloak and the hood drawn approached him, without faltering in step, and then stopped just on the other side of the pond. The person flipped his hood back and Jon almost gasped upon recognizing the blonde hair of Jaime Lannister. He peered curiously at Jon for a moment and then said, "Ah, Ned Stark's bastard. I'm afraid I didn't catch your name. Was it Jon...or Aemon?"

Chapter 3 - Jon IV

Chapter Notes

Trigger Warning: A recount of a suicide. If you are having suicidal thoughts, please seek help! You matter!

Chapter 3

Jon IV

"It's Jon...for now," Jon said.

Ser Jaime still regarded him warily. "I met a wildling once. I challenged him to an arm wrestle. He was big, but with my right arm I pulled him over with nary a sweat."

Jon laughed. "It was your left arm and I remember you losing rather spectacularly to Tormund."

Jaime's guarded expression turned into one of relief and he stepped closer. Jon was surprised when Jaime wrapped him up in a hug. At first Jon thought he might be weeping, but when Jaime pulled back his eyes were clear and dry, but there was no denying that Jaime looked the happiest he had seen him since Brienne died.

"It's such a relief to know there's at least one other person who remembers that time. I thought I was the mad one after so many years of remembering the Long Night."

Jon cocked his head in curiosity. "Did you try to tell people of the Long Night?"

"Oh certainly not. You saw how well the South believed us the last time. You think they'll believe me in the midst of the longest summer on record?" He shook his head. "No, I've been...biding my time, as far as I can tell. Waiting...for you."

"Biding…? How long have you been back?"

Jaime blinked at him in confusion. "I came back on the day of my sister's wedding."

"To King Robert?!" Jon hissed. He tried to keep his voice low in case there was anyone nearby, but he came close to shouting at that.

Jaime stared at him suspiciously. "How long have you been back?"

"Only about six months."

"That settles it. The gods sent me back that far for a reason," Jaime replied, his expression the very definition of stone. "Have you noticed something funny about my sister's children?"

"Tommen's missing."

"Anything else?"

"They're not yours, are they?"

"Do you really think I could sleep with her after what she did in our other life? She is almost single-handedly the reason we lost that war."

"We won that war."

"Hmm...how long did you live after that wound?" Jaime said with his old smug, superior smile.

"Long enough to see the the sunrise...a few minutes after you died," Jon replied with a grimace.

"Just as I thought. You were the last king and you died without heirs. The Night King accomplished what he wanted. Doesn't matter if he didn't live to see it," Jaime replied. "Otherwise, the gods wouldn't have seen fit to have us relive our lives. I've been forced to guard your father's murderer while he spirals the kingdom into mountains of debt with my father."

Jon blinked at him. "You've been loyal to me all this time? Even when I was just a babe?"

Jaime looked affronted. "After what we've been through, you'd doubt my loyalty?"

"N-no. I'm sorry. I know that winning your loyalty was hard fought, but once I have it, I can count on it. I'm especially pleased you're speaking again." Jaime shrugged and nodded and then Jon asked, "Why did you stop speaking?"

"I had nothing else to say," Jaime replied curtly. "So, you've been back for six months. Do you have a plan to take the throne yet?" He shifted so that he was leaning against a tree. Every once in awhile, his eyes would sweep the area for any movement that might indicate another presence.

Jon sighed and shook his head. "No. I may not be a bastard, but that's not my currently reality. I have no power here and I'm afraid of what my uncle might do if I went to him about this."

"You would have his support, I'm sure, but I'm still not clear on when the best time would be to spring this."

"You've had more than ten years to think on this. Any ideas?" Jaime grimaced. "Have you not thought about it at all?"

"No, I have. There's little else to do when you stand around for days at a time. My plan boiled down to coming up here and accepting you as my squire. Without your memory, you would have been reluctant to the idea and your uncle would almost certainly object too because of me. But earning a knighthood under a Kingsguard is perfectly acceptable for a bastard. Then if my sister killed off Robert like she did last time, I would do what I could to make sure Ned doesn't lose his head and secret him and his children away from King's Landing."

"You'd be considered a traitor to your family."

"To Lord Tywin and Cersei?" Jaime barked a laugh. "I have little regard for what either of them thinks."

"What about Tyrion?"

"Maybe father will actually make him the heir like he deserves to be then."

"Very well. I don't have any better plans. I certainly wasn't going to go back to the Wall. I'll accept to be your squire," Jon said, rubbing his chin as he thought.

"Are your skills back to where they were at the end?" Jaime asked. A raven suddenly fled its roost and Jaime's sword was in his hand in the next instant. Jon shrank back so that he was in the shadows. His eyes followed Jaime as he crept off as silent as a ghost into the trees where his black cloak allowed him to disappear. Several minutes passed where he could hear nothing. After sometime, he could hear Jaime making his way back, having clearly made a loop around the area.

"This was all that I could find," Jaime said with a wry smile, holding Ghost up by the scruff of his neck. His pup tried to wriggle away, but otherwise did not cry.

"Ghost!" Jon stepped forward and grabbed him. "Stay close, boy. Jaime could've accidentally killed you."

"Not likely. He's easy to spot. Besides, he came in dead useful for the war," Jaime replied. "Now...about your swordsmanship. How are you doing?"

"I'm not quite back to what I used to be, but I'm already leaps and bounds better than when I went off to the Night's Watch."

"Good. Only men who show an uncharacteristic amount of talent and promise are ever selected for squireship to a knight of the Kingsguard. Podrick Payne being the exception," Jaime said, but he was smiling and there was a faraway look in his eyes.

"Pod was an exceptional man," Jon said, fondness coloring his voice. It saddened him that he didn't know the young man's fate. He prayed it hadn't been too difficult for him at the end. "How does it feel to have your swordhand back?"

"You should have seen me when I first came back. I nearly got kicked out of the Kingsguard. My instincts were backwards with my right hand, but my left hand wasn't trained either. For about a week, I was absolutely useless. I was the talk of court. My sister was upset - that wasn't the only reason she was upset - and my father thought I was disgracing my position, even though he didn't want me in the Kingsguard. Maester Pycelle was at his most useless. He tried to say that I suffered a stroke in my sleep and 'forgot' how to fight right-handed. Robert very nearly had it with me then,

but I persuaded him to let me stay on for another week to see if there was any improvement. Naturally, I trained extra hard and I'm back to where I was before my hand got cut off. I even went ahead and trained with my left hand as well, just in case."

"You don't seem too concerned about the prospect of losing your hand again."

He shrugged. "I got used to not having it. My mind never really forgot it, but I was able to turn my instincts around. I've actually been praying to the gods to give me back the ability to see sounds. That was dead useful."

"You, praying?" Jon had to stifle a laugh. Jaime had been one to make acerbic comments about whether the gods were really listening or not.

"There are clearly gods or we wouldn't be talking right now. And I know they're listening or watching. Whichever you prefer."

"And how did you discover that?"

"I tried to kill myself."

Jon's heart dropped into his stomach and he gaped at Jaime. "Again?"

Jaime frowned severely at him. "What do you mean 'again?'"

"You tried to kill yourself after Brienne died."

"Oh, that. No...no that was unintentional. I was grieving, I couldn't feel the cold. I didn't even realize what happened until I woke up."

"That's a small relief to hear, but it was still foolish," Jon grumbled. "So...why did you try to kill yourself?"

"I couldn't take it anymore. It was about a year after Julianna had been born. I did what the gods

wanted; I didn't sleep with my sister. I was forced to live and serve people I hated, day in and day out. I stand outside the door when Robert's whoring and I stand outside Cersei's door when she's whoring. She makes a special point to do it when I'm there for rejecting her. I didn't see the point of continuing. The only person I could rely on was Tyrion and I saw him sparingly."

"What about Brienne?"

"She was just a little girl training with her sword at that point. She would have gone on to be of great service to you, never knowing me. I know you would have treated her well." Jaime's eyes were cast to the ground and he fell into silence. Jon was just about ready to prod him further when he continued, "I went to the godswood. No one ever goes there. There would've been no one to interrupt me. I was carrying a noose and I headed straight for the weirwood tree. It's not a true weirwood, like this one, but it would serve its purpose. I climbed it and tied the rope around the thickest branch I could find and then I hung it around my neck. I just sat there for a moment, enjoying the quiet. Then I shoved off the branch." His voice seemed to catch in his throat. He was quiet for the longest time and he said, "Hanging is a painful way to die. My throat was on fire and my head was pounding and my lungs were burning, but I never tried to get down or clawed at my neck. I blacked out. It seemed to take forever to get to that point. I had a dream. I thought it was rather funny to be having dreams since the last time I died, it was like falling asleep after a long day.

"I dreamed of Brienne. Of course, I did. I dreamed of the time right after losing my hand. I had given up on living then and she was the one who encouraged me to keep going, to fight back, get my revenge. This time, though, I said, 'I don't have anything worth fighting for.' And there was a voice. It was deep and dark and full of...knowing. It said, 'Of course you do. He awaits you in Winterfell.'

"Next thing I know, I open my eyes and I'm lying at the foot of the weirwood tree. The rope that I was hanging on is swinging above me like I had just fallen and there was a telltale smell of burning. The rope had been burned through halfway down the length. I left both pieces there and trudged back to the White Tower. I had a terrible headache and for two weeks I had a dark ugly bruise and rope burns around my neck. My voice was a horrible croak and I had to eat soup while my throat healed. Rumors had it that I had a rough time with a whore. I think Cersei spread those rumors. No one asked me about it, but I think Ser Barristan Selmy knew. He wore a look of pity every time he saw me until the bruise finally healed. I also never got reprimanded for supposedly lying with a whore even though Kingsguard are supposed to be celibate. Now that I think about it, the old knight hasn't been quite so dreadful to me as he used to be for soiling my cloak by killing the king.

"So now you know. The gods are watching us," Jaime said, sounding oddly superior for having just related the tale of how he committed suicide.

Jon felt like he was dying inside and he seemed to struggle to find the right words. "Seven hells, Jaime! I'm glad you're alive."

"Me too," Jaime replied with a faint smile. "It only took another four years of torture, but we have finally arrived at the starting point. It's such a relief to know you still have your memories. The task doesn't seem so big anymore."

"But it's just the two of us."

"We'll manage." Jaime glanced up at the sky then and said, "The night's almost done. We've been here for too long already. I'll be watching your training. Do me proud. I can't take a squire who doesn't deserve it." He turned away when he stopped again and said, "And keep your brother from climbing. Just because I won't be there, doesn't mean that someone else won't be."

Jon nodded. Ghost had gotten tired of hearing them talk and curled up at Jon's feet, burying his nose into his tail. When Jon bent to pick him up, he cradled him like a baby and held him close to his chest. He held him so out of convenience, but mostly out of comfort. Not for the first time he took solace in having a loving family, the only exception being Catelyn Stark. What would it be like to live in a place where you hate everyone and have not a single friend?

Jaime might have been better off joining the Night's Watch. He wouldn't have had to put up with listening to his sister cuckold her husband and he would have ultimately been serving a greater purpose.

Jon went to bed keeping Ghost close. He didn't fall asleep until he could hear the servants stirring at dawn.

Chapter 4 - Jon V

Chapter 4

Jon V

When Jon had entered the hall for breakfast, the king, queen, her children, and the Lannister brothers were already there. Jon couldn't help but notice that Jaime was sitting on the other side of Tyrion, as far away from his sister as he could manage. Was he mistaken or was the queen throwing scathing looks at her twin? He didn't dwell for long and simply joined his family.

Catelyn had stiffened upon seeing him join the rest of the family and she glanced over at her royal guests. When she saw they paid him no attention, she relaxed, but still directed a glare at him, suggesting he should have waited until the royals didn't see him. He ignored her and doled out his own breakfast.

Robb nudged him and said in a barely controlled whisper, "We're going to fight in front of Ser Barristan Selmy today! Can you believe it?"

"I'd be interested in fighting Ser Barristan. How long do you think I'd last?" Jon asked with a grin.

"I'll be impressed if he doesn't disarm you with the first swipe of his sword."

"Hah! Both of you will piss yourselves before going up against the Kingsguard," Theon said. The queen threw Theon a dirty look. Lady Catelyn glared and Lord Stark gave him a stern warning. Theon scowled mutinously at them, but went back to his food.

They trooped out of the hall towards the training yard where Ser Rodrick was already waiting for them with practice swords lined up. He was deep in conversation with Ser Barristan Selmy. One glance at Robb and Jon had to stifle a laugh because he looked about as starstruck as Sansa was the night before when fawning over Joffrey.

"Really? Just practice swords?" Theon said, grabbing one to let it hang loosely in his hand. "I'm hardly a child."

"Yes, training swords," Rodrick replied. "I don't need the king or Lord Stark breathing down my

neck because someone got nicked. You understand?" There was a mumbling of assent from the boys as they grabbed up their favorite swords once more. "Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime have kindly offered to do some lessons today. Pay attention! Not many lads get the opportunity to train with two Kingsguard."

Jon frowned and glanced around, not seeing Jaime, until he looked behind and up. Jaime was perched above them leaning casually over the railing where his uncle usually stood. He was smirking down at them like a lion sizing up its prey. Robb saw him looking and glanced up himself and when he turned away he appeared unsettled.

"Good morning," Ser Barristan said to them. "I am Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. First, does anyone here have an interest in joining the Kingsguard?"

Bran's hand immediately shot up and he was practically bouncing on his toes. Everyone chuckled at his antics. Jon hesitantly raised a hand and tried to keep his eyes on Ser Barristan instead of seeking out Jaime, knowing their plan.

"You, Snow?" Theon sneered. He huffed.

"I'm the best swordsman among the four of us," Jon shot back.

"Kingsguard is a noble calling and of course we accept any man of sufficient talent or skill, whether nobly born or not. We'd like to see how you fight first before we offer any additional lessons. Robb Stark, Jon Snow, you're up first."

With the two Kingsguard present, a crowd of people were drawn to watch. Among the spectators was Joffrey, with an undeservedly smug look on his face, and as per usual the Hound was dogging his heels. Jon squared off and raised his sword in a fighting stance, but he found his eyes unnaturally heavy from exhaustion and was having difficulty keeping them focused on Robb. He almost missed catching Robb's lunge. They battled for a few minutes. Robb was on his front foot pushing the advantage and Jon had to back away and side-step to keep from getting pinned. He saw numerous openings, but when he tried to go for any of them, his reflexes were just a moment too slow. His limbs felt stiff and uncoordinated. After another minute passed, Jon finally felt the blood flowing in his veins and his speed picked up. He landed a kill point on Robb's neck.

"Good. Robb, you left yourself open to attack. You don't need to be so aggressive to impress. Just fight like your master-at-arms has taught you. If Jon had been a little bit quicker, he would've disarmed you some time ago." Robb's cheeks gained a little color in embarrassment, but he simply nodded at Ser Barristan's advice. "Jon, you looked half asleep. Make sure you're ready to fight at

a moment's notice. Other than that, you had excellent form and you held yourself well. I did see one or two moves that were a little sloppy, but your form tightened up as you woke up."

"What's a matter, Snow? Have a little too much to drink last night?" Theon crowed.

"I look better than you. What's a matter, Greyjoy? Ros get a little too rough for you? Oh, I apologize, that's just your face," Jon retorted. Robb burst out in uncontrollable laughter, while Greyjoy's face flushed red.

"Jon," his uncle Ned barked at him from right next to Jaime, who seemed to be trying to suppress a smile.

It really was not a good idea to goad Theon, especially in front of the Kingsguard, but Jon's temper was on too short of a lead for him to care. Although, he was grateful to have someone else to share the burden of preparing for and defeating the Long Night, the troubles Jaime related to him had disturbed him greatly and so he barely got more than a handful of hours of sleep. He had gone on less in the other life, but that other man might as well have been a different person. He had trained for that. He felt like a puppy to the wolf he had been and it was frustrating. Judging by the look Theon was giving him, he was going to make him work for his victory today.

When he met Robb again in a fight, Robb did a little better not trying to be so aggressive, but Jon's blood was up and his limbs were no longer stiff from exhaustion and disuse. He knocked Robb's sword out of his hand after just a minute.

"Jon's awake now, I think," Robb said, picking up his wooden sword from the dirt.

"You did better," Jon said.

"Don't patronize me," Robb replied, but he had a grin on his face.

"You have some real skill, Jon. A most impressive showing. Robb, you did do much better this time around. Where you lack is in your reflexes. Keep training and you'll eventually catch up. Your master-at-arms has done a most impressive job." At this Ser Rodrick puffed up his chest in a comical way.

"Jon and Theon."

Theon appeared ready to chew glass as he stepped into the ring. "I'll get you, Snow."

"You've said that enough, I'm sure this time it must be true," Jon replied.

Theon was standing as stiffly as a stonewall when he went immediately into a lunge and very nearly got Jon in the chest. Jon got his sword up just in time and batted away Theon's. Theon held out longer than Robb, since he was a few years older with a bit more experience under his belt, but his anger made him reckless and eventually he became careless and Jon punched him in the gut with his sword. Theon staggered back, holding his stomach. He lunged for Jon again, but this time without a sword and Jon fell back, but Ser Rodrick caught Theon and forced him back.

"That's enough, Greyjoy! You've had enough for today." Ser Rodrick shoved him back and glared at him. "What do you think it'll take for you to learn to control that temper? Ten laps around Winterfell? Collecting wood all day? Mucking out the stalls? Tell me."

Theon only glared and fell back, still glaring murderously at Jon.

"Now that the bastard has had his fun, I'd like to see how he'd last against me." Jaime strolled over to the fake swords and sorted through them. From the frown on his face, he was finding them all highly dissatisfying, until he finally pulled one out with a grimace. "This will do."

Ser Barristan was watching Jaime as though he thought he had an ulterior motive, but he nodded and stepped aside.

Jon could hear the roar of his blood in his ears. It wasn't all that long ago Jon was skilled enough to knock Jaime's sword from his hand, but this Jaime had his swordhand back. With any luck, I won't humiliate myself, Jon thought as he squared up to the knight.

They stood still for a moment frozen in time. Everything else seemed to fall away as Jaime towered over him with a predatory smile, looking every inch the lion he used to be before the war. Jaime tapped the ground with the endpoint like he used to when he was mute to signal he was ready, but Jon refused to make the first attack. Jaime started off with a slow sweep, as though he were trying to bait Jon into going on the offensive, but he refused, hanging back and watching what the knight did. It didn't take long for the battle to become faster. Jon didn't have time to think about his moves, he just reacted while Jaime seemed to only get happier with each strike.

At one point they broke apart and circled each other. "Not bad, bastard. You're too timid. Don't be afraid to strike at me."

"I know better than to underestimate you."

"You're just preparing yourself for a slow death. You do know what lions love best, right?"

"Gold?"

"To play with their food." Jaime's sword flashed and Jon barely managed to catch it. The next blow came quick as lightning and Jon could feel himself being pushed back into the crowd of men at the edge and he barely managed to jump sideways before he fell out of the ring. It was all he could do to keep his sword between himself and Jaime until finally Jon fumbled, his sword's hilt slipped in his fingers, and Jaime jabbed him hard in the shoulder. He sprawled in the ground and Jon could hear Theon shout and laugh.

Jaime crouched over him with his usual smug smile, his eyes dancing, and not a hair out of place, compared to Jon who was breathing hard and his hair was plastered to his head with sweat. "Not bad, bastard. You certainly have potential," he said, holding out a hand courteously to help him up. Jon gave him an exasperated look. It grated him to being called bastard once more.

As Jaime yanked him to his feet, he was brought back to the present. An uncharacteristic quiet had fallen on the crowd and Jon looked around to see everyone in Winterfell and Robb were staring at him with their jaws open. Ser Barristan Selmy seemed stunned, the crown prince Joffrey looked disgusted, and the Hound in awe.

"Keep training and you might be able to disarm Ser Barristan someday," Jaime replied flippantly and stuck the practice sword back into its slot and walked off.

Ser Barristan seemed to break out of his spell and he asked, "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I've been training hard in the yard for a while now," Jon said with a shrug.

"I've had shorter fights with Ser Jaime."

"He was playing with me the entire time."

"Not the entire time. That was most impressive. You're certainly not as quick and your moves were sloppy, but you still held him at bay and made smart moves to distance yourself from him when you knew he was backing you into a corner. You've got great instincts," Ser Barristan replied. A strange look fell over him. "I haven't seen him so delighted in years."

Jon shrugged and rubbed his shoulders. With his spill in the dirt, Jaime had reawakened the ache in his limbs from his lack of sleep and exhaustion swept over him.

"Alright, who wants to train next?"

An obnoxious laugh cut through the air. "Nice try, bastard, but my uncle is the greatest swordsman in the land. Doesn't matter how hard you train, you'll never beat him," Prince Joffrey said with a smirk.

"I'm sure the prince must have some of his uncle's natural talent. Come show us, My Prince. We would be delighted to see what kind of moves you have," Jon replied innocently.

The boy's face paled and he said, "I don't play with wooden swords. Live steel only." With that he turned away and stalked off and the Hound followed him.

"Let's move on, shall we? Robb, come spar with me," Ser Barristan said, waving him over.

Robb virtually beamed and he playfully punched Jon in in the shoulder as he passed him. The next few hours was of Barristan Selmy sparring with each of them and giving pointers on foot placement and fighting styles. Of all the trainers Jon had the opportunity to learn from, Ser Barristan was the most patient and even he learned a few things that he hadn't known from his previous life, which would help him conserve energy on the battlefield and maximize the damage he could do.

Jaime had all but disappeared after his sparring session with Jon. Apparently fighting him had been the only reason he had bothered to 'volunteer' his time since he left without teaching a damn thing. He supposed that was par for the course for Jaime of old.

They broke a few hours before to prepare for another feast. Jon obligingly called for a bath, but he was less enthused for this feast. He rather doubted he would have another opportunity to speak with Jaime in such an open fashion as the night before.

Chapter 5 - Jon VI

Chapter Summary

2/9/2019: Updated Chapters Prologue - 5 here.

Chapter 5

Jon VI

Jon was surprised when he walked over to the training yard after breakfast to find Jaime waiting for him, only this time he was actually dressed in his armor rather than the light leathers he had been wearing yesterday. His smirk became mocking as soon as he caught sight of him.

"Bastard, you're going to spar with me again and I will give you additional pointers," he said, tossing him a wooden sword.

"I have a name," Jon growled, catching the sword. He didn't hesitate to step into the ring, but when he looked back, Robb's eyes were the size of gold dragons. Even as he stood there, people around Winterfell were dropping what they were doing to come over and watch.

Jon sighed inwardly. Trust Jaime to make this a spectacle. "Why are you wearing your armor?"

"A handicap. I will be slower, easier to fight against," Jaime replied.

Jon huffed. The next hour was spent fighting Jaime who did not let a single opportunity to sneak in a hit pass him by. Jon was well-rested this time and he put up a stronger front. He never did get more than a few jabs at Jaime that actually landed, but the lion always came roaring back and put him in the dirt no fewer than three times. After Jon staggered off the field, Robb challenged Jaime to a sparring session. Jaime humored him and disarmed him three times accompanied with two rolls in the dirt as well. Theon then asked if he could try his luck and Jaime obliged. He seemed somehow even harder on Greyjoy and nearly broke his hand when disarming him.

"Son of a bitch," Theon screamed, holding his hand to his chest.

Jaime gave him no leeway and jabbed him in the chest. "No fight is ever over until it's over. Never drop your guard."

"You broke my hand!"

"And in a real battle, I would have immediately beheaded you," Jaime replied.

He went over to put his sword away when a voice called out, "I think you've had enough fun beating up these boys. Care to give them a real fight, Ser Jaime?" The crowd parted as Ser Barristan strode forward in his own armor.

"Very well, Ser Barristan. Choose your weapon," Jaime said, striding back out onto the ring.

A murmur of excitement filtered through the crowd. Bran looked about ready to faint from excitement and Jon put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. He himself felt his heart pounding just as hard now as when he had been training. They hadn't the privilege of seeing the Kingsguard practice against each other before, so even he was excited to see what two Kingsguard could do to each other.

Ser Barristan took his time and finally made his selection. They squared off. The entire crowd seemed to hold their breath. Jaime was no longer smiling now. The Lion of Lannister was preparing to pounce.

Jaime started the attack, but Ser Barristan blocked his sword and countered. It was clear the two had been sparring against each other for some time because they were constantly countering the other. For a man of such considerable age, Ser Barristan was quick on his feet and with his sword, but Jaime was still quicker. Jon couldn't keep the smile from his face as he watched the battle. He knew the Jaime from his old life had been a shadow of his former self, but it was quite startling to see just how small of a shadow he had become. If this Jaime had been fighting the Night King, he would have been able to behead him in three moves, without getting mortally wounded. He didn't care if the whole point of becoming Jaime's squire was a charade to get him the throne, he would relish every minute of training he could get from him if it might mean he would fight like that someday.

Jaime and Ser Barristan were fighting in close quarters. Barristan made to jab Jaime in his right side, but Jaime merely shifted his body so the sword went right past him and then behind his back he changed his sword from his right hand to his left. Barristan saw the change a moment too late

and got smacked in the ribs. He staggered back trying to keep his sword up, but Jaime was already swooping in for the kill. With his left hand he artfully pushed Barristan's sword to the side and brought his sword up to the old knight's neck.

"I yield," Barristan said.

And just like that, Jaime nodded, pulled his sword away and smirked at his commander. "You still don't see the left hand coming, even after all these years."

"I suspected you would pull it out at some point," Barristan said.

Jaime deposited his sword and started walking off, when he turned and said, "Bastard, same time tomorrow."

"Does this mean you're taking me on as a squire?" Jon asked.

But Jaime continued walking as if he hadn't heard him. Jon sighed.

"You should be flattered," Ser Barristan said, coming up to stand beside him. "I haven't seen him take an interest in anything or anyone in years."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked.

"Never mind that. You were even more impressive today than the day before. I noticed you already incorporated some of the things I taught you."

"I like to think that you don't need to tell me twice," Jon replied.

"It's certainly a useful skill. I'll be sure to talk with your father about options for you." Ser Barristan patted him on the back and walked back to the training ring.

As promised, Jaime was waiting in his full Kingsguard armor for Jon the next day after breakfast. Just as before, a crowd gathered to watch and just as before Jon ate dirt more than once. He wasn't

entirely certain that Jaime got a single speck of dirt on him. The Lannister Lion stood pristine in his white cloak like he was the Warrior made flesh.

The King had been present for the training session that day and Jon had seen him stare at him and nod pensively, though he also barked with laughter when Jaime threw him down. He even caught the queen staring down at them from on high where Lord and Lady Stark usually watched the proceedings. If Jon wasn't mistaken, he could see jealousy in her stony face and when she caught him looking at her, she stalked off with her nose up in the air.

Breakfast had somehow become a rather tense affair. Jaime didn't acknowledge him at all while eating and continued to sit with Tyrion, but the queen herself bore such a frosty attitude that she seemed to be generating an actual chill in the room, suppressing conversation if not muting it altogether.

Dany will be a real queen, not given to bouts of ridiculous jealousy, Jon thought and felt his heart ache at the thought of her bright smile. He longed to see her again, but his heart filled with despair. It had been late in his other life when they had first encountered. If it was at all possible, he was going to seek her out long before that, but he was nervous about his reception. She had already been his lover when they had discovered their familial relation. It had made things tense for a while and Dany seemed loathe to give up her goal of taking the throne, the one thing that had kept her going for so long. In the end, she had acquiesced to his claim. He had insisted that they could rule side-by-side when the Night King was defeated, that he would take her as his queen.

She was hesitant at first, but eventually warmed to the idea. Once they were back on warmer terms, she confessed that the idea had initially unsettled her because her brother Viserys had intended to marry her himself against her will. He talked about raping her every night for a pure heir, like her father had done to their mother, but in the end had preferred to sell her for an army which he had never received.

I know you...Aemon. I know you're not that kind of person, who would take me and rape me, but...it scared me. I had to be sure, she whispered to him while they lay entangled in bed, holding on tightly to each other as though keeping her close would be enough to banish the cold.

"I would never do that to you. You will be my queen and I shall lay gifts at your feet everyday, as long as you'll let me," he had whispered back into her ear, which had caused her to shiver.

"Just love me," she replied. He had happily rolled over and buried himself inside her once more.

He used their memories of his time together to get him through the lonely nights here at Winterfell.

Though thinking of her before sleep only seemed to inspire his nightmares to feature her death in graphic detail. It had been enough to make him hurl. His family had thought him sick whenever he was discovered weak and shivery in his bed.

A few days later Jon had to return the book about noble families to the library and get a new one. He first went to go replace the book and almost knocked over Tyrion.

"Oh, my apologies, My Lord! I wasn't pay attention. You're not hurt are you?"

"No need to be so fussy, bastard. I won't call for your head, though my father might," Tyrion replied with a wry grin. Jon looked around and saw that the dwarf had found himself a cozy little nook in the library with cushioned seats, several books at hand, and as always wine.

Jon frowned down at him. "You too? My name is Jon."

"You've got fire, I'll give you that, Jon," Tyrion replied, putting extra emphasis on his name. "That's good. In the world you might enter, it's important to stick up for yourself. No good knight was ever known for being a doormat after all."

"Are you referring to your brother accepting me as a squire?"

"What else? I must say, I'm quite fascinated with you. Anyone who can knock my brother out of his decades long stupor must be something special. You certainly fight like Jaime did when he was young. It wouldn't be so difficult to see you as my brother's protege."

"Decades long stupor?"

"Oh yes, it turns out being a Kingsguard is an awfully dull life. He just stands around and makes sure no harm comes to the king and queen. That's hardly what any boy who dreams of being a knight ever imagines himself doing. If there ever is any excitement, it's either a tournament or the king's life is truly at stake and that's never a situation anyone wants to be in. His Grace is rather fond of tournaments, so Jaime's cut his chops unseating other men in the joust or beating them up in the melee. Next time there's a tournament, you should fight in the melee. You held out long enough against my brother that you must be a top three contender."

"Uhh...thank you, My Lord."

"Tyrion. My father is still the lord," Tyrion raised a cup of wine to him in a mocking toast. "Long may he reign. So tell me, Jon, what's so special about you that my brother actually noticed?"

I am the last true son of Rhaegar Targaryen and your brother and I go a long way back. I am the last person that sees him for who he is, Jon thought, but naturally he couldn't answer that. "I don't know, My Lo-Tyrion. It must be because of how good I am with a sword."

"That's not that special. My brother has had hundreds of boys begging to be his squire every year, including Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. It's speculated that at the next tourney he might even be able to best my brother in combat and yet he still refused him for a squire."

"The Knight of Flowers doesn't sound like something Ser Jaime would want to associate with."

Tyrion grinned. "True enough. Once you get past the name though, you see the family. The Tyrells are exceedingly important and exceedingly rich. It would make a great ally to House Lannister and still my brother refused."

"I thought only marriages counted for allies."

"Any relationship can be counted on for allies. Granted, some are stronger than others, but to be the squire of the greatest sword in Westeros is a title that many have tried to pay my brother for, not that he needs it since he has access to all the gold of Casterly Rock. So why you?"

Jon opened his mouth, finding he had no words, when a knock came at the door and they both looked up to find Robb staring earnestly at him.

"What is it?"

"Father wants to see you in his solar."

"Any idea why?"

Robb's eyebrows shot up into his hair. "I think you know why. Everyone in the castle knows why."

"Sounds like you have a squireship to discuss. It was nice talking to you, Jon Snow. I'll take your book. Interesting that you'd be reading up on the houses."

"I might be squiring in the South. It'd be good to know more about it," Jon replied, though he didn't quite understand why he was explaining himself to Tyrion. He liked Tyrion and he hoped he could count him among his friends again, but at the moment the dwarf's opinion was superfluous. Jon nodded at him and headed for the door. His brother fell into step beside him.

"I am so proud of you, brother," Robb started. "I thought it was a foregone conclusion that you'd be gone to the Wall - which is not bad. We can always use more good men on the Wall - but...a future knight and possible member of the Kingsguard? You'll be in King's Landing guarding Sansa. I will feel better about her heading to that viper's nest knowing you're there to watch over her."

Just the mention of King's Landing made the blood run cold in his veins and his voice caught in his throat. He had no experience navigating the political waters of the Red Keep and he and Jaime were going to attempt to overthrow either Robert or Joffrey. They could very well end up dead in the attempt and then the whole world would fall to the Night King. He shivered as the weight of the world once more came to bear down on his shoulders.

"Look, I know Sansa has never been kind to you, but she does love you. You are her brother. I know it will please her to have family so close."

Jon nodded. "I know. I hope I get there."

"With Jaime Lannister as your knight? He may be a Kingslayer, but he has been remarkable. I hope you prosper under his tutelage."

"I'll certainly work hard," Jon replied. They reached the door of his uncle's solar. Jon gave Robb one last look like he was heading to the executioner's block, knocked, and entered when given the summons. To his surprise, not only was his uncle Eddard there, but so were Benjen, Maester Luwin, and Lady Catelyn were all seated in a circle.

"My Lords, My Lady, maester," Jon said.

"Ah, Jon, come sit."

He looked around at them all and asked, "Has someone asked to take me as a squire?"

"Indeed, Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan as well," Ned replied. "I can't tell you how proud I am that you have garnered the attention of two knights of the realm."

A warmth filled Jon's belly and he sat up straighter if that was at all possible. Even though he was actually older than the child he currently was, it still pleased him to know that he made his uncle proud.

"What do you think of Jaime Lannister?"

"He's incredible. I have never seen a fighter move so quickly. It really does feel like I'm facing off against a lion. I think I could learn a lot from him. I just wish he'd stop calling me bastard," Jon said. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had to somehow win over his uncle and convince him to let him squire with Ser Jaime. If the worst should happen, Jon would declare that he was a man grown and could make his own choices, but he'd rather not leave the room on such a sour note.

"He may never refer to you by name, at least not until you become a knight and choose your own name. He is certainly impressive, but is he really the best example of a knight?"

Jon hesitated a moment to see if anyone else said anything and asked, "You're referring to the kingslaying?"

"He swore an oath to protect his king and he broke it."

"I was under the impression that the war was essentially done by the time he killed Mad King Aerys. He just made it a little shorter," Jon said, affecting a tone of pleasantly confused.

"Indeed, Jon, the war was done. Ser Jaime's father Lord Tywin was already sacking the city by the time he killed the king. Speculation suggests he was doing his father's bidding, but...as I said, it's just speculation," Maester Luwin replied.

"More like he was trying to save his own skin," Uncle Benjen chimed in. "He was the only one of his brother's left in the Red Keep. His death was all but assured."

"He was young. It's a lot harder for the young to accept death, no matter what they say," Ned said, with an earnest expression. "One could argue that he gave the Mad King a kinder death than the one King Robert had in store for him, but when I found him, he did not appear in the least bit remorseful. He was sitting on the throne! He mocked me, but ultimately laid his sword at my feet. He is not an honorable man."

Jon had heard all this before from Jaime himself. Jaime had been just a few years older than he himself was at that point and from the way he talked about it, Jon was certain that moment haunted Jaime even to this life. The Lannister papered over his insecurities with a mask of arrogance and bravado, but as he grew older the mask became ill-fitting.

"Do you think it's possible that he knew something you don't?" Jon asked. He was very careful about articulating the question. He wasn't to know Jaime, so why would he defend someone he didn't know?

"What do you mean?"

"A Kingsguard is vowed to keep his liege's secrets. Maybe he hasn't said everything about what happened? I don't know. I just know that if I had been him, I don't think I'd know what to do. What if it wasn't you coming to kill the king, what if it was his father? You think he would've been able to kill his father? Do you think I could kill you in a moment like that?"

Everyone shifted uneasily. Ned looked trouble, Benjen and Maester Luwin seemed thoughtful, and Lady Catelyn was stunned.

"It would be your duty to face me."

"You would kill me?" Jon asked, leaning away from Lord Stark with an uneasy expression. "You think I would deserve to die for serving a king for life, a king that came to be hated?" He prepared to bolt. How could he live under Winterfell's roof knowing that his uncle thought he deserved death in such an instance?

Ned stroked his beard. "I...I must admit, I hadn't given it that much thought. I took him at his

word…" He thought about it for another second and then dismissed it and said to him, "No...I would not expect you to kill me, nor I would be able to kill you. Blood trumps any number of oaths."

Jon relaxed back into his seat. "You said both Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime asked to take me on as a squire?"

"Yes. Ser Jaime asked first. Ser Barristan asked, but I politely informed him about that and he said he would understand if you took Ser Jaime's offer instead."

"I presume it would be insulting to take Ser Barristan's offer over Ser Jaime's since he asked first?"

"Yes," Lady Catelyn replied curtly and gave a warning look to Ned, suggesting that this ground was one they had already tread upon. "Lord Tywin still has a vested interest in how House Lannister is viewed and if you pass over Ser Jaime for a knight even as celebrated as Ser Barristan, he would take offense. Just because Ser Jaime is no longer the heir does not mean he doesn't still represent his House."

"I don't even have a choice then."

"Son, I'm not going to make you squire for someone you don't like. If you insisted, I would pass him over for Ser Barristan."

"Hmm," Jon said, his chin perched on his hands as he stared at the ground. "I would hate to strain House Stark's relationship with House Lannister anymore than it already is." At the quizzical look on his father's face, he said, "I've been reading up on the histories of the houses. The Stark's haven't married the Lannisters in two hundred years, so there isn't much tying the two together."

"Lord Tywin makes every house's relationship with his house contentious," Lady Catelyn muttered.

Everyone chuckled in their circle and this time Maester Luwin leaned in to speak. "As Ser Jaime's squire, you are very likely to meet Lord Tywin. Tread very carefully around him. He probably won't even notice you, but you will be a reflection of his son and thus a reflection of House Lannister. Dress properly, always be neat. You have been taught your ceremonies, so keep them at the forefront of your mind."

Jon nodded and his excitement dampened a little. Everything he had heard about Tywin Lannister had been spoken about in hushed tones. Even Jaime had nothing glowing to say about his father and Tyrion had given him a number of stories about how even being of Lannister blood didn't save one from scorn. The prospect of meeting Lord Tywin made his stomach churn; the man who orchestrated the deaths of his cousin Robb, his royal Queen Talisa, Lady Catelyn, and countless other lords of the north and riverlands. He knew very well that Lord Tywin was just as capable of committing that gross breach of guest right now as he was in the other life.

"I think the only thing left that needs to be decided is...is this what you want?"

Jon cocked his head. "I get to train with the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, with the chance of earning a knighthood and my own name. You know how much I've wanted a name!"

Ned laughed and nodded. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Lady Catelyn seemed to breathe easier and the tension she had carried all his life seemed to ease from her shoulders. He could no longer threaten her trueborn son Robb, not that he ever wanted to.

"Very well, let's go and inform Ser Jaime. I believe he is currently stationed by the queen."

Jon winced behind Ned's back. He really didn't want an encounter with the queen, however he imagined that being Jaime's squire meant a meeting was almost inevitable.

They found Jaime standing on the inside of the glass garden overlooking the women holding their sewing lessons. Septa Mordane, Sansa, Jeyne, Myrcella, Julianna and, yes, the queen were all sitting in the circle chattering like birds over a fountain. Jon felt Cersei's eyes fall on him almost instantly and he thought for a moment that she was trying to light him afire.

"Ser Jaime," Ned said to him.

Jaime turned to him almost lazily. "Lord Stark," he said blandly and then turned back to surveying the scene around him.

Jon stepped out from behind his uncle so that he was visible to the knight.

When Jaime saw him, he then said, "Ah, bastard. Good show in the training yard today."

"If I'm going to be your squire, you will call me Jon," he said, glaring at Jaime.

"Son," Ned hissed at him.

But Jaime's mouth quirked into a smile and he said, "Now that's the spirit. Training begins at dawn."

"Brother, is this your new squire?" Cersei floated over wearing a frilly, crimson gown showing a generous amount of cleavage, an amused smile and her nose held up so that she was looking down at them. Her wavy, golden hair hung free and floated as softly as herself.

"Your Grace," Jaime acknowledged politely, but Jon saw the way his hand clenched.

Jon turned to the queen and bowed. "Your Grace." He was surprised when she held her hand out to let him kiss it and when he did, he expected her to wipe the kiss off like it was the piece of dirt she thought he was. "You look so much like a Stark; I'm sure your father must be proud."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Jon replied. His heart was pounding and he could feel himself sweating in his clothes, trying not to back down, while also remaining polite. Squire though he may be, he was still a bastard and she would take every opportunity to demand satisfaction from imagined offenses.

His uncle Ned muttered similar gratitude and he was watching their exchange very closely.

"I'm sure you will do your utmost to honor my brother's commitment to you. You are not just representing House Stark now, but also House Lannister."

"Of course, Your Grace," Jon replied, ducking his head again in a bow.

"Mother, come see my flower," Julianna called out to her.

Cersei lingered for a moment and then turned to heed her daughter's beckon. Jon could swear that

he heard his uncle and Jaime breathe a sigh of relief, but when he turned Jaime was as placid as he ever was. To think, Jaime has to stand here and guard her for years. He could imagine no greater hell.

"Thank you, Ser Jaime, for presenting this opportunity to my son. I know it means a great deal to him and to House Stark. He will honor you and I hope you will honor him," Ned said.

Jaime regarded him for a moment before nodding and returning once more to watching the women giggle and chatter over their sewing.

Chapter 6 - Jon VII

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Updated: 3/31/2019

Chapter 6

Jon VII

The first day as a squire, Jon had been awake well before dawn and was waiting for Jaime at the training yard. This early in the morning, he let Ghost out and laughed as he watched the young wolf prance about. The early morning seemed to invigorate the direwolf. It tilted its head at crickets and calls of the early birds. He sniffed up the entire yard, no doubt smelling the sweat of all the men and women who had passed by the day before. He was so busy enjoying the young wolf's antics that he almost forgot his reason for being there until Ghost snapped his head up and yipped.

Jon glanced over to see Ser Jaime walking over in his Kingsguard armor as before, but unlike the last few days where he affected a disposition of cocky and standoffish, this early in the morning he smiled pleasantly at Jon as he walked up to him. "Good work convincing your uncle to let me take you on as a squire. I'd heard that Ser Barristan asked too," he whispered.

Jon nodded. "It was difficult. It wasn't just my uncle I needed to convince either. I think the only one who was afraid to object was Lady Catelyn. She wants me gone as soon as Lord Stark leaves. At least I'll be with my family this time."

"But you'll be in the Red Keep and Cersei wants your blood. You did well with her yesterday, but it won't always be that easy. I will try to to stay between you and her as often as I can," Jaime replied.

"Any particular reason why she's tied up in knots over me?"

"Because I am not the man I used to be. I go about my duties and then I go to bed when I am dismissed. I shit, sleep, and eat and that's all. My brother Tyrion will tell you I haven't laughed in a decade. Having a purpose again has reinvigorated me, but they don't know why."

"Yes, your brother was interrogating me yesterday. I don't think I was convincing."

"He's shrewd. There's little you could get past him. Just keep your head down and do as I tell you. I might run you ragged, but it's for your own protection."

"Right. Thank you."

Jaime nodded. Winterfell was starting to come to life around them as the sky became a beautiful rosy red. "Enough chit chat. I think it's about time for an early morning scuffle," Jaime said loudly, grabbing his favorite practice sword.

"Let me put Ghost away. I don't want him under foot."

Winterfell arose to the clang of swords and Jaime shouting instructions that morning. Although Jon had been training hard for the last six months, his opponents had been of an inferior quality and he had been unable to improve much in that time. It had barely been a week now and already he could feel the burn in his legs and shoulder from trying to keep up with the lion's quick steps and even quicker sword.

Jaime switched to the left hand in the middle, but Jon was able to follow it for a time. He had, after all, fought a left-handed Jaime for years, but even in that other life he'd never been this good. He was proud to say Jaime had to switch back to his right to knock the sword from his hand and brought his sword down hard to slam Jon in the chest and back onto the ground.

"Very good," Jaime said. The sun was fully up over the horizon before they stopped and Jon's stomach was growling loud enough to be mistaken for a bear. "We'll break for the rest of the day." Jon nodded, put the sword away and began walking off, already envisioning all the food he would pile on his plate. "Bastard, did I dismiss you?" He staggered to a halt.

He grimaced and then smoothed his expression. "No, Ser Jaime."

Jaime walked over to him at an agonizingly slow pace. When he finally stood in front of him, he was staring down at him in same way that Queen Cersei had been and it made Jon grind his teeth together. "How much do you know about the duties of a squire?"

"I am required to ready your horse, make the campsite, brush down the horse, feed it, hobble it, make dinner, I think, and...help you into and out of your armor."

"Very good. You're missing a few chores, but that is the gist of it. I expect you at my door every night and before training every morning." Suddenly the smirk fell away and he leaned in to whisper so that only Jon would hear, "Make sure when you come by at night that the queen is already abed."

"Now, for your indiscretion you will strip down your room and clean every corner. A knight is always organized, fastidious, and not inclined to material wealth. I want you to throw out all but three things that you will be taking with you to King's Landing. And you will do it now."

Jon had to bite back a groan. That mocking smirk he had so delighted in punching off Jaime's face was back. He would have to find a way to do it in the training yard. "Yes, Ser."

Jaime held him for another moment and finally said, "You're dismissed." Then he turned away and trudged back to the hall where his breakfast awaited.

Jon heaved a sigh and turned to head to his room. Thankfully, it was so small that it would not take him long. All the possessions he did have were remnants of his childhood: a wood sword, carved wooden knights, and a pretty rock he was certain he had picked up somewhere as a child. He pocketed the rock. Everything else was clothes and he went through them with a critical eye, discarding anything that clearly didn't fit anymore which left him with little more than three outfits. Even despite the small size of his room, it still took a few hours and the help were just clearing away dishes when Jon finally joined his family for breakfast. When Robb and Theon found him in the breakfast hall, they teased him mercilessly.

That night he went to Ser Jaime's room when the rest of the household was asleep. He knocked on the door and heard nothing. Taking a chance, he turned the knob gently and opened the door. There was nothing to suggest that anyone was even living in the room other than the pitcher of wine left on the nightstand and a roaring fire. Otherwise the bed was neatly made, with not a single wrinkle out of place.

Jon sighed and thought about returning to his room, but thought this might be a test to see if he was a dutiful squire, so he closed the door and sat down outside it. The hours ticked by and still Jon did not see Ser Jaime. At one point, he drifted off, with his hand holding his face.

He dreamed he was at Castle Black. The corridors held a frigid cold to them that could only be associated with White Walkers. His breath billowed out in front of him as he crept along the stony corridors, his sword held at the ready, unsure of where he was going or what he was walking into. But he was certain of what he would find. He opened the door to the Lord Commander's quarters and he winced at the screeching of the door hinges, which he could hear echoing behind him down

the hall in a most unnatural way.

The room was dark and foreboding and empty. He wanted to call out to the Lord Commander, but he was afraid his voice would echo like the door hinges had and so he stayed silent. He stepped over to the Lord Commander's chambers, but just as he reached for the handle a noise behind him drew his attention. Something thumped slowly over to him with deep, heavy steps and when he turned he saw Samwell Tarly's large shape, but his face was partially rotted, the skin around his mouth had flaked to see the deep roots of his teeth and his eyes glowed icy blue.

Jon opened his mouth, when the Lord Commander's door opened and he turned to find the Old Bear undead as well. A rotted hand fell on his shoulder.

Jon snapped awake and slapped the hand away and quickly tried to scramble away only to be stopped by the stone wall.

"Whoa! I'm glad I didn't kick you awake now." Jaime was staring down at him with undisguised alarm.

Jon was still breathing heavily from the dream and he glanced around to see he had fallen asleep lying against Ser Jaime's door. Servants had also stopped in their tracks and were staring at him. He felt himself go red in the face and he got to his feet, brushing his clothes off.

"I, ahem, I apologize for having fallen asleep."

"Just as well. It's dawn. Get inside," Jaime said.

Jon happily ducked inside and Jaime latched the door behind them. "I must say, I'm impressed. A lesser squire would have abandoned his orders and gone to his bed."

"I thought you were testing me."

Jaime barked a laugh and shook his head. "Ser Boros Blount has come down with fever. No doubt, the chilly Winterfell summers are getting to him. Ser Barristan had me take his shift guarding the king last night." In a much lower voice he said, "Don't bother coming by tonight either. I'll be watching the queen."

He straightened up and cleared his throat. "Now, the best place to start with the armor is my vambraces. I'll get the cloak." So Jaime talked him through the elaborate set-up of the Kingsguard armor. So much of it was purely ceremonial and wouldn't do much to protect him in a real fight. Jon was appalled.

"You've been doing this every day for over ten years without a squire?" He asked, shaking his head incredulously.

"I squired for Ser Arthur Dayne, if you'll recall.* So I already knew how to put on the armor because of my helping him, it was complicated and difficult the first time, but after awhile you get used to it. It simply becomes a part of the routine."

Jaime was uncommonly chatty and Jon was under the impression that he was enjoying the company and was starting to include it in the charade they had created. After all, what would a knight do with a squire he hated? He hoped that was the case.

When the breastplate came undone, Jaime slipped out of it and appeared smaller, far too skinny, and of course tired. He had been up the whole day and night, making his face too pale under the dark bruises drawn under his eyes. He sat down on his bed and peered up at Jon with a weak smirk. "No training today. However, you can polish my armor. I'll need it by lunchtime. Go to sleep, bastard."

Jon rolled his eyes at him, which caused Jaime to chuckle. He used the breastplate like a serving platter and piled the rest of the pieces of armor on top of it and walked out the door.

The king stayed for a month and the rest of that month played out the same for Jon. Jaime would either beat him to a pulp or run him ragged with chores, often none of which actually had to do anything with being a squire but was supposed to instill discipline.

On the last day, Jon was at breakfast on time for once and was able to share it with his brother.

Tomorrow we'll be heading out, Jon thought with not a little bit of excitement. His brother on the other hand had a far less cheerier attitude.

"Winterfell is going to feel empty," Robb complained. "Father's gone, you're gone, Arya, Sansa, and Bran are gone. It's just going to be me and the Baby and Mother," Robb replied with a

defeated sigh.

"You're the Lord of Winterfell now. I hope it's everything you imagined it would be," Jon said in a teasing tone.

"Very funny. You get to go off and have an adventure with the greatest swordsman in the realm and I'm stuck here."

"You mean, I get to be Ser Jaime's errand boy. That's what you've been calling me," Jon pointed out.

"You know I didn't really mean that. I mean...those are part of the duties of a squire, but you get to learn from a master. The next time we face each other, you're going to put me in the dirt even harder than you have been."

"Just keep training, Brother. I hope the next time we see each other, it'll be a fair fight."

Robb narrowed his eyes at him as he stirred up his oatmeal. "That's a promise."

All the lads jumped when a scabbard was thrown on the table in front of Jon. They looked back to find Jaime standing behind him. "My squire will carry a real sword by his side from now on."

Jon blinked owlishly up at him and then picked up the sword. The scabbard was brand new, made of dark supple leather and silver inlays. The hilt was simple leather with a silver crossguard, but the pommel had on it a small carving of the Stark sigil, but the stone used was white, signifying Ghost. He cracked open the scabbard and found the steel to be brand new.

Jon stared agape at it. Even Robb and Theon were in awe. He turned back to thank Jaime, but he was already gone and he could not see him in the dining area. He abandoned his plate, strapped the sword to his side, and went in search of his knight. He did not see Cersei glaring from her position at the head table.

He found Ser Jaime preparing his horse.

"Aren't I supposed to be doing that for you?"

"You're not going to see your brother for some time. I thought you might like to spend a last meal with him," Jaime replied in a mocking tone.

"How very sentimental of you."

"Old habits die hard," he replied with a shrug.

Jon laid a hand on the sword. "Thank you. It's truly remarkable."

"It's long past time since you've had a sword at your waist. I was bearing one at three and ten. For all your claim to having the toughest fighters, you lot certainly take your time playing with real steel. Have you really looked at it, yet?"

"No."

Jaime gave him a pointed look and he withdrew the sword. His breath caught as it flashed in the sunlight, looking impossibly new, but he was stunned by the design. This was familiar to him. Had he not been bearing a sword just like this for near ten years?

" Longclaw ," Jon whispered.

It was a little heavier than the real Longclaw, since it was of regular steel and not Valyrian steel. Something clicked into place and Jon felt for the first time a hole in him had been filled. He didn't realize quite how much he missed the Valyrian steel sword.

"I thought that design was more fitting to your style," Jaime said.

Jon sheathed the sword and his face was its characteristic Stark serious. "Thank you again. So...where are you going?"

"I'm to watch the king on his hunt."

"Do you want me along?"

"No, I want you here. Test out your new sword or something," he said.

The rest of the hunting party was just filtering out. Jon caught Robb's eye and his cousin briskly walked over. "Ser Jaime, Jon." He looked at Jon, "Are you coming hunting with us?"

"No, I am to remain here."

"That's a shame. Ser Jaime, I'm sure Jon has already thanked you, but I wanted to thank you too. It is a magnificent sword."

Jaime shrugged. "It's about damn time you boys carried live steel."

"Maybe this will convince Ser Rodrick to allow me to carry a sword now."

"Robb, you best find your horse! We need to be ready when the king arrives," Ned shouted.

"Have fun at Winterfell. Let's celebrate with some venison tonight before you leave," Robb said, nudging his cousin.

Jon stared longingly after them as they left, but then he abruptly turned to look for Bran. It was his job to make sure nothing untoward happened this time.

Chapter End Notes

- This was not originally the person I had Jaime say he squired for, but I got a lot of feedback from various readers telling me different things. So, for TDR, he squired for Ser Arthur Dayne.

Chapter 7 - Jaime I

UPDATE* 3/31/19

Chapter 7

Jaime I

Jaime flanked King Robert on his left side as they rode deeper into the Wolfswood outside Winterfell. He had his usual passive expression on his face and he wanted nothing more than to go back to Winterfell and train with Jon. With every day of practice, Jon's skills were coming back and he was quickly catching up to him. He was going to be a great fighter someday, even better than the lifetime before. However, due to all of Jaime's other obligations, he was unable to train with Jon for more than an hour at a time. Things would get better once they left Winterfell, but they would never have the kind of alone time Jaime wanted. He'd already wasted half his life guarding kings who weren't worth protecting and it would still be sometime before they were ready to throw Jon's claim into the ring. He eagerly awaited that day, but for now he had to make sure Robert didn't get himself killed before they were ready.

"A glorious day for a ride, don't you think, Ned?"

"Aye. It could not be more fit for your last day in Winterfell."

"You have done me great honor, Ned. I would expect nothing less from you."

Jaime rolled his eyes. Anytime the two of them were together, they would fall all over themselves to compliment the other. It was a nice change of pace to Robert fucking any woman he could get his hands on, but it was so sickeningly sweet, he had to struggle not to shout, 'Just kiss already!' Even if taken as a jape, it still wouldn't go well with either of them.

"Where's the best place to find boars?"

"They're all over the woods, Your Grace. It's just a matter of tracking them."

"For the last time, Ned, you can call me Robert! I get enough 'Your Grace' from all the pussyfooters in King's Landing, I don't need you to fall on your face and kiss my feet too."

"I'm just setting a good example for my son, Your Gr - Robert," Ned replied.

"Robb will always have an ally in King's Landing, since your daughter is set to marry my son. Isn't that right, Joffrey?"

"Yes, Father," Joffrey said, but when his father turned he made a face at his back. Robb saw the face and rolled his eyes, but no one else commented.

Just give it a few years, Robb, you'll have a better ally than that brat, Jaime thought.

This Joffrey didn't have the same malicious cruel streak as the one from Jaime's previous life, but he was still an obnoxious, spoiled idiot who had yet to learn swordplay at any level. Jaime had tried in the previous life to put Joffrey through his paces, but he hadn't bothered with this one. He had anticipated an even greater pushback from Cersei since they were barely on speaking terms.

He fretted at the thought of Jon being left alone and what Cersei might do or say to him in the meantime. He was a capable man, but she was vindictive and he would not put it past Cersei to stoop to the lowest level to hurt Jon and by extension him. It was important that Jon stay in Winterfell though. He had to make sure Bran didn't climb the Broken Tower.

Since he'd been the threat in the tower the last time, Jaime wasn't sure how long he had to wait before he could breathe easy, but if he remembered correctly, the hunting party had barely been gone when he'd thrown Bran off the tower. They'd already been riding for sometime and they had yet to hear the panicked staccato of hooves of a messenger bringing them back. Even so his back was so tight from the tension, he was certain his tendons could be played like strings on a violin.

"Well now," King Robert said quietly and reined in his horse. "Look at the rack on that bull!"

"Most impressive, Robert. But I thought we were hunting boar?" Ned asked.

"Time enough for that. Joffrey, come up here son. Make your old man proud."

Joffrey puffed up and booted his horse closer to his father, the Hound once more following closely behind him.

Joffrey lined up the shot on the crossbow, but it shook in his hand as he leveled it.

"Keep it steady, boy, or it'll go wide."

"I'm trying."

The crossbow released and the bolt went flying, clattering into the buck's antlers. It bellowed and dashed off into the trees and there was a release of breath from everyone, a few in frustration, and in Jaime's case he was trying to keep from laughing at his nephew's incompetence. Cersei has hobbled him. He's never going to be worthy enough to be king.

"Seven hells, boy, not even close!"

"I almost had it! It hit near its head!"

"I want that buck. Let's go," Robert said, booting his horse again and everyone continued trotting off. Joffrey fell back from his father and pouted, but no one bothered to try and cheer him up. They took the horses more slowly as Robert searched for his target and Jaime was abruptly reminded of the life before when, for a few years or so, he had the ability to see sounds, even for creatures that made almost no sound. Hunting then, which could be touch and go, suddenly became bountiful now that he could scrounge up creatures that were even hidden. For a short period of time, he was a hero and the north praised him for his prowess. But then he'd learned of Brienne's death and lost almost all will to live. His heart wrenched painfully just thinking about her and he grimaced. The only reason why he ate the food that Tyrion gave him and even participated in training and fighting, was because he knew Brienne would never forgive him if he just gave up on saving the world. He had ensured that the Night King had fallen and his misery had ended at the same time, until he had woken up back in his younger body on the day of Cersei's wedding.

He had been so confused and frightened. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to make it through the wedding ceremony. Everywhere around him he saw ghosts, so many people who were supposed to be dead, but were back to enjoying the wedding as they had before. Ser Barristan had asked him if he was ill, because he was pale and sweating.

The sun. I haven't seen the sun in months, he thought and he relished the way the light fell on him and heated his skin. He had been living in cold for so long that he never thought he would be warm again. He never wanted to leave its warm embrace.

The first few months back in his younger body had been the most tumultuous of his life before the Long Night happened. His fighting skills had been sloppy with the return of his hand and his instincts were backwards. Ser Barristan had been really concerned then. Cersei had harangued him for acting odd and for also refusing to fuck her. Robert had been more unbearable than normal in his relentless use of the nickname Kingslayer. His own Lord Father had lectured him every day while he struggled to piece things back together.

The nightmares were the worst. Every night he dreamed of icy blue eyes, cold and dead things grabbing him, the grating sound of bone snapping as he struggled to get out of their reach before they dragged him down into a deep and dark cave where they began to feast on his flesh while he was still living. Other nights he dreamed of Brienne's death, and even sometimes Podrick's. At the time, it was only himself, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Mandon Moore who were guarding the king. The other four had yet to be chosen, so they had to pull long shifts. At one point, the king gave them all the night off and had half a dozen guards at his door and the queen's. Mandon came very close to beating him up that night when he screamed loud enough to wake everyone in the White Tower. Only Ser Barristan had stood in his way. Even for all of Ser Barristan's disappointment at his slaying of the king, he had a rather fatherly concern regarding Jaime. He had, after all, known him since he was a squire.

Ser Barristan shoved Ser Mandon out the door, speaking to him in a hushed tone so that Jaime could not hear what they were saying. Once closed, Barristan turned the lock and walked back over to the bed, staring down at him with a pensive look.

Jaime was sitting on his bed soaked in cold sweat and shivering uncontrollably after screaming himself hoarse. In that dream, he had failed to save Brienne and then he had failed to save himself as he suffocated under the sheer weight of the undead that had piled on top of him.

"What has gotten into you?"

"It's nothing. It's just a dream," Jaime rasped out.

"Are you sure? I have never seen a mere dream affect you in this way. What was it about?"

"I died, alright? I dreamed of my death."

"What kind of death?"

"A burning death," Jaime grumbled. He'd had those nightmares too long before he had slain the Mad King.

"We heard you shouting a name. Brienne? Who is that?"

"I don't know a Brienne."

Barristan frowned. "I knew a Brienne of House Rolingford, but she's older than me and likely dead by now."

"I don't even know of House Rolingford."

"It would have died with her. Not sure she ever married."

Jaime had rolled his eyes and shook his head, though he had refused to meet Barristan's gaze.

The old man wasn't pleased at being ignored and he said, "Do you need to take a leave of absence?"

"There's already few enough Kingsguard as it is. I'll be fine."

"You haven't been the same since the king married your sister. You barely speak to anyone, your nightmares are worse, and your eyes…"

"What about my eyes?"

"I look into your eyes and I see someone who has seen a greater carnage than anyone else, who knows a greater fear than the human mind was meant to encounter."

It unnerved him how close Barristan had come to hitting the mark.

"You weren't there at the end. You don't know what I saw," Jaime said, all the emotion gone from his voice and his eyes were like chips of stone, cold and hard. "I'd like to go back to sleep. I apologize for bothering you and Ser Mandon."

Ser Barristan had grimaced, but let him be. Jaime followed him to the door and relocked it once he'd gone.

He had decided that night that he needed to write what he could remember down. He'd never been particularly skilled at writing, so it was a challenge, but as he practiced his writing became more legible and the memories took on a more structured form as he was forced to catalog in chronological order. Six months later, he had written nearly five whole books of his memories. As he reread them, he became certain that the memories were real. They had in fact happened and for the first time he acknowledged that the Seven must have brought him back with his memories intact to prevent the coming conflict so that the whole of Westeros would be united in time for the Long Night.

The other reason he thought they might be real is because he had little to nothing in the way of imagination. He would never dream up a scenario where he, the wouldbe hero, would lose his swordhand, the hand he thought had defined him! He also never expected to fall in love with a brutish looking woman taller than him. There was simply no moment he could imagine where Cersei would become the Mad Queen, following in Aerys' footsteps by using the wildfire that Jaime had so feared.

When he had come to this conclusion, a great weight seemed to fall from his shoulders and he was able to breathe again. Furthermore, he found that he had hated what he had become after killing Aerys. Yes, the new name of Kingslayer had made him bitter and caused him to lash out by committing incest with his sister and cuckolding the king. But his father had also worked so hard to turn him into the arrogant snob who considered himself superior to everyone, considering those sheep when deep down...he'd never thought any such things. His Aunt Genna had always told him he had his mother's heart and though he remembered little about her, the one thing he did remember was her kindness. She had always been considerate of other people, no matter their station or their name.

If his mother had seen what he'd become, she would have died from the shame if she hadn't already died from childbirth. He had to make things right. He was already making new strides by refusing to sleep with his sister. Just seeing her caused his blood to boil and he'd had to work hard to stifle that anger. He also decided his hair had to go. He'd only kept it long for his sister, but it was insufferable in the heat of the summer, so at his first opportunity he'd gone to the palace barber and instructed her to sheer it to the short haircut he remembered.

He had taken great pleasure at the expression of horror that befell his sister when she saw him for the first time with his new haircut.

With his old memories organized and his new purpose discovered, a peace of mind Jaime hadn't ever known had descended on him for a time. Ser Barristan had been puzzled at his turnaround, but didn't question it since they could all sleep through the night now.

Everything had been fine for a time, until he realized he was going to spend the rest of his natural life guarding a king and a queen that he despised. After years of the same routine, day in and day out, the same abuse from both of them, he decided he'd be doing the world a favor by killing himself. Then the gods had turned him around with a new hope that he might actually serve a worthy king once more and that had sustained him until now.

A snapping of twigs to his left brought him out of his reverie, but he could see nothing through the thick brush. He glanced at all the other people in the party, but none of them gave any indication that they'd heard anything. When it didn't come again, he shrugged it off and refocused on the hunt, though nothing of any interest was happening.

"There it is," King Robert hissed. "Robb, you take a crack at it this time."

"But father," Joffrey cried out and everyone hushed him as he spoke a little too loud.

King Robert glared at him. "You already had your chance. It's Robb's turn. Make your father proud, son."

Robb somehow sauntered forward on a horse and pulled out a bow and arrow. His hands were steady and his breathing even as he pulled back the arrow. Quiet descended on the group as they waited with bated breath. The arrow left his bow with a small 'twang' and the animal screeched in pain.

"Beautiful shot, Robb," the king roared and he booted his horse closer.

"Good work, son."

Robb beamed at his father.

Jaime finally laid eyes on the animal and he had to admit that it was impressive with what looked

to be a sixteen point rack. The arrow Robb used had dug deep into its neck and it had collapsed to the forest floor as its lifeblood pooled on the ground.

"We'll eat well tonight!"

Robb jumped off his horse and strutted over to the elk, pulled out a hunting knife, and ended its life more swiftly by jabbing it in the side where its heart should be.

Suddenly, a big bellowing grumble reached their ears and they all looked around.

"Robb," Ned hissed at him.

His son was just starting to hurry back over to his horse when a giant bear stumbled out of the undergrowth. It was easily twice the size of the grizzly that Brienne had been forced to duel and it loomed over Robb and roared.

Jaime didn't even think. He booted his horse and urged it forward coming between the Stark heir and the bear. He pulled out his sword to menace the bear, but his horse screamed and reared. His boots slipped out of the stirrups and he was dumped onto his back in front of the bear. The horse took off at a gallop, disappearing into the forest.

"Robb! Ser Jaime," Ned Stark shouted. He seemed torn about what to do, but then grabbed for a bow and arrow.

Jaime leapt to his feet and said, "Get out of here, boy! This isn't a fight for you."

"But - !"

"Go," Jaime snapped back and leveled his sword. An arrow zipped by and buried into the shoulder of the bear, which roared furiously. It took great pains not to laugh that he was battling a bear, yet again, but it stung him that Brienne wasn't there at his side. He was grateful to have a weapon this time and he danced around in front of the bear as it lurched forward. He dodged one of its massive paws and leapt in to bury his sword into his ribs, but when he tried to pull it out, the sword wouldn't budge. He yanked again, but nothing. He let go of it as the bear swung its massive paw again. For a moment, he could swear that its black eyes flashed orange like a fire had been lit in them, and then pain tore through his head and he slammed to the ground, falling into darkness.

Chapter 8 - Ned I

UPDATED* - Edited text for a smoother read.

Chapter 8

Ned I

"Ser Jaime," Ned cried again. His heart was in his throat at the violent blow the knight took and he crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Robb screamed, but whether it was intelligible or not, he didn't know. He loaded another arrow in his bow and let it go with barely a thought. At the same time, he heard the crossbow shoot. His arrow buried into the mammoth bears' eye and the bolt into its shoulder again. The bear staggered for a moment before falling to the ground.

"I did it! I killed the bear," Joffrey cried out.

"You wish you did," King Robert grumbled to his son.

Ned paid them no mind. He leapt off his horse and dashed over to the Kingslayer. Please, gods, don't let him be dead, he pleaded. The bear had narrowly missed falling on him in its death throes. The left side of Jaime's face was covered in blood that continued to spill from the four streaks of torn flesh that crossed up the side of his head, into his hair, narrowly missing his eye. He pulled the knight over and said, "Ser Jaime, can you hear me?"

He almost missed the green eye cracking open momentarily before it shut again and he said in a weak voice, "The gods...they wound me."

"Father, is he alive?" Robb asked in a shaking voice, looking pale.

"He's alive, but only just. Robert, we need to get him back quickly. He needs our maester!" He pulled at the white cloak and using Robb's readily available knife, began cutting it into strips and applied them to staunch the flow of blood on his head. The white immediately turned to pink as it soaked up the blood. "Robb, help me get him onto my horse."

"Very well," King Robert said. "You two, stay here. I want this elk and bear. We'll send a wagon back out to pick them up." The king frowned as Ned and his son Robb worked to put Jaime on

Ned's horse. "Cersei's going to give me an earful about this."

Who are you? Ned thought as he held Jaime in front of him on his horse. What happened to you, Robert, that you would have no urgency or sympathy for one of your Kingsguard? Ned urged his horse forward and the party rushed off back to Winterfell.

He had frozen upon seeing the mammoth bear lurch towards Robb. He had just started grabbing for his sword, when he saw the Kingslayer's gray horse streaking forward and the knight put himself between his son and the bear. Unfortunately, his horse wasn't trained to go up against such a monster and so he had lost his grip and fallen off of it, but even so he stood his ground as the bear towered over him.

Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, had just saved his son's life. And now the Kingslayer's life was in his hands. He was not looking forward to seeing Lord Tywin's response about this situation. Even worse, he hated to see Jon's reaction.

Ser Jaime had extended an opportunity to Jon that so few men, especially bastards had ever received. Ser Barristan had informed him that young men had been trying to convince Ser Jaime to take them as a squire for years, including the very promising Loras Tyrell. Even though a Kingsguard was never supposed to take bribes, as there was no honor in it, money had been offered and yet he had turned down each and every one. Until now and Jon hadn't even asked for it. Clearly, Ser Jaime saw something in Jon to offer him such a lucrative position.

Or he wishes to lead him into a trap. Ned couldn't keep the dark thought from surfacing. He still didn't trust the Lannister, but the foundations of those thoughts was beginning to turn into sand. Although, he still called Jon 'bastard' - he seemed to take a certain amount of joy in irritating - he had patiently been schooling him. Jon had always been a quick study with a sword, but it seemed his skills had improved exponentially in such a remarkably short amount of time. And considering that Ser Jaime was Tywin's pride and joy, from the most powerful house in the Westerlands, he still treated Jon fairly and did not abuse his power over him. It appeared that in no time at all, Jon would soon be a knight and perhaps serving in the Kingsguard that Sansa would benefit from.

It eased his heart to know that his daughter would have someone nearby she could trust in the cutthroat pit of King's Landing.

And then there had been the sword. Mikken had come to him informing him that Ser Jaime Lannister had put in an order for a sword and was very specific about the specifications. The whole thing had been baffling. At first, he thought it was for Jon, but became less certain when Mikken told him the design. It was for a sword that Jon had never held in his life. Maybe Ser Jaime was making another sword for his own use, but if that was the case, why would he commission it in Winterfell and not wait to visit the Street of Steel? Mikken had given it to him

almost a week ago, but Jaime had saved the sword until he could deliver it to Jon, where he was enjoying his first breakfast with his family since becoming a squire had robbed him of that opportunity almost everyday.

Perhaps it was Jaime's way of parading his wealth, but a normal knight doesn't give such a high quality sword to a bastard. It had to be Ser Jaime's way of claiming Jon as his squire. A way to show that he had no intentions of abandoning Jon and would keep him close and would give him the necessary equipment and knowledge to survive.

The more he thought about it, the more he found Ser Jaime's behavior puzzling, but it pointed him in a direction he had not wanted to acknowledge: maybe Jaime Lannister wasn't only a disgraced knight who murdered his king. Though a disgraced knight he still was, there was a heart and a sense of honor about him that Ned hadn't anticipated. It made him wonder that perhaps there was another reason that Jaime had for killing the Mad King Aerys than he initially had thought.

He sighed in relief when the gates of Winterfell came into view. The guard cried out, "The hunt has returned. Open the gates!" As they rode closer, another call rang out, "Fetch the maester! We have a wounded man!"

The first face he saw was Jon's. He was in the training ring with Bran, his new sword in hand, but when he looked over and saw the blood-soaked rags on Jaime's face, his eyes grew as big as coins. He managed to sheath his sword without looking and dashed over, which Ned found very odd since he just received that sword.

"What happened?"

"A mammoth bear attacked your brother. Ser Jaime put himself between your brother and the bear, but...it got in a hit before we could kill it," Ned said. "Help me with him."

Robb was instantly by Jon's side and together they were able to wrangle Jaime to the ground without dropping him. "To his room."

It seemed like everyone in the castle turned up to see Ser Jaime hauled through the halls. Just as they reached the door to his room, Ser Barristan and the queen showed up, and she screamed hysterically.

"Jaime! What happened to him?! What did you do?"

"My Queen, I'm sure they didn't do anything to him. It must've been an accident," Ser Barristan attempted to console her. She began weeping, but instead of swooning she rushed over with a furious look on her face.

She grabbed Jon by the arm and screamed, "It's your fault, isn't it?! You killed my brother!"

"Your Grace, he's not dead, he's injured," Jon replied. They'd had to halt while the queen confronted him or they would have dropped Jaime.

"Your Grace, we're getting him to his room. Maester Luwin is on his way," Ned replied.

"My Queen, please, you're only delaying Ser Jaime's treatment. Let's wait out here while we wait for the maester."

"I am your queen! I demand an explanation at once!"

Everyone seemed at a loss for what to do. Ser Barristan, for all of his calm and soothing words, could not talk sense or reason into her. Only the king could and he was still outside, no doubt arranging transport to bring back the bear and the elk. Ned made the decision to get Jaime into his room instead of continuing to stand outside. The boys all breathed a sigh of relief when they finally placed him on the bed.

"Let's get him comfortable. Jon, you're his squire so you know how to get his armor off. Robb, let's wait outside for the maester and console the queen, shall we?" Ned ordered.

Robb opened his mouth to protest, but he glared at him, so he said, "Yes, Father."

"You dare defy your queen," she spat at him, drawing herself up. Her hair fanned behind her like she was a goddess descending from the heavens.

Ser Barristan looked embarrassed and appalled, "My queen, he's seeing to it that your brother gets the necessary treatment."

"And I demand an explanation."

"I apologize, Your Grace, but I thought it be prudent to put him abed. When we were on the hunt, my son Robb had just made a kill and went to claim it, but a mammoth bear showed up. It went after my son, but your brother acted with true honor befitting a knight and put himself between my son and the bear. We made an effort to kill it, but it hit your brother with a stray paw, before we could bring it down."

The queen looked ready to crumble in Ser Barristan's arms as her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled. Then a peculiar rage seemed to overtake her. "I want that bear's head now!"

"King Robert is making arrangements to have the bear transported back to Winterfell right now."

"Good. I'll have it skinned and gift the pelt to Jaime when he feels better," she said and strode off down the hall towards the courtyard, sending all in her way scurrying for cover.

Everyone in the vicinity breathed a sigh of relief and then Ser Barristan turned to Ser Arys Oakheart and said, "Keep close to the queen! I have to ensure that Ser Jaime receives the proper treatment."

"Lord Commander," the knight said and followed the queen, his white cloak billowing behind him.

"Ah, Maester Luwin, Jon's inside -" Ned began when the older man joined their circle, but at that moment, the door opened to Jon's somber face. "How is he, Jon?"

"No change. Still unconscious."

"Come, My Lord, let's see what we can do," Maester Luwin said, heading into the room.

"But Father!"

"Father!"

"You'll only be in the way. Stay here. Make sure Lord Tyrion is informed, if he hasn't been already."

Ned sighed in relief as he closed the door. Maester Luwin was already seated at Ser Jaime's bed and he was attempting to pull the makeshift bandage from his face. "Do you need assistance, maester?"

"No, thank you, My Lord. This would be painful if he were awake, but he's not. Now, tell me what happened."

He launched into the story, going into more intricate detail than what he told the queen. When he finished, Luwin was frowning at him, looking troubled.

"Will he be well, maester?"

"It's...difficult to say. The outer wounds need stitching, but they'll heal well enough. No, what concerns me is that this injury may run deeper than we think."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. It's too early to say. I'll explain everything when I'm done here."

"Very well, maester. I shall pray for his recovery," Ned said in a steadier manner than he was feeling. He never imagined someone as powerful or as important as Ser Jaime Lannister dying under his roof. Though he felt little for the man, he knew the ramifications would be severe and no matter his transgressions he certainly didn't wish death on him.

There was a knock at the door. The maester motioned for Ned to get it and when he opened he found a servant with a pot of boiled wine. "Thank you."

"Do you have all you need?"

"Yes. He'll need quite a few stitches, so it'll be some time before I'm finished."

Suddenly the door handle jiggled and they once more heard the dulcet tones of the queen screaming at whomever was the focus of her wrath. Ned took a deep breath and headed for the door.

Jon was standing contrite in front of the queen like he was a child who was caught decorating the floor in flour. Robb looked like he wanted to be by his side in support, but was afraid it would be construed the wrong way. He'd already warned Robb about tiptoeing around the queen. Even this far up north, he'd long heard of the way the queen severely punished those for the smallest of slights. Tyrion Lannister was standing next to Robb, fuming, and Ser Barristan's face seemed to be stuck in a permanent grimace and he was shifting uneasily. Catelyn had arrived with Sansa and Arya and was staring between the two in shock. Whatever she felt for Jon, she at least could see when the queen was being unfair.

"You should have been with him! You're his squire, are you not? You are supposed to make sure he doesn't get injured."

"Your Grace, I was ordered to stay here!"

"You would interrupt your queen? I will have your head for this! Run to the Wall, little boy, any future prospects you thought you had with House Lannister is over with!"

"Oh, seven bloody hells, Cersei, would you give your voice a rest?" Robert bellowed from down the hall. He was stomping over to them, bearing a cask of wine. "The bear messed up his pretty face. It'll leave a scar, but I never knew a lady who didn't love them. He'll be fine. Tyrion, care for some wine?"

Lord Tyrion continued to look miffed, but he sighed and said, "Certainly, Robert. I'm assuming it's going to be some time before the maester is finished with my brother?"

"Yes, he has quite a few stitches to do," Ned said. He hated the way Robert treated his queen, but was grateful all the same that anyone else was spared her wrath. She was still fuming, but she simply glared at them all as she waited.

"It's well past lunch, shall I order the servants to bring food?"

The response was tepid muttering, all save for Robert. "Good idea, Ned! I sent the wagon out to

collect the kills! My queen will get her bear head and pelt and, Robb, we'll be sure to give you a nice rack of antlers for your trophy wall."

Robb smiled weakly at the king and gave a muttered thanks, but then his face fell once more and he began whispering to Jon. Catelyn had immediately hurried off to order lunch and in a matter of minutes, a few small tables were put together and servant after servant came bearing dishes. Plates were served, but the only one who ate with any gusto was King Robert. Ser Barristan, Ned, and Catelyn all ate like it was any normal day, but Robb and Tyrion picked at their food, Jon played with his and the Queen Cersei refused a plate altogether.

At some point, the queen's children came by. Prince Joffrey was still crowing about killing the bear, Princess Myrcella fretted, and Princess Julianna cried. Both Sansa and Myrcella did their level best to comfort her, but there was little that could stave her tears until Tyrion beckoned her over and began telling the young ladies a traditional story about a brave knight who saved a beautiful princess.

Dinner had almost arrived by the time Maester Luwin exited the room and he was immediately swarmed.

"What of my brother? Will he be alright?"

"Cersei, for Sevens' sake, let the maester breath," Robert ordered her rather harshly, then he nodded at Luwin. "Go on, man, how is he?"

"He is resting and breathing easy. I used 75 stitches on the scratches. They'll scar, but it should heal." Everyone let out a collective breath but froze when the maester continued, "However, those are just his surface injuries. As hard as he was hit, it could be that he is suffering from unseen trauma to his brain. It's difficult to determine until he wakes...if he wakes at all. I do not mean to cause alarm, but I want you all prepared for that eventuality. I want him watched at all times. If we could set up a schedule for those to sit vigil by his bed."

"I volunteer."

"So do I!"

"I will as well."

"Please, please," Maester Luwin waved his hands to slow the flood of voices. "Ser Barristan, why don't you handle a schedule?"

"It will be done. If you would like to volunteer, come to me after dinner. I will have a schedule drawn up by then and you can sign up for shifts."

"I want to help!"

"You're a good lad, Bran, but this should be left to the older boys and adults," Ned said, patting his son on the shoulder comfortingly.

"Agreed. Those six-and-ten or older are only allowed to sign up," Ser Barristan said. "It's been a long day, I think you should all start preparing for dinner. Your Graces, if you please."

Cersei sniffed, but then bustled off without a second word and her daughters trailed after her.

Chapter 9 - Jaime II/Jon VIII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you all for continuing to read, comment, and add your kudos! I really appreciate it. If some of you are wondering why I have not answered your questions, it's because the answers would be spoilers. I ask that you continue reading to have your questions answered.

TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE

This is it. This is the chapter where the rape happens. It's female on male rape! If you'd rather not read the explicit account, please slide down to the next POV.

UPDATED* 3/31/2019 - Edited text for a smoother read

Chapter 9

Jaime II

He felt like he was at the bottom of an ocean. His senses were muffled, there seemed to be a great weight that kept his limbs immobile, and he could barely breathe. He tried to claw his way up to the surface but his limbs wouldn't move. He gasped for air and felt relief as his chest expanded and he breathed in deep. Slowly, slowly, he was finding his way to the surface, but as he did so other sensations came to him and he could only describe them as revoltingly pleasant. He felt like his skin was crawling and he wanted to vomit, but he clenched his teeth against it.

There was a tug at both of his wrists as he flexed his arms. Why couldn't he move? He struggled to open his eyes, but a great weight still lay over his eyelids and he had to make the extra effort to pry them open. Suddenly a warmth filled his mouth and he realized someone was kissing him. He turned away and grimaced, once again trying to get away, but he was stopped at his wrists and his ankles.

What is going on?

A hand reached out to gingerly stroke his hair and then a clear voice rang through the room. "Oh, brother, how I've missed you. We were always meant to be together. Why didn't you understand that?"

His heart jolted and the exhaustion that seemed to lay over his eyes disappeared in an instant. He found himself staring up at the surprisingly pleasant smile of Cersei, but half of his vision was covered entirely in darkness. He recoiled from her and tugged at his right arm. He finally looked over and was shocked to find he'd been tied to the the bedpost by his wrist. A quick look showed that he was tied at his other wrist and both of his ankles.

"What in Seven Hells are you doing? Get off of me!"

He blinked in confusion as ripples of crimson and pink erupted in front of his eye and he shook his head, as if to shake his vision. I can see sounds again, he thought. He breathed, though he wasn't sure if it was relief or panic. That ability wouldn't help him now.

She sighed, her voice a bubbly turquoise which seemed so at odds with her usual disposition. "I was hoping we could do this like we used to, but if you insist." She shoved a strip of fabric into his mouth and tied it off. "At least I was prepared," she said, moving back down his body. It was only then that he noticed she was naked...and so was he.

He tried once more to get his wrist out of the tight knot she had used, but it only served to exacerbate the pain he was already in.

"Just relax," Cersei said to him. Though her smile was easy, there was a malice that he'd only ever seen directed at others, even when she was going mad at the end. Her frown faltered however and she reached over to stroke the wrapping that hid the claw marks. He flinched away. "You are ugly now. Why would you do something so stupid as to fight a bear? You should've just let the boy die. What do we care about the Starks?" She dipped down to take his cock in her mouth and he had to turn away, struggling to swallow the bile that threatened to rise in his throat so that he wouldn't choke on it.

No, no, no, no, don't do this, Cersei. Please don't do this! Where are the Seven when I need them the most? Get this bitch off of me! He closed his eyes to the room, but he couldn't escape the sensations he was feeling in his body as his manhood hardened against his will. He struggled even harder this time, because feeling pain was preferable to this. The tension caused his head to start pounding and he would've sobbed if he didn't have cloth in his mouth.

Where is Jon? He opened his eyes again and looked everywhere that wasn't Cersei. Judging by the darkness of the room, it was the middle of the night. Even injured, no one would think to put a guard at his door. Who would harm him? It would've been child's play for her to sneak in here.

"What did I do, Jaime? What made you push me away?" She asked him, but he refused to look at her, staring intently at the ceiling as he trembled with rage and disgust. "My children were meant to be our children. They should've been yours. This child, however, this one will be yours," she said and lowered herself onto him.

The best he could do was lie still now and refuse to play into her hands. He was ashamed to say tears were tracking down his cheeks and he clenched his eyes shut hoping it would all be over soon.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Jon VIII

Jon was restless. He paced his room like a caged animal, never able to find sleep until the early hours of the morning and even when he did it was only with Ghost curled up tightly against him. He couldn't stop his mind going over the implications of Jaime perhaps never waking. It was becoming a more real and distinct possibility because five days had passed since the attack. The maester himself said prospects grew grimmer with every day he failed to wake. What was worse was that there were no signs he was going to wake. Were it not for his chest rising and falling, he could have been mistaken for a corpse at a funeral.

I'll be alone. I don't want to be alone, Jon thought as he ran his fingers through his hair, pacing the length of his tiny room over and over. The gods wouldn't kill Jaime, would they? Was his only purpose not to put bastards on Cersei and now he's done? No, that can't be it. I just have to be patient. But for all that Jaime insisted that they had at least given him one message over the years, they were remarkably silent now even as Jon beseeched them at the Weirwood. Is it only the Seven that answer? Or do the Old Gods answer too? He was about ready to walk outside and scream, ' Give me a sign,' but he was concerned that his sanity would come into question. It was imperative that he avoid any awkward entanglements while he trained.

He finally sighed in frustration, yanked the door open, and stepped outside. He breathed in the relatively warm fresh air and exhaled. He decided to take a walk around the building, maybe even check on Jaime once more hoping to find a change.

Cersei is guarding him. He frowned tersely at the thought. He didn't like the queen being anywhere near her twin, but as she was royalty, she had final authority over him. Ser Barristan had tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted.

He walked into the building and nodded at the guards on duty. No doubt he'd be getting a lecture

from his uncle tomorrow about getting a proper night's rest.

"Son, you need to take better care of yourself. Your family is still counting on you. Even Maester Luwin has reported disappointing news that you're falling asleep in your lessons," Ned said, crossing his arms and frowning at him.

"Yes, I know un - father." He winced at the near slip, but thankfully his uncle didn't notice. "I'm unable to find rest anymore."

"Listen, I understand that you liked Ser Jaime, but it looks like he may be unable to take you on as a squire. Ser Barristan has already come to me and offered to take over your squireship. With Ser Jaime...like this, they'll need to fill in the extra spot in the Kingsguard."

"He's not even dead yet! That's cold, even for you, father." Jon shook his head at the notion.

"These things happen. The only thing you can do is to move on."

"I am not moving on to anything until he's cold in the ground," Jon said, the grip on his new sword tight. The sword that Jaime had commissioned especially for him.

Ned noticed the way he gripped the sword and said, "I see your loyalty is easily bought by a sword."

"How dare you! I have been his squire for near three weeks now and he has treated me fairly!"

"He's supposed to treat you fairly. He's a knight."

"Yet you're the one who's convinced he has irrevocably stained his honor. I will wait until either Ser Jaime wakes up or he is buried, but not until then," Jon shouted and stormed out of the solar.

There were few who hadn't heard that fight. For once, Theon didn't goad him and instead stood clear of him as though he was expecting Jon to use his new sword on him in a fit of rage. He still practiced in the yards and he might be even more formidable now. The sword wasn't quite as light as Longclaw but it was comfortable. This was the sword that he had used for near ten years in his

former life and it felt like it was back in his hands. Ser Rodrick had made the comment, "Does Ser Jaime even have anything left to teach you?"

We're supposed to face this war together, I'm sure of it, Jon thought. Can I go it alone? He still thought back to the night when Ser Jaime had told him about how he tried to kill himself and shivered again. Ser Jaime had been stuck guarding people he detested for life. Maybe it would've been kinder for Ser Barristan to discharge him, but the old knight hadn't even known. He hadn't bothered to show an interest in his charge's life.

He headed up the stairs and was almost to Jaime's door when he heard an odd, muffled moan. He cocked his head. There was more moaning, but it didn't sound lustful in nature. It sounded...strangled. That got his feet moving and he wrenched open Jaime's door and gaped.

Queen Cersei let out a little scream and leapt off her brother, poorly trying to conceal her modesty with her hands. Jaime was lying naked on the bed, but his arms and legs were tied to the bedposts, and a piece of cloth tied around his mouth. He looked over as soon as the door opened and gave another strangled scream. Even tied to the bed Jon could see he was trying to reach for him. He could see the fear and panic in his eyes.

"WHAT IN SEVEN HELLS ARE YOU DOING?" Jon roared loud enough to wake the entire household and a red film descended over his vision.

"What's it to you, bastard?" Cersei hissed. She scooped up her robe and threw it on her, using a hand to keep it close, and then tried to slip past him. He grabbed her wrist none too gently.

"You dare injure your queen? You will die tomorrow! I'll make sure of it."

"Not before you die," Jon replied, but she brought her knee up to hit him in the groin and he doubled over. She wrenched out of his grasp and dashed down the hall, her robe whipping behind her. He staggered after her.

"Jon, what's going on?" His uncle Ned and Catelyn appeared, having hastily dressed in their own night clothes.

"The queen was raping Ser Jaime," Jon spat out at them and then dashed down the hall. More people were spilling into the hallway. A few of them called his name, but he didn't heed them and continued, having seen the telltale flutter of her crimson robe as she turned yet another corner.

There's nowhere for her to hide, he thought. The next corner he turned, Ser Barristan and Ser Mandon Moore were by the queen. She held the robe closed with a white hand and pointed at him.

"He peeked at me naked and then damaged my wrist. Seize him!"

But Ser Barristan didn't move right away. "Pardon me, Your Grace, but what were you doing wandering Winterfell in just a robe? Ser Mandon Moore, why weren't you with her?"

"She...she was doing a shift looking over Ser Jaime. She insisted on going alone."

"She was dressed like this?" Ser Barristan said with a hard tone.

"Well…"

"What are you doing? I am your queen! Arrest him!"

"Jon Snow is an upstanding lad. I rather doubt what you accuse him of."

"I caught her raping, Ser Jaime," Jon snarled. He clenched his fists and started stepping forward. Ser Barristan stopped him at arm's length.

"Whoa there, son. She was what?"

"She tied him to his bed and was raping him! I saw it!"

Ser Mandon snickered. When Jon turned his enraged eyes on him, he almost choked on his laughter, but he straightened up and stared down at him with an air of superiority.

"You can't rape a man. Never knew a man who didn't enjoy a good romp through the sheets. Ser Jaime probably needed to relieve more stress than most. He was always an uptight prick."

"Because all men want to roll in the sheets with their sister, is that what you're saying?"

Ser Mandon sputtered under both Jon's and Ser Barristan's glares.

"The king will settle this," Ser Barristan said. "Come with me." The queen smiled at him, her face aglow, but it fell when Ser Barristan growled, "Everyone, with me, now ."

They trooped back to the center of the castle. They hadn't gotten far when they could hear the king. "BRING ME THAT BITCH RIGHT NOW OR I WILL SEE YOU ALL WHIPPED BLOODY!"

"Robert," Ned cried. "My son went after her. With luck he'll bring her back."

"I have her here, Your Grace," Ser Barristan declared as they rounded the corner.

The whole household was awake now. Sansa, Arya, Myrcella, and Julianna were standing around Lady Catelyn. The youngest girl reached out to her and cried, "Mother!" But Catelyn grabbed her hand and whispered urgently in her ear and she stayed where she was. Tears were already welling in her eyes.

Robb was one of the few who had actually changed out of his sleep clothes and was wearing a tunic and trousers, and he was standing next to Ned, both looking very grim. King Robert was red with fury and Jon felt himself recoil internally. Is this what my father saw on the Trident? To her credit, the queen still held her head high and did not flinch as she met his eyes.

"WOMAN! Ned here says that you were discovered fucking your brother!" The whole crowd drew back in disgust. Catelyn gasped and decided to start leading all of the young children away. Sansa was pale and shaking as she stared at the queen, seeing her mask pulled away for the very first time.

"Yes. Even tied up he's a better lay than you," Cersei replied with a smirk.

The king was shaking with fury, but Ned grabbed a hold of his arm to prevent him from barrelling forward and striking her. "Why?!"

"He's my twin. We are the same soul in two different bodies. We need to be together. You wouldn't understand."

"What madness is this?! That was a Targaryen belief and Westeros rejected that when they put me on the throne!"

Cersei shrugged. "I have regretted every day that I've been married to you. You stand there furious that I found a better man to address my needs when you put your cock in every woman you could find between here and King's Landing, littering the countryside with your bastards. It was a pleasure cuckolding you for so long. I almost got away with it," she said with a dramatic sigh.

The hall interrupted into pandemonium. People cried out, "Traitor! Whore! Slut!" The king had, if possible, flushed an even deeper red. Ned was talking into his ear, obviously trying to talk sense into Robert before he did something drastic. Joffrey was looking understandably frightened and seemed to be looking for the Hound who was standing nearby like an immovable boulder in a frothing ocean. Ser Barristan and Tyrion stood silent and pale nearby, shaken to their foundation. Jon's own heart was pounding in his chest as he understood the implication of her words.

Oh gods no, Jaime! She's claiming the children are his! The king will kill them all! He could only stand there helplessly, trembling uncontrollably. He put his hand on his sword, but he wasn't sure what he'd do about it.

"Throw her in the dungeons! Get her out of my sight! Lock the children in their rooms! I'll deal with them tomorrow," Robert bellowed. Guards instantly grabbed for Cersei and her robe fell open, revealing her nakedness, but she didn't try to hide herself this time, but marched with her head high down into the dungeons. The Hound grabbed Joffrey and pulled him back to his room without protest.

"Your Grace, what of Ser Jaime?" Ned asked. There was fear on his face.

Jon grimaced and his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

"Throw him in the dungeons as well. I'll have all their heads tomorrow!"

"Ser Jaime hasn't had a trial! He must be allowed to speak," Ned said. Jon could see that his uncle was doing his best to hide the alarm on his face and in his voice.

"I pardoned that cock for killing the Mad King and this is how he repays me?!"

"Mayhaps the children aren't Ser Jaime's! The queen - "

"She is my queen no longer!"

" - Cersei could just be saying that. Jon claims he saw Cersei raping her brother! I untied him from the bedpost myself and he was barely coherent. He suffered a fit, the likes of which I've only seen once in my life. Maester Luwin claims he had a seizure and it was caused in part by undue stress. Being raped would cause that kind of stress."

"Ned, listen to yourself! Have you ever heard of a man being raped by a woman? He's just playing dumb to escape punishment."

"He was unconscious from a serious head wound until an hour ago!"

"And the children? They're full Lannister, just like their cunt of a mother and father. There is no doubt!"

The people shouted agreement and once more the calls rolled forward of, "Kill the bitch! Kill the Kingslayer!"

"Robert, please, you can't - !"

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, Ned! I AM THE KING," Robert roared once more.

"If you execute Tywin Lannister's children, he will demand all the money that he has sent to King's Landing immediately and the kingdom will drown in debt."

"Fuck Tywin Lannister! I should seize Casterly Rock from him for pushing his whore of a daughter onto me. Let him try to fight this. Now arrest Jaime Lannister and throw him into the dungeons!"

Ser Barristan seemed to be stuck to the floor, but he turned his head to Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Arys Oakheart and nodded at them. They bowed and headed off to Jaime's room.

Jon very nearly pulled his sword then on the guards, but he knew it would end with him in the cells as well. He wouldn't be able to do Jaime any good locked in the cell next to him. His mind was racing, but he was coming up blank on solutions.

A few minutes later, they heard the door bang open from the second floor.

"My sers, please, he is ill! He is unfit to leave his sickbed!"

"The King's orders," Ser Mandon barked. Everyone could hear the two men walking down the hall. When everyone could see them at the top of the stairs, it was to the two knights carrying Jaime by his arms and his legs dragged limply behind him. His head was bowed, so no one could see his eyes. Jon was relieved to see that someone had the decency to dress him in a pair of sleep pants and a woolen shirt.

"Your Grace, you need to at least give Ser Jaime a trial. He is one of your Kingsguard," Ned finally said.

"Fine. Bring him in front of me."

The guards turned back to the king and walked him to the front and then let Jaime fall to the floor. He didn't catch himself and simply laid there. For a moment, Jon thought perhaps he was still unconscious, but then his head moved and he made a motion to get up. His arms trembled, but he was finally able to sit up and then he slowly and cautiously got to his feet and he stood up straight. His face was bowed and mostly in shadow, but when he looked up, Jon gasped. There were dark circles under his eyes, his skin was a nasty pallid gray, and whatever life had sparkled in his green eyes had gone out.

"Ser Jaime Lannister," Robert started with a snarl, "your sister was found naked, fucking you this evening. Do you deny it?"

Jon fumed. He started forward, ready to contradict the king, but Ser Barristan grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, and said, "Do not interfere."

"Jaime was raped! I saw it," Jon hissed.

"Don't put your future at jeopardy," Ser Barristan replied.

"This is a travesty of justice," Jon snapped back.

"The King is angry. I will do what I can to convince him of Ser Jaime's innocence, but you need to stay out of it."

"What of the children? What's going to happen to them?" Jaime asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Their heads will be removed along with yours and your sister's," King Robert growled.

Ser Jaime pinched his face into a grimace. He was silent for a long moment and then he asked, "If I claim the children as mine, will you spare them?" King Robert only growled, but then he fixed his eyes on Ned who was standing next to Robert, looking as grim as ever. "Promise me, Stark. Promise me you'll spare the children!"

Ned nodded and said, "I promise."

For a moment, the hatred Jaime held for Ned appeared on his face, but then he closed his eyes and he suddenly looked as old as he had when he died in the other life. "They are mine," he said in a whisper.

The crowd once again screamed to the heavens, "Kingslayer! Sisterfucker!" The sun was just starting to rise outside, so the servants were busy bringing breakfast to the rest of the household, and someone grabbed a bowl of oatmeal and threw it at him. He winced, every so slightly as the goop hit him in the shoulder and spattered down his front. He bothered to try and brush it off, but Jon noticed he had a pinched expression on his face that indicated a severe headache and another potential fit or seizure as the maester had called it.

"Ser Jaime Lannister, you and your wretched sister shall be executed tomorrow on the morn! May you rot in all Seven Hells. Take him away," Robert declared. The Kingsguard made to grab him by the arms once more, but he violently shrugged them away and simply started walking.

Tyrion, for a moment, made to follow, but Ser Barristan and Jon both put a hand on his shoulder.

"But Jaime...he...they're not his children! He doesn't deserve this," Tyrion said, his face wretched as tears ran down his cheeks.

"I know, Lord Tyrion. But what can we do?" Ser Barristan replied.

Jon tried to say something, but the words got stuck in his chest. Equal measures of panic, despair, and exhaustion were rising up to choke him. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, but nothing came to mind. He hadn't even felt this hopeless facing the Night King for the last time, and this time it seemed he would be facing the Long Night without his friend by his side.

Chapter 10 - Jon IX

Chapter Summary

Thank you all for your comments and support. I know last chapter was tough to read, but I want to thank you all for handling it like champs. Now, on with the fic!

UPDATED* 3/31/2019 - Edited text for a smoother read.

Chapter 10

Jon IX

"How could you let this happen to him? He has faithfully done your bidding and you throw him to the wolves?" Jon asked, staring up into the carved face of Winterfell's weirwood. Was it just his imagination, or was the tree weeping more than usual?

Jon had skipped breakfast in favor of beseeching the gods. He had yet to sleep a wink for the night and resisted the need for sleep, desperate to think of something that would see Jaime removed from his cell, but his thoughts were like leaves in autumn, scattered to the wind. He reached to touch the tree, in hopes that perhaps a physical connection, might foster a real one, but the only thing he could hear was silence.

Ghost whimpered and whined at his feet, pawing at his leg. Jon sighed and reached down to stroke his fur, in hopes it might calm him. It did for a moment, but just as quickly as the despair left, it came back rolling in like an ocean wave. With a heavy sigh, he sat down at the foot of the weirwood.

He ran various scenarios through his head and each one he had to reject. He went so far as considering springing Jaime from his cell, snatching some horses, and riding to White Harbor, but his uncle and his men would be on them in an instant. Every single scenario he knew would end with his own head on the block and then he and Jaime would've been sent back for nothing.

Maybe the changes already made would be enough that the world won't fall completely into shambles, he thought, but shoved that thought away quickly. Tywin Lannister would declare war. He probably wouldn't feel a thing for Cersei or Tyrion, but he would rage against the king for Jaime's death, no matter what he did - or didn't - do. For all that Tywin found the Lannister legacy so important, he would destroy himself for vengeance on his son. There was no doubt about it,

there was going to be war soon, and it would be over Jaime's dead body instead of looking to put Jon on the throne.

His exhaustion caught up to him while he was sitting down. Ghost curled up next to him, his head in his lap and peered up at him imploringly, but he drifted off to sleep before he noticed.

Jon was walking through the empty halls of the Red Keep. At least, he presumed it was the Red Keep, having only been to the Dragon Pit in King's Landing. The setting sun shone through the open archway and a warmth he had never known suffused the air and he closed his eyes in contentment. Normally, he would find this kind of heat stifling, but after so many long years in the bitter cold, it felt like his skin was finally thawing.

He walked into the throne room and peered up at the chair of melted swords. From the descriptions he had encountered, it was a great ugly thing, and rumor had it that only those worthy of being king could sit on it without the throne stabbing back. Joffrey was well known for being cut often on the throne.

His footsteps echoed around the hall, emphasizing the eerie emptiness of the room, but he felt unbothered by it. He stopped at the foot of the throne and peered up at it. It loomed before him like a dragon, but he was not afraid. He had ridden Rhaegal for a small period of time before he too was destroyed by the Night King. He knew how to tame a dragon.

An impulse seized him to sit on the throne. It was his birthright after all. He ascended the small staircase slowly. When he started ascending the throne's staircase, his footsteps took on a new sound and sounded like a gong was playing, heralding his ascent. When he turned to finally sit, the empty throne room was now suddenly filled to the brim with his allies and liege lords. He could see Ser Jaime standing at the front with a pleased smirk, next to his brother who was puffed up in pride. He saw his uncle, Robb, uncle Benjen, Lady Catelyn, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Ser Barristan, Samwell Tarly, and oddly enough his great great grand uncle Aemon Targaryen. Even despite his milky eyes, he peered up at him expectantly.

Jon nodded and sat.

When he turned, his breath caught upon seeing Dany smiling proudly at him, seated just to his left in a throne of equal import. She was wearing a deep blue gown which seemed to give her an ethereal glow. She grabbed his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "Together. Always together," she said to him. "No one man can conquer the kingdoms alone."

Jon closed his eyes at the soft feeling of her fingers, trying desperately to memorize their feel. He

seemed unable to speak and was enraptured by the soft glow that seemed to surround her.

Everyone simultaneously bowed or curtsied. The bells sounded above the keep and the herald said, "All hail the King Aemon Targaryen, first of his name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men!"

There was a louder gong and he jolted awake. He glanced up and saw the sun hadn't moved more than an hour. His heart soared and he leapt to his feet. He knew what he had to do and he strode with purpose to his uncle's solar. Ghost skipped along after him.

He knocked on the door impatiently.

It cracked open and Ned Stark peered out. His face was pale and drawn and bruises of exhaustion ringed his eyes. He sighed when he saw him and said, "Jon, this isn't a good time. I've done everything I could."

"Not everything. This can't wait," Jon replied.

He peered at him a moment, then sighed, and pulled the door open. Jon walked in to find fresh rolls of parchment scattered across his uncle's desk; he was clearly in the middle of writing a letter. Knowing full well he was violating his uncle's privacy, he peered at the parchment.

To the Lady Maege of House Mormont,

His Grace King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals...requires that the North answer his call to arms. Please make haste

The letter trailed off from there. Jon looked up at him with a condescending expression.

"Already prepared for Lord Tywin's wrath in a foolish war?"

Ned drew his mouth into a line. "Yes, he will undoubtedly declare war on the realm when his children are executed. Hopefully, his grandchildren kept as royal hostages will be enough to keep this conflict from becoming too bloody."

"There wouldn't be a war if you could convince His Grace to spare Ser Jaime." Here, Jon narrowed his eyes at him, "You know the children aren't Jaime's. He took the fall to save them. I know you don't kill children. You were always going to save them, why did you let him claim them?"

"These matters are complicated, Jon, you wouldn't understand," Ned replied and there was an undercurrent of anger in his voice.

"I understand more than you know...Uncle," Jon replied.

It took a moment for Ned to realize what he'd just said. He fell back, pale and shaken, into his chair. "H-how do you know?"

"This isn't my first time on this earth, Uncle. I was here before. That time went considerably different. I went off to the Wall, ignorant of my true heritage, and you went to die in King's Landing. You told me when we parted that you would tell me about my mother when next we met, but instead you died and left me and the world ignorant. Even now, you refused to tell me."

"If you know the truth, then you know why."

"Because it's dangerous? You know what else is dangerous? The Long Night. It's coming, Uncle. The next winter will be the world's last. I would know; I died facing the Night King. Westeros was torn to shreds, we weren't united, and the Night King picked us apart."

If it was at all possible, his uncle's face became even more pale and he saw his fingers tremble. "I- I'll speak to Robert about this. He'll want to know. There's no reason for you to-to get involved."

"That's not good enough, Uncle. That won't save Ser Jaime Lannister."

"Wh-why are you so intent on seeing him free? This isn't just about being his squire, is it?"

"Very astute," Jon replied, not able to hold back the biting edge to his voice. "Ser Jaime was with me when I killed the Night King. In fact, Ser Jaime made it possible for me to kill the Night King. But he died and so did I. The gods have sent us back to rectify the situation."

"The gods sent you back…? He remembers your other life too? This was never about becoming his squire, he wanted to take you back to King's Landing to claim your throne," Ned said, trying to keep his voice to a whisper, but he was having trouble. He stood up and started pacing the room.

"Yes, that was part of the plan. This sword? Its design is from Jeor Mormont's ancestral sword, Longclaw . When I went to the Wall, I saved the Old Bear's life and he gifted me his ancestral sword as a reward. I carried that sword for near ten years. I'm more comfortable with this sword than any other. Jaime knew that and commissioned it for me."

"This is too much. Far too much," Ned said, clutching at his head as though the action would somehow cause everything to make sense. "I'll see what I can do about Ser Jaime."

"No," Jon snapped. "We're far past the point of persuading King Robert. I'm not going to let Jaime's life hang on whether Robert's feeling merciful. You could just get him banished to the Wall. I've already been on the Wall and all it did was cut me off from the rest of the world and prevent me from properly coordinating with the Kings."

"Kings…?"

"Some other time, Uncle," Jon replied through gritted teeth. "I need Ser Jaime by my side. You're going to help me overthrow Robert."

Ned's eyes grew large. "Son, do you realize what you're saying?"

"I do. It's perfect. It would be so easy to take King Robert as a hostage. Most of the soldiers he brought are Lannister men*. We save Jaime and they'll fall on our side, not Robert's. At the same time, we'll win Lord Tywin's loyalty."

"What of Queen Cersei?"

Jon glared. "I'll make her a hostage of one of our vassals. She's far too dangerous to be allowed free reign. Plus, she still raped her brother. I don't think I can justify beheading her. I want her exiled, but she's too dangerous to just be sent across the ocean. She needs to be our prisoner for the rest of her days."

"Too dangerous? What-?"

"Not now, Uncle," Jon hissed. "I'll fill you in about what happened in my other life another time. We need to prepare!"

"Jon, you're asking a great deal of me."

"I owe Ser Jaime a great deal."

"He's a snake, Jon. He can't be trusted."

"With all due respect, Uncle, I know Ser Jaime a lot better than you. I have his loyalty and he has mine. I intend to honor that pledge."

"If I don't do this?" Ned was looking at him nervously.

"Then I shall be on the chopping block right along with him, much to his chagrin, I'm sure."

Ned let out a shuddering breath, burying his head in his hands. "What do you need me to do?"

"Prepare your men for a fight. If you need a pretense then just say you're making sure the traitors don't get away," Jon said and drew in a full breath, feeling as if he could breathe for the first time. It was always possible this could dissolve into a pitched battle, but they had a chance.

Ned frowned at him. "I never taught you to fight like this."

"Life taught me I need to do what is necessary. Is this any worse than concealing your dead sister's son for sixteen years and lying to the realm and your best friend?" Jon knew it was a low blow, but his uncle deserved it for all the grief he had given Ser Jaime. Not to mention the untold grief he had received for being thought a bastard, especially from Lord Stark's own wife.

Ned's face grew dark with rage. "I did it to protect you!"

"Ser Jaime's reasons for killing the Mad King were much the same, but you didn't give him the benefit of the doubt," Jon replied coolly.

His uncle grew quiet and critical. He studied Jon for a moment. "He told you why he murdered your grandfather?"

"He did," Jon said. "And if I had been alive then, I would've helped him."

Ned stared at him like he didn't know him anymore. It was probably true, but did he ever really know him? You tried to play the game far too safe, Uncle. It is required we take some risks and, unfortunately, we may be forced to do things less honorably than we'd like, but this is about the fate of the world. More than a few may fall dishonorably at my feet if it means being prepared for the Long Night, he thought. His own men of the Night's Watch murdering him rose to the forefront of his thoughts. He had done the honorable and right thing in that situation and was literally backstabbed for it. Never again.

"Tell me then," Ned began, "why did he do it?"

"That's his secret to tell. Not mine," Jon replied curtly. Ned had a stern expression, but he nodded. Then Jon added, "He hates you. Not enough to want you dead, but he hates you."

"Everything he indicated about his motives when I first saw him did not suggest someone who acted out of the best intentions."

"He was barely older than me. And alone. You think all men know what to do in such a situation once they're deemed a man?" Jon asked and snorted in derision. "I was a fool too. The youngest Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. I did things like you would have, Uncle. And I suffered for it." Once more, questions grew in Ned's eyes, but Jon shook his head. "Another time, Uncle. We need to plan."

They put their heads together until lunch. This was delicate work and both of them shot down ideas that the other proposed. Jon scoffed at Ned when he felt he was being too soft, and Ned countlessly warned him about appearing too hard lest the people be reminded of the Mad King. Finally, they drew up something they could be confident in.

"You've been here too long already. I'll make the rest of the preparations."

"Very well," Jon replied. He wanted to trust his uncle, but his propensity to follow his honor even in the face of a grave threat had him concerned. He was, after all, asking his uncle to depose his best friend and usurp his position. It has to be done. If his uncle failed to follow through, Jon's death would be quite quick and he would no longer have to worry about the state of the world. He left his uncle's solar looking anxious and fuming, as though he'd had another failed discussion about releasing Jaime.

His anger wasn't completely without merit. Ser Barristan had already come to him about continuing his squireship under him. He'd been forced to curb his tongue at the nasty things he wanted to say to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who looked merely troubled that one of its members was facing the executioner's block on the morrow.

He sat down next to Robb for lunch and muttered a mere greeting, before reaching for bread. His scowl was renewed at the thought that Jaime was enjoying a meal not even suitable for the ravens on the wall.

"Jon, cheer up. I know Ser Jaime was a great fighter, but do you really want to follow in the footsteps of someone who fu-" Robb stopped himself at his mother's glare and amended, "-who lays with his own sister? He's a traitor and a Kingslayer. The world will be better off without him."

Robb winced though when Jon stabbed violently at the roast in front of him.

Theon snorted at Jon's anger. "If I didn't know better, I'd say Snow was already sucking his cock."

"Theon Greyjoy, that is enough from you! You don't deserve to be at my table until you can speak with manners and respect," Lady Catelyn snapped at him.

He rolled his eyes, but got up and moved from the table with the family to the table with the guards.

"I don't believe that horseshit about him sleeping with his sister!"

"Jon," Catelyn yelled, pointing the same finger to the guard table, but Jon lingered where he was, glaring at Robb for a response.

"But he confessed!"

"Under duress. That's never a true confession and I can't believe you swallowed it."

Robb drew his mouth into a line of anger, but Jon had already moved to the same table as Theon, though he sat a few seats away. He ate silently for the rest of the meal and finished quickly. He needed to be calm and focused for the morning and nothing could do that like going to the training yard looking for unwitting victims.

- In the books there was a decent chunk of descriptions about how many Lannister men came with the king and how King's Landing was filled to the brim with Lannister cousins. I've written the story with this in mind.

Chapter 11 - Jon X

Update 4/7/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 11

Jon X

As was becoming routine with Jon, he was up before dawn, but unlike before where he had to hurry to Ser Jaime's room to assist him with his armor, now he was up on the wall of Winterfell watching the sunrise. He stared at it longingly as the yellow light bled into the sky.

He had taken so much for granted in that other life, before the Long Night. It was only after being encompassed in darkness that he recognized the true value of the sun. Not only did it bathe the land in light, warm its peoples, and allowed food to grow, but it held an inner power. He remembered longingly looking towards what he thought was east and praying that was the day they'd see the sun again. It created an inner peace and joy in all creatures, a marked assurance that as long as it rose, there was always hope.

He needed that hope now. The king had declared the night before that the Lannister twins would be executed after breakfast. A sustained cry had arisen from all of the men in the great hall, save for the family of Starks. Lord Stark was looking as grim as ever and Lady Catelyn appeared unsure. Bran and Arya were confused, Sansa was still upset about the Prince being a bastard, and Robb was as grim as his father. Theon seemed to have not a care in the world. Jon was standing at the door, struggling not to glare at the king, although the man paid him no mind.

In fact, the king seemed oddly unconcerned about his wife betraying him and failing to give him children. There seemed to be a marginal increase in his drinking, but as he was already a drunkard, it was difficult to truly say.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned just in time to see Tyrion slip through the door, carrying a bottle of wine under each arm. Jon slipped away to follow him. He vowed he would eat tonight because he needed his strength in the morning, but dinner could wait. There was enough food there to feed an army.

He followed Tyrion as he waddled up to his room. The lone Lannister had secreted himself away, skirting the king at every opportunity. His own drinking habit had assuredly increased, but he ate less and less food and Jon suspected that he was on a firm diet of wine only. This wouldn't be the first time he'd caught Tyrion drinking himself into oblivion.

He knocked on the little lord's door. There was a moment's silence before a tentative voice called out, "Who is it?"

"Jon Snow."

"Come in," Tyrion replied and this time the voice sounded without the careful guards in place that made him sound more carefree but with a sarcastic edge to it.

When he opened the door, Tyrion raised the bottle. "Come, sit, bastard. A toast as both of our future's go up in smoke tomorrow!" He tilted the bottle back and drained it, rivulets traveled down the side of his mouth and dripped down his shirt. "Ah! You think the King will still allow me this luxury come tomorrow?"

"What luxury is that?"

"Why, drinking, of course! You can't waste good wine on the house of traitors. I will be in a cell as surely as Jaime and Cersei are. A considerably more plush cell, but the bars at the window and guards on the door will be the same," Tyrion replied. There was a slight slur to his words and he didn't disguise the raucous burp.

Jon didn't bother with meaningless words of comfort and he certainly didn't want to spoil the surprise. He simply said, "You should eat, My Lord. It would be inappropriate for you to be hungover at your brother's execution tomorrow."

"But not unexpected," Tyrion said, with a dark look. "And don't call me Lord. In all likelihood, I soon won't be. If King Robert has his way, the entire Lannister family tree will be burned to ash and struck from the land as surely as my father obliterated the Reynes and the Tarbecks. All because my beautiful sister couldn't have her way.

"There was never any compromising with her. Ever. Jaime was always the mediator because he was the only one who loved us both. He was a rather poor one, but he always protected me from her. She would have arranged for an accident for me a long time ago if not for him. And then one day, that all changed. Suddenly, Jaime hated Cersei almost as much as I did. I thought perhaps the fact that she was marrying the King and ultimately being forced to lie with another man was what drove Jaime to shun her, but I was...wrong about that. To this day, I still don't know what caused the change, but suddenly he was seeing her for the manipulative bitch that she was and always has been. She could never take him on and he knew it. The one time, the one time he falls injured, is the exact moment she strikes and takes everything away from him and murders the Lannister family legacy that my father worked so hard to build, as surely as if she were Ser Illyn Payne

swinging the sword tomorrow."

Tyrion suddenly focused on him with an awareness that someone who had been drinking all day shouldn't have. "My brother is a good man. Yet, you and I appear to be the only ones who know that. Why is that? What is it about you that makes you see past everything Jaime tries to be and not what he is? How did you do it?"

Jon raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was hitting a little too close to territory he currently wasn't comfortable treading with Tyrion at that moment. It shouldn't have been a surprise that he noticed. Everyone had noticed. It had been commented on by Ned, Robb, Theon, and Ser Barristan.

You've been his squire for less than a month? How could you already be so loyal to him?

"He's the first person I've met who saw me as more than just a bastard, even if he seems to think it's my name," Jon replied. It was certainly true for this time period. "My father, Lord Stark, was preparing for me to join the Night's Watch. He kept telling me what a great honor it would be for me to be in the Night's Watch and how it's the only place that would give me true opportunity, but my uncle Benjen was trying to talk me out of it. He thought it would be folly to sign my life away when, in his words, it had only just begun. I understand the Night's Watch is a great honor, but it's also the haven of murderers and thieves. Is it really such a crime to be a bastard that that is my only recourse?"

"I don't know, but you might ask my nephew," Tyrion replied sourly. Then he sighed. "I see what you mean, Jon. We are both scourges on our fathers' honor, but at least my father has the courage to not fake his disappointment." He blinked slowly up at Jon, and he knew that the little lord was about to fall asleep. "Maybe I should join the Wall, if it means sparing me the King's wrath. I've always wanted to see the Wall."

"I'm sure you will someday," Jon replied and he decided to leave at that time. He snuck a plate of food to his room, tossing Ghost scraps that he knew would make Lady Catelyn want to wring his neck.

The sun was now peeking over the horizon and he closed his eyes as the light glided across his face. The world was coming awake around him, but he stayed there just a moment in the hopes that time might stand still for him. Then he left to visit the godswood and stared imploringly up at the face in the weirwood.

"I beg you, Old Gods, that I would have your blessing this day. This could mean the life and death

of all beings in the world. I pray for the wisdom to handle this situation and any future situations. I thank you," he said, dipping his head for a moment of silence before heading to the dining hall.

He forced poached eggs down his throat, but he barely tasted them. Robb was staring at him with an expression that was a mixture of anger, despair, and concern. The rest of the Stark children were quiet. Lady Catelyn was looking very pale, because all of her children would be forced to attend the execution. King Robert appeared not to be eating, but was only downing wine, although Ned was encouraging him by pushing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. Tyrion hadn't appeared for any meals since his sister's confession and Cersei's bastards were all forced to take their meals in their rooms, though they too would be forced to attend the executions.

Finally, the king stood up and bellowed to the hall, "Fetch Ser Illyn Payne. It's time for the executions."

Jon glared at the king, but then turned his eyes on his uncle. Ned met them and nodded at him. He nodded back.

Everyone proceeded to get up and file out of the Great Hall into the yard. Jon stopped in his tracks when he saw the block on the ground and Theon shoved him. "Keep going, Snow. Your pretty boy knight's going to lose his head and there is nothing to be done about it. So kiss him goodbye."

Jon clenched his jaw and kept moving. We'll see, Greyjoy.

The bastard children were led out along with their uncle Tyrion. The girls were already crying and Tyrion, who winced at the light, did whisper to them what Jon hoped were words of comfort. Joffrey was not crying. He tried to remain stoic, but his lip was trembling. Jon actually felt for the boy. He had, after all, experienced the exact same transformation, only in reverse. He couldn't imagine how devastating it must be to be thought the Crown Prince with every luxury at his fingertips, to suddenly be a bastard, being looked down on like the dirt beneath one's feet.

"Bring out the prisoners," King Robert roared.

Jon refused to give the king his attention and instead was looking around. The guards on the wall already had their bows in their hands. For such a simple execution, they would have kept them holstered. It was, after all, highly unlikely that either Jaime or Cersei would make it that far. He also made note of an increase in Winterfell soldiers in the yard, all bearing their armor. The Baratheon men were kept to a dozen, the Kingsguard and Ser Illyn Payne.

Jon kept his hand on his belt, right next to his sword.

The servants jeered as Ser Jaime and Cersei were dragged into view. Cersei held her head high, but her eyes looked red and puffy from crying, a once glorious crimson dress was now stained, and her hair looked stringy and greasy even from just the single day in the dungeons. Jaime didn't look much better. He kept his eyes to the ground and his shirt, trousers, and bandage covering the wound were all stained with the grime from the cells. He glanced up briefly, scouting the crowd until he locked eyes with Jon and he could see the skin was clearly bruised from lack of sleep. Jon was certain for a moment that he saw pleading in Jaime's eyes, but it was gone in the next moment as he once again cast his eyes to the ground.

The King's herald read the crimes to the crowd, "Jaime Lannister, you have been found guilty of treason against the crown and incest with your sister. You are hereby stripped of your title as knight of the Kingsguard. May the Seven have mercy on your soul!"

Two guards grabbed Jaime by the arms and escorted him the rest of the way to the block.

"Patience, Jaime! We'll be together forever shortly," Cersei shouted to him.

"Fuck you, you fucking whore," Jaime yelled back and he fought against the men. Though he was weak from his time abed, he was still a knight, and he dug his heels in like a stubborn horse and very nearly threw the guards off.

"Are you not guards of the Seven Kingdoms? Hold him! Break his pretty face, if you must, it will be all the same when I throw his head back to his father," King Robert spat.

One of the guards held Jaime as the other brought a metal fist to the back of his head and Jaime went limp. They dragged him the rest of the way to the block and forced his head down. He wasn't quite unconscious, but he seemed disoriented and he raised unfocused eyes to Ser Illyn Payne, who stepped up with his sword unsheathed.

The tongueless knight looked to the king. Robert's face was the very picture of a summer storm, all dark clouds and thunder. He stared at Jaime for a moment, then glanced back at Ser Illyn and nodded.

It was now or never.

Jon unsheathed his sword and ran forward.

"Jon," Robb called out, reaching out to him, but Jon's cloak flapped out of his grasp, but he dare not move.

Ser Illyn paid no attention to the crowd and had already raised his sword up to its pinnacle. He brought it down, but Jon was there, standing on the other side of Jaime, with his sword brought up to deflect the blow and then he brought his sword back for a strike at Ser Illlyn.

"BOY! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW OR YOU SHALL BE CHARGED AS AN ACCOMPLICE TO JAIME LANNISTER," Robert roared.

Ned called out to the soldiers positioned on the walls, "Archer's, ready!"

Jon and Ser Illyn continued to battle. He should not have been surprised to find that the knight was a good fighter, but then he'd never had the opportunity to battle him. Ser Illyn's sword was heavier and had a longer reach, but it made Jon faster and he managed to dodge a lunge by Ser Illyn and brought his sword down on the knight's right hand, severing it and causing him to drop the sword. Ragged, animalistic screeching emanated from the knight's throat as he clutched at the stump where his hand used to be. Jon brought his knee up and smashed it into the knight's face and he dropped where he lay, blood still seeping from his stump.

Jon turned to Jaime and with a quick swipe, freed his hands. Jaime rubbed his hands to get the blood flowing again and picked up Ser Illyn's sword. He had to take a moment to pry the severed hand loose and he threw it away from him like it was a large spider. Together, they rounded on Robert.

Ser Barristan had his naked sword in his hand and he was staring at them with undisguised disgust.

"What is the meaning of this? Boy, you have unlawfully injured my executioner and freed a prisoner! You have not saved Jaime Lannister, merely assured your own death," Robert growled. "Ser Barristan, Ser Mandon Moore, defeat them!"

The two knights stepped forward and Jaime Lannister shouted, "You dare raise your sword against the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms?"

The two knights stopped. Ser Mandon Moore glanced at Ser Barristan for a cue, but Ser Barristan looked shaken. "What do you mean the rightful ruler?"

Jon stood straight, his eyes never leaving Robert's. "My true name is Aemon Targaryen. I am the last living son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark." Robert's eyes went wide. "Yes, that's right, usurper. The woman you loved never loved you. She loved another. Your rebellion was predicated on a false cause! My mother wasn't kidnapped, she left willingly! Septon Maynard annulled Prince Rhaegar's marriage to Elia Martell and then wed him and Lyanna Stark in the sight of the Seven. He got her with child and hid her in the Tower of Joy, in Dorne, safe from your wrath, but she died giving birth to me. My uncle claimed me as his own to protect me."

Everyone turned to Eddard Stark who stood grimly by Robert's side. Lady Catelyn was shaken. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open and she put a hand on Ned's shoulder to steady herself. The rest of the Stark children and Greyjoy just gaped, but Robb and Theon looked at each other, nodded, and pulled knives out of their belts, readying for a fight. Cersei's children were so stunned that Myrcella and Julianna forgot to cry and Tyrion was no longer paying them any attention. His eyes kept darting back and forth between Jon and Jaime.

"Ned, is this true?"

"It is, Robert. After your glee over the deaths of Elia Martell and her children, I had no doubt that you wouldn't hesitate to murder Lyanna's son," Ned said. His mouth was drawn into a hard line and there was rage in his eyes. "I had to protect my own blood."

"Kneel before me now and I shall let you live," Jon said.

Robert's face went red with fury and he shrieked, "Traitors! I'm surrounded by traitors! Soldiers, fight! Fight for your king!"

The squad of guards drew their swords, but they were looking up on the ramparts where the archers were ready to draw their arrows.

Ned pulled his own sword out and said, "That's enough, Robert. You will have no support here. Your men are outside Winterfell, unable to reach you. You would sacrifice the rest of your soldiers and your Kingsguard in a foolish bid to keep your throne? Surrender. It's over."

"Kingsguard, protect your king," Robert shouted his orders. But still the Kingsguard hesitated as

they looked to Ser Barristan, who seemed lost.

"Ser Barristan, you loved Rhaegar! Don't deny it. You will murder his last living son?" Jaime said. His own sword was up and he stood between Jon and Ser Barristan. He was the only one that Jon could not take after all.

Ser Barristan looked around, with uncertain eyes, and then looked back at Jaime. "You knew? You knew he was the last living son of Rhaegar? When did you know?"

"The day Ned Stark brought back a baby and his dead sister. No one could put two and two together? She was a perfectly healthy child of the north and yet she died? From what? The only explanation was childbirth," Jaime lied smoothly. "I'm shocked no one saw it sooner."

"Selmy, what are you waiting for? Kill them," Robert shouted.

Ser Boros Blount had enough waiting and he charged forward to Jon. Ned cried out, "Fire!"

Half a dozen arrows flew. They peppered the ground around the Kingsguard but one hit him in his left elbow and another on his knee. He staggered, but kept charging.

"Ser Boros, desist," Ser Barristan ordered.

The orders went ignored and Jon had to bring his sword up. It was an easy fight and all Jon did was defend himself as Ser Barristan shouted to make himself heard. When it became clear Ser Boros refused to listen, Jon finally started attacking. He hammered the knight hard onto his knees, kicked him over, and then drove his sword into his right shoulder, pinning him to the ground. The knight screamed, tried to pull the sword out with his left hand, but couldn't reach.

"No one needs must die," Jon shouted. "However, I will kill if I must. Surrender now. I will allow the Kingsguard and all the soldiers to bend their knee to me. You can either serve me or serve the Wall. Your choice."

The Baratheon guards sheathed their swords and bent the knee. Ser Barristan drove his sword into the ground and bent his knee, bowing his head to Jon. "My first oath was to the Targaryen legacy. I now renew that vow with Prince Rhaegar's last living son, heir to the throne."

Ser Mandon Moore spat on the ground. "I'll not serve a whelp!"

"Then you shall serve the Wall. They're in desperate need of good men like you. I'm sure a former Kingsguard will rise high," Jaime replied, walking over to rip the sword from the knight. "Arrest him and strip him of his armor. He won't need it where he's going."

Ser Arys Oakheart, Ser Preston Greenfield, and Ser Meryn Trant bent the knee behind Ser Barristan. Jon glanced at Jaime and saw the same thought in his head: Ser Meryn Trant can't be trusted. This was a knight who had beaten Sansa on the orders of the old Joffrey. If he was willing to do that, then he's a willing servant to other war crimes. Could he be encouraged to be the knight he was raised to or was he like Janos Slynt? They would both keep an eye on him.

"Robert Baratheon, you are hereby stripped of all your lands and titles. You shall remain with the Stark household as a hostage. We will allow you to retain your current quarters, but you are not allowed to leave unless summoned," Jon said. He found Robert pathetic. The once proud warrior his uncle spoke of was gone and now existed only a shadow, bloated and trembling because he had not the sense or the training anymore to wield a hammer or a sword. He looked at Ned with eyes full of betrayal, but Ned appeared unmoved.

Two pairs of Winterfell guards surrounded the old king and marched him back to his room. Another pair of guards escorted Ser Mandon Moore to the cells. Ser Boros Blount refused to swear a new oath and was sentenced to the Wall. Jon's sword was pulled out of his shoulder and three soldiers escorted him to Maester Luwin's study for treatment.

Ser Illyn Payne had bled out in the ensuing minutes after his hand was removed.

"His death was unfortunate. I need to send House Payne an apology. Have his body prepared and I will send it back for proper burial," Jon lamented.

"Brother, the gods have smiled upon us! We have a second chance - JAIME!"

Cersei had regarded the events with a pleased smile and when the Kingsguard were escorted away, she had run to Jaime. As soon as she placed a hand in his, he snatched his hand away and pointed his sword at her. She fell back and for the first time seemed to understand how thin the ice was between her and her twin. She raised her hand up in a feeble defense as he raised his sword, hatred blazing in his eyes.

"Jaime, no," Jon ran to him and forced his hand down. "You can't kill her! She is not the perpetrator of those crimes!"

"You know what she did," Jaime snarled. "She's too dangerous to be left alive."

"Perhaps, but she didn't commit those. She did commit a crime against you however, and I will not let her free." Jon lowered his voice and said, "She may even prove a valuable hostage for your lord father's cooperation."

"Our father only cares about me. After the disgraced letter he is about to receive, he'll want her head himself," Jaime replied, then his face grew dark. "Mine too if I don't send a new letter telling him of the events today. Do I have your leave?"

"Yes, get some rest."

"I never want to see her after this day," Jaime said, nodding in the direction of his sister.

"You won't."

Jaime dropped the sword he'd taken from Ser Illyn and sauntered into Winterfell. All nobles and servants fell away from him like he was a pariah.

I needs must set the record straight. Everyone needs to have as much faith in Jaime as they do me, Jon thought, watching Jaime disappear into the doorway. He summoned yet another pair of guards to escort the former queen to her separate quarters and she glared at them all as if their intrusion into her life was unwelcome.

"J-jon?" He turned to find Robb and Theon had come up to him. "When did you find out about your heritage?"

"Fa-uncle told me just after I was made Ser Jaime's squire. He felt it as important that I knew where I came from, since I was going into the Snake Pit. I don't think he ever expected me to take the throne, though," Jon replied sheepishly.

"Why did you?"

"Ser Jaime was my ally. His accepting me as his squire was not a coincidence. He knew and he wanted to keep me close in King's Landing in case there was an opportunity. I couldn't just let him die, especially on false charges."

Robb wrinkled his nose. "But he confessed!"

"Under duress, to keep his nephew and nieces alive. If Rickon or Bran or Arya's life was at stake, wouldn't you be willing to stake your life for them?"

"I guess I can't call you bastard any longer," Theon replied meekly.

"Indeed," Jon replied sharply. "It's Aemon now. Come, it's time we had lunch."

"King Aemon, wait!"

Jon turned to find Lord Tyrion and the new bastard children following closely behind him. "My King, I want to thank you for sparing my brother's and sister's lives. However, I did want to know...what's to happen to the children?"

Joffrey and his sisters stared up at him anxiously. He thought there might have seen a small amount of resentment and anger in the boy's eyes, but mostly he saw fear. His former life had been ripped away from him. He no longer had any status in the eyes of the law and he was subject to the King's whim like any other peasant.

"The children have not committed any crime against me. They will no longer be confined to their rooms. However, I must insist that they stay here in Winterfell for the time being," Aemon replied.

"Th-thank you, My King. You are most merciful," Myrcella said, dropping into a curtsy. "I also wish to thank you for sparing my uncle and my mother's lives. I know what they did was wrong -"

"Your uncle is not your father. He did not sire a single one of you. Your mother only wished it were that way."

"I am relieved to hear you see it that way," Lord Tyrion replied. "My brother and his twin were close once, before she married Robert Baratheon, but never that close. Their relationship has been...tempestuous ever since. I know he never would have committed such a vile act."

Maybe not this time around, Aemon thought, but he immediately pushed it out of his mind. That Jaime was dead. The Jaime he knew had killed the old one long before they had ever met. He could trust this Jaime and he would. He was the truest ally he had, the only one who truly understood what was at stake.

"Come to lunch. I must make an announcement regarding Ser Jaime."

Author's Note: In my fic The Road North , I changed Jon's real name from Aegon to Aemon because I thought Aegon didn't make any sense. He already had a half-brother named Aegon. Why repeat the name? Admittedly, the change makes less sense now that Maester Aemon is still alive, but I'm keeping it.

Chapter 12 - Jaime III

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you all for reading and handing out Kudos! I want to thank the people who comment especially. I find your thoughts very interesting and it clues me in to what readers are thinking which might help steer the story.

That said, you will not sway me from the stated pairings in this fic. It will be Jon/Daenerys and Jaime/Brienne.

TRIGGER WARNING: Thoughts about rape

Update 4/7/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 12

Jaime III

The denizens of Winterfell fell away from him like he was a bearer of plague and they looked at him as if he was riddled with it. They still think I fucked my sister. Aemon will set that right, Jaime thought as he hurried to his room. He stopped one girl in the hallway and requested a tub of water be brought up to him. She had squeaked like a mouse and hurried away as soon as he let her go.

He barged into his room and was relieved to see it was as he had left it. They hadn't had time to, in all likelihood, burn his things. He wouldn't have minded if they had burned the sheets at least. His stomach rebelled as he looked at the bed, still unmade, with the sheets haphazardly splaying across the floor from where he had been raped and so rudely pulled from the sheets after that bitch lied about the paternity of her children. He dove for the chamber pot and vomited the very meager meal he had been left that morning.

Naught but a few minutes ago he had been in despair that the gods kept him alive only long enough to ensure he fathered no children on Cersei before casting him aside. He had tried to keep hope. He had prayed and pleaded with the gods as Cersei cried out unceasingly to him all day and all night long, her teal sounds cascading and bouncing off the walls: Jaime, you are my other half! We were meant to be! Why are you ignoring me? Let us spend our last few moments together, of one mind and one soul. Please, Jaime!

He had ignored her. He had wanted nothing more than to bash his own skull in to keep her voice from ringing in his ears, but mostly he wanted to bash her skull. It was the guards who had finally given in and went into gag her. Jaime's relief had been palpable and he sighed, only for his own guard to smack his sword sharply against the bars that caused an ugly black ripple to emanate, eliciting a sharp pain in Jaime's head.

As soon as they brought him into the light, his fate seemed all but sealed. He looked at the entirety of Winterfell's people gathered around the block and noted the guards on the wall ready to train their arrows on them in case of an escape attempt. However, as soon as he locked eyes with Jon, he felt a surge of adrenaline and, dare he say it, hope. His friend hadn't look resigned and so he shouldn't either. He fought with his captors every step of the way to the block and thought for one mournful moment, Why couldn't they at least behead Cersei first? It would be the greatest act that Robert would ever have to his name.

In the end it had been an almost bloodless coup, save for Ser Illyn Payne whom no one would truly mourn anyway. He remembered a rather visceral sympathy pain shooting through him upon seeing Jon lop his hand off and for a moment his own right hand had been non-functioning, but he picked up Ser Illyn's dropped sword and instantly fell just behind Aemon, to guard his left side, his sword pointed at Ser Barristan. Even despite his sleepless night and aching head, he was primed to spring and defeat the old knight should he go for Aemon's jugular. Thankfully, a reminder of Rhaegar was enough to cause Ser Barristan doubt.

In a matter of minutes, all of the immediate threats had been contained. He felt a small amount of disappointment at not being allowed to kill Cersei. Just the thought of her left a sour taste in his mouth and his vision went red.

A knock on the door jarred his thoughts and he went to open it. The servants hauled in a tub.

"When you're done with this, I demand to be placed in another room."

"B-but Ser...you can't...I mean…" Her voice was a staccato of shaky yellow. He had noticed the most servants seemed to speak in pale yellow tones and Jaime wondered for a moment if that color was linked to submission.

"If you must ask King Aemon permission then do it! I'm sure he'll acquiesce," Jaime snapped. The girl squeaked again and hurried off. Another pair of servants began hauling in hot water for the tub and when it was filled to his satisfaction, he booted them out too.

Sinking down into the bath caused his mind to cast back to the first bath he had shared with

Brienne. He had been in agony over his hand, barely lucid, but this time it wasn't his stump that was causing him pain, but his very insides. Just as before, he did his best to not focus on the pain and turned his attention to other things. He decided to peel the wrapping that the maester had put around his head wound. It was supposed to be changed everyday, but no one cared to change the wrappings on a doomed man; the fabric had molded into the wound, so that it felt like he was ripping off a piece of his own skin.

It took work, but he finally peeled it away and dumped the wrappings to the floor where his clothes lay. He looked at the greasy, black-stained wrapping and grimaced. He tenderly felt around the area and winced at the tender spots and every single stitch he ran over. The torn flesh had gone all the way from his nose to just above his left ear in more than one scrape. His once pretty and untouchable face now forever marred.

And again, he thought back to Brienne. The bear she fought had left claw marks on her shoulder that never faded. Of all the scars she had borne, that had been his favorite. Even at impossible odds, with no weapon and no armor, she had stood tall and fought as was befit a knight. His heart throbbed dully as he thought of her homely face, smiling her crooked smile, and her sapphire blue eyes shined at him. The last near twenty years without her had been painful. It was all Jaime could do to keep going. Even now when she was alive, she felt so unattainable. She would think him the same Kingslayer as everyone did.

He slumped in the tub and kneaded his forehead. One step at a time, he cautioned himself. It would be sometime before he was likely to ever meet Brienne and, apart from the kingslaying, this world had taken a rather dramatic turn in just a matter of days. They had gotten the jump on the entire kingdom. Even his own father wouldn't know the change in regime.

His eyes snapped open at the thought of his father. Father will be marshalling the entire Westerlands to march on King's Landing at this very moment. Robert hadn't exactly left his father much time to respond and he was going to rampage across the countryside if he got word of his golden heir's death. He had to write a letter to his father before anything irreparable happened.

Jaime had been sitting in the tub, soaking the heat into his bones as he thought, but the water was starting to cool off and he decided to get down to washing. He scrubbed his skin until it became red and raw from the attention. It wasn't until he cleaned his hair that he started to feel human again.

He climbed out of the tub and found a fresh clean outfit and breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up his old shirt with the oatmeal stain and tossed it and the trousers into the fire. He had no intention of wearing anything he had been dressed in after his...rape.

He still had trouble wrapping his head around that word: rape. Being raped was for women! He

had never heard of a man being raped and yet...there was no other way to describe it. Cersei had forced herself on him and deliberately prevented him from retaliating. He had been helpless to his body's urges and wanted to vomit again as he relived that moment, his skin crawling, the rope burning his wrists as he tugged on them -

Thump thump!

Jaime jumped at the knock of the door jarred his thoughts. He once more pushed the memory out of his mind and opened the door to find Tyrion staring earnestly up at him.

"It's good to see you looking well, brother. May I enter? I have brought an offering per King Aemon's orders. He seems...very concerned about you." Tyrion's voice emanated from him in a warm red, the color of wine.

Jaime sighed. "I am not in the mood for your prying right now, Tyrion. And let's not eat here. Let's go to your room instead."

"Very well," Tyrion said and stepped back. He was only a few doors down and soon they were seated at a small table by the fire. Jaime began wolfing down the food. His brother was looking at him with a pensive expression and said, "I understand you don't want any prying, but…"

"No," Jaime snapped at him. He closed his eyes at the sight of his blood red voice. It made him nauseous. "I want to be in a better state of mind for this conversation, which I've no doubt you'll pester me for until you get an answer."

"You have to admit, it's odd. You met this boy a month ago and he stepped forward, declaring himself king, putting himself and the Starks in immense danger to save your neck. Only fools are that loyal. And neither you nor he are fools."

"You have an expansive imagination. Feel free to speculate."

Tyrion frowned tersely at him, but then nodded and said, "Fine. Then tell me...what was it about this boy that changed you? You've been like a ghost all these years. If I didn't know better, I'd say you've been waiting to die, but now suddenly you have energy after meeting this boy."

"I understood his potential," Jaime replied simply.

Tyrion glared at him. "Your vague answers are hardly satisfying."

"I told you I had no desire to talk about this," Jaime replied, tearing apart a chicken breast with his knife.

"Alright, so then...what happened to make you hate Cersei so? I mean, apart from...what just happened. You used to be so close, I thought - "

"Don't say it!" Tyrion clamped his mouth shut under Jaime's burning glare. "I said no probing questions! Did you think I was joking?"

"What does Cersei have to do with King Aemon?" Jaime refused to answer, but Tyrion seemed to read something in his eyes. "What did she do to make you hate her so?" Again, Tyrion was met with silence. "Brother, you know my thoughts on her. I have always hated her, but for so much of our childhood, you seemed to turn a blind eye to her treatment of me, then suddenly when she gets married, you hate her. Is it because she married?"

"No! I am done here. Thank you for the meal, brother," Jaime said. He had just reached the door when Tyrion called out to him.

"Just a moment, brother. I wanted to let you know that King Aemon set the record straight. He declared that you confessed to committing incest with our dear sister under duress and that you in fact did not commit a crime. However, Cersei perpetrated a crime on you. He didn't go into more detail than that."

"He doesn't need to. Everyone knows," Jaime muttered and left. Even despite the anger his brother had stirred up in him, he felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He knew better than most that despite the king's orders, he would probably forever hear rumors of incest floating around, but to dispute the king would invoke suspicions of treason. As soon as he sends Cersei somewhere else, that will be the last of my headaches. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost ran into Maester Luwin.

"Ah, Ser Jaime, I was wondering if you would allow me to check your wound?" The maester's voice spun toward him in a light blue that suggested the calm, summer skies and it did soothe his nerves.

"Of course, maester, lead the way," Jaime said, waving a hand.

The maester led him down a flight of stairs to the ground floor and down a short hallway. He opened his office with a key and motioned for Jaime to take a seat on a freshly made bed. The maester began with a general check-up, peering into his eyes, mouth, ears, and checking his heart. He nodded and hummed, making notes on a scroll and declared him healthy. Then he peered more closely at the stitches and gingerly touched at the wound. Jaime only felt the barest pinpricks of pain.

"You pulled the wrap off?"

"Yes."

"It looks like you tore out a couple of the stitches when you did that, but the wound has scabbed. Even so, I would like to keep the stitches in for another few days."

"Good. If that's all-" Jaime was ready to spring for the door, but the maester halted him.

"Not so fast, Ser Jaime. You were unconscious for five days. Perhaps you don't realize, but it's one thing to be unconscious from any particular injury, but you had a head injury. You suffered a seizure shortly after becoming conscious and enduring a situation of...considerably high stress. Have you noticed anything peculiar about your motor functions?"

"No, maester. Nothing is out of the ordinary," Jaime replied, the red hue of his voice wavered ever so slightly with the lie. He raised his hands up, clenched and unclenched his fists. "I am fine."

"I'll be the judge of that," the maester replied brusquely. Over the next few minutes, the maester had him do exercises with his fingers and toes, and he had to follow the maester's fingers with his eyes. The maester muttered and nodded to himself before writing a few notes. "Remarkable. Very well, you may go, but I must insist that you take another week to recover. Once I remove your stitches, I will consider you fit enough to return to your duties."

Jaime nodded and had just reached for the door when a knock sounded on it. He opened it to the new King Aemon.

"Your Grace," Jaime said flatly. His temper flared upon seeing Aemon and he wasn't quite sure

why, but he tamped it down hurriedly.

"Good. You're both here. May I be allowed in, maester?"

"Oh, of course, Your Grace," the maester said, sounding unnaturally quiet. No doubt he was still reeling from the rather sudden shift of the quiet bastard being elevated to kingship.

Aemon was giving him a look that seemed to pierce right through him. The new king certainly hadn't forgotten the new tricks he'd developed when he got a head injury in the other time. "Is he well, maester?"

"I'm standing right here," Jaime grumbled, but both Aemon and Luwin ignored him.

"He is healing well from his head injury. I suggested he take another week to recover before he returns to his normal duties."

"What of these...seizures? Do you think he'll have more?" Aemon asked, pinning Jaime with a thoughtful look.

"It's difficult to say. Seizures, as far as we can tell, are triggered by certain stressors. He could go several months without suffering another. Or they could happen more frequently. It really depends."

"Can these seizures be predicted or controlled?"

Jaime scowled at him. At this point, both Jaime and he were humoring the old man with a conversation. Jaime knew perfectly well his 'fits' couldn't be controlled except by trying to stay away from the battlefield, which a team of draft horses couldn't drag him away from.

"I'm afraid not, Your Grace. We must be patient."

"Must you talk around me like I'm a child?"

"By all means, Ser Jaime, feel free to contribute to the conversation. You seemed in a hurry."

"I don't want to overstay my welcome in the maester's study," Jaime replied with an edge to his voice.

"I wouldn't be here if I thought I could get the truth out of you."

"I'm fine."

Aemon merely shook his head and said, "Thank you, Maester Luwin. I like to stay informed on the welfare of my subjects, especially ones that I took drastic measures to rescue."

Jaime huffed and strode out the door.

"You're in a hurry to go nowhere," Aemon said, catching up to him.

"How would you know?"

"Because I had your room changed. I didn't think you'd want to go back to that. Your room is in the guest wing, three doors down, left of the stairs," Aemon said, giving him a significant look. "I expect you at dinner tonight. I have some announcements to make."

Jaime sighed and tried to release his frustration out all at the same time. When he felt calm again and not like a bird trying to find its way out of a cage, he said, "I don't think I ever properly thanked you for saving my life, but you took an unnecessary risk."

"Probably, but I wasn't about to do this alone. We are a team. I know I could expect the same of you."

"Hasn't anyone ever told to never trust a Lannister?"

"Everyone in this household. And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," Jaime whispered. "Thank you."

"Of course. I must take my leave. Get some rest, Ser Jaime. Our work starts in the morning."

Jaime gave him a quizzical look, but Aemon paid it no heed and walked off, hurrying past servants who couldn't keep themselves from bowing and scraping as soon as they caught sight of him. Jaime strode up to his new room and just as he was touching the doorknob, he stopped. He had been here before. In his other life. This was the room he had shared with Brienne when he'd shown up on Winterfell's doorstep, almost as frozen as a cut of meat in the meat locker.

He cautiously opened the door, walked in, and hastily closed it. The furniture was all in the same place, though the decorations were slightly different with a buffalo rug, a stag's head on the wall, and the bedclothes were a different color. If he hadn't known better, he would think Brienne was ready to step through that door to end her day's shift guarding Lady Sansa.

When he laid on the bed, he expected to smell the familiar scent of leather, smoke, and lavender that was Brienne. His heart panged at her absence, but it was comfortable and familiar to sink into these old memories. Before he knew it, he was asleep, and dreaming of Brienne.

Chapter 13 - Jaime IV

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you, everyone, for your feedback and kudos! I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

Update 4/7/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 13

Jaime IV

The following day found Jaime in Winterfell's solar, trying very hard to not glare at Ned Stark. He now understood why he had been so furious with Aemon the day before. His friend had left him tied to the bed, naked, in favor of chasing down his damn sister. It was Ned Stark who had untied him. Ned fucking Stark had now seen him at his absolute worst. It was enough to make him want to vomit. Again.

The old wounds at being called the Kingslayer had reopened as well. It was as it was before. Jaime was shamed and scorned for killing a king that everyone had wanted dead anyway, but Ned Stark had gotten away with hiding his nephew and lying to Westeros. No one had thought much of the bastard being a blemish on Ned's honor even before then.

Since Aemon's existence had just come to light, it would be some time before he'd know how the realm reacted to Ned Stark's treachery, but he had a feeling he wouldn't suffer the way he had.

"Ser Jaime, I wanted to thank you for saving my son, Robb. It was a gallant thing to do and proved how worthy you are to be a knight," Ned Stark said. His voice was a calm blue, as deep as the ocean and somehow it irritated Jaime even further that he should sound so calm.

He snorted at that. "You're famous for your honesty, Lord Stark, so don't lie now. Don't act like you're getting your teeth pulled." His own voice was the color of the fire and he wanted nothing more than for it to somehow burn Lord Stark.

Ned sighed in frustration. "I did not lie. I am truly thankful for what you did for my son and it truly

was worthy of a knight."

"But you don't think I'm a worthy knight."

"King Aemon has pardoned you of that. I think we can let it go."

"Can we? I do believe I'm still known as the Kingslayer everywhere in Westeros."

"Jo - Aemon has suggested that I may have been wrong in my judgment of you."

Jaime crossed his arms and stared down at Ned imperiously from his place by the wall. He didn't bother trying to hide his glare anymore.

"I am prepared to make amends with you, for the sake of my nephew. He trusts you and I want to trust you too."

"There is nothing that I can say that will change your mind. You made it up about me a long time ago. The only thing that will satisfy you is if I kept to my duty and you killed me on the way to murder old King Scab. Just know this Lord Stark, if I were informed that my entire family would be put to death if I killed King Aerys, including myself, I would've still shoved my sword into his back, the consequences upon myself be damned," Jaime growled not unlike the lion the Lannisters wore.

Ned's eyes widened at his declaration. He opened his mouth to say more, but just then there was a knock at the door and Aemon walked in.

"Your Grace," Jaime said with a formal bow.

"Your Grace," Ned said, giving a nod of his head.

Aemon studied them for a moment, seeming to know that tensions were high. Then he said, "I apologize for my tardiness. I was consulting with Ser Barristan about the Kingsguard schedule and who we might promote to the empty spots."

"You need not explain yourself. You are the king after all," Jaime said, but a shadow fell over his face at the mention of the Kingsguard spots. At dinner, Aemon had declared that Jaime's injuries now prevented him from serving faithfully in the Kingsguard and he was furthermore honorably discharged from the position. It was then that he also formally pardoned Jaime for the kingslaying of his grandfather, citing the atrocious crimes the king had committed as enough reason for the king to be dealt with as quickly as possible. It was a declaration that had been met with muttering, but even despite being acerbically referred to as the Kingslayer for so long, everyone was in agreement that the Mad King had deserved to die.

"It's polite," Aemon insisted. "Now, we need to plot out our next steps. We have the jump on the entire kingdom and, uncle, as grateful as I am for your support, we need more than just the support of the North. It won't take long for the rest of the kingdom to hear that you've summoned the lords of the North. I want to be open about my motivations. The ruling houses of Westeros should hear it from me first that I have claimed the throne and already hold the old king hostage."

"Be careful, Aemon. You may have taken the biggest players out, but the game of thrones is still something to be played cautiously," Jaime said.

"I'm aware. Uncle, tell me, can I expect support from the Vale and Riverlands?"

"You should," Ned replied. "I was well known and liked in the Vale. Naturally, the Tullys will support you, since Robb is your cousin and ally."

"I want to be sure. Please send letters to them on my behalf. I'll be happy to include a missive if it might win their trust more easily."

"Very well. Robert may have been a Jon Arryn ward as well, but although the kingdom has been at peace, the little I've learned from Robert suggests that it's been poorly managed."

"He was a shit king, Lord Stark. He left the ruling to the council and just drank and whored his kingdom away," Jaime said coolly.

Ned glared at him. "Robert was a good man once. But you're right, he was always ill-suited to rule."

"Jaime, what do you know about the rest of the kingdoms?"

"You're asking me this? Tyrion knows how politics works better than I. Maybe he should be here."

Aemon gave him a wry look. "As much as I like Tyrion, I'm not quite ready to trust him with this sensitive information. You're not as uninformed as you think, either. Tell me."

"Well, the Reach and Dorne backed the Targaryen's during the Rebellion. Promise them a worthy marriage and the Tyrells will leap to your aid. I'll see about convincing my father to turn over Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch. The Martells will be on good terms with you for allowing them justice for Elia Martell and her children. Another marriage offer wouldn't go amiss either. However, I am your closest ally and they despise the Lannisters. That is where you might run into trouble."

"Do I even need to ask about the Westerlands?"

Jaime barked a laugh. "Not only did you save my father's golden heir's head, but you have released me from the Kingsguard, allowing me to take my place as the heir he always wanted. He may very well grovel at your feet and that's a tall order from my father." There was a note of bitterness to his voice.

Aemon smiled at him. "I know you have no interest in being heir to Casterly Rock, but I did not release you from the Kingsguard for your injuries alone. You are my most trusted ally, I need you in a position to work in tandem with me."

"I understand, Aemon, but you and I know better than most how dangerous the game of thrones is. I'd prefer to be by your side," Jaime said.

"I have Ser Barristan and I will be traveling with the Northern army. I can think of few more capable nor more trustworthy. I want to send letters to the Reach and Dorne, but I want you to go there and do the actual negotiating."

"What?" Jaime and Ned both said at the same time. Jaime was aghast and Ned was appalled.

"Your Grace - "

"Uncle, you can call me by name. No need to stand on formalities in a private room."

"Of course, Aemon, do you really trust Ser Jaime Lannister with something like this? This is your kingdom, we're talking about."

"Am I not trustworthy enough for you, Lord Stark?" Jaime growled at Ned.

Aemon also glared at his uncle. "Jaime has a far better grasp and understanding of the situation than you, uncle. I trust him to negotiate on my behalf. The Tyrells and the Martells must know that I am not taking them lightly. You will act on my behalf as Hand of the King!"

The silence after Aemon's proclamation was so complete, Jaime could swear he could hear the drops of moisture on damp stone in the Stark's family crypt.

"Me? Hand of the King?" Jaime's voice practically squeaked. His normally blue voice had turned lime green at the pitch. He cleared his throat and said in a more natural voice, "You can't be serious."

"Of course, I'm serious. I need you to have the power necessary to act on my behalf. With these negotiations, you'll be making decisions that impact the kingdom. The Tyrells and the Martells have to know that you are in a position of authority. I can think of no better person."

"Your Grace, Aemon, you can trust me to negotiate on your behalf," Ned said, sounding more than a little desperate as his voice changed to a wavering purple. Jaime clenched his teeth and scowled at Ned. Aemon scowled too.

"Uncle, it has nothing to do with trust and everything to do with knowledge. It would take far too much time to explain everything to you. Jaime knows, he lived it with me. He has also been living in King's Landing for the last fifteen years and is the only person I trust with the handling of the game of thrones. I hate to say it, uncle, but you know very little about what it takes to keep a throne."

"You'll need a good reason for making me Hand. We're not supposed to know each other," Jaime replied.

Aemon tapped his chin as he thought for a moment and then said, "The official reasoning will be

that I made you Hand so that I could have access to Lannister resources. And since outwardly, I saved your life, you owe me a debt."

Jaime raised his eyebrows. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you've been getting lessons from Tyrion. Cunning. I like it. However, I must protest in regards to the Martells. They will have my head if I try to negotiate with them. Because of your half brother and sister."

"I suppose it's not enough that you didn't kill them?"

"No."

"Hmm...that's a shame. I was hoping to have Dorne by the time I take King's Landing. We can take it without them. That'll have to wait," Aemon said. "Do still send them Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch as a gesture of goodwill."

"With pleasure."

"Jaime, I want you to write a letter to your father this evening. Tell them of the events, make sure he doesn't attack King's Landing. You leave tomorrow for Barrowton to take a ship to Lannisport to meet with your father."

"Tomorrow? The Maester said he was going to take my stitches out in five days."

"Damn. Then I want you on a horse as soon as Maester Luwin has removed your stitches. Then you'll visit the Reach. I will write the letters to the Tyrells, the Martells, the Stormlands, and Pike. What kind of reception can I get from the Baratheon brothers and Greyjoy, Lord Jaime, Uncle?"

Jaime and Ned glanced at each other. When Ned nodded, Jaime began, "I think you know not to expect a warm welcome from them. The Stormlands can boast a decent force, but not as large as the Westerlands or the North. I highly recommend you send your letters to the Reach tonight. Take advantage of your time. King's Landing is the seat of kings and I imagine Renly is going to move into the city and prepare it for siege. Can you be a King of the Seven Kingdoms without the seat of power? They'll do their damndest to hold it from you."

"I would agree with Ser - I mean, Lord Jaime's assessment regarding Renly's response. Be cautious of Stannis, Aemon. He is an excellent military commander; do not underestimate him."

"He also has the Red Priestess with him. We have to stop her before she does any permanent damage," Jaime said. "She's going to try to make him king."

"But Robert's our hostage. He's not dead. Stannis cannot declare himself king until Robert's death is confirmed," Ned interjected.

"Agreed. Let's keep Robert alive for as long as possible."

"You should probably limit his wine intake then. He's been drinking himself into an early grave for better than a decade," Jaime muttered.

"I'll be doing a number of things to make sure Robert stays alive, including rationing his food to normal portions. He may be a nobleman, but he's still a prisoner and he should not be allowed the luxury to indulge like a king," Aemon said. "What about Greyjoy?"

"We have Theon as a hostage for a reason," Ned said. "I don't trust Balon Greyjoy to act in the best interests of the realm."

"Balon can't be trusted and neither can any of his brothers," Jaime said. "If you want the fully cooperative support of Pike, then assassinate Balon and his brothers and install Theon as the leader."

"Jaime, we both know that the people of Pike would never allow that. They have their own system of electing a leader."

"Then allow Theon to fight and prove himself or put your support behind Yara Greyjoy and leave Theon by the wayside. I'm assuming you're interested in the Pike fleet?" Jaime asked.

"I am. It would be a most useful tool."

Jaime chuckled and shook his head. "Good luck trying to control them."

"I have little doubt they'll be a thorn in my side if I don't do as you suggest in regards to installing Theon or Yara Greyjoy. But the people of Pike are a stubborn lot."

"They are pirates because they have no industry. Nothing of value can be found on those islands," Ned said. "We need to find a way for them to be able to grow the resources they need on their own."

"Or we could relocate them elsewhere in the Seven Kingdoms," Aemon suggested, though he didn't sound hopeful. "Despite living on a spit of rock, I imagine the people there are just as attached to their land as northerners are to our land." He sighed. "We're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's focus on what we can do in the coming weeks. Let's discuss marriages. Any suggestions?"

"Offer the Tyrells your cousin Robb," Jaime said. "The Reach is the bread basket of Westeros. The North will need that food supply when the Long Night comes."

"Good idea. Do you think they'll go for it?"

"I would insist upon it. Mace Tyrell is a fool and he'll try to play up his support of your family to insist his daughter be queen. He mismanaged his resources and what should've been an easy win against Stannis, he instead allowed your uncle to break his army's back. He doesn't deserve to have his daughter placed on the throne. I think...Olenna Tyrell will be amenable," Jaime replied neutrally, though his frown deepened. "They need to be handled carefully." He was thinking back to when Olenna confessed to poisoning Joffrey and thereby creating the events that led to all of his bastard children and Lord Tywin to their deaths. "Since I'm going to be the one negotiating on your behalf...do I have permission to offer Sansa Stark to their heir Willas Tyrell?"

"Now, Ser Jaime, we're talking about my daughter - "

"-who loves songs and the knights who rescue fair maidens. He may not be much of a knight, but he raises hounds and horses. I think she'd quite enjoy Highgarden," Jaime replied. He thought back to his other life when he'd heard that the Tyrells were working to marry Sansa to Willas, until his lord father caught wind of it and instantly married her to his brother instead. Cripple and all, he's certain Sansa would have been much happier married into the Tyrells, not least because it took her away from her primary source of misery: King's Landing.

"Aemon, are you sure about this?"

"I never met Willas Tyrell, but I heard good things about him. He was killed when the Lannisters took High Garden."

"Much to my chagrin," Jaime muttered. "Cersei wouldn't have it any other way."

"That's why we're not allowing her anywhere near power," Aemon finished the thought. Ned's eyes went wide at the small side-track in conversation, but Aemon shot a look at him that suggested they would talk later.

"I was thinking...do you think Arya would do well in Dorne?"

"They train their women to fight," Jaime said, giving him a knowing look. "You might be able to seal their alliance with just Ser Gregor's head."

"If they don't bite, I may offer her hand in marriage to Tristayne Martell. I want her to live there at least a year before officially sealing it. I don't want her to be miserable."

"That can be arranged," Jaime replied.

"Uncle, I would like your input on this. These are your children after all," Aemon said.

Ned was quiet for a moment and he was obviously miffed. "I don't like the thought of Arya being on the other side of the continent, however you do put forth a good argument that she might be happier among people who would indulge her desire to fight. What I don't understand is why neither of you are offering yourselves? Both of you would be highly eligible bachelors."

Jaime huffed. "First of all, Margaery Tyrell is only a year older than your eldest daughter. I will not marry a child. Second, do you really want the second most powerful house of Westeros marrying the first most powerful house? Even if I have no desire for the throne, Margaery Tyrell and her family do. Even if nothing happens in our lifetime, the next generation could potentially make a bid for Aemon's throne. I will not allow that. She's safer up in the North as Robb's lady wife."

"What of you, nephew? What's your reason?"

Aemon raised his eyebrows and said, "I have every intention of marrying Daenerys Targaryen."

"Your aunt? Do you think that wise?"

"We will need her for the Long Night."

"What of Viserys? He was never stable even when he was a child," Jaime said.

"He'll be a problem. That's presuming he's still alive by the time I meet with Daenerys," Aemon said, frowning slightly. "I'm not going to worry about that right now. First, I would prefer to secure the throne and unite the Seven Kingdoms. Let's focus on that for now. You have your orders. I want those letters sent no later than this evening. Lord Jaime, if you'll stay a moment."

Ned hesitated at the door, but then he nodded and left.

"I don't think my uncle cares much for me taking over his solar. I think having the run of Winterfell previously went to my head," Aemon said, grimacing.

"I'm not the best at writing, Aemon, so if you have something to say, then do it," Jaime said.

Aemon nodded and dropped his voice so low that Jaime had to lean in to hear him, "You can see sounds again, can't you?"

Jaime sighed and nodded.

"That's another reason why I made you Hand. It'll be much harder for people to hide their intentions and I think you'll have a much easier time negotiating because of it."

"You're probably right, but I've never had to be the diplomat before."

"I know, but I need you in this capacity. We both know my uncle would in all likelihood negotiate from a position of mutual trust. I want you to negotiate from a position of power. The North are formidable and few people want to cross your father without good reason. Use that power, but

gently. We don't need to make enemies."

"I understand," Jaime replied, though there was a bite of impatience to his voice.

"I want to tell you my schedule, so that you might be able to reach me by raven. When the northern lords get here, I intend to ride to Castle Black. I want to speak to Lord Commander Jeor Mormont about the Long Night and also...speak to my great great uncle."

"I forgot that he was there. He might be valuable."

Aemon nodded. "Right. From Castle Black I will return to Winterfell and then head to Moat Cailin, then cross the Twins, and stay at Riverrun for a few weeks to gather the Vale. From there I should probably head to King's Landing so that I can take the throne. I expect to be at King's Landing's doors in three to four months, depending on how slow the army moves."

"It'll be slow. Expect to be there in five months. For the record, I'm not sending a single raven to Walder fucking Frey. He's best assassinated if you want my opinion."

"I can't just assassinate lords because I find them untrustworthy. We both know that."

"No matter how dim-witted I find Edmure Tully, I can at least trust that he has enough integrity to not read your messages."

"Agreed."

"Will that be all? What of Lord Baelish?"

For the first time since becoming king, Aemon looked uncertain. "He is the only lord I have no reservations about killing. If you can detain him or pretend to work with him, do so."

"He's probably one of the few people who's going to know about the events of yesterday in a matter of weeks. Just like last time, he's going to convince Lysa Arryn to keep her forces from joining us."

"Not all of them. Lord Yohn Royce commands a great deal of respect in the Vale and he might be willing to forsake Lysa's words."

"I wouldn't guarantee it. At any rate, if we can snag the Reach, the Riverlands, the Westerlands, and, of course, the North, then that's four of the Seven Kingdoms. You'll still be formidable and at some point the other kingdoms will have to bend."

"One can only hope it'll be that simple." Aemon nodded. Just as Jaime opened the door, he called out, "Thank you for doing this."

Jaime hesitated for a moment then closed the door again and said, "I didn't want to say this in front of your uncle, but it could be equally dangerous proposing Margaery Tyrell and Robb marry. Until you finally have an heir, you are vulnerable. Until Daenerys Targaryen reaches Westeros, Robb will be your heir. That could tempt the Tyrells into trying to kill you."

Aemon nodded grimly. "I admit I hadn't thought of that."

"It'd be easier if you married the Tyrell girl."

"I'm sure we can find you a bride just as easily," Aemon replied with narrowed eyes.

Jaime grimaced. "That's why I suggested Robb, not you. We both deserve a chance to be with the ones we love."

If they love us back, Jaime wanted to finish, but let it hang in the air. Neither one wanted to think about the women they loved not loving them back. Jaime tried to push the thought to the back of his mind as he left. He had to focus or he'd never get anywhere near Brienne.

Chapter 14 - Aemon I

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Wow, it's so very refreshing to see intelligent and civil conversation happening in the comments. Thank you for keeping it civil.

Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, and giving Kudos! I hope you continue to enjoy this fic.

Update 4/7/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 14

Aemon I

"I'm not so sure about this, Your Grace. This doesn't feel secure," Ser Barristan said as he and Aemon walked over to the weirwood tree.

"Few people are brave enough to venture here at night. Even fewer are willing to be caught doing something ill-advised in sight of the Gods. It has to be here because my uncle has taught us that the Gods will know if we lie in front of a weirwood. What I'm about to tell him - and you by extension - will cause you to doubt my sanity. But you need to know," Aemon said. He peered imploringly at the face in the weirwood. Am I making the right decision? Was there any other decision he could make?

He implicitly trusted Jaime, but there had to be others he could tell about his other life, or the threads of this world would grow out of his and Jaime's control. His uncle had already sacrificed a great deal for him, it felt only right that he be included. He was also going to be at the forefront of the North to stop the Long Night.

His reasons for including Ser Barristan were trickier. He had issues with the way Ser Barristan had treated Ser Jaime after the kingslaying, clearly not trusting him to do what was right. However, he had been particularly loyal and faithful to his father, Rhaegar. By even Jaime's accounts, Ser Barristan was favored by his father, so he was one of the last few people who could say anything about the prince.

Most importantly, though, Ser Barristan was going to be dogging his heels from that point onward. He was going to hear untold amounts of private conversations. It only made sense that he should understand the breadth of Jon's and Jaime's experiences. Despite Jaime's resentment of Ser

Barristan, he did insist that the old knight was trustworthy and could not be bought.

Ser Barristan disappeared into the trees as he scouted out the area, much like Jaime had the first night they'd spoken. For such a large man, he was surprisingly quiet and it didn't take long for him to disappear from view. Ghost followed him. He seemed comfortable around Ser Barristan and it gave Aemon confidence that he was putting his trust in the right people. He had heard the way it had destroyed his uncle.

A crunch of leaves drew Aemon's attention and it was not hard to see his uncle striding towards him. He held his head high, but his face was drawn with exhaustion and a weight hovered on his shoulders like he was world weary. Ned bowed his head and said, "Your Grace, Ser Barristan. Where's Lord Jaime?"

Ser Barristan finished his sweep of the godswood and came to stand beside his uncle as they stared at him. Both were taller than he was and it was not for the first time Aemon cursed his short stature. His father had been tall, why couldn't he have inherited some of his height?

"He's going to make sure no one enters the godswood," Aemon replied. He also doesn't want to suffer your judgment anymore than he has to. He was about to tell some hard truths, mostly about Jaime, and what an indisputable cad he had been. He had hated Jaime as much as his uncle had, but spending three years with the man and having to rely so much on him had changed Aemon, especially since Jaime had never failed to be there when he needed him.

Right on cue, his uncle said, "Jon, I must speak with you about naming Lord Jaime as your Hand. I have...information that suggests the Lannisters are behind Jon Arryn's death."

Ser Barristan looked aghast at the revelation, but Aemon merely smiled and nodded. "A letter from Lady Lysa Arryn, correct?"

Ned blinked and said, "Why yes. Your aunt risked much to send it in secret to reach her sister, Lady Catelyn."

"She did indeed. She had to. You see, you received the same, if not similar letter, in my previous life. But that letter was a lie. The Lannisters were not the ones who murdered Jon Arryn, for he was indeed murdered. Lady Lysa herself murdered her husband with poison."

Ned's and Barristan's mouths fell open in surprise. The old knight cocked his head and asked,

"How do you know all of this?"

Aemon inhaled deeply and said, "What I am about to tell you is the truth, as best as I know it. I say it that way because in my previous life, I held a position on the Wall, so I missed quite a bit of the war that ravaged the South. Queen Daenerys, Lady Sansa, Arya, Bran, Lord Tyrion, and Ser Jaime were the ones who filled me in on most of the events. It all started when Jon Arryn died and King Robert came up north to ask you to be his Hand, just like this time. King Robert proposed you be made Hand of the King and paired Sansa with Prince Joffrey. You accepted after reading the letter sent by Lysa Arryn. You, Sansa, Arya, and Bran were all to head south. You and King Robert went hunting for wild boar. Ser Jaime did not go with you and he did not get attacked by a bear. Bran went climbing, as he is wont to do, and he came across Ser Jaime and Queen Cersei in an intimate embrace in the Broken Tower. They saw him spying and Ser Jaime tossed Bran out of the window. His spinal cord was injured and he was condemned to never walk again by Maester Luwin."

Ned's face predictably went red and his fists shook with fury. "That bastard! You insist on trusting him?" Ser Barristan seemed equally incensed, but he maintained his silence.

Aemon nodded. "When I found out what he did, I beat him and he didn't even try to defend himself. I would've had him executed except…"

"Except what?"

"Bran pardoned him and we needed all the good fighters we could get. I should never have beat him up." There was silence as he weighed his next words, "My soldiers were just starting to trust him again when I did that. It destroyed that trust. The Jaime who pushed Bran from the window and the Jaime I met later when the world was ending was a completely different person. Bran also suggested that the gods may have acted through Jaime, making him fall. Bran had to stay behind. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Lord Jaime, my Hand, is not the Jaime who fucked his sister and threw a child out of a window. In our darkest hour, I could always rely on him to have my back. He has saved my life in battle and he made it possible for me to kill the Night King in the end. I owe him so much and for all the talk of Lannisters and their debts, he hasn't even acknowledged that I owe him anything. Now, let me continue my story.

"As you might have guessed, Cersei's children in that other life were in fact fathered by Ser Jaime. I assure you now that her children in this life are not Jaime's. Joffrey was an evil little shit and earned the nickname of Mad King Aerys III. This Joffrey might be spoiled and mannerless, but he's not sadistic. Also, Cersei had a second son, Tommen, but he's irrelevant."

Aemon then went on to explain how Ned poked around trying to discover the truth about Jon Arryn's death. Lady Catelyn had kidnapped Tyrion thinking he tried to have Bran assassinated and

in response Jaime injured Ned. Robert was killed when he was gored by a boar. Ned discovered Cersei's children were bastards and tried to get her to give up the throne peaceably. Instead, he was accused of treason, thrown in the black cells, and later executed.

"The entire Stark household, save Sansa, were executed. Arya managed to escape through the sewers. A man of the Night's Watch picked her up, chopped her hair off to turn her into a boy, and was going to escort her back to Winterfell," Aemon finished for that part.

"I left Sansa to suffer?" Ned asked, staring at the ground in heartbreak.

"Do you see now why I can't have you as Hand? It is a ruthless game that requires ruthless men. We can't allow another future like that. As you can imagine, your death fractured the kingdoms. The North declared war, Tywin Lannister raised his armies to fight for his grandson's claim to the throne. Jaime was never sure if his father knew about Joffrey's bastardy, nevertheless, Tywin's only purpose is to protect his family's legacy."

Aemon went on to explain that Robb had captured Jaime in his first scuffle and held him captive for a year. He promised to marry Lord Frey's daughter and was eventually proclaimed King in the North.

"Where was I in all this?" Ser Barristan asked.

"Ah, I forgot to mention, you were dismissed from the Kingsguard by Joffrey and Cersei and, even though Jaime was Robb's captive, he was promoted to Lord Commander in your place."

Ser Barristan scowled. "But Kingsguard serve for life!"

"They didn't want you around. You left and went in search of Daenerys Stormborn and joined her party instead."

"They probably knew I would never stand for the atrocities they committed."

"Would you have? You stood by Mad King Aerys."

Ser Barristan looked at him in astonishment and he simply shrugged his shoulders. The knight didn't say anymore and became pensive.

Aemon continued his story of the War of the Five Kings, but he refrained from speaking about Daenerys' time with the Dothraki. Something inside him suggested it wouldn't be a good idea to mention that his bride-to-be was going to be wed off to a horse lord and eventually birth three dragons, so he kept that information to himself.

When it came time to explain the events of the Red Wedding, Aemon hesitated. He looked at his uncle with sadness. "After Robb broke his word to Lord Frey, Tywin Lannister contacted Lord Frey. They dangled a marriage between one of Walder's daughters to Lord Edmure Tully. In reality it was a trap. After Edmure and his bride had been bedded, the Frey, Lannister, and Roose Bolton's forces attacked. They slaughtered Robb, his queen, Lady Catelyn, and most of the Lords in the North and Riverlands as well as a good chunk of Robb's forces. The Lannisters were victorious."

His uncle fell to his knees, though his eyes remained dry and Ser Barristan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "H-how? How could this have happened?"

"Not one of the Starks was prepared to play the game," Aemon replied. "It's a hard fact, but it's the truth."

He told how Tywin arranged for Sansa to marry Tyrion and therefore claim the north, but Tyrion refused to consummate the marriage. Jaime arrived back in King's Landing and was excoriated for the loss of his swordhand. Joffrey was set to marry Margaery Tyrell and was poisoned at his own wedding. Tyrion took the fall and murdered Tywin. Sansa escaped King's Landing with help from Petyr Baelish.

"Baelish? The same man who betrayed me?" Ned asked, grinding his teeth.

"One in the same, but Sansa didn't know that. The Lannisters had given him permission to marry Lysa Arryn and therefore bring the Vale into the fold. Of course, he had no intention of helping them."

The recitation of a history that was never to be in this world took hours. Aemon's voice started going hoarse and exhaustion weighed heavily on his mind as he went, speaking of the Bolton and Baelish's treachery, how Cersei murdered Margaery Tyrell and her family using the Militant Faith and wildfire, how he tried to save the wildlings beyond the Wall only to die, again, before being resurrected by Melisandre, the Red Priestess. Sansa was rescued by Brienne of Tarth and Podrick

Payne and brought to Castle Black, how Theon was tortured and ran to his sister to find salvation, how the Hound joined the Brotherhood Without Banners. How Daenerys finally came to Westeros and laid waste to the Lannister forces. One detail he did leave out was Bran becoming the Three- Eyed Raven. He hadn't fully understood Bran's powers and he felt a strong compulsion once more to leave it out. He simply suggested that he had been hiding on Bear Island and only re-emerged when word reached him that Winterfell had been retaken.

Next he went on to describe the years long campaign against the Long Night. How he failed to unite the world. They staggered against the onslaught of the undead.

"We had our last battle I don't even know where. The sun hadn't risen for a few months. It was difficult to keep track of the passing time when there was never any daylight. Ser Jaime and I were the only ones left with Valyrian steel swords. Everyone else had to use Dragonglass daggers. The battle was hard fought. I don't know how many wights I killed before I saw the Night King making his way toward me. I was exhausted by that point and I put up the best fight I could. He stabbed me, just here," Aemon said, hitting his ribs on the right side. "I knew I was done for. Then Ser Jaime came out of nowhere and grabbed the Night King and held him down. The Night King tried to turn him into one of his White Walkers, but it gave me the time I needed. I stabbed the Night King and Ser Jaime and killed them both. I think you can see why I owe Jaime quite a debt?"

Aemon slumped against the weirwood tree. He'd eventually had to sit down and now he could see the pale glow of the sun beginning to rise.

Silence fell over the clearing. Ser Barristan appeared shaken and he was rubbing his chin in contemplation, but he was still standing. His uncle had sat down on the ground some time ago and was rubbing his forehead with his hands.

Finally he said, "I can't say that I trust Ser Jaime, but...I certainly understand him better. I now know why he hates his sister and couldn't possibly be responsible for the paternity of her children this time. I am so sorry this fell on you to lead the people against the Long Night. If I had known I would've -"

"Well, now we do know, Uncle. We are taking steps to set things right."

"It's so difficult to imagine that the tales from long ago about the Night King and his army of wights are true. It's still so...very hard to imagine," Ser Barristan said. "The Wall is so far away from King's Landing and seems so insignificant. We've been doing the Night's Watch a horrible disservice all these years."

"We're about to hand them two Kingsguard and a dozen soldiers and some extra supplies. The Night's Watch will be considerably better equipped than when I was apart of it."

"I should have been more fervent in my demands to Robert," Ned said, his brow furrowed in irritation. "Despite our house words, I left our family and the North ill-prepared for a threat such as the Long Night. How could I have been so foolish? I should never have left the North."

"You did what you thought was right, as did I. We're learning," Aemon said, but he was growing tired of these constant reassurances when he himself had no idea if they were preparing any better for the war. "You understand now why I told you all of this? I need us to be on the same page. Jaime and I can't do this alone."

Ned looked even more haggard than when he arrived, likely due to yet another sleepless night, and asked, "Very well. What's the next step?"

"I wish to visit the Wall. I need to speak with Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon."

Ser Barristan and Ned looked at each other. "Do you think Maester Aemon can help you?"

"I...I want to know more about my father. My heritage. I-" He could feel his composure starting to come apart at the seams, and he fought to pull himself together.

"It's alright, Your Grace. We understand," Ser Barristan said. "We should all get some rest. I'll leave Ser Arys Oakheart outside your door."

"Do you trust the remaining Kingsguard?"

"For something as important as your safety? I do."

"Thank you," Aemon replied. "Right now, all we can do is prepare for the march and for the Lords of the North to arrive. I'm not going to take the army to the Wall, but I intend on taking the other Lords. They must see the dire straits that the Wall is in."

Both Ned and Ser Barristan bowed and walked to Winterfell and their beds.

Chapter 15 - Jaime IV

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you all for your comments! I enjoy the discussions that take place here.

Update 4/7/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 15

Jaime IV

"You're not getting away from me this time, brother," Tyrion said, opening the door.

Jaime rolled his eyes. His brother would corner him while he was taking a piss. "Close the damn door!"

He closed it as asked, but Jaime felt a tug on the back of his pants and he strained his neck to see Tyrion had pulled the keys from his pocket, locked the door, and now twirled them like a jailer.

"You've been avoiding me."

Jaime finally finished and laced his pants, nudging the chamber pot back under the bed and turned to glare at his brother who gave it back in equal measure. "It wouldn't take much effort on my part to tear those keys from you," he said, fire dancing in his eyes.

"Even you don't have the gall to do that to me ," Tyrion replied with the extra emphasis, his voice a jubilant red. He knew best of all who Jaime's biggest weakness was.

Jaime towered over him, still glaring, but then he went and sat on his bed. "I haven't been avoiding you. I've been avoiding this conversation."

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother? He's not given to saying clever things."

"I've been reading. You're not the only clever Lannister anymore. But fine, I'll answer your questions and you will be satisfied with all of my answers."

Tyrion regarded him silently for a moment and then nodded. "I guess that will do. Now, you knew Jon was really Rheagar's son. How?"

"I already answered that question. Next."

"Not to my satisfaction."

"That's too bad, because that's the only answer you'll get. Move on."

"Was this all planned before the bear attack?"

"No. We had planned on going back to King's Landing, laying low, and plotting our next move or waiting for the next move to be made. It was because of my imminent beheading that Aemon leapt into action. He rather admirably saved my sorry ass when I'm the one who's supposed to be protecting him," Jaime grumbled, his brow furrowed. It felt like his debts would never end with Aemon, but it was just as well. It would be yet one more thing he could point to that proved his loyalty.

Tyrion gave him a pitiable look that Jaime hated. "I never thought our sister would stoop so low."

I should've known , Jaime thought and his eyes narrowed further. After the lengths Cersei had gone to in his last life to drag him back to be with her, he should have imagined she'd stoop to raping to get her definition of a perfect child. Our uncle must be a terrible lay. She had somehow managed to seduce their Uncle Tygett into bed with her. Even he hadn't believed an uncle of theirs would allow himself to be so easily enticed, but it had happened. Cersei certainly likes keeping it in the family. Not for the first time he wondered if that was supposed to get a rise out of him - in more ways than one - but it just convinced him that Cersei was a walking disease to sleep so casually with their uncle.

"I noticed you are in a number of closed meetings with Stark and the king. Now, I'm not foolish enough to ask about the content of those meetings," Tyrion said, seeing the way his shoulders tensed and a mulish look appear on Jaime's face, "but you're no longer a member of the Kingsguard. What role do you have to play in all of this?"

Jaime regarded him for a moment and then said, "It's going to be public knowledge soon enough. King Aemon has made me Hand of the King."

Tyrion's eyes bulged in a way that was comical. Jaime smirked.

" You?! Begging your pardon, Jaime, but you're not exactly the type to be Hand. It requires tact and diplomacy and cunning, something which you frankly are rather short of if I'm to be honest."

Not anymore, brother. It helps when you have foreknowledge of certain events, he thought, but again, he wasn't about to tell Tyrion that, even if he miraculously believed him. "Those are traits that can be learned. Don't pretend like they're cookies and fate decided to hand you more of them than me. I grabbed my own share."

Tyrion had to the good grace to look sheepish. "I know you can be smart brother, but...for so long you were under the thumb of our evil sister and then after that you had the personality of a boulder. How was I to know you were...learning? Planning? What were you doing?"

"Biding my time," Jaime replied. "We're done here. I have another meeting with the king."

Tyrion handed the keys back over grudgingly, but fell into step beside him and Jaime accommodated his walking pace before he realized it.

"I will be leaving tomorrow on a diplomatic mission," Jaime began. "I want you there to help counsel the king. He needs a good working knowledge of King's Landing."

"Where are you going?"

Jaime hesitated a moment and said, "I doubt my mission is secret, but I'd prefer to let the king announce it on his own. It will be some time before we see each other again."

"What about the children?"

"They should stay here. I'd hate to think what our father would do to them if he got ahold of them," Jaime replied grimly.

"I'd like to think that father isn't even that cruel, but...I have no idea what he'd do if he met them again. They're safer here," Tyrion agreed.

They split at the entrance to the godswood where Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Preston Greenfield stood guard at the entrance and they eyed both Lannister brothers warily, but they both nodded as Jaime walked past them. They were informed about his new status in the eyes of the king and while Ser Preston seemed troubled by it, he did not comment.

Once more Jaime found himself in the company of Aemon, Ned, and Ser Barristan, but this time it was broad daylight with shafts of sunlight occasionally breaking through the otherwise thick canopy. The only clearing with sunlight was where the heart tree and the pond rested. Aemon stood on his favorite spot directly beneath the tree, with its bleeding eyes leering over him. It seemed to give his words weight here.

"Jaime," Aemon replied, with a genial smile and he nodded at him. His voice was turquoise. While he projected a demeanor of calm there was an underlying excitement that trembled with the ripples.

"Lord Jaime," Ned and Ser Barristan replied dutifully. If they chafed at having to defer to him they didn't show it. Both of their voices were varying shades of blue. Considering the revelations that both of them had heard, he was surprised Lord Stark was that calm around him.

"Your Grace, Lord Stark. It's not the dead of night, so I'm assuming secrecy isn't much of an issue?"

"Of course," Aemon said. "I wanted to discuss your diplomatic mission." Jaime nodded at him to continue. "We've sent the letters out and we should be receiving answers soon, hopefully before you leave, but regardless I want you traveling. If I need to, I'll forward correspondence to Casterly Rock."

"If you do that, make sure what you're sending is meant to be widely known. I wouldn't put it above my father to read my mail."

"Noted. While I am confident in your mission to bring me much needed allies, the onus is on us to

prove that I am who I claim to be. Uncle, I don't think your word is good enough here."

"I would think not, considering you've tainted your famous honor," Jaime said, his eyes flashing angrily.

"I have no qualms about staining my honor as I did it for the love of my sister and blood," Ned replied, glaring back.

"Enough! We've been through this! Though your anger may be righteous, it's getting in the way of our talks. No more will be said on the topic of honor," Aemon snapped. His voice turned a rather violent red and cracked at them like a whip. Ned grimaced and nodded. Jaime didn't bother looking contrite, but he stayed silent. "Very well. We can write the Citadel and make sure Septon Maynard's journal is delivered to you at the Reach, but I would prefer further proof. Uncle, do you have any proof of our claim?"

"I-I do. I admit, I never thought it would ever see the light of day. If you would allow me, I will go and retrieve it now."

Aemon waved him off. "We'll be waiting here."

They watched him stride off purposefully. Aemon then turned to the Lord Commander and asked, "Ser Barristan, would you be so kind as to find Lady Catelyn and bring her here?"

"At once, Your Grace," The old knight said, bowing deeply and heading out of the godswood.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they waited, but it didn't take long for Jaime to break it. "Aemon, I need a royal decree from you."

"What for?"

Jaime swallowed nervously and then said, "It was made clear in my letter that I was discharged from the Kingsguard. My father will know. I'll be walking straight into a marriage the moment I hit Lannisport. I need a royal decree from you that states that I will only marry at your blessing and approval of the bride."

Aemon regarded him carefully and grinned. "It will be done. Have a bride in mind?"

"You know who it is," Jaime replied tartly.

"I'm not going to decree that you marry Brienne of Tarth."

"She'll hate my guts if you do. I must win her over. Give me that opportunity and I'll manage," Jaime replied, feeling his heart swell in anticipation for the first time since he restarted his life. He had another chance to be with Brienne, but he hadn't dared to hope for it until now. Now...would she still be susceptible to his advances? "Oh, I will need a few copies of that decree. I am certain my father will take great delight in shredding a few."

Aemon chuckled. "Let me know if you need more."

"That won't be necessary," Jaime replied. "If he shreds them all, that'll be directly violating a king's order, tantamount to treason. He owes you a large debt and as everyone is so fond of saying, 'A Lannister always pay his debts.' I will be sure to collect on your behalf."

Aemon grimaced. "Thank you. I trust you, but...be careful. You'll be leaving with only a handful of men. He has the entire Westerlands."

Jaime nodded absentmindedly, already envisioning his encounter with his father and a small smirk played on his lips. "I have a plan."

Ned reappeared bearing a smooth, polished wooden case. Jaime frowned at it for a moment and then his eyes widened. " You've had Prince Rhaegar's harp?"

Lord Stark looked uneasy as he looked up at him and nodded. "I'm surprised you recognized it."

"Why wouldn't I?" Jaime growled. Aemon shot him a warning look. He struggled to get control of his temper. Aemon needed his uncle, so he had to put up working with him. It's a shame he's not the one heading out on months long mission.

Ned undid the latches and tilted the case back. Inside was a small harp with a red mahogany finish.

The wood at the top had been intricately carved into a dragon head and there was a seal with the three-headed Targaryen dragon carved on one end. The various dials at the top were a faded combination of what he presumed to be silver and pewter. The instrument itself appeared to be in perfect condition, wherever it had been locked, but a multitude of strings were snapped and frayed all over.

Jaime reached out gingerly to touch it and expected his hand to get slapped away like he was an errant child, but no one did and rubbed along the top where the dragon carving had been made. "I don't know anything about instruments, but it looks to be in good shape. Might be a touch faded. The strings need to be restrung but this is undoubtedly Rhaegar's harp. He never would have parted with it, unless he was giving it to someone he loved even more than it," Jaime said, looking at Aemon meaningfully and if he wasn't mistaken, his friend was swallowing back tears.

Now Aemon bent over and pulled the harp up and held it like a newborn babe, also running his hands lovingly along the dragon carving. He plucked at one of the few strings still intact and it just wobbled, too loose in its placing. "Do you think this will be enough to convince the other houses I am his son?" Aemon asked. It was only when he was asking about his father that he seemed more like a boy than a man grown. He looked at Jaime and his uncle with fearful, wondering eyes.

"It gives credence to Stark's claim. Why else would he have the harp? You also have me. I may not have known Rhaegar like Ser Barristan, but I did know him. I can verify that this is his most cherished harp," Jaime replied. He tore his gaze away from Aemon and peered down sadly at the harp. King Aerys was already quite mad by the time he appointed Jaime to the Kingsguard, so the good days - if they could even been called that - hadn't lasted long, but no man who served as a guard to Rhaegar could ever walk away to their next shift with anything other a spring in their step. He was the very definition of hope and Aemon would have to work hard to live up to Rhaegar's potential legacy.

He can do it. He already is so much like his father. More than he realizes, Jaime thought.

"There's also this," Ned said. He opened up a small compartment in the case and pulled out a piece of black cloth. It unfurled into a banner with the Targaryen's three-headed red dragon in bright red stitching.

"I want you to take this harp. Use it as proof of my heritage," Aemon said, laying the harp back down into its case. "And the banner as well."

"Won't you be needing that?"

Aemon chuckled. "I have seamstresses here to help make more. You won't. Please take care of it."

Ned folded up the banner once more and put it in the hidden compartment. Jaime was just buckling up the case when Ser Barristan arrived with the Lady Stark in tow: "I have brought Lady Catelyn, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Ser Barristan."

Jaime was crouched next to the harp and had to look up to see Lady Catelyn and if he wasn't mistaken she looked nervous, though her hands rested casually at her side. In the other life, when Aemon had returned to using Jon, he had explained how Lady Stark detested him. It appeared to be the flaw in Catelyn's otherwise perfect demeanor of savvy noblewoman and esteemed mother. Not quite so perfect now is she? Jaime thought with more than a little glee. So many had looked down on him and the more he learned about them, the more he discovered that they were swimming in the mud right along with him, but were too proud to acknowledge it.

He slung the harp around his shoulder. "I will not let you down, Your Grace. I will protect it with my life."

Aemon looked a touch exasperated at the proclamation. "I'd still prefer you over the harp. Remember that, please?"

Jaime smiled cheekily at him and hurried away. He needed to start packing. He would be traveling with a small escort, so he was going to need no more than four sets of clothes, his sword, and perhaps a set of armor, though nothing quite as extensive as the kingsguard armor. They had determined that Barrowton, a town on the west coast next to a stream that dumped into an inlet likely wouldn't have too many trade ships, so while Aemon preferred Jaime traveled with a larger host of a hundred soldiers, they pared it down to ten.

It'll be a relief to travel with a small group. We'll get to Barrowton faster, he thought. In this matter, time was of the essence.

Chapter 16 - Catelyn I

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes - Thank you, everyone, for reading and giving kudos! Thanks especially to everyone who leaves a comment! I hope you continue to enjoy!

Updated 4/8/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 16

Catelyn I

This was ridiculous. She knew that she shouldn't feel afraid. Her nephew wasn't the kind of person to exact revenge.

But she was terrified all the same.

How many times did that little voice in her head tell her she was being too harsh on Jon? That she need not fear his possible claim on Winterfell? Robb was a perfectly healthy boy who did not lack against Jon in anyway except quite suddenly in fighting skills. Mace Tyrell was still the Lord of the Reach besides it being an open secret that his own mother thinks him a fool. But he was the eldest and he inherited High Garden as was the law. Ned loved her. He wouldn't do anything so cruel as rip the lordship from her own firstborn. Even so, she seemed unable to treat Jon as anything other than a threat.

Now she would pay for it.

Ned had warned her time and time again to stop treating Jon so harshly, but his words fell on deaf ears. When Jon was barely older than a toddler, he had fallen quite ill with the pox and for a time his death seemed all but certain. She had promised herself and the gods, the Old and the New, that if Jon recovered from the pox, she would treat him well. He recovered, but her behavior remained the same. She had broken a covenant with the Gods. She knew it was self-absorbed to think the Gods making Jon into a king was a punishment against her, but she could not escape the feeling that she was about to undergo a reckoning. And she deserved it.

She walked around the household on tiptoe. Whenever she passed Jon in the hallway, she dropped into a curtsy and refused to meet his eyes. She had no way of knowing if he acknowledged her or

not, but he always had Ser Barristan in tow and he seemed to find it confusing that she would defer so low and so often.

It baffled her, a few days after Jon's - or Aemon as he was going by now - declaration of his Targaryen inherency that she found she wasn't surprised, at least, to hear that he wasn't Ned's son. For all that he looked like him, her husband's behavior regarding Jon - Aemon! - had been perplexing. Steadfast Eddard Stark who kept his oaths and never lied, broke his oath of marriage with a woman and got her with child. It had been very uncharacteristic of him and she remembered being confused after he initially showed her Aemon.

Of course it all made sense. Robert would have put the boy to death if Ned had even so much as breathed the word Targaryen. For all of her distaste and disdain for Aemon, it appalled her to think of the fate Robert would have dealt him if he'd known. Just...why did he have to claim Aemon as his bastard? It wasn't his bastard status, it was that he had represented the sole issue in their marriage.

What might be even more confusing was Aemon's steadfast regard for Jaime Lannister. The Lannisters had an extremely distasteful and violent reputation thanks to Lord Tywin's obliteration of Houses Reyne and Tarbeck. The golden son of the terrible lion himself murdered King Aerys Targaryen II. The only decent thing she'd ever heard about him was that he was the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms and after seeing him clash with the likes of Ser Barristan Selmy and disarming him easily, she believed it. The rest of the Lannisters were known to be golden and haughty. Few could stand them and they would've had few allies were it not for the extreme wealth they controlled. It was well known that it was by Lord Tywin's good grace and influx of gold that King's Landing wasn't bankrupt.

Catelyn's opinion of the Lannisters had changed very little in their time here. She had found Cersei Lannister irritating and condescending and it took all her strength not to slap her when a sneering smile grew on her lips upon looking at Sansa. She personally had not been in favor of the marriage between Sansa and Joffrey, no matter how powerful it would make House Stark or even House Tully. The prince had seemed a boorish sort and not particularly clever, but Catelyn had wanted her sweet daughter as far away from Cersei's clutches as she could manage. Catelyn had actually gotten down on her knees and thanked the Seven that Aemon had put an end to that.

Before the...incident with his sister, Catelyn found Ser Jaime to be remarkably stolid and silent, not unlike Stannis Baratheon. He was nothing like the dashing young man with a golden mop of hair who always smirked in the same vein as his twin. She would be lying to herself if she didn't think he had looked dashing at the tourney of Harrenhal and, even though she was already promised to Brandon at that point, her heart had wilted a little when he had knelt to King Aerys and accepted his white cloak. All of the noble ladies that had been in attendance had heaved sad sighs and a few of them even broke down weeping at the thought that the beautiful golden lion would never have children.

She found Tyrion Lannister to be rather crude at times, but he was well-spoken, well-mannered and was increasingly thankful for his hospitality. Especially now, he went out of his way to complement her household. She thought perhaps it might do well to maintain good standing with the Starks, since the former royal children were given leave to attend their lessons and walk around the keep as befitted guests, not prisoners. That decision had ultimately fallen on Aemon and he had released them, with the exception of Cersei.

Catelyn's blood ran cold just thinking about that night. After the rather rushed trials of Jaime and Cersei, Ned had almost dragged Catelyn back to their room, his face one of alarm, anger, and pain. From there he had whispered what he found when he entered Jaime's room and Catelyn had gaped at him in horror. Later she heard it whispered among the servants about how men couldn't be raped, but she knew in her heart that Jaime had been used against his will. When he was dragged before the king, he hadn't looked like a knight, but a very sick man on the edge of despair. She knew his confession wasn't a true one. It had been more than obvious he pleaded that way to avoid unnecessary death for the children, but Robert had been like a bull elk and only saw red. The trial had been a travesty of justice and she knew it would bring a world of pain onto the heads of House Stark if Tywin Lannister had ever learned the details, especially since Ned had accepted his position as Hand. He was supposed to control the king after all.

Neither she nor Ned slept that night. They had lain in bed and whispered of the possible atrocities to come. The peace that had been won with Robert's rebellion - always so fragile - was gone. It would be torn to shreds with the beheading of Ser Jaime. The wrongful beheading of Ser Jaime. Ned had whispered soothing words in her ears that had sounded hollow to her.

"It's going to be alright. We'll manage. I have hope and faith that the Old Gods will set things right.

"I know you're trying to comfort me, but it might as well be our heads on the block tomorrow. Tywin Lannister will tear the Seven Kingdoms apart and if he gets a hold of us...there shall be no mercy," Catelyn whispered, gripping at her sheets tightly.

"We'll have to wait and see," Ned replied, kissing her on her shoulder and running a hand up and down her arm in comfort.

And so Aemon Targaryen, last true son to Rhaegar Targaryen declared his heritage and took the throne, with Ned's support. Had Ned put him up to it? Her instincts screamed at her that Ned could not possibly be behind his nephew's sudden interest in the throne. Robert was Ned's best friend and he would sooner stand with him than against him and he would never have risked Aemon's life.

Aemon put him up to it, Catelyn thought as she walked along the halls of Winterfell. Had Ned

finally told him about his mother? She had no doubt that he would do it without her present, in all likelihood because she would be too pained at the thought that he had loved another. Aemon had to have insisted that Ned back him in his scheme - not to take the kingship - but to save Jaime Lannister. But why him? They hadn't even met each other until a moon ago. What am I missing?

For all that the House of Stark was behind Aemon Targaryen, there were a remarkable amount of secret meetings being held. Ned, at least three times in a week, didn't even see his bed until the dawn had arrived. Aemon held his most secret of meetings in the godswood, in the dead of night. Jaime Lannister, despite no longer having a position in the Kingsguard, had been the gatekeeper to the godswood and no one dared approach him.

Catelyn hadn't encountered much of Ser Jaime since he had stood in solidarity with her nephew. For his part, he seemed to avoid everyone, including his own family, all except Aemon and occasionally Ned since they had meetings in his solar. She had been surprised at his steadfast support of Aemon. She knew that Jaime owed Aemon a debt now, but even the known phrase 'a Lannister always pays his debts' didn't seem to quite cover this kind of loyalty. Ser Jaime murdered his grandfather after all, but Aemon had almost immediately pardoned him of that. There was more to that relationship than was being let on. She had asked Ned about it, but he had merely shaken his head. Ned had always been a poor liar - which made it incredible that he kept Aemon's secret for so long - and she could see the certainty and terror in his eyes that there was something deeper to their relationship.

She froze in the hall as Ser Barristan purposefully made his way towards her.

"My Lady Stark, King Aemon requests your presence," he said, nodding at her in acknowledgement.

"Did His Grace mention why?"

"That is for him to say, My Lady," he replied.

More secrets, she thought. They were certainly working very hard to keep their plan under wraps for as long as possible. She wondered for a moment why such secrecy would be necessary. It was unlikely, even a week after the execution, that either of the Baratheon brothers knew about the usurping of their king. She, of course, had seen Ned, Aemon, and even Ser Jaime himself going to Maester Luwin with parchments in hand, which could only be letters going out across the Seven Kingdoms. It was only a matter of time before the world knew what had happened here.

She and Ser Barristan walked into the godswood. Ser Jaime, for once, was not standing guard at

the door and that he was in fact standing with Aemon and Ned by the weirwood tree. He was just latching an intricate wooden case shut as Ser Barristan walked up and declared, "I have brought Lady Catelyn, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Ser Barristan," Aemon said, giving him a nod before his eyes fell on her. Ser Jaime and Ned too looked at her. She shivered under the weight of their stares, feeling for the first time like she was naked instead of wearing a full dress and shawl.

"I will not let you down, Your Grace," Jaime replied smoothly and slung the case around his shoulder. "I will protect it with my life."

"I'd still prefer you over the harp. Remember that, please," Aemon had replied, his voice colored with amusement.

For the first time since he had arrived, Jaime smirked, then nodded and strode off back to Winterfell.

The harp? Another mystery and one she did not have time to contemplate as Aemon regarded her.

Catelyn opened her mouth. She should greet him, but the words seemed stuck in her throat. She glanced at Ned who smiled at her, exhaustion lining his face. That eased the tension in her throat and she fell into a deep curtsy in front of her nephew. "Your Grace, I would like to apologize to you. I have treated you shamefully since you were a babe. I have long known that my treatment of you was wrong and yet I could never break myself out of long ingrained habits and prejudice. I should have welcomed you into my household with open arms, regardless of who you were to Lord Stark. I beg your forgiveness."

She forced herself to look up into his eyes. He regarded her coolly which was almost worse than anger. She had expected a lecture and perhaps mild punishment, though it would not look good for him to punish the lady of his staunchest ally, no matter what wrong she had done to him.

"Yes, you should have," he finally replied. "All I ever wanted was a mother, but you made it clear under no uncertain terms that I was never to regard you with anything like motherly affection. You made me an outcast in my own home. Did I ever truly have a family when almost everyone always regarded me by my status first? Even Robb, whom I love like a brother, called me bastard."

"Yes, I know. I am the one responsible. I was the one who sowed the seeds of doubt and mistrust.

I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I beg you for it anyway."

Aemon huffed. Was it her imagination or did it not sound like the deep growl of a wolf? "You are forgiven, Lady Stark, but I will never forget. Now, rise, that's not what I called you out here for."

She shivered once more and the wind had nothing to do with it, but she stood slowly and looked at Ned. He smiled and nodded at her again and then walked over to hold her hand.

"I am in the process of arranging marriages for Robb, Sansa and Arya. I would ask that you inform Sansa of the pending nuptials. It's not finalized, but I feel it's best to be transparent to the girls in this regard. I'll inform Arya myself."

Catelyn had to tamp down on the rage that threatened to choke her. How dare you use my children as pawns in your war, but this was every nobles calling and the king had every right to arrange matches as he saw fit. It was rarely done, but she knew that he was in desperate need of allies and her children were their best hope. "Of course, Your Grace. To whom are they to marry?"

"I am looking to marry Robb to Margaery Tyrell and Sansa to Willas Tyrell. Arya may marry Tristayne Martell, but I know how reticent she is to marry, so that will only be offered if nothing else appeases them," Aemon replied.

She was stunned. The Tyrells were an exceptionally powerful household and they had supported the Targaryen's during the Rebellion. It wouldn't be entirely unreasonable to think that they might support a Targaryen again. As she contemplated it, the matches were well thought out and it would make the Starks powerful in ways they hadn't seen since the time of the Kings of Winter. She knew very little of the Tyrells personally, other than by their reputation, but Willas Tyrell had been almost as handsome as Ser Jaime. He had also been knightly before his injury and everything she had heard about him since suggested he was a kind and intelligent young man, but few wished to wed a cripple. His prospects had all but vanished the day of his injury. The only thing she knew about Margaery Tyrell was that she was the same age as Robb and said to be just as kind as her brother.

Dorne would be perfect for Arya. Her wild wolf who tried so hard to train with the men would finally get her wish if she were to marry into Dorne. But my baby will be on the other side of the world! Simply put, she would in all likelihood never see Arya again unless they visited King's Landing. She glanced at Ned and he nodded yet again.

"Very well, it will be done, Your Grace."

Once more his gaze pierced through her and she had to fight not to turn her eyes away.

"And you will write your father and sister and tell him to bend the knee."

"He may not listen to me," she replied and struggled to keep the trembling from her voice.

"Then I suggest you press upon him how urgent it is that he listen," Aemon said, his voice and eyes as cold as steel. Then he walked past her out of the godswood.

She let out a ragged breath once he was out of earshot and her husband gave her a weak smile.

"I am confident in the matches that have been made for our children. We both knew this day would come," Ned said, embracing her as they too began their walk out of the godswood.

"And yet it still feels too soon," she said, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. "I'll admit, the matches are excellent. I think our children will be satisfied once they meet their betrothed."

"I think so too."

"Did you help him?"

"It was mostly Lord Jaime who suggested the matches."

"Lord Jaime?" Catelyn asked. She did not like the sound of that.

Ned gave her a strained smile and using a hand at the small of her back, he forcibly steered her to their chambers. Once closed, a mask that she didn't think he was capable of wearing fell from his face. He looked exhausted and wary. "Aemon has made Jaime Hand to the King."

Catelyn was certain her heart skipped a few beats as her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Jaime Lannister, Hand of the King?" She whispered. Her eyes swept the room as if looking

at the interior of their chambers for an answer. "Did you not say something to him? Lannisters are hardly trustworthy!"

"Of course I did," Ned snapped. "He gave his reasons of which I cannot tell you. They are sound, but still I am troubled. I don't trust any lion to have Aemon's best interests at heart."

"What can we do?"

Ned sighed and slumped. "Nothing. At least nothing without raising suspicion in either of them. Aemon's sending Jaime on a solo mission. He's going to negotiate the alliances for the other lord paramounts while Aemon leads the army."

Catelyn felt faint and she had to sit down on the bed a moment to rest. "How did Lord Jaime get so much influence over Aemon?"

"I know how, but that doesn't mean I approve."

"How then?"

A shadow passed over Ned's face and he said, "I would prefer there be no secrets between us anymore, but...I can't. I can't tell you. That's for either Aemon or Jaime alone to tell."

"What shall we do?"

"We will counsel Aemon to the best of our ability. Perhaps with separation, he'll come to his senses and see reason. Let's pray that happens before Lannister does too much damage to his cause. Come, we must tell our children of their pending betrothals."

"Very well. I'll admit, if Lord Jaime does manage to pull this off, House Stark will be in a powerful position. I just can't see him doing all this work on Aemon's and our behalves," Catelyn replied, wringing her hands.

"Neither can I. We shall see what the coming months bring."

Once more she prayed to the Old Gods and the New that Jaime Lannister would not betray them or their nephew or it could be the downfall of them all.

Chapter 17 - Aemon II

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes - Thank you all for reading and granting this fiction Kudos! I hope you continue to enjoy!

Updated 4/8/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 17

Aemon II

Aemon sat at the head of the great table, his eyes slowly roving over the lords and ladies gathered in Winterfell's Great Hall. Everyone was seated and a low rumble filled the hall as they spoke to one another. He saw Robb speaking to a group of all the lords' heirs prominently featuring Harrion Karstark, Smalljon Umber, and Domeric Bolton, no doubt advocating for him.

He gripped the hilt of the sword at his side to hide the tremble in his hand. His heart pounded and blood roared in his ears. It had been easy, by contrast, to knock Robert off his throne. Winning the Kingdoms to his side as opposed to taking it by brute force like his ancestors had long ago was another matter entirely. The goal was to keep as many people alive as possible in preparation for the Long Night, but sparing lives was too often seen as a weakness. He had to prove he was tough without everyone trying to spot signs of the Targaryen Madness. It was a fine line to walk. Tonight would show whether he could walk it or not.

Over the last week, the northern lords had slowly made their way to Winterfell. He had been there to greet every single one of them. Some like Lady Maege had frowned at him in their evaluation and nodded hesitantly, glancing to Ned for direction. Tentative support in some was at least a good start. Others, like Lord Jon Umber had snorted at him and called him a 'pup.'

"I would ask, Lord Umber, that you refrain from insulting your future king in front of your liege lord. I would hate for you to embarrass yourself," Aemon replied, his voice as cold as winter. Lord Umber's face had turned a ruddy red and he glared at Aemon. Despite his girth and his height, Aemon remained as solid as the Wall, his own eyes cutting like a winter wind.

Roose Bolton had been the least scrutable of them all. His eyes stayed on Aemon's for a hair longer than normal before he muttered a quiet, "Your Grace," and then headed off into Winterfell.

His son, Domeric, peered at him curiously as he passed, but his face was just as passive. As a long begrudging ally, he could at least be certain none of the thoughts going through Bolton's head were good. He was also fairly certain he could never win the leech lord over to his side either. He could be counted on to follow because there were even fewer he could win to his side.

Instead of secluding himself away, he spent the week testing the waters with the Lords and Ladies of the North. As was natural, all of them were skeptical of his claim, but most of them were curious as to why he had decided to claim the throne at all. He knew that in the eyes of the Lords of the North, saving the knight who'd made him squire wouldn't be good enough, especially since it was Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.

The time between the letters going out and the arrival of the lords had allowed him time to think of a much more plausible excuse. He was already growing weary of manipulating so many people to his ends, but he knew a farfetched explanation like being brought back from the dead by the gods would land him on a ship out to Essos, never to be seen again. Every time he felt sick in his soul for what he was about to do, he simply repeated the mantra, It's for the Long Night , to himself. He was trying to save every single person here from a fate worse than death.

Thanks to his uncle, everyone seemed to accept that he was the long lost son of Lyanna Stark by Rhaegar Targaryen without too much trouble. Of course he claimed you were otherwise. The king would have killed you, they all said to him and he had agreed. The respect garnered for him as a result of his uncle would only go so far. He had to win them over on his own.

Before the meeting, he had gathered his uncle, Robb, and Theon into a room and said, "This is my fight. And while I know I have your support, I must do this alone."

"But...Aemon -" Robb began, but his father put a hand on his shoulder.

"He's right, Robb. He is a man grown and a king. He has to prove on his own that he is worth following," Ned said.

"Good luck," Theon said, appearing nervous.

"Thank you," Aemon said. Greyjoy had been remarkably supportive thus far which made Aemon cautiously optimistic that he could be relied on. He wasn't about to send Theon back to his father to broker an alliance though.

Now, Aemon waited patiently. He needed to be deliberate with every move. He had to restrain himself from glancing at either his uncle or Ser Barristan for support. He stood up at the high table, grabbed a wooden tankard and pounded it on the table. The hollow sound it made echoed through the hall and only stopped when everyone fell silent.

"I thank you for answering Lord Stark's summons. You have been called here because a war is brewing."

"For your foolish bid to take the throne?" Lord Umber said with a snort, and there was a muttering of agreement.

"War was brewing, whether I began it or not. Robert Baratheon unlawfully sentenced Jaime Lannister to death for a crime he did not commit."

"Word around here says he was caught fucking his sister," Lord Umber replied with a nasty chuckle. "You would trust the Kingslayer's account of this?"

Aemon could feel his anger building and there was a warmth in his cheeks. Ghost, who was settled next to him, seemed to sense the change in his mood and let out a low growl that somehow seemed to reverberate through Aemon.

When next he spoke, his voice seemed to take on the quality of his wolf, "I don't need Jaime Lannister's account. I caught her in the act myself."

There was a moment of silence and then the Greatjon laughed uproariously, which caused many of the other lords to chuckle in a painful way. The ladies in the room, however, did not chuckle and glared coldly at their male counterparts.

"You would laugh at a man's suffering?" Aemon asked, sweeping the entire room with a terse frown.

"He's an Oathbreaker and a Kingslayer. If true, it's probably no less than he deserves," Rickard Karstark said with a glower. There were more nods and persistence of chuckles.

Aemon drew a deep breath to snap at the lords once more when his uncle stood up and said to the gathered crowd, "That is enough!" The silence was near complete as the lords all stared at him in

disbelief. "I was there. I saw what Lord Jaime Lannister suffered. He was indeed raped. No matter what my thoughts are on him, no man, woman or child deserves to suffer in such a way."

Lord Karstark looked appropriately chastised. The Greatjon still had the expression of a raging bull getting ready to charge, but he nodded at Lord Stark respectfully.

Aemon turned and nodded at his uncle who nodded back and took his seat once more.

"I will not speak anymore of the matter, but you will no longer refer to my Hand as Kingslayer. I have pardoned him for his transgression. You will refer to him as Lord Jaime Lannister as is his due."

The pronouncement was followed with more stunned silence.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but you would trust a Lannister in a position of such importance?" Roose Bolton asked. Still, his face betrayed none of his thoughts.

"I do. Lord Jaime is in my debt since I saved his life. Now his lord father is in my debt now that I have released his heir from his vows as a result of the injuries he sustained on behalf of my cousin, Robb Stark. I have already sent him back to Lannisport to seal the alliance between ourselves and the Westerlands. Instead of fighting against the Lannisters, as Robert would have commanded you, we'll be united with them."

"Again, you trust Lord Tywin to honor such an alliance?" Roose continued.

This time Aemon allowed a small smile on his face as he evaluated the reactions in the room. "No," he replied simply and that caused another rumbling of voices. "However, I trust Jaime Lannister to honor this alliance and Lord Tywin would not dare counteract his heir. To overrule his son would diminish Jaime's power in the future when he finally does take over Casterly Rock. As someone who is so intent about the legacy of his family's name, Lord Tywin must comply."

Aemon actually saw Roose Bolton's eyes widened even just a moment and he nodded. Many of the other lords also seemed to think on it and nodded a bit more.

"If you can trust Jaime Lannister," Greatjon barked. He turned to Lord Stark. "Ned?"

There was a moment as Ned evaluated him and then he said aloud, "Jaime Lannister is a changed man from the one I found in the throne room in King's Landing. He was prepared to squire Aemon to knighthood when he initially came to Winterfell, and he put himself between a mammoth bear and my son and heir, Robb, without hesitation. I would trust him to cement the alliance between ourselves and the Westerlands."

But not the Reach, uncle? Aemon mused. He filed that away for later, but turned his attention back to the present.

Greatjon huffed once more. "Your words are fancy. There is still nothing to suggest that we're better off under you than we were with Baratheon."

"You don't think Lord Tywin wouldn't have taken umbrage for the execution of his golden son, whether lawful or not?" Aemon asked, but it was a statement. He continued without letting him talk. "Let us not forget that Robert Baratheon has run the kingdom into debt with Tywin Lannister for luxury. Lord Tywin would have immediately cut off funding to the kingdom and declared war. The crown would not be able to pay its soldiers and it would be forced to raise taxes on the remaining lands. Neither Dorne nor the Reach would have complied. Dorne would likely stay neutral, but the Reach might very well ally with the Westerlands. Both of those kingdoms have more than enough resources to hire a formidable mercenary company to fight on their behalf. Their armies alone would already outnumber and outweigh what the Crown, the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale could raise combined. That war would have torn the realm apart. And the last thing we need is for the realm to be in shambles."

"And why not? What do we care about limp-dicked southrons?" Greatjon growled.

"Because this is not the only war brewing. There is another war. And it's coming for us all, whether northern or southron."

"And what war is that?"

"The Long Night," Aemon said, but though his voice was low, it seemed to echo through the hall. The hush that fell over the hall was complete. It pleased him that not a single person laughed, though he did see skepticism on more than one face.

"How do you know this?" Roose Bolton asked.

"I was granted a vision by the Old Gods. The next winter will be the world's last if we do not band together to stop the Night King."

There was no laughing now and if he wasn't mistaken he could see several eyes darting to his uncle as if seeking confirmation.

"What proof do you have that these...visions are from the Gods and not mere dreams?" Roose Bolton continued.

"I currently have naught but my words. However, Lord Stark had to execute a deserter not three months ago. He spoke of the White Walkers."

Lord Umber actually shifted uneasily. "I had to execute some wildlings a ways back. They talked about dead things wandering the woods. They crossed the Wall to flee them. Didn't pay much attention to it at the time."

"We too have had our share of wildlings finding themselves on Bear Island. They asked me to burn their bodies so that they don't come back to life," Lady Maege said.

"I've had similar encounters at Deepwood Motte," Robett Glover reported, a troubled look on his face.

"I've heard similar, but that hardly suggests that the Long Night is coming," Roose Bolton snapped at them and earned the glare of every lord there.

"Perhaps not, but it is a disturbing trend. Our houses are quite sprawling and yet wildlings are reporting the same disturbing news," Aemon replied. "I have requested Ranger Benjen Stark to speak with Lord Commander Mormont about capturing one of these wights and bringing it back across the Wall. Lord Bolton is the first skeptic, but by far he won't be the last. It is for this reason that I have called on you to help claim the throne in the south."

"What in the name of the Old Gods do you need the Iron Throne for?" Greatjon bellowed.

"Because in one of my visions, I saw myself sitting on the throne," Aemon replied matter-of-factly.

He knew playing up the Old God's influence could go well or ill. It did help that his uncle was a firm believer, but even he would not be enough.

"Forgive me, Your Grace ," Greatjon replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "but you're barely a man grown. We should be putting someone older that can better assess the situation. Why not Ned?"

It was a struggle to keep from laughing. Because the game of thrones would eat Lord Stark alive, he wanted to retort, but it was hardly a laughing matter. He replied, "I am Aemon Targaryen, the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and the Gods want me on the throne."

"You're a boy. A boy who hasn't even cut his teeth in his first real battle. Who's to say you won't piss yourself in your first fight?"

"By all means, Lord Umber, let's have that fight then," Aemon replied, bringing his hand up to rest once more on the hilt of his sword.

Greatjon leapt to his feet, pulling out his sword.

"Not here. Outside. I'd hate to leave a mess," Aemon replied, taking the initiative to head outdoors. As it was summer, the light was still fading from the sky, but torches were called for to light the dim training grounds. Aemon inhaled and smelled burning wood and the fresh cool air of the night; it invigorated him and he felt his blood stir.

"Are you sure about this, Your Grace?" Ser Barristan leaned in to whisper into his ear.

"He won't kill me," he said.

Greatjon Umber seemed to tower over him as they entered the ring. The sword he pulled forth was huge and he peered down at Aemon with smug satisfaction. Aemon drew his own sword and squared himself, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face. Greatjon seemed a little taken aback, but he drew his mouth into a firm line of resolution and charged.

Aemon jumped out of the way. He didn't have enough power to meet such a blow and swiped at the Greatjon's back. For such a large man, he was nimble and turned, swiping his blade at head height that Aemon ducked, landing a blow at the back of the Greatjon's knees. His opponent

staggered, but he waited. He was the predator, circling, and he could feel his wolfsblood - or was it dragonsblood? - roaring through his veins as he stalked his opponent.

Greatjon was undeterred and instead of taking huge swings began doing more focused attacks that Aemon met and almost crumpled under the power behind them. He adjusted his movements to redirect the power away from him, which only seemed to frustrate the Greatjon. He brought his sword down square on Aemon and he was forced to hold his sword by bracing himself. Greatjon leaned on him, putting all of his power behind it and Aemon felt his knees trying to give. But Aemon flashed him a wolfish smile and with a great burst of energy, threw the Greatjon off, causing him to reel and fall back. He raised his sword up in a feeble gesture to protect himself.

Suddenly Aemon felt like he was looking on from outside his body. He could see himself moving, but he seemed unable to control it. He raised the sword up and brought it down on the Greatjon's with as much strength as he could muster. There was a flash like lightning. When he could see again, he gaped. His sword had cut the Greatjon's sword clean in two. He stepped back and examined his own blade. It was a little scuffed from normal wear and tear, but there wasn't even a chip on its side to suggest it did anything worse than deflect a few sword thrusts.

Greatjon was staring at him in astonishment, still holding his sword up to protect himself. The other half of his blade had just missed falling on his face and lay on the ground.

The lords gathered around them recoiled when he looked at them all.

He let out a great shuddering breath and slowly sheathed his sword, disturbed by what had transpired. He drew himself up and said to the crowd, "The Gods have spoken."

There was a moment of silence as the lords looked at him with a combination of shock and awe. Then Lady Maege Mormont pulled out her sword and knelt to the ground, "I, Lady Maege of House Mormont, do hereby swear my loyalty to the true king of the Seven Kingdoms, Aemon Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men."

Dacey followed next. One by one the northern lords pulled out their swords and knelt to pledge their allegiance. Even Roose Bolton and his son Domeric did not hesitate.

He hoped no one noticed the way his hand trembled. "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise." He headed back once more to the godswood, Ser Barristan following just behind him. He stared up into the weeping eyes of the weirwood as though he expected to see something different. He peered deeply at it and then

said, "Wh-what happened Ser Barristan. I...I feel like I lost myself."

"Something not of this world happened," Ser Barristan replied. "I have seen naught like it. You were playing with him, I could tell. Jaime's training gave you the confidence to do that. But when you pushed him off, your eyes came alight like an orange fire was burning in them. You clearly curry the favor of the Gods."

"I almost killed him! Th-that was not my intention! I was just trying to prove that I am no greenboy with notions of grandeur," Aemon cried, struggling to get his emotions under control. "I don't want them to fear me!"

"You didn't kill him, Your Grace. He has perhaps a few bruises, but you left him untouched. You said the Gods gave you a vision and now they believe you."

"I suppose, but the Gods have never connected with me directly until now. They connected with Jaime a long time ago as well to...to keep him on the right path," Aemon said. "I have been pleading with them for a sign, a direction. Are we not merely the Gods' playthings?"

Ser Barristan had no response and remained silent.

Chapter 18 - Aemon III

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you all for leaving comments, kudos, and continuing to read this fic. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Updated 4/8/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 18

Aemon III

The Wall loomed majestically and eerily over their heads, causing more than a few necks to strain at trying to see the top. Aemon was entranced by it. Even after having lived on it for several years, it still awed him to see the structure tower over his view. He had not seen the hole that the Night King had torn into the Wall with Viserion's corpse, so despite its height it still gave him a false sense of security. It would hold for the time being.

"You don't see man building anything like that these days," Tyrion said, sighing in lamentation. "It's almost a pity."

Aemon felt more than saw his uncle shift uneasily behind him. Tyrion Lannister insisted on joining them for every leg of the journey. Few were more vehemently against this than his uncle, but he at least refrained from lecturing his nephew publically.

Ghost huffed. He never left Aemon's side, but he also refused to stray far from his brother, Grey Wind. They were nearly half grown at this point, looking like small adult wolves, but there was no mistaking the size they would reach at the large paw prints they left in their wake. Lady and Nymeria, the girls' wolves, had stayed back in Winterfell with their mistresses.

The party to Castle Black included all of the Lords of the North, Lady Maege, Theon, Robb, and Tyrion. Former King Robert had been left at Winterfell, his usual supply of wine and food cut in half. This had caused Robert great consternation and he had torn apart his room with a fury equal to that of a hurricane, but Aemon put his foot down and eventually his tantrums bled away like his will.

At the same time they were reinforcing Robert's prison sentence, Aemon made arrangements to do away with Cersei Lannister. She was already trying to sweet talk her guards into extra privileges. Not all of them were disgusted enough to remember she slept with her own brother to turn down her beautiful body and those guards had been punished with time in the stocks. She needed to be in a place where her body as a currency could be curbed. It had taken some time, but Aemon found the perfect place for her.

A knock sounded at his uncle's solar, now essentially turned his solar. "Come in," Aemon called. He was rifling through correspondence while his uncle sat nearby. They had just received a letter from the Martells who had indeed expressed interest in their alliance, though they were skeptical about his claim. He could hardly blame them, but the fact that they were still interested bespoke either of their ire to Robert and his delight in their loved ones' slaughter or the word of Eddard Stark.

Or neither. Intent was impossible to tell on a piece of parchment. He'd have to mull over the letter later.

"You sent for me, Your Grace," Lady Maege Mormont swept into a deep bow. It forcefully reminded him of Brienne. A feeling of both appreciation and heartbreak swept through him and he had to struggle to keep it off his face. Brienne is alive. She's not dead anymore. No one is.

"Yes, Lady Maege. Please stand. My uncle Lord Stark speaks very highly of you and your brother Lord Jeor Mormont. Throughout the Stark's and the Mormont's long history together you have remained steadfast allies. I intend to honor that loyalty with a grave responsibility."

"I am yours to command, Your Grace," Lady Maege replied with another dip of her head. He had always admired and respected Lyanna Mormont for her fierce loyalty to his woe begotten cause and it pained him that he had never been able to reward her the way she had deserved before her house had unfortunately perished. He would do right by them this time and not just by consigning them an important prisoner.

"Lady Cersei Lannister is currently a hostage in Winterfell. As you are aware, she committed a most egregious crime against her brother, my Hand, Lord Jaime Lannister. She is to be imprisoned for the rest of her life, but we must imprison her in comfort and luxury as befits a lady. For all her beauty, she is very manipulative and poses a constant threat to men who think with only one of their heads rather than both."

Maege smirked.

"Therefore, I ask that House Mormont bear the burden of imprisoning Lady Cersei. I have no doubt the women of Bear Island will be able to handle all of her tricks. Do you accept?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I accept. My Lyanna will be more than a match for her," Maege said with a proud smile.

"I'm sure she will be," Aemon replied no longer able to keep the smile from his face. He had long thought that if he'd just sent young Lyanna to deal with Cersei, they would've ended her reign in a much more timely fashion and they would've won the war.

And so it had been the next day that Cersei had been chained up and loaded into a carriage, kicking and screaming. She begged for Jaime, she begged for her children, she begged for Lord Tywin, but not once did she beg for Tyrion. Everyone, from the lowest servants to the soldiers had cheered when the carriage had finally left, her screams slowly fading into the distance. Maege had charged her other daughter, Dacey, with ensuring the prisoner arrived with explicit instructions to meet at Moat Cailin afterwards.

Before he and the lords had departed Winterfell, he sent the entire army, including the Lannister men brought by the king, to Moat Cailin headed up by Smalljon Umber and Harrion Karstark. Just as he had with the faces of familiar friends, he hesitated upon seeing Smalljon Umber. He was the one who had turned traitor to House Stark and delivered Rickon and Shaggydog to their undeserved fates. He soothed himself that the circumstances had initially forced his hand, but he made a note in the back of his mind to never forget a traitor.

He had also hesitated upon seeing Roose Bolton, but it had been tempered upon seeing his son. His real son, Domeric Bolton, and not the bastard Ramsay. He hadn't even met Domeric in the time before and if he remembered correctly, he had died before the ensuing fiasco began. I wonder what changed this time? Perhaps it was the timing of his claim. Domeric Bolton took after his father in the cold, calculating look, but he had long black hair and was much more lithe.

Although he wasn't sure if informing his uncle and Ser Barristan about his other life had been the best idea, he was grateful for their support. They had discussed how they would handle the potentiality for traitors. Ned had insisted that he keep Roose Bolton close and to never send him out with a part of the army for any reason. That had been easy enough to agree to. Where they had split, was on what to do with Ramsay. For all that Aemon touted justice and insisted on due process, he wanted Ramsay dead. Ramsay was simply too dangerous to keep around. However, even after hearing of Sansa's rapes and abuse at his hands and the fact that he had murdered his youngest son Rickon in a game of hunter and hunted, Ned still insisted that they shouldn't do anything, that he was young and could still change. Aemon had very nearly called him a fool, but Ser Barristan stepped in and reluctantly agreed with Ned. Aemon agreed to a compromise that they

would do nothing for now, but he insisted on keeping ears to the ground in the North and if they heard of any particularly disturbing murders then he was to be brought in.

"It's so cold here," Robb muttered, rubbing his hands for warmth and looking around at the ankle deep snow.

"It's the Wall," Aemon said, almost inaudibly. "It chills the air around here, making it perpetually winter."

And yet it still wasn't as cold as it had been in the dead of winter, when the Night King had blotted out the sun as his power and his army grew. That was a cold that could freeze the breath inside the lungs, the wind could scrape the skin off your face, and leave your fingers blue in a matter of minutes. Aemon shuddered just thinking about it.

They were a mere hundred feet away when the doors to Castle Black began to open. A lump frozen solid with dread lodged itself in his throat. As eager as he was to see the Old Bear and Maester Aemon, he'd have to encounter the handful of men who betrayed and murdered him, chiefly Ser Alliser Thorne. He was a Targaryen sympathizer once upon a time and might now sing a different tune, but that was one man that Aemon had no intention of giving the benefit of the doubt. He certainly had no authority to kill him, but he would avoid him as best he could.

Robb let out a gasp and couldn't keep his mouth from hanging open as they passed through the gate and got a better view of the Wall and the ascending mechanism that sent men to the top.

With the exception of a few men on guard, the entire garrison of the Night's Watch stood in formation in the yard, awaiting his arrival. Jeor Mormont stood to one side between Maester Aemon and Ser Alliser Thorne. Aemon's blood ran cold upon seeing the normally sour face of Thorne, but today he was peering up at him with an expression akin to awe. Sam had told him that Thorne refused to give up his allegiance to the Targaryen family and was sent to the Wall for it. It would be odd from having his hate in one life to possible admiration in this one. He just hoped no one caught him looking at Alliser with undisguised loathing.

"Your Grace," Jeor said, as soon as he dismounted from his horse. "It is an honor to have you at Castle Black. I must say, I was surprised when I received your letter, and even more surprised when I heard from your uncle Benjen."

"It's true then?" Ser Alliser Thorne blurted out.

"Ser Alliser! Control yourself," the Lord Commander growled.

"Yes, it's true," Aemon replied. He might as well address the question. He needed their loyalty and it was important to get ahead of these types of questions. "Or I would not be openly baring the Targaryen banner." He gestured to a flagbearer that had the Targaryen seal waving in the wind.

"I can vouch for his claim," Ned said, stepping forward. "My sister Lyanna Stark herself handed him to me after she gave birth." He seemed to become grimmer and Aemon wondered if he was thinking back to that day.

"If you say so, it must be true," Jeor intoned. Then he raised his voice so that it carried over the yard to the rest of his men. "I know Lord Stark to be a true and honorable man."

A bitter anger swept through Aemon. Jaime was right. My uncle lied to the whole kingdom and everyone's still accepting his word like he was the Father himself. He was glad that Jaime wasn't here.

"Come! Warm yourselves by the fire. We have created a feast for you to enjoy and have ale aplenty to drink."

Aemon wondered briefly for a moment if it was the Night's Watch's own ale and he struggled to suppress a smile at the thought of the northern lords choking on it. It wasn't even good enough to feed to the pigs. "We would be delighted by your hospitality, Lord Commander."

He walked into the Hall with Ser Barristan just behind him. His uncle Ned followed and behind him came Robb, Theon, Tyrion, Greatjon Umber, Maege Mormont, and all the rest of the northern lords. He couldn't keep his eyes from falling on Longclaw that rested at Lord Mormont's side and his own fingers twitched. What he would give to have the Valyrian steel sword back in his hands, but he couldn't very well demand Lord Mormont part from his family's ancestral sword.

Patience, he cautioned himself. There's still some time before the Long Night. No telling what might happen between now and then.

For such a large company, the feast was a buffet and everyone had to serve themselves. Once he had his food, Jeor waved him and his uncle over to sit at the high table.

"So, I read your letter, but no other king has showed much interest in the Night's Watch. What is your true purpose here, King Aemon?"

"Please, Lord Commander, you may refer to me as Aemon. I would also prefer to speak in a more private location on that particular matter. However, if you don't mind, I would like to discuss how the Night's Watch is doing. We brought two dozen recruits, six wagon loads of food, weapons, and skins for clothing. Is the Night's Watch in desperate need of anything in particular?"

"Men. Always men. As helpful as the supplies you brought, new recruits are even better. As I'm sure ole Ned has informed you, only Castle Black, Shadow Tower, and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea currently have enough men to operate them. All of the rest of the castles are unfortunately empty."

Aemon nodded thoughtfully. "I would ask for more volunteers, but as you might imagine, I need all the men I can get since the realm is likely to be at war."

The Old Bear sighed. "It's a shame, but it must be done. The little I've heard about King's Landing was not promising. I wish you luck in your war."

"Thank you, Jeor. I wish the same to you here at the Wall. Two of the newest recruits are a pair of Robert's former Kingsguard. I pray they will be powerful assets."

"Former Kingsguard you say? Volunteers?"

"In a sense. All of these recruits refused to bend the knee to me."

"Ah, more dissidents."

"I wish it could be avoided, but I much prefer them come here than simply become more bodies in the ground."

After lunch, the Old Bear led him, his uncle, and Ser Barristan up to his solar. They summoned Maester Aemon and Ser Rodrick. It took some time for the old maester to appear and when he did, Aemon felt his heart throb in his chest. His last living relative on his father's side, that was still in Westeros at least. His namesake. He wished for nothing more than to envelope the old maester in a hug, but he had plans to talk to the maester later. Even so, he knelt in front of the maester first and said, "Maester Aemon, I am so pleased to meet you. I am also Aemon Targaryen."

The maester smiled and his milky eyes crinkled as he put a wrinkled hand to his face to trace his features. "Ah, it's so good to finally meet another family member after so long. You have much of the Starks in you, however you remind me of Rhaegar. He was always driven and earnest, wanting to do right by others."

"I wish I could have known both of my parents," he whispered softly.

"Come visit me in my quarters. We have much to talk about," the maester said.

Aemon grinned, squeezed his great great uncle's hand once more and then stood tall. "Thank you, Lord Commander and Maester Aemon for this meeting. What I must tell you is of grave importance."

"Certainly, Your Grace. Wine?" The Lord Commander asked.

"That is most kind of you." Once wine was served and they were supping - even Ser Barristan was taking delicate sips from his glass - Aemon decided this was an issue that he could only be straightforward about. "I have received a vision from the gods, a vision of the future, and I must admit it was not a pleasant sight."

The Old Bear blinked. "The gods?"

"The Old Gods. I was praying in front of the weirwood at Winterfell when I received the vision," Aemon said. He, Ned, Ser Barristan, and Jaime had all agreed that receiving messages from the gods would be less farfetched than the idea that they were thrown back in time. As it was, there were no future plans to tell anyone else of their special circumstances. "I was shown a world of chaos. With the exception of myself, everyone in this room was dead, killed by an ensuing war that's supposed to break out over the control of the Seven Kingdoms."

"A war you weren't involved in?" The Lord Commander stated. There was no mistaking the dry tone.

"Indeed, I didn't know of my heritage then. I learned about it in this vision. No, this war was started when King Joffrey murdered my uncle Ned because he was discovered to be a bastard."

Jeor sighed. "That would do it. The North would go to war over that."

"And they did. There was fault on both sides, but the point is is that the world was in chaos. Thousands, if not millions, of soldiers died for this fruitless war. None of the kings who fought in it lived to see its end. At the time, there was an even greater threat mounting up north, beyond the wall," Aemon said, fixating both the Lord Commander and his great, great uncle with an intense stare. "The Night King lives, even now. He stirs in the north and he prepares his undead army to march south."

This pronouncement was greeted with silence. Jeor was looking at him incredulously, but Aemon appeared unsurprised.

"In this vision, I watched myself face the Night King. There was a blizzard and the day hadn't dawned for several months at that point. Ser Jamie Lannister grabbed the Night King from behind and left him vulnerable to an attack. I was able to kill him, but not before I was mortally wounded. While the Night King was destroyed, only a handful of humans remained to celebrate the end. Everyone else...was dead. Everyone need not die this time. We can prevent that from happening, but I will need the Night's Watch's cooperation."

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but a man in my position can't afford to take action on unproven truths. As you are aware, we don't have the resources to guess at this sort of thing."

"A long winter is coming, Jeor," Maester Aemon suddenly spoke up. "It has been an unusually long summer and old sayings go that 'long summers are followed by equally long winters.' Regardless of whether you believe in this threat, we need to start taking new measures if we wish for the Night's Watch to survive."

"I have no proof other than my word, I'm afraid. But there is no harm in being prepared. When you send out rangers, make sure they know to exercise extreme caution. You also must henceforth burn your dead immediately. Fire is one of the few weapons available to fight against the Night King and his army of undead," Aemon said. He felt a staggering disappointment. He knew it was a shot in the dark, but he had to try and convince the Night's Watch that there was a threat unlike any other they had ever faced biding its time. "I wish to get ahead of this as quickly as possible. Ser Rodrick, step forward please."

The grizzled old knight looked bewildered. This was undoubtedly a meeting for people with prominent positions and he hadn't been anything more than a master-at-arms for the majority of his life. Still, he stepped forward, and gave a small bow. "Your Grace?"

"I understand the precarious position the Night's Watch is in. It must remain separate and distinct from the ills of the South. Which is why I would ask that you allow Ser Rodrick to stay at Castle Black as an ambassador of my sovereignty."

"Your Grace?" Ser Rodrick gasped. "This is a high honor, Your Grace!" This time he knelt in front of Aemon.

"Come, Ser Rodrick, no need for such formalities," he replied with a small smile. Then he turned to Jeor, "This way I will have direct information from a trusted source and no one will be able to accuse you of favoring one king over another."

Jeor's eyebrows raised and he stroked his chin. "That is a most welcome solution. I will be happy to play host to Ser Rodrick."

"He's an excellent master-at-arms, so feel free to take advantage of his knowledge to help train your many recruits that I hope to send you in the coming months. Ser Rodrick, I'm counting on you to send me detailed reports of the events here at Castle Black. Leave no detail out, no matter how absurd or small it is."

"As you command, Your Grace."

"There is one other matter that I must insist upon," Aemon began again and regarded Jeor with coolly. "I require that you must make inroads with the Free Folk."

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but the wildlings will not suffer the brothers of the Night's Watch."

"This is of vital importance! You have half a million Free Folk beyond the Wall. Now imagine they all join the army of the dead because they were unable to cross the Wall," Aemon said.

Only the wind could be heard rattling the windows after that proclamation.

The Old Bear suddenly looked older than his years. "I cannot deny your logic. If what you say is true -" and his eyes still showed his skepticism "- then they must be moved beyond the Wall."

Aemon nodded. "We cannot leave them to suffer that horrendous fate. I will allow them to settle the Gift. I have already made such a proposal to the other Northern lords and we all agreed."

Jeor heaved a great sigh. "I will make the effort to seek a peace with Mance Rayder. He's the self- proclaimed King-Beyond-the-Wall. The Wildlings hate structure and yet they flock to him."

"Because they already know the Long Night is coming. The Night King has already taken some of their kin as undead soldiers for his army. They seek to cross the wall."

"Your uncle is uncommonly good with the wildlings. Perhaps I'll send him out to deliver a message when he returns."

"Where is he now, if I may be so bold?"

"He went out on a ranging, but he took a few men with him. He said you ordered him to find a creature."

"Yes, a wight. I anticipate the south will be even more skeptical than you. I need an undead wight to prove my words."

Jeor stared at him helplessly, suddenly looking as old as Maester Aemon. "Never did I ever expect creatures from old legends to come back to life."

They spent a little more time talking about the needs of the Night's Watch and what it would take to open and refurbish the other castles on the Wall. Since his uncle was more familiar with the workings of the North, he took over much of the conversation and before long they had a plan of what needed to happen and how best for materials to be shipped north.

Aemon wished he could see his great great uncle soon after, but duty required him to freshen up for the feast. It took three days for him to finally meet the maester. King Aemon would try to find his way to his great great uncle, only to run into a myriad of issues: he was needed to rally the troops of the Night's Watch, Maester Aemon was napping, he had to go to yet another feast, Maester Aemon was dealing with a handful of sword cuts after Ser Alliser got too rough with the new recruits.

During one of the feasts, Maester Aemon said to him in a low voice, "Come to my study

afterwards. We have much to talk about."

It was late in the night before Aemon was able to extricate himself from the feast. He practically loped to Maester Aemon's office causing Ser Barristan to almost run to keep up with him. Ghost trotted next to him. The wolf had been uncommonly restless, but he likely just missed the freedom the forest allowed him. He very rarely was ever guarded by Ser Arys Oakheart or Ser Preston Greenfield. When he was guarded by Ser Meryn Trant, it was always with at least one other guard present. They were still short three Kingsguard. Torrhen Karstark was currently in training to be a knight of the Kingsguard, but he wouldn't be ready for another few months. He intended to honor other knights of the realm in his Kingsguard once he'd won some more allies.

He reached the door and was dismayed to find it dark. Please let him not be asleep yet, Aemon quietly pleaded the gods and then knocked on the door.

He waited for a moment and then heard quiet shuffling before the door was open.

"Your Grace, come in, come in," Maester Aemon said, peering at him as best he could through his milky eyes.

"Please, maester, you can call me Aemon. We're family after all," he replied. "I must admit, I figured you were asleep since you had no candles lit."

"The blind have no need of lights," the maester replied with a crooked grin.

"True enough," Aemon replied. "Do you mind if I light some?"

"Not at all, though you'll have to blow them out when we're done here."

He and Ser Barristan quickly lit a handful of candles and placed them around the room. "Great uncle, I have Ser Barristan here with me. He's my Kingsguard, but he also knew Rhaegar quite well. I thought perhaps he might offer some useful insights."

Despite being blind, the maester seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding people and he gazed thoughtfully in Ser Barristan's direction. He nodded and said, "Mmhmm...he very well might. I imagine he knew your father better than even I knew him. But he didn't know everything."

"Pray tell, Uncle," Aemon asked. He couldn't quite keep the excited tremble from his voice. He and Ser Barristan both leaned in a little to not miss a word.

"I was one of Rhaegar's more faithful correspondents. As a maester, he sought my council often."

Ser Barristan frowned. "About politics?"

"No. It would have been against my duties as maester of Castle Black to counsel a family member in politics. No, he asked me about legends and myths regarding our Targaryen ancestry. You see...your father suspected the Long Night would come in his lifetime."

Aemon raised his eyebrows at the maester. "Truly?"

"Yes, there is a prophecy about the three-headed dragon. His research led him to believe he needed three children. Poor Elia Martell was too sick and too weak to birth a third child," Maester Aemon said with a weight to his tone that sounded not unlike regret.

"So he married my mother…"

"I told him not to be so rash. Prophecies are fickle things. It was also not random happenstance that he chose your mother. He was under the impression that the child had to be of ice and fire."

"An icy Stark with the fiery Targaryen," Aemon whispered.

The maester nodded. "My correspondence with him stopped shortly before he married your mother. The next news I heard of him, he'd been killed by Robert Baratheon on the Trident.

Barristan sighed. "I knew your father was obsessed with prophecy, but I had no inkling that it caused him to go down this road of taking another wife. He frequently retired to his study and to give our charges privacy, we only guard their doors on the outside, not the inside. I'm sorry, Aemon."

"You wouldn't have been able to stop him, Ser Barristan. He had authority over you," Maester Aemon replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. This would explain why so many at the time felt that Rhaegar had lost his mind. Prophecies were enough to drive a rational man to do irrational things.

The maester suddenly stood and ambled over to his desk.

"Do you need assistance?"

"You stay there. I know my way around this office," Aemon replied. He pulled out a drawer and emptied it of its' documents and then they watched him pull out a false bottom. He pulled another handful of documents and walked back. "These are the letters your father sent me. I feel they belong to you. Perhaps you can make sense of them."

Aemon was near breathless as he accepted the stack of parchment with trembling fingers. Though it was only written word, this was the closest Aemon felt he would ever get to knowing his father. Dany probably knew even less about her brother. Maybe she would enjoy reading them too. Once again her gentle smile appeared in his mind and he felt himself shiver in excitement. "Thank you, Uncle."

"I will do my best to convince the Lord Commander to heed your warning. There are a number of strange stories that have come back to us from the rangers who return. I suggest you focus on uniting the country. We have everything north of the Wall covered."

"Thank you, uncle. I truly appreciate your help. I shall read these carefully."

"May the Gods, new and old, watch over you," the maester said gravely.

Aemon bowed. They blew out the candles and left.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: If you would've told me that it'd take 18 chapters to get out of

Winterfell, I would have called you crazy. But here we are. Thank you, once again, for all of your support! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Chapter 19 - Jaime V

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Once again, thank you all for your comments and kudos! I'm excited to see what you guys think of the coming chapters!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Updated 4/8/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 19

Jaime V

Jaime Lannister stood at the prow of the ship watching Lannisport draw closer. The wind whipped at his jet black cloak as the ship bobbed in the turbulent water, but he remained steadfast and unmoving. A storm was brewing, both outside in the open air and inside Jaime.

I come home to take my place as heir and you want a fight, father? Jaime thought as his eyes looked past Lannisport towards Casterly Rock where thousands of tents of the Westerlands army could be seen between here and there. They shouldn't be there. If his father had heeded his orders, they'd be halfway to King's Landing at this point, ready to intercept Renly Baratheon and prevent him from seizing the seat of power. And yet here the army remained.

What was more is that there was a festive quality to the place. Lannisport was always thriving, but with the thousands of soldiers in the area, it was now booming. He suspected there was more to the celebratory atmosphere than just a whole bunch of soldiers in town to spend their hard-earned gold.

He finally tore his eyes away from the city and settled directly onto the docks where he could see a welcome party. His father, or anyone of particular standing in the Lannister family, was nowhere to greet him. It was a slight. He had signed his letter to Tywin as Hand of the King and yet here he was being greeted by...Ser Addam Marbrand. Not that he wasn't pleased to see Ser Addam - he had grown up alongside him in Casterly Rock and considered him a friend - but someone in his position deserved to be greeted with far more decorum. This was his first test. Not only did he have to prove to his father that he was Hand of the King, it meant legitimizing his new king's rule.

He had not lied to Aemon when he said that Tywin Lannister would be the first on his knees to pledge his allegiance for saving his golden heir. Tywin Lannister would do that, but he would only do that if Aemon Targaryen was a king worth following, not to mention in what way it would benefit House Lannister. At barely six-and-ten it would be difficult to prove that Aemon had what it took to rule, let alone prove the legitimacy of his rule.

But it's too late for that father. I am Hand of the King. I have already pledged myself to Aemon. House Lannister is already in far too deep. You would disown your own golden heir to deny this allegiance? Of course Tywin wouldn't. He had a feeling he could fuck every whore between here and King's Landing and it would still not diminish him in the eyes of his lord father like it did Tyrion.

This was a test and he was ready for it.

It first started with appearance, which could be the most difficult part. Despite there being no mirror aboard his tiny ship, Jaime had done the best he could looking into a pail of water. Being on a ship also meant that neither he nor his men had bathed in just over a month. He'd had about three outfits to trade between and all of them bore various stains, from either vomiting or sweat.

He was currently dressed in the fourth outfit he had taken. It was to be his formal attire when negotiating with the Tyrells. He wore a Lannister crimson jerkin done up to one side with twenty- five golden buttons with black trim on the shoulders and black trousers with shiny black boots. He imagined to most it would make him look more Targaryen than Lannister, but the idea was to intimidate and if the soldiers standing far behind him were any indication, it was effective.

He loathed being at sea and he was one of the few who hadn't succumbed to seasickness. For the most part, the sea had been calm, but on those days where the water frothed and rocked, his new ability to see sounds overwhelmed him. From horizon to horizon, the sound of the ocean lifted up from the water like bubbles floating in the air. It was also at these times that the captain was at his most temperamental, screeching at his crew members in hues of bright red that cut right through his vision to stab at his brain. He'd managed to buy the captain's cabin from him on the voyage and it was on those days that he hid himself and hugged a bucket, gritting his teeth against the headache that assailed him. He managed to avoid having a seizure and how he wasn't sure. He knew it was dangerous to not disclose his condition to his soldiers, but his own pride warred against the idea of leaning on another and not surprisingly it seemed to have the voice of Tywin Lannister. His anger at Jaime's injury might even surpass his anger at Jaime for losing his hand. For all the golden hand had been a poor disguise, it was still a symbol of the wealth of House Lannister. All the gold in Casterly Rock couldn't hide or buy him out of his current condition and that would incense his father.

Not that he had any intention of letting the old lion know. He and Aemon had come to a private agreement to conceal his condition as long as possible. If he played things smartly, the ability

would give him the upper hand in the negotiations. He just had to survive the headaches and the possibility of seizures. However, there remained the problem that during one of his seizures, he could vomit, choke and die. He needed someone there to make sure that didn't happen. Someone he could implicitly trust and if he wasn't mistaken, that someone was currently residing here at Lannisport.

Was it good fortune that he wouldn't have to gamble not seizing for months or ill luck that his father chose this moment to test his son's patience? It was too difficult to say and he wished not to dwell on it.

Rhaegar's harp was slung over his right shoulder, and he gripped the lone strap holding it to him tightly. A soldier had once tried to take the harp case from him in the interest of helping, and very nearly got stabbed through the gut for his troubles. No one had been allowed to touch the case and all the soldiers gave it an equally wide berth as they were giving him now.

The boat sidled up right next to the dock and a gangplank was lowered for easy walking. Ser Addam Marbrand smiled and nodded at him as he stepped out onto dry land. He was a little shorter than Jaime with thick brown hair swept back and hazel eyes. "Ser Jaime."

"Ser Addam," Jaime replied in acknowledgment, but it was in a low quiet voice and there was no courteous smile. His eyes own eyes slowly swept over the entourage and he was privately pleased to see a few of the soldiers shift where they stood, before he finally locked eyes back with Ser Addam. "It's Lord Jaime now," he replied, not impolitely.

Addam's eyes widened and he bowed. "Lord Jaime. It's good to see you returned to the Rock," he said in a voice tinted a forest green, but it wavered ever so slightly.

Jaime had to fight to keep his pleased smirk off his face. "Ser Addam, I expected my father of all people to know the ceremonies necessary to greet the Hand of the King. So tell me...why is there no one from House Lannister here to greet me?"

Addam's eyes grew even larger if that was at all possible. "Your father sends his apologies. He had urgent business to attend to."

"I see," Jaime said with a slight sneer in his voice. Ser Addam's squire stood at the ready with the reins of three horses and he hurriedly bowed when Jaime came up to him and held out the reins to a jet black palfrey. He mounted swiftly and smoothly, ever the graceful lion. "Very well. Seeing as my father was unable to greet me in person, I don't see the point in rushing to him. If I recall, there is a well known craftsman who works on musical instruments here in Lannisport."

"Yes, a luthier. Allow me to show you the way."

They took a detour through the streets. The people and soldiers fell away from them like sheep being herded by dogs. The soldiers stood to attention as they passed, looking nervous, and the townsfolk were awed. The people of Lannisport had known him well as a young boy and in all likelihood never expected to see him again once he donned the white cloak of the Kingsguard. A few actually cheered as he passed. How many knew that he'd been on the chopping block merely six weeks ago?

When they arrived at the known luthier, Ser Addam followed Jaime inside the shop where a whole host of stringed instrument stood dangling from the ceiling and lining the walls. The craftsmen was an aging fellow with wild gray hair and judging by the young boy at his side, he was teaching the ways of his craft. It did not take long for Jaime to get his order sorted, but when he opened the case and the man saw the Targaryen seal, he very nearly choked.

"Please handle this with care. I will reward you handsomely for it," Jaime said. There was a dangerous light to his eye. He was loathe to separate from the harp after he had promised Aemon to always keep it, but he felt it important that the harp be restored to its former glory, as though it would somehow restore the Targaryen line to the throne as well.

The luthier naturally blustered and fell all over himself to make assurances, but Jaime paid them no mind. "I expect this to be ready in five days time," he ordered and strode back out once more to pull himself onto his horse.

"Lord Jaime, if you mind my prying, was that Prince Rhaegar's harp?" Ser Addam asked.

Jaime shot him a withering look. He didn't need all of Lannisport to know that the harp was at the luthier's, so he nodded silently and nudged his horse forward.

The moment they stepped out of the city, they stepped into the tents. The Westerlands army was so vast that the soldier's tents stretched from there to Casterly Rock. Someone at least had the foresight to carve a number of roads through the tents for easy passage. As they rode their way through, soldiers were pointing at Jaime and a cry was raised, welcoming the heir back to Casterly Rock.

Jaime paid them little mind. His focus was entirely on the Rock. He turned to Ser Addam and asked, "Tell me, do I have your loyalty?"

His friend looked startled. "Of course, My Lord. House Marbrand will always be loyal to the Lannisters - "

"No," Jaime interjected. "Not the Lannisters, not my father...me! Do I have your loyalty?"

"I don't understand," Ser Addam replied.

"I don't like demanding individual oaths. I wouldn't be doing this if this wasn't serious. If the situation should arise that you would have to choose me or my father, who would you choose?"

Ser Addam was sweating in his armor and he was certain it had nothing to do with the sultry weather. Thunder suddenly cracked overhead and the wind picked up, and soon Jaime could feel rain plopping onto his head and arms, but he had eyes only for Ser Addam.

"You have my loyalty, Lord Jaime," his friend finally replied, though in a quiet voice so that no one else could hear.

Jaime nodded. He didn't need to shout to the heavens. Better his father didn't catch wind of this before they arrived. Even as the rain began to pour more earnestly, Jaime kept the party's pace deliberate and steady.

"If-if you don't mind my asking, Lord Jaime, how did you come about that scar?" Ser Addam asked.

Jaime had almost forgotten it was there. His smile became faraway as though he were recalling a fond memory, but in truth it was bitter amusement. "A mammoth bear in the north tried to make a meal of Lord Stark's heir. I put myself between it and him, but...I came away with a souvenir."

"If I may say so, you look even more formidable now."

"Good."

As soon as they entered the Mouth of the Lion, Jaime instantly locked eyes on the unfettered form of Ser Gregor Clegane cleaving through the unfortunate dungeon inhabitants to no doubt sate his bloodlust. Jaime actually grinded his teeth and growled. Yet another slap in the face by his father to see more orders unheeded.

A young man was working the lift up into Casterly Rock and Jaime saw him visibly swallow when he and Ser Addam entered the lift. He paid the lad little mind, but he imagined the glare on his face caused him to fear for his life.

When the lift reached the main floor, Jaime disembarked and took note of the rainbow of cheery voices emanating from the Grand Hall. Two guards flanking the doors stepped forward and opened them wide to reveal all the Lords of the Westerlands, their children and wives gathered around tables bearing food fit for a king. With the onslaught of the storm outside, a vast array of candles had been lit to light the area. Stepping through the doors felt almost like stepping into another world, for as soon as the crowd caught sight of him their voices fell away immediately as they turned to stare at him.

"Ah, my son Jaime has returned to take his place as heir to Casterly Rock," Tywin called out to the Hall, his voice as gold as the Lannister colors. If the light weren't so dim, Jaime thought he might see the closest Tywin came to smiling since his wife died.

The lords and ladies cheered, holding up their goblets in a toast. Jaime continued down the hall, stopping just short of the high table. Now that he was closer, it was difficult to miss the rather prominent placing of Lord Lefford and his daughter Alysanne Lefford. She was a young woman of no more than six-and-ten with her dark hair pinned up, allowing only a few strands of ringlets to frame her face. She smiled widely at him.

She was pretty, but she was not Brienne.

After a gesture from Tywin, he was handed a goblet of wine. "On the morrow, he shall be wed and - "

Clang! Jaime tossed the goblet and the wine splattered all over the floor and the cloth on the high table.

Tywin actually seemed surprised and the lords and ladies affected expressions of offense.

"There will be no wedding," Jaime said firmly. "Tell me, father, why are you here and not currently at King's Landing heading off Renly Baratheon as I ordered ?"

A hush fell over the hall.

Tywin stared at him, his face stone, but there was a fire building behind his eyes like he was a volcano ready to erupt.

"Perhaps we should take this conversation elsewhere," Kevan said, from next to his father.

Jaime raised his right arm in a gesture to lead the way. "By all means, Uncle. I would hate to further embarrass my father so publicly," he replied in a voice cracking like thunder.

He swept behind his father and Ser Kevan, with Ser Addam hard on his heels.

The side room they walked into was little more than a private dining area. A fire was roaring in the grate next to the table, but it currently lacked the candles of the main hall, casting them all in a warm orange glow. His father rounded on him, practically growling in a sickening blood red color, "What in Seven Hells do you think you're doing?"

Jaime's eyes appeared to glow in the fire light as he snarled in turn, "What do I think I'm doing? What are you doing? I know you couldn't have missed my signature that explicitly pronounced me as Hand to King Aemon Targaryen, First of his name, Rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First men." Fittingly his voice mirrored the dancing light of the fire, swirling around them in bright orange tones.

Ser Kevan looked flabbergasted. His father must not have allowed him to read that letter.

"Your king doesn't have the authority to rule anything yet," Tywin growled. "I will not accept a Targaryen as king over my own grandson."

Jaime blinked at him and then barked out a cold laugh. "Forgive me, I didn't realize you must be going senile, father. Perhaps I am mistaken, but you couldn't have missed the letter stating that my twin Cersei claimed her children as mine. Your precious grandson is a bastard and has no claim to the throne." Ser Addam's eyes bulged at the revelation. Jaime's eyes flickered over to him, "The children are not mine but neither are they Baratheons. We've already sent letters all across the

Seven Kingdoms declaring Robert usurped without heirs. The kingship is precarious, the perfect opportunity for Rhaegar Targaryen's last trueborn son to step up and take his throne."

"I never took you for a Targaryen loyalist," Tywin replied, sneering at him.

"I served Rhaegar Targaryen. I am honorbound to serve his son. And as everyone is so fond of saying, a Lannister always pays his debts. I owe him my life when he decided to save my head as it was on the executioner's block."

"You're not Kingsguard anymore."

"That's true. Aemon dismissed me from the service as a favor to you, to gain your loyalty, though saving my life should've been enough to earn that. I come back to Casterly Rock to set things in order and write a few more letters...and not only do I find the army languishing in front of Casterly Rock, but Ser Amory Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane are both walking around still free as birds. You dare undermine my authority?"

"I disagree with handing them over to the Martells. They are still of use," Tywin replied in a dangerously quiet voice. The red of his voice only seemed to deepen in color.

"Their ilk are not welcome in the kingdom King Aemon is building. I will not risk them raping and pillaging their way through the countryside. Arrest them or it won't be them I send to the Martells, it'll be you," Jaime said, his own voice deep and guttural in his chest like a lion's growl.

The silence in the chamber was absolute. Ser Kevan was aghast at the threat and he kept glancing between Jaime and his brother. Lord Tywin was the one who pulled back first and nodded curtly at him. "Very well, take them."

Jaime cocked his head at his father, then he reached into his cloak and pulled out a folded up piece of paper with the Targaryen seal. The firelight made the three-headed dragon on it appear alive. "While I am setting things in order, this decree signed by the king himself, orders that I shall not marry until I have met the approval of the king."

The anger he saw in his eyes now trembled on his lips. "It is high time you married. You need an heir!"

"That can wait. I will marry when both myself and the king are satisfied with my bride," Jaime said and for the first time since he arrived, he smiled. "Now, if you'll excuse me father, I have prisoners to detain. Ser Addam."

"What of your sister?"

Jaime had just reached the door and just like that his triumph was punctured, but he dared not turn to show his father. He settled for glaring at the door. "You know what she did to me," he replied.

"If what you say is true - "

"There is no escaping it. The whole kingdom will know," Jaime said and his very insides lurched. He'd rather be referred to as the Kingslayer for the rest of his life than known as the man who was raped by his sister, but the very public affair assured that the story would find its way across the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms, if not the world. It was something he was going to have to come to grips with.

"What is to be done with her?"

"If I had my way, she would be dead or spending the rest of her days in the Black Cells. King Aemon, however, has imprisoned her in luxury as befits a lady." With that, he wrenched open the door and strode out.

The chatter of the guests in the hall once more fell away as Jaime emerged from the side chamber and sauntered back down the way he came. Even in the dim light of the candles, there was no mistaking the triumphant smile on his face. No one was close enough to see how hollow it looked.

As they once more descended in the lift, Ser Addam finally spoke up, "Lord Jaime - "

"You can call me, Jaime, Ser Addam. I imagine we'll spend enough time together from here on out."

"Are you sure what you did was wise?"

He struggled to push Cersei from his mind and focused once more on the victory he had claimed over his father. His eyes glittered. "Of course. I outrank my father now. Come hell or high water, he wouldn't dare defy me. I am his heir. Everyone knows my father's feelings about me."

"I have never seen anyone speak like that to your lord father. Not even your Aunt Genna."

"I am the only one who can," Jaime said. "I expect you to accompany the army to King's Landing. Keep a close eye on my father. I want a detailed report when I rejoin you about whether he's been good."

"He will probably suspect that of me," Ser Addam said and his voice trembled a pale yellow.

"Probably. With any luck, that will keep him from straying. Don't take any unnecessary chances."

Ser Gregor Clegane was still in the training yards, but judging by the sprawling bodies that littered the area, he was just finishing. He had cleaved through the men stripped from the waist up and rivulets of blood could be seen trailing down all parts of his skin. Jaime unsheathed his sword and his eyes bore into the giant man.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ser Addam said.

"I want to take Clegane with as few casualties as possible. He knows better than to kill or hurt me or it'll be his life."

"You intend to send him to the Martells. It'll be his life anyway," Ser Addam whispered hysterically at him.

"Relax, Addam. I'm the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms. Gather some men and make sure you have chains large enough and thick enough to contain him. If we have to keep him hog-tied the whole way down to Dorne, then we will."

The men in the area all stared at him as he crossed the grounds with his sword drawn over to where the Mountain towered.

"Ser Gregor Clegane," Jaime announced. The fire orange of his voice cascaded around him in the cave and the rock walls lent his voice authority. The Mountain turned and nodded, taking note of the naked steel in his hand. "You are under arrest for the murder of Aegon Targaryen and the rape and murder of Elia Martell and her children."

Jaime was forced to raise his sword when Clegane swiped at him. Looks like Ser Addam was right, he thought, but paid the thought little mind as his blood roared and his sword sang. This was a dance he knew. For such a large man, the Mountain was quick, but he was nothing compared to Jaime Lannister with his swordhand. It took time and extra strength, but the Mountain was already worn down from his slaughtering of the prisoners. After a few minutes, Jaime smacked the hand with the sword and with another smashed the broad side of his blade into the head of Clegane and he crumbled to the ground in a heap.

He sheathed his sword and turned to see a dozen soldiers had stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle. "Chain him up. He leaves on the morn for Dorne."

Addam fell into step as he once more stepped onto the lift to Casterly Rock.

"Seven Hells, Jaime, I knew you were good, but you fought like the Warrior reborn."

"I was born to fight," Jaime muttered. "I hope you don't mind conducting some of my business here. I have letters to write. Find Ser Amory Lorch and arrest him as well. He won't give you any trouble. And could you also look for a young squire by the name of Podrick Payne? Send him to me."

"As you wish," Addam muttered, still staring as Jaime stepped onto the lift one last time. "Where will I find you?"

"My old quarters should suffice."

He found his room as he had left it nearly sixteen years ago. He swiped a hand across a trunk and found a surprising lack of dust. His father must have ordered his room cleaned in the near vain hope that his golden heir would be released from his vows. One thing his room had always lacked, however, was a desk and he sent the guard off to find him one. Learning to read and write had been like pulling teeth, but Lord Tywin had forced Jaime to persevere. He certainly wouldn't be able to manage being Hand of the King without those skills.

A knock at his door broke into his thoughts and he hurried to open it, expecting Podrick Payne to be standing on the other side and found Alysanne Lefford instead. He hoped his disappointment didn't show on his face.

"What may I do for you, My Lady?"

"May I come in?" She asked, staring earnestly up into his face. She was dressed in sky blue dress that matched the blue on her house's coat of arms.

In another life, a match with Alysanne Lefford would have been reasonable. It was rare for Tywin to wish to marry within the Westerlands, but the Lord Paramount every once in a while extended a hand and elevated one of their most loyal houses. She was certainly pretty with her pale skin and hair so dark it was almost black, though Tywin might have been loathe to stain the Lannister blonde hair and green eyes with brown.

He reluctantly pulled open the door for her. As heir of Casterly Rock, he had to foment goodwill and the least he could do after calling off their marriage was offer her an explanation.

"I presume you're here to ask about our cancelled wedding," he said.

"Your father said that by order of the king, only he could approve of your bride," she said carefully. He had to admire that most women would still be in the midst of charming and cajoling, but she cut right to the heart of the matter. Her voice was a soothing turquoise , but there was no hiding the tremor of anxiety in the ripples. No one could hide such feelings from him anymore.

"That's correct. I have another copy of the decree right here if you want to see it," Jaime replied, pulling out another sealed parchment.

She gingerly accepted it, but hesitated upon seeing the dragon seal. Her fingers brushed it and her breath seemed to hitch. There was no denying the pain the Targaryen's had caused in all their lifetimes and it wasn't unreasonable to expect the lords and ladies to be apprehensive to support the Targaryen's return to the throne. She snapped it open, unfolded it, and read silently. She returned her eyes to his and saw hope.

He had to work to stifle a cruel smile. It would almost be pleasurable to snuff out that hope like one kicked dirt over a dying fire. However hadn't he vowed to himself in his last life that he would no longer treat the ones underneath him like sheep?* He swallowed the cruel words threatening to

leave his mouth and stayed quiet.

"So there's a chance I might still win your hand?"

"Impress the king and he may yet approve of our match."

"Is there a chance...for us?"

He didn't answer, but merely cocked his head.

"You love another," she practically whispered and stepped back towards the door, the hope dying in her eyes.

"There are plenty of younger, better men available to you. If you're so inclined, I'm sure the king will arrange a match for you."

There was another knock at the door. Jaime opened it to reveal two men carrying a desk into the room. It was a huge, garish oak desk inlaid with gold, but it would work for his short time at Casterly Rock. He turned to Lady Alysanne. "I don't mean to be rude, My Lady, but I have a lot of work to do. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Rock."

She gave him a wan smile, handed back the royal decree, and departed. He would say she was heartbroken except he had never even met her. If she thought she was in love with him, it was bound to be merely an idea of who he was. Either that or it was because of his status as Lord Lannister, the most powerful house in Westeros.

Brienne, I can't meet you soon enough, he thought mournfully. He had hoped it wouldn't be uncovered for some time that he obviously had a bride in mind, but there were few other reasons to delay or outright cancel a wedding that didn't involve one half of a party dying.

Once situated at his desk, he dismissed the guards and pulled a piece of parchment toward him. Reporting to Aemon would be simple enough, but he decided the first letter he needed to get out of the way was the one to Lord Varys.

He'd had little else to do on the voyage to Casterly Rock, where he was either bored from being unable to train, too ill to even leave his cabin, or too afraid to fall asleep from the endless nightmares that paraded across his eyes at night. Cersei now turned into an undead wight while she was raping him and it was enough to wish he never had to fall asleep again. During those early morning hours, he desperately sought around for something else to think about and his mind settled on the problem of gaining King's Landing. Most notably his thoughts centered around the two most dangerous wild cards: Littlefinger and Varys.

He knew that Varys was...marginally trustworthy. He cared about the stability of the realm and at the time, the realm had been in dangerous upheaval as a result of Mad King Aerys, so he had happily kowtowed to Robert when he arrived to claim the throne. To Robert's credit, the realm enjoyed a relatively stable peace, with only the Ironborn Rebellion to mar it, however it was slowly tipping over into unstable grounds with the way Robert abused the treasury. At the moment, it was safer - for Varys - to remain allied with the Baratheons, but he would be quickly searching for a new alliance with him and Aemon once he saw the board.

Fortunately for Varys, he was immensely valuable with his knowledge of the Red Keep. If they had to crack the Red Keep, then knowledge of the hidden tunnels would be useful. Jaime already knew of some of them from the previous life, but it wouldn't hurt to know a few more and to also warn Varys about tipping the Baratheon brothers off to their whereabouts.

Lord Baelish was another issue altogether.

He and Aemon had been very careful about where they had their conversations and took extra care to keep their voices down. Both men had spies everywhere and he wouldn't be surprised if they already knew information that no one outside of himself, Aemon, Ned, and Ser Barristan knew. It was important to catch Baelish at King's Landing before he could squirrel away somewhere, but he rather doubted that Littlefinger would allow himself to become trapped in a besieged city.

Jaime had no idea how to catch Baelish, so he focused on persuading Varys to their cause. If anyone could catch Lord Baelish, it would be the Master of Whispers.

He was in the middle of the letter - had already restarted twice! - when he heard another knock at the door and shouted for the man to enter. He glanced up at the door opened and found himself staring at a young Podrick Payne who had yet to hit his growth spurt.

"M-my Lord s-sent - " He fell instantly silent when Jaime held a finger up to stop him and continued writing.

It took another ten minutes before he was satisfied with the letter and began folding it and set it aside. Then he waved his fingers over and Pod tentatively stepped closer.

"You are Podrick Payne, cousin to Ser Illyn Payne, correct?"

"Y-yes, My Lord. I am of a lesser branch," Pod said, his voice was a pale yellow squeak and he kept shifting his feet, clenching and unclenching his hands. If he wasn't drenched by the rain, he imagined the boy would be drenched with sweat.

"I am sorry to be the one who has to inform you of this, but your cousin Ser Illyn Payne has died. There was a coup in Winterfell for the kingdom and Ser Illyn unfortunately fell," Jaime said, though there was no remorse in his voice. If he had any fondness for the old knight, it was because he made a good training partner when he'd lost his hand. Though it may have just been his job, Jaime wasn't about to shed tears for a man who tried to kill him.

"Th-thank you, My Lord."

"I imagine King Aemon has already sent a letter to House Payne with his regards and has promised the safe return of his body. However, I think more can be done to recompense House Payne for its loss. How old are you?"

"Four-and-ten, My Lord."

"And how long have you been a squire?"

Pod blinked. The boy was clearly not lacking wits. Why would the heir of Casterly Rock have an interest in him ?

"Six months or so, My Lord."

"You don't have to say 'My Lord' after every answer," Jaime said, though he couldn't hide his amusement. "As recompense for your family's unfortunate loss, I am prepared to take you on as my squire."

The boy gasped and appeared to go so weak in the knee that he was on the verge of collapse, but he caught himself and cast his eyes down, blushing profusely. "Y-you honor me, My Lord. Would that I could, but I am already the squire of a brave and honorable knight. I am bound to him," Pod replied. He drew his mouth into a firm line and continued staring down Jaime like he was facing the Stranger himself.

"Your loyalty to your knight is admirable, but loyalty is a two way street. It wouldn't take more than a hundred gold dragons to 'buy' you from your knight. Being loyal is important, but picking the right people to be loyal to is equally important. I will not do wrong by you, Podrick Payne. Though I may be Hand to the King, I will make the time and the effort to train you to sword fight and see you knighted. So what'll it be?"

To his credit, Pod looked torn and he was reluctant to be pulled away from his original duty. Finally he said, "I would be greatly honored to be your squire, My Lord."

"Thank you. Why don't you get plates for both of us. I'll finish my letter writing and we'll discuss our arrangement."

Pod bustled out the door, nearly tripping over his overgrown feet like a puppy. Once the door was closed, Jaime couldn't keep from chuckling.

Chapter End Notes

- This is the most direct reference to my other fic The Road North. In it, Jaime couldn't help but lament that the last time he encountered Jon Snow, he had belittled him. And Jaime was heading up North to pledge his sword after abandoning Cersei at the end of Season 7.

Chapter 20 - Varys I

Updated 4/13/2019 - Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 20

Varys 1

Lord Varys walked through the gardens of the Red Keep toward the council chamber at a measured pace, his arms sedately tucked into his sleeves, and his face a placidly neutral expression. The birds chirped and insects buzzed around the garden, belying a peace that would soon not exist outside these walls. How easy to forget the world is bigger than this, Varys thought and sighed inwardly.

How was it possible for things to change so quickly? Barely two months ago, King Robert was at Winterfell with three heirs to his name. In the span of a day, he had no heirs and his queen and her brother on the chopping block. In another day, he was taken prisoner, the Kingslayer was saved from the executioner's block, and Aemon Targaryen, First of his Name, claimed the throne. He still didn't quite believe it.

A little bird at the Citadel had informed him that Ned Stark had written on behalf of King Aemon Targaryen requesting old Septon Maynard's journal to be sent to High Garden. This bird was fortunate enough to be tasked for the job and had read the pages to find, yes, Septon Maynard had annulled Rhaegar Targaryen's marriage to Elia Martell, and in its place had married Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. Immediate validity to the claim that both Ned Stark and Aemon Targaryen were making. He had hurriedly written to his merchant acquaintance Illyrio Mopatis and requested that one of the dragon eggs meant to be gifted to Daenerys would be spared to give to Aemon in the future. It was the truest way to know the legitimacy of the Targaryen blood.

Of all the things he could have missed, he was astounded he had missed something this gigantic. The only thing that assured him was that Lord Baelish had obviously missed it too. The only one who hadn't seemed to have missed it was Jaime Lannister.

Eddard Stark was known to be a notoriously bad liar, so how had he managed to slip this past the entire realm? Perhaps it was because no one wanted to look too closely at a man grieving for a good portion of his family who had died as a result of the Targaryen family. Or maybe no one had wanted to look too closely once a delicate peace had been attained for fear it might rip apart like cloth in a strong wind. Whatever the case, Ned's once bastard was now claiming the kingship, his army was gathering at Moat Cailin, and Jaime Lannister was now his Hand, adding the substantial

Westerlands to his forces.

That was yet another baffling detail. The Starks and Lannisters could barely be called acquaintances. Even less so once Ned had coined the Kingslayer as Jaime Lannister's new moniker. Despite having lived in the same place as Jaime Lannister for the last seventeen years, he knew very little about the man. As far as anyone could tell, no one save the king or Ser Barristan had heard Jaime utter more than two dozen words in the last decade. But Aemon Targaryen had saved Jaime from beheading and made him his Hand.

The Lannisters always pay their debts, Varys thought mockingly. Maybe it was as simple as that. Jaime Lannister owed Aemon Targaryen his life, but his instinct - and he detested relying on something so fickle - left him with an overwhelming feeling that there was considerably more to that than appeared on the surface. Jaime had accepted then Jon Snow as his squire, which was just as peculiar since he had refused every squire in the country before that.

But now a Lannister was in the second most powerful position in Westeros, even if not officially sanctioned, and his little birds had been aflutter when Jaime appeared at Casterly Rock. His father had arranged a wedding for him and apparently disobeyed written orders to take the army to King's Landing. How very odd, Lord Tywin. Normally, you would be the type to make such a decisive military decision and yet you decided to idle away your weeks by arranging your son's wedding to ensure your family's legacy over securing the capital. If Tywin had done as ordered, Varys had a feeling he'd be walking to a council meeting with Tywin at the head rather than that buffoon Renly.

There had been a fight between father and son and the son had walked away victorious. Not two days later, the wedding was cancelled and the Westerlands army was slowly but surely marching its way towards the capital. Instead of joining his father's army, though, Jaime had hopped on another boat, this one bound for the Reach.

It was easy to see Jaime's path from there. Another bird had forwarded the message that Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch, the notorious butchers of the Targaryen infants, were chained and on their way to Dorne. He will scoop up the Reach. Aemon would be a fool to send him to Dorne, but sending the Mountain and Lorch will go far to soothe the Martells' righteous anger. It was surprisingly simplistic and ingenious at the same time. While Jaime negotiated with the southern allies, King Aemon would march through the Riverlands and by the Vale where he was all but assured those forces by virtue of the family ties he shared. The only lands left unaccounted for were the Stormlands and the Ironborn.

The Ironborn were unlikely to pick sides and even less likely to honor an alliance even if one was brokered. Neither side could rely on them. Renly had already gathered the Stormlands, but Robert had taken some Crownland soldiers North and North they stayed. That army was crippled. Furthermore, Stannis had yet to even send a message to Renly insuring that he could be relied

upon.

The Targaryen army was still two months away, but Baratheon's doom was all but assured. He would begin having to make his own preparations to either flee or make contact with the new king. At this point, he was only coming to the meeting to once again urge Renly to open negotiations, but he had even less sense than his eldest brother. He didn't have much hope for Lord Renly's chances.

Nearly twenty years I have been laying the groundwork for Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen to return and claim their throne and now a trueborn son of Rhaegar has stolen it right out from under all of us, Varys thought and shook his head in dark amusement. Targaryen rule would return as he had wished so long ago.

He stepped inside the council chambers to find Lord Renly, Ser Loras Tyrell, and Lord Baelish already present. Baelish gave him a sneering smile, Renly nodded at him, and Loras looked at him with a marked disdain and suspicion. He paid it little mind. Maester Pycelle was the last to totter in and he greeted everyone generally in a gravely and feeble voice. He sat down next to him.

Varys instantly made a mental note, but focused at the front of the table. Pycelle never sits next to me unless forced to. The table was large enough to seat eight so there were plenty of spots still available.

"Thank you for joining us. As I'm sure most of you are aware by now, I have successfully raised the Stormlands and the defending army marches in to fortify our city day by day. Jon Snow may have found it easy to take my brother hostage, but he'll find it less so to obtain his seat of power," Lord Renly sneered. His paramour Loras couldn't resist sending him a glowing and smug smile.

Fool. You're only prolonging the inevitable.

"Furthermore, my dutiful friend Ser Loras has informed me that his father may be willing to provide forces on the condition I marry his daughter Margaery. With the forces of the Reach to supplement our forces, Jon Snow, will not find us so easily won."

"With all due respect, Lord Renly," Varys began. "I would not be so sure about the negotiations for the Reach coming through for you. My little birds have informed me that King Aemon has already offered a marriage and his Hand Jaime Lannister has boarded a ship bound for the Reach to secure it."

"My own father would never abandon me," Loras shouted at him.

"I have no doubt your father cares for you very much, but Aemon has the North and the Westerlands. He will soon have the Riverlands and the Vale. And if my little birds are correct, he will also soon have the Reach and Dorne. This is not a war that can be won."

"Always the doom and gloom, Varys. Please, tell me, were you also uttering bittersweet truths into the Mad King's ear?" Renly grumbled at him.

"Indeed I was," Varys replied.

"Jaime Lannister may be the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, but he doesn't have enough brains to fill a wine cup. He also has a notoriously short temper. I wouldn't be surprised if Lord Tyrell tosses him out on his ass when he fails to win those negotiations."

"Don't underestimate the Kingslayer," Lord Baelish suddenly spoke up. "My own informants tell me he had a war of words with his own father and won. He's craftier than he looks."

"Jaime only won against his father, because his father has been dying for his heir to be return to him. Jon Snow granted him that; Tywin is all but assured to fall on his knees and kiss the ground where his son walks," Loras piped up.

"Of course," Baelish replied with an unctuous smile. "I imagine you're right, Ser Loras. I have arranged for the Kingslayer to run into some trouble out on the open sea though."

Varys frowned at Petyr Baelish and narrowed his eyes. The best known threat on the ocean were the Ironborn, but surely Jaime Lannister, the best sword of the Seven Kingdoms, wouldn't have too much trouble with them.

"That sounds promising, Lord Baelish. I hope we will hear good news shortly," Renly replied gleefully.

"Even if you did manage to knock Jaime Lannister out of the game, you'd now have Tywin Lannister wanting our blood. I guarantee you he won't care who gets in his way and the new King may be willing to set Lord Tywin on King's Landing again," Varys said, frustration mounting in his voice.

"But it gives us a chance to negotiate the Reach and count them among our allies."

"Forgive me, Ser Loras, but it would be quite dangerous for your father to commit to the Baratheons and then escort his daughter to a city that will almost certainly be besieged. Your grandmother would insist on waiting until after the war is won to seal this alliance with a marriage."

At this moment, Varys felt a thick piece of parchment slowly pushed onto his lap and he instantly trapped it beneath his fingers like the spider he is so often called. Without looking down, he slipped parchment into his sleeve. A message from Pycelle? He didn't have to strain too hard to wonder who it was likely to be from: the Lannisters.

"Maester Pycelle, you've been awfully quiet so far. What do you have to say in all of this?"

"I'm afraid my expertise lies outside of politics," Pycelle wheezed.

"Like when you counselled the Mad King to let Lord Tywin into the city?" Renly said with a raised eyebrow.

The old man sputtered. "Lord Tywin had long been a friend to King Aerys. It was not unreasonable to expect that he might come to defend an old friend."

Renly frowned at him. He obviously did not trust Pycelle. As well you shouldn't , Varys thought.

"Lord Renly, I suggest you open negotiations with King Aemon. Even if you did manage to secure the power of the Reach, you'd still be able to do little more than hole up inside the city. I am sure you're aware of your own brother Stannis and his army starving at Storm's End. Only this starvation will include innocent people," Varys pointed out.

"That's presuming that Snow has ships to barricade King's Landing's harbor. All of his current allies lack a fleet, save for Lord Tywin, but his ships have to sail around the entire continent. That would take at least six months. Meanwhile, when we win the Reach, we can use the Redwyne fleet to protect our trade routes. The people need not starve," Renly said.

Another futile council meeting, Varys thought. The two men had deafened themselves to all warnings, not unlike Mad King Aerys. Old Mace Tyrell might be fool enough to provide the forces Loras demanded, but he rather doubted Olenna Tyrell or Willas Tyrell would agree. They might even be willing to sacrifice their precocious youngest son to keep the rest of the family intact.

"Maester Pycelle, I wish to go over the stores of food and medicine with you after the meeting. Unless there are any more concerns," and Renly paused to allow for further conversation, "then I think we are done here."

Varys stood wearily and walked towards the door. He had perfected his gait so that he never looked like he was ever doing anything except going out for a stroll, but he made a beeline for his own room. Despite being the Master of Whispers and living at the Red Keep for so long, his room was small and sparse, save for a bed, a writing desk, and a fireplace. He pulled a chair up to the fire and pulled out the envelope. He studied the seal of the Lannisters very carefully, then broke it and unfolded the letter.

Lord Varys,

You're searching for a way out. While the moves the King and I make are quiet, they are obvious. In two months time, we will have four of the seven kingdoms as our allies. Taking King's Landing will be all but assured.

I will offer you the chance to retain your position as Master of Whispers in exchange for your assistance when the time comes to take the city. You have certain knowledge of secret passages into the keep. I suggest you keep that knowledge to yourself.

I will be in touch.

Jaime Lannister, Hand of the King

P.S. Keep a close eye on Daenerys

The letter hung limply in Varys' hands before he gave the extra flick to toss it into the flames. He watched it for a moment and then closed his eyes and resisted the urge to put his face into his hands.

Not enough brains to fill a wine cup, indeed, Varys thought with a sneer. Jaime Lannister suddenly seemed to have a information network on par with himself and Lord Baelish combined. How does he know I've been watching Daenerys closely? If Baelish doesn't watch himself, Lord Jaime will already know about this trap.

Had the former Kingsguard been merely biding his time since the rebellion?

I will have to keep a very close eye on him and King Aemon when they arrive, he thought. It was his job to walk a fine line, but it had never felt so precarious.

Chapter 21 - Jaime VI

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for reading, for leaving your kudos and comments! I have to say, there is some interesting conversations going on. I hope you all continue to enjoy the fic!

Updated 4/13/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 21

Jaime VI

Jaime stared across the ocean longing to be back on dry land. He had commissioned the captain of the boat he took to get to Lannisport to take him to the Reach as well. He once more had no more than ten soldiers and his squire Podrick to accompany him. He had also paid for use of the captain's cabin again and insisted that Pod stay with him, throwing a few blankets down on the floor.

The captain told him it would take two weeks to make it to the Reach. As far as Jaime was concerned, they couldn't reach land soon enough. The boat was swift, but small, so there was no feasible way to do any sword fighting on deck without injuring someone else. He also refrained from writing anymore letters on the ocean, since the bobbing of the waves caused his already tenuous scrawl to look even worse. There was little else to do other than talk and Jaime had never been the verbose sort, so he spent most of his time keeping a close eye on Pod.

The boy was flabbergasted by the sea and couldn't keep himself from gaping childishly over the side of the boat. It was behavior his father would have scolded him for, but he merely smiled at Pod's antics. He hadn't known Podrick particularly well when he convinced Brienne to take him with her, but apart from his loyalty, he had been well known for bounding optimism and a 'magical dick' as Bronn had put it to him. After seeing that bounding optimism so brutally stripped away by the cold, harsh war of the Long Night, it eased Jaime's soul to see that optimism reborn and he wasn't about to squash it. They'd need it in spades when the Long Night came again.

The first night on the boat, Jaime fretted. He had to tell Pod about his seizures. It was one thing for the king to know, but Ned Stark and Winterfell's maester knew too. Even as much as he

trusted Pod, it was inevitable that the more people they included in this secret, the quicker it would become common knowledge. At the very least, Ned and Maester Luwin didn't know about his ability to see sounds again. Somehow that didn't feel like a detail he could omit from Pod. He couldn't think of a reason why he couldn't, but his gut told him to be upfront about this.

He had been fortunate up to this point. His stay in Casterly Rock had been somehow revitalizing. The headaches that had plagued him a good portion of the sailing to Lannisport had all but disappeared while he stayed at the Rock. Despite that first day, all the rest of the stressors that had fed his initial anger - his Lord father defying orders by failing to march and not imprisoning Gregor Clegane - had gone after the second day. All of his urgent letters he'd needed to write and had received were taken care of early. The only things he had to concern himself with was getting new outfits tailored for his visits to the Reach and doing morning training sessions with Pod.

Just as in the previous lifetime, Pod suffered from a lack of education regarding virtually anything. Despite having a house name, even of a lesser branch, his family seemed to have been treated only slightly better than servants. Ser Lorimer, the knight he was formerly squired to, either hadn't bothered expounding on his swordsmanship or had been a poor teacher. Podrick's stance was wrong, the grip he had on the sword was wrong, and he had no strength. The first day had almost been embarrassing as he'd had been forced to correct the grip on his sword and his feet multiple times. The few people who had been left after the army marched laughed at his incompetence until Jaime glared at them and then they made themselves busy.

It was slow and unlike Jon - even factoring in Jon's years of experience fighting - he was not a particularly quickstudy, but he was eager and optimistic all the same. Slowly, very slowly, he was getting things right. They were doing very slow fights so that Podrick could follow the movement and react. When they were not pretend fighting, Jaime set Podrick to going up and down the stairs of Casterly Rock until the boy's legs shook and then he sent him on slow laps around the training grounds carrying heavy crates to build up his arm strength.

It annoyed Jaime that they couldn't continue their slow fights on the boat, but he did his best to keep his exercises, forcing him to do push ups and, where allowed, clambered up and down the rigging to hone his reflexes.

Podrick was suitably worn out by the time they retired for the night. He just about threw himself onto his bedroll on the floor, hugging a rolled up blanket to his head to serve as a pillow.

Jaime scanned the hallway carefully and put his ear to the wood of the ship, hoping to catch where everyone was. Save for two crewmembers on the deck, all seemed quiet. He closed and locked the door to their room and then nudged Pod with his toe. "No, Pod, I need you awake for this discussion."

"Apologies, My Lord," Podrick said, his voice muffled against the fabric of his makeshift pillow. He kicked off his blankets and sprang up to his feet like they weren't shaking from soreness.

Jaime regarded him closely for a moment and then said, "Pod, what I'm about to tell you is known only by two people: myself and the king."

Podrick's eyebrows nearly vanished into his hair as he stared at Jaime looking pale, but then he set his mouth into a determined line and nodded. "I swear I won't tell anyone about this secret."

"You will not tell my father, you won't tell the Seven if they appear and demand it of you."

"I promise, My Lord. Your secret's safe with me."

Jaime breathed and then nodded. He sat down on the bed and tapped the scar on the left side of his face. "You see this, Podrick? A mammoth bear clobbered me when I was out on a hunting expedition with the then King Robert. It took seventy-five stitches to set it right. But there are some injuries that just don't heal."

"It's amazing you're alive," Podrick breathed, then blushed. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, My Lord."

"That thrice-damned bear hit me so hard that when I woke up, I could see sounds."

"I...I don't understand," Podrick said, his usual green voice venturing into lime green to show his nerves.

"It's difficult to explain. Basically, anything that makes a sound, I can now see ripples in the air where that sound is. Every sound generally has a color associated with it. If it's a natural sound, like the waves out on the ocean or an animal cry, the ripples are usually white. It turns black the harsher it sounds to my ears. However, human voices usually have color to them and the colors are associated with a mood. I can tell what mood someone's in just based on what the color of their voice shows and it always shows. You can't hide your state of mind from me."

"Wh-what does my voice look like?"

"Your voice is a light green. Right now, it's a little yellow because you're nervous," Jaime replied and once again Podrick blushed. "You don't need to be afraid around me."

"I just...want to do you proud, My Lord. I know I'm no good with the sword."

"You will be, Pod. It just takes time. Be patient. Don't worry about what other people think. You're my squire. Even if your cousin hadn't died, I wouldn't have accepted you if I thought you wouldn't amount to anything. Have confidence in yourself. You're still young."

"Unfortunately, being able to see colors comes with a price. I suffer from something called seizures. If ever I am overly stressed sometimes I...pass out and shake. I believe the maester I saw described it as convulsions. This is where you come in."

Podrick was looking more alarmed by the minute. "What would you like me to do, My Lord?"

"Whenever I have seizures I lose control of my body. It's possible that I might vomit during these times. I need you to make sure that I'm turned on my side so that I don't choke and die. Do you understand?"

Podrick's mouth was hanging open and his eyes roved the room as he cast around for something to say. Finally he said, "H-How will I know when you're going to have a seizure?"

"It's important to me that this not get out, so I will likely plead illness and stay in my room on bad days. Usually, it starts as a headache and it gets worse and worse as it goes throughout the day," Jaime replied. "Your job will be to make sure I don't die and make my excuses."

"Yes, My Lord. I won't let you down," Pod said, his voice once more filled with giddiness although he did his best to keep a stoic expression.

"Now you can go to bed. Don't mind my nightmares," Jaime said. The nightmares were yet another private aspect that Jaime hadn't wished to share with Pod, but that was a small detail compared to seeing sounds.

The next week on the ocean consisted of the same routine. They would wake up from a rather fitful night due to Jaime's dreams, break their fast of dried fruit and a hard bread, Jaime would put Pod through his paces, then they'd break for lunch, Jaime gave Podrick the afternoons off, ate a

dinner as equally small as the breakfast, and then go to sleep. It was driving Jaime mad, not having anything to do, but it would unfortunately be considered undignified if the Hand to the King decided to climb the rigging.

One night, Jaime was sleeping fitfully, and a dread he had only ever felt during the Long Night had settled on his mind. He whimpered and shuddered as Cersei straddled him once more, but this time he was able to fight and he struck out at her, wrestling for control, and then finally managed to turn her over so that he was on top. Quite suddenly a knife was in his hand he was stabbing her. Warm blood spattered his face and soaked his hands, but he couldn't seem to stop. Cersei's beautiful golden hair turned scraggly and gray and her clear, pale skin became pitted and rotted. Blue eyes burned at him and she screeched an inhuman sound and lunged at him. The knife had disappeared once more and he fought.

"Hold him!"

"He's a strong bastard!"

"He's still asleep!"

Jaime's eyes shot open. The cabin was pitch black and he couldn't see anything, but a shape darker than the rest of the surroundings loomed over him. He stilled for a moment and a hand grabbed one wrist and tried to loop a thick rope around it. That galvanized Jaime and he reached under the pillow with his free hand and drove a knife to the hilt into the man.

"Gaaah!" The man clutched at the knife, but as his body fell the knife slipped free and Jaime was on his feet once more.

"He's awake," another gruff voice called out and the sound was a rather dark and threatening red.

Even now that he was awake, he could still see nothing more than shadows on shadows. He could hear Ser Arthur Dayne barking at him from a far away memory: Always know what you're striking at! In the darkness, he couldn't see Pod and he squinted at the other figures.

"We need him alive," one of the figures called out in orange ripples; he was attempting to be threatening and firm, but by the shaky way the ripples issued from him, he was unsure.

"Pod," Jaime voiced tentatively, his own voice bubbling up before him in a light yellow. The two figures lunged at him and at the lack of any response about Pod, Jaime lashed out with the knife.

There was more screeching and violent red ripples shot through the room, bouncing off the walls. The other figure tackled him to the floor and they rolled around in the tangle of blankets that used to be Podrick's bed. He could feel the rough texture of a beard and smell the sour taste of alcohol on his breath. The other man was desperately trying to grab the hand with the knife, but Jaime was too quick and he jabbed at the figure, stabbing continuously much like in his dreams. Something wet and warm splashed on his face and he wondered for a moment if it was spit or blood, but then pushed the body off him and sprang to his feet once more.

He glanced around the room and was hit on his shoulder, jarring the knife and sending it clattering to the floor. A hand, wet and sticky, grabbed him by his neck and squeezed. Jaime gasped and reached up to claw the arm away, desperately struggling for air. He bent down and spun, throwing himself back hoping to land on a solid surface. He finally found it and smashed the man behind him into the wall until his grip weakened, then he ripped it away, and immediately grabbed for the man behind him in a headlock and twisted until he heard a telltale cracking noise. He let the body hit the floor and staggered against the wall, reaching out to it for a purchase, and sucked in air like a drowning man.

Jaime allowed himself only a few seconds to feel steady and then he leapt across the room where his sword had been lying against the bed. For a moment, he thought it had been stolen, but then he felt the scabbard on the floorboards and scooped it up. He pulled the sheath off and ripped open the door.

"Pod?"

"Stop right there, Kingslayer, or the boy gets it!" A croaking voice called out to him in dark purple hues. He held Pod in front of him, bound and gagged, with a knife to his throat.

Pod looked at him with wide eyes and shook his head.

Oh, Pod, is there any warrior braver than you? Jaime thought. Perhaps Brienne, wherever she was.

Jaime quickly assessed the situation. Although the moon was merely a crescent, it provided enough light that he could see a dozen shapes scattered about the deck, all with spears, cutlasses, or hatchets at the ready. Ironborn, he thought with a scowl. He hadn't imagined them daring enough to attack a vessel bearing the Lannister flag. A messenger to sing the Rains of Castamere

is in their future. The two guards that patrolled the deck at night lay unmoving. He didn't see a single one of his soldiers and if he were a betting man, he suspected he'd find their corpses still abed.

"Don't hurt him," Jaime ordered holding up his free hand. "I will drop my sword. You will leave the boy be."

Podrick shook his head, but Jaime shook his head back. His greatest fear at the moment was that he'd toss his sword and they'd slice through Pod's throat anyway, but he had little in the way of choices. Hesitantly, he tossed his sword overboard and winced as he heard it splash.

The man holding Pod continued to hold his shoulder in a death grip and he shouted to his comrades, "Cuff 'im!"

Jaime didn't struggled as his hands were tied behind his back, but he studied the man behind him carefully as an idea coalesced into his head. The same idea that had gotten him his hand chopped off, but if it meant saving Pod, then he was willing. "Podrick there is of the venerable House Payne. As you might imagine, he's the future of that house. They'd be willing to pay a handsome fee for his return," Jaime called out. The man tying his hands deliberately tied them too tight and pulled at the muscles in both of his shoulders. Then they roughly dragged him and led him to the plank that crossed from his ship to theirs. Their ship was only slightly bigger, so the walk had only a small incline. He almost slipped and fell into the sea as he focused not on the board in front of them, but on the conversation behind him.

"We got the Kingslayer. Now kill the boy an' feed 'im to the fishes. It's not 'im we need."

"What am I always tellin' ya, Dirk? Ye don't have vision. This boy here is the child of an important house. We could make a pretty penny off o' 'im."

"I'm not like to listen to what the Kingslayer 'as to say."

"My man in King's Landing might have somethin' different to say. 'E's already paid me handsomely for the Kingslayer. Upon delivery, he'll pay you and maybe throw in a little extra for this boy. He's comin'!"

The man walking Jaime shoved him and forced Jaime below deck, but the last bit of conversation piqued his interest. Someone had put a bounty on him. It could be Renly but he rather doubted

that. He barely noticed when they cut his bonds loose and closed a cell door behind him. He sat in the corner pensively. There were only two men who were likely to arrange a bounty for him and one was far more likely to take the risk of angering Lord Tywin: Petyr Baelish.

A dull anger started to brew inside Jaime as he contemplated and the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that Littlefinger had to be behind this. Who else but Varys and Littlefinger would know about his voyage on the sea? Who else would be able to make the arrangements? Who else would dare to anger a lion?

"My Lord, are you well?" Pod asked, his face ashen.

This jogged Jaime from his thinking and he did his best to try to contain his anger, but going by the look of shame on Pod's face, he'd done a poor job of it. "Fine, Pod. How are you? They didn't hurt you?"

"N-no, My Lord. I wanted to fight, but I woke up with a knife to my throat. You were tossing and turning in your sleep. I tried to shout, but they clapped a hand over my mouth. I-I'm sorry."

"You did well, Pod. Even I couldn't have fought my way out of that. A warrior has to know when to pick his fights," Jaime replied in a dull voice. "Don't risk your life like that for me again, do you understand?"

"But, My Lord..."

"As much as I value your loyalty, it's not worth your life."

But Pod just stared at him blankly. "I could never abandon you. And I won't."

Jaime tried to show his anger now, but he felt a smirk twisting his face instead.

They both heard a strange sucking noise and Jaime leapt to his feet to peer out the tiny porthole in his cell and felt his stomach drop. They were scuttling the ship. He watched it for a moment before sinking to his knees in despair. Aemon's harp was still on that ship. It would be at least another week before his absence was noticed, and the chance of securing the Tyrell's alliance was shrinking, leaving Aemon to flounder.

He slumped against the wall of the cell but turned his face up to the ceiling, closed his eyes, and made a silent prayer: I know you bastards are listening. If you want us to be ready for the Long Night, then you better make sure Aemon gets those allies. And spare Podrick Payne.

Chapter 22 - Aemon IV

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you, everyone, so much for your support! I'm glad you're enjoying it and I hope you continue to enjoy it.

Updated 4/13/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 22

Aemon IV

"Ayra, look, it's Moat Cailin," Aemon exclaimed to the young girl by his side.

Under normal circumstances, Arya would be bouncing up and down in her saddle with unbridled joy. Now, however, she sat silent as the grave and generated a cold anger on par with that of the White Walkers. She deliberately halted her horse and fell back to mingle with her father instead of him. Although Uncle Ned had lectured her about acting like a proper lady in front of the king, she still maintained a frosty glare and had no compunctions about directing it toward her cousin when he tried to talk to her.

Aemon sighed. He'd really hoped that regifting her a sword would ease her anger, but she maintained her fury.

It wasn't difficult to see why. I knew she would hate the idea of marriage, he thought to himself. He'd hoped by possibly sending her to Dorne, a place that would embrace her wild and free spirit would soften the blow, but if anything it had made her even angrier.

Uncle Ned had talked to her of course, telling her that as a lady of an important house, she was expected to marry, but that had only turned her anger from a wildfire to cold enough to cause frostbite.

Aemon honestly wished his uncle hadn't said anything. He knew it would only make his

relationship with Arya worse because it looked like he'd sent his uncle to deal with his problems.

Will she fall in love with Gendry just as she did last time? For a girl who insisted she would never fall in love, it had been one of the most shocking and warmest moments of the Long Night. Arya, of course, had vehemently denied her love, but to virtually everyone it was as clear as the icicles that formed on the eves. Eventually, Brienne had talked to her about how there was nothing wrong with being in love. She, of course, loved Jaime which no one could understand. She was the only one who could make Jaime smile, though, and all she had to do was be in the same room.

The advice Brienne gave her seemed to do the trick. The next time she saw Gendry she didn't hesitate to plant a kiss on his cheek, but in true Arya fashion, she had punched his shoulder afterward and yelled at him for causing her to fall in love. Gendry had just given her a crooked grin, but then it fell away and he said they could never be because she was a lady, far too important for the likes of him. Then Ser Davos had to set him straight.

It had been messy, but it eventually led to Aemon legitimizing Gendry as a Baratheon. In a matter of weeks, they were married beneath the weirwood of Winterfell. It had been a blistering cold day, so the audience had only stayed outside long enough for the vows to be said and then everyone hurried back inside. A modest feast was prepared and the happy couple were congratulated. Circumstances as they were, wedding gifts were expected to come after the Long Night had lifted.

But as with everything in that other timeline, the new couple's happiness hadn't lasted long. Sansa had to be sent to the Eyrie for protection. Gendry insisted Arya go with her. That had been a huge fight, but eventually Gendry's stubbornness somehow won out over Arya's. They parted.

A year hadn't quite passed before Gendry was dead. Aemon had felt like his heart had been torn in two. He'd sent a messenger to Sansa with the news, but had never heard back. He hoped that if Arya were dead that they met and enjoyed their happiness in the after life.

He wasn't sure how he'd feel if Arya met Gendry and started a budding romance. On the one hand, it would give him hope that he and Daenerys could be rejoined and still find love. On the other hand, he could not fathom how torturous it would be to fall in love with Dany and have his feelings dashed by a pending betrothal for either of them. He imagined it would be years before they truly fell in love. Their romance had certainly not been love at first sight, but it had grown as Arya matured and aged into a formidable young woman.

If it had been at all possible, he would've left Arya at Winterfell, but she was here as well as Sansa. The former king Robert was also in the party, being hauled in a wheelhouse clapped in irons. The Hound too had bent the knee and traveled among the other northern lords. Aemon considered appointing him as a guard to Sansa, since the Hound had a strange fondness for her in the former life, but felt that might be a tad presumptuous and decided not to meddle.

He glanced up at the clear blue sky and almost expected to find Drogon cruising the skies with a telltale dab of silver hair trailing behind him. His heart soared as he recalled Dany crouched behind Drogon's neck, her eyes intent, full of fire. She never failed to impress him when she rode her dragon. They were so closely matched, it was as if Drogon was her heart pumping the air into her lungs to breathe.

She had allowed him onto the back of Drogon once. It was after Rhaegal had accepted him as his rider. She had sat in front of him and he had held onto her waist, bemoaning the fact that it was too cold for her to have anything but the warmest and thickest furs adorning her. It had been a trial to sit behind her and not think of how he wanted nothing more than to kiss her senseless and then ravish her in the snow the moment they touched ground again. She seemed to know of his frustrations and had turned back to grin at him wickedly.

"May I ask, Your Grace, what's so fascinating about the clouds?" Robb interrupted.

Aemon gave a huff of frustration and sincerely hoped the heat he felt in his face was not an actual blush. "I'm enjoying the weather, cousin. It's a beautiful day out."

"If you say so, your grace," Robb replied, but he had a mischievous grin on his face, clearly pleased that he'd caught him daydreaming. Again.

Since there was nowhere to have secret meetings, Aemon didn't hold any and that left very little to do other than daydream and contemplate. Lately he'd been turning more to daydreaming. It was so very tempting to take a contingent of soldiers and order his uncle to win his throne for him while he traveled to Pentos to intercept Daenerys and prevent her from marrying her Khal, but in his heart of hearts, he knew he couldn't. He merely assuaged his conscious that she was safe. While she had not spoken much of her 'Sun and Stars' as she'd like to call the Khal, he did see that she was happy. He would just have to deal with the fact that she would be loving another.

He was further at a loss about how to hatch her dragons. Dany had told him about how they came into the world and of course it was only now that he wished he'd pressed her for more details. Did hatching the dragons require her to lose her Khal and unborn child? He wished desperately to spare her of that pain, but they needed the dragons. The world would be lost without them. If he managed to convince her to come back before the dragons had hatched, could they still repeat the ritual in some way? As far as he knew, they didn't have any natives who used the wild magics from the East, except perhaps Thoros of Myr and he was most likely in King's Landing at this very moment. He gritted his teeth once more at the bullheadedness of Tywin Lannister.

He received a message from Jaime that his father had ignored his orders and preferred to arrange a

wedding for him instead of marching on King's Landing. When Aemon had finished the letter he'd balled the letter up and thrown it into the fire pretending it was Tywin Lannister's head. He'd had the perfect opportunity to get ahead of Renly and he had deliberately ignored it.

His Uncle Ned had used this opportunity to campaign against Jaime's trustworthiness yet again and it took all Aemon had not to throw him out of his own Solar.

However, not all the news was bad. Aemon couldn't help but internally chuckle at Jaime's declaration that he'd taken Podrick Payne on as a squire as recompense for the death of his cousin. At least, that was the official reason. You are such a sentimental fool sometimes, he'd thought as he imagined Pod and Jaime together. The poor boy was probably in far over his head, but Jaime was not one to take no for an answer. It was part of his Lannister lineage.

It did make him think of the other people they had collected over the years to fight against the Long Night. He wondered briefly about Bronn and grimaced at the thought of him atop the wall at King's Landing. Considering he was a sellsword, that's undoubtedly where he'd be since Renly was now looking for soldiers, but he hoped the sellsword ducked out once he saw Aemon's might. He knew Bronn didn't like a losing battle. He and Bronn hadn't been especially close since the sellsword whined continually about his pay, but Jaime and Tyrion had liked and trusted him, so he reluctantly accepted him. In the end, he had gone down in a rather violent blaze of glory and he couldn't deny the man's courage.

Beric Dondarrion was a Stormlord. He was undoubtedly in King's Landing with his lord paramount and he prayed once more that the old knight would see reason and bend the knee when asked. He had been peculiar and at the time preferred not to follow any kings, but he at least understood the threat of the Long Night and had been faithful to the end.

What I wouldn't give to have Ser Davos counseling me instead of my uncle, Aemon thought. But he's with Stannis. Again, he grimaced at the thought. From what little Tyrion, Jaime, and his uncle had been able to tell him about Stannis, the only chance of surrender would be to bring a nigh insurmountable force. However, when he'd read up on the lineage of the Houses of Westeros, he took note that the Lords of the Narrow Sea, the Celtigars, and the Velaryons were once strong Targaryen supporters and those were Stannis' only vassals. He wondered if he could rely on them to come to his aid. Would they need proof of his heritage first? He wasn't yet quite sure how he was going to provide that. If he stayed on Dragonstone, they'd be forced to take it much like King's Landing, spilling over the walls through sheer numbers. It pained Aemon to think he might be forced into killing Ser Davos' sons. He at least had every intention of avoiding using wildfire. Jaime would not allow it.

He was brought from his thoughts by a mighty horn blast. They had finally reached the edge of the encampment. The grasslands north of Moat Cailin were quite flat and was now brimming with tents as far as the eye could see. His army . He felt his heart swell and he straightened up in pride.

As they began riding through camp, soldiers were crawling out of their tents and stopping what they were doing to gape and cheer at their approach.

It took some time, but they finally reached the high walls of Moat Cailin. The doors of the old fort were thrown wide open, but inside they could see fallen stonework and rotted wooden structures. Some of it had been cleared away to form a secure gathering place for wartime councils, complete with tent and table, but he wouldn't trust these walls for sleeping in. Moat Cailin would need to be assigned a lord and renovated. It had been a crucial outpost in the Long Night, even in its rundown state. At full operating capacity it would be a gauntlet for the White Walkers. He filed that to the back of his mind; that was something they'd have to address down the road.

"Your Grace, we are honored by your presence," SmallJon Umber replied, bowing, looking somber and uneasy at the same time. He kept glancing at a group of small men, dressed in green clothing, with pouches and spears. One among them stood in front of the others and followed his every movement. His bow was the deepest of them all. This must be Howland Reed, Aemon thought.

He'd never been able to meet him in the other life. The Night King had sent his wights into the bog to rout them and with the waterways frozen, the crannogmen had been completely and utterly overrun. Meera Reed reported that her father had proudly led their forces into battle to little avail. To slow the oncoming tide of wights, Howland had set his beloved swamp on fire. It had consumed crannogmen and wights alike, but their sacrifice had not been in vain. Aemon and Jaime had been able to withdraw their forces to a more defensible position once Moat Cailin had fallen.

"Your Grace, it is a great honor to meet you. I apologize for not traveling to Winterfell to pledge my allegiance to you. If you will allow it, I shall make my pledges now," Howland Reed stated, falling to one knee.

Aemon dismounted his horse. "I will accept your pledge, Lord Reed. Please do me the honor of sharing my table this evening. My uncle tells me I have you to thank for ensuring my protection as a babe."

When Howland stood back up, his eyes were shining. "Your mother was a singularly brave and courageous woman. She assisted me in an hour of need. It was the least I could do."

"Thank you, My Lord. Let's convene inside Moat Cailin. We have much to discuss," Aemon said, sweeping past them all; Ghost followed closely behind him. His direwolf was still in the midst of puppyhood, but in the last two months he had grown substantially and now stood just below his waist. The northern lords, though hard and fearless, gave the wolf a wide berth as they filed into the tent behind Aemon. Ghost immediately slid under the table and curled up.

"Surely, Your Grace, you would prefer to freshen up and rest after your travels," SmallJon began but trailed away when Aemon looked at him.

Aemon shook his head. "I've been too long already. I expect the army to be ready to move in two days' time." He made a beeline for the map spread across the map and started adding figurines to it. The lords gathered around him. "I have received reports that Renly Baratheon has managed to gather his Stormlands army and is occupying King's Landing. Tywin Lannister is marching on King's Landing, but it will be a month before he reaches it. The Reach and Dorne are, as of yet undeclared, though I have received a report that Loras Tyrell is trying to persuade his family to align with Lord Renly."

There was a general, disgruntled muttering among the lords.

"It would behoove the Tyrells to not follow their son on this," Domeric Bolton said. "It wouldn't seem wise."

"Mace Tyrell is a lackwit. He might be ridiculous enough to do it," GreatJon bellowed.

"Perhaps. I have received a message from the Tyrells that they are still willing to listen to my proposal. Lord Jaime should have reached them by now. With any luck, I'll receive news in Riverrun about whether the negotiations went well or ill."

You really trust a Lannister to have your back on this? The question practically hovered in the air, but no one dared speak it. Their king had already lectured them more than once about doubting the person he chose to be his Hand.

"Have there been any other reports?" Aemon looked towards SmallJon Umber.

"No, your grace. It has been quiet."

"Good," Aemon replied. It had been two months since he sent out letters to all the major houses and it was likely that most lords were still considering their moves. He hoped gathering proved to be easy. Being decisive would help other lords determine where to throw their support.

There was little else he could do regarding allies, so he turned to the next pressing issue: "I wish to discuss the taking of King's Landing. Where's Lord Tyrion Lannister?"

A deafening silence fell around them as the Northern Lords frowned at him. His uncle finally stepped forward and said, "Is the young Lannister's council truly necessary?"

"Please, tell me, uncle, out of your own extensive knowledge of King's Landing, how we might go about taking it," Aemon replied. He knew it was a childish reply, but his uncle had been doing little else but try his patience in regards to any of the Lannisters. It was damn near enough to accuse him of treason for questioning his king, constantly, but as the North was currently his only allies, he had to bite his tongue on numerous occasions. One slicing comment wouldn't hurt.

Ned reddened in chastisement and then muttered to Robb about fetching the young lord.

Tyrion came strolling in, ignoring all the lords who frowned down on him and bowed, "Your Grace?"

"Tyrion, I would like to hear more information in regards to King's Landing. I want to start planning our strategy to take it. Anything useful about the people, the structure, routine, anything would be useful."

"Well, I'm not sure what help I can be. I've never been in King's Landing when it's been under siege. However, I can tell you about some of the lords behind the siege. Is Stannis still on Dragonstone?"

"Yes, there have been no messages to suggest he intends to join his brother. For now."

"I can't imagine taking King's Landing will be too difficult. Renly has been neglected by both of his brothers. He's pretty and charming enough, but has the intellectual depth of a creek. He has no military instinct and since Robert scorned Stannis, Stannis has not bothered to share any of his military knowledge. He has to rely on his friend Ser Loras Tyrell. Now, Ser Loras is by all accounts a formidable fighter, but he has never been in a battle before. He's green to the gills. I doubt either of those fools knows what they're doing. Will it be a full siege complete with a oceanside blockade?"

"Not yet...since the North lacks a fleet, they will have access to trade by sea."

Tyrion rubbed his chin. "Then their situation won't be dire for some time. If my father sent ships, it'll be almost half a year before they're in place. Starving them out is your best bet."

"Let's say we don't have the time to starve them out. Is there anything else?"

Tyrion stood there for a moment, staring at the map. "If you're getting the Reach and Dorne, which is what I suspect my brother is doing, then it won't be long before you have the largest force that Westeros has seen since Aegon the Conqueror. Intimidation alone might be enough. The Reach, of course, could always side with the son Loras. You want to make sure they don't try to break your back."

"Yes, yes, I'm aware of all that. Is there any way to breach the walls quickly?"

"Build siege machines and rush them. Your force would overwhelm them easily enough. I foresee Renly folding like a deck of cards."

Aemon sighed privately. He was hoping for fresh ideas, but crawling the walls and crushing Renly through sheer force was currently their only viable option. He had to hope Stannis didn't suddenly develop familial feelings for his brother Renly and also try to break their backs with the Tyrells.

It all hinged on the negotiations going his way. He silently made a prayer for Jaime's success and then glanced at Robb.

Of the three children who had been informed of their pending nuptials, Robb had surprisingly taken it the best. He had been terse because he had wanted to pick his own bride, but had told his uncle that he knew his place. Sansa hadn't been caught up on who she was marrying, but where she was going. It was one thing to head south and marry the crown prince - the power was enticing. For a brief instant, Aemon saw Cersei in her and shuddered - but to now go south without hopes of ruling anything other than a large household appeared to wilt her. It also seemed to dawn on her that she would likely never see the North and her mother ever again. Even so, she kept a pleasant facade.

He declared messengers be sent to Lord Frey to expect his approach and one also to Lord Tywin to refrain from harming innocents and to merely block anyone from entering or exiting King's Landing. Then he broke the council meeting and headed to his tent to clean up. Like a shadow, Ghost followed him.

A bowl of clean water had been laid out on a table and he happily washed his face, his hands running over the scruff that was growing on his neck. He'd hoped by growing a beard, the boyish fat still clinging to his face might be hidden. He looked around the tent and grimaced at the mirror,

bed, lavish trunk, and a beautiful grey and black rug meant to represent his Stark and Targaryen heritage. He knew that in times of plenty even the North was bound to act a little ostentatiously, but the excess made him cringe. For too long he had slept on dirt floors and ate the same camp gruel as everyone else.

Now he frequently ate just amongst his lords and never mingled with his common soldiers. It made him feel isolated and the uncomfortable truth itched at him like a fur skin. He knew it would be impossible to meet every soldier beneath him, but he would have to find a way to show the common folk that he could hear their concerns as well as the lords'.

His father had similar ideas about governing. Not only had Rhaegar written to Maester Aemon about prophecies, but also about his frustrations regarding his own father. The people of King's Landing lived in utter terror of the Mad King and had frequently been thrown into fires to burn at the King's delight. Nobles and peasants had suffered alike under King Aerys. Aemon had only wished that his father had lived to see the realm with the influence of the Mad King removed.

When he talked about the prophecies however, he seemed fixated on the Targaryen bloodline. He was certain that The Prince Who Was Promised would be someone of his blood, but was having difficulty pinpointing who the mother might be, if that was at all important. Rhaegar also seemed convinced that he needed to have three children to follow the Three-headed Dragon part of the prophecy. His half sister and brother were supposed to be two heads and...he was supposed to be another, but to what purpose was elusive. Rhaegar just seemed to be convinced that certain parts had to be forced in order for the prophecy to start.

He detailed many conflicting reports and over the course of several letters, Aemon desperately wished he'd had his great uncle's half of the correspondence. It would have been useful to get the old Maester's take, but he had been forced to leave without having another conversation with his great great uncle. Perhaps he could restart the correspondence once he'd won his throne. Sam should be assisting Maester Aemon by then, he mused.

Aemon had prayed the entire way to Moat Cailin that he would meet Samwell Tarly heading to the Wall. That had never come to pass. Sam had never told him about the specific steps he took on his journey to the wall, so Aemon suspected that instead of taking the long way, he booked passage on a ship to White Harbor. In all probability, they had just missed each other.

He went to the opening of his tent and ordered, "Ser Meryn, would you please escort Lady Dacey Mormont to me. I wish to speak with her."

The knight bowed and said, "Your Grace" and then walked off.

Aemon watched him closely. So far he had yet to see either treasonous or cruel behavior from the man. The few times he had been in his company, he had been polite and deferential at all times. There was nothing there to suggest that a cruel monster lurked beneath those dour features. Even so, Aemon wasn't quite ready to trust him with anything more serious than guard duty.

Ghost whined from where he was laying on the rug, peering up at Aemon pleadingly. "I can't believe you're still here. Go on! I'm sure your brother and sisters are waiting for you," he said, waving an arm towards the entrance. Ghost was instantly on his feet and dashed out the door. He had no idea what the wolves got up to, but he had a feeling they spent much of the night smelling out prey and hunting it down.

A few minutes later, Ser Meryn entered. "Lady Dacey, Your Grace."

"Thank you. Now I would ask that you send for Lord Howland Reed." He bowed and left.

"Thank you for coming, Lady Dacey. I would like a report on your escort mission of Cersei Lannister."

"Your Grace, I do not envy my little sister. She wailed night and day for the first week or so, mostly issuing threats. We had to force her to eat after a few days. She was a misery. And then she got sick and could barely keep her food down, but apparently her hunger won out and she started eating again. She was quieter, but had a tendency to say cutting things to the people delivering her meals and escorting her to relieve herself. Nothing untoward happened though. The road was quiet. We have her locked up in a small portion of the castle. Only women are allowed to serve her and guard her doors. No one she comes in contact with will be willing to accept anything from her."

Aemon smiled and nodded, "Good. Thank you for your service. You are a credit to your house."

"Of course, Your Grace," Dacey replied, tipping her head.

"You're dismissed."

He had barely turned after she left than Ser Meryn's voice spoke through the tent again, "Howland Reed, Your Grace." Aemon could see a muscle twitching in the Kingsguard's jaw.

"Thank you, Ser. You are dismissed for the night. Lord Reed, thanking you for joining me ahead

of dinner. I hope you don't mind, but my uncle will be joining us as well. I know what good friends you are."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I look forward to it," the shorter man replied with a bow, his face alight in happiness.

"Before that, however, I wanted to ask you about your son. Jojen Reed was his name, wasn't it?"

Howland hesitated for just a moment. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Does he still plan on journeying to Winterfell to speak with Bran?"

There was no mistaking the silence after that question. Aemon turned to see Howland staring at him like his life was on the line. His breathing had quickened, but he held his ground. "H-he is. How do you know that?"

"The old Gods have graced me with visions not unlike how they grace your son. Bran must become the Three-Eyed Raven."

Howland slowly nodded and swallowed. "Y-yes, my son has foreseen it. The Long Night is coming and Bran learning to control his powers is a crucial element. He must be prepared to learn."

"Good to know. I think you'll have a difficult time tearing him away from Lady Catelyn, but if it's necessary, I will order that he and Jojen Reed be escorted to the lair of the Three-Eyed Raven."

"That would be most kind, Your Grace," Howland replied in a whisper. He then said, "So then, do you know that Jojen will have to force Bran's powers to reveal itself to him?"

Aemon snapped his head to him. "What will that entail?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, but his inner eye must be opened."

He winced. "He will not be forced to be a cripple, will he?"

"I am unsure. From the way Jojen has spoken about it, a traumatic event must occur."

Oh please, Gods, don't take Bran's legs away again. This will be so much easier if he can walk, fend for himself, he silently prayed. From there, he steered Howland into a conversation about his forces. Naturally, they were best used to defend the pathway North, but as there was unlikely to be forces heading north, Aemon insisted that a squad of them join the regular forces.

"It's hardly fair that all the other lords have to gather their forces and march to war. I understand your people have a very important purpose, but I think you could be equally useful elsewhere."

"Perhaps, Your Grace, but my people aren't meant for open grounds."

"Have no fear, they will not be on the battlefield. I want to manage these battles with great care. We'll need every man we can get for the Long Night. I had an idea that we might be able to use some of your men to open the doors for us at King's Landing. I'd prefer not to throw bodies carelessly against the walls."

Howland considered it for a moment and nodded. "Very well, Your Grace. I shall bring two score of my men with me south. I'd rather not risk anymore than that."

"That should be more than enough. Ah, uncle, thank you for joining us! Dinner should be arriving shortly."

After that, Aemon fell mostly out of the conversation as Ned and Howland talked. For the first time, the crannogman's harsh exterior fell away with an easy smile. They were served roasted quail with cobs of corn and chopped vegetables on the side. He winced a little thinking about how the rest of his men would be forced to eat endless stew.

Ned and Howland decided to recount some of their stories from the Rebellion. Thankfully, none of those included the Battle on the Trident where his father died, however they did decide to regale him with the story of when they found him. He internally winced as they talked about their battle with the Kingsguard, including how Ser Arthur Dayne was ready to skewer his uncle when Howland had stabbed him from behind. Aemon felt his heart quiver. He knew he was grateful for his uncle to be alive, but to hear Jaime's hero and mentor stabbed in the back in a most dishonorable fashion did not sit right with him. He hoped his uncle had enough tact to never bring

up how Ser Arthur Dayne really died in Jaime's presence.

As soon as Ned began talking about going up the Tower of Joy, he hung on to every word.

"I saw your mother in bed. She was pale and shaky, but though she was weak, she insisted on holding you close. The fever was taking her. She could only whisper, so I knelt down beside her. I could see the grief on her face when she handed you over to me, but she never tried to draw you back. She simply said, 'His name is Aemon. Please, Ned, protect him.' Those were her last words to me."

Aemon had to work to keep his eyes dry, but his throat was overwhelmed with emotion and he couldn't speak a word. His uncle could only stare at him with sympathy. "She loved you, Aemon. Every single gesture she made from the time you were born until she died, was a gesture of love to you. Now, you know why I kept your identity from you, don't you?"

"Of course I do, uncle. That was never the issue. I didn't understand why you insisted on keeping it from me, even after I reached age of majority. I deserved to know," Aemon replied, finally reeling in his emotions enough to speak.

"I only ever wanted what was best for you."

Then why did you let your wife treat me so terribly, he wanted to say, but there was no point in bringing up past grudges. His entire campaign to be king was about moving forward and preparing the country for the Long Night. He had to be the responsible one and let old aches and pains fall by the wayside.

When Howland and Ned left him for the evening, he laid in bed and felt the ache of missing Jaime and Dany. What he wouldn't do for his friend's presence, even if Jaime wasn't always the best at offering advice.

He missed Dany for her warmth and softness, but she also frequently had her own opinions about ruling and had never been afraid to voice her thoughts. Every night before he fell asleep, he prayed for Dany's safety.

As soon as I have the throne, Dany, I will come for you. Please, old Gods and the new, watch over her. She is far more important than she realizes.

Chapter 23 - Jaime VII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes - I want to apologize that this chapter is a day later than usual. Sorry! I'm all messed up because it was an American holiday. I hope my fellow Americans had a good Memorial Day!

Thank you again for reading and leaving comments!

Updated 4/13/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 23

Jaime VII

Jaime Lannister was about ready to chew through the iron bars, out of desperation and hunger. They had been captive for a week and they were still making their way to Pike. Although Jaime knew very little about seafaring, it felt like they were taking the most meandering path possible. He also had his suspicions because a day couldn't go by without the Ironborn arguing with Littlefinger's man.

The man came down to taunt them once in the light of day and Jaime had recognized him as a crewmember of his old ship. He must have signaled to the Ironborn when to board, Jaime thought moodily. His appearance was unkempt and smelly and when he smiled he had a handful of blackened teeth. Not that Jaime could judge on appearance when he was still covered in the blood of the men who'd tried to take him in the cabin. Pod had attempted to get the blood off his face by ripping off part of an undershirt and dipping it in the measly cupful of water they received each day. While his efforts had been in vain, they were appreciated all the same.

Littlefinger's man prodded the bars with a cutlass, causing ugly black ripples to emanate around them. It got to the point where Jaime launched himself at the bars so quickly, that the man fell backwards trying to scramble away, leaving a trail of blood where he'd accidentally diced himself on his cutlass. They never saw him again.

They were fed a handful of crackers with fatty meat twice a day. It was barely enough to take the edge off their hunger. It hadn't been more than a handful of days and Pod was already looking hollow-eyed and weak, though he still kept whispering soothing phrases to Jaime.

"It'll be alright, Lord Jaime. We can survive this. It won't be long before someone finds us."

Jaime would have found it funny were the situation not so desperate.

I appear destined to spend yet another year behind bars, Jaime thought sourly, thinking back to his captivity with Robb in the other world. He had been weak and his muscles wasted when he'd finally been released. Then he'd lost his right hand. It had taken years to get his muscles back.

The situation was made yet worse when, on the third day, Jaime succumbed to a seizure. As was usual, his head was pounding. He thought it might be from dehydration, but then nausea had twisted his stomach up into knots, so when their meager breakfast came, Jaime passed it off onto Pod. His squire tried to argue, but Jaime snapped at him and the boy had curled up like a wounded puppy.

He regretted being so harsh to the boy but it was short-lived when his vision blacked out. When he came to, he was curled up on the floor of their cell. A sour smell permeated his nostrils and mouth indicating that he had vomited.

Pod was shaking his shoulder vigorously. "Lord Jaime?! Lord Jaime!"

"Not so loud," Jaime managed to croak out in a tinny yellow voice and it cut through his squire's orange voice. He groaned and was grateful for the darkness in the ship.

"Are you alright, My Lord?"

"I will be. Just let me rest. You did well, Pod. Sorry for yelling at you," Jaime mumbled.

"It's fine, My Lord. I saved it for you. Are you hungry?"

"Gods no, eat it. I will have no appetite today," Jaime replied. The boy is far too stubborn for his own good, he thought. When their dinner came, Jaime practically had to stuff his portion into Pod's mouth to make him eat it. The Ironborn who brought the food had taunted him for being seasick, but he grew bored when both he and Pod remained steadfastly quiet and unmoved.

Now, Jaime was ravenous with hunger and it was causing his temper to ratchet up. He thought about screaming himself hoarse, but a headache still lurked behind his eyes, and he wanted to save himself anymore pain. Podrick was curled up in a corner shivering. The ship sat low enough that seawater frequently splashed them through the porthole so that they were never dry. Despite being tired and hungry, the boy never once uttered a word of complaint.

Boy, you are a saint. The Seven should augment their number with you as an eighth person: the Knight, Jaime thought. He sat down and pulled him close. "We'll get out of here, Pod. You wait and see."

The hours dragged by. Jaime watched the light fade from the porthole and they fell into darkness. Pod had curled into his side and fallen asleep, judging by the steady rise and fall of his back where Jaime was holding him. He continued staring into the dark when the usual pattern of feet on deck was interrupted. They were beneath the quarters of the men, so they typically heard them all retiring to bed, but there had been no parade of feet. They were all still on deck.

All was quiet. Too quiet.

Jaime strained to hear anything, but dared not move lest he disturb Pod.

Hours passed and then Jaime heard the scraping of wood, which caused him to perk up, straining to look out the porthole. Can't see a bloody thing. The ripples of sound that he typically relied on were too quiet to see much resonance. They must be attacking a ship, Jaime thought and felt dread creeping up on him. It was rare when an Ironborn ambush did not end up with all the occupants of the ship dead.

Quite suddenly he heard battle cries and screams rent the night.

Pod sat awake. "What's going on?"

Jaime strained to see in the dark. He caught a dozen different shades of red up off to his left. "I think our ironborn had a failed ambush."

There was a telltale splashing of bodies hitting the water and more triumphant shouts.

"Take that, you filthy blaggards!"

"Go feed the fishes!"

"Tell your drowned god the Stranger sends his regards!"

Jaime grinned in the darkness. "Pod, we might be getting rescued!" Then his smile fell. "I hope they're not worse than the Ironborn."

"Would that be possible?"

"Let's not think about that."

He heard the muffled wavering pale tones of someone blubbering and begging for their life and then their scream was abruptly cut off. Another splash. Cheers in orange, gold, and red sounded through the night and then there was a stomping of feet as men climbed on board to the Ironborn's ship. Jaime followed their progress intently. About a dozen people walked up and down the Ironborn's quarters, chatting excitedly in green and yellow, but their voices were still too far away to hear what they were saying.

He heard someone shout in what could only be in joyful gold tones and then they dashed off the ship.

They must've found something of the Ironborn's they liked.

Finally, they heard footsteps on the stairs. Both Jaime and Pod were on their feet. The soft glow of lantern light spilled down the staircase and as soon as the lantern was visible it spilled on them.

The man carrying it hesitated and said, "Prisoners! I didn't think Ironborn took any," a voice said in a calm sea blue. The voice tickled at the back of Jaime's mind, like a long forgotten memory.

"Would you let us out? I will reward you handsomely."

The lantern bobbed closer and a bald man with scars on his face and square jaw peered at him

closely. His eyes grew wide and he exclaimed, "Jaime?!"

"Uncle Gerion?" Jaime breathed and felt his knees grow weak, but he gripped the cell bars even harder to keep on his feet. Because of his previous life, it had been near thirty years since he last saw his uncle. He vaguely recalled a young man, with a cocky grin, and a head full of blonde hair not unlike a lion. It had irritated his father and he ordered Gerion to cut off his hair, but ever the troublemaker, Gerion grew his hair out until he could tie it back into a ponytail.

The day Gerion left on his quest to find Brightroar , he remembered he and Tyrion had been upset. His uncle had ruffled their hair like they were children and said, "Next we meet, I'll have Brightroar by my side. You just wait and see."

Then a year or so later, Tywin commissioned a fleet and reports came back that Gerion had vanished. They had never so much as heard a whisper about him again. And now suddenly here he was, studying both him and Pod.

"How in Seven Hells did you end up in the bilge of an Ironborn ship?" Gerion asked.

"That's a long story."

"I'll get the full details later. Give me the short of it."

"I am on a diplomatic mission for my king. A traitor on my last ship signalled for the Ironborn to come aboard. They slaughtered my men in their beds, took me, and scuttled the ship."

"That sounds premeditated."

"It does, doesn't it?"

Gerion glanced at the man with him, speaking without words. Jaime turned to the other man and saw the spitting image of a Lannister, though built a little thicker.

"Did...did you have a son?"

"Oh no, Callum's not mine. Looks Lannister though, doesn't he? Enough talk, let's get you out of here. Any idea where the keys are?"

"I assume they were on the captain," Jaime said, with not a little bit of amusement in his voice, "whom you threw overboard when you killed him."

There was a long silence as Gerion deliberated. "Shit. I knew we should've searched the bodies. Don't fret, we'll get you free. Callum, go find Vicente. He can pick locks, can't he?"

"Yes," Callum replied in even deeper blue tones than his uncle. He turned and headed back up the stairs.

Once Callum had left, Jaime asked, "How long have you been back in Westeros?"

"Only about two months. We're heading to Lannisport now, actually. We're not more than a day away."

"I need to get to the Reach. It's urgent."

"Hmm...I'll see about asking David if we can change course."

"David?"

"Aye. I'm part of a nomadic group called the Shepherds. He's the leader."

Jaime frowned at him.

"Don't look like that. I'm certain he'll be amenable. It's the other people who are sharing this ship with us that you'll have to worry about. There's about half a dozen other merchants on this ship."

Wonderful. More avenues of information for the enemy, he thought. He'd have to keep a tight lid

on his thoughts. He'll have to emphasize to Pod the need for secrecy.

"Who's the boy?" Gerion asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"This is Podrick of House Payne. He's my squire."

"Squire, huh? I never took you for the mentoring sort."

"I have to pass on my legendary sword skills to someone!"

"That's right. You're not the heir anymore. I bet that pissed my brother right off."

"Actually, I am no longer of the Kingsguard."

"Did Tywin buy off the King?"

"King Robert Baratheon has been dethroned. It's King Aemon Targaryen now."

"When did this happen? We've been in towns recently and none of them said anything about the king being dethroned."

"A few months ago. We've been trying to keep it quiet. That way Robert's brothers won't have much opportunity to gather their forces. You're also on the other side of Westeros. It may not have trickled this far yet."

"You're allied with this...Targaryen?"

"I am," Jaime replied haughtily.

Gerion smirked and was about to say something when they heard footsteps on the stairs again. "We'll talk later."

A lean young man with black hair and dark skin sauntered into view. "What is it now, old man? I'm busy."

"It'll take naught but a minute. Then you can get back to stripping the ship down," Gerion said. "I need you to pick this lock on these prisoners' door."

The man looked at the lock and snorted. "I could pick that blindfolded." He swooped down and in a few seconds the lock clicked. He left the door open and swept out of there without another word.

Jaime pushed open the door and into the corridor. He staggered after being confined in such a small space for so long, but regained his legs and followed his uncle out of the ship. They passed the crews quarters and Jaime saw about half a dozen men tearing the entire place apart.

"You expect to find anything of worth among the Ironborn?"

"We're nomads. Almost everything has value. I doubt we'll be taking much of what the Ironborn have, filthy squids that they are."

They trooped across the gangplank straddling the two ships.

"What do you have there, Gerion?" A voice in calm blue tones called out to them. The man who said it was bent over another and carefully wrapping his arm. "You're done. Don't get the wrap wet. It should be good for two days. Come to me every morning for a potion. It'll keep you from getting infected. Now get some rest." He was thanked in gruff orange tones and then turned to them. In the lantern light, Jaime could see he was an older man with short, thick white hair with deep lines carved into his face, not all of them age lines either. He pinned Jaime with eyes as dark as coal, looking him up and down before turning to Gerion.

"This is my nephew, Ser Jaime Lannister and his squire Podrick Payne. They were captives of the Ironborn. Jaime, this is David Reeft. He's our leader."

"Really? How very fortunate for you that the Ironborn have eyes bigger than their stomachs."

"You were waiting for them," Jaime said.

"Yes. One of the crew spotted the ship just before sundown. It was difficult to say where it was going, but the Ironborn are if anything predictable. We stayed up and waited below deck and sure enough, they came sauntering aboard like they already owned the ship. We rushed them from multiple sides."

"Honestly, there were only a dozen of them against about two dozen of us," his cocky demeanor then faded. "I shouldn't say 'us.' I didn't do anything. I won't kill."

Jaime snorted. "Pacifist?"

"Healer. I prefer to bring people from the brink of death rather than send them to it."

"Good for you. My uncle tells me you're the one to talk to about changing the course of this ship."

David's eyebrows shot up and after a moment he nodded. "I suppose I am. The Shepherds make up most of the passengers. What do you want?"

"I need to get to the Reach. It's urgent."

Once more David was studying him in the dark. Jaime wondered for a moment what he could possibly be seeing in the lantern light, but he nodded. "Very well. I will argue your case to the Captain and the other passengers. Shouldn't be too difficult. The Reach is quite fertile and hungry for trade, even if we just left there."

"That's it?" Jaime asked. "What do you get out of this?"

"The knowledge that one of my own is happy. He's been looking forward to seeing you again for some time. Far be it from me to deprive him of the company of his first family member since he left Westeros. I'll talk to the Captain first thing tomorrow. In the meanwhile, why don't you head to the galley? You boys look famished."

Pod had remained silent the whole time, but at the mention of food he nodded eagerly. Jaime sighed. They were both starving. They needed food and an undisturbed rest, but he did not trust this

David, no matter what his uncle said about them. He would have to tread carefully while he was amongst the Shepherds.

They found the galley easily enough as it was the best lit room on the ship. The cook looked them up and down critically, but then handed them a bowl of stew with an apple each. Pod was less than dignified as he scoffed down the best meal he'd had in over five days, but Jaime didn't lecture him on it. Gerion had followed them and sat with them, taking nothing for himself, but just watching them quietly. Jaime ate slowly and watched back.

"How did you come to be apart of this...group, Uncle?"

"They helped me. I got a nasty injury in my side. I was bleeding pretty badly and on the verge of passing out in the streets when Callum and Cyrus found me. They brought me back to David and he patched me up. I was injured badly enough that it took three weeks to recover and they made me feel like family. I gave them some gold and offered my services as a fighter, which they accepted. That was about five years ago."

"Were you ever going to come back?"

"I was, Jaime. I stayed away because of Tywin. He would've married me off the moment I set foot in the Westerlands."

"I suppose I can understand that. He tried the same thing when I got back, but I had the king backing me and issued a royal decree to prevent me from marrying anyone not on our terms," he said.

Gerion grunted and then lowered his voice even more. "How did you get caught up with a Targaryen king?"

Jaime regarded him for a moment and then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Uncle. It's not that I don't trust you, I don't trust your friend David."

"He's a good man, Jaime. I'm not such a fool to believe that words alone will convince you, but I recommend you trust him. The Shepherds are comprised of people from a wide array of backgrounds. We could prove useful to you."

"I guess you Shepherds will have to prove it to me. Why the name Shepherds? Do you actually have sheep in the hold below."

Gerion actually laughed at this point. "No, we're not shepherds in the literal sense." His smile did fall away and he grew uncharacteristically serious. "David and a good portion of the others are healers, trained by David. We call ourselves the Shepherds because the Stranger is well known for guiding the souls of the dead. By healing, we aid the Stranger in who lives and dies. In essence, we assist the Stranger in the shepherding of souls."

Jaime actually stopped eating to stare at his uncle. The Seven help me, my uncle has joined a cult. And yet the Stranger was one of the Seven and he knew the Gods existed, but to what influence did they have on other people? He would have to tread very carefully around David and his group.

"Why don't you finish eating, nephew? I'll see about getting you a room," Gerion said, nodding at Pod who was now dozing off at the table.

Jaime merely nodded and began munching on his apple. A few more people trickled in, including the black-haired youth and the stout blonde fellow with his uncle before. They were in high spirits and chattered loudly, much to Jaime's irritation, but he did his best to hide his glare. He wasn't looking for more enemies. Thankfully, they gathered in another part of the room and left him alone.

Gerion appeared at the door and waved them over. Jaime nudged Pod and together they made for the door. Poor Pod was drooping in a rather undignified manner, but the boy had been steadfast and optimistic during their captivity.

"The captain demands payment when you get some gold on you, but he's got a room available. I hope you don't mind sharing with your squire."

"I'll buy the man a whole new ship for a trip to the Reach," Jaime muttered.

They walked down another flight of stairs and walked nearly to the end of the hall. Gerion knocked on the door. When he heard no one, he turned the lock with a key and opened it to a modest cabin with two beds, so that Pod no longer had to sleep on the floor. There was a trunk on the floor that contained pillows and bedclothes.

Pod didn't even bother with the pillows. He went over to a bed and threw himself on it. Jaime was

just heading for his own bed when his uncle stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"I told myself, I'd do this the first time I saw you. I expected the circumstances to be a bit more grandiose, but things being what they are, it's important you have this," he said. He undid the sword at his belt and handed it over.

Jaime looked at it curiously and noted the pommel was a golden roaring lion. He slid the blade from the sheath for a closer look and felt his heart plummet in his chest. Valyrian Steel. He looked up at Gerion in shock. " Brightroar? "

"Aye, I found it."

"Where?!"

"It's not as adventurous of a tale you might imagine. It was hanging up in a blacksmith's shop. A lucrative blacksmith, to be sure. I didn't have enough gold by that time to buy it from him, so I stole it. Nasty bit o' business and I about nearly died. I won't be welcome back in Mereen anytime soon, but there you have it. As the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms and the heir to Casterly Rock, that sword is yours by right."

"Thank you, Uncle," Jaime whispered and Gerion faded down the hall to return to his own bunk. He took the time to make his bed because it allowed him the opportunity to think. Had Gerion been alive in his other life just hanging on to Brightroar? He must have died before he could return to us. He finally collapsed onto the bed with a sigh and before he realized it, he had fallen asleep. For the first time since he left Winterfell, not a single nightmare interrupted his slumber.

Chapter 24 - Aemon V

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes - I apologize for the tardiness of this chapter, but once again, thank you all for your support! All of your feedback is welcome! Please enjoy this chapter.

Updated 4/13/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 24

Aemon V

Aemon clopped his horse up the path and halted at the sight of the Twins. His stomach felt like he'd eaten stones for breakfast rather than a gritty stew and bile rose in his throat. A rider had been sent to treat with Walder Frey about allowing their army to pass and the rider had returned with an invitation to negotiations and dinner.

Dinner at a butcher's table.

He kept having to remind himself that Walder Frey had not broken guestright nor murdered anyone, but if the old man so much as felt snubbed, he wouldn't put it past him. Granted, he had only been brave enough to commit such an atrocity at Tywin Lannister's backing. He would not have that luxury in this world.

Beside him, Ghost and Greywind gave low growls.

Aemon frowned at them and said, "Easy, boys. It will be alright."

Robb nudged his horse closer to Aemon and leaned in, "You feeling okay? You're looking grimmer than normal."

Aemon chuckled. "Just nerves, I guess. This will be my first negotiation. Don't want a man like Walder Frey to walk all over me."

"I have confidence in you, cousin," Robb replied, giving him a proud smile.

Although Robb was still unaware of the other life he lived, he had been a pacifying force of late and Aemon took heart in his optimism and found himself confiding in him more often. They were of an age, after all, and Robb helped him relax, even if his advice was suspect at best.

He did his best to stay out of his Uncle Ned's way. Both of them continually butt heads over Jaime Lannister. He didn't think his uncle was so sinister as to undermine their relationship, but that seemed to be his goal. It caused Aemon to set his teeth on edge whenever he was in his uncle's presence. Ned was currently his most trustworthy and powerful ally and that could be undone if Aemon ever decided to be sharper with him, especially in a public setting. But he would not remove Jaime from his position and he put his absolute trust in him.

Now though, he and his uncle were on the same footing. He glanced over at him and found his uncle tight-lipped and pale. He offered a shaky smile and nodded at him.

Aemon dismounted and turned to SmallJon Umber, Dacey Mormont, Domeric Bolton, and Harrion Karstark. "Break camp. Keep the army in line. I suspect we'll be able to cross in the morning," Aemon said.

"Yes, Your Grace," they intoned and bowed. He had split the army into quadrants and placed each of them at the head of one. There had been some unhappy muttering regarding Dacey's placement; she had been forced to prove herself in a duel. She took no prisoners and soundly defeated her opponent in a sword battle. It snapped the soldiers in line.

More importantly, at least to Aemon, it had spurred Arya from her own mutinous silence. She'd watched the battle in awe and when it had drawn to a close had run after the lady warrior and babbled questions at her, which Dacey fielded with endless patience. She was still not quite on speaking terms with him again, but it was heartwarming just to see some of her old vinegar back. He would have to see if he could arrange lessons between her and Dacey.

He turned to the northern lords, his family, and Theon Greyjoy, who were going to attend the feast. "I will do the talking. Rumors have it that Lord Walder Frey is a prickly sort who takes offense easily and right now he controls the quickest way to cross the Green Fork." He stared rather pointedly at Theon, who shifted on top of his horse. He would give credit that Theon had been well-behaved since the coup in Winterfell and no longer gave him grief, but he was still quick to

anger.

Aemon would have felt better if he'd actually spoken to Walder Frey in his previous life, but whether lucky or unlucky, Arya had seen to it that he'd never gotten the opportunity. He was pleased that there were virtually no other Starks that he could offer to old Walder Frey since the most notable Stark children were already betrothed. He'd do his level best to keep Bran from being betrothed, since he would have other duties, but he counted on old Walder Frey not being particularly interested in the secondborn son with nothing to inherit. He did have Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey's betrothal in his back pocket if push came to shove, but he'd rather not have to greet Edmure Tully with the news that he was betrothed to his least favorite vassal.

You are the king, he told himself. Do not let the old man play you like a fiddle. He is a coward who doesn't have the appropriate backing to be a threat even if embarrassed, but the last thing I need is a lifelong enemy in any critical lord. He remembered Jaime's suggestion long ago of knocking off Lord Frey and installing his son. It was by far the easiest of the ideas they'd had, but hardly preferable.

He took two hundred men, the entire Kingsguard, and the northern lords to see Walder Frey. It was his own way of flexing his muscles, by showing the force he had already garnered at his back. He left Ghost and Greywind behind with Lady and Nymeria. As a pack they rushed off into the forest to run free and hunt.

The bridge was already lowered when they reached the bottom and two men on horses and a dozen soldiers were standing just off the bridge to greet them. The two men were squat and heavy in their finery. They wore beards that weren't quite thick enough to hide the suspicion in their faces.

The older of the two spoke up, "King Aemon Targaryen?"

"Yes," Aemon replied.

"My father awaits you in the great hall. If you'll follow me."

Aemon raised an eyebrow at him. "Who might you be?"

"Forgive me, I am Ser Stevron Frey, firstborn to Lord Walder."

"And I am Lothar Frey. Forgive my brother's rudeness," the man said, shooting his brother a dirty look. They turned their horses and started across the bridge. The grounds were filled with children and women going about their chores. He couldn't help but noticed that they all looked alike. They immediately stopped what they were doing to stare as their party approached.

"What do you all think you're doin'? Quit gawkin' and keep workin'," Lothar bellowed. The effect was instantaneous. Everyone's heads immediately went down to work on their tasks. They almost seemed afraid to look at him again.

What a horrid house to be born in, Aemon thought as he continued to surreptitiously glance around. Everywhere he looked, children were bickering and fighting. It was not dissimilar from Arya and Sansa's fighting, but they had at least never raised a hand at one another. Many of the children also had threadbare clothes as if Walder couldn't afford to clothe them all.

He and the lords of the North dismounted and were led into the great hall. It was twice the size of Winterfell's great hall, but it had to be to fit all of the Frey brood. An ancient man with a sneering smile sat at the far back, hunched over in his chair. He wondered if Lord Frey knew how rude his smile was or if that was the only smile he could manage.

"King Aemon Targaryen, I wish to welcome you to these halls. I would get up to greet you more formally, but as you can see, I am but an old man. No longer as spry as I used to be."

Spry enough to father more children, Aemon thought as he espied a young woman nearby, swollen with child. But he merely smiled and nodded his head. "That is understandable, Lord Frey."

The old man snorted then turned to his uncle. "Ned Stark, it's been a long time. I think the last time I saw you, it was at yours and Catelyn Tully's wedding. A grim affair that one."

"Indeed, Lord Frey," Ned replied in a hollow voice, looking more grim than ever. "As much as I love my lady wife, there was little cause for celebration."

His uncle was having the hardest time being here, knowing that Walder Frey, in another lifetime, butchered his son, his son's lady, his wife, and the rest of the northern lords. He had been looking ill as they crossed over to the Twins and Aemon had shot him a concerned look. His uncle was at least smart enough to not speak of such a thing, but no matter how ill at ease they were, they couldn't show it.

"Aye. Married your lady wife then got a bastard on another woman, only he's not a bastard at all, are ya?"

"No," Aemon replied. Inside he was simmering and he was doing his best to reel his anger in. He could not let the old weasel get the better of him, so he challenged himself to not look back at his lords. It was a sign of weakness. "I am Aemon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. My father annulled his marriage with Elia Martell and married my mother under the sight of the Seven. I am the true king of the Seven Kingdoms. I have neutralized Robert Baratheon, the usurper, as a threat, and now I must claim my throne. I beseech you allow me to pass through to the rest of the Riverlands."

"You get to the heart of the matter, I can appreciate that. None of this bandying of words. As lord of the crossing, I do require a toll."

"What's your price?"

Old Frey hesitated a moment, peering at him scrutinously and then nodding to himself. "I have it on good authority that you're unmarried. Perhaps one of my lovely daughters would be suitable for you."

"As lovely as I'm sure your daughters are, I have a pending betrothal," Aemon replied.

"Well, then, perhaps your cousin, the Stark heir then - "

"He also has a pending betrothal. As also does Sansa and Arya Stark."

Lord Walder Frey's face grew thunderous. "That was quick."

"I am in need of allies with the other Lord Paramounts of the Seven Kingdoms. The betrothals are with their heirs."

Aemon heard Robb breathe a sigh of relief and it took every ounce of strength he had not to glance back and glare at his cousin. It would be construed as an insult and he needed all the goodwill he could muster from the old weasel.

Lord Walder continued to scowl. "Well, what can you offer?"

"I am willing to offer five hundred Gold Dragons, one of your sons a place on my council, and another young son a place at my side as squire, to be raised to knighthood with a hold of his own."

Old Walder leered at him. "A marriage would be preferred to seal this deal." He scanned the northern lords behind him. Aemon didn't need to turn to hear some of them shift uncomfortably. None of them wanted to marry their heirs to a Frey if they could help it. It was one thing to arrange betrothals for his cousins at his uncle's behest, it was quite another to arrange a betrothal for a northern lord who was only following him out of fear of the Gods. He had to prove himself first and it started here. "As much as it pains me, King Aemon" - and the old man seemed to sneer the word 'king,'- "I'm afraid I must look after my own. Too many mouths to feed for such a small price - "

"No," Aemon interjected quietly, but firmly. The silence in the hall was absolute. All the northern lords watched him intently.

"What did you say?"

"No, Lord Frey. I have offered you a more than fair price for passage into the Riverlands, where I will head to Riverrun to accept the fealty of your Lord Paramount. Now, I will find a way across the Green Fork, with or without your aid, but when I take my throne, I will be sure to remember those allies who aided me. And I will remember those who failed to aid me. Which will you be remembered as?"

Old Walder was looking at him with barely disguised fury, but then he glanced away to look at all the lords arrayed behind him. Swallowing like he was forced to down a bitter pill he said, "Very well, for five hundred Gold Dragons, Sir Stevron Frey will take the council seat, and my young son Olyvar Frey will be your squire to be trained to knighthood and granted a hold of his own."

"Thank you, Lord Frey," Aemon replied with a firm nod.

"Now, if you'll allow young Roslin, she will show you to your room."

A pretty, meek girl seemed to materialize from a side door. She curtsied upon seeing him and began leading him to his room. She was quite pretty, but Old Walder's ploy to get him to marry her would not work. He sent her away the moment he set foot into the room.

The offered feast was of higher quality than what they'd been eating on the road lately, so it was a welcome respite, but Ser Barristan insisted on sampling everything first before he did. If Old Walder noticed his Lord Commander sample everything first, he made no comment. That night, Aemon stayed awake with his hand resting comfortingly on a dagger beneath his pillow in the instance that this Walder was bolder than the last. Ser Arys Oakheart and Preston Greenfield had stood at his door.

However the night passed without incident and early the next morning they'd already prepped for their army to move across the Green Fork. The four thousand men of the Twins joined their army along with Sir Stevron Frey, Black Walder Rivers, and Olyvar Frey. Olyvar was a boy of no more than ten years. Quite young to be a squire, but he was courteous and inquisitive. Aemon liked him immediately.

Sir Stevron Frey rode like he had the king's personal confidence, his nose held high in the air, and spoke in condescending tones to anyone who engaged him in conversation. Theon finally had enough and called him a 'nobody' straight to his face. Aemon had been forced to chastise Theon, though he privately agreed the man needed to be put in his place. It appeared to have at least done the trick of humbling him because he fell quiet in the days after.

They reached Riverrun in two weeks. In that time, they were almost completely cut off from the world. Though he didn't anticipate an attack force in the Riverlands, he still sent scouts and every one of them reported that all was quiet. It felt like the calm before the storm. It left him restless, but he couldn't be seen ceaselessly pacing in his tent. He had to appear collected and decisive. Once more, he wished Jaime were available to vent. He would know better than anyone the frustrations they were both facing.

He tried to distract himself by casting his mind to Dany, but he only ever seemed to trip over the questions regarding her. Should he call her back right away? She should still be married to the Khal. What if Viserys is still alive? It had taken an overt amount of willpower to simply think of the few good memories he had of her. Despite the hopeless situation they had found themselves in, she'd always been quick to smile. It always eased his soul to see her brightness light the room. In a time when the sun was rarely seen, she seemed to embody it and took time out of her day to speak to the folk who kept the castle running.

She had a temper, but her heart was as big as the world. She made an excellent queen. He longed for her, especially now that he could no longer stand the whisperings of marriage. His uncle still occasionally brought up marriageable prospects and every single time he had said to his uncle, "You know why."

They needed her dragons. The dragons were of the utmost importance. He would not even be

bothering to claim the throne, if he thought Westeros could be united, but Robert Baratheon had made it obvious in his blind rage to murder Jaime that the Seven Kingdoms were damned near determined to fall apart.

It will be a bloody miracle if we manage to bring everyone into the fold, he thought. There would be problems. He and Jaime had to get ahead of any plots to murder him and with a man like Baelish in the picture, it was going to be a challenge.

Every night before he headed to bed, he prayed to the gods for guidance and wisdom.

They finally arrived at Riverrun in the morning. He had to put up with Edmure Tully making a greater occasion out of it than was necessary. It made him wonder if Catelyn had written to her brother asking him to be extra gracious to make up for her horrid behavior to him for all of his life. Catelyn was another person he had dearly wished to punish more than he had been allowed to, but there were no circumstances in which he could punish a woman that wouldn't make him look cruel by comparison. Not even Cersei, much to his dismay.

When they reached Riverrun, Lord Edmure Tully, on behalf of his father Hoster, knelt and pledged the Riverlands at his disposal. Then he was free to collect his messages. He was shocked to discover there were only three.

That's odd. One of them had the seal of High Garden, the other the bear of House Mormont, and the last one the seal of the Night's Watch. Jaime would use the Lannister seal if he ever sent a message, but there was nothing here. He opened the High Garden message first.

To King Aemon Targaryen,

We received word that Lord Jaime Lannister had left Lannisport for High Garden three weeks ago, but he has yet to arrive. I do hope that you have every intention of honoring this betrothal.

Willas Tyrell

Aemon felt his heart sink in his stomach. Where is Jaime? He knew his friend would never settle for anything less than a direct ship to the Reach. Was the ship lost at sea? He shivered at the thought. Jaime would be dead and he'd be all alone. Again. It's like he's a plaything of the gods. He took a moment to pray silently once more to keep Jaime safe.

He would have to think a moment on his reply to the Tyrells, so he broke the seal on the letter from the Night's Watch:

To King Aemon Targaryen, First of his Name….and the First Men

All is quiet at Castle Black. I am keeping busy helping Maester Aemon in his studies and occasionally lend my expertise to train the new recruits. Another new recruit showed up barely a moon after you left by the name of Samwell Tarly. I've been working with him to give him a bit of muscle and a fighting chance, but Maester Aemon has taken notice of him and intends to train him as his replacement. I imagine he will be most valuable.

The former Kingsguard Ser Boros Blount and Ser Mandon Moore have already taken their vows and became Rangers. The Lord Commander is keeping a close eye on them, but there is nothing to suggest trouble from them.

Your Uncle Benjen and his crew have yet to return from his outing north of the Wall. I will send word as soon as he returns, hopefully with the captured wight as you requested.

Ser Rodrick Cassel

Aemon closed his eyes and tried to remain calm. Yet more bad news. He sent a silent prayer once more to the gods that they keep Benjen safe and allow him to return with the wight they so desperately needed. We can't afford for you to become undead again, uncle. Come back to us! Just as in the time before, they would not be taken seriously by anyone unless they could show the world an undead.

He finally turned to the last letter and broke the Mormont's bear seal.

To King Aemon Targaryen, First of his Name….and the First Men

As Maester of Bear Island, I have conducted a physical on Cersei Lannister. She is in good health but, most notably, she is with child. I offered her moon tea, but it was declined. I understand that Cersei is to be a prisoner for the rest of her days, however her future child is not. Lady Lyanna Mormont and I await your reply in regards to the child's fate.

Maester Krennik of Bear Island

Aemon released a breath that he didn't realize he had been holding and slowly sank down into a chair at the desk. The Gods are truly cruel to you, Jaime. You worked so hard to keep from fathering a bastard and Cersei steals that from you. He couldn't very well write back and tell the Maester to force moon tea down her throat. This letter had been sitting here a few weeks at least and it had been almost four months since that night. He knew very little about the ways of pregnancy, but he knew enough from being around Lady Catelyn that Cersei was quite far along. The child was to be born.

Knowing Jaime, he will claim it, or at least wait to claim it until Lord Tywin is out of the picture. He had heard from Tyrion that Tywin very nearly threw him out to sea when he was born and he was legitimate. There was no telling what he'd do to a bastard of Jaime's that might compete with a trueborn son. Whatever was to happen, the child would not be raised by Cersei. He'd see to that.

He wished more than ever that he had Jaime's counsel. He would want to determine his child's fate, but they might not even see each other before it was born. And Jaime was missing! He had to determine a course now.

He went to the door and said, "Ser Barristan, will you send for my uncle? I require his advice."

While he waited, he addressed High Garden in a letter.

Lord Willas Tyrell

Forgive Lord Jaime Lannister his tardiness. I assure you, he is as devoted to my cause as I am. It could be that he met with unfavorable weather. If you would be so kind, give him more time.

In the event that my Hand Lord Jaime Lannister does not appear, I will send another negotiator in his stead.

I suggest further patience in this regard.

King Aemon Targaryen

By the time he was done with the letter, his uncle had arrived. He folded it and set it aside. He'd

look at it again before sealing it.

"You asked for me, Your Grace?"

"Uncle, how many times do I have to tell you, you can refer to me by my given name."

"Even so, Your Grace. What is it that you needed?"

Aemon hesitated for a moment. He imagined Jaime would not be particularly keen to turn to Lord Stark for help regarding his bastard child, but he had few options. He handed the letter over to Ned.

Ned read it, looked at him in surprise, and then read it again. Finally, he said, "The child could be Robert's."

Aemon sighed. "Don't be naive, Uncle. It's not. It's Jaime's. She wouldn't carry it to birth otherwise."

Ned sighed in exasperation himself. "Jaime doesn't know."

"No, he doesn't. And there's no telling when he'll get back to me or where I'll be," Aemon said, pacing the room and running a hand through his curly hair. "I have to make the decision regarding Jaime's child."

"Do you think he'll claim it?"

"He will. It's just a matter of time. His father will not approve."

"It's...it's a Lannister by blood."

"Uncle, please. I told you what Lord Tywin was like in my previous life. Do you think he'll show his golden heir's bastard any mercy? It's one thing to be a bastard, it's another to be born of incest to a brother and sister. Most lords wouldn't stand for it."

"And you can't leave it with its mother," Ned said with a terse frown.

"There is only one option available and I'm not sure I can even depend on it," Aemon replied, resting a stern gaze on his uncle. "Will Lady Catelyn be amenable to housing this bastard?"

"She's housing Cersei's other bastards."

"As much as I don't wish the sins of the mother onto the children, I care very little about what happens to them. They're safe. This will be Jaime Lannister's current and only heir, should anything happen to him. Will Lady Catelyn do as I command and take care of the child?"

"You know very well she only behaved as she did with you because she thought you were a threat to Robb."

Aemon remained silent. Catelyn's horrendous behavior to him would forever be a sore spot, so he continued to glare at his uncle, who shifted uncomfortably.

"I know that Catelyn wishes to make amends with you. Lord Jaime is your friend. She knows you'll want the best for his son or daughter. She will allow him or her to stay at Winterfell."

"Very well. I'll write her myself," Aemon replied. "Thank you, Uncle, for your advice."

Chapter 25 - Daenerys I

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes - Thank you for reading, everyone! I really appreciate all your comments and kudos.

Updated 4/13/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 25

Daenerys I

She couldn't seem to get away from her grey mount. She spent all day riding her and yet it was not enough. Her fingers combed through the silver mane as she brushed the days of dust from her neck. There were slaves to care for her horse, but brushing her mare was one of the few things that cheered her.

Although Drogo had not done anything not expected of a husband, he still made her uneasy. She was still coming to terms that she now...belonged to Khal Drogo. Even so, it was better than belonging to her brother. In spite of the intense heat of the sun, she shivered. Viserys no longer bothered her for which she was grateful. Now that she had been married, he tended to hover around her husband, making snide comments and insults regarding the deal they had made.

Not for the first time she wondered if Drogo understood her brother's foul words and merely tolerated him for her sake, or if he was completely ignorant of the manner in which he was spoken. It was difficult to believe that Drogo cared anymore about Viserys than his horse cared about a fly buzzing around its ear. No matter, she still maintained her distance with her brother. She didn't need anymore opportunities to 'wake the dragon.'

Dany hovered around her mare, humming a Dothraki tune she had heard recently. For all she knew, it was a song about butchering another Khal's tribe, but she had enjoyed the song. She was still learning the Dothraki tongue and she was starting to piece spoken sentences together, but sung words still eluded her.

They had stopped camp outside one of the free cities, Qohor, after a few months riding through the vast Forest of Qohor. She had marveled at the trees that towered over them and provided them shade on the way back to the Dothraki Sea. Having spent the majority of her life being escorted from house to house, only ever glimpsing the outside world, she could not contain her smile It seemed only now that she had this freedom and protection that she had lacked the whole rest of her life that she realized how huge and vibrant the world was.

Even despite being a little uneasy about marrying Drogo, being free to roam the world outside was worth marrying him.

I won't keep you in a cage, little one, she thought as her hand ghosted over her midsection. She had not bled in nearly two moons. Her maids had been excited to tell Drogo, but she insisted that she would inform him when she was ready. They made this...being that was growing inside her. She was unsure how she felt about this. She knew as a woman that her lot was to provide her husband with heirs, so surely he will be pleased with her now.

The crunch of the sand from approaching footsteps, startled her from her thoughts and she turned with a ready smile only for it to fall as the tangled silver mane of her brother shined in the sun. He smiled back at her, but it wasn't a smile of love, but one that was cold and cruel. "Sister, are you pleasing your husband?"

She stood frozen, clutching her horse's mane. Even her mare sensed the mood and shifted uneasily, though she was too well-trained to rear.

Viserys grabbed her jaw in a vice and his grin turned into a snarl. "I asked you a question! You will answer as your king demands! Are you pleasing your husband?"

"I...I think so," she managed to squeak out, her eyes filling with tears both in pain and fear.

"Then why won't that fucking savage give me the army I demand? It must be you! I want you to go to the Khal and suck his cock until he gives me my army! Do it now before you wake the dragon!"

He squeezed her cheeks and then let her go. She trembled for a moment against her mare, trying desperately to not cry. Drogo wouldn't like her tears either, but that's because it would once again put him at odds with her brother. She could tell he did not like the way her brother treated her and if her brother was to get his army then she could not be seen crying, by either of them.

"Khaleesi," the old knight Jorah Mormont was running over to them. He stopped short upon seeing Daenerys cowering against her horse and looked pained, but dropped to one knee in front of Viserys. "Your Grace, I have been to Qohor and learned important news from Westeros."

"Speak! What is it?"

"It seems the usurper Robert Baratheon has been overthrown. Lord Eddard Stark's bastard has stepped forward claiming to be the last trueborn son of your brother, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."

Viserys' face went from a milky white to a blood red as he trembled with rage. "How can this be?! Another false dragon has taken my throne?! Explain," he snapped to Jorah Mormont.

"The usurper was visiting Lord Stark in Winterfell and elevated him to Hand of the King. There was a mishap. Ser Jaime Lannister and Queen Cersei Lannister were caught having...intimate relations. The king condemned them both to death. However, at the executions, Ned Stark's bastard stepped forward and claimed his birthright. He's now known as Aemon Targaryen. He freed Jaime Lannister and together with Ned Stark, overthrew King Robert. They're marching on King's Landing as we speak."

"My brother had no other children, especially not with that Stark whore! He will pay for this!"

"He has the North and the Westerlands already on his side, Your Grace, and he's expected to pick up the Riverlands and Vale with little trouble," Ser Jorah informed. To Daenerys he appeared nervous from the way she could see his eyes rove back and forth from the ground to her. Viserys, however, paid neither of them any attention.

"When I get my army! I will make them all burn! Saving the Lannister cunt who murdered our father?! Inexcusable. No dragon would do that. I will make them pay," Viserys snarled and stomped off, appearing to forget them much to Daenerys relief.

Jorah watched him go and when he was a safe distance away, he stood and peered at Khaleesi with worry. "Are you well, Khaleesi?"

"I'm-I'm fine," not quite able to hide her shakiness. Not wishing to focus on her situation, she then asked, "We-weren't you a lord in the North?"

Jorah drew his mouth into a firm line, but nodded.

"So you knew the usurper's friend Lord Stark?"

"Aye, I did. I fought with him in the Rebellion and...the Ironborn Rebellion."

"What do you think of his-his supposed bastard being a Targaryen?"

"I saw the boy once. He looked all Stark, so it doesn't surprise me that he's related to Lord Stark. No, the surprise was Stark having a bastard. He's known for being a true, honorable man. He would never break his marriage vows to father a bastard. It's a wonder he was able to hide the boy for so long."

"Do you believe he's my brother's son?"

"I do not know, Khaleesi. However, I highly doubt Lord Stark would have supported the boy's claim were it not for something drastic. If the Lord Stark says he's his sister's and the Prince's, then I believe it. However, word alone won't secure them support for the throne. They must have some other proof to help."

"Do you know what this boy is like?"

Jorah frowned. "If I'm not mistaken, he'd be about your age. I did not meet him, only saw him in passing when visiting Winterfell. I rather doubt Lord Stark would allow any of his children to act...to act like your brother, Khaleesi."

Daenerys felt a small amount of relief. Maybe all Targaryen's weren't as temperamental as her brother.

"The herbs you requested, Khaleesi," Jorah murmured, handing her a canvas pouch. He then bowed and walked away, throwing one last worried glance at her.

Daenerys sighed in relief and pulled open the drawstring pouch. She knew little about pregnancy, but her maids had assured her that certain herbs could be used to ease the morning sickness she was

experiencing. Maybe now she might be able to keep her breakfast down. Her hand went to her stomach once as though to reassure herself of the child's presence, though it was too small to be felt yet. Maybe she would nestle the dragon eggs to her side again. They were supposed to be stone, but she had inkling that they weren't and that somehow the new life inside her could in some way grant life to the two eggs. It was a foolish notion, but it didn't hurt to try.

She stood and breathed deeply for a moment, collecting herself before striding purposefully to where Drogo had set up their tent. As she walked, she idly wondered about the new king who called himself Aemon. As son of the firstborn Prince, he would have a stronger claim on the throne than Viserys.

She hoped to meet her nephew someday, but with Viserys at the head of their efforts, she feared she would only meet him as her enemy, not her family.

Chapter 26 - Jaime VIII

Chapter Summary

Author's Notes: Thank you all for your comments and continued support of this fic! I hope you enjoy it.

Initial pleasantries out of the way, I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is, you're officially caught up with the version of this fic! Whoo! And now for the bad news: This story is currently on hiatus. As much as I love writing, especially this fic, it is a huge undertaking and as a result I've been neglecting certain aspects of my life for quite some time. I need to refocus and refresh, so I will be taking some time off. Expect the next update of this story on July 21st. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Updated 4/13/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 26

Jaime VIII

"You have Uncle Gerion's sword."

"He's my uncle. Not yours."

"It's Valyrian steel, right?"

"Can we touch it?"

"I don't think so."

"Uncle Gerion says you're the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms. Can you show us?"

"It's not safe to train on the ship."

"When we get to dry land then?"

Jaime closed his eyes and prayed to the Gods for infinite patience. One of David's men had his family with him and his identical twin boys refused to leave him alone. They had been chased off multiple times by Gerion, David, or the boys' own father, Cyrus, but like moths drawn to flame, they eventually wound their way back to him. He had tried pushing them toward Pod who was learning how to tie knots with one of the crewmembers, but they handwaved it away claiming they'd already learned that.

He could hardly blame them. Even he was antsy being confined to the ship, unable to train. He could only imagine the turmoil the seven-year-old boys were feeling, unable to expend their childish energy. Even so, he wished they would follow their sister's example. She was older and quieter, having a tendency to keep to herself, but when her own energy became too much she took to dancing on the deck. It was unlike any dancing he'd ever seen and when he first saw it, he came to the conclusion that the family was some variant of traveling troupe.

The whole family had olive skin, with dark eyes, and black hair. Every night the father, Cyrus, entertained the crew with music either on the violin or cello. Jaime would deny if anyone asked, but evenings had become his favorite time of night. The swirl and dance of the music in a rainbow of colors soothed his stressed mind and he found after listening to it that he slept easier and had fewer nightmares. He was already thinking about hiring the entire family to be Lannister musicians for the rest of their days.

However, these boys were making him reconsider that position.

"Boys, what has your father and David told you about bothering the Hand of the King?"

The two comically winced at the same time and very slowly turned to their mother's very stern face.

Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. For all that their father Cyrus was clearly a peasant, his wife carried herself with the unmistakable bearing of a noblewoman. She wore what appeared to be a dress, though it was open at the waist revealing breeches underneath. Despite the cheap quality of the material, her clothes - and that of her family's - were impeccably neat. Right now she was glaring at her sons not unlike how Drogon had glared at him.

"We just...we're just curious!" One of them wailed.

"Be that as it may, he clearly does not wish to keep your company. I suggest you study a little harder in your etiquette lessons so that you know the difference."

"We're bored!"

Her eyebrows went up in warning. "Say that again and I'm sure I can convince the captain to allow you to clean this ship from stem to stern." They now trembled and shook their heads with great vigor. "Now, find something to do or I will find it for you!"

They dashed off below deck, very nearly falling down the stairs.

"I apologize for my sons' behavior. It won't happen again," she said and then glided away to join her daughter.

He stared after her, surprised at the lack of interaction. Actually, aside from the boys and Uncle Gerion, all the rest of David's people gave him a rather wide berth, eying him warily. Vicente, the man who rescued him and Pod from the cells, gave him a curt nod when he caught him watching and Callum smiled, but the rest of the half dozen or so of David's people seemed to refuse to get near him.

Just as well, he wasn't about to tell them anything.

"I see the cubs have scampered off. Did mother give them a fright?"

Jaime was jarred from his thoughts and turned to David, who was grinning in amusement with his uncle standing behind him looking uncommonly serious. He glared at the old man.

David had been unable to convince the captain to head straight for the Reach. They had been forced to put in at Lannisport, again, to unload the other merchants on board and to restock the ship for supplies. The delay irritated Jaime, but he decided to take advantage of it and hustled himself and Pod back to Casterly Rock for a much needed bath, supplies, clothes, and a contingent of one hundred soldiers. He had expected that Gerion would at least stay behind, but it seems that David had decided to tack his group onto Jaime's.

He really didn't want to think about the impression he'd give to the Tyrells when he rode up to High Garden with a ragtag group of nomads, but it seemed that for whatever reason David decided to stick with Jaime, he wasn't going to be deterred from it.

However it was David's men who freed him from the Ironborn. He owed them. Lannisters didn't go back on their debts, so he couldn't order them away. It also meant that he'd be ordering his uncle away too. He'd have to put up with them for the time being.

Jaime had just turned away from glaring at David to glare at the sea between him and the Reach when David said, "I want information."

"What?"

"I want to know more about this war that you're fighting."

"Information is valuable. Even if there was a price, you'd never be able to pay it," Jaime replied.

"I have my own wealth of valuable information. We could arrange a trade."

"No," Jaime snapped.

"Jaime, please," Gerion said. "You promised you'd tell me more about this war."

"Yes, I'll tell you . I won't tell him ."

David gave him a wry look. "If I'm going to follow you, I'm going to need to know more."

"I didn't invite you along. Feel free to part ways with me once we reach High Garden."

Jaime smiled in smug satisfaction. Gerion sighed in exasperation and ran a hand over his face, but David adopted an expression of determination that suggested Jaime's headache was not over.

"What if I told you I could give you something that would give you the upper hand in your war?"

Jaime barked a laugh. "I doubt there's any such thing that you can give me."

This time it was David who smiled in knowing, but there was an odd excitement in his eyes. "Do you know what a cipher is?"

Jaime blinked at him. "No."

"You write letters to your king, I'm sure, but there's information that you're unable to tell him for fear of the letter getting intercepted, am I right?"

Jaime remained stubbornly quiet, but David seemed to take it as affirmation.

"What if I told you there's a way for you to write all the information you want your king to know without the possibility of anyone being able to understand it?"

Jaime narrowed his eyes. "Explain."

"Only if you give me the information that I want."

Jaime gritted his teeth in annoyance and then said, "Fine, I'll give you as much information as I feel safe giving you. In return, you'll teach me about this cipher trick and I'll get my own questions answered about you."

"It's a deal then," David said, holding his hand out.

Jaime glanced at it like it held a spider and the old man was daring him to take it.

"Deal's not sealed until you take the hand," David said. His smile seemed suddenly flat and there was a cold, calculating in his eyes that Jaime misliked. All the same, he took the hand and

squeezed the bones until they cracked. David didn't even flinch. "Now, if you'll follow me, we'll do that information exchange."

"Not here. I would prefer the whole ship didn't hear," Jaime said quietly.

David gave him another irritated look and then looked over at the young girl by her mother. "Lucille!"

"What?"

"Why don't you play your violin for me? We could use some music."

For a girl young enough to not have flowered, she gave him a knowing look, and obediently led the way below deck. She stopped off at a side room while David led them even further into the ship. He knocked on a door and then opened it to reveal a small room with a table and no windows. Once the door was closed, they sat in silence for a moment until the pleasant tones of a violin started up just outside their door.

Jaime breathed in deeply and felt the tension that seemed to have become his constant companion ease up as the music ranged from a calm and low deep blue to playful greens and yellow. He closed his eyes as the music circled around him and when he opened them, David was watching him carefully.

"No one can hear us here," David said, barely audible over the violin. "So tell me, how did this whole thing start?"

Jaime frowned, glancing between David and Gerion, considering how much detail he should go into. It wasn't exactly a secret has to how the coup had happened. The lords in the North and possibly the Riverlands would know by now. The biggest issue was how much detail to go into about what led to him on the chopping block. His very insides lurched at having to speak, even tangentially, about his rape, but it was either he was known as the man who was raped by his sister or the man who fucked his sister.

He heaved a great sigh and was grateful again for the music. He would need it to get through retelling his rape.

So he started with the hunt outside Winterfell and how the mammoth bear attacked him. That transitioned to being unconscious for a week when he woke up to Cersei raping him. Gerion swore loudly and his face flushed in anger. David remained impassive, but he seemed to grow more intense. He talked of his travesty of a trial and then spoke of the day of his execution and how his former squire stepped forward and declared himself king.

"Seven hells, Jaime! What's happened to Cersei?" Gerion demanded.

"She's going to be shipped to somewhere isolated. She wasn't yet taken care of when I left."

"That's not everything," David simply said.

"What?"

"You're not telling us everything."

"That is everything."

"No it's not. Why the hell would King Aemon risk his and his entire family's life for your neck? It can't be because you were his mentor for...a month? There has to be more to it," David said.

Jaime glared at David. He'd hoped that hearing about his rape might prevent anyone from seeing the holes in the rest of the story.

"Fine. I knew he was Rhaegar's last true son before I ever went to Winterfell."

"You chose to squire him to eventually overthrow King Robert. That makes more sense," David said, smirking in self-satisfaction.

"You intended to overthrow Robert from the start?" Gerion whispered.

"You have to understand how agonizing it was to serve him and my sister. Never have I met two people who least deserved their positions," Jaime growled and shuddered as he thought back to all

the years he had been forced to stand outside their quarters.

Gerion seemed to want to say more, but he glanced at David and decided against it. David was focused on a point away from both of them and he was rubbing his cheek as he thought.

"Now, I get my information. What about this cipher business?"

This jogged David's attention and he said, "Hmm? Oh the cipher? It's not too difficult. Gerion, would you fetch some parchment? And tell Lucille that her violin playing was wonderful, but no longer necessary."

Once Gerion left and the violin ceased its playing, Jaime said, "Now, I want to know about you. Who are you? Where did you come from?"

David smiled pleasantly at him. "Not much to say, truth be told."

"You are more than you pretend to be."

"No, I'm just smarter and more fortunate than the average layman. I was born to servants at Seaguard, the seat of the Mallisters. My mother assisted the maester and my father was a blacksmith. Since my mother was close to the maester, he taught me my letters and sums. The maester was quite delighted in my intelligence and was ready to write me a recommendation to the Citadel when the War of the Ninepenny Kings broke out. I was old enough to be recruited and was thrown into that war. Even back then I didn't like killing. Eventually they realized how useless I was as a fighter and they stuck me in the healing unit that assisted maesters. Thanks to my mother's training, I found my niche and made myself invaluable. After the war was done, I headed off to the Citadel to become a maester. Unfortunately, the Citadel and I had our disagreements."

"You're a banned student?" Jaime asked, bristling.

"Such hostility," David said, though he chuckled at Jaime's alarm. "I was not banned from the Citadel. I left. I felt the Maesters were stuck in their ways when it came to healing their patients. Even though I made great gains studying herbs, their uses, and invented my own potions, they refused to have anything to do with them. I got tired of fighting them and left, crossing the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities to practice healing. I traveled around with various merchants and companies, offering healing. I would get paid by wealthy nobles and turn around and help the poor and needy. They're the ones who need it most after all."

"I eventually started to collect pupils. Julian Grey was first. He was the third son of a Westerosi minor house and had decided to travel the world when he stumbled across me. He was also a prospective maester, but decided to assist me instead. Picked up Cyrus and his wife. Eventually your uncle Gerion. So on and so forth."

The door popped up and Gerion stepped in once more with a piece of parchment, quill, ink, and a small book.

"Ah, thank you, Gerion."

"Eventually a wealthy merchant decided to sponsor us and I was able to set up a more permanent shop for a few years. Gerion here talked about going back to Westeros often, so eventually I decided to part ways with the merchant and here we are," David replied as he spread the parchment out. "Now, you can write your message out plain as day, but first you need a key to correlate the letters, so that the person with the key can decipher it when the message reaches them.

He wrote ' I am a healer ' the top of the parchment in a neat and tidy scrawl. "Now, pick a word and start it at the beginning of your alphabet. I prefer to use a passage from a book because it's unlikely for anyone to ever discover it. Make sure you know the name of the book, page, and how many paragraphs into the chapter to find your word. Be aware that if something has double letters in it then the two letters will have to correspond to only one letter. For demonstration, though, let's take your name Lannister for a moment."

He wrote Lannister out and then finished off the rest of the letters. Then he wrote another sentence that as far as Jaime could tell was absolute gibberish. Then he underlined the gibberish sentence. "This sentence corresponds with the one I wrote above it, 'I am a healer.'"

Jaime blinked and studied the parchment carefully. It was surprisingly simple. Did Varys and Littlefinger know of this? He'd never seen them write letters, but perhaps they did. He certainly never remembered seeing anything like this in either his last life or in this one. He felt a rush of blood in his veins and he shivered in excitement.

This could very well change the way all wars are fought, he thought as he continued to study the script. It simultaneously excited and terrified him.

Chapter 27 - Arya I

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: I am back! I hope your lives all went well while I was gone. I got quite a lot done, but not as much as I wanted, and I'm sorry to say that this past hiatus is unlikely to be the last. With luck that will be the longest. I also, unfortunately, renewed a job search, so my attention is once more elsewhere from this fiction. I will do my best to keep this going, but I'm getting into more difficult chapters. Some chapters have taken as long as a month to write.

Updated 4/13/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 27

Arya I

Arya tried to lean to get a better view from the tower window of Jon's party as he, her uncle, and father led a party of five hundred men out beneath the gate at Riverrun. Anyone looking at her face would find her remarkably stolid, but there was turmoil raging inside of her.

He is Jon. He will always be Jon. I will not call him Aemon, she thought, but her insides squirmed. He wasn't quite Jon either.

She had noticed something different about him ages ago. As the one in the family who knew him best, she could tell he had changed...somehow. It had been small and barely noticeable, but it tickled at the back of her mind. She could not quite place her finger on it and ultimately dismissed it. Whatever changed him had made him better. Normally he was the one trying to keep her out of trouble and to do that he often indulged in her desire to learn swordplay, though he was hardly a teacher.

But after the change, he actually began to help her. There was simply no way she would've gotten the sheep shit into Robb's bed if Jon hadn't distracted her brother. While Theon had been in Winterstown with Ros, they'd taken the opportunity to saw halfway through all of his arrows. When Theon had cursed up and down Winterfell about his arrows being worthless, Jon had stepped forward and taken the blame. Their father - or her father only now - had punished Jon with two days mucking the stalls, but whenever she'd caught his eye he'd merely grinned and winked at her.

Next they had sabotaged Sansa's lemon cakes with pepper. Arya couldn't help but howl with laughter after Sansa bit into the lemon cake and cried at the confusing flavors. She'd received a lemon cake in the face and time in her room without supper, but it had been worth it.

She liked this Jon. He was less serious and more fun. While he had been fun before, he'd always shrunk under her mother's glaring eyes, but after he barely paid her mother any attention. And that's how it should've been. She loved her mother, but it always frustrated her how unnecessarily cruel her mother could be in regards to Jon. He was about as threatening as a kitten.

But fun Jon hadn't lasted long. He had gone back to his usual cowed self when the king arrived, acting like a servant who was to be seen but not heard. It greatly annoyed her that others couldn't accept him the way she did. He was still her brother, whether nobly born or not.

And he will always be my brother, she stubbornly insisted.

Things became strange when Ser Barristan and the Kingslayer began taking notice of him. At first she was excited that people were finally recognizing the value in Jon. But once he became a squire to the Kingslayer, he sucked up most of Jon's time with chores and training.

She complained to her father about it and he had said, "Ser Jaime has given Jon a rare opportunity. You mustn't spoil it for him."

She grew to hate the Kingslayer. The king had yet to leave and she already felt her brother drifting away from her. She at least took heart that Jon would be heading south to the King's Landing with them, so they'd at least get an opportunity to talk on the road. She was itching for him to impart more knowledge to her of swordsmanship. Even as much as she hated the Kingslayer, she looked forward to learning some of his moves through Jon.

And then the incident between the Kingslayer and the Queen happened and suddenly both were to be executed.

Arya had initially been excited for the execution. She was not allowed to attend the ones her father did for deserters of the Night's Watch. Only the boys went. Hearing that she would be forced to attend to see the king's justice done made her giddy, but her happiness deflated like a pillow that lost all its feathers upon seeing the way Jon acted.

He had a row with their father, snapped at Robb, and moped around even worse than he had before. She could tell that he had respected Ser Jaime and even liked him. He'd also insisted that Jaime was innocent of the crime the king had condemned him for and it made her heart quail. She understood fairness. Her father had constantly impressed upon her the importance of being just and fair, yet here was his best friend, the king, being unjust and her father was doing nothing to stop it. In all likelihood, he couldn't stop it.

The day of the execution, her heart was in her throat. No one seemed to be happy about this. Even her own mother and father had been grim, but while Jon looked just as a grim, there was a new air about him and she thought it felt like determination. It scared her even more than the execution.

It seemed her fear had been justified when Jon ran out to stay the execution. She had known it was a death sentence and she was a hair's breadth from crying when he had openly declared himself king. Her fear had been immediately replaced with confusion. As Jon stepped into the kingship her confusion turned into flabbergast. Her father had lied to them about Jon's identity. She was reeling for the rest of that day, trying to come to terms with what happened and the prevailing emotion at the end of the day was anger . Anger on Jon's behalf.

I can't believe father wouldn't tell Jon about about his heritage for so long! He deserved to know, she thought with a terse frown. At the same time, though, Jon grew even more distant. Being king left him busy. He had even less time for her now.

Then one day she was running around the godswood with Nymeria when he called her over. She happily ran to him and hugged him. Nymeria playfully snapped at Ghost who nipped back at her. If her mother had been, she would've been scolded for not greeting the king in the appropriate manner, but Jon just laughed.

"Come. Let's go back to your room, I have a surprise for you," he said.

"What is it?" She asked.

"It's not a surprise if I tell you," he said back to her as he turned to walk away.

She and her wolf skipped after him. The wolves continually ran ahead and ran back, pawing and yipping in excitement. When they finally reached her room, she opened the door and stopped short with a gasp. A new sword was propped against her bed. She eagerly reached for it, running her hand over the soft brown leather of the grip. It had silver inlays on the handle to give it a little Stark color, but otherwise it was plain. She cracked the sheath to see the shining metal. Based on the length and width of the sword, it could only be a short sword.

"Is this for me?"

Jon smiled. It didn't seem to quite reach his eyes, but he nodded and Arya ran back to hug him.

"Does this mean that I will get to train?"

"I'm still trying to smooth things over with uncle. It's important that you be prepared for what's to come. There may be a time when we all need to fight, not just the men. I'll feel better if you're prepared for it," he said.

Her smile fell from her face. "What are you talking about?"

"Never mind that now. I have something else to tell you. Call it good news and bad news. The sword was the good news and this...this is the bad news."

"Jon," she eyed him warily. She hated being left out of important things because she was young or a girl. I thought you had my back, her expression screamed.

"We're preparing for war, Arya. As king, I have to unite the Seven Kingdoms. I need all the allies I can get."

"Why do you have to be the king on the Iron Throne? You could stay and rule here," Arya pleaded. She did not like the idea of her family heading south.

He merely shook his head against her protests. "Only a Stark can rule from Winterfell and I'm a Targaryen. Besides, it is important that the Seven Kingdoms be united. It's the Gods' will."

"How can you know that?"

"Because they gave me a vision. A vision of what is to come and one of those visions included me sitting on the iron throne."

"You're a Stark and you'll always be a Stark," she protested.

He smiled sadly. "I'm relieved you think that. I may need someone to remind me from time to time." He paused again the smile dissipated. "I need allies, Arya. I've proposed betrothals for Robb and Sansa to marry into the Tyrell family."

Her frown grew deeper. "You didn't…"

"I have proposed nothing in regards to you, however a potential betrothal between you and the Prince Tristayne Martell of Dorne is on the table. I thought you should know."

Arya's mouth dropped open. Her father had told her of what falling into an icy stream felt like and at that moment she could claim she knew that feeling. A biting cold swept through her and she could feel the vicious pinpricks of the icy water on her skin.

"Arya?" Jon reached out for her and she abruptly pulled away.

"How could you?" She whispered. Her heart pounded wildly. Like a cornered rabbit, she looked for a place to run, but this wasn't a physical threat. This was not something she could run from.

"I haven't sent the Martells anything about a marriage. I'm just informing you that it's on the table. Please, Arya, I don't want to do this anymore than you. If you recall, Dorne doesn't mind training the women there to fight. You'd be right at home."

"But that's not my home! I'm a wolf in the North. I belong here!" she cried, gripping the sheath of her short sword so tightly, her fingers were white. Nymeria whined and put her head in her lap, but Arya paid her no heed. "You know I don't want to marry! Why are you doing this?"

She could see the hurt building in his eyes, but he remained stoic, determined. "Because I have to. Westeros must be united."

Tears were building up in her eyes and her lips were trembling. I will not cry. I will not , she thought, but the first tear slid down her cheek.

Jon continued to stare at her and wiped her tear away with a gentle nudge of his thumb. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her.

"GET OUT," she shouted.

He grimaced and nodded. "I hope you'll see fit to forgive me someday," he said. Then he closed the door.

Clack! The sword, hilt and all, crashed against the door as she threw it after him. No longer able to contain her sobs, she grabbed Nymeria into a fierce hug and sobbed into her fur.

That had been nearly four months ago and she had yet to say a word to Jon since. Her father had come to her and lectured her about doing her duty to her family and to her king.

"The next time I hear you shouted at your king, there will be punishment," her father had said with eyes as hard as stone.

Thankfully, she hadn't any need to talk with Jon, not that he hadn't tried. He would never, however, order her to speak to him, so she took advantage of that and remained mute in his presence. She knew it hurt him. It wasn't difficult to see the weight he bore seeming to get heavier and heavier, but she didn't care.

He is my brother and my family and he betrayed me, she thought with gritted teeth and clenched fists.

"Arya? There you are," Sansa floated into the room with a disapproving frown on her face. Her hair was up in an intricate southern style and her dress was blue to honor her Tully heritage. "Why weren't you there to see King Aemon and father off? You can't just hide away during ceremony. Father has commanded Septa Mordane to punish you as she sees fit."

"I don't care," she declared. "There's nothing she can do that will change my mind."

"I'm getting married too and you don't see me throwing a fit like a child about it. It is our duty as ladies," Sansa lectured, staring down her nose at her little sister. "When will you grow up?"

"When will you grow a brain?! Weren't you barely four months ago mooning over Joffrey?"

Sansa's mouth fell agape. "I was not mooning over Joffrey!"

"Yes, you were! You'll moon over anyone with a pretty face!"

Her sister's face bloomed scarlet and she bit back, "You'll sooner sleep with dogs. I never heard of a noble house that wanted a wildling savage for a bride."

"Good! Maybe I'll do that then," Arya replied, rushing over to grab her sword.

"Where are you going? We have sewing!"

"Well, I have swordplay to learn from Dacey Mormont. You know, a woman warrior! No one tells her what to do!"

"King Aemon does. Because she knows her duty," Sansa said with a huff.

Arya ran from the room, her face contorted into a snarl. There was that word again: duty . She hated it. Why did the reputation of House Stark lie so much on that one word?

I will never marry! Never, she screamed her internal frustrations. If she was so certain, why did the words feel so hollow?

Chapter 28 - Jaime IX

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: I ended up having to split some of these upcoming chapters in two, starting with this one. They were getting to be so long. This chapter and the next one ended up totaling 24 pages and I write single-spaced. I'm sure a good editor would be horrified at how much seemingly unnecessary stuff I leave in, but since this is not a professional work with professional publishing, I edit very little out. Enjoy!

Chapter 28

Jaime IX

Jaime rode up to High Garden with all the swagger of a new king, his spirit soaring into the heavens. Once again he was wearing a Lannister crimson leather jerkin, complete with black trousers with a gold stripe up the leg, and a black and crimson cape behind him. Pod sat on a horse looking uncomfortable dressed in a usual brown jerkin and dark trousers with only a heraldry patch indicating he was of House Payne. He had forgotten that Pod was unfamiliar with horses and could only barely keep things together. It was only because the horses they'd ridden on were so well trained and well bred that they hadn't given him issue. Gerion was flanking him on his other side, sitting ramrod straight. He had given Jaime a crooked smile when they first jumped on their horses and it remained there.

His one hundred Lannister soldiers looked resplendent in their armor, lined up in their columns with the extraordinary discipline that Tywin Lannister had schooled in them.

Behind them the ragtag nomads known as the Shepherds followed on horses provided by High Garden with a large wheelhouse to bear the women, children, and a merchant's carriage full of goods. He had not missed the puzzled look on Garlan Tyrell's face as they followed the Lannister party.

Under different circumstances, Jaime might be embarrassed, but nothing could tarnish his good mood. Rhaegar's harp was once more securely fastened to his back and he relished in its comfortable weight. A week before making landfall, Jaime had stepped onto the deck one morning and very nearly went into shock at the sight before him. The musician Cyrus had the case of the harp next to him and he was cradling it in his lap like a babe while he cautiously plucked at its strings, adjusting the tuners.

Jaime's blood surged and his vision filmed over red as he stomped over to the man. Cyrus had only looked up when he was on top of him, but he quailed under the murderous glare as Jaime leaned over him.

"Y-yes?"

"That's mine," Jaime snarled.

"What? But I found it!"

"He means it was his before the Ironborn stole it from him," David stepped in to rescue his follower. He didn't quite dare try placing a restraining hand on Jaime, but he was looking at him warily as if he expected him to demand the man's head.

Cyrus deflated. "Oh. Right. I, uh, I apologize. H-here," he said, carefully strapping the harp back into its case, handing it back to Jaime like his firstborn had been demanded of him.

"Did you not see the Targaryen Seal?!"

Cyrus scowled at him. "I'm not familiar with Westerosi houses and seals!"

"You have it back, that's what matters," David said, trying to diffuse the situation.

Jaime was still glaring when he turned and rushed the harp back down to his room, locking it in the chest that typically housed their pillows and blankets, pocketing the key. When he returned, Cyrus was still sitting on the deck looking morose. His daughter awkwardly patted his shoulder.

"You still have us, father."

"A poor consolation prize to be sure," he replied.

She swatted him and he chuckled before finally getting to his feet. She dashed off below deck and came back with both of their violins in hand. They played duets the rest of the day, easing much of Jaime's ire. More than his ire was the overwhelming emotion he felt at not failing to keep the harp safe. For what was sure a first time, he thanked the gods for the Ironborn's sticky fingers.

Unlike the Lannisters, the entirety of the Tyrells stood outside their home awaiting his arrival. Plump and pompous Mace Tyrell stood at the front with his chest thrown out like he was a prized rooster. His son and heir, Willas Tyrell, stood next to him, standing straight with his right hand resting on a polished cane. His chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a simple pony tail and he was studying Jaime like a scholar studies a specimen. Lady Alerie Tyrell stood next to her firstborn and was arm-in-arm with Margaery Tyrell. While the mother had a small graceful smile, Margaery beamed and was as radiant as the sun. Lady Olenna Tyrell stood on her granddaughter's other side, not even attempting to look anything other than bored. Her bodyguards, right and left, stood respectfully behind her along with the rest of the household.

Jaime's good mood dampened as he looked them over and thought about their fate in the other life. His sister murdered half the family when she blew up the Sept and then he had completed the job for her when he sacked High Garden. As far as he knew, the only one to escape unscathed was Garlan Tyrell and his wife. All the rest were slaughtered like cattle.

If I deserve to rot in the seventh level of hell for one crime, it's for aiding and abetting my sister in their destruction, he thought miserably. That had, by far, been his bleakest moments. His sister had treated them cruelly the entire time they were in King's Landing and he had done nothing other than support her. He was the stupidest Lannister indeed for not seeing his sister's madness sooner.

He brought his spirits back up again by just imagining Robb Stark's face when he saw his betrothed for the first time. Jaime dismounted when Ser Garlan did, followed closely by Pod and Gerion.

"Lord Jaime, I would be pleased to present to you my father, Lord Mace Tyrell."

"Lord Tyrell," Jaime said with a carefully schooled expression.

"Lord Jaime, I welcome you to my home," Mace replied rather stiffly. His voice was steady, but a yellowish blue indicating the stress or nerves he was feeling beneath his calm demeanor. He waved his hand forward and as was custom, servants presented the bread and salt. Jaime obliged, dipping the bread in salt and taking a small bite. The guestright ritual caused his stomach to turn to lead now that it was tainted with his recollections of the Red Wedding incident.

"May I present to you my family: My firstborn Willas Tyrell. He breeds the finest horses in the Seven Kingdoms."

Willas close his eyes for the briefest of moments in what could only be exasperation. "I am pleased to see you are here and in good health. When you had not arrived on time, we wrote your king. He has quite a lot of faith in you, my Lord," the young man said to him. His voice was as deep and blue as the ocean, but his face and voice were just as carefully schooled as Jaime's.

Jaime felt his face soften and his heart sing. It felt good to know someone had faith in him yet again after so many years of being forced to trust no one. He fretted over Aemon's welfare. Although he knew he was in good hands with his uncle and Ser Barristan at his side, he felt like he was abandoning his own son to go to war and was forced to pray that he would remain unscathed. Aemon was also a settling presence and his words had a habit of cooling Jaime's volatile temper. Cyrus and his family's music were currently the only things that could soothe him, especially since he'd had to spend so long unable to train.

"The king is kind and honorable. Your worries were not without justification. I had a...minor run- in with an Ironborn ship," Jaime replied.

Willas gasped. "The Ironborn are typically not so bold."

"These ones were and they have paid for it with their lives," Jaime said, his voice ending in a growl. He only regretted that he hadn't had the opportunity to kill more of them.

"Move along! Some of us would rather return to their comfortable chairs," Lady Olenna barked from down the line.

"Grandmother," Willas said, but it was spoken in a bored tone, clearly knowing his admonishments would go unheeded.

"You know better than to 'grandmother' me."

"My apologies, my lord."

"The reputation of the Queen of Thorns precedes her," Jaime replied, bored of the introductions himself. He was never one for diplomacy, but he was bound and determined not to fail Aemon.

"My beautiful wife, Alerie Tyrell," Mace continued.

"Lord Jaime, we do hope you'll find High Garden hospitable." Unlike her husband, her voice was a gentle sky blue.

"Thank you, my Lady," he replied. He turned up the Lannister charm and smiled at her, placing a gentle kiss on her hand. "Although I have not seen High Garden yet, I doubt it's any lovelier than you."

He saw the surprised in her eyes, before it was quickly hidden, but then she smiled more widely and said, "You're too kind, my Lord."

"My daughter and golden flower, Margaery."

"Welcome to High Garden! I do hope you'll be staying with us for the time being. I am eager to see the greatest sword in the Seven Kingdoms train," she replied in a playful green voice.

"Margaery," Lady Alerie admonished, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

"What? I want to see so I can compare him to Loras!"

"As much as I love our brother, Margaery, I rather doubt Loras is better than Lord Jaime," Willas said with a rueful smile.

"I imagine my stay will depend entirely on how the negotiations go," Jaime said, casting a brief eye over to Mace and Willas. The former looked stern and would be forbidding if Jaime didn't think him such a fool, but Willas' carefully crafted demeanor revealed nothing about the kind of mood they were in. They seemed susceptible, but only the actual negotiations would tell.

"Careful, girl, he plans to marry you to the king's cousin, not take you as his bride himself," Olenna said to Margaery tartly, watching him with a sharp eye.

"Grandmother, nothing prevents me from watching the men train," Margaery replied demurely.

Jaime closed his eyes, struggling to reel in his impatience.

"I think we've been out here long enough. Our guests no doubt wish to freshen up before the feast tonight," Garlan said.

"Yes, let's," Jaime jumped on the opening. "Allow me to introduce my uncle, Gerion Lannister."

Olenna Tyrell actually gaped for a moment and then laughed, "Gerion Lannister! The last anyone heard of you, your ship was wrecked in Volantis."

"The reports of my shipwreck and possible death were greatly exaggerated," he replied with a crooked smile.

"I'd be curious to hear of your travels through the Free Cities," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Perhaps another time, my lady," Gerion replied at the stony look Jaime gave him.

"This is my squire, Podrick of House Payne."

Podrick shuffled closer and gave a slight bow. Margaery directed her smile at him and he blushed, casting his eyes to the ground. Margaery seemed undeterred and offered her hand to Podrick. He grabbed it and planted such a chaste kiss, Jaime wasn't even sure his lips had actually touched her skin. "My Lady," he said, his voice a wobbly yellow. He'd have to school the boy on how to properly greet lords and ladies.

"How very fortunate for you to be chosen by the great Lord Jaime Lannister as his squire," Margaery said.

"Y-yes, my lady. I'm very fortunate," Pod replied and he tried to stand a little straighter.

It only just occurred to Jaime that Pod might receive a little undue scrutiny for being his one of two

squires, after he had turned down Loras Tyrell. He'd already outlasted Aemon as his squire. He hoped his words on the boat before their capture made Podrick confident enough in himself to believe it was a position that was offered rightfully to him.

"And that colorful bunch?" Olenna asked, throwing the Shepherds a look of bored disdain.

Jaime turned and saw David dismount with a spryness that defied his age and walk up to them boldly. "Our colorful bunch is known as the Shepherds. I am David Reeft, the leader, and without a doubt the best healer this side of Westeros," he said, cocking his head in an arrogant way and a challenging smile.

Jaime glared at the healer. "Forgive David his rudeness. My uncle has been traveling with this group and they were the ones to free me and Pod from the Ironborn. As the saying goes, a Lannister always pays his debts, so they are accompanying me."

"Are you sure he's not another Lannister? Certainly sounds like one," Olenna scoffed.

"I saw a creature once called the Thorny Devil. Are you sure there's no relation?" David replied his eyes glittering with scorn.

"David," Jaime shouted. If he had his way, the damned healer would be stuffed in a trunk for the rest of the visit with food shoved in through a hole at the top.

Olenna's eyes widened at the insult, but then she laughed. When she was finally able to speak, she said, "Oh, I like this one! Too many curtsy, doff, and weedle, never saying what they mean. It's a breath of fresh air. Come with me, I'm curious to hear what kind of stories you can tell." She reached over and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the rest of the crew.

Jaime glared and then glanced at his uncle who looked both alarmed and contrite at once. He flicked his eyes over the rest of the Shepherds and they all had expressions that were a combination of shock and awe. They cringed when they saw his eyes.

"H-how dare he insult my mother! I want him punished," Mace bellowed.

"I feel grandmother would object to that," Willas said wryly. "I do not envy the first target that crosses their path."

"I apologize for his behavior. I've never seen him act like that," Jaime said, still simmering with anger.

"See to it that it does not happen again," Mace blustered.

"It was inappropriate and we expect better behavior as he and his group remain guests here. Emphasize that it should not happen again," Willas said, but there was no fire to his voice. "Please, follow Margaery. She'll lead you to your quarters. Marla, please see that the Shepherds are placed in the guest servants quarters." A plump young woman approached the closest man of the Shepherd's that Jaime hadn't caught the name of yet.

Lady Margaery stepped forward and wrapped her arm around Podrick and began dragging him away, chatting the whole time. Jaime and Gerion followed. Others might object to her grabbing someone other than the Hand of the King, but as he was still simmering in his anger and thoughts, he was grateful for her tact. What the hell does that healer think he's playing at? He had heard many times from Cersei and even Tyrion how prickly the Queen of Thorns was, but that gave a healer with no status no right to engage her like an equal.

Jaime barely noticed the room they set him up in and was just grateful for a bed that didn't sway with the ocean waves. Pod and Gerion were just across the hall. He only vaguely heard his uncle requesting them baths. He wanted desperately to collapse on his bed, feeling shaky from the introductions. This is not my strength. I'm doing this because you need me to, Aemon, Jaime thought, releasing a long slow breath. What he wouldn't give for another knowledgeable soul to be present. His uncle was never good with diplomacy and had been too long from Westeros to be of any real help. Podrick, of course, was just a boy. He was the Hand, he was expected to carry the air of authority and knowledge.

The bath did allow him to relax and he stayed in it for sometime before he was forced to pull himself out and ready for the feast that evening. He ended up going to Pod's room and giving him whispered instructions as to what would be expected. The vast majority of it boiled down to: "Let me do the talking." Pod might be engaged and in that circumstance, his topics were limited to speaking of his training with Jaime, about his House, and the boring parts of their journey to the Reach.

He knew the Tyrells loved extravagance and displayed their wealth at every opportunity, but even as a Lannister he felt it excessive. The halls were decked out in the Tyrell house colors of green and gold, with tapestries and gold filigree everywhere. Servants were waiting on the wings to be brought forth with a mere snap of the fingers and there were ten courses to the meal.

Lady Olenna invited David Reeft to sit up at the main table, but he declined in favor of sitting with the rest of the Shepherds. Unlike in Winterfell, where noblemen and soldiers occasionally rubbed elbows together, the hall was empty of all but the most important family members. Jaime watched Gerion look longing after David as he left the hall, seemingly split between being with his real family and his adopted one, but Jaime saw David give a small shake of his head and his uncle sat back with a sigh.

Jaime leaned over and whispered, "I need you here, uncle. I need your stories to be the source of entertainment. I can't carry this by myself."

"Very well, Jaime. I know how important it is for you to succeed," Gerion replied in an equally low voice.

The hall was a cacophony of gold yellows and greens as the voices floated up and around, pinging against the walls and bouncing back. It seemed any large gathering of humans was difficult to stand as the colors overwhelmed him. He had to fight to keep his attention wandering and focused on his hosts instead of following the colors that no one else could see.

Initially the conversation was very limited as they ate. There were entertainers, jugglers, musicians, and acrobats dancing through the halls, but once they were deeper into their courses, Willas finally spoke up and said, "Lord Jaime, I realize the negotiations start tomorrow, but I feel it is necessary to get the full story of how King Aemon Targaryen came to take his throne."

Jaime seemed to mull the question as he took a sip of his wine, but in reality he was stalling to delay the uncomfortable truth: he would have to tell them about his raping by his sister. Every ounce of his being protested the idea, but were it to be left out, people would assume that he had been on the block ready for execution for a legitimate reason. It's not like his raping was a secret, it was simply information that had yet to filter down this far. The only aspect he found comfortable about it being public knowledge was that it could not be used as blackmail material at least.

He closed his eyes and collected himself, breathing in and breathing out. He took another sip of his wine. Everyone seemed to be waiting with bated breath.

"I'm just going to state right now that this isn't particularly good dinner conversation, but it needs to be said. It's publicly known in the North how Aemon came to be king, so here it is."

He launched into the explanation before he could second guess himself, starting with his injury by the bear. Margaery, her mother and Garlan Tyrell's wife gasped as he explained about the raping.

Willas Tyrell's face drained of all color and his fork shook in his hand. Garlan gaped. Even old Mace seemed disturbed. Olenna Tyrell was the most collected, but her lips were pursed in a terse frown and she looked troubled. His uncle Gerion had a pinched expression and Pod now just stirred around his food on his plate looking upset.

Then he explained how Aemon ran out to prevent Ser Illyn Payne from taking his head, how Aemon de-handed Ser Illyn, and he died from his subsequent injuries. He further explained how Aemon had convinced his uncle to back him and they made sure that Robert's men were kept to a minimum during the execution to make sure Robert surrendered quickly. It was explained how Ned secreted Aemon away to the North under the guise of his bastard.

"Hmm, Ned Stark has... changed . I never would have expected him to turn against his friend Robert," Lady Olenna stated, her gaze far off into the distance.

Jaime made no comment. He was very leery of Lady Olenna. He understood the reason for her poisoning Joffrey and that the domino effect of the deaths that followed had benefited her and also backfired on her, since it led to the death of the rest of her family. But she was plenty cunning without Jaime helping.

He didn't care about decorum as he took another long draught of his wine and then instantly had it refilled. The Tyrell family was looking at him with a mixture of shock and pity. It made his ears burn and he wished for nothing more than to duck out of the rest of the feast.

"If-if I had been aware of the details, I wouldn't have asked you to convey that. Please forgive me, my lord," Willas said.

"It's public knowledge. You would have found out eventually," Jaime replied in a dead voice, studying his own plate of food with unmatched intensity.

An uncomfortable silence filled the hall, which Gerion broke, "Who would like to hear about the time I stowed aboard a merchant ship disguised as a slave?"

Jaime snorted. Phrased that way, the topic didn't sound any better than what they were discussing. He had no doubt his uncle had censored a good chunk of the story, but it had the desired effect of putting smiles and laughs back on the Tyrell's faces. As there was little else to do on the ship, Jaime had asked Gerion for his stories, so he paid little attention to them now.

At some point, Cyrus' twin boys, Monterion and Matthias, got up to the raised dais off to the side and played a duet on cellos and Jaime felt himself relax, listening to the rich sounds. Music also emanated in colors and right now the boys were playing a simultaneously soothing and energetic piece, so that soundwaves of blue and green filled the hall.

As the guest of honor, Jaime was forbidden to leave early and so he suffered several more hours of conversation and entertainment. Instead of talking politics or the current situation, however, he ended up speaking with Garlan and Willas Tyrell about weapons and to a lesser extent animal breeding. He would in all likelihood need a new horse and since Willas Tyrell was famous for breeding some of the best horses in the land, he was especially attentive.

Finally, the Tyrells broke for bed. Margaery Tyrell once more led them to their rooms. Jaime almost collapsed against the door and listened to the sounds of the crackling fire in the grate. Peace and quiet at last, he thought. He took a moment to once more center himself. Large noisy gatherings like a feast weren't enough to trigger his headaches, but they were an exhausting event all the same. He changed into sleep pants, but since the weather was still quite warm, he left off the shirt. He was just slipping a knife under his pillow when he felt the rough texture of parchment. He snatched it up and unfurled it:

The Ironborn have been spotted off the coast. Be wary.

It was a tidy and perfectly legible script. He studied it intensely for a few moments, wondering if it perhaps had a message more hidden than the obvious. He eventually decided it didn't and tossed it into the grate of his fireplace to be consumed.

Too little too late, Varys, he thought with only a trace amount of bitterness. The script may not have had a hidden meaning, but the message suggested hidden truths all the same. Varys had accepted his bargain. He could now rely on the Spider to do his bidding in the Red Keep and since the Spider knew about the Ironborn, he felt it was safe to assume that Baelish had indeed sent them. Or Varys is playing two games; he sent them and then warned me too late about them, he mused sardonically. That was getting complicated and while the Spider was sly, he was reasonably trustworthy in his previous life. It made much more sense that Baelish was the fiend responsible for his imprisonment with the Ironborn.

He gritted his teeth. Could he trust Varys? He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and as he did so, a plan formed in his mind. It would rely very heavily on Varys' loyalty. He turned it over in his mind. War is always risky. This is the best shot we have of taking King's Landing with minimal bloodshed.

Jaime was going to do it.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself from his bed and knocked on Pod's door. He waited a few moments and knocked again. The boy answered, blinking his eyes blearily. "Pod, I need you to find David Reeft and bring him to me."

"Yes, ser, um, I mean, m'lord," he replied. He closed the door for a moment and then opened to reveal himself mostly dressed, with his shirt hanging loose, and he dashed down the halls.

Jaime went back to his room to wait. It took some time, likely because Pod was unfamiliar with the castle, but eventually there was a knock. Jaime opened the door and ushered them in silently.

"What is it you want, my Lord?" David said, looking irritable and exhausted, though he had yet to change out of his clothes.

Jaime was quiet for a moment, wrestling with himself about whether he could trust this man. David at least gave him the space to be quiet. Jaime finally said, "I need a favor."

"You're certainly asking a lot of me."

Jaime scowled. "Trust me, if I had my way, I'd never ask anything of you again. But this could mean the safe taking of King's Landing with minimal loss of life on both sides."

David huffed. "Certainly a worthy goal. What do you want?"

"I need to get a message to someone inside the Red Keep. I can't use ravens. I can't trust that it'll actually reach them."

David rubbed his chin as he thought. Then he snapped his fingers and said, "I have just the man. Young Pod, would you go fetch Cyrus for me? His family's in the door across the hall from me. Take care you don't wake the children. I don't need Delphine breathing down my neck."

"Yes, ser," the boy said and was off again.

As soon as the door shut, Jaime fixed him with a hard stare. "While I have you alone, don't you dare do anything that stupid again."

"Hmm?" David glanced up at him.

"Insulting the Lady Olenna? Are you mad? You could have ruined the negotiations with that stunt. Never do that again," Jaime whispered fiercely.

David glared back. "Do you know why I'm such a good healer?"

"I don't care."

"It's because I am very good at reading people. I read the situation. Whatever Lord Tyrell thinks, his mother runs the house, not him. You want your negotiations to go through, you have to please her. While I'm sure you made a good impression between lords, she was standing over on the far end, rotting of boredom. She needed someone to challenge her and it's clear that everyone is too busy bound by social constraints to do so. A no-name healer with no political capital is the perfect person to smash social conventions. So that's what I did."

"I don't care how you think it might have helped. I am the Hand of the King. It is my job to secure the Tyrells as allies. If you don't run something like that by me before doing it, I will cast you out of my sight."

David glared for a moment then sighed. "I apologize for at least not informing you ahead of time. I know how intent you are on doing your duty to your king. Your uncle lectured me too."

"Never did I think I would hear that my uncle - a man known for not taking a situation seriously - lecturing someone else about proper etiquette," Jaime said, turning angrily away from the man. A tense silence fell between them as they waited.

Cyrus finally entered and while he looked tired, he was all business. "What seems to be the issue?"

Pod peered in from the door and Jaime said, "Stand at the door and make sure no one listens in from that side. I'll let you know when we're done here." He then turned to Cyrus. "Keep your voice down. All walls have ears. I need you to go to King's Landing, get into the Red Keep, and

deliver a message for me."

Cyrus blinked at him. "That doesn't sound too difficult."

"It's being besieged, at the moment. You'll have to sneak in," David said.

"Can you do it?"

"Let me guess, you want me to sneak in under the guise of a musician and entertain the troops, is that your angle here?" Cyrus looked pointedly at David.

"Nothing you haven't done before."

"Sure, but not in the middle of a siege."

He's done something like this before. Why would he need to do that? Alarm bells were ringing in Jaime's head, but he shook it to ignore it. He didn't have the option to second guess himself. "We don't have any ships to blockade the harbor. You should be able to get in by sea. Grab a ship from a port and take it to King's Landing. I'm sure they must have supply ships that are bringing in food."

"Okay, am I to just deliver a message?"

"Yes, but you also need to prep the Red Keep. I'm going to see if we can sneak in through hidden tunnels, but I have to get the king's approval first."

"How the hell are you going to let me know what you're doing? I can't just wait at the tunnels every night."

Jaime rubbed his forehead trying to think. "Well…"

"I know, if you get approval from the king, raise our flag the day you intend to sneak in," David said.

"Your flag?"

"I'll show you sometime."

"And if you aren't going into the tunnels?"

"Find a hiding place in the Red Keep and pray," Jaime said.

"That's comforting," Cyrus groused. "So what message do you want me to bring?"

"You know how to do the cypher trick, right?"

"Of course."

"I'll write you something in cypher. Bear with me, I'm not the best at writing."

Jaime pulled up a couple parchments of paper. He wrote the keyword to his cypher on one sheet and then the alphabet out. It was indeed slow going. David and Cyrus helped him understand the trick better and finally he sealed and stamped the parchment.

"When do you want me to leave?"

"Right now."

"Now?!" Cyrus stared and groaned.

"You need time to get to the Red Keep. You have to go now."

"What about my price?"

Jaime blinked. He'd gotten so used to David asking for nothing that he really expected his men to be the same way. "What do you want?"

"That harp."

"That is my king's." Cyrus remained silent, seemingly torn. "Tell you what, the king and I will raise you to a lordship and you can buy your own damn harp."

Any normal person would have leapt at the idea of being a lord, but Cyrus actually thought about it before nodding. "Fine, but I am telling my family farewell. I'll never forgive myself if I die and I just left without saying anything."

"Fine," Jaime gritted through his teeth. He dug through his things and loaded up a bag of gold dragons. "Use this to get you a horse and buy your passage. Don't you dare tell your family what you're doing or where you're going."

"I'm smarter than that, Lord Jaime," Cyrus sniped at him, snatching the letter out of his hand.

Jaime felt it best that he not see off his infiltrator. It'd be suspicious enough that one of David's men left in the middle of the night. Instead, he finally went to bed, but he couldn't help but notice a pale aura on the horizon. Dawn was already here. He groaned. Negotiations were going to be held just after breakfast. He took to his bed only for Cersei to trouble him once more.

Jaime cracked open an eye. Judging by the light of the sun spilling in, he hadn't slept more than a handful of hours. He groaned, rolled onto his back, and rubbed a spot just above his eye.

He had a headache.

The negotiations have been delayed long enough. I can't delay them again, he thought. Hopefully, they would be done by the time he had his seizure and then he could seclude himself away from the Tyrells for the rest of the day.

He forcefully rolled out of bed and began readying himself. When he stepped out into the hallway he nearly ran into Cyrus's wife, Delphine. She was standing outside his door with her hands on her

hips, giving him a cross look. He glanced up and down the hall to find it empty, then whispered, "How long have you been here?"

"Not long," she said in a low, threatening red tone.

"What can I do for you?" His voice pulsed orange with impatience and irritation.

"I want you to know that if anything should happen to Cyrus, you won't live long enough to regret it," she snarled at him.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "It's treason to threaten the Hand of the King."

Instead of answering, she merely raised her head up to look down her nose at him, just like any Westerosi noble lady, before turning to glide through the halls.

He shook his head of her presence, wincing at the throb in his skull. The headache reached a new level, as morning light suffused the hallway. Though the sun had only just risen, there was already a stifling warmth to the air, and Jaime wished he could simply shed himself of his shirt.

He found the hall with little trouble this time around. The Lady Olenna, Mace Tyrell, and his wife had already sat down to eat their breakfast. Lady Alerie gasped upon seeing him and said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Lord Jaime. We would have gladly sent Margaery to escort you."

"It's no trouble. You need not worry yourselves over it," he responded. He was satisfied with the slight wavering blue of his voice, assured that his pain and discomfort were well hidden. David, Cyrus' family, and a few others were already seated at their own table. All of the Tyrells, save for Margaery were also already present. His uncle and Podrick were missing, but he merely shrugged that off. Poor Podrick was up half the night guarding his door from eavesdroppers; he needed a lie- in.

"Well, looks like the Hand of the King finally felt to grace us with his presence," Olenna Tyrell said. "My, you look exhausted. Were the beds not comfortable enough for you, my lord?"

Jaime flickered his eyes over to the Queen of Thorns. Her voice was all green with her excitement and mocking. It wouldn't surprise him at all if she knew he'd been up all night sending out people on important errands. "On the contrary, I've become so used to my bed swaying that it bothered

me when it didn't." He locked eyes with her, desperately trying to read her face.

"Pardon my tardiness. I am pleased you didn't wait for me," Margaery said with her usual smile, floating into the hall in a beautiful and airy lavender gown, her hair done up in an intricate style. It broke the tension and Lady Olenna turned to glare at her granddaughter.

Jaime quietly closed his eyes and turned to his breakfast. He never had an appetite when his headaches were lurking, but he grabbed a hearty breakfast all the same. He needed to keep his weight and his muscles up in this timeline.

When Gerion joined him a few minutes later, he nodded at him in greeting. Then he leaned over and muttered, "The negotiations are after breakfast. I would appreciate if you could attend them with me."

He looked at Jaime with a raised eyebrow. "You want me there?"

"Yes, you're a Lannister. Just sit and don't say anything. I imagine Mace Tyrell, Willas, and Lady Olenna will be at the negotiations. I may be the Hand of the King and the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, but I can't just sit on one side and have them all on the other side. The power dynamics would be off."

Gerion blinked at him. "I never thought you would take stock in things like that."

"It's been ten years since we last spoke, uncle. You'll find I've learned some things," Jaime replied, unable to hide the mocking in his voice.

Gerion snorted with laughter. "Imagine that."

After breakfast, Lord Tyrell seemed to think that heading straight to negotiations on a full stomach was bad for everyone's constitution, so it was delayed yet another hour. Jaime wondered if Mace was actually smart enough to attempt a power play to fray Jaime's temper. If so, it was working. He went outside to a courtyard and watched the children play, leaning against a wall out of the sun. The twin boys and Podrick had wooden swords in their hands and his uncle and Callum were patiently taking them through the steps. The girl, Lucille, was sitting in the grass wearing a decidedly smug smile. He couldn't hide a smile as Gerion showered Podrick with praise for his foot placement and grip.

"My Lord," Jaime snapped his head to his side and couldn't hide the wince at the sharp pain that stabbed through him.

Lady Margaery smiled at him. "My father is ready for you. Shall I show you the way?"

Jaime called Gerion over and then offered his arm as was the polite thing to do.

"Lord Jaime, would you be so kind to tell me of King Aemon Targaryen? I'm sure I wasn't the only one who was shocked to learn another Targaryen lived."

"He's a dragon raised by wolves. He has so much of the usual Stark honor that it practically pours from his veins. He's clever though."

"A maiden's dream?"

Jaime cast her a wry look. "He's some maiden's dream."

She tried desperately not to look irritated, much to Jaime's amusement. "That's something, I suppose. If it's not too much, once the negotiations are complete, I want to hear more." She knocked on the door and then opened it.

Jaime watched her leave with a pleased smile. Gerion was standing there and raised an eyebrow at him in question. Jaime just shook his head and pushed the door open.

Mace Tyrell, Willas, and Olenna were already seated at an oblong table on one side.

"Well, Gerion, what brings you to the table. I wasn't aware you'd been back for long. Do you support this Targaryen king?" Lady Olenna asked.

Gerion seated himself across from her and said, "I'm here for the view of course." He smiled and raised his eyebrows at her.

Did the Lady Olenna actually blush? Jaime would have been intrigued except another offhand

comment from his side started the negotiations. Why can't my uncle take something serious for an hour? He thought, having to fight to keep himself from rubbing his head both in exasperation and agony. His stomach was starting to churn as the headache intensified. He instead closed his eyes and counted as he breathed.

For once, Mace Tyrell didn't bother saying anything, but just frowned over at Gerion. Then he said in orange tones, "First things first, I want to know why my golden rose is unfit to be queen to the Targaryen king."

"Father, please," Willas said. His voice though mostly blue was tinged purple with anxiety.

"Mace, don't be more of an embarrassment than you already are," his mother snapped. "Mind, he does need a queen, but I assume he has one in mind." Olenna's voice was like a whip crack of forest green for her mocking.

"Indeed, he does, my lady. Surely a house as loyal to the Targaryens as you were in the past are aware that Aemon still has two living family members."

Willas and Olenna glanced at each other and then nodded. "Though I had heard that the girl - Daenerys was it? - was married off to some horse lord."

"Oh? That's mere speculation and rumor. I suggest checking with your sources again," Jaime said. His own voice went from a measured teal to a yellow-green with the lie. You better be right about this Aemon, he thought. They needed that horse lord to be dead before the year was out and according to Aemon, that's what was going to happen. He hoped his small lie merely muddied the waters. "Aemon intends to re-establish the Targaryen bloodline."

"Presuming of course that he is Targaryen," Olenna said with a terse frown.

"You received the journal by Septon Maynard, correct?" He was starting to sweat and it had nothing to do with the pressure of the negotiations. He struggled to keep breathing evenly. Gerion gave an odd look, but he ignored it.

"We did and I have read it front to cover, more than once. It is an impressive find, but it is merely one account. What corroborating evidence is there?" Willas said.

"Lord Stark himself. He was there when his dying sister gave birth. She gave King Aemon to him and begged him to keep him safe." His own voice was beginning to waver in purple tones. The light was getting sharper, harder on the eyes.

"Hmm...Lord Stark is known to be an honorable man. How interesting that this is the lie he slips past everyone," Lady Olenna said with not a little bit of glee.

"Lord Jaime, are you well?" Willas asked.

"I'm f-fine." Did he really just stutter? He could feel his heartbeat in his ears and the light pouring in was only getting brighter.

"Jaime?" Gerion touched his arm. "What's happening?"

"Oh shit nooooo." He moaned and buried his face in his hands, trying to regain control, but it was like a boulder rolling down a hill. Once it started, there was simply no stopping it. "D-don't panic I'll be f-f-fff-"

The world went white and the last thing he heard was his uncle scream, "Jaime!"

Chapter 29 - Jaime X

Chapter Summary

Author's Notes: Thank you all, once more, for your comments, alerts, kudos, and favorites! Fun fact, this story totals 280 pages and that includes all complete chapters, even ones that have not yet been posted. This is easily the longest story I've ever written and there's still so much more to write! I hope you'll all continue to still follow this! =D

Chapter 29

Jaime X

He awoke to the cool compress of a stone beneath his face. His breathing was now slow and even and he was loathe to open his eyes. He could hear voices mumbling nearby and despite the pain in his head, he strained to tune in.

" - is not a maester."

"You don't need to be a maester to be a healer."

"You're the maester for the Tyrell's. I don't trust you to treat him and then not run off to tell the Tyrells what you've discovered."

"Maesters are assigned to keeps, not houses."

"Don't try to placate me with that bullshit. Maesters, more often than not, grow attached to the families they serve and in turn do the lord's bidding. I will not suffer it."

It was then he felt a hand splay across his back and rub in a soothing motion.

"I think if Lord Jaime were awake, he'd have a similar opinion to his uncle. Leave him to me." The healer David was speaking in low, soothing tones and he could only imagine that the air would

be filled with sound waves as blue as the sky. "His breathing has changed. He's waking. Gerion, you know the rules. Wait outside."

"But David…"

"If he wants to tell you what ails him, he will. But that's up to him to decide. Not us. Now go."

The door finally closed. David whispered, "Lord Jaime, can you hear me?"

Jaime's thoughts were like fireflies that flitted around his skull, scattered. As soon as he thought he caught one, it seemed to slip through his fingers. He couldn't bring any of his thoughts to cohesion, so he just focused on David's voice. "Yes," he whispered as softly as a sigh.

"How do you feel?"

He kept his eyes shut and twitched his muscles. A deep ache seemed to fill all of his muscles and he groaned as the pain shot through him as he flexed. "Like I've been run over by a horse."

"That sounds about right. How's your head?"

"Painful. I want to sleep."

Jaime heard the telltale scratching of a quill on paper. A heat emanated from his right side and he unconsciously sidled up to it to ease the chill that had swept him.

"Don't fall asleep. And don't sit up just yet. Do you remember what happened?"

He pinched his eyebrows and once again tried to catch his thoughts despite the blacksmith that seemed to be hammering his skull. He was at the Tyrells, he had breakfast, they went to negotiations - his eyes flew open and he abruptly sat up. Pain pierced his skull like a knife had been driven into it and his stomach heaved. He vomited, groaned, and laid back down, clutching at his head, thankfully missing the puddle of vomit.

David sighed. "I said don't sit up. Honestly, you listen about as well as your uncle." When Jaime had settled again, he asked, "When did you start having seizures?"

"When the bear attacked me," Jaime mumbled.

"I wondered if that injury was more serious. Anything else?"

"No," Jaime breathed.

"Somehow I don't believe you."

That caused Jaime to open his eyes. He turned away from the sour mess of his vomit and glared at David, who was taking notes in a tiny journal. When David finally saw his glare, he returned the gaze unflinchingly. "I told you, I know how to read people. You're hiding something. A man in your position undoubtedly has many secrets. I know you're not going to tell me anything, though, so let's just skip to your treatment. There is very little I can do. I do have a pain reliever that should help with your headache, but what you need most of all is rest. If you'd like, I can summon servants to carry you -"

"I can walk," Jaime growled. He started leveraging himself to his feet and scowled as his legs trembled. He grabbed the chair he'd fallen out of for support and only began moving when he felt stable enough.

David sighed again. "Stubborn bastard."

Jaime staggered for the door and had to stand for a moment as the world swayed before his eyes. When he had collected himself, he opened the door to find the Tyrells, Gerion, and Podrick all waiting outside. Gerion had an uncharacteristically dour expression. Podrick too had an oddly mulish look on his face. They all turned as he stepped out.

"My Lord, are you well?" Willas asked. His voice was a nervous pale yellow and there was no mistaking the alarm in his eyes.

"I will be fine," Jaime said. His voice was a croak and projected none of the strength he had hoped to. Did it really matter now that the Tyrells knew he suffered seizures? "I apologize for the alarm I caused. We'll have to reschedule the negotiations for another time." He didn't bother waiting for

their response, merely turned in the direction of his rooms and shuffled off.

His uncle drew level with him as they walked. "What was that? What happened?"

"Not now, uncle," Jaime groaned.

Gerion sighed. "I know I have no right to ask for anything you're not willing to give, but please, consider filling me in. I want to help you."

"There's nothing you can do about it." When they reached his room he opened the door and said, "Goodnight, uncle." As he tried to close it, however, Gerion grabbed it.

"We're family. I insist on staying at your bedside."

"I'm going to be sleeping. I don't need a fucking wet nurse!"

For a moment they stood at the door with their eyes locked.

"Don't mind him, Gerion. Seizures tend to cause severe mood swings," David said, sauntering up to them. He held out a small vial. "Take this. It will ease your headache. Normally, I would say take it with a meal, but…" He shrugged and wandered off as soon as Jaime took it.

Jaime gave his uncle one last glare and turned away, leaving the door open and readied himself for bed. His uncle took the opportunity to step into the room. Jaime examined the potion critically. It was milky with an odd blue coloring. He downed the potion and shuddered. It had a strangely bitter taste that seemed to leave grit in his mouth, changed clothes, and climbed into bed.

"You're going to be bored sitting there."

"Well then, I guess I'll be bored knowing my nephew is safe."

"I'm not a child anymore."

"You'll always be a child to me."

-The Dragon's Roar-

The next afternoon found Jaime and Gerion once more sitting across the table from the Tyrells. His seizure, if anything, seemed to have unsettled them. Mace Tyrell was giving him an odd look, Willas had pity written all over his face, but Olenna was as emotionless as ever. Under normal circumstances, Jaime would be livid at receiving Willas' pity, but he'd learned from his previous life that such emotions could be used as leverage. Willas knew what it was like to be a cripple and he might therefore look at Jaime more as a kindred spirit than an enemy. It was something to work with.

"Now, where were we? Ah, yes, I do believe we were discussing the legitimacy of King Aemon Targaryen. I have more evidence," Jaime stood and reached for the harp case that was propped up in the seat next to him. He had completely forgotten the harp in the wake of his impending seizure and remembered it first thing in the morning. He deftly undid the latches and revealed the harp.

Willas gasped. "Is that..?"

"What is it, son?"

Olenna was unmoved.

"This is Prince Rhaegar's treasured harp," Willas replied, sounding breathless.

"That's right," Jaime said.

"It escaped King Robert's rampage?"

"Indeed. Lord Stark had it this whole time."

"Hmm...seems passing odd for the Prince to leave his most treasured harp with a kidnapped

woman," Olenna said as she was eying the harp critically.

"May I?" Willas asked, reaching for the harp.

Jaime frowned but nodded. All the same, his heart contracted as the harp was lifted from its case as though he expected Willas to smash it. But the young lord wasn't Joffrey and he held it like it was made of glass.

"Exquisite craftsmanship." Willas plucked at its strings and the notes it produced quivered green in the air for Jaime.

"I am right that Lord Stark has had it this whole time?" Olenna said.

"That is correct, my Lady. Lord Stark took it with him as well as the babe Aemon Targaryen and his sister's bones."

"I'd always heard he raped her." She was gauging his reaction.

He flicked his eyes down to her coldly. "You forget, my Lady, I was a member of the Kingsguard when Rhaegar was still alive. Unlike his father, he was not capable of rape."

"How can I trust your judgment, Kingslayer?" Her voice was orange with challenge.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to wield that like a weapon," Jaime replied, his voice having taken on a color of dark red. "I am the Kingslayer no longer. King Aemon has pardoned me of that."

"A king we may not recognize the legitimacy. Of all the people he could have sent, why did he send you?"

They were all watching him. Mace Tyrell was quiet for once and he wondered if his mother and son had ordered him not to speak at all.

Jaime actually smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. It was as cold as a winter's night. "Because I am a Lannister, my Lady, and we always pay our debts. One way or another, you will bend the knee."

The tension was such that Jaime thought for a moment the strings on the harp might snap, but in the next moment, Olenna nodded and said, "I had to know what we were dealing with. You've changed, Lord Jaime Lannister. Your blood used to run as hot as a raging bull's. You seemed to have since taken a page out of your father's book."

Jaime's insides squirmed at being compared to his father, but he hoped it didn't show. He sat back down again and said, "Now that we have that out of the way, let's discuss terms."

Mace Tyrell bristled. "Wait a moment...we haven't even decided to pledge our allegiance to you!" All eyes turned to him at once and he cowed, even under the gaze of his own son and mother.

"Don't be a fool, Mace. The dragon already has the North, the Riverlands, the Westerlands, and likely the Vale. And I've heard rumor that Dorne might even be appeased enough to join when they receive the Mountain. If that happens, we will be the odd one out. A king will take notice of that," Lady Olenna said, "especially if he offered an alliance once and we rejected it."

Mace spluttered for a moment and then cried, "What about my son?! What about Loras?"

Willas sighed and his shoulders slumped. "As much as I love my brother, he should've returned when we commanded him to. He didn't. He made his bed and now he shall lie in it."

Mace looked flabbergasted. Jaime hoped the astonishment didn't show on his face. They seemed rather callous just throwing Ser Loras under, but he had a feeling his own father would have done the same in regards to either Tyrion or Cersei if the situation had arisen. I suppose it did arise, but that was taken entirely out of my father's hands, Jaime thought soberly. Whatever was here, Jaime had a feeling that Loras' pleas had been endlessly debated among family members to the point where it was now a tired topic.

"Apart from the betrothals you've proposed, what are your terms?" Willas asked. He looked pale, but resolute.

"There is only one stipulation regarding the marriages. Robb Stark and Margaery are of age at six- and-ten. Lady Sansa, however, is only four-and-ten and Lord Stark wishes the betrothal to stay in

place until she is six-and-ten," Jaime replied.

"That's more than fair. Anything else?"

Jaime considered him for a moment and said, "I am prepared to offer the Tyrells a seat on the Small Council, however I have one condition. It must be filled by you, Lord Willas."

Willas blinked in astonishment. "Me?"

"Yes, I must insist," Jaime said. He and Aemon had discussed small council positions and Jaime related the tale of how Mace Tyrell ended up as Master of Ships. They'd rather not have that buffoon in charge of anything larger than a dog kennel.

Olenna nodded with a pleased smile. "I see the king already has good sense."

Willas contemplated for a moment and then said, "I just have two...demands."

"And they are?"

"We demand that either a daughter of mine or a daughter of Margaery's be betrothed to Aemon Targaryen's heir."

Jaime's lips curled in sneer. "That's awfully bold. I am not comfortable bargaining the King's future heir. If that is a demand you want considered, you'll have to bring it up with him and Robb Stark. Next demand."

Willas' frown deepened, but he conceded with a small nod. "We will not accept a denial of this one. You will not harm my brother, Ser Loras Tyrell."

There's the family protectiveness, Jaime thought and his expression softened. "I will personally guarantee that Ser Loras will not come to harm. Though it is up to you to curb any future foolish tendencies."

Lady Olenna's eyebrows raised. "Personally, hmm? I'd be curious to see how you achieve that."

Jaime's eyes were like chips of stone. "I will not fail."

Once the negotiations were finalized, they broke for lunch and then Willas retired to the solar to write letters and call up the banners. It would take at least two weeks for everyone to arrive. The Redwynes were commanded to sail to King's Landing, even though their ships would reach Blackwater Bay hopefully long after the Red Keep was taken. Robert had, among other things, squandered the funds for the upkeep of the navy. They would need at least a few ships on hand in the event that Stannis decided to sail for King's Landing as he had previously. Jaime sent a letter to Riverrun in the hopes that Aemon would receive it.

The news of the alliance had also prompted a frenzy of activity from the Shepherds. They had managed to secure a work area from the Tyrells. The men and even a few women on hand, including Delphine, worked tirelessly with herbs and ingredients, boiling mixtures and water. Jaime asked David what was going on.

The old healer was looking manic and he seemed to bristle at the interruption. "We're going to war! There's going to be injuries! We'll need potions. Now, out! We're busy!"

He was shoved rather unceremoniously out the door, though it was not closed. Callum stood guard outside it and gave him a smile and a bewildered shrug. "I recommend you just stay out of David's way. He heeds no one when he gets like this."

Gerion and yet another Shepherd mercenary named Geoffrey were set to watch the children. Gerion was in the midst of training the twins, Monty and Matthias, swordplay. As there was very little else to do, Jaime watched and felt his fingers twitch. He was itching to get in some sword fighting. Gerion seemed to sense his mood and asked for a spar; Jaime obliged.

His uncle had clearly picked up some new moves and styles of fighting being across the sea for so long and Jaime was impressed with the fight he put up, almost catching him off guard a time or two. And still Jaime took the fight.

The commotion had attracted the ladies in High Garden and it seemed a good portion of them swooned when he defeated his uncle. Margaery wasn't among the swooning, but she applauded all the same, and showered him with complements. He spent much of the rest of the week in the training ring, continuing with Pod's squireship and getting wrangled into showing the twins the basics as well.

He greeted some of the lords when they showed up, chief among them Lord Tarly and his son Dickon. He was polite and remembered the son's name. He had been working hard to rein in the Lannister arrogance. It could be useful for posturing, but Aemon needed a Hand who didn't belittle his allies. Even so, he was rather gruff with the Tarlys. He disliked how Randyll Tarly had treated his firstborn Samwell. Although a little bumbling and rambled entirely too much for his own good, he had been a well meaning lad with an unparalleled knowledge of history and the lore surrounding the Long Night that quite simply had come in useful. And of course he was the last person alive with any kind of healing knowledge, sticking with him to the very end, despite his self-proclaimed cowardness. He hadn't deserved his fate to be stuck at the Wall. He and Aemon had discussed changing it, but ultimately had decided he would prove more useful at the Wall to take Maester Aemon's place as he had before.

And Tarly also reminded him a little too much of his own father.

Finally, just when Jaime was starting to get antzy from Aemon's lack of response, Willas came to him and said, "Lord Jaime, we're ready. We leave for King's Landing at dawn."

Chapter 30 - Aemon VI

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: First and foremost, I would like to thank iia_ao3ac, who did beta for this chapter. The first version of this chapter was absolutely horrid. I hated it. It was not up to the quality I hold myself to and it was certainly not the quality that you deserved as readers. Iia_ao3ac came in clutch and gave the context and pointers I needed to make this chapter great.

So thank you very much, iia_ao3ac!

Way back in Chapter 14(on ), I predicted that Jaime would meet Brienne in Chapter 30. Sadly, that did not happen. But I can say that I have finally written their first encounter. Soon, Jaime x Brienne fans. Soon.

Chapter 30

Aemon VI

"In the name of Robyn Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, true Warden of the East, I bid you welcome to the Bloody Gate, your grace," Ser Brynden Tully curtly said to him. He frowned over Ghost as the direwolf stepped over the threshold and shook the light flurries that decorated his fur.

"Thank you, Ser Brynden," Aemon said, with a gracious nod. Something about the list of titles tickled at him and he asked, "True Warden of the East?"

"Yes, when Lord Arryn died, King Robert Baratheon appointed Ser Jaime Lannister-" there was no mistaking the way he bit off Jaime's name how Ser Brynden felt about him "-as Warden of the East against the wishes of those of us in the Vale. The seat has been held only by the Arryns for near three hundred years and then Robert Baratheon decides to buck tradition. Lady Lysa has commanded we all refer to Robyn as the true Warden of the East, but as far as the rest of the kingdom knows, Jaime is the named warden."

Aemon frowned. Passing strange. It did impose another complication and he'd have to yet again smooth over rough edges involving Jaime. He turned to his uncle and asked, "Were you aware Robert had made this appointment?"

Ned blinked owlishly at him and hopelessly shook his head. "I'm afraid I do not recall, your grace."

Aemon nodded and muddled over the news. Jaime hadn't said anything either. It was certainly possible that he may have forgotten as well, but his political instincts screamed there was more behind this. Jaime wouldn't lie to me, would he? He thought and felt a twinge of guilt at the doubt for his friend. No, he shut the thought down. I have to trust Jaime implicitly. He would not keep any crucial details from me. It was not lost on him that he doubted everyone else's motivations and trustworthiness, but he refused to reconsider Jaime's, whom many would argue was more dangerous. He would be in the perfect spot to betray me if his loyalties ever changed. He was certain of one thing though: Jaime was willing to bend over backwards to prove that he could be a trustworthy and honorable man.

"If you'll forgive me, your grace, I am a bit surprised that you would come to negotiate the alliance yourself," the Blackfish said, rather pointedly glancing at his uncle Ned and Lord Edmure Tully following just behind him.

"As it is my kingdom I am trying to claim, I feel it is necessary that I be the one to negotiate as many of the alliances as I can," he replied. Especially this one, he thought as his insides twisted up painfully. He had been dreading this.

Not for the first time, he felt the fate of the world teetering on a knife's edge. Am I really going to do this? But what choice did he have? Baelish controlled the Vale through Lysa Arryn. He had to knock him off his perch before he could deem himself safe and the kingdom united.

He had spent his time in the past week scheming with only Ghost for company. He refused to include his uncle or even Ser Barristan, though he could trust the old knight to at least keep the secret, if not the charade. It was imperative that none of this get back to Baelish before he was ready. It would likely scare the mockingbird into hiding and then he would forever be looking over his shoulder. No, he had to trap him the same way Sansa, Arya, and Bran had trapped him previously. But he wouldn't have the failsafe of a Three-Eyed Raven to see the entirety of the past.

This was something else he and Jaime had discussed at Winterfell when he was still Jaime's squire. They had nothing concrete but agreed that retaining the forces of the Vale was the first step in many. This plan had been so secret that they had actually huddled together at the foot of the weirwood in the middle of the night, so close as to be able to whisper in each other's ear.

"How? How can we manage this? Baelish will eat us alive."

"You have to think of something, Jon. You must play the game."

"I could get us all killed with one wrong word, one wrong move."

"That's the game."

"I don't want to play the game."

"You have no choice."

Jaime had vowed to help him and then the fiasco between him and his sister happened. Jon had to think fast and by the time all was said and done, he'd commanded Jaime to go ahead of him to secure more allies. Thinking back on it, it was still their best move, especially in light of Lord Tywin deliberately ignoring orders. But he was several months removed from his most trusted and currently missing source of information and friendship.

But what kind of king am I if I have to hide behind my Hand all the time? A poor one. It was best that he was carrying his half of the plan by himself to prove he was capable, but he didn't have to like it.

"I'm afraid it's too late in the day for you to make the trip to the Eyrie. The mountain paths are quite treacherous in the dark," the Blackfish said, peering at him carefully.

Aemon was too distracted to notice. He stepped up to a window that overlooked the Eyrie and he stared at it. Whatever fear of heights he'd had, they were long conquered after his tenure on the Wall, but all the same he was grateful they weren't going to attempt that path in the failing light of the sun. He finally said, "I figured as much. If you would, I'd like to be on the path to the Eyrie at first light.

"I'll see to it that someone wakens you." Aemon nodded absentmindedly, so Blackfish turned to Lord Stark. "Ned! Good to see you again? How fares my niece?"

"She is well, Ser Brynden. I know she wishes she could have been here, but we have children still up north to care for."

"A shame, though it's probably for the best. Edmure, how is Hoster?"

Edmure gave his uncle a weak smile. "As well as can be expected. I...I don't think he has much longer. When we return to Riverrun, you should see him, uncle."

The Blackfish frowned tersely and said, "We shall see."

Olyvar watched the proceedings quietly but proudly, his hand tangled in Ghost's fur. The direwolf hadn't frightened his young squire and the two had developed a rather fast bond themselves. Ghost was large enough now he could reach Olyvar's face to lick it with little trouble and it always brought a smile to Aemon. The proceedings now were too serious for Aemon to find any humor and so he remained grim. If Jaime were here, he'd be teasing him for his moping.

Everyone was led away to their prospective rooms and a bath was procured for Aemon. He sighed as he sank into it, shuddering at the heat of the water. His shoulders were tight from tension and the heat soothed the ache. He had done little else for the last week save fret so he allowed himself a moment to lie back and relax, closing his eyes to get a small respite from the world, willing his mind to quiet for just a moment.

All too soon he was back out of the tub buttoning up a black tunic with red cuffs and linings for the feast. He gazed at himself intently in the mirror. He had been growing a beard since Winterfell and it had finally filled enough to make him appear several years older than his true age. He then scowled at the crown sitting on the table in front of him. They'd finally had one made at Riverrun. It was a simple thing of silver and iron with only minor detailing to distinguish himself. Regardless, it was heavy and it only served to widen the chasm between him and his men. He'd neglected to wear it all the way to the Eyrie, but now that he was here, he would be forced to wear it as decorum dictated.

The feast would be a small affair. Before leaving Riverrun, Aemon had sent an invitation to Lord Yohn Royce at Runestone to meet him at the Bloody Gate, so he and his two sons, Andar and Robar Royce, were at the feast as well. It was gratifying to see the old lord and two of his sons, strong and healthy. He had greatly respected Bronze Yohn and much like Ser Davos, he was a pillar of strength in the Long Night, though worn down from the losses he had suffered. He had been remarkably steadfast in spite of losing all of his sons even before the Long Night had started.

He didn't know much about Brynden Tully other than Jaime calling him a 'stubborn old goat' and saying he was Robb's staunchest supporter, even after his death. He was likely to support his cause, even if he didn't manage to convince Lysa Arryn to commit her forces. According to Jaime, however, Lord Yohn Royce refused to go against his liege lord and stuck out the War of the Five Kings desperately trying to convince Lady Lysa to back them. He would be instrumental in ensuring the Vale forces were committed.

"Your grace, if you please, depending on whether Lady Lysa relents, what do you intend on doing?" Ser Brynden asked.

"I will take the Red Keep," Aemon replied simply. "I'm sure you're aware that I sent my army on ahead to King's Landing, where already Lord Tywin's Westerlands army awaits."

With the exception of Lord Edmure and Lord Stark, he had sent everyone else to King's Landing. Only Arya and Sansa remained behind at Riverrun. He appointed Greatjon Umber in charge for the time being. That appointment was courtesy of his uncle as he insisted that the Greatjon could be trusted. While Aemon had reservations about his son, the little he'd seen about the Greatjon had assured him he was trustworthy. On the other hand, he had tasked Howland Reed and Lady Maege Mormont with keeping an eye on Roose Bolton. If he even so much as nodded at Lord Tywin in greeting, Aemon was confident he'd know about it. Tyrion was given the job of placating his father and bringing him up to speed.

If he were being honest with himself, he was looking forward to taking the Red Keep. While it wasn't always the case, battle tended to be simpler. He was already weary of trying to juggle so many things at once.

Aemon heard Yohn breathe deeply and he said, "Forgive me, your grace, but why should you seat the Iron Throne? Do not say it's your birthright. Your grandfather dealt a lot of pain to much of the nobility. I think you can imagine our reticence to see another Targaryen as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms." Aemon could see clear pain in his eyes and his sons Andar and Robar were looking back at him with a somber expression.

That's right. Yohn lost a brother when Brandon Stark challenged the king, he thought. His already dark mood grew darker still. The Targaryen legacy was difficult to bear but he had little choice.

"Lord Royce, I am aware of what my grandfather did. He was a monster. There is nothing that can explain away what he did and justify it. However, my father was not a monster and it is in his footsteps I shall follow. He did not rape my mother. He married her in sight of the Seven. We can endlessly debate about whether what he did was right or wrong, but I believe he had good intentions based on the fact that he did not rape her."

Yohn gave him a quizzical frown. "Do you have proof of this assertion, that Prince Rhaegar married your mother?"

"We do, only it's not with me. A journal by one Septon Maynard details that he annulled Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's marriage to Princess Elia Martell and he married Prince Rhaegar in secret to Lyanna Stark. That journal is currently in the hands of the Tyrells, since we are also seeking their alliance."

Yohn glanced at Ned who nodded in assurance.

He set his fork down to give the lord his full attention. "The old gods granted me a vision just after my uncle Ned informed me of my true lineage. I was sitting under the weirwood tree when I saw myself seated on the Iron Throne."

Yohn blinked in puzzlement. "How can you be sure it was a gods-ordained vision? Perhaps it was but a dream?"

"Because the gods possessed me and wrought powers through me that I have yet to reproduce." There was a stunned silence and then Aemon continued. "I had the unenviable task of convincing the northern lords to support my cause. Lord Jon Umber challenged me to a duel to prove my worth. On a downward blow, the gods seized me and with my steel sword, I broke Lord Umber's sword clean in two."

Again, silence prevailed until Ned said, "'Tis true. His grace's eyes came ablaze with orange light, as though on fire. I have never seen ought like it."

"That is how the northern lords were won to my cause. The old gods gave me their blessing when they ensured I won that duel." In his rush to plan and forge alliances, Aemon had nearly forgotten about that scuffle, but the story had spread through the camp like wildfire. Anytime he was passing by his soldiers, they looked at him like he was a god himself. It was a not a pleasant thought, but he needed as much good will as he could muster.

Tyrion had also learned about the occurrence secondhand and he pestered Robb, Theon, and his uncle Ned for details, thoroughly dismayed that he'd missed it. He had been secluded to his room to prevent stoking the northern lords' fury.

Ser Brynden scoffed at his declaration, but Yohn's stare became more piercing. "Is...is there a reason they want you to take the throne?"

Aemon glanced at his uncle for help, but he only had an expectant look. He tried to think back on

his knowledge of Yohn. He had come to know him quite well after all, but would this Yohn accept the possibility of the Long Night with the same certainty as before? Should everything go as planned, he'd likely find out from the northern lords eventually.

He sucked in a deep breath and said, "Yes, there is. Lord Royce, I know from my uncle that your family, much like many in the North, have a long tradition of sending spare sons to guard the Wall. The gods assure me that their watch is not in vain. The Night King stirs in the North even now. The Long Night is coming. While the realm is not yet in a weakened state, it was precarious under Robert Baratheon and the unlawful execution of Lord Jaime Lannister would have sent it right over the edge. That is why I seek the throne. The gods seem to want me to be the one to prepare the kingdoms."

There was no mistaking the quiet chuckle that broke the otherwise tense silence. Ser Brynden was looking at him in amusement and Edmure Tully was staring up at his uncle with wide eyes, darting them back and forth between him and Aemon. "Apologies, your grace, but...the Long Night is a myth."

"You doubt the gods?" Aemon asked.

Ser Brynden grew uncomfortable. "If it's true - why now?"

"This is the longest summer on record, Ser Brynden," Yohn replied in a clipped tone. "As wisdom goes, it will be followed by an equally long winter."

"And a brutal one, I assure you. You will see, Ser Brynden. As we speak, my uncle Benjen who is a ranger with the Night's Watch is on the hunt for a wight."

"Has he found anything?" Robar, Lord Royce's younger son, finally spoke up and gazed intently at Aemon.

"I have yet to receive news regarding his mission. The area beyond the Wall is huge. It could take some time," Aemon soothed.

Robar turned to his father and asked, "Do you think that may be what killed Waymar?"

Yohn looked troubled and struggled to answer.

Aemon asked, "I'm sorry, what?"

Yohn looked at Aemon with a drawn expression. "As you just mentioned, my third son Waymar has committed himself to the Watch on the Wall. He was sent out on a mission and we received news from Castle Black seven months past that he was killed along with another of his companions. Another deserted."

Aemon felt his heart quaver. He remembered how fraught he had been when his uncle Benjen had gone missing as well.

"I remember that execution," Ned replied in a quiet voice. "The deserter was absolutely terrified of something beyond the Wall. I could not reach him. His death brought him relief, not anguish."

The silence that followed was as tense as a harp string. Ser Brynden decided to break it, "I only receive what news the Lady Lysa decides to send us, but it sounds like Renly has burrowed into the Red Keep like a tick. I can't imagine it will be easy getting him out. While I wouldn't say he was as brash as his brother, Robert, I don't think you can expect him to be any less stubborn."

"Having never met Renly, I suppose that's true enough. According to everyone around me, he's green and has never seen battle. I expect him to wave the white flag when he sees the force I have amassed at his doorstep," Aemon said. He rather doubted Renly would do such a thing with his bloodthirsty paramour advising him, but it was a possibility.

"Really?" Lord Yohn finally chimed in. He furrowed his brow quizzically. "Last I heard, Ser Loras was in the keep with him. You might get the Reach on your back."

"That is also a possibility," Aemon replied. "I still hold the Westerlands, the North, and the Riverlands. The Reach boasts a considerable force, but not one that can take all three."

"Lord Jaime Lannister is negotiating an alliance with the Reach as we speak," Ned replied.

"Lannister?" The Blackfish said with a snort. "You really think he'll come through for you?"

"Yes," Aemon replied and he seemed unconcerned. He had not informed his uncle of Jaime's

disappearance. He was still yet unsure what to do in regards to the Reach. He decided that if he received another message from the Tyrells, he would go himself, but he had to secure King's Landing first. Perhaps as a gesture of goodwill he'd refrain from taking Loras' head when he finally took the Keep.

There was no mistaking the skepticism in both the Brynden's and Yohn's eyes.

"Forgive me, your grace, but are you aware that we at the Vale presume the Lannisters were behind our Lord Paramount Jon Arryn's death?" Brynden asked.

"Really? It is suspected that his death was by something other than natural means?" Aemon asked, hoping his surprise looked genuine. He glanced at his uncle and his face had merely darkened.

"As Hand of the King, Lord Arryn was stationed in King's Landing. Upon his death, the Lady Lysa took his only son and heir and retreated back to the Vale, claiming the Lannisters are responsible. That's difficult to argue with, especially since Jaime Lannister was appointed Warden of the East."

"Hmm..that is troubling. I am at the very least confident that my Hand, Lord Jaime Lannister, was not behind Jon Arryn's death. He despises his sister and would not cover up any of her indiscretions."

"Your grace, I'm sorry, but how can you be so sure?" Ser Brynden asked. "The Lannisters were always an arrogant lot, but Jaime was the worst of them, since he was considered the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms after Ser Arthur Dayne. He murdered your grandfather. What makes you so certain that you have Jaime Lannister's loyalty?"

Aemon smiled. "Because, as king, I am the only one who can grant him what he wants."

"And what is that?"

"That is between me and him," Aemon replied lightly. Both Brynden and Yohn seemed disatisified with that answer, but they knew better than to pry. "Tell me, Ser Brynden, how does the Eyrie receive its messages?"

"The rookery is here at the Bloody Gate. Ravens have difficulty flying as high as the Eyrie, but the Maester, who usually tends to the ravens is up at the Eyrie. We have another fellow who takes care of them instead."

"Really? How do you get the messages to Lady Lysa?"

"We have a pulley system that allows us to send small bundles up to the Eyrie without having to saddle the mules for every single letter."

"Hmm...that's interesting," Aemon replied and he felt his gaze wander. That would make things easier, but nothing was ever sure.

After the small feast, he retired to his guest room, but as was typical of him these days, he only managed to fall asleep a few hours short of dawn. These schemes will be the death of me, he thought as he rose from his bed. Upon looking in a mirror, he was pleased to see that a carefully trimmed beard hid what otherwise might be a haggard appearance.

Since Aemon wished to be back before nightfall, they broke a hasty breakfast. A tough girl named Mya Stone claimed the honor of guiding them to the Eyrie on the backs of mules. Before they went, however, he turned to the Tully men and said, "You shall stay here. I want Lord Royce, Lord Stark, and my Kingsguard to attend me."

"B-but, your grace," Edmure began, "she's my sister. I think she would like to see a familiar face."

"I'm sure she would, but I'm afraid I cannot allow that. I'm sorry," Aemon replied, with a wan smile. I can't trust you not to leak. Secrecy is of the utmost importance here. His uncle Ned appeared to want to say something, but thankfully thought better of it when Aemon flashed him a warning frown. "Olyvar, you stay here, too. Maybe show Ser Brynden what you've learned from Ser Barristan." The boy stood up tall with shining eyes and nodded at him.

Olyvar had been a stellar squire, never once complaining whenever they were swamped by rain, even when he was shivering. He did his tasks as soon as they were ordered. Aemon felt a pang of guilt that he was unable to devote the necessary time a squire required in his training, but Ser Barristan and Ser Preston had been kind enough to pick up the slack.

Mya Stone loaded up a bunch of mules and they plodded up the narrow, stone path to the Eyrie. Ser Barristan was just behind Aemon, followed by his uncle Ned and then the rest of the

Kingsguard. Even Torrhen Karstark, who had yet to be formally sworn in, was in attendance to him. The young lad peered up at the Eyrie owlishly with his mouth hanging open, enthralled by the new lands he was seeing. He brought a welcome spark of energy to the Kingsguard who were otherwise nearly twice his age or older. While not as young as Jaime was when he was sworn in the Kingsguard, Aemon couldn't help but wonder if Jaime was anything like him at the beginning of his tenure as Kingsguard. Ghost was forced to stay behind. Aemon didn't want to risk startling the mules on such a precarious edge.

The wind whipped and roared, making conversation impossible, so everyone just dropped their heads and held on as the mules plodded around the stones slow, but steadily. It took some time, but finally they reached the doors of the Eyrie. By this point, Aemon could feel his heart pounding in his ears and his hands were sweating in his gloves. This is it. There is no turning back.

He turned and said, "Kingsguard, to me!"

All but Ser Barristan seemed puzzled by this. Before this point, they had all barely been in the same room since he'd taken the throne from Robert.

Aemon's orders were swift and concise. "As soon as these doors open, Ser Meryn and Ser Preston, I want you to go around the castle and slaughter all the ravens you see. All of them."

"Yes, your grace," the two replied automatically.

"Ser Arys and Torrhen, you will guard the front doors here. If anyone tries to leave, detain them. If they fight, wound them, and I will interrogate them myself. Ser Barristan, you're with me."

"As you will, your grace," Ser Barristan said. There was only a slight flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he was otherwise impassive. No doubt, he recalled what Aemon had said about Petyr Baelish controlling Lysa Arryn.

Lord Royce and Ned overheard his orders and they stared at him quizzically, but he hastily shook his head. Mya was peering at him cautiously, hugging her mule, and her grip on his muzzle only seemed to tighten as he addressed her. "You are to stay here by the mules. This will not take long and I intend to leave as soon as possible."

"Yes, your grace, b-but, apologies, but I have supplies that need to be unloaded."

"Then set them down at the door, but you are not to enter the Eyrie. Ser Arys, Torrhen, I trust you to ensure she follows my orders."

"Yes, your grace," they intoned, though Torrhen appeared uneasy from the way his eyes darted from Aemon to Mya.

When the doors opened, Ser Meryn and Ser Preston immediately broke off from the group. A servant led the rest of them to the great hall where they found a herd of suitors crowded around Lady Lysa. She sat above them on a seat with a wisp of a boy clinging to her like he was little more than a babe. A few lords knelt before him, but most seemed to be concerned about showing him too much deference in a hall where he was not welcome. He paid them little attention as the Lady stared down at him imperiously, the beginnings of a sneer twisting her face.

"So you've come," she said.

"Good morning, Lady Lysa. Are your greetings always as cold as the wind outside?" Aemon asked.

"Why have you come? The Vale will not pledge to you. We will not assist putting another Targaryen on the throne. I am surprised at you, Lord Stark. After what the Targaryens did to your family, I wouldn't think you'd be so foolish."

His uncle stiffened beside him.

Aemon nodded. "I can understand being wary of a Targaryen. My grandfather did horrible things to many people, most of all the Starks. However, I have no intention of continuing in his legacy, rather I intend to follow in my father's footsteps. Prince Rhaegar was a kind and just man, even when his own father's madness was spiraling out of control. I think it's high time that peace and justice be brought back to the Seven Kingdoms."

Lady Lysa's lip curled in a sneer. "Is it not you who have disrupted this peace by making a claim on the throne?"

"I did not disrupt the peace, merely turned the course of a war. Robert Baratheon was prepared to unlawfully execute Jaime Lannister for a crime he didn't commit. Everyone knows what Tywin Lannister is like. With his wealth and his power, he could have torn the Seven Kingdoms apart. I prevented such a rift from forming and despite the fact that my path will take me to the throne, I

have yet to encounter any opposition. There has yet to be a single violent clash. That's rather peaceful for a war."

"But there will be war. There always is. Men will die bloody deaths so a single man can ascend the throne. Well, the Vale shall not dabble in such a useless campaign. You shouldn't have come least of all knowing that Jaime Lannister is your Hand. He stole my child's birthright!"

"I think, you'll find, My Lady, that Lord Jaime did no such thing. I have a suspicion that he was appointed Warden of the East without his knowledge. After all, he was a Kingsguard at the time. They have no business doing anything else outside of guarding the king," Aemon replied.

"Hah!" It was a bitter laugh that rang throughout the hall. "You dare come into my hall and sing the praises of the famed Kingslayer, a man who murdered your own grandfather? You truly are mad."

"Not at all. Lord Jaime Lannister is the Kingslayer no longer. He has been pardoned for that crime, but we're not here to talk about Jaime Lannister. The iron throne rules over all of the Seven Kingdoms, which includes the Vale. You owe me your allegiance. Half of the Seven Kingdoms have already pledged their support to me. Not to mention that, as king, I can restore Lord Robyn Arryn's birthright as Warden of the East. Will you pledge your support, my Lady?"

Lysa had a truculent jutt to her jaw as she said, "No, I will not be fooled by your sweet words."

"Are we going to throw him through the moon door?" Her son asked with wide eyes.

She tightened her grip on him and shushed him.

Aemon nodded and said, "I find your response puzzling, my Lady. You would turn down your son's rightful title to deny fealty to me? I don't think Petyr Baelish has your son's best interests at heart, since you seem to be taking advice from him."

She seemed to stop breathing and her eyes went wide, but she said nothing.

He paused long enough to give her time to respond and when she didn't, he reached into his coat and pulled a piece of parchment with a simple broken seal. "I had my archers shoot down the Ravens between here and Riverrun and just before we started climbing to the Bloody Gate, we got

this one. Shall I read it to you?" It was not a question. He opened it and elevated his voice so that the entire crowd could hear.

"My dear Lysa,

I have heard reports that the dragon king is on his way to the Vale. Stay strong. It would be most unfortunate for him if he were to meet with some calamity. Be prepared to do to him what you did to your lord husband.

He has taken a Frey for a squire. The Lord Frey was quite insulted by the king who overrode his authority and forced him to lower his bridge for a paltry sum. Lord Tywin has shown some reticence at following the new king as well. He would back the Freys in their revenge on Aemon Targaryen. It should be easy to point the blame for the king's ill-fate on the Freys and Tywin Lannister.

Forever yours,

Petyr Baelish"

The hall was deathly silent as Aemon finished. He looked up at Lysa who was gasping like a fish and her skin had taken a sickly tone. She was staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. Yohn was gaping at Aemon in shock and his own skin had gone pale beneath his beard.

"What did you do to your husband that you have tried to blame on the Lannisters?" Aemon asked.

The letter reading seemed to have put her into a trance and she shook herself of it and screamed, "N-no! L-lies! LIES! The Lannisters are responsible for my husband the Lord Arryn's death! He was ready to reveal their dirty little secret to the king when they poisoned him! I did what any concerned mother would and fled to the Vale for protection. I sent my sister, Lady Catelyn Stark, a letter to warn her of their treachery."

All eyes then turned to Ned. He was frowning up at Lysa. "Indeed, we received such a letter. I accepted my position as hand to Robert Baratheon as a result of it. I was going to reach the bottom of that mystery."

"And?" Yohn prodded.

"I never had the opportunity. Cersei Lannister committed...atrocities against her brother that led both of them to the executioner's block. Lord Jaime Lannister did not commit the crime he was being accused of. Justice was to be miscarried. It...it had to be stopped!"

"Cersei Lannister is already in exile," Aemon said. "All we have is your word it was them. What proof do you have that they actually did it?"

Lysa's mouth twitched once more into a snarl, but she continued to breathe heavily. She was panicking like a herd animal aware of its impending doom. "My husband discovered their little secret. He knew. He knew none of Cersei's spawn were true Baratheons. He was to bring his concerns to the king, but they murdered him before they could!"

"You knew the children were not trueborn Baratheons and you did not think to inform your king?" Aemon asked.

Once more, silence settled on the hall, broken only by Lady Lysa's ragged breathing. Then she whispered, "The Lannisters...they would have killed me too. My boy. I had to protect my boy."

"Even here you feared their retribution? Safe in the Eyrie?"

She chuckled, but it sounded maddened as her smile was more like a blanch. "You know nothing, boy. King's Landing will eat you alive. Maester Pycelle is in the pockets of the Lannisters. He would have ensured King Robert remained ignorant and informed the Lannisters of my knowledge."

"And yet you managed to get a letter to your sister, Catelyn Stark, even though it spent much of its time traveling with the Lannisters."

Aemon could feel his own heart pounding and not for the first time wondered if everyone there could hear it. He had to get Lysa to confess to the murder of her husband or at least place enough of a question on Lysa Arryn's ability to control the Eyrie so that a replacement could be appointed. Otherwise his entire scheme would fall apart and it would inevitably get back to Petyr Baelish, who would spook, and then slip through their fingers. She was putting up a much harder fight than he had anticipated. Just from what he remembered Sansa telling him about her, it sounded like a stiff breeze would blow her over. She certainly did not look good in the eyes of the surrounding lords, but he knew it wasn't yet enough to get her overthrown.

"You keep saying the Lannisters? There's quite a few people in there. Can you give us a name as to who specifically poisoned Lord Jon Arryn?" He asked.

"Stop being mean! Shove the mean man through the moon door," Robyn cried out into the hall.

"Quiet, child," Yohn barked, his face growing red. "You will stay quiet and listen to your elders!"

"You forget yourself, Lord Royce! This is your lord paramount. You will defer to him," Lysa snapped.

"My Lady, Lord Robyn is not yet of age to claim his lordship. He is rude and unmanageable, hardly fit to rule the Eyrie. He needs discipline, training!"

"He's just a boy! An ill, little, fragile boy who needs his mother! He stays with me," she cried, clutching at her son again. There was now color blossoming in her cheeks and she was glaring at Lord Royce.

"Lord Jon Arryn discussed with me the possibility of sending him to Lord Stannis Baratheon to foster. That's not possible right now, but if you may, my Lady, I could foster him at Runestone. He will become a proper lord!"

Lady Lysa's eyes flashed and her face twisted into an ugly rictus as she leaned forward and shouted like a great thunderclap, "Absolutely not! If you dare attempt to take my child away from me, I will kill you the same way I killed him! Nobody will take my sweet Robyn from me! Nobody!"

The silence was deafening. A collective breath was held as everyone stared at Lady Lysa in shock and fear. Aemon kept looking between Yohn and Lady Lysa. He got the confession out of her without even trying! He thanked the gods that the confession had finally come out before all and sundry.

At first Yohn was shocked, but as he understood her words, his face purpled so much Aemon became concerned for his health.

"You did what ?!" Yohn roared, his voice boomed like a dragon's roar. "You murdered Lord Arryn?! It was not the Lannister's after all? It was you!"

The cold and hard edge of her face had given a way to a weak and trembling chin. She seemed to look around the hall as though searching for a savior, but there were none who stepped forward. Finally, in a weak voice, she said, "H-he was going to take my baby, my boy. Your lord!"

"What did you do to him?" Aemon repeated. Apart from her quiet sobs, the hall was silent and his voice had no trouble carrying.

"It was the only way! The only way! I couldn't let him take my sweet Robyn away," Lysa cried, bringing her son to her once more in a hug and crying into his shoulder.

Lord Royce growled and made a step forward, but Aemon grabbed his arm and shook his head. He imagined the lord would blush in embarrassment were his face not already red from anger. He bowed his head and stepped back. Aemon glanced back at his uncle to find him just as pale and shaken, though he already knew of Lysa's betrayal from the time before. Ser Barristan remained remarkably impassive; he had to commend the old knight for keeping calm in the face of treachery even if they knew it was coming.

"P-Petyr gave me Tears of Lys. I put it in his wine," she sobbed.

Aemon's face grew dark. "He was your husband."

Her anger seemed to come back once more and she seethed, "He never loved me! You never met him! You don't know! Imagine on your wedding night having to kiss a bride who was an old woman with half her teeth missing and her breath stinking of old cheese! Time and time again I had to put up with that old man mounting me like an old bull that should have been put out to pasture. His seed was weak and all my babies died. Finally, finally, I have my boy and he was going to take Robyn from me! He was going to give him to Stannis and then my boy would've been lost to me!"

Aemon shuddered. Dany had tasted of cinnamon and red wine, as though she embodied their house's motto of fire and blood. Her taste was capable of entrancing him and the thought of her tasting like old cheese left a sour taste in his mouth. He pitied the Lady Lysa. She wasn't evil, merely a vulnerable woman manipulated by an evil man to do his dirty work. She was just another life Petyr Baelish had destroyed for his own ends. He turned to leave the hall. Upon seeing the guards on the door, he ordered, "Take Lady Lysa to her chambers. She is to be guarded day and night. Her trial shall await her after I take the Red Keep."

His uncle Ned, Lord Royce, and Ser Barristan followed hot on his heels. At the main door, Ser Meryn and Ser Preston were awaiting them.

"All the ravens in the castle have been slaughtered by your command, your grace," Ser Meryn said with a savage grin.

"They were pets, your grace," Ser Preston said, as though killing them hadn't sat right with him.

Aemon could hardly say it sat right with him either, but they had to make sure Baelish remained ignorant of Lysa's confession. "Good. We shall leave. Inform Mya Stone to prepare the mules once more. Ser Preston, fetch me the maester," He ordered.

They were quiet while they waited. A noise by the door to the hall caught Aemon's attention and he saw a few of the lords who were previously there to court Lady Lysa coming out.

"Your grace," one acknowledged and knelt to the floor before him. He had shoulder length curly brown hair dressed in greens and browns like he was out for a hunt, except it was in the latest fashion of trousers and a long coat with green trimmings. "Forgive me for being present at the house of a traitor. I meant you no ill will."

"No forgiveness necessary," Aemon acknowledged to which the man smiled in relief. Then he continued, "unless you were aware of her schemes."

The man immediately paled and shook his head. "No, no, your grace! I - we - none of us had any idea what she was doing."

Aemon nodded at him.

"If you will, your grace, I would be interested in returning to my own home now that I cannot wed a traitor."

"No," Aemon replied.

"W-what?"

Aemon gazed up at him, his eyes now cold and dark. "On pain of death, none of you are allowed to leave until I say so."

"But, forgive me, your grace, but why?"

"Because it is as I order. You will stay here and continue to be a guest of the Eyrie until I rescind."

"How long will that be?"

"Until I say so."

"Even through winter?"

He stepped closer, causing the man to shrink back. "Until I say so."

Ser Preston had arrived a few minutes earlier with the old Maester in tow. He was a wiry fellow with long brown hair and sallow skin. The maester was glancing around in alarm at Aemon's declaration. When Aemon turned to him, he flinched as if struck.

"Maester, Lady Lysa is not allowed to leave her room. She is not allowed to see her son and she is not allowed to communicate with anyone in anyway. See to it that these orders are carried out."

"Your grace, I am but a mere Maester. To command a castle is not my function. I am only to advise."

"And now you're overseer since its Lady has confessed to the murder of her lord husband."

The Maester's eyes went wide and he froze.

"Kingsguard, we're leaving."

As soon as they stepped outside into the whipping wind, Aemon rounded on his uncle Ned and Lord Royce. "What you heard in there is not to be relayed to anyone beyond this point."

"Make I ask why, your grace?" Lord Royce asked, squinting against the wind.

"It's safer this way. Understood?"

"Yes, your grace," they both said. His uncle Ned had a troubled expression, but he nodded. Hopefully his uncle had at least an idea of what needed to be done to stop Baelish. He knew perfectly well how much damage that man could do to Westeros. He needed to be contained before that could happen.

Did I do the right thing? Aemon asked himself the entire pathway down the mountain. His heart ached. He was going against everything he had been brought up to believe, to hold...to honor. Was there still honor in a king who manipulated and lied, even if for a good cause? Around and around his reasoning had gone, asking himself, asking Jaime, asking the gods if this was the only way. But apart from simply going up to Littlefinger and murdering him without a trial, he couldn't see any other way. He had to lay a trap, just like his cousins had done in that other lifetime.

It was just after noon when they once more reached the Bloody Gate. Edmure and Ser Brynden were waiting for them as if they had been there the whole time. Edmure gave him a rushed bow and asked, "What news of my sister?"

"Bite your tongue, boy! You're speaking to your king," Ser Brynden barked.

Aemon did not acknowledge the possible insult and said, "The Lady Lysa has taken ill. She will be unable to govern the Vale for the foreseeable future."

Ser Brynden frowned tersely.

"Ill? Like our father? Perhaps I should go up and see her!"

"You will not," Aemon said, glaring at Edmure. "You will follow me to the Red Keep. As King of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the first men, I appoint Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone as interim Lord of the Vale until such time as young Lord Robyn Arryn is able to assume his father's place."

"Thank you, your grace," Yohn replied, but there was no mistaking the sadness that hovered around him.

"You command the Vale forces," Aemon gently reminded him.

He stared intently at Aemon and then said, "The Vale shall pledge it's forces to you. You wish to unite Westeros and restore the iron throne to the glory that King Robert Baratheon squandered, and prepare the realm for the Long Night. I see it as a worthy cause and so does the Vale. I shall begin writing to the vassals at once. By your leave, your grace?"

Aemon nodded and he swept away. He watched him go for a moment and then he turned back to the Tullys. "Ser Brynden, you will stay here at the Bloody Gate. Collect all of the letters that come through here. When I command it, you, and you alone, will bring them to me. All letters shall be answered with the phrase, 'Lady Lysa Arryn has taken ill and will address your needs when she has recovered from her illness.' If anyone should make it down the stony path from the Eyrie, throw them in the dungeons."

"The dungeons? Whatever for?"

"We don't want them spreading the illness that the Lady Lysa has contracted," he replied, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease as though he had been lying his whole life.

Ser Brynden, who had appeared troubled from the first, continued to look so. He threw a look at Ned and apparently saw something there that appeased him. He said with a sigh, "As your grace commands."

Aemon strode to his rooms. He could hear his uncle Ned and Ser Barristan trailing behind him. The moment he stepped into his room, he removed the simple silver crown and at the same instant, the coldly calm mask fell from him and he slumped over it, breathing heavily. He kneaded at his temples, already feeling a headache building there and it was in no small part caused by the weight of the crown that he bore.

"I know what you did was hard, your...Aemon," His uncle Ned said. "You did what you had to do. No matter how difficult. I'm proud of you. Though I must say, I didn't realize we had obtained a letter from Lord Baelish."

Aemon winced as though he had been stabbed in the chest by the words, knowing that his uncle had meant them sincerely. He pulled out the letter and unfurled it, gazing at his own untidy scrawl.

"We didn't," Aemon said in a low voice. "I lied." With that, he tossed the letter into the fireplace.

Chapter 31 - Aemon VII

Chapter Summary

Author's Note: Wow, I was blown away by your responses regarding last chapter. I'm so happy you all enjoyed it! I hope you continue to enjoy this story.

Chapter 31

Aemon VII

Aemon hurried their horses along the King's Road. They were now less than a day away from King's Landing and the excitement was palpable around him. Even Ghost plunged around in delight, yipping, sprinting ahead and then running back to gallop alongside them once more. Olyvar, who rode just behind him, laughed at the wolf's antics, bringing a smile to Aemon's face.

Aemon was particularly keen to reach the encampment outside of King's Landing as he had received welcome news two weeks prior: Jaime was alive!

A messenger on horseback had met them near Harrenhal as they were heading from the Vale to King's Landing and delivered four messages, but his eyes were grabbed by the two Lannister seals among them. It had taken all he could not to immediately tear them open and waited for camp to break.

At his first chance, he pulled the letters from his satchel and dove into his tent. If he was expecting a lengthy explanation for his tardiness, he was marginally disappointed. Jaime had written merely one word on the piece of parchment: Ironborn .

For all of its lacking in substance, it was easy to deduce that the Ironborn must have waylaid Jaime in some manner or another. And now the Ironborn have inserted themselves into this conflict. Did they ally with Renly? But if they had, wouldn't they be raiding our western shores by now? Jaime would undoubtedly have more information, but he had clearly been reluctant to share it through letters. That had to be significant if he was concerned about being intercepted. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. They needed to retaliate against the Ironborn, but splitting his army at this late stage when it was prepped on King's Landing's doorstep would be foolish. But he would look even more foolish if he sat outside King's Landing for months on end and eventually had to react to the Ironborn raiding their coasts. Even if they didn't ally with Renly, he had no doubt they'd delight in causing any kind of trouble to aggravate him.

With such an overwhelming force at my back, we should be able to flood the Red Keep. Renly is as green as spring grass. I can't see him fighting to the death, he thought.

He picked up the next letter with the Lannister seal and ripped it open. This had barely more than the first letter, but it caused Aemon's heart to soar: The Reach secured. Jaime actually took the time to sign this letter, whereas the last one appeared to have been hastily written.

We did it. We have five of the seven kingdoms, just like that. Now all we need is the throne, he thought, but it produced a bitter smile. Gathering allies to fight on his behalf had hardly been easy, but it was another matter entirely to maintain the throne. He desperately needed to put heads together with Jaime to have a better idea of how they might tackle the problem of Baelish.

As far as he was concerned, their reunion could not come soon enough, especially since he and his uncle were no longer talking.

He was gratified that his uncle had stopped badgering him about Jaime since before Riverrun, but ever since he admitted to the forgery of the Baelish letter to get Lady Lysa to admit her crimes, his uncle had refrained from speaking to him altogether. If he asked his uncle a benign question in public, he would answer, but he kept his answers minimal. In private, his uncle merely acquiesced quietly, never raising another issue.

However, there was no mistaking the disappointment in his eyes when he admitted to the lie. At first, his uncle had been shocked, but then it had transitioned to fear, and in the next instant to disappointment. He had spent so much of his former life - and even part of this life - striving to make his uncle proud and to see otherwise was like an arrow to his heart.

But he did not regret it. This had to be done. He just hoped he hadn't killed them all by making the first move.

"A king must be bold, a king must be decisive. There may come a time where a king must take risks." Those were words his father had written in his letters and it had struck a chord in Aemon. He was so uncertain and, in some ways, terrified of the path he had to take to secure the realm, but reading Rhaegar's letters had fostered a connection to him. Though he pitied Rhaegar for being sucked into a spiral of insanity, his father had done his best to maintain a connection to reality by outlining his reasons, both rational and irrational for the decisions he made. Once more, he lamented not having Maester Aemon's responses so that he could take advantage of his endless wisdom.

"Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Kill the boy and become the man you need to be." In some ways, that was the advice that had gotten him murdered by his fellow Night's Watch members, but he had done the right thing. If they had made it to Hard Home sooner, so many more Free Folk could have been saved and their inevitable downfall curbed, if not completely prevented. He would reach Hard Home long before the Night King this time.

One step at a time, he consoled himself. He still had so much else to do. First he had to secure the Red Keep and then he would find a way to bring Dany over. She need not suffer anymore than she has to. I pray she is not suffering now.

The other two letters the messenger had sent him were from House Stark and House Martell. Lady Catelyn had written back, agreeing to allow into her household and raise Jaime's poor bastard. His heart lurched once more and then he realized he would have to tell Jaime about his sister's pregnancy as soon as he could.

Doran Martell wrote a letter thanking him for his generosity for sending the villains who had wrongly tortured their family their way. Apparently, Oberyn Martell was having a grand time and wished to send a thousand thanks his way and that he - and he alone, Doran Martell pointed out - was ready to serve in whatever capacity he needed him. The oldest Martell was more reserved and offered to host him should he wish to open further negotiations.

It was yet another message to lift his heart and in more ways than one. Was it possible that he could win their alliance without having to offer his cousin to their oldest heir? He would do just about anything to put a smile back on her face and while she had smiled once she started training with the sword, it had still yet to be directed at him.

"My king," Ser Barristan said just loudly enough over the horse's hooves to grab his attention and he focused on ahead of him and gasped.

He thought the encampment at Moat Cailin was vast, but this was like a sea of canvas, as far as the eye could see. The banners he saw on the outer rims here were a combination of Tully and Westerlands. He had a feeling there had been a tussle with Lord Tywin about camp space. No doubt the North, the original home of their king, would want a prominent seat up by King's Landing. He would have been interested to see that fight, but he hoped it hadn't come to physical blows.

To the far south, just barely within his sight, he could see the golden rose of the Tyrells, a clear testament to Jaime's success. Alongside it, there was the red archer of Tarly, the fox shield of Florent, the flaming tower of Hightower, and more.

Where is Jaime? He could only imagine he had been set up in the Lannister encampment.

The soldiers stood at attention as soon as they entered the encampment, most of them kneeling and they followed the red dragon on black canvas behind him as if transfixed. At first there was quiet, as if the sight had taken everyone's breath away, but then like rolling thunder, a cheer began to follow them through the camp.

Even at a quick trot, it still took them better than an hour to reach the walls of King's Landing. The sun beat down on them relentlessly and Aemon sweat through his leathers, finding the heat stifling. It was not helped by the overwhelming stench of shit. He remembered then, from Sansa and Jaime, that King's Landing had a permanent stench of sewage. And the people are expected to live here? Atrocious! There is no excuse for this. He would have to find a way to install sewers for the peasantry at some point. It was unconscionable that his own ancestors had never seen fit to improve the city in such a simple way.

When they brought their horses to a halt, the lords in the immediate area all fell to their knees. Greatjon Umber was the closest, but around him he could see Karstark, Bolton, Lady Maege, Manderly, Tully, and Ser Stevron Frey. He frowned. He hoped he would see more diversity among his lords, but it would appear they needed to make the extra effort to welcome the lords from other regions to the front of the camp.

"Your grace," the Greatjon intoned, giving him a nod as a stable boy took his horse.

He jumped off his horse and said, "Lord Umber. Good to see you. Everything seems to be in order. Where is my Hand?" All the surrounding lords eyed Ghost warily still. The direwolf had now grown enough to come up to the Greatjon's waist. For the moment though, he stood next to his master.

"Taking all comers in the ring, your grace," the Greatjon said, looking disgruntled.

"And winning them all," Robb piped up, giving Aemon a crooked smile. He had a swollen lip with a red scrape and he wondered if Jaime had been the cause of that.

Aemon grinned. "I would expect no less from the best sword of the Seven Kingdoms. Robb, would you bring him here? I needs must spe -"

"Your grace!" Jaime rounded the group of lords practically skidded to a halt, then he dropped his

head in acknowledgement and smirked at him. "Welcome to the camp at King's Landing!" Jaime's eyes were glittering with barely contained excitement and he seemed to be shivering with unspent energy. He was wearing a full suit of armor painted in Lannister crimson and gold, with a few pieces left steel gray.

Aemon smiled back though it faltered a little as he looked more closely at him. For all of Jaime's energy, his skin was looking wan and bruised from lack of sleep. The scars leftover from the bear stood out in stark contrast on his skin. The four of them stretched across his face with the lowest crossing his left cheek and disappearing into his hair. They had healed well, but the scar tissue was a maroon and had a dull shine to it. He would undoubtedly carry them for the rest of his days. He noticed the hesitation and it brought a puzzled frown to his face.

"Something the matter?"

"Your scars. I had forgotten about them."

Jaime smirked again. "I don't even see them anymore."

"They're on your face! How often do you look in the mirror?"

"Every chance I get."

Aemon chuckled. "Lannister. Of course, how could I forget? Come! We have much to discuss."

"Indeed we do," Jaime said with a wolfish grin.

"My tent?" Aemon asked.

"Baldur, show his grace to his tent," the Greatjon barked and a young boy who likely wasn't old enough for battle leapt up with the alacrity of a mouse and scurried ahead to show him to his tent. The Northern and Riverland lords were by now familiar with the fact that Aemon cared to freshen up only after his business was conducted.

It did not take long to find a large tent, once more furnished with ridiculously plush furniture with a

Targaryen flag hanging over the bed. They sat at a small round table. Ghost remained standing, seeming to stare imploringly.

"Go on, Ghost. I'm sure you're eager to find your brother," Aemon said. The wolf was gone in the next instant, only the swaying of the tent flap to show his departure. Aemon sighed and looked around. "Is this your doing?"

"My father's, actually. This is the closest you'll get to groveling after he failed to follow my orders," Jaime said and he clenched his jaw. Clearly, he still hadn't forgiven his father, but perhaps it was better this way considering the last time Lord Tywin had led his army into King's Landing.

Aemon's own expression darkened. "How has he been?"

Jaime's jaw twitched. "Amenable. For him. I arrived about a week after your Northern-Riverland portion arrived. Tensions were high because my father never plays nice. I did my best to ease tensions and organize the camp in a way that pleased both parties."

Aemon raised an eyebrow. "And did you please both parties?"

"Of course not!" Jaime rolled his eyes. "Your northern lords didn't say anything to my face, but of course they griped about me being biased, but my own father felt that I was placing the Westerlands second to the North. There may have been a few scuffles between soldiers, but no bloodshed. All considering, I think it's a success."

"It sounds like you did as well as you could, considering the circumstances. Thank you for at least attempting to be a pacifying force."

Jaime huffed and Aemon chuckled. He called for refreshments for them and soon there was a plate of cold cuts and wine. Neither one said anything while they were served and it was only once the tent flap fell into place that Jaime began instantly scarfing down the food.

"Hungry?"

"I have been training Pod all day. Besides, you don't care about decorum."

"Fair enough. How is Pod?"

"He is much improved over...the last time. He'll be in much better shape to handle the Long Night," Jaime said. At speaking the 'Long Night,' he dropped his voice to a whisper, gave a furtive glance at the tent walls.

Aemon grimaced. He knew he would have to get used to the Red Keep having walls about as impenetrable as a tent when it came to concealing information as well.

"As much as I love Brienne, her training methods left much to be desired. I don't regret sending Pod with her, but she neglected Pod's training until it was damn near too late."

"She wasn't a knight. She had no obligation to train him."

"But this is Brienne who longed desperately to be a knight. She would have felt the obligation."

They were silent for a moment while they ate and then Aemon asked, "Do you think Brienne's in the Red Keep?"

A shadow passed over Jaime's face and he grew grim. "I'm certain she is. Before I met her, she was besotted with Renly. She would've followed him into Hell."

Aemon felt his insides clench. How would he feel if Daenerys was on the other side and they were on the cusp of battle? At least without her dragons, he could be assured she wouldn't be in the battle. Jaime did not have that luxury. He decided to change the subject. "The North have been informed of the Long Night's threat."

Jaime raised his eyebrows at him. "They believed you?"

"I said the gods had given me a vision."

"And they believed you?" Jaime repeated, growing more skeptical by the minute.

Aemon smiled, but it was hollow. "They had to after I...after I beat the Greatjon Umber. I'm sure there are still skeptics." There was a moment of silence and then Aemon whispered, "The Gods...they possessed me."

Jaime's eyes went wide. "What happened?" He whispered back just as urgently.

So Aemon launched into the story about the fight. He pulled out his sword and laid it on the table. Jaime leaned over and examined it and shook his head in disbelief.

"Passing strange. I commissioned the damn sword in Winterfell. The Blacksmith only had the most common materials available."

"I know."

"Why do you think they did it?"

"If the whole point is to unite the Seven Kingdoms and be prepared for the Long Night, then they needed things to run as smoothly as possible. Convincing the North of the threat, especially this early, was going to be a hurtle. They cleared all doubts with one fell swoop it seems."

"So it seems," Jaime mumbled. "Do you think they really want the Long Night defeated?"

"Why else would we be back?"

Jaime shrugged.

"You met with trouble yourself?"

"Hmm? Oh yes. The, ahem, Ironborn captured me and Pod. I think they wanted to hold us for ransom," Jaime said in a tone that clearly indicated it had more depth than that simple explanation. He fetched a quill and paper and hastily wrote. Then he held up the parchment to Aemon and in scratchy plain letters Baelish was spelled out.

Aemon scowled. Of course. "You're sure?"

Jaime nodded. "I have no proof though, just overheard conversation."

"We'll tackle the Ironborn some other time."

"I agree. We need to focus on taking the Keep." It was here that the excitement returned to Jaime's eyes and he said, "I think I have a way to take it without shedding any blood."

Aemon cocked his head. "I'm all ears."

He smiled avariciously and whispered, "I made contact with Varys. There are hidden tunnels in the Keep that go to all the most important rooms. If I know Renly at all, he's taken one of those rooms. We can grab him and force him to surrender."

"That sounds too good to be true," Aemon whispered. "How do you know about these tunnels?"

Jaime's excitement deflated once more. "It's how I smuggled Tyrion out of King's Landing when...well, when Cersei was going to take his head."

Upon hearing Cersei's name, a shock ran through Aemon and he felt his heart stop. He still had to tell Jaime about his future child!

"I promise, few people know of these tunnels. It was Varys who told me about them."

Aemon was barely paying attention now. "Jaime, I have something important to tell you."

"Does it have to do with our goals?"

"No, but it's important. You have to know."

"No," Jaime said with a terse frown.

"What?"

"Don't tell me. At least not right now. I can see it on your face that it's bad news. Whatever it is will distract me and I can't afford to be distracted."

"But-!"

"Is it urgent?"

"N-no, I suppose not."

"Then it can wait."

"You will want to know this now, I promise you."

"Don't! I don't want to hear it."

"You will get upset if you don't hear it now."

"This is war. I won't suffer any distractions."

Aemon's heart clenched. "I will never forgive myself if you die without knowing this."

Jaime's face became thunderous. "I have no intention of dying. Now, if we can get down to the beach at the bottom of the Keep through Blackwater Bay, I can navigate my way through the tunnels."

He knew he'd already tested Jaime's patience enough and with a quiet sigh he conceded. Should anything happen, I will make sure the child never wants for anything, he vowed to himself, even if Jaime refused to hear it.

"How do you intend to get Renly back out?"

Jaime grimaced. "I have been planning this when I'm not training. I have contingencies but nothing definitive. I have to make contact with my people on the inside to get a better idea of what we're facing."

"How do you intend to do that?"

"By going through with this plan."

"Without having a clear exit strategy?" Aemon hissed.

"Renly's incompetent. He's bleeding soldiers. Since my father has been sitting here, he's been picking up and imprisoning defecting soldiers." A shadow passed over Jaime's face and he grew grim as he continued, "Of course, some of those soldiers were tortured, as if they knew anything. I have a feeling the torturers were holdovers from the Mountain's men. When the North arrived, they tried to put a stop to it, but of course my father doesn't care. So I ended it. I executed every last one of the Mountain's men, another few were lashed. Haven't had any incidents since, but we'd have at least fifty more prisoners if they had been stopped. I made sure the prisoners are never guarded by Westerland soldiers alone now. I'm sorry."

Aemon gritted his teeth. "Damn Lord Tywin. It's like he can't be satisfied unless he is committing some sort of atrocity."

Jaime grimaced. "It didn't used to be that way. My mother would never have stood for torture, but he lost himself after she died, like she took the best part of him with her."

An awkward silence fell as Jaime's eyes stared off in the distance, so Aemon said, "Renly probably has more competent leaders in there now."

"He's not listening to them then. He's too busy sucking Loras' cock," Jaime replied. "But if the defecting men are any indication, he's short on men and therefore the Keep will be largely

unguarded. They won't expect someone to sneak in."

"I don't know, Jaime. There are many ways this could go wrong."

Jaime's eyes grew hard as stone and he drew his mouth into a firm, stubborn line. "I must insist."

"I want to spare lives too, but the last thing I want to do is put the enemy in a position where they have you as a prisoner."

"You're not going to talk me out of this."

"Why not?"

"Because I will do damn near anything to make sure Brienne isn't caught on the other side with no escape."

Aemon winced. They had an overwhelming force and if Renly continued to be stubborn, he may very well lead all of his vassals to their doom. He put his face in his hands, took a deep breath, and sat up again, "Fine, but I insist on at least attempting negotiations with Renly one last time before we make any aggressive moves."

Jaime relaxed and nodded. "Fine. Maybe I'm wrong and he'll see the futility of his situation."

"Alright, now tell me what happened on your mission."

Jaime was not the verbose sort, so his explanation was like a damn being released as a flood of information near drowned Aemon. Tywin tried to marry him off, he picked up Pod, his ship was besieged by Ironborn, they in turn were ambushed by another ship that just so happened to be carrying Jaime's long lost uncle who also was carrying the Lannister's lost Valyrian steel sword Brightroar . He undid the sword at his belt and flourished it like a jester making a grand pronouncement, lying it on the table.

Aemon released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and his fingers twitched to examine the sword. He glanced up at Jaime who was looking up at him expectantly and nodded, his eyes

once more glittering in the candlelight of the tent.

It was a smaller sword than Ice. Whereas Ice was a rather large, but simply designed sword, Brightroar screamed Lannister with its lionhead pommel, red-dyed leather, and gold filigree on the crossguard.

"Wow," Aemon whispered and set it back down. "I'm so glad we have yet another Valyrian steel sword to our cause."

"My father damn near had kittens when I showed him Brightroar," Jaime said and Aemon laughed. "I am temporarily forgiven for dismissing the bride he tried to fob off on me."

Then once again he launched into his story, talking about his discovering the harp's survival, then the arrival at the Reach. Jaime's face grew sour at the next part, "We started the negotiations and we barely got anywhere before I had a seizure."

"Are you well?" Aemon asked.

Jaime snorted. "I'm fine. Seizures can't keep me down, but, of course, now the entire camp knows. My father had some more words with me about concealing that from him.

"Does anyone else know about - "

"No. Only you, me, and Pod know that," Jaime said.

Aemon drew his mouth into a line. ' You think it wise to trust, Podrick?' he wanted to say, but it was Jaime's secret to tell. Pod had a heart of gold and was certain that even at his tender age he would never reveal Jaime's secret, even under pain of death, but it was yet one more avenue to that information. What's done is done. "Very well. Continue."

Jaime suddenly became more guarded and he glanced around, looking at the walls of the tent for shadows. The sun was only just beginning to set so it shined through the canvas and the only shadow that could be seen was Ser Barristan's at the entrance.

What has him so suspicious?

Finally, he said in a whisper, "Have you heard of ciphers?"

"No."

"It's a way for us to communicate in our letters without having to worry about anyone getting a hold of it. It's a way to scramble the alphabet, but you have to know the key to unscramble it. Otherwise the letters read like gibberish."

"Where did you learn this?"

"David. The Shepherds."

"They have been rather invaluable to you."

"Yes, well…" Jaime shifted uncomfortably. "I can't say I fully trust them, but...I have to for now."

"We should work out a system for us to use regarding these ciphers," Aemon said, "but now that we're together, that can wait."

Jaime hashed out the negotiations. Aemon huffed at the terms.

"They're already angling for a child of mine that doesn't even exist yet when we've given them two powerful marriages?"

"That's the Tyrells," Jaime muttered.

Aemon sighed. They were yet another potential threat to keep his eyes on. He wouldn't relax around them until both Sansa and Robb were married. "Is this...plan you have another way to keep your promise to the Tyrells?"

"It was a factor, but not the main reason," Jaime replied. "So, how did your side go?"

Aemon launched into his explanation of his, starting with the trip to the Wall. He could see Jaime was intrigued by Prince Rhaegar's letters to Maester Aemon. He could see the struggle on his face to refrain from asking to read them himself. He would have declined. While the Maester had seen them before, it was one of the few untainted, tangible connections to his father he had left. He hoped it didn't show on his face, but his stomach had given an unpleasant lurch when Jaime had described possibly losing the harp on the sunken ship.

The next hurdle had been Lord Frey and Jaime smirked as he relayed those negotiations, but it fell away. "A Frey on a small council position? The Seven help us, at least I managed to keep Mace off the council."

"And I'm grateful for that," Aemon replied. "I had few options and we have to at least mollify Lord Frey."

"That cunt should be satisfied with having the great honor of hosting your party," Jaime snarled. "We need someone else in charge of that bridge."

"Reel it in," Aemon said sternly. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there." Jaime snorted and he smiled, but it fell away just as quickly as it had come. He quickly glossed over Riverrun and where he got the news of Jaime's disappearance, very nearly telling him the secret Jaime didn't want to hear about. His stumble did not go unnoticed when he saw Jaime's eyes narrow. He stalled at the Vale.

"Were you aware that you were made Warden of the East?"

Jaime cocked his head. "What? Why would I be Warden of the East?"

"Robert Baratheon appointed you as Warden of the East after Jon Arryn died. The Vale were pretty upset about it."

Jaime became glaring and simply said, "Fuck Cersei."

"I had a feeling you didn't know."

"So I can expect the Vale to be pissed at me when they arrive?" Jaime said with another tired sigh.

"I smoothed over as best I could. Lord Yohn Royce is interim lord until Robyn Arryn is old enough to assume his role."

He could stall no longer. It was here that he was certain Jaime could see all of the uncertainty and fear. He should not be afraid! He spent years fighting the Long Night, even before the realm knew about it, but it was his move at the Vale that left him feeling vulnerable and in a precarious position. He sucked in a shuddering breath and then explained what he did as quickly as he could, like a child trying to explain away his misbehavior. He was grateful that Jaime did not interrupt and simply listened.

"I came so close to botching it! It was Lord Royce who got the confession in the end and it was by accident. Did I do the right thing if it didn't even work?"

Jaime was quiet for a moment, his eyes looking down at the table as he rubbed at his neck, frowning pensively. Then he said, "You made the only move that you could."

"You really think so?"

"It would have been odd for you to bypass the Vale. A king who is looking to unite the Seven Kingdoms doesn't just ignore certain kingdoms, especially when they're on his way. It would give an impression that you were afraid and once again emphasize that you are but a boy. By going there you could not come back empty-handed. You would have looked weak losing out to a woman. You did right."

"It doesn't feel that way," he whispered. "I'm not like this. I don't know if I'm cut out for this if that's what it takes to keep the throne."

He saw an intensity come into Jaime's eyes and for a moment he looked as fierce as the lion he was supposed to be. "You are the king. You were meant for the throne. You don't have to do this alone. You have me. And soon, you'll have more allies. Tyrion is a decent strategist, but his mind is for the politics. He's not in his area of expertise, but as soon as he settles into King's Landing, he will be the lion among the deer. Keep him close."

"It feels like I'm losing allies. My uncle won't even talk to me anymore."

Jaime grimaced. "You're already aware of my opinion of your uncle. He's out of his depth and you're far more experienced at the game than he is. I'm assuming he thinks you as dishonorable as I am now?"

"Maybe not quite so much, but yes. I lied to him, I lied to Ser Brynden, I lied even to my own Kingsguard. Can a king who relies on deceit really be a good king to lead the realm?"

Jaime was quiet for a moment, then he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in every direction. "I'm not good at this, Aemon. You're still better at politics than I ever could be, but I suppose you should think of it this way: Baelish is a poison. He is seeping into the arteries of this country and it will soon start rotting away. You have to draw the poison out to save the country and drawing poison out can involve some painful methods. But you have to do what you have to do or the country will be lost."

Aemon was still quiet. He understood what Jaime was trying to say, but the underhanded deeds were making him feel filthy.

"You're not Baelish," Jaime said.

"Hmm?"

"You're not Baelish. While you may be resorting to some of his tactics to draw him out, your intentions are different. He wants to bring the realm to chaos and destruction all so he can take the throne for himself. You want to take the throne to unite the country against an overwhelming threat. Remember the true goal of this. It's not so you can attain power, it's so you can reach a position to prepare the country for a long, cold, hard war.

"Things are difficult, Aemon. They won't get easier and I don't envy the position that you're in, but as long as you make your decisions with the overarching goal in mind, then you've done the best that you can," Jaime said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I wonder if I'll ever get used to this," Aemon whispered, slumping a little.

"You and me both," Jaime muttered.

"Look at us," he said with a chuckle. "All of our experiences and we're still floundering around like boys taking our first swing with a sword."

"We can't do worse than last time."

"The gods willing."

The sun was beginning to set outside and the light cast in the tent turned to an eerie gloom.

"If we're done here, Aemon, I would like to get to work. There is much to do."

"I still have business to conduct as well. Lord Howland Reed is here. I suggest you consult him about your plan."

Jaime raised his eyebrows at him and then nodded. "I will do that." He was gone into the hustle and bustle of the camp.

Chapter 32 - Aemon VIII

Chapter Summary

Author's Note - Thank you all for reading, leaving your Kudos, and commenting! It's wonderful to hear your thoughts about the fic and I hope you all continue to enjoy and discuss!

Chapter 32

Aemon VIII

"Ser Barristan, send for Tyrion Lannister."

"At once, your grace," the old knight said.

Aemon sat once more at the table and breathed, feeling the tension in his shoulders unravel. It had felt so good to vent about everything that had happened since they parted in Winterfell. While he had consulted in his uncle often, he simply wasn't on the same level of understanding as he and Jaime were. It was one thing to know about how events turned out, it's another thing to have lived through the whole damn mess.

Wine was prepared just in time for Tyrion's arrival and the dwarf wasted no time burying himself in his cups. Aemon raised an eyebrow at the behavior, but began questioning him on his reports of Lord Tywin and the Westerland forces. The answers were laced with heavy sarcasm and bitterness. Aemon tried to power through, but finally he had enough.

"Normally, I wouldn't care about what has you so incensed unless it potentially interferes with your mission. I am not convinced, however, you have been giving your orders the full consideration that they require. Why must you act so hostile to your king ?"

The implied threat was enough to get through his alcoholic haze. Tyrion reacted as if slapped; his eyes widened and he shrank back in his chair, but he still held the goblet of wine.

"A-apologies, your grace. I forget myself," he mumbled.

"What has made you so angry? Is it your father?"

"No, your grace, it's...it's my brother. I fear you may know him better than me now."

Aemon's face softened, but only slightly. He knew Tyrion well enough at the end that he absolutely adored his brother and followed him to his death. What made Tyrion such a powerful ally also had a tendency to make him a nuisance. He could see past his allies' and enemies' false words to their true motivations underneath, unless he was missing certain pieces of information. It made him snoop and pry until his curiosity and logic was satisfied.

It was precisely that logic that cast him out of trustworthy candidates to tell their secret. Jaime had said he would laugh in their faces and that was the best case scenario. It could easily be that he betrayed them out of concern for their sanity.

"He is still avoiding you then?"

"Indeed. His excuses of avoiding me always fall under the pretense of being too busy, but his fighting skills will hardly rust in the hour of conversation that I crave with him."

"Have you considered perhaps there is a reason that he is avoiding you?"

Tyrion drew his mouth into a hard line. "Yes," the tone of his reply could slice skin. There was silence and then Tyrion said, "He doesn't like my prying."

"Then don't pry," Aemon said.

The dwarf narrowed his eyes at him and said, "You know the secret he's keeping from me."

"Your brother and I have been separated for six months doing our parts to bring the kingdom together. Our conversation earlier was strictly about the army and how best to end the war. There's no room for personal talk," Aemon replied. Lying gets easier the more you do it, he thought, feeling another pang at the partial lie, but Tyrion was still not ready to hear the truth.

With that, he dismissed Tyrion. As Jaime had already stated, Tywin was not happy to have been forced to sit outside King's Landing for so long doing little more than penning Renly and his Stormland forces in. Tyrion had not mentioned anything about Tywin having an ulterior plan, but it was unclear to him if that was simply because Tywin knew better than to share these plans with Tyrion or if Tyrion was still loyal enough to his father to remain quiet about them. It was difficult to tell with the old lion, but he had a feeling that he should not rule it out.

Next he ordered in Lord Howland Reed and Lady Maege Mormont. They gave him similar reports regarding Roose Bolton. If he was planning something sinister, he hadn't shown it. While he and Lord Tywin had exchanged pleasantries, they had done little more than glare at each other at the time. Still, Howland and Maege couldn't exactly keep their eye on him every minute of every day and certainly not without making it obvious. All was quiet for now.

He retired after that. Normally, he would have preferred to have met the Tyrells and Lord Tywin immediately, but it was well into the night at that point. They would have to wait until morning.

He summoned Jaime for breakfast and his Hand turned up not only looking remarkably chipper, but with the harp case in his hands. Aemon very nearly ripped it away and cradled it. "Thank you for returning it."

Jaime said, "Open it."

Aemon undid the clasps, pulled it open and then gasped. The last time he'd seen the harp, the wood was faded and the majority of the streams snapped or frayed. It had since been polished to a mirror shine and each of the strings were taut and gleaming.

"I commissioned it to be restored in Lannisport. It's playable now."

"Thank you," he whispered, gently running his hands along the string to produce a wave of beautiful sounds.

"I have it under good authority that one of David's men, the musician inside the Keep, can play it. Damn near had to pry from his cold dead hands to get the harp away from him."

He chuckled. He longed to keep holding it, but there was business to be done so, reluctantly, he latched it and stored it in a chest in his tent.

Once breakfast was cleared away, he sent for Lord Tywin. Ghost returned from his hunt just now, panting in the hot sun. He brushed against both Aemon and Jaime before settling down between the two of them. They were quiet as they waited. Jaime remained seated at the table, but Aemon stood, keeping his feet planted solidly to the ground.

"Lord Tywin, your grace," Ser Preston Greenfield announced, with Tywin following behind him.

Aemon nodded at him and the Kingsguard returned to his post at the front of his tent. It took every ounce of his being not to shrink back. Tywin was a tall and forbidding countenance. He saw very little of Jaime in his cold green eyes and the hard planes of his face. He was impeccably dressed in Lannister red and gold armor and a crimson cape. Aemon was finely dressed himself with black and red Targaryen cape but was in otherwise plain dark leathers and his crown. He had a feeling if some poor soul had to guess who was king between the two of them, Tywin would be chosen in a heartbeat.

"Your grace," Tywin said in a gravelly voice devoid of emotion.

"Lord Tywin," Aemon replied, his voice steady as the rising sun. "I wanted to thank you for marching to King's Landing and positioning your camp here like a barricade. I know it was difficult to stay steady in one place without a clear goal. Jaime tells me that I have you to thank for keeping your men busy with training and building war machines. And for the furnishings of my tent." He gestured around his tent.

There may have been a slight upturn of Lord Tywin's lips, but if it was there, it was gone within the blink of an eye. "Yes, your grace."

"He also says I have you to thank for torturing soldiers defecting from the enemy sides. Is that true?"

There was no missing the slight tightening around his eyes. "It is, your grace. There's no denying that important information can be found in odd places. Best to look thoroughly."

"So you have found important information?" The dead silence was telling, but Aemon pressed. "Have you discovered important information?"

"No," Tywin growled. "That doesn't mean it's not possible-"

"You were torturing men who were forced into their positions in the Stormlands armies. None of them are close with the leadership of the Stormlands. You could not hope to possibly gain anything of particular interest, so that leads me to the conclusion that these men were tortured to sate some carnal lust for violence," Aemon's voice was unforgiving as it rang through the tent and he had to take deep breaths to bring his own anger into check.

"Forgive me, your grace, but what is the point of this? Jaime already put a stop to the torture."

"The point, Lord Tywin, is that we are prepared to storm King's Landing any day now. There are unarmed civilians in the city who do not have the means to leave. Considering what happened the last time King's Landing was overrun," it was here that Ghost stood by Aemon and growled, "if I hear that any unarmed civilians were killed during the assault on the Red Keep, I will hold you personally responsible for their deaths. Is that understood?"

Tywin glanced at Ghost and then at Jaime, who had his fingers steepled and was watching him with an oddly blank expression. "You have nothing to say about all this?"

"No," Jaime replied. "I am here to support my king. His words are my words."

"You're dismissed," Aemon said coldly. He was sure it must rankle Tywin to be ordered by a king less than a third his age.

Still, he bowed and in a low voice stated "Your grace" and then was gone.

There was a minute of quiet as they heard his footsteps fade away and then Aemon asked, "Was there anything peculiar about his responses?"

"He was angry, but nothing to indicate he was hiding something," Jaime said.

Mace and Willas Tyrell were summoned next. It took sometime for him to reach the tent since Willas had to be carried, but they finally arrived. Aemon heard the thump of his cane before he saw him. Ser Arys Oakheart pulled back the tent flap to allow them entry. On first glance, Willas seemed an earnest young man with chestnut brown hair artfully arranged around his shoulders and he was dressed in a green robe with gaudy gold finery. He stopped momentarily at the door to weigh them both.

Mace Tyrell was his opposite, strutting about like a prized rooster with his oversized chest puffed out. The gold finery and jewels embroidered into his clothing would have rivaled Cersei Lannister at her most decorative. Aemon struggled to keep from laughing as Lord Tyrell knelt to the ground and said, "Your loyal servant, House Tyrell, is at your service, my liege."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jaime roll his eyes and he tapped his fingers . Even Willas seemed exasperated by his father's behavior, but he stiffly bowed and kept his head down for as long as his father remained kneeling.

Aemon had been standing as a power play to Lord Tywin, but he took a seat for himself for Mace and Willas.

"Your grace," Willas said in a steady and even voice and bowed as low as he was able. "Lord Jaime."

The chat with Mace and Willas was idle. He invited them primarily to assess them. He found Willas to be particularly careful about his words. Although he carried himself with an imperious air, he appeared honest. Mace Tyrell was another beast entirely and Aemon was immediately grateful that Jaime had insisted that Willas sit on the council rather than his father. The lord blustered and made ridiculous declarations. He was just smart enough to phrase his demands as questions and was, of course, particularly concerned about his son Loras, which Aemon could sympathize with. It was clear, though, that his harping on Loras got on Jaime's nerves.

Once Aemon had again reassured Lord Tyrell that Jaime would do everything in his power to ensure Loras' safety, he called yet another meeting to discuss strategy. There were nearly three dozen lords that took part in the council meeting, but closest to him were his uncle, Jaime, Ser Barristan, Greatjon Umber, Lady Maege, Roose Bolton, and Tywin Lannister. Edmure Tully and his Riverland vassals stood on the other side of the table. The Tyrells, the Reach and Westerland lords squeezed in wherever they could find a spot. Tyrion was able to position himself at a foremost spot next to his father.

"Thank you all for coming. I will open negotiations with Renly. Should he be a fool and not surrender, I want everyone to know the plan. Lord Tywin, the Westerland forces will take the siege towers you've been building and try to get over the walls of King's Landing here, here, and here. That should give you cover to ram down the Lion's Gate. Lord Tyrell, Lord Tully, you'll take another three siege towers and attack here and here and here. That should give you an opportunity to tear open the Dragon Gate and the Old Gate. Once the Westerland, Riverland, and Reach forces have drawn their attention, I want the North to focus on the Mud Gate. We outnumber them ten to one. We should be able to poke holes in their defense like cottage cheese."

"We'll overrun King's Landing like a swarm of ants," the Greatjon Umber said with a nasty

chuckle.

"Unlike ants, however, we will take prisoners. Should a Goldcloak or a soldier throw down their arms, they are to be taken prisoner. No unarmed civilians are to be harmed."

"You think that wise, your grace?" Tywin said in a dull voice. Aemon noted that many of the Northerners and Riverland lords scowled at him.

Aemon held his gaze steady as he said, "They are my people! I will not have them needlessly slaughtered."

"As your grace wishes," Tywin said.

"The same goes for the vassal lords of the Stormlands. Fight only to the death if there is no recourse. However, Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon are to be taken prisoner!"

"What of Lord Stannis, your grace?" His uncle asked, appearing to show investment for the first time.

"I sent my cousin Ser Daven Lannister with a contingent of soldiers out to Sharp Point," Jaime said. "It has a clear view of the waters leading into Blackwater Bay. Should Stannis stir and set sail for King's Landing, we'll know about it in a day and a half."

"Any reports yet?" Aemon asked.

"All is quiet," Jaime replied.

"Where will you be, your grace?" Willas asked.

"I will be embedded with the Northern forces. The quicker I can claim my throne, the quicker we will end this siege."

"Where would you like me?" Jaime said in a bored tone. His Hand seemed convince that this

planning was all unnecessary.

"You will be with the Westerland soldiers, of course," Aemon replied, pinning him with an urgent stare. You better be right about this, Jaime.

"What of the Vale?" Jaime asked.

"Lord Yohn Royce was gathering them when I left. They are between one and two weeks out. With any luck, we'll have taken the Keep by the time they arrive."

"Now, for the negotiations. Uncle, you're considered the most trustworthy of us here. Will you be willing to beseech Renly on my behalf?"

"Will he trust me after betraying Robert?"

"You did it for your blood."

"I don't think he'll see it that way. What about Ser Barristan?"

Jaime chuckled darkly. "He immediately switched from protecting Robert to protecting Aemon. You're still probably the most trustworthy person here."

"Your grace, I will be happy to deliver the message of negotiations," Ser Barristan said.

Aemon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He had leaned on his uncle's reputation for honesty for so long that he hadn't considered how it might invoke Renly's wrath to see him. "Ser Barristan it is. I want you to deliver the message now."

Aemon watched him go and fretted. Jaime nudged him, "Want to train?"

"Shouldn't you be training your squire?"

"He needs a demonstration."

The fight did take the edge off Aemon's mood, in part because he could think of little else but fighting as Jaime pressed him. It was satisfying to see the smirk fall from Jaime's face as Aemon stayed even, parrying and countering. Since they parted, Ser Barristan had taken over his training and he had noticeably improved. Coupled with his knowledge of Jaime's fighting style and he was actually getting closer to Jaime's level.

"You're training with Ser Barristan," Jaime said, jumping back.

Aemon raised his eyebrows at him and grinned.

"I recognize those stale moves anywhere."

He huffed at him and went in for a hit. They continued for another few seconds before Jaime weakened his wrist and knocked the sword from his hand. The second fight ended with him being thrown into the dirt. The same continued for fights three and four, but Ser Barristan returned before there could be a fifth fight.

"Renly wishes to meet you at the Lion's Gate before the evening meal. He will be on the wall and you are expected to be on the outside of it," Ser Barristan said.

Aemon nodded. He really hadn't expected anything different and was grateful that Renly wished to get the negotiations out of the way. It seemed he was just as impatient, but for what reason? He hoped Renly really was just a fool and didn't have anything unexpected up his sleeve.

"You should wear armor. We can't give them the opportunity to shoot at you," Jaime said. "Renly might just be foolish enough for that."

"Very well. Everyone is to be in armor. Prepare Robert Baratheon accordingly. We should ensure Renly can't kill him either."

"Hmm...I don't think he's the type of ilk to murder his own family for power," Jaime replied, but for the first time he seemed uncertain.

"He might kill him out of pity once he sees him," Aemon said. They had dragged Robert all the way to King's Landing and the last time Aemon had a glimpse of him was when they reached Riverrun. Cut back to normal rations, the weight had peeled from the old king; his face and skin sagged like ill-fitted clothing. At the same time, his beard and hair went all gray. Where once there had been fire and anger contorting his face, his eyes were clear, but sad. Coupled with the drooping of his skin, he looked like an old dog ready to be put out of his misery. He had been provided with clothes far less opulent for his new status, but he did not bothering keeping up appearances and soiled himself regularly.

It was pathetic and there were times where Aemon felt an ounce of pity for him only to then remind himself that this was the monster who had delighted in the slaughter of his half brother and sister, and whom would've been equally delighted to add him and Daenerys to that pile. Granted, there were still yet more monsters walking unfettered and he hoped that there would soon be a time he would scoop them all up.

"He has a stink that could rival King's Landing," Jaime sneered.

At the appointed time, Aemon, Jaime, Ser Barristan, Ned Stark, Willas Tyrell, a pair of guards, and Robert Baratheon tied to a horse, rode out to the Lion's Gate. Ghost ran between Aemon and Jaime's horse. Jaime was forced to give him a wide berth as his horse shied at the direwolf's presence. Upon approaching the gate, they spread out in a line with Jaime and Aemon in the center. Willas was on Jaime's right. Ser Barristan and Ned were on Aemon's left; Ned was as close to Robert as he could manage.

They waited in silence. The sun was still high in the sky with a few more hours of expected daylight, but their shadows stretched across the plain, bathed in golden light. The day had been stifling and hot, but now a cool breeze swept in, briefly taking the sting from the smell of shit that perfumed the city. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. It was only now that he glanced over at Jaime's short hair in jealousy, wondering how in the world he had managed longer hair in their previous life. A trimming may be in order after he takes the city.

Finally, he saw new figures appear high up on the wall. They were just visible enough that he could see a man with brown hair and a beard and next to him was a man with light colored curly hair. There were at least half a dozen other men flanking them, all wearing their helmets. Undoubtedly the guard.

"The Dragon approaches," the man he presumed to be Renly called out in a lofty voice. "I am prepared to hear you cede the kingship."

Aemon chuckled but there was no warmth to his eyes, not that Loras and Renly could see it anyway. "I do believe it's I who has everything and you who are barely holding the Stormland

soldiers together."

"We have no intention of conceding to a dragon," Renly bit off. "You look a bit young to be playing at war. Perhaps you should run off back to your mother. Ah, apologies, you don't have one."

Aemon clenched his reins tighter and he felt a growl come to his lips, but Jaime shot back first, "I knew you were young, Renly, but I thought even you were above boyhood insults."

"The Kingslayer and now verified traitor chimes in. I knew you weren't to be trusted. You as well, Ser Barristan. I thought you were a man of honor!"

Ser Barristan remained silent and unmoved as his eyes scanned the wall for threats.

"Your brother was never the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. He stole it. With my ascension, it is being returned to its rightful ruler," Aemon replied. By accepting his position as king, he was forced to put on airs. He had to act like he already owned the throne and it was not something that could be denied to him. The feeling was foreign to him, but it seemed that way with every feeling of late. Would he ever be able to remove this ill-fitting mask? "As you can see, your brother, Robert Baratheon, is long my prisoner. The Seven Kingdoms needs a king. I am the only option."

"I don't believe that's my brother, the good King Robert. It looks nothing like him. I could be king in his stead."

"I assure you, Renly, it is him," his uncle Ned finally spoke up.

"You would dare speak, Eddard Stark, after your betrayal to my brother? He trusted you like family and you fed him to the lions!"

"I am not here to argue justification," Aemon snapped. "The iron throne will be mine. You have this one chance: cede the throne and I will allow you to retain your ancestral home of Storm's End. Continue to defy me and I will make certain the name Baratheon is scourged from the face of Westeros."

"Loras! Stop this madness at once," Willas jumped in, straining to see his brother. "You are a great fighter, but surely even you know when fighting will be folly. You can end this! Do it now?"

They could only just see Loras shaking his head. "Never did I ever suspect my family of betraying me. Are you truly a brother of mine?"

"We love you and wish you to join us! Forget this foolishness! King Aemon has already agreed to grant you immunity for your defiance. Please! We do not wish to see you dead!"

Loras had apparently run out of words and continued shaking his head.

"The dragons brought fire and blood to Westeros. My brother brought it peace." Both Jaime and Aemon snorted at that. "Whether he be alive or dead, I will continue to fight in my brother's name. This Baratheon will stand against you, even if he won't. Neither the Stormlands nor the Crownlands are yours."

A voice suddenly boomed out, "NEVER CEDE THE KEEP, RENLY! FIGHT THEM! FIGHT THE DRAGON TO THE DEATH IF YOU MUST!"

Jaime gave a signal and one of the guards slammed his armored fist into Robert's mouth, dazing him.

Aemon glowered and brought his horse in front of Robert. "You would wish your youngest brother dead all to retain your glory? You disgust me." He glanced at his uncle who appeared shamefaced. How many stories had he heard about the greatness of Robert Baratheon? He hadn't been particularly impressed back in Winterfell and now his distaste was cemented. What did my uncle ever see in that whoremonger?

He turned back to Renly. He was just close enough that he could see Renly's now smug smile.

"So you do have my brother. I will do as my brother and king demand. You will take the Keep over my dead body."

There was a pause as Aemon simmered. When he spoke, it was barely loud enough for Renly and Loras to hear, "Very well, we attack at dawn. My men will pour over your walls like the lava poured over Old Valyria, sealing its doom."

With that, he turned his horse and galloped back toward their encampment in the distance. He clenched the reins unnecessarily hard and was sure he'd have blisters by the time he got back. His lords were waiting, including Tywin, Roose Bolton, and the Greatjon Umber.

"Well? How shall it be?" The Greatjon bellowed as he reined in his horse.

He was silent as he dismounted and it continued to stretch as Aemon struggled to reel in his temper. He finally turned to Jaime who was waiting on tenterhooks for his words. "You have until dawn," he finally said to him. With that, Jaime bowed his head and disappeared into the crowd.

Chapter 33 - Jaime XI

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Thank you for reading and giving Kudos to this fic! Extra thanks to those readers who leave comments! Thank you all so much for the support.

TRIGGER WARNING: Slight homophobic views in this chapter. I can't see the predominate attitude of Westeros to be accepting, but I try to get past it quickly.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 33

Jaime XI

The canoe skimmed silently over the still water of the ocean, rocking only with the gentle swell of waves coming in. Jaime's eyes were fixed where the shore should be. The half moon shined through the clouds just enough to see a silhouette of the Red Keep towering up high, but little else. Lord Howland Reed barely caused a ripple as he glided the canoe in. They'd been forced to take a roundabout route to reach the shores.

A lantern light glowed on the beach. It never wavered and never moved. His uncle Gerion assured him it was Cyrus. Once Aemon had given the order, he'd told David to give the signal they had agreed on before sending his man out. The flag of the Shepherds was a Shepherd's Crook and a strange curved sword crossed over one another. They were white on a dark gray field, looking not unlike a pirate's skull and crossbones. According to David, Cyrus had been draping the same flag out the taller windows of the Red Keep about once a week for a few minutes at a time. Apparently David had been watching the Keep like a hawk for it. He figured that if David could see all the way to the Red Keep from their camp then Cyrus could probably see them too.

Perhaps it was because the healer had very little to do. He'd done his best to patch together his father's torture victims, but the most severely injured had passed on. There was no mistaking the glares that David occasionally gave his father behind his back. Apart from Gerion, David and his Shepherds avoided his father like he was a plague.

He could hardly blame them. His father seemed to be more cross than usual. He wondered if it was a combination of him thwarting his marriage plans and also being forced to kowtow to a boy king. Had his father been like this in his last lifetime? Back then Tywin had been in control and now he was forced to do his son's bidding. He had certainly squirmed under his father's iron fist.

He had imagined his homecoming would be a grand occasion in his last life, but the only passionate acknowledgement from his father had been his anger upon seeing him handless. If he'd made it back any sooner, he would've been forced to marry Sansa Stark. He shuddered at the thought. It was gratifying being the one in control now. With any luck, he'd meet Brienne in the next couple of days and begin to court her.

He had expected his father to be happy to see Gerion and ecstatic at seeing Brightroar at his waist. While Jaime had been able to identify positive emotions in Tywin's voice, his face had remained perfectly still like they were talking about nothing more interesting than the weather. Tywin clapped Gerion on the shoulder like he was a soldier rather than a long lost family member. Although he remained impassive, there was no mistaking the glee at finally having their ancestral sword back in the hands of their finest swordsman. But the overarching emotion that Jaime detected was anger. He would have to keep his father close.

"Everyone, get down," Howland gave a rushed whisper. It brought Jaime back to the present. A light was bobbing along the shore now apart from the one in the fixed position. Guards. Just as he was thinking it, Cyrus' light went dark. Lord Reed had stopped rowing and everyone waited with bated breath as they followed the progress of the light. He was honestly surprised Renly had the manpower to send anyone down to the beaches. Probably just a couple of goldcloaks doing sloppy rounds. Sure enough, the light went part way down the beach, not quite reaching the area where Cyrus was and instantly turned around, bobbing back the way it had come.

Before the light had even left the beach, Cyrus' light was once more aglow. Jaime was certain he'd heard the footsteps of the guards and had simply ducked back further into the caves to avoid detection.

Everyone breathed and the canoes once more surged forward. The appearance of the guards gave them a renewed sense of urgency. Jaime had to fight to keep himself fidgeting as he tried to contain his energy. He hoped grabbing Renly would be as easy as he said.

Finally, there was a scraping as the canoe reached the shore and Jaime sprang out like a rabbit and pulled the boat ashore before anyone else could get out of the boat. Then he went along and made sure the rest of the four canoes were secure before turning to the light. He couldn't see Cyrus, but it was easy to see the opening of the cave.

He rushed up to the cave, a hand on the hilt of a dagger shoved into his belt. He had left Brightroar back at camp in Pod's care. He peered carefully into the cave.

"Well, don't just lurk there, come in," Cyrus stood deeper in the cave, barely within the ring of light from the lantern, and he waved them over. Jaime almost hadn't recognized him behind his

carefully sculpted goatee.

"I'm glad to see you're safe, dear," Delphine slid over to Cyrus like a shadow and wrapped her arms around him. She attempted to plant a kiss on his lips, but he jerked away.

"What is she doing here?"

"She volunteered," Jaime replied, pulling the cloth from his face. "I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't hear of it."

He really hadn't wanted any of the Shepherds, except perhaps his uncle, on this team. However, they were already halfway into this mess with their friend already lodged in the Keep and he hadn't wanted to include more people than was necessary. But their absence from the army would go unnoticed as they geared up for war.

That they had the skills necessary to sneak in still surprised him. He'd asked Gerion about it and he'd received a rather lengthy history of how the Shepherds sponsors had frequently forced them to cut rather shady deals to continue working with the poor and less fortunate. David had considered it worth it, but they were down about three Shepherds who had crossed enemy lines and never returned. After each of those incidences, David would pack up shop and leave immediately, never to return to the city or town again.

"Cyrus, if you can't argue her out of something, Jaime won't be able to," Gerion grumbled.

"He's the Hand of the King. I figured his authority would carry more weight."

"I had neither the time nor the inclination to bother," Jaime said, his own voice colored orange with his impatience.

"Are you still intent on doing this?" A soft voice in periwinkle blue called out to them and just beyond the ring of light, he could see Varys standing with his arms in his sleeves and that ever present passive expression on his face.

"Yes, let's get going before those guards come back."

"You have another way to get us out of here?" Callum asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yes. There are several doors out onto the streets and then we can make our way to the Mud Gate. I don't think the Keep is in any fit state to stop any intruders," Jaime said. He sounded far more confident than he actually felt, but he powered on anyway.

"You shouldn't have any trouble. I dosed the wine," Cyrus said.

Jaime cocked his head. "With what?"

"Something to get them drunker faster. I bet most are already passed out and the rest are too sloshed to know what's going on."

Who are these people? Jaime thought for yet the dozenth time. He had brought them on this mission because none of the Lannister soldiers were trained for this kind of subterfuge, but the Shepherds were.

"Do you know the pathway through the dragon room? There's one that leads outside the city walls and opens at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush. You'll need your lantern for it," Varys said.

Jaime frowned. That must've been the path Tyrion used to meet with me back when I was still Cersei's dog. It sounded like their best shot. "Great. Any idea where Renly is?"

"Well, you should be pleased to know that the easiest part will be reaching Renly. He's taken the room of the Hand of the King for himself. Ser Loras is paying him a nightly visit according to my little birds," Varys replied with an unpleasant giggle.

Jaime scowled. I will burn those sheets first when I take my quarters.

"I'm glad you're here. I feel like I have been living in another world. Everyone's too afraid to talk about the huge army sitting on their doorstep and they spend their days numbing their senses with wine. If there was a fight, they'd all be too hungover to put up much of one," Cyrus said with a troubled frown.

"Really? No one's tried to talk sense into Renly?"

"Trying to speak sense into that man is like trying to talk a shark into not eating you. They're resigned to their fate. 'Anything to deprive the dragon from his throne,'" Cyrus said.

"Anything?" Jaime asked sharply, his mind flitting to the barrels of wildfire still underneath the city.

"I'm afraid your man Cyrus is correct. Renly and Loras have had their ears filled with an endless stream of the atrocities that King Aerys has committed," Varys replied. "I tried to appeal to them for the common folk's sake, but Renly is convinced the king will make him burn as his grandfather did to his enemies. Most of them only follow because Renly is their liege lord. There has been whisperings of a mutiny, but nothing certain."

"King Aemon offered him the chance to keep his title for his surrender."

"He insisted that it was a ruse and they were all still going to die for their treachery. Your lord father torturing soldiers only made it worse," Varys said.

Jaime grinded his teeth. This is the problem with being feared. No one can trust us to not brutalize them, he thought. Of course when he'd been less mature, he mistook fear for deference, but it was after he'd finally seen Cersei for who she was that he could finally see the damage that being a backstabbing Lannister had wrought. Renly's fate wasn't likely to be pleasant, but being burned to death was out of the question.

"We must go," Howland Reed hissed from the cave.

"I have informed my little birds to keep to their beds tonight. You'll only have to worry about guard rotations, but there is no one alert enough to make sure the guards are maintaining their rounds," Varys said. "Do you know how to get to the room of the Hand?"

"Where was it again?" Jaime whispered. He struggled to listen as he peered into the total darkness of the tunnels He was no longer there and was instead back in that other life time crouching and crawling through what had felt like miles of tunnels, searching for his brother after he murdered their father. The tunnels underneath the Tower of the Hand had been a perfect metaphor for his life

back then: crawling through a never-ending maze, praying to find the end. It was truly amazing how far he'd come from then. His whole life, both the last one and this one, he had been searching for a cause. The same way some young ladies dreamed of their dashing knight sweeping them off their feet, he had dreamed of being a hero to a great cause. He had never truly outgrown that.

His family had tried desperately to show him that fighting, lying, and cheating on their behalf was a great cause, but that paper facade had fallen in tatters after the death of their father. He had allowed himself to be fooled out of much abused love for his sister until she had finally removed her mask just for him.

Varys turned to leave, but Jaime grabbed his sleeve and said, "One last question: Where's Baelish?"

"Gone."

Jaime scowled. "Elaborate."

"He jumped a ship a month past. He told Renly he was bringing his own soldiers," Varys replied and then giggled like it was a grand joke. With that he pulled out of Jaime's grasp and disappeared into the night.

Littlefinger was yanking Renly's chain. He'd never sacrifice anything for the losing side, he thought. If he were a betting man, he'd suspect Littlefinger was holed up close by, waiting for news about the siege. He'd want to ingratiate himself to Aemon as quickly as possible.

"You ready?" Gerion said, prodding him back to the present.

"Yes, let's go."

They walked carefully through the tunnels. Jaime swept his lantern around to all the side tunnels, every once in a while shaking his head as though that was enough to dispense with the thoughts that assaulted him. They ducked, they crawled on their hands and knees ever forward, and still the others followed him without so much as a question.

Who are these people that they would have such faith in me? Gerion was one thing, but the rest of

them? He wasn't even entirely sure he could remember the instructions that Varys had given him.

That was tested when Vicente said, "Varys said it was right."

"Hmm?"

"You're going straight. We have to turn right here."

"Are you sure? I've been here before."

"I'd prefer not to die wandering these tunnels forever, Lord Jaime. It was right," Vicente replied with a bite to his voice.

He trusted Vicente more than himself at this moment. He could easily misremember after his long ago misadventures of stumbling through this darkness.

Finally the chamber opened up. Five doors lined the wall, barred by iron, but what grabbed his eyes was a set of rungs leading through an opening in the ceiling.

"I'm pretty sure this is it," Vicente whispered.

Of course it is, Jaime wanted to snap, but he bit his tongue. How many times had he climbed up and down this same ladder searching for his brother? Times inumberal. He peered up into the passageway and was greeted with an impenetrable darkness, but he couldn't climb with the lantern.

He turned to the group of people following him. "Vicente, I want you to come after me. The rest of you come in whatever order you please. Don't forget to smother the lamp." With that he began climbing with far more boldness than he felt as the darkness enclosed around him. It eased his nerves to hear Vicente following behind him without hesitation.

On and on, they climbed. Jaime was starting to wonder if they were ever going to reach the top when he reached his hand out and found nothing. He reached for the lip and pulled himself up. The passage was small enough that he was forced to crawl. He winced as the stone passage bit into

his knees and he tried to squat on the balls of his feet as he felt along the wall. He felt one opening, two, and...he knew he was at the right one when he heard a pleasurable moan.

Moans drifted over to them, and neither one was feminine. It's one thing to know what they do. It's another to hear it, he thought sourly. He pulled on the hook and the hearth slid sideways just enough so he could he peer through to see Loras on top of Renly, moving in a rather familiar motion. Thankfully, Renly was turned away from their direction.

"Vicente," Jaime whispered. "Renly's the one...on the bottom. We need him awake. You detain him and I'll subdue Loras. Let me get ready." He awkwardly felt for a pouch at his waist and pulled out a stoppered bottle and handkerchief. David had prepared for them a clear mixture of what he used to knock out his patients for surgery. It had a sharp smell that made Jaime want to sneeze. He dabbed the liquid onto the handkerchief and put the bottle away.

He leaned against the door and it opened wide enough for him to slip out. He covered the distance to the bed in a few strides.

"Oh gods!" Loras noticed him and fell back, reaching for his sword that was propped up next to the night stand. Jaime grabbed him and stuffed the cloth over his nose and mouth.

"What?" Renly turned to see the issue, but before he could so much as yell, Vicente had a knife to his throat.

"Resist and you die," Vicente hissed.

Loras flailed against him, trying to push him off, but the pungent liquid was doing its work. He grew weaker and weaker until he finally fell limply to the bed. Jaime let him go and checked his vitals to make sure he was still breathing and then he shoved him further off Renly, trying to keep the sheet in place.

"You killed him, you monsters," Renly cried out, grabbing for Loras, only for the knife's blade to dig further into his neck."

"Fear not, he yet lives," Jaime said, glaring down at him.

I-I don't know who you are, but all I need to do is scream and the guards will come running," Renly said, trying to look tough but he was visibly trembling beneath the sheets.

Jaime pulled down the black cloth covering his face and sneered. "Don't be ridiculous, Renly. You can't have guards posted outside your door. What would the Keep think if they knew you liked to get pegged by the Knight of Flowers every night?"

Renly's eyes went wide and whatever color was left in his skin drained. "K-Kingslayer! Wh-what are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm here for? You're going to surrender the Keep and your title as Lord of Storm's End."

He blinked and looked around at the other three who were there, standing ready, with only their eyes visible. "Just the five of you? I have a Keep full of soldiers. How do you imagine that will happen?"

Jaime gave him a malicious grin. "Don't lie, Renly. You've been bleeding soldiers since my father set up the army outside the Keep. I bet you couldn't even get full rotations out of what you have left." Just the way Renly's eyes shifted told him he was right. "Now, you can either walk out under your own power or be carried out. Which would you prefer?"

Renly looked sullen now, like a child trying to sneak sweets. "I'll walk out," he muttered.

"Get some pants on. Callum, guard the door. We can't have him run."

Callum stood in front of the door with his arms crossed, bearing the lantern, and Vicente removed the knife from his throat. Delphine loitered near the window, clearly insuring Renly didn't try a suicide jump. He was fairly certain that Renly would never have the balls to commit suicide, but he made no comment.

The young Baratheon made it an exercise to put his pants on slowly until Vicente prodded him none too gently with the knife, leaving a mark that trickled blood down his back. Once Renly finally had boots and pants on, Vicente kept the knife on him while Delphine deftly tied his hands and gagged his mouth. Jaime busied himself with tying Loras' hands and feet, just in case he awoke earlier than expected.

"Now walk," Jaime said, pulling up his face cover once more. Vicente followed behind him, guiding Renly with one hand on his shoulder and the knife once more at his back. The others followed closely behind. Unlike the room, which was well-lit with a fire and candles, the hallway was dark and silent in the Tower of the Hand.

"Wait," Delphine's whispered out behind them. "Let me go first. I'm quieter. I'll warn you about any patrols."

She slipped by them like a whisp and there was only a small scraping sound where her feet touched the stairs. Then she came back and waved them down, her hand only just visible in the dim lighting of the stairwell. Renly almost slipped and fell, but Delphine held him up to prevent him from tipping over. Jaime was certain he was doing it on purpose, but it was dark. They stopped at the bottom of stairs; Jaime joined Delphine in looking around.

"I see the guards on the wall, but no one on the grounds so far," she whispered.

"We have to cross the grounds to get to the Keep. We should make a run for it. Uncle, carry Renly. I don't trust him to not trip us up."

They had to take a longer way trying to stick to the shadows. Jaime kept glancing up at the guards on the wall and at the moon. The guards were facing forward looking out onto the streets of King's Landing; the moon kept drifting in and out behind clouds. He paused to wait for a massive cloud to cover the moon and then waved them forward.

Gerion picked up Renly by his legs and threw him over his shoulder. It only took a matter of seconds to sprint across the grounds as quietly as possible, but Jaime's heart was pounding the entire time. As soon as he reached the cover of the overhang, he flattened himself against the wall and held his breath, listening for any warning shouts.

Across the grounds, a guard said, "What was that?" It was far enough away that it was only just heard and his entire crew froze.

"What?"

"I thought I saw somethin'. Just a shadow."

"Prolly a cat, Kalon. It's nothin'. Keep your eyes on the front. That's where the army is."

"It's too dark to see nothin' anyway."

They all let their breath out as quietly as they could manage and Gerion set Renly down once more. They were about to continue when they heard muffled voices from inside the Keep. There was an entrance to Jaime's left and he darted across it to be ready to strike from the other side. He locked eyes with Delphine who nodded.

"What is the point o' this? We shoulda left with the rest o' them."

"You heard what happened to them. Ole' Tywin Lannister skinned them alive. That coulda been us."

"Is that any worse than what we'll be facin' tomorrow?"

"We'll die heroes!"

"Don't believe that claptrap. We'll die traitors."

"You might listen less to Lord Dondar-oof!"

Delphine did a high kick straight into the man's face and at the same time Jaime grabbed the other and once more stuff the cloth to his face. Callum rushed in to help Delphine grab her man and set him down gently inside the door, so that his body would be harder to find.

Once Jaime had finished with his, he turned to her and hissed, "I said no bloodshed!"

"He'll live," she replied.

They hid the other man and continued on down the hallway. Jaime was leading the way in swift strides, feeling the sweat beading his forehead. It was quiet. Too quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the sound of the flames from the torches on the walls. He recalled that Varys said his little birds had hid away for the night, but there oddly didn't seem to be any guards. He kept soothing himself that there could not possibly be a trap waiting for them. Not unless Cyrus made some other shady deal, possibly with Baelish, he thought and felt his palms sweat. Was the concern for Delphine normal or had he manufactured a situation where he was in fear for her safety because of what he had planned? Where were the other lords? Dead drunk like Cyrus implied? Thankfully, if they were in the grand hall feasting and drinking, they would skirt that area entirely, likely to run into only guards, but they had to hurry or they'd have to worry about the army waking to prep for the battle.

Would they even prep for battle? If morale is that low, is it possible Aemon could just walk in? He quickened his pace.

He heard and saw a scraping and immediately halted, a hand going to the knife at his waist. He studied the shadows and saw a hulking form by a doorway. There was no mistaking the shine of a steel blade as it was raised to his chest.

"Take one more step and I'll skewer you." Brienne of Tarth's voice blossomed in front of him like a magenta flower.

Jaime felt his heart plummet through his feet and he swayed for a moment as he became light- headed. How often had he imagined hearing her voice again? His instincts kicked in and he pulled the knife and joined its blade to the tip of Brienne of Tarth's sword.

"Careful. If you so much as scream, we'll kill him," Vicente snarled stepping to the side to reveal Renly. His knife was now at Renly's neck and he had Renly by the throat rather than the shoulder. Renly, to his credit, was groaning through the gag and shaking his head in alarm.

About the only sensible damn thing Renly has ever done, Jaime thought, surprised he could connect his own thoughts to anything coherent. He was panting and sweating, hoping that no one noticed the tremble in his hand.

"Put your sword away, my Lady. No one need die," he heard himself say, but it was as if from a great distance.

She stepped out far enough from the shadows that he could just make her out. She was glowering

and the torch light flickered sinisterly over her face. "I knew something was amiss when I saw no servants in the halls on the way back to my rooms. And everyone's drunker than usual, collapsing where they sit drunk. It's been most...suspicious." Her voice was a controlled burnt orange.

"Clever wench. Much cleverer than the other lords here," Jaime whispered, his voice a shaky yellow, projecting none of the strength he had hoped. He began to circle, dragging her sword with his knife tip. In a straight fight, she had the reach to do just as she threatened and if there was even a stray hit against the wall, it might bring the entire Keep down on their heads. But she was beholden to Renly's life. He counted on her being paralyzed by Vicente's own threat.

Sure enough, she was flicking her eyes from his to Renly's, knowing full well the trap he was carefully guiding her into, but she followed all the same. He felt his muscles coil as she dutifully matched him step for step. Suddenly she turned to swing her sword to hit Callum in the neck, but Jaime struck with the swiftness of lightning, reaching around to clap the cloth to her face and pulled her back from his team. A violent shrug nearly dislodged him; he barely kept a hold of his own knife.

All the while he held the cloth over her mouth and nose, he whispered into her ear, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Forgive me." Just as with all the others, she finally went limp, but Callum was too late to take her sword and it clattered to the ground, seeming to reverberate through the halls like a rang bell.

"We have to leave. Let's go," Jaime gasped. He set her to lean against the wall and then they hurried down the passage.

"Did you hear that?" A low sounded down the hallway. At the same time, Renly tripped, but Vicente already had such a tight grip on him that he didn't fall all the way. Callum easily scooped the rest of him up and they hauled him around the corner. Once again, they flattened themselves against the wall. Jaime stared when Gerion came around bearing a torch and went further down the hall to limit the light from view.

Jaime turned on Renly. "Try anything like that again and I'll make sure you never walk again." Renly's eyes widened and he shook his head. Then he went to take the lead again, but when he got to Gerion he asked, "You grabbed the torch?"

"Aye, I thought if they didn't have light, they may not find her as quickly."

"Good thinking," Jaime replied. They had to hurry. They were leaving too many unconscious

people lying around in hallways. Thankfully, the stairs to the dragon room were just around the corner and he hurried down them. No one cared to venture this far into the Keep and he would agree that it was eerie looking at the dragons' skulls.

The room finally opened up. As they walked further in, the dragon skulls became more pronounced and seemed alive in the flickering of the torch light. Almost everyone in the group gasped as Balerion the Dread's skull loomed over them, seeming about ready to chomp them all in one bite.

"Light the lantern," Jaime said and began to draw in deep breaths. His heart was beating a mile a minute and his thoughts were scattered as he quickly tried to regain some kind of calm and order. He couldn't keep from fretting about Brienne. Of course, of course she'd be the only one alert in the entire Keep! Wonderful start to our relationship. She'll hate me for knocking her out. Yet another hurdle in a long line of many that he'd be forced to overcome.

"Are you well?"

Jaime was startled out of his thoughts by his uncle Gerion who came up beside him.

"Fine, fine. Just...ready to get this over with," Jaime said in a rush.

"Oh good. You seemed a little unsettled with that woman warrior back there. Just making sure you haven't lost your step." There was no mistaking the green thread of mocking in his uncle's voice. He had a feeling if the light was better he would be able to see his eye's dancing too.

"Your concern is noted, but not necessary," Jaime hissed.

Gerion grunted but it sounded an awful lot like a masked chuckle to Jaime.

Jaime grabbed the lantern that was now lit and led the way down the passage. All was quiet. He prayed to the gods that it would last for some time.

"What is that stench?" Callum asked.

"This is part of the sewer of the Keep," Jaime replied, wrinkling his nose as well. He cringed as he felt liquid - likely a mixture of piss and shit - soak into his boats. He'd burn these on top of his sheets as soon as he was able to.

It was almost startling when the cave walls fell away and they found themselves out by the beach. He blew the lantern out and Gerion buried the torch into the sand. Glancing around, he could see that they were dumped out at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, just as Varys said. Behind them, way up high on Aegon's Hill, the Red Keep towered over them.

"I'll be damned," Gerion whispered.

"That was easy," Vicente crowed quietly, dropping the knife from Renly's neck.

Too easy, Jaime thought with a shiver. Had people just been coming and going through the Keep all these years without anyone knowing about it? Did Baelish know these tunnels? He'd be surprised if he didn't.

"I'd be interested in exploring more of those tunnels," Vicente said, his voice green with excitement as he glanced back once more at the cave.

"Focus," Jaime barked. "We may be outside the city, but we still need to get him to camp. The crannogmen should be here-"

"Lord Jaime," a voice called out. Almost as if summoned, dark shadows that were resting on the water stirred. "We're ready."

They climbed aboard. Jaime pulled Renly into their canoe and forced him to curl up on the floor. "Where's Lord Reed?"

"He decided to return to camp with Lord Varys and Lord Cyrus."

He's not a lord yet, Jaime thought, but he supposed he might as well be. He had promised Cyrus a lordship if he delivered and the musician had clearly done a masterful job of infiltrating the Keep.

Jaime breathed a sigh of relief as the boat was shoved into the water and then started when the bells began ringing in the Keep above.

"A little late now," Gerion said with a chuckle.

"They don't know that," Jaime replied and turned to look forward to their destination. Now that the hard part was accomplished, he began to stew over the one thing he had been desperately trying to keep at arm's length: Brienne.

The first time we touch and I knock her out, he thought, biting his lip to prevent the longing groan that wanted to escape. He had waited so long to see her again and it was once more as an enemy. At least it was likely to be short-lived, but it would take some work to let go of her newfound grudge.

He clenched his fists to release the tension he felt in his shoulders. They had never consummated their relationship in the previous time because he had promised to marry her after the Long Night, to ensure her honor went mostly unsullied. They had fooled around, but he refused to leave her with a bastard growing in her belly. If they were to have a child, it would be a legitimate Lannister. But she had died defending Sansa and he had lost all hope.

Would it be the same? A niggling thought surfaced and he tried desperately to bury it. He had been clinging to his one hope for too long to have doubts now. He wasn't sure what he'd do if she rebuffed his advances forever. Could he love her the same as the Brienne of before?

It was a relief when the canoe bumped up onto the sandy shore. He hauled Renly to his feet and prodded him to get moving. "Where are the horses?"

"Ser Addam has them. He's in a clearing just through these trees," one of the crannogmen pointed.

Jaime sighed and steered Renly forward. His eyes scanned the area for some hint as to where Addam would be sitting. Sure enough the light gray of a horse whinnying reached his eyes and ears and he was able to guide Renly, though both of them stumbled through the underbrush without aid of light.

"Addam?" He called both for direction and to let him know he was there.

"Jaime! Good to see you alive. Got what you were looking for?" Addam asked from atop his horse, holding a torch aloft, his eyes falling upon the downcast Renly.

"That I have. Pod, what are you doing here?"

The boy was just behind Addam, holding a torch as well, still looking uncomfortable on his brown palfrey, but he replied, "Ser Addam said you required your horse. The squire is in charge of it."

"If I recall correctly, I gave you the night off," he replied wryly but he couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"Even so, m'lord. It didn't seem right not to attend to you when you needed me most."

"You're a good man, Pod," he said.

Addam and Pod had no less than four horses with them. "Agro," Jaime called out and his horse broke from the herd to amble over to him. She was a purchase from Willas. Despite being female, she was enormous for her size, but Willas insisted she was the best trained horse he had. She had yet to disappoint. Her coat was dark as soot save for a white diamond on her forehead. She nudged his shoulder and he patted her on the nose, then he hauled Renly over and threw him over the front of the saddle before climbing up with him. It took a bit to get situation so that he could ride comfortably but then he was gone. His uncle and the Shepherds stayed behind to help the crannogmen with portage of their canoes; Renly was of the utmost importance.

"Addam, stay here and make sure the Shepherd's and crannogmen get back to camp with little trouble. Pod, follow me."

They weren't riding for more than a few minutes when the trees opened up and they found themselves on the edge of the encampment. In the dead of night, the only ones awake were the guards on patrol. They were followed with interest. Jaime nudged his horse into a trot, holding the reins in one hand and keeping Renly in place with the other.

Aemon was standing outside his tent next to David, both looking anxious.

"You're back! That was quick. When we heard the bells, we feared the worst."

"Hah. We were halfway across the river by the time they sounded. Nothing to worry about," Jaime said with a cheeky grin.

"My team?" David asked.

"Down at the river helping the crannogmen carry their canoes. They're in one piece," Jaime replied. As confident as he'd been, he was concerned about either losing or injuring one of the Shepherds. David had offered to to assist him with his seizures, but he had a feeling that offer would be rescinded if tragedy struck any of his people. "Your man Cyrus should have been back by now."

"He's probably with his children then," David replied and hurried off.

Jaime slid off his horse and pulled Renly down none too gracefully and he fell face down into the dirt. "Get up," Jaime snarled, prodding him with the toe of his boot to the ribs.

"What is that smell?" Aemon said, wrinkling his nose. "The smell of shit get stronger?"

"I had to trudge through it to get him out."

"This was your idea," Aemon replied.

"Yes and it will be all worth it. Into the tent!"

Ser Preston and Ser Arys were guarding Aemon for the evening and they stood on either side of the tent flaps. One held it open as Jaime shoved Renly inside and into a chair.

"Fancy meeting you again, Renly Baratheon," Aemon said, stepping closer and draw himself up. "It must be different, meeting on a new level. I bet you thought you were on top of the world up on the wall, staring down, thinking I looked puny and insignificant on my horse. My how the times change."

Renly whimpered. His eyes were watery with unshed tears and he trembled uncontrollably in the chair. His trousers darkened as the tent filled with a strong scent of urine.

"Like elder brother, like youngest brother," Jaime commented, his lip curling in disgust.

"Oh, Renly, you don't get to feel fear. You brought this on yourself," Aemon said harshly. "I gave you every chance to turn over the throne to me, allowing you to keep your title as Lord of Storm's End, and not only did you throw it in my face, you took the extra effort to insult me. You had your chance. Now your fate is in my hands." With that he undid the gag and pulled it out of his mouth.

"P-please, please. Don't burn me. I beg of you. Mercy."

"Honestly, Aemon, he deserves to have his head removed. You have the gall to beg for mercy after being so malicious?" Jaime snapped.

"I was only-only trying to protect the people."

"Yes, protect the people by locking them up in the city and depriving them of food, wares, and peace."

"There were ships," Renly muttered.

"That's not enough to keep a city of half a million alive. How many had to suffer for your pride?" Aemon growled.

"Please. I'll do anything! Just-just don't kill me."

"You know very well what I need from you."

"The th-throne. It's yours. I'll surrender, just please spare me, my king."

Aemon sneered. "Yes, I am your king, but not for much longer. You are to be banished to the Wall."

That was apparently an even more terrifying prospect, for Renly's eyes widened and he sobbed, but he made no protests.

"Come now, Renly. You will spend the rest of your life in service to the Watch. Protecting the Wall is a most grave and important responsibility," Aemon said.

For however long that is, Jaime thought. He almost pitied the poor bastard, knowing what he was going to face. But they needed more men up there.

"Let's not wait any longer."

"Actually, Aemon, I need a wash," Jaime said.

Aemon gave him an annoyed look, but almost immediately broke up into laughter. "Fine. My Hand needs to make himself pretty. I suppose I can wait."

"Just because the city smells like shit doesn't mean I have to!"

"I said fine. Be back by dawn, I want to be in the Red Keep by the time the sun is up."

Chapter End Notes

Author's Note: I tried to extensively research some of the passageways under King's Landing, most notably the one Arya discovers when she hides in the dragon room and follows a pair of men out of the Keep and the passage Tyrion takes to make his escape. Only Tyrion's is particularly well-described and it

doesn't even tell us where it comes out, so creative liberties have been taken.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! With that, I'm sorry to say that I will be switching to a bi-weekly schedule for chapter posting. I'm running out of chapters again and I want to spend at least some of my free time doing things that aren't writing, but I really wanted you, the audience, to get to this point before I dialed it back again. Next chapter will be posted up 9/15/18

Chapter 34 - Ser Barristan I

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Good day, everyone! I hope you're all feeling super! Thanks again for your support. When you read, when you comment, when bookmark this, when you give kudos, it's all a form of support and it means a lot to me! I hope you enjoy the chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 34

Ser Barristan I

He watched King Aemon pace around the tent. Normally his king was remarkably implacable for a boy his age. But he's not really a boy, he had to remind himself. He shivered when he thought back to the story Aemon had told them. At any other time, Aemon would have been thoroughly dismissed for crazed imaginings, but certain pieces of the puzzle regarding Jaime Lannister had finally fit into place.

Once upon a time, Jaime Lannister had fallen in love with a warrior woman named Brienne, and that's why he called for her during his worst nightmares in the White Tower. It's why Jaime had such a haunted look in his eyes when Barristan knew full well it hadn't been there right after his murder of King Aerys Targaryen II. At first, Barristan thought perhaps his lecture had gotten through to him, but that had happened even a few months before Jaime had undergone a complete personality change.

He had been so incensed by Jaime murdering the king and then retaining his position as Kingsguard, he refused to engage with Jaime at all unless it was to tell him his guarding shifts or to train. Jaime had allowed him to. Even after the sting had finally lessened, Barristan found he was too busy working with the other Kingsguard and trying to fill the empty spots to pay much attention to him.

Jaime's eyes had shined with excitement and delight when Ser Arthur Dayne had knighted him and even after he'd been inducted into the Kingsguard, he still retained some of that youthful energy. That had clearly been stripped away by the war. He had his moments of arrogance on the training grounds where he still enjoyed showing his superior fighting skills, but outside of battle he barely smiled at all.

Then one day he'd woken up and he hadn't been able to fight at all. He kept looking at his swordhand as if it was foreign to him and Ser Barristan had bested.

"Are you well, Ser Jaime? I bested you easily," he had asked, feeling reinvigorated by finally taking the fight against him for the first time in nearly three years.

He would never forget the way Jaime seemed to look right through him as though he were meeting him again for the first time. Then he said, "Again."

This time Barristan took it easier on him and was alarmed at how drastically Jaime had changed in just one day. He kept misplacing his feet, his stance was no longer attuned to his right hand His instincts are backwards, he thought as Jaime jumped to the left instead of to the right and took a blow right in the ribs. Each time they fought, he would shake out his right hand, as though it weren't working properly.

"What is going on? What is wrong with your hand? Should I fetch the Maester for you?"

"Nothing," Jaime snapped. "I just need practice. Again!" He switched his sword to his left hand this time.

He was even worse with the left hand and for the first time, since King Aerys died, Jaime looked afraid. Instead of dueling with him again he turned to practice dummies. It was only a few days later, after the king had had a few days with his new wife, the Queen Cersei, that Barristan had informed him of Jaime's regression.

At first the king had merely hand-waved it away, but then he saw Jaime struggling to go through the basic moves and he consulted with Barristan. Queen Cersei had ordered Grandmaester Pycelle to look after her brother, though he insisted he was fine. After a discussion with the king, they brought him up and nearly ejected him from the Kingsguard.

"We can't have a Kingsguard who can't fight," the king had snarled.

"Please, your grace, I insist this is only an inconvenience. Give me a month and I'll be able to take Ser Mandon Moore in a straight fight," Ser Jaime had begged.

He never thought Jaime would ever reduce himself to the humiliation of begging, but he had. It

was then that Barristan had wondered, For a man who murdered the first king he served, why in seven hells would he want to continue serving? He was well aware that Tywin Lannister had been working on the king to release his son from his vows.

Jaime had won the month for recovery and by the end of it, he was a hair's breadth from taking him in the ring. Barristan had once again puzzled over Jaime's quick recovery: It's like he had forgotten certain habits, but once they resurfaced, he put them back on like a familiar shirt.

However, the story of Jaime returning with his memories made that series of events fall into place. Jaime had been forced to adapt to his left hand when he'd lost his swordhand, which is why his instincts were backwards and why he kept looking at his right hand as if he'd forgotten he had one.

Eventually, Jaime had settled into a routine of training and guarding. Silent as a statue, Ser Barristan soon grew used to his silence, and forgot about him, instead focusing on the new additions to the Kingsguard.

Such a great many mistakes I have made, he thought as he followed the king's pacing.

He didn't need to be there. Ser Arys and Ser Preston were guarding the tent. He should be in bed himself, preparing for the coming battle, but he would not sleep as long as his king failed to sleep. Never had Aemon reminded him so strongly of Rhaegar until now. While Rhaegar had been at least ten years older than Aemon was now, neither one should have been forced to bear their burden. He had seen how it had consumed his Prince and he was determined to ensure that it did not consume Aemon. By comparison, Aemon had much stronger support.

Though he still found Jaime suspect, there was no doubt that he brought comfort and assurance to Aemon. Where he was now, though, was anyone's guess and he dearly wished he would haul the Hand of the King to the tent now to soothe Aemon's fears and doubts.

Lord Stark was the other and he had been notably absent for the last month. He had been there when Aemon had confessed the illegitimacy of the letter to his uncle. Ser Barristan had suspected already that it was a forgery. Though he did not engage in such pursuits, he knew well enough how difficult it was to secure information and that letter had had entirely too much for any man to feel safe putting down on paper. But where Barristan had swelled up in pride at seeing Rhaegar's son successfully make a move in the game, Ned Stark deflated. That had caused Aemon to deflate as well.

He praised Aemon for his guile, but the words coming from him were not the same coming from his uncle. He's grown up a stain on Lord Stark's honor; all he ever wanted was to please his

supposed father until he became king. He could feel a dull anger low in his belly at the thought that the King had been forced to endure scorn while he was in hiding and he had been displeased to hear about Lady Catelyn's treatment of him. Ignorance of his true origins was hardly an excuse for shaming a boy for his supposed father's misdeeds.

"Your grace, you should rest. It's your first real battle tomorrow. You'll want to be sharp," Ser Barristan suddenly said.

Aemon turned to him as though he'd forgotten his presence and then shook his head. "I will find no rest this night, Ser Barristan. There's no reason you cannot sleep though. Get some rest while you can," he said, though it was not an order, it was a clear dismissal.

"Very well, your grace. I'll be here at dawn to ensure you're prepared," he said.

Aemon just waved him away and he ducked out of the tent. Most of the preparations for the battle had already been made, so the encampment was surprisingly quiet. A low rumble broke the silence and he looked to see a storm in the distance flashing with lightning. He'd watched countless storms like this pass the city to the north. The day would be dry, but the very air still seemed to crackle with the energy.

He carefully picked his way around the camp, but he wasn't heading back to his tent. Lord Stark was still sitting around his fire, sharing it with the Greatjon, his son, and Theon Greyjoy. The two boys were chattering excitedly and the Greatjon was guzzling beer, but Ned was quiet as he polished his breastplate.

"Lord Stark, a word if you please?"

Ned considered him carefully and then nodded, getting up to follow. Barristan walked through the camp for some time and Ned finally asked, "What is it you wanted to speak about?"

"Not here," he insisted. His and Ned's horse were tied up with the rest of the Northern camp. A stable boy jumped up at their approach, but Barristan waved him away and he slumped. He didn't bother saddling his horse as he climbed atop it. Ned followed his suit and rode bareback.

It took nearly an hour of riding to get through the camp and finally out into a deserted part of the field where Barristan felt it would be safe enough to talk without anyone overhearing. He stayed atop his horse as he turned it to address Ned.

"Lord Stark, I am merely a Kingsguard. I have served King Aerys Targaryen II, Robert Baratheon, and now Aemon Targaryen. I have unparalleled experience in the bevy of politics and I have much to offer. However, I cannot compare to the advice that a father figure can give. You are Aemon's father. You are the only father he has ever known and now you are hurting him with your distance and your silence. Why?"

Ned gave him a sharp look. "I was rather under the impression that my counsel was no longer needed."

"Of course it's needed! You are a man of honor and duty. There is still much for you to teach Aemon. He needs someone in the Keep who can ensure that he does not lose his honor or his head trying to fight for his throne. What is this really about?"

"I've lost him, Ser Barristan. That is not my son anymore. He works in lies and secrets just as readily as his enemies do. He barely acknowledges my advice. He heeds Lord Jaime Lannister more than me."

"Going after Lord Jaime was not your best move. He's trying to create a team and you two being at each other's throats is not helping him. Be better than Jaime Lannister. Put aside your feud with him and embrace your role with King Aemon as a steady rock in a sea of chaos."

Ned's face grew dark. "The man murdered his king, Aemon's grandfather! How can I trust that he won't do the same to Aemon at his first opportunity?"

Barristan frowned severely, "Yes, he did. However Jaime did not kill Robert Baratheon. He doesn't just kill kings when it suits him. I was blind to it at first, but my years with Jaime Lannister and then the story that connects the two of them have led me to believe that there was more to that killing than Jaime is willing to say. Don't make the same mistakes with Aemon that I made with Jaime Lannister."

Ned gave him a puzzled look. "I don't understand."

"I have never spoken ill of my brothers and I never intend to. That does not mean that I don't think ill of them at times and I considered Jaime the worst. Much like you, I felt his honor was stained forever and it humiliated me to serve the king with such a bastard. Instead of addressing the issue, perhaps finding the true reason, I ignored him as much as I could. He made it easy. He never raised objections and did his duty as he was always supposed to."

"Then one day, he tried to kill himself," Ser Barristan said and he heard Ned suck in a breath. "He came back to the White Tower just in time for the evening meal with a nasty bruise around his throat. I asked him what happened, he just shook his head and went to his room. Ever seen how a hanged man looks? They have deep blue bruises around their necks. Jaime's matched it perfectly."

"I asked him again the next day what had happened and he refused to say. Rumors were he had a rough time with a prostitute, but he never did break his vow of celibacy while a Kingsguard. Not like many of his brothers."

"No matter if it was Jaime the Kingslayer, a man of the Kingsguard I was in charge of tried to end his life, and I had no idea until it was too late. It made me realize my own failures as Lord Commander. Now I know that the burden of carrying memories of a tragedy and a horror that no one else had must have become too much to bear and he saw no recourse but to end it all."

Barristan met Ned's eyes once more and he said, "I failed Jaime Lannister. I will not fail Aemon. And you won't either. You and I both know what it cost him to retain his honor in his previous life. And what it cost you. Honor is admirable, Lord Stark, but it's a handicap here in King's Landing. Don't force him to shackle himself to it for your approval."

Suddenly a ringing noise crossed the sky to them and they both turned.

"Those are the bells of the Red Keep," Barristan said, his heart pounding. He glanced up at the sky and found the half moon still on its way down. Dawn was still a ways off.

"Let's hurry back. With luck it will have nothing to do with Aemon," Ned said.

"He was in his tent when I left to speak with you."

"Something he ordered then?"

That caused Barristan to stare. Aemon certainly had seemed more anxious than he should be for a battle that was going to be won easily. They hurried the horses back at a gallop, no doubt disturbing some of the soldiers with their urgency. They pulled up in front of the tent at the same time Jaime left. He seemed not to notice them as he wandered off, but Barristan noted that he was dressed in black from head to toe.

They dismounted, handing their horses off to the stable boys nearby. Ser Barristan almost forgot himself and strode straight into the tent, so he stopped outside and said, "Your grace, it's Ser Barristan and Lord Stark. Might we enter?"

"Come in!"

The Aemon that greeted him now was like a difference of night and day. He looked tired, but he was smiling and where his energy had been anxious before it was now excited. "The Red Keep has been surrendered! We march in to claim it at dawn."

Barristan glanced at Ned to find his astonishment mirrored. "How?" Ned asked.

Aemon then stepped aside to reveal a man slouched in a chair with his hands tied behind his back. "Why Renly here has been most helpful in that regard. Isn't that right, Renly?"

The man glanced up to give Aemon a dirty look, but then he slouched again. There was no mistaking the finely trimmed beard as anyone but Renly's.

"How did you get ahold of him?" Barristan asked, awe in his voice.

"It was Jaime and his team. They snuck into the Keep through the underground tunnels and snatched him."

"I'll be damned," Barristan whispered. If all goes well, the Keep will have been taken bloodlessly. The Seven Kingdoms will have been united bloodlessly. He swayed. How was this possible? There was no denying that Aemon and Jaime - of all people - had worked hard to reach this point. If that's not a sign that the king is gods-ordained then I don't know what is.

"Uncle?"

"Yes your grace?"

"Ready the soldiers. I trust the North to not bring undue violence onto any resisting soldier or lord. We need a minimum of five thousand to ensure control of the Keep."

"Of course, your grace," Ned replied and flew from the tent.

"Ser Barristan, keep your eye on Renly. I need to inform Lord Umber, he's in charge of the army while we settle into the Red Keep." With that, Aemon was gone along with Ser Preston and Ser Arys.

All was quiet. He could only hear the quiet, frightened gasps of Renly as he continued to sit in the chair, despite not being tied to it. After a few minutes, he could hear the shouts of orders as men came awake to do their king's bidding.

As he stood there, waiting for his king to return, Renly spoke up in a quiet voice,"W-why did you betray my brother, Ser Barristan? I thought you were a man of honor." He finally looked up and although his eyes were shiny with unshed tears, he was calm.

Barristan frowned. "Perhaps I am not a man of honor, but I don't feel I betrayed your brother. My first oath as Kingsguard was to the Targaryen family. I am honorbound to guard King Aemon Targaryen."

"How do you even know he is who he says he is? He hardly looks Targaryen."

"I have seen and heard enough evidence in that regard to make the determination that he is Prince Rhaegar's last trueborn son."

"Why would anyone sane ever wish to see them return to power? The Targaryen's were the ones who tore this realm apart in war when they burned lords and their heirs."

"King Aerys II is responsible for Robert's Rebellion. King Aemon doesn't deny that. It is a result of King Aerys' actions that neither of his grandfathers, or even his father, are alive for him to see today."

Renly shivered, but for what reason Barristan couldn't see. "You heard him at the negotiations. His soldiers would 'pour over the walls like the lava that sealed Old Valyria in its doom?' Does that sound like a king who won't eventually burn people for saying one wrong word?"

Barristan raised his eyebrows at Renly. "He offered you a hand in peace and you spat in his face, insulting his poor dead mother. And yet, here you are, untouched. King's Landing is safe. The people will not have to fear for their lives in a foolish battle for the Keep. You had your chance, Renly. Now you must live with it."

Aemon returned in the next few minutes and Renly was hauled out to be tied to a horse. By the time Jaime Lannister returned the there was a noticeable rosy lightening on the eastern horizon. At Aemon's command, a column of soldiers began marching toward the city. King Aemon, Jaime, Ned, and Barristan himself were at the head on horseback, though he was in the second row, keeping a hand on Renly's reins.

Aemon looked every inch the king he was meant to be with his silver crown, wearing fine black fabrics lined in the bright red of his house. His cape was black with red on the underside.

When they reached the Lion's Gate, Aemon looked back at Renly and said, "Go on, Renly. Open the gate."

Ser Barristan tugged his horse forward, so that Renly would be easily seen. He remained slumped and silent.

"Renly," he growled, tugging on the horse's reins.

Slowly, he looked up at the guards on the wall, who had been watching the whole affair quietly. Then he said, "I am Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and paramount of the Stormlands. I have surrendered King's Landing and the Red Keep. Open the gate."

There was a few minutes as they could hear the soldiers scrambling around on the other side. Then there was a grinding of gears as the gate slowly lifted. As soon as it was locked into place, Aemon nudged his horse forward and under the archway.

The streets were still empty, this early in the morning, however Barristan could see eyes peering at them from windows and alleyways, staring after the procession. As they neared the Keep, the people cautiously stepped out of their homes to watch them pass. There was no denying caution and fear in their expressions and movements, but the lack of any violence seemed to have created some confusion as well. Their progression was followed with an eerie silence.

The guards atop the walls of the Red Keep saw them coming and even from that distance, Barristan could see the gate to the Red Keep was lifting without Renly giving the orders.

I think it likely all the soldiers in the Red Keep would have simply thrown down their arms if ordered to fight, Barristan thought. Still, he did not breathe a sigh of relief until King Aemon passed under the gate. I left with one king and return home with another.

End Book 1

Chapter End Notes

Shameless Plug: Saddened by the two week wait for The Dragon's Roar? Dying to hear more of Ser Barristan's thoughts regarding Jaime's suicide attempt in a totally different context? Well, head on over to my latest story The Lion's Fall. It will get updated every Wednesday. I've been writing it since April and I'm just a chapter or two short of it being done. Cheers, people!

Chapter 35 - Daenerys II

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Thanks in part to The Lion's Fall, I've had to go back to this fic and make some quality of life changes. Certain details demanded more clarity, so I was forced to look into them with more detail. I recommend rereading Chapter 15 specifically.

Thank you all so much for reading and for commenting! Your support is immensely helpful and cheers me to know that so many people enjoy my work!

Book II: The Red Keep

Chapter 35

Daenerys II

Her heart was in her throat as she watched her brother stumble into the silk tent, clearly having drunk the merchant's wine he was so fond of. She had been growing ever concerned for him. News of the 'false' dragon across the seas 'stealing' their throne had caused the dragon in Viserys to waken more frequently. After the incident when the Bloodriders had whipped him for raising a hand to her, he hadn't dared take his anger out on her. It hadn't taken long to find a new target: the slaves.

He beat them with the flat of his sword until they couldn't stand and since they were slaves, they were not allowed to ride the carts. If they were still unconscious by the time the Khal decided to move, they were left behind. The few times Viserys' victim had been in view, she kept her eyes on the poor soul until they fell out of sight.

She remembered turning to the Khal and saying, "It would please me to claim these slaves Viserys beats. I would have them put on the cart."

He had given her a curious look like he had little idea of what mercy was and said in the Dothraki tongue, "They're slaves. Of little consequence. They cannot walk, they cannot serve."

It had overwhelmed her with guilt to keep her horse with Drogo's and she could never quite banish their broken bodies from her mind.

Since Ser Jorah had delivered the news about the false dragon, they had only traveled deeper into the Dothraki Sea and the civilization Dany was used to evaporated in the hot haze of the horizon. At first, Dany had hoped that Viserys' distance from the news would ease him, but he only seemed to grow more agitated as they traveled further eastward, away from the Narrow Sea by Westeros.

More than once he had accosted Drogo. His bloodriders swirled around him like hornets ready to defend but Drogo always waved them off.

"My army! I need my army! The false dragon is taking my throne. You promised me," Viserys would scream.

Drogo would always say something to quieten him. Dany was never close enough to hear, but it seemed to put Viserys' mind at ease and he would stalk off once more.

Being in the heart of Vaes Dothrak seemed to give him a new kind of courage, a foolish one at that. In this peculiar city, blades were not to be bared, blood not to be shed. After seeing the brutality of everyday life, most notably at her own wedding, it struck her as odd, but not unwelcoming.

Now, however, her blood shivered in her veins as she watched Viserys lock eyes with her and begin to walk over. He still had his sword at his waist. It was death to carry a weapon within the city. She placed a hand on Jorah, "Ser, please escort my brother out of the tent. Try to talk some sense into him."

"Yes, Khaleesi," Jorah rumbled quietly and was striding over to her brother. When he reached her brother, he seemed to be whispering fiercely at him and was trying to corral her brother without placing his hands on him. The last person to touch him had lost all the digits on the offending hand.

But Viserys was undeterred and proclaimed loudly, in a drunken slur, "You dare to command your king! I should kill you for this! I will take those dragon eggs as I please. I am the king, the real dragon!"

His gaze fell on Khal Drogo sitting on the high bench with the other Khals. "Khal Drogo, I shall join you."

The Khal's eyes glittered with malice and glee and he barked in the Dothraki tongue, pointing to a far corner.

"He says you have no place here. You belong over there," Ser Jorah translated for Viserys, pointing into the dark corner as well. It as a place of outcasts, full of boys, the old, the weak, and the maimed.

"That's not fit for a king," Viserys cried as he tottered on his feet, his face beginning to purple as his anger grew.

"Only place for Sorefoot King, Khal Rhaggat ," Khal Drogo taunted in his broken tongue. He and the other Khals around him laughed.

Dany's eyes grew wide as she watched his hands clench and his face flush an even deeper red. "Ser Jorah, please. I'm concerned with what he'll do! Tell him he can have the dragon eggs, but he must leave now," she whispered urgently.

"Yes, Khaleesi," Jorah said. This time he didn't hesitate to grab Viserys by the shoulders and try to drag him away, but he was violently shrugged off and Viserys drew his sword. Jorah only just managed to leap away as he swung the sword wide. A hush fell on everyone in the tent. The Khals were no longer laughing and they followed Viserys' every moment like a hungry pack of wolves.

Dany froze. Was it possible to still save her brother? No one who draws steel in the city shall live, she thought and trembled. She had to save her brother, somehow, though she wasn't sure she could convince Drogo to forgive and forget this offense in the Dothraki holy city.

She stepped up and said, "Viserys, please! You have to leave! Now! Take the eggs!"

It was enough to draw his attention and his anger cooled. She thought for a moment that she had finally gotten through to him and he saw sense, but then a cold smile stretched across his pale face. She tried to step away, but he crossed the remaining distance and wrapped an arm around her neck, bringing her close.

"Oh, sweet sister, you little whore. You did well please the Khal, I'll give you that. Too well. Now it seems he thinks he can have you and not fulfill our agreement. I can't have that. The false dragon is gathering his army. I need one of my own, as he promised," he hissed at her gleefully and she struggled to get away. Her struggle stilled as the sword point came to rest on her protruding

belly. There was gasp at the implied threat and all movement save for the dancing flames stilled.

Dany struggled to control her fear as she had learned to do in the face of the waking dragon, but still she trembled. Jorah was tense, his eyes flickering from Viserys to her. Drogo appeared as immovable as ever, but she could see the tension in his jaw and the anger in his dark eyes. Her handmaid Jhiqui was sobbing in the back; her mouth was moving and Dany was certain that if she were near enough, a stream of unbroken prayers would be heard.

The point of the sword dug into Dany's rounded belly and she felt a drop of blood pool at the tip.

"Now, tell Khal Drogo that I want my gold crown and my army, as he promised, or I'll rip his foal out of her and hand it to him as is," Viserys snarled at the Westerosi knight.

Jorah dutifully relayed the demand to Drogo. The fire danced dangerously in Drogo's eyes and his reply was clipped, "You shall have your gold crown."

Viserys' smile was cold and vicious as he nodded at Drogo. "That's all I wanted. But you made me wait so long." He raised his sword and slammed the flat of it into her abdomen.

She screamed and doubled over, the pain radiating through her body. At the same time, the world dissolved into chaos around her. There was a rush of bodies and she could just barely hear the incoherent screaming of her brother. What they were doing to him, she couldn't say. There was a confusion of noise and chaos, bodies crowded around her. A firm pair of hands gripped her arms and Jorah was whispering soothing words, "Khaleesi, we need to get you out of here! You need a healer!"

Dany tried to take a step, but pain ripped through her again, freezing her in place as she desperately held her belly. Tears spilled down her face as she finally was able to meet Jorah's desperate eyes.

"Khaleesi, I need to carry you. We have to get you to a midwife."

"Rhaego," she whispered.

"We may be able to save him. Do I have your permission?"

"Yes, do it. Do whatever you can," she managed to utter in between more ripples of pain that washed over her like an ocean wave.

He hoisted her up and rushed out of the tent. Amidst the pain and nausea was a blur of bodies and faces as Jorah raced through the streets, shouting at the top of his lungs. Another wave of cramps ran through her and she doubled up in his arms.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he eventually stopped to lay her down and she recognized the tent as her own. His presence disappeared briefly and she reached after him, but he was gone. She tried to sit up, but it only seemed to induce more cramps. All the same, she looked down to find her clothes molded to her thighs stained a deep red. The sight caused her to tremble before a blanket was placed over.

"Khaleesi, you're in childbed," Jorah said to her. "This is no place for a man."

"No, please, don't go," she whispered.

"I-I can't. It would not be appropriate," Jorah muttered. He gave her hand a last comforting squeeze and departed. Maids and an older woman swarmed around her, but that singular moment of clarity dissolved as pain wracked her and she screamed again.

Dany wasn't clear how much time passed. Her world narrowed to the pain, the fear, and the women's voices that whispered what she supposed were soothing words and another voice that declared instruction in Dothraki. Her throat became raw from screaming and she thrashed, though gentle hands tried to hold in her place.

After one last tremendous push, there was an unpleasant gushing that coated her thighs and a larger presence leaving her. She felt the ache of loneliness immensely and groaned mournfully, tears tracking down her face. Her son. Rhaego. He was gone. Her exhaustion caught up with her and she felt herself sink into blackness in despair.

She dreamed of the Red Keep in King's Landing or so she thought. A man she thought was her brother Viserys turned to reveal a different face, but his hair was silver and his eyes were violet, just like all Targaryens. Rhaegar, she whispered. In his eyes was a kindness she'd never seen on Viserys' face, but there was a sadness as well. In his arms, he held a babe of dark hair and darker skin. It gurgled and fussed and she could see his motions to shush it.

Rhaego, she whispered and struggled to approach.

You're not alone sister, the words came to her, but his mouth never opened. There remains yet one more dragon.

The moment she reached them, he and Rhaego dissolved into smoke and ash and she cried out in anger. The smoke billowed and fumed and she saw a figure appear, striding through the smoke towards her, though he remained faceless. The other dragon, she thought and as soon as she did he reached a hand out to her. This time when she connected with his hand, it held for a moment, and then it was consumed by a white light.

She cracked her eyes open and winced as the sunlight spilled into their tent. She flinched and groaned. When she shifted, she felt every pain and cried out.

"Easy, Khaleesi. You are healing," her handmaid Jhiqui whispered to her and then she felt a cool cloth applied to her forehead

The exhaustion seemed to lay over her like a blanket and she stared listlessly at her handmaiden. Her thoughts were like fireflies blinking in and out and she had to catch them to string something cohesive together.

"What happened?" She whispered, but at the same instant she remembered Rhaegar holding her son in her dream and she felt tears slip down her cheeks.

"You birthed the child, Khaleesi," Jhiqui responded, tears in her own eyes and her lips trembled. "The babe perished. I'm sorry."

"No," Dany cried. She tried to sit up but the answering twinge of pain near paralyzed her and she fell back.

"No, no, Khaleesi. You must not rise. You need your rest."

"My brother. What happened to him?"

Jhiqui's mouth worked soundlessly and then she said, "Your brother received his gold crown. Khal Drogo melted down his belt of gold and poured it on your brother. No blood was shed."

Dany gasped, but it was her own physical pain that had caused it more than hearing that. For the first time in her life, a boiling anger threatened to manifest in frustrated screams, but she was still too tired and too painful. Never had she hated her brother so. He takes everything from me! I could never be happy with him around, she ruminated. She only wished she had been there to see her brother's agony that may have come close to reflecting her own.

"Drogo?"

"He has seen to the passing of the babe, Khaleesi," Jhiqui whispered.

Dany looked sharply at her and ignored the pain this caused. "He didn't wait for me?"

"We were not sure when you'd awaken, Khaleesi. It has been three days."

"My child is gone? And I didn't even get to hold him?"

"He was never here, Khaleesi," Jhiqui said, but there was sorrow in her response, like she was parroting the words that had been told to her.

Her Stallion that Mounts the World was gone. Never to be. The crones of the dosh khaleen had been wrong. Had they ever been wrong before? Had they ever been right ?

Her anger continued to simmer and being forced to stay abed, she could only clench her fists, but all the same she internally lashed out at Khal Drogo. Why did he send my child off without me? He should have waited! She deserved to hold him, his tiny broken body. She had needed it, but that had been ripped from her just as Viserys had ripped the possibility of her living child from her.

And with that the anger leaked away like water from a drinking skin and her pain and sorrow consumed her. She rolled over, sobbing in part to the ripping pain that still shot through her at any movement, and also for the loss of her son, Rhaego. She finally cried herself to sleep and the last dragon of smoke and ash appeared before her again. This time she heard her own name echo from his lips: "Daenerys." His voice was a soothing balm in a maelstrom of smoke and chaos.

Chapter 36 - Jaime XII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thanks, everyone, for reading and reviewing! And thank you especially for your patience. I know two week waits are hard.

This issue was brought up on , but I'll address it here too - If you are interested in using ideas/characters from this fic, I have two conditions: 1. Please ask 2. If you publish it, please credit me. That's it. I'm pretty lenient, so the odds are pretty good I'll say yes. I mean, the only characters I own from this are the Shepherds

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 36

Jaime XII

Jaime thought the Red Keep looked different with Aemon standing in the middle of it, dressed in his armor and simple crown, but maybe it had less to do with appearance and more to do with how the Red Keep felt . He had long loathed this place. Walking through it made his skin itch as if he were wearing clothing of poor quality, but it was simply a place he could not call home, at least not while it had been filled with Robert and his excesses. Because of Robert, ilk like Cersei, Baelish, Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount were allowed to prosper and coat the Red Keep in their filth. Already he could feel a cleansing and he breathed deep the muggy air of King's Landing.

He dismounted his horse, same as Aemon and stepped up to flank him like a Kingsguard. Ser Barristan gave him an amused look as he flanked him on his other side. Old habits die hard, Jaime thought, glaring at Barristan a little bit.

Aemon stepped up to half a dozen lords who had already knelt down in front of him. At their kneeling, the rest of the soldiers in the keep had promptly dropped to their own knees. A quick glance around showed there wasn't a hostile face among them; they appeared relieved and resigned. Of the men in front of Aemon, Jaime recognized Lord Beric Dondarrion, Edric Dayne, Thoros of Myr, Lord Arstan Selmy and Ser Balon Swann. Judging by the green turtle sigil on the last lord's armor, he could only assume he was a family member of House Estermont.

"Rise," Aemon said simply. His voice was teal in his excitement.

"Your grace," Beric said in a voice of dark blue, clearly calm about the invasion. "I am Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven. I pledge my house to you. This is my squire, Edric Dayne."

Aemon nodded and looked to the other lords who had risen along with him. Lord Arstan glanced over at Ser Barristan, looking nervous. Ser Barristan still had the rope holding Renly.

"Where are the other Storm lords?" Aemon asked, peering around the Keep.

"Still sleeping off their hangovers, I imagine," Beric replied, grimacing. "The lords that are here and myself were planning on throwing Renly to you on the morn."

"Oh?" Aemon asked, eyes wide.

"His foolhardiness was going to cost lives! We have been counseling him this whole time to surrender, but he wouldn't listen. The folk in King's Landing and our soldiers were going to be thrown into a needless battle. We were just getting ready to capture Renly, when the first soldiers' bodies were discovered…"

"Well, I wonder what dashing warrior managed that," Jaime piped up and couldn't keep the smug smile from his face. His own voice floated in front of him as bright as spring grass.

Beric's eyebrows shot up. "It was you, Ser Jaime?!"

Aemon rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, you did well, Jaime."

"Did well? I brought you Renly without so much as a hair out of place and took the Keep bloodlessly. It was flawless."

"You shoved Renly off your horse when you brought him to me."

"It was still done flawlessly."

Aemon drew his mouth into a line that was to suggest admonishment, but he seemed to be fighting

a smile. Beric and Lord Arstan appeared disgruntled to have been outdone by the 'Kingslayer.' His smile did falter as he thought about the soldiers and Brienne lying in the hallway. "Those soldiers did live, didn't they?"

"Yes, they lived," Beric replied.

"And the lady warrior?"

"The lady warrior?" Beric asked with a frown. "You mean Lady Brienne of Tarth?"

"Are there any other lady warriors here?" Jaime said with an edge to his voice.

"I hadn't realized you knocked her out too. I haven't seen her since yesterday."

Jaime sucked in a breath and tried to control his fear. I left her in the middle of a hallway. Did some soldiers find her and have their way with her while she was unconscious? He would never forgive himself if harm befell her because she was unconscious.

Just as he put a hand on Brightroar , he saw his wench step out of a hallway into the light. She appeared groggy as if she had only just woken, but her armor was in place and when she found stability she glanced around at the inner yard and stared at all of the soldiers. When her gaze fell on him, she scowled but stayed close to the entrance. No doubt she understood the fruitless effort it would be to go back inside.

Despite her clear anger, he relaxed. He had no doubt she would hate his guts right out of the gate, but he had managed to overcome her ire before. All I need is a chance, he thought.

"Is that her right there?" Aemon asked, looking through the lords, who all turned.

"Aye, that's her, your grace," Beric said.

"She looks formidable," Aemon said, casting a sly look at Jaime.

"She is. She outfought Ser Loras Tyrell in the yard a few days prior."

Aemon's eyebrows shot up but he seemed unable to control his amusement. "Impressive!"

"Speaking of Loras," Jaime began, desperate to change the subject, "where is he?"

"He's right where you left him?" Beric replied, a snarl twisting his face.

Jaime quirked an eyebrow at him. Still tied up too? The fact that he was missing from the outer yard suggested that was the case. "By your leave, your grace, I'll go get Ser Loras."

Aemon nodded absentmindedly at him, having already turned to address his soldiers. Jaime was almost at the bottom of the Tower of the Hand, when an indignant voice shouted, "You!"

He turned to see Ser Balon Swann pointing at Cyrus, who was still atop his horse. Jaime did a double take on Cyrus when he realized his goatee was already gone. He had an entirely too innocent expression on his face. "Me?" He said in mock outrage.

"I should have known you were an infiltrator," Balon grumbled.

"Well, you didn't," Cyrus replied. Most of the rest of the Shepherds were there looking tired, but amused. David dismounted and approached Aemon, but Jaime was already too far away to hear the conversation between them.

He hurried up the stairs to the room of the Hand on his own. He opened the door and strode through. Loras was indeed as he had left him, naked under the sheets, but he was now awake and glaring.

"The Red Keep has fallen. Your lover is in our hands. You want things to go pleasantly for him? You'll behave," Jaime growled. The first thing he grabbed was Loras' sword and placed it by the door. Grabbing the knife at his belt, he sliced through the ropes on Loras' hands and then the ones at his feet. "Put some clothes on. Your family awaits you," Jaime ordered, stepping back to stand by the door

Loras glowered at him from the bed, but slowly began pulling on his clothes. When he was done, Jaime picked up Loras' sword once more, holding it firmly in hand as he walked over. Loras' eyes followed his sword but made no move to nab it. Jaime put a knife to his back. "Now walk."

They took the stairs at a sedentary pace and Jaime had to wonder if he was dreading seeing his family. Since he had been found in the Hand's room, the rumors would spread swiftly about his and Renly's proclivities. Followers of the Seven didn't take kindly to men who lie with other men; the Tyrells as a whole would in all likelihood suffer for this. Maybe this will keep the Tyrells in line with the marriages already arranged for them, Jaime thought. He could only hope, but in the meantime, he'd watch them closely.

Back on the grounds, he noticed groups of soldiers were bringing wavering and stumbling lords out to a wooden table that had been set up. David was sitting on one half, taking notes. Winterfell soldiers were stripping lords of their weapons and the merchant that traveled with the Shepherds was taking inventory of said weapons. Podrick Payne and Olyvar Frey stood quivering with excitement at David's elbow, likely ready to relay messages across the castle. Aemon was watching the proceedings quietly and from a distance. Colors of sound flew here and there, darting across his vision like birds.

Jaime carefully walked Loras over to Aemon. His king glanced at them, evaluating Loras for a moment and then seemed to dismiss him out of hand.

"What's going on?" Jaime whispered.

"There's too much to do to accept pledges of fealty today. I will hold my crowning ceremony tomorrow and then I will accept the pledges. Until then, their weapons are to be stored apart from them."

"I see," Jaime said. "You know, you could probably wait a week for your crowning ceremony and make a proper celebration."

Aemon looked at him as if he didn't know him. "We don't have time for that. Or the money. We have work to do."

"And that's what sets you apart from Robert Baratheon."

"I hope there's more than that that separates us," Aemon replied. "Speaking of, I intend to have

him moved to a cell in the dungeons before the sun sets."

"Good. Best to get all loose ends squared away," Jaime replied.

"Loras!"

"Speaking of loose ends…" Jaime muttered. He sheathed the knife he was using to hold Loras in place. The man had obediently stood there, looking around at the happenings. There was no mistaking the disgusted expressions on the Stormland soldiers. Lord Arstan, Ser Balon, and Beric shot glares at him in equal measure. "Here." Jaime held Loras' sword out to him.

Loras looked at it as though it were a venomous snake preparing to bite him. "I'm allowed my weapon?"

"Your family has already pledged their support to me. Don't make them regret asking for immunity for you," Aemon said, his voice had an unmistakable sharpness to it.

Loras clenched his jaw and then asked in a bitter orange voice, "What is to happen to Renly, your grace?"

Aemon stared at him with an air of superiority. "You will find out with the rest of the kingdoms tomorrow."

"It was suggested to me by...Lord Jaime that my good behavior would benefit Renly."

"Your good behavior only affects your standing with me. I suggest you not disappoint your family," Aemon replied. With that, Jaime nudged him to get him moving.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the king, Loras glared at Jaime. "You lied to me."

"It made things easy though, didn't it?" Jaime said. "Come on. Your family awaits."

Loras walked over, still glowering like a sulking child, and Jaime followed. Willas had apparently

seen the open gates of King's Landing and immediately arranged for transport up to the Red Keep. Both he and his father were now climbing out of the carriage. Willas was stumping over to them as hastily as his game leg would allow, his young face full of anguish.

"Brother, it is good to see you!" Willas did not bother with propriety as he threw himself at his brother in a hug.

"It is done," Jaime said as soon as Willas released Loras from the hug. "I have fulfilled my bargain. Your brother has been delivered to you unharmed, by me personally, as I promised."

"Thank you, Lord Jaime. You have indeed kept your promise. House Tyrell will not forget this favor you have done."

"Son!" Mace Tyrell restrained himself from hugging Loras and merely clapped a hand on his shoulder.

Aemon smirked at him as he sauntered back. "You look like the cat who got the cream."

"I took the Red Keep bloodlessly and fulfilled a promise I made to the Tyrells," Jaime replied, raising his head up to stare imperiously down at Aemon.

He only chuckled and whispered, "You may impress others with that line, but I don't think you'll impress Brienne."

Probably not, Jaime thought with a troubled frown. Brienne would be pleased about that, but only grudgingly so at first. Her beloved Renly was at least alive and that was the best she could hope for.

"Ghost," Aemon called out.

Jaime shook himself of his thoughts to find that Robb Stark had appeared with the direwolves in tow. Both Ghost and Greywind barreled toward them with their tongues streaming behind them. When reared up on their hind legs, they were now taller than Aemon and he had to push Ghost away so that he wouldn't throw him to the ground.

"Easy, boy. Calm down, calm down. You too, Greywind. I'm glad to see you too." Ghost and Greywind both sat at attention to his commands, still panting. The Stormlands soldiers all froze upon seeing the gigantic beasts.

Robb strode over with a proud smile on his face. Greywind broke away to fall in step with Robb. He gave his cousin a short bow and said, "Your grace, I wish to congratulate you on your victory."

"Why thank you, cousin. I couldn't have done it without Jaime though," Aemon said with a grin.

Jaime smirked, "With pleasure, your grace."

"Yes, Lord Jaime, my father told me what you had done. Most impressive. I have to admit, though, I was looking forward to fighting in my first battle."

Aemon's smile faltered, but only minimally. "Don't you fret, Robb. There are more battles ahead of us. Real ones."

Jaime's good mood deflated and he struggled to keep the smile on his face. The Long Night loomed. Maybe the rest of the North felt it was far off, but to Jaime it felt more like a great beast stalking them, taking slow, predatory steps ever closer. Even now he still expected to feel the first chill breezes of the approaching Fall at any moment. He knew that it was still years out, but the days were slipping away like grains of sand through his hand. We still have enough time. We're already leagues ahead of where we were in the time before, he thought. If he remembered correctly, old Ned Stark would've been Hand of the King for about two months now. It was around this time Tyrion would have been kidnapped and Jaime would have ridden off to his rescue.

"Jaime, what comes next?" Aemon asked, mirroring the troubled expression that he now had.

"Umm...I'm not the right person to ask that question," Jaime replied.

"I need Dany. I need to go to Dorne to negotiate them into the fold. We need Dragonstone so we can start mining for Dragonglass. We need a fleet. We need to go to the Iron Islands and make sure they're in line. We need to begin food storage. We need- "

"You're already giving me a headache," Jaime muttered, wincing. "I am not good at administrative things. I am a knight, a soldier, a commander. You might want to pick a new

Hand."

"Oh no, you're stuck sharing the burden of ruling with me for now," Aemon said.

"As your grace commands," Jaime sighed. "Just...take each day one step at a time. Figure out what you need to do today and then that will free up tomorrow to start."

Aemon groaned. "I don't want to make a list. We both know what the Red Keep's like."

"What if you did it in that cipher trick I mentioned?"

He frowned at Jaime. "You still need to teach me that."

"Maybe this evening when we're done here."

Aemon opened his mouth to answer when a shout cut across the yard, attracting every man's attention: "DAVID?!"

The healer became rigid as a tree and he turned his head with a creaking slowness that suggested apprehension. Then he fixed a smile on on his face that held all the life of a wight. "Lord Jason Mallister? Imagine that." Jaime couldn't quite decipher the color of David's voice. It was a horrid dark green color, mixed with the malice of red, like nothing he'd ever seen before.

Lord Mallister, a towering man with silver hair and beard, strode across the grounds to the table. Jaime was certain he saw the healer recoil in that same rigid way, like an oak tree bending with the wind.

"I never thought I'd see you again. How've ya been?"

"Fine," David said with his wooden smile. "When did you take over from your lord father?"

"Yes, my lord father Duncan passed near twenty years ago. I'm married now and have a son, Patrek. What about you? How did you get here?" Lord Mallister looked around among the

soldiers and lords, as though expecting someone to claim him.

"I am the Lord Hand Jaime Lannister's designated healer," David said, his eyes darting to Jaime.

Jaime frowned but said nothing.

"Your designated healer, huh?" Aemon asked with a knowing look.

"Close enough," Jaime said. The Shepherds were all but officially under his protection.

Jason Mallister turned to him and nodded in appraisal, clearly impressed. "You've done well for yourself. I'm glad."

"Uh huh. Is there news of my parents?"

"Your father past the same year mine did. Your mother was assistant to the new Maester and the town midwife until she passed ten years ago. I know she always wondered what happened to you."

"Shame. It would have been nice to see her one last time," David said and he actually did look regretful, but there was no mistaking the apprehension in his face. "Forgive me, my Lord, but King Aemon has me working right now. I must get this done before the evening meal."

"Of course. Sorry to bother, but I had always wondered what had happened to you."

"Alive and well," David replied, the dead smile back on his face and if Jaime wasn't mistaken Lord Mallister looked nervous. Once the lord walked away, the smile fell and David glared after him.

"I had forgotten he told me he was born and raised at Seagard," Jaime muttered. He watched Lord Mallister until he disappeared into the crowd.

They watched for a moment as orders were carried out, then Aemon nudged Jaime and said, "Everything seems to be running smoothly. I need to speak with you. About that thing I mentioned

in the tent the other day."

Jaime internally winced. He did not want to receive this news if Aemon's face was anything to go by. He heaved a sigh. "Very well. Let's find somewhere private."

"Where's the godswood?"

"Over here." Jaime led the way through a door. Once it had closed behind them, silence fell on them and he breathed in relief. The activity and all the colors were beginning to muddle with his senses. If he didn't want a headache, he would've had to excuse himself. But then what kind of Hand am I that I can't stand next to my King on the day of our victory?

As soon as they stepped into the woods, Ghost charged out into the greenery, disappearing among the trees.

"I'm glad they didn't burn the rest of this forest down when they uprooted all the weirwood trees. It'll be nice to come here and get away," Aemon said.

They just came in sight of the makeshift heart tree, when Jaime came to such a sudden stop that Aemon almost ran into him. He stared.

The rope he had used to hang himself on the heart tree was still dangling from the branch. The wood had partially grown over it, encasing it to forever be a part of tree. "I forgot I had left this," Jaime whispered.

They cautiously approached. The rope was almost entirely black and frayed apart. When nudged by the breeze it swayed rigidly, with none of the usual flexibility. Aemon stepped up to look at the rope and for a moment reached toward it, but in the last instance pulled his hand and shrank back. "I'm sorry, Jaime," he whispered.

Jaime gave him a wry look. "There's nothing you could've done."

"I...I know, but someone should have been there for you."

"You didn't fail me. I failed myself."

"Jaime, I couldn't have blamed you for your decision. My six months alone was enough to make me doubt my own mind. You lived near fifteen years with that doubt. You're far stronger than I could ever be," he said.

"What's done is done. That's behind us now."

"I feel like I'm only going to add to your woes."

"How much worse could it get?"

Aemon glared at him. "And then it gets worse. When I reached Riverrun, I received news that Cersei...had made it to Bear Island."

Jaime couldn't keep from smirking. "Throwing her to the Mormont women, I see. Very good."

"But that wasn't all that was in the letter. The Maester of Bear Island conducted an examination of Cersei upon her arrival. She was pregnant."

He actually fell back into the heart tree. He gaped at Aemon, his mind reeling and his mouth suddenly dry. He shook his head. "No. Say isn't true."

"It's true," Aemon said. "I also received news from the Tyrells that you were missing. I...I thought you might be dead."

He grinded his teeth and growled. "The Ironborn."

"So...I consulted with my uncle about this. The child will be raised at Winterfell. If you have any objection to that, then we need to make new arrangements."

"Can I...trust her ?"

Aemon drew his mouth into a thin line. "I made it clear in my letter that Lady Catelyn is to treat the child with the respect that is due House Lannister. She wouldn't dare ignore this order. Feel free to write her and tell her your thoughts. She knows that I will support you in almost anything you say short of demanding her head. I trust you to be at least somewhat measured in your response."

Jaime nodded numbly, still slumped against the tree. Then he looked up and asked, "What of Cersei?"

"Cersei is to never see the child. She will not know its gender. She will not name it. She will spend the rest of her days on Bear Island, never to be seen or heard from again by the mainland."

"I'd still say it's too good for her."

"I'm sorry." Aemon stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "If you need anything, you need only ask. I suggest you get some rest before this evening."

He nodded again and Aemon left. He had been looking forward to his bed that night, sleeping on the high of victory, but even thousands of miles away Cersei still plagued him. Eventually he left the godswood. He wasn't quite sure of his destination until he stepped out and set eyes on the White Tower. His room was still there.

"Brother, you're victorious! I heard what you did. Quite clever of you! Come, we should celebrate your victory," Tyrion crowed, beaming up at him. His smile faltered slightly at the exhausted look on his brother's face, but he persisted.

"Not now, Tyrion. I...I can't."

"Come now, what's the matter? Whatever it is, I'm sure it can be solved with some drinking."

Jaime huffed. "No, not today."

Tyrion scowled. "Then when?! You've been keeping me at arm's length and I want to know why."

"I've been busy."

"Not so busy for a conversation! I feel like the king knows you better than I do."

I imagine he does, Jaime thought, but merely shook his head.

"Tyrion!" They both turned to see Aemon glaring. "Leave your brother be."

Grudgingly, he stepped out of his way and Jaime continued on to the tower. He could feel Tyrion's eyes burning into him as he ascended the White Tower.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Readers, I am now on the search for a beta! I write these chapters so close to the updates now that it's impossible to read this over and catch any typos. I might also have the beta go back through all the other chapters of this work and catch typos for me, so I can clean it up.

If you are interested, please e-mail me at priestessofgroove at gmail. Let me know if you've done beta previously and what kind of availability you have.

I need someone of integrity, thorough reading ability, and is fluent in English. I will be giving you a passage to edit to see how well you do. You will receive credit in my author's notes and insight into the story. That's all I have to give, unfortunately.

Chapter 37 - Jaime XIII/Aemon IX

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Good day, everyone! Once again, thank you, wonderful readers, for sticking with and supporting this fiction. It is a pleasure to write for you!

Please forgive any major typos that you see while reading. I was honestly writing this chapter up to the last minute, so I haven't had the chance to look at it more closely.

As of November 1st of 2018, The Dragon's Roar will be 1-year-old. I began writing it as my NaNoWriMo(National Novel Writing Month) project. It was by far the easiest NaNoWriMo I have ever done and thanks to that month, I was able to use it as a launch pad to continue writing TDR throughout the year. Coupled with The Lion's Fall, I have written almost 175,000 words in one year. I have never been so dedicated nor so disciplined and you guys are instrumental to that! I will be doing NaNoWriMo again for this fic, but I unfortunately do not have the time or energy to write the usual goal of 50K words. I will write 500 words a day instead. As far as I'm concerned, any progress is good progress.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 37

Jaime XIII

Jaime was not thrilled to be Hand of the King, though he understood his duty right now was to guide Aemon and help the realm reach its goals. Not without reason, however, he found the hours too long and the lifespan often too short, typically ending in the Hand's murder. The last Hand who wasn't murdered was his own father near twenty years ago. Right now, however, he desperately craved the distraction being Hand to the King provided.

After Aemon had told him about Cersei's pregnancy, he had collapsed on his bed in the White Tower. He fell easily enough into sleep, though his dreams included a baby vanishing in smoke. He saw Tommen falling from the high window again, Myrcella choking on her own blood right in front of him, and Joffrey turning green to the gills. It caused him to jolt awake in a panic, forgetting for a few minutes where or when he was. He was damn near convinced he'd just dreamt the entire campaign with Aemon and he was back in Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard until he glanced out the window and saw Winterfell soldiers walking around.

With that, the news that Cersei was pregnant, almost certainly with his child, was brought to bear before him again. It may not be mine, he thought for a moment. Was it? He tried to think back on that horrible night, wincing internally because he had tried to quash that memory ever since. Did I spend in Cersei? He honestly couldn't remember. His memory was hazy, likely due to the fact that he'd had a seizure just moments after they'd been discovered. Amidst the stress and the chaos, it was lost on him how it had truly ended.

He tried to think back on that night, relive it, but it caused his stomach to churn and he eventually gave up lest he fall ill. It wouldn't do to be ill and unreachable the night of his and Aemon's unprecedented victory. In the next moment, he jumped at a knock on his door. Aemon had come to speak with him before the feast.

The walls of the White Tower were too thin to fear people lurking within them, so with Ser Barristan stationed at the door, they went over their plans. Jaime taught Aemon how to create ciphers and they decided on a key for each other, using memories and people only they knew. They created two lists of tasks. The first list was of the tasks meant to be widely known, which included addressing Stannis, sending for Daenerys, and negotiating with Dorne. The other list, meant only for their eyes, had tasks such as trapping Baelish, mining for Dragonglass on Dragonstone, and looking into the wildfire caches under the city. They both went over the second list multiple times and then it was burned by candle flame.

Once that business was conducted, they were expected to attend a feast made in their honor, to celebrate the taking of King's Landing. Once out on the grounds, Jaime asked, "Did you see the throne room yet?"

"Y-yes…" Aemon replied and he looked troubled.

Jaime raised his eyebrows. "What'd you think?"

Aemon was silent for a moment, clearly thinking on his answer. "It was...interesting," he offered lamely. At the irritated look he received in return, he sighed and added, "The throne is ugly. And yet it's a little difficult to believe that so much power, so much intrigue, and so much history - good and bad - is tied up in that chair. My ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror sat in that chair. You killed my grandfather, Aerys II, in that chair. I just wonder how I'm going to live up to it all. The people, the lords, they're counting on me to do what's right. Will I know?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Aemon?" Jaime replied with a grimace. "I've watched kings rule for decades, but they were bad kings. I don't know how a good king rules. You have a good head on your shoulders, so you can't do worse than them."

"That's encouraging," Aemon said with a glare.

"Ask Ser Barristan then."

"Maybe I will." There was a pause. "I wish I could ask my uncle."

Jaime huffed. "He still giving you grief?"

"Less so today, but I don't know if it's because he's forgiven me or because the Keep was taken bloodlessly. We haven't been able to discuss anything other than troop movements. We've both been busy."

"I should've been there."

"Don't be ridiculous. You captured Renly without shedding blood and are the hero of the day, forgoing sleep entirely. You needed and deserved your rest."

With that, they stepped into the light of the feast hall. Jaime spent the next few hours regaling lords with an embellished version of how he took the Keep bloodlessly, cutting out the secret tunnels entirely. Gerion sat next to him and helpfully tweaked tidbits to get the laughter uproariously, winking at Jaime secretively. Thankfully, he mercifully skirted the initial teasing he had given Jaime after encountering Brienne.

Speaking of Brienne, he failed to see her. He knew she was never one for feasts and he could only presume that her lone friend throughout all this calamity had been Renly as before. There were no friendly faces for her here. At least not yet. Soon, he told himself and took a deep breath to calm himself.

He frequently had to stop and close his eyes. A thousand different shades of green, red, purple, and yellow assaulted him from all sides, making it impossible to keep track of them all. He had never particularly cared for such large social gatherings, unless it was a tourney, but now with the seeing sounds, he wished so desperately to seclude himself in his room and breathe in the quiet. This is my life from now on, he thought.

During the break of yet another retelling, he glanced around the room. Aemon seemed to be having a particularly engaging conversation with Lord Willas, his cousin Robb, and Theon a few seats down. Ned Stark, Edmure Tully, and a few other Riverrun lords were chatting at a lower table. Old Ned Stark was positioned at the high table, next to his nephew, but he had apparently sauntered down. His own father was seated next to him, but he too had drifted away and was speaking to Ser Kevan. By the sour look on his face, he was hardly enjoying the gathering. Tyrion was at the end of the table, apparently telling stories to their young cousin Tyrek, who was eagerly leaning toward him to hear. Lancel was nearby to them looking particularly discomfited, likely having heard about the mess Cersei had created for herself.

He's damn lucky she didn't feel like dragging him down with her, he thought. After their uncle Tygett had passed from the pox, Cersei sought out yet another Lannister to sate her lusts and that fell on poor, foolish Lancel. He was just as oblivious in this life as the last.

The Shepherds were even in attendance to the feast. Cyrus especially played the cello for everyone and received many cries for songs such as Down the Mander and a rather raunchy one called The Three Maids. David, Delphine, and a red-haired woman Jaime had yet to meet sat at the table. The women chatted to each other, but David remained quiet and distant, his face set in a perpetual glower. David's second-in-command, Julian Grey, had migrated to another table and was laughing raucously with some other young men. He was pretty sure David mentioned he was a son of a minor Westerosi house, so perhaps he was speaking to old friends. Callum was looking awkward in another group of men, but Vicente appeared to be telling his own version of their taking of the Red Keep. He hoped he had the sense to leave out the tunnels, but then again maybe people wouldn't think there was any truth to it with all of their embellished versions floating around.

A couple times during the night, he ended up catching Tyrion's eye. His brother's good cheer transformed in an instant to a rather murderous glare. Jaime sighed. He had to tell Tyrion about this new child eventually; it would affect him too after all. He knew already that Tyrion had been irritated with his avoidance. He truly didn't want to be distant with his brother, not after they were so close in the time before, but that Tyrion wasn't this Tyrion. He had been so alone in King's Landing for so long that he had long grown accustomed to being self-reliant. Aemon was different; he was a kindred spirit. There was not another living soul who could say they really knew him though.

Nearing the end of the feast, Jaime was becoming distractible and he could feel yet another headache coming on. At some point, he turned to find another tiny, stoppered bottle that resembled the headache medicine David had given him before. He sniffed it gingerly and it smelled the same. He glanced over to find David only just returning to his chair and when he caught his eye he gave him a pointed nod. Despite its foul taste, it did do the trick of easing his headache and he was able to return to being the arrogant Jaime Lannister they all knew.

The next morning, he and Aemon were up early, preparing for the ceremonies. They summoned the Shepherds, or at least the ones who had been of direct service to him and Aemon which helped in the war on such a high note. Cyrus, Delphine, David, Vicente, Callum, Gerion, and Varys stood

before them looking ragtag.

"First things first, Cyrus, you and your wife shall be raised to lord and lady of a minor keep, as was promised. I'm still trying to decide on which keep you should be provided to you. There are a couple in the Westerlands."

"The Westerlands?" Aemon raised his eyebrows at Jaime, an amused smile hovering on his lips. "Nowhere else?'

"That's right. He and his wife followed my orders faithfully. As lord paramount - "

"You're not lord paramount yet," Aemon replied and his voice was colored a bright green in his amusement.

"I will be," Jaime replied, his voice tinted orange with his irritation. "They executed their orders admirably, I reward them for their efforts, just as I promised."

He had never seen anyone look so wary about taking a Keep. It was a great honor to be landed and titled, but they kept giving each other furtive glances and putting on cheery airs.

"Do you have a sire name?"

"I do," Cyrus said. He turned to his wife, "Do you think we should use it or create another name?"

"It's bound to reach Meereen eventually, no matter what name we take," she said.

"Hmm...I wonder what my father would think."

"He's not here. It's up to you."

He worried his lip and then numbly shook his head. "He'll think I'm way over my head. And he'd be right. I'm just a musician."

"Why so worried, Cyrus? Just because you'll have a Keep to run doesn't mean we'll abandon you to sink or swim," David interjected. "We'll be happy to help you. I did train at the Citadel for a few years, so I know much of the Maester's duties."

"And each Keep is assigned a Maester. You'll have resources at your disposal," Jaime said. "Now, your name."

He continued to hesitate and then said, "Alexandratos."

Jaime frowned at him and gave him the parchment to write it down. "That doesn't sound Meereenese."

"It's not. My family has lived and died on being musicians. Musicians have a tendency to roam, just like what Delphine and I have been doing with the Shepherds. There's a rare few musicians who manage to land court appointments. Once upon a time, my great grandfather landed such a court appointment within the pyramid of Meereen."

"You gave up that for a life on the road?" Jaime asked.

"Yes," Cyrus and Delphine said at the same time.

Jaime had certainly enjoyed the simplicity of life on the road, when he was traveling with Brienne, the army, or heading to Winterfell. Even in misery, his mind had never felt so sharp and clear away from the dizzying machinations of the city. However, he thought he might have different feelings living hand to mouth if children had been involved.

"Give some thought to your sigil and your house words. Let me know what your plans are and I'll send a seamstress over to get your ideas," Jaime said, no small amount of irritation in his voice. Why did I decided to handle the paperwork involving the rewards? He thought, wanting to pull his hair out, though he knew why. He despised the writing and record-keeping, but he had hoped to ease the load on Aemon's shoulders by dealing with the minutiae. Not to mention, the Shepherds were his people and his responsibility.

Vicente and Callum were much easier to reward. Vicente opted for a pair of freshly made knives fit for kings. Callum was at a loss what to ask for - "But I have a perfectly good sword," he said in bewilderment - and in the end they rewarded him with a knighthood. He was so overwhelmed that

for a moment Jaime thought he would be overcome with tears, but he swallowed them back and wordlessly bowed. Knights typically had to pay their own way, but Jaime would arrange for him to be funded by House Lannister, as long as he remained loyal to him. Gerion, too, wanted nothing - "You better not reward me with a knighthood. Or a wife" - but eventually acquiesced to a better sword since he'd given up Brightroar to Jaime.

Next came David and he watched the entire proceedings like a proud parent, his chest was puffed out and there was no hiding in the glee in his eyes. But once the attention was turned to him, he frowned.

"Don't tell me you don't want anything," Jaime growled.

"On the contrary, there's plenty I want that you could give me," he said, staring down at Jaime imperiously.

"A lordship as well?"

David snorted. "There's nothing I could do with a lordship."

"Get married and have kids. That's what all lords do," Jaime muttered.

"That would be the shortest lordship in this country's history."

"There are men older than you who've fathered children," Jaime sniped, his lip curling as he thought of Lord Frey.

"No," David growled. "I want the Lannister's to sponsor the Shepherds. We'll set up a clinic here to care for the people of King's Landing. I'll follow you again when you go back to Casterly Rock and set up in Lannisport."

"The people of King's Landing would be most grateful," Aemon said. "As would I."

Jaime pondered. Why not just have the King sponsor you? Then again, he owed a personal debt to David and his Shepherds, first with the rescue from the Ironborns and then attempting to help

him control his seizures and keep his secrets. It would behoove him to keep David close.

"Done," Jaime said and wrote it down. There was some more arguing about the agreement, what Jaime was allowed to ask of David and what David in turn was allowed to do. Aemon wrote that down because Jaime's writing was getting to the point of being so erratic that no one could read it.

"Now, Varys, you have been faithful. What do you wish?" Aemon asked.

"I only wish to retain my position here as Master of Whispers," Varys replied with a slight bow.

"Is that all?"

"Serving a good king is reward enough," he replied.

I'm sure it is, Jaime thought sourly. They had to be wary of Varys, even if he had proven trustworthy so far. He could never be counted on to stand as allie for too long.

They finished just in time for lunch, but just as David was exiting, Jaime asked, "What's the history between you and Lord Mallister?"

"I've been expecting you to ask all morning. I'm surprised you could restrain yourself for so long," David replied, but there was a coldness to his eyes and he glared. "It's none of your business."

"We just created a partnership. I need to know I didn't just create an agreement that will anger an ally," Jaime said. Aemon was watching the exchange with great interest. Gerion was looking at Jaime like he was trying to play with fire.

"You saw the whole exchange. Does that sound like the exchange between two enemies?"

"I know what I saw. You hate him and the world knows it. You, a commoner, showing hate to a lord in a public setting. That is bold. What happened?"

David continued glaring at him. Finally he said, "I don't forgive or forget attempted murder." With that, he swept out of the room before.

Jaime was left in stunned silence. When he glanced at Aemon, he seemed even more intrigued, but most surprising was that the Shepherd's were equally stunned by the revelation.

Lord Mallister tried to kill David? He did not approach David with hostile intent, Jaime thought. That much had been obvious from the color of Lord Mallister's voice. It had been green tinged a little yellow from what he could tell was nerves. Yet another thing to add to the list.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Aemon IX

Aemon waited just outside the throne room. Ghost was faithfully at his side, close enough for Aemon's hand to tangle in his fur. Jaime stood next to him and behind him was Ser Preston Greenfield and Ser Arys Oakheart. He tried to breathe deeply, but the crown felt heavy on his head and sweat slicked his palms, which had little to do with the usual heat of King's Landing: he was moments away from ascending the throne.

It would be his first time. He had merely looked at the throne from a distance the day before. It felt like too momentous of an occasion to just take the seat on a whim, so he had deftly avoided it until the proper moment. He almost expected the gods to announce their presence in some manner as away of voicing their approval, especially since they seemed so keen to have him there. Though they had been quiet ever since he broke the Greatjon's sword back in Winterfell.

Had they been following his campaign? They had certainly had their difficulties, but otherwise it had gone smoothly. Jaime and I together are nigh unstoppable, Aemon had thought, glancing back at Jaime briefly. His friend raised an eyebrow at him in question, but there was a familiar arrogant smirk on his lips. He couldn't quite put into words how much he owed Jaime for this current moment of time. A lesser man would have been corrupted by the Tywin Lannisters of the world. With the might of Casterly Rock at his beck and call, Jaime had had the power to smother the campaign in its infancy if he had so chosen. Yet he had been unfailingly loyal, even thousands of miles apart. And now he was a steady presence that eased Aemon's nerves.

He did wonder how he was holding up after yesterday. There was no mistaking the haunting look in his eyes when they discovered the rope he used to hang himself with was now a permanent fixture of the godswood. It marred the godwoods' otherwise serene beauty with a painful reminder of the suffering Jaime had endured. Even before the news of Cersei's pregnancy, Aemon could see

things were not quite right with him. His energy and excitement were unmistakably real, but Aemon had the feeling that Jaime was using it to cover up his difficulties. Jaime never seemed to find a full night's rest and he hoped perhaps concentrating on winning Brienne's heart might give him a positive goal than simply helping the kingdom run smoothly. It could just as easily end in his heartbreak though. Aemon prayed that Jaime would find his happiness eventually.

"You're overthinking things. Relax. Just breathe," Jaime leaned over to whisper in his ear.

Trust Jaime to pinpoint one of his many bad habits. In response, he shook his head and limbs to loosen them up, then took to stroking Ghost.

"Your grace, it's almost time. Are you ready?" His uncle Ned came over to ask. He was in charge of seeing that all the lords were present, especially the rebels.

"Yes, uncle, I am ready," he replied and was pleased his voice was steady.

His uncle Ned glanced at Jaime with something like hesitation. Aemon winced and closed his eyes in a silent plea, By the old gods and the new, can my uncle please not pick a fight with Jaime right now. If there was one flaw in his relationship with Jaime, it's that he would never get over his hate for his uncle. He understood it, but he didn't have to like it.

"Aemon," his uncle said which drew his attention. His uncle hadn't used his real name since the Vale. "I just want to say that I am sorry for my distance. I know - I understand - why you did what you did. It's not that I think you didn't have honor. Well, more like I felt you were placing your honor second to other things." He shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. "This isn't sounding right. I think I was afraid I was losing you. You are so different from the boy that I have raised that I think I forgot that you are a man grown, capable of making your own choices. What I am trying to say is, I support you, as I always have. I apologize for my distance. Forgive me. I will be there for you from now, if you still want me there."

Aemon had to blink back tears and his breath caught in his throat. He swallowed and said, "Of course I want you with me; you're the only father I've ever known."

His uncle appeared to have a shine to his own eyes and he clapped him heartily on the shoulder and nodded and then left without another word.

Aemon breathed, filling his lungs and releasing the breath slowly. Though the nerves were still

there, he felt like he was soaring. He could rely on his uncle again! He would now no longer feel diminished everytime he looked into his uncle's eyes, like he had fallen from grace before he had ever managed to attain it.

There was a low rumble of voices as the lords assembled in the hall, like a gentle roll of thunder in a spring storm. His uncle Ned surveyed the crowd, then turned to Aemon and nodded. He strode out into the hall with all the confidence he could muster, but his feet felt like bricks and staring up at the throne made him feel more like a child than ever.

Septon Roald regarded him with a pleasantly neutral expression. A young serving boy stood next to him, bearing a cushion with the crown at its center, and he carried it like it was as heavy as a blacksmith's anvil. Aemon knelt down in front of the septon trying to focus on his face, but the man's words rolled over him like he was speaking a foreign tongue. The Seven meant little to him, but he would have to at least pretend to adapt it for those he ruled over in the south.

When the Septon finally stepped away with the boy, he moved to the bottom of the throne. Slowly, he put a foot on the step and then the next one. He paced himself. He was the king. He was in control. He had shed his childhood long ago, stretching over from the other life, but this was at the point when it was crucial that no one else think him a child in spite of his youth.

Once at the top he turned around and was forcefully reminded of the dream he had at the foot of the weirwood tree in Winterfell, the morning after Jaime was condemned to the executioner's block. Not everyone was there of course. Maester Aemon was still up at the Wall, and a few other familiar faces were not present, but he could see Tyrion, his uncle, Robb, Theon, and young Olyvar all staring up at him expectantly. He turned to the chair and lowered himself on it.

He turned, half-expecting Dany to be seated in another throne next to the great chair, and frowned when he didn't see her serene, smiling face. I hope she's safe, he quietly pleaded. Surely the gods were aware of how important she must be and not just because she hatched the dragons that would combat the Long Night. Were the gods the type to be concerned about his happiness? Would they ensure that he and Dany were one day reunited? He could only pray. He turned to the chair and lowered himself on it.

As soon as he was seated, everyone in the Hall knelt. He saw no hesitation in anyone, not even Tywin or Roose. Only the Kingsguard and his Hand didn't kneel. Ser Preston and Ser Arys were at the front of the dais ahead of Aemon staring out into the crowd. Jaime was at the bottom of the stairs, to the right of the throne, facing the crowd, resplendent in red and gold finery. He wore no armor, but Brightroar was strapped to his side all the same. He doubted no enemy on earth, alive or not, could reach him with Jaime there. Ghost had laid down left of the stairs and stared out at the crowd, looking regal and serene.

Never had the crown felt so heavy as it did now.

"You may rise," he said, his voice somehow calm and even. "This is a momentous occasion, not just for myself, but for all of Westeros. Almost seven months ago, I vowed to one day sit the throne and uphold the mantle that my forebears have so long carried. I will not shy away from this; some of those forefathers hardly deserved the responsibility they were born to carry. I will not stand here before you and pretend the crimes of the past are gone and forgotten. They are relevant even to this day. However, this I vow, I will do my best to uphold the rule of law in the realm of Westeros, execute my duties to the people faithfully, and defend from foreign invaders. I ask that you give me the opportunity to demonstrate my goals and lead the realm into a prosperous and bright future." He glanced at his uncle, whose gentle smile shined with pride and happiness. It was enough to make his throat constrict with emotion once more, but he deftly swallowed it back.

"Without further ado, let's move on to business. It was a bloodless campaign that saw Westeros unite under a single banner. It all started with my uncle, Lord Stark of Winterfell, whose belief in me as king never wavered. On my behalf, he called his banners and reached out to alliances he had forged long ago during Robert's Rebellion in an effort to uphold my claim. Thank you, uncle, on behalf of House Targaryen "

"Of course, I wouldn't be here without the unfailing effort of Lord Jaime Lannister. I'm sure most of you heard him boasting endlessly last night his story of taking the Keep." He thought he may have heard a smattering of chuckles. Jaime remained a statue, but he was certain that same proud, arrogant smirk he was famous for was on his lips. "He did more than capture Renly to force a bloodless surrender. He traveled on his own to secure the Westerlands and bring the Reach into the fold of Westeros. There is no mistaking his courage or his devotion. I have never had cause to doubt him. Thank you, Jaime."

Was it his imagination or did Jaime squirm when he publicly thanked him? You earned it, Jaime. It won't be long before the Lannister adds trust and honor to its reputation. It was unlikely that they would ever lose the reputation for brutality they had garnered thanks to Tywin Lannister, but he would admit that having a violent reputation had its uses. It made all the other kingdoms leery of challenging the North and the Westerlands combined. The odd and contradictory combination of Jaime Lannister and Ned Stark had helped him establish trust while also suggesting they would be unafraid to join battle if necessary to reach their aims.

He started with the rewards first. Seeing as they were to be the most handsomely rewarded, Cyrus and Delphine were called up first. He had seen them dressed in plain, though of nice material suggesting that they were a minimum of merchant class. But now Delphine was dressed in a flowing silk gown of mulberry and gold that could rival any noble lady's dress if any were present. It was different of a different cut from the familiar Westerosi gowns he often saw Sansa or Lady Catelyn in. While it hugged her torso and the gown opened up at the bottom where there was a slit up the side for her to walk, but the sleeves were wide and airy, making it look almost as if she were floating. Cyrus was in a robe as well, but his was black with gold trim. The knelt in perfect synchronization in front of the throne.

"Cyrus and Delphine Alexandratos, you risked life and limb to secure the Red Keep for a king you hold no loyalty to and you did it through intelligent and cunning means. I hereby proclaim you Lord and Lady of the house of Alexandratos. Be proud of what you have accomplished," Aemon declared.

"Thank you, your grace," Cyrus said, his voice smooth and deep in the hall. "House Alexandratos pledges itself to you. Our House is at your command."

Aemon nodded and they once again walked away in perfect sync. Callum was called forward next. Where Cyrus and Delphine moved in sync with each other at the same measured pace, Callum took short choppy steps and seemed pale in the afternoon light. He fell to his knee quite quickly. Aemon descended to officially ordain Callum as a knight and Jaime provided Brightroar . Aemon struggled to keep a straight face as Callum shuffled off looking about ready to faint.

Torrhen Karstark was next called up for knighthood. Though he had been deprived of an opportunity to make a name for himself in battle, he had already started serving as a knight of the Kingsguard before being officially ordained. His fighting skills were ample good enough. In contrast to Callum's fear, he seemed almost starstruck by Aemon and Jaime both being there and he had to fight to hide his glowing smile and maintain a serious demeanor.

David was the next to approach. While nearly everyone before him had shown varying degrees of wonder and fear as they peered up at him on the sword-melted throne, David was the only one to truly remain impassive. Aemond had had little contact with the Shepherds since it was barely three days past that he had joined his own army in King's Landing. He knew Jaime was leery and suspicious of them, but he found them to be a curiosity. While he did not know their intentions, his conversation with David when he was waiting for Jaime to grab Renly, had proved enlightening and he thought that the healer could prove a valuable asset.

David truly did present himself as a healer at heart. In their conversation, he had shared a vision of opening a clinic in King's Landing to treat the ails of the sick and the poor at no cost to them. Aemon had certainly liked the idea. He was looking for ways to improve the lives of the citizens in King's Landing, including building a sewer system, but thanks to Robert Baratheon squandering the kingdom's treasury, it would be some time before they could make any progress on that front.

When Aemon announced David's reward for aiding and abetting a king he had no loyalty to, he noticed Lord Tywin's lip curl into a snarl. He wondered if the lord was sour because David had taken it upon himself to treat his torture victims and had stood steadfast at Jaime's side rather than deferring to him. Lord Tywin was even more imposing than he had ever imagined and he found he had to make a concerted effort not curl in on himself whenever they passed. He pitied Jaime and Tyrion both for having such a trying man for a father. Knowing what he did now, it was a miracle

Jaime and Tyrion had turned out as well as they had, but in hindsight it seemed only natural for Tywin to spawn someone as despicable as Cersei.

Vicente and Gerion were publicly honored, but their rewards would be ready in due course. Varys was then called forward. Unlike the others who walked alone, Varys beckoned another man with a small, gilded chest followed him down the aisle.

"Lord Varys, you were instrumental in allowing me to attain my throne. For your efforts, you shall retain your position as Master of Whispers."

"That is most kind of you, your grace. I know you will bring the Targaryen House back to its former glory. To commemorate this occasion, I have a gift." He pulled out a key, turned the lock and opened the chest, then stepped back. Sitting on a white velvet cushion was a dragon's egg.

Aemon shot to his feet before he had even realized it and stared. "Is that…?"

"A dragon egg, your grace. From beyond the Shadowlands."

Aemon descended the stairs and approached, entranced. He stopped a few feet short and fixed Varys with a questioning look. "Where did you get it?"

"There are supporters of House Targaryen from abroad. Long have they wished to see the Targaryens restored to their former glory."

And what do they want in return? He had a vague idea of whom Varys was referring to. Dany had told him her three eggs had come from the enormously wealthy Magister Illyrio Mopatis. He rather doubted that man was in the habit of giving away such rare and expensive gifts without expecting something in return. We'll talk about this later, he thought as he kept his eyes on Varys. He returned his stare and then nodded slightly.

He peered at the egg and felt his breath catch. The egg was green with what appeared to be bronze speckled across its surface. "Rhaegal," he whispered so quietly to himself that he doubted anyone had heard. Rhaegal had been most fond of him in the previous life, but he hadn't formed much of an attachment to any of the dragons as they were so much more deeply connected with Daenerys.

Dany, he thought and felt his heart sink. She was supposed to have the eggs, not him! Did she still

have the other two eggs at least? Am I supposed to hatch this dragon? He barely knew anything about the previous hatching. They need the dragons, though. Not just two, but all three! I will find a way, he vowed to himself.

"Thank you, Lord Varys. Your gift is most appreciated," Aemon said, his voice sounding far away to his ears. A servant was called forth and was ordered to take the dragon egg to his room. As he returned to the throne, he glanced at Jaime. His friend was looking stoic, but there was a tightness to his face and he did not give Aemon a reassuring look in return. He knew Jaime was not fond of the dragons. Even after he pledged his allegiance in the other life, he had maintained his distance with them, not that Aemon could blame him. He'd had a front seat to his soldiers burning alive and after hearing about how Mad King Aerys wanted to destroy King's Landing with fire, it was understandable why Jaime would be leery of them.

He took the time returning to the throne to compose himself. There was still a slight waver to his voice as he ordered, "Bring forth Renly Baratheon."

Renly was flanked by two guards as he walked the length of the throne room, head bowed though neither his feet nor his hands were bound. There was an echo of sneering that he didn't quite hear and by the way Renly flinched, he was certain someone had spit on him. He stopped just before the dais, but continued to stare dejectedly at the ground.

"Renly Baratheon, you stand accused of inciting rebellion and willfully endangering the citizens of King's Landing. Do you deny it?"

Renly's lips moved but the answer was too low to hear it.

"Speak up!"

"No," Renly finally said.

"I hereby sentence you to the Wall. It is my sincere hope that you learn to make a difference there. They will need you."

Renly blanched and shuddered and then he was dismissed.

Aemon allowed the moment to permeate and then he said, "Any Storm Lord who fails to pledge to

me can expect the same fate."

With that, a long line of the Storm Lords formed and each one came forward to express their allegiance to House Targaryen. None of the Storm Lords refused. At one point, Brienne of Tarth stepped forward wearing male clothes. He was certain he heard a murmur of laughter at her appearance. Though she glowered unhappily at him, she knelt and spoke the words all the same, her voice steady. His eyes flickered to Jaime and he was impressed that his friend didn't even appear to flinch upon seeing her.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. His actions and speech were rote as he accepted pledges of fealty, his thoughts too consumed by the dragon egg he had just received. All the plans that he and Jaime had made the night before, so ordered before had been blown open by this new addition. He needed to hatch the dragon. Tomorrow, I shall see about taking those first steps, he thought. Trying to stay on task with the other items would take a monumental effort, but he couldn't afford to waver. Somehow, he would find a way to implement their plans and hatch Rhaegal all at once.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Note: I am sorry to say that I will not be posting to The Dragon's Roar for the month of November. I need to restore my buffer of chapters. The Lion's Fall will continue to be posted weekly as it is already a completed. Thank you all for your support!

On another note, I am still looking for a beta! If anyone is interested, please contact me at priestessofgroove at gmail . com.

Chapter 38 - Aemon X

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Welcome back, everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful November. I want to thank you all for being so patient with me! My November was eventful. I wrote the 15K words for TDR that I promised myself I would write and threw in some game time with the new Spyro the Dragon remake and some Civilization VI. I will try not to have Aemon denounce Pentos for having a different form of government.

The usual schedule of an update every two weeks will continue.

I did get a beta! I want to thank everyone who offered. I hope you appreciate the effort the beta for TDR has gone to to make this story even more of a pleasure to read.

Chapter 38

Aemon X

He flailed in the dark, seemingly wrapped in a thick, black fog, which yielded nothing to his eyes in any direction. But all around him he could hear the broken and unending sobs of a woman. He called out to her but received no answer in reply. Just before the dream ended, he said, "Daenerys?" Though the sound of her sobs never changed, the fog suddenly grew turbulent and smothered him.

Aemon shot awake in a cold sweat, glancing around the room in panic. Ghost was curled up by the balcony and immediately perked up at his activity. Once he had oriented himself, dread filled his stomach. Something horrible had happened to her. Was it the ritual? He tried to think back and count the months, but Dany had mentioned being at the end of her pregnancy and she couldn't be ready to give birth already, could she? He had presupposed so much, but it was quickly becoming clear to him that he could not rely on certain things to be consistent.

He paced the room, running a hand through his hair. She was in danger, she was suffering and there was no immediate action he could take to help her! He didn't even know where she was! He narrowed his eyes as his thoughts turned to the one man who might know her whereabouts: Varys . He would at least have an idea since he was supposed to be monitoring her. Well, he and she had waited long enough. It was damn time she was returned to her rightful place in Westeros.

His eyes settled on the green and bronze egg. Despite the smothering summer heat of King's

Landing, he'd ordered a fire to be made in the fireplace where the egg now nestled on a metal grate above it. He knew fire alone couldn't hatch the eggs, but it was something to suggest to others that he was working on methods to hatch it. He stopped his pacing to sit down in front of the egg and glared at it.

It shimmered dully in the hungry flames, unmoved by either the flame's urgency or his. He was of two minds regarding the eggs and if he was being honest, receiving the egg had terrified him more than delighted him. Dany is supposed to have the dragons! Why this change? What else has changed? He didn't like it.

After all was said and done for the day, the ceremonies taken care of and the feast finished, he had retired to his quarters and berated himself quietly for being such a fool. He had coasted on his way to the throne, assured of his victory, assured that everything was going as it was for Daenerys. After all, how could his rather rapid ascension to the throne affect her in anyway? She was married to Khal Drogo on a journey to the middle of the Dothraki Sea, where news from across the Narrow Sea would take months if not years to reach her.

And yet there had been a change right from the very start: the dragon egg that was supposed to be hers was now his. What else had he taken for granted?

Ghost padded over to him and nudged his shoulder. He breathed out his frustration and ruffled the direwolf's ears. "Thank you, Ghost. I just wish I knew how she was faring," he murmured.

Now this dream with the crying woman. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but somehow he knew this involved Dany. He had never had dreams of her before. Was this entirely the gods' doing?

If the gods had really wanted to help me, they would have found a way to spare Dany her marriage to Khal Drogo and brought her over here by now, he thought sourly. The gods had given him a stamp of approval back in Winterfell and been suspiciously silent ever since. Had they been steering things to his advantage, keeping them on track, or was that actually his and Jaime's doing? Jaime had, after all, been attacked by Ironborn and thrown off course for several weeks. Without that, Jaime might have taken King's Landing and been waiting for him by the time he arrived.

He was beginning to understand Jaime's churlish disregard for the gods.

But it couldn't be that easy, could it? He thought and ran his hand through his hair again. He was talking himself into circles. What he wanted more than anything was to haul Varys out of bed and force him to fess up the information he had regarding Daenerys. He was king after all. He could do

it, but he wanted Jaime and his uncle there. Not even Jaime would cut him slack if he ousted them in the early hours of the morning over an issue that couldn't be solved in several months.

Aemon sighed and returned to bed, though sleep was illusive. He decided that the only way for him to sleep was to turn his thoughts from Daenerys and think on something else, so he thought about the dragon egg. Daenerys burned her dead husband Khal Drogo on a pyre. She tied the witch to it and burned her alive. Then she stepped into the fire. Were all three crucial to the dragons' births? How does her stillborn child Rhaego fit into all of this? She claimed that she felt the eggs had new life in them after the sacrifice of her babe. Was that truth?

While he had paid attention to her story in their previous life, he had not thought to ask questions. Why would he? When would he ever hatch a dragon? Perhaps Daenerys just got fortunate. She had a hunch they would hatch, but couldn't know or say for sure. Was there an art to hatching dragon eggs?

I bet Maester Aemon would know, he thought. He dearly wished he was Grandmaester and not Pycelle. He had met Pycelle the first day and was instantly struck by the fact that Pycelle seemed to pretend to be a stoddering old fool more than actually being one. Jaime had told him that he was bought and paid for by Cersei. I can't even trust my own Maester in the Keep! Truly, he and his uncle had been spoiled in the North knowing the people around them could be trusted.

I shall write the Maester tomorrow. Perhaps he has long lost knowledge that no one ever thought to ask about. Then again, his father had asked Maester Aemon about prophecies, however the Maester's answer back to his father were undoubtedly lost to time.

I have to write Commander Mormont tomorrow anyway. They must know we've taken the Keep. He had still yet to hear back about his Uncle Benjen and whether or not he had been successful capturing a wight. Perhaps there was a letter that had gone elsewhere, like to Riverrun, and he simply hadn't received it yet. No matter, he would know in a few weeks time whether or not his uncle was successful or still missing.

He fell once again into a restless sleep and struggled valiantly against the dense fog of his dreams.

He broke his fast alone in his bedroom and felt the sharp ache of that loneliness. He had called for the servants early, however, and didn't wish to disturb anyone else. It has been six months and I am still not used to this, he thought, sighing wistfully and grew ever more anxious for Dany to join him. He felt alienated as king, even from his own family. I just have to be patient. With luck, I will not have to wait for years on end for Dany.

Aemon wrote the two letters after breakfast to the Night's Watch. When he delivered them to Pycelle, he hesitated to hand them over but decided to in the end. He would have to grow used to the idea of Pycelle reading his mail, but since nothing that he wrote was unexpected, he allowed the information to leave his hands freely. It was probably already working its way through the camp that he had visited the Wall as his first stop after all. He unfortunately had no idea what the rumor mill was among the soldiers and wondered how southron lords like Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell would react to hearing that their new king thought the Long Night was imminent.

Undoubtedly, they could consider me as crazy as my grandfather, he thought with great sigh. He had a feeling that everyone in his bloodline from here on out would be closely inspected for madness. Even showing the slightest amount of frustration might make people consider it a warning sign. He would have to have unparalleled control of his emotions, something that he was not good at.

He finally summoned his uncle, Jaime, Barristan and Varys. Torrhen Karstark was doing his first round of guard duty as a true Kingsguard and much to Aemon's amusement, he strutted like a prized rooster. Despite his irritation, he couldn't keep from chuckling when he looked at him.

It astonished him at how prompt every person was at showing up. Jaime was the last to arrive, but although he still looked troubled, he was better rested than the day before. "Your grace," they all intoned and bowed as they entered.

"Lord Varys, let's get to it. What do you know about Princess Daenerys?"

"And Prince Viserys," Jaime interjected, shooting a warning look at Aemon.

He winced. Just because he expected Viserys to die didn't mean they had to advertise that fact by deliberately ignoring his presence. He would have to do better.

Varys seemed more perturbed by Jaime and stared at him for far longer than might be appropriate. "Very well," he began, "As far as I can tell, about seven months past, Princess Daenerys was married to Khal Drogo and became Khaleesi of his Khalasar. Upon their marriage, they left Pentos - with Prince Viserys - and traveled inward to the Dothraki Sea. The last I heard, they had reached Qohor. Civilization ends there, I'm afraid."

"I assume she and her brother were well?" Aemon asked.

"As well as can be expected. I heard from my little bird that Prince Viserys threw a tantrum when he heard about your campaign. Should you ever meet, he would challenge you for your throne."

Aemon grimaced. I was afraid of that, he thought and he frowned at Varys. "Why would he challenge me? I am Prince Rhaegar's son. My claim to the throne is stronger than his."

"He might not see it that way," Jaime said. "Your Targaryen characteristics aren't obvious."

Aemon's frown deepened. It wouldn't do to fight with his uncle over the throne, especially since he could easily be painted as an imposter. Then again, he had the egg, and if he could figure out how to hatch it then that would be enough to silence the naysayers. That's assuming that Viserys doesn't get himself killed between now and when they come home.

"And the egg, Lord Varys? Where did that come from? While we're talking about true Targaryens, I would think any dragon eggs would go to them."

"We know your 'little bird' embedded in the Khalasar is Jorah Mormont," Jaime said, fixing Varys an unforgiving stare. "I suggest you choose your next words wisely."

This did seem to startle Varys, though he was quite good at hiding it. "Yes, eggs were given to Princess Daenerys for her wedding."

"Why not this egg? If I'm right, she married while I was still at Winterfell, having only just declared myself. Surely you didn't know about me," Aemon said.

"N-no, we were not aware of you, your grace. The egg being left out was..incidental. A careless servant forgot to place it with the rest of the eggs."

"That's it? That's the reason?"

Varys' eyes flickered over to Jaime and said, "It would make Magister Illyrio appear most incompetent to try and give the egg to Princes Daenerys after the wedding."

"What about Prince Viserys? Does he have eggs then?"

"He does not."

"Why not?"

"The Prince Viserys has had a difficult upbringing. Moving from safe haven to safe haven has rather taken a...toll on his sanity. He is hardly the ideal Targaryen to return to power," Varys said. "It was such a blessing when I received word of your existence."

Aemon shifted uneasily. It sounded like Viserys was just as unhinged as he had been in the past life. I pray that he leaves you unharmed, Dany, he thought, bowing his head for it. When he fixed his eyes upon Varys again, he said, "And what would a return to Targaryen rule do for you?"

"I seek only the prosperity of the kingdom and its people. When you see the books, you'll have a better understanding about how the kingdom was teetering, even before you add to the fact that Cersei failed to produce a trueborn heir."

He nodded and bowed his head once more, but in thought this time. Does Baelish have the books or was he kind enough to leave them behind? That didn't really sound like him. They'd have to conduct a search for them later. One step at a time, he cautioned himself. "Thank you, Lord Varys, your information was most illuminating. You may leave us."

Once the Master of Whispers had made his exit, Aemon turned to the rest of the room. Ser Barristan was impassive, Jaime seemed pensive, and his uncle agitated. "You seem displeased, uncle. What is it?"

"Jorah Mormont is Lord Varys' informant. I sought his head for selling slaves and he fled to the Free Cities. No doubt, his price for escorting Princess Daenerys and Prince Viserys will be his freedom," his uncle said, grimacing. "It is not right."

"If a pardon comes to it, then that's what will be granted. It will take months as it is to reach Daenerys and that's assuming she'll even accept. I can't wait any longer. Ser Barristan, I wish for you to depart on one of our ships in three days' time. Take a hundred men with you," Aemon ordered.

He actually managed to startle him. "Your grace? But I am your Lord Commander. You've only just arrived. Surely…" He hesitated with his next sentence, glancing around. He was remembering

his and Jaime's words about the walls having ears. "Surely you still need my assistance. I did know your grandfather and father after all."

Aemon shook his head. "You're the only one I trust. My uncle can't go. He's the usurper's friend; she would never trust him. Jaime killed her father. I can't go. I have to stay here and rule, hopefully righting the ship of this foundering kingdom. You are the only one I trust with this task."

Barristan gaped at him and he seemed to search the room for the words necessary to counteract this order. "But, your grace, there are still two empty positions for the Kingsguard. At least allow me to wait until those are filled. I would feel better."

"Aemon is right, Barristan. We can't wait," Jaime growled at him. "You are the only one who can do this, as you well know. As for the empty Kingsguard positions, I have a suggestion for one. I wish to ask you about it, Aemon, when we are done here."

Aemon nodded at Jaime, but his words were for Ser Barristan. "If you have suggestions for whom might take the last position on the Kingsguard, please offer them. But you are leaving in three days' time, as I said before."

Barristan sighed in defeat, likely one of the few battles he has ever lost. "Very well, your grace. It shall be done."

"Thank you, Ser Barristan. Now, what about this other Kingsguard?"

There was a cunning twinkle in Jaime's eye as he smiled.

Chapter 39 - Brienne I

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope everyone is doing well. I know the holidays can be stressful, but try not to overload yourself. Just keep calm and read on!

Thanks again for all of your support! I appreciate all of your kudos and your comments!

I did want to clear some things up since I found some of your comments for last chapter puzzling:

1. Viserys is dead. He is very dead. But, in this universe, he's only been dead for about 4-5 days. There's simply no possible way that news of Viserys' death could have reached Westeros that quickly. It'll be months before they hear that news because Vaes Dothrak is far away from everything.

2. Jaime would absolutely NOT suggest Brienne. Kingsguard swear for life. And Brienne would be absolutely pissed if she was asked to be a Kingsguard and then later asked to leave the Kingsguard to marry the Hand of the King.

So I muck around in maps as my day job and, wouldn't ya know it, I come across a Kings Landing in Canada. Ergo, Game of Thrones takes place in Canada. I knew those Canadians were hiding something. Their reputation for politeness is clearly an insidious cover. (Love you, Canada! Try to ignore the crazy shenanigans of you neighbor to the south.)

I want to thank the beta Edelweiss_Elessedil for editing last chapter and this chapter. Your efforts are appreciated!

Chapter 39

Brienne I

Brienne strode out to the training grounds early in the morning. After luncheon, the men would be out, seemingly unable to keep themselves from leering and jeering at her. It didn't matter how many she beat to the ground, they refused her any kind of respect. If she hadn't cared so much for Renly, she wouldn't have put up with it.

Renly, she thought with a sad sigh. A rush of excitement had flowed through her upon receiving the summons to join Renly in King's Landing to "keep the throne out of the hands of the dragon."

She recalled her father frowning over the summons, deliberating it.

"What's wrong, father? It's a summon from our lord paramount! It cannot be ignored."

"I do not intend to ignore it," he replied. "I am trying to decide how to answer."

"Lord Renly needs our help and we are bound by our oaths to help him."

Her fathered looked old and weary as he watched her. He had fought with King Robert and Stannis Baratheon without hesitation when the Ironborn attacked, so why was this causing him pause?

"It's not that simple, Brienne. All we know is, a young boy claiming to be Aemon Targaryen has dethroned King Robert in Winterfell. I have met Lord Stark and he is not a man to make light of his convictions. As you well know, he suffered mightily under the Targaryens. He would never see them return to power, unless…" His gruff voice trailed off and he had a far off look in his eyes.

"Unless what?" She demanded. Her ire had already built enough that she knew what she was going to do, whether her father permitted her or not. She was just humoring him at this point.

"Unless there were something more to this. He and King Robert were best friends, nigh inseparable during the war. There must be something that tore them apart. I'm sorry, my dear, but there simply isn't enough information here to act on. And I don't trust Renly to speak plain and even."

"Are you calling Lord Renly a liar?" She leapt from her place at the table.

"Not a liar. There's simply too much left unsaid in this summons. I am not comfortable committing to this cause. Tarth will remain neutral."

"You would break your oath?"

"I would act with caution."

"Tarth may remain neutral, but I will not," she declared. He raised his eyebrows at her in surprise, but waited. "I will answer Renly's summon as if I were a knight."

"Do you think that wise, Brienne?" He asked softly. "You will be a singular woman amongst men who may not accept you."

"But one does," she said, a blush blossoming in her cheeks as she recalled that night not so long ago where Renly gave her her first dance. "As you might very well recall."

"I have not forgotten, but I worry for you, child. I fear you may run headlong into disappointment."

She straightened up and pressed her mouth into a stubborn line. "That may be. But my lord paramount calls and I shall answer his summon."

With that, she had gone straight to her room and donned her armor, strapping her sword to her side. She was waiting by the docks when her father showed up with a retinue. She had just been ready to argue when he had shook his head, "I know a lost cause. Be safe, my dear. You are all I have left."

"I was taught well, father," she replied. "I will return."

He nodded and gave her a pack of clothes and food, as, having left in such a hurry, she hadn't thought to grab anything. Once aboard the ship, she dared not to look back.

That had been five months ago. It was as her father said, she was the only lady in the Red Keep, the rest of them having fled the capital to avoid being at the wrong end of a sword. At first, she had attracted a lot of interest - curiosity, perhaps - but it hadn't taken long for whispers to start following her around the Keep. She ignored them, but they were persistent.

Brienne the Beauty soon became her nickname. Once, someone had broken into her room at night on a drunken dare. She came close to removing his intestines, but settled for breaking all the fingers in his hand and booted him out her door. From that point on she barricaded her door at night. When she had informed Renly about it, he had shown concern, and promised to instill discipline, but nothing ever came of it. He was far too wrapped up in the war, consulting frequently with Loras.

It was not the only incident and it wasn't the last. At one point, the tone changed and she found a handful of men treating her well. To go from one extreme to the other had been suspicious and she had maintained a courteous distance. Then her former betrothed, Ronnet Connington, had jokingly informed her they had a betting pool going to see who could take her maidenhead first. Now she looked at every man with sullen mistrust, all except Renly.

She was not blind. She had suspected that his feelings may lie elsewhere. She also wasn't naive enough to believe that he would ever marry her. Sweet, beautiful Renly could not be seen with Brienne the Beauty. She decided that should he ever be king, she would offer herself to his Kingsguard. She hoped he might be open to the idea of a woman joining.

When the siege initially started, everyone had been in good spirits. Though the Lannister army was settled quite far away, the men still jeered from the top of the wall at them. They had felt invincible! Then the armies of the North and the Riverlands arrived and had numbed them to quietude. The Westerland's force was the most substantial in the kingdoms, but seeing two more hosts show up reminded them that they had few allies. Renly apparently tried to keep it secret, but word had leaked out eventually: the Vale and the Reach had committed to Aemon Targaryen as well.

Some merely disregarded it as rumor, but there was no mistaking the fear in their eyes when they saw the Reach banners join with the ever-growing horde, not in battle, but in camaraderie. It was the nail in their coffin.

Brienne steeled herself to meet her end on the battlefield, wincing internally at the broken oath she would be causing upon her death, but she would not falter. The other lords around her were not quite so content. Now that it was all too real, they had forgotten to tease her and angrily turned to Renly. He had attempted to soothe their worries by saying his brother Stannis would ease the siege and that the Targaryen would burn everyone alive now that they were still in the Keep. Word had come back to them of Lord Tywin's torture of those who attempted to flee the inevitable massacre. But the Keep was quickly becoming like a hornet's nest as the eve of battle approached. More men fled despite the danger of being captured and tortured by Tywin.

The mood had lightened when the musician showed up. The few goldcloaks left to patrol the city had reported being stopped in their tracks by a musician playing for a crowd in the streets. If the soldiers in the Keep were strung too tight, the poor people of King's Landing were on the brink of panic, but the music the man played had seemed to ease their fears. He was quickly invited into the keep to ease the soldiers' nerves as well.

Brienne had heard plenty of musicians in her lifetime, but she could say that none were as good as him and she paid very little attention to music. He appeared to have an uncanny knack for gauging

the mood and knew which song to play to uplift. When Brienne listened from the shadows, she felt at ease.

She should have known he was a spy. It was suspicious, after all, that a musician would show up right before a siege. The last time King's Landing was stormed, many people died, armed and unarmed, so he could hardly expect a safe exit. Amidst all the fear and doubt, no one had given it much thought, and he had been allowed to slink and spy to his heart's content.

Brienne gritted her teeth in frustration. Everything went wrong so quickly. How could the Reach have failed us? She had an inkling. Aemon's declaration of his heritage had come out of nowhere. By taking King Robert captive in Winterfell, everyone else was left scrambling, but he had stretched out his hand in friendship the instant he declared himself. For such a young man, the affair was handled in such a way that suggested this had been in the planning for years. The Starks were far more treacherous than she had ever thought possible.

We never stood a chance, she mused. It was then she was taken out of her thoughts by the familiar clang of swords.

"Move your feet! You forget about your feet, Pod. You need to move your whole body."

She stared. The Kingslayer was in the training grounds with a boy whom she presumed must be his squire. Even from her distance, the boy was holding the sword incorrectly and was far too stiff in his movements. The Kingslayer was languid and at ease. He was almost lazy as he swatted the sword out of his squire's hands again.

"Relax. You can't be swift if you're stiff as a tree trunk. Shake out your limbs, Pod. Try again." He pounced on his squire again like a cat toying with a mouse. The boy grunted but made no complaints, much to her pleasant surprise. "Be quicker! In battle, your opponent won't let you reach your sword, they'll just gut you. You have to be ready."

The squire staggered to his feet again and managed to fend off a few hits, though his technique and his footwork were still clumsy. "Better. Keep to your feet, hold your sword the way I taught you, and practice. It'll come naturally, Pod. Eventually."

Finally, the boy spotted her, nodded in her direction, and then said, "Uhh...my Lord."

The Kingslayer turned. She was taken aback by the surprise on his face. It took him a moment,

but he gave her a short bow and said, "My Lady."

She glared at him. He was the one who had knocked her out! She thought the voice sounded familiar and upon seeing his eyes, recalled seeing the man dressed in black in the hall, leading his team with her beloved Renly as captive. She'd never forget the way his voice taunted her and the litany of apologies nettled her as she had fallen unconscious.

Then it struck her: she had been knocked out by the Kingslayer. She would begrudgingly admit that it took a rare courage to lead a team into the heart of your enemy's fortress when the odds had undoubtedly been stacked against him. By all accounts, they should've been caught, but the other lords had been too drunk to even be awake. It had irritated her that Renly allowed everyone to indulge so deeply into their cups on the eve of battle, but he hadn't even been present for the evening and if the stories were true, the Kingslayer had caught him in bed with Ser Loras Tyrell.

She had suspected something between those two. They shared looks like how she imagined new lovers would, but it saddened her that Renly was now forever disgraced from it. Banished to the Wall, the one place she could not follow. She would likely never see him again and sighed sadly at the loss the world didn't realize it had suffered.

Her ire returned once more to the man in front of her. It was his fault Renly was now doomed to the Wall, when his rightful place was as Lord of Storm's End! Will this be the end of the Baratheon line then? Or will Lord Stannis betray his own brothers and yield for his house? They were to have found glory on the battlefield, but this man had robbed them of that.

The Kingslayer, the Oathbreaker. She could think of few names more vile than those. He had murdered his King and now, again, he betrayed his oath as Kingsguard to leave the order, when none ever had before him. That he even dared to gloat his victory was enough to cause her blood to boil. Typical power-hungry lion, she thought, but at the same time found herself admiring him. His hair glowed gold in the morning sun and he was the very picture of the Warrior with his sword in hand. He was striking enough, despite the scars that swept across his face, marring his otherwise beautiful skin.

Of the many things she had heard racing around the Keep since the Dragon and his Lion entered, most of them were in regards to Jaime Lannister. She'd heard he'd been caught fucking his sister, she'd heard he'd been raped by his sister - and this left her puzzled because she had long thought being raped was only a woman's fear. He got into a battle with Robert Baratheon when King Aemon declared himself. And also that he'd decided to make a trophy of a bear by using his sword rather than a bow. He had walked away with the bear's head, but not before it had adorned him with those marks. Still, he was not ugly, not with those dancing green eyes.

That's enough of that, she scolded herself. It was time she moved on, but where next she knew not.

She was not ready to head back to Tarth, a disgraced rebel, but there was nothing left here for her in King's Landing. If the teasing had been bad before, it would only get worse with the new men in the Keep and no Renly to curb it.

Her scowl deepened when she returned her attention to Jaime. She didn't like the look he was giving her. He was looking at her with something akin to awe, but she didn't understand how that could be possible. It had to be a prelude to more teasing. She bowed and said, "Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to disturb you." Then began walking away.

"You don't need to leave," he called out to her. "There's certainly plenty of room for the both of us."

She turned to him and stared. What is he playing at? She was surprised that he, the Lord Hand to the new King Aemon, would look at her with anything other than disgust. She was ugly and a rebel who had stood in his way, quite literally. Staying could only lead to humiliation. I thought you were a warrior, she chided herself. She had made her pledges on behalf of Tarth and the king had accepted her back into the embrace of the kingdoms.

The Kingslayer turned away from her to focus on his squire again, but she thought she saw a faint look of disappointment on his face. I am not a coward, she steeled herself and walked back towards the training yard, but veered away from him and his squire over to an empty square with practice dummies and space to practice her technique.

"Let's start again, Pod. When I step this way, you step...good!" Clack, clack, clack-clack. "Don't be afraid to strike me. You can't simply defend or else your opponent will win."

She was typically good at staying focused when training, but she couldn't resist glancing over at the other two. She was a sword fighter after all and no matter her feelings, the Kingslayer was among the best swords in the Seven Kingdoms. She kept surreptitiously glancing over to them as the Kingslayer shouted instructions at his hapless squire. While the squire took several rolls in the dirt and was huffing and blowing - a rather embarrassingly poor swordsman for even his age group - not one word of complaint left his lips and he simply got back up and took his stance again. He at least seemed to have that down, finally. By contrast, the Kingslayer hardly expended his energy and was remiss in his takedowns of his squire. For someone so at ease with the sword, she had expected him to be impatient and ill-tempered at having such a pathetic squire, but while he did shout, it was never abrasive.

The Kingslayer finally caught her watching and smirked. There was something in his eyes she did not like, but she wouldn't allow him to intimidate her. She turned back to the wooden figure when he called out to her, "The wench fights well with a sword." She turned to glare at him, but he just continued to grin in an infuriating manner. "Perhaps she would like to serve as another sparring

partner for my squire."

She scowled. "Are you insulting me?"

He raised his eyebrows, but the smile remained. "Why would I do that? I may be the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, but my style of fighting is not the only style of fighting. You do appear to be rather admirable with that sword. In fact, I heard Ser Beric singing your praises the other day when he said you managed to best Ser Loras."

"What of it?" She barked.

"So, my squire could learn something from a fight with you."

"Your squire is no match for me."

"It's called practice. Everyone needs it. Come, wench, it will be an easy fight."

"I am not a wench!" She finally rounded on him and crowded his space, but he seemed merely amused by her efforts. "You may be the Hand to the King, but I am not your plaything. I need not tolerate your mocking. Good day, my Lord," she snarled and stalked off.

Just as she expected, the teasing would be worse with the new arrivals, especially with the Hand of the King now joining in. I need to leave, but to where? The deafening silence around her was her only answer.

Chapter 40 - Aemon XI

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope your holidays have been great! Mine have gone so well that I almost lost track of the fact that it's Saturday and I'm due for an update.

Thank you, everyone, for reading and supporting this fic with your comments and kudos! Just broke two thousand with the last posting thanks to you wonderful readers. I hope this fic continues to meet your expectations!

Chapter 40

Aemon XI

Aemon strode to his first small council already feeling harassed. It had been two days since his dream with Daenerys and while his days had been full to the brim with small business, he couldn't seem to push away his concerns for her to focus on what he could do. Jaime noticed and couldn't refrain from making a few caustic remarks.

He's just cranky because Brienne's already rebuffed him, Aemon thought. He'd seen their encounter in the training yard, only emerging once Brienne had stalked away. Jaime had insisted that he knew what he was doing and it was not surprising that she stormed off in a huff.

"Women like to be called 'wench?'" Aemon asked.

Jaime had glared at him.

That wasn't to say that Jaime hadn't been busy. He'd spent the last two days making arrangements for David's 'clinic.' The healer had already started sitting outside the keep's walls, offering tinctures and potions for free to the most unfortunate, but his supplies would run out if he couldn't get a lab up and running. So then Jaime had to set him up with a lab in a vacant part of the dungeons, much to Maester Pycelle's consternation.

Aemon had spent his two days going through the food stores and the kingdom's accounts which was its own headache. Though not officially Master of Coin, Tyrion had labored over the books with him trying to straighten out the finances, but the numbers and streams of income were as

twisted and convoluted as a kraken.

He had yet to decide on his new Master of Coin. He expected Petyr Baelish to come crawling back to save him the trouble, but it would look odd for him not to be looking. As much as he would love to give the position to Tyrion, it would cast suspicions of favoritism on the Lannisters. The entire point of this campaign was to unite the Seven Kingdoms, he thought to himself. I need to branch out and expand my council beyond my circle of friends. That said, he currently had no ideas who might best fill the role. He would not trust Ser Stevron Frey with the books anymore than he'd trust a fox to guard a henhouse. While he would trust Lord Willas Tyrell with such a task, he had already planned on giving him the position of Master of Laws. Too often that was filled by someone with ideas of authoritarian discipline and he'd rather the people look on him favorably. He felt Willas had the necessary knowledge, compassion, strength, and, most importantly, trustworthiness to achieve their goals to a prosperous kingdom.

His uncle acted as liaison to the North and an advisor, but he held no official position. So although they had cleared the air between them, Aemon still barely saw him since his knowledge was best outside King's Landing. He'll become more useful once the Long Night is upon us. His uncle and Robb would be heading back North sooner rather than later. While he preferred to treat with Mance Rayder himself, there was a possibility that his uncle would have to do it in his stead. As it was, he'd only sent the letter to the Wall a few days ago. It would be some time yet before they received word, hopefully of uncle Benjen's success. Those decisions could be made at a later date.

He entered the small council to find only Lord Willas seated at the table. He shot up with a wince and gave a half bow. "Your grace."

"Lord Willas. You need not strain yourself on my account," Aemon said, nodding back at him. He sat at the head of the table and Ser Arys took a position just behind him in the room. Slowly, Lord Varys, Maester Pycelle, and Jaime filtered into the room. Ser Stevron hopped in at the last moment, gave a clumsy bow and took a seat next to Jaime. By the way Jaime's lip curled in dismay, he was less than pleased about that.

"Is this all?" Jaime asked, glancing around.

"We're waiting for one more," Aemon said.

Jaime narrowed his eyes quizzically.

After a few minutes, the healer David finally sauntered in. He gave a deep bow.

"What's he doing here?"

"He is here at my invitation," Aemon replied.

"I apologize for my tardiness, your grace," David said, gliding to a seat on the other side of Jaime.

"Your grace, begging your pardon, but David is not a Maester. He does not belong on the small council," Pycelle said, glaring at David, but his expression softened when he turned it to Aemon.

"Grandmaester Pycelle, you are the Keep's primary healer and maester. However, you do not serve the people outside the Keep. David does. As such, he gets an up close and personal view of what ails my people and their mood. From past experience, few kings have had that kind of exposure to those outside these walls. I don't intend to improve my House's reputation just to the nobles, but to the people. David will fulfill the role of Master of Healing to King's Landing," Aemon replied, his voice nonchalant. He noticed the way Pycelle's lips pursed in disapproval and David smiled in smug satisfaction.

There was no mistaking the burn in Jaime's eyes however. Aemon hadn't consulted him on this appointment. He and Jaime seemed to have contradicting opinions about the trustworthiness of the healer, but the reasons for bringing him on the small council were sound. There were few enough Nobles as it was that deigned to listen to the people. David was more likely to receive an honest answer from the poor folk.

Aemon started the agenda by appointing Willas as the Master of Laws and spun another position out of whole cloth, Master of Food, for Ser Stevron Frey. He and Jaime both would be watching him very closely since it was paramount for food stores to be full for the Long Night.

"I may be a Targaryen, but I grew up a Stark, and the Stark motto rings as strong to me as it does to them. Winter is coming, Lord Stevron. I expect you to reach out to each of the Seven Kingdoms to coordinate food stores. A long winter usually follows a long summer. We need to be prepared for all of my people to need food, not just the fortunate."

"Of course, your grace. Leave it to me," Ser Stevron puffed up.

"Lord Willas, I've been going over reports regarding the Goldcloak's conduct and there are some...concerns," Jaime said with a rather truculent jut to his jaw. "The Captain of the guard,

Janos Slynt, and those directly beneath him have apparently been taking bribes, judging by the way they're living beyond their usual means. It needs looked into."

"Thank you, Lord Hand," Willas said, accepting the brace of documents Jaime shoved over to him.

"There are...a number of names within the Goldcloaks that might grab your attention, Lord Willas," Varys spoke up. "I serve the king and therefore serve the welfare of the people. I am at your disposal."

Willas eyed Varys before reluctantly nodding .

"It is of my utmost concern that you suss out the truth, Willas. It is imperative that those charged with keeping the King's peace within the city are they themselves above reproach," Aemon replied, his mouth set to a grim line.

"As your grace commands, so I shall proceed," Willas replied.

"David, how are the people?" Aemon asked.

"In just the few short days I've been out there, the people seem relieved. They were expecting a battle on their doorstep after all, so they're glad that this was a peaceful transition. While merchants are being allowed into the city, prices remain high and many are going without," he reported soberly.

"What can be done to ease the starvation of King's Landing?" Aemon asked, glancing around at the people.

"We could dig into the current food stores and dole out what's there," Ser Stevron suggested. "I know it's not ideal, but it'll be a few weeks before sufficient trade routes are set up."

"My father had supply lines set up for the army, that could easily be diverted to spread to the city," Jaime said.

"That seems more suitable than digging into the food stores. It's best we keep those high."

"If you'll allow me, Aemon, I want to discuss the army. They don't all need to be here. You should think about sending some of them back to their farms so they won't leave the crops rotting out in the fields. It will be Fall soon," Jaime said.

"How much trouble do you think Stannis Baratheon will give me?"

Jaime raised his eyebrows. "That's difficult to say. We haven't heard from him yet."

"That man is sitting on my ancestral home, a stone's throw from King's Landing. We can't leave him there."

"And we won't," Jaime said. "If we haven't heard from him by the end of the week, then we should see about setting sail for Dragonstone."

"We wouldn't be able to take much of our army. Lord Redwyne's ships haven't arrived," Aemon said.

"Stannis didn't have much of an army to begin with. The vassals of Dragonstone have relatively few soldiers, however they were still loyal to House Targaryen last I heard. I think only their immediate proximity to King's Landing kept them from setting sail to the Free Cities to back Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys, not to mention having the King's own older brother in charge of them. Stannis wouldn't hesitate to hang them for treason."

"Lord Varys." The eunuch seemed startled to be addressed. "Do you have any little birds that can apprise us of the situation on Dragonstone?" Aemon asked.

"The Lord Stannis stews. It is said that he has come up with a hundred plans and discarded them all. You caught him very much unawares, but he was certain that you would take King's Landing. He doesn't lead his soldiers into a battle he doesn't think he can win and with all the allies you amassed, it would have been suicide for him to try and team up with Renly. I think he is waiting to see how you act as king before he decides on his next move," Lord Varys replied in a simpering tone.

"Anything else?" Jaime said, glaring at Varys but the man didn't shrink.

"There is much speculation among his vassals about whether you are as Targaryen as you say you are."

I wonder what it will take to convince them, Aemon though idly, his thoughts once more straying to the dragon egg in his fireplace. He hoped it would take less than that as it might be a while before that egg is hatched. "Try to press your 'little birds' for more information."

"Regardless of what the 'little birds' say, you still don't need four of the Seven Kingdoms' armies here in King's Landing. You could send half of them home and still be in shape to destroy whatever army Stannis may attempt to put forth."

Aemon pondered and frowned. It would be best to send the Northern armies home first since Fall reaches there faster and also the more fertile regions. The Reach, the Vale, and the Riverlands were the most fertile kingdoms in the land, but that would leave him with mostly the Lannister army. He trusted Jaime, but it was Tywin who currently controlled that army. If the worst were to happen, whose bidding would the army follow? He rubbed his chin as he thought, his face grim once more. It could mean the end of his reign if he made the wrong choices here. Why doesn't King's Landing have its own army? He supposed his own vassal lords of Dragonstone were meant to protect him, but those weren't currently under his control.

"Jaime, I want you to send half the Westerlands home, half of the Reach, a quarter of the Riverlands, and a quarter of the North. The Vale under Lord Royce hasn't arrived yet, but when they do we'll keep all of them here for the time being. When sending the North home, prioritize the lords with the most northern farms so that they have a chance to get back to harvest before it snows too much: Bolton, Umber, you get the idea."

"Done," Jaime said in a clipped tone, hurriedly writing in his notes.

"Grandmaester, do you have anything to report?"

"I'm lacking in supplies for the medicines that I brew," Pycelle said.

"I am as well, your grace," David piped up.

"He was speaking to me! Mind your manners, healer," Pycelle spat.

Instead of looking chastised, David merely gave him an unsettling smile. Pycelle appeared too apoplectic with rage to be disturbed by it.

"The health of both the men and women here in the Keep and in the city is important. I will do my best to accomodate you both ," Aemon replied, giving Pycelle his own stern look. Their paths currently didn't cross and he didn't see why they should, though he wish he could make David the main healer of the Keep. Jaime had filled his ears of the many trespasses that Grandmaester Pycelle committed even before King Robert's rein and there was nothing to suggest his habits would change. He made a mental note to keep an eye on Pycelle. The Citadel would be more accommodating if they gave it proof of Pycelle's misdeeds.

"If that will be all? Jaime, stay after. Ser Stevron, I want to go over your duties in more detail tomorrow," Aemon said. "You're dismissed."

Jaime waited until the door had closed before he said impatiently, "What is it?"

"Ser Barristan leaves for Qarth as soon as we're done here, but he insisted that he be here to see the augmentation of another member of the Kingsguard."

"He's a stubborn old goat, isn't he?"

"I thought the Blackfish was a stubborn old goat," Aemon asked wryly.

"Can't they both be?"

Aemon chuckled. "Ser Arys, please send a servant for both Barristan Selmy and Sandor Clegane."

"At once, your grace."

For the rest of the time while they waited, they did not speak a word to one another. Jaime fidgeted. He tapped his quill, he shifted his weight, he sighed in exasperation, and ran a hand unceremoniously through his hair. I thought I was keyed for action, Aemon thought with some amusement. In the other timeline, Jaime was too worn down, old and tired, to exhibit this kind of energy, but now he seemed like a warhorse left too long in its stall.

Ser Barristan entered first, giving the traditional greeting.

When Sandor entered, he had a guarded look on his face and glanced around in suspicion. He bowed, but bypassed the honorific. It was typical of him, so Aemon let it slide.

"Lord Sandor - " Aemon began.

"I ain't no f-...I am no Lord, your grace."

"You will not interrupt your king," Ser Barristan barked.

This is off to a good start, Aemon thought. It seemed even the arrest of his brother couldn't soften the hard edge of Sandor Clegane.

Sandor gritted his teeth, but finally muttered, "Apologies, your grace."

"It just so happens we're here to discuss your lordship," Aemon said, turning to Jaime.

Clegane gave them a puzzled look but remained silent.

Jaime spoke, "Your brother was arrested and sent to the Martells to mete out justice-"

"Good riddance," Sandor growled.

Jaime glared and continued when Clegane remained silent, "You are now the lord of Clegane's Keep. I have other uses in mind for Clegane's Keep, do you - "

"Take it. I don't want it," Clegane growled.

"Very well," Jaime said, frantically writing more notes.

"Thank you," Aemon said, "but you're still a lord. Now I could set you up with a Keep somewhere else in the North…"

He at least shook his head instead of cutting off either of them this time. "I ain't a lord. I ain't got no desire to be one either. I can kill things for you. That's what I do."

Aemon cocked his head. "You might leap at this opportunity. As I'm sure you're aware, I still have two positions in the Kingsguard to fill. I would like to offer you one of those positions."

He's not sure he's ever seen Sandor Clegane rendered speechless. He glanced around at all of them and then his face grew thunderous, but he finally spat, "I will serve in your Kingsguard...but I am not a ser. I won't be a knight."

"Only knights can serve in the Kingsguard," both Barristan and Jaime said simultaneously. Jaime scowled at Barristan who merely bowed his head. It took some work for Aemon to keep himself from laughing.

"Then I guess I won't be in the Kingsguard."

Aemon gritted his teeth. "Is this really a sticking point, for everyone? Why won't you be a knight?"

"It's all empty vows, preening and posturing. It doesn't mean anything. I spit on their vows. After all, my brother was a knight."

"Being a knight is whatever you make of it," Jaime snapped, tapping his quill on the paper at a frantic pace.

Aemon stared at the ground, mulling his thoughts. He had been initially surprised when Jaime had suggested Sandor Clegane, but he was a solid fighter and loyal to the cause up to his death. Apart from Barristan and Jaime, he could not ask for a better example of a Kingsguard. I will make this work.

"My father was an intelligent man, admired for many things, but as all men, he still made mistakes.

Knighting Gregor Clegane was one such mistake. Lord Jaime and I have rectified that to the best of our ability. Please accept my apologies for all you and your family have suffered," Aemon replied, dropping his head as a sign of respect.

If it was at all possible, Clegane only seemed to get angrier, his eyes like chips of stone and grinding his teeth together. Aemon expected the sentiment to be thrown back in his face, but Sandor seemed to think better of it. He simply nodded, but then said, "I still won't be a knight. I am no ser."

"Then you won't be on the Kingsguard," Jaime shot back.

"I am the king, Jaime, I think I can make that decision," Aemon shot back. The look he received from Jaime was powerful enough to burn him to a cinder. "What would you rather be called?"

"I already have a title. I am 'the hound.' A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face." *

"Would it be enough to be officially knighted as Ser Sandor Clegane, but known only as the Hound?" Aemon offered.

Sandor shook his head, his grin more of a grimace thanks to the twisted burns on his face. "I am no knight. I won't be a knight, officially or otherwise."

"You can't be a Kingsguard without first calling yourself a knight," Jaime persisted. Barristan continued to remain quiet, but it was clear by the small nods he was making that he agreed with Jaime.

"Is it really necessary to be a knight to be on the Kingsguard?" Aemon asked, irritating now apparent in his voice.

"It's tradition," Jaime replied.

Aemon shook his head. "Just because it's tradition does not mean it's not necessarily right. After all, women aren't allowed to be knighted and that's tradition." He winced as soon as he said it and Jaime stood up from where he was seated to tower over Aemon.

"Then why am I here if you're going to barrel ahead on this? Go on. Make him a Kingsguard without making him a knight. But I will not sanction this decision," Jaime said and stormed away.

Everyone winced as the door slammed, but Aemon declared, "Ser Sandor Clegane shall be made a member of the Kingsguard with no expectation of being officially ordained as a knight. Does that satisfy both of you?"

The Lord Commander gave Aemon a cold look that made him think of Lord Tywin. "I beg your pardon, your grace, but he must take the King's Oath that the Kingsguard swear or he cannot be a Kingsguard."

"The King's Oath?"

"Every member of the Kingsguard has been made to swear that they will defend the king from harm, that they will obey the king's commands, to keep his secrets, to counsel him when requested, to keep silent when not, and to defend his name and honor. Your safety is of the utmost importance and as I will be gone for an extended period of time, I refuse to leave you with a man who refuses all oaths, making him beholden to none. He must swear the King's Oath," Ser Barristan's voice cracked like a whip.

Aemon felt his heart pounding against his chest. He had never seen Barristan so impassioned. He was always calm and collected, even while sword training, whether he won or lost. The integrity of the Kingsguard was a sore spot for both him and Jaime.

He glanced at Sandor who was curling his lip at Ser Barristan like a snarling dog.

"Will you swear to the King's Oath?" Aemon asked, preparing to be disappointed.

"Your reasons ring false to not accept the King's Oath," Barristan warned. "Your brother was never a Kingsguard. Its oaths have never rung hollow."

"Yeah? What about the Kingslayer? He broke his oaths. If I remember rightly, you have hated him for that, Ser Barristan."

Aemon frowned but before he could say a word, Ser Barristan replied, "King Maegor Targaryen I, also known as Maegor the Cruel, ended his reign on the blade of one of his Kingsguard for his tyranny. Now, I do not know what drove Lord Jaime Lannister to slay King Aerys, but his action since and to this day suggest it was neither out of cruelty or vanity. King Aemon has pardoned Lord Jaime of that crime; it can no longer be held against him, or the Kingsguard. Now, will you accept the King's Oath?"

Clegane looked mulish, but then gave a curt nod.

"Are you satisfied then, Ser Barristan?" Aemon asked.

He did see the tension leave leave his shoulders, but his expression remain terse. "Well enough, your grace."

"Excellent. Then it's time you left on your mission."

"As you will, your grace," Ser Barristan said, hesitation in every movement as he bowed and strode out of the room.

"Thank you, San-Hound. Jaime wished to give your Keep to Lord Alexandratos. I'm sure they'll rename it," Aemon said.

"I pity those poor fools. There's naught there but ghosts," Sandor whispered.

"I'm not sure they believe in ghosts," Aemon said. "Report to Ser Preston Greenfield for duty. You will swear the King's Oath tomorrow at court."

"Yes, your grace," Sandor said, though there was clear irritation in his voice.

"You're dismissed."

When he swept out of the room, he did so with an air that suggested the shadow of his brother was no longer dogging his steps. Aemon, by contrast, left the room feeling like he was carrying a blacksmith's anvil on his shoulders. He would have to make amends with Jaime. Being at odds

with his Hand was bound to get around, so the sooner the better, but he expected a blizzard. Unlike his sister, he was not the type to destroy, but his anger was enough to strip people of the very warmth in their blood.

When he came to the door and found Pod looking anxious he said, "Hello, Pod. I take it he's in?"

Pod was a little shaky as he nodded and then reached over to knock on the door, pinching his face like he was about to take a snake bite from a viper.

"I said I wished to not be disturbed," Jaime's voice shouted through the door.

Aemon stepped in to bear the brunt of Jaime's wrath. "It's me. We need to talk."

Jaime ripped open the door to glare at him. "Your grace," he spat.

"May I come in?" Aemon asked. He didn't think he had ever seen his friend this angry.

"Am I even allowed to decline?" Jaime shot back, but he left the door open and stalked away to sit on the front of his desk.

Aemon felt like a child in trouble for skipping his lessons, which annoyed him. He was the king and he was allowed to make decisions without necessarily any input from anyone. While he couldn't say he understood Sandor Clegane, he had a notion of what to expect and had agreed with Jaime wholeheartedly when he had initially suggested it.

"Look, I apologize for my words back there. It was cruel to use some of your ideas against you, but I felt you were being a hypocrite. I have made the decision; Sandor Clegane will be a member of the Kingsguard known as the 'Hound.'"

"I'm glad you continue Robert's tradition of chipping away at the foundations of the Kingsguard," Jaime sniped.

"Naming Clegane to the Kingsguard is hardly chipping away at it! I am confident he will be a fine example," Aemon replied, trying to contain the heat in his voice. One of them had to control their

temper and as king, it was up to him to act the adult. "You said yourself that you intend to change elements of the Kingsguard."

"To strengthen it! You weakened it."

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did," Jaime retorted. "With that decision, you just told everyone that Kingsguard don't need to abide by their knightly oaths. Why should any of them now follow their oaths if you didn't force Clegane to be beholden to them?"

Aemon opened his mouth, searching for the right words. "I think you and I would both agree that Sandor is a special case."

"Fine, he is a special case, but no one else knows that!"

Aemon stared flabbergasted.

"When you can't provide a reasonable explanation about what makes him so special, what do you think people will do? He's a great fighter, but a troubled person with a brutal history and you allowed him into the Kingsguard without his oaths? How are you so sure he will uphold the ideals without taking the vows?"

"Well, you should be pleased to know that Ser Barristan refused him entry until he swore the King's Oath."

"Did he now? I'm honestly surprised he stood up to you," Jaime replied. "He was never very good at having a spine."

"The Hound will have those oaths; is it necessary for him to have the others?"

"As far as I am concerned, yes. After all, I killed the King to fulfill my first oaths as a knight. They offered me a direction when everything else was chaos. What does he have? A strong moral sense? Does that sound like the Hound to you?"

Aemon searched for words but he had none.

Jaime filled the silence. "Take the Karstark boy. I can't say he's the best admittance to the Kingsguard, but at the time it was a good decision. The North's presence has lacked considerably in the Kingsguard for years. Tying the North more closely to you was a great idea! And the boy's young; he can be taught. He's already a decent fighter. Barristan and the others have done a fine job training him. He's obviously green on the battlefield, but hopefully we can teach him enough that he can be a fine soldier and eventual commander should there ever be war."

"The North doesn't have a tradition for knighting its warriors, as you well know, but you still forced him to become a knight to enter the Kingsguard. You just made that lad look like a fool to all of the North. He stands out among his people now and not in a good way. He's probably too respectful to ask, but the rest of his family will: why did Torrhen Karstark have to be knighted when the Hound didn't?"

Aemon winced. Maybe I should have given this more thought. He'd been impatient. Sandor was a particularly notable fighter, matching even Jaime in skill. Judging by his commitment to the cause in the last life, he could be counted on. Aemon was happy to leap at the opportunity to appoint him. Furthermore, Ser Barristan refused to leave on his journey to find Daenerys until at least one more Kingsguard slot had been filled. In his rush to push Barristan onto the boat, he had plunged headlong into this.

"I...I didn't think..."

"No, you didn't," Jaime snapped. "Now, if you said to me that the requirements to be knighted weren't stringent enough and allowed too many fools among its ranks, I would've agreed with you. But the answer is to tighten those requirements not blow the requirements to be a Kingsguard wide open!"

As Jaime had lectured him, he had left his desk and stepped closer to Aemon until he was towering over him, causing him to shrink. "And Sandor Clegane refused to be a knight because his brother and many knights like him made a mockery of those vows! He was right. I agreed with him once. And then I learned that being a knight isn't saying some words and following orders. It's a lifestyle. You mold yourself to those vows and do your damndest to uphold them, no matter the cost. She taught me that."

Aemon flinched as though struck by those words and stared helplessly at Jaime, who strode back to his desk and sat.

"The next time you want to make an appointment to your Kingsguard, you will consult me, and we will give it the proper discussion. I was blindsided by Clegane's reticence to take the oath. We should have convened and given it more thought."

Aemon nodded numbly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You may be Targaryen, but you were raised in the North, where they don't give much thought to knighthood and what it means," Jaime said, his voice now quieter but he was still glaring. "As was made apparent today, Ser Barristan and I agree on much about what makes the Kingsguard great and I am very interested in restoring it to its former glory. If not for my sake, then for yours. I need to know the men guarding you can be trusted."

"B-but becoming a knight doesn't prove them trustworthy," Aemon replied weakly.

"Then I guess we'll have to make the requirements more stringent, as I said before. And make an example of those who fail to uphold their vows. Now, if you'll excuse me, your grace, I have a lot of work to do."

Aemon nodded and said, "I see now I should've given this more consideration. I apologize for rushing the decision. I'll leave you to it then."

He tried to hold his head up as he walked back to his rooms, his face clean of any anguish, but that was an argument that would be heard around the kingdom. There would be consequences and he would have to prepare for them.

The line the Hound says is lifted directly from the books, which is why it's in italics.

Chapter 41 - Jaime XIV

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Hey, everyone! I hope your New Year has been off to a positive start. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your interest and enjoyment in this project. Your kind comments and kudos do help me continue this project. So thank you all so much!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 41

Jaime XIV

Jaime looked out the window of the Tower of the Hand and sighed wistfully. The weather was beautiful and calm. He could see knights and lords down at the training grounds while he stewed up in the Tower of the Hand. How did Aemon talk me into this?

Thinking about him, though, brought a flash of anger on and he stifled it as best he could. He had been in such a rage over the Clegane decision that it had eventually brought on a pounding headache and forced him into bed for a seizure. He'd have to work on keeping his emotions controlled. He still couldn't quite believe it. A Stark - raised as a Stark at least - had simply trampled tradition without thought of consequence and chipped at yet another foundation stone of the Kingsguard.

I did not spend nearly thirty years of my life, in this one and the last one, to see yet another king put a knife into the Kingsguards' back. At least he's not foolish enough to put feckless cunts like the Kettleback brothers on there, he thought with a huff. One of his greatest regrets from the previous life was how his sister and her idiot son had filled the Kingsguard with their foolish lackeys, completely incapable of actually protecting the king. Gone was the stalwart, skilled organization that he had long admired as a child. He may have allowed Cersei to convince him to join the Kingsguard, but he was already halfway there after he fought with Ser Barristan the Bold and squired for Ser Arthur Dayne*. Never had he wanted to be someone more than the Sword of the Morning. His knighting by him was the proudest moment of his past life and this one as well, though he did have a few proud moments now.

Back to the problem at hand then, he thought with a sigh turning back once more to being Hand of the King. It had been one thing to negotiate alliances, it was another to actually do the business of the kingdom. Already the details were getting away from him. The day before he had his first council meeting. Next he'd be having a meeting with all of the lord paramounts to inform them that Aemon intends on sending a good portion of each of their armies home.

He could imagine this decision to be met with ire from his father. The Westerlands army valued him as the heir to Casterly Rock, but they were still beholden to his father. Between the two of them, who were they more likely to follow? Lord Jaime, future heir and current Hand to the King - outranking his father - or the still formidable Lord Tywin? If he were a captain in his father's army, he would certainly have difficulty going against the old lion. It was a likely end in doom. It was why Aemon kept more of his firmer allies around. It wrankled him that the Westerlands couldn't be better trusted by Aemon, but that would all change whenever his father finally met the Stranger.

We just have to be patient. Take this one step at a time, he cautioned himself as he had told Aemon as well. That was the only way he was going to stay ahead of this position. That said, there was still so much to do that he was of a mind to recruit some help. That would have to wait for now. First, he was going to humor himself.

"Pod, would you inform Lord Mallister that he is summoned to the Tower of the Hand."

"Yes, m'lord," Pod replied, looking up at him with wide eyes, but he strode away with his head held high. They had been working on his posturing as well as his fighting skills. As squire to the Hand of the King, he ranked higher than all the other squires, second only to Olyvar Frey, and it was important that he be treated respectfully on behalf of the Hand.

He thought back on their training session the other day where they ended up sharing the same space as Brienne of Tarth. He had turned over the encounter countless times and while she had stormed away, he felt the encounter had gone well, despite what Aemon said. He had treated Brienne worse in the previous life and she had stayed around.

She had an oath to keep then, he thought. As far as he could tell there was nothing really keeping her in King's Landing though. He had tried to do a little digging on her activities without being obvious, but that was impossible where Brienne of Tarth was concerned seeing as she was the only noble lady within King's Landing besides Lady Delphine. The rest had fled with the threat of war. They would be back soon though.

However he couldn't treat her with gloves. That would incense her even more. He was certain at least part of the way to crack her shell was to acknowledge her worth as a fighter, but it seemed in this life she had not gotten away from the teasing and the jeering of her fellow knights either. She mistook much of his teasing as mean-spirited when it was meant to be taken in jest. He had been more cutting in the previous life, even after they'd formed a friendship, but he decided to ease up on that at least for the time being.

At least I don't have Renly's death hanging over my head, he thought. She seemed equally enamored with him in this life as the last. It was truly amazing what a little kindness shown to her could win and, if he was honest, a little pathetic. She should demand a higher standard of loyalty and friendship, but that would disqualify him as well as the rest of the knights in the kingdom save for those from the North and Dorne.

He attempted to look busy with a sheet of parchment in front of him, but he had barely read a word of it while he waited for Lord Mallister. It was the letter he was trying to write to Lady Catelyn regarding the care of his bastard. At just the thought, he closed his eyes and turned the parchment over to keep from reading it. He had already written a few nasty letters with every single threat he could think of under the sun to what would happen to her if she mistreated any of the bastards in her care, but especially his. He hoped it would help get the anger out of the way for his final letter. Aemon had insisted, after all, that he not damage the Lannister's relationship with the Stark's.

There was a knock at his door.

"Enter," Jaime called out.

Pod walked in with the formality of a soldier at battle and announced, "Lord Mallister has arrived, m'lord."

"Thank you, Pod," Jaime said. He regarded Jason Mallister for a moment. The lord was looking around his quarters curiously. Apart from a single tapestry with the Lannister lion behind him, the room was otherwise bare of Lannister paraphernalia. Unlike his father, he didn't feel quite like he had to live in the house colors. He had, after all, lived as a Kingsguard for most of his life and they were expected to live spartan. Even as Hand, he merely had one shelf of books, a simple desk and chair, and his sword at his desk and that was all.

"Lord Mallister, I wish to get right to the point: you are familiar with the healer David Reeft, are you not?"

"Yes, my Lord, I am," he replied and fidgeted nervously, his voice a wavering violet.

This struck Jaime as odd. His behavior was also peculiar when he was speaking to David, he thought and rose from his chair to speak on a more even level.

"What can you tell me about him?"

Mallister blinked. "What would you like to know?"

"What was he like as a boy?"

"He was a strange lad, even back then. Most boys, even the servant boys, preferred to bang sticks together to practice sword fights. Not him. He was almost always reading, even as a boy who hadn't even gone into his lessons," he said, his eyes taking a faraway look.

"He attended lessons with you?"

"Yes, he did. I was a few years older. His mother assisted the maester with his healing. Maester Tamal liked the boy and asked my father to be able to teach him. I think my father hoped that he might one day serve me as a maester, so he attended lessons with me. He was a few years younger than me and already smarter."

Jaime raised his eyebrows at him. I bet. David must have come by that smugness early on, he mused and felt his fingers clench. "How did that make you feel then?"

Mallister shifted and Jaime once more raised his eyebrows in question, but the man stayed silent.

Finally, Jaime said, "I have no interest in passing judgement on whatever happened between you two. I just want to know more about him."

Lord Mallister swallowed, looking at his feet, and then up again and said, "As you can imagine, it was quite embarrassing that a boy who was three years younger than me standing me up in my lessons. My father upheld him as an example to aspire to. ' Fighting is all well and good, son, but having your wits about you will allow you to beat any opponent before you step onto the battlefield, ' he said. Of course, being so young, he just made me angry. My friends, Asher and Tomas, teased me viciously about it. One day, I saw David standing at the edge of a cliff staring out at the ocean. This had been going on for a few years at this point and he was about eight-years- old. I was fed up with a servant being smarter than me, the heir to Seaguard. So I ran at him and shoved him off the cliff."

Jaime's heart actually leapt at the retelling. "He survived that?!"

"By some damn miracle. He was on death's doorstep for better than two weeks. That was about how long I couldn't sit. Servant or no, my father was furious at what I had done and striped me for the rest of my life over it. I regretted it as soon as I had done it. It seemed to take forever for his body to hit the water and I'll never forget his scream." Mallister's eyes had been far off and when they finally connected again with Jaime's he said, "I have lived with that regret everyday since. I may not have killed him, but I snuffed out that childish energy. His hand used to always shoot up to answer the Maester's questions. Never again. He simply did his work and went about his life without speaking a word to any of us again. I wondered if perhaps the fall had made him mute, but he apparently spoke with his parents. When the War of the Ninepenny Kings was upon us, he leapt at the opportunity to join the war, probably to get away from me as much as make his own way in the world. He disappeared among the ranks and I never saw him again until a few days ago."

"Thank you, Lord Mallister. Your account was most illuminating," Jaime mumbled, deep in his own thoughts. As a child he had leapt off cliffs around Casterly Rock, nearly two dozen feet high. He had remembered being grounded for a month for that stunt. He had been to Seaguard before and those cliffs were considerably higher. "Anything else?"

"I don't think so, just that he was a damn good healer under the tutelage of the Maester. I'm not surprised he decided to simply be a healer rather than a Maester. He had a gift, that is to be sure," Jason Mallister said, his voice back to an even turquoise now that he was certain Jaime had kept his word.

"You're dismissed," Jaime said, having already banished him from his mind. Well, it's easy to understand David's fury now. He would certainly never forgive or forget attempted murder. If that had been him, he was certain his father would have eradicated the boy and his family just as thoroughly as he had the Reynes and the Tarbecks.

I've pondered a curiosity long enough, he thought. It had been comforting to resolve a little bit more of the mystery of David Reeft. He could understand him a little bit better. It would make it easier to predict his moves now, but still not a certainty judging by the fact that Aemon appeared to be privately consulting him if his appointment to the small council was anything to go by. He was not the first man who was not a lord to be on the council, but he was likely the first peasant, with no real title or status. He wouldn't begrudge Aemon that at least, since the only other healer available was Pycelle and he wouldn't put it past that old coot to slip Aemon poison.

He ran his hand through his hair yet again, feeling an ache generating there. Thankfully this did not feel like the usual ache that brought on a seizure but the kind of ache that suggested he was trying to keep track of too many threads. He needed help, but first there would be some much needed groveling.

"Pod, would you find my brother and tell him that I wish to see him," he said through the door.

"At once, my lord!"

He imagined it would be some time before he saw his brother. Tyrion never did deign to be commanded like some commoner and with their relationship currently on the rocks, he had a feeling his brother would drag his feet getting here. I have plenty to do until then, he thought and sat once more at the desk, setting the letter aside and deciding to work on the plan for which armies were to be sent home.

Forrester is another northerly House on par with the Umbers and the Boltons. That could stand to harvest their trees. Wood will be a hot commodity during the Long Night, he mused to himself, shuddering as he thought back to those frigid nights that were enough to freeze the nose right off your face.

As he had predicted, his brother only decided to show up as the sun was just above the horizon. There was a knock at the door and Pod squeaked through the door, "Tyrion, m'lord."

"Send him in," Jaime called.

Tyrion sauntered in like he was the lord of Casterly Rock and bestowed upon him a condescending expression, promptly taking a seat without it being offered.

"About time you showed up," Jaime said hotly.

"Now what could you possibly need from me? Am I your rebound now that you and the king have had your first tiff?"

"Don't try my patience. Unless you'd rather stay ignorant of what was bothering me when you wanted to do some drinking," Jaime said.

This seemed to stop Tyrion from his next cutting remark and it seemed to make a great effort to control his tongue. Finally, he said, "Will I need wine for this?"

"We'll both need wine for this." He grabbed a bottle of wine that was courteously left by servants at the beginning of every day and poured generous goblets for the both of them. He was pleased to

see Tyrion looked unsettled as he eyed the cup. When he sat back down he unearthed the letter that he had spent so long contemplating and stared at it, wishing that the parchment would fill with the words that he needed to say.

"Does it have to do with that letter?"

"Yes, but it's one I'm writing," Jaime replied, stalling. He closed his eyes and breathed a few times and then opened them and whispered, "Do you remember when Cersei raped me?"

A darkness fell over Tyrion's face and he nodded slowly, closing his eyes as though he wished to strike it from his own memory.

"Aemon informed me the other day that Cersei is pregnant."

Tyrion groaned and pinched his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Then he said, "I'm an ass."

"You didn't know," Jaime said, then he took a deep draught of the wine, reveling in the way it warmed his insides when they felt so cold.

"I'm sorry, Jaime."

"It's not your fault."

Tyrion gave him an exasperated look. "I'm sorry for the way I've acted. I know you've had it tough and we both know this kind of work is not your strength. I saw how...perturbed you looked and I still tried to push when I should've known better. You're my brother. I know you well enough by now to know when to keep my distance, but I've been a rather slow learner."

"It's not all your fault. I know I haven't been very forthcoming. It's...it's complicated. Maybe one day you'll know the whole truth, but that news right there is at least part of what's been on my mind," Jaime said, staring into the deep red wine rippling across the surface with his breath, unable to look Tyrion in the eye.

"So what's to happen to the child?"

"Aemon has arranged for it to be raised at Winterfell."

"With the other bastard Lannister children then," Tyrion said, nodding. "Good. This one is even less likely to be accepted by father."

"Mmm," Jaime grunted, his fingers tightening around the stem. Just the thought of his father knowing anything about this child raised his hackles. No matter if it was borne from his most hated sister, it was still his child, and he would do right by this one like he couldn't with his others. "My only concern is Catelyn Stark has a rather terrible history of treating bastards poorly. I need to tell her the rules regarding this one."

Tyrion's face grew darker still. "Do you thinks she's mistreating our nephew and nieces who are already there?"

"I doubt it. She's probably just ignoring them, which is about the best they could hope for. But this child will be an infant. It can't be ignored. I don't want just a wet nurse taking care of it. I...I want to write letters to the child and have the lady read them," Jaime confessed, feeling his insides squirm. A baby would hardly understand or care about the words being read to it, but if he was going to acknowledge this child, it would be from the moment of its birth. So no matter how many months or years it took to finally take the child under his wing, it would know that it was not forgotten like countless other bastards were.

Tyrion perked up and said, "Good idea, brother. I knew if you ever had children you would be a good father."

"Father would call it weakness."

"It is not weak to care for your children. If he thinks so, then that just sheds a light on his own weaknesses as a father. And look how we turned out."

"A dwarf and his golden heir now the Hand of the King?" Jaime said.

"Exactly, though you turned out far better than you probably should have."

"I've had time to think about what I truly want to do," Jaime mumbled. A whole two lifetimes. "I just...don't know what to write. I've already written a half dozen other letters filled with all the horrific threats that I can imagine, but Aemon did warn me not to damage the relationship with the Starks. Especially if I want all our bastards treated well while at their home."

"Glad to see that you can recognize good advice from your king, even when you have such a terrific row as you did the other day," Tyrion said, raising his cup in cheers.

"He was wrong about the Kingsguard, that doesn't mean he's wrong about everything. Can we move on from that now? I would like your help writing this letter and...maybe with some of my other duties."

Tyrion sighed. "The king has currently got me helping to decipher the accounts Lord Baelish took for the kingdom. He shouldn't be Master of Coin again. The twisted nature of the numbers leaves me feeling icky. I don't like it."

"If he returns," Jaime muttered.

"Why not give me an official position within the Keep?"

Jaime gave him a wry look. "You know why. It probably won't last forever, but until it does...help?"

Tyrion sighed. "And I throw myself upon my sword."

"What else are you going to do?"

"Drink and read and maybe have a whore or two?"

"You'll still have time enough for that," Jaime replied. "Let's get to work."

In this universe, Jaime was squired to Ser Arthur Dayne because there was a lot of conflicting information out there when I initially researched it.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Beta found. Thank you, guys, for your assistance! =)

Chapter 42 - Aemon XII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day everyone! I hope your last two weeks have been well. Thank you, esteemed readers, for continue to follow this story despite the two week wait. I really appreciate it!

So after I put out a notice that I was looking for a beta again, I had not one, but two volunteers! Theostry will read the most recent chapters and Kyra will go through all the previous chapters and clean them up. Thank you both for your time and effort! I will be posting up the revised chapters over the next several weeks/months, so hopefully this will improve the overall reading experience. =)

Chapter 42

Aemon XII

The ladies within the Crownlands returned once more to the Keep seven days after Aemon took over, for which he was grateful. With mostly men for company, he felt like his every move and decision was being watched as closely as a cat stalking its prey. Though it meant his shoulders were constantly seized with tension, it was important that Aemon act unaffected. He hoped the arrival of the ladies would distract some of the worst offenders.

Arya and Sansa were still more than a month out. Margaery Tyrell too, for that matter. His cousin would marry Margaery a month, to the day, from when she arrived and then there would be no reason for Robb, at the very least, to stay in King's Landing. He was already dreading his impending departure. I should see him more often, he thought. The only time he really saw him was when he came to pick up Ghost and take the wolves to the godswood.

I wonder what Robb and uncle think of the decaying rope on the tree, he thought and felt a shiver run down his spine. Would that have been his fate if he'd had to wait ten years for Robert Baratheon to make his appearance at Winterfell? He was grateful not to be in Jaime's shoes. While he was forced to keep up appearances and make tough decisions, he at least had the love and support of his family.

He wouldn't call Tywin's presence supportive. He thought Stannis had been wrought from stone, but if Stannis was stone, Tywin was Valyrian steel. He appeared all but indestructible and there were times it seemed the man's very glare could cut his skin.

I hope Jaime is keeping him in line, Aemon thought. They were both so inundated with work that they rarely saw each other these days. Their last encounter, while frigid, had at least been civil and was primarily about which lords were being sent home with their respective soldiers.

He and Tyrion were now convened in the solar going over the kingdom's accounts once more. They worked for an hour or two at a time each day before they had to part. Aemon in particular could barely stand to follow the numbers, before his mind began drifting away, hoping and praying for Dany.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I know it's not my place, but have you resolved your disagreement with my brother?" Tyrion asked. There was a nervous energy in his expression, suggesting his question wasn't for mere curiosity.

Aemon thought he might understand Tyrion's anxiety. He was working for both of them now, and being caught between the two most powerful men in Westeros was bound to make any man nervous. "I think so," Aemon replied with a nod. He had gone back and decreed that anyone who serves in the Kingsguard, knight or not, was expected to abide by the knightly oaths all the same. It may not have looked good to second guess himself so early into his reign, but he had the feeling it would've been worse if he hadn't made amends. Jaime did have a point, even if he had been far too violent and forceful about expressing it. He had been under the impression that Jaime hadn't cared about the Kingsguard, but he supposed that serving in it for so long and watching it fall to pieces might change one's feelings about the venerable institution. Tyrion had also mentioned Jaime's long-standing hero-worship of Barristan the Bold and Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. They were two of the most stellar and respected Kingsguard in its long history. Is it any wonder he was so angry? Aemon thought. After that mishap, Aemon vowed to take his time with his decisions; they didn't necessarily need to be made on the spot.

He had gotten his wish, however. Ser Barristan had departed a few days ago with the receding tide and with him went Aemon's hopes and dreams for Dany. Please let my vision be a fluke, he prayed to the gods.

Since that argument with Jaime, things had quieted down. Despite Jaime's vehemence, he still carried out his duties and arranged for certain lords' armies to depart, which allowed Aemon to breathe. There should be ample supplies for the city coming in now without the armies taking the lion's share.

He and Tyrion were in his solar. They were making headway into the kingdom's accounts, but it was painstaking. The numbers seemed to mix and float before his eyes until he just wanted to bury his head and sleep. Curse you, Littlefinger, he thought with a numb shake of his head.

They both jumped when the door banged open and Jaime came striding in with a fervor in his eyes.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Aemon snapped.

"Your Grace, Stannis' fleet has been spotted departing Dragonstone!"

There was a beat of inaction, then Aemon leapt to his feet. "Do we know where they're headed?"

"Straight here."

Aemon frowned. "That's awfully bold. Even with some of our forces departed, we're still more than a match for his army."

"Perhaps they intend to deviate from their course eventually, but for the moment they're on a beeline for us."

"How long will it take for them to get here?"

"According to the watchman, it's roughly a three-day journey. They'll come in with the tide in two days time."

"That doesn't give us much time. Perhaps they wanted to surprise us."

"We were expecting this. It won't take long to ready the soldiers," Jaime replied. Whatever disagreement they'd had, it had vanished with the moment.

"Can we see them then?"

"Not quite from King's Landing. Lord Massey at Stonedance castle on Massey Hook spotted the ships and sent a raven to us," Jaime reported.

Aemon stroked his chin. What on Earth could Stannis be thinking? He'd listened to Ser Davos recount the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Stannis taken the fight, at the time, because the Lannister armies were inland. He'd had a perfect opportunity to seize the throne, thanks in part to the newly acquired forces from his brother Renly, though he had still lacked the Reach. He'd left the Red Priestess behind in Dragonstone because he feared his victory being attributed to her magic instead of his skill in battle. Aemon rather felt the Red Priestess had a lot less power than she pretended, but things did appear to take a turn for the better for Stannis whenever she performed one of her rituals. Could Stannis be making this audacious move at her blessing? He shuddered when he thought about the shadow she had sent to assassinate Renly.

Jaime seemed to gauge the direction of his thoughts and he fiercely said, "We won't let Stannis take this from us."

Can you stop her from doing as she pleases? Aemon wanted to ask, but held his tongue. If the Gods were on his side, whether they be the Old or the New Gods, surely they were a match for Melisandre's Lord of Light.

"I think that's obvious. I have the greatest confidence in you. Unless Stannis' forces attack we will wait to engage at my command."

"Yes, your Grace," Jaime replied and hurried off down the hall.

Aemon kept watching long after he disappeared and then bowed his head in thought once more. They had decided to take a week to get the kingdom to something close to functioning, but Stannis was clearly determined to not be starved out of Dragonstone, as was the inevitable plan. There was simply no way of assaulting the island fortress without huge losses. He wasn't sure how much Stannis had in the way of supplies, but he imagined it would take a year or more - and that was a year or more less of mining dragonglass.

His uncle Ned had soothed his concerns that while Stannis had been willing to starve himself for Storm's End, it was another matter entirely to starve himself over Dragonstone. "He has no love for Dragonstone, as you well know. I doubt he'd suffer over it. He also has a child now, and while he is a hard man, he would not want that to be the fate for his child."

He remained skeptical of his uncle's words, but hoped for the better all the same. Hope, however, could not feed his people or lend them the sense of security they needed and if Stannis was permitted to remain on Dragonstone, he would forever be a looming threat.

By evening of the next day, Aemon could stand on his balcony and see the ships of the

approaching force come in. There were no more than twenty ships and all but two hung back on the outskirts of Blackwater Bay. The ships heading in were waving the rainbow flag of truce.

It seems the negotiations will start sooner than I had anticipated, Aemon thought. He had certainly hoped that Stannis would recognize the futility of the situation and pledge himself. He had spent the council meeting earlier today ironing out what he expected from Stannis. The Lannister brothers had apparently discussed this and offered a few ruthless ideas so that Stannis would know he was serious.

"I'd rather hoped he wouldn't surrender so easily," Jaime had said after the meeting.

"Because he'll always be a threat in the background," Aemon supplied.

"Exactly. At least he just has a daughter for an heir. No one would support her," he said.

"Hmm," Aemon replied, hoped the glaring look he sent Jaime did not go unnoticed. He had met Shireen Baratheon for a brief moment before the red witch burned her alive. She was a quiet, polite girl who made friends with everyone around her. Ser Davos had spoken of her often and fondly. She didn't deserve to have the blight of the greyscale mar her face and make her a pariah. Would Stannis be desperate enough to agree to the death of his daughter now as he had last time? Much of their negotiations revolved around her future and it caused Aemon's insides to curdle at the hurdles they were setting up in her way, but she would not be tortured and would certainly not die a fiery death under his reign.

--The Dragon's Roar--

The next day found Aemon and Jaime awaiting the two ships at the dock. He wore gray and red with the Targaryen seal displayed prominently on his shoulder. He felt ill standing there, smelling a mixture of shit and salt in the humid air. His uncle Ned, Theon, and the other lords paramount waited behind them with a small contingent of soldiers and the goldcloaks. When the gangplank was lowered, the first lord onto the dock was dressed in gray and teal, a seahorse displayed prominently on his shirt. He had salt and pepper hair and a beard to match, and wore a deep frown which reminded Aemon of a particularly stern feline he'd crossed paths with in the Keep.

Monford of House Velaryon of Driftmark, he recited. Among his countless other tasks, he had brushed up on the vassals of his house. A swift glance over of the lords showed that all those sworn to Dragonstone were present, save Ser Davos and Stannis himself.

Lord Velaryon took a moment to openly appraise him and then dropped into a kneel. "My liege," he spoke in an awed whisper. The other lords and their heirs followed suit behind him. "Forgive us, Your Grace, for staying by the side of a traitor and brother to the usurper."

He surveyed them for a moment, taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor, especially since he had been expecting Stannis. "Rise," Aemon replied with a gesture of his hand. Once on their feet, Aemon said, "Please follow me. We will continue this discussion at the Keep."

The lords piled into carriages and Aemon returned to his horse. With Ser Barristan gone, Jaime seemed to have a heightened sense of protectiveness and directed the Kingsguard, even though Ser Preston Greenfield was now acting Lord Commander. The Hound's horse, Stranger, was positioned so closely behind Aemon that its head was almost nudging his elbow. He wondered briefly if Jaime had put him up to that or if the Hound was merely intent on proving his commitment without the knightly oath.

Upon reaching the Keep, Aemon led the lords into a private dining hall. Jaime and his uncle joined them so that they could have more sound voices in regards to Stannis' fate. Lord Velaryon was granted a seat beside the King, while Jaime took his customary place on Aemon's right. His uncle sat a little further down the table, entertaining the other lords. An early dinner was served.

"Your Grace, you are most generous," Monford said.

"You came to King's Landing bearing a rainbow flag. Your words at the dock suggest you wish to pledge your allegiance to me rather than negotiate a treaty. For all intents and purposes, you will be among my subjects. I would not treat any of the other lords who have pledged to me any differently," Aemon replied.

Monford nodded, staring back at him for a moment too long, before tearing his eyes away back to his plate. "You sounded much like Prince Rhaegar just now; I can believe you are his son."

"Did you need more proof? I do have it."

"That won't be necessary, Your Grace."

After a few moments spent eating, Aemon said, "Do you know what Stannis has been up to?"

"Brooding, Your Grace," Monford replies.

"Brooding, hmm? Does Stannis do anything else?" Jaime interjected haughtily.

Monford pursed his lips and regarded Jaime coolly before returning to his meal. Then he continued, "He pores over the map in the solar at Dragonstone everyday. The only lord who is privy to his thoughts is Ser Davos Seaworth, the onion knight" - there was no mistaking the current of disdain that ran through his voice - "and the red priestess."

Aemon held his breath. She was still at Stannis' side then, as she had been before. "The red priestess?"

"Supposedly she's a follower of the Lord of Light, R'hllor," he replied, scowling. "I know not what she whispers into his ear, but it cannot be good. All I heard are mere rumors, such as that the Long Night is coming and in order to defeat the Long Night, the Lord of Light bestows upon us a prophecy, the Prince Who Was Promised. What this has to do with Stannis, I can't be sure."

"Maybe she suspects he is this Prince Who Was Promised?"

Monford scoffed and then cleared his throat and said, "Forgive me, Your Grace. You do not know Lord Stannis, but he is not one to be taken by flights of fancy. I'm not even sure he believes in the Seven."

"Is there anything you can tell us for a certainty?" Jaime asked, his voice and face as hard as stone.

Again, Monford considered Jaime for a brief moment in a way one would consider a worm beneath their boot.

"Lord Velaryon, you and the rest of the lords here will have your pledges accepted tomorrow during court. As such, I expect you to give my Lord Hand the deference he deserves," Aemon said with a stern tone. He turned to direct his glare at Jaime as well, though he doubted it would move him to be more respectful.

Monford's eyes widened and he regarded Aemon for a moment as if he were mad, but then nodded and said, "Apologies, Lord Hand."

Aemon sighed. It seemed no matter Jaime's strides, he would forever be regarded as untrustworthy. He grimaced then, considering their goals, and how likely it was that Jaime would never be granted the level of respect he deserved.

"Please, continue."

"I know that you confounded him, Your Grace. I would say he was paralyzed by indecision, but I suspect more that he thought there were no winning moves to make. Though your rise was meteoric, it was mainly because you were allowed to stand atop a solid foundation. Having the North and the Westerlands at your command made you instantly formidable. Add to that, you had the jump on the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and were able to send out your letters to both former Targaryen allies and Stark allies before anyone else could. It was quite ingenious of you."

Aemon felt the tips of his ears go warm and he struggled to suppress the pleased smile. "I didn't do it alone," he merely said. "What is Stannis' plan then?"

"He knows you'll want your seat. It is the Targaryen ancestral home, after all," Monford replied. "I think he feels he can get the best deal by forcing you to come to him, but he barely has more than a couple thousand men to hold you off."

"If he insists on forcing us to storm Dragonstone, we will manage it swiftly with the forces we have," Jaime said.

"Trying to breach that door? It'll be costly," Aemon muttered, thinking back on his visit to Dragonstone. The long, winding stair up to the castle had been made more impressive by the three great dragons circling in the sky, swooping low enough to force him and Ser Davos to duck their heads. He felt another pang as he remembered entering that throneroom to find the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered sitting upon the great chair that took up an entire wall. He hadn't been sure at the time what to expect from a woman who commanded the loyalty of dragons and a Dothraki horde, but it was certainly not the small, silver-haired woman who was staring at him with more curiosity than hostility. In some respects, his preconceived notions of her had proved only half correct. She was indeed more beautiful and more youthful than he expected of a Mother of Dragons; though she had appeared soft, she was as stiff and unyielding as the stone from which the castle was hewn. Her voice rang out into the throneroom, commanding respect and projecting fearlessness. Needless to say, he had been impressed.

Will that be the woman I meet, when Ser Barristan brings her home to Westeros? He pondered for a moment. It had been in part why he had fallen in love with her. She and Ygritte had been worlds apart in upbringing, style, and attitude, but they both had the same grit.

At the thought, he wondered whether Ygritte was still alive. Surely the time hasn't changed that much, he reflected. All the same, he recognized now that his love for Ygritte had been a candle compared to the torch he bore for Dany. His affection for her had been brought on almost entirely by the circumstances of his captivity and their hazardous tasks than by any true appreciation of her. All the same, he wished her no ill will. He turned back to the conversation at hand.

"Stannis is too practical to be suicidal," Jaime said. "I don't expect him to be a fool like Renly. He should be open to negotiations, if only for the sake of his daughter."

"If you don't mind my prying Your Grace, what is it you intend to offer?" Monford asked.

Aemon heard Jaime huff, and by the abashed look on Monford's face, he realize he'd overstepped his bounds.

"All I will say for the moment is that mercy will be offered to those who are amenable to it. When I hold court tomorrow, I expect you and the rest of the vassals of Dragonstone to pledge your allegiance."

"Of course, Your Grace. I'll let the others know," Monford said, with a small bow of his head.

Aemon lingered a moment longer and then returned to his food. In his research of the vassals, he had learned that the Lord Velaryon traditionally served the Crown as Master of Ships. It was just on the tip of his tongue to offer it to him, but Jaime's words from a few days ago when they had their fight over Sandor Clegane came back to him. He was king and he could make whatever decisions he so choose, but to avoid stepping without looking, he should consult his Hand again. Would it seem peculiar for him to offer a council position to a person who was just the day before an enemy? He hoped not. How can we move forward if we constantly eye each other as a potential threat? He had no reason to believe they meant him ill will. Tyrion had told him that the Dragonstone vassals were among the last holdouts against King Robert. Aemon assumed that they abandoned Stannis once firm news of the successful capture of King's Landing reached them. Perhaps it was folly to think so, but he couldn't spend his time jumping at shadows.

After the luncheon, he convened with Jaime and his uncle and, as he had suspected, neither one opposed the appointment of Lord Velaryon.

"I thought you'd be bent on Ser Davos," Jaime said.

"He is my preferred. But he still hasn't surrendered and while I don't mind bucking tradition" - here Jaime gave him a rather pointed look - "I know that new lords aren't held in as much esteem as established ones. I really should branch out and try to get to know more people," Aemon replied.

"Well, I have no protests on this one. Thank you, at least, for letting us know before simply offering it. We need to do a better job of using the same plan."

Aemon gave him his own pointed look and then nodded.

--The Dragon's Roar--

The next day, Aemon held court, and just as the Stormlanders had pledged their allegiance, so did the vassals of Dragonstone. Unlike most of the rest of the southern kingdoms, Dragonstone boasted only five vassal Houses: Velaryon, Celtigar, Bar Emmon, Sunglass, and the Seaworth House, which was missing. He hoped Ser Davos could see sense in this time as well as he had in the last timeline and that there wasn't any need for unnecessary conflict. Lord Monford was last to pledge and when it was done, Aemon said, "I accept your oath, Lord Velaryon. It is my understanding that House Velaryon has a long tradition of serving as Master of Ships. You would honor me if we continued this tradition."

Monford gaped for a moment and then bowed again and said, "I would be honored as well, Your Grace."

The day continued. In addition to accepting greetings and gifts from his new Vassals, there was the regular business of the day. Aemon was struggling to stay focused on a dispute between two wealthy merchants over who owned a horse after it wandered from one property to the next, when the Master of Ceremonies cried, "Lord Petyr Baelish."

His heart began pounding in his chest as he watched Littlefinger stride confidently down the aisle. He was dressed in a velvet doublet of cream-and-silver and presented himself with a self-satisfied smirk. Aemon couldn't keep from glancing to the spot Jaime had stood for his crowning. They had imagined Baelish would give short notice, but not this short. Jaime was supposed to be here so that they'd both have an idea of how much fiction poured from his mouth. It would be far too suspicious to summon Jaime - busy now with the preparations to invade Dragonstone - to make an appearance for a minor lord who had undoubtedly come to pledge his allegiance. He prayed Jaime would understand and braced himself.

"Your Grace," Littlefinger said, dropping to a kneel and bowing his head.

"Lord Baelish, I was wondering when you would show up," Aemon said.

"You're aware of me. I apologize for my tardiness at the pledging ceremony. I was still making my way back here by ship."

"Is that so? The way we'd heard it, you were going to swoop in with the might of the Vale to save Renly."

Lord Baelish heaved a sigh and shook his head. "Sad to see such a promising young man fall. Not that he didn't deserve it, Your Grace."

"You were advising him. Could you not steer him to the correct path then?" Aemon asked, his eyebrows lifting. He hoped his words played off more as curiosity than accusation. He had to be careful that he didn't tip Littlefinger off to his knowledge of any part of his schemes.

"Alas, I tried! However, he had near driven himself mad for fear of you. Jumping at shadows, imagining enemies lurked around every corner. He had a habit of accusing anyone with an errant word of being beholden to traitors. When I promised him the Vale, it was merely to save myself. As I am back so soon since you took the Keep, it's obvious I did not travel as far as the Vale. I was already aware that you had secured them as your ally by that time."

Aware how, Aemon wanted to scream, but he kept a tight lid on his temper. Had there been any leaks from the Eyrie about why he had quarantined the whole castle? Apart from being thoroughly questioned about Dany's whereabouts, Varys had also surrendered his knowledge of the happenings elsewhere in the realm. So far his little birds still did not understand why the Eyrie had been sealed off and the Blackfish barked fiercely at anyone who attempted to broach the subject. Of the men who had attempted the trail down the mountain, only one man made it alive and the Blackfish instantly threw him in the dungeons. He had yet to spill the truth, even to the Blackfish, supposedly for fear of Aemon's wrath. How long would that threat succeed in keeping him silent?

Could Baelish tell the sweat on his brow was from the stress of dealing with him rather than the sweltering heat of King's Landing? He hoped not.

Aemon's face darkened and he replied, "He spoke like a man possessed the first time we met, as though he spat in the face of the Gods and dared retaliation."

"Indeed. It was all a man could do, not to be swept along or to find safe ground where one may. So I was shocked when word reached me that the Keep had been secured without so much as a single drop of blood spilt. Most admirable, Your Grace. A feat worthy of your father, I would think."

Aemon raised his eyebrows at him.

"You knew my father?"

"I never had the honor, Your Grace, however I have certainly heard and read much of him. He would have been a great king," Littlefinger intoned solemnly. "The Seven smile upon us by raising you up."

Aemon felt his skin crawl at the compliment. It would sound lofty coming from anyone else, but it felt like a poison seeping into his mind, meant to disarm him as Littlefinger drew him closer to eventually slit his throat.

"It is my understanding that you were Master of Coin under the usurper Robert Baratheon. Is that correct?"

"It is, Your Grace," Littlefinger replied and for an instance Aemon thought his smile had faltered, but it was back in place immediately, not quite reaching his eyes.

"It pleases me to see you returned. I have had some difficulty finding someone willing to take the position. Few have the intuition for numbers that you seem to. Pledge your allegiance to me and I will offer you the position once more."

This time Littlefinger's smile reached his eyes, though they lacked any warmth. "You honor me, Your Grace. I would do nothing else but as you command."

I'm sure, Aemon thought and nodded at him.

He bent on one knee and announced, "I, Lord Petyr Baelish, of the Fingers, loyal to House Arryn of the Vale, do pledge myself to you, King Aemon I Targaryen."

His eyes lingered on Littlefinger as the man sauntered away and felt dread pool in his stomach. Have I done the right thing? Despite the heat of the day, he shivered.

Chapter 43 - Jaime XV

Chapter Summary

Author's Notes: Hello, everyone, and welcome back to the fic! Thank you for your continued support in the form of comments and kudos. I hope you continue to enjoy!

I'm currently stuck in the middle of a snowpocalypse. Send hot chocolate!

Chapter 43

Jaime XV

He walked to the training grounds without Pod. He had given him the afternoon off - after all, if he couldn't get any work done then Pod shouldn't be forced to work either. He had stayed steadfastly by his side since they had left Casterly Rock, through their imprisonment with the Ironborn and all of their travels, never once complaining. It seemed only fair he give the boy a treat.

There were days where Jaime barely felt like himself and this was one of them. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept through the night. The only time he ever seemed to find sleep was in the early hours of the morning. It had made him late to a council meeting, so Aemon tried to schedule the meetings for late in the morning rather than first thing after breakfast.

Things were made yet worse by Littlefinger's return. Aemon's note informing him of his appointment to Master of Coin seemed to have a sheepish tone to it and it only made Jaime angrier; though his anger was directed at Baelish rather than Aemon. Now I have to contend with that worm again, he thought. He felt a thrill of fear and stifled it in the next instance. It would be a lie to say he never felt fear, but he certainly did not allow it to control him and he would need all of his wits about him with Baelish around.

As much as he detested everything that came with being Hand of the King, it was frequently a much needed distraction. Perhaps too frequently. Cersei never left him. She haunted every dream, even ones that did not involve her action against him. The night before had been particularly bad. He had been caught in a landslide and lay half-buried under rock, clawing desperately to get out, but his legs were paralyzed. Cersei was perched on top of the landslide, dressed in the dark outfit he'd last seen her in a lifetime ago and wearing the shorn haircut the Militant Faith had given her. Her arms were crossed and she only gave him that insufferable smirk he had come to loathe. He'd heard the cry and squeal of a child. It was naked and sprawled on the ground, wailing, but he

couldn't reach it. He knew it was his unborn child. He renewed his struggle to the point where he actually felt the ache in his shoulders and the stabbing in his fingers from scrabbling in the dirt, only for wolves to show up and tear the child to pieces.

When he finally screamed himself awake, he had found his face wet with tears. Before he knew what he was doing, he had reached over to the other side of the bed, as though seeking Brienne's comfort. It had taken him a moment before he remembered that he was alone. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He was tired of being alone. He managed to coax himself back to sleep for a few hours but still woke up drained.

David delivered status reports from his 'clinic' every week. He showed up that morning as usual looking ragged, but his eyes narrowed at seeing Jaime's pallid state.

"Are you about to have a seizure?"

"No! Give me that." Jaime snatched the paper. When he tried to read it, however, the letters blurred in front of his eyes.

"You need to rest," David said.

"I don't recall asking you for advice," Jaime shot back, glaring at him as usual.

"I am your healer. His Grace is going to have trouble running the kingdom without you if you don't take care of yourself. Therefore, for the good of the kingdom, I will impose my opinions of your health onto you," David replied. "Either go back to sleep or I will find a way to make you go back to sleep."

"You have something?" Jaime was honestly curious.

"You know it well enough: milk of the poppy."

Jaime grimaced. "No. What about that concoction we used to knock people out with?"

"No," David parroted back. "It tends to leave the recipient with a headache, and you have enough

of those."

Jaime fumed silently. In the two weeks since they'd been in the Keep, he'd already had two seizures, the last one only two days ago. David's headache cure could only do so much.

"I will bring by a container of milk of the poppy for you this evening. It had better be empty when I come back in the morning," David ordered, daring to tilt his head back and peer down his nose at him.

"Careful," Jaime whispered. "You operate in these circles only by my good graces."

"And now the King's," David said. "You're Hand of the King; you best keep your wits about you."

"Do not order me again. I am Hand of the King and you are nothing . Keep up your attitude and I will pull your funding," Jaime snarled.

The Healer was silent but he raised his eyebrows as if he didn't believe him.

He probably doesn't, now that he has Aemon on his side, he fumed. There would be hell if the smallfolk were left without a healer once more. He and Aemon were already quite popular for the changes they had made, providing a healer and reopening the trade routes with all haste.

It was not long after that that Jaime gave up on getting any work done for the day. He felt ill and shaky and the pervasive feeling of loneliness had yet to leave him. There was only one person who could ease it and he was seeking her out now.

It had been a week since he had last seen Brienne. She was avoiding him; she was apparently avoiding everybody. He suspected she was coming to the training grounds even earlier than him. She had taken his remarks worse than he thought. She hadn't seemed this thin-skinned in the previous life, having taken so much of his belittling and stupidity on their trip through the Riverlands.

What has changed? Besides everything, he thought sourly. Renly was at least still alive! Did this have anything to do with knocking her out? Surely even she would recognize him behind the face cover. He finally decided that that was probably part of it, but she took his teasing as piling on

rather than the friendly needling he meant it to be. He searched his memories for any further clues. After Renly had died, Lady Catelyn had taken Brienne in and that unfortunately led to Brienne speaking of her with reverence, like she was the Mother incarnate.

But there was no one to pick her up now. The only person who expressed any kind of public faith in her was Renly and he was now a pariah. There was no one for her to fall back to. As much as he would love to rush this, he'd always planned for a paced courting due to Brienne's reticence to be married. He also hadn't wanted to rush it so that his father wouldn't suss out his intentions. He rather doubted Lord Tywin would think Brienne of Tarth as a fitting bride and the last thing he wanted was to subject her to unwarranted scrutiny from him. Jaime was brought out of his thoughts by a taunt that could only be directed at Brienne.

"Hey, ladies, I believe the women of the Keep hold sewing parties in the gardens. Run along there."

"Does she even belong there? I'm not sure she belongs anywhere."

"Certainly not here."

The training grounds were busy, but there were three or four men lined up at the edge of a training ring and they constantly distracted other knights in the area with their taunting. Lord Randyll Tarly and his son were standing together a bit further away. Tarly was looking far too smug and his son wore a disapproving frown. Jaime directed a look of cool anger at them as he approached.

He looked over and could just see Brienne because of her ungainly height. Her brow was furrowed in what looked like concentration. She barked commands at the other woman, whomever she was, and kept her focus on the fight. She wasn't speaking loudly enough for him to see the color of her voice, but he expected red tremors of anger.

"What is the meaning of this?" His voice own voice was a rather violent red. He took a moment to regain his composure, so that his emotions were still under his control.

Dickon Tarly recoiled, but then glanced at his father and held his ground. Randyll didn't appear the least bit concerned and chuckled. "There's a girl and a woman - or whatever passes for a woman - training on the grounds. This is not their place. They don't belong here." His voice was a gleeful green, bright enough to make Jaime feel nauseous.

"You made that determination on your own, did you?" Jaime said.

Tarly's smile fell away and he frowned. "Fighting is for men. It does not fall under the purview of a woman. They are best served birthing our sons."

"And who proclaimed that? Did the Seven appear here before I arrived and declare the grounds sacred to men?"

Tarly narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, but no words came and he snapped it close. But then he shook his head and said, "Lord Hand, you can't seriously expect us to accept women on the training grounds."

"I don't see the conflict. The only ones who actually seem to be stirring the pot are the men. Afraid to be shown up by a woman, are you?" Lord Randyll's face turned red in fury, but he knew better than to snap back at the Hand of the King. With a last cold look of disdain, Jaime turned to head over to the taunting men, unsheathing Brightroar .

"She's not a woman. She can't be. Not with that grunting."

"Could be a pig. Oink oink, Brienne." The men burst out laughing.

"The only pigs I see are you," Jaime called out. The men turned in irritation, but then all of their eyes widened as they saw who it was. Jaime level his sword at them, but they didn't dare to bare their own blade and instead recoiled away. "I am not familiar with the care of pigs, but if I'm not mistaken we have a habit of castrating them. So who's first?"

They all blanched and recoiled further, one of them even stumbled into the ring.

Jaime smirked. "You're afraid. Wise of you. But Brienne of Tarth there leveled her own sword at me and threatened me when I invaded the Keep to get Renly. She's shown more courage and bravery than half the knights in the Keep. Challenge me to a duel and maybe then I'll consider you men once more."

One man whom Jaime felt he vaguely recognized dared to put a hand on his sword, but another man grabbed his arm and shook his head.

Jaime's smile only grew at their hesitation, but then it vanished and he sheathed his sword once more. "As knights of the realm, I expect you to hold your behavior to a higher standard. If I hear you ever disrespected another highborn lady again, I will force the households you are sworn to to release you from your positions. Is that clear?"

Their eyes widened and they nodded.

"Get out of my sight!"

They slunk away like frightened dogs; he imagined that if they had tails they would be tucked firmly between their legs. The other men in the area watched them go, some smirking at their obvious humiliation, but others appeared troubled. They all turned away as soon as his eyes fell on them. It will take time before the message gets across that I'm serious, Jaime thought. He was under no illusion that this had fixed anything for the women. They were just as likely to taunt them now as before. It would be a slow process to make women warriors more accepted, but it started with more than just him being comfortable with them.

When he turned to address the women finally, he was surprised to find the Alexandratos girl in the ring with Brienne. When his eyes finally settled on the girl, her look of annoyance melted into relief, and she drew herself up and bowed.

"Thank you, Lord Hand. They were...irritating," she said and there was no mistaking the anger in her voice.

He briefly looked at Brienne who nodded at him mutely.

"I didn't know you could fight. Or is Lady Brienne here just teaching you?"

"I can fight," she declared. "When we came to Westeros, mother and father made me train in secret. They said Westerosi didn't like women fighting, except in Dorne. Since we didn't have any status then, we didn't want to bring the wrong sort of attention to ourselves."

Jaime frowned. "And now?"

She grimaced. "I...I'm supposed to be sewing in my room, but I looked out the window and I saw the Lady Brienne training! I had to come out! If she can train, so can I!"

Jaime smiled faintly. "Of course women are allowed to train. Are you familiar with the ladies of Bear Island? Lady Maege Mormont is the head of her house, unwed, and she led her soldiers here with her daughter, Dacey Mormont. I'm not sure when they train, but any northman would find them formidable." His eyes flickered to Brienne and noticed a light of excitement return to her eyes that he hadn't seen there at their first encounter.

"And what of you, my Lord? Would you take one of us in a duel?" Brienne asked, a challenge in her face.

Jaime froze. He so desperately wished to duel Brienne. Should they duel now? My efforts to discourage their taunters will have been for naught if I refuse. At just the thought, he could feel his blood surging and he gave her an avaricious grin.

"You think you can handle me, my Lady, the greatest sword in the Seven Kingdoms? There are none who can," he said.

"I think you are stalling," she said.

Not for the reasons you think, he mused, shivering with excitement. He picked a blunted sword and trooped back over. They were garnering an audience now, and he was displeased to see his uncle Gerion and Ser Addam Marbrand among them. His uncle was giving him a knowing smirk and Ser Addam wore a puzzled look. He glared at them both.

He was lightheaded as he stepped into training ring. He had been desperate for this moment even before returning to this time. How long had he dreamed of a duel between himself and Brienne with his true swordhand and not the useless stump he had had? He did his best to hide the longing underneath the unearthly calm that overtook him when swordfighting. Unlike others who became frightened or even overexcited, he always in control on the eve of battle, even as his heart pounded. It was only when the metal touched that he felt his blood surge unlimited energy. His stamina was as unparalleled as his skill; he could outlast anyone. He fell into his stance, sword raised before him.

Brienne likewise readied herself. The noise of the audience fell away as they stared. He teased her sword with his and the sound of the metal sliding together produced gray ripples of sound. He could see her irritation building in her face. Then she sprang with over excitement as she swiped at him, but he dodged away with ease. She realized her mistake when she barely managed to catch his

sword and then began matching him in strength and quickness.

She is good, he thought. Most men always thought the key to winning against him was being more aggressive and he made sure they rolled in the dirt for their troubles. With every strike of their swords, he began increasing the speed of his hits. Brienne followed, her face reddening and she grimaced with the effort.

He fumbled momentarily when he broke out of his calm to stare into her beautiful blue eyes, thinking of how blue the ocean around her home must be. He felt the sword slip in his hand and he just as quickly sank back into focus and stepped it up. He had toyed with her long enough. With a burst of speed and strength he crashed down on the sword, holding her in place, and before she could muster a response he swept her feet out from beneath her with a leg and she crashed to the ground with a grunt. He quickly stepped on her sword, just as she started to raise it.

"I yield," she said. Her face was red and she breathed in quick short pants. In terms of physical beauty, she was at her ugliest. The straw hair plastered to her head and sweat streamed down her face. But her eyes caught his attention. Most were annoyed when he defeated them, but she only looked at him in awe. He held a hand out to her.

She flinched away at first, clearly expecting something else, but then grabbed his hand and he pulled her to her feet again.

"Well fought, my Lady. You have strength, you have speed, and you have stamina. Just not enough. Maybe some other time," he said and flashed her a smug grin.

She huffed and said, "When will that be next?"

He raised an eyebrow at her boldness, though he knew she was just interested in sparring with him again. "Perhaps in the morning."

He turned to stride away, but a youthful voice called after him. "What about me?"

The Alexandratos girl was staring at him earnestly, her own sword now held up in challenge.

"Perhaps some other time, girl. I am Hand after all. There is work to be done."

She scowled, but eased up her stance. "I will hold you to that."

"You'll get your fight," he said in annoyance and strode away. He smiled to himself in satisfaction at finally getting that fight, but then Ser Addam and Gerion fell into step beside him.

"What was that?" Ser Addam asked.

"It was a fight," Jaime replied with a clipped tone.

"I must say, I'm surprised at you, nephew," Gerion said, unable to hide the glee on his face let alone his voice. "I wondered after that first encounter. I honestly thought you'd care more about looks, but I can see the attraction. You love her fight."

"Careful, uncle. You know not of what you speak," Jaime growled.

"Please, Jaime. I've known you your whole life," Addam spoke up. "You stopped in the middle of fighting to stare at her like she was the most beautiful creature you had ever seen. You were dazzled. In the middle of a fight! I didn't think anything could interrupt your concentration in battle."

"It was calculated."

"Of course it was," Addam mocked. "Was sparing the lady anymore unwanted attention also calculated?"

"If a woman is good with the sword, then I don't see the need for ridicule. We could use all the good fighters we can get," Jaime said, though the last bit trailed off into a mutter. The Long Night was back into the forefront of his mind and he shuddered at the fact that he was encouraging even the young Alexandratos girl so that they could one day pit her against the undead. Was it cruel of him to use them for their ends, even if it is to save the world?

"Fighters for what?" Addam asked. At Jaime's silence, he nodded and said, "I thought so." He got a glare in return, but he shrugged and said, "I don't care if you allow women to train, but don't act like you never have ulterior motives."

"That's enough out of both of you! Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do," Jaime said, breaking off from them to head inside the Tower of the Hand. Once behind the safety of the doors of his office, he cursed himself for being so obvious. They were in a delicate situation, he and the king being so new to their roles and no doubt there were hidden schemes afoot. It was a challenge to try and keep track of it all, especially with how little sleep he was getting. As he had in the other lifetime, he reached out to Brienne for help. He should at least be able to sleep a little easier tonight with her at the very forefront of his mind.

Chapter 44 - Aemon XIII/Jaime XVI

Chapter Notes

Author's Note - Thank you, those of you who sent digital hot chocolate! It was comforting as the snow buried my city alive. But seriously, I got two days off of work because of those blizzards.

I hope you're all doing well! Thank you, everyone, for your support of The Dragon's Roar. It means a lot to me when you read this, when you comment, when you give your kudos, when you do anything regarding this fic. As always, I hope you continue to enjoy!

New Update: I just noticed that this fic almost has 100K hits. Considering how hits are calculated on AO3, that's pretty incredible. Thank you for reading! It's wonderful to have an audience!

Chapter 44

Aemon XIII

"You've grown up as a bastard your whole life and now you are king. I would think the abrupt change would be harder to handle, so of all things to complain about, you complain about the noble ladies bothering you?" Robb said with an incredulous expression.

Aemon had finally made the time to see his cousin. Being king was consuming him and had been since he had declared himself in Winterfell. There was no small amount of work to be done, but he longed for a return to a sense of normal, so he settled for taking a walk with Robb in the godswood. His Kingsguard were at the entrance to the godswood, so for once he felt his conversation was truly private. Even if it wasn't, the conversation was of little consequence.

Their direwolves loped through the trees, howling and snapping at each other in play. Their energy was contagious and he felt happiness bloom in his breast in a way he hadn't since before claiming the crown.

It was short-lived since the discussion revolved around his troubles.

"It's unnatural."

"It is not! You are an unmarried king! Of course the ladies will want to catch your eye. And Lord Jaime's."

"They don't seem to be bothering him."

"Because you're king! Hand to the King is powerful, but it's still only second best," Robb replied, amusement lacing his voice. "He's also not afraid to swat them away. You're too nice. You make easy prey, Your Grace."

"You can just call me Aemon. We're alone."

Robb grimaced. "How about Jon? I know that's not your real name, but...that's what I know you as."

"Very well, but you may use it only for times like this."

"You have to marry, Jon. You need an heir."

"I know that! I know already whom I intend to betroth."

"Really? And you haven't had a wedding yet? You haven't announced it?!"

"Lord Jaime announced it to the Tyrells during negotiations. I figured they would've spread it around. Otherwise, the Lady Margaery would be my betrothed and not yours."

"For which, if you're right about her being the most beautiful maid in Westeros, I am grateful. Who do you intend to betroth then?"

Aemon looked out towards where the sea would be if he could see it and stared longingly. "Princess Daenerys Targaryen is out there. When I bring her home, I intend to marry her."

"She...fled across the Narrow Sea with her brother, right? I think father said she was born just in time to escape Lord Stannis."

"Yes, that's right. She and her brother have been fleeing from Robert's assassins her whole life. It's time to bring her home."

"And marry her?"

"Yes. I wish to re-establish the Targaryen dynasty with its true blood."

"I hope she's amenable to that."

"Me too," Aemon replied with a sigh. Would it be possible for them to fall in love once more? It was different this time. They were near complete opposites from where they were last time. He watched Jaime courting Brienne with hope that perhaps if their courtship was successful, then his marriage would be too. After their spar the day before, they had fought again in the morning.

"If that's who you intend to marry, then you should make it official. Issue a royal decree. Otherwise it's just hearsay."

"I will. I have a feeling the small council is going to be bothering me before too long about a bride."

"This won't stop the noblewomen," Robb said, an amused smile growing on his face. "They're going to try to change your mind. After all, Princess Daenerys isn't aware you intend to marry her, right?'

"I'd hoped it might," Aemon grumbled. A crowd of ladies had started waiting for him on the training grounds and they applauded in unison when he entered the ring to train Olyvar Frey. It was terribly distracting and he thanked the Old Gods that Jaime wasn't around to see him fumble in his swordplay. If they saw each other in private at all, Jaime would probably be teasing him.

"Your Grace, it's time for your small council meeting," Ser Torrhen Karstark appeared and made a stiff bow, nodding at Robb as well.

"A king's work is never done. Thank you for your company, Robb. It's lonely being king."

"Of course, Your Grace. We're family. You will always have me as an ally."

With some reluctance, he pulled away and headed once more back to the Keep. He heard a yelp and Ghost trotted up beside him. "I have to go to a council meeting, Ghost. Stay here." But the white wolf set his pace to keep stride with him. "It's going to be boring. Playing out here is far more interesting." Still Ghost maintained his stride and Aemon just shrugged and tangled his hand in his companion's fur. He only ever really saw Ghost at night anymore and when he did, he was usually petting him as he sat in front of the fire and pondered the egg.

The egg was as unmoving as ever, suggesting it was made out of stone as Dany had first said. He had not yet received word from his Great Uncle Aemon about it and he had been too busy with his kingly duties to root around the library. Mayhaps he could put the task to Tyrion. He vaguely recalled that he had a fascination with dragons and now that they had a proper Master of Coin - as proper as a conniving rat can be, Aemon thought - Tyrion no longer had any unofficial duties. He was bound to grow bored.

As he saw the small council door, he focused his attention and steeled himself. He was going to announce his intent to betroth Daenerys. He hoped it wouldn't be met with too much resistance. He did value debate, but this was a topic he had no intention of ceding any ground on. Jaime would undoubtedly back him up at least. A king could not remain without a queen. He currently had several armies to secure his position, but the only way to cement it was to marry and have heirs.

I'm still only seven-and-ten. It's not like I don't have time, he thought as he stepped into the small council chambers, but his eyes almost immediately fell on Baelish. An heir wouldn't secure him from any trouble with Baelish's plans, but his position would be far less precarious.

"Lord Baelish, settling back into the Keep well?"

"Your Grace, the Keep feels like it's returning to a semblance of normalcy. No doubt a credit to your ruling," Baelish said. His smile faltered as he saw Ghost saunter into the room.

It pleased Aemon to see him shrink. He took his seat and Ghost laid down by his chair. "You think so?" Aemon asked. He was smiling but he felt his heart pounding knowing there was poison laced in those pretty words. He had been foolish in the last lifetime, telling the Lord Baelish right from the start how he wasn't trusted. Sansa had played a much smarter game and he hoped he could follow her example.

"You have to understand, even before the Westerland army was settled outside, there was a fear that seemed to emanate from these very walls. I am grateful that Renly's madness could be contained before something irreversible could happen."

"Such as?"

"Well, Lord Tywin sacked King's Landing once," Littlefinger trailed and grimaced.

"Lord Tywin is under my command. And under Lord Jaime's. I wouldn't have allowed him to do any such thing."

"Of course, Your Grace," Littlefinger replied with an obsequious smile.

Maester Pycelle watched the conversation in quiet, his eyes flickering from Littlefinger to him. In the next moment, Varys shuffled in. They heard the thumping of Willas' cane and the door opened with David holding it open for Lord Willas and Jaime.

"Your Grace," the healer mumbled with a bow before sitting down, his head nodding in a way that suggested he hadn't slept in two days. Jaime at least looked rested. He was on time and he sat up straight now when there had been a slump to his shoulders previously.

Lord Velaryon was the last to enter. He bowed in the doorway and took a seat next to Maester Pycelle.

"For the first order of business, I will declare my intention to betroth Princess Daenerys Targaryen at court today."

Jaime smirked and failed to stifle a chuckle.

"Something funny, Lord Hand?"

"Already tired of fending off the noble ladies, hmm?"

"It should be known. You, after all, told Lord Tyrell, Lady Olenna, and Lord Willas."

"He did indeed," Willas chimed in. "We would find it objectionable if you declared for any other woman." The earnest way he was sitting suggested the tension. Aemon mentally waved it off. He had no intention of marrying another for any reason.

"I must admit to being surprised that the word hasn't spread further."

"There have been many interesting rumors flying around here. Surely you've heard a good portion of the rumors surrounding me?" Jaime said, a mischievous light in his eye.

"You made up half of those."

"It keeps things interesting. You should try it sometime."

"I don't need to embellish my reputation," Aemon said, struggling not to smile. He missed this banter with Jaime.

"Neither do I, but it has its advantages."

"May we focus on the topic at hand?" Willas interjected.

"Your Grace, do you think it wise to marry Princess Daenerys?" Pycelle asked. "Marrying brother to sister brought about the madness and the downfall of the Targaryen legacy before."

"Then it's a good thing she is not my sister." Pycelle grunted in indignation and couldn't keep from glowering at him. "I have blood from another - my mother, Lyanna Stark - flowing through my veins. If there is any concern about it causing madness once more, then that should be mitigated by my Stark blood."

"Princess Daenerys and her brother, Prince Viserys, are across the Narrow Sea," Baelish said.

"I am aware and I have clues to their whereabouts. Ser Barristan Selmy has already been sent

across the Narrow Sea to retrieve them. They are my family after all and no longer on the run. It's time they came home."

"What of Prince Viserys, Your Grace?" Varys finally spoke up.

"What of him?"

"What will he do?"

Aemon froze, cast around for something to say, and then blurted out, "He'll marry. After all, I wish to re-establish the Targaryen legacy. It is important that our blood propagate."

Jaime raised his eyebrows at him. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Not off the top of my head," Aemon replied. "It will be months before we are reunited. I think we have time. Let's move on to more pressing topics. Lord Jaime, how are the preparations for sailing to Dragonstone?"

"They're done, Your Grace. We set sail in two days' time."

"Wonderful. Judging by Lord Stannis Baratheon's letter, we shouldn't have to fight, but it's best to be cautious. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jaime replied and suddenly his mood shifted and he became agitated. Just as Aemon opened his mouth to move on, he said, "Your Grace, there is another topic I wish to address that we have been ignoring for some time and, I think, at our peril."

"Yes?"

"The Ironborn."

Aemon had to bite back a groan, but he couldn't keep from closing his eyes to collect himself. "What about them?"

Jaime frowned and he leaned over the table with all of the characteristics of a posturing lion. "They waylaid my ship to the Reach, murdered my men, and held me captive for several days. I have been patient enough, but a Lannister always pay his debts, and I owe them a great one. They can't get too comfortable with the fact that they held captive the Hand of the King and the heir to Casterly Rock."

"Can't this...wait? We're about to negotiate with Stannis."

"It's been three months since they held me captive. I have been patient long enough. I would've sent them a minstrel playing The Rains of Castamere by now were other things not more important at the moment."

Aemon sighed. He had been ignoring the Ironborn because they had yet to do anything grievous. No doubt it was only a matter of time before they changed their tune, but they still had Theon as a hostage. He was currently standing in as a representative of the Iron Islands and Aemon hoped that would keep the peace for now.

"You'll have to bring them into the fold eventually. They still need to pledge to you."

"Yes, they do," he mumbled as he thought it over. He was still of the mind to kick it down the road. One step at a time, Jaime , he thought. Had his father put him up to this? "We don't have proof that your kidnapping was ordered by Balon Greyjoy."

"Who else could it be?"

"It could just be their usual pirate marauding."

"Which will need to be punished anyway."

"I'll send a letter then, to remind them of their position in the Seven Kingdoms," Aemon said.

Jaime wasn't mollified. "Make them come to you. If you go to them, they'll consider it a victory."

Aemon glared. "If I'm forced to go to them, it will be with the might of the Seven Kingdoms at my back to make them bend. Now, moving on!"

"You need to write to Dorne too, Your Grace," Jaime interjected.

"I am aware of that, Lord Jaime," he replied, narrowing his eyes at him. It wasn't like Jaime to be on top of things and this smelled of Tyrion interference. He had been doing a fair amount of ignoring Dorne and the Ironborn because there were more pressing issues at hand, but by virtue of being part of the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps he wasn't giving them the urgency and consideration they deserved. He supposed it would be foolish to ignore them any longer.

Then again, he vaguely recalled that Jaime was certain Baelish was behind the plot to kidnap him since the Ironborn had acted on the orders of a mysterious man. He had no proof other than the fact that Varys and Baelish were both the only men possible to have information of their then secret movements. When Jaime mentioned the Ironborn kidnapping him, Varys had remain nonplussed but Baelish had acted surprised at such news.

That suggested to him that it was indeed Baelish. He has some nerve coming back here when the Lannisters would want his blood, Aemon thought.

"I shall write to them this evening. Now, what else is on the table?"

There was a momentary pause and then David spoke up. "Your Grace, it has come to my attention that the less fortunate smallfolk of King's Landing dispose of their dead by dumping the bodies of their loved ones into Blackwater Bay. That may not be drinking water, but much of the fish they eat comes from Blackwater Bay. It can't be healthy. I propose we find a new way to dispose of their dead."

Aemon released a breath. His mind flew back to the massacre at Hardhome and watched in terrified awe as the Night King raised his arms and the bodies of those who had been living just moments before rose with the motion. He shuddered, feeling the biting cold and the hopeless despair "Burn them," he whispered.

"Pardon, Your Grace?"

"The dead need to be burned," he said.

Everyone had a stunned expression except Jaime.

"Your Grace, is that wise?" Baelish asked.

"Is that compliant with the faith of the Seven?" David asked.

"Mind your courtesies, healer," Pycelle bellowed.

David glared at him, but then said, "Your Grace, will the people accept that alternative?"

"They must. It is...it will be healthier?"

"As long as they're burned far outside the city, Your Grace, I don't foresee an issue," David replied, but there was uncertainty in his expression.

"Do you intend for this to apply only to the smallfolk, Your Grace?" Varys asked.

"It should apply to everyone," Aemon said, but he could feel the tension building in his shoulders. The followers of the Old Gods used to burn their dead, but even that tradition had long fallen off in the intervening years since the last Long Night. Most of the dead should be all bones now and there certainly weren't any skeletons that walked amongst the Army of the Dead. But they didn't want to give the Night King any more foot soldiers than he already had access to.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but the other nobility cannot just abandon their traditions for addressing their dead at your whim," Pycelle said with a terse frown.

He glanced at Jaime for help. He would agree with him. But he saw the way Jaime's eyes studied each expression and saw the reticence there. When they locked eyes, Jaime gave a small shake of his head and mouthed 'another time.'

Aemon scowled at him.

"Perhaps, Your Grace, we can suggest this as an option to the smallfolk who can't otherwise afford

the full services the Faith offers?" Jaime said.

Aemon glared at him, but then sighed. If Jaime could be trusted on one thing, it was picking the right battles at the right time. "Very well. For the time being, the tradition of following the Faith of the Seven for honoring the dead shall be allowed. Lord Willas, David, I would like to see you work together in offering the alternative of cremation to the smallfolk."

"Yes, Your Grace," they responded. He saw Willas frown over at David and he wondered if the Tyrell heir was miffed at having to work with someone of no status like an equal.

After spending so much of his life with no status, it irritated him to see such familiar disregard. It took Tyrion Lannister in the other life to open his eyes to the fact that he had carried the same superior attitude despite being of the same status as those at the Night's Watch. There was no doubt he would not have survived even to be Lord Commander if he hadn't fixed his attitude. Even so, he recognized that changing minds about how to care for the dead would be like slaughtering chickens compared to trying to overcome eons of the nobility disregarding the smallfolk.

Patience, he cautioned himself. They still had a few years before the threat of the Long Night became truly serious, but it would be here before they knew it. He prayed once more for his Uncle Benjen's success at catching a wight. It would be the single greatest bridge across the chasm of misunderstanding that he and Jaime were eventually going to run up against.

Jaime XVI

He closed the door to his room and slumped against it with a heavy sigh. Another thrilling small council meeting, he thought dryly and rubbed his temple.

"How'd it go?"

Jaime opened his eyes to see Tyrion lounging in a chair by his fireplace, though the grate was unlit. He had a large book open in his lap, but his attention was on him now.

"Just the usual. It was dull, though Aemon has finally decided to announce his intent to marry Princess Daenerys Targaryen."

Tyrion grinned. "Trying to fend off our fine realm's most eligible maidens? Lady Lollys Stokeworth is quite fetching, don't you agree?"

"Who?"

"Plump lady, rather dull…"

A memory from the life before shot to the forefront of his mind as he saw Ser Bronn of the Blackwater walking along the beach with his betrothed, Lady Lollys Stokeworth. He shuddered upon remembering the woman, but a pang of longing accompanied it as he thought of Bronn. Where is that rogue now? He had been by the Crownlands when he assisted Lady Catelyn in kidnapping his brother. Perhaps he was just another mercenary lost in crowd of King's Landing with all of the other soldiers milling about, waiting for action. He'd happily elevate Bronn again, if he could be found.

Jaime smirked. "That does appear to be his motivation. He needs to grow a firmer backbone towards the ladies."

"He doesn't have as much practice as you do."

"He's too polite. I'm a Lannister. We're known for our arrogance after all," Jaime replied.

"And did you offer your proposals, like I suggested?"

"Yes. You didn't have to remind me about the Ironborn though. What I told you is true. It's how I ran into Uncle Gerion and the Shepherds."

"It's amazing you've kept that from father."

"It won't stay secret for long now. Aemon needs to do something before father takes justice into his own hands. Again." The Lannisters could not afford another Reyne and Tarbeck massacre, especially if it was directed at the Lord Paramount of another kingdom, even if no one had any love for the Greyjoys. It might give us the opening we need to make Theon Greyjoy the Lord Paramount, he thought, but then grimaced. Aemon had not been wrong that they couldn't just kill any lord that disagrees with them and prop up the heir with threats of retribution. With any luck, Balon Greyjoy would dig his own grave as he had last time.

But that might leave Euron Greyjoy in charge, he thought with a shudder. They could not afford to have him patrolling the seas and disrupting their trade routes, but the Iron Islands were on the other side of Westeros, too far from the seat of power for Aemon to devote much of their resources towards.

The most ideal situation would be to catch Euron Greyjoy and execute him before he can do much damage, he thought, but that was like looking for one particular fish in a school of them.

"Just more issues within King's Landing keep surfacing that need dealt with. The Shepherd brought up the fact that the poor folk, probably in Flea Bottom, are dumping their dead into Blackwater Bay. They need a better way of disposing their dead."

Tyrion grimaced. "Remind me forgo the fish that get put on the tables here. Were there any solutions?"

"King Aemon wants the dead to be burned, in the same fashion as the Old Gods of the North. And he means all of the dead, not just the smallfolk's."

Tyrion sighed. "I bet that went over well."

"As well as a rotting carcass of meat. I suggested a compromise: the smallfolk will have the option of burning their dead if they can't afford the Sept's services."

"You? Compromising?" Tyrion put his hands to his face in shock. "Will wonders never cease."

Jaime gave him a mocking smile. "Yes, brother, even I know when to compromise."

"I've taught you well."

"You taught me no such thing! I learned that lesson myself," Jaime shot back.

"I must've at least been an influence on you. You were never particularly sensible."

Jaime huffed and Tyrion chuckled. "Well, there is one thing you might be able to help me out on."

"And that is?"

"King Aemon has already sent Ser Barristan to try and find Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys and bring them back to Westeros. I am concerned about how Viserys...will take the news of a different heir."

Tyrion's face darkened. "You think he'll contest King Aemon's heritage."

"Prince Viserys was not particularly stable as a child and by all accounts, his delusions of grandeur have only gotten worse. He cannot be the king."

"King Aemon is Prince Rhaegar's son."

"Yes, but he looks nothing like Prince Rhaegar."

"You said you have more evidence."

"Of course we do, but if you were to compare the two together, I'm afraid people will dislike the fact that Aemon looks nothing like his aunt or uncle. He lacks the typical Targaryen characteristics."

"I can see your point. Prince Viserys will have to marry. Someone non-threatening"

"But who? There aren't anymore daughters of Lords Paramount of marriageable age."

"What about Princess Arianne Martell?"

Jaime froze. "What? Prince Doran Martell has a daughter ?"

"He does. And she's the eldest. You know how inheritance works in Dorne."

"Right, but...doesn't he have a son?"

"Yes, one I believe. Prince Trystane Martell."

"How do you know this?"

"I like playing Cyvasse with Lord Willas. He doesn't spend all of his time working as Master of Laws. Anyway, he corresponds with Prince Oberyn Martell. Prince Oberyn relays the family news and Willas does in turn."

Jaime's eyes narrowed. "Any idea what Lord Willas says about us?"

"I don't get to read the letters, Jaime. He appears to be happy with his role and occasionally sings yours and His Grace's praise over our board games."

"Hmm...back to the issue of marrying Viserys. Is that a good idea? Proposing he marry into a family that still retains their titles of Prince and Princess?"

"He won't drop in status."

"They could challenge Aemon for the throne!"

"And who would back them?"

Jaime opened his mouth, but he couldn't find the words he was searching for.

"The Tyrells would not back them; they want the throne too. Father certainly can't back them because you're Hand of the King. The Stormlands are keen to avoid being on the opposing side of King Aemon again and everyone north of King's Landing is a strong ally to Lord Stark. They

won't go against his nephew. It may be the safest proposal you're going to have," Tyrion said.

Is that enough? In all likelihood, they were planning the marriage of a dead man, but they had to think of every eventuality if Viserys happened to be alive.

There were other reasons to favor the match as well. Aemon had expressed disappointment that his feisty cousin Arya had not taken the suggested proposal to Prince Trystane Martell well. They now had another reason to object with a daughter now older than than the son. By marrying into the Martells, Arya's children would have nothing to inherit.

"I need to go tell King Aemon. He's supposed to be writing to Dorne today."

Jaime rushed out of his room before Tyrion could say anything else and hurried across the grounds into the Red Keep. He found Torrhen Karstark and asked, "Is the king available?"

"Yes, Lord Hand."

He knocked.

"Who is it?" Aemon's voice called out.

"It's Lord Jaime Lannister, Your Grace."

There was a lengthy pause before Aemon finally said, "Enter."

Aemon was scowling at him as he took his place and bowed for proprietary reasons. As soon as the door closed, Jaime asked, "I hope you're not too upset about the small council meeting. Your Grace."

"We need to burn the dead, Lord Jaime. You know that."

Jaime was simply quiet. Aemon knew very well that they couldn't make headway on the issue until they had proof of the Long Night and they still had no confirming word from the Night's

Watch.

"I have some news that should cheer you up."

"Very well, give it to me."

"Prince Doran's eldest child is not male, but female. Her name is Princess Arianne Martell."

"And?"

"Offer Prince Viserys to her."

Aemon blinked.

"She is the last daughter of a Lord Paramount that remains unmarried. Your uncle, the Prince Viserys, should have a match of equal status."

"Do you think that wise? He's still a Prince; he could still challenge me."

Jaime nodded with a grim smile. "It's a risk, Your Grace, but I think it's worth it. Dorne would be foolish to challenge you when they have no established ties with any of the other kingdoms. Well, no alliances that are stronger than their alliance with you. If you're really worried, you can always fall back on your original plan. I'm sure Lady Arya will be delighted to know that you played it safe when you had the perfect chance to annul her match to Prince Trystane Martell."

The glare Aemon gave him was sharp enough to slice skin.

Chapter 45 - Daenerys III

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Welcome to a new chapter! Thank you so much for reading and leaving your comments! It's intriguing to see how you all think the story is going. I hope you enjoy. =)

Once more, I'd like to thank Theostry for editing the last chapter and this monstrosity! This would be a lot harder without you!

I would also like to thank Kyra for continuing to edit previous chapters. I've only replaced up to Chapter 5, so I've been falling down on the job in that regard. Thank you so much for your effort and hard work! I promise I'll update the other chapters you've done as soon as possible!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 45

Daenerys III

She had been awake for barely a day when Drogo ordered the khalasar to move from Vaes Dothrak. She was transferred to a litter and then four riders carried her to a wooden cart. There were blankets and cushions set up for her and a canopy stretched across the back to protect her from the sun.

Her anger at Drogo had ebbed with her exhaustion and pain, but she felt it throb again like a beating heart at seeing the cart. As if to rub salt in the wound, Drogo had yet to see her. It was Ser Jorah Mormont who saw her placed into the carriage. At seeing her glare, Jorah said, "You were gravely injured, Khaleesi. It's only temporary."

She didn't bother speaking to him. Only the old and the weak ride in the cart and I am neither, she thought, but as there was still shooting pain with every squeeze of her muscle, she knew she could not yet ride her silver mare. Jhiqui was also forced to ride in the cart with her, so that someone would be there for her to command.

Upon starting out, Dany continuously fell in and out of sleep, the real world mixing with the world in her dreams. Sometimes she heard the other dragon, Aemon, calling out to her, in a tone of increased urgency, but she could do little more than cry as her loss and loneliness engulfed her. Once she shot awake from a nightmare in the middle of the day. Jhiqui whispered soothing words

and stroked her hair in a calming gesture. Quite suddenly, her mare dipped down just outside the canvas and whickered at her. Dany gasped and moved to stroke her nose, flinching from pain yet again as she slid over.

She sighed as her hand ran over the soft skin of her muzzle and rested her face against that of her horse momentarily. Then she peaked out from under the canvas. Ser Jorah was riding next to the wagon, holding the reins of her silver mare. When he saw her, he said, "I convinced Drogo to allow your horse to stay near you. That it might offer you comfort."

"She does. Thank you, Ser Jorah," she said. Cooped up in the back of the cart, she held onto her horse as long as she could, but eventually her mare had to pull away.

With little else to do but heal, Dany stewed in her thoughts and was repulsed by what she found there. Just thinking about her brother brought on such a powerful wave of anger that it threatened to scrape her insides raw. She pushed him away. After what he had done to her, he would never get another kind thought and it was best to forget that he ever existed.

But Drogo surprised her. Things had been...rough, initially - and she tried to forget about those early weeks - but she had found he had affection for her. There was no mistaking the softness of his eyes whenever they fell on her. And yet, he wouldn't visit her. When she asked Jorah about it, he said, "The khal must appear strong, Khaleesi. He's trying to move on." But there was a guilt to the way Jorah said it.

"You're hiding something," she replied.

"The khal would never confide in me, Khaleesi. I do not know why he is avoiding you, but you understand how it must look for him to appear ruled by a woman. You are his queen, but you are not to rule him," he replied.

Her gaze darkened and she sank back into her cart once more.

Had his affection all been an act? No, it was genuine, but maybe it wasn't meant entirely for her. It had been there for the baby. She had been carrying his child, his future, his Stallion to Mount the World, but now that that future had been ripped away from her, he ignored her. Would he only look on her with affection once more when she had another child in her belly? It would be fitting, she thought sourly. He sees me as nothing but a mare, like all Dothraki do, simply waiting to be mounted.

She had a feeling her silver mare would eventually share the same fate, of being mounted to bear a foal, no doubt for their future child. She recoiled at the thought.

Hadn't she heard enough of Viserys' rants about the importance of a male heir to understand that was all she was worth? Once Drogo started opening up to her, she thought he was different from what Viserys had suggested, and yet he appeared to have the same mindset as her brother regarding her worth. He did not want her commanding him.

I am a Targaryen. I was meant for more than just a broodmare, she thought to herself as she simmered in the suffocating heat.

"Khaleesi, I know you're tired of resting, but the sooner you rest, the faster you heal," Jhiqui said to her. Her maid tried to smile at her, but her lips trembled with nerves and her eyes were frightened. Who was she afraid of? Her or Drogo? "I-I have been instructed to massage you if you so desire. Being tense only makes the pain linger. Would you like a massage, Khaleesi?"

"Very well then," she replied, doing her best to soften her expression since Jhiqui was not the target of her anger. Unlike the khalasars , she wished not to lay waste to everything, just certain things, like a dragon would. She sat up at the thought and shouted, "Ser Jorah!"

"Yes, Khaleesi?"

"Bring my dragon eggs to me."

"Of course, Khaleesi."

The khalasar did not stop save at the command of Drogo, but still someone dug out her eggs, and delivered them to her within moments. The dragon eggs were cradled into her side once more and she held them close. She lost one child, but these at least still remained. She had a hunch, an inkling that they could be more. After all, what was the purpose otherwise to give them to her? She doubted Illyrio Mopatis' words despite his kindness. After Ser Jorah mentioned that Illyrio never gave in kindness what he could not get in return, she wondered if perhaps there was more to these dragon eggs than she had suspected.

It had been several days since they left Vaes Dothrak. When the khalasar stopped at night, Dany was once more loaded onto a litter and transported to a tent apart from Drogo's. Any attempts to move on her own, even to make water, caused her maidens to fall all over themselves as if they

thought she were made of glass. It was beginning to try Dany's patience. I'm not an invalid, she wanted to shout at them, but tried to keep her temper in check for their sake.

Dany for once woke to silence and stillness. Judging by the light of the day, the cart was usually moving by this time.

"Jhiqui, why aren't we moving?"

"Another khal . One of the outriders found another khalasar . Our khalasar rides to battle," Jhiqui said.

Dany turned to in alarm. "Drogo?"

"He rides the khalasar into battle. He must fight the other khal and conquer it," she said with an excited smile. "Do not fear, Khaleesi. Drogo is a great fighter. He shall live. You'll see!"

Dany frowned at Jhiqui. She was unhappy, even angry with Drogo, but she certainly did not wish him dead. This was her first time having to be concerned about her husband riding off into battle. She leveraged herself up and out of the cart, ignoring the protests of Jhiqui to look around. There were still some warriors in the area, but otherwise the tent city was dominated by slaves. They shied away from the sight of her, looking at her with frightful eyes. Before Vaes Dothrak, she had taken the extra effort to see the slaves treated kindly and they had graced her with smiles for it, but now they seemed to avoid her as if she were cursed.

"Khaleesi!" Ser Jorah ran up to her. "You're still too weak to be out of bed."

"Enough of that! I am not so weak that I cannot take a walk. There is time for that now," she retorted. It was a relief to get up out of her nest of pillows and blankets. While there seemed an ever present soreness between her legs, she otherwise felt stiff and she wobbled from the weakness that had developed in her time abed. Staying in the cart for so long had only allowed her to simmer in her thoughts.

So much hate, pain, anger, grief...it's been a week and I am tired of it, she thought. It only seemed to leave her physically exhausted and weak. A wind blew across the camp and she took a moment to inhale the fresh air it brought her, alleviating for a moment the camp smells of sweaty bodies and human waste.

She imagined for a moment of what could have been, striding through the camp with Rhaego swaddled in her arms. Hugging him close and cooing at him as she stretched her legs. He would either coo back at her like a bird or would be fast asleep, his face smooth and soft in contentment in the safety of her arms. Dany doubled up for a moment at the pain in her heart and tears came to her eyes at the crushing sorrow that gripped her.

It's done. He is gone. My little Rhaego will never be, she chastised herself, but the pain still felt all too real. There was an emptiness in her heart that had been carved out specifically for Rhaego, but now that hole was like a gaping wound, still fresh and open to the air.

In the very next thought, Viserys' cruel face rose to her mind and and a sharp hatred carved her insides. I hope a crown is melting over your head for all eternity, she thought. How dare her brother steal her child from her! She had been afraid of him all of her life, but that one act had changed that fear to hatred. She would never forgive her brother for taking Rhaego; her only regret was not being there to see his death.

Jorah hovered nearby, assuring her safety when her own husband couldn't. He seemed far more nervous than he should be. She considered him for a moment and then she said, "Ser Jorah, walk with me." He stepped up instantly and held out his arm, which she took. They walked for a few moments in silence.

"Khaleesi, we should really return before the khal does. He needs to know you're still recovering."

"What do you mean, Ser Jorah? I am the khaleesi . Taking a walk is not a crime."

"The khal may think you're ready for other things, Khaleesi. If you can walk, you can…" His voice trailed off and he gave her a meaningful look.

Dany turned to him in barely disguised alarm. "Drogo would not hurt me," she said, though her sentence finished in a lilt, as though she wasn't quite sure. But he would, she thought, thinking back to those first weeks where he had taken her from behind, caring little for the anguish his nightly ministrations had caused her. She thought she had accepted her role as his wife, but it was becoming clearer to her that she had mistook his affection for the baby as affection for her. Her world felt like it was crashing down and her anger flared once more.

Will I ever be a queen? A real queen like I was born to be? Perhaps you are getting ahead of yourself. You haven't even spoken with him, she thought. But he seemed to be deliberately avoiding her. Would he demand her in his tent tonight once he heard that she had left her sickbed? She steered Ser Jorah back to her tent and he happily escorted her.

"I think it best, Khaleesi, that you rest," Ser Jorah said. "Once he thinks you can ride your horse, he'll think you are ready for another child."

"Thank you, Ser Jorah. I am certainly not quite fully healed," she replied. Judging by the occasionally vicious twinge between her legs, she was certainly not physically ready for their mating. Even more so she was not ready for the idea for another. Just the thought dredged up bitter anger as though another child were already trying to take Rhaego's place.

As soon as Daenerys settled back into her nest of cushions and blankets, she desperately pushed the thought away and drew in deep breaths. Tears pricked her eyes, but she willed them away. I've done enough crying.

Sometime later, she heard the pounding of horse hooves as the warriors rode back into the khalasar . At first she sat bolt upright in fear at the whooping and screaming, until Jhiqui said, "It's okay, Khaleesi. Those are cries of victory. Our khalasar has won the day."

She sighed and lie back down again. However, once the khalasar was in the camp properly, she could hear the wails of despair from women and she sat up once again, troubled. "Those are the slaves?"

"Yes, Khaleesi. If the other khalasar was defeated, then there will be more slaves too," she replied. There was a distance in her eyes and she was suddenly solemn. Dany grabbed her hand and squeezed it in comfort.

They heard a disturbance outside their tent and then quite suddenly a bloodrider appeared and he violently pulled a women into the tent hard enough to make her cry out.

"What is the meaning of this?" Dany barked, trying to move to assist the woman, but she winced once more as she put pressure on a particularly sensitive spot.

" She is a healing witch, Khaleesi ," the bloodrider replied, in his native tongue. " Khal Drogo demands she heal you. " With that he was gone.

"Jhiqui, Irri, please help her," Dany ordered. Her maids helped the woman to her feet. Dany gasped as she saw the blood running down her leg. "She's injured as well! Be careful."

"I will be fine," the old woman said, shaking herself free of the maids. She was large of girth and rather haggard, but projected a demeanor as tough as nails. "And you are?"

"Daenerys Targaryen, khaleesi to Khal Drogo," She replied, her mouth forming into a grim line. "I don't suppose I need to guess how you came to be hurt."

A muscle worked in the woman's jaw and she nodded stiffly. "Dothraki scum," she hissed.

Dany shushed her and gave her a warning look. "Were you a slave in the other khalasar ?"

"Nay. That oaf Khal Otho happened to be near my village. I suppose the temptation was too much for your khal to resist," the woman replied.

Dany inhaled in a shaky breath. How many have suffered because the khalasar creates death and destruction where it goes? How many died today that didn't need to? "What is your name?"

She drew herself up, towering over Dany. "Mirri Maz Duur, I am a maegi of the Lhazareen."

Dany tilted her head. "Haggo called you a 'healing witch.'"

Mirri Maz Duur's lip curled and she shook her head. "He knows naught what he speaks. I have magic that can heal, but more can be done before magic is resorted to. He must've brought me to you for healing then. What puts you abed?"

Dany opened her mouth and felt herself choke on the words. The grief momentarily overwhelmed her and she had to fight to regain her composure. "A stillbirth. It still hurts," she replied with a clenched jaw, struggling to keep her emotions in control. "I fear Drogo will think he can take me soon. I don't want that. Please."

She thought she saw Mirri Maz Duur's face seemed to soften in the dim light under the canvas, but it disappeared as Drogo pulled back the tent flap. Dany started, having been too focused on Mirri and peered into his face. In the tent, his eyes were too dark to read and he appeared as emotionless as ever as he took her in. He then pointed at Dany and spoke abruptly in the common tongue, "Heal her."

"I will do what I can," Mirri Maz Duur said in a clipped tone. She gasped as he slapped her and a trickle of blood fell out of the corner of her mouth.

"Drogo, stop," Dany cried out, leaping to her feet before she could think about it and wincing at the sharp it brought her. When she looked up, she found him eying her sharply and shivered as his eyes carefully studied her like he was assessing the quality of a horse. His broodmare, she thought, her lips thinning with anger. "She has already agreed to heal me!"

He snorted and turned away, the tent flap falling behind him.

She made a grab for him and missed. "Drogo, wait!" She followed him out of the tent, trying to move delicately and he rounded on her. "Why are you doing this?"

He took a step closer and bared his teeth in a silent growl. "Know your place," he replied.

Dany cursed herself for recoiling against him, but then her eyes slid over his body and she saw the blood dripping down his side in an open wound. "You're hurt."

He spoke a soft curse in the Dothraki tongue. "Nothing. I am strong."

"You're in need of healing," she said.

"I am strong. The Khal of Khals. Heal!" With that, he stormed away and Dany was left staring hopelessly after him. She stiffly walked back to the tent and was helped back into bed. She felt the tears gathering in her eyes once more, but she willed them not to fall.

What's done is done. I am his wife, his khaleesi , and I must please him, she told herself, but somewhere deep inside, she yearned for more. She still remembered the tenderness with which he had in his face when he had presented her gift of the silver mare. When they stopped at nearby cities, he made a point to bring her gifts and smiled at her wonder at them. Despite becoming pregnant quite soon after their marriage, they continued their lovemaking. She thought perhaps the child inside her required more seed, but Irri had assured her that the child had all it needed. Khal Drogo continued to take her for the pleasure and by that point she had started to enjoy their joinings and it made her swell with giddiness to know that he had found such pleasure in her.

Perhaps when I am fully healed, his kindness will return to me, she thought. If she was correct and his affection was still only for the child inside her, she could still take advantage of that. Surely she wasn't doomed to lose all of her children. Their only threat had been dealt with.

The days leaked away as they continued across the Dothraki Sea. Dany was irritable from overwhelming boredom as she was forced to sit in the cart. A few days prior she had attempted to ride the silver mare, but the instant she put pressure between her legs, she cried out in pain. So she adjusted to a side saddle position, but there was still pain and at some point it became too much for her and she staggered off her horse, holding her reins and at least attempting to walk alongside. Drogo would have none of it and forced her back into the cart, having one of his bloodriders haul her back like an errant child. The notion incensed her.

The rift she had sensed growing between them only seemed to be pulling further apart. He still refused to see her. Well, she would not go crawling to him. She was a dragon. They bowed to no one.

She turned some of her empty hours into studying the dragon eggs. Riding in the back of the cart, she made the effort to sit near the edge so that the eggs would properly catch the light of the sun. They had otherwise been hidden away in a trunk since her wedding. The scales of each egg glistened, catching the light half a hundred times. For the black one, the red swirls seemed to gain a life of their own and the gold on the cream colored one glittered as if it were real gold. Was it her imagination or did she see a shadow move inside? She held the egg up closer to her eyes, but it remained cold and dead. With a disappointed sigh, she set it back down.

Quite suddenly her cart stopped moving and she frowned, glancing up at the sun. It was still high in the sky and they usually only stopped about two hours before the sun set.

"Khaleesi!"

She glanced around to see Ser Jorah galloping from the front of the column. "Khaleesi, it's Khal Drogo."

"What about him?"

"He's fallen."

She felt the breath stop in her chest. "How?"

"He fell from his horse. Come quickly!"

She breathed again, afraid for a moment that Drogo was dead, but falling from his horse wasn't any better. He was the most graceful rider she had ever met. Nothing short of death would allow him to fall in front of the khalasar . Ser Jorah held out his hand and she took it. Instead of straddling the horse, she sat side saddle again and winced once more at the pain. He hustled the horse to the front. Drogo's bloodriders were standing around him in deep discussion.

"What's wrong?" Dany asked, jumping down from the horse.

She was surprised when her question was met with contemptible looks.

"He fell from his horse, Khaleesi," Qotho replied his face dark with anger.

Dany fell to Drogo's side and pulled him over so that he lie on his back. His eyes were shut in dream, but there was no mistaking the red lines that ran under the skin by the angry wound in his shoulder. She clenched her teeth in frustration. Stubborn fool, she thought with a little affection. She glanced back up at the bloodriders and commanded, "We make camp here. Erect the tent."

"We don't listen to you, even if you are khaleesi ," Qotho snarled back.

"He fell, Khaleesi," Cohollo said, a peculiar light in his eyes. "He commands us no more. And neither do you."

Dany drew herself up. "We make camp. Erect Drogo's tent. Tell them I commanded it."

They laughed. "The khaleesi who fell out of favor when she lost her whelp commands it?"

She felt more than noticed Ser Jorah place his hand on his sword, but she stepped closer and said in a voice low enough so that only they could hear, "Khal Drogo is not dead yet and I am still your khaleesi . You will spread the word we're making camp. Qotho, find the maegi. Bring her to me."

Once they broke, Dany returned to her spot over Drogo, whispering soothing words to him, though he pawed weakly at the air as though fighting against some imaginary foe. The slaves erected the tent and put Drogo abed.

Qotho had Mirri Maz Duur by the arm and he bodily dragged her into the tent. She struggled against his strength but she may as well have been struggling against a horse. He took little notice of her and shoved her at the khaleesi . "Your precious witch ," he said.

She rushed to Mirri Maz Duur's aid and then spoke to her in hushed tones, thanking her for her healing and then asked her for her talents once more, gesturing to Drogo. She examined him closely, peeling back his eyelids, checking his forehead for fever, and then examining the wound, finally shaking her head. The maegi insisted that he could not be saved.

"There must be something that you can do. I will free you if you save him. Please."

The maegi's face grew dark. "There is a way, but…"

"What is it?"

"A spell. A dark and heavy spell. Blood magic from Asshai."

Dany gasped, her eyes widening. "But it will save him?"

Mirri Maz Duur studied her for a moment and then said, "It is blood magic. That is never a sure thing. The cost may be higher than you think."

"We have gold, jewels, food..."

The maegi gave a dry laugh. "Not goods, Khaleesi. It's blood magic. It will require blood. A life for a life."

Dany froze. "Who's life? Mine?"

She gave an odd, jerking shake of her head. "No."

Dany nodded. "See that it's done."

She gave Mirri Maz Duur the authority to command her maids and the nearby slaves to her whim. Ser Jorah hovered nearby as they watched the women go about their tasks.

"You walk a dangerous line, Khaleesi. Khal Drogo is dead; you should flee."

"I'm not going anywhere, Ser Jorah," she said in a hard voice. "He's all I have left."

"If you don't leave, Drogo's bloodriders will take you back to Vaes Dothrak to be among the crones. That is your lot in life."

Dany bristled at his words. Me? A crone in Vaes Dothrak? She thought back to those women, many of them old and bent, their eyes cold and calculating. But they were stuck in the middle of the Dothraki Sea, prisoners in that dusty old city. All of her life, she had only known prison, but marrying Drogo had, in a sense freed her, and she now lusted for more.

Jorah seemed to be following the direction of her thoughts and said, "That is why you must leave! You're not alone. There is the other dragon."

"Do you honestly believe he'll welcome me with open arms?" A small part of Dany honestly hoped that she could count on that. Or was he just another Viserys? She wasn't ready to take her chance on the generosity of someone she didn't know. Whatever her relationship with Drogo was, this life was familiar, knowable. She had to save him!

"It is a grave sin to murder kin and he was raised a Stark. He should act just like a Stark."

"Lord Stark was friend to the usurper who murdered my brother and took the throne."

"And that selfsame Lord Stark turned on Robert Baratheon and helped the rightful king unseat him. You have a place to go, Khaleesi. You were meant for more than to just be another crone in Vaes Dothrak, but we must leave now."

"No! The maegi has already agreed to save Drogo's life. I must believe," she said. "Thank you for your advice, Ser Jorah. I suggest you fetch your armor."

"Khaleesi," he intoned quietly and bowed, stepping back from her.

She was brought back to the task at hand when Mirri Maz Duur said, "Khaleesi, we will need his horse."

"Why?"

"The blood. The blood is necessary."

Dany worried her lip. A Dothraki's horse was sacred to them. They were to only ever be parted by incidental death and then, in the case of the rider's death, they were to ascend together as one to ride the heavens. He could always find another horse. She nodded and gave the order.

It was not long after that Mirri Maz Duur ushered them out of the tent. "Do not enter." With a finality she closed the flap.

"This is not to be done!"

Dany turned to see Qotho, Cohollo, and Haggo behind her, their arakhs in their hands.

"I am the khaleesi . It will be done as I command!" Two Dothraki, Quaro and Rakharo, ordered to stand guard at the tent flap tensed at the clear threat. Jorah, who had stepped away, now stepped to her side once more, his own hand on his sword.

"We will not stand for this. The Blood Magic is forbidden. We kill the witch."

"No! She can bring your Khal back, she will bring Drogo back," Dany said, nearly choked with tension. There was a deadly stillness to the air, then suddenly split by the low chanting murmurings of the maegi .

"Khal Drogo is dead," Cohollo said.

"I forbid you from killing the maegi !"

"You have no command over us. Not anymore, Khaleesi," Qotho said and stepped towards the tent.

"Stop him," Dany shouted.

Qotho reached for the tent flap, but Quaro and Rakharo pulled their own arakhs and swiped at him. He nimbly leapt back, swinging his own blade back. Quaro and Qotho's blades met with a singing scrape of steel. Rakharo tried to take off Qotho's foot, but Cohollo leapt forward, slicing into Rakharo's side. He gave a ragged cry and swung back, Cohollo only barely ducked in time to avoid the blades.

Daenerys stared at the fight in mounting horror. No, no, this was supposed to spare death, not create more! Jhiqui, Doreah, and Irri hugged themselves and whimpered in terror as the fight raged on. One them reached for her, to pull her closer. The touch of skin was enough to startle Dany and she glanced around to see the khalasar was not stopping. It was already breaking camp once more and moving on, heedless of the violence in the middle.

"What's happening?" Dany asked breathlessly.

"Khal Drogo is deemed unfit, Khaleesi. He fell from his horse. He is no longer capable of leading," Jhiqui hissed at her and there was an urgent fear on her face. "They will not wait. His power is broken."

"B-but he is not dead."

"He is dying. The use of forbidden Blood Magic will not endear him to the khalasar ," Jhiqui trembled together with the other girls and dissolved into broken prayers once more.

In the meantime, Ser Jorah engaged with Haggo. The old knight was already bleeding on his arm and there was blood soaking part of his shirt. Rakharo lie propped against one of the tent poles, but

still alive. He had apparently made a gash in Cohollo's throat and the old bloodrider sat propped up against the tent, desperately attempting to keep the fount of blood pouring down his chest under his skin. Qotho and Quaro still danced, though both men had no less than half a dozen gashes each marring their bodies.

Through the commotion, Mirri Maz Duur chanted. Though the shadow was faint, they could see her swaying, dancing, and chanting in a guttural voice. Dany gasped as she thought she saw other figures moving inside the tent.

"Khaleesi, I don't think we should be here," Doreah cried. "Come with us!"

"No, I must see to Drogo."

"Please, Khaleesi," Irri wept. Though her and the other girls helplessly reached out to her, they knew better than the drag her away.

Quaro's head was nearly ripped from his neck and his blood spilled the ground. Ser Jorah found himself victorious over Haggo, who was lying limp on the ground with his arm severed, yet more blood running unchecked from a body. Qotho and Ser Jorah paid him no attention as they circled each other. The old knight had taken a cut in the head and blood ran down one side of his face. Qotho was baring his teeth and panting like an animal, his left knee moving stiffly from a cut it had taken earlier.

Daenerys' heart was in her throat, torn between glancing at the monstrous shadows she saw racing up the sides of the tent and Ser Jorah defending her as she had commanded. Suddenly, an unearthly scream rent the sky. Her maids shrieked and shrunk against her. A shiver ran through her body and she thought her hair stood on end in terror, but she made the effort to control her voice.

"What in the world was that?"

"It's the death cry of a horse, Khaleesi," Jhiqui said between sobs.

She shivered as the scream started again, the sound filled with duress and terror.

"What could be happening to it?" She whispered, not really wanting to know the answer.

"It's bad. A bad omen, Khaleesi," Jhiqui said, shivering so violently in fear Dany could hear teeth chattering together.

A human scream rent the air and Daenerys turned to see Qotho writhing on the ground, clutching at his intestines that had spilled out with a swipe by Ser Jorah. The old knight was bleeding quite heavily, but he staggered over to Khaleesi and fell to his knees.

"As you co-commanded, Kah-khaleesi. So-so I obeyed," he panted.

"Irri, Doreah, Jhiqui, please help him. Treat his wounds as best you can. We'll have Mirri Maz Duur heal him when she is finished." The girls seemed happy with something to distract them from the deep, tonal chanting, but Dany was drawn to it once more as smoky shadows danced with her, taking no clear form or shape. At the same time, the horse continued its tortured cries, which seemed to perturb the rest of the khalasar and they booted their own horses into a trot to escape the madness. She saw Pono riding ahead, his sword held high in the sky.

It was a few hours before the chanting in the tent finally died down, and in that time, the majority of the khalasar had ridden away, celebrating Pono and Jhoqo as new khals . There were few warriors left to do her bidding, most of which were from her own khas and the rest were slaves. Daenerys struggled to keep up appearances. The entire night had been a tense affair, between the bloodletting in front of Drogo's tent, and listening to the dual chords of Mirri Maz Duur chanting and the unearthly strains of the dying horse, Dany wished nothing more than to curl up in the shelter of her own tent. But she willed her exhaustion away and remained standing outside.

Mirri Maz Duur finally pulled the tent flap open and staggered outside. She appeared even more haggard than before and her limbs shook from the effort of conducting the spell.

Daenerys was by her side in an instant. " Maegi , did you succeed?"

She inhaled deeply, then looked into Dany's eyes and gave her a tired smile and a nod. "It is done. Your khal lives."

Dany felt her heart soar with the news. "Jhiqui, Irri, please tend to her. Make sure her needs are taken care of. You have my endless thanks," she said. Mirri Maz Duur and her maids fell by the wayside as she focused on the tent. Slowly, she walked over to it and carefully pulled back the tent.

Khal Drogo lay on his back, his eyes staring into the canvas above.

"Drogo? My sun and stars?" She dropped by his side and examined the wound. It was now a faint scar, as though it had healed over years ago. She smiled in satisfaction and peered back into Drogo's face, planting a kiss on his cheek. He didn't even twitch. Slowly, her smile faded away and she shook his shoulder. "Drogo, are you awake? Please answer me!"

He only stared into the canvas, unmoving.

She peered deeper into his face. His eyes lacked a certain light. They simply stared at nothing like how she imagined a corpse looked. She recoiled, her heart in her throat and her hand began to shake. "Drogo, please. Don't leave me alone," she whispered. She lay her head on his chest, but it only disturbed her to hear his heart pounding so strongly and yet for him to appear so lifelessly. She turned to the tent flap, her stare boring to where she imagined the maegi to be breaking her fast. Her hands continued to shake, but with barely contained rage rather than fear. That witch! I will see her pay for this insult, she thought.

Daenerys took a moment to to get her anger under control and then stormed out of the tent. The slaves in the vicinity scattered before her at her rage as she finally located Mirri Maz Duur and approached her. " Maegi! What have you done?"

The haggard woman glanced up lazily from her meal of hard bread with fermented mare's milk. "As you asked, Khaleesi. I have saved him."

"He is not as he was before! He is alive, but he shows no life. He simply stares and breathes. This is not what I asked for."

Did she imagine the smirk on Mirri Maz Duur's face? "You also asked to no longer be taken. He can hurt you no longer like that. He will hurt no one anymore."

"I asked to not be taken while I healed! You elicited a much deeper meaning from my words than was there."

"Perhaps you should speak more clearly in the future, Khaleesi. One less khal to take the world by storm."

"You fool. Spoken as one ignorant to the Dothraki culture. You've done little more than fracture the khalasar , but it is not broken. There were two more khals made last night while you were busy doing your little dance, ensuring Khal Drogo lay still as death," Daenerys said. Though her very anger shook her body, she remained composed.

For a moment there was a flicker of a troubled thought on Mirri Maz Duur's face, but it disappeared in the next instant and she sighed heavily. "So be it. There is still one less bloody murderer in the world and I shall take that for what it is."

"You can take that for your death sentence," Daenerys said. "Bind her."

She felt no small amount of relief as her khas moved to obey her. After so much mutiny from people she had originally trusted, it was a heady feeling to be heeded once more. I must not falter, I must not waver. The people left are depending upon me. Yet the instant she thought it, she nearly had a misstep, as her new worries began to surface. She steered herself back to the tent where Drogo lay.

The first thing she noticed was his beautiful black hair near wild and free from its ornate braid. It had come partially undone in his fall from his horse and the movement to the tent. She gingerly touched it, having never been so free before. It was coarse but fine, not at all as soft as she had imagined. She glanced briefly at his face, but it remained as unmoved as the first time she found him. Carefully, she began to braid. It was a servant's job, but it served as a suitable distraction as she carefully worked with it.

Never again will you mount me, she thought, glancing at his face. She was surprised at the mixture of relief and regret that thought alone brought up. She thought back on those first nights in her marriage and how she felt degraded, eventually learning the pleasure in the act. Then instead of rushing to her comfort at the loss of their babe, he had scorned her and showed her distance, seeming only interested in planting another child in her belly for the sake of his legacy than because he had ever cared for her. I get my wish; I will no longer be a broodmare, she thought with some finality.

A voice at the tent brought her out of her thoughts.

"Khaleesi?" Ser Jorah said.

She pulled it open and found him bowed slightly. His wounds were now wrapped in fresh linen

and the blood was wiped from his face. It was a relief to see him well. "Khaleesi, I came as soon as I heard. The maegi went back on her word?"

"Yes, she did. And for that she will pay with her life."

He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

"What is it you wish to say?"

"It's your mare," he said. "She was found dead."

Dany stiffened. "The others would dare kill my mare?"

"It was not them. She was mutilated. Half of her was covered with black scales and her skin was around her like it had sloughed off."

She gasped and her anger returned. "That vile maegi cost me a great deal. I will make her suffer. I swear it."

"I am sorry, Khaleesi. What are we to do now?"

She sighed. "Allow me to give it some thought."

"Forgive me, Khaleesi, but we are in the middle of the desert with little in the way of supplies. We don't have the luxury to wait."

"I am your queen now, am I not?"

"Yes, Khaleesi, you are still my queen."

"I made one decision in haste and it cost me everything else I had. Give me the time to think this

one through. I will not lead us astray this time. Now, have the dragon eggs brought to me," she replied in a cold voice.

"As you command, Khaleesi."

The khas brought the chest with her eggs cushioned in the middle. You are the very last things I have left, she thought. She caressed the black one lovingly as she pulled it out and then dropped it, startled at the warmth that seemed to emanate from it. She picked it up immediately and turned the egg for cracks or flaws, but it remained unblemished despite the fall. And still she thought she felt a warmth infused in its scales. She set it down gingerly and reached for the other egg, feeling the same peculiar warmth.

Frequently during her pregnancy, particularly late into it, she would keep the dragon eggs close, feeling like they gave her son life. It was a ridiculous thought, but she couldn't seem to shake it. She also thought it might familiarize him with his dragon heritage at the same time. Now, again, she turned to the eggs and nestled them each in the spot between Drogo's chest and his arms. Perhaps with this newfound warmth, they might somehow fetch Drogo from the dark confines he was imprisoned in for she knew his soul had yet to find release. The Dothraki felt only a pyre could free their souls from their physical body so that they may ride the heavens.

Ser Jorah's questions brought home a sense of urgency. They couldn't stay here for long lest they perish in this wasteland and she had no intention of simply fading away. She thought back to the other dragon who awaited across the sea. If her dreams were correct, he was just as eager to have her back where she truly belonged as she was to be there. It was a direction at least and in this time of uncertainty she would be a fool not to take it.

She turned to look at Drogo one more time. You have one day to return to me, my sun and stars, and then we have to move on. I have to move on.

Drogo had not changed by the next morning. She revisited Mirri Maz Duur again. Despite being chained by her hands and her feet, she still stared up at Daenerys with amusement.

"You can change this. I demand you change Drogo back to what he was."

Mirri Maz Duur chuckled. "I can no more change this than I can keep the sun from rising in the morning, not that I'd ever do that. The world will be better off with one less khal ."

"Then you shall die by those words," Dany reiterated and left her once more to tend to Drogo.

He remained just as he was, staring blankly at the ceiling of the canvas tent. The dragon eggs also remained unchanged and inert at his side.

"I tried what I could, Drogo," she said to him. "I see now that you must be free. Forgive me." She pulled out one of the many decorative pillows and held it over his face. He did not struggle and she felt her heart ache. She had thought perhaps trying to take his life would once more bring his fighting spirit to the fore, but he remained unmoved by his own impending doom. She's not sure how long she held that pillow over, but when she finally removed it, she could no longer see the steady beat of his pulse in his neck. When she bent down to give him one last kiss, a pair of tears fluttered out from her eyes to splash his face, and then she wiped her eyes dry.

I have cried enough for the both of us. Now I must be the khal , the queen I was born to be. She stood once more and stepped out of the tent.

"Come to me! Hear me!"

Slowly, the remaining slaves, her maidens, the last of her khas , and Ser Jorah gravitated towards her.

"Drogo has passed, but I am still your khaleesi . I will retain his place as khal ," she declared.

" Khaleesi cannot be khal ," Rakharo replied.

She ignored him. "Rakharo, Jhogo, Aggo. I raise you to be my bloodriders, my kos ."

"This cannot be! We will be no bloodrider to you," Aggo shouted back, the other two nodding with him.

Again, she ignored him. "Drogo needs to be sent. Build a pyre with what little wood we have left. Mirri Maz Duur, the maegi , the one who killed your khal shall be tied to it. Only death can pay for life. You have until sundown." Her new kos stomped away cursing, but she paid them little heed.

Daenerys oversaw the construction of the pyre. Her maids pleaded with her at times to get her to return to her tent, but she refused. Finally, when Drogo was placed atop the pyre, Dany scooped up the eggs and placed them at his side once more.

"A mere fire cannot kill me. You will not hear me scream," the maegi said.

"I will have your scream and the fire will have your life." The maegi continued to speak at her, but Daenerys merely turned back to the assembled crowd without listening.

Ser Jorah swallowed anxiously as she approached him, then fell onto one knee and begged, "Khaleesi, please. I know not what you have planned, but I will not stand by and allow you to throw yourself onto Drogo's pyre. You are worth more than that."

She placed a hand on his cheek and smiled at him. "I do not intend to die, Ser Jorah. I am a dragon after all."

"Not even the best dragons were fireproof."

"Trust me," she said and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turned to see the sun had finally set on the horizon. She gazed up at the stars and then her breath caught as it fell upon the red light of a smudged comet against the sky. That wasn't there before... "It's time. Light the pyre."

Oil had been drizzled across the pyre and it blazed into light at the touch of a flame. Mirri Maz Duur began chanting as the flames crept toward her. Once her clothes started smoldering, her chanting cut off into a wail. Dany stepped forward, drawn to it like a moth. She flinched at the heat that roared in her face, but once she felt accustomed to it she stepped forward once more. She hadn't even reached the flames before her top burst into flames and she shrugged it off.

I am the dragon. I will live as the dragon, she willed and shut her eyes as she was engulfed by the flames. The rest of her clothes now burned upon her and her hair became alight. For a moment, she imagined she must appear as a creature of fire with flame for hair. She inhaled and choked on the smoke as it burned her throat, but then inhaled again. Dragons breathe flame and do not choke on it, so will I.

Suddenly a great cracking sound rent the night and a shower of sparks flew as one of the egg shells burst. In another moment, the other egg shell exploded, showering the pyre in sparks and shell

debris.

She sat at the foot of the pyre, opposite Mirri Maz Duur's body. With her eyes still closed, she raised her arms. I am one with the dragons and the dragons are one with me. She felt her heart soar as tiny claws bit into her arms and the dragons crawled closer to her.

This time, when she dreamed, there was fire and sparks amidst the billowing smoke. She could see Rhaegar once more with Rhaego cradled in his arms. His voice was an excited whisper as he said, "A true dragon. There has not been a true dragon in three hundred years. You are the fire."

Once more, the shadowy figure of the other dragon walked towards her, parting the smoke in his wake. "Daenerys, it is time." He held out his hand to her. She hesitated at first, then reached for it and he dissolved into smoke once more.

She awoke with a start and glanced around her in confusion. The remains of the pyre continued to smoke around her, but there was otherwise no evidence left of Drogo or Mirri Maz Duur. A tiny clawed wing dug into her arm and she looked over to see a black dragon peering up at her, cocking its head as it seemed to evaluate her. A biting pain at her breast caused her to look down and find the cream and gold dragon suckling at her breast, like the baby that should have been there. "You are my babies now," she whispered.

Slowly, she stood up from the rubble. The people around her stopped what they were doing and gasped as she stepped forward, stiff but unharmed. The slaves fell to their hands and knees before her. Her kos and Ser Jorah Mormont knelt as well.

She drew herself up, unashamed of her nakedness. The gold and cream dragon turned from the leaking breast to hiss at the people around her, but the black dragon perched on her shoulder and raised an unearthly cry that had last been heard one hundred and fifty years ago.

High above her, the red comet shone.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you, everyone, for reading! I hope you enjoyed that chapter!

So, if you'll notice, that out of a batch of ten, Dany's chapters happened to fall on the numbers ending in '5' for the first two and it happened again with this one. That was coincidental. I think that'll be the last I manage to get it that way. Now that this part of her story is out of the way, I do hope to write more of her in the future.

Unfortunately, I will be putting this fic on hiatus today. I'm feeling a bit burned out and I need to refresh my creative juices. I will be back with the next chapter on April 20th, which should be the weekend after the new season finally airs. Fingers crossed that the season will be great! See you all then!

Chapter 46 - Aemon XIV

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Game of Thrones is back on TV! How about that first episode? It was gratifying to see it finally. I anticipate the remaining episodes to up the ante.

I appreciate you, loyal readers, for sticking with me through the ups and downs of this story and my hiatuses! Ideally, I would make this story a fulltime job, but alas, I need my real fulltime job. Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 46

Aemon XIV

Aemon stared up at Dragonstone from the safety of the flagship Prince Rhaegar . He had to repeatedly glance around him to reassure himself that he was not King Jon Snow, first arriving to treat with Daenerys Targaryen in the other life. Instead of the solid and reassuring presence of Ser Davos, he had the solid but decidedly aggressive presence of Jaime Lannister. He did not like the dark look Jaime had as he was eying the castle, but he knew Jaime well enough to know that he was not bloodthirsty for its own sake.

They had a plan. Among the many things that had been drawn up in the two weeks since the vassals of Dragonstone had pledged their allegiance to him, it was the terms of surrender. Just as with King's Landing, the object was to take it without bloodshed. Stannis didn't have anymore forces besides his personal soldiers of the Keep. They had part of the Westerlands, part of the Vale, and the vassals of Dragonstone.

Bronze Yohn had finally arrived a week prior and was promptly asked to join them in the event Stannis decided to hole up in Dragonstone like he did Storm's End. His uncle Ned was left temporarily in charge of the Seven Kingdoms with the majority of the Northern and Riverland armies to keep the peace. Tywin Lannister was still a rogue element to Aemon, though he hadn't done anything to warrant suspicion so far. He was left in King's Landing.

It had been a point of contention as to whether Jaime or Ned would accompany Aemon.

"Lord Jaime is Hand of the King. He is meant to step in to rule when the king cannot. I am but a lord," his uncle had argued.

"You're right, Uncle, but you don't know Stannis. I want someone with me who knows what to expect from Stannis and who may even get under his skin a little. Jaime is perfect for that," Aemon replied. Not to mention he and I are on the same page for once.

It seems in matters of military, he and Jaime rarely differed and only had small disagreements regarding which part of which army was going to load up onto the ships. Robert Baratheon had left them with a depleted fleet, with little more than ten ships left to their name. Their maintenance was suspect, especially since Stannis - who had been Robert's Master of Ships - had fled some months ago when he realized the danger of poking the lioness.

His new Master of Ships, Lord Velaryon had coordinated the inspection of the remaining ships and declared them serviceable for their purposes, but he had insisted that Aemon and Jaime be on his personal ship. Now they were heading into the bay where a retinue of Stannis Baratheon's awaited.

Aemon had written a letter to put to bed any further thoughts of rebellion, outlining the possibilities that ended with the outright extinction of his house. A few days later, Aemon had received a reply that was as gruff and as pointed as Stannis himself: "I will hear your terms."

In no time at all, he and Jaime were aboard the ship's tender being ferried to shore. Aemon stared up at Dragonstone and expected Drogon to swoop behind the castle, tearing through the sky with a ferocious cry that chilled the blood of all but the bravest. He hadn't been certain then that he wasn't walking to his death, but they had needed the dragonglass.

And back here to negotiate for it again, not that Stannis needs to know that, he thought. Indeed, Dragonstone meant nothing to him. He had read that in the time of Targaryens, the crown prince was first lord of Dragonstone, suggesting it was the seat of the waiting heir. He certainly had no heir yet. Perhaps his first gift to Dany would be this castle.

Encountering her in this dark domain on the hall's dark throne was a study in contrast. She shone like a star with her ivory skin and silver hair, lighting up the darkness around her. And yet, Dragonstone had seemed complete with her there. She hadn't been there for long when he visited and yet he could not picture anyone else sitting on that throne. It suited her fierce demeanor.

He was shaken from his reverie by a nudge.

"Quit daydreaming," Jaime whispered into his ear. "You need to focus."

"We haven't reached shore yet," Aemon sniped back.

"You know very well they'll be studying you, looking for the boy. You need to be the king."

While Aemon didn't bother looking back at Jaime, he glowered at the air in front of him. Jaime did have a tendency to treat him like he was a novice at etiquette. He had learned his formalities in Winterfell, but then things were more relaxed in the North. The South was so formal by comparison, rooted in rituals and routine. He chafed at the constraints. Give it time, he soothed himself. There was nothing wrong with bringing some Northern informality to the uptight pricks in the South, but as with many things, the South had to be eased into it.

Ser Davos was standing on the beach with a retinue of guards, just as stolid as he remembered. He struggled to keep the longing of having such a steadfast and loyal man by his side as Hand once more. Jaime was his friend, but he was moodier than ever. He tried to reel in his temper, but his responses to anything had a tendency to be clipped and abrasive. It seemed clear to Aemon that he was struggling with the pressure and expectations that came with being Hand to the King.

When the tender finally scraped the sandy shore, Aemon leapt out and splashed into the surf towards Ser Davos trying to ignore the icy water that seeped in through his boot. Jaime was right on his heels, and Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Preston Greenfield were just behind him.

"Your Grace," Ser Davos greeted him with a curt bob of his head.

"Ser Davos Seaworth," Aemon replied. He heard Jaime take a breath and he stopped in his tracks, trying to keep from wincing at his misstep.

The old smuggler raised his eyebrows. "You've heard of me?"

"Lord Velaryon mentioned you were the last lord by his side. From what I've heard, Lord Stannis is a man of protocol. He wouldn't dare insult a potential enemy by sending anyone less than the next lord of high rank," Aemon quickly said.

Ser Davos continued to give him a peculiar look. "Fair enough, I 'spose." They turned to head up the long staircase to Dragonstone.

Jaime's right, you need to focus, he berated himself, his heart pounding. They couldn't afford for him to be careless and show flashes of knowledge he shouldn't have. It would only serve to cause suspicion to grow. The stairs gave him a mercifully lengthy period of time to gather his thoughts and composure once more. It would not do for Stannis to have him on his back foot by happy coincidence

Aemon still found it difficult to concentrate as old memories surfaced like whales for breath. He expected to turn the corner and see a row of Unsullied guarding their queen. He held his breath when the door to the throne room opened, expecting to see the silvery hair of Daenerys. She had sat in the throne like a cat, soft and regal and with a superior demeanor. She had claimed her throne and acted like it.

He exhaled in disappointment as soon as he saw the dour, gray face of Stannis Baratheon. He was so gray, in fact, that he nearly blended into the stone, looking stiff and uncomfortable. Thankfully, it was just what he needed to center himself back in this world, banishing the thoughts of Daenerys from his mind. There would be time enough to think on her after the negotiations.

The red priestess Melisandre stood on Stannis' left side, a small smile on her face. She remained unreadable, but Aemon wished nothing more than to recoil in disgust. As far as I'm aware, she hasn't murdered anyone yet. Hopefully it will stay that way.

He approached the throne with quick steps, hoping to project his confidence and superiority. Was it his imagination or did he see Stannis' face twist into a snarl for a moment? A muscle definitely worked in his jaw as they studied each other, then his eyes flicked over to Jaime Lannister and he couldn't suppress the snarl of disgust there.

Ser Davos announced to the room, "King Aemon I Targaryen and Hand to the King, Lord Jaime Lannister." With the pronouncements made, he joined Stannis on his right side and watched them closely.

"Who is she?" Aemon said, gesturing at the red priestess.

Before anyone could answer, she stepped forward and curtsied. "I am Melisandre, Your Grace. I serve as a red priestess for the Lord of Light, R'hllor."

"What is your purpose here? As I understood it, our negotiations are to be with Lord Stannis Baratheon."

"I am Lord Baratheon's confidant," she replied with another bow of her head.

"And he wants you here?" Aemon asked.

"She stays," Stannis replied with a curl of his lips. "Your Grace."

"A priestess from the red temple? I never took you for a man of faith," Jaime sneered.

"What would you know about faith, Lord Jaime?" Stannis replied.

"Enough! Are you certain, Lord Baratheon, that you want to start off these negotiations with snide remarks?"

A tense silence stretched until Aemon nodded and said, "Lord Stannis Baratheon, my Lord Hand and I are here to negotiate your surrender. I am prepared to be lenient, but I recommend you not take that for weakness. Your brother Renly already made that mistake and he shall pay for it for the rest of his life. Understood?"

Stannis bristled from where he sat. "And what shall Renly's fate be? Death?"

"The Wall."

Stannis jerked in response, though remained as stern and forbidding as always. He nodded and said, "You don't look much like your father."

"So I'm told," Aemon replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. It seemed doubt in his heritage would hang over his head until he was able to marry Daenerys to secure his legacy.

Stannis huffed. "You claim the throne off the back of one man's word that Rhaegar Targaryen is your father when you don't even look like him."

"I know you're familiar with my uncle's sterling reputation regarding his honor," Aemon replied.

Stannis' eyes flashed at that and he leaned forward, his voice striking at them like a whip, "The same man who stole my brother from me and then stuck a knife in his back?"

Aemon nodded. "The very same."

"Ned Stark's word is worth less than the worm's in the dirt," Stannis barked.

If he was trying to needle Aemon into reaction, he received a shrug for his efforts. "In your opinion. Most can understand blood trumping friendship."

"My brother didn't," Stannis said, becoming stonier still in his anger.

"We're not here to discuss the relationship between you and your brother," Aemon barked. "We're here to discuss the terms of your surrender."

Instead of acknowledging Aemon, Stannis instead turned his gaze to Jaime. "And you...committing such an unholy act before the Seven, fathering your sister's bastards."

Aemon expected Jaime to bite back and was surprised when he remained silent, merely glaring back in equal measure. "Enough of this! If you continue to stall, Lord Stannis, then I will have no choice but to bring my army to bear on Dragonstone. I suggest you consider your next move wisely."

Stannis' eyes sparked with renewed anger, but unlike his older brother, he was able to reign in his temper and growled. "Fine. I want Storm's End."

"No," Aemon replied.

Stannis drew his mouth into a firm line. "Now that both of my brothers have forfeited it, it's my birthright."

"I would have considered giving it to you if you had surrendered and made your pledges to me

voluntarily. Instead, I had to sail out here with my army to ensure your cooperation."

"If I had abandoned Dragonstone, I would have no bargaining power."

"You may as well have no bargaining power. My men outnumber yours six to one. I do not have to tolerate your insolence or your presence."

"You expect me to trust your word that you would grant me Storm's End?"

"I think you'll find those houses that made alliances to me early were rewarded for their commitment. It wouldn't do to foster alliances with broken promises and empty words. But enough of what could be. You had your chance. You failed to act in the proper time given, now you have to face the consequences. Stannis Baratheon, you will be my guarded guest henceforth."

"What of my daughter? She is but a child - "

"Storm's End shall be granted to your daughter, Shireen Baratheon."

Stannis appeared surprised if the widening of his eyes was anything to go by. He frowned, staring down Aemon as though he expected a sinister ulterior motive.

"She's no threat to me," Aemon said. "You however…"

Stannis drew himself up. "I remained neutral in the face of you stealing my brother's throne..."

"As I am the victor here, allow me to set one thing straight: your brother stole his throne from me . It was mine by rite of birth."

Jaime spoke up for the first time and said, "It was never your brother's. What I wouldn't give to strike him from the annals of history for the mess he left the kingdom in." He smirked at Stannis' increased fury.

"How dare you of all people malign my brother. I knew you were too treacherous to retain your

position as Kingsguard! First begetting bastards upon my brother's wife and then contributing to the uprising!"

"Your brother brought about his own downfall when he tried to have me, an innocent man, beheaded for those crimes. I am not responsible for my sister's ill conduct," Jaime spat.

"Enough," Aemon shouted. "What's done is done! And you live at my leisure, Lord Baratheon. I suggest you control yourself." He turned to Jaime to glare at him, but then winked at him. Knocking Stannis off-kilter was Jaime's job after all.

"Let's not mince words: I am a threat. You want to dispose of me, then so be it. Let's not waste time."

Aemon cocked his head. "So eager to die, are you? I have a better use for you."

"What could I possibly do that you would trust me with?"

Aemon smiled. "I'll let you know when the ball gets rolling on that front. For now, you will be a guest under guard in King's Landing. In time, you and your household will leave with my uncle to the North. You will be set up with a keep and land in the Gift. However, you nor any future sons you might have, will have claim to Storm's End."

"The Gift? What in blazes could I possibly do in the Gift?"

"You'll see in due time."

"Of course I don't have Storm's End. You've already said it will be Shireen's."

"I am covering my bases, Lord Stannis. You see, though enemy you may have been, your bloodline and name still command a lot of respect. In these perilous times, it would be unwise to uproot such a foundational family. Now, who is Robert's bastard at Storm's End?"

It dawned on Stannis the direction he was taking this. "No…"

"Edric Storm, I believe it was, Your Grace," Jaime replied.

"Right, Edric Storm. His only nobly born bastard. I think he deserves an elevation in his status. I remember how important it was to me to be given the family name," Aemon said wistfully. He had wanted to be a Stark for so long that being a Targaryen was hardly better. It's a name, he chastised himself, but it wasn't the name he had been longing for his whole life.

It had taken a while to adjust to his new first name, Aemon, in the previous life. Then he'd switched back to being Jon Snow because he hadn't felt enough like a king to deserve his real name, no matter what anyone said. And now Jon Snow described an entirely different person, one raised to adulthood on the Wall, knowing only cold and death.

Stannis did not appreciate the sentiment. "And yet you would sully the Baratheon name?"

"Your brothers already sullied your name. Giving it to a bastard can only improve it," Aemon said. "Shireen Baratheon shall be betrothed to Edric Baratheon so that they might rebuild the once great and noble house of Baratheon."

"My daughter doesn't deserve this."

"Then you should have pledged yourself to the king when you had the chance," Jaime said.

It's still a better fate for her than what you did, Aemon thought and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from blurting it out.

"What of my brother?"

Aemon raised his eyebrows and Jaime glared.

"Your Grace," Stannis replied through gritted teeth. "What is to happen to...Robert?"

"Robert Baratheon is to be executed for his crimes against the crown and inciting rebellion. You

shall be close to Renly at least if you care to make amends."

Stannis growled. "My brother's crimes? What about Lord Tywin's?"

"I gave you the courtesy of learning your brothers' fates. I do not need to give you the courtesy regarding others.'" His voice cracked with the force of a whip. The silence that followed seemed to hang in the air until Aemon turned. "Ser Davos Seaworth, since Lord Stannis surrendered peacefully, I will allow you the opportunity to pledge yourself to me and walk away from Dragonstone a free man, with your House and titles in tact. If you fail to pledge to me, I will be left with no choice but to strip you of your lands and titles. Do you accept?"

Ser Davos looked staggered and he glanced at Stannis, but Stannis kept his eyes straight ahead and did not acknowledge him. The old smuggler unconsciously clutched at the pouch at his neck that kept his finger bones and allowed the silence to stretch. Aemon waited with baited breath. His sons are all alive in this time. They did not all perish in the Battle of Blackwater Bay. He has others to live for and not just Stannis.

"Beggin' your pardon, Your Grace, but it's Lord Stannis Baratheon who elevated me. It is not in my nature to abandon those who are loyal to me."

"Lord Stannis, when I am through with him, will not have the status to command all but the lowest. You will be ranked higher than him. Where you go after you pledge, I care not, but your allegiance is to me and to me alone since I am your Lord Paramount and King," Aemon replied. Please, Ser Davos, see reason!

Ser Davos swallowed and then a light came to his eyes and he said, "After I pledge my loyalty to you, Your Grace, would it be possible to pledge myself to the Lady Shireen? With her lord father cast down, she will lack for company. It may please her to have a familiar face nearby."

"As I said, I care not where you go once you pledge," Aemon said, though his heart soared at Ser Davos' response. The plan was to have Shireen in King's Landing for the time being then foster her elsewhere. Tyrion had suggested appointing her to be Sansa's lady-in-waiting when she wed Lord Willas. Sansa was polite and sweet and would take no notice of Shireen's flaws. It meant that Ser Davos would be accessible for the time being and since he was a vassal of Dragonstone, he hoped it wouldn't look too strange to see him conversing with the old smuggler.

"What of my lady wife, Your Grace?" Stannis asked.

"She will follow you to the Gift. A lady must stay with her husband after all.

Stannis lingered for a moment and then said, "Very well. Dragonstone is yours, Your Grace." He slowly rose from the seat and kneeled stiffly at Aemon's feet. Then Stannis walked out, followed by Ser Davos and Melisandre, the latter of whom couldn't resist a glance back in curiosity.

"Congratulations, Your Grace. Your ancestral home is yours and the final Baratheon has been removed," Jaime said dully.

"You sound disappointed."

Jaime sighed. "I know the goal is to unite the Seven Kingdoms bloodlessly, but this seems almost too easy. Too simple."

"Just because it wasn't exciting doesn't mean it was easy," Aemon replied, staring at the seat of Dragonstone. The iron throne was his, he didn't need the dragon's seat. "The vassals of Dragonstone abandoned Stannis Baratheon. He had fewer than five thousand men left. You said yourself he wasn't suicidal. He wouldn't dare lead his men to slaughter."

"Let's not forget that's exactly what he did before," Jaime whispered with a troubled look.

"He's not so far gone this time. Perhaps I can send the red priestess away before we can get her hooks into him," he muttered.

"What purpose would that serve, turning Stannis into a rebel? He can't get her anywhere."

"She's looking for Azor Ahai, the Prince Who Was Promised," Aemon replied wistfully. "He's supposed to appear before the War for the Dawn. She suspected I might be the one."

Jaime gave him a sharp look. "You're wondering if she's right."

"You were dead, Jaime. I had just killed you. And at your death, my sword came alight with flame. The Night King was set ablaze."

"Why didn't you say something before?!" Jaime hissed.

"There have been far more important things going on. I was alone at Winterfell when I woke up in this world. It slipped my mind before you showed up," Aemon whispered back.

Jaime shook his head, looking agitated and nervous. Aemon had never seen him like this and just as he was about to ask, he said, "Swords don't just light on fire."

"Beric Dondarrion's did."

"That was a trick! It's clear now he was not a Prince Who Was Promised either. I don't like this," Jaime replied, stepping away from him. "We don't need these delusions of grandeur."

"Are they delusions? What if she's right about the prophecy?"

"Is it not enough that the Gods brought you back? Now you must be a hero straight from a prophecy?" Jaime said tersely. "If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I think I will get some fresh air."

Aemon watched him go with trepidation. What have we gotten ourselves into?

--The Dragon's Roar--

Aemon looked around the stony room in disdain. Even Winterfell is warmer than this, he thought. There was a fur throw beneath the bed and a fire stoked in the fireplace, but a chilly dampness seeped through the stone into his very bones. It was not as cold as the Wall - was anything? - but there was a distinct difference to this chill, like he had just stepped in from a drenching rain.

He paced his room restlessly, the absence of company a sharp pang in his breast. Ghost was back in King's Landing because he wanted his wolf free to run around, Jaime was stewing in his own room, and Daenerys was across the Narrow Sea in the middle of the Dothraki Sea.

"We'll be together soon, Dany. This room suits you better than I," he said as he glanced around. If he closed his eyes, he could see her stretched luxuriously across the pillows on a sofa, languidly reaching for a glass of wine with a smile on her lips. He could just imagine a sleep gown hiding her figure from view. He bit his lower lip to stifle a groan. He abruptly turned away and stepped through a door out onto the balcony, into the blowing wind. The ocean roared beneath him as he peered out over the darkened sea. He could see lights seemingly floating in the air as the ships bobbed atop the crashing waves.

It was a clear sky and he gazed at the expanse of stars in wonder. His eyes sought the patterns of constellations that he had long learned. It's too far south to see the Wolf's Head, he mused. But just as he was seeking the less familiar constellations of the south, his eyes fell on a red smudge and he froze.

"My dragon's births were heralded by the red comet in the sky." Her voice came to his mind so clearly that he started for a moment to see where she was. He sighed, but then stared. Does this mean that the dragons are born? He pondered. Is my dragon hatched or does it still need to undergo the ritual? Just as with his sword coming alight, the detail of the red comet had completely slipped his mind. Gods, Dany, I hope you're safe. He sent a prayer on the wind.

A knock startled him out of his thoughts. "Yes?"

"Your Grace, the red priestess wishes to speak with you," Ser Preston Greenfield relayed through the door.

He frowned. Now that Stannis is disgraced, is she trying to cozy up to me? He was of a mind to send her away, but a burning curiosity persuaded him to say, "Let her in." All the same, his hand rested by the knife in his belt.

She glided in and dipped into a curtsy. "Your Grace, most impressive. There are few who can resist shedding blood when given the opportunity and yet you've taken none."

"Speak your piece, priestess. I have little patience for the devilry of your religion," Aemon snapped.

Her smile faltered momentarily, but then it returned. "I beseech you not dismiss me in haste. For I believe we have much in common." She drifted further into the room, closer to the balcony. He follow her movements and itched to level his sword at her breast.

"The only thing we have in common is that we are both breathing. The similarities end there."

"Oh? Are you not also seeking to conquer the Long Night?"

Aemon froze. When his throat worked once more, he said, "I beg your pardon. It's just a myth."

She chuckled. "You're a seasoned liar, Your Grace, but only when you're ready." Her mirth dissipated and her expression became the most serious he had seen since she had resurrected him. "The Lord of Light grants me visions. It's not just the Army of the Dead, I see. I have also seen you. And Lord Jaime Lannister. There is something different about the two of you."

"You speak nonsense," Aemon hissed, but his hand trembled and he grabbed the hilt of his sword to steady it. "I was foolish to take this conversation."

"This is not your first life on this world," she whispered.

Aemon did draw his sword and held it against her neck. "Utter those words again and it will be your death."

While he hadn't expected to see terror on her face, the newly steeled resolve was not it. Then he cursed himself; Fool! You just confirmed it for her .

"You move, you speak, your very eyes show you to be not a boy of seven and ten, but a man of much greater experience that few others can possibly speak to."

"I was well-educated, well-raised. Nothing more," he said.

"You lack the fiery impulse that accompanies the boys of your age. You are tempered, disciplined from your past experience. With Stannis' surrenders, it becomes clear you bear the favor of the gods. The men of Dragonstone have listened to and are spreading the word of the Bloodless King."

"And which gods might those be?" Aemon asked guardedly.

She smiled. "The Lord of Light doesn't have to be the only god, merely the one I follow. The one whom granted me my gift. I have looked into the fire and I have seen your likeness and that of Lord Jaime Lannister's leading the people. The Long Night will soon be upon us. The people of Westeros will need you in this dark time."

Aemon opened his mouth, but the words never left his throat. He then cleared his throat and he asked, "Are you familiar with any legends surrounding a sword alight with flame."

She stiffened and gave him a sharp look. "Only the Prince Who Was Promised wields a sword of flame. In order to defeat the Long Night, Lightbringer must alight and that in turn heralds the Prince Who Was Promised."

Aemon felt a shiver run through his body. The sword came alight when I skewered the Night King. Am I this Prince Who Was Promised? Is that the reason why I, of all people, was chosen to be returned to a time before. But then what of Jaime? Why was he chosen?

"I see that you still seek guidance. I may be of service to you, Your Grace," she said, with a smile and a slight bow of her head.

He glared at her. "I follow the Old Gods. The southron's follow the New Gods. There is no room for your god. I will not allow you to pollute my court."

She started back. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but you'll need me. I have valuable information."

"No."

"Then where shall I go?"

"I care not where you go. However, if I hear even a rumor that a red woman is burning people in the name of her God, I will have you killed."

She shrank back, but there was a longing on her face. "I have only the purest intentions."

"There is nothing pure about burning people alive. It is murder and you will be beheaded for it."

"Yes, Your Grace. Understood," she replied quietly. With that, she curtsied and waited with her hands clasped like she was a Septa of the Seven.

"You may leave," Aemon said. He turned back to the balcony, hearing the door shut with a soft click, and once more stared up into the sky at the sight of the red comet. The Long Night will be upon us before we know it. I shall start mining at the earliest convenience.

Chapter 47 - Petyr I

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Welcome back to another chapter! I have greatly been enjoying all of the moments that Brienne and Jaime have had in episode 2 and 3 of the new season. I hope you are too. Thank you for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy this story.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 47

Petyr I

Petyr Baelish walked through the halls of the Red Keep at an urgent pace, but his face was set in a placid smile. The droll king and his leashed lion were negotiating with Stannis. For the first time since he arrived back at the Red Keep, he felt he was able to flit and flutter at his desire.

If he wasn't mistaken, a close eye was being kept on him. It was only natural after he had spent the majority of the last six months in the Red Keep with their enemy. All the same, they still gave him back the position of Master of Coin since few others were better at keeping the books than him. Despite living in the same place as him for more than a dozen years, Jaime Lannister seemed just as oblivious as the fool King Robert to his tampering with the Keep's finances and that suited him just fine.

For all that eunuch's resources, he was still ignorant of the thievery Baelish was committing under the nose of kings. Coin and its inflow and outflow are so complicated. Only the smartest like myself could possibly make sense of the pathways I send coin on, he thought smugly. He had heard from his own spies that the King and Tyrion Lannister had been pouring over the Keep's accounts. While he had yet to have a private conversation with the ugly dwarf, he ran into him once in the Hall and glimpsed suspicion in the dwarf's gaze.

The dwarf had misgivings, but he hadn't shared them with the king - which he'd know - but with his brother Jaime. The older Lannister brother, unlike his father, lacked the wits to understand the situation and had waved away his brother's concerns. And if the king's ignorant countenance had been anything to go by when he had presented himself at court, then he didn't have to concern himself with either of them catching on. He should be safe.

Even so, he couldn't miss a prime time to conduct his business with the King and the Hand away.

Barring his recent dealings with King Aemon, he did have reservations. He had yet to hear back from his contacts in the Vale. Lysa Arryn had not been his only informant. There had been others and now they were quiet and the fact that information about Lord Yohn Royce leading the Vale houses meant there had been a shift of power. Lysa was no longer commanding as Lady of House Arryn, but why? The most he heard is that King Aemon had ordered the Eyrie be put under quarantine and no one, no matter their importance, was allowed out. One minor lord who had managed to make it down was instantly tossed into the dungeons, by order of the new king. It was one of Lysa's deluded suitors, Lohrin Gifford. The world wouldn't miss him if he mysteriously died in prison.

It was obvious that the quarantine announcement was an excuse. Lady Lysa had been removed from power. Was her hand in the murder of that smelly oaf Jon Arryn detected? Or was her mind so far gone that her power was pulled from her? That wasn't too difficult to imagine. She had lost any sense or reason long ago. Arryn and Royce had, more than once, expressed concern in the raising of the poor, stupid Robin. At his encouragement, Lysa had effectively crippled the heir to the Vale. His sickliness offered a perfect excuse for an untimely demise.

It was simple: he would find a way to elevate himself to Lord, marry Lysa, and bump off her son. But this...this presented a juicier opportunity. Now that he had a handle on the situation, it should be easy to destroy the new king's reign before it even began. He was trying to find someone cutthroat and deft enough to sneak around the Bloody Gate to find out what the figure in the dungeon knew, but few were willing to cross the Blackfish. He would have to keep working at uncovering what the king was hiding.

The revealing of the new king had knocked loose the entire foundation of his original plan. The Lannisters and the Starks were supposed to be at war, but the new king had saved Jaime Lannister and allied with him instead. How infuriating!

That Jaime Lannister had apparently known the identity of the king even before he had arrived at Winterfell was another lightning strike. The entire time he had known Jaime, he's not sure the fool had said more than a dozen words to anyone. They'd never even had a proper exchange in the hallway of the Red Keep. It wouldn't have surprised Petyr to learn the witless fool had become a mute. However, it seemed the lion was something of a plotter because the news that Ser Jaime had taken Ned Stark's bastard as a squire had been perplexing, but he had dismissed it out of hand as the usual alliance play between noble houses. Then they had received a letter about the impending executions of Jaime and Cersei Lannister for treason by robbing the king of proper heirs. It hadn't take more than one glance at the haughty brat, Joffrey, to know he wasn't of King Robert's seed, but information that the Queen habitually invited her uncle into her chamber had eventually reached his ears. He knew Cersei had been shoring up her support to end King Robert prematurely, but it surprised him that she would commit a move so desperate under the nose of the Starks.

No matter. He was a mockingbird. Birds could adjust their wings to shift with the wind on a dime and so would he. If anything, this would yet again make things easier. Lord Stannis was a stubborn fool who was as rigid as a tree with no male heirs to his name and Renly was a foppish brat who knew nothing of hardship.

All had gone suspiciously quiet. He didn't even hear anything from his informants in Winterfell. Finally, nearly three weeks since the last message, his informant had frantically scrawled a letter describing how Aemon Targaryen declared himself king and saved Jaime Lannister from the chopping block. What might be more startling was the news that Lord Eddard Stark had actually used the Winterfell soldiers against the king. Just like that, the foundations upon which his entire plan was built on became quicksand. The shock and confusion had been so encompassing that he felt like he was in freefall. His only solace was that the eunuch had been just as ignorant of the hidden Targaryen.

He scrambled to make plans. It hadn't taken long to discover that the new king had done well utilizing the element of surprise and sent ravens to all of the lord paramounts of the Seven Kingdoms to broker alliances. The only problem with being a fledgling king whom most would do well to doubt such a claim as being the long lost son of Rhaegar was that a representative was needed. If he were one for emotion, he would've cried tears of laughter at whom King Aemon Targaryen I had decided to send in his stead: Jaime Lannister.

However, his amusement turned into bafflement when he learned that King Aemon had appointed Jaime Lannister as his Hand. Surely this is a fluke? He was familiar with the adapted motto of 'A Lannister Always Pays his Debts,' but this was outrageous even for Jaime Lannister. No matter. It was easy to guess what route the Lannister was going to take. The dragon king would have his work cut out for him trying to hold the leash of Tywin Lannister once he learned the Ironborn had taken his beloved heir captive. But it wasn't the Ironborn, it was one ship manned by Ironborn. He, Baelish, would then negotiate the release of Jaime Lannister and find his way into the good graces of the Lannisters and King Aemon.

Even that plan had been disrupted! By some miracle and no doubt a result of the greed and stupidity of the Ironborn, Jaime Lannister and his squire had been rescued by that meddlesome healer and his men. Thankfully, the Ironborn and his one man apparently died with the secret of his involvement and he could find another way to quietly insinuate himself back into the folds. Adjustments were always necessary in a plan this complicated, but he was a master at reading people and the situation, yet he felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him multiple times in the last six months.

With the army sitting outside King's Landing growing steadily by the week as King Aemon collected alliances like most men collected notches on their belt, he began to grow desperate. It would not be favorable for him to be caught on the wrong side of this, so he had offered his services in presenting the case to Lady Lysa Arryn.

"She and I are old friends from when she was at Riverrun. I know that she still holds me in high esteem. Give me the opportunity to go to the Eyrie and I will secure the Vale forces for you," he said to Renly.

To his credit, Renly was examining him with narrow eyes, but then asked, "You swear it?"

"I swore an oath to your brother. As one of his heirs, I am beholden to you. I will not fail," he replied, smiling. If Renly had been less overwhelmed by the encroaching panic that was stealing upon the castle, he might have deciphered his smile for the mockery it was.

It had been his words, after all, that sowed the seeds of fear in Renly's brain as he went into unneeded detail about the cruelty of the Targaryens from years past. He counted on Renly to be more terrified of living under King Aemon's reign than of death. When he had left King's Landing, the stage was set for Renly to die against the onslaught of the dragon's men. Instead of heading to the Vale as he had promised, he had the ship dock at Gulltown where he sent feelers out to his sources and waited to hear of another sacking of King's Landing.

Once again, Jaime Lannister and King Aemon surprised him by infiltrating the castle and simply capturing Renly. He had wondered if the eunuch had intended to leave, but it was clear now that the spider must've assisted with his knowledge of the hidden passages under the Red Keep in exchange for keeping his position. All the same, Varys almost certainly was not a full ally to the king and kept many secrets from him. It was difficult to know what information he shared and which he kept tightly to his chest. Varys had been aware of his plans for Jaime to be kidnapped, but he had apparently not shared that with the king, since they were under the impression that the Ironborn were still behind it.

It had been a risky move, stating his plans to the open in the small council meeting, but he had a gift for talking his way out of everything.

He will admit that some small part of him was impressed with the way King Aemon and Lord Jaime had secured their allies. It had been swift, efficient, and surprisingly bloodless. It was clear that they were not without wits, but just as it was with Ser Barristan the Bold, their wits were better suited for the battlefield. It was easy to make plans when you had a map in front of you and the enemy placed in plain view. It was much harder when the enemies were unknown, as he was going to prove to them.

He set his sights on his first target and smiled. Lord Stark was just leaving a group that featured Lord Umber, Lord Cerwyn, and Lord Glover. While his face did not show a smile, he could see one in his eyes and there was a spring in his step as he walked away. A long dormant anger burned in his belly. First that brash oaf, Brandon Stark, and now this one had taken the hand of the only woman he ever cared for. He stifled the anger once more. It wouldn't do to have it color his voice.

Your time will come soon, Eddard Stark. You've had Catelyn to yourself long enough.

"Good afternoon, Lord Stark."

The smile disappeared in an instant and he stopped mid stride to look over at him. Petyr did not miss the mild curiosity, the surprise, and then surprisingly suspicion. He'll give credit that the suspicion only seemed to be in his eyes. Why is he suspicious? He filed that away in the back of his mind to examine later. The conversation should be telling.

"Lord Baelish, I presume?"

He feigned surprise. "You know of me?"

"Of course. I speak to the king frequently," Lord Stark replied, his voice brusque and impatient.

"His Grace is an astonishing young man, isn't he? You did well raising him."

Stark blinked at him stupidly "I, uh, yes. Um...thank you."

"How is Lady Catelyn? She and I were friends as children."

"Really? She's never mentioned you," Stark replied and gave him a troubled frown.

"Is that so? I would have liked to have seen her. I don't suppose a war camp is the best place for a lady of standing. Lady Catelyn was always proper, even as a child," he said.

"No, no it surely is not." Stark shifted uncomfortably and said, "Was there a purpose for this conversation?"

Starks. Always so blunt, Petyr thought. He smirked and said, "Walk with me."

This was the moment to sow the seeds. It didn't really require anything particularly secret and by the time Petyr walked away, Ned should have notions planted in his brain. Then they would require merely periodic watering to make them grow.

"I've been back here almost a month and yet King Robert's rule seems like a passing dream. So many lords here and yet the running of the Keep has been going quite smoothly. Truly, what the King, your nephew has done, is remarkable. You've a great deal of cunning, Lord Stark."

There was a pause. Petyr had to look over to see Stark staring at the ground with confusion on his face. He was thinking hard about something and then he finally said, "He didn't get his cunning from me."

Clearly, Petyr thought. There were few men, comparatively speaking, who was as slow on the uptake as a Stark. "You sell yourself short, Lord Stark. Some may have a greater capacity for it than others, but no one is born being cunning. He had to have learned it from somewhere."

Ned's mouth formed into an even more severe line. Petyr held his internal glee at bay. His sources in the Northern army had spoken a great deal about King Aemon occasionally being at odds with Stark regarding Jaime Lannister. He would give credit that Jaime surprisingly had the patience and the cunning to play the long game, so perhaps the boy king had learned from Jaime how best to maneuver to the throne.

"I must say the Targaryen-Lannister alliance is quite unconventional, but King Aemon and Lord Jaime have made it work wonders. It hearkens back to when King Aerys raised Lord Tywin Lannister as his Hand. How is that they worked so well together to take the kingdoms?"

Suspicion again as Stark narrowed his eyes at him. His mouth formed into a stubborn line and he finally said, "The truth is, I'm not sure how they managed to make it work so well. They just...seem to understand each other."

For the first time, Baelish felt a pinprick of annoyance. Stark was hiding something. There was a firmness to his face and yet confusion still in his eyes. If Baelish were a betting man - and he was quite good at making bets - he would think that Stark had asked the king about this alliance before, had it explained to him, but he was still confused by it.

No matter what it was, the alliance had fissures. Nearly the first thing he'd heard when he'd come back was how Lord Jaime had stormed out of a meeting with the king regarding the addition of the Hound to the Kingsguard. By all accounts, it had taken days for Jaime to stop glowering at the king. While the disputes in council meetings were small, there was no mistaking the tick of

annoyance on the dragon king's face when Jaime interrupted him. This episode with Stannis showed why the alliance had worked initially, but also exposed its weaknesses. The King and his Hand were in lockstep with each other regarding military affairs, but there was friction when it came to domestic policy.

It seemed unlikely that there would be anymore engagements that required the military. Stark still held the Ironborn hostage via Theon Greyjoy. King Aemon and Lord Jaime had already delivered the Martell's most hated adversaries as a token of goodwill. It would be to his disadvantage to stoke military aggression to drive the dragon and his lion apart.

"Regardless, I am impressed with the way the kingdom's are running after so many years of debt. I do think Lord Jaime is a bit hard on His Grace. The funds only allow us to focus on so many facets and yet he continues to stretch the kingdom thin."

"How so?"

Petyr feigned surprised. "I'm surprised His Grace wouldn't say. King Robert ran up quite a debt with Lord Tywin Lannister. While the king may not be demanding the same extravagances as his predecessor, King Robert left the finances in such a mess that we are forced to continue borrowing from Lord Lannister. I suppose Lord Jaime feels he can exert as much pressure as he wishes and His Grace will be forced to oblige."

Stark began to show the faintest alarm. "Surely you can renegotiate with the Iron Bank…"

"Not until spending is under control and even a bloodless war generates unforeseen expenses. It'll be some time before we can renegotiate with the Iron Bank."

Stark was silent for a moment and then said, "His Grace is wise beyond his years. I am confident he will be able to manage the Seven Kingdom. He's only just began his reign. He has time to grow into it." For all that he spoke the words with confidence, there was a wariness and continued suspicion in his eyes.

"You would know His Grace the best. Have a good day, Lord Stark," Petyr said with a gracious nod and walked off. While he felt successful in his attempts to sow the seeds of doubt against the Lannisters, Stark would not prove to be as useful as he had thought. While the conversation had been dry and appeared amicable, Stark had kept him nearly at arm's length the entire time. As he walked through the Keep, he furrowed his brow. Had he miscalculated the Stark's wits? He was certain Lord Stark was as much a dullard now as he was when he first married his beloved Catelyn.

He was with King Aemon when they went to the Vale, Petyr thought. No doubt, Stark knew why the dragon king had made his edict against Lysa Arryn. He'd have to find a way to approach the subject. He rather doubted many knew that King Aemon had proclaimed the Vale isolated for the time being. It would look suspicious for him to be so highly invested in the Lady of the Eyrie. The other Vale lords hated him, so none of them - especially Bronze Yohn - would be susceptible to his prying. There should be a man willing to poke around on the next supply train to the Bloody Gate. He would just have to be patient; he did not make a move until he could be certain of the information.

With that out of the way, he headed out of the Keep into the city. King's Landing was always abuzz with activity, but there was a certain energy to the city he had never felt. It had taken him a few days to figure out the root cause: the people were happy . Not just the wealthy, but even the poorest retches from Flea Bottom exuded the energy. It was a shame. These simpletons didn't understand that they could only be so happy before they fell back into their pit of despair, their sadness hitting all the harder. King Aemon was merely setting them up for failure.

He approached one source of their newfound jubilation. The healer's 'clinic' as he called it was packed to the brim with people, the line going out the door. There was a piece of cloth stretched from the building to wooden poles for people to stand under to spare themselves the searing sun. The new minor lord with the violin stood outside playing melodies and a few of the Shepherd's own guards loitered outside to keep the peace, including Gerion Lannister. He would admit to the healer being clever enough to reach this point, but his efforts were wasted. Who would want to live like this for an extended period of time? They were better off dying quickly.

The healer's weak spot for the ill and wretched would be his downfall. No one was naturally inclined to help these people. By all accounts, he ran a tight ship but there were always a few loose planks. They just needed to be leveraged. He had been watching the Shepherd's closely, both personally and by paid stooges. There was at least one who appeared less enthused about their goals.

He braced himself and squeezed through the line to get inside. The Shepherd's guard frowned at him tersely and the poor folk shied away. He was a lord, so none dared to question him. I am going to need a bath and a fresh change of clothes after this, he thought, wrinkling his nose. He surveyed the area. A man and a beautiful redheaded woman flitted behind a counter, handing out bottles and keeping inventory of their stock of medicines. The musician's wife called a name and a hobbling man came stumbling forward. She smiled graciously and led him behind a curtain. How she could deign to dirty her hands on these wretches? If he didn't know better, he would consider her a ripe candidate for dissension, but her and her lord's recent reward of a lordship was still fresh enough that they both seemed satisfied.

The boy, Vicente as he was called, was scribbling on a piece of paper with a bored expression as a young man with a black smile tried to describe his health problems. He then punched the scrap of

parchment with unnecessary force onto a pin with a large number of other parchments and gave the man a smile that did not reach his eyes. His every movement suggested irritation.

Petyr stepped up in front of the table, paying no attention to the indignant mutterings of the wretches behind him. Vicente scowled at him, but he seemed to know better to say anything and finally asked, "May I help you?"

"Yes, I have been unwell of late. Frequent headaches have been plaguing me, you see. It's become a bother. I'm sure you know as Master of Coin, it's important that I can't allow these headaches to keep bothering me." As he reeled off the spiel, he discreetly set a folded up piece of paper on the table.

The boy spotted it instantly and snatched it up with hands that reminded him of the little children that picked pockets with the deftness of gulls snatching food. The boy stared into his eyes for a moment, as though seeking confirmation, and then asked, "Can you describe these headaches in detail?"

"They're...headaches."

Vicente closed his eyes in controlled exasperation and said, "Are they accompanied with nausea, vomiting, dizziness, light overbright-ness? Anything at all?"

"Well, I - "

"Lord Baelish? Fancy you visiting. Now, what would the Master of Coin want with my humble clinic?" The healer had stepped out from behind the curtain with narrowed eyes. He wasn't surprised his visit didn't go unnoticed.

"Ah, Healer David. I've heard a great deal about your clinic. My girls tell me you have concoctions that even the Citadel doesn't know about."

"Hmm...yes, you own a brothel. I would think so. I have been healing outside the Citadel for thirty years. Any particular reason why you're here? You have access to the Grandmaester after all." Baelish didn't like the shrewd look in his eyes.

"You yourself take every opportunity to needle the Grandmaester. Those of us at the Keep have

had to put up with his archaic remedies for decades. They don't change. His headache remedy has never worked for me and never will."

"So you have headaches?"

"He's here for a headache cure. He has the...the..bright headaches?" Vicente began, stumbling over the terminology.

"You mean the Sunbright Headaches?" David asked.

"That's the one," Vicente replied. "He said they've been bothering him frequently. Nausea, overbright light."

"That certainly sounds like Sunbright." The healer pulled out a notebook, took a feather quill from behind his ear, and jotted down a quick note, then ripped the page out and handed it to him. "Take it to the couple behind the counter over there. They'll fill it for you."

Petyr took it and glanced at the note.

x1 Sunbright, vial 2 PAY

He felt irritation prick at the back of his mind. When he reached the counter, the beautiful redhead that reminded him so much of a young Catelyn took the note, read it, and reached blindly behind her for a vial of blue liquid, but she didn't hand it to him until he coughed up an entire Silver Dragon.

"I thought your services were free," he snapped.

"For the unfortunate. You, however, are not unfortunate. You can stand to fund the clinic," she replied, overtly looking up and down at his silken cream doublet.

"I thought that's what the Lannister funding is for."

She raised her eyebrow at him. "I'm not at liberty to speak about our financial situation. All money goes to the care of the citizenry." The Silver Dragon disappeared before he'd even managed to touch the vial. She gave him a glowing smile and he finally walked out, clutching the bottle openly. The kid had come to his rescue when the healer started prying; he could be counted on to show up.

Just before midnight, Petyr descended into the bowels of the Red Keep using a secret passage that happened to be connected to his room. He knew these tunnels now like the back of his hand, just as he presumed Varys did as well. It made sneaking and eavesdropping in the Keep child's play, though he had to rely on a network of servants, just like Varys relied on his little birds. His eyes and ears caught much of what he couldn't during the day and occasionally at night.

After a few minutes of traveling, he entered a large room and the flickering torchlight cast what appeared to be living shadows across the dragons' skulls. He wished there was a more consistent light source available. The constant bending and flickering of the shadows suggested movement by unseen characters that he knew weren't there. He slowly swept the room, but saw no one. He'd give the boy some more time to appear.

"It's about time you showed up."

Petyr started and swung the torch around. Vicente was casually leaning against Balerion's skull. His eyes glittered in the dark and he was wearing a mirthless smile.

"How long have you been waiting?"

"An hour or two."

"I said midnight."

"I couldn't be sure how you'd arrive. It'd look odd for two people to be wandering the Keep at night, headed to the same area."

"Good to see you understand discretion."

"Is that not why you gave me that note?"

Petyr smirked. "One can never be too careful." When Vicente remained silent, he began, "I hear you're a man of considerable talent. You held Renly at knifepoint, picked the lock of Jaime Lannister's cage, and have picked the pockets of a few nobles - "

"I know what I'm capable of. What I want to know is what you want from me."

"Information. I require someone who can stay covert and give me what I need."

"What kind of information?"

"On conversations, of course. I need to know about the Shepherd's operations. And what that healer you work for gets up to with Jaime Lannister.

Vicente was quiet while he contemplated the offer and frowned. "Why? David is boring. He just heals."

"I'll be the judge of that. You will be paid handsomely for your efforts."

"Prove it."

Petyr pulled out a pouch and tossed it. The boy caught it in one happened, pulled the draw string, and shook a few Gold Dragons out into his hand. His eyes widened to the size of the coins.

"That's just an enticement. You will be paid one Gold Dragon for every piece of information you bring me."

The boy mulled it over for a moment, touching the coins as though not quite believing the reality. Then he slowly nodded. "Done. How do I get the information to you?"

"I will send further instructions. Be discreet."

"You're clearly familiar with my...talents or you wouldn't have come to me," the boy growled. "I know what I'm doing."

Petyr said nothing in reply and swept back down the hall he had come from to take the secret passage back to his room. As he walked, he smirked to himself. Let the game of thrones begin.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Note: One thing that has always upset me about both and AO3 is that I have no means of communicating with you, dear readers, outside of my chapter updates with the assurance that you will receive them, especially in a timely fashion. What if I am late with a chapter? Or what if one or more sites is down? Any number of things! So I would like to communicate with you more promptly with my Twitter account. I'll also give you updates on how the fic is going, when I start writing chapters and when they're finished. My avatar is of my tuxedo cat. Feel free to drop a line and say hello!

Twitter: @GroovyPriestess

Chapter 48 - Aemon XV

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope your lives are going well. Thank you, forever and always, for the support you give this fic. I doubt I'd have gotten this far without your devotion! Thank you for your reviews and kudos!

Feel free to add me on Twitter @GroovyPriestess. I chat about the show and give updates about the ongoing status of The Dragon's Roar if you're interested.

Thoughts about S8E5 - Feel free to skip to the content

Season 8 Episode 4 & 5 really knocked the wind out of me. I thought I could handle whatever crappy ending the show writers were angling for, but I'm having difficulty handling this brutality. More than King's Landing, the entire foundation of the books/show feels like it's gone up in smoke. Jaime's character arc was in fact a circle. He was never going to get away and he'll always end up back where he started. Just...ugh. People can ignore the show's butchering and still enjoy Jaime, right?

GRRM said the ending would be bittersweet. Fingers crossed he has the same definition of 'sweet' as we do.

Chapter 48

Aemon XV

Aemon stood looking out over his balcony in his quarters at King's Landing, a now favorite pastime. The brutal heat of King's Landing relented for once and a cool ocean breeze ruffled his hair as he breathed in the air. The world felt like it had taken a surreal quality in the four days since they had returned from Dragonstone. The ocean and sky both appeared far too blue and cheerful. The seas were calm and the Keep was quiet. The scenery was in odd contrast to the turmoil inside of him.

He had come back to King's Landing with two letters from the Night's Watch waiting for him and he nearly tore them in two in his haste. He sank to the floor in shock as he read the news:

King Aemon Targaryen, First of His Name…and the First men

I am delighted to inform you that your Uncle Benjen Stark has returned from his exploration into the far north bearing a gift and news of great import.

Craster has been executed. As per your advice, he was discovered to be sacrificing the son of a daughter-wife. The child was rescued but unfortunately succumbed to the cold. Craster was beheaded and now his daughter-wives are running the household. They will be left in peace for the time being.

Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall, was intrigued by your letter and is interested in a meeting. He will begin to move all of the clans further south, closer to the Wall to facilitate your meeting.

No doubt the strangest burden Benjen brought back is a living being that looks like a deceased wildling. Its eyes glow blue and it struggles against its bonds. This is the wight you were talking about? The Night King is responsible for this abomination? May the Old Gods have mercy on us.

I understand you wish someone to escort this creature south to show it to the southron lords. I will arrange for a ship to leave Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with an escort for the creature.

I received a letter recently from you that you have a wealth of prisoners bound for the Wall. We look forward to adding more trained members to our ranks. Ser Boros Blount and Ser Mandon Moore have been commendable assets in our time of need.

Jeor Mormont, 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch

Aemon took a moment to breathe as he absorbed the news: his Uncle Benjen survived after all and he had a wight! He didn't expect all of the southron lords to fall in line immediately, but he imagined it would do a great deal to align the other lords' interests with his. They would finally be able to prepare once they knew what was at stake. However, he knew it would be some time before they saw the wight. It had taken two months sailing in the time before and they had taken the wight back to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, whereas it seems that Benjen brought the wight back to Castle Black. There was still quite a lot of waiting to be done, but he could finally take his first steps towards preparing the kingdoms for war against the Long Night.

The next letter was from his great uncle Maester Aemon. He felt a pang when he recognized the beautiful writing of Samwell Tarly, no doubt transcribing on behalf of his uncle.

King Aemon, First of His Name...and the First Men

When we last spoke, you were an earnest young man driven to unite the Seven Kingdoms. I am so proud of what you have accomplished in your short time as King. You show a clear-headed calculation and planning that reminds me of your father. He would be proud.

On that note, I do not think I need to caution you in some of your more spurious interests. You know what happened to your father. Do not pursue these passions to the point of neglecting your role as king or your allies. Some things may never be and that is okay.

I am sure you're aware of what happened the last time Targaryens attempted to hatch dragon eggs. It led to the tragedy at Summerhall where your great great grandfather King Aegon V, my brother, attempted to hatch eggs. Your father was born the same day that tragedy struck. As I was a Maester by that time, I have little knowledge of the exact events. However, your grandfather seemed certain that the key to dragon hatching lies in the Targaryen House words: Fire and Blood. One Maester Gyldayn recalled pyromancers being present for the egg hatching. The eggs received both their fire and blood and failed to hatch. But this presumes that the eggs were real and either not dead or merely replicas. I have my doubts about their legitimacy.

I do believe my brother King Aegon the V may have become touched in the head as he aged and it is possible he was sold a lie when he came into the possession of his 'eggs.' As you are sound of mind, your description of the egg suggests to me that it may in fact be real as that is unlike anything I have ever seen or heard. There are accounts from past Targaryens when dragons still roamed the lands that describe eggs like the one you mentioned.

Read up what you can on dragons, Your Grace. Plan just as carefully this hatching as you did your alliances to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. There is one, Maester Marwyn, who has an ongoing interest in dragons and the magic they bring into the world. I recommend you summon him to King's Landing. He is not your average Maester; he seeks only the knowledge regarding dragons and to foster it. I'm afraid you cannot rely on him either for your healing or your counsel for governing.

Long may you reign.

Maester Aemon of Castle Black

He felt his heart racing and glanced over at the egg still sitting in the fire grate. He had been both

disappointed and relieved to discover the dragon had yet to hatch. It was important that he be there for the hatching, but it did mean that the heralding of the red comet was likely not responsible for hatching Daenerys' dragons. Perhaps her hatching was by good fortune alone?

Fire and blood, he thought. He could see why his great great grandfather King Aegon V would hold those words as the key seeing as there was little else to go by. He had, in fact, introduced the research opportunity to Tyrion who took the project with gusto and was happily in the library drawing up a report of what he could find.

Maester Marwyn, he wondered. He had not heard of this fellow from the time before. He would have to make inquiries. Even if Marwyn had little clue about hatching eggs, he would have better information about tending to and raising dragons.

The next event of note that had happened since his return to the Keep was the arrival of his cousin's betrothed Margaery Tyrell. He had waited outside in the Courtyard with Ghost, Robb, Greywind, his Uncle Ned, and her family excluding Ser Loras. He was still confined to their apartments. It was difficult to hide his amusement at Robb's obvious nervousness as he shifted from one foot to the other. He also went back and forth in a loop about whether to clasp his hands in the front or the back, before finally settling on the back.

Her carriage was almost as ornate as Queen Cersei's when she arrived to Winterfell, with scrolls and designs carved in filigree. Unlike Cersei, when she stepped out her smile lit up the Keep and there was a palpable excitement in her stroll. She wasted no time in waiting for cousins to unload and dropped into a deep curtsy in front of him.

"Your Grace, I am humbled and honored to finally meet you. Word of your success has already reached all corners of the Seven Kingdoms. I am impressed at your cunning and ingenuity to unite the Seven Kingdoms bloodlessly. Such an accomplishment is unheard of," she said in an awed voice.

Aemon struggled to keep from smiling. He had heard Margaery Tyrell was beautiful, but he felt even that words failed to encompass her stunning countenance. Though while he would agree with her beauty, he was still grateful to not be marrying her. Though her compliments were welcome, they were too flowery. He would describe them as deliberately disarming and she appeared about as vacuous as Sansa had before she had lost her innocence. By contrast, he had left his first encounter with Dany under the distinct idea that he had done nothing to impress her. Compared to her accomplishments at the same age and under more trying circumstances, she had risen to queen without it being granted to her, Aemon had felt diminutive and it fostered in him an ache to prove himself.

"Rise, Lady Margaery. And welcome to King's Landing," Aemon replied, taking her hand and

planting a kiss on it with a smile.

Next to him, Robb had been standing stiff as a startled deer and then wilted as Margaery showered her king with compliments. However, his smile returned as soon as she turned her attention to him and she beamed.

"Lord Robb, isn't it? Lord Jaime did not lie. You do have the Tully looks. You're as handsome as your cousin the king."

Robb drew himself up and also planted a kiss on her hand. "My Lady, you are as radiant as the sun. Lord Jaime's description of you does not do you justice."

Aemon gave his cousin a startled look. "Jaime waxing poetic about a woman's beauty? I think not. You must've heard that from elsewhere, cousin."

It was difficult to contain his laughter when Robb pursed his lips at him in annoyance. He couldn't say anything against his king out of propriety and even his scathing look was tame. Margaery laughed.

"Now who is this?" Margaery asked, looking down at Greywind.

"This is my direwolf, Greywind. He's gentle, I promise. Hold your hand out to him."

The direwolf was panting placidly. He gave her a cursory sniff and licked her hand.

"What a charming wolf! It's so fascinating meeting a beast that is your house sigil. Sometimes I wish our sigil was an animal. Maybe a horse or a bird."

"Well, your house sigil will be an animal once we marry."

"I look forward to it, Lord Robb!"

She moved onto the next man. "Lord Stark, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. The whole

kingdom knows of your honor. It was a great and courageous thing to protect your nephew. I'm sure the Gods, new and old, both understand as we would not be enjoying this unprecedented time of peace otherwise.

Uncle Ned was startled, but then smiled and said, "Thank you for your kind words, Lady Margaery. Winterfell, and the North, look forward to your presence. The weather may be chill, but I hope you will find our hearths warm."

"You are too kind, Lord Stark," she said with a small curtsy.

"Father, brother!" She finally walked over and embraced them both. "Willas, you appear to be thriving in King's Landing!"

"It gladdens my heart to see you, sister. I hope the journey wasn't too arduous."

"I had my cousins to keep me entertained."

"What did you think I was referring to?" Willas said and she laughed merrily once more.

"Ah, here is the new young king," An old woman dressed in finery ambled over to them. She curtsied to the best of her ability, but eyed him like she was inspecting the authenticity of a gemstone. "Your Grace, it pleases me to finally meet you. There are too many men who first reach for the sword. I would also like to commend you on uniting the Seven Kingdoms bloodlessly."

"Thank you, My Lady," Aemon said with a cautious smile.

"Ah, where are my manners. I am Lady Olenna Tyrell, the mother of the fat one there." She pointed to her son who swelled in indignation.

It was a struggle to keep from laughing. "A pleasure, My Lady. I hope your trip was uneventful and that you find rest and enjoyment here in the Keep."

"Thank you, Your Grace. Now, let's see here. You are Robb Stark? Not bad. You have the Tully eyes and hair. A handsome lad, Margaery. You could do worse. You Starks have a reputation. I

don't think I need to tell you, but I expect my granddaughter to be treated with the respect due to a lady. Understand?"

"Err...yes, My L-lady. I assure you, she will be in good hands." Robb's eyes bulged in alarm but he took her hand all the same and planted a kiss on the back of it.

Margaery laughed. "Grandmother, please! I am sure Robb will treat me like a queen. Isn't that right?"

"Of course! My Lady, would you care for a walk in the gardens?" Robb asked, his hand held out to her.

"I would be delighted," she said with a wide smile. "By your leave, Your Grace?"

He waved them along, staring at them. They already look like lovesick fools. He hoped he didn't look quite that moon-eyed when he finally met Daenerys and he was certain he would do a better job of keeping his dignity. It really hadn't been love at first sight thankfully. They had actually grown to appreciate one another.

"She will be a spark of warmth for the North in the long winter. I thank you for the alliance that made this marriage possible," his uncle said, turning to him.

"They do appear to be a perfect match," Aemon replied.

Lord Mace Tyrell puffed up like a prized rooster. "Indeed, I am satisfied with this arrangement. I think it will be most beneficial for both parties, Your Grace!"

"What I care most about is my sister being happy. I have spoken with Robb a number of times and he appears to be a thoughtful, earnest man who will treat Margaery well," Willas said. "I know she will be in good hands."

"Oh please! You sound like a bunch of preening roosters. I have better things to do than listen to you gladhand. You there! Don't keep an old woman waiting. It's time for a luncheon."

He dismissed himself and laughed quietly. She was just as feisty as Jaime had told him. He wondered briefly what a meeting between her and little Lyanna Mormont would be like.

His smile fell away though as he thought on yet another wild girl with a sharp tongue. Arya was little more than a week out and then she would finally arrive. He hoped that perhaps she might have forgiven him for his audacity, but knowing Arya it was a vain hope. But soon he would have the chance to set things right by informing her that her betrothal was broken. With any luck, he would be able to return that mischievous smile to her face in a matter of days.

He was pleased to see his uncle and the Tyrells getting along and hoped that the rest of the North would embrace the future lord paramount's bride with equal enthusiasm. It did not escape him that Lady Catelyn had and continued to feel the bite of a cold welcome. Perhaps her ire towards him wasn't all her fault, but she still had a choice in how she treated him.

Aemon excused himself and headed to the godswood. He struggled to keep his head up, but he felt a pang in his heart. Not even when he had been in Dragonstone had he felt the pain of heartsick so acutely. Seeing Robb and Margaery's happiness made him ache for Dany and he'd had no news regarding her wellbeing at all. What little they knew from Varys was three months old at best and if everything had followed as last time, then she would be suffering from great losses at this moment and he was not there to assist and comfort her!

He prayed for her safety in front of the heart tree and that Ser Barristan reached her with all haste. It had been only a month since the old knight had left on his quest and it was estimated it would take nearly three months to reach Qarth alone.

Back in his quarters, he paced. Ghost watched him from atop the bed, panting in the heat. Aemon glared at the egg sitting in the fire grate, willing it to give him the answers he so desperately sought.

A knock drew his and Ghost's attention. "Your Grace, Lord Alexandratos has arrived," Ser Meryn Trant said through the door.

"Let him in."

The musician appeared a little bright-eyed and walked cautiously into the room. He stepped just inside the door, bowed and said, "You summoned me, Your Grace?"

"Yes, thank you for coming. You need not worry. It's for a harmless reason," Aemon replied with a chuckle.

Cyrus' nervousness melted away immediately and he bowed his head again. "How may I serve you, Your Grace?"

"Lord Jaime tells me that you are interested in my father's harp."

There was a clear anxiety in his eyes, but he kept it under his control. "I rescued it from the Ironborn that attacked him. I had no way of knowing it was yours! I apologize, Your Grace."

"You gave it back. That's what matters. But he seemed to be under the impression that you could play it."

"Uh, yes, Your Grace. I am fluent in all of the major string instruments: harp, cello, violina* and bass."

"Would you be willing to play my father's harp for me? I've never heard it."

The surprise and awe dawned on Cyrus like his only wish had come true. "I would be glad to, Your Grace."

Aemon pulled the case out from under his bed and handed it to him. He watched as the musician ran his hands over the case, before popping the latch and opening it. Cyrus glanced at him again, as though asking permission, and then at a nod he pulled out the harp and plucked each of the strings. Aemon winced and felt his heart shudder at the warped sound. It had only just been restrung! Surely its strings weren't yet so terrible. He watched with fascination as Cyrus began adjusting the knobs at the top and was surprised to hear the strings come back to some semblance of a beautiful sound. It took time. He watched in fascination as Cyrus carefully plucked and tuned every string, seemingly listening for a note that Aemon couldn't hear.

He breathed when Cyrus ran through each of the strings to produce its melodious sound that he had heard on occasion.

A thought then seemed to come to Cyrus and he cleared his throat, "Oh, hmm, Your Grace, David heard you had summoned me, he asked me to give this to you. It pertains to the request to send

more healers from the Citadel." He pulled out a piece of folded parchment and held it out to him.

Aemon took it with some curiosity and unfolded. There were two pieces of parchment. The first one was one simple sentence:

Lord Petyr Baelish has tapped my man Vicente to spy on his behalf.

He shivered. Already up to your old tricks again, I see, he thought. Cyrus had thankfully moved to a chair within the room and began dragging his fingers across the strings. A peaceful, gentle tune filled the room that was in contrast to the constricting fear that Aemon felt around his heart. He walked over to the fire in the grate and tossed the first parchment in.

His eyes moved to the egg. If his dragon hatched now, it would be vulnerable. Dany had had trouble with interlopers trying to steal the dragons as babies. While they were worth more alive than dead, he shouldn't risk the dragon's safety considering its importance. Maybe it's for the best to keep it in the egg for the time being. He had to survive Baelish first.

The other parchment was indeed a letter to the Citadel to request healers be transferred to the Keep. Aemon was keen to keep his people happy, but he could see the healer was at his wit's end dealing with all of the commoners who desperately needed help. David was looking for trainees to learn his craft and hoped to offer it to any hopeless students at the Citadel. He had mentioned to Aemon that the Citadel would be less than thrilled to lose students for his cause, so Aemon himself vowed to write to the Citadel as well. The Citadel relied on money from the nobility and the throne to keep running; he could use that leverage to encourage the Citadel to fulfill this request.

He sat down at the writing desk in his room and allowed himself to sink into the brief, pleasant moment as the music swirled around him. Then he began to write.

- Violina is a word that doesn't exist. I just felt like five-string violin was a really boring name for a combination violin/viola.

Chapter 49 - Catelyn II/Daenerys IV

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you all for your warm and encouraging responses! I know Season 8 ending poorly was a blow for the vast majority of us and I will do my best to make sure this fic doesn't follow in those toxic footsteps.

On that note, this fic has reached an unbelievable milestone! I have officially broken 200K words. And you, fine readers, have given me more than 3,000 Kudos. It's still difficult for me to believe that the story has come this far and how much you've enjoyed it. Thank you all so much for your support!

And while I'm talking about S8 ending so poorly, this fanfic will not feature MadQueen!Daenerys. I haven't approved the direction of Daenerys' character since Season 7, so the plan was always to deviate from that. I think most people will find that her path varies enough that it's perfectly plausible. And even if you don't think that's plausible: too bad, it's my story, I can do what I want.

I would like to think Zia2345 for beta-ing this chapter for me.

Follow me on Twitter for fic updates: @GroovyPriestess

Chapter 49

Catelyn II

Catelyn stared wistfully as Bran, a handful of men, Meera, and Jojen Reed trotted out of the gate for a hunt. Bran's direwolf Storm loped behind him, so named due to the wolf howling in time with the thunder of a rare summer storm. A tug on her dress jarred her from her thoughts and she looked down at Rickon's teary eyes.

"I wanna go on da hunt!"

"You're not quite old enough, my darling. One day. You'll be hunting with the best of them soon. You'll see," she ran a hand through his hair, but he scowled and wandered off, kicking rocks as he came to them. Shaggy Dog yipped and trotted in step with him.

She sighed. Rickon was having trouble adjusting to the emptiness of Winterfell. For that matter, so was she. There were only a handful of servants in the yard now and Catelyn beat a hasty retreat.

She steered herself towards the glass gardens. Perhaps a walk among the flowers would soothe her heartsickness. Ned, her firstborn, and her beautiful girls had left Winterfell seven months prior for war. Some war, she thought.

By some miracle of the Gods, King Aemon Targaryen with his Hand Lord Jaime Lannister had swept up the Seven Kingdoms in a bloodless tangle of alliances. She would admit to being impressed. If there was no further proof of the Seven, this would be enough to satisfy that. And yet, she was unsettled. It was too good, too easy.

Lord Jaime Lannister had indeed been successful at securing the Westerlands and the Reach. Robb was to be married in two months and little Sansa would wed in two years. It baffled her that the Kingslayer - for that's what he'd always be - would secure Aemon's allies with marriages not even from his own family, but all for the sole benefit of House Stark. It was suspicious to say the least. There had to be an ulterior motive. Was this a trap?

She had turned it over in her mind countless nights and couldn't come up with anything feasible, especially as Jaime Lannister continued to act the steadfast ally that King Aemon claimed he was. The letters she received from Ned had initially been worded in frustration, but then the letters had taken a turn once they had entered the Keep. Ned made a point of singing Jaime's praises with his daring raid to capture Renly Baratheon with no shed blood. It made her wonder if Ned's wine had been spiked. She had written him a letter back with more than a few words of caution. Ned was becoming too docile in that den; he needed to keep his wits about him if he and their son were to return with both of their heads in tact. It made her itch to travel to King's Landing to ensure Ned's and Robb's protection.

However, Ned was adamant that she stay North.

King Aemon has everything under control here. I am confident in both his and Lord Jaime's abilities to guide the Seven Kingdoms to a peaceful future. It's just a matter of time before they secure Lord Stannis Baratheon's, Dorne's, and the Iron Islands' cooperation. We'll be heading home in a matter of months.

It is good to hear that Bran is doing an admirable job of being lord of Winterfell. You've done well coaching him. It warms me to hear that Meera and Jojen Reed are there to provide company to him. I know it must be lonely having to be the lord of Winterfell while Robb and I are far away.

Rickon sounds like he is getting big! He'll be ready to start training with a sword by the time we return. We may need a new Master-of-Arms. Ser Rodrick Cassel is likely to be serving as ambassador at Castle Black for some time.

Take care, my love

Ned

Catelyn had smiled faintly at the letter, longing to see Ned once more. It faded as she had read the letter over. Why is Ser Rodrick Cassel serving as an ambassador to the Night's Watch? It had puzzled her from the very beginning that King Aemon would venture there first before turning South. Ned had mentioned that his great great grand uncle was still the Night Watch's resident maester, so it seemed obvious that he wished to reconnect with living family. What was less obvious was why he needed all of the heads of houses to accompany him when they were better served leading the army to Moat Cailin.

Could that have something to do with the Long Night? She mused. She was there when King Aemon had made his statement against Lord Jon Umber, seeming to summon the Gods' aid to win his battle. She had shivered at the fire in King Aemon's eyes as he brought his sword down and delivered a blow like thunder, cleaving Umber's sword in two. Apart from the Gods' blessing, little of interest came from the counsel. While the king had insisted the Gods had bequeathed him a vision warning of the Long Night, many still seemed skeptical, including her.

She was obviously not unfamiliar with the Stark words, but they were simply good advice. Winter, especially here in the North, was never to be trifled with and preparations were always paramount to surviving a hard winter. Could the Night King truly be waiting north of the Wall? She shook her head, banishing the thought. Night King or no, the Wall is still there. Even without the Night's Watch at full strength, the Night King surely can't get past the Wall.

"Ah, Lady Stark." She was interrupted from her thoughts by Maester Luwin. He gave her a slight bow. "A letter has arrived for you."

"Thank you, Maester Luwin," she replied. It seemed odd to receive a letter so soon after the last one Ned sent. She flipped it over and felt the smile slide from her face at the Lannister seal. She looked again at the front to find it was indeed addressed specifically to her.

She retired to Ned's Solar holding the parchment out in front of her like she expected it to burst into flame. The Stark's relationship with the Lannisters was cordial for the moment, but she was ready to doubt every single word they had written.

Lord Jaime Lannister had proved himself quite capable in the game of politics, so he had to know that she would relay his words to Ned. She breathed in, steeling herself, and then broke the seal.

Lady Catelyn of House Stark,

On behalf of House Lannister I would like to thank you for allowing Joffrey, Myrcella, and Julianna Waters to stay as extended guests in your home. A monthly allotment of 300 Gold Dragons will be sent to House Stark to cover their expenses. I trust you will continue to provide for them and treat them as would befit any guest of your House.

I was recently informed by King Aemon Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, that he has made arrangements for you to take care of the babe my sister is pregnant with. I expect him or her to be treated just as well as the other children. Once the child arrives from Bear Island, the monthly allotment of Gold Dragons will increase to 400 Gold Dragons a month in total.

However, I have an extra duty I wish you to conduct in regards to this babe. And it can be only you. I intend to send letters to the babe and I want you to read them to him or her. No others may be present when you do this and you may not disclose the content of the letters to anyone else. If I should learn that this agreement has been violated, there will be consequences.

I await your reply,

Lord Jaime Lannister, Hand of the King

Catelyn's lips were pursed by the time she reached the end and she felt irritation smoldering in her chest. Who does he think he is, demanding such of me? She was to read his letters to his bastard? How insulting! Was he then intending to legitimize this bastard as his heir? He was currently unmarried, but he was still young and there were almost certainly as many women lining up to court him as King Aemon. She now pitied the poor woman who ended up with him. It had been insulting enough to accept a bastard into her own home, believing that he was born from a woman Ned loved, but to be forced to accept a bastard born of incest by rape? It might be kinder if the Gods would relieve the child of life the instant it was born.

But Jo-Aemon had not turned out to be a bastard, she reminded herself and she worked to reel in her temper. At least this one wasn't her husband's. It was simple enough to care for Cersei's ill- begotten bastards. They were old enough to function on their own. She had assigned an old maid to be their caretaker and usually never saw them. It was for the best.

Lately, however, the little one, Julianna, enjoyed playing out in the courtyard with Rickon. She

allowed it for now, but though Rickon may be two times the spare, she would be damned to allow the little girl to get it into her head to marry the third Stark son. As long as she was breathing, no Stark child of hers would marry anything less than another lord's legitimate child. She was certain she could get Ned to agree with her on this, even if they seemed to agree on little else these days.

But now Jaime Lannister seemed intent on insulting her once again by demeaning her status to care, not only for a child that was not the family's, but for a bastard. When she had received the first letter from Aemon, she had instantly returned a letter in protest to Ned. While his words had been gentle, there was a clear warning:

Cat, you must do this on behalf of King Aemon and Lord Jaime Lannister. I am still earning forgiveness from Aemon for not revealing his heritage sooner. Your crimes against him are much more grievous. If you wish to prove your loyalty then serve your penance by doing this favor. Prove that you can grow and learn from your mistake of mistreating Aemon for so long.

It certainly would not do to mistreat Lord Jaime's bastard if the intent was to legitimize him as heir one day.

The threat in the letter also got her back up and it caused her mind to reel. Admittedly, it was vague and she imagined it was like that for many reasons. What would happen to me? A purging of the Starks like Tywin purged the Reynes and the Tarbecks, or a simple denouncement? It wouldn't do for King Aemon's two closest allies to be at odds. It was rather risky to put any kind of threat, vague or not, in the letter, but Jaime Lannister clearly had strong feelings on the matter and she would be a fool to disregard them.

She sighed. Whether she liked it or not, she would be forced to do Lord Jaime's bidding if she did not want to cause trouble for her or Ned. Grudgingly, she pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote a short reply, acquiescing to his demands. It had been eight months since that incident ; Cersei's time was near.

Cat melted the wax and pressed the Stark seal onto the letter, then carried it down to Maester Luwin. She smiled sweetly at him. "Please, maester, send this at your first available opportunity."

"Of course, My Lady," he replied with a short bow.

She was on her way to the glass gardens once more when the bell started tolling an alarm. Her heart skipped a beat and dashed to the courtyard. She could see the hunt arriving once more, but Bran was propped up on a man's horse, a bloody cloth wrapped around his head.

"Oh, Gods, Bran! My baby! What happened?!"

Meera Reed intercepted her as the men worked to pull Bran back down.

"Apologies, Lady Stark, but there was an incident. We ran into some wildlings. When they attacked, they startled Lord Bran's horse. He fell and hit his head on a rock. He's still alive; we've done what we could," she said sheepishly. "I am truly sorry, My Lady."

She gasped and followed the men hauling her son inside. What did Bran do to deserve this?

-The Dragon's Roar-

Daenerys IV

She stood up and looked towards the trackless sands of the Red Waste from a raised point in the dusty ruins of Vaes Tolorro. She had led her khalasar here following the red trail of the comet. Her maids had relayed to her that the people felt the comet an ill-omen and after all that had happened, perhaps they were right. But there was nowhere else to go. Though she had declared them a khalasar , they were little more than a ragtag band of a handful of warriors and a great many slaves. There were other, more powerful khalasars to the north, Pono's khalasar to the east, and the Lhazareen to the south.

They happened upon this abandoned city and she was glad to take advantage of it to give her people some rest and to also hide from the sun when they could. Then she had sent her bloodriders, Rakharo, Jhogo, and Aggo, forth to search for help. They had been gone for a day with no sign of their return.

I hope they are successful in their efforts, she prayed. In just the few days since the khalasar had broken apart, many of the slaves had fallen to the elements. She did her best to distribute what they had, but most of those left were old and enfeebled. They lacked the necessary manpower to carry those who could not carry themselves and were forced to leave their bodies in the dust. If they did not find a path soon, then Vaes Tolorro would likely turn into their graveyard.

The only ones who did not seem perturbed by the circumstances were the dragons. They playfully snapped at each other and scampered around the ruins, rooting through the cracks and crevices for

what she assumed must be bugs.

Although it had been a few days since their birth, watching them left her with an unreal feeling. Beasts that had been extinct for two hundred years were now stumbling around like kittens. Though they lacked for many resources, she doted on them. They will undoubtedly be our saviors, she thought. She was the only one in the world with dragons. They were a curiosity that many would like to see and she could use that to her advantage.

Daenerys broke off a piece of meat from her meal to grab the dragons' attention. They clambered over to her, making a crooning noise that she assumed was used to beg for food. She tossed it and the black dragon leapt off his feet to snatch it out of the air. She named him Drogon. She could tell that he was already bigger, swifter, and had a more domineering personality. He also frequently perched himself in a way that reminded her of Drogo sitting on his horse, regal and dangerous. It had been an easy fit.

The cream colored one had been less easy to name. She considered naming him after her brother Rhaegar, but unlike Drogon, nothing she could recall about Rhaegar seemed to fit. He was gentle, soothing, and an intellectual. While she could see intelligence in his eyes, she saw nothing about the cream dragon to suggest he would be anything soothing or gentle.

They're dragons. Viserys would probably be a more apt name. Just even thinking about her brother brought such a rage that she had to close her eyes and clear her thoughts of him to stop the shaking in her hands. She breathed in and out slowly, willing her heart to slow its frantic pace. No, her dragons did not make her angry, so she should not name them after one who did.

Then she considered her father's name, Aerys, but much like Viserys, the little she had heard of the 'Mad King' sounded like something she should not bequeath to her dragon. She also considered names of past dragons, but it deserved its own name to characterize. She was drawn back to her earlier assessment of the dragons acting like kittens. They were curious and playful and engaged in antics of a baby.

My niece died when she was little more than a babe. She loved cats and had a kitten named Balerion, she thought and smiled wistfully. I shall name you Rhaellon. She did not live long enough to leave her mark, but you shall carry on her legacy. She held out the piece to him and he took it gently from her, snapping it up eagerly.

"Khaleesi."

She turned to see Ser Jorah Mormont climbing up to her. By contrast to the others, he seemed

almost invigorated by the dire circumstances they were in. Though he had fought hard and nearly died defending her against Drogo's bloodriders, the healing that Mirri Maz Duur had provided him must have actually worked. She had no bones to pick with him, she thought with no small amount of anger, but Mirri Maz Duur had apparently been under the impression of doing her a favor.

"If I may, Khaleesi, have you thought about what will happen when you reunite with your nephew, King Aemon?"

Dany stared at him inquisitively. She studied him for a moment and then shook her head. She had been consumed by her losses and bent on keeping the khalasar alive. Returning to Westeros, returning to the last living family member she had left had always been a desire and she didn't see how life could get any worse.

"Ser Jorah, you yourself said he was unlikely to be cruel."

"I also said that he did not appear Targaryen," he said. He looked at her dragons with undisguised fear. "He might try to take your dragons from you."

She stiffened. "But they are mine! I hatched them! They see me as their mother! They will not accept another."

Ser Jorah shrugged. "You won't be queen Khaleesi. He will marry you off, just like your brother did."

She stared at her dragons, but didn't see them. Would she be forced to marry a Westerosi noble once more and without a say? She felt her shoulders tightening at the prospect and her jaw clenched. Hadn't she suffered enough at the whims of others? I wish to control my destiny.

"What would you have me do? He's the only family I have left."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't go. You should be prepared for any eventuality," He replied earnestly. When she said nothing, still staring at her dragons. "Khaleesi?"

"I will think on what to do next. He is still my family and I wish to meet him," she declares. I may change how we meet, she mused.

Chapter 50 - Aemon XVI/Jaime XVII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope you're all doing well. The response to this fic continues to astound me. Thank you for your support! This would be a lot harder without your encouragement.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 50

Aemon XVI

Aemon strode to the small council meeting with his head held high. Ser Meryn Trant flanked him as he strode across the grounds. It didn't seem to matter that he had been king for more than a month, the resident nobility bowed and curtsied as he passed, whispering excitedly to their neighbors. He should be flush from his accomplishments: he'd neutralized all of the Baratheon men, taken the Keep bloodlessly, won over the Vale forces, and persuaded the Night's Watch to catch a wight and ship it south to King's Landing. It was enough to inflate the egos of most men who would be so lucky to accomplish such a feat in their lifetime. Yet Aemon felt tempered and overwhelmed by all that he had yet to do and needed to do.

Before leaving Dragonstone, he'd arranged for the mining of the Dragonglass to start, but there simply wasn't enough manpower left on that island to do little more than make a dent. He was chomping at the bit to devote more of the crown's resources, but not only was there little enough money left in the vault, but he knew he would have to convince the small council to agree to commit and that would not happen until the wight was shown to impress upon them the urgency of being prepared.

And before that...there are problems closer to home to deal with, he thought, his eyes lingering on Maester Pycelle and Petyr Baelish as he swept into the room. For once, he was the last to arrive. Jaime was looking exhausted once more. He noticed over the few weeks that Jaime had periods where he was rested and then exhausted and then rested again. It concerned him, but compared to before when Jaime was simply exhausted, he would let it go. Though they practically lived next to each other in the Keep, their paths only crossed at council meetings and when Jaime needed his seal of approval. It left Aemon feeling isolated, though he did his best to fight the feeling.

"Good afternoon. I have called you here today because we need to start planning my trip to Dorne, so that we can finally bring them into the fold," Aemon said. "Lord Velaryon, how long will a trip to Dorne take?"

"Well, Your Grace, with a fast ship and pleasant weather, you could be in Dorne in as little as three weeks. It will most likely be four weeks though."

"Will it be the same back?"

"It may take a bit longer, Your Grace. The current heads south, so you will be going against the current on the way back."

Aemon frowned. The wight would almost certainly reach King's Landing before he returned, but he had plans of bringing at least one Martell back with him to King's Landing.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but do you intend on traveling alone?" Jaime asked. The question was innocent enough but there was an intensity to his look.

"No. I will be bringing my uncle, Lord Stark with me."

Jaime frowned. "Your uncle?"

"Yes, Lord Jaime, my uncle."

"Is he really the best choice?"

Aemon did his best to look cross, but it took everything Aemon had to stifle a chuckle. They rarely saw each other, but Jaime obsessed about his protection. Although he had pledged himself to Aemon in the life before, he hadn't tailed him like a loyal dog. The intervening years between Jaime's revival and their reuniting had appeared to foster in Jaime an unbreakable need to protect Aemon. Refusing to sire Cersei's bastards, refusing to tell the king of Cersei's bastards, and acting like there wasn't a hidden Targaryen at Winterfell had all been acts to protect him. Or at least that's how Jaime preferred to frame it to Aemon.

"My uncle rightly pointed out before that you were supposed to stay behind for the Stannis negotiations and rule the kingdom in my stead. My reasons for bringing you along then were legitimate, however that won't work this time. As you'll recall, the Martells aren't particularly fond of you."

"I doubt they'll be fond of you either," Jaime replied with a grimace. An uncomfortable silence followed until Jaime sighed and nodded. "Very well…"

"I would like to start putting together an offer to entice them. Courtesy of myself and Lord Jaime, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch were apprehended and sent to the Martells in recompense for the loss of Princess Elia Martell, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, and Prince Aegon Targaryen. They have also been neutral during the...conflict," Aemon said. It felt odd referring to his half sister and half brother like they were apart from him. They were related, but it was difficult to feel anything familial towards them when they died before his birth. If they had survived, he'd hoped he could have a cordial relationship with that part of the family, but he suspected there would always be tension if he had remained at his half brother's side. That was a ripe plot for the Littlefinger's of the world to use to drive them apart. Speaking of my half brother, he quickly jotted down one option that he would offer with or without the approval of the small council. If there was one thing he had learned in his short time being king, its that diplomatic gestures counted as much as real ones. He felt it would make considerable headway into persuading Dorne to agree to the alliance.

For the next several minutes, suggestions flew at him from nearly all sides. It did not escape him that Pycelle remained quiet during the discussion. David the healer did as well, but this was far outside his expertise and he had little knowledge of politics, let alone what would be acceptable to Dorne. He spent much of the discussion impatiently tapping a quill on his parchment.

Patience, David, he wanted to say to him, but there were far too many here to convey the message properly.

He was surprised that Littlefinger had actually offered a decent idea, suggesting that there be a marriage between his cousin Bran and Princess Arianne Martell. He couldn't know that Bran would be indisposed and that Aemon would instead offer his uncle Viserys instead. Still, he wrote it down all the same, never voicing his opposition or reasoning either for or against any of the offers. He, Jaime and his uncle would narrow down the options in a more private setting.

"This is an excellent start," Aemon declared. "Lord Jaime and I shall continue paring down the suggestions to something more suitable. Now, if there are any other issues…"

There was a moment of silence. Then David spoke, "Your Grace, it has come to my attention that the Grandmaester Pycelle has both frequently and recently violated his oaths as a Maester."

Pycelle drew up in indignation. "Preposterous! I will not sit here and be slandered by this upjumped peasant who couldn't even forge one link in his chain at the Citadel!"

David's smile only grew wider. "I do not make these claims lightly, Your Grace. I have evidence."

"By all means, enlighten us," Aemon said.

"I am a healer to the poor and the unfortunate of which the majority of King's Landing is. I serve the prostitutes in the brothels, the lowliest in Flea Bottom, and many of the Keep's servants. A number of women have approached me for care, claiming to have had sex with the Grandmaester."

"You would believe those whores over your own Grandmaester?" Pycelle bellowed, his face reddening under his beard.

"I assure you, there are at least a dozen girls. His favorite pastime is planting bastards in them. Another close second is passing on disease," he replied.

They all turned to look at Pycelle as red as a tomato. "Grandmaester, would you care to refute the charges?"

"They're all liars," Pycelle blustered. "This is a conspiracy to unseat me."

If only you hadn't done things to be unseated, Aemon thought.

"That's not all he stands accused of, Your Grace," Jaime began coolly. "I may have been on...rocky terms with my sister, but I am still a Lannister, and I have it on good authority that he was accepting payment on behalf of my sister."

Pycelle froze then and the blood which had been accumulating in his face was now leeched of it. He opened his mouth, but did little more than gasp like a fish.

"Tell me, Pycelle, did Lord Jon Arryn really pass of a fever? Or were you remiss in your duties to heal him?" Jaime asked nonchalantly.

"W-why would I wish the Lord Jon Arryn to pass? I had no ill will against him," Pycelle said, but he couldn't hide the tremor of fear in his voice.

Jaime smiled. What little warmth it gave to his eyes was like a crackling fire. "Come now. Jon Arryn learned of the bastardy of my sister's children. So, being in the pay of my sister, it would have fallen on you to dispose of that annoying loose end. She couldn't have him report his findings to the king after all."

Aemon's frown was severe. "Is this true, Grandmaester Pycelle?"

"N-no, none of it! I have only ever served the king in residence with unfettered loyalty, Your Grace!"

"You're not supposed to be loyal to the king. You're to be loyal to the Keep," David snapped. "That is part of the oath maesters take once they've forged their chain. You are to be dutiful, not loyal!"

"If what Lord Jaime says is true, then you would be in dereliction of your duty as a maester, let alone a grand one," Aemon began. "And you're sleeping with serving girls and whores? This is the best the Citadel has?'

"I assure you, Your Grace, you will find fewer worse than Grandmaester Pycelle," David retorted.

"N-no, no, Your Grace! If Jon Arryn had told the king what he knew, you never would have been in a position to depose the usurper Robert Baratheon to take his throne. I-I helped you!"

"Is that what you say to every king?" Aemon said. "You did not know I existed so you could not possibly have neglected to treat Lord Jon Arryn on my behalf. As far as I am concerned, this makes you an assistant to his death. Ser Meryn Trant, call the guard."

He hesitated for just a beat. "At once, Your Grace."

In the next moment, two guards walk in and grab Pycelle from under his arms. "Please take him to a cell. He shall await my decision there."

"Yes, Your Grace," one of them said and they began hauling Pycelle away.

The old Grandmaester didn't even attempt dignity. He howled and kicked and begged as they hauled him out of the small council chambers.

Aemon glared at the door, glad to finally be rid of that pest.

"Congratulations, Your Grace. He will not be missed," Jaime said.

"I shall write the Citadel this evening about replacing Pycelle and finding healers to add to your ranks," he said, looking to David.

"Thank you, Your Grace. You are most generous," David replied with a bow of his head.

"Well done, Your Grace," Littlefinger said with a greasy smile.

Aemon surveyed everyone on the council. Lord Willas looked resolute but alarmed. Lord Stevron and Lord Velaryon both appeared aghast at the revelations. However, neither Varys nor Littlefinger appeared perturbed. They were as inscrutable as ever. They were, by far, the two most dangerous men on the council and he had no way of seeing or knowing when or if they intended to strike. He would have to be patient.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Jaime XVII

Jaime had correspondence laid out in front of him, yet he was absorbing nothing from it. It was deliberately harmless information regarding the inspections Lord Velaryon had carried out on the remaining fleet. Progress was unfortunately slow to bring the ships to a safe standard since there was little room in the budget. He closed his eyes and cycled his breathing, but he couldn't keep his foot from tapping the floor.

He had sent a summons for Littlefinger. This was a conversation that he had put off for far too long. He'd had excuses, since Littlefinger reappeared at the least opportune time when he was

busy with preparations for invading Dragonstone. Although he and Aemon were certain of Littlefinger's intentions, they still had to be confirmed.

He wished for nothing more than to run Littlefinger through, but while that might kill the spider, his web would still be intact and without being able to navigate that, they wouldn't be able to see other threats lurking in the shadows. He had to continue to be patient.

The conversation should be innocent enough, but he expected Littlefinger to lie through his teeth. And with his ability to see sounds, he should be able to distinguish the fiction from the truth.

How much easier would life had been were I born with this ability, he wondered. He would've been able to instantly see through Cersei's lies and would therefore have frittered less of his life away at her suggestion. Would he have seen the lies in King Scab? Prince Rhaegar? Ser Barristan had been not surprisingly truthful, but then he frequently wondered if there was anything like nuance in Ser Barristan's world. Could he have seen the lies of Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Arthur Dayne? Were they truly at peace with standing outside Queen Rhaella's door when King Aerys was raping her?

But if I never joined the Kingsguard, would any of them have stepped up to become the Kingslayer? Would King's Landing be a pile of ash and rubble to this day as a result? He did not like these plaguing questions since there would never be a truly definitive answer, yet he wondered all the same. The seizures were a nuisance but they were a price worth paying for this kind of insight.

He heard Pod's telltale knock on the door and his heart leapt but he kept the position he was in. "Yes?"

"Lord Petyr Baelish has arrived, My Lord."

"Send him in."

The door opened and the weasel stepped in. Does he have any other expression? Jaime thought as he noticed the ever present smirk on his face.

Littlefinger nodded and said, "My Lord Hand. How may I be of service?" His voice was a peculiar combination of blue and a vicious dark purple that was enough to set Jaime's teeth on edge.

"I wish to discuss the relationship between the Lannister accounts and the crown's accounts," Jaime replied, getting to his feet to pour himself a goblet of wine. "Wine?"

"Your offer is generous, but unnecessary," Littlefinger replied.

"It's not poisoned," Jaime smiled as Baelish studied him at that remark, pouring out the goblet and handing it out to him.

"If you insist, My Lord," Littlefinger said, taking the goblet in hand, but Jaime noticed he didn't drink from it.

They sat with Jaime behind his desk and Littlefinger on the other side. "Though King Aemon may be my ally, it is high time any king stop abusing the accounts of Casterly Rock. The Lannisters will not be the crown's personal financier. As Master of Coin, you know the crown is in a great deal of debt, to the Iron Bank and to my family. I want to hear from you how you intend to disentangle the crown from the gold of Casterly Rock without sacrificing the integrity of the crown."

"Well, His Grace, has already wisely cut back the spending in several ways, much of which is simply not being Robert Baratheon," Littlefinger said, his voice peculiarly dipping into the yellow range while still retaining that ugly purple uncurrent. He gave a fake chuckle.

"Robert Baratheon was a whoremonger who had a new whore everyday. Now, I understand that you yourself own a brothel, do you not?" Jaime asked, taking a sip of wine. His own voice was blue, but with that sentence his voice turned an accusatory red. Must have been nice to pay Pycelle in flesh instead of gold for the information in our letters.

Littlefinger's eyes widened a fraction before he smiled. "If the king, any king, has a need that I can meet, I will take great pains to provide it."

"But not at your expense," Jaime suggested and there was a notable stiffening of Baelish's shoulders.

"The king using my girls was the best publicity a brothel could ever want. I was happy to take the hit." The entire sentence was that vicious purple.

It took everything Jaime had to keep his lip from curling.

"It is some relief that our king no longer desires to soil his crown with such unworthy pursuits," Jaime murmured.

"It is indeed. Unlike Robert Baratheon, he does have eyes bigger than his stomach. He wishes to improve the sewer system in the city, remake the fleet, hire more goldcloaks. There simply isn't enough money in the treasury for it," Baelish's voice was back to a subservient yellow.

"I'm sure the king is aware of that," Jaime replied. A master of subtlety like Littlefinger could not miss the hint of warning in his voice. "But we are not here to talk about that. Let's get back to the subject at hand: when can the crown start paying back the gold of Casterly Rock?"

"With all due respect, Lord Hand," there was a tick of orange from annoyance peppering the dark purple current of his usual voice, "the Lannisters are a worthy and powerful ally of the crown. The Iron Bank is not. It demands its money be paid back first."

Jaime frowned at him. "But that shouldn't require you to spend Lannister gold to continue paying off the crown's debts, does it?"

"I'm afraid there simply isn't enough gold coming in to quite cover the payment structure they're demanding." Again, Baelish's voice went entirely purple.

Jaime frowned severely. "That's a shame. I certainly don't wish to leave the crown high and dry. For the time being, you are allowed to use Lannister gold to meet the Iron Bank's full payments, but you will give me a schedule of repayment with the necessary amount, and you will break down how much gold you will be siphoning from Casterly Rock to cover those payments. Do we have an understanding, Lord Baelish?" His voice was glowing orange with his annoyance and he hoped Littlefinger interpreted it as annoyance with the crown continuing to take his family's gold.

"Certainly, My Lord Hand. Beyond the actual numbers, the crown owes you a great debt. The people shall know it is by your good graces that the crown remains solvent," Littlefinger said standing and giving him a curt nod.

It took everything Jaime had not to roll his eyes at the weasel's honey-slicked words. "The people don't need to know that. It is enough that the crown succeed while King Aemon I Targaryen and I are allies."

"I never expected the Lion of Lannister to be so modest, My Lord. Redirecting your father's supply routes to provide the city its much needed food, that healer's clinic which is funded by your good graces."

"I'm not modest. But if that is what is required to keep the peace, then it will be done," Jaime replied gruffly. "You're dismissed, Lord Baelish."

"It has been a pleasure, My Lord Hand. As with the king, I will always be at your service."

Jaime's eyes followed him as his footsteps echoed down the stairwell and didn't dare breath until they disappeared. Maybe he should find Brienne for another spar to wash the filth from his vision.

Chapter End Notes

If you'd like to see updates on my progress with this fic or even talk media (I have a fondness for video games), feel free to follow me on twitter: @GroovyPriestess

Chapter 51 - Aemon XVII/Margaery I

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Is it just me or is this year going really quickly? Two weeks feels like nothing these days, but I'm always happy to have another chapter to deliver to you wonderful readers! Thank you for reading, for following, for favoriting, for giving this fic your support! You are all gems!

I would like to thank catzrko0l for beta-ing this chapter! You are a blessing!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 51

Aemon XVII

Aemon stood in the courtyard once more awaiting a carriage. His uncle, Robb, Margaery, Lady Olenna, Lord Tyrell and Lord Willas were all there, but it was his turn to be anxious. Arya and Sansa were finally arriving. Though he had rather successfully put it at the back of his mind, he fretted about his relationship with Arya. He had been damn near close to kissing Jaime for finding the solution he desperately needed to keep from breaking his little cousin's heart. He then wanted to punch Jaime for daring to tease him with it.

Now finally he could tell her and hopefully bring that mischievous smile back to her face. He rather doubted he would instantly earn her forgiveness. He had, after all, been keeping her in the dark on her fate for nearly nine months. He hoped it was a start at least.

The carriage trundled into the yard and much to his surprise, Arya was the first to spill out. Her expression was livid and she hurried away from the carriage. Her stride spoke of agitation and restless energy, no doubt unhappy that she'd likely been denied the use of her horse. When her eyes fell on them, he saw a swirl of emotions. There was a brief happiness, but she hid it away, and approached them stiffly with the stony expression that he had seen on her most often.

"Your Grace," she gritted out and curtsied at him.

The glare his uncle was giving her did not escape Aemon.

"Arya, it's so very good to see you! I have missed you. I hope your ride wasn't too

uncomfortable," he said.

"It was well enough, Your Grace," Arya replied with a lifeless voice.

"Arya," Uncle Ned glared down at her. "I did not raise you to be like this. You are being rude."

"Let her be, Uncle," Aemon said with not a little sadness in his voice.

Arya shuffled over to Robb who cried out in glee. Sansa glided up to them in a grey dress with Tully blue trimming, grinning at them in the same fashion as Lady Margaery had when she arrived.

"Your Grace." Sansa swooped into the perfect curtsy, her smile schooled to a pleasant one for propriety's sake.

"Cousin, I am glad to see you're well! I hope the journey was pleasant."

He stifled his smile at the slight childish break in her composure as she wrinkled her nose, but just as quickly she replied, "It was most joyous, Your Grace. The countryside in the Riverlands and the Crownlands is so beautiful." She held out her hand and he pecked it.

"Father, it's been so long!"

"It's only been three months, but look how you've grown! You'll be taller than me soon! And you grow more beautiful by the day!"

"Sansa, you look well! This is Lady Margaery, my betrothed."

"It's a pleasure, Sansa. So wonderful to finally put a face to your name. Lord Robb has told me so much about you!"

"Lady Margaery, you're too kind. I am so very pleased to meet you."

"Your dress is beautiful! We'll have to chat. I want to hear more about what it's like to be a lady in the North. And I'll fill you in about High Garden."

Sansa beamed. "That would be lovely!"

"Yes, chat, some other time. I would like to meet the future Lady of High Garden before I perish here," Lady Olenna said, mercifully breaking up the chatter.

Aemon had yet to spend a lengthy amount of time in the Lady Olenna's presence, but he sighed in relief at the break she provided in the dull conversation. As King, he was honor bound to receive his cousins and could not simply leave as desired, but hearing the endless platitudes was enough to try anyone's patience.

"Very Tully as well, good structure, your mother was quite fertile if I've heard correctly." Sansa nearly blushed to her roots at Lady Olenna's words.

"Mother!"

"Grandmother!"

"What? We know that's what marriage is all about. You seem sweet, child. I can see you being a good match to Willas."

"Grandmother…" Willas pressed more urgently.

"Oh, fine! I insist that you and your family join us for dinner. Two betrothals finalized calls for a celebration, I think," Lady Olenna said and then sauntered off.

"Please forgive my grandmother, Lady Sansa. She has...little patience for proper etiquette, but I hope you won't judge the family by her conduct alone," Willas said.

"Your grandmother is...interesting? But you are very gallant, Lord Willas! I look forward to getting to know you and your family better," Sansa replied. She blushed once more as Lord Willas kissed her hand.

He bowed out as the Tyrells continued to fawn over Sansa. Plans were made for a family dinner that was meant to unite the two great houses and he was naturally invited as an extension of House Stark. He cared not for the frivolities and headed once more to the godswood. Maybe by some miracle the Old Gods will heed them and offer him comfort in these trying times.

Once more, Lord Cyrus had accepted the role as messenger and delivered a letter from Jaime when he arrived to play Rhaegar's harp once more. Not surprisingly, Jaime determined that Lord Baelish had lied about everything and was almost certainly continuing to steal from the treasury and, by extension, House Lannister. But to actually prove it would require getting ahold of Baelish's true books and not the counterfeit ones he maintained for appearances to the crown. However, if they tipped their hand too soon, he would flee in an instant and it was unlikely they'd ever find him again. If that happened, he and Jaime both would be looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives.

They were walking a fine line. If they misplayed it, they were both dead and the realm would be lost. It was enough to keep him up at night, fretting in his bed. It was practically unraveling Jaime, though he hadn't had a good conversation with him in weeks. Both were too wrapped up in their work and too paranoid to utter anything that suggested there were more cracks in the foundation of their friendship.

He took heart that Jaime took time out of his day to train Pod and also offered lessons to the warrior ladies of the Keep. He had seen that Brienne appeared to get along famously with Lady Maege and Lady Dacey Mormont. Most men were still reluctant to be seen engaging with the warrior women, but the Northern men were already comfortable fighting alongside women and had no qualms about training with them either. It would be slow, but he was confident that women would ultimately be accepted among their ranks. It gave hope for Arya. Perhaps in time he could convince his uncle to see there were more options for noble ladies than simply being married off and given to a man to act as little more than a broodmare.

It wasn't lost on him that with the announcement of his pending betrothal, by all appearances, he was hypocritically doing the same to Daenerys. She had suffered so much with the loss of her child and by making her his queen, he was going to press her into that selfsame broodmare that he felt was so ill-fitting of Arya. Just as Jaime made strides to woo Brienne, he hoped he could do the same to Dany. He wouldn't have much time, but he'd be damned if he didn't put in the effort.

He was just ready to sink to his knees to pray when a light voice said, "Your Grace?"

Lady Margaery had all the confidence of a newly knighted man, but her steps were delicate as she approached.

"My Lady," he said, bowing his head. "You're not with your family?"

She waved away the concern and smiled. "I still have time enough for them."

"You marry in less than a month. I can't imagine they'll all be following you North."

Even so, she still looked at him with only amusement. "I have been preparing for my wedding and what comes after all of my life. We know that we will be leaving our family behind, hopefully for something better."

He nodded and gave her a weak smile.

"Forgive my intrusion, but I saw your departure and I thought I might inquire. I heard you came here when I arrived as well. If I may be so bold to suggest it, you seem sad. Are the betrothals not to your pleasing?"

"Not at all. I envy you."

"Envy me? I am but a lord paramount's daughter. You're King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"But you are with your betrothed, your family. Mine is still out there. I love my family but they...can't understand."

She nodded in sympathy. "I think I see what you mean. You are the king, but you know of no one familiar who has shared the position. You're alone."

He chuckled wryly. "'Tis the burden I must bear, but bear it I will."

"You needn't be alone. I could be your friend," she said sweetly, placing a hand on his arm.

He focused a pointed glare on her hand then met her eyes. She removed it hastily.

"And what do you mean by that, my Lady?"

Her pleasant facade faltered and she immediately released him, but the sweet smile was back in an instant. "I'm sorry if I was too familiar, Your Grace. After all, we are to be one family soon."

He nodded, but remained suspicious.

Her smile became fixed, but she stepped back. "Your cousin, the Lord Robb, is a good man. I look forward to becoming apart of a line as ancient as the Starks."

"Indeed. Forgive me, Lady Margaery, but I wish to be alone to pray."

"Of course, Your Grace. Until next time," she said and curtsied.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Margaery I

She maintained the pleasant smile on her face as she walked back to the Maidenvault, strutting at the appreciative looks she was getting, as she had been trained her whole life to do. There was not a man in the Keep who didn't have eyes for her.

Except two.

When she reached her room, she found her handmaiden waiting, but dismissed her. Once the door was shut, she sat down in front of the vanity and let the smile fall off of her face. It was here, alone in front of her mirror, that she was allowed to see her real self. It was here that she showed her fear.

It was not a strong fear, but simply a tightening around the eyes as her mouth formed into what could be construed as a puzzled frown. Now that she thought about it, puzzled was one of the feelings currently pervading her. How could it be that all of her training failed her at this moment?

The door suddenly opened, but she continued to stare into the mirror.

"Well, tell me. How'd it go?" Lady Olenna bustled into the room with a youthfulness she hadn't displayed in some time.

"I will remain betrothed to Robb of House Stark," she declared, picking up her brush to run through her hair. She didn't want to look at her grandmother. She didn't think she could bear the disappointment she'd see there.

Lady Olenna scoffed. "What? You deserve a king, not some grey boy in the cold North, handsome as he is."

"Maybe I do," Margaery said, finally turning to her. "But he won't have me. His heart is set on the Targaryen Princess."

Her grandmother pursed her lips in disbelief. "What have I told you? A man's weakness is his cock. He doesn't care what the girl underneath him is, just that she's there for his pleasure. He can say all of the pretty words that he likes, but once you have him in bed, you will melt him like butter."

Margaery shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "You're wrong, grandmother. About this one. And Jaime Lannister for that matter."

She had tried to get under Lord Jaime's skin when he was in the Reach for negotiation. Even as she was escorting him around High Garden by arm, he had maintained a courteous distance. She wouldn't forget the knowing look on his face as she attempted to pry information regarding the king out of him. For all of his golden beauty, he had all of the bearing and aggression of a lion. It hadn't been too hard to see that if she pulled at his tail too long, he'd eventually swipe, and a single swipe of a lion's paw was deadly. She hadn't tried too hard with him. He was the Hand after all, not the King. While a worthy prize, he was still only second best.

Her grandmother looked at her in the same mocking manner she did whenever one of her cousins said something empty-headed and, for the first time, felt anger bubbling at her grandmother's willfulness.

"I felt it important to lay the groundwork for our plans. It was crucial to see where I might strike, but his weak point is not his cock as it is with other men."

"And I'm telling you, you should've just snuck into his room once he was in a drunken stupor."

"Grandmother, he has been here for two months and not a single soul has reported him ever being drunk. He does not indulge like old King Robert did or many other lords for that matter. He actually appears serious about governing."

"We are having dinner with the Starks and King Aemon will be there too. We could pay a servant to ply him with alcohol. This is celebratory and anyone worth their salt will be drunk," Lady Olenna said. "We have the resources, child. Just say the word."

"That won't work, Grandmother. All I would be doing is defiling myself, not securing my place as queen."

"He may be Targaryen, but he's a Stark. Those fools are made of honor. When he defiles you, he will save you the humiliation by marrying you."

"And be known as the Whore Queen?" Margaery spat. "No, he won't save me from humiliation. I used the tactics that you've taught me, that has won me the attention of every man I tried it on. And he saw right through me. He knew exactly what I was trying to attempt, but instead of a warm smile, he turned cold. As cold as the northern winters. He has no interest in me. I shall be content with Robb Stark as my husband."

Content. It stirred nothing exciting in her. All of her life, expectations had been forced upon her to reach, always reach for power. The little she knew of Cersei Lannister, the golden beauty had used spite and ire to claw her way to the top. Margaery preferred to use honey. She was loved by all and it made the perfect disguise for her true ambitions, but King Aemon Targaryen and Lord Jaime Lannister had seen right through her.

It had been going around court about how Jaime had flatly turned down Alysanne Lefford. There was much speculation that there was another that had caught his eye and she strongly suspected that Alysanne Lefford herself had been behind that rumor. She could hardly believe it when she arrived at King's Landing and saw Jaime Lannister training for the first time with a great, brutish woman.

She had no ill will toward Brienne. She was merely the daughter of a minor lord and her looks alone proved that they were hardly competing on the same level, or so she had thought. Lord Jaime spent much of his training time with the warrior women and Margaery had dug around until

she discovered that it was Jaime Lannister himself who had decreed that women could share the training grounds with the men. He was there every morning with his squire.

A group of ladies that included her and her cousins were always there to cheer on the men, specifically the ones they were angling for, and the majority were there for Jaime Lannister. But not once did he ever look in their direction. He had eyes only for Brienne of Tarth. He didn't act in a particularly flirtatious manner. He taunted her the same as he did any man trying their luck against him, yet the stars seemed to shine in his eyes any time he met Brienne's. Some way, somehow, through no active work of her own, Brienne had captured the Hand of the King, though she appeared oblivious to this. Did Jaime even recognize it in himself? The only gesture he had made was when he very nearly gutted some men who had been disparaging her and a girl in the training yard. Perhaps he was waiting for a more advantageous match as would be demanded of the heir of House Lannister, but what was more advantageous than Alysanne Lefford? What was he waiting for?

Although Margaery did not understand the Hand's desire for Brienne, it was far easier to see King Aemon's reasons for holding out for Princess Daenerys. He held little to no resemblance to his father Rhaegar. The only reason he had the throne at all is due to being backed by the might of the North and the Westerlands. It didn't hurt that he appeared to be a just king, treating his enemies with mercy, but he had still thoroughly removed them from power. Willas had recounted the small council meeting where Grandmaester Pycelle was unceremoniously dragged out in a clearly planned attack. House Baratheon, while not dead, was broken and would take generations to recover now that a bastard had been put in charge of it. He proved ruthless and cunning. She had difficulty believing the king had come up with that himself, but he was at least wise enough to surround himself with people who would offer such plans and then listen to them.

What she wouldn't give to have a conversation with either of them. Not a flowery one with false courtesies and masks, but a real conversation to pick their minds. As a woman, she was forced to play a lady that was all sweetness and courtesies, to hide her own intellect. She didn't have to do that around Willas and he had lamented more than once that she was not permitted to pursue those avenues as a woman.

Her grandmother snorted. "What happened to you? Where's your courage? You won't get anywhere waffling like that. A queen must be bold."

"For the love my family, for the future of House Tyrell, maybe I don't deserve to be queen. But I feel that any woman suited for queen must also recognize when a move threatens theirs and their house's survival."

Again, Lady Olenna guffawed. "He hasn't even killed one of his enemies yet."

"Yet, grandmother. I don't doubt that he's waiting to make an example of someone truly deserving."

"He and Lord Jaime both are too chivalrous to put a woman to death. They couldn't even put Jaime's sister to death and what you'd be doing is not worse than that ."

"It's not just my current betrothal at risk. Willas will also suffer for my folly if I fail. And I feel it is entirely too likely that I will fail."

She liked Robb. He was handsome and he did have some intelligence, but he was like so many other men, stuck where they were. He had no ambition - not that it was a good quality to have ambition against a family member - and no curiosity.

Robb Stark was mundane, but he was safe. Mayhaps that was not bad. The massive shake-up in the levels of power had taken them all off guard and it left them all scrambling to land some place safely. King Aemon and Lord Jaime had used the chaos to their advantage, carving out the top spots for themselves. Their self-assurance was so irresistible that even despite the risk of attempting to reset the board, she felt it was worth it to at least try.

Lady Olenna frowned. "You never know until you try. Come now, we can find a way to get him drunk and sneak you into his room."

Margaery shook her head. "No, I can't. I can't do that to him."

"It's just a little sex. They'll get over it."

She raised her eyebrow in shock. "Were you not looking at Lord Jaime when he recounted his sister giving him 'a little sex'? I know what I saw and it was a far cry from enjoyment."

"That's because it was with his sister. Incest is an abomination, unless you're Targaryen. He probably wouldn't have thought twice about it if it had been any other woman."

"He looked ill! The servants said he screamed in his sleep while he was staying with us. And one of those words he screamed was 'Cersei;' I think we can agree that was not in pleasure. For the last time, Grandmother, I intend to settle. Robb Stark will make a fine husband and we shall make fine children."

Lady Olenna huffed. "Sounds like a dull future."

"I'd rather my future be dull than dead. Now, please excuse me, I must get ready for dinner."

Her grandmother reluctantly nodded and shuffled out.

Margaery sighed and sat back in her chair. She couldn't say she was perfectly happy with the decision either. If I take into consideration the way King Aemon and Lord Jaime have dismantled their enemies, they would not hesitate to do the same to us, she thought, feeling dread well up. They weren't perfectly innocent. Loras was considered a blackmark on their family since he had been caught in a traitor's bed and clearly lived against the tenants of the Seven. How many more chances could they realistically expect, especially when the goal was to toy with the hearts of two men who grew up as brothers? Robb might be willing to take the bait, but Aemon wouldn't.

For the love she held her brother and the hope that he would find his happiness in Sansa Stark, she would refrain from her usual tricks.

A knock sounded at the door and just like that, the pleased smile was back on her face as she welcomed her handmaid in.

Chapter End Notes

Shameless Plug: For all of you Jaime/Brienne fans, I've written a short angst/fluff piece that addresses the events of 8.04 called The Silence of Snow. Tons of writers have already covered the events of 8.05, but I was equally perturbed by the characterizations of them in 8.04 and I decided I had to write something about it.

Twitter: @Groovypriestess

Chapter 52 - Arya II/Cersei I

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Hey everyone, welcome back to the story! I hope you're having a wonderful summer (or winter)! The weather has been kinda iffy here, but the sun finally came out today and warmed it up.

As always, thanks for reading! It's always a pleasure to see all of the reponses, kudos, bookmarks, and faves! You're the best readers a writer could ask for.

Just so you're aware, my desktop has been on the fritz lately. It's working, for now, but it intermittently stops sending signals to my monitors after it goes to sleep. No need to fret about this story being backed up. That is well taken care of. It's just possible that my writing may come to a stand still if I continue to have problems.

I would like to thank catzrko0l for beta-ing once more. This chapter was especially tricky and provided a lot of solid feedback. I hope our combined work makes this a more pleasurable read.

TRIGGER WARNING: Cersei raping Jaime comes up again. Read with caution.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 52

Arya II

Arya clutched the edge of her window as she looked out of it longingly. She could hear the telltale clang of swords, but the training yard was not within sight of the Maidenvault. She itched to go to the yards, but she dared not leave.

Her father had sent her to bed without dinner last night and she was expected to remain in her room until he retrieved her.

"I am angry and embarrassed. You are a daughter of House Stark and I will not tolerate this disrespectful attitude towards your king! And to do so blatantly in front of another lord paramount's house is unacceptable," her father glowered at her once they returned to their rooms.

"I don't want to be a lady! I don't want to marry! That's not who I am and Jon knows that!"

He slammed his fist down on the table. "His name is Aemon! You will refer to him by his proper name!"

Sansa was sitting at the table with her hands properly folded and while she was not looking at Arya, she had a small superior smile on her face. Arya clenched her fists to keep herself from wiping it off with a slap. Robb was also sitting at the table, appearing contrite and awkward, as if he was the guilty party. When she looked at him for sympathy she found none there.

She trembled with rage, barely holding her tongue, but she could see he was out of patience. Father had never been this angry for as long as she could remember.

"You are to be a lady! As a lady of a great house, it is your duty to marry and you will marry as your king commands! Now go to your room and I suggest you spend your time thinking about the ways you have failed your house. I will retrieve you when I think you are ready to do your duty."

With that, she stomped out of the room and slammed the door, before throwing herself onto her bed to cry once more. Nymeria whined and tried to lick the tears from her face, but her grief was too much to take any comfort in her direwolf.

Arya hated when she couldn't control her tears. Only ladies cried and she was no lady! She finally pulled herself away from her window and curled up on the bed, glaring at the door. Not even Nymeria was here. Robb had shown up to retrieve her and given her a warning look that suggested she shouldn't try to leave sooner than Father was willing.

Her stomach growled hungrily and she presumed that breakfast had already passed. She'd had to go without a meal here or there before, but never two in a row. In truth, it just made her angrier.

She startled when a knock came at her door.

"Arya, I'm coming in."

She glared up at him as he entered. His face was softer and she thought she could see guilt in his eyes, but there was still a firmness in his bearing. He carried a plate of fruits and cheese which he held out to her. She hesitated only a moment before snatching it up and beginning to scarf it down. He closed the door and came over to sit on the bed, watching her as she ate.

When she began to slow down, he said, "When you are done here, you will be dressed in your finest. The king has summoned the both of us."

A grape in her hand froze halfway to her mouth as she stared at him.

"You will be on your best behavior. You will address the king as 'Your Grace.' If you do not do this, I will take your sword away for good."

"But it's mine! The king gave it to me!"

Her father glared down at her and she recognized the angry jut to his jaw that was so similar to her own. "Indeed, the king gave you a gift and you have done nothing but scorn him. I should've taken it from you from the very beginning."

She felt herself flush, both in anger and embarrassment. "The king has sold me! Like a cow at market."

"The king has arranged for marriage alliances, as is his due! Would you rather your brother and I risk our lives in a war so that you don't have to enter into marriage?"

Arya blanched. She knew that there was upheaval, that overthrowing a king brought with it its own problems, but that was hardly her concern. What did she care about the world at large? She was supposed to be perfectly safe at Winterfell. Yet it had been almost lost on her that she had been surrounded by an army this entire time, that they were supposed to be marching to war.

He softened again. "You are young, Arya. Such is the way of children to think of little outside their small world. But we are not in Winterfell anymore. We are the first backers of King Aemon, his most prominent ally. All eyes are on us and if we want the Seven Kingdoms to be united, then we must do our part."

She felt her lips tremble, but then pressed them into a thin line to stop it and blinked back the tears.

"Marriage is not the end of the world. I know I've said this before, but your mother and I were not in love when we married. I knew her as the lady betrothed to your Uncle Brandon that whole time. I was completely unprepared for a marriage, let alone one to her. It wasn't easy but we came to terms with it. In time, our love grew. I know you don't enjoy or believe in the loving stories of knights and romance like Sansa does, but love isn't something that happens. It is something you work for. As long as you and your betrothed are looking to find happiness with each other, you will." He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

"This is not the end of the world, my little wolf. It is only the beginning. I will send in a maid to help you dress. Once you are ready, we shall see the king."

She nodded, unable to speak as she fought with the emotions trying to overwhelm her. How would she have actually felt if Father or Robb had actually gone into battle? And Jon? He was the king. A Targaryen. His new title didn't erase her years with him at Winterfell, where he encouraged her mischief and taught her what he knew about sword fighting. He could have died in battle as surely as his father, Rhaegar, had.

But they didn't fight, she thought. Jon took the throne without one. That's why everyone calls him The Bloodless King . She barely noticed as the maid picked out a dress and she climbed into it. She frowned at the frumpy thing. Jon won't care what I wear. Her heart panged as she thought of him and more recently of his downtrodden look when she had stiffly greeted him the other day.

She missed Jon. She wanted to go back to Winterfell, before he ever became king, back to the days when they would aid each other in pranks against their siblings. But then he wouldn't really know who he was, she mused. The lack of knowledge had eaten away at him his whole life. Would she still prefer he remain ignorant than pursue his rightful inheritance? Deep in her heart, she knew she wouldn't. Maybe it was time to forgive Jon. She hated this distance, she hated what her life had been the last six months, but she missed him and she couldn't bear the thought of him going into battle believing she hated him.

For once, she followed her father dutifully, though she refused to carry herself the way Sansa would. She was no lady, after all, and never would be.

Arya followed her father as he walked up to the Kingsguard. A portly boy about Sansa's age was also standing outside of the Solar, but he was not dressed in the typical Kingsguard garb. She stared at him with interest, but he only nodded bashfully.

"Ser Preston."

"Lord Stark."

"His Grace, King Aemon, has summoned us."

The guard knocked on the door then opened it and announced, "Lord Stark has arrived, Your Grace." He waited a moment then pulled the door wider for them to enter.

They stepped inside. Arya had only seen Father's Solar a handful of times; it was a small room, with documents piled high on his desk and a small window for light. This Solar was spacious with a single desk, also piled with parchment. However the back of the room was a wall of tall windows and she could see there was a door opening out onto a balcony. Jon looked up and nodded at them, but did not immediately speak as he wrote on a piece of parchment

The Kingslayer was standing there with a sheaf of documents. He always had an ever present glare on his face and he gave her and her father a stiff nod.

When Jon finally stamped a seal onto the parchment, he handed it to Jaime and then turned to them. "Uncle, Arya, it's good to see you. I hope you're settling in?" He asked her.

"I am fine, Your Grace," Arya replied with a stiff curtsey. And still Father glared down at her.

"I think you'll be pleased to hear I have welcome news for you."

She stared at him with a measure of hope, but she dared not believe.

"A betrothal is set to be brokered with Prince Doran Martell, but it won't be yours," Jon said.

"Your Grace?" Father asked shocked.

"It has come to our attention that Prince Doran Martell's oldest child is his daughter, Princess Arianne Martell. As I'm sure you're familiar, Uncle, inheritance laws in Dorne mean that Princess Arianne will inherit after him. Were Arya to marry Prince Tristayne, her children would be sure to inherit nothing. Whatever Arya's feelings are about marriage and being a lady, I want her to have success when she marries and that is not it."

Arya felt tears come to her eyes, yet again, but these were ones of relief.

Jon turned to stare at her earnestly. "I am sorry that I had this potential betrothal hanging over your head for so long. Forgive me?"

She choked back a sob, then ran around the desk and threw herself at him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered endlessly into his ear.

"Who will you offer instead?"

"Don't worry, Lord Stark, it's not from your side of the family," the Kingslayer said acerbically.

Her heart began to feel lighter as Jon squeezed her. "I have missed you," he whispered into her ear.

She couldn't unstick her throat, but merely nodded against him.

"Uncle, would you consider it acceptable for Arya to continue her sword training?" Jon asked.

Her father hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, your training may continue. But I expect you to be diligent with your other studies, including sewing. Don't make that face!"

She saw Jon turn away to hide a chuckle, then he cleared his throat and said, "Lord Jaime and I have decreed that women shall be given equal footing in the training yards. Lady Dacey, Lady Maege, and Lady Brienne of Tarth hold lessons there every day for anyone who wants to learn."

Jon glanced at the Kingslayer who returned an unreadable expression and then he barked, "Pod!"

"Yes, M'lord?"

"Escort Lady Arya to the training grounds. Make sure she reaches Lady Maege."

Arya detached herself from Jon and ran over to the pudgy boy.

"Do not ruin your dress!" Her father called to her as they left.

Once they were out in the sunlight, Arya asked, "You're the Kingslayer's squire?"

He frowned at her. "Don't call him that."

"Why not? He killed a king."

"He was pardoned for that. He is the Kingslayer no more."

She frowned at him, but then her eyes were drawn to the training yard. It was filled with a multitude of men training with each other or practice dummies. They stared at her and she glared right back at them. A female voice shouting instructions drew her attention and she broke away as soon as she recognized Dacey Mormont.

"Lady Arya! We heard you arrived yesterday. How've ya been?" Dacey said, but she was distracted by a fight in the ring.

A boy of fair skin and pale hair was dueling with another girl of darker skin and dark hair. They were of an age with her and fought ferociously. Their wooden swords sharply cracked as they swung at each other. Arya noticed that the girl had a split lip and there was a blue bruise around the boy's eye. Suddenly, the boy's foot rolled and he lost his balance, falling to the ground. The girl gasped and ran over to him. "Are you okay?"

"Lucille," a warning voice came from the largest woman Arya had seen, even larger than Dacey or Maege. Her armor made her even bulkier and she had straw blonde hair. She would've mistaken her for a man were it not for her voice.

The girl sighed and tapped the boy's neck with her wooden sword point. "There! Kill point! Are you well?"

The boy grinned up at her. "Well fought."

"That was hardly fair. You fell."

"Not all fights are fair," Dacey barked. "You take your advantage when you have one."

"The girl has a foreign style. You did well, Lord Dayne. You're improving," a gruff man who had been standing at the edge said.

"Thank you, Ser Beric," the boy replied. His knight turned to leave and he scurried off after him.

The other girl noticed her and walked over. "Good day, my Lady," she said with an attempt at a curtsy even though she was wearing breeches and a tunic.

"I'm no lady! I'm Arya."

"I'm Lucille. You want to fight?"

Arya grinned back at her.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Cersei I

She screamed.

Her lips were peeled back from her teeth in a rictus of agony, but at the same time the corners were upturned into a manic grin.

Finally. Finally, it is my time, she thought. A pair of handmaidens bustled around her, mopping her forehead, and speaking soothing words of encouragement. She would have snapped at them had she any energy to spare, but she was devoted to bringing this babe into the world.

Cersei hadn't quite believed the pregnancy had caught when she started vomiting during the travels to this horrid island. The barbaric north hadn't seen fit to make smooth roads and she found the bumps and jostling of her carriage caused her stomach to roil. It had taken more than once for her fool of an uncle to impregnate her on every single occasion, but of course Jaime needed only once. Her handsome, viril Jaime. She felt tears leak down her face as she thought of him.

He would never abandon our child. Once he hears of its birth, he'll be begging to have me released from my cage! It was one of the few thoughts that had kept her going all of these months. And after so many years of begging, pleading, and threatening, her perfect child would be born. Not only a Lannister through and through, but her twin's son. This babe should have been her firstborn. Joffrey was a good boy, but he wasn't a king. He wasn't Jaime's son.

Another contraction seized her, but she kept breathing. She had birthed three children already. What was a fourth?

If only you were here, Jaime, she thought wistfully. She had made him be present for the birth of her other children. Perhaps it had been foolish of her to believe that she might win him over after all of these years, yet he remained unmoved.

She was still confused about where it had gone wrong. One day he had been wrapped around her finger, hanging onto her every word. She had seen the way his eyes rolled in lust when she had whispered into his ear that she intended to visit him the morning of her wedding day to remind him of whom she was truly loyal to. He had grinned avariciously at her and kissed her hand.

Yet when she had showed up as promised, the door opened on a Jaime that felt alien to her. Instead of opening the door wide in welcome, he had cracked it open and peeked through, demanding to know in a cold voice why she was there.

She tried to push the door open, but it didn't budge more than an inch. Irritation flashed through her, but she attempted a smile, though it was condescending in nature. "Dear sweet brother, do you not recall? I promised to stop by before my wedding."

"And? The king will be more than happy to fuck you. Sate yourself on him."

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she felt the rage in her heart. "How dare you!"

"How dare I? It's done. We're done."

She fumed. "Are you so stupid as to forget that you are part of the Kingsguard? It will never be over, Jaime."

It was then that she saw the sharp clarity in his eyes that caused her fury to chill with fear. "It was over between us when you persuaded me to join the Kingsguard, stripping me of my right to Casterly Rock for your own ends. I will not yield. Not now, not ever. I will forever be unattainable to you." With that, he snapped the door shut in her face and she heard the lock turn.

"Oh, but you will yield, brother. I'll make sure of it."

It had taken fifteen years. She would admit, with some grudging respect, that he had held out that long. She almost couldn't believe her good fortune when he lay unconscious from his wounds. A man's body still worked, even in sleep, so it was only a matter of coaxing it. And perhaps, he'll realize the error of his ways and come back to me, she had thought with some satisfaction.

She had felt vindicated as his cock hardened under her ministrations. His words said one thing, but his body said another. When she saw him stirring, struggling against the heaviness of sleep, she had been elated. Of course fucking would bring a man like him back from the edge of death. It was dismaying when he had shouted protestations at her.

It's simply propriety, she had told herself. He doesn't want to show he enjoyed fucking his sister. Once he had been gagged, it was easy to believe the noises coming from him were moans of pleasure. She had ridden him with wild abandon, though she kept her moans silent. Then that damn squire of his had burst through the door and she had known her scheme was up.

It was later, once she'd been dumped in the cells that she had discovered her brother's seed dripping from her slit. She had laughed, even while tears dripped down her face. She had been successful, but at the cost of everything. How fitting that my brother would be my downfall. If he'd only complied, it never would have come to this, she thought. Her laughter continued as she thought about the careful Lannister legacy her father had built over decades only for her to rent it

asunder in one night, with a single act. If the king didn't kill her, her father would. No matter, he still has three grandchildren. He will not rest until his grandson is back on the throne where he belongs, she mused.

A strange calm had befallen her the morning of her execution. She'd been allowed to dress in something more befitting her station than the simple, sheer robe she had been tossed into the cell with. She would die, but Jaime would die with her, as it was meant to be. They were one soul in two bodies. That he had resisted this baffled her, but he would not be able to ignore it any longer.

If she had been a believer in the Seven, she would've thought that they'd answered her prayers as Stark's bastard challenged Robert for the throne. A small part of her sneered at the idea of that manchild on the throne, her children's throne, but there would be time later to address that. She was alive and with Jaime. They could finally be together.

Then he had put his sword in her face.

For the first time, dread had filled her as she looked into his face. His lips were pulled back in a snarl and he stalked toward her, his sword raised ready to deliver a death blow. She never thought she would have to face the leonine warrior that her brother became on the battlefield. It had only been her good fortune that the new king had stepped in to avert her death.

Cersei screamed as a new wave of pain seized her. The contractions were coming closer together. It wouldn't be long now. She was looking forward to Jaime releasing her from her imprisonment. He'd never let the child be raised in this frozen waste.

"That's it, my Lady. Breathe," the maester said to her in soothing tones, as he lifted up her gown to see her progress.

"I AM YOUR QUEEN," she shouted at him.

He took as much notice of her as he would a bird chirping outside. While the handmaids glanced at each other in alarm, they continued to work around her.

Their apathy grated her. When I get off this rock, you will all beg for mercy. Jaime will see this island razed to the ground for your shameful treatment of me, she thought.

She puffed and her chest heaved as she tried to stay alert. Hours must have passed, judging by the way the light shifted against the walls. Childbirth was always so tedious, but the rewards were sweet. She just needed to be patient.

The light was well and truly dim as the contractions rolled through her. They were very close together now. Her time was near. In a moment, her son would be born.

Cersei didn't even hear the coaxing of the Maester or the words of the handmaids as they put a dampened cloth on her forehead. With one last scream and a final effort, she felt a gushing as her baby was finally removed, coming out into the world.

She fell back, her smile wide and gleaming as more tears leaked from her face. She could feel the maester doing the usual afterbirth cleanup. The silence pressed and she found her panic growing. She tried to sit up and strained to see the baby from across the room.

In the very next moment, a sharp and strong cry pierced the room. She sobbed in a shuddering breath, her greatest fear almost realized, but then happiness blossomed in her like the sweet spring sun was shining down on her. That cry was hale and healthy, the cry of a warrior king who would one day grow to press his claim.

Cersei still couldn't see the child, the handmaid bathing him had her back directly to her.

"Move, you great cow! I wish to see my son," she commanded. It took every effort to not slap away the other handmaids as they came over to change her bedsheets. She could hardly expect to hold her son in the filth of afterbirth.

The child continued wailing as the handmaid tended to him and Cersei was becoming impatient. Then she watched as the maid wrapped him up and headed straight for the door. She held him in just a way that Cersei couldn't see him at all.

"Where are you taking him? Where are you taking my son?!"

The maester stared down at her with a sympathetic smile. "My Lady, you are a prisoner, but your babe is not. It is to grow up free and far away from here."

Cersei stared at him, the words slowly sinking in. She shook her head. "N-no, no! That's my son!

He is mine! I am his mother! He needs me."

The maester simply continued to smile softly at her.

"NO! BRING ME BACK MY SON! BRING HIM TO ME! BRING TOMMEN BACK TO ME!"

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Please feel free to follow me on Twitter @Groovypriestess. You'll get updates on how the writing's going, snippets from future chapters, some video game let's plays if you're into that sort of thing, and, most recently, updates on whether my blasted computer cares to work. Take care!

Chapter 53 - Brienne II

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: I know I keep saying this, but it needs to be said: you guys are the best! Writing TDR is so much easier knowing I have an eager audience, which is every writer's dream. I have no idea if I would've managed to get this far without you, but I am damn sure that I wouldn't have gotten this far this fast without you. Thank you for all of your support!

I finished my word count goal for CampNaNoWriMo just last night (those who follow me on Twitter will have seen status updates) and now I am going to be taking a break from writing TDR. Have no fear, my dear readers! The updates will not flag and they will continue on a bi-weekly basis as normal.

I would like to thank catzrko0l for being beta again. You really help ease the burden from my shoulders in sprucing this fic up. You're awesome!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 53

Brienne II

Brienne surveyed the grounds slowly, carefully scrutinizing every man who walked into the training yard, but none were Lord Jaime Lannister. Ever since their first duel in the yards, he had been present every morning, save for the ones when he was with the king at Dragonstone. This was the second day in a row he failed to appear.

She was certain he was still within the Red Keep. It honestly astonished her that he managed to sneak in with how loathe he was at making a quiet entrance or exit. Even just striding across the grounds caused everyone to stop what they were doing to watch him pass. A group of ladies had taken to accumulating around the outskirts of the yard at that time of day specifically for him, though he never paid them any attention. She rolled her eyes as many of them swooned at the sight of him, but she wouldn't deny that seeing him caused a blush to rise in her cheeks that she usually tried to hide by yelling at one of the children in the ring. It was difficult to believe that prior to that month, she was very nearly cursing the name Lannister for their treachery, and now she looked forward to training with him.

Lord Jaime never deviated from his path for any reason and always made a beeline for their area. She chastised herself for feeling like that smirk he wore was ever meant for her. He just valued her - them - as training partners. He had spoken more than once on how impressed he was with her

technique. "You might even be able to best me one day," he had said to her after one of their bouts and she had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes. If she wasn't already red and sweaty from the effort, that compliment alone would have done it.

He cut a dashing figure, but she was no fool. A currently unmarried Hand to the King such as him no doubt had a line of noble ladies of far greater import ready for him to choose as he pleases. In times such as these, most men of his stature were wed before the first week had ended and yet it had been more than a month and he hadn't even chosen a bride.

There was a small measure of guilt that accompanied her training bouts. It seemed wrong to enjoy training with him and finding happiness in her newfound friendship with the ladies of Bear Island. However, after she'd had long enough to process everything that happened, she found peace with it. While she regretted that Renly was now a pariah, he was at least alive. The city remained untouched and the innocents within no longer had to fear a sacking. Peace had descended on the Keep when war had otherwise seemed inevitable.

She wouldn't deny a cold shiver ran down her back at the fates of King Aemon's enemies. The old king Robert was to be executed, Stannis Baratheon was stripped of Storm's End and all of the power that came with being a lord paramount, and Renly was bound for the Wall. All of them were currently in holding cells here. As much as she wished she could see Renly, he was off-limits. They were simply waiting for men of the Night's Watch to make their way to King's Landing and round up those who forfeited their freedom by refusing to bend. There was also no escaping the story that Grandmaester Pycelle was dragged screaming from a small council meeting. It was unclear yet what he had done to deserve such treatment, but there had to be something. She hadn't yet met the king, but Lord Jaime was not unreasonable and he was considered the more volatile of the two. His anger was frightening to behold. He had looked ready to castrate her taunters as he had threatened.

She'd heard another persistent rumor that the injury he received from the bear affected him in other ways that frequently left him too ill to perform his duties. The only time she had seen him looking ill, his skin pale and sallow, was the day he threatened her taunters, but even then he projected strength and ferocity befitting a lion.

He appeared to revel in the rumors surrounding him and made no effort to correct what she figured were the most outrageous. It made her wonder if she'd ever know the truth about him. Not that I need to know, she thought. What am I to him after all? A sparring partner and nothing more than that. She shook her head and returned her focus to teaching the children. Lady Arya had become fast friends with Lady Lucille and they took every opportunity to swing at one another. Their enthusiasm was both inspiring and contagious, but she had to make sure they didn't end up with split skulls.

It was when she was making another unconscious sweep of the grounds that she stopped. Lord

Gerion Lannister was striding purposefully towards her with a grim look on his face.

"My Lord?"

"Lady Brienne, please come with me," he said without preamble.

"May I ask what for?"

He gave her a wry look and said, "It's important."

She frowned but nodded.

As soon as they left the crowd and were on open grounds, he said in a low voice, "Too many ears there, my Lady. It's Jaime. He needs your help."

"Help? Is he hurt?"

"Of a sort. I can't reach him and neither can his brother, Tyrion, or the king. I think you might."

She stumbled in her steps and shook her head. "The king? What could I possibly do that the king couldn't?"

"He values you, my Lady. That much I know," he said and then they began ascending the Tower of the Hand.

"He doesn't value you or the king?"

He stopped briefly to give her an annoyed look. "You'll understand when you see."

When they reached the door, they saw Lord Jaime's bumbling squire, Podrick, and a dwarf whom Brienne figured must be the infamous Imp.

"Any change?"

They shook their heads in sync. Lord Jaime's brother then leaned around Pod and said, "Ah, Lady Brienne! Good idea, Uncle."

"I-I don't understand. What's going on?" Brienne asked.

They looked at each other and then regarded her. Lord Tyrion finally said, "My brother received unfavorable news that has left him quite distraught. It's been two days, but he won't eat or sleep."

"And you think I can help? I barely know him!"

"You've sparred with him everyday. That's more time than he's granted most of us since we arrived in King's Landing," Gerion said and he rolled his eyes.

The door opened and King Aemon walked out looking exasperated. Though she towered over most, it still shocked her to have to look down on her king.

"Your Grace," Brienne abruptly turned to bow. She had never had the opportunity to truly see him up close. She'd only kneeled and made her pledges before him on the throne, but then her vision had been colored red with anger and embarrassment at having been bested by wits and sheer numbers. The few times she attended court, he had been just and fair to the people who came before him. He bore the crown with a solemnity that befitted one of a much greater age than he was.

When she rose from her bow, he had a small smile on his face and nodded at her, but then turned to everyone else and shook his head, "No luck. I...I don't know what to say that could help. But Lady Brienne! It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I want to thank you for your kindness in teaching my cousin, Lady Arya, swordplay. I know it cheers her to have one such as you and Lady Dacey to look up to."

She felt her face heat at his words and simply nodded, unable to speak.

"Would you be willing to talk to him?" King Aemon asked.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I still don't understand how I'm supposed to help."

"He values you. He will listen to you."

"He doesn't value you? But you're his king and the rest of you are his family!"

She could see the barest hint of a smile on King Aemon, though he appeared to be trying to hide it.

"You're a woman! Men don't like to be vulnerable around other men, but for you he might," Gerion said to her with no small amount of exasperation.

She shook her head. "I-I suppose I can try."

"We'll leave the door partially open so there will be no question of dishonoring. Gerion, Pod, make sure they're undisturbed," the king ordered and then he departed.

Pod hopped to his feet and bowed.

"As you will, Your Grace," Gerion replied. He pushed the door to the Hand's office further open and gestured her in. "My Lady."

She stepped through the open door, staring around at the sparsely decorated room. The curtains to the windows had all been pulled, making the room dark, but she could see a figure hunched over the desk. She swallowed and stepped in more fully, recoiling as she was hit by the sour smell of vomit. The clinking of her armor felt unbearably loud in the otherwise silent room, but Lord Jaime did not stir. Her heart was hammering in her chest, willing herself to speak.

You're a warrior, she scolded herself. Act like one. She cleared her throat and said, "Lord Jaime?"

He looked up at her in shock. She winced at his unkempt appearance. His hair looked like a bird's nest from clutching it and the linen shirt he wore had dark stains like he had spilled wine on it.

Though it was dim, his eyes were red and his skin was pale.

He abruptly stood, knocking his knee against the desk and causing him to wince. "L-lady Brienne," he said and then leaned over the desk, breathing heavily. When he looked up at her again, he was resolute. "Forgive me, my Lady, but I would ask that you leave."

She was struck by his body language. He had the look of a wounded animal, desperately hurt but ready to make a run for it all the same. When he was both sitting and standing, he was curled in on himself as though trying to shield himself from a number of blows. Although he was nearly her height, she had been surprised to see how slight he appeared and that was made doubly so by his current lack of armor.

"The king asked me to talk to you," she replied carefully.

Something flashed in his eyes and he drew his mouth into a severe frown. "That's not an order."

"He is my king."

"So you're talking to me because your king ordered you to?" He asked and there was an intensity to his expression that she wasn't prepared for.

"You didn't show up at the training yard today. Or yesterday. Your Uncle said you weren't eating or sleeping. Is there anything I can do?"

The tension left him and he collapsed back down into his chair, shaking his head.

Just as she was about to press him further, he began speaking in a dull monotone, "I'm sure you're familiar with the rumor mill surrounding me. King Aemon came into power when King Robert was going to behead my sister and me because my sister was caught fucking me. No one seems to care that I was tied up and unwilling though."

She gasped. It was inescapable to hear something that salacious, but she had chalked it up to being yet another wild tale.

He swallowed and picked up a piece of parchment in front of him. It was creased and wrinkled from significant handling. "I just received the news that she birthed a boy. Blond. It's mine." He kept his eyes level with her for a moment, the stark truth on his face, and then grabbed the flagon of Dornish Red and swilled it.

Brienne stomped over and yanked it from his hands. "That's enough of that."

"Give it back," He snarled at her and reached for the flagon again, but she kept it at arm's length.

"Drinking yourself to oblivion won't solve this."

"I may as well. My dear sister finally got what she wanted: a bastard out of me." She saw him wince and he rubbed his forehead.

"Is that it? You're just going to wash your hands clean of this child?"

Where before his eyes had been dulled with pain, now they were sparking with anger. "Careful, wench. A few bouts in the yard doesn't mean you know a damn thing about me."

She felt the blood rush to her face and her temper flared. "The babe didn't ask for its lot. You're going to abandon it like so many other noblemen? I thought you were different."

"The child will be taken to Winterfell to be raised there with its bastard half brother and sisters until such time I can return them to Casterly Rock."

"You foist your responsibility onto the Starks?"

He chuckled bitterly, wincing again as he looked at her. "My father would kill them if he got his hands on them. He almost killed Tyrion when he was a baby, but apparently even he doesn't want to test the gods' patience with him."

She recoiled, swallowing the acid that rose in her throat, her skin now the color of sour milk.

Jaime was back to staring at the parchment morosely. He released a shuddering breath that was half a sob and said, "He needs a name, but I can't think of one."

Brienne closed her eyes and collected herself. She had never gone through such wild swings of emotion in a matter of minutes and could only imagine how he must be feeling. "An ancestor's name?" She asked softly.

He shook his head. "I don't want to burden him with a family member's legacy, especially...no. That's not fair to him." He abruptly stood up and winced, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then began shuffling over to the bed visible in the other room.

She followed him with a look of confusion crinkling her face. "Are you well?"

"I overdid it," he mumbled, before collapsing on the bed, continuing to rub at his forehead. "Damn it! Bring the chamber pot over here, would you?"

Brienne frowned and grabbed it obediently, wincing as the smell of vomit wafted from it. "Paying for your sins?"

"More than you know." He peaked out at her and said, "Don't be alarmed. This will pass, as all things do…"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, placing the chamber pot on the floor by the bed.

"The Gods' curse upon me," he whispered.

She stared in confusion. A few minutes passed and just as she was about to ask another question, his body began to twist and shudder seemingly of its own accord. When his eyes opened, she could see only the white that had rolled back into his head as he groaned, coughed, and gasped.

"Somebody get in here quick!" she shouted and reached over to grab him just when it seemed he was about to roll off of the bed.

She turned her head at the urgent footfalls from behind her. Then Lord Gerion and Podrick

appeared at her side and held his legs down.

"What's wrong with him?" She shouted.

"It's a souvenir of those bear claws," Gerion barked. "There's little else to do but hold him until he's done."

She stared frightfully into Jaime's pale face, feeling his heart race beneath her palm. After a time, his body stopped shuddering and he wheezed and moaned.

"Jaime?" Gerion asked, gently rubbing his shoulder. "Jaime? Can you hear me?"

He repeated this until Jaime whispered, "I can hear you. Did Lady Brienne leave?"

"I'm here," she said, stepping up.

"Stay." He blindly reached out to her and she grabbed his hand to stop his flailing.

She stared at him with a mixture of concern and fear, then asked Gerion, "What was that?"

"A seizure. He can't control them. Though he can certainly take care not to provoke them either," Gerion growled. "It scrambles his thinking for the time being and has a tendency to lower his inhibitions. But it takes all of his strength and renders him abed for the rest of the day. You don't have to stay if you don't wish to. He may not remember you visited at all by the time he's recovered."

She couldn't keep her eyes from Lord Jaime as she weighed her options. Though his eyes were closed and he hadn't moved since reaching for her, his breathing was uneven, suggesting he was still awake and listening to them speak. Would he really forget their conversation?

"I'll stay," she replied.

Gerion gave her a peculiar look and then nodded. "Very well. Podrick will be here if you need

anything. I have to return to my duties with the Shepherds." She heard their retreating footsteps and then she was alone with Lord Jaime again.

She felt her shyness creeping up on her and awkwardly began rubbing her thumb over Jaime'shis knuckles soothingly. I shouldn't be here, she thought. What had possessed her to say those two words? There was a small amount of pity for his story. Was his situation not her own nightmare after all? How strange that she could relate to this man on anything other than fighting. And unlike most men, he was actually taking responsibility for the poor babe that resulted from such an unholy union.

Mostly, however, it simply felt good to be needed. No one ever needed anything from her, at least not without an ulterior motive that would end up with her as the fool. She hadn't known Lord Jaime for long, but she could believe his request was sincere, especially in this weakened state.

Gerion's words puzzled her. Was he implying that Lord Jaime wouldn't ask this small token of her if he were in his right mind? Or was he simply trying to spare her the indignity of being known to have been in a man's room alone? But she was Brienne the Beauty. No man had any desire to sleep with her unless it was to collect on a bet to steal her maidenhood. She very much doubted Lord Jaime, Hand to the King, second most powerful person in Westeros, would deign to look upon her when he had the pick of any woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

If this was the only moment she ever got, she would be content.

"Stop thinking so hard." His voice jarred her from her thoughts.

"What?" She could almost wonder if she'd simply misheard his voice.

"You're thinking too hard. It's grating on my nerves."

"Did you also develop the ability to read minds when that bear hit you?" She asked, feeling the fear bubbling up inside of her. It was a ludicrous notion, yet she desperately tried to change the direction of her thoughts.

He actually snorted. "Hardly. It's unnaturally quiet in here. It only stands to make my headache worse. Talk to me. Tell me...tell me a story."

"A story?"

"Anything to fill the dead air. What was your favorite childhood tale?"

Brienne felt a blush creeping up her neck. Was she really going to do this? She was glad that he never once opened his eyes to look at her. "Are you sure? It's lighthearted and foolish."

He knit his brows and frowned. "You heard what's been ailing me. I could use lighthearted and foolish."

"Very well. This...this tale originates from Tarth. I don't know how true it is, but it goes that there was a young boy who wanted to be a knight. His name was Cassian. He was of low birth and his father was a fisherman. He was destined to be a fisherman, but he was not content with that. At every chance, he picked up a stick and wielded it like a sword. At first the fishermen treated it as a harmless oddity, but as the boy grew older, they began to be annoyed by it. After all, where was the place for such foolish notions?

"Then one day his father's fishing boat was attacked by Stepstone Pirates, hoping to steal the catch. Cassian didn't have a sword, but he had a stave. His play at training gave him the strength he needed to knock the pirates in the water so that he and his father could get away. Once ashore, his father raved to everyone who would listen about how Cassian had saved their livelihood. It caught on that perhaps some weapons training wouldn't go amiss if it meant being able to fend off pirates.

"A local knight, Ser Anton, heard of the feat and took Cassian under his wing to give him the proper instruction. Despite all the years of his play, Cassian was a terrible fighter. Surprising, I know," Brienne broke off upon hearing Jaime's derisive snort.

"It took a lot of work, but Cassian was a quick learner. In only a year, he was holding his own against the noble boys of his age. They didn't like that. They broke his wrist in practice. He simply waited until he was better and was back. Then they broke an ankle. Again, he waited until he was better and then he was back. They broke both of his ankles. Still, he remained undeterred, and continued to go back into the training yard.

"Then, in the pitch black of night, the Stepstone pirates raided Tarth. Most of the soldiers and knights were all abed at the castle. Cassian and the few soldiers were outnumbered five to one, but they were able to hold on long enough until reinforcements arrived. Passersby say he roared like a bear and fought like one too." For some reason, Lord Jaime chuckled at this, though she couldn't see why.

"This earned him a knighthood. Not long after that, the King of the Stormland's hosted a tourney and he attended. He finished in the top five of the melee and gained wide renown for his sense of justice and honor, as well as his fighting ability. The King of the Stormlands granted him a place in his army. It is said that he led the Stormland troops into battle against the Reach in a war lost to time." Her voice trailed away.

There was silence and she began to feel a blush creeping up onto her cheeks as she stewed. Other than chuckling, Lord Jaime hadn't moved and she wondered if he had fallen asleep in the time the story ended.

"Remind you of anyone?" He finally asked, amusement coloring his voice.

She was certain her cheeks must have looked seared by the sun. She didn't say anything but her eyes were cast down to his hand that she still held. Fool, her Septa's voice lectured her, why should any man care for your hopes and dreams when they can never be?

Tears pooled in her eyes and she vigorously tried to blink them back. "It's foolish, I know. I just always thought that if I worked hard enough, that people would see past the girl and see me for what I am, like they did for the fisherman's boy. He was of lowbirth and he still fought his way to a knighthood. Why couldn't I? It doesn't matter."

"There's nothing wrong with working for what you want," Jaime replied. Though he still seemed loathe to open his eyes fully, she could see the sympathy there. "The world is changing, hopefully for the better. And it needs people like you who are unafraid to suggest that some traditions need changing."

Now she really was in danger of falling into tears. "Forgive me, my Lord, but I was to take lunch with Lady Dacey and Lady Maege. By your leave?"

He nodded.

She fled the room, holding her head high in hopes that no one would question her urgency and retired to her room to be alone. With any luck, Lord Jaime wouldn't remember any of that encounter like his uncle Gerion had suggested.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: If you would like to get fic updates and snippets of future chapters, please feel free to follow me on Twitter: @GroovyPriestess

Chapter 54 - Aemon XVIII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Happy weekend, everyone! I hope you're all doing well and enjoying your weather. You're all truly amazing and I want to thank you for your continued support in this work. Your comments, Kudos, and bookmarks are always welcome!

I would like to thank catzrko0l for being beta again. You are instrumental in bringing this fic to life, so thank you!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 54

Aemon XVIII

There was a palpable air of excitement when Aemon sat down to break his fast with the Starks that day. But judging by the strained expressions, there was an underlying air of guilt. His uncle was all smiles, though it did not reach his eyes. His cousin Robb was sitting restless in his seat like he was a boy no more than five, his expressions in a constant transition of delight to sadness. Sansa wore a restrained smile, though there appeared to be moisture in her eyes. Arya looked downright sullen. Theon also appeared confused about how he should be feeling.

Lord Robb Stark was marrying Lady Margaery Tyrell. Yet just a few days earlier, a raven from the North had arrived bearing the solemn news that Bran had taken a blow to the head and lay unconscious in his bed.

Aemon remembered his heart coming to a standstill in his chest when his uncle relayed the news. He vaguely recalled his conversation with Lord Howland Reed outside of Moat Cailin that Bran had to experience some form of trauma to open his inner eye. What he would have given to prevent his suffering. But it seemed some things were fixed. Dany had to hatch her dragons - at least two of them - and Bran had to suffer. It was hardly fair and it tore his heart to pieces knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

He felt his stomach curdling in guilt that he had failed to tell his uncle about Bran's role in the Long Night. It had pained him to gloss over the truth in front of the weirwood, but he knew that his uncle, and every single one of his cousins, would fight against fate if they knew what it had in store for Bran. They couldn't afford delays. A time would come when Bran would have to make the journey north of the Wall to become the Three-Eyed Raven. They had failed to adequately

protect Bran in the time before, the wights having overrun them before they could extract Bran. That was when Aemon knew they had lost their war against the Long Night. All the following skirmishes had simply been a prolonging of the inevitable.

We had won in the end. There is always hope, he thought. Apparently that win hadn't been good enough for the Gods and now he and Jaime were being made to suffer again. A rare anger swept through him at the injustice of it all, but he quickly smothered it. What's done is done. Now maybe Jaime and I need not suffer so much. But the wait for both of their lovers seemed interminable and he couldn't imagine Jaime waiting an extra fifteen years to be with Brienne. All in all, he had been back for less than a year and he was already fetching Daenerys. He just needed to be patient.

When he swept into the room, his stride was purposeful and energetic. He smiled broadly at Robb and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Have you got the vows memorized, cousin? I would hate to think you'd taint your wedding with a misstep," Aemon teased.

Robb playfully glared at him. "I have only been reciting them for an hour every day, but thank you for putting the fear of the Seven into me."

"I doubt you'd be the first to flub the vows during the ceremony. Just don't get lost in her eyes, I don't know if we'll be able to fetch you."

"You can't. I have already been lost," Robb replied, smirking at him.

He chuckled and sat down, trying to quash the feelings of uneasiness in his gut. It had been merely two weeks prior when Lady Margaery had come to him beneath the weirwood with mischief on her mind. Jaime had warned him about this. The Tyrells appeared to be under the mistaken impression that their treasured flower was owed the position of queen and they were willing to stoop to whoring her out to him to achieve it. The thought caused his lip to curl in disgust and he tried to keep his expression placid and even.

Were he a lesser man who had not yet met his love, he could see himself falling for her, though he felt that she would have her work cut out for her. As sweet as she seemed, he felt her cheer and constant frivolity would chafe against his stolid and grim countenance. After having survived at the Wall for so long, he was too gruff and cold for the likes of someone like her. It was a shame that she was trained to want for power, regardless of the man holding it. Just from the little bit he had heard from Jaime, that lust for power had been her and her entire family's downfall, as it had been for Cersei.

Unlike Cersei, though, Lady Margaery was not so consumed by that desire that she disregarded all others. At the very least, his rejection of her advances had made it clear that he was not receptive. He hoped it was also clear that he would not be afraid to suspend her betrothal to his cousin if her inconsiderate behavior continued. Based on what his cousins told him, Lady Margaery appeared unphased, but he had not seen her hovering nearby at all.

Perhaps it was foolish to think she'd given up, but unless she wanted a distasteful reputation, then she would govern her interactions with him more carefully from here on out. For all of her pretty words and bounding joy, she was not as witless as she pretended.

Would the Tyrells poison Robb to get her out of that betrothal? He pondered. But then what would that gain them? Lady Olenna had poisoned Joffrey because he was a horrid person and the Lannisters still desperately needed the resources the Reach was providing that a betrothal to the next king was brokered almost immediately. However, he was not leaning on the Tyrells for their resources anymore than the rest of the kingdoms. They couldn't honestly expect him to just suddenly marry Lady Margaery if Robb suddenly died, could they? The only other unmarried Lord Paramount heir was Jaime, but he had become expert at swatting any and all betrothals and they would've had the opportunity to test Jaime's resolve when he was there brokering the alliance. Jaime had remained steadfast and unmoved. Not to mention being Lady of the North is nothing to be upset about. The North made up half of the Seven Kingdoms by itself.

Aemon had a feeling his nerves would only settle when Robb and Lady Margaery were safely bedded for the night. He silently cursed the Tyrells for their devious ways when he should be focusing on the negotiations with Dorne. He was leaving with the tide on the morn.

Just before leaving for the Sept of Baelor, Aemon walked to the Maiden Vault tailed by Ser Preston Greenfield and the Hound. When he knocked on the door, one of Lady Margaery's cousins answered and squeaked like a mouse upon seeing him.

"Would it be possible to speak with Lady Margaery? I promise, it will take but a moment."

"Of course, Your Grace," the young lady said and dashed off to speak with her cousins.

Lady Margaery appeared at the door smiling brightly, already outfitted in a gown of shimmering green with gold trimming that left her shoulders bare. He could only imagine the flabbergast on Robb's face when he saw her. "To what do I owe this visit, Your Grace?" She asked and he thought he saw apprehension in her eyes as she studied him.

"I wanted to wish you well on your wedding day, Lady Margaery. Now, I understand that the bedding ceremony is traditional, however if you at all feel uncomfortable with it, I would be more than willing to suspend it on your behalf. Just say the word."

Her expression softened and she considered him with a genuinely warm smile. "I am flattered that you would be so considerate, but I have been expecting the bedding ceremony my whole life. I would hate to ruin all of the fun."

Aemon nodded and smiled. "As you wish, my Lady. I look forward to calling you cousin."

There was understanding and perhaps a little sadness in her eyes as she nodded, but Aemon felt more confident about the situation as he walked to mount his horse. She did appear resigned to marrying Robb Stark. He hoped that wouldn't cast a pall on their marriage, but he knew it was rare already to marry for love or to even find it. He prayed that she and Robb could find happiness, just as Uncle Ned and Lady Catelyn had.

When he stepped out into the courtyard to join the Stark party, he was surprised to find Jaime there standing with his horse, a placid expression on his face. It had been a few days since he had broken down from the news of his son being born. He still didn't look quite himself, as there was a bleak look in his eyes and he barely spoke beyond what was necessary. He had heard that Lady Brienne had stayed for at least an hour and Lord Gerion contributed her presence as the main reason for Jaime's recovery. He had hoped that the two had found comfort in one another.

"You're not going with the Lannister party?"

"I am your Hand," Jaime stated baldly. "I have no desire to stand with my father for the ceremony."

Aemon gave him a sympathetic look. He hadn't had any personal encounters with Lord Tywin since their meeting in the tent before the negotiations with Renly. He had seen him at court on an occasion and he had noticed the way his eyes followed him, like a lion sizing up its prey. The man was always finely dressed with a severe expression. He couldn't imagine having one like him for a father and secretly pitied Jaime for his undoubtedly fraught upbringing.

He didn't want to think about the earful Jaime was getting about not marrying as well. The council was enough of a hindrance, he would loathe a man like Tywin Lannister breathing down his neck about it. He looked askance at Jaime for a moment, trying to be discreet, but there was no mistaking the uneasiness on his face. While Jaime hadn't looked anymore tired or harried than usual, he thought his face looked a bit thin. Being Hand to the King was clearly not doing Jaime

any favors, on top of his other troubles.

A son. Jaime has a bastard son. Aemon wasn't sure what to think of the news, other than pitying his friend. Jaime had tried so hard to ensure he fathered no bastards and it was yet another thing that Cersei had robbed him of. Not for the first time, he wished he could offer more than empty words, but knew that Jaime would just brush the gestures away.

"The party is ready, Your Grace," his uncle announced, riding up beside him. Ned and Jaime curtly nodded at each other, but otherwise remained silent. Aemon smiled lightly at their attempts at being cordial. It had pleased him to no end when he'd heard from his uncle that Jaime had given him his sympathies for Bran's ill health.

"Let's go then," Aemon said, nudging the horse forward.

The smallfolk were roaring with excitement. The Goldcloaks were forced to carve a path through the crowd to the Sept of Baelor. In all of his years at Winterfell, he had never attended an event so large. At best, his uncle had held a feast to welcome the new season when it had arrived, distinctly remembering the first spring and summer feasts. As with every notable feast, he tried to sit with his cousins, but Lady Stark insisted that he sit with the soldiers. He assumed it scandalized her thinking about what the visiting nobility would think of a bastard mingling among the trueborns. Though he had enjoyed the food, he couldn't say he remembered them with any sort of fondness.

Aemon heard the Hound growl next to him as he used his foot to push the smallfolk back as they tried to crowd him in their zeal. Not that he doubted the healer, but it still stunned him to see crowds of people cheering for him . He had lived so much of his former life among soldiers that he failed to think about how the smallfolk's reactions to him would be different. While the wildlings had kept things loose, there was still a structure and discipline to his soldiers. They had never peered up at him in awe like he was a god to be admired, but every gesture had been their sign of camaraderie and respect.

He felt a smack at his elbow and he turned to see Jaime glaring at him before he abruptly sat up straight. Aemon mimicked him and Jaime nodded in satisfaction. He felt a surge of envy at Jaime's collected demeanor, appearing unruffled and statuesque in the seething masses.

He's always so confident and untouchable. Similar to Lord Tywin dressed in his Lannister finery and standing in his tent, he couldn't help but think how kingly Jaime appeared next to him. Not for the first time did he thank the Old Gods for the lessons that Jaime had taught him during his brief tenure as his squire about the best way to carry one's self. He wondered then if Jaime had been preparing him to be a knight or a king.

His eyes widened as they approached the Sept. It was the largest structure in this district, something not easily missed, and yet it had not appeared half as impressive from the Red Keep as it did now. The towers at the corners supported the square sides and framed the dome in a way that suggested it as the true home of the Seven, fit only for Gods. He particularly liked the stonework, marveling at the marble statues. Vines and leaves wrapped around the statues and the pillars which one could mistaken for being real were it not for their marble white color. Other broad arches of stone arced across the windows joining together into pointed tips, giving the building a certain severity that made him think of his Uncle Ned's sternness.

That any human could have wrought such beauty from stone is remarkable, he thought, before he was nudged again by Jaime and once again forced himself into a mask of stolidity.

They dismounted at the bottom of the stairs. The Goldcloaks and Winterfell soldiers had carved out a space in front of the Sept for the nobility to arrive in peace.

"You look ready to join the faith of the Seven," Jaime leaned in to mutter at him.

Aemon smothered a smile. "I can marvel at its splendor, but I doubt the presence of the Seven is any stronger here than it is in any godswood." Jamie snorted and Aemon's smile became bleak. His Hand had made it clear to him that, no matter his heavenly allegiances, he would have to be seen practicing the Faith of the Seven. He and Daenerys would be married here too. Since few worshippers of the Old Gods lived in King's Landing, their mystique and otherworldly nature still bred confusion and fear among the southron folk.*

The inside was just as captivating with a floor pattern of a beautiful star that connected the massive idols of the Seven together. They towered above him as he walked in and he shivered, finding their wide, blank stone eyes unnerving.

"Wow." Robb was next to him staring up equally awed. "Who would think to make such monuments?"

He nodded in vague agreement. It took time to get situated, but the Kingsguard all stood in their own row behind him. His uncle, Sansa, and Arya stood closest to the middle and then Jaime stood on his other side at the far end. Much of the rest of the nobility in King's Landing began to fill in the space behind them. At one point, Tyrion passed him with an annoyed look on his face and had a hurried whispered conversation with his brother that apparently hadn't ended well. He likely had to stand with Jaime's father, since he was not a part of either family. The Tyrells and their extended family filled up across the way. Lord Mace Tyrell was strutting exactly like a rooster and it took everything he had not to laugh at the display. Robb finally took his place on top of the dais and then he heard the doors open to Lady Margaery.

Next to him he felt Jaime shift. While he had a placid look on his face, staring straight ahead, Aemon thought he saw a bead of sweat sliding down his temple. Jaime shifted his weight again, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Aemon nudged him discreetly with his elbow and gave him a questioning look.

Jaime peered into his eyes and then cast his eyes down and gave Aemon another meaningful look.

What? He narrowed his eyes. His Hand was trying to tell him something and he had a feeling he would state his concerns outright, even in the middle of a wedding, if he thought it was important enough. But Jaime looked nervous and, if he didn't know better, on the verge of panic.

Jaime pointedly stared down at his feet again.

Aemon gave the barest shake of his head.

There was a spark of irritation and finally Jaime mouthed, Wildfire.

Aemon's eyes widened and a cold chill cascaded through him that reminded him of the time he fell into the frozen lake beyond the Wall. He turned once more to the front, but he wasn't hearing the vows. There are still barrels of wildfire under the Sept, he thought, cursing himself. On top of everything else he'd had to worry about, the wildfire being present slipped his mind. They had to do something about it. Even if it couldn't explode without aid, it would be entirely too easy to eliminate how many people here gathered in the Sept? Likely a few dozen families would be extinguished, including the majority of the Tyrells, and the main branches of four other Lord Paramounts', including Lord Edmure Tully.

The primary reason for them continuing to hide the details of Jaime's murder of the Mad King was to avoid tipping off anyone dangerous to the existence of it. They had to find a way to get rid of it and he had been blissfully sitting on it for far too long. Likely it had also slipped Jaime's mind until they entered the Sept.

I leave for Dorne on the morrow, he thought, cursing himself. While he was sure Jaime could do well enough tackling this on his own, he wanted to be fully informed to the plan to take care of it. At this point, it could only ease his mind to know that they had a plan at all.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he was only brought back to the ceremony by the applause as Robb gave Margaery a chaste kiss. Both of them were beaming in their excitement at being married, but Robb gently picked up her cloak with the house sigil and folded it under an arm, and then offered his free one to Margaery as they marched out.

Aemon kept a measured pace as they walked out of the Sept, the great doors seeming so far away. He only breathed as they stepped through into the light.

"Is everything well, Your Grace?" His uncle said, frowning at him.

"Fine, Uncle! How did you find the ceremony? Hard to believe your firstborn is already married, I imagine?"

"It was lovely. Robb and Lady Margaery looked truly happy and I hope that carries over into their marriage," he replied, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "This day has already had more promise for them than mine."

"It turned out well for you. I think it will turn out well for them too," Aemon replied. He glanced back at Jaime, certain his mixed emotions were on his face. Now that they were back out in the sun, Jaime's face was schooled once more to cool pleasantness, though he remained silent for the duration of the horse ride back to the Keep.

The wedding feast was kept to a reasonable seven courses, though Aemon felt even that was excessive. Clearly, though, seven was a number of great power for the religion, so he happily put up with it, chatting amicably with his family. He breathed a sigh of relief when the music started and Robb and Margaery started the dancing. His uncle left to have a chat with Lord Cerwyn. Arya had been sent away to bed, but Sansa was on the floor, smiling as she danced with Dickon Tarly.

As if they were thinking the same thing, he and Jaime immediately turned toward one another. "We need to find a way to dispose of the wildfire. I will not have it continuing to sit under the city where just anyone could find it and set it off."

"I don't think we can. It's too dangerous to move, but something needs to be done about it," Jaime said, rubbing his forehead. "We leave the Pyromancers Guild out of this. We should keep this quiet. Even if no one set it off, the knowledge of its presence could start a riot. I was such a fool!"

"What? How are you a fool?"

"I forgot all about it until I actually saw the Sept and then the memory came flooding back. That was dangerous.* It would be nothing for a man like Baelish to have destroyed us all right then," he whispered fiercely.

"Well then, consider me a fool right along with you," Aemon replied. "Your antics were the only way I remembered. We've had a lot on our plates, Jaime. It's not like anything that we've done has been lacking in urgency. It all needed to be done. So what do we do?"

Jaime shook his head. "I have no idea. I don't know anything about this."

Aemon pondered, tapping his foot against the floor. The new Grandmaester for the Red Keep had yet to arrive, so they weren't even sure he could be trusted yet. The Citadel had returned a letter filled with apologies for the behavior of the former Grandmaester Pycelle and promised to fulfill the request of providing a new Grandmaester and candidates to fill the positions that Healer David needed. In return, they had asked to personally oversee Pycelle's punishment, which Aemon was more than happy to oblige. Pycelle would get an armed escort all the way to the Citadel as soon as the new Grandmaester arrived. Pycelle likely had a much unhappier fate awaiting him at the Citadel; it wouldn't do to embarrass the organization and foster distrust in its services.

"Could David do it?" Aemon asked.

Jaime sighed and scowled at the table.

"I know you're not fond of - "

"I don't see any other way. I trust him to be an ally to both of us. He may be on the council, but he's of minor importance. There was enmity between him and Pycelle, but that was personal. I doubt many would still consider him a threat and it's pretty clear he can be trusted to keep our secrets."

"I want to see him tonight. We may not have time in the morning."

"I'll send for him. You should dance. You need to be seen mingling," Jaime said and for the first time that day he saw his eyes shining with amusement.

"Do I have to?"

"You're king! A king who can't dance isn't a king worth having."

"I can order you to dance too! I would insist we both make fools of ourselves."

Jaime raised his eyebrows and smirked. "The only fool would be you. I was taught the steps by the time I was ten."

"Prove it then! Show off your ability!"

Suddenly the light faded from Jaime's face and he said, "There's only one whom I would dance with, but it's not time for that." His eyes drifted across the crowds and Aemon was sure he was seeking out Brienne. She had attended the wedding, undoubtedly, in breeches and was likely sitting miserable and alone at one of the tables below.

Aemon felt a pang. At least when Daenerys arrived, there would be no reason to keep up pretenses of not being interested in one another. They would be encouraged to mingle and associate right away.

"Does your father suspect anything?"

"He would be a fool not to and he's not a fool, thanks to that stunt you and Gerion pulled. Now likely everyone knows of my interest in Lady Brienne," he said, his eyes flashing.

"You needed her. You should be thanking your uncle for knowing that."

"Well, now everybody knows. It could put her in danger," Jaime gritted. "I would hate to wonder what my father would do if he knew my plans." He took a deep breath and said, "I'll send for the healer. Pod will retrieve you when we're ready."

Aemon nodded and they both stood. Jaime swept off, his cloak trailing behind him, looking

dashing in the low light of the torches and one thousand candles. He took a deep breath once more and headed towards the dancing. He first picked up a dance with Sansa, whose smile only seemed to grow wider.

"Are you going to dance with Lord Willas?" He asked.

The smile dimmed ever so slightly. "I asked for this dance, but he declined. His leg keeps him from dancing."

"You don't have to dance with the crowd, Sansa. You can dance apart, even if it's only swaying."

Her eyes lit up again. "Do you think he'd like that?"

"It wouldn't hurt to try?"

"I shall then," she replied.

When he moved on to dancing with a Tyrell cousin, he noticed Sansa stride purposefully to Willas to speak with him and smiled. The Tyrell cousin was so struck to be dancing with the king that she didn't seem to notice his attention was adrift, for which he was grateful. On the next turn, he did catch Sansa and Willas swaying to the music in their own tiny corner of the floor.

He picked up Lady Margaery next. She was smiling and laughing without end. Studying her, he did think her happiness was genuine. She did seem pleased with the outcome after all. He'd be able to breathe again when she and Robb were safely on their way to Winterfell.

As wondrous of a dancer she was, he still found himself glancing around the Hall, hoping to see Pod.

"Your thoughts are far away," Lady Margaery said.

"I apologize, my lady."

"I know better than to ask what is on your mind. You may call for the bedding at any time. I'm ready."

He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks at her nonchalance. "I'll be sure to do that soon," he said. It would be the perfect distraction for whenever Podrick made his appearance.

There was yet another Tyrell cousin, a dance with Lollys Stokeworth, and then a dance with a woman from House Lefford. Though the young woman showed only a pleased smile, there was a chill to her demeanor that he found interesting and wondered what he may have done to foment it. Or perhaps she simply wasn't skilled enough to hide her ire for another from her king.

He had one last dance with a lady from the Stormlands when he caught Podrick attempting to skirt the crowds. He sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Old Gods and then stepped back up to his table and clapped for attention. "It is time for the bedding!"

Aemon winced ever so slightly at the hungry crowds that descended on both the young lord and lady. A large group of women, mostly comprised of Tyrells, were herding him out one side of the hall, shrieking like sea birds. Lady Margaery, however, was being lifted out on the men's shoulders like she was a queen. Sitting up straight, she embraced it, and the men appeared to carry her away with all the gentleness of a cloud. He took the opportunity of the distraction and slipped out of the hall, grabbing Pod as he went.

"Where to?" He whispered.

"The Tower of the Hand, uh, Your Grace," Podrick said.

He did a doubletake at Pod hearing that, but said nothing.

We want secrecy and Jaime holds a meeting in one of the few places we know has passages behind the walls? What is he playing at? Was he trying to play the fool, like they didn't already know there were passages in Tower of the Hand? He remembered Jaime deliberately spreading a false story of how he infiltrated the Keep to grab Renly, pointedly leaving out the fact that there were hidden passages.

But Littlefinger specifically wanted David's man Vicente to spy. Could they be assured that the one lurking in the walls was him? And could he truly be trusted? It took everything in him not to run a hand through his hair in exasperation. They had to make bold moves. While, yes, there was

always the possibility that someone they didn't trust was always within earshot of their closest secrets, they had to risk speaking or be paralyzed by fear.

I trust Jaime, he said to himself. His Hand was not a fool like some still considered him to be. He was abrasive and he was impulsive even now, but he was not a halfwit. He knew what was at stake, he knew what could be lurking behind the walls of his tower. If there was one truth he could hold dear in the Red Keep, that was unfailing, it was that Jaime Lannister was loyal to him.

He knocked on the door and only entered at Jaime's command. His Hand was pacing the office like a restless lion and there was a ferocious intensity to his gaze as he turned to acknowledge him. It was the look Jaime got when he threw himself into an urgent problem.

David was slumped in the chair in front of Jaime's desk and wavered as he turned to nod at the king. Jaime opened his mouth to berate his lack of decorum, but Aemon waved him off. The healer's eyes were dim with sleep, his gray hair tousled and he was wearing a grey gown, having clearly been dragged unceremoniously from his bed.

"Lord Jaime said this was important," David said, remaining seated and he blinked slowly in the dim light. "My rest is paramount. It takes more than a few potions to care for the citizens of King's Landing."

"Show some respect," Jaime hissed.

Aemon felt a chill sweep him at the cold look David gave Jaime. Anyone else would cower in front of the Lion of Lannister, but that look reminded him distinctly of the look the Night King had on his face. He felt himself swallow his fear and willed himself not to cower.

"Are you familiar with wildfire?" He asked, taking note of the way Jaime curled his fist, rushing to intervene before the healer was laid out cold for his disrespect.

When David turned to him, that cold look was gone and it was thoughtful. "I have heard of it. It's an abominable substance. What about it?"

"There are currently a dozen caches of it hidden underneath King's Landing," Jaime growled. "I know where it is and others may as well. It needs to be disposed of."

David's eyes widened in understanding and fear. "But it can't be disposed. Those fools at the Pyromancers Guild made enough of it to destroy the city? Why? "

"They did it at King Aerys II's command," Aemon replied. "They were obeying a king who should've been deposed long ago."

"May the Seven smite those fucking fools," David said, shaking his head.

"We need to find a way to dispose of it. I will not risk it being there to blow up, either me or the innocent. It must be destroyed."

"I know of no way to destroy it," David said with a helpless shaking of his head.

"But you make your medicines. Surely you can think of something that will destroy it."

"I think the best you can hope for is to neutralize it. Perhaps it can be mixed with something that will disable its explosive properties," David said, rubbing his chin.

"Can you find that out?"

David froze. "Me?"

"Yes, this is urgent. And should be kept secret. That's why you're here."

The healer stared. "You wish for me to care for the people of King's Landing, train a bunch of new healers that are arriving any day now, and experiment with this?"

Jaime's face was thunder and he seemed about ready to put him to the sword, but a glare from Aemon held his hand in place. Perhaps it was a mistake to trust in this man who would stare down Jaime Lannister and speak to the king like an equal, but Aemon ony insisted on decorum because it was expected of him. He didn't mind the facade being dropped for clandestine meetings.

"Time is of the essence," Aemon replied. "I think you can agree that this is worth devoting some

attention towards."

There was a pause as David thought it over. Finally, with a resigned slump of his shoulders, he nodded. "Very well, it shall be done. I'm going to need some materials, not to mention the wildfire itself."

"It will be done," Jaime growled.

"I will begin as soon as soon as the materials are ready."

"See that it gets done, Jaime."

"I will, Your Grace," he replied with a curt nod.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Feel free to add me on Twitter @GroovyPriestess. I share progress on TDR, fanfiction humor and memes, pictures of my cat, and post up Let's Plays.

Chapter 55 - Jaime XVIII/Tywin I

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope you're all having a great start to your weekend. Thank you all so much for reading and leaving your comments and your kudos. It truly warms my heart. It has turned a crappy week into a great week!

Dear readers, were you aware that you can now learn High Valyrian on Dulingo? I thought some of you might find that interesting.

So, I know some of you have been leaving questions and they've been going unanswered. Just be aware that I did read your question, but the primary reason I have for not answering them relates to spoiler-y stuff, specifically the questions about when Dany will finally arrive. Chapters relating to that are coming shortly. Do remember that she'll be on a ship for a couple of months once she starts on her journey.

I want to thank catzrko0l, once more, for being beta for this chapter and last chapter. You are awesome!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 55

Jaime XVIII

Jaime stalked towards the throne room with Pod trailing behind him. Any servants in the hallways stood off to the side and kept their heads bowed, anxiety twisting their faces. Although he looked terse as usual, he had managed to control his expressions so that the embittered turmoil seizing him stayed off his face.

He was alone.

King Aemon, Lord Stark, the remaining Kingsguard, and a few hundred Winterfell soldiers had all boarded the Dragonwolf and begun the journey to Dorne. Aemon had laughed at him and said he looked like a kicked hound as they were riding down to the docks to see him off. He had acted affronted and made an effort to appear unaffected, but the facade belied the pounding of his heart and the spike of anxiety. Normally, he was agitated only about doing his work as Hand; he finally felt like he was coming into his own in that position, no longer feeling like he was lost at sea. Now the king had to leave and place the responsibilities and running of the kingdom squarely on his shoulders.

While he still felt better suited for the position than either his sister or Euron Greyjoy, he was still out of his depth. I have no business being king, he thought. Aemon made it look so simple. He wore the crown with a solemnity expected of a man twice his age, yet it sat as easily on his head as his cloak lay on his shoulders. Unlike most kings who insisted on ceremony and made grand pronouncements to feel important, Aemon simply acted important and the people, noble and peasant alike, bowed their heads to him.

He'd be a fool to think they all respected him. No doubt Aemon's allied armies were a large reason why he sat on the Iron Throne, but he had made great strides in the three months he had taken it. It was not often anymore that he caught wind of whispered degradations against either him or Aemon, but those had noticeably curbed over time.

Jaime halted at the door and eyed it like he expected to be put on trial. Among the many responsibilities that fell on his shoulders, one was holding court and addressing any of the issues that the Seven Kingdoms' subjects brought to him. This was by far the task he had been least looking forward to.

He halted at the door and stared at it. I am a warrior. I've faced a legion of undead and embraced the Night King himself, but I am terrified of a bunch of people at court? He thought and cursed himself. Yes, this was a battle he rarely faced, but this should not have left him as intimidated as he felt right now.

"Open the door," he said. "I am ready." His voice was at least a steady blue. The guard leapt forward and pulled the door. A cascade of murmuring voices reached them and as he stepped into court, he turned to see a rainbow of colors from the voices of the nobility gathered there. He winced slightly before remembering to cover it and strode out to the center of the room. The voices fell away immediately, much to his satisfaction and he allowed himself a small smirk that his reputation to intimidate had preceded him already.

"The Lord Hand Jaime Lannister will stand in for, His Grace, King Aemon Targaryen I," the Master of Ceremonies called out over the crowd, his voice a vibrant green.

In front of the Iron Throne stood a chair of polished oak with gold leafing and ornate scrollwork. He sighed inwardly that servants the world over seemed to think that he required everything around him have the same ostentatious feel of a Lannister as his father demanded. He had grown up a soldier and lived as a Kingsguard in the White Tower; sparsity was a fundamental aspect of the order. While he didn't mind wearing expensive Lannister armor, since his father demanded designs that not only displayed the Lannister wealth, but were practical and intimidating, he felt he could manage his image just as well without the expense of looking like a glorified fool. Only his father seemed capable of wearing the Lannister wealth and make the other lords dance to his tune. The Rains of Castamere cemented that reputation. Father could wear a dress to court and everyone in the vicinity would bite their own tongues off to keep from laughing at him.

After everyone had bowed their heads, he sat down, his back straight and his eyes piercing. He took a moment to survey the crowd. His eyes landed on Lady Brienne, Lady Dacey, and Lady Maege standing somewhere in the middle and off to the side. They were all so tall that they were difficult to miss. They forewent their armor, but still wore male breeches and tunics. He gave them no acknowledgement.

The Tyrells were near the front. Lord Mace Tyrell, who was always puffed and strutting like a rooster, was looking around with such superiority one would think his own pride and joy was overseeing court. Lord Willas was among the few who had been granted a chair and he was one of the few who was looking at him with pleasant expectation. Lady Margaery and Robb Stark were holding a whispered conversation and staring into each other's eyes like besotted fools. They had practically been in seclusion since their wedding day. Lady Sansa stood proud and regal next to Margaery, with little Lady Shireen, who had a pleasant smile on her face. Next to her Lord Edric, the recently legitimized Baratheon son, stood looking small in his newly fine clothes. His nerves showed as he shifted on his feet and his eyes darted around the hall as though he expected to be tossed out. Ser Davos stood behind the newly betrothed pair. Lady Arya was nowhere to be seen. He imagined old Lord Stark would be cross with her if he knew.

Domeric Bolton was also present, lurking on the other side of the hall away from the Starks, Tyrells, and Baratheons. He was a handsome youth with flowing black hair and the same pale eyes as his disturbing father. Roose Bolton had long departed the Red Keep with his army as per King Aemon's and his orders. The elder Bolton had insisted that his son stay behind so that he may yet find a bride.

Lord Yohn Royce was a hefty man who could be seen standing at the edge of the crowd a few rows deep. He wore a deep frown and was eyeing Jaime like he expected him to declare himself king in Aemon's absence. Lord Edmure Tully was standing next to him with a peculiar expression that seemed to be caught halfway between a grimace and a mocking smile. It took everything in Jaime not to glare at Lord Tully.

If Lord Baelish or Lord Varys were present, he couldn't see from where he sat. He had a feeling they would deliberately disappear into the crowd. It was safe for them to see him but be unseen themselves.

Finally, on the other side of court from the Starks and Tyrells, Tyrion, Uncle Gerion, Lord Cyrus, and Lady Delphine were grouped together. They were the only ones who looked truly attentive. Lord Cyrus and Lady Delphine were smiling at him in encouragement, their children obviously absent from court. Uncle Gerion would give him an appraising look and then frown over the crowd as though he dared anyone to so much as snicker in his presence. Tyrion seemed desperately trying to smother his smile, looking torn between proud and amused at the pomp and circumstance.

The court was silent as he evaluated them and then he nodded and said, "Let the first petitioners in."

Lord Kavic Stromwell of the Crownlands and a stone mason walked down the aisle towards him. Lord Stromwell bowed, then stood tall and proud, dressed in his finest. The stone mason was a beat behind him, looking resigned and world weary. His clothes were ill-fitted as they clung too tightly to his large frame, but they were clean and well kempt. Although his gaze was cast entirely to the ground, he could commend the man for not showing fear in the face of nearly the entire nobility of the Seven Kingdoms.

The lord cleared his throat and said, "Most gracious of you to extend this opportunity before me, my Lord Hand. I am most honored to - "

"There are many petitioners behind you. Get on with it," Jaime interrupted.

"Y-yes, my Lord Hand. This stone mason has been overcharging me for repairs to a load bearing wall within my ancestral home of Stromland. His work has been consistently of inferior quality and he has had to rebuild the same wall many times so that it could finally withstand a strong wind. The last straw came when a chunk of rock fell out of the wall and hit my child who - "

"Stop!" Jaime barked and Lord Stromwell fell silent, staring up at him with a hopeful smile. His eyes narrowed at him and the smile faltered. "Lord Stromwell, seeing as you are a Lord in the Crownlands, I would expect you of all people to know the penalty for lying to your king."

The lord's eyes widened and he actually took a step back.

"Well, do you?" Jaime asked in a measured tone.

He gave a shaky nod.

"Say it then for all to hear."

"T-the penalty for lying to the king is death."

"That's correct. Now, I am not the king. But don't think for a moment there won't be consequences if you continue to lie," Jaime declared. The silence in the throne room was so complete that he doubted anyone was breathing. Lord Stromwell trembled where he stood. The stone mason had actually looked up at him with hope in his eyes. He flinched though as Jaime turned to him and nodded. "Your turn."

Now he could see the fear settling. He licked his lips and his voice stuttered as he began speaking in a surprisingly soft voice, "T-thank y-you, my Lord H-hand. I-it has b-been a year since Lord Stromwell hired me ta build a new stone stable. I spent a year buildin' the stable. The Lord Stromwell kept changing the plans. The workers he used were ill-trained. There 'ave been several deaths in the crew and smashed limbs. He wouldn' pay for the extra work and got mad when it wasn' done on time. He kep findin' new things to fix aroun' the castle and tol' me he'd make sure I ne'er worked as a stone mason again. I 'ave a family, my Lord Hand. I can't - "

"That's enough," Jaime cut him, though his tone was considerably gentler than it had been with the Lord Stromwell. For all of his stumbling, the stone mason spoke in a wavering clear yellow whereas Lord Stromwell had spoken in the same purple poisonous tones as Lord Baelish. Just a reminder of that slimy weasel was enough to sour Jaime's mood for the rest of the day.

"Lord Stromwell, slavery is illegal in the Seven Kingdoms. You cannot refuse to pay for services rendered. You will release this stone mason and his team from his obligation and pay him 500 gold dragons. And if you dare to lie to my face again, I will have your tongue ripped out. Have I made myself clear?" He snarled.

The blood continued to drain from Lord Stromwell's face until his complexion was nearly as white as snow. As Jaime continued to glare at him, he began to frantically nod. "As you say, Lord Hand," he replied, his voice higher than it had been.

"You're dismissed," Jaime said, already looking to the back of the room for the next petitioners. It took every ounce of willpower he had to stay seated. He was not used to sitting for lengthy periods of time and the opportunity to tower over Lord Stromwell had been nigh irresistible, but he should be able to project his strength and intimidation without having to leave his seat.

He allowed his eyes to stray back over to his brother and Uncle Gerion only to fall on his lord father Tywin. Uncle Kevan had also appeared and was standing next to Gerion looking companionable, though they respectfully stayed silent. He and his father locked eyes and he felt his shoulders seize in tension as his father glared back at him. After a moment, his father nodded and he would swear he saw the barest hints of a smile.

After more than a month of keeping low and fancy you walk back into court the minute the king has sailed, Jaime thought. He knew his father would have eventually made a reappearance and always at a time that was most advantageous to him. He was surprised that his father had actually stayed away from the Tower of the Hand for so long, having expected him to constantly badger him either about how he was failing in his running of the kingdom or how he needed to find a bride and put an heir in her.

Jaime pulled his eyes away in time for two finely dressed merchants to bow in front of him. He sighed inwardly but forced himself to focus as he commanded the one with the grievance to speak first. Aemon was entrusting him with the competent running of the kingdom and he'd be damned if he didn't put in the effort to manage it just as well as he did.

Unfortunately, another foolish soul had decided to go ahead and try his patience with a lie. He really hadn't wanted to command the punishment. But if there was one lesson he held to heart from his father, it was to never make a threat that one never intended to carry out. So the poor merchant was hauled away without his tongue. His howls were jagged and animated as they ricocheted around the chamber. There was no denying the horror on many onlookers faces at the spectacle.

He was warned, Jaime thought grimly, feeling his gut twist in anguish. There was neither fear nor joy on his face as he gave the command, but perhaps the barest trace of regret as he met Brienne's eyes and saw her stunned surprise.

After two hours, court broke for the day. He ordered Pod to send food to the Tower of the Hand so that he could sup in privacy. Now that he was regent, he'd be forced to take lunch with courtiers, but he need not do that everyday. A headache was brewing behind his eyes and he wanted nothing more than to nurse it alone.

One day, Brienne. One day we'll be together, he thought morosely as he walked back to the Tower, wishing she would be waiting there with a compress. It was agony to be so close to Brienne and yet so far. He had recklessly indulged in her proximity when Uncle Gerion had brought her over a week ago when he was still reeling over the birth of his son. Even as he nursed his wounds opened by Cersei, another cascade of emotions had overwhelmed him when he saw her. Relief, love, fear, panic, and anger. Relief and love to feel her presence like a soothing balm, fear that his feelings for her were so obvious that the world could see it, and panic and anger that she might now be in the line of fire for any one of his enemies to attack. It had been enough to make him sick and sure enough she got to witness one of his seizures.

He tried to cling to any hope. Despite everything she had heard and witnessed, she had stayed by his side, only fleeing when she couldn't handle his emotions. He didn't blame her. She couldn't know how desperately he loved her. That had been their first real conversation that didn't involve sword fighting.

Once he stepped through the door to his room, he shut it and leaned against the wood, sinking into the dead silence of the room. He would allow himself a few minutes of peace and then he had to start writing a letter.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Tywin I

For the first time since Jaime had been knighted, he felt a blossoming warmth of pride. Jaime sat in the makeshift throne with the forbearance of a king and he delivered his judgements like one. While he could decipher a stray amount of irritation in the tension of Jaime's shoulders, he otherwise peered down onto the petitioners like a true lion: all pride, a touch of arrogance, but mostly importantly, with power.

Jaime commanded the attention of the room and was unyielding when delivering upon his threats. He did find it strange that his son had a particularly strong preference for truth and an uncanny knack for seeing through the lies that the petitioners attempted to spin for him. It wouldn't be long now until only truth was spoken at court for fear of tongue removal or death.

He rather doubted King Aemon Targaryen had the balls to follow through on any such threat. The boy was as green as spring grass, so he was puzzled over the reasons why Jaime nearly cast himself prostrate at the king's feet. Lannisters did not concern themselves with the opinion of sheep and that included kings. He didn't entirely believe that the king saving his head from the executioner's block was a good enough reason for this kind of behavior.

And yet, Jaime wasn't some mewling cub who stroked King Aemon's ego. There had been no contrition on Jaime's face when Tywin received his dressing down from the king about being responsible for the deaths of innocents. He had been...amused and there was a calculatory light in his eyes as he had watched his own father be reamed. If Tywin didn't know better, he'd say Jaime had coached the king.

But this wasn't normal for Jaime either. For so long, his golden heir, the Lion of Lannister, had been such a disappointment. He had failed to learn to read at an appropriate age, he'd allowed himself to be used in the Mad King's schemes, and then he'd stubbornly kept his position in the Kingsguard when he'd had the perfect opportunity to leave it upon Robert Baratheon's ascension. Jaime was often thoughtless and impulsive, caring only about swordplay and little else, least of all the family's position in the grand scheme of the game.

Tywin would give Cersei credit that she had at least cared about the game, despite her infinite stupidity. If she'd really cared, she would've birthed the King Robert's trueborn heirs rather than those abominations up in the north, he thought. Just thinking about them caused his eyes to film red and he ground his teeth together. Cersei had nearly destroyed their legacy! If he ever had the opportunity to touch her again, it would be to strangle her himself. Now the brother that she had humiliated by raping was forced to pick up the pieces. Jaime had done an admirable job of not only moving the family past that embarrassment but by still showcasing their power. Now he could humiliate his opponents at court as well as in the training ring, and soon, on the battlefield.

It had taken so long but, finally, he had his perfect heir. Better sooner than later, but I was beginning to wonder if it would happen at all, he thought.

He still didn't believe Jaime was in quite the right mindset, however, if propping up this foolish notion of a Targaryen was anything to go by. The boy didn't even look Targaryen. That anyone could fall for such stupidity was beyond him, least of all his own son. If he hadn't known better, he would say he was flabbergasted by the Stark's clear bid for power, but Lord Stark had grand notions for power the same way the Silent Sisters deigned to speak. He could at least believe the dull wolf could pull the wool over King Robert's and Lady Catelyn's eyes to spare the boy any undeserved scrutiny, but to conceal the boy and plot over the years to unseat his very own friend whom he'd placed on the throne? That was a genius reserved for himself at best. The Lord Stark could nary comprehend the politics of the whole Seven Kingdoms rather than his comparably tiny neck of the North. How the Starks had ever managed to maintain their stranglehold on such a vast land for so long was beyond him. But they were old, stagnant. Perhaps some fresh blood was what was needed to lead the North. They couldn't allow those Northerners to believe they virtually ruled their own kingdom. It was time to reintegrate them back into the fold of the Seven Kingdoms and act like proper custodians of their land.

First they needed to deal with the Targaryen king. He was mercifully lackwitted in holding out for a wife. There was logic to it - he would give the boy credit for understanding that there was a push and pull with politics. Right now he had the power, but his lack of Targaryen appearance was a problem and it would grow unless he could cement his position by marrying the last Targaryen female. But she was half a world away in Essos. So far away, in fact, that it was unclear if she was even still alive. His sources said she'd married a Khal and had since disappeared into the desert.

The boy was counting on a miracle when he should've married the first woman that he could've put a child into. Hell, even begetting a bastard on a noble lady would secure him better than simply existing alone and waiting for the right woman to come along. His patience would be his downfall.

Patience will also be our downfall if I allow my foolish son to also continue putting off marriage and heirs, he thought, his lip curling in irritation. If King Aemon had brokered a deal for his son to marry anyone, it should've been with Margaery Tyrell. As Hand of the King, he deserved the second best in the realm at minimum. As often as the boy said he trusted his son, Jaime, and counted him a valuable ally, he did wonder if he was also smart enough to see the dangers in

having a Lannister as an ally. He had heard that Lord Stark was not all that fond of Jaime having such a close position with his nephew. Maybe the dull wolf wasn't so dull-witted after all. He'd have to keep his ear to the ground regarding Lord Stark.

He was unsure what game his son was playing at, but the new rumors of his interest in women warriors was starting to become embarrassing, particularly the ones regarding Brienne of Tarth. After he had destroyed the possibility of marrying Lady Alysanne Lefford, a new rumor had developed that he'd already had a woman in mind and now the rumors suggested that woman was Brienne of Tarth. He had heard about how brutish and homely she was, but had never actually seen her. He visited the training yards one day, sticking to the outskirts and the shadows, and had been appalled. The rumors did not do her ugliness any justice. There was nothing soft or delicate about any of her features. She was practically a man, taller than even Jaime and grunted just like one! There was no denying, she did appear to have been excellently trained in the art of swordsmanship and held her own against Jaime longer than any other. But a woman's battlefield was in the birthing bed, not as an actual soldier.

And Jaime had actually enjoyed her company. There was no mistaking the light in his eyes, even as he continued to smirk and taunt her as he did with all of his opponents. His son did appear to actually be smitten with this woman! That simply wouldn't do. He shuddered to think of that brutish woman giving him grandchildren. Though she had the blond hair - not golden, but it would do - she lacked the fine breeding, the bone structure. The best he could say is she would actually make an excellent birther, likely to provide many tall, but ultimately ugly children. And worse, his brother Gerion had the audacity to encourage such a relationship!

It had reached his ears that Gerion had fetched Lady Brienne to console his son when he'd had an episode upon hearing the wretched news that his sister had, indeed, birthed him a son. It was tempting to arrange for the child to be dropped off into the ocean on the way to the mainland, but he was not confident that it wouldn't be traced back to him. He would have to bide his time.

That could not be the Lannister legacy! He would have to set Jaime straight and finally convince him to pick a woman. If the Leffords hadn't been so insulted by the previous destruction of the wedding, he would suggest them again, but Alysanne had since moved on. She was to be betrothed to Lord Domeric Bolton. Perhaps a Redwine or maybe even Lady Lysa Arryn, now she was without a husband. Though he had heard curious rumors about Lady Lysa that suggested she would hardly be a better match. And she was much too old, her womb feeble, barely managing to produce one heir for the Lord Arryn. No matter her status, she wouldn't do for his son to marry now. He needed a young woman, her child-bearing years ahead of her.

Tywin walked the corridors after his son; he had a feeling Jaime had retreated back to the Tower of the Hand. Though he had conducted himself well in front of the nobility and the petitioners, he clearly hadn't enjoyed the spectacle. He had seen a tightness around Jaime's eyes suggesting he was getting a headache. For some reason, Jaime was now susceptible to those. He had been furious with Jaime to have learned about this new weakness only after the Reach had joined, spreading stories of the way Jaime had collapsed during the negotiations with the Tyrells and been forced

abed. Apparently, the Gods had deemed him too perfect and had seen fit to wound his heir.

These seizures he suffered were not infrequent either. Since the Red Keep had been taken a few months prior, Jaime had suffered no less than half a dozen of the damn things. It was unfortunate that he suffered such a catastrophic weakness, but it made it all the more urgent that he marry and bring forth heirs. At least the source of the weakness was a result of a devastating injury and had nothing to do with Jaime's breeding. There were plenty of examples of great rulers in history overcoming greater odds. He would just have to ensure that Jaime saw his way of thinking.

When he approached the door, he found only the usual twin Lannister soldiers. They nodded at his approach. Jaime's squire, Podrick Payne, was absent. Tywin knocked on the door.

"Enter," Jaime commanded, his voice carefully neutral. He opened the door to find Jaime hunched over a letter. When he looked up, there was a small smile on his face that quickly fell. "Father, what may I do for you?" There was no mistaking the undercurrent of annoyance.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your conduct at court. You handled yourself well. To think I ever feared that you would amount to nothing," Tywin said. He was careful to make sure pride could be heard in his voice.

Jaime was unmoved and continued to eye him suspiciously. "The king leaves and you finally make your presence known. Should I be surprised you visit me now?"

"As I was saying, I am glad to hear you have your wits about you. No doubt observations like those will serve you well."

His son's expression only darkened. "Speak your piece, father, I have a letter to write."

"What are you doing?"

Jaime blinked in confusion at him. "What do you mean, what am I doing? I am conducting the king's business as a good Hand should. I'd think you'd know that since you were Hand once."

"I am aware. I followed a Targaryen once. It nearly led the realm to ruin. You were there, I'm sure you're familiar with the fact that Aerys' last two Hands died. One by your blade and the other by his order. Do you want to end up like them?"

"Seeing as how I was there, I can safely say that King Aemon is not as mad as his grandfather. Thank the Seven for small favors."

Tywin cocked his head at that. Their family had never been particularly religious and while the sentiment was laced with Jaime's characteristic snark, it was still a remark that struck him as odd. The Lannisters did not actively say anything about the Seven. And it was just them alone. What was Jaime playing at, invoking them? Surely he didn't really believe in the Gods.

"Just because he exhibits no signs now, does not mean that he never will. King Aerys and I were friends once, before he became too paranoid, too upset that a Lannister was stealing his thunder. Before he stole you from me. This could be a ploy."

Jaime snorted. "Spoken like someone who doesn't know Aemon at all. He's about as guileless as a kitten. That Stark honor he was raised with makes him forthright. I'll give you it's not the most desirable trait for a king, but I'm there to be his muscle. The wolf and the lion make a valuable combination."

"Don't allow yourself to be used by this boy and his Stark family. He doesn't even look like Prince Rhaegar. How are you so sure that he is as he says?"

"Speaking as someone who knew Prince Rhaegar, I can see the similarities," Jaime replied. His voice was hard like a diamond and eyes sparking in fury; he was following his father's line of thought.

"Rhaegar died fifteen years ago. I'll grant you likely have a good memory, but one good enough to recall Prince Rhaegar?" Tywin approached the desk and he lowered his voice. "Jaime, a Lannister always pays his debts. We know this. But are you perhaps paying your debt to a wolf pup and not a dragon?"

"Don't think I haven't given it thought, father," his voice was a growl. "The Starks aren't you. They'd sooner continue hiding in their frozen wasteland of a home than contemplate a grab for power."

"Perhaps that's simply what they have wanted us to think all of these years. He was claimed a bastard once, there's nothing to say he can't still be a bastard used as a convenient lie."

"What would be the sense in that?" Jaime asked. "The grab for power only works if Robert Baratheon's children ended up being illegitimate. Are you suggesting my sister played right into the Stark's hands?" His jaw was clenched in anger and Tywin could see a tremble in his hands.

Tywin stiffened. "Your sister, in her infinite stupidity, damn near led this family to ruin! It is only by your superior upbringing that we've salvaged as much as we have. You are my heir, Jaime, and while you have stepped up in ways I never imagined you doing, you still have yet to fill your main role: it is time you took a wife and planted a child in her belly. That is the only means that will secure our legacy."

A knock at the door startled them both. "It's Podrick Payne, m'Lord Hand. I have your meal as requested."

"Enter," Jaime called.

Tywin turned and saw the boy stutter to a halt upon seeing him and then moved forward once more, the plate trembling in his hand. "Beggin' your pardon, my Lord. Should I bring another plate?"

Jaime took the plate. "Thank you, Pod, but Lord Lannister will not be staying for the meal. Return to your post."

"Yes, m'Lord."

Once the door was secure again, Jaime asked, "Where were we?"

"You need to marry!"

"Oh, of course." Normally this would get Jaime seething, but his mouth twisted into a smirk. "If you'll not recall, the king demanded that he approve of the match. I can only marry by his say so."

Tywin's eyes narrowed. "...this is what won your loyalty? The ability to choose your wife as you see fit?"

"You wound me, father. In all of my superior upbringing, do you really think that's what would ultimately buy my loyalty? Not my head, not Cersei finally getting her just fate, but marriage to a lady I've never met?"

"Lady Alysanne was convinced you called the marriage off because you desired someone else."

"I confirmed no such thing to Lady Alysanne. Her word is mud," Jaime replied.

Tywin's eyes glinted and he couldn't help but take a couple of steps closer. "Normally I would dismiss the entitled frivolities of a young lady snubbed, but after I saw you with that Brienne of Tarth, I'm not so sure her marks were amiss."

Jaime glared. "Lady Brienne of Tarth is naught but a training partner. She's the only person who doesn't cry when I beat them and is instantly ready for another challenge. She's more of a knight than half the knights in the entire Seven Kingdoms."

Tywin sneered. "Your words ring false. While I have been impressed with your conduct, any fool can read your eyes and see how smitten you are with her. She is not worthy of the position of Lady Lannister. She is merely the uncouth daughter of a minor lord in charge of a spit of land off the eastern coast who couldn't be troubled to bring her to heel."

"What must a Lady Lannister be? A sweet-talking and gossiping fool who looks pretty in the dresses she's constantly sewing for herself? Plenty enough of those around, father. If you can find one I'll like, then by all means, present her to me. But remember the decision rests with both the king and I," his son smirked at him.

"You may have stepped up in your responsibilities at present. But I still have a thing or two to teach you yet," Tywin growled, glowering at him.

"Another time, father. I would like to eat before my meal grows cold."

Tywin's mouth drew into a line, but he turned and exited. Jaime had the power, for now, to order him around like he was little more than a vassal lord. He still had time to whip his son into shape and he would. King Aemon and his dullard uncle were gone to negotiate with Dorne. When next the king returned, he wouldn't recognize his own kingdom, if he ever returned at all.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Feel free to follow me on Twitter @GroovyPriestess. I post about my cat, TDR and its progress, various fanfiction memes, and Let's Play videos.

Chapter 56 - Aemon XIX

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Wow, the response for the last chapter was explosive. I'm glad to see people so keen and excited for the coming parts. It was such fun reading your discussions and speculations! Thank you so much for reading and taking such an interest into the story!

Once more, I'd like to thank catzrko0l for being beta to this chapter. Thank you so much for your effort! I really appreciate it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 56

Aemon XIX

He stared across the water in the direction of Essos. Ser Barristan had been at sea for a few months now. Is he in Qarth? Has he met Daenerys? Did they miss each other? Did Dany survive the Khalasar? Did she survive the witch who took Rhaego from her? Normally, he was able to stifle the barrage of questions by throwing himself into work, overseeing petitions and stamping laws into approval. However, here on the ship, there was no work to be had. Although he had books and pieces of parchment to read, he found the cabin stifling, so he walked the deck. He didn't want to be seen pacing, as though anxious, so he willed himself to stay put and simply try to enjoy the voyage. However, his eyes couldn't resist straying eastward.

Was Dany able to hatch her dragons? His thoughts also straying to the dragon egg resting in his room. He'd taken it out of the fire before he left. It was obvious it would take more than the flames to encourage the dragon to hatch forth and that was yet another worm burrowing into his mind. If Dany's dragons were alive, as he suspected with the arrival of the red comet, then they were growing. The dragons had been large in the end, so large in fact that Daenerys never looked like anything more except a silver dot on Drogon's back. But everyday that Rhaegal spent in the egg was one more day he wasn't growing. There was a very real possibility that he wouldn't be able to hatch him either. Would that prove to the realm that he wasn't a true dragon?

As if Ghost could sense the direction of his thoughts, he whined to jar them out of him. Aemon startled and petted him. He almost hadn't taken Ghost with him. Was it appropriate to take the wolf to Dorne? But he had barely spent much time with him since being crowned and constantly felt like he was foisting the responsibility of his care onto Robb, rather than taking it upon himself. Jaime had insisted that he take him in the end. Knowing him, it was for reasons of protection.

I have six Kingsguard. Well...five, he thought, casting his eyes about as though the errant Kingsguard would be able to follow his dark thoughts.

Just before Robb's wedding to Lady Margaery, they had received word from Vicente that Ser Meryn Trant was bought and paid for by Littlefinger. Aemon had been keeping him at arm's length as a precaution from the very beginning, but now he was certain Trant couldn't be trusted. He had guarded his words before, but now he knew there was one guard willing to share his secrets, despite his oath. Ser Meryn was standing by the entrance to the galley, looking irritated and uncomfortable in the oppressing summer heat that was only going to get worse the further south they went.

Aemon closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep breaths. Worrying about Littlefinger and his plans was yet another thing that sent him into an endless circle of fretting thoughts. He did not envy leaving Jaime to handle the Red Keep alone. He feared for him more than anything.

Be safe, Jaime. He sent a quick prayer to the Old Gods to watch after his friend. He felt a little ridiculous. Jaime might very well be the safest person in the Red Keep. Few were brave enough to touch a hair on Tywin's golden son. Except for Baelish, he mused. Littlefinger had already arranged a kidnapping by Ironborn. There was no telling what else he was willing to do.

Aemon felt the vibrations of heavy footfalls and turned to see his uncle looking awkward and uncomfortable on the sea. He wished either Jaime or Robb had been able to accompany him on the journey. There would be no end of ribbing and, in Jaime's case, comical grumbling. His uncle was too serious for such japes with his nephew and would find it unseemly to have such a loose relationship with his king. From what he remembered, it had taken near constant cajoling by Robert Baratheon to get his uncle to so much as crack a smile.

He at least had Olyvar Frey. The boy had been nearly vibrating with excitement when he was informed that he'd be accompanying the king on his journey to Dorne.

Much like Ghost, he had been neglecting poor Olyvar's training. Just like the rest of the young children, he'd had to resort to attending the training sessions that Jaime and the warrior ladies held. At this rate, Jaime would train both Podrick and Olyvar up himself.

I need to take more time out of my day for training, he thought. He only trained about once a week, typically with Jaime. Otherwise he was poring over old tomes about dragon hatching and rearing. According to the books, there was a time when an egg needed only to be placed in a Targaryen child's crib for it to hatch. He remembered Dany describing the eggs as having exploded when she hatched them. Was that common? For an egg to simply hatch in the crib

implied it was as delicate a process as a chick hatching out of its egg. The last attempted dragon hatching at Summerhall had ended violently with most of the Targaryen's at the time and Ser Duncan the Tall perishing in the ensuing fire. Perhaps the time of dragons hatching gently was over. He wasn't about to test it with his future children.

Daenerys had gotten it to work, but at great cost to herself and her loved ones. Surely there was a way to do it without human sacrifice. It was possible to bleed and not die. Was the blood enough or was an act of death the way life was imparted onto a dragon? Perhaps the hatchling required a soul to leave its body so that it could join with it.

That's a thought, he mused. He'd have to write himself a note to remember. It was obvious by now that he wasn't going to hatch it simply by fire, but it would have to be soon. Even though much of his family had suffered tragic deaths attempting to hatch eggs, he could still imagine the festering doubt in his heritage if he failed. If they wanted it in time for the Long Night, it would have to be hatched soon. Regardless of his responsibilities as king, he would make the egg his primary focus when he got back.

His uncle stepped up next to him and Aemon quirked an eyebrow at him. His uncle glanced around furtively, cleared his throat and said, "Your Grace, if I might have a word with you."

Aemon stared at him for a moment with a combination of exasperation and irritation. Could you make it more obvious that the discussion will be important? It was amazing that his uncle hadn't given anything away while in King's Landing. He contributed that mostly to the fact that, while his uncle was a prominent ally, he lacked a position of power in the small council.

"Certainly, Uncle, what were you thinking about?" Aemon asked in faux cheer.

His uncle swallowed, glancing around again. "This conversation isn't fit for such an open area."

Uncle! Yet there was no way to lecture him about his lack of care without making it obvious. "Why don't we retire to my room? I packed some Dornish Red in honor of our journey to Dorne. I would like to discuss the terms I was thinking of presenting to the Martells."

His uncle blinked, but at a pointed look from his nephew, he said, "You are too kind, Your Grace. I accept."

Aemon tried to keep a smile on his face, but he looked at Ser Meryn out of the corner of his eye

and saw avarice. He hoped his uncle displayed more tact in their conversation. Once the door was closed, his pleasant facade dropped and he frowned at his uncle and put a finger to his lips for quiet. His uncle grimaced.

"Let me find that Dornish Red. Are you hungry? I could order a plate to be served."

"You are most generous, Your Grace, but that won't be necessary. I will take a glass of the Dornish Red," Ned said with a worried frown.

Once small glasses were poured, Aemon sipped at his. "Enjoying the water, Uncle? I've never had the opportunity to sail before."

"I still prefer the back of a horse and solid ground beneath my feet, Your Grace. The water is fine and I can appreciate that we'll reach our destination faster."

"Indeed. It's a shame that it's still so far away."

There was a pause as his uncle finally took a sip of his own goblet. He seemed to be wrestling with something and then he said, "Aemon, I wanted to thank you for what you did for Arya. I know she doesn't look forward to the future in store for her. And...I was concerned for her."

Aemon now found himself growing grimmer. "You thought she'd run away like my mother?"

His uncle looked away, but the guilt emanated from his very soul. "She and Arya are so much alike. I-I couldn't help but think of Lyanna as I was lecturing her over her trying behavior."

"Arya is one of the people that has most inspired me to encourage Jaime's new tact in the training yard. There should be more options for women of nobility."

"It's the way things are."

"But is it the way things have to be?" Aemon asked.

His uncle shrugged.

Aemon scraped his chair back and opened the door a hair to find no one in the hallway. With any luck, Ser Meryn walked away upon hearing the pointless turn of their conversation. He closed the door quietly and whispered, "I don't see anyone, but I caution you to be careful, Uncle."

Ned sighed in exasperation. "I know we have to be concerned about Lord Baelish's reach. That's what I wanted to talk with you about."

"Did he come to you again?"

"No. He has left me alone, but the conversation still bothers me. He is clearly planning something."

"Please tell me that you don't continue to doubt Jaime."

"It's not...it's not him that concerns me."

"Uncle, we're aware of who is likely to be the biggest threat. As should you be if you remember my tale."

"We left Lord Jaime alone. Is he capable of managing all of the necessary threats while we're gone?"

Gods, I hope he is, Aemon thought. He trusted Jaime. He had no doubt that Jaime would ever betray him. But that didn't mean that there weren't concerns. His Hand was a man of action. While certainly not as stupid as his sister seemed to believe he was, he lacked the head for politics and scheming. Not to mention that Jaime had only just gotten over learning about the existence of his son, which had set him back nearly three days. Jaime couldn't afford to be out of commission for that long if something as jarring cropped up. He didn't blame him for his distress, but it was a liability.

"It will be fine, Uncle. It has to be. The Gods' willing."

His uncle shifted uncomfortably and seemed stricken.

"Has there been any news about Bran?"

Ned sighed. "The day before we set sail, I received word that Bran is awake. However, he is now blind and will never see again."

Aemon felt his heart plummet. Why must Bran suffer so? He'll be able to walk at least. He shouldn't be without protection this time either. I need to tell Uncle. He had been putting it off for too long. Could he reasonably expect to not be overheard? They were keeping their voices low already and Dorne would likely not be any safer.

"Uncle, there's something I need to tell you," he whispered.

Ned looked up from where he had been studying his hands. His face was lined with grief and there was a shine to his eyes.

"Do you remember the story I told you about before?"

"Of course, Aemon. How could I forget?"

Aemon's face fell. No doubt keeping the truth from him would injure their relationship, but he did not regret it. He was certain now that the old gods had been acting through him. He was not supposed to be able to lie in front of the weirwood and yet he'd had a strong impression to gloss over Bran's role in the war. Surely there was a purpose to that.

He dragged in a shuddering breath and continued, "I wasn't entirely truthful, particularly about Bran's role in the story."

His uncle narrowed his eyes at him. "What happened?"

"When Bran fell, the injury encouraged a power that had been sleeping inside him to awaken. His third eye. You see, warging runs in the Stark bloodline. I can't say for sure about either Robb or Sansa, but Arya could warg. I can warg. But so could Bran. Except Arya and I required a close

bond with our wolves to warg. Bran was so powerful, he could warg into almost any mind, human or animal. He could even use the weirwood trees to see the past."

His uncle was staring at him in disbelief. He could only imagine what he would've looked like if he'd told him the first time around under the weirwood.

"But Bran needed training to understand his power and use it. Jojen and Meera Reed, with Hodor, took it upon themselves to take Bran north of the Wall so that he could receive training from the Three-Eyed Raven."

Aemon could feel sweat beading on his forehead. His heart pounded in his chest, causing heat to flush through his body, and his mouth grew dry from the nerves. If he was not mistaken, he could already see anger in his uncle's eyes.

"Bran drew the attention of the Night King while training with the Three-Eyed Raven known as Bloodraven. Bloodraven died, the last of the Children of the Forest perished, and Hodor, all died protecting Bran. He was one of the keys to ending the Long Night. Only I failed to protect him."

There was a long pause. Aemon tried to keep his uncle's eyes, but wilted until he was staring at the floor.

"You...held this from me?"

"I didn't think you were ready to hear it. I'm sorry, Uncle, but I don't regret it."

When he looked up again, his uncle's eyes were casting wildly about, his jaw working. He had rarely seen his uncle angry, but now his face was flushed red and he trembled.

"You could have spared Bran this injury. But you didn't?"

"I couldn't, Uncle. It's clear to me now that he was fated to be injured. Jaime didn't even do anything this time and he still suffered a catastrophic injury. We went out of our way to make sure he was not climbing that day and Jaime was the one who got injured."

Ned cast his eyes about the room frantically before settling on Aemon's again. "You are supposed to protect your family."

Aemon felt the heat rising further into his face. "I am supposed to save the world from the Long Night," he gritted, trying to desperately to keep his voice down. "Nothing is more important than that. Not even family."

Ned stood abruptly. "I overthrew my best friend for you. My children were bartered away for you!"

Aemon jumped to his feet. "You did those things as much for me as for yourself. It was the right thing to do, Uncle, as you are so honorbound. Why do you think I was all set to betrothe Arya to a Prince across the world? In spite of my love for her, in spite of how much I knew she would hate the idea, I was prepared to suffer her loathing for the rest of my life if it meant the world survived."

His uncle backed away shaking his head, disgust and anger in equal measure on his face. "You're not a Stark. You're not a Lannister either. You and Lord Jaime both are of your own kind. That you make these manipulations as easily as…" He bit his tongue, but Aemon knew full well the name that was on his lips. He turned and fled, slamming the door, not even waiting to be dismissed.

Aemon sank back into his chair, his heart aching. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. Gods, it better have been.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Note: Feel free to follow me on twitter for real time updates on the story @Groovypriestess. I also post fanfiction memes and jokes, interesting articles I come across, and let's plays of video games I love.

Chapter 57 - Daenerys V

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! You guys might very well be the best readers. You've just been awesome and I really appreciate your support by following this fic and leaving your kudos! There have been some seriously insightful comments and it's a joy to see the discussions. I hope I can keep delivering!

I took more inspiration than usual from the original work A Clash of Kings for this chapter, rereading it several times. Some of it should feel familiar, but I take a very different direction from GRRM in what to convey. As well as inspiration from another Fantasy series. You might spot it.

Italicized dialogue with the star (*) means it was lifted straight from the chapter in the book, but I think there's just one line. As I'm sure you're aware, I make no money from this work and never will. GRRM owns it all.

I would like to thank my beta, catzrko0l, for tightening up the writing! Seriously, folks, she helped make sure this was readable and not an error-ridden mess and put in a lot of excellent work.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 57

Daenerys V

"Khaleesi, this place is ill-omened. Only shadows are born from this place. We must go," Aggo said to her, glancing at the ruin of the Palace of Dust in trepidation.

"And leave my dragons to these blue-lipped maegi ? I think not," Daenerys replied harshly. She drew her lips into a thin line and walked forward slowly, her muscles stiff and unyielding with rage.

"You insult them at your risk, my beauty," Xaro Xhoan Daxos called to her from the palanquin. He wore a smile that stretched his face with false pretenses.

Her patience was already worn thin enough by Xaro Xhoan Daxos. She and her Khalasar had been stuck in Qarth for a month and, as far as she was concerned, it was one month too long. It had plenty of beauty and color, which she adored, but her nephew was waiting for her across the

Narrow Sea. Never had she been so close to home, yet Xaro Xhoan Daxos, for all of his wealth, refused her passage in one of his many ships. She hadn't needed Ser Jorah to tell her that he was keeping her here for his own ends, unlikely to ever let her go. He offered her an entire wing in his palace for her Khalasar to make use of, he offered her an entire world's variety of food, marble baths, the finest in Meereen fashion and jewelry. Everything except the ship she so desperately needed.

Then her apartments at his grand palace had been broken into, her guards slaughtered, and her two dragons absconded with. She had rounded on him in her rage only to have it tempered by the mixture of horror and fury on his own face.

"It could only have been Pyat Pree and his fellow warlocks," Xaro Xhoan Daxos said with a grim face.

"Then let us seek them out. My dragons are my own! I am their mother, they are my children! We are not to be separated."

"This is what they want, my queen. They are baiting you into the House of the Undying. Once you step into their arms, they will have you."

"For what purpose?!"

"Only they know for what purpose, my love. It is folly to guess at their intentions." Yet his eyes slid in a way that suggested he was hiding something.

It matters not! My children need me, she had thought and stormed away, her bloodriders and Ser Jorah on her heels.

That warlock shall rue the day he had the gall, Daenerys thought, striding forward purposefully with fire in her eyes. She could feel her heart pounding with her rage. To think I had a dragon inside me worth waking. Her children were all she had and she would fight tooth and nail to have them back safe in her arms.

As if her very thoughts could conjure him, Pyat Pree stepped forward with a smile on his blue lips that did not reach his eyes and held his hands out to her. "My queen, it is an honor that you would grace us with your presence."

"Spare me the formalities. I know you have my dragons," she growled.

He cocked his head, but his knowing smile never diminished. "Pardon? Have they escaped their confines? We at the House of the Undying know nothing of this."

"You try my patience, warlock. Continue to mock me and I will bring an army down on your heads and tear your house asunder," she declared.

Her threat only seemed to amuse him. "Perhaps the Mother of Dragons seeks our counsel? If someone has your dragons, then we shall surely lead you to them," Pyat Pree said and held out his hand to her.

He must have them. This may be my best opportunity to get them back! She was just reaching for his hand when Ser Jorah grabbed her other hand.

"Your Grace."

She whipped her eyes to him and he was forced to bow his head from the intensity of the rage. "It's too dangerous! There are few who enter who ever come out. Think of your life! All is not yet lost."

Daenerys fumed. "You told me that live dragons were priceless beyond measure, did you not?"

"I did, Your Grace," he said, barely able to meet her gaze.

"They are worth even more than that to me. I am their mother! I will not abandon them," she declared. With that, she turned to Pyat Pree and took his hand. He led her through the door and she did not look back.

"For one so young, you have the wisdom of a crone."

"If you are just as wise, you'll guide me to my dragons and I will let you live," Daenerys replied.

His amusement never faltered, which only served to infuriate her, but she breathed deeply. She must keep her wits about her if she wanted to save her dragons. Only death could separate a mother from her children and she would surely die trying.

They entered under the archway and she felt like the outside world fell away from her.

" The House of the Undying was not made for mortal men *" Pyat Pree began, the amusement finally fading away, and he now regarded her solemnly. "If you value your life, you will heed my words. This way leads in but never out. When you enter, always take the first door on your right. There may be rooms through other doors, but heed them not. The way will close behind you and a new way will open, but it is only temporary. You must be steadfast."

Daenerys felt her lips purse. Trust you? I wish not to make that mistake again, she thought, but the stillness in the air and within the ruin was unsettling. Ser Jorah, Aggo, and Xaro Xhoan Daxos had filled her ears endlessly on the ride over about the hidden dangers in the House of the Undying.

"This is the warlock's territory, Khaleesi. No matter the power of your dragons, they are small, and you are young. Trust your senses and be vigilant, " Ser Jorah, her old bear, had warned her. There was no mistaking the fear and dread upon his face.

Her instinct was telling her to trust the warlock. For all of his pretty words and the falsity in his voice earlier, she could sense none now. With nothing else to go on, she may as well heed his instructions.

A dwarf dressed in fine silks of blue and purple stood waiting for her holding a silver tray with a crystalline goblet. Inside the goblet, a viscous blue liquid sat undisturbed.

"You must drink it. All of it," Pyat Pree said.

Shade of the evening. An easy way to poison me, she mused. The very liquid that permanently stained Pyat Pree's lips blue. She gave him a suspicious glance. "What will it do?"

"It will unstop your ears and dissolve the caul that dulls your senses. You will be enabled to find what you seek."

"My dragons. I seek my dragons. I will find them here?"

Pyat Pree's silence was answer enough.

"How do I leave then? The opposite?"

"There is no leaving. One does not come and go through the House of the Undying like one walks through one's own home. Always up, always through the door to your right. Never down, never any other direction. Pass the denizens in the doors, heed not their sweet words for it is poison."

She bent down and took the goblet, bringing it to her lips. The viscous liquid slid down her throat and her first impulse was to grimace, but she forced herself to drink. I have eaten a stallion's heart fresh from its body. I can drink this. Even as she was thinking this, the rancid flavor changed from the taste of salt on the air, the flavor of mangoes from Magister Illyrio Mopatis' table, to the spiced meat that the Dothraki enjoyed, Drogo's seed, blood, and the salt from her tears at losing Rhaego. A cold chill spread through her chest as though the liquid was set to freeze her heart She drew the cup from her lips and trembled. It took all of her strength to set the crystalline goblet back onto the silver tray and hold her head high.

"Now you may enter."

Daenerys stepped forward and entered a stone antechamber with a door on each wall. "Right only," she murmured to herself and went straight through the right door. It showed yet another antechamber, same as the last. She passed through it just as quickly only to be faced with yet another identical antechamber. Here she hesitated. Yet more sorcery. She thought back to the shadow magic of the maegi and felt herself shiver. But her dragons needed her. She pushed forward and went through the door again. Four antechambers, four doors, going through the rightmost each time.

Finally, Daenerys ended up in a hallway that stretched so far she couldn't see the end. Torches bracketed the right wall, but only the left side held doors. Thick, wooden doors, with iron bands stretching across them on the top and bottom. She began walking down them, her gaze straying curiously to the doors, but kept her feet moving forward.

Go through the doors on the right. Only the right, she commanded herself.

She heard a latch click next to her. It sounded like someone was trying to push through the door. She did a double take, her footsteps hesitating a beat.

Boom! Something big and heavy hit the door.

She screamed and hurried forward, praying that the door would hold.

You are a dragon. You are a dragon. It is nothing. Merely the warlock's sorcery, Daenerys tried to soothe herself, but she winced as she continued to hear something persistently ram against the door. Suddenly a door did open and she jumped away, expecting an attack, only to see a beautiful garden and a bright red door. Her mouth fell open and she took one step forward. There was the lemon tree that she had long dreamed of! Even as she watched the scene, the red door opened and an old figure hobbling on a cane stepped out. His eyes narrowed at her like he was trying to see beyond the glare of the Braavosi sun.

"Princess! You've arrived! You're home now, you're safe now." He offered her a hand, which she remembered to be soft as leather.

Ser Willem. Her mouth went dry and she stepped back. It frightened her how much she yearned to take his hand. I must keep going .

She once more hurried down the hall and tried to ignore his plaintive cry of "Princess!"

Suddenly, she heard a frantic scrabbling in the walls like so many rats were crawling on the inside, ready to burst into the corridor.

They want fear. They are trying to manipulate me. I am a dragon, a mother, and I am here for my children. I will not be dissuaded. She squared her shoulders once more and tried to ignore the eerie chittering and the scrape of claws against stone.

Daenerys tried to keep a measured pace, yet another door swung open. She peered into it and stiffened. Sandstone polished and molded into pillars and a smooth stone floor spread out before her, with berry red drapes on the pillars and plush rugs of blue and gold spread throughout the palace. Magister Illyrio Mopatis sat at his table with a man with short gray hair, his skin tanned and lined like leather. Where Illyrio was dressed in a robe of the finest spun gold cloth, showcasing an ornate design in a rainbow of reds, greens, blues, and purple, the other man was dressed simply in a blue tunic and breeches that appeared well-weaved, but dusty from travel.

A vague familiarity struck her and she was certain that she had walked onto this scene previously.

Neither man had so much as glanced at her before, but now they turned toward her. Illyrio put on a smile wide enough to split his face and he stood with his arms outstretched. "Princess!"

The other man had eyes as blue as the ocean's deepest depths. While his face was pleasantly neutral, his eyes were cold and calculating.

She wilted and increased her pace once more, only breathing when the door shut behind her.

A few more doors down, yet another opened. She peered through it with trepidation. She could see the back of a man bent over a bassinet and the cooing cries of a baby. The man had wavy silver hair to his shoulders. A guard dressed in armor and a white cloak stood nearby, a small smile on his face.

"A fine boy fit for a king, don't you think, Ser Arthur?"

"Of course, my Prince. With you as his father, he'll be a just and fine ruler."

There was a pause and the prince never looked from the bassinet. "Any word on my princess?"

A shadow passed on the knight's face. "She is...recovering, but—"

"But she cannot have a third."

The knight was silent.

"That won't do. There are three heads to our dragon. The prophecy demands three heads. There must be three children."

"My Prince?"

"Do you know why I gave my son the name Aegon?"

"It is an ancestral name, the name of many of the best kings in Targaryen history," the knight replied dutifully.

The Prince finally looked at his knight and there was a feverish light in his purple eyes. "His name is Aegon because he is supposed to follow in Aegon the Conqueror's footsteps. Just as Aegon had two sisters, so shall he. The prophecy demands it."

The door shut in Daenerys' face and she startled. Was that — was that Prince Rhaegar? She wondered. Ser Arthur was a knight of the Kingsguard, her nephew was named Aegon. What prophecy? Why the three heads? Her thoughts circled in her mind like the flies that had circled her silver mount in the Red Waste. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and pressed forward.

At one point, she stopped as she heard a cry. She cocked her head, listening for it again? Was it a baby's cry or a dragon's? This time it was a screech and her heart filled with both terror and love at the same time. Her dragons were nearby! Or were they? Was this another one of the warlocks' tricks? Her heart sang at hearing their cries, even in distress. I will trust my heart. She hurried forward down the hallway.

Her brow furrowed as she approached and found a staircase heading down and came to a halt. There were no doors on the right, only the left, and now this staircase. Her heart was in her throat. Pyat Pree said only doors on the right and stairs leading up! Has he led me false? She looked back the way she came and felt her heart still as she saw the farthest torch down gutter out. Beyond it the hallway was a cavernous darkness when it had seemed to go on forever. Another torch darkened. She strained her ears to hear a scraping sound of something large dragging itself across the tattered rug. Another torch gone. She could now hear the heavy wet sound of breathing and she looked around frantically for an escape.

I am lost! The thought sounded frantically like a bell in her head. She stared at the last door, then the door to its left. The last door is on the right of the left door, the idea struck her and she barreled through the door before she could second guess herself.

She spilled out onto the cobbled street of a city. People were streaming past her, frantically looking behind them, and screaming their fear and terror. A mighty roar drew her attention to the sky and she gaped as a large, dark dragon passed over head.

Her breath caught in her throat and she frantically hurried into the street, trying to catch a glimpse of the beast. Although she could feel the press of bodies, bumping and nudging her, they didn't give her any more notice than if she were a cat on the street. She saw a belltower and ran towards it, pulling herself up its spiral stairs. Once at the top, she could see a blaze of several fires. Two beasts were wheeling about in the sky and as she desperately searched them, she saw the unmistakable cream and gold of Rhaellon as she dipped down and set a nearby street ablaze. More

screams rent the air and her dragon roared its delight.

No...how can this be?! Sweet Rhaellon, her kitten who frequently nudged herself under her hand for neck scratches could never do something like this willingly. Is this the fate of the world if the warlocks keep my dragons? Even as she thought it, Drogon, more massive than his sister, finally swooped around a distant castle on a hill and breathed a stream of fire up the hillside. The high walls crumbled under the intense heat.

This isn't real, Daenerys thought. She wrenched her gaze from the heavens and looked around. There was supposed to be another door and if she wasn't quick enough, she could only imagine she'd be stuck here. Her eyes flitted desperately through the street below and then she saw an opening, a telltale glow behind it suggested it was otherwise not of this realm. She flew down the stairs and raced towards it.

The door was still several houses down when she heard an unearthly screech. She felt her head turn and her eyes grew wide with fear as she saw Rhaellon began to wheel in her direction. She picked up speed and cursed her flimsy, silk slippers for sliding on the smooth cobble. There was a roar of spewing flames and she screamed as she threw herself through the door. When she turned, only a blank wall stared at her, but she would swear she could feel the intense heat of dragonfire and flames licking at her clothing.

Daenerys trembled and breathed heavily in exertion, tears pricking at her eyes as she thought about the countless people who would have been instantly vaporized by the fire. Innocents didn't deserve that kind of fate, particularly not those ones. She had seen their worn clothing and smudged faces. Those had not been the freshly-washed nobility who made the decisions that allowed the common folk to suffer.

It took her a moment to ease her breathing and she did not stand until her hands stopped trembling. Now when she looked up, she was struck by how cold everything appeared. The sharp contrast between the screaming masses in the streets coupled with the roar of the dragons to a deathly stillness unnerved her. She was in a castle. What little light seeped through the cracks of the doors was sharp and pale, making the world feel unearthly.

Not for the first time, the Qartheen way of dressing left her feeling uncomfortably exposed and she wanted nothing more than to cover the stray breast open to the air. Despite the cool lighting, the air did not feel particularly chill, yet something in the air caused her skin to prickle. Magic? She wondered. No matter. I need to focus on my dragons. There was a great set of double doors several feet down that were cast wide open, the cold light filtering into the hall. She walked towards it and peered in.

A layer of bodies littered the hall. It was a massive throne room, lined with smooth sandstone

columns. If there had been a rug, it was hidden under the bodies and blood. At the far end a slumped figure sat on a throne, an excess of melted swords framed it.

The Iron Throne, she thought and felt herself drawn to it, despite the bodies. How often had her brother described the throne? Yet the image she had conjured could not equal its majesty and failed to capture its grim countenance.

Daenerys had to look down as she picked her way to the throne. She couldn't help but notice there were more than just soldiers among the bodies. Women, young and old alike, wore fine dresses that were ripped and tattered. She saw a lovely young woman with auburn hair, wearing a velvet dress in green and gold. She lay on her side, her hand resting protectively over her rounded belly. An equally young man with a scant beard lay on his stomach, his hand reached out to her. She saw a somber looking older man with the largest sword she had ever seen resting limply in his own hand, his face a permanent grimace of pain. There were a dozen holes puncturing the snarling wolf on his chest.

Next she came upon a tall blonde warrior. At first she assumed it was a man, but on closer inspection, there was a delicate softness that suggested a woman. A blond man was laying across her protectively and there was a noticeable chunk of flesh missing from his skull. Their swords were still in hand. A black-hair figure lie close to them, barely of maturity, holding a child close to him.

A plump older man, a full gray-haired man who hugged a young girl close, a young man who held a broken cane, a bald warrior, two ladies clung to each other, one with dark hair and one with red hair, another half dozen soldiers wore a variety of red and gold, grey and black, green and yellow armor. Then the countless children's bodies lay behind nearly everyone. Few were older than toddlers, including two young girls resting against the bottom stairs, each other holding their own broken swords.

Daenerys was grateful to finally look away from those bodies, only to approach the one on the throne. He had a head of curly dark hair. He was dressed in armor of grey, black, and red. The sigil of House Targaryen was painted across his dented breastplate and she could see a hole in his side where he had bled out. Clutched limply in his grasp was a blue rose, as fresh as if he had just picked it.

"Aemon Targaryen," she whispered and reached for the rose.

A creeping, scraping sound drew her attention behind her. She turned slowly to see every single body in the hall rising to their feet. Instead of life shining in their eyes and plumping their skin, blue eyes flared from every skull, looking like torches in the darkened hall. The two girls who were the closest to her turned simultaneously and leveled their swords at her.

Her breath caught in her chest and she took a step back. A hand gripped her and she turned to find the Tarygaryen king now had the same bright blue eyes.

Daenerys screamed and wrenched her hand away, darting off to the side. Where's the door?! I need a door! She ran back behind the throne to a pair of double doors on the side, but just as she reached them, they opened.

A figure appeared that was cold as ice, had bright blue eyes, and a wrought iron crown that grew out of his skull. Unlike the other dead, his eyes peered at her with ruthless intelligence. He held a spear made of ice and he raised it, ready to plunge it into her chest. Daenerys ran behind the throne to the other side of the room, seeing yet another double door over there and hoping it did not hide yet another undead abomination. Her wrist was caught yet again and this time it was a soldier dressed in red and gold.

"Let me go," Daenerys shouted, desperately trying to unhook the fingers that dug painfully into her flesh. She hadn't expected her shout to do anything, but the lack of reaction she saw in the person's dead face chilled her. The cold king approached her at an unhurried pace and she knew then that he was the one who would kill her. She glanced around frantically and saw that the double doors she'd been angling for were now open and shimmering. Her way out! She tugged harder, but the fingers had fastened to her as deftly as a hook had caught her clothes. The other dead were closing in around her, as though to prevent her escape, the only opening where the cold king was about to enter.

Suddenly she heard a cacophony of shrieks and fire blazed around her. The fingers finally loosened and she pulled her wrist free. Half a dozen of the dead bodies now crackled with flames and she took the opportunity to break through them.

Rhaellon, she thought. The cream and gold dragon flapped in front of the door and screamed at her, as though beckoning her onward. But where's Drogon?

As if her thoughts could summon him, she heard another plume of dragonfire and glanced back to see him harassing the cold king.

"Drogon!" She shouted. Her tiny black dragon dutifully turned and flapped towards her. "Through the door!" She would not pass until her dragons were through.

The cold king pulled his arm back, ready to throw the spear. Rhaellon and Drogon slipped through

the door. She watched the spear release from his hand just as she followed and she pleaded once more that the door closed the moment she was through like it had last time.

She stood hunched over, gasping for air as her panic began to leave her. Just as she was about to look for them, a set of soft claws settled on her shoulder and then she felt the other on her other shoulder.

"My children," Daenerys whispered to them and stroked their heads. "How I've missed you! We are never to be parted again. I will make sure of it." She indulged another moment with them both before turning to address the new scene and she gazed in wonder.

Unlike before, where everything was cast in a cold light, the sun spilled through the balcony doors onto the stone terrace and a gentle breeze shifted the curtains, carrying with it the scent of fresh air and salt. A soft cry drew her attention and she saw a kindly-faced, plump woman rocking a babe as she nursed it. If she had noticed her presence, she hadn't stirred.

The door on the other side of the room opened and she took in a breath as the very same king that had been slumped dead on the Iron Throne now strode across the room all smiles. She could see now his crown was gold with red rubies and instead of armor he wore a black doublet with a cape. The Targaryen sigil was once more splashed prominently on his chest.

"Your Grace," the woman murmured softly and dipped her head.

"How is the babe?"

"Well, Your Grace. It's only fussed a little."

"May I?"

The wet nurse held the baby aloft and the king scooped it up with such care, it looked like he was carrying it like crystal. She couldn't see the babe, but heard its soft coos. He grinned and whispered back at it in excited tones that she could not hear.

Daenerys smiled and tilted her head at the warm scene. Is this how it would've been with Rhaego had he lived? My little stallion, she thought, a deep ache developing in her chest and she had to fight the tears that threatened to choke her. It had been two months since she lost her sweet babe

and yet the wound was still as raw and painful as the day it had been inflicted on her. She held a hand to her heart, grimacing at the pain that erupted there, threatening to envelope her.

"My queen?"

She froze and brought her head up, her eyes connecting with the steel gray ones of the king. He appeared puzzled to see her, but then smiled. "I'm surprised the Grandmaester has let you out of bed. Couldn't resist seeing our babe, I guess. 'Tis a sight to behold. Come now!"

While he had not approached her, he still held the baby out to her. She studied his face, trying to discern his intent. Though his eyes were indeed a wintry gray, they were warm and looked on her with love.

She stepped back. I can't trust this vision. No more than I can trust the dragons destroying the city or the dead walking, she thought. This is a trick. She glanced around for the shiny door and saw it on the balcony. It took every bit of effort she had not to look back, for she knew she would then step forward to take that babe into her arms.

Her dragons took flight once more, biting into her shoulders with their claws to lift off. She pelted towards the door.

"Dany, wait!"

It was almost enough to make her stop, but her dragons flew through the door and so did she.

Daenerys collapsed once more after going through the door, breathing heavily in exhaustion and anguish. She screamed as something cold fell on her and she gasped for air like she had plunged into a still pond. Water ran down her hair and arms, puddling on the ground. She turned to see a servant in the same livery colors as the dwarf place a bucket once more at her feet. The lack of expression on the servant's face perturbed her as she pulled herself up. Just as she straightened her back, her dragons wheeled and settled themselves on each of her shoulders once more, both hissing at the occupants of the room.

"Daenerys Targaryen, you come before us, cleansed, having passed your trial. You should be proud. Never has one so young made it to the Quorum." A man who appeared older than Pyat Pree sat on the other side of a round table, though his lips were equally blue. His thin beard, brighter than her hair, was so long it trailed down his front, disappearing below the edge of the table. There

were a dozen others also sitting at the table, their arms in their sleeves as they peered at her stoically.

An aged woman with black hair that fell in intricate braids down her back and with the same blue lips, gave her a terse frown. "Your dragons. They should not be here."

"And they wouldn't be had you not stolen them," Daenerys snapped back, her hand resting on the back of the chair as she glared at them all.

"Sit, child."

"I wish to remain standing," she replied.

The old man's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. "I said ssssssit!"

When next Daenerys blinked, she found herself seated and her breath caught in her throat. Her startled dragons rose to the ceiling, flapping once more, but there was little wind for them to catch in the stale air and so they alighted on the table. The table itself was so massive in circumference that she didn't think they would've been able to touch, even if any of them had reached out to their neighbors. She peered at it curiously and noticed scenes engraved in bronze that flickered in the surrounding torchlight. Though there was no other light sources, the bronze shone as if it had an inner glow. Even as she peered at the engravings, she could see them shifting in a way that had nothing to do with the torches. One of the scenes closest to her she thought resembled a woman looking up into the sky where a comet resided. Just behind her, flapped two birds. No, dragons, she realized. This is me.

"Daenerys Targaryen, you come before the Quorum seeking our guidance—"

"I came seeking my dragons. I have them now. Release us and we shall put this incident behind us," she replied, drawing herself up and peered down at them.

A dry wheezing echoed around the room that she recognized as laughter.

"You have entered the House of Undying. You're in our domain," the old man said with a self- satisfied smile. "No one leaves but at our say so."

Drogon squawked at him and flapped his wings frantically.

"What do you want from me? Perhaps we can come to an arrangement," Daenerys said, her voice steady and even as she watched this Quorum. Her skin prickled once more and when she glanced down between her eyelashes, she could see the hair on her arm standing on end. I will not be afraid. I am the blood of the dragon.

"Precisely," the man said, his smile stretching wider across his face, "the blood of the dragon. Rare blood it is. You are the last, Daenerys Targaryen. Not just the last dragon, but the last of pure Valyrian descent. The properties in your blood are unmatched by any other."

Daenerys tensed. "You want my blood?"

"The potions we can make, the spells we could conduct, are virtually limitless.

Another blink of an eye and she felt vines tightening around her wrists. She pulled her wrists, trying to slip out of them, but the vines cut so deep they were already starting to draw blood.

"Unhand me," she shouted.

"The blood of the dragon and the dragons themselves. Such a boon we have collected this day," the old man said, looking towards the ceiling and holding his hands up as if a God had answered his prayer.

"So simple, foolish child. You played right into our hands."

"You're ours now."

Whispered voices from the other figures sitting at the table began to erupt around her and she could feel her heart thudding in her chest.

"I am but one person. Dispose of me and you'll have no blood at all!"

The old woman that had been speaking wore a pleasant smile and peered at her as if she were speaking to a dull child. "No need for death. It is possible to milk the blood from a being and still leave them alive. You have decades yet to live, child."

Her eyes widened. "You want blood for your magic? I thought only those in Asshai practiced in blood magic."

The woman snorted. "All magic is blood magic."

Daenerys pulled at her wrists and looked frantically around the room. This is just a vision. I just need to break free and another glowing door will appear. Even as she thought this, she continued to be fastened to the chair. Despite her pulling, she failed to break free and struggled to ignore the warm, stickiness of blood seeping out from underneath the vines onto the table.

A hand fell on her arm. She jerked away from it, but a stream of bluebell flames engulfed the person and they screamed. Her dragons had been screeching and flapping frantically on the table. They now lashed out, spraying flames on all of the figures seated at the table. Panicked screams erupted and a few figures escaped the ring of fire.

The vines fell away and she pushed back from the chair with such force it toppled behind her. She saw the few lucky warlocks leave through a heavy door on the other side and she dashed after them. "Rhaellon, Drogon, come," she shouted to them and they obediently flew past her, their eyes gleaming in the low light. She dashed down the hall, her breath coming out in short gasps. The warlocks had already disappeared, but there was a long line of torches.

Suddenly, she came to a three-way split in the hall and stopped. She stared down each hall frantically, but they appeared the same. As she looked down the halls, smoke followed her and before long she saw stray embers from the fire that burned unabated. The moldy carpet would be no match for such flames. She could still smell the odor of burning flesh and she felt sickened at the way it stirred hunger in her belly.

Where do I go? She thought. Pyat Pree told her to always follow the first door on the right, but did those rules apply here? Were those rules ever to be followed? She couldn't say and longed still to see him burn for this betrayal.

Drogon's screech split the silence and he flapped down the right hallway. Rhaellon settled on her shoulder, digging her claws in to cling to her dress. Daenerys picked up her skirts once more and

rushed after Drogon. She had no answers, so she might as well follow him. Surely the dragons possessed an instinct that they could use to help find their way. He passed all of the doors that she saw, but when the path split at the stairs, he went up. She followed still as he took yet another flight of stairs up. Then he flew down the hallway and she kept running. Her lungs burned in her chest and there was a sharp pain in her side, but her footsteps did not flag. She only stumbled to a halt when the hall came to an end at a moldy tapestry but a line of doors on her left.

"Drogon?" She asked, pleading with him to find a way. He screeched, flapping hard to stay aloft. He had to be exhausted. "We can't rest. Not until we're safe from here."

He crooned in answer to her before landing on the floor, hunched over his wing tips. He seemed to take a moment for rest and then snapped his head back and spit fire at the tapestry. It caught and nearly disintegrated in the heat and she saw the hidden hallway beneath. She ran forward, only stopping to scoop up Drogon in her arms as she threw herself into the hallway. She followed it and nearly cried with joy as she saw sunlight that arced into the doorway.

Daenerys ran out to see Ser Jorah and her bloodriders confronting Pyat Pree who shrieked at them unintelligibly.

"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said, once he caught sight of her.

She fell to her knees, gasping for breath, clutching Drogon to her. He clung to her just like his sister, seemingly afraid to let her go once more.

Pyat Pree screamed and ran at her, pulling a knife hidden in his robes.

Aggo snapped his whip and caught him with the tip and blood poured out of a wound on Pyat Pree's face. She couldn't resist smiling at the sweet sound of the cracking whip. Aggo continued to rain blows down on Pyat Pree. The smile vanished just as quickly as she thought back to the horror of being enslaved by the warlocks, being harvested for the endless supply of blood her body could create.

"Aggo, that is enough! I am safe now."

"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah said to her again, offering her a hand. "Are you sure you're well, Your Grace?"

"I will be," she said, taking his hand. She turned to look back at the Palace of Dust and was surprised to see dark clouds of smoke billowing out of the openings.

"My love, we must leave," Xaro Xhoan Daxos called to her. His face was the picture of concern and he waved for her to join him.

She stood up straight, her back rigid once more, and smiled satisfactorily as she walked to the palanquin, keeping one hand on each dragon. They nuzzled into her hands and crooned their pleasure.

Xaro fretted and muttered to himself as they rode back to his vast palace. Daenerys fed her dragons hunks of meat, which they devoured eagerly. She noticed people rushing past through the curtains of the palanquin. Alarm and confusion was on every face. No doubt they were all pointing to the column of smoke in the sky where the Palace of Dust burned. She found that she could not bring herself to feel pity for the warlocks. They brought it on themselves when they sought to tame my dragons and hold me captive, she thought. I would've happily let them be were it not for that grave mistake.

"The council will not like this, Khaleesi," Xaro Xhoan Daxos said to her finally, using her given title for once.

She frowned at him. Though she had only been living in his palace for about a month, she thought he lacked concern for anything outside of it. He was always pleasant, always smiling, greeting her every day with warmth and cheer. She did not believe for an instant that he was truly that pleasant, but to see his facade slip so suddenly and thoroughly was alarming.

"They stole my dragons. I merely reclaimed what was mine," she replied.

"Your dragons are a thing of wonder," he replied and for the first time she thought she saw hunger in his eyes as he looked upon the dragons.

She glared at him. "They are mine . I birthed them, I'm raising them. I am the blood of the dragon. I am their mother and they are my children. They will not tolerate another in my place," she replied, the warning clear in her voice.

Xaro Xhoan Daxos' frown deepened, but he gave no answer back.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

As usual, if you would like more real time updates and insights on this work, the occasional fanfic humor, and pictures of my cat, be sure to follow me @GroovyPriestess on Twitter.

Chapter 58 - Daenerys IV/Jaime XIX

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Welcome back to TDR! I hope you all had a wonderful week. Thank you for your continued support for this story. It really means a lot to me! Enjoy!

I would like to thank catzrko0l for being beta for this chapter. You rock!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 58

Daenerys VI

The next day, Xaro Xhoan Daxos ejected her from his palace. "You wreak havoc where you go, Khaleesi. The council have informed me that you are to be banished from the city. You have until nightfall to leave with your Khalasar or you will all be put to death," he informed her, his very countenance as grim as he if were presiding over a funeral.

"Give me a ship bound for Westeros and I will gladly leave just as hastily."

"I cannot be seen giving aid to exiles. You walk alone, my Queen," he replied and then he abruptly turned and left her apartments.

His guards closed in around them. They hastily packed their meager belongings and left. She unapologetically took the items that had been gifted to her when she was accepting donations to gift to the Council, which included a crown of gold and silver, every facet inlaid with diamonds. With luck, she could use them to trade for a ship.

She now walked the docks, looking for a captain willing to take her and her Khalasar, but the people fell away from her in terror. When she had first arrived, they had welcomed her with open arms, lining the streets and throwing all manner of trinkets and flower petals. You need not fear me, Daenerys desperately wanted to say to them, but she stayed silent. What was done was done and she would never compromise her dragons' safety again.

"Khaleesi, perhaps I may be of service," a voice called out to her. She turned to find a man who did appear to be from Westeros judging by the lightness of his skin. There was a gold tooth in his smile, but he was otherwise kempt and eager.

Still she approached him cautiously, her bloodriders at her elbows.

"You are captain of a ship?" She asked.

"I am but a mere merchant, Princess, however I am arrived from Westeros on the orders of King Aemon I Targaryen himself. He is eager to have you home."

"Is he now?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "I have longed for many moons to meet him."

"As he has done for you, Princess. In fact, he commanded I present to you this gift upon our meeting. Come see," he said, grabbing a worn box behind him. He opened it so that it was just far enough away that she had to learn closer to peer inside.

Suddenly Jhogo screamed in agony. She turned to see him clutching at his chest. The box dropped and shattered at her feet. She briefly glimpsed a shining black scorpion with a red-tipped stinger crawl from the shards of the box when she was yanked forward by her hand, the merchant held a dagger in his other hand, ready to strike her throat.

Daenerys felt her heartbeat slow as she followed the slow descent of the dagger. She tugged her wrist futilely, but could not take her eyes away. Then the merchant was screaming as the dagger fell from his hand as a swordpoint grew from his chest. An old man dressed in shining armor and a white cloak had suddenly appeared. He kept moving. His boot came down in a vicious stomp on the scorpion, ending its life, and then she saw him turn with his sword brandished as though looking for more threats. She then noticed that a group of soldiers quickly grabbed and dispatched the other men that had been hiding behind the merchant in the stack of crates.

She finally turned to Jhogo, who lay on the ground, gasping for air.

"Are you hurt, Khaleesi?"

"No," she said quickly, but bent down to cradle her bloodrider's head.

"Khaleesi," Jhogo gasped and with it blood spurted from his mouth.

"He was shot in the lungs," Ser Jorah murmured to her. "You cannot help him."

"You served me faithfully. You shall ride in the heavens," she whispered, running her hands through his hair in a soothing motion. She was watching as she saw the light fade from his eyes.

A tear splashed Jhogo's cheek and she brushed it away, closing his eyes. Her Handmaid Jhiqui crouched next to her, sobbing. She had suspected Jhiqui and Jhogo had been lovers and now it was confirmed. Daenerys placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Princess Daenerys," a new voice spoke in low, warm tones. She looked up to see the man now stood in front of her and upon their eyes connecting he dropped to one knee and laid his sword in front of her. "I apologize for not arriving sooner to your aid. I have been searching for you for weeks."

"And you are?"

"Ser Barristan Selmy," Ser Jorah said before he could answer. She saw what appeared to be a combination of awe, respect, but also wariness warring on his face. "Ser Barristan the Bold, Khaleesi. He was Prince Rhaegar's most faithful kingsguard."

"As he said, Princess. King Aemon I Targaryen sent me on a mission to find you. It eases my heart that we have finally met. I am yours to command."

Daenerys stood and drew her lips into a thin line. "That merchant just told me the same thing. Prove it."

"Khaleesi, this is Ser Barristan Selmy. He is considered the most honorable man in Westeros and among the greatest swords that ever lived," Ser Jorah said.

"I said prove it," Daenerys replied.

"A letter from His Grace to you, Princess," Ser Barristan said, reaching into a pouch and pulling out a folded and stamped piece of parchment.

She took it gingerly but, unlike the merchant's box, it was unlikely to sting her with poison. She studied the Targaryen seal, running her hands over it lovingly. It pained her to break it, but she needed to see her nephew's words.

Dearest Aunt Daenerys,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. I can't know your journey, but I know it must have been fraught. You need not run anymore. I have successfully taken the throne back in the name of House Targaryen. You have a place here now.

More than that. I extend to you an offer in marriage, to rule as queen by my side. It would please me to be joined with you in a holy union so that we may reestablish our once strong dynasty. Whether you accept or not, you still have a place here in Westeros.

Please allow my Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy, to protect and guide you on your way home. Don't be afraid to ask him anything you please. He is true and loyal to House Targaryen and will serve you well.

King Aemon I Targaryen, Rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First men

Daenerys felt herself waver and both Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan reached to steady her. The sadness of losing Jhogo, the mounting panic of being caught within city limits after sundown, the terror from her ordeal in the Palace of Dust, and now her nephew and king, Aemon Targaryen, welcoming her home and offering her a hand in marriage.

"Khaleesi?" Ser Jorah said.

"He intends to marry me," Daenerys replied breathlessly.

She saw Ser Jorah give Ser Barristan a sharp look. The older knight took no notice of this and kept his eyes only on her. "That is correct, Princess. The Targaryen bloodline is severely weakened, but together you will bring peace and glory back once more to the Seven Kingdoms."

Daenerys closed her eyes, already feeling like she was on the deck of a ship in stormy seas. "I...will..I don't—"

"You don't need to answer right away, my Princess. However, the hour grows late and we must leave quickly."

"But Jhogo. We have to give him a funeral."

"We can bury him at sea," Ser Barristan offered.

She glared at him. "That is not the proper burial for a bloodrider! They hate the sea."

"Please, Khaleesi," Jhiqui said through her sobs, holding Jhogo's head in her lap. "He will never reach the sky."

"Khaleesi, we don't have time to give Jhogo his proper rites," Ser Jorah said in a pleading tone. "You need to leave."

Daenerys glanced back at her people who had followed her all of his way. Her bloodriders appeared grim but steadfast. They nodded at her. She said, "I will not leave my Khalasar behind. Can you take us all?"

"Yes, Khaleesi. I was given a large enough galleon to accept a few hundred people. I don't think your horses will be able to make the journey though."

"I accept your offer, Ser Barristan."

-The Dragon's Roar-

Jaime XIX

"You sent for us, My Lord?"

Jaime regarded Lord Cyrus Alexandratos and his wife Delphine with a critical eye. If his father were here, he would have undoubtedly lectured them on the proper behavior befitting a vassal lord of the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. He was at least not surprised that they continued their duties as Shepherds to Healer David and he wasn't about to begrudge them that. He was a man of action himself and he had difficulty seeing them twiddling their thumbs and gossiping with the rest of the nobility when they could be doing something productive. Their work had slimmed down since he knew now that Healer David closed his clinic two days at a time and he had a feeling their boredom is what led them to be standing in front of him at this moment.

At the very minimum, his father would approve of their finery. Lord Alexandratos was resplendent in dark blue with silver buttons and trimming on his doublet. His head was held high and his shoulders back, like a soldier standing before his commander. Lady Delphine was wearing a dress of her usual cut which opened at her waist to show the black leggings underneath. The dress was also dark blue with silver trimming.

He heard the telltale sound of a book closing, and glanced over to see Tyrion wasn't bothering to pretend not to eavesdrop and gave them his full attention. There was amusement on his face like he knew what was coming.

Tyrion would occasionally spend a few hours with him every two to three days depending on his mood. While his company often eased the stress that came with being temporary regent as Hand of the King, Jaime was under the distinct impression that he was deliberately making himself available for advice. Otherwise, winter would come before Jaime sought out help.

That did not mean he wholly approved of their conduct; he refocused on Lord Cyrus and Lady Delphine.

"Yes, Lord Alexandratos, I was going over the request for renaming Clegane's Keep and...I must ask why you chose this name."

Lady Delphine pinched her face and she gave her husband a look that could only be translated as 'I told you so.' He focused on Lord Cyrus as the culprit. Jaime was impressed that Cyrus did not cower under his glare.

"I think you'll find under further examination that it's a perfectly acceptable name."

Jaime glared and picked up the neatly written parchment and said, "You want to rename Clegane's

Keep to Fort Fort?"

Cyrus sighed and Delphine's grimace only grew.

"No," he barked, but then composed himself when his wife elbowed him. "Forgive me, my Lord, but you're not pronouncing it correctly. It's Fort Forté ."

"And what is the significance of that?"

" Forté is a musical term. It means 'loud.'"

Jaime stared at him for a moment. He kept his eyes fixed on Cyrus, even as he heard Tyrion clearly trying to hide his laughter behind his hand.

"So you want to name your castle 'Fort Loud?'"

"No, I want to name it Fort Forté . It's a play on words." Tyrion could no longer stay quiet and burst out laughing. Cyrus pointed to him, "See? He gets it!"

"You want to give your castle a joke name?" Jaime stared at him like Cyrus had just told him he wanted to name his first born Tywin.

"We tried to talk him out of it, Lord Jaime, but he wouldn't see reason," Delphine said, worry on her face.

"Why am I not surprised your lady wife has more sense than you? Consider the name vetoed."

Cyrus opened his mouth to protest, but his wife nudged him again with a stern look and gave the barest shake of her head. "Very well, my Lord."

"Since I can't seem to trust you to name your own castle, I will give you the option of naming it Alexandratos Keep or Fort Alexandratos. What will it be?"

"Alexandratos Keep," Cyrus replied in a dull voice.

"Your colors?"

"Blue and silver."

Obviously, Jaime thought. "Sigil?"

"An owl, one claw has an olive branch and the other a violin bow," Delphine replied.

He stared at them and said, "I've heard of stranger. Take that idea to the seamstress to design your sigil. You're dismissed."

As soon as they were out the door, he could hear them speak.

"I've been waiting my whole life to make that pun…!"

"You really should've known better. There is no place in the world of nobility for jokes like that."

"These nobility could use…" The rest trailed away as they left.

Tyrion burst out laughing once more.

"I don't understand what you find so funny. You understood that joke?"

"Jaime, I can't fight, so I read. I can also speak. I've talked to all sorts, so yes I've learned of the musical terms."

"He's from Essos! Music shares a common language?"

"It appears to. I believe the language is known as Gaela and it hails from an ancient territory Gaelia that has long since been conquered and absorbed by Braavos. History has it that the best musicians hailed from Gaelia, so other musicians picked up the language to imitate it and it has long since become the language by which musicians speak with each other. But that one would be so bold to try and use it for the name of his castle...I like him."

"It's hardly appropriate, especially for a vassal of the Westerlands."

Jaime suddenly glanced over to the fireplace, but just as quickly caught himself and looked away. Did I hear a laugh from behind the wall? He was well aware that Vicente could be eavesdropping at that moment, however he was never to know when he was eavesdropping. The knowledge that Vicente was otherwise keeping a close eye on him was enough to make him tense and paranoid. After the first week, he'd managed to get the thought of Vicente lurking out of his head, but it came crashing back down just now.

But since Healer David had started experimenting with wildfire, he thought it likely the clinic was closed and that left the rest of the Shepherds with little else to do. Was Vicente behind the walls even more frequently now?

He kneaded his forehead as a distraction.

"He's a creative. You're going to have to put up with more of that," Tyrion said and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I hope it was worth raising him to a minor lord."

"Well, if that's the worst he does, I can tolerate it," Jaime grumbled. He frowned as he thought back to Ser Gregor Clegane whom it was rumored brutalized his servants in the Keep before being called to war. The smallfolk would be happier for a new lord and lady, especially if the worst the lord did was attempt to make a joke of his castle.

Tyrion was still chuckling when there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Podrick, my Lord. I have yours and the king's letters."

"Bring them in," Jaime said in a weary tone. He wished desperately he could delegate this task to Tyrion. He was learned, he liked reading, and he had proven himself in the previous life as a great player of the game. But he and Aemon had already agreed to keep Tyrion at arm's length for the time being. Though, when Aemon returned, Jaime was going to advocate on behalf of his brother. This position was choking the life out of him and Aemon deserved someone who could keep up with the demands that being Hand came with.

Pod gave him a nod and a pleasant smile and set the letters on his desk.

"Good work in the yard today, Pod. You're learning well under the warrior ladies."

The boy puffed out his chest and beamed proudly, then he deflated. "I still have trouble with my footwork though, Mi'lord."

"That'll come with practice. Just keep at it. You'll do your house proud."

Jaime only smirked in satisfaction when Pod turned to walk back outside looking like he was walking on clouds.

"I have never seen you so soft with anyone before, brother. Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"He's a good boy. Loyal. He deserves to be treated well," Jaime replied in a gruff manner.

"Treated well, sure, but you're doting on him like he's your own son."

Jaime began rifling through the letters and then stopped when he saw the bear seal of House Mormont. It trembled in his fingers as he looked at it before abruptly moving on and shaking himself. It could be anything. It doesn't necessarily mean it has to do with Cersei, he thought, but the dread welling up in the pit of his stomach suggested otherwise.

"Jaime?"

"Huh?" He glanced at Tyrion who was now frowning at him.

"You look pale. Are you well?"

"Fine, fine. Just...overwhelmed with more letters.

Tyrion's frown drew deeper. "There aren't anymore letters there today than yesterday."

"You're the one who enjoys reading! Not me," Jaime grumbled, though that wasn't true. He enjoyed reading fictions. Anything else bored him to tears or sent him to sleep. It's why he kept a copy of Maester Rollan's A History and Lineages of the Northern Kingdom on the stand next to his bed. He laid that letter aside. It was best left for a time when Tyrion couldn't hound him.

He opened the next letter and scoffed. "Another letter to bless a wedding. It's tempting to say no."

"Jaime," Tyrion said in a warning tone.

"I'm not actually going to do it. I have grown past doing something like that."

"Even so. You're standing in for the king. They'll think it's from him not you."

"Even if I have my name on it?"

"You're his Hand. You carry his authority."

"Fine, I will bless the marriage of the new Lord and Lady Sarwyck," Jaime replied with a roll of his eyes.

There was another wedding blessing, two births, and a nameday. Other letters were requests written in the most saccharine sweet way that it gave Jaime pleasure to deny them. Most of the requests were a plea for funds which the Seven Kingdoms lacked for anyway, so all requests were denied equally and with the same rote answer: "Although King Aemon I Targaryen, ruler of the First Men, etc wishes you well, the requested funds are denied. It is in the king's interest to restore the treasury and ease the debt burden on the Seven Kingdoms." He had to write it so often that he

felt like one of those parrots that 'talked' in repetitive phrases.

Tyrion slammed the book shut and scowled at Jaime. "Are you done?"

"I have two more letters to write."

"It's past noon. Long past time for lunch."

"Is it?" Jaime glanced toward the windows and noted the short shadows.

"Yes, so you're having lunch."

"I'll take lunch here."

"Brother! You can't avoid the other lords forever. It's been two weeks and you've yet to dine with any. King Aemon dined at least once a week with one."

"I am not the king. I don't have to do everything he does," Jaime grumbled.

"You should make the effort."

"Tomorrow. I'll dine with...Lord Royce tomorrow."

"See that you do," Tyrion said. "Shall I summon Pod for our plates?"

"You don't have to stay."

"Because you resist my company, I think I will."

Jaime sighed and rolled his eyes. "Must you be so contrary?"

"Someone has to make sure you don't die from boredom."

-The Dragon's Roar-

It was nightfall by the time Jaime returned to the Mormont letter. Not long after lunch, Tyrion had finally grown bored of waiting and declared he was going to find a worthier companion to drink with. Jaime suggested he take Pod with him. The panic on Pod's face as Tyrion tugged him away amused Jaime, but he was glad to be alone for once.

Jaime eyed the letter like he expected it to attack him. He grabbed the flagon of wine left by the servants and poured himself a generous goblet and sipped at it. It was important he maintained discipline this time. He was regent, so he couldn't allow his drinking to get out of hand as it had before. Carefully, he lowered himself into his chair and continued to sip at the goblet, then he set it down and breathed deeply.

He tried to ignore the trembling in his hand as he picked the letter up once more and considered it. It was addressed to Aemon and not to him. It's possible it's not even about Cersei, he mused. The odds, however, that a letter would be addressed to Aemon first over Lady Maege was unlikely. He took a deep breath and then broke open the seal, unfurling it to read.

To King Aemon I Targaryen...and the First Men,

Lady Cersei refuses all food and drink, demanding that her newborn be returned to her and that she be let out of prison. I have denied these demands and ordered her to be force fed. How would you like us to proceed, Your Grace?

With Honor,

Lady Lyanna of House Mormont, Bear Island

Jaime felt bile enter his throat and he swallowed it. Cersei was starving herself. Good riddance, he thought. Yet anguish welled up inside of him, ready to choke him. He felt like he was burning up and he began pulling at the collar of his doublet, breathing raggedly. Abruptly, he stormed out of the Solar. His guards started at seeing him, but he left them behind, barely noticing.

At first, he thought he was walking blindly, but then he realized the shapes passing him in the dark were trees. He saw a sliver of white and angled for it. The fake weirwood loomed over him with its crudely carved face and he stared into it desperately as if looking for answers.

"She deserves to die," he snarled into the tree.

He only heard the leaves rustling as a gentle ocean breeze brushed them.

"She deserves to die," he repeated. "Why do I care if she's starving herself?"

Did he still care for her somehow? He was certain he had exorcised that feeling. She had haunted and hounded him for years as queen. The torture had caused him to wish so desperately to take her head himself, but it was stayed by the simple fact that he did not wish to be named Kingslayer and Queenslayer as well. One horrible moniker and irreparable stain was enough.

For all the pain that she had caused him, made him suffer, she was still his sister, his twin. He had grown up believing she was his other half. It was a fact as sure as he was Tywin Lannister's son. Just like how he had been unable to hate Tyrion for killing their father after a time. He had been hoping with Cersei's eventual death that he would finally be rid of her and be able to move on from the inconvenience of having lived with her his whole life, but she'd produced a child from his stolen seed. Would he hate the child? He didn't think he could. He was glad it was a son, so that he wouldn't see Cersei in a little girl at every turn.

Aemon had given him the details on how the babe was to be separated from Cersei and he felt a cruel delight at it. She was not even able to see the babe or even know whether it was a boy or a girl. No doubt the agony would drive her even further into madness, but she was toothless where she was imprisoned. It eased his heart to know she would not be whispering her poisonous words into his son's ear. He had long hoped that this meant she would fade from his scope of influence and hopefully die unknown and unloved.

He should've expected that she would hasten her end with a foolish and desperate strategy like starvation. It was how she worked. Arming the Faith Militant had been another one of her foolish and desperate bids, which backfired on her in the end. He shuddered just thinking about Cersei's revenge against the Faith Militant and the murdering of the Tyrells, which had the added effect of driving their last remaining child to suicide.

"Let her rot in her despair," Jaime whispered and turned to head back to the Tower of the Hand.

The instant he got back, he picked up the letter and tossed it in the fire.

Despite reading from the unendingly dry A History and Lineages of the Northern Kingdom , sleep came slowly and when it did, he once more dreamed of Cersei having her way with him. Now it included a boy who looked like Joffrey from his old life, cackling with insane laughter and swinging the sword that removed his head.

Jaime startled awake, drenched with sweat, and then jumped when he heard a polite knock at the door. He pulled on a pair of pants and walked stiffly towards the door.

"Who is it?" He asked in a strained voice.

"It's Maester Taren, my Lord. He has grave news."

Jaime blinked, trying to place him and then finally realized that he was the Maester standing in for Grandmaester Pycelle. The Grandmaester was too prestigious of a position to take care of the tasks like feeding and training the crows or tending to the servants, so he had a few other Maesters on hand for that. When Jaime opened the door, Maester Taron peered up at him looking as fresh- faced as a boy entering the training ring for the first time. While not young by any means, he was not of an age that most Maesters were yet he was already balding.

"Grave news, you said?" Jaime asked.

"Y-yes, my Lord. I'm sorry to bring you the news that Robert Baratheon has passed."

Jaime felt like a bucket of water had been dumped on him. "What happened?" He hissed.

"It was noticed that he began ailing after his evening meal was delivered. He was feverish, throwing up. We gave him a compress, fluids, but he couldn't keep it down. We were just about to inform you of his condition when he suddenly lapsed into a deep sleep and died," Maester Taron said in a trembling voice. His forehead was shiny with sweat and his eyes were wide in fear.

Jaime glared. "You let him die?!"

"We tried everything we could, but it happened so quickly, my Lord! We suspect—"

"He was poisoned." The Maester stared at him, but Jaime was no longer seeing him. He refocused on the Maester and said, "This did not just come from nowhere. He was poisoned! Did you check the Lord Stannis Baratheon? Renly?"

"They are healthy and hale, my Lord."

"See that they remain so!"

Jaime opened the door and turned to the Lannister guard outside. "Double the guards on the Baratheons' cells and fetch the servant who delivered the food and bring them to me! I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Is a Discord channel for this story something that you guys would be interested in? On a forum I frequent, I've seen people talk about how their readers enjoyed a channel when they created it for their story and I was wondering if that's something you'd like. It wouldn't just be to talk TDR. I'd have other channels: fanfic recommendation, GoT/ASoIaF theory discussion, General Chat, etc. I started learning High Valyrian on Duolingo, so I'd probably include a channel to talk about that. I'd appreciate it if you could let me know your thoughts.

Chapter 59 - Catelyn III

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope your weekends are going well. Thank you all so much for reading, leaving your comments, giving your Kudos and alerts! You guys are fantastic! Also, wow, way to put on your thinking caps. I saw quite a lot of speculation going on. It's going to be hard to slip something past all of you.

I'd like to thank catzrko0l for being beta for this chapter. I really appreciate your skill and TDR is better for having you on board!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 59

Catelyn III

His name will be Cassian.

Lord Jaime Lannister

Catelyn pursed her lips in annoyance. Cassian what?! Was the bastard to be a Hill? Or would he be left up in the North, a rejected stain on the Lannisters to be a burden to the Starks? That seemed doubtful with the way Lord Jaime had commanded her to dote on his bastard son.

The babe had arrived barely a week ago. Since the castle was quiet with so few left to manage it, even a small party of a dozen had attracted everyone's attention, including Lady Catelyn's. As soon as she realized it was the babe's arrival, she wished she could've ducked back into the castle and returned to Bran's bedside. When she saw the bundle wrapped in the wetnurse's arms, she went stiff and could not hide the disdain from her face.

When the wetnurse was lowered to the ground, she had a warm smile on her face, but it wilted at her frosty glare. She looked quite young for a usual wetnurse, just a few years past her maiden's blood, likely in her position after producing her own bastard.

The bundle was open at the face and Catelyn glanced over to see pale skin and golden hair. The

boy's eyes were still blue and they peered up at her in curiosity. He had been feeding well, judging by the plumpness of his cheeks. By all accounts, he appeared a perfectly normal baby, if unnaturally blessed by his parents' beauty. She struggled to keep from curling her lip in disgust.

"My Lady's Maid shall show you to yours and the babe's quarters. You will stay in your wing of the castle and you may only enter the Main Hall if you are unaccompanied by the babe. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my Lady," the woman said in a small voice and her head remained bowed.

With that, Catelyn returned to her vigil at Bran's bedside. He had been awake for a couple of weeks now, but Maester Luwin insisted that he stay abed while his head wound healed. It broke her heart to see her son strain to look at the room yet see only darkness. The Gods were cruel to handicap such a bright boy. Now he would no longer be the knight he had long dreamed of. She indulged in her pity as she took in his pale face, his expression disgruntled in boredom. She saw him reach for his direwolf, Storm, and gently stroke his head. Normally, she did not approve of the direwolves sharing the bed, but she conceded out of concern for Bran, who had already suffered so much.

She crumpled up the parchment sent by the Kingslayer and placed it on the bed stand next to where she sat.

"Mother, I can sense your frustration. What is it?"

"Nothing, my sweet. You need not trouble yourself."

"Didn't you say you were answering letters? I am the Stark of Winterfell while father and Robb are away. Tell me."

"It truly is nothing you need to worry yourself about. It's a special task meant only for me."

She grew cross at the knowing look on his face. "You're talking about the new babe?" Her silence was answer enough. "Mother, I may be blind now, but no one else in the castle is. They've told me. It's Jaime Lannister's bastard by his sister when she—"

"Don't say it," she snapped. "That vileness was committed in our House and we are forced to

endure that evil in the form of that babe. And that's Lord Jaime or Lord Hand. I will not have you calling the King's Hand by his given name within earshot of nobility."

"Yes, Mother. But it's just a baby!"

"It's a bastard of an unholy union. What have I told you? Bastards are never to be trusted. They wait in foxholes, ready to attack any trueborn gullible enough to befriend them."

Bran's frown grew terse. "That's what you said about Jo—King Aemon. He didn't turn out to be a bastard."

"Not all bastards are kings in disguise, nor should they be. They are born with a thirst that can only be quenched with the blood of a trueborn. Never let your guard down around a bastard."

Though he was not seeing, his eyes still locked with hers and there was a stubborn jut to his jaw. "That's not true, mother. If that were true, then why didn't King Aemon try to kill us?"

"Because he ended up not being a bastard," Catelyn replied with a frustrated sigh.

"But he was known as a bastard. If Father hadn't told him his true heritage, he would've remained being known as a bastard."

"But he wasn't a true bastard. Just because your father hid him as one does not mean that he contained the greed and avarice of a normal bastard."

Catelyn could tell by the furrow of his brow and the spark of anger in his eyes that he still didn't believe her. Only Sansa had been a good girl and listened to her mother. She had fretted over Robb growing so close to Jon as babies and had intervened often, though Ned had frequently headed her off. She should thank him for attempting to protect her from the wrath of the Gods. No doubt they would've been angered by her continued treatment of the true king if it had persisted past the point he reached majority. She had prayed to the Seven everyday for saving her from that fate.

Now if only she could save her family from the waterfall that King Aemon appeared to be steering them towards, with Lord Jaime as his First Mate. She felt like Ned should be keeping a closer eye on the Lannisters. She didn't know what could possibly have driven the king to heed Lord Jaime's advice over his own uncle's, but it was sure to end in disaster.

She picked up the next letter in her lap and her heart shuddered to a stop at the familiar Tully seal in blue wax. Her fingers brushed over it lovingly and it pained her to break the seal. She unfurled it and read:

Lady Catelyn Stark née Tully

It pains me to inform you that your dear father, Lord Hoster Tully, is ill and his time among us grows short. When he is of sound mind, he asks for you. If you could find it in you to visit his Lord one more time, he shall pass peacefully.

Maester Vyman

She felt her breath catch in her throat and tears well up in her eyes. Father, no! A tear fell onto the parchment and soaked in.

"Mother? Is something wrong?"

Catelyn straightened up and struggled to control her voice. "Now why would you think that?" But there was a tightness to her voice she could not hide.

"You seem upset. I heard your breathing change and your voice...it's not Father, is it?"

"No, sweet one. Not your father."

Bran frowned pensively and seemed to be looking for the answer. Then he asked, "Your father?"

Her smile trembled. "Yes, my father is...ill. Maester Vyman believes it is only a matter of time before he passes."

"You should go see him. You last saw your father when my father came back from the war, right?"

"Very good. You remember well," she said, reaching out to stroke his hair.

He beamed but tried to duck the stroking. "Mother, I'm not a baby anymore."

"You'll always be my baby, sweet one." She looked down at the letter as it trembled in her hand. Her heart did indeed long to see her father one last time. Tears were already welling up in her eyes at the thought of being forever parted in just a short amount of time. Though her wedding had not been the happiest of affairs, her father had done his best to smile for her and reassure her as she married the Quiet Wolf instead of her long betrothed, Brandon Stark.

Eddard Stark had been such a sharp contrast to the jovial and brash Brandon. She missed Brandon's laugh and his smile the most. Looking up into the grim countenance of Eddard Stark, she wondered if he'd ever laughed in his life. He had tried to smile at her, but it was frail and his face was shadowed with his losses. Her fear seems foolish in hindsight. He was a Stark, just as pure and honorable as his brother and father had been.

"Mother, when can I get out of bed? I'm tired of lying here."

She shook herself from her thoughts and said, "When the Maester says you can and no sooner! You took quite a bump to the head. He wants to make sure you are fully healed."

He gave a gusty sigh and flopped back onto the bed. Storm, his direwolf, grumbled with him. There was silence for a moment as she picked up her sewing and continued to create a new ermine cloak for Rickon.

Bran finally spoke and said, "Mother, may I speak to Lady Meera and Jojen?"

"Of course you may. I'll have a servant fetch them. Be good, my sweetling," Catelyn said with all of the warmth she could muster. Then she picked up the letters and her sewing, and left. She returned to the solar and deposited the parchment onto the desk when she noticed one that she hadn't opened. She picked it up and saw the Lannister seal once more.

With some trepidation, she broke the seal and unfurled it as well.

Cassian,

The circumstances of your birth may be less than pleasant, but you are no less a son to me. Lannister blood runs through your veins. Bastard or no, you will grow up to be a lion. It is a mantle that every Lannister must bear and I know you'll bear it well. Be good. I will come for you one day.

Your father, Jaime Lannister

She stared at the letter and then huffed. She would pity the poor woman that found herself as Lady Lannister. This reeked of usurping his own firstborn for the favored son. She was sorely tempted to simply stick the letter in a fire, but she controlled the compulsion. After all, she had made a promise to Lord Jaime that she would read these letters. He was just a babe, only a month old or so at this point. It's not like he would leap out of the crib and put her family to the sword at any moment.

Simmering in anger, she began walking to the guest quarters where all of the Lannister bastards stayed. To get her mind off of the topic, she thought back to the letter Maester Vyman had sent her regarding her father and she began to crumble once more. My father needs me. What sort of daughter would I be to fail to heed his call? He's never even met any of my other children, she thought and it made her heart weep.

I could take Rickon to see him. One last time, I will see my father and he will meet another grandson. It should please him that his bloodline will continue and so strongly at that, she thought. I shall make preparations to leave. Once Bran is cleared by Maester Luwin, then we'll be on our way. Few things cheered her as much as that thought.

Catelyn sighed when she reached the door to the babe's room and pulled it open. She stopped in the doorway and stared at Joffrey Waters. He was dressed in his heavy cloak and there was a shine of water on his clothes and hair from the chilling rain falling outside. He was standing over the crib, looking down into it. Unlike his sisters, he was not cooing and pulling faces, but he was as silent as the grave.

"What are you doing?" She said.

He jumped and she heard a great thumping noise. She looked down and her eyes grew wide as she saw a chunk of rock as big as a man's fist settle on the ground. The babe, who had been silent, began to wail and Joffrey turned to her with a mixture of guilt and panic on his face.

"N-nothing. I was doing nothing!"

Catelyn locked eyes with him again and she felt her heart drop like the stone. "You were going to kill your brother?!"

"N-no! No, I wasn't!"

"Cursed are the kinslayers!"

"He's not my brother! He's a mistake! It's his fault! Everything is his fault!"

"Out! Out!" She turned to the corridor and cried, "Guards!"

In a matter of moments, a pair of Winterfell soldiers were at the door. "Escort Joffrey Waters to his room. You will stand guard there until I see fit to let him out. His meals will be delivered to him for the time being."

The guards swooped him and grabbed Joffrey by his arms and began dragging him out.

He cringed at their presence, but soon began blubbering, "I didn't do anything! You can't do this to me! Let me go!"

Catelyn watched until she could no longer see him and his haunted cries trailed after him. In panic, she rushed over to the child, who was squalling and red-faced in his cries. She scooped him up and whispered at him, cooing and rocking him. Soon he settled and peered up at her with sad blue eyes. She stared and smoothed the tuft of golden hair back down on his head.

"My Lady, what has happened?!"

She turned to the wetnurse, the spell broken. "Where were you?"

"I was taking my midday meal, my Lady. The babe was sleeping."

"His brother nearly killed him!"

The wetnurse went pale and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

"From this day forth, you are not to be out of the presence of this babe unless I send you away. Is that understood?"

The wetnurse nodded vigorously.

"Now get out! I must be alone with the child."

The wetnurse didn't hesitate to scurry away.

Catelyn settled into the rocking chair with the babe. He was dozing once more. "You may be a bastard, but the Seven willing, you will live while you are in this household lest I bring the wrath of your Lord father Jaime Lannister down on our heads."

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Thanks, everyone, for reading!

For those who were interested, I did end up creating that Discord. Feel free to drop a line and say hello! https/discord.gg/qjbTnGW

Chapter 60 - Aemon XX

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and giving your kudos and support! You are rockstars!

The updating of this chapter actually marks a special occasion; November 1st was TDR's 2nd birthday! I started in the fall of 2017 as a National Novel Writing Month project. I did not first start posting it until November 29th, when I was done with the challenge. So, thanks once more, for your support! I don't think I would've gotten nearly as far into TDR as I am now were it not for you wonderful readers!

I'd like to thank catzrko0l for being beta for this chapter. You have done a great job and TDR is better for having you!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 60

Aemon XX

"Welcome, King Aemon Targaryen, to Dorne."

A heavily tanned man with curly black hair said to him. He dressed in a yellow and orange shirt adorned with metal suns down the shoulder; the neck of the shirt dipped nearly to his midriff showing an equally tanned chest. His smile was wily and his eyes were cold.

Aemon had learned from Jaime that Prince Doran was troubled by gout and therefore wheelchair bound. This man, however, was not and exuded the same static energy as a lightning bolt and it seemed certain that bolt was ready to strike him.

Ghost stood even with him and emitted a low growl. He hissed at him for quiet and returned his attention to the prince.

"I am Prince Oberyn. This is my paramour, Ellaria Sand," he said, waving his hand at an equally

tan woman. Despite her ignoble status, she was dressed in similar orange tones and was as lovely as any lady in King's Landing.

Aemon reached for her hand and planted a chaste kiss on her knuckles.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my Lady. I thank you for the welcome," Aemon replied.

She smiled but said, "I am no lady, Your Grace. Call me Ellaria."

"And this here is my niece, the beautiful Princess Arianne Martell."

Princess Arianne Martell was dressed in red as vibrant as the sun on her house's sigil. Her dress crossed only one shoulder, leaving the other free. It shimmered in the sun with what he suspected was gold dust. She was otherwise covered in golden trinkets; a bracelet, suns on her dress, and suns dangled from her ears. A golden band held her dark hair out of her face, which was interwoven with even more gold ornaments. Her face was soft with youth and she gave him a wide smile, also holding her hand out to him.

"You are indeed beautiful, Princess Arianne," Aemon said.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she replied and he thought she might mean it.

Not for the first time, Aemon felt small and unimpressive at the glorious array of colors the family wore. He wore a gray doublet with silver trimmings, complete with a red and black cape to showcase his Targaryen heritage. They all appeared neat and unaffected by the sun when he could feel his shirt begin to cling to his back from soaking in his sweat. He only just felt like he was becoming acclimatized to the heat in King's Landing, but it was incomparable to Dorne. It feels like living in a fire grate, he thought and struggled to keep from wiping the sweat from his forehead. He could hear Ghost panting deeply and he hoped to get him to a place with shade from the sun.

Jaime had given him a thorough recount of Prince Oberyn and his family. He was already aware that they would dislike and distrust him, so the undertone of mocking did not surprise him in the least. They were angry with him, even unjustifiably so. He was not his father and he was certainly not responsible for his father siring him on his mother, setting his first wife aside. But it was a severe enough insult to inspire most Houses to homicidal rage, not just Tywin Lannister.

His Hand had certainly not been thrilled at his commitment to personally oversee the negotiations, but there was no one else, as Aemon had pointed out. Jaime was even more despised than him in Dorne. They were the two most powerful people in Westeros and to send anyone lesser would be an insult.

With that decided, Jaime gave Aemon an even more thorough recounting of Prince Oberyn's time in King's Landing and the trouble that followed after.

"Prince Oberyn may be a cad, but he's not so bloodthirsty as to kill without reason or provocation. And not quite so dishonorable that he'd do it in your sleep or by poisoning your food. It would be in combat," Jaime had said.

He could appreciate that the Prince was passionate about his family. He remembered being beside himself when he'd learned about the death of his uncle and both of his sisters being in the clutch of the Lannisters at King's Landing, but he was stuck at the Wall. Moving on with his duty had been the single most difficult act of his life, but he kept Maester Aemon's words close at heart. How much heartache had he suffered seeing the wholesale destruction of his own family? He was so happy that he had been allowed to offer a familial hand to the Maester Aemon in this life. It was a shame they were so far apart, but he recognized his great great uncle had a duty as a Maester and as a man of the Night's Watch.

He and Ghost began walking down the deck, attempting to match Oberyn stride for stride. The ladies trailed behind them and his uncle Ned was at the back. Theirs and the Dornish soldiers marched on all sides.

"I must say, we were all surprised here in Dorne to receive your first letter. It's always wonderful to hear a small part of the great Targaryen legacy lives on, though you don't look much like a Targaryen. Not like my nephew. He was pale of hair and had the famed violet eyes."

"So I've heard, Prince Oberyn. I wish I could have known my half-siblings," Aemon said, trying not to think of their fate and shuddered.

"Do you? You would not be king were Prince Aegon alive."

"I am aware of that, Prince. I did not take the throne for power."

"Funny, because that's the only trophy you get when you take the throne. Prince Rhaegar

understood that. It wasn't enough that my sister, Princess Elia, gave him two beautiful children to secure his legacy. He had to abscond with another woman. A pity she didn't consider the wife in her little tryst."

Aemon felt a rush of heat to his face and before he knew it he was shoving the prince against the closest wall.

"Aemon, stop!" His uncle wrapped an arm around him and attempted to pull him back. The Dornish guards leveled their spears, but they weren't close enough to be threatening. His Kingsguard drew their swords and touched them to the spears. Ghost's hackles were raised and he growled, causing everyone in the vicinity to step back a pace from him.

"Not another fuckin' foot forward," the Hound snarled and one of the spearmen gave the Hound a nervous look.

"My mother was an innocent," Aemon growled. "My father's motives were his motives alone. Do not misplace the blame of your sister's and her childrens' deaths on her!" With that, he lowered the prince, who had to catch himself on the wall before he was upright.

"True enough. For that, I have the Lannisters to thank. We've heard they're your second closest ally next to your uncle. The Kingslayer himself is your Hand," Prince Oberyn said in a voice that shifted in tone.

Aemon drew himself up and stood toe-to-toe with the prince. "Lord Jaime Lannister is also not responsible for their deaths."

Prince Oberyn raised his eyebrows at him and said, "Perhaps. But he was Kingsguard. Their deaths are his failure, especially in light of the fact that he was deliberately disregarding his oaths to his king in the very same instant."

"Ser Barristan Selmy failed to save my father from the same fate, and yet I have the utmost confidence in him. I will not make apologies for Lord Jaime. Those are his to make, but I don't consider him a failure and I trust him with my life."

"You forget the past too easily, Your Grace," Prince Oberyn said. He still had that curious smile on his face, but there was no mistaking the tension of anger in his voice.

If only you knew, Aemon thought. He struggled not to laugh aloud at the thought. He had been living as equally in the past as he did the present. "What's done is done. I have to move this kingdom forward if we want peace. It does not do to dwell in the past." He had been lying to his uncle for so long that the lies came easily, but his uncle trusted him whereas Prince Oberyn did not. Would the prince detect his lies?

"The past never dies. It lives with us and, if cared for, the memory persists long after we perish. You forget it at your peril."

"I never said anything about forgetting," Aemon snapped.

"That is enough, Uncle!" Princess Arianne stepped up, though not between them, and glared at the prince. "Father understands you are a passionate man, but he would be ashamed of your conduct. You are speaking to the king, if you have not forgotten!"

"I have not forgotten," Prince Oberyn replied, though there was no contriteness on his face. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I wanted to see what kind of man you are. An angry man cannot hide his true self."

"Are you satisfied?" Aemon thundered. He dropped his hand to tangle in Ghost's fur and the dire wolf finally relaxed and returned to panting.

Prince Oberyn cocked his head. Then with a pleased smile, he gave a brief nod and said, "For now."

"That's enough," Aemon said, looking over his shoulder at his Kingsguard. They sheathed their swords, but the Hound seemed to only reluctantly.

Prince Oberyn waved his hand and the Dornish guards stepped back with their spears pointed towards the sky. They began walking towards the palace again. Prince Oberyn spoke, "I had heard that you had made the Hound a Kingsguard."

"He is not his brother," Aemon replied, his voice still tight with tension.

"You would stake your life on that?"

"I have. He has served me faithfully."

"Do you think it wise?"

"You worry about your guard and I'll worry about mine."

"Uncle," Arianne said again with a warning tone.

Prince Oberyn grimaced, but nodded back at his niece. "I believe I have ruined your day enough. Rest assured, Your Grace, we here in Dorne do not believe that the sins of the father are the sins of his sons or daughters. His crimes are not yours."

That doesn't keep you from ascribing the same motivations to me, he thought darkly. He resisted the urge to look back at his uncle, because he was afraid he might see confirmation there. Was he Rhaegar reborn, chasing after dragons and obsessing over the end to the point of disregarding others? He didn't see that he had much recourse. He had to be king and use the powers thereof to prepare the Seven Kingdoms, but being king came with an overzealous paranoia of guarding the throne from other usurpers. King Robert may have had a peaceful reign, but Aemon was learning now that the peace was an illusion. The Usurper had been secure only in that he'd married the lady with the most powerful family in Westeros that guarded it for him. And as it turned out, his very own wife had plotted to take the throne out from under him without his knowing. Even once he himself married and had an heir, he would constantly be on the lookout for predators like a bird guarding its nest.

He was learning that being a good king was about securing peace for the rest of the realm without knowing any such peace himself. It was easy to see how only a small number of men could be worthy of bearing the anvil known as the crown. He hoped he was one such man. If he weren't, his shoulders would crumble beneath its weight and, in all likelihood, the Night King would prevail once more.

That's what he assumed would happen. Was that honestly a given still?

The dragons. The realm still needs Daenerys and her dragons. If nothing else, I have to make the realm safe enough for her and the dragons to thrive.

They wandered into safer topics of discussion. Prince Oberyn asked after Lord Willas. Aemon

spoke of his cousins: Arya's desire to fight—"She'd fit well here in Dorne."—and Robb's marriage to Margaery. Aemon thought he saw a pensive look appear on Prince Oberyn's face and he wondered if it had to do with Princess Arianne's current lack of a betrothal. Seeing the Princess here in the hot sun with nary a bead of sweat on her, he thought perhaps she might freeze in the North. It wasn't a good initial match anyway with Dorne since the Starks had been the Usurper's closest ally who stole the throne from their Prince Aegon.

It was only as they were approaching a man bound to a wheelchair that Aemon realized they had ceased walking in the surroundings and had wandered into the palace. Much of it was still open- air, but he found the limestone walls, decorated in colorful frescos, more interesting than walking through the gardens of the Red Keep.

The man twisted in his chair and then maneuvered it to meet them halfway. "King Aemon, it is a pleasure to see you gracing Dorne's beautiful shores. Sunspear welcomes you. I hope it was a pleasant journey."

"As pleasant as the water can be," Aemon replied.

"Forgive my manners, I am Prince Doran Martell. I rule from Sunspear. I trust my brother behaved in our greeting."

"Perfectly charming," Aemon said dryly. He thought he felt Prince Oberyn shift and his brother glared at him.

"My apologies, Your Grace. We would not want you to feel you are not welcome in Dorne. However, I'm sure you're aware that some wounds never heal."

Aemon stayed quiet. He would have to abide the airing of their grievances, no matter how unjust. Despite Prince Oberyn's words about not blaming the son for the sins of the father, they were determined to do just that. This was a wound that had been left festering far too long. Not only had King Robert reveled in the butchering of the baby prince and princess, and their mother Princess Elia, but he had failed to consider how deep Dorne's feelings ran.

"You must be tired from your journey. I will have a servant take you to your rooms. It will be a couple of hours before the meal is served. Make yourselves comfortable."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Prince Doran. You are most gracious."

A few minutes later, Aemon was in his new quarters and he immediately took off the crown. It felt particularly heavy, especially after his frustrated outburst at Prince Oberyn. Pull yourself together, he chastised himself. Long before he'd left, he knew this was going to be a particularly difficult negotiation. There was no guarantee that he would ever win their allegiance. As with most people, they could say one thing and be plotting another, but to what end? The closest Dorne had to an ally was the Reach and that was simply a result of good relations with Lord Willas. They hated the Baratheons, so the Stormlands were out. The North, the Riverlands, and the Vale were currently bound tightly together as his allies. Judging by their caustic remarks about Jaime, they weren't keen on being an ally of the Lannisters any time soon.

They did play at friendship in the other time, he thought. They had accepted the betrothal of Princess Myrcella to Prince Trystane. By all accounts, that had been going swimmingly until Prince Oberyn got himself killed fighting Gregor Clegane and then that had stripped the facade away.

He was not fooled by Prince Doran's display. Despite their differing demeanor, the two brothers were of the same mind regarding the death of their sister and her children. Sending Prince Oberyn to receive him had been deliberate and he had given them exactly what they wanted. He wanted to curse himself for his stupidity. Jaime had warned him that he'd be needled. He had been prepared for every eventuality except the low swipe at his poor dead mother.

Yet, if he wanted these negotiations to work, he'd be expected to forgive them. He could only grant them so much leeway though.

Ghost whined from where he lay on the floor. He continued to pant heavily, even in the cooler shade of this room. The palace was cleverly designed with rooms halfway built into the ground. There were small windows at eye level so that he could see the flowering desert blooms. Whether they hated him or not, they at least gave him a room that was cooler than anywhere else in the palace. He hoped it'd be enough for Ghost. He went over and ran his fingers through his direwolf's thick fur. His wolf nudged him with his wet nose and he grinned.

A knock sounded at the door and Aemon pinched his eyes. "Yes?"

"It's Lord Stark, Your Grace," Ser Arys Oakheart announced.

Aemon gritted his teeth, centered himself to wipe most traces of anger from his face, and said, "Enter." He didn't even turn to look at his uncle. "I'm not particularly interested in a lecture right now, Uncle."

Once more, his uncle was avoiding him since the unpleasant revelation about Bran. He at least offered better than monosyllabic responses, but his demeanor was frosty. It lacked the familial warmth that Aemon relied on to keep his thoughts focused on the present.

His uncle was silent for a moment and then said,"I wish you would've told me."

"And what good would that have done, Uncle? You would have pointlessly fretted over the inevitable."

"I would've been prepared."

"Would you have?" Aemon finally turned. His uncle's profile was the very picture of grief, likely deepened after the pointed remarks by Prince Oberyn. "Knowing too much can be just as dangerous as knowing too little."

Ever since Aemon had taken the throne, they had been sailing into uncharted waters. How often had he agonized over the knowledge he had over a future that could no longer be? Much of what he knew was secondhand from other people. Trusted sources, perhaps, but their memories could falter just as surely as his did. At this point, they could only make broad conclusions. Littlefinger was trouble and would try something. Lord Tywin did not like to be made a fool or have his legacy torn to shreds; comeuppance was to be expected. But the avenues that both Littlefinger and Tywin had before were gone. Cersei was no longer queen and in charge. They had to come from a point lacking in power and he couldn't decide if that was advantageous to him or not. What it did mean is that it was likely to come from a direction they weren't expecting.

If he and Jaime had one advantage, it was that Jaime was more valuable alive than dead. As long as Jaime was alive, he would be loyal. Aemon had to trust that Jaime continued to have his best interests at heart or the Night King would win once more.

He was on edge from the lack of information out of King's Landing. It was likely that the Martells knew more than him about the current happenings in King's Landing. Yet he had to keep calm and assume the situation was under control.

It would be easier if he didn't feel like he was constantly at odds with his uncle. The Martells present a united front. Why can't we? Right now his uncle was frowning at him, looking more cross than he'd ever seen.

"I am not a simpleton, Your Grace. I've fought in a war, I've lost family, and raised one."

Aemon inhaled and had to reel in his temper. Prince Oberyn may have pushed him over the edge, but it had been sitting there for sometime with all of his anxieties and the row with his uncle. "You're right, Uncle. You have done an admirable job of learning what needs to be learned so that you and I both thrive. Just like you're doing now. You have made strides where Jaime has lamentably...not. I appreciate your efforts to come to an understanding with him, even if he could do a better job of bridging that gap." He saw his uncle's face soften and for a moment he was reminded of himself when he received a kind word from him. "I brought you along for a reason. I need your support just as much as I need Jaime's."

"I will do better, Your Grace," his uncle replied, dipping his head.

There was another knock at the door. "Servants have brought a basin and water for bathing, Your Grace."

"Time to get ready. Thank you, Uncle."

Aemon felt calmer after the bath. In King's Landing, the water was often warm, but it had been left cool in Dorne and it was apparently enough to calm his hot blood and soothe his temper back down to a point where he felt in control. He willed himself to set his worries for King's Landing aside for the evening to focus on the meal.

After so many feasts with a hoard of nobility in King's Landing, it seemed odd that those gathered around the table only numbered a dozen or so. There was Prince Oberyn with his paramour and their eight daughters. Prince Doran and his children, Princess Arianne and Prince Quentyn, sat on the other end. It was only himself and his uncle for King's Landing. The table was laden with dishes featuring fish and seafood of a different sort to what he was used to. He could see shells pried partially open, crab legs arranged around a bowl of dip, and he was certain he saw fried legs of a strange creature with multiple arms closer to Prince Doran. He hoped they wouldn't ask him to try it.

The conversation was small as he was formally introduced to the rest of the family. Aemon was asked to relate the tale of how he became king and then the subsequent campaign to take the Keep. Although he was careful not to heap too much praise on Jaime, he did not gloss over his significant role and he was certain that Prince Oberyn was giving him a troubled frown for it, but otherwise the prince did not say a cross word about it.

"A most impressive account, Your Grace. I see now how you managed to bring so many disparate kingdoms together in peace," Prince Doran said. He did appear sincere in his words.

Prince Oberyn gave him a puzzled look. "So we have the Kingslayer to thank for delivering Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch?'

"Lord Jaime Lannister," Aemon corrected. "Yes, you do."

"I will have to thank him next time I see him. Although, I have not yet had my fun with them," Prince Oberyn replied.

"Are they to be imprisoned here for the rest of their natural life?"

When Prince Oberyn smiled, it was a vicious one that did not reach his eyes. "As is their due, they have demanded a trial."

Aemon stalled. "And?"

"They demand that you oversee it."

Aemon had a piece of fish halfway to his mouth when he stopped and stared. "And you would like me to stand as judge?"

"Yes, Your Grace. We intend to hold trial on the morrow," Prince Doran replied, "as long as you are willing."

"Very well, I shall," Aemon replied without hesitation. Once he took in all of the delighted smiles around the table, he knew this was going to be made a spectacle. It was one thing to draw up a plan for negotiation and speak some pretty and soothing words, but there was little time for preparation when it came to this. They were putting him on trial as much as Ser Gregor and Ser Amory. A single misstep would likely spell his doom.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Note: The Discord is doing well and is available for you to join! https/discord.gg/M3x6WXM

We don't even have to talk about TDR. There have already been a few different discussions, mostly about GoT and the season-that-shall-not-be-named, however I do have channels for other topics of discussion.

Find me on Twitter @GroovyPriestess

Chapter 61 - Petyr II

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Welcome to a new chapter! Thank you all, once more, for your support! Every hit, Kudos, comment, bookmark, favorite and follow mean a lot to me. I hope you enjoy the latest chapter of TDR.

Last, but not least, I would like to thank catzrko0l for beta-ing this chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 61

Petyr II

Petyr stood by his window and carefully peered down at the citizens of King's Landing as he indulged in his favorite pastime. He would pick out a person or two from the crowd. Just by observing them—their appearance, their clothes, their mannerisms, their gait—he would then ascribe motivations to them and spin a fiction in his head as to where they came from and, most importantly, where they were going. It mattered little in the end whether he got it right. He'd had enough practice with the denizens of the Keep that he was confident he would get the broad strokes of each person down. Until lately.

He had been so confident that he knew who Aemon Targaryen and Jaime Lannister were. The Kingslayer was a stick in the mud, volatile, near-mute with a tumultuous relationship with his sister. He was certain that the Kingslayer and the whore queen had fucked each other once or twice in their youth, but their relationship had soured upon her marriage to Robert Baratheon. It was easy to see a jealous lover in the Kingslayer rather than true hate. Unfortunately, nothing had come or remained of that relationship, so he was left merely with a suspicion that did not amount to sufficient blackmail material. It was still useful in gauging both the Kingslayer's and the whore queen's actions, even if not fully accurate.

He would've had Cersei right where he wanted her, if she hadn't lost her mind and snuck a quick fuck with her brother in Winterfell. But she had never been all that bright to begin with, despite her smug self-assurance. She was only where she was because she had been born into the most powerful house in Westeros as a woman.

In fact, all of the Lannister brood stood in the long shadow of their sire and would never be able to step outside of it. The Kingslayer was making an attempt playing at Hand, but it was obvious the position was beyond his wits. While his appearance was mostly kempt, there was no mistaking the bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep and his frequently frayed temper. The only reason he was

keeping his head above water was because of that damn healer. About the only smart move the Kingslayer had made since arriving was cultivating the healer as a spy and a hub of information. The boy, Vicente, was proof of the nefarious nature behind the healer's clinic.

Petyr had a feeling the boy was not as disloyal as he pretended to be. Information wasn't lining up as it should have. It wasn't the boy who brought him the news of Cersei's starvation, but a servant who had been snooping for an easy gold dragon. He would have to look into it later.

Despite having the rug pulled out from under him in previous moves, it was pretty clear that the Kingslayer and the king were amateur players of the game. The second part of the plan was being implemented smoothly and would start showing results soon. Poisoning Robert Baratheon had been the first move. He was a hindrance and would put the dragon's claim in doubt the longer he kept him alive, so he did wonder why Aemon bothered keeping him around, especially after he'd already rounded up and torn down his brothers.

The king had made some smart moves, but all of them were grand gestures to be seen by the whole of the kingdom. He had done little in subtle gestures and, by his and the Kingslayer's bumbling, it was a wonder they'd gotten anything past him.

Yet they had. Just as Petyr had convinced the maester at Riverrun to send a letter to Lady Catelyn, he'd had one sent to the Blackfish as well. The Blackfish had finally abandoned his post at the Bloody Gate barely a week ago and the news out of the Eyrie was enough to chill Petyr to the marrow.

Although the king had declared the Eyrie under quarantine due to disease, it had now reached his ears that the dragon had actually forced a confession out of Lysa regarding the poisoning of Lord Jon Arryn. Furthermore, he had used a forged letter signed by him—Petyr Baelish—to implicate him in the crime.

Petyr did not believe in coincidences and there was surely no coincidence in his name being used to sign the letter. The dragon knew he was somehow behind Lord Arryn's poisoning before he took the letter to Lysa. That simply wasn't possible. No one, apart from perhaps Lysa, could know that.

Unless… His expression grew murderous and he clenched his fists in rage. It had to be Varys. Perhaps he should start leaking rumors regarding his underhanded dealings with that warlord in Qohor. The details were scant at best, but the Spider was working towards the destruction of the crown as assuredly as he was. They would've come to blows eventually. Perhaps it was best to start preparing for Lord Varys' eventual demise. He would be the trickiest to pin down.

Just another death to plan in a long line of many, Petyr mused, stroking his goatee. So many loose ends to take care of . He contemplated briefly arranging for the death of the Kingslayer's bastard in Winterfell. It would widen the gap in Lannister-Stark relations to a canyon, but Lord Tywin seemed reticent. The old bastard couldn't possibly be happy about the babe, but perhaps he thought his son would become unhinged at its death. No matter. The boy's death wouldn't be necessary for now. There would still be plenty more opportunities to kill him in the future, along with the rest of the Lannisters.

You're getting ahead of yourself, he thought and tamped down the murderous glee that had threatened to show. He still had a problem: the king knew he was behind Jon Arryn's death. If the king knew he was culpable that far back, then the king knew he wasn't to be trusted either. The dragon had actually lulled him into a false sense of security. Seven hells, even Lord Stark had managed to avoid spilling the king's secrets involuntarily. He knew now why Lord Stark had such a cloud of suspicion in his eyes when they'd had their little chat. Aside from King Aemon and Ser Barristan, Lord Stark and Lord Royce had been there at the confession.

The dragon had sent Ser Barristan on a foolhardy errand to escort his intended back to Westeros, but his assassins would make sure she never made it out of any Essosi port alive. That had been the first thing Lord Tywin had ordered of him the moment Ser Barristan left port. The old knight had taken a large ship, no doubt fit for a queen, but his assassins could take fleeter ships to arrive ahead of him.

The dragon and his uncle were now sequestered in Dorne, thanks to happenstance. The king's courtesy would be the death of him; it had been easy to guess that the king would move to Dorne as opposed to the other way around. With his seeming goal to foster peace, demanding Dorne come to submit would never have won him the loyalty he needed to keep the peace. His only option was to go and the only person left to rule would be the Hand to the King, Lord Jaime Lannister. The opportunity was too perfect to let pass by.

That left Lord Royce. As long as he was alive, the Vale would be under his control. While Petyr wasn't one to resort to the same weapon of choice for murder—especially not so soon after Robert Baratheon had been obviously killed—he was running short on time. They only had about two more months, at the most, before the king returned. The kingdom had to be ready to fall before then and there was still so much left to do.

A knock at his door turned his head and one of his girls stepped in. She had hair as dark as cocoa and skin as white as fresh milk, but she quickly averted her eyes upon meeting his and said in a small voice, "Ser Osmund Kettleblack is here to see you."

"Send him in. Keep the door closed and do not interrupt me until we are done," Petyr snapped.

Ser Osmund swaggered into the room with his head tipped. He pinched the ass of the whore as he passed and smirked at the slight flinch. His wavy black hair was well-styled and his conical goatee was trimmed to a fine point. Unlike his brothers, Ser Osmund was a handsome man who towered in the room and would've given Ser Gregor Clegane a decent battle. Not that he had the courage for that.

"You sent for me, my Lord?"

"Yes, you have the particulars?" Petyr asked, stepping over his desk to pull out a letter with a broken seal.

"Aye. You'll please my father with this."

"I repay those who are loyal to me. It is no less than you or he deserve," Petyr replied with an ingratiating smile.

The man read over the letter carefully, his smirk continuing to widen and Petyr saw greed in his eyes. "This should be easy."

"I would ask that you treat this assignment as delicately as you would if you were carrying a babe through floodwaters. She is not to be underestimated."

Ser Osmund frowned and stared at him questioningly. "You might want to be more specific."

" Your babe through floodwaters then. I don't care what happens after you sequester her."

"I've been livin' in the Keep same as you. She's a hard one to miss."

"Then you shouldn't miss her."

"When do you want me to act?"

"Give it a few days. Be noticeable, but not too much. This has to be believable. We're counting on

you."

"Oh, aye, I can do it," Ser Osmund replied and then held out his hand expectantly.

Petyr dug into his desk and pulled out a pouch that clinked with the sound of coins. He tossed it at the knight.

"That'll do," Ser Osmund said. "I'll have her...sequestered. In short order." With a nod and a vicious lop-sided smile, he walked out of the room.

Petyr breathed a small sigh of relief. Another coin had been tossed onto the table in this bet, but it would be worth it. A marriage with Lysa would cement his claim on the Eyrie. He would be able to leap from lordship of a pitiful heap of rocks to lord of a mountain and Lord Paramount of the Vale. He had waited this long, he could wait a bit longer.

However, there was a doubt that had been growing in his mind. Although the dragon king appeared to know that he wasn't trustworthy, he made the fatal move of leaving his kingdom solely in the care of Jaime Lannister. Although the king said he trusted the Kingslayer quite publicly, that was less apparent in their private conversations. They clearly planned together, he hadn't heard a single word pass from the king to the Kingslayer about his involvement with poisoning Lord Jon Arryn. Did the Kingslayer know? They had, after all, engineered for Grandmaester Pycelle to take the fall by accusations of negligent death.

And they seemed to remain ignorant of his role in the Kingslayer's kidnapping by the Ironborn. That had been a risky move to openly state a plan, but Renly and Loras were halfwits who forgot the detail the moment they stepped out of the small council. If Varys ratted me out about Jon Arryn, there's no reason to suspect that he hasn't told them about the Ironborn, yet the king and the Kingslayer seemed to be at odds about when and how to move on the Iron Islands so that they could be brought to heel and punished for the Kingslayer's captivity. Just because the Spider gave them one tidbit of information, it didn't mean he gave them all. He could at least guarantee that Varys was smarter than that.

Unlike Lord Tywin. The pithy old lord had a good head for strategy on the battlefield, much like his son Jaime, but his inherent blindness to the personality flaws of his son was going to be the death of House Lannister. It was clear from the last month that the Kingslayer had no interest in being a king. Perhaps a better king than Robert, but his blindness and ineptitude in the game would be his downfall as it had been for so many others. He'd allow Tywin a few years to revel in his victory. But when the kingdom settled back down and grew quiet, he would strike again. He'd have a nearly foolproof plan too.

Now that he knew that barrels of wildfire existed around the city it would be easy to simply have a cache of them explode during a wedding at the Sept of Baelor. He would admit to the dragon king and the kingslayer having good knowledge about that threat and trying to stop it before it happened, but the healer's efforts were doomed to failure.

In all of the chaos and pandemonium that will ensue after the coup, the Kingslayer was likely to forget it all over again. If he did manage to find a way to rid the city of it, Baelish could always secure a cache and then move it just when the Kingslayer thought he and everyone else were safe.

He'd thought of how the board would settle if he'd known about the wildfire caches and had blown it up as the king's cousin was marrying the Tyrell girl. All major heads of houses would have been burnt to ash, including the king and the Hand. He would've had to kill Stannis and Renly Baratheon sitting in their cells to eliminate the most prominent contenders. Unfortunately, Petyr was still just a small lord with a spit of land and several brothels. He was enormously wealthy thanks to the brothels and the coin he'd been siphoning from the crown's account, but he had no army. In the wake of such an aftermath, he figured Dorne would be the next to claim the crown with their fresh army. Garlan Tyrell was in High Garden and he would have the next biggest army to fight. Either Dorne and the Reach would clash or they'd somehow come to an understanding. It was difficult to say. The lords in all of the other kingdoms would only be able to squabble with each other. He would have to wait to take out the next king before he could possibly make his own move for the Crown.

Orchestrating a spider web of downfalls with the Vale as his reward was by far the easiest and the quickest step to forwarding his goals of taking the crown. However, he was becoming concerned with Lord Tywin's zealous need to take the kingdom back for the Lannisters. While he had every intention of widening the rift between the dragon king and the Kingslayer, he had his doubts about the Kingslayer's willingness to go forward with the plan. The game was risky, but it never hurt to have an escape route. He can't enjoy a crown if he's dead.

He scribbled a quick message:

Aurich,

I think it's time you delivered on that favor. We will be considered even if you aid me in this. Come here tomorrow. You know the routine.

He didn't bother with his name. The captain would know who sent it.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes:

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Chapter 62 - Aemon XXI

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Happy belated Thanksgiving to my American readers! Thank you all so much for your comments, your Kudos, faves, and bookmarks! I greatly appreciate it. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

I would like to thank catzrko0l, yet again, for being an awesome beta. Your skills and perspective are invaluable, so thank you for contributing!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 62

Aemon XXI

Aemon lay in his bed and watched the gradual lightening of the sky through the upper window. He had not anticipated the chill in the air when the sun had fallen and felt comfortable at once. Unlike King's Landing, where the nights remained hot and muggy, Dorne cooled off until he felt like he could be back at Winterfell in the middle of summer. Aemon could hear Ghost restlessly pacing the room and when he sat up to look at his direwolf, Ghost let out a low howl.

"It's not safe to let you out, Ghost," he replied sleepily. "I'll have to clear it with Prince Doran to let you roam freely at night."

Sleep had not come easily. He knew Dorne would be difficult and they were unlikely to make it easy on him, but he had not expected to govern a trial. It had been an uncharacteristic move to simply arrest and deliver Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch to Dorne like a pair of dressed deer. They had not been men deserving of any mercy or even the benefit of the law, much like Ramsay Snow, which he had eased his conscious with. He would now have to deliver the law to them as befitted a king, much like he planned to do to Baelish.

No one could deny the crimes of the Mountain, Lorch, or Ramsay and that they were not deserving of their executions. Lord Baelish's crimes were of a different sort. While he was connected to deaths, they were not conducted with the same brutality that had been carried out on his half- brother and half-sister. Baelish had to be handled with the same delicacy that he himself used. Aemon hoped that he would be able to corner Baelish once Dorne was squared away. He was the single gravest threat to the whole of Westeros as long as he remained alive. Aemon had to bring him to heel before he discovered the reasons behind the quarantine at the Eyrie or he feared that both he and Jaime would be dead in the ensuing power struggle.

After all, Lord Jon Arryn was murdered by poison. Poison . It was simply not possible to foresee a threat like that. Would he be considered as paranoid as King Aerys if he ordered a servant to taste his food before meal time? But it was cruel to potentially sacrifice another person's life to safeguard his own, even if he was well-intentioned. He had lived in and amongst the smallfolk for most of his previous life, nearly of their level with his bastard status. Just thinking of having a servant taste his food immediately put Grenn's face on the hapless servant.

If it came down to it, would he be willing to sacrifice that integrity he was struggling to build to be rid of Baelish? The answer had to be yes, but they were not so desperate yet that they had to resort to such extreme measures. It's not like he could look any worse in the eyes of his uncle anyway.

Only stopping the Long Night matters. To the seven hells with my uncle if he is unable to come to terms with doing what needs to be done, Aemon thought bitterly. He was the one who made the peace offering the day before to ease the tension between them, but he grew tiresome of his uncle's reticence. It made clear that seeing was believing. As soon as everyone saw the wight the Night's Watch was bringing down from the Wall, it would come into sharp relief for everyone. It wouldn't be enough to make everyone rally behind him—if his past life was anything to go by— but the existence of a myth was not something anyone could ignore.

Jaime had suggested that Lord Tywin seeing the wight would only convince him of Aemon's inability to lead the kingdom when the war behind the Wall came to them. They would have to be ready for him when that time came.

Aemon judged the sun was now high enough in the sky that he could reasonably be up and he summoned another bath. He prepared for a hot day in the sun, though he was certain the trial would take place indoors. He chose a red doublet with the black three-headed dragon on his chest and wore brown leather trousers. The color black was simply too hot and oppressive.

He nodded each at Ser Torrhen Karstark and the Hound; they fell into step behind him. The servants bowed and pointed him to the direction of the table.

Only Prince Doran was at the table, reading his correspondence. He gave Aemon a smile as he stepped up.

"Good morning, Your Grace. I trust you slept well."

"Thank you, Prince Doran. I find the underground rooms most comfortable," he replied, sincerely

hoping the bath had washed the exhaustion from his face. "I hope I am not troubling you."

"Of course not, Your Grace. The rest of my kin are not particularly fond of the early morning."

"I see," Aemon replied as he took his seat from the night before.

Instantly, a servant swooped in and deposited a letter in front of him. "Your correspondence, Your Grace," the servant said, bowing, and then stepping back. Another servant stepped up and offered water or goat's milk.

"Water, please," Aemon replied, though his voice sounded distant. He frowned as he examined the letter. Had it arrived just that morning? Something in him told him that the Martells had decided not to grace him with the letter until they saw fit. It was yet another reminder that, for all of their hospitality, they still harbored an ill will.

He looked at the Lannister seal closely, but it was as secure as it had been when Jaime had likely stamped it. He broke it and unfurled the parchment. As was customary with Jaime, the message was short:

All is well. Old lions may appear at court, but liars will not anymore.

Aemon frowned. While it was predictable that Tywin would only see fit to crawl out of the woodwork once he was attending business elsewhere, it suggested something nefarious. Calculated. Jaime wouldn't have made a point of mentioning it if he hadn't thought so. Not for the last time did it strike Aemon how helpless he was secluded down in Dorne, sitting in its viper's nest.

What's this about liars? What did he do? Aemon thought with no small amount of exasperation. He had a feeling it had to do with Jaime's new ability. Had he sussed out dishonest wretches? Baelish? He had a feeling he would've referenced Littlefinger if that were the case.

"News from King's Landing?" His uncle asked, taking a seat next to him.

Aemon set the letter down and allowed it to roll back up. "Yes, all is well," he replied, smiling at his uncle. He didn't share his correspondence with his uncle at home and saw no need to include him now. It was hardly desirable to have this conversation out in the open. He cast his eyes briefly

over to Prince Doran, but he seemed busy buttering his bread.

As he had been examining the letter, dishes had been placed and he happily began helping himself to poached eggs and sausage. The table slowly filled up around him and his uncle. Princess Arianne gave Aemon a bright smile as she took the seat across from him. Her brother, Quentyn, nodded at him and muttered his honorific. Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria Sand were the last to arrive just as Aemon was eating the last bite off of his plate.

"Prince Doran, how will the trial work today?" Aemon asked.

"It will be held the hour before the midday meal. The prisoners will be brought forward. They will give their version of the events and then they will be questioned."

"Are witnesses allowed?" Aemon blatantly turned to his uncle.

"Ah, yes, Lord Stark, you were present, weren't you? How fortuitous that you chose to bring him," Prince Oberyn said. "A pity you didn't also bring the Kingslayer."

"Lord Jaime Lannister," Aemon insisted, giving Prince Oberyn a cross eye. "He has been pardoned, so I would not stand for a trial of him."

"I never suggested he should stand trial," the Prince continued. Though he was smiling, Aemon could see a vicious light in his eye.

He didn't reply, but he did tip his head in an arrogant way back at Prince Oberyn. Just because you need your feathers smoothed, does not mean I will allow you to walk all over me, Aemon thought. He once more turned to his uncle, whose brow was furrowed by a storm cloud on his face.

"Will you be a witness, Lord Stark?" Prince Doran asked. Aemon saw the way his eyes shifted to his brother and back.

"I will be happy to attest to the events of that day," his uncle replied in a gravelly voice.

"Forgive me, Lord Stark, but you don't look happy."

"T'was a dark day, Prince Oberyn. There was little to be happy about it."

"But you had won!"

Prince Oberyn could have been a player in a troupe, Aemon thought. No doubt the Prince was needling his uncle almost as much as he had been needled by the insult to his mother.

"A victory bought by the blood of the innocent is no victory worth celebrating," his uncle replied.

Oberyn opened his mouth to continue when Prince Doran interjected, "That is enough, Oberyn! Must every conversation require your arsenal of knives? There will be plenty of darkness this day. Let us rejoice in what little light we have. King Aemon, Lord Stark, you arrived late in the day. Perhaps you would enjoy a tour of our palace in the light of day? Arianne, would you be willing to escort the king?"

"Of course, father," Princess Arianne replied demurely and cast her eyes at Aemon from underneath her eyelashes.

Aemon sighed inwardly. At least his uncle would be there to ensure nothing untoward would happen. He would be sure to have his guard up the whole time. Perhaps he'd be allowed to bring Ghost along so that his wolf could at least stretch his legs. It jolted a memory and he asked, "Prince Doran, my direwolf Ghost enjoys the cold nights, but I kept him in my room for safety. Would it be possible for him to run freely at night without fear of harm?"

"You are talking about the massive white wolf you were walking with, yes, Your Grace? I don't see why not. I'll be sure to make it clear he is not to be harmed."

"Thank you, Prince Doran."

Princess Arianne grabbed his arm and seemed intent on not letting him go. While she didn't attempt to hang on his arm like some of the ladies in the Red Keep, she still held it with a vice grip. His uncle and the guard, Areo Hotah, accompanied them, much to his relief.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of Princess Arianne. She was elegant, but excitable. He sensed a restlessness in her that reminded him of Arya and he wondered if she was anymore pleased to marry than her. Unlike Arya, she appeared willing to do her duty. Was it a desire for the position of queen or something more?

A shame to break her heart, Aemon thought. He realized that he was becoming desensitized to the idea of shattering a lady's dream of being his queen. He had announced his intent to betroth Princess Daenerys after all; it was their own fault if they persisted. At least Lady Margaery had wised up quickly. She appeared genuinely happy at her wedding and he hoped that was the case for both her and Robb now.

It was a relief when they were finally called back to prepare for the trial. Aemon stayed in the same clothes, but added his crown and a black cape with silver trimmings. An escort made up of Northern and Dornish soldiers escorted him and his uncle to the forum. Three layers of carved stone seats lined the walls for an audience. The area for the trial stretched lengthwise and the roof was held up by a line of columns around the perimeter. The floor was a white marble polished to a mirror shine bordered with sandstone bricks. A singular chair that appeared to be made out of the same marble sat on a dais on one end. Though not nearly as formidable as the Iron Throne, it served the same purpose of isolating him in an even more hostile environment.

In the middle of the room was another wooden platform that was placed to face the throne. He suspected it was where those on trial were to stand to face judgment.

"Your Grace, welcome to the forum," Prince Doran said, opening his arms wide as his guard, Areo Hotah, pushed his chair. "It is not yet time for you to present yourself. Our ceremony demands you enter once all are present. Lord Stark, as you are a witness, you shall wait out here."

"Very well," Aemon replied and he allowed himself to be taken to a side room. He was glad to have had a moment to see the forum before entering. He sat on the couch in the side room since it wouldn't do to be seen pacing and he was left alone with his thoughts.

Just speak your beliefs, he commanded himself. He knew what was expected of him in Dorne, but what he didn't understand was why Ser Amory Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane—I need to strike the knighthood from their names, he thought bitterly—would want a trial overseen by him when he was the one who ordered them to be escorted to Dorne in the first place. Was it simply to prolong the inevitable? Did Prince Doran or Prince Oberyn insist that they demand a trial? It was one question he couldn't ask without sowing more distrust between himself and Dorne.

Would Jaime understand? Jaime did not give himself enough credit for his political knowledge, but the reasoning for this would likely escape him as well. Would Tyrion? He certainly had a better head for understanding a person's motivation that had nothing to do with war and fighting.

There was a knock on the door and Aemon stood.

"All hail, his Grace, King Aemon Targaryen, First of his name, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men," the Master of Ceremonies hailed. The room was now lined with people standing in his honor, the stands filled with three layers. The entire Martell family was on the right side of the room. His uncle was standing with them. He didn't recognize anyone else in the varied colorful outfits of Dorne.

Ser Torrhen and the Hound took up positions on both sides of the stand-in throne.

Aemon's eyes fell on the murderers. When he had last encountered Ser Gregor Clegane, he had been a monstrosity sheathed in metal from head to toe and there had not been an inch of skin uncovered to the light of day. Now he wore a simple white shirt and brown trousers. The shirt billowed around him like a tent and he thought he noticed a slackness to the skin on his arms. As a prisoner, he was confined to a cell all day and all night, but he still saw heavy chains adorning his wrists and ankles. The searing glare the Mountain gave him suggested he was still as dangerous as ever.

Ser Amory Lorch had gone entirely to seed. He was dressed in the same manner, but his face was pouchy and his muscles appeared to have entirely shriveled away. Even from his distance, Aemon could see the shine of sweat on his face. Lorch's face was full of trepidation.

Aemon allowed the silence to persist as he slowly overlooked the crowd. "You may be seated," he declared in a calm voice. He focused his attention on Lorch and Clegane. The former drew himself up and attempted to look confident but the Mountain's demeanor did not change. "We are here today to try Ser Amory Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane for the deaths of Princess Elia Martell, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, and King Aegon Targaryen VI. Do you understand the charges?" A ripple went through the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Prince Oberyn lean forward and his uncle blinked at him.

A brief shadow passed over Lorch's face and a muscle started twitching in his cheek. "Yes, Your Grace, we understand. As spurious as they are—"

"I get to decide if the charges are legitimate or not," Aemon cut him off. "You are on trial, which means that you are as of yet determined not guilty."

Lorch snorted. An unnerving silence fell at that. He licked his lips and said, "Apologies, Your

Grace."

"You will both conduct yourselves in a respectful manner or your trial will be conducted without your accounts. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Lorch replied through gritted teeth.

"Good. Now you will tell your side of the story and Ser Gregor Clegane will tell his."

"If I may, Your Grace?" Lorch asked. When Aemon nodded, he continued, "Me and Ser Gregor Clegane have decided that I will speak for us both."

"Is that so? Does he recognize your authority in this matter?" Aemon's eyes flicked up to the Mountain. As immovable and impenetrable as he had been that whole time, he gave a sharp nod.

"Very well. Start your account from the moment you entered the city of King's Landing. Don't leave anything out."

Lorch wetted his lips, cleared his throat and said, "First, I would like to thank you, Your Grace, for granting us this trial. You have shown wisdom beyond your years and I'm sure this trial will bear out our innocence. I have long been a faithful servant to Lord Lannister and the crown. I fought valiantly during the Ironborn uprising, killing fifteen as we invaded Pike. Ser Gregor Clegane killed twenty men on behalf of the crown."

It took everything Aemon had not to chuckle derisively. Fifteen men? Him? He was certain Lorch was deliberately exaggerating his numbers. Perhaps Clegane could've had such a kill count, but only men of legend managed those numbers and Lorch hadn't found his way into such songs. "That was not under my reign, so I have little interest in your exploits for a king that is no longer in power. Not to mention that it has little bearing on this incident. Please continue," Aemon said.

The man looked dazed as if he had been punched, but then he nodded shakily. "Yes, Your Grace, promptly...the city was in chaos when we entered. Citizens were running and screaming; the Lannister Army was attempting to control the situation—"

Aemon noticed his uncle shift in his seat and he opened his mouth to speak, only to make eye contact and stop at the glare he received. His uncle settled back down.

"Lord Tywin ordered us to the Red Keep to secure it for the good King Robert." Despite his steady voice, Lorch was sweating even more and his eyes seemed to twitch to the side. It was enough to raise Aemon's ire and it took every fiber of his being not to clutch the arm of his chair in a vice grip.

"Go on," Aemon intoned coolly.

"Yes, Your Grace. Me, Ser Gregor, and a few other men went to the Red Keep to secure the king and his family. Princess Elia Martell and her children were in the royal family's rooms. When we arrived, Prince Aegon already had his head smashed open. Princess Elia was holding a bloody knife and Princess Rhaenys was sprawled across Prince Rhaegar's bed with bloody holes in her chest. When we tried to take the Princess, she flung herself from the balcony and smashed her head on the terrace below."

"LIAR!" Prince Oberyn leaped to his feet.

"Prince Oberyn, you will remain seated and quiet unless otherwise told," Aemon snapped.

The Prince snapped his head to him and he silently seethed, but Aemon did not return his attention to Lorch until Prince Oberyn had eventually sat down. Once seated, he looked like a coiled snake waiting for another opportunity to strike.

"We wrapped up the babe and the girl in sheets and presented them to Lord Tywin. He presented them to King Robert Baratheon." With that, Lorch fell silent.

Aemon let it sink in for a moment and asked, "Is that all?" He struggled once more to keep a neutral countenance. Since there were no direct witnesses to their brutal deeds, they seemed to think it was possible to lie their way out of their guilt. He would prove otherwise.

Lorch cocked his head and then finally nodded, "Yes, Your Grace."

"Were either of you you present when Lord Tywin Lannister presented the bodies of King Aegon Targaryen VI and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen?"

"No, Your Grace, we weren't."

"Very well, step over there," Aemon nodded to his left where a barred half wall had been constructed to contain the prisoners when they were not on the stand. The guards stepped up and guided the two for the ten-foot walk. Ser Gregor Clegane eyed them with malicious intent, but he contained himself.

Aemon next turned to the audience, he could see Prince Oberyn shifting in his seat like a shadowcat ready to spring. His jaw was clenched and sparks were flying from his eyes. Prince Doran reached over and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder then whispered into his ear. Whatever it was caused Prince Oberyn to relax, but he still glared.

Aemon moved his eyes over to his uncle; "Lord Stark, please take your place." His uncle stepped up. "State your name for the record."

"I am Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

"Now, from your point of view, describe what happened when you reached the Red Keep," Aemon commanded.

"Yes, Your Grace," Ned replied. "When my forces reached the Red Keep, the city had already been sacked. There were multiple fires, people dead in the street—"

"Stay on task, Lord Stark. The Red Keep."

"Of course, Your Grace. Lord Tywin's forces were already in the Red Keep when we arrived. I headed straight for the throne room. I saw Ser Jaime sitting on the Iron Throne, King Aerys Targaryen II was dead at his feet. I confronted him—"

"Lord Stark, the concern is in regards to King Aegon, Princess Elia, and Princess Rhaenys. Did the conversation pertain to them?"

His uncle frowned. "Yes, it did, but not the full conversation."

"What was said about them?"

"I asked him where they were."

"What did he say?"

"He told me that they were safe in their quarters."

"And then?"

"He left."

"Do you know where?"

"He went to go check on Princess Elia and the children."

"How do you know this?"

"Because he returned in the company of Lord Tywin with their bodies."

"Where was Robert Baratheon?"

"He had not yet arrived. It would still be two days before he appeared."

"Did you speak to Lord Tywin?"

"I asked him what was the meaning of their deaths. He said that it was important to secure Robert's reign before it started."

"Did you see the bodies then?"

His uncle's voice was nearly a whisper; "Yes."

"Can you describe them?"

"Pri-King Aegon's skull was wide open. Hi-his face was smashed, unrecognizable. He was a babe. Princess Rhaenys was wearing what I think was a yellow dress. It was difficult to tell because it was soaked in blood with half a hundred holes in it. There were so many holes that it could scarcely be called a dress."

"You speak in half-truths, Lord Stark," Lorch called out from his half-wall.

"The prisoners will be silent during the witness testimony," Aemon snapped. A guard menaced Lorch with the tip of his spear and that caused him to duck his head.

"Go on, Lord Stark."

"Princess Elia's body was not there."

"Did you see Ser Amory Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane there?"

"No, Your Grace."

"Do you know where they were?"

"No, Your Grace."

"Who accused them of killing King Aegon, Princess Elia, and Princess Rhaenys?"

There was a moment as his uncle seemed to think back to that day and then he saw his eyes

brighten as a truth seemed to dawn on them. "Ser Jaime did."

He noticed Lorch stiffen out of the corner of his eye and it took some effort for Aemon to hide his smile. Lorch's previous words and now this reaction brought the reasoning for it to the fore of his mind: He cannot badmouth his own lord paramount — or his son! — without fear of retribution. Tywin was too well known for taking such slights poorly that even Lorch was wise enough to know not to cross him.

Aemon had to contain himself from asking about Jaime's reaction. While he had heard Jaime's reasoning for killing the Mad King, he hadn't said anything about his thoughts on the deaths of Princess Elia and her children. There was simply a darkness that shadowed Jaime's face whenever they had been mentioned, but the topic was otherwise skirted.

"I think that's enough for now. Court shall reconvene after the midday meal. Guards, take the prisoners back to their cells."

Aemon did not stand until the prisoners were clear of the room. Then he stood and the crowd rose with him. The nobility convened to a private dining room. Prince Oberyn strode over to him and attempted to peer down at him. Aemon stood up straight, but he felt his uncle tug on his elbow.

"Your Grace, I must say I am disappointed in your performance," Prince Oberyn hissed.

"That's a shame," Aemon replied. "I ordered them down here after all. You should keep faith, Prince Oberyn. But if you keep interrupting court, I will have you ejected. Is that understood?"

"Oberyn, Oberyn, please, control yourself! You are speaking to the king," Doran grabbed his brother's arm and tried to pull him back from his chair. "What would our mother say about your disrespectful tone? Come. Over here."

When Aemon finally sat, he turned to his uncle and whispered, "Jaime was the one who accused them?"

"I...it hadn't occurred to me why he would say that. They're his father's men, but I remember the anger on his face now. It was just...he murdered the king. I thought their deaths were all connected, a part of a deliberate plan. Maybe they weren't?" His uncle looked at him hopefully.

"Jaime did not receive orders from his father, Uncle. Think about it: he would've had to have gotten a raven well ahead of time and ravens are easy to intercept. The king would've removed Jaime or had him killed if he suspected his death would be by him," Aemon said. He frowned as he thought about that time long past. He had heard from Jaime and others from his past life about the atrocities committed by the Mad King. Jaime would've been burnt alive by Mad King Aerys if Tywin had attempted to instruct him to kill the king.

It was then that he was struck so suddenly by a notion that he forgot to breathe: Lorch and Clegane hadn't declared trial-by-combat because they were testing to see if he was as mad as his grandsire. Jaime had told him that Aerys had declared the Targaryen house's champion was fire. There was no defeating such a thing. Clearly, they favored their chances with the trial than a champion of flame if it came to that. He shuddered as he thought about his other grandfather burning in his armor. It was enough that he pushed his plate away in distaste.

Prince Oberyn's pain, the desperation for justice in the Martells, as well as both his and his uncle's anger, hung like a pall over him. He felt a sorrow well up inside him at the deaths of the half- brother and half-sister that he could never know. They deserved justice and he would give it to them.

"Your Grace, you conducted yourself well back there," his uncle said softly.

"Hmm? Thank you, Uncle," he said. "I thought all night about how I was going to conduct court. I hope I don't fail."

"You won't."

Aemon attempted to eat and engage with the other nobility. One man with silver hair, a dour face, and a glare to match Prince Oberyn's was Ser Gerold Dayne, of a secondary branch of the famous Dayne line. Although Ser Gerold made light conversation, his questions about governing in the Red Keep were pointed enough to raise Aemon's ire. He kept his answers short and curt. He didn't care if his manner was impolitic. There was enough to concern himself with regarding the trial.

It was almost a relief when they returned to the room where the trial was held. Lorch and Clegane were hauled out once more. Clegane was still glowering, but Lorch appeared to be sourer than when the trial had first started. They likely had an inkling that Aemon was not in a lenient mood.

"Now, Ser Amory, I will ask you questions regarding your story; you will answer them truthfully. Is that clear?"

Lorch held eye contact, but he licked his lips and shuffled his feet. "Yes, Your Grace."

"To start at the beginning. Why did you head towards the apartments where King Aegon VI, Princess Elia Martell, and Princess Rhaenys were said to be? After all, to secure the kingdom you have to secure the king."

"Uh...because Ser Jaime was in the throne room. Lord Tywin knew that Ser Jaime was to kill the Mad King."

"Did he now? How was he able to get that message to Ser Jaime? The way I understood it, Ser Jaime was kept at the Mad King's side at all times as a hostage. Surely, the Mad King would have any letters to Jaime intercepted. I doubt Lord Tywin would risk his favorite son's head for a simple letter."

"I-I don't know, Your Grace," Lorch replied. The sweat was now visibly streaming down his face.

"But instead of going straight to the king, to remove him from his throne, you went to where the rest of the family was staying. Why them first?"

"We wanted to ensure that they could not make a getaway."

"Getaway to where? The city had been sacked."

"I'm not sure, Your Grace," Lorch said through gritted teeth. "We had to secure them."

"Who gave you the order and can you tell it to me word-for-word?"

"Your Grace, it's been sixteen years! I can't remember what the order was."

"And you don't remember who gave it to you?"

Lorch glared angrily at him.

Aemon could feel the anger building up inside himself and he imagined the prisoners could see his own fury. "You are knights who work under the command of Lord Tywin. I may not know Lord Tywin well, but his reputation precedes him. No one under his command does anything without his explicit permission. Are you telling me that you went to secure Princess Elia Martell, King Aegon VI, and Princess Rhaenys and when you failed to do so, Lord Tywin did not punish you?"

"I told you, Princess Elia killed them and herself! It wasn't our fault!"

"I've never heard of Lord Tywin being an understanding man. So either he told you to secure them, you failed and he didn't punish you for it, or Lord Tywin gave you the command himself to kill the two princesses and the new king."

Lorch's breath was now ragged and he simmered in silence. Aemon cocked his head and felt a small smile on his lips. "You don't dare implicate your lord. Because if you did somehow get out of this trial with your heads intact, he would arrange for a much worse fate for you."

"Who do you think you are?! What right do you have to judge me?" Lorch spat at him. "You're not even supposed to be king, bastard! King Aegon VI is supposed to be king!"

The heat of his anger filled Aemon's veins and he clenched the arms of the seat. He struggled to keep his voice steady as he said, "You saw to it that he didn't become king. What is your point? I would still not be king if Robert Baratheon hadn't made his way North for me to overthrow him and take my rightful place. But he did and I am here now. Just as you wouldn't have sealed your own fate if you hadn't murdered Princess Rhaenys with half a hundred stabs."

"Trial by combat," Lorch shouted.

Aemon froze and the carnal satisfaction he was feeling evaporated like a fog on a hot summer's day.

"I demand trial by combat," Lorch repeated. "Ser Gregor Clegane will champion both of us!"

"I accept on behalf of the crown," Prince Oberyn crowed, leaping to his feet with his vicious smile.

Aemon knew he must look like a rabbit frozen in its tracks, but he couldn't breathe. He thought he felt his heart stuttering in his chest. "Th-the-the Crown recognizes the prisoners' rights for a trial by combat. Prince Oberyn shall represent the Crown," he said in a monotone, but his voice sounded far away in his own ears.

Fool, Aemon berated himself. If you had only kept your temper, you wouldn't have let slip your true feelings. Then there might not be a trial-by-combat! Why, always, did being reminded of his long-standing bastardy incense him so?

He and Jaime had subverted everything , yet somehow history still managed to repeat itself in some small way. His eyes settled on Oberyn who was too busy smiling maliciously at the Mountain to notice the king appeared frozen in shock. The negotiations for Dorne to enter into the Seven Kingdoms would fail if Oberyn died as he had in the time before. Yet he couldn't very well deny Oberyn the honor of serving as the crown's justice; it would raise Oberyn's ire and continue to widen the gap he was struggling to bridge with Dorne. Somehow he had to find a way to save him this time or the kingdoms would never be fully united again.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: I hope you all enjoyed! I, unfortunately, have to be the bearer of sad news: I will be skipping the next posting date. I've been fatigued lately and some of the chapters, such as this one, have been doozies to write. I've almost eliminated my buffer zone, so I'd like to build that up again. TDR's next update will be 12/28/2019.

If you would like to see status updates on the fic in real time, please feel free to join the TDR discord: https/discord.gg/XhrCksY

I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas!

Chapter 63 - Jaime XX

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Happy holidays, everyone! I hope they have been good and that they continue to be good! As always, thank you so much for your reading, for commenting, and gracing this fic with your alerts and Kudos. It means a lot to me!

I started 2019 by posting Chapter 41 - Jaime XIV. I will end the year by posting Chapter 63 - Jaime XX. All told, I will have posted 106,225 words of content for TDR.

I would like to thank catzrko0l for being such a loyal beta reader. They have been instrumental in making these chapters cleaner!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 63

Jaime XX

"Welcome to King's Landing, Ranger Benjen Stark," Jaime said.

There was no mistaking the frown and the ranger's furrowed brow for anything but annoyance. As was typical with the Stark clan, he wasn't happy to see him. At least most of them weren't happy to see him. Robb Stark and Arya Stark addressed him cheerfully enough. Arya in particular was usually thrilled since that meant a master class in sword fighting was imminent. Lady Sansa bestowed a smile on him, but her voice trembled with yellow nerves whenever she greeted him, so he put her smile down to expectation than any kindness.

He supposed he shouldn't expect smiles when he refused to smile himself. There was far too much on his mind to fix his face into something more approachable, though he had worked on softening the severity of his expression. He hadn't wanted to scare the smallfolk that beseeched his council in court after all. He still smirked at fools who tried to get the better of him, either in a conversation or in the training yard. Nothing was quite so fun as showing arrogant sods the other side of his tongue when they thought they had the measure of him. They never did. Brienne was the only one who could bring genuine smiles out of him.

"How fares His Grace and my brother, Lord Jaime?" Benjen offered by way of greeting. His voice was a curious mixture of blue and yellow.

"His Grace, King Aemon, is negotiating an alliance in Dorne. Lord Stark accompanied him,"

Jaime replied and was pleased his voice was a steady blue. Most of his speech had been tinged red of late. After Robert Baratheon had died, a search was conducted targeting the servants primarily. Then two days later, a servant's body washed ashore with a crossbow bolt through the heart. It was clear to Jaime that someone had been tying up a loose end, but the trail went cold and they could do little more than move on with their lives. Stannis and Renly were still alive at least and with the Night Watch's arrival, he'd be shedding Renly.

With the death of Robert Baratheon, rumors began popping up. The first and most brazen among them was that Aemon deliberately poisoned Robert to avoid bringing him to proper justice. It didn't matter that Aemon had been keeping him alive since the coup and planned to execute him once the Seven Kingdoms had all been successfully brought into the fold. But whispers had also emerged that Queen Cersei's bastard children were legitimate and she'd been coerced to say otherwise and that her fasting protest was actually forced starvation by Aemon to silence her.

The last bit of information had infuriated Jaime the most. Someone had snooped his desk and had undoubtedly found the letter. It was the kind of information that the healer's spy, Vicente, would've censored from Baelish, so it had clearly been someone else. He had been foolish to have stormed away from his desk, no matter the fury he had been feeling. He couldn't afford anymore lapses.

After that incident, he had finally taken the healer up on a goblet of dreamwine and had an undisturbed night of rest that had cleared his head of the persistent fog that pervaded it. He was calm and the tension had eased from his shoulders and head. The ever-present worry about his father and Littlefinger was always lurking in the back of his mind, but it was muted for the time being and he would enjoy it while it was. He could now focus and fulfill his promise to Aemon of running a tight ship, but the healer only allowed one goblet every three days. It was better than nothing though he considered going to the new Grandmaester that had arrived a few days prior. He was a Hand and shouldn't be subject to the whims of a lowly healer, but he was afraid the Grandmaester would ask similar prodding questions about his needs for a sleeping potion. Even if the entire kingdom now knew of his seizures, he'd still prefer to keep that information to himself.

Under normal circumstances, the Hand of the King would not greet a party of Night's Watch members at the dock, but Jaime had last left the Red Keep for Robb Stark's wedding. When Podrick had announced the Night's Watch's arrival, he had practically leapt at the opportunity to escort them. He had taken Podrick and his Uncle Gerion, much to his bemusement. However, it also meant the arrival of the wight and he wanted to ensure that nothing untoward or tragic befell it. After all, it was their proof to the world that the Long Night needed to be addressed as quickly as possible.

Jaime's eyes fell on the trunk that two crows were hauling out and he asked, "Is that it?"

"Yes, Lord Jaime, it's in there." Benjen said, watching with him as it was placed on the back of a

cart.

"Is it still alive?" He purposely lowered his voice so that only Benjen could hear it. He didn't need any curious ears.

"Yes, my Lord. I checked every day."

"Good. Please accompany us back to the Red Keep. We have more members for the Night's Watch," Jaime replied. With a curt nod, he turned and mounted his horse.

"We can always use more men," Benjen said, mounting a provided horse so that he could ride alongside Jaime.

"Any news from the Night's Watch?"

"The wildlings continue to gather in large numbers north of the Wall. I have convinced Mance Rayder that the king is interested in a—"

"Any other news?" Jaime asked sharply, glaring at Benjen. The man gave him an irritated look, but Jaime drew his own mouth into a firm line and gave a subtle shake of his head, nodding to indicate the smallfolk around them. These bloody Starks! They can't understand when discretion is necessary.

Benjen huffed and said, "The refortifying of the other abandoned castles is progressing, but slowly. We simply don't have enough men. And the men you have in the cells won't be enough. We need more. Much more."

We need an army up there, Jaime thought. There were only a few thousand men to man the wall. Each fort needed ten thousand at minimum. It was an issue that had to be addressed, but only after the realm understood the danger. Before that, no one would support resources going to the Wall outside of himself, the king, and the North. There would be infighting over favoritism and that was something they couldn't afford for now. At least with Margaery now married to Robb Stark, it would be the Reach's problem too; he and the king could then count on their support to protect their darling flower.

"Anything else?"

"Lord Commander Mormont would like to thank His Grace for assigning his ambassador Rodrik Cassel to Castle Black. The recruits have never been so prepared. Ser Alliser Thorne has become full of life and vigor now that he knows the Targaryen legacy lives on."

"I'm sure the king will be overjoyed to hear that," Jaime replied dryly. Aemon and members of the Night's Watch had frequently swapped stories around the campfire in the time before and Jaime had heard that Aemon hated Ser Alliser, as did many others. As far as Jaime was concerned, he hadn't done enough to train the boys into fighting form. If Ser Alliser hadn't shown improvement, he would recommend Aemon lean on Lord Commander Mormont to make some changes for training. It wouldn't do to have boys abused to death when every man was necessary.

Once they had reached the Keep, Jaime insisted on escorting the trunk all the way to the dungeon where it would be locked in a cell just in case.

Once the crate was in place, he wavered, staring at it. He then turned to Benjen and asked, "Where's the key?"

"Here, my Lord." The key was on a chain necklace and Benjen pulled it over his head and dangled it to him.

Jaime took it, but hesitated to put it on. Then he turned around and put the key into the lock.

"What are you—"

"I have to be sure!"

"Is my word not enough?" Benjen asked.

"Not to me," Jaime replied. "Is it bound?"

"Yes, behind its back. In chains."

"What key opens those?"

"The one I just gave you."

Convenient, Jaime mused. His hand trembled as he gripped the key and turned it, hearing the lock click. He glanced back. Benjen was staring at him in alarm, Podrick was uneasy, and his Uncle Gerion seemed puzzled. The guards remained inscrutable.

He put both hands on the lid and raised it a few inches. Blazing blue eyes shined out at him. It lunged and screeched, but he'd already slammed the lid back down and locked it. It rocked the trunk with enough force to quake it and move it a few inches.

Jaime backed away slowly. When he rejoined the party, Pod and his uncle were wide-eyed and petrified. The guards too looked frightened and speechless.

"None of you will speak of what you saw or heard or smelled this day. No detail whatsoever or I'll ship you off to the Night's Watch where you can see more of them. Is that understood?" The guards nodded vigorously. "Good. A guard will be sent to relieve you in six hours," Jaime commanded. He locked the cell door and then put the key over his head and hid it under his shirt. He wouldn't remove it even to sleep.

It was bound to reach the rest of the Keep that Jaime was keeping something secret under guard. He expected someone to try to sneak a peek. He would be assigning his best guards on a rotation to be changed every six hours, with his Uncle Gerion overseeing them. His uncle had given him an odd look, but didn't question him.

Once Jaime, Gerion, and Benjen had found their way back to the office of the Hand, Gerion asked, "Jaime, what was that thing?"

Benjen opened his mouth to answer, but Jaime hurriedly cut him off, "I'm not at liberty to say, by order of the king. You'll know when His Grace is ready for you to know."

Gerion frowned tersely. "What can I expect from this thing?"

"Since it's been in a trunk and it did not break out—" Jaime looked over at Benjen for confirmation, who nodded. "— the expectation is that it will stay there until the king returns and

we can announce it to the entire kingdom."

"Dare I ask, announce what?" Gerion said. Jaime did not like the purple notes of suspicion in his voice.

"You will learn when the king announces it and no sooner," Jaime replied firmly. "Uncle, I cannot stress how important it is that this not get out early. Do this. If not for me then for the realm." With that, he went around the desk and took his seat.

"Does it...need fed?"

"No."

"What in Seven Hells…?" Gerion muttered, but Jaime turned to Benjen.

"Now, Benjen, I would like to discuss the supplies needed in the Night's Watch. What is your most pressing need?"

"Armor. We trade for our food with the other Northern houses and there's always hunting, but we're running low on metal. We're having to start choosing between weapons and armor. Armor wins every time. We need live people." He was pleased to see that since the docks, Benjen's voice had calmed from the uncertain combination of blue and yellow to a straight sky blue. He rather doubted he had changed a Stark's mind about him so quickly, but Benjen seemed to have found his actions around the wight agreeable.

"I see," Jaime said as he wrote it down. "Would you prefer the raw material then or whole armor?"

"The less work we have to put into the armor, the better."

"King Aemon is mining for dragonglass on Dragonstone. Eventually, we hope to start shipping it to the Night's Watch, but that may not be for some time."

"That would be most useful, Lord Hand. If we want to fortify the remaining forts in a timely manner, we'll need actual masons, mater—"

BOOM!

The tower shook. The wine in a goblet from hours earlier sloshed. All three men looked around in alarm.

"You felt that?" Jaime asked.

"Yes, Lord Hand, what was that?"

Jaime shot up so quickly the chair tipped over and hit the ground with a loud crack. He rushed to the window overlooking the city and peered out. His eyes rapidly swept over the horizon as he desperately looked for the telltale sign of dark smoke. After a moment, he could feel his heart slowing as everything appeared peaceful and still.

He finally turned to them and said, "What in Seven Hells happened?"

"I don't kno—"

The piercing scream of a woman rent the air. Jaime rushed out with Benjen and his uncle on his heels. Pod fell into step behind them from where he stood outside the door. The Lannister guards stayed where they were as they were ordered to. More screams joined the woman's as they barreled down the hallway.

A servant girl had dropped a basket full of towels and was clutching at her face staring at a man in the yard. They rushed to the figure huddled on the ground, who was clutching at his face and screaming in agonized red tones. Green flame licked at his clothing. Jaime and Gerion collapsed onto him, trying to pat out the flames. Pod kicked the sand up to help smother. Eventually, Jaime ripped off his own doublet haphazardly and beat at the clothes until he couldn't see flames anymore. The figure stopped struggling and laid on the ground, his agonizing screams turning into guttural howls and low moans. They flipped him over.

"David?!" Gerion cried out.

The healer was barely recognizable. The flesh on his face was shredded and bits of it hung off,

revealing bright read meat that was slowly bleeding.

"Quick, get the Grandmaester," Jaime shouted to Benjen. He nodded and pushed his way through the crowd that had formed around them.

"Noooo," David managed and he grabbed Jaime's wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. "Jules. Get Jules."

"I'll go fetch him," Gerion cried out and ran towards the streets.

There was a low buzz of chatter as nobility and servants alike pushed at each other for a closer look.

"What happened?"

"What were those green flames?"

"Who in Seven Hells is that?"

"Get back," Jaime snarled and the crowd recoiled a few steps from his temper. He gave the healer a more thorough examination to determine the extent of the damage. He was wearing a heavier dark coat that was now patchy and burned, but it had protected the rest of his body from more severe burns. Then Jaime reluctantly returned to his face. While there were bloody scrapes across his forehead, the primary damage was to his right cheek, his eye barely escaping the worst. His breath continued to escape in wheezes and he intermittently moaned in pain.

A breeze suddenly chilled the sweat on his skin and he recalled he had pulled off his shirt to help the healer and was now kneeling over him, bare-chested in the courtyard. He examined the shirt and found it dirty and torn. He tossed it to Pod. "Dispose of that. I'm going to take him to a room," he announced. He began to pick David up only for him to shrink with a soundless scream.

"I need to take you to a room," Jaime replied firmly and quickly lifted him into a cradle.

David let out low howls of pain and his body trembled uncontrollably. "Cold...so cold…" David

whispered into his shoulder.

Jaime saw a couple of servant girls lingering. When they saw his eyes fall on them, they tried to nonchalantly wander away, but he barked, "You two, follow me!" They grew pale and trembled like they were being led onto the gallows, but Jaime went to the Tower of the Hand and climbed up a few flights to a room. He had one of the women open it. Though the tower was almost empty —he made his father stay elsewhere—the rooms still had ready-made beds like it was an inn waiting to be filled. He deposited the healer onto the pristine sheets and frowned as blood instantly began dripping to stain them.

"Build a fire," Jaime commanded and then turned his attention to the healer. Then he kicked open a nearby trunk and pulled out one the thick winter blankets and spread it over him. He wished to do more, but he had no knowledge of healing and dared not to peel the clothes away lest he commit an error that killed him.

A tentative knock was heard at the door and Jaime lunged for it. Pod held up a brown leather jerkin. "A new shirt, my lord."

"Thank you, Pod," Jaime said, pulling it on. It was one he typically used for training and internally praised the boy for having the sense to not sacrifice another nice shirt.

There was another knock at the door and this time Pod opened it. The new Grandmaester Brunal stepped in, followed by two middle-aged maesters. He lacked the long fine beard of Pycelle and instead had fluffy white hair that stuck out of either side of his cheeks like they were whiskers on a cat. His face was rounded and he deliberately stuck his chin in the air like he was the king himself. He marched over to Jaime and bowed.

"My Lord Hand, I came as soon as I heard. This is him? Oh, the Seven save me." His voice was oddly orange. He bent over David and began prodding the pieces of flesh still clinging to his skin. "Incredible that he's still alive! Someone said there was a fire? This looks more like blunt force—"

David let out what could only be described as a weak growl and despite the pain, his eyes were fixed in a glare on the Grandmaester.

"Fuckyouiwanjules." David's voice continued to be a weak and wavering red color. The sentence was spoken so quickly and with the minimal amount of movement that Jaime almost couldn't decipher what he heard.

"You'll take whatever healing you need," Jaime demanded.

"I'm unsure of what healing I may be able to apply, my lord. It may be that administering Milk of the Poppy and letting him pass peacefully may be for the best.

A choking gurgle of laughter erupted from David and was cut off abruptly. He fixed his eyes on the Grandmaester. "Nomilk"

Grandmaester Brunal huffed, "You're only prolonging the inevitable. Death comes for us all after all."

Even in the ragged remains of his face, the healer somehow managed a sneer, "Not today."

"If you're of no use, then leave," Jaime snapped.

Grandmaester Brunal pursed his lips, muttered something to the accompanying maesters, and headed for the door. Just as they reached it, another knock sounded. Brunal opened the door to his Uncle Gerion and whom Jaime remembered as Julian Grey, Lady Delphine, and a red-headed woman. He had never interacted with the healer's apprentice, but he recalled him as kempt young man with characteristic noble haughtiness. He was less kempt now, with his chestnut hair having not been groomed and his shirt was wrinkled like he'd just thrown it on.

"I came as quickly as I could," he began, but halted in his tracks and stared in shock.

"Oh Gods," Delphine said, putting a hand to her mouth. She hugged the other woman for comfort.

"He asked for you, so I assume you can fix him?"

The question jarred the man and he rushed over, putting a bag down next to the bed.

"Delphine, get me boiling water and a pan. Leona, fresh towels! Be quick. Gerion, you need to be outside. There's not enough room for all of you," Julian commanded. He bent over David. Instead of using his bare hands to poke the skin, he instead pulled a pair of tiny metal tongs and gently brushed the surface, wincing every time he caused David to flinch. "If he's fortunate, there may

be enough living tissue here that I might be able to sew it back together and reconstruct this part of his face. Given time the flesh will reattach and fill in what we couldn't save. If there isn't...I'm unsure how he might survive; this would be uncharted territory for even us."

"You're going to try at least?"

"As long as the patient is willing, we'll damn near do anything. It's only when we're certain the only road is death that we don't try. David?"

"Doit," the healer replied. "Nomilk."

Julian gaped. "I don't have to tell you this is going to be excruciating."

"Itis. Nomilk."

"Very well. My Lord Hand, I must ask you to leave. This is going to take some time."

Jaime unstuck his throat, "Come, Pod. There's nothing more that we can do here." He commanded the servants to be at Julian's disposal. When he left, the apprentice was laying out each of his tools on a piece of cloth, all of which were either sharp or wicked looking. He was glad to not be at the other end of those.

He met Gerion, who was pale and tense. "How is he?"

"Alive," Jaime weakly replied.

"Will he live?"

"It's too early to say. Excuse me, Uncle, I have work to do."

Instead of going back up to the Hand's solar, he headed down to where David's laboratory had been set up. The door was hanging open and it did not seem damaged in the slightest, but the entire floor was covered with either glass or splashes of wildfire. A cart full of wildfire flasks

stood in the far corner of the room and appeared to be untouched, but he could see David had pulled at least half of the top layer of flasks. He hadn't been experimenting very long and had made little progress. The worksite was clear of items and there was now a blackened charred spot where he had been working. Jaime wondered briefly if he could pressgang the rest of the Shepherds into cleaning it up, but there was likely little to be gained from that. If Baelish and Varys hadn't known before about wildfire, they did now.

Even though Jaime wanted to hide the remaining flasks, he was even more hesitant to touch them. He didn't trust that he wouldn't be in the same position; the bear claw was enough of a scar, he couldn't imagine what the healer would look like with his skin stitched together into a semblance of a face. He closed the door and posted two guards to prevent people from snooping and headed back up to his solar.

Ranger Benjen was waiting for him at his door. The Stark offered him a smile that was more of a grimace, cleared his throat, and said, "I wasn't sure where you disappeared to. Do you wish to continue conducting business?"

"Uh, y-yes," Jaime replied and winced at his own stuttering. It took actual effort to get his head back on straight to take notes once more. His thoughts kept drifting from the task at hand as they churned like the ocean.

Jaime didn't particularly like the healer. He was sardonic, disrespectful, and far too keen. That keenness had its uses as David played a dual role as Jaime's own personal whisperer. Whatever he could say about his negative qualities, there was no denying that he was loyal and he took the extracting and manipulating of information seriously. Now that Jaime's middleman had been silenced, he had no means of contacting the boy Vicente. He was too known of a figure to do so directly without putting the boy in mortal jeopardy. From what he understood of his operations, David had deliberately kept this half of the business from the rest of his group. He had no way of knowing who would step up to take his place, if anyone even could or did. He rather doubted it'd be Julian Grey. The apprentice ran David's clinic in his absence.

How had the incident occurred? Was the healer simply careless or did this rise to sabotage? It was clear that Baelish was making moves, but catching him in those moves was nigh impossible. He considered having it investigated, but he figured he would come up with as much evidence as he had with Robert Baratheon's murder.

Once Jaime had catalogued the supplies the Night's Watch was desperate for, he dismissed Benjen Stark and poured himself a cup of wine and downed it. The walls felt like they were closing in. Far too many aggravating events had occurred and he could feel a headache developing. If he went to sleep, he could likely forego the oncoming seizure.

Without the healer, it felt like the lantern that Jaime had been holding to catch the lurking shadows had been snuffed out. He had no means of developing a new whisperer to handle the spiderweb David had spun. Blind as he was, he would no longer see the oncoming threats and they would surely eat him and Aemon alive.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed reading!

If you would like to join the TDR Discord, please use this link: https/discord.gg/BRUnqg

Chapter 64 - Aemon XXII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Happy New Years, my dear readers! We're going to start off the new year with a bang!

I hope you're all doing wonderfully. Thank you so much for reading, dropping a Kudos, and leaving a comment! Your comments are much needed warmth in this time of winter.

I made some tiny structural changes to TDR as a whole. If you look at Chapter 1 and Chapter 35, you'll notice that they've been further titled with 'Book' names. And Chapter 34 now says "End Book 1" at the end of the chapter. I'd been contemplating this for a while, but I occasionally speak about TDR in parts. I feel like there's a clear enough delineation from what happened in one part to another that I decided it should be formally acknowledged. It just changes aesthetics, but I thought you'd like to know that I think of TDR as having 3 parts to it.

I would like to thank catzrko0l for being such a great beta reader! You make me feel so much better about my chapters and their presentation!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 64

Aemon XXII

He panted and his eyes scanned the scrub and the dunes. Unlike the daytime, the night was teeming with life, both inside and outside of the city of Sunspear. Though the air was crisp, it could not penetrate his thick pelt and it only seemed to invigorate his appetite. He could almost convince himself that the sand was snow beneath his paw pads. For the first time since they'd left the North, he and Ghost were finally in their element.

The sun had long set, but his eyes penetrated the darkness, searching out movement. There were rodents hidden under these dunes. He could hear the scrabbling of their claws against the surface of the sand. If he wanted fresh meat, he would have to be patient like a cat. The saliva dripped from his teeth and he licked his lips to wipe it up. Ghost flicked an ear as he heard tiny paw steps disturbing the sand; he dropped to his belly and crept forward.

Aemon thought he could feel his own heart pounding in his body. He was both excited and alarmed. With a great effort, he pulled himself out of Ghost and shot straight up in bed. He gasped for air like a man breaking the surface of water; his nightshirt was soaked through with sweat and he shivered as it began to cool on his skin.

He threw the covers off and went over to a bowl of water and splashed himself. He remained leaning over the bowl until he felt his pounding heart slow and his breathing eased. He had nearly forgotten about warging. It had been so long since he'd done it. His dire wolf had been stuck in King's Landing, unable to roam at night due to Aemon's fear of poachers or hunters. With Ghost's first prowl since Winterfell and the stress of the impending trial, Aemon easily slid into his mind in a bid to get away from his own.

It was still early. He stripped himself of his damp shirt and threw it carelessly on the floor. The only light in the room was a single candle that flickered on the bedside table. Aemon looked at it for a moment, then snatched up the candle holder and slid out his door. The Hound fell into step behind him.

He wasn't sure which he was seeking: Ghost or air. His legs were restless and his mind galloped like a panicked horse. Could he reasonably expect this fight to go the same way as the one before? Was Prince Oberyn destined to die by the Mountain's hands no matter what? He didn't believe that. After all, what was the point of him and Jaime being sent back to change the world's path if it was equally as fated to all end in blood and ice?

Could he sway the odds? As king, he was forced to simply stand by and watch like everyone else, a helpless spectator. But is that all he was? Surely there was something he could say that would make Prince Oberyn rethink his strategy.

This revenge will be the death of you, he thought and then waved that away. According to Jaime, Prince Oberyn had been utterly insouciant before the fight. He had been certain he was going to win and thus quench his family's thirst for vengeance.

Aemon wandered through the halls aimlessly and was certain he was causing a number of raised eyebrows among the guards. His trousers were loose and his chest was bare. After the warging, the cool air felt good against his skin and it seemed to be clearing his mind.

He stutter-stepped when he glanced back at the Hound and was reminded of the younger Clegane's enmity towards his own brother. It had filtered through the camp that the Hound sought retribution against his own brother as well. It was yet another quest for vengeance that went unfulfilled. King's Landing had been overrun by the dead by the time they had gotten there; since the wights and White Walkers could cut across the countryside without any regard for terrain, there had been enough to simply walk by and continue their conquest while the forces of the living had holed up at Riverrun.

Once they had stumbled upon the empty streets of King's Landing, with many roofs having fallen

in due to the copious amounts of snow, the Hound began muttering about how he'd 'wasted it.' It was only with much prodding from Aemon, that he had then shouted, 'My life!'

The Hound hadn't lasted much longer after that. As far as Aemon could tell, he had dedicated himself to ending his brother and since it had been snatched from him, he became listless and his actions were rote. It didn't help that the realization of King's Landing, the seat of power, having been overrun without them even knowing about it meant they were walking toward a slow death.

Conscious of where they were in the halls of the palace, Aemon continued walking until he found a more isolated spot. "Hound, Prince Oberyn and your brother are fighting to the death tomorrow." He stayed silent and Aemon continued, "What do you think?"

"My cunt of a brother will get what's coming to him. 'Tis a shame I can't be the one to deliver him to the Stranger."

"Is it that important to you?"

The Hound was quiet for a moment and in the dark of night, Aemon could not see his face and so could not read his expressions. "I'll just be glad that someone takes the head off that cunt. Prince Oberyn is not called the viper for nothin'. Whether my brother wins or not, he's a dead man."

That's right, Aemon thought, considering it for a moment. There was no Qyburn to save the Mountain and make him even more of a monster than he already was. There was some relief to that, but it still didn't solve the issue of saving Prince Oberyn's life. Was he influential enough that the Prince would heed his words? But then what could he say?

He started walking again as he continued to mull the problem. He turned a corner to walk into the courtyard and stopped. Prince Oberyn himself was standing on the veranda, overlooking the tiled mosaic that stretched across the floor. He was without a candle, but the moonlight spilled across the ground, making the sandstone walls glow. The prince turned at Aemon's footsteps and once again gave him an avaricious smile.

"Good evening, Your Grace. Or good morning. It's a bit late to be wandering around at night." Prince Oberyn approached him. He had on trousers and a robe that was open.

"I could say the same of you, Prince Oberyn," Aemon replied evenly. "Shouldn't you be sleeping? You will need your strength for the trial."

"That won't be necessary. The Gods favor me. My sister, Princess Elia, shall be avenged finally after too long."

Aemon could already feel his frustration burning in his gut. "And yet you make light of the good fortune they have brought you. Hear this: I am allowing you to fight on behalf of the Crown because I recognize the injustice and insult that Dorne has suffered these long years. As Princess Elia's brother, I believe you have the chance to administer that justice on behalf of her and her children. I expect you to act with the same amount of gravitas as any other champion would. Do not take this lightly."

Prince Oberyn cocked his head and he was giving him a curious look. "You seem oddly concerned for my welfare, Your Grace."

"I shouldn't have to warn you of the consequences of your loss. Whether the Mountain dies tomorrow or later, he must die first or his cause is validated in the eyes of the Gods."

"No cause is more favored than the cause of justice."

"You still have to fight, Prince Oberyn. The Gods don't fight for you."

Prince Oberyn made a disgusted noise. "Are you sure you're Prince Rhaegar's son? You sound so much like my brother, Doran. 'Tis a miracle we ended up with a sensible king on the throne after all. You should not fear, Your Grace. A viper needs only strike once."

"But you won't stop at one strike."

"You would dare tell me how I should take my revenge?" The prince's voice had gone deadly quiet and there was a thrum of anger in his voice.

"I would dare you to think beyond your revenge. Your sister and her children will remain as cold in their graves with or without your revenge; it will only be a matter of whether you join them or not." Prince Oberyn stepped forward, his fists clinched and his lip curled in anger. All it took was the shivering sound of the Hound halfway pulling out his sword to stop the prince in his tracks. "You have daughters. They need you. Be sure to live, for their sake." Even in the dim light of the candle and the moon, he could see Oberyn was becoming stony-faced like Robb would when he'd had to convince his cousin out of one of his bad ideas. He'd never been successful at it as a bastard

because he couldn't compare to the wonder and hero-worship that Theon had offered. But now he was king and his words could not simply be brushed aside.

"I appreciate your words of wisdom, Your Grace, but I must return to bed. I'll need my energy," he replied in a mocking tone. Prince Oberyn brushed past him.

Just before he rounded a corner, Aemon called out, "Would you like to hear a story?"

"What need do I have for stories?" Prince Oberyn snapped back, but he had turned.

"There is a woman called Old Nan at Winterfell. I think we all agreed that she was as old as the hills. If we believed in the Seven, we might've considered her the Crone incarnate. She always had stories about the time of the Children of the Forest, King Bran of old, and the fight against the Long Night. But there were other stories. Care to hear one?"

"Must I?" The prince asked flatly.

Aemon barreled on ahead. "A long time ago, when the Starks ruled much of the North as Kings of Winter, long before your own ancestors came from the Rhoyne across the Narrow Sea, the King of Winter, Rickard Stark, sent his daughter, Princess Arya to Last Hearth to marry an Umber. It cemented an alliance between Stark and Umber. The princess had a son whom she loved and that gave her purpose in an otherwise unhappy marriage.

But the story didn't end there. The Red Bolton King, who everybody called the Weeper, led a host against Last Hearth. It was said that he was part giant, for how huge he was, except the giants were gentle creatures unless roused, but the Weeper was mad and cruel, even for a Bolton. The Red host captured the keep, and the Weeper flayed the Umber petty king. But before that he killed his son and then raped his wife, Princess Arya, before him, then gouged her eyes and split her in two.

When the King of Winter and his sons heard this, they were enraged beyond measure, and so they gathered a mighty host to besiege the Dreadfort. Prince Torrhen Stark led the host, as he wanted to avenge his sister with his own hands. And so, as was the North's custom, he challenged The Weeper to a fight, one on one. The Weeper was known across the realms to have never lost, but the Stark man was not faint of heart. The Weeper fought with an axe so big that most men needed two hands just to lift it. Yet the Stark Prince was fast, and he used his speed and agility to jab at the huge but slower man whenever he could. After a while the Weeper was bleeding from many cuts and had slowed even further, and so Prince Torrhen was finally able to deliver a mortal hit to his enemy's side. Knowing that the blow was fatal, the Stark Prince wanted to make the Weeper scream in pain as he had made Princess Arya scream before she died. After severing his hamstring

and disarming him with his sword, the Prince stepped closer to the fallen man, perhaps to gouge the Weeper's eyes as the monster had done to his sister.

But that proved a fatal mistake, as the Weeper summoned a last bit of strength and swept the Stark off his feet with his monstrous long hands, and then smashed his face with his spiked fist. As his last act, the Weeper popped the Stark Prince's eyes like those grapes we ate for dinner."

Prince Oberyn was quiet for a moment, but his expression remained unreadable. "A lovely story, Your Grace. Is there a moral to it?"

And Aemon replied, "Yes, there is. Good men die as often as monstrous ones, no matter how just their cause."

Oberyn snorted. "Goodnight, Your Grace."

Just as Prince Oberyn was turning the corner, Aemon called out to him, "I heard the Mountain enjoys crushing his victims. Stay out of his reach and I'm sure you will be alive and victorious."

It halted the prince, but then he continued on without acknowledging it. With a defeated sigh, Aemon ran a hand through his own hair and then turned and began making his way back to his own bed. Now that the bloodlust of his wolf had leached from his veins, he could feel his own exhaustion beginning to pull on his eyelids and there was an ache in his shoulders.

"How did you hear that about my brother?" The Hound suddenly asked, just as he reached his door.

Aemon froze, having nearly forgotten that the younger Clegane had been listening to the entire conversation. "Jaime told me," he said quickly. He couldn't look the Hound in the eye and slipped inside his room.

When he fell into sleep once more, he felt himself flying through the air like he was riding Rhaegal and beneath were the endless, marching hordes of the undead on the icy plain. He flew and flew, but the swarm was unending, like a plague of locusts. He awoke with a cry and stared wildly around the room.

Were the hordes already arisen and marching south? In his other life, he was certain there were

still a few more years before the threat became urgent. He recalled from his surviving Brothers, who'd made it back from that ill-fated scouting mission that Lord Commander Mormont led, that they had seen the dead marching then. That was still not for another year at least.

We may have less time now, Aemon thought. Did the Night King have the power of a God? He had certainly seemed unkillable like one. It had taken bringing forth Lightbringer at the very last moment to fulfill the prophecy and end his terrible reign. Could the Night King know that the Gods had upset everything and perhaps that would motivate him to make his moves sooner?

When Aemon finally left his room to break his fast, his heart was filled with despair. Once again, the weight of the enormity of the task before him crushed his shoulders; it was nearly enough to leave as bent back as an old crone. One step at a time, he cautioned himself. When he had first returned to Winterfell in his new life, he had frequently agonized over the one thousand things he needed to do to prepare everyone. It was only by breaking it down into smaller chunks did he feel the pressure ease off and he could give each chunk the attention and care it deserved. Things had become complicated again once they took King's Landing. Now he had to track a dozen things at once; it was enough that he was certain he was overlooking others. He had to rely on Jaime to cover the ones he couldn't. They would live or die as a team, of that Aemon was certain.

The previous day Prince Oberyn had taken his time reaching the table to break his fast, but he strode in not too long after Aemon arrived with an enormous grin on his face. His daughters, Princess Arianne, and Prince Quentyn all gave him similarly knowing smiles. Apart from Prince Doran, the entire family seemed to pulse with restless energy. Aemon would normally be loath to dampen their spirits with his dire mood, but he couldn't summon the energy to care.

He openly stared at Prince Oberyn, studying him carefully. Had the prince taken his words to heart and was he going to show restraint? Based on his boundless energy and bloodthirsty smile, he had a feeling his words of warning had been smothered like the last spark of a flame.

"Must you be so gloomy, Your Grace! Rejoice! You conducted the trial perfectly; I was wrong to doubt you," Prince Oberyn called out loudly. "One would think you did not favor the way the trial went."

"I would rather have declared them guilty and beheaded them myself," Aemon snapped. He took a long sip of his water, then closed his eyes to control his breathing and rein in his temper once more. He was angry at himself more than anything. "I'd rather not chance one of my hosts meeting an untimely death. It has a tendency to sour negotiations."

"Your Grace!" His uncle, who had finally joined them, stared at him in shock. Aemon cast a glance at him, but he couldn't bring himself to feel contrite.

Prince Oberyn barked a laugh. "That it does. Have no fear! I have no intention of dying today."

"There are better men than you who died too soon."

"We finally seem to be seeing eye-to-eye in some respects, Your Grace," Prince Oberyn said, his smile becoming more appreciative. "You are wise to recognize me for who I am, though I am still disappointed you prefer to sound like my brother."

"It is refreshing to no longer be the lone voice of reason," Prince Doran spoke up, not breaking his gaze from the bread he was spreading jam upon. "Take heed, Oberyn."

Prince Oberyn scoffed.

"It doesn't hurt to be cautious," Aemon replied. "The Mountain is not to be taken lightly."

"Did you not tell me yesterday to have faith in you? Now you must have faith in me. I fully intend to deliver the justice our sister and her children have long deserved," Prince Oberyn replied with a finality that brooked no further discussion.

The trial-by-combat was to take place the hour before the sun's zenith. According to Princess Arianne, the grounds would be crowded with the people of Sunspear who had yearned for justice to be delivered against Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch, ever since the king's and princesses' untimely deaths. Prince Doran offered Aemon a makeshift throne, but he declined it. He was already restless with nervous energy, he'd never be able to sit still.

Although Aemon was not participating in the fight, he had decided to dress in his armor. His longsword had been ever present at his side, but now he felt himself unconsciously grasping it and had to force himself to let his hand rest. It would be difficult to resist the impulse to dive in and assist Prince Oberyn in toppling the Mountain, but the rules wouldn't allow it. Furthermore, he would be derided as a cheat and a reputation like that would be nigh impossible to shed.

Maybe the armor wasn't a good idea, Aemon thought. In just a matter of minutes, his undershirt was sticking to his chest. The hot summer air of Dorne scorched his lungs and gave him a burning sensation on his head like his hair had caught aflame. Somehow his uncle looked untouched by the heat and he couldn't help shooting a few annoyed glares at him. His Kingsguard, Ser Preston and Ser Arys, seemed equally unaffected despite wearing their full gear and helmets. He envied

their ability to remain unflappable even as his leg muscles twitched with unspent energy.

He could sense young Olyvar bouncing up and down with excitement. The boy had joined their party just as they were leaving for the tournament grounds and Aemon had very nearly sent him back to spend the time alone in his room. The fight was hardly fit for a boy, but little Bran had seen his first beheading at eight. Olyvar was nearly twelve and had never seen a duel. Aemon hardly expected the justice to be delivered to be palatable for one's stomach, but he had decided in the end it would be a good lesson. Olyvar would at least walk away with an understanding that the good suffered just as readily as the bad.

Prince Oberyn strutted onto the fighting grounds and grinned merrily. The commonfolk cheered and he waved at them. Aemon gritted his teeth, trying to control his anger. No helmet, the barest of armor! He truly has a deathwish.

The cheers quickly turned to howls as Clegane and Lorch were escorted to the grounds. Lorch looked grim and pale, but determined. Clegane was already dressed in leather armor and his face was hidden by a helmet, however, Dorne did not appear to have pieces of armor that fit a man of his girth. He lacked gauntlets entirely and there were gaps where his vambraces, greaves, and pauldrons ended and the other pieces began. He lacked a bevor which left his throat exposed. The Mountain seemed content to rely on a long piece of mail that was more suitable for a horse to cover those gaps. His feet and wrists were still chained together, but then a guard turned a key and the chains fell apart. The rest of his guards all scurried away, but Clegane ignored them and stomped over to a longsword that had been thrown into the ring for his use. However, it wasn't a longsword for him as he wielded it easily with one hand. Neither fighter was allowed a shield in the hopes for a quicker match.

Prince Oberyn squared off with the Mountain. He pointed his spear at the monstrous man, his good cheer melting away into stony anger. "You have been living generously at your Master's feet while we have longed for your head. Now, I will take our revenge. You will scream and repent the name of our beloved Princess Elia Martell before I am done with you."

The Mountain remained quiet, but he hefted his sword and set his stance. Prince Oberyn dropped down into his fighting stance as well, but he was too keyed up to remain still and his spear swayed from side to side like he was a snake hypnotizing his prey. There was a collective intake of breath as the onlookers waited for the call.

"Your Grace?" Prince Doran gently prodded.

Aemon stirred and released a shuddering breath, hesitating still. He didn't want to give the call, but it was as inevitable as the sun setting in the west. "May the Gods consider justly. Fight!"

With a great roar, the Mountain swung his blade in a semi-circle, but Prince Oberyn danced out of reach. The crowd hollered and moved in tandem. Everyone followed the movement of Oberyn's spear as it jabbed and rotated, seeking an opening. The Mountain was quick and swatted, either at Oberyn or the spear, every which way. For such a large man, he was doing an admirable job of keeping the prince in front of him and keeping bunched up like a clam. However, Aemon noticed that the Mountain's movements were becoming clipped and there were a few grunts of frustration as Oberyn continued to dance around him. The Mountain drew back for a wide swing and Prince Oberyn darted in and jabbed him in the slit above the Mountain's grieve by his knee.

And so the death blow has been delivered, Aemon thought, shifting anxiously. No doubt the Prince had dipped the tip of his spear with poison, but Clegane merely bellowed like an enraged bull. If Oberyn managed to contain himself, would he continue dancing around and keep his distance, or would his arrogance and thirst for vengeance make him forget himself?

"Will you admit to your crimes, beast?" Prince Oberyn shouted.

Clegane took more measured jabs as he began to fend off Prince Oberyn's darting spear. He grabbed at the spearhead in what Aemon felt was an attempt to break it off, but once more Prince Oberyn shifted the spear and jumped nimbly away. Aemon thought he could hear Clegane growling as the Prince stayed just out of reach, striking at the Mountain's unprotected hands until blood was dripping down them.

"Had enough, monster? Did you end my sister's misery when you thought she'd had enough? It wasn't enough to see her little son's skull smashed open before her eyes? Say her name!"

The Mountain pulled his sword back to skewer Prince Oberyn. The prince dodged and slid around Clegane's backside to jab his spear at the exposed joint of his knee again. Clegane roared and swung the sword around to deliver a fatal blow, but Prince Oberyn had already jumped back. The Mountain crumbled to one knee and had to use his free hand to leverage himself up again, but he staggered on his feet and breathed harshly. He charged forward with a jabbing thrust of his sword and then swept it after Prince Oberyn, trying to follow him. The crowd bent and swayed with every movement of the Mountain's sword, dodging and weaving together.

"Do it, Ser Gregor! Kill him," Lorch shouted, clear desperation on his face. The guards pulled on his chains in a threatening manner and the bystanders hissed at his words. He cowered in the face of their anger.

Aemon was too caught up in the fight to pay Lorch much attention. He didn't even notice the heat anymore, as he trembled with nerves and his heart was in his throat. Once again, he caught himself

reflexively grasping the hilt of his sword and had to loosen the grip on it before he did something foolhardy.

Prince Oberyn laughed, and while it was loud, he never took his eyes off of his prey. "The Gods are on my side! Your life will end today and I will choose when," he crowed.

With a furious roar, Clegane leaped forward in a burst of energy and sudden speed, angling the sword towards Prince Oberyn's body. Prince Oberyn ducked and rolled. Sparks flew from Clegane's sword tip as it scraped across the stone on Prince Oberyn's heels, but he managed to stay just ahead of it. With that spent effort, Clegane crumpled to his knees, his breath coming out in harsh gasps. The longsword slipped from his fingers as his hands trembled from the effort of trying to push himself back onto his feet to stay in the fight.

Prince Oberyn stepped in front of the Mountain and glared at him. "The Stranger shall take you to the bottom of the Seven Hells. It's where murderers of women and their children populate to receive their just reward for their horrific deeds. But not yet. You haven't said Princess Elia Martell's name. Say it! Say her name!"

Aemon felt his hackles raise and he gritted his teeth. His uncle clamped a hand on his shoulder as though it would be enough to prevent Aemon from screaming or shouting or leaping to Prince Oberyn's defense.

Without making a sound apart from his heaving breaths, Gregor Clegane leaped forward, his hands up, ready to grab Prince Oberyn. The prince sank into his stance. The Mountain halted in midair, gasping and struggling, flailing weakly at the man underneath him. His hands left bloody smears upon Prince Oberyn's shoulders but then fell limp as he gurgled his last breath. Aemon stared in disbelief and then realized that Clegane had skewered himself on Prince Oberyn's spear, right through his throat. The prince held him there for a moment and then with a great effort that left him breathless, heaved the great beast of a man off to the side.

Silence fell over the crowd as they watched the blood leak from the Mountain's open throat. Aemon felt like he'd been holding his breath through the entire fight and he let it leave in a shuddering gasp. He gratefully reached up and patted his uncle's hand on his shoulder and felt safe enough to show the relief on his face to him. His uncle nodded grimly at him and squeezed Aemon's shoulder in solidarity.

"More's the pity. I would've liked to have heard him say her name," Prince Oberyn said quietly, a far cry from his usual boisterous energy.

As if it was a signal, the crowd rumbled like thunder into a mighty cheer. They rushed into the ring to celebrate and embrace their prince. Aemon noticed men pulling down their drawers to piss on the Mountain's body.

His energy returned as anger filled his veins and he stepped forward towards the revelers and commanded, "That is enough! He is dead! I will not stand by and allow you to desecrate a body, no matter how monstrous." A handful of guards stepped forward and shoved the men away.

"That is magnanimous of you, Your Grace," Prince Doran said, rolling his wheelchair forward.

In an even voice, Aemon replied, "The Gods do not favor those who disrespect the dead."

"They didn't seem to care much about Dorne's dead."

Aemon cocked his head at him and studied him quietly. Prince Doran's face was carefully neutral, but he was seeking a reaction the same, as his brother did with his insulting jabs. When Aemon spoke, it was carefully, "We are not to know the minds of the Gods. It is up to us to make our own decisions; we should strive to maintain our dignity and never stoop to the level of the monstrous. If we do, can we say better than them?"

"We have not murdered women and children."

"Is that really such a drastic step after the murder of men?" Aemon replied and in his mind's eye, he could see Olly's body twitching and pale as he struggled against the noose around his neck.

Prince Doran continued to weigh his words, but then he smiled and the guard, Areo Hotah, wheeled him away to congratulate Prince Oberyn.

Aemon kept his distance. It was not his victory and it was not his revenge. The people of Dorne, of Sunspear, deserved their celebration after waiting for it for so long and enduring the great insult of Robert Baratheon's dismissiveness.

"Are you satisfied, Your Grace?" His uncle asked, stepping up beside him.

"The Mountain is dead and Prince Oberyn is alive. That will have to do for now," Aemon replied. He tore his eyes from the screaming and dancing crowd to Ser Amory Lorch. His guards had the presence of mind to not join in on the celebration and still held his chains. The knight was sitting in the sands and weeping.

Yet again, a wave of anger and disgust swept over him. Lorch had butchered a little girl with half a hundred stab wounds and he still wept for his own life. He had failed to heed Princess Rhaenys Targaryen's weeping pleas, so he would receive no consideration for his own. It was tempting to take his own sword and reenact her murder upon her killer, but he would have to satisfy himself with beheading him on the morn.

When Aemon next turned back to the crowd, Prince Oberyn had extricated himself from the center and was now striding toward him with a satisfied smile.

"As you see, Your Grace, the Gods favored me," he said, spreading his arms out.

"I see that. Congratulations on your victory, Prince Oberyn. It was well-earned," Aemon replied, granting him a small smile. "I am glad my fears were unfounded after all." He held out his hand.

Prince Oberyn eyed it for a moment, but then took it. "I must thank you for your advice. He might have surprised me there at the end were it not for your warning."

Aemon raised his eyebrows at him in incredulity.

"Don't seem so shocked. I heed good advice when I hear it."

"Praise be to the Gods."

Prince Oberyn chuckled and clapped him on the back. "Come! To the hall to celebrate!" He then started steering him there and Aemon allowed him to do it; Ser Arys and Ser Preston clung at his sides as closely as they dared.

The servants in Sunspear had been busy preparing a feast for the victory and Aemon was grateful that their efforts had not been wasted. Now that his blood had cooled once more, he found himself ravenously hungry and piled food onto his plate. For once, he wasn't the center of attention and he reveled in that almost as much as everyone else had reveled in the fight.

Aemon indulged in at least two goblets of wine. He even caught his uncle nursing a goblet and gave him a wry grin.

"What?" His uncle asked at his smile. "I will imbibe for a victory. And a great victory it was. The Old Gods smile upon us."

"That they do," Aemon whispered.

A crowd of nobles were still gathered around Prince Oberyn. Aemon couldn't hear what he was saying, but he gesticulated dramatically; he suspected a new, glossier version of the truth would start winding its way into the city on the morrow. He and Jaime are two sides of the same coin, he thought with a half-hearted shake of his head.

For the first time since he had arrived, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease and his heart sang with the happiness of events going his way once more. With luck, the negotiations would proceed and the festivities would put Prince Doran into a cooperative mood.

A maester seemed to materialize from the crowd and bent to whisper in Prince Doran's ear. He had a letter clutched tightly in his hand. Aemon narrowed his eyes, having never seen Sunspear's maester wandering about, not even to deliver the mail. Prince Doran caught his eyes and Aemon felt his good cheer evaporating when he was pointed out.

The maester steadily made his way through the crowd to reach his side. As he drew closer, the noise level dropped and Aemon glanced around to see that his progress was now being eagerly followed by everyone. He furrowed his brow in irritation that he was unable to receive the letter in a private setting.

"Your Grace, urgent news from King's Landing," the maester whispered into his ear and handed off the letter.

Aemon frowned at him wondering how he could possibly know that, only to see that 'Urgent' was written on the outside in Jaime's sloppy hand. He felt his heart skip a beat as he broke the Lannister seal. It was longer than normal and he curled around it in an attempt to prevent someone from reading over his shoulder.

His eyes quickly skimmed the message and, with a handful of words, his heart felt like it sank into

the cavern of his own chest. There was a coded message beneath the simple sentence and he itched to decipher it, but that would have to wait until he had retired to his room. He rolled the letter back up.

"What is it, Your Grace?" Prince Oberyn asked from across the table.

Aemon was quiet for a moment, still absorbing the news. He understood now why Jaime hadn't bothered trying to conceal its contents; this was news that would filter through the whole kingdom in a matter of weeks anyway.

"Robert Baratheon is dead," he replied once he met the prince's eyes.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Did you think I had forgotten about warging? The fight is won and now the news has reached Aemon of the old king's death.

Don't forget to join the Discord for real-time updates on the story! https/discord.gg/7wxyWA

There's also a great deal of discussion regarding the Witcher happening in the channel. For once I'm trying not to be behind the times!

I also will not be posting on 1/25. I will be...at Harry Potter World. I will have no room in my brain for GoT at this time, only Harry Potter. Slytherins unite. Next chapter will be posted 2/8.

Chapter 65 - Margaery II

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I apologize for the lengthy wait between updates lately. I promise that will be the last break for a while. I made some good headway in the time period and now have another decent buffer of chapters I am sitting on.

Thank you so much for being so patient! You warm my heart with your support, your comments, your Kudos, and your faves!

You may have noticed some changes to the fic, specifically to the Prologue. TDR now has a book cover! The lovely WordsAndSwords (AO3) was offering free cover requests. As you can see, they're quite good! Feel free to show them some appreciation for their hard work.

As always, I'd like to thank catzrko0l for offering to beta! They are instrumental in making sure these chapters are in tip-top shape! All mistakes are mine.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 65

Margaery II

"Welcome to the garden, ladies! I am so pleased that you are all able to join me on this beautiful day. The news has been...somber of late, but there is still joy and I would like us to focus on that joy for just this afternoon. We must congratulate Lady Alysanne Lefford for her marriage to Lord Domeric Bolton. I look forward to having tea parties with you in the North, Lady Bolton."

Lady Alysanne gave her a smile and a courteous blush, but there was little warmth in her eyes. It was hardly surprising. A beautiful young lady like her could hardly expect a rejection, especially not from the heir of her lord paramount. Margaery had heard that it had been a rather abrupt and public cancellation. It made her wonder if Lord Jaime Lannister had had an eye for Lady Brienne since he'd been a Kingsguard.

Domeric Bolton was handsome with his dark hair and lithe form, but his eyes were strangely pale and unnerving. Unlike his sire, whom Margaery had seen at a distance a handful of times, he had an easy smile and played the harp as beautifully as he handled a sword. It was almost enough to forget the distasteful reputation of his house. She had only seen Lord Roose Bolton from afar and the son only appeared to have a passing resemblance. Margaery had made it a point to acquaint herself with as many northern lords as she could, but Lord Bolton had been within the first group relieved of their duty to gather their crops before the snows set in. Robb mentioned to her that they

didn't have much of an autumn to speak of in the North, which she thought was sad.

The Starks and the Boltons had long been at odds, but she hoped now with another lady of the South in the North, that perhaps their friendship could ease the tension between the two houses. Unfortunately, Lady Alysanne had decided upon marriage to become as frosty as the winters in the North. She still smiled, she still spoke, and acted as a lady of noble standing was expected, but she maintained a careful distance. It was calculated. The majority of the other ladies either hadn't recognized it or, just like Margaery, had refrained from commenting on it.

Lady Alysanne had dropped her mask briefly. Since the marriage of a lower lord wasn't quite as big as the joining between lord paramounts' children, lords of the North were the only ones who attended the wedding. Not even the Lord Hand Jaime Lannister had made an appearance. It was during the dancing, when Margaery was in the arms of Domeric Bolton that she made eye contact with Lady Alysanne. The bride had been resplendent in a dress that was the sky blue of her house with yellow frills. A large bronze brooch in the shape of the sun, set with the largest cut of topaz Margaery had ever seen was affixed to her chest. For all of the dress' suggestion of warmth, the lady's look was cold and as hard as diamonds. It had passed in an instant and she had smiled widely before taking her new husband back for a spin around the dance floor.

Margaery would never forget that look because she recognized it in herself. It had taken years and years of practice looking in a mirror to disguise the ambition she had been cultivated with. Either Lady Alysanne had never bothered with that practice or didn't care to disguise it. It seems ladies of the Westerlands prefer to foster a culture of envy and hate, Margaery thought. It had been impossible to escape hearing about the ways Queen Cersei had run the Red Keep. She was infinitely grateful the former queen was tucked away in exile. She couldn't imagine having to deal with such a vile and cutthroat woman.

Was the look a holdover from Lady Alysanne's frustration at losing such a catch as Lord Jaime Lannister? From the gossip Margaery had picked up, she hadn't bothered setting her sights on King Aemon. Probably just as well; the king had rather forcefully shut her down when Margaery had prodded. If she couldn't get anywhere with him, then no one would. And the king remained steadfast. Would he still be so virginal after his trip to Dorne? She had heard of Prince Oberyn Martell's reputation.

After her failure to gain traction with King Aemon, she resigned herself to Robb Stark and found him quite pleasing. The Stark honor inspired a genuine courteousness that she had often found wanting in the South. He was handsome, with a pristine smile, a decent hand with the sword, and a good lover with room for improvement. Since Lord Stark was still head of the house, her duties were minimal as were the demands on her time. She and Robb could simply enjoy the other's company. If Robb had any fault, it was a lack of curiosity. He was smart and he had the presence of mind to ask before launching into his primary interests of battle strategy. She got the sense that if there was ever a time he had to lead his men into battle, he would be capable and an asset to the king.

Not that it still wasn't important to make inroads with those Northern lords and ladies who were already present. She still hadn't found a way to approach Lady Maege or her daughter Lady Dacey. They were uninterested in her tea or sewing parties. She'd have her work cut out getting to know them; learning to sword fight wasn't one of her interests, but perhaps treating the bumps and bruises they received one day would be enough. The men liked looking at her, even if they were too upright to say anything.

Lady Alysanne at least shared common interests, even if she had learned her cold demeanor from Cersei Lannister. They would all be returning to the North soon; she had the entire journey to thaw her. Until then, she would give Lady Alysanne some space, but not too much.

Her grandmother had also set her to coaching Lady Sansa on what she could expect as Lady of the Reach. Sansa was a sweet girl, but Margaery marveled at her innocence. By all accounts, Lady Catelyn had been a suitable player of the game, but she had apparently lacked the foresight to ensure her daughters could play. She would be good for Willas, but there was still a question about whether she would be good for the Reach. She had to make sure Sansa had a decent grasp on what her lessons would entail before her grandmother got a hold of her. She didn't want the poor girl to regret marrying into the family.

Was I ever that innocent? Margaery thought when she watched Sansa out of the corner of her eye. The girl was quite skilled with a needle and had already perfected the Tyrell sigil. May the Gods protect that sweet girl. The Reach had its share of hidden dangers, but it was a spring breeze compared to the maelstrom that was King's Landing

Margaery sometimes wondered who would drive the other insane first: Sansa with her oblivious innocence or her grandmother, with her barbs and abrupt demeanor. If she was good for the money, it would be on Sansa. Her grandmother was not the most patient of women, but she had her moments.

"Don't harangue me. I am her grandmother. I can invite myself to any of her tea parties."

Speaking of Grandmother, Margaery thought and she stood up. The Queen of Thorns was sauntering through the tables of ladies with her usual impatient annoyance. A servant was trailing meekly behind her as well as Butters the Fool. It took every ounce of strength not to raise her eyebrows at her grandmother. She fixed a wide smile on her face and held out her arms in a hug.

"Grandmother, what a pleasant surprise! You are always more than welcome to join the tea parties at your leisure."

"I should hope so. You are my granddaughter after all, even if your name is now Stark," her grandmother said. There was a peculiar inflection on her new house name that suggested the topic of their conversation. She led her grandmother over to where she was sitting with Lady Sansa and her cousin Alla. Both girls were sitting on a stone bench with pillows.

"Budge up. I'm an old woman. We can't stay on our feet for too long."

The two girls hopped up like a fire had been lit under them. They rushed their curtsies and pulled their needles and fabric along looking like two startled puppies.

Her grandmother sighed as she sat and arranged the pillows to her liking. Margaery studied her with her usual smile. While her grandmother never cared for tea parties, she showed up to them every once in a while for propriety's sake, but she was typically never satisfied without leaving a few girls in tears. Lady Sansa so far had escaped her harsher barbs, but then she appeared more confused by her grandmother's harsh words than upset by them. Rudeness was not accepted or expected. For all of her naivety, Sansa took each sour statement with a professional courtesy that would make any lesser lady envious.

"You there. Fetch me some cheese. None of that hard stuff, the spreadable. Teeth are delicate when you're older. And you, fetch me another cushion. There's no reason they couldn't have put in better seating under this pavilion."

Margaery waited patiently as the servants tended to her grandmother. This was her routine. She caused so much of a fuss that the servants couldn't wait to beat a quick retreat.

"I am so pleased you were able to join us. I was afraid the hot summer sun might keep you away."

Her grandmother regarded her with a shrewd expression. "Less the heat and more of the inescapable perfume of shit that permeates this city, my dear. I'm surprised you can stand it."

"I barely notice," Margaery replied. It was true enough. The smell of the city permeated the very walls of the Red Keep; the only ones who took notice of it were newly arrived, but they adjusted after a few days. "Besides, it's not so bad up here. Lady Sansa and I visit the orphanage down in Flea Bottom once a week. I pity those poor people who have to live in it. At least we just smell it."

"Praise the Seven for small favors," her grandmother replied. She turned once more to a servant

girl at her side. "Well, are you going to get me tea? Lavender, cream, and a spoonful of sugar. Don't keep me waiting now."

Once her grandmother was settled to her satisfaction and had summoned Butters over to play a boisterous, loud song next to their table, her eyes transfixed on her and became keener. Margaery's eyes roved her face trying to find the reason for the conversation.

Just one day prior, it became known that Lord Yohn Royce had succumbed to an illness that had put him abed. In the span of the day, the aged but robust man was gone, much like Lord Jon Arryn. There were whispers of a possible epidemic with two such similar cases, but as they were so far apart, the rumor seemed to be largely dismissed. However, dying not long after King Robert Baratheon had perished raised eyebrows. The old king's death was almost certainly the work of a poisoner. Everyone seemed to know it, but Lord Jaime Lannister was attempting to keep a tight lid on the matter. If anything the effort made the rumor wheel spin more rapidly.

Lord Royce had served as a stand-in for the young Lord Robyn Arryn. His absence created such a void that it was unclear who commanded the Vale army at the moment. Would Lady Lysa Arryn resume control? The Eyrie was still under quarantine, but she imagined they could still send ravens. Her brother, Willas, had asked the question and it now circled in her mind like a vulture: What had led to the king declaring a quarantine over the Eyrie? Such measures had been used before, but those typically lasted only a few weeks. The Eyrie had been inaccessible for months with no known end in sight. She had a feeling sickness had little to do with it. Had Lady Lysa refused to fall in line behind King Aemon and he sanctioned her? But Lord Yohn Royce was a steadfast, honest, and intelligent man who would never fall at a king's feet. She rather doubted that loyalty to Ned Stark after what King Aerys had done to his brother would have been enough to give his hand in friendship to the king. He must have done something else to win him over, but what?

Margaery felt like she was on the cusp of understanding a great discovery, but it was frustratingly out of her grasp.

Then there was the incident with the healer. Margaery had met Healer David when he had accompanied Lord Jaime. He was brusque, a bit like her grandmother, but more practical and had a restless energy that needed funneled into work. She had occasionally escorted women and children to his clinic. She found it greatly admirable and in another life when she wasn't a lady of a noble house, she would've been interested in joining his outfit to help the people. But now his face had been blown off and, by all accounts, he was clinging to life by a thread. His apprentice, Julian, had sewed together what he could and left a patchwork of skin and thread, or so she'd heard. Only his group the Shepherds were allowed to visit and Lord Jaime enforced it by having a guard at his door. Was the incident really as innocent as it appeared or was it like King Robert and Lord Royce?

It had also been made known that Cersei Lannister was being starved by order of the king.

Margaery didn't believe it for a moment. King Aemon could be cold, but she felt he lacked the guile to do something so heinous. Yet whispers were growing that he had illegally stolen the throne. His lack of the famous Targaryen features put doubt in his claims and that Cersei had lied about the parentage of her children under threat of death by the Starks. It was enough to make Margaery snort with laughter. Lord Stark was kindly, if a little grim and sad. Robb, himself, was not unlike his dire wolf; full of excitement and vigor, but with little else on his mind except hunting and fighting. The Starks were, by far, the least adept players of the game Margaery had ever encountered.

The flying rumors made it clear to Margaery: someone was laying the groundwork for a coup. It would put the Starks in a precarious position. Like a deer smelling smoke, Margaery felt a heightened sense of alarm and she was ready to put everything she had into the game. If she was certain of one thing, it was that her grandmother did not deign to join for a mere social call this time.

"How is that Stark boy treating you?" Her grandmother was pinning Margaery with a look that she only usually saw when she was interested in the information.

"Like a perfectly handsome knight," Margaery replied and her smile was genuine. "If things continue the way they are, you should expect an announcement that I am with child in a matter of months."

"Hmm...I suppose that's something."

"You don't seem too thrilled," Margaery replied, but she kept the smile on as she picked up a cup and stirred her tea.

"That you are fertile pleases me. Really, there's little point to declaring a baby until it has crowned."

"Grandmother!" Margaery often wondered if the outrageousness of her grandmother's words were a test to her composure. She was determined not to crack.

Her grandmother's lips quirked into a small smile. "You're sure you're happy? There is a way out. Just say the word."

You have never tested me like this, Margaery thought as she felt her eyes widen slightly in alarm.

She cocked her head as though it would give her a better read, but her grandmother remained inscrutable. "Why would I want that? I have a young, handsome man who is destined to be lord paramount of the largest territory in Westeros. As I just told you, we've already consummated the marriage."

"That your maidenhood is broken is of little consequence. Nothing that a little moon tea and the boundless power of the Reach can't fix."

Margaery felt her heart thudding against her ribs and it took everything in her to keep the pleasant expression on her face. She took a sip of the tea she'd been holding to ground herself. She breathed in deeply and centered herself, feeling a practiced calm fall over her, but still her blood rushed through her veins. "I am surprised you would make such a suggestion."

"You were supposed to be queen, my sweet. Maybe you still can be."

So there is a coup, Margaery thought and was on the cusp of swooning. A chill ran through her body and her skin pimpled in the sultry warm day in King's Landing. But then who would be the king? Her mind immediately fell on Prince Joffrey. A new rumor claimed he was truly legitimate, but his last known whereabouts were in Winterfell. Had he been sprung from there? In his father's absence, Robb was taking care of his family affairs. He shared every letter with her and none of them had hinted at any sort of unrest. She was glad that he was willing to involve her and she didn't have to resort to underhanded means to participate. The last thing she had any desire for was being a lady wife who floated ignorantly through the world.

Maybe it isn't him, but through him? There was only one remaining side of the family that was free to do anything: the Lannisters. Jaime Lannister would never— she stopped herself short. Had she misjudged him? So much of what she'd heard about him rang true; dashingly handsome, even with the bear claw scars, arrogant, self-assured, but menacing. He wasn't afraid to intimidate. She had seen a kind and courteous side from him, primarily in regards to Lady Brienne. He was unmistakably smitten with her, but he hesitated to make a move for obvious reasons. She was far too low status to be considered for a position like Lady Lannister. Was he just playing Lady Brienne?

Her gut instinct said no. No man who arranged her marriage to Robb Stark and then swatted a fine match like Lady Alysanne would bother toying with a lowly, homely woman like her. Maybe...maybe. She was on the verge of making a connection, but what? She hoped it would come to her later.

That still left the coup. King Aemon Targaryen made Lord Jaime Lannister his Hand. He charged Lord Jaime with bringing his father into the fold and negotiating the alliance with her family. She hadn't seen the negotiation, but Willas had described it to her later; Jaime had been steadfast on the

terms Aemon had given him. There had been no hesitation with arranging her marriage to Robb Stark and when she'd escorted him to the room, she thought he entertained the same thoughts of swatting her like he had Lady Alysanne. She didn't think he regretted blatantly turning the both of them down.

And then there was her brother. Lord Jaime had made a separate promise apart from the treaty that Ser Loras Tyrell would be delivered back to her family untouched. This was the Kingslayer who hadn't hesitated to drive his sword into the back of his king. She remembered asking Willas: "Do you think he'll do it?"

Willas had thought about it for a moment, tapping a quill absentmindedly against his cheek, and then he nodded. "I do think he will do it. He has something to prove."

"What?"

"That he can be trusted."

And then Lord Jaime had delivered their brother as promised, with not a hair out of place. He couldn't salvage Loras' reputation, but then he hadn't promised that he would. She felt for Loras. He was no longer allowed to train and spent his days pacing the family's apartments like a cat, hissing and spitting at anyone who offered him comfort. Lord Renly had departed just a few days prior for the Wall; Loras would never see his lover again. It made Margaery's heart ache. It was not fair that his love should be forbidden and that he should suffer such excoriation. For once, her father had put his foot down and would hear none of it. It appeared that Loras would be confined to the apartments or their palace until father finally passed.

"Grandmother, I find that intriguing, but I must insist that you be careful with whatever you're planning. Lord Jaime gave us back Loras. He has shown us honesty. Do you really think he would betray King Aemon?" Margaery spoke so quietly, she wasn't entirely sure her grandmother had heard everything over Butters bellowing song.

As usual, her grandmother never missed a word. "Every man has a price."

"But that price differs between men. It may not be what you think," Margaery replied, Brienne's face floated before her eyes and she felt her mouth firm into a line. That was the piece she was missing: Lady Brienne was Lord Jaime's price for his loyalty. And she had a feeling King Aemon was the only one willing to grant that price.

But why her? She had spoken with Lady Brienne once when she had intended to understand her appeal to Lord Jaime. It was obvious that he held her in high esteem in large part for her fighting skills, but had that been all? Lady Brienne had never left her island her whole life until she answered Renly's call. Lord Jaime had never met her. Was it pure coincidence that he found his love in her? But then what had kept Lord Jaime loyal to King Aemon? The promise of a match? Or, no, it was for a match of his choosing? That had to be it.

Her grandmother smiled and nodded. "Well, as they say, there's more than one way to skin a cat. So tell me, what else are you doing with your time besides being on your back?"

Margaery sighed, but she was grateful to be steered back into less turbulent topics.

After the tea party, she returned to the Stark apartments. Lady Sansa parted with her claiming she needed a bath before dinner. Margaery barely paid her any attention and knocked on her rooms with Robb and then stepped in. He had just finished pulling on his trousers and she could see his hair was damp from a bath.

"My Lady!" He grinned at her and strode over to plant a kiss on her lips. She felt her heart warm and had to keep herself from sinking into his eyes. He was a truly good man and she was grateful to have made such a great match, even if it fell short of her initial ambitions. The North was an oyster ripe for the picking and she looked forward to the challenge of bringing it up to par with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. "How was your day?" He asked.

"Wonderful. The tea party was a great success. I could not have asked for a more perfect day."

"Good! I was tempted to pass by all you lovely ladies, but I was afraid I might get dragged into sewing."

"You know me better than that."

"You won't, but Sansa would!"

Margaery chuckled and dropped her eyes. She had to plan her next words carefully. "Such a positive event is lovely amidst all of this gloom. First the old king dies and then Lord Royce. That healer gets hurt. I've heard rumors that Cersei is being starved by order of King Aemon."

Robb scoffed. "Jon would do no such thing. I wouldn't be surprised if those rumors were backwards. You pay them no mind, my lady. Jon is not that cruel."

"I know he isn't. He is a good and kindly king. I think the realm is in better hands with him at the helm. But...do you wonder...?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, but remained silent.

"What about Lord Jaime Lannister?"

"What about him?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Do you think he means well? It seems odd that King Aemon would have such a rogue like him as Hand."

Robb was quiet and his good mood had evaporated. He nodded and said, "It does seem odd. I thought so when he was first appointed. I thought it was strictly political. We needed the Westerlands might after all, but...I don't think it was that political. I don't know Lord Jaime myself, but...he saved my life. He was the one who took the bear's paw instead of me. I owe him a debt and the first thing I did was disparage him after… after… well, you know." He sighed. "I don't feel like I've quite lived that down."

"You trust him then?"

He seemed to ponder and nodded again. "Yes, I do. It has been nearly a year and he has not made one false move or said one false word against my cousin. They seemed to have an understanding. I don't understand it, but I don't need to. If Jon trusts him, then so do I."

Margaery smiled. "I think you and I are in agreement." She stepped closer and embraced him.

"Do you think we have time for a fling in the bed?" He whispered into her ear.

She laughed and playfully shoved him away. "I think my grandmother might kill me if we were late to dinner because of that."

"She doesn't have to know."

"Trust me, she always knows."

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Interested in discussing TDR more? Like talking video games, movies, and an assortment of other subjects? Feel free to drop by the TDR discord and say hello! https/discord.gg/Bb9gXe

Chapter 66 - Brienne III

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for being such attentive and devoted readers! It cheers me to see all of the notifications generated with each chapter. You're all truly heartwarming!

catzrko0l continues to be a fantastic beta. They are instrumental in getting these chapters to read so well! Thank you!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 66

Brienne III

Brienne's breath came out in harsh gasps as she swung her sword to meet Lady Dacey's. They held there for a moment, putting their full strength behind their wooden swords. Brienne was stronger and she shoved Dacey off and danced in to give her a jab in the ribs. Dacey inelegantly smacked the sword away and Brienne felt it slip through her fingers. She stepped back to give herself space and reaffirm her grip; Dacey rushed forward, swinging the sword towards her exposed neck. Brienne swung her shoulder out and turned her other shoulder directly into Dacey's chest. The rush of Dacey's breath leaving her lungs at the fierce blow tickled Bienne's neck; she staggered. Brienne brought the wooden sword up and jabbed her just under the breastplate.

"Ooof! Yield," Dacey shouted and she hunched over for breath.

"It was a good fight," Brienne said between wheezing gasps. She held herself up, but now that the fight was over she could feel the ache beginning in her shoulders from the tension and all of the small bruises she received began to make themselves known. She felt the sweat trickle down the inside of her arms and she could only imagine her hair was plastered to her head.

Dacey grinned up at her. "I never thought I would meet a woman who could break a sword over my back. Well, other than my mother that is. Always a pleasure, Brienne."

She felt a real smile pulling at her lips. "Same to you, Dacey. 'Til next time."

"You mean tomorrow?" Dacey replied. She barked a laugh and placed the wooden sword back in

the stand. Brienne followed her.

"Very admirable, my lady."

Brienne turned to face a man taller than even her. He was wearing a leather jerkin of plain coloring with no identifying sigil. His hair was as dark as the night, his beard was trimmed to a fine point, and he had a large hooked nose that could've been used as a fishing lure. His eyes appeared black in the light and he had a small, approving smile.

"Hello," she replied awkwardly and looked around the area, but no one was paying them much attention. "And you are?"

"Ah, forgive me! I am Ser Osmund Kettleblack, a knight of the Crownlands. I daresay you have more strength than half of the knights in the realm."

"Thank you," Brienne said. She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head in confusion.

He chuckled at her confusion and made a sweeping gesture. "Might we take a walk through the gardens?" He held out his arm to her.

Brienne had to keep herself from backing up and her shoulders tensed once more. This had to be a prelude to an elaborate ruse. Most men couldn't get through the first sentence without their face cracking. He seemed sincere enough, but she asked, "For what purpose?"

"Straight to the point. I wish more women were like that. A proposition, my lady."

"What kind of proposition?"

"I think that will need some explanation and I can only imagine you'd prefer it be in an area where eavesdroppers can't hide."

Has he even seen the gardens? Brienne wondered. There were hedges aplenty for someone to sneak around, but a quick glance showed men peeking at her from their groups and one soul was attempting to edge in close. She glared at him and he scampered off.

"Very well," she replied and took his arm, though she was as stiff as a board as he guided her to the gardens. He was bigger than her. If he had ill intent, she'd have one hell of a fight on her hands.

He didn't bother keeping up the pretense of small talk, for which she was grateful. Her mind was reeling from the possibilities, all of them ending with her as the punchline. There was no Renly to save her now, doubly so since the Night's Watch had finally taken him away a couple of days ago.

Lord Jaime wouldn't save her either. The only time he was ever seen nowadays was at court and he only held it every three days, always looking worse for wear yet still beautiful. He had lost weight and his skin was paler than its usual sun-kissed gold. Though he remained shrewd and his tongue was excessively sharp, he looked tired. She hoped his seizures weren't giving him any trouble, but she had never been sent for again.

She once caught him outside of court early in the morning before the sun was in the sky. Brienne woke up hot and restless and so decided to strap on her armor and head for the training grounds, only to stop short at seeing a man going through his paces. Despite the dark his sword gleamed like it was catching the light of the moon, though it had long since fallen from the sky. She couldn't see his face, but she knew it was him. They had trained together enough that she could recognize his lithe form and the grace with which he moved.

Brienne couldn't tear her eyes away. They always trained with blunted or wooden swords on the grounds, but he had decided to bring out the Lannister family sword Brightroar. How she longed to hold it in her hands and inspect it; a true Valyrian Steel weapon.

Just as she was considering revealing herself, his attention was drawn to a noise in another direction and he then melted away into the shadows towards the Tower of the Hand. At the abrupt departure, she had sighed, a noise that was both wistful and frustrated. She missed their duels. He was unequivocally the greatest swordsman she had ever faced. He challenged her in a way that no one else—not even Lady Dacey—did.

Whatever was weighing on Lord Jaime, she prayed to the Seven that it would pass and he would return to the training grounds to smirk and mock and teach her.

She flitted her eyes over to Ser Osmund and tried to get a read on him. He didn't look back at her but kept his head up and a pleasant smile on his face. They passed a lord who blatantly gaped at them and he only nodded in acknowledgment. There was nothing sly about his expression that she could see. But though he seemed genuine, she couldn't shake the uneasiness that gripped her and put it down to her distrust of nearly all men, especially those who had pretended otherwise around her.

Once they made it out into the middle of the garden, she pulled her hand away. "I can walk myself," she said. "What kind of proposition did you mean?"

"Why the kind of proposition that every lady dreams of."

Brienne raised her eyebrows and kept her mouth firm. "I ask, ser, that you be explicit."

"I wish to ask for your hand in marriage." He gently grabbed her hand and planted a kiss on it.

She stared and knew that there must be suspicion in her eyes. Her belly was doing flips and she wanted more than anything for it to settle. "You will have to ask my father first," she heard herself say, though it sounded far away to her own ears.

"I already have, my lady," he replied and pulled out a folded up piece of parchment. He handed it to her.

She stared at it and felt her mouth go dry when she recognized the penmanship of her father.

My Lord of Kettleblack,

I am pleased to hear that my daughter, Lady Brienne of Tarth, has made such an impression on you and your son, Ser Osmund. It is encouraging to see like-minded men recognize the value in her as well as her skills.

I grant you my blessing for you to offer my daughter your son's hand in marriage. However, I must insist that she has the final say on the match. I do not wish to see her marry a stranger and live in misery. Her agreement comes at a challenge: best her in a duel and she will marry you. Her last suitor failed. She is not easily swayed.

Treat her well and you will have my everlasting gratitude.

Lord Selwyn of House Tarth, the Evenstar, We break the sea*

Brienne felt numb as the letter fell away from her, still gripped loosely in her fingers. Her blood felt sluggish in her veins and it took great effort to meet his eyes again. She was her father's only heir so she knew she would have to marry at some point, but her heart ached. Ser Osmund appeared genuine in his admiration, but could she hope that he would still allow her to train with a sword like her father?

He took the letter from her and said, "Does that satisfy you?"

She opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, but words came out unbidden. "Where is my letter?"

"Hmm?" He cocked his head at her in confusion.

"My father would never have sent a reply to you without first telling me that he was going to do this. How did I not receive a letter?"

"I know not of any letter from your father to you. Perhaps it got lost? It's all too easy for a raven to lose it over the sea."

"But why should your letter reach you and mine not reach me?"

He furrowed his brow in irritation and she thought there was strain in his voice. "My lady, I am not at fault for a failure in delivery. I'm a knight, not a courier. But now you know your father gave his blessing for a match."

"Yes, he did."

"Are you amenable?"

Brienne's eyes roved from his face, to the garden, and settled for a moment on a couple pairs of eyes. Lady Arya and Lady Lucille were crouching ineffectually behind a hedge. Their eyes went wide and they ducked further when she caught them. She moved back to meet Ser Osmund's eyes.

"You read the letter. My last attempted suitor lost my hand in a duel. I would be remiss if I didn't challenge you to the same," she said.

"Hah! It is a deal then. Tomorrow morning in the training yard." He leaned forward and whispered, "I look forward to having you spread on your back."

Her stomach lurched and she swallowed the bile building in her throat. She offered him a weak smile and watched as he strode away. He sauntered with a jaunty smile on his face like the duel was a mere formality.

Perhaps it is, Brienne thought. If she wanted to continue her line and lead Tarth to its best possible future, she would need to make a match and her options were limited. Should she ignore the pit in her stomach that left her repulsed? Apart from his final comment, he had treated her courteously and as an equal, worthy of consideration and admiration. Not once did she see him flinch as though he couldn't stand the sight of her face and his pleasure had seemed genuine.

The hedge rustled and she turned to see both Lady Lucille and Lady Arya scamper off. They were headed towards the Tower of the Hand. The girls didn't strike her as gossipers, but she had a feeling nonetheless that the news of her impending betrothal and duel would travel around like wildfire.

With a troubled sigh, she turned and made her way back to her room and called for a bath.

-The Dragon's Roar-

"Lady Brienne! I appreciate you accepting my invitation on such short notice. I know Lady Dacey wouldn't accept my invitation otherwise, were not another woman fighter present," Lady Margaery said with an amused smirk.

Brienne saw Dacey grimace, which she tried to cover by taking a sip of her tea.

"Thank you for having me, Lady Margaery," Brienne replied with an awkward half-bow and fumbled to sit correctly. She was still in trousers, though they were a freshly washed pair of an earthen color. Her doublet was a split of the blue and vibrant pink of her house. If Lady Margaery took offense at the lack of proper dress, it was not readily apparent and she directed her servants to

make Brienne tea.

Dread had filled her when she had received the invitation delivered by a servant. Although she typically shunned decorum, even she could not turn down the company of a future lady paramount and not mire herself in scandal. While she had seen Lady Margaery many times on the training grounds, usually cheering her own husband Robb Stark and even had a brief conversation with her, it was clear that they lacked compatible interests and were never able to find comfortable ground to stand on.

She would admit to being relieved that Margaery had never ill-treated her. She was never among those that spoke behind their hands in her presence, gave her dirty looks, or treated her like she was a pebble in their shoes. If it was an act, it was an impressive one. Despite what she said about Dacey, Brienne wasn't fool enough to believe the marriage proposal earlier in the day wasn't the real reason for Lady Margaery's interest.

She began to have doubts when the only thing Lady Margaery asked her about was whether her tea suited her. Otherwise, Lady Margaery's attention was fully on Lady Dacey as they spoke of matters in the North. There was mention of the major threats which were Ironborn and wildling raids. While the summer was still ongoing in the South with the flowers blooming and the crops growing, winter hardly seemed to leave the North. The growing season had not been particularly good the last few months and the people of Bear Island had been forced to rely primarily on the ocean for their food with a minimal harvest. Since Lady Margaery would soon be Lady of the North, she hoped that food would soon be routed north to help the houses prepare for a long winter.

"You will have to consult my mother, Lady Maege, about that, my lady, but I believe a trade would be most welcome. I know it doesn't get quite as cold in the Reach, but we make a tidy living sewing winter clothing and building canoes. Perhaps we can make an arrangement," Dacey said, having settled into the conversation and she at least offered a pleasant look to Lady Margaery.

"That would be wonderful, Lady Dacey. I'll have to see about speaking with your mother, Lady Maege."

Dacey grunted and said, "It's time I left. I'll be sure to mention this conversation. Until next time, my lady."

"Of course," Lady Margaery replied, offering her a wide smile.

Brienne hurriedly deposited her tea and got up to leave with Dacey, but Margaery's voice stopped her: "Lady Brienne, I was wondering if you might stay. I believe we have much to talk about."

Brienne winced internally and then turned back to smile at Lady Margaery.

"Was your tea satisfactory?"

"Yes, my lady. Perfectly satisfactory."

"Would you like a song to accompany our selection of cheeses?"

"I—uh, that won't be necessary, my la—"

"Butters! Would you mind playing The Bear and the Maiden Fair ? It's simply far too quiet."

The fool who had been lazing nearby leaped to his feet and launched into a particularly robust version of the song. Brienne flinched at his volume and drew her mouth into a dissatisfied line.

Lady Margaery took no heed of her discomfort and seemed to study her. After a moment, she said just loud enough to be heard, "I hear Ser Osmund has offered his hand in marriage to you. It sounds like congratulations are in order."

"It's not finalized yet," Lady Brienne replied with an exasperated sigh. "Just as my last suitor, he must duel me and win. If he can't do that, then there is no betrothal."

Margaery chuckled. "If only every woman had that option. Don't get me wrong; I am very pleased with Robb Stark, but to have that freedom—that is the stuff of dreams."

Brienne had nothing to say and remained quiet.

"Aren't you forgetting someone though?"

"Hmm?" Brienne narrowed her eyes. "Who?"

"Why, Lord Jaime. He's had his eyes on you for quite some time."

Brienne felt a blush creeping up her cheeks and she had to turn away at the shrewd look on Lady Margaery's face.

"I don't know what you mean. He and I just spar."

"You clearly do or you wouldn't be blushing." Margaery's expression was very pointed.

"If Lord Jaime were truly interested in marrying me then he would have asked by now," Brienne shot back. "He's clearly not. I'm too—" She clamped her lips shut tight.

"Too what?" Lady Margaery asked innocently.

"I'm not good enough for him."

"It's true." Brienne was almost taken aback by the answer. She had expected Lady Margaery of all people to have tact and she bowed her head in humiliation. But then she continued, "You are hardly the ideal match for him and yet...he remains unmarried. He was released from the Kingsguard nearly a year ago. Everyone has heard by now that Lord Tywin Lannister arranged for Lord Jaime to walk in on his marriage upon his arrival at Casterly Rock, but, instead, Lord Jaime quite publicly canceled it and humiliated Lady Alysanne Bolton formerly Lefford. Why do you think that is, Lady Brienne?"

Brienne opened her mouth but found the words weren't there. While she rather deliberately avoided gossip, that bit of news had not escaped her. She had put it down to hyperbole. The Leffords were a vassal house of the Westerlands, so it was not unheard of for a lord paramount to bestow favor upon a lesser house from time to time. "He must've thought he could find a better match?"

"With whom? Apart from myself and Lady Sansa—who is quite young for Lord Jaime even by usual standards—there are no ladies of age from a lord paramount's family left. He determinedly negotiated my match with Robb. Never once did he even consider me." Although Margaery maintained a pleasant smile, her gaze was unmatched in intensity and it seemed to see right through Brienne.

Lady Margaery then leaned even further forward and Brienne had to lean in as well to pick up her words over the singing of the fool. "The new Lady Bolton said she read a decree by King Aemon that he, and only he, could determine Lord Jaime's marriage. While there has been much speculation about why Lord Jaime is allied with the grandson of the very king he slew, there is no denying that Lord Jaime has thus far remained a steadfast ally. His father complains but he doesn't. It can only mean that Lord Jaime demanded of the king that he be able to choose his bride, without his father's approval."

Brienne stared. She drew in a shuddering breath and looked to the table for answers but found none. "How do you know this?"

"You hear a lot at tea," Lady Margaery replied with a sly smile. "I can safely say that those are the facts. It's clear as day to anyone who can see that he has his eye on you. He wants to marry you."

Brienne felt her mouth go dry and she gave a small shake of her head. "That can't be."

"It is. I've been on the training grounds. Every lady there is beside themselves with envy over you. He never glances in their direction and he scowls at all else but you. Did not Lord Gerion summon you to tend to Lord Jaime when he was abed with illness? There has never been any other woman in his quarters, before or since."

"Then why hasn't he proposed?" Brienne replied through gritted teeth as she shifted restlessly in her seat. She was about ready to leap up and walk away.

"Lady Brienne, surely you must see the precariousness of a match between you and Lord Jaime. He's the heir to Casterly Rock and the Westerlands, the wealthiest region in the Seven Kingdoms. You are—and I don't mean to be insulting—the daughter of a minor lord of a tiny island. You offer very little that a lord paramount would be interested in. Further, you're a vassal of the Stormlands not the Westerlands. There is only one man who would approve of such a match..."

"King Aemon," Brienne breathed, feeling a numbness stealing over her.

Lady Margaery smiled and nodded. "If I'm not mistaken, Lord Jaime's price for his loyalty is to marry the woman of his choosing."

"But then why hasn't he?"

She frowned. "That I can't be sure of."

"I need certainty," Brienne replied in desperation. "I am my father's sole heir. I've already been betrothed three times. It is paramount that I marry and produce an heir so that Tarth may survive."

Lady Margaery's smile became weak and there was an unease in her eyes. "Are you familiar with Ser Osmund?"

Brienne shook her head.

"I have heard about him. He is—how shall I say?—not best known for being knightly. He claims he was knighted by a Ser Robert Stone. That man was a bastard and is long dead. He was not well known. Is Ser Osmund verifiably a knight? No one can say. Ser Osmund also fought for a mercenary company called the Gallant Men, which doesn't sound too gallant."

Brienne swallowed and the pit in her stomach that she had been carrying around since meeting him threatened further distress with the bile rising in her throat. Could she marry someone who seemed of such ill repute? He appeared gallant enough during their meeting, but her instincts had been ringing all afternoon. Did it matter? She had to do what was best for Tarth, not just for her.

It was as she was thinking this through that she grew suspicious and she asked, "Why are you doing this? What do you gain from helping me?"

"Love, Lady Brienne. You're familiar with my brother, Ser Loras, yes?"

Brienne nodded. She didn't quite trust herself to speak. It was Ser Loras that Lord Renly had adored and it led to his downfall.

"My brother is in love with someone, but it is a forbidden love. He is not allowed to act on it. I have seen the way it hurts him. He stalks our apartments like a caged animal. He's thinner, disheveled. He cannot love the one he wants, but you can. It is fortunate enough that you have found the one you love and he returns that love. You have the opportunity to marry him, but you need to be brave enough to take it."

Lady Margaery was sincere, of that Brienne was certain. There was a pain in her eyes. Perhaps it was an act as everything else had been, but if it was, she was quite convincing.

"That still doesn't answer what you get out of it."

"Perhaps I shall get a friend then? You are to be lady paramount as well as Sansa and I. Lord Jaime is a steadfast ally of the king's as is Robb. It may be that we will see each other more than we realize since we'll be running in the same circles."

Brienne cast her eyes down once more and unknowingly chewed her bottom lip as she thought.

"I see you have a lot on your mind. Best of luck tomorrow, Lady Brienne. I hope you make the best choice for your sake. Now, I promised one of my cousins I would sew with her and she has been waiting ever so patiently."

Brienne nodded and stood, shuffling out from under the pavilion, barely able to see where she was going. Was what Lady Margaery said true? It had the ring of truth. Lady Margaery had at least been right about Jaime seemingly smiling only for her and that she alone had stood by his side while he was seizing. Was it enough? Or were Lady Margaery and Lord Jaime both playing her for a fool? She had much to think about.

- I ended Lord Tarth's letter with House words. Tarth does not currently have any recorded words in canon, so I fashioned the Tarth House motto myself.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

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My Twitter: @GroovyPriestess

Chapter 67 - Joffrey I

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for your devotion to this fic. I can't tell you how much it means to me that I have eager readers to please with every posting. Thanks again for all of your comments, Kudos, bookmarks, everything! You all rock!

As always, I want to thank my beta, catzrko0l, for being so good and reviewing each chapter, correcting my errors. You make this fic work!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 67

Joffrey I

"You need to move your feet. That's more important than moving the sword!"

Joffrey grunted as the practice sword smashed into his ribs and he fell to the ground. He clutched at his side and glared up at Jory Cassel.

"I said no glaring. You begged me for this. Be grateful that I bother with an almost-kinslayer," Jory said, drawing his mouth into a firm line.

Joffrey's hand trembled in rage and he tightened his grip on his own wooden sword to hide it. If he lashed out again, they'd stick him with mucking the horse's stalls again.

After Lady Catelyn had discovered him in the bastard's room and raised the alarm, the denizens of Winterfell kept a healthy distance. Even Myrcella had joined them, her mouth trembling with rage and her eyes stony. Only Julianna seemed not to understand the scorn he received, and while she greeted him with a smile whenever she saw him, he only ever returned it with a scowl. He regretted even contemplating killing the babe.

They'd all learned of his existence when he showed up in the courtyard in the arms of the wetnurse. At first, Joffrey had been certain there was a misunderstanding, but his fears were realized when Myrcella and Julianna had squealed to him at dinner about it.

"He's adorable, Joffrey," Myrcella said with a wide smile.

"He's an abomination!" Joffrey shouted at her so loudly that she jumped and the noise in the hall had ceased its chatter as everyone turned to look at him.

His cheeks colored with embarrassment, but he continued glaring at Myrcella. "Our mother raped her brother, his father," he hissed. "Those who are born of incest are cursed by the gods."

"No, they aren't," she snapped. "He's just a babe. He's not responsible for his birth, just as we are not responsible for ours."

"No, but we're still not royal. No one gives a shit about bastards," Joffrey seethed.

"Watch your mouth! I'm sure Mistress Cassel would be thrilled to wash it with soap again. Maybe you won't visit him, but I will! He is our brother still. We're in this together. Besides, Uncle Jaime is Hand of the King. He's made sure we've been treated well so far and we'll continue to be."

Joffrey sneered. "It's easy for you to say. I was the crown prince! A single heartbeat from the throne! And now I'm nothing." He turned to the bowl of soup before him and had to restrain himself from flipping it over, otherwise he would be banished to his room and forced to go without food until he broke his fast the next morning.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Myrcella's face soften. "What Mother did was not right. You deserved better Joff, but what's done is done. You can't change the past. You have options at least! Julianna and I are unlikely to marry or be of use to anyone. I have considered joining the Silent Sisters; at least they have purpose," Myrcella replied and sighed wistfully, staring off into the distance.

Joffrey rolled his eyes. You playing with the dead, sister? Don't make me laugh, he wanted to say, but the anger locked his jaw. He only seemed to be able to spoon food down his throat and then he had stomped back to his room.

Over the next few days, his anger had remained at a simmer as he turned it over in his head. This is Mother's fault. It's all her fault! If she just hadn't spread her legs for half of King's Landing, I would be king and there would be no doubt in my claim!

He wanted nothing more than to scream into his mother's face. He tried other outlets, including kicking a dog that wouldn't stop barking at him. There was an immediate pang of regret when it shrieked and whimpered, slinking off. The Kennel Master had growled at him and shoved him away. He hunched his shoulders and scurried off.

None of it was fair! How was it possible that Lord Stark had betrayed his king— My father, Joffrey thought—and revealed to the world that he'd hidden a Targaryen Prince under his roof? The Stark's bastard became king and the king's son became a bastard. It was like a fairy tale made in jest, only it had turned out painfully real.

It was even more discomfiting because he still wore plush and fur-lined clothes befitting a prince, by the grace of his loathsome Uncle Jaime. For the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, he had been pathetically weak in fighting off his own sister. Was it really rape or did he simply say it was? It was detestable no matter the circumstances and it infuriated Joffrey that the incident had ended up a boon for his uncle. He deserved to suffer. His mother deserved to suffer for daring to fuck like a whore and have him stripped of his crown.

And yet, last he heard, his mother was secluded on Bear Island. Exiled there for the rest of her days. He had dearly hoped that he could see her one day and scream into her face about how she ruined them. Would she have pity for him? Her own firstborn? Did he matter to her?

If I had mattered, she wouldn't have been caught fucking her brother, Joffrey thought once more. Every day he passed the babe's door and he glared at it. A bastard born of incest; he is better off dead, he thought with a curl up his lips.

It was then that he stopped and stared at the door with a look of wonder and fear. It was only a babe, barely alive. A bastard born of a cursed relationship. Would anyone care if he killed it? Could he kill it? It would be easy. Babes were fragile. Baby animals had died all the time inside of the Red Keep and he heard of servant girls birthing stillborns on a regular basis. What was one more babe?

You're as mad as old King Scab, he lectured himself. He had abruptly turned away from the door and pulled on his cloak, hoping the rain and chill would clear his head. But once he stepped out into the yard, all he could see were instruments of death. A shovel was leaning against the door to the stables. All it would take was one blow to the head. The blacksmith was tossing scrap metal into a bin, sharp enough to slit a babe's throat. He abruptly turned away, gulping in air and shaking his head of the persistent thoughts. When he opened his eyes, they fell on a chunk of rock. It was no bigger than his fist and easy to conceal. No one would think twice about him picking up a rock.

Joffrey reached for it as if he was in a daze. He held it up and weighed it in his hand, for what reason, he wasn't sure.

The bastard's brand new. No one will miss him, the intrusive thoughts whispered into his mind. It's a kindness. A mercy. No one would want to grow up the bastard of a brother and sister. He will be abandoned, like all of the other bastards. Like I have been.

His fingernails dug into the rock and he turned to troop back inside. The only thing he seemed to feel was the chill of the rain as he blinked droplets out of his eyes that slid down from where they had accumulated in his hair. The hall felt eerily quiet as he passed no one.

Joffrey had turned the doorknob quietly and peeked in. The wetnurse was absent. He felt a thrill of fear and excitement at that. If he didn't want to be caught, he had to be quick; there was no telling when she might return. He slipped in and walked over to the crib, praying for it to be empty. But it wasn't. The babe was on its back, with only a small blanket to protect it against the chill of the North. Its mouth was slightly open as it breathed, but its face was soft in sleep with nothing to disturb its dreams.

It reminded him of Julianna when she was born. Tears sprang to his eyes. He could see her now, smiling toothlessly at him as she flailed happily. She had always been excitable, eager to move. Was this babe the same? If he were to awaken him now, would he smile or would he scream? Joffrey raised the hand without the rock and it trembled as he considered. He was certain that if the babe screamed, there would be nothing to stop him bashing its face in.

Leave. Leave, he commanded himself. He lowered his arm again, but he felt rooted to the spot. Do it now and it will be over before he knows it. He won't have to live as a bastard and I won't have to see him for the mistake he is.

That was when Lady Catelyn found him.

And the prevailing feeling to being caught had been...relief. The pestering desire to destroy the bastard had nearly overwhelmed him, but her screams and accusations had jarred the thoughts from his head. The relief was short-lived as guilt and shame bubbled up within him while the guards hauled him bodily out of the room.

He was barred from visiting the bastard. Lady Catelyn assigned two guards to escort him at all times. The only time he was allowed any privacy was in his room. Whenever he walked past the babe's room, he hurried by without even the guards having to prod him.

After a few days of the entire castle giving him a wide berth, he was surprised when one of

Winterfell's other guests, Jojen Reed, sat next to him at meal time. He was quiet while he spread jam on his toast, but after he took the first bite, he turned to him and said, "I heard your half brother almost died."

Joffrey gave him a bewildered look that was still full of shame and anger. "Don't be stupid. I tried to kill him."

"Did you?"

Joffrey continued to stare at him, but Jojen Reed only seemed to be curious. However, when he replied, it was hesitant, "Yes…"

"But you didn't."

"What…?"

"If you had tried to kill Cassian, he would be dead. It takes little to kill a baby."

"I had the rock, I was moments away…"

"You had time. But you didn't. You didn't really want to kill him," Jojen replied.

The words felt stuck in Joffrey's throat and he turned away. He hadn't been able to do it, but he thought no one would understand and yet here this boy seemed to look right through him. "How did you know that?" Joffrey finally whispered.

"I can see. I can see that you're troubled. You have been dealt an awful hand. That's not your fault. But you don't have to be known as just the bastard son of a queen."

Joffrey arched his eyebrow in disbelief.

"You see Lord Bran?" Joffrey's eyes were drawn to the head table. Lord Bran was slowly eating, but talking spiritedly with Mira Reed. "He was going to be a knight before he lost his eyesight. He

can't now, of course, but he still has options. He can still be of influence. And his options are considerably more limited than even yours."

Joffrey was quiet.

"Have you considered learning a weapon?"

"I'm decent with a bow," Joffrey replied haughtily.

"But the ones who shoot bows are not the ones recalled in song. To prove yourself, you will need to learn the sword. Your Uncle Jaime is the greatest swordsman in the land. You could have his natural talent. Even bastards can become landed knights and your family is still Lannister. They haven't forgotten you, despite what it may seem."

"How do you know this?"

Jojen smiled, but Joffrey was disturbed by the way it didn't reach his eyes. "Because you're here and not elsewhere." With that, Jojen ate the rest of his toast and disappeared, leaving Joffrey staring after him in puzzlement.

That was how he found himself on the training grounds getting beaten to a pulp by the Master of Arms stand-in son, Jory Cassel. As much as it peeved him that he had no skills in the art of weaponry, it kept his mind from contemplating the murder of his bastard half-brother. It had helped, but his resentment at becoming a bastard himself only seemed to fuel his desire to hurt everyone around him.

Joffrey staggered to his feet and set his stance.

"Good. You've got that down at least," Jory said with a nod. He lunged forward. Joffrey was able to bring the wooden sword up to take the hits. His breathing was harsh and he could feel his feet sticking into the mud of the grounds as he tried to move as Jory instructed. He still couldn't see any open spots to jab at Jory.

After a time of simply blocking and meeting each sword thrust, Jory put all of his strength in a downward swing and Joffrey crumpled beneath him. "That's enough for today. You can't just keep blocking or that will happen every time. You're doing well for having just started a few

weeks ago."

Just as they returned their wooden swords to the rack, a horn on the wall was blown.

A shout could be heard across the courtyard: "Inform Lord Bran!"

Joffrey watched Jory climb the wall and he couldn't resist following him.

"What's going on?"

"Lord Bolton and his men are coming up the road. He sent a rider ahead requesting to rest at Winterfell," the guard said.

Joffrey peered down the road to see a column of men on horse and on foot, bearing the standard of the Flayed Man. He frowned as he wondered why anyone would care to have such a symbol for their house. The lion was far more impressive. Were there no other animals in the North worthy of being a house symbol? He could imagine fewer animals sillier for a banner than a trout, but he would admit that there were few things more unsettling than displaying a clear affinity for torture.

Joffrey caught Jory looking at the sky and frowning in puzzlement. "I s'pose there's only a few hours left of daylight. It will be dark by the time they all march in. Looks like we'll be feasting tonight." He actually clapped Joffrey on the shoulder in camaraderie. Joffrey was surprised that such a simple gesture left him feeling warm and wistful at the same time.

"You best get cleaned up for the feast, not that Lady Catelyn's here to say otherwise," Jory said with a crooked smile and headed on down. Once he was gone, Joffrey noticed the other guards looked at him with baleful eyes and he beat a hasty retreat. At least no one expected a bastard like him to greet guests.

Joffrey hadn't had the privilege to meet Lord Bolton before, but it took all of his court training not to show his distaste. There was something about the man's pale eyes and stolid, silent bearing that so sharply contrasted with the joviality of the feast that it struck Joffrey as eerie. He caught Lord Bolton staring at him once or twice. From that far away, Joffrey couldn't decipher his intent, though he wasn't sure if he could sitting next to him either. He tried to ignore him.

Lord Bolton sat next to Lord Bran who was similarly jarring as he scanned the feast with his

unseeing eyes. He at least smiled and his eyes appeared to fix on the people who came up to greet him as he answered them in kind. Lord Bolton only had small muttered conversations with Lord Bran. Jojen Reed sat on the other side of Lord Bran as a guest of honor. Joffrey appreciated that Jojen didn't flinch away from him and even seemed to regard him warmly, but he also had a habit of staring at him for an uncomfortably long time. Thankfully he was distracted by having his own conversation with Lord Bran.

Since he had made himself a pariah, no one engaged him except Julianna. Myrcella had deliberately taken the opportunity to sit on her other side so that Julianna was caught in the middle. However, she was oblivious to the tension between her siblings and whined repeatedly about how she missed Rickon. Lady Catelyn had taken her small boy and traveled to her old House of Riverrun to visit her father. Joffrey simply stayed quiet and tried to ignore both Lord Roose Bolton and Julianna.

Joffrey's irritation only grew as the evening went on and the feast continued unabated. Once he saw Julianna rubbing at her eyes, he stood up and commanded her, "Off to bed with you."

Myrcella stared up at him in shock. He was annoyed and ashamed at the awe and worry present in her eyes. He was reaching for Julianna all the same and began pulling her to bed. Any excuse to leave the thunderous crowd and chilling eyes of Lord Bolton was good enough for him. He handed Julianna off to a lady's maid who had remained waiting in the girls' room for their return and retired to his own. The guards assigned to follow him had remained dutifully on his heels. He left them at his door and retired to bed.

When he finally fell into sleep, it was restless. He tossed and turned as he tried to attack a dummy with the wooden sword only for it to turn into the bastard babe's face. He gasped in horror at the blood that ran down its face. Pale brooding eyes were transfixed on him and he felt paralyzed in their grasp. Then wooden dummies on either side of the original turned into Myrcella and Julianna. They struggled against the bonds that held them to the wooden posts. Against his will, he found himself walking over. Myrcella screamed, yet despite her cries he watched with horror as his own arm rose up with sword in hand and came down to strike her.

Joffrey sat bolt upright with a scream of his own, panting as he clutched at his heart, feeling it race. He started at the sound of the guards outside his door fighting. He heard the gurgling sounds of death cries, not knowing who was fighting or which side was winning. He cried out in horror and looked around his room, but he wasn't allowed any weapons. In a last effort, he huddled under his bed covers as he listened to the clashing of steel both in and outside of the castle. He glanced at the window and found it pitch black, indicating it was still the darkest part of the night.

Who's attacking? Is it the wildlings? The Ironborn? King Aemon? Joffrey was abruptly reminded of the tales of the slaughter of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. They said King Robert had laughed at their deaths. He could expect the same from the Targaryens, though he

expected worse. Targaryens burned their enemies alive. Had the king finally decided to do away with him and his sisters?

The fight outside his door ceased and he trembled, whimpering in panic. But then he heard boots walk off and everything was quiet. Carefully, he peeked his head out from under his covers and stared at the door. The soldiers had moved on? He considered going out to check, but perhaps the guards thought this room was empty?

Yes, two guards standing in front of...an empty room, Joffrey scolded himself. It seemed that they had left him alive, but for what reason? However, the thought of checking made his throat go dry and he broke out into a sweat thinking about the grisly fate that could await him. He burrowed back under his covers and stayed there.

When next he jolted awake, a gray light was spilling through his window. He glanced over at the door. Had it all been a dream? Did he dare check? The rumble in his stomach reminded him that he couldn't stay hidden for much longer if he cared to eat. He hurriedly threw on his clothes from the day before and stood behind the door. His hand continued to tremble as he slowly placed it on the handle. He opened it a hair to peer out and his eyes instantly fell on one of his guards who was sprawled across the floor, there was a hole in his side and his throat was slashed open. A large puddle of blood spread across the stone floor.

Joffrey shivered and felt the bile rise in his throat. He rushed to his chamber pot and retched into it, flinching against the burning in his nose and throat. He gagged again at the awful taste it left in his mouth and desperately tried to wipe the vomit from his face and nose with a hand towel.

They left me alive for a reason. There has to be one, Joffrey thought to himself. I have to go and see what has happened to the others. He sucked in air as if it was bound to be his last and then opened the door. The second guard also lay sprawled on the other side of his door. His throat was open like the other and his eyes were wide and staring in surprise.

Joffrey clenched his fists and then reached down and quickly closed the man's eyes. He couldn't take the cold judgment of the dead. A shuffling noise made him jump and he flattened himself against the wall, his heart hammering in his chest as he spotted a pair of soldiers with the Flayed Man of Bolton on their chest. He could hardly see their expressions under their helmets, but they were silent and grave.

When they remained still, Joffrey opened his mouth and words came spilling out. "P-please don't hurt me. I don't want to die. Please."

As they continued to remain silent and distant, Joffrey felt his ears grow hot in humiliation that they had witnessed his begging. He stood up straighter, smoothed out his clothes, and said, "What has happened here? Why are these Winterfell soldiers dead?" Joffrey of old would have demanded an answer and threatened their heads, but in the intervening months he had been mocked and derided for such demands. Not even the servants respected nor feared him. No one answered to him anymore.

Joffrey turned with a sigh of frustration and relief as the guards continued to remain silent. He began walking down the hall and started at the footsteps behind him. He whipped around and the soldiers stopped, continuing to remain quiet and cold.

He glanced down the hallway and thought, Are Myrcella and Julianna okay? Is the babe? His eyes fell on the bastard baby's door but he wrenched them away to look at Myrcella's and Julianna's room. He knocked and received no answer. When he opened it, the screeching of the hinges was enough to put his teeth on edge and he glanced around hoping it hadn't alerted anyone. He peered in and found the room empty. Did that mean they were alive? Or dead?

He moved as softly across the stone as he could manage and peered around corners as if he were a thief. The two guards continued to follow him and he felt foolish for even bothering to sneak around, yet he couldn't find the courage to walk casually through the slaughter. There were other soldiers' bodies sprawled across the floor. Nearly all of them had the Stark's direwolf sigil, but he saw one or two with the Flayed Man of Bolton. He frowned. Joffrey knew little about the arrangement, but the Starks had left a bare minimum of soldiers to guard whereas Bolton had arrived with his entire army of a few thousand men. Had his men repelled the attack from the invaders? Were Stark men more ready to give their lives for their liege lord than Bolton men?

As he was walking towards the Great Hall, he heard a woman crying behind a pillar.

He carefully made his way and peered around the edge. It was a servant girl and mighty sobs shook her as she curled up as though she were trying to hide in the very walls.

"What happened?" Joffrey whispered. He couldn't bring himself to speak louder.

The woman jolted and stared at him with wide, weeping eyes. Then she gave a shriek and ran off back the direction Joffrey came from. He stared at her and looked towards the Great Hall, once more doubting his resolve. As he approached the door, he heard soldier's footsteps and the scraping of armor against rock. Joffrey placed a hand on another pillar and leaned around it to see.

There were bodies everywhere and splashes of blood on the walls and floor. Bolton men were

clearing off corpses, grabbing them in pairs and hauling them out. Servant girls with buckets of water were weeping as they scrubbed the blood away. They cringed in fear every time a soldier came near them.

Joffrey shivered when he saw the startled expression of Jory Cassel on one of the bodies being carried out. A rivulet of blood trailed from his mouth, but there was even more dripping off of his side and trailing across the floor. Joffrey felt the bile creeping up his throat again, but he swallowed it back down.

As he gazed around, he caught the eyes of a soldier and froze like a rabbit. But the soldier merely stared at him briefly and then returned to hauling bodies outside. There were no sudden moves, violent or otherwise. With much hesitation, Joffrey left the cover of the pillar and was perplexed and pleased that the soldiers merely ignored him.

He walked into the Great Hall and stopped to stare. Everyone was seated around the table as usual, however Lord Bran was not eating and looked glum. Jojen and Meera Reed were dour and glared at Lord Bolton. Only Lord Bolton himself was unperturbed by the death surrounding him as he sliced his ham. Myrcella was trembling and pale and Julianna was crying as she sat at the table, not even attempting to eat.

"Joffrey," Myrcella whispered to him. For the first time since the incident with the babe, she looked relieved.

"Ah, Your Grace. Please, have a seat," Lord Bolton waved to one of the many empty chairs.

Joffrey swayed on his feet and stared. "Your Grace?"

"Yes, you are my king. Not that bastard pretender Stark foisted on us all."

"King Aemon is not a bastard," Bran shot back. "My father would never lie about that."

"Is that so? Then why did he lie about Jon Snow being a bastard to begin with? I thought Starks were known for their honor," Lord Bolton replied casually. If Lord Bran's words had any impact, he didn't show it.

"I am a bastard too," Joffrey replied. "I don't understand."

"You're a bastard only by the Stark's words."

"That's a lie," Bran shouted. Meera reached over and grabbed his hand, whispering into his ear.

"You're alive now, Bran Stark, because I need you alive. That doesn't mean you have to be free. I would choose your words more carefully."

"But it's true," Joffrey replied. "My mother herself admitted we were bastards."

"She lied. The Starks forced her hand. She was still queen and she is still known to have lain with the king. There is nothing to say you cannot still be his children," Lord Bolton replied.

"But we don't look anything like him."

"And the Targaryen pretender bears none of the characteristic Targaryen traits. He has no way of proving that his claim is true but one man's word. The Starks have been in power for too long and they overstepped their boundaries when they went for the crown. I am here to break that power and bring the North into balance with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms."

Joffrey slowly made his way to the table and sat. His mind was racing. He was the crown prince again. It was what he wanted, to have his name restored, but he only felt confusion. His own Uncle Jaime had confirmed them as bastards. He was Kingsguard, he would've known! It had been to his detriment to admit that when he had mistakenly claimed them as his own to prevent them from being beheaded with their mother.

None of this makes sense, Joffrey thought. The Starks had been nothing but kind to him. Lady Catelyn was cold, but the other children had treated them warmly enough when they were still there. He'd had a few conversations with Lord Bran and he'd held no ill will. Before the incident with the bastard babe, Bran had even cracked jokes with him during their lessons to break up the tedium.

After a moment of silence, he looked at Lord Bolton again and said, "You called me 'Your Grace.' Only the king is called that."

Lord Bolton stared at him with a deadly calm that made him shiver. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised the Starks didn't tell you. King Robert Baratheon is dead. We have reason to believe the Bastard Usurper had him killed."

Myrcella gasped but otherwise there was a deadly silence around the table.

"Joffrey, this is the first I've heard of this," Lord Bran said. It chilled Joffrey to see him stare into nothingness towards him, not quite finding his eyes.

"Well, if I'm king, shouldn't I be escorted to King's Landing?"

Lord Bolton chuckled and gave him a small smile. "Not yet, Your Grace. The Bastard Usurper is still entrenched in King's Landing, but not for long. Lord Tywin has a plan of rooting him out. And then you will be restored to your throne, as is your right." Despite the clear proclamations of joy, his eyes remained unnervingly calm and without emotion.

Joffrey should have been thrilled, ecstatic at hearing such news. Yet there was only dread in the pit of his stomach.

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 68 - Daenerys VII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: I would like to thank the readers who are supporting me with their comments, Kudos, bookmarks and faves. You're treasures!

In Chapter 14 - Aemon I, you may recall: Ser Barristan knows about the other timeline.

COVID-19: This pandemic business is serious and I hope you are all taking precautions. I am currently healthy and staying at home. I hope you are too!

Catzrko0l once more did a stellar job ensuring this chapter reads smoothly. Thank you very much! You're the best!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 68

Daenerys VII

She smiled and wondered as she watched Drogon and Rhaellon career and dive to scoop up fish into their jaws. Her heart leaped and her fingers tightened on the railing of the ship as she tried to quell her fierce protectiveness and unease. They had been sailing for a month and while the dragons continued to grow, they were barely the size of dogs. They were still so young and vulnerable that she felt the need to shelter them like a mother bird with her chicks. Out on the open ocean, there were few large birds about, so she allowed them some freedom until her unease became too much and she called them back to the ship.

"Princess, we've almost reached Astapor," Ser Barristan said to her.

Daenerys turned to him. She smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. Although she found the Kingsguard amiable, she continued to maintain a certain distance. She had to remind herself that Ser Barristan was not there strictly to serve her. He had separate orders from another, her nephew. Although she was eager to meet Aemon, she remained guarded. To become more comfortable with Ser Barristan, she would spend a little time each day asking after Aemon. It was peculiar and amusing the way Ser Barristan appeared to brighten at his own king's name. Most of what he sang were praises, so Daenerys took it with a grain of salt. She wondered at how bloody his bloodless war really had been.

"Are you sure this is necessary, Princess? I would prefer to return you straight to Westeros," the old knight said. It fascinated her how, despite his armor, he remained stoic and untouched by the

burning sun. He was always on guard, never more than a few feet from her. He and her Bloodriders couldn't seem to resist eying each other with suspicion.

"You said that you were commanded to follow my orders. I have decided that we shall make a stop in Astapor," Daenerys announced, drawing herself up.

Ser Barristan cocked his head and gave her a meaningful look. "You wish to command the Unsullied," he stated simply.

She gasped and stared at him suspiciously.

"Princess, I may not live in Essos, but I am familiar with much in it. The Unsullied are among the greatest soldiers in the world. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, it is my duty to be informed of such things," he replied.

"Then you'll understand why I need them."

"Not particularly. King Aemon has his own army, the culmination of his allies: the North, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Westerlands, and the Reach. The Unsullied are hardly necessary."

Daenerys drew her mouth into a firm line. "I must insist, Ser Barristan."

He studied her for a moment. She thought she recognized the quirk of a small smile, but it was gone in an instant. "As you wish, Princess," he replied.

She eyed him until he stepped back a few paces and then returned once more to observing her dragons. However, instead of enjoying their cavorting, she became lost in thought. She was still uncertain about how she felt about Ser Barristan. Ser Jorah praised him as the most honorable knight in Westeros, yet he had only words of caution for her. He was a man of duty and had, after all, served the usurper in the intervening years since her family lost the throne. His allegiance was to the king, not to her.

"The king insists on marrying you, likely to solidify his claim to the throne," Ser Jorah had murmured to her one day.

She noticed that he kept a weather eye out for Ser Barristan. While the old knight was always close, he maintained a distance for privacy. Ser Barristan's demeanor also turned stiff and bristling when he saw Ser Jorah, lending to the fact that he clearly did not have a favorable opinion of her knight.

"His claim may be precarious," Ser Jorah had said. "You are a true dragon, Khaleesi. No one can deny that. You need not crawl to him for sanctuary. Make a stand!"

"I have no intention of challenging my own family," Daenerys shot back. "Don't think I have forgotten our conversation in Vaes Tolorro." He had warned her even back then.

"I am not suggesting you take the throne from him. I am suggesting you return to him in a more dignified manner. You are not simply a princess. You are a Khaleesi, who survived the Dothraki Sea and became the Mother of Dragons. Use that influence to win an army. Take power for yourself so that you will be in a better position to negotiate."

Daenerys had fallen quiet as she thought. It made sense. She was not a flower to simply add to a man's collection. Although Ser Barristan spoke highly of King Aemon, that his first intention toward her was to marry did not sit well with her. Viserys had threatened to rape her and reestablish the Targaryen dynasty her whole life. She would never allow herself to be used in the manner that Viserys threatened and Drogo had realized again. Now that she had her dragons, she realized how vulnerable she and they were. She needed to be careful and she needed to secure her own safety.

Despite Ser Jorah's warnings, she still longed to meet her nephew. From the way Ser Barristan spoke of him, King Aemon sounded like an upstanding man of discipline and honor. She hoped he and the Starks were as honorable as both Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan said. That they agreed when they so disliked each other had to mean something.

Ser Jorah stepped out on deck once more and brought Daenerys back to the present. She smiled. What would I do without him? She had nearly lost him multiple times, the most recent when he had refused to step on the deck of the ship. Ser Barristan had given him a letter, which he'd read quickly and stepped aboard. He had not told her what had been in the contents of the letter.

He strode over to her now with a nod and leaned over the railing to watch the dragons.

"We are but a day from Astapor, Khaleesi," he said.

"So I've been told," Daenerys replied.

"Have you thought about how to get the Unsullied? Ser Barristan may be amenable, but even he does not have enough money to buy more than one or two. I doubt he would spend it freeing slaves, no matter how it might please you."

"I have given it thought. I have little enough in value as it is, but those men deserve their freedom," Daenerys said. "I will free them. If they wish it, they shall serve as my army."

Ser Jorah shifted against her and she was reminded that he had sold men into slavery. He had changed though. He was no longer the type to engage in such a heinous crime. "You can't free everyone, Khaleesi."

She shot him the superior look that she had given Ser Barristan. "I can free enough. If they so choose, I will then take them to Westeros, where they will be free."

He nodded. "No one would sell them into slavery there." He shifted again and there was an expression of unease.

Daenerys eyed him and then finally asked, "Is that what your letter was about? Your own freedom?"

He glanced at her sharply but then nodded again. "The letter I received...is a pardon from King Aemon. He is willing to overlook my previous crimes, but I will never be reinstated as Lord of Bear Island. My aunt, Lady Maege, deserves it by far."

She hummed in agreement, but as he spoke, it struck her that King Aemon had written a pardon specifically for Ser Jorah. She narrowed her eyes. "How does the king know you're with me?"

Ser Jorah couldn't quite meet her eyes and he wetted his lips nervously.

"You're a spy," she whispered. The alarm and fear chilled her blood despite the hot afternoon sun. She turned away from him.

"Khaleesi, please! I wished to return to Westeros. It was only as I came to know you that I changed my mind. You deserve the throne, Khaleesi. More than the usurper, more than this Aemon."

"I will not allow you to speak treason within earshot of me, ser," the Kingsguard suddenly spoke up with a steely edge to his voice. "King Aemon is the rightful King of Westeros. Princess Daenerys may be worthy in her own way, but if she is to rule, she must marry him. That is the only way."

"Enough! Both of you," she shouted. "Ser Barristan, I have already agreed to return to Westeros. My decision on whether I marry will be contingent upon meeting my nephew, the king. Drogon, Rhaellon, come!"

At her call, the dragons twisted around in midair to follow her. She kept them at her side at nearly all times, except during the most beautiful days. She had devoted herself to teaching them control. It would prove useful to not have them breathe their flame for any reason while in the belly of a wooden ship.

She bristled when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see Ser Barristan following her at a distance with one of her bloodriders walking with him. Neither of them would let her go far, but they kept their distance.

It seems I can only rely on myself, Daenerys thought acidly. Myself and my dragons. The both of them think I am weak and ignorant. She sat on the bed and stroked both dragons as they sidled up to her. They will see.

-The Dragon's Roar-

"Dracarys!"

Daenerys' lips curled in satisfaction as Drogon sprayed the slaver holding his chain with flame. Even as he burned, the slaver continued to hold the chain as if he thought it might yet save him from the dragonfire. She took in a shuddering breath and abruptly looked away, her stomach churning at the burning smell of flesh.

It had taken every ounce of composure she had to politely listen to the slaver's speal regarding the Unsullied while he insulted her in Valyrian, clearly expecting her to not know it. She had not been

able to contain her satisfaction when she proceeded to speak to the Unsullied in Valyrian and saw his growing horror. Jhiqui held the chain of Rhaellon and she hastily dropped it to let the cream colored dragon join her brother as they started spreading their flames among the slavers' guards.

Now you will no longer enslave children. Your practice is broken, she thought. The children will suffer no more from your horror. He had deserved death for the way he had tortured the innocent. Even the young slave woman serving as a translator bore the scars on her back of a life served at a Master's feet. That young woman stood next to her, remarkably serene as she witnessed the carnage wrought by the Unsullied and her dragons. She was dark skinned with large innocent eyes and they were of an age.

Daenerys turned to her now and asked in a pleasant tone, "What is your name?"

"This one's name is Missandei, Khaleesi."

"You are free now. You may go where you choose," Daenerys replied.

Missandei's eyes widened in surprise and hope. "If I may, Khaleesi, it would be an honor to serve at your side."

"I would be pleased to have you join my family," Daenerys said, smiling.

As the chaos continued around them, Daenerys turned towards her guards: the bloodriders, Ser Barristan, and Ser Jorah. Her bloodriders were as unmoved as ever, Ser Jorah stared around at the carnage with his mouth hanging open in slight shock, and Ser Barristan appeared unsurprised but troubled.

"Princess, I admire your resolve and your will, but I suggest we leave with all haste. King Aemon is not going to be interested in sparking a war in Essos. You are no longer a lone queen fighting for her territory, but a princess under the arm of House Targaryen ruled by King Aemon. Your actions represent Westeros," Ser Barristan said as he wore a deep frown.

Daenerys regarded Ser Barristan silently and hoped her frustration did not show on her face. There were still thousands upon thousands of men, women, and children enslaved in the many city-states across Essos. They all deserved their freedom. If only I could make Essos mirror Westeros in the way of slavery, she mused with some sadness. The slaves in Astapor would have to do. With luck, word would spread about how the Masters in Astapor were overcome and those once enslaved

took the reins of their future. She hoped it would be enough to inspire all slaves in the other cities of Essos to equally take their fate into their hands. "Come, we shall wait aboard The Rhaella ."

"Princess, we cannot fit ten thousand Unsullied onto her. We need more ships," Ser Barristan replied.

"It should be easy enough to find more in the harbor."

"Will you, too, take those by force?" He asked.

"This would be easier, Ser Barristan, if you did not question me with such suspicion," she said with a sigh of frustration.

"I need not reiterate that Westeros does not care to be embroiled in a war with Essos caused by a branch of House Targaryen. It would behoove you to belay suspicion. House Targaryen remains tarnished from the scars that your own father left on it before he perished. King Aemon has had to work very hard to rebuild trust in the Targaryens again," Ser Barristan said.

Daenerys turned sharply and narrowed her eyes at him. "How do you mean? The Targaryens were just and honorable rulers until the usurper began his rebellion."

Ser Barristan raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. "You are unaware of the events that led to Robert Baratheon rebelling?"

"I heard there was something about a Stark...lady who seduced Prince Rhaegar," Daenerys replied.

"I would delight in setting the record straight, if you will allow me? But preferably back on the ship, as we are returning to Westeros," Ser Barristan said, looking around once more at the carnage that waged around them. The Unsullied were so skilled and numerous that none of the remaining guards had been able to reach them. Even if they had, they would've had to get through her bloodriders, and then the two Westerosi knights.

"I will hold you to that, Ser Barristan. Drogon, Rhaellon, to me," Daenerys cried out in the maelstrom of sound. She saw the dragons circle back and descend so that they were flying just high enough that both of their chains dangled within reach and she took hold of them again and

walked forward with her head held high.

Daenerys called for any nearby Unsullied, most of whom finished off their targets and reformed in front of her, bowing their heads. In Valyrian, she commanded them to peacefully secure all ships within the bay. They set out on their appointed task. In less than an hour, the captains of the largest ships were presented to her. She and her guards had left the arena where they had initially viewed the Unsullied and repurposed an abandoned shop for a shelter from the scorching sun. The dragons perched on the roof of the building above, hissing and preening themselves like cats.

Daenerys leveled her attention at the men who were marched before her. They shrank away from the dragons as they passed below their perch only for their knees to give out once they finally reached her. She couldn't decide if that was their fear making their knees weak or if they were simply being courteous by falling on them. It pleased her to soothe their fears away and she couldn't resist smiling once the terror melted from their faces.

The speech was the same: "I apologize for the violence, but I seek ships to Westeros to bear my ten thousand Unsullied. King Aemon and I shall reward you for your efforts if you were to assist me in this." The first part usually left the people staring in bewilderment and awe as though they couldn't quite believe her words.

"If, however, you wish not to take part in my return to my homeland, I understand and bid you well. I shall command my Unsullied to release your ships to go about your business," she said. "However, if my Unsullied find that you keep slaves among your cargo, they will be summarily released. Is that understood?"

She had seen a half dozen men by then and the second part of her demand tended to be met with a mixture of relief or disgruntlement. It made it easy to see who profited from slaves. She had half a mind to set her dragons on them, but Ser Barristan leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Princess, you cannot execute these men without a trial. Eliminating a horrid practice is one thing, but slavery is entrenched in Essos. All you would be doing is temporarily disrupting trade, which will only make you hated in the end. With the best interests for the reputation of House Targaryen and Westeros at heart, I must counsel you to not execute these men. Mercy is not a weakness."

Daenerys gave him an irritated stare and set her mouth into a firm line. I am not such a fool to not know that they won't return to the practice of selling and trading slaves in a heartbeat, she thought, but she closed her eyes and breathed. A vision of Viserys' countenance glaring at her but marred with thick gold having solidified onto his face came to her and she felt her breath freeze in her chest. The roiling rage from when he took Rhaego from her threatened to consume her, but a thought floating through the sea of red caused it to recede almost immediately: What would Viserys do to these men if they angered him so?

He would burn them alive, she thought, with the dragons. Without the dragons, he would take pleasure in beating them to death as he had done with the slaves in Drogo's Khalasar. Just like that, the desire to see the men perished left her and she felt an empty husk.

She let them be. A couple of them even pledged devotion to escorting her to Westeros. For a single moment, she considered outright denying the slave traders the opportunity, but Westeros was a land without slaves. Perhaps they would then be able to find better fortunes that no longer involved the enslavement of anyone. It seemed foolish not to grant them that opportunity. If there was any trouble, the Unsullied placed on the ships would enforce her rule.

After the eighth man had been escorted away, a woman stepped under the overhang. Daenerys sat up and cocked her head with interest. She was dark of skin wearing saltworn leather pants and a shirt and vest that left her arms bare. Thick swirling tattoos covered her arms in a design that struck Daenerys as cultural and a plethora of braids like the tentacles of a kraken fell around her shoulders. Unlike the men who had come before her, she did not tremble, but instead held her head high with the self-assurance of a queen and wore a keen smile.

"Khaleesi," the woman said in a melodic voice and a thick accent she didn't recognize, dropping herself into a deep bow. "It is an honor."

Daenerys raised her eyebrows at her and grinned. "Who might you be?"

The woman stood up and gave her a wide smile. "Lucia Hardy."

Daenerys saw Ser Barristan shift at her side.

"I see your Kingsguard is familiar. I am of the old House Hardy on Crackclaw Point in Westeros. My family branch split with the victory of the Usurper Robert Baratheon. It is with great pleasure that I learned he received a taste of his own medicine with the rise of King Aemon Targaryen," Lucia replied, her smile turning vicious.

"You're loyal to House Targaryen?" Daenerys replied with no small amount of surprise. Viserys had comforted himself over the years insisting that there were houses and people in Westeros awaiting their return. As they had continued to run from assassins, survive on meager rations, and move from hovel to hovel, she had eventually begun to doubt the veracity of that claim. Magister Illyrio's support had lessened her skepticism at least until Ser Jorah had explained to her that Magister Illyrio never extended a kindness he did not expect back.

"Yes, Khaleesi. We swore to your ancestor Visenya Targaryen and have kept our word ever since! We may be in the Crownlands but we shun the mainlanders and thumbed our nose at the Usurper. Ours was a bounty he never collected as long as he was king," Captain Lucia declared proudly.

"Oh?" Daenerys asked.

"They refused to pay their taxes, Princess. Men were sent to collect and few ever returned. King Robert did not consider them enough of a bother to try too hard," Ser Barristan answered. She thought she heard an undercurrent of disapproval in his voice.

"I see. I thank you for your efforts in resisting the rule of the Usurper," Daenerys replied. "You have heard that King Aemon has taken back the throne as is his right. Do you support him?"

Captain Lucia chuckled. "A boy raised by the Starks is hardly interesting, whether he is Targaryen or not. You, however...are far more fascinating. Surviving a marriage with a Khal, hatching dragons and becoming their mother. It is the making of a grand legend. I would be a fool not to heed the winds that blow in your direction, Khaleesi. My ships are your ships for whatever your purpose."

Daenerys' eyes widened and she smiled. "Ships?"

"Aye, Khaleesi. I am a merchant and I have several on hand. I commanded them to blockade the harbor once I saw the other merchants attempt to flee. You shall have more than enough to bear you and your Unsullied to Westeros," Captain Lucia bowed again.

"I am flattered by your loyalty and devotion, Captain Lucia, however, I have learned from bitter experience that no one offers such kindness without a price. Name your terms and I shall consider them," Daenerys replied. She was grateful for the schooling she had received in bearing herself and had finally wrested her excitement in her control.

Captain Lucia grinned again. "I knew I had chosen well. I wish to accompany you, to be a part of your legend. As lady luck smiles upon you, so I expect her to smirk at me. And a bit of gold wouldn't go amiss."

"Very well, I accept your aid, Captain. I will fill your ships to the brim with gold."

"I hope not, Khaleesi. A sunken ship can't sail to Westeros," Captain Lucia replied and burst into laughter.

"Not quite to the brim then," Daenerys said. "We have our ships. We are done here. Ser Jorah, accompany Captain Lucia. Order the Unsullied who are not holding our ships to return to the Plaza of Pride."

There was a moment of hesitation and Ser Jorah replied, "Yes, Khaleesi." She could hear Captain Lucia laughing and boasting long after they were out of sight.

She followed him with a frosty look. The knowledge of his betrayal from the day before left a raw wound in her heart. Despite his pleading eyes and the pain in his voice, she had yet to forgive him. He would still fulfill the orders she gave him, especially now that there were Unsullied to spear him a dozen different ways if he attempted to abandon his duty to her. Or worse.

"Princess, if I may?" Ser Barristan asked stiffly.

Daenerys sighed internally. She could appreciate his stalwart presence more now, especially after Ser Jorah's betrayal, but he was not fully on her side. As much as it irritated her, she could hardly begrudge him staying loyal to her nephew. "Yes, Ser Barristan?"

"I don't trust that captain. Merchants are a fast and loose lot. They don't become successful enough to have several ships by acting out of kindness or expending their resources out of loyalty. The seas are dangerous, especially for a woman. You might find her more ruthless than her appearance suggests."

There was heat in Daenerys' voice as she said, "I am more than familiar with ruthlessness. And if you haven't forgotten, I now have ten thousand Unsullied at my command. It would be easy to put her and her crew to slaughter if need be and she knows it. I see no harm in allowing a tagalong."

"If it's all the same, I must insist on being at your side at all times; either me, your bloodriders, or Ser Jorah." She bristled and glared at him, but he continued, "Even as much as I dislike Ser Jorah, I know his motives. He is loyal to you."

"Very well," she replied, but then straightened up as she saw her Unsullied begin to march towards her.

"These ones are yours to command, Your Grace," One of them said in Valyrian, dipping his head into a short bow.

"Yes, but first I would have you choose your commanders."

Chapter End Notes

Author's Note: Thank you for reading!

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Chapter 69 - Brienne IV

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Welcome to another chapter! I hope you are all doing well, staying safe and healthy. Thank you to those who support this work with your comments, your views, and your Kudos. I greatly appreciate it.

As always, I'd like to thank Catzrko0l for being an amazing beta. You're the best!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 69

Brienne IV

Brienne was down at the grounds waiting at the edge of the training ring, suited out in her armor, her helmet held loosely in her arm at her side. At first, she received merely curious looks from everyone; nobles and peasants alike went about their day, but soon a crowd started amassing like flies drawn to honey.

She was waiting for Ser Osmund Kettleblack to arrive.

After her tea with Lady Margaery, she had gone back to pace her room. Normally, she would still be in the training yard getting a few last hits in, determined not to give her skills the chance to diminish. She decided it would be a better use of her time to rest her muscles and think.

Ser Osmund Kettleblack had received her father's blessing and had offered her a hand in marriage. They were to duel over it the next morning. She had originally been tying herself into knots over whether she should win or lose until Lady Margaery had summoned her. With the new information floating in her head, her conundrum became even knottier. Lord Jaime Lannister loved her. Supposedly. He hadn't spoken this aloud to anyone, but Lady Margaery was convinced of it.

Or she could be trying to humiliate me, Brienne thought, the ever-present dark thoughts and learned cynicism bubbled up under her confusion. But to what purpose? Lady Margaery herself had quite plainly stated that Brienne was hardly a threat to her position as Lady Stark or anyone else except the other ladies who hoped to catch Lord Jaime's eye. She had even gone out of her way to give Brienne information about Ser Osmund's reputation, presuming it was true. But then why would Lady Margaery lie? She considered going to someone else to see if the same words about Ser Osmund fell from their lips, but who? The only friends she had made since she had arrived on the mainland were Lady Maege and Lady Dacey. She imagined that anyone she went to

would simply jeer at her and tease her about Ser Osmund.

Regardless of the truth about either of the two men, her heart ached at the thought of Lord Jaime. Whatever he felt, Brienne remembered the way her heart soared when he strode across the ground ready to kiss swords. She even missed that arrogant smirk he always wore. The claw marks adorning his face had faded into pale pink skin that stood out against his bronze coloring, but she thought the marks made him appear even more intimidating and it sparked an odd heat in her belly. There was always a mirthful light dancing in his eyes as though he were truly happy to see her.

He is happy to see you, she tried to convince herself. He had yet to make an overt move, either by having a walk in the gardens or speaking to her at length, besides the conversation they had shared in his quarters. She barely even saw him now that his duties as Hand consumed him with the king gone. Could she wait for him?

Her duties to her father and her island beckoned from the back of her mind. The thought of never marrying and bearing an heir made her wilt as she imagined the disappointment on her father's face. Yet Ser Osmund Kettleblack had caused unease to stir in her chest. She still shuddered at the sentence he whispered to her on their parting: I look forward to having you spread on your back.

She clenched her jaw, feeling the anger stir her blood. After thinking further on the comment, it sickened her. Now that she knew he had a dubious reputation at best, it was clear to her that he didn't value her any more than he valued any other woman. Could she even trust a word he said? She doubted it and thanked the Seven that Lady Margaery had at least been willing to give her information to make an informed decision.

Brienne would not allow Ser Osmund Kettleblack to win. Lord Jaime Lannister undoubtedly held her heart, but as much as she hoped she held his, she couldn't be sure. She would sooner let Tarth wither away without an Evenstar than deliberately give it to someone who only saw her as a walking cunt. If he didn't recognize her value then he would surely not recognize the value in Tarth.

I've fought one duel for my hand and won. I can do it again, she commanded herself, tipping her head higher in confidence. But she knew it wouldn't be easy. Ser Humphrey Wagstaff had been old, his fighting form gone to seed when he had become her third and final betrothal. The buried memory of him rose to the forefront of her mind and she trembled with rage as she recalled him demanding that she be a proper lady with dresses and all once they were married. She hadn't accepted such ridiculous demands from him and she wouldn't accept it now.

Ser Osmund appeared with an eager smile. "Well met, my Lady. You look most formidable."

She didn't smile and gave him a curt nod.

He cocked his head and his smile turned mocking. "Tongue-tied, my lady? Or are you that eager to be my wife?"

"Let's get on with it," she growled and pulled her helm over her head.

"A lady who makes her point. The other ladies in the Keep could stand to learn from you," Ser Osmund remarked. Under normal circumstances, Brienne would preen at being favorably compared against the daintier ladies, but coming from him it only increased her disgust. It was clear that he wouldn't respect any lady, no matter how well-bred and she wouldn't wish such disdain on her worst enemy.

She brought up the blunted wooden sword in front of her.

"Practice swords?" Ser Osmund's expression became a sneer. "I stopped using those by the time I turned ten."

"So be it," Brienne replied. She tossed the wooden sword out of the ring. The crowd that had formed bent like trees in a high breeze to evade the sword as it landed among them before they reformed around it. In the next instant, she pulled out her sword and listened to the sweet song of the steel leaving its sheath and dropped into a fighting stance.

Ser Osmund drew his own sword out slowly and she recognized a feral intensity to his gaze. Lord Jaime had similarly vicious eyes when he was at his most formidable. Ser Osmund charged at her. Instead of meeting his sword she jumped out of the way. She swung to clip his heels but was surprised by his ability to turn on a dime and bat her sword away. She noticed him dig his foot into the loose soil and kick up a spray of dirt but her height meant it barely reached her; she huffed to keep the dust from her nose and kept her eyes on him. He kept swinging and Brienne was forced to meet each blow and she felt a thrill of fear as she nearly crumpled under them. In a last bid to stay in the fight as he attempted to crush her, she kicked out her leg and connected with his knee.

As his knee gave out, she gathered herself and leashed her fear. Although she hadn't trained with Lord Jaime in a few weeks, his lessons rose to her mind as she reevaluated the fight. Jaime didn't win because he was the strongest, he won because he was the smartest. He knew how to change his style to meet his opponent. He became quick and light on his feet and instead wore down his

opponent until he could either injure them or force their sword from their hand. For an opponent like Ser Osmund, she would have to adapt like Jaime and outlast him. Those brutal hits he had dealt her were powerful but draining. If he continued his frantic pace, he would wear down enough for her to engage him.

"Impressive," he mocked, "but not impressive enough." He teased her sword with his and she flinched a few times, which made him grin, but it wasn't enough to open herself up to an attack.

Brienne was grateful for the gloves as her palms sweated. The hilt would've slipped through her fingers otherwise. Easy, easy, she told herself. Be confident. You can win . She released a breath and relaxed, feeling her senses heighten as she followed Ser Osmund. He feinted, but she saw and drove his sword away from her.

He attempted another flurry of moves, slashing at the top, attempting to push past her defenses at the bottom, but she was able to follow. His moves were now more reserved, lighter, as he probed for a weak spot. Brienne gave no quarter and continued to move in tandem with him, mindful of the edge of the circle they were dancing in.

Ser Osmund's expression grew angry as she continued to be passive. "For a woman who prides herself on being a warrior, you're gutless. Fight me like a man, bitch!"

She smirked underneath her helmet. Jaime had elicited many of the same reactions from other opponents who challenged him. He always dropped them to their knees, begging for relief by the time he was finished with them. Kettleblack's words only cemented the fact that she would sooner drown herself in the sea than marry him.

He became erratic, relying entirely on the element of surprise and speed in an attempt to catch her off guard, but it made his movements sloppy and flagrant. There was a flurry of attacks, but she easily fended them off and continued to keep her guard up as she allowed him to be on the offense. He growled and made sudden long lunges, but she blocked them. He was tiring.

"I've had enough of this! You're mine," he snarled and swept up to her quickly and hammered her sword. Her muscles trembled with the effort to keep him off her and she felt sweat soaking her face as he nearly loosened the hilt from her hand with one of his heavy blows, but she kept falling back and side-stepping to not fall beneath him.

When he relented, he was blowing like a horse that had just sprinted a mile. It's now or never, she commanded herself. This time she engaged. There was some pleasure as she rained her blows down on him, forcing him back. His face changed from enraged to fearful in a matter of moments.

He fell to one knee. Brienne brought the flat of her blade down onto his arm. He howled as the sword fell from his fingers. She kicked him over and crouched on his chest, her blade at his throat.

"Say it," she growled.

"I yield! I yield," he cried out as he stared up at her in fear and dismay.

With that, Brienne allowed his head to fall with a clunk as she climbed off of him and sheathed her sword. She started walking away only to halt as she finally looked at the crowd. Lord Jaime was standing on the far side with his squire, Pod, by his side. She would normally call the expression on his face inscrutable, but she had come to understand that he became like that when he was under stress. Even as he looked at her, she thought she saw a slight quirk of his lips at the edge. With a boldness that came from victory, she began walking over to him.

Halfway there, she saw his eyes widen in fear. His mouth opened and he immediately reached for his sword. In the next instant, she grabbed her own sword and swung blindly behind her.

"Look out!" Lord Jaime shouted.

Brienne screamed as her sword was pushed out of the way and Ser Osmund's blade connected, ripping her gauntlet and her skin open in the process. There was a clatter as her sword fell to the ground and she hugged her arm to herself. She stared in horror as Ser Osmund brought his blade back for a killing blow. Just as it started on its way down, he gasped and then howled, the blade narrowly missing her face. Lord Jaime had stuck Brightroar up into his armpit and blood spilled down the blade. The Lord Hand brought the blade down and allowed Ser Osmund to crumple. The dishonorable cad was trying to clutch at the wound, to put pressure on it, but she wasn't sure it was enough to stem the blood pouring from it and save his life.

She turned to Lord Jaime in shock. "Th-thank you."

He rounded on her and she stepped back at the fury. His eyes burned like fire and his jaw was clenched. "Haven't I taught you anything?! Never turn your back on a foe unless he's dead! " Lord Jaime reamed her.

Despite being taller than him, she hunched under his gaze and trembled as her face flushed with humiliation.

"Brienne, Brienne," Ladies Maege and Dacey both walked over, staring at Lord Jaime in appall.

"Take her to the Maester," he snapped. Then he sheathed his sword and turned to head straight to the Tower of the Hand. His squire seemed torn as he stared at them and back at Lord Jaime, but then he chased after his Lord and fell into step just behind him.

"Are you alright?" Lady Maege asked.

"I think I will be," Brienne said, seeing the blood well up beneath her fingers in dismay. "Marriage avoided." She gave the ladies a weak smile.

"Come. Let's get you treated," Lady Maege said.

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 70 - Jaime XXI

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! Thank you so much for continuing to stick with and give your support to this project. It makes writing this so much easier than it would've otherwise been. You're all champs!

If you were wondering whether TDR will see a change in schedule as a result of this quarantine happening all over the world, it is currently going to keep the same schedule of 1 update every 2 weeks.

As always, I would like to thank Catzrko0l for providing editing on this project. She makes your reading experience just that much better.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 70

Jaime XXI

He stayed hidden behind the side door for as long as he dared, listening to the chattering of the crowd and longing to block out the color that streaked and faded before his vision like fireflies. His heart felt like a caged rabbit in his chest and his very being trembled with rage. He struggled to regain control of his anger, but it burned like wildfire. He was itching for a fight, but he was expected at court.

Jaime reached up and clenched a hand around the leather strap that held the key to the wight's cage in place. Knowing it was secure brought him some relief. He itched to ensure it was still in its chest, but refrained for fear of drawing more attention to it. So far, few seemed interested and the soldiers he had placed there remained loyal to him. Had they informed his father? Would his father even care? He noticed at night that he had a tendency to grab the key in his sleep and hold it close as though he were afraid someone would try to cut it away from him. Perhaps it was a deceptive hope, but it was one of the few things he hadn't heard much interest in.

Brienne had just had her duel against the loathsome Ser Osmund Kettleblack for her hand in marriage. She won, but only just. And then the gutless worm had aimed to kill her behind her back. Were it not for Jaime's cry of alarm, she would've been run through. Dead. Beyond his reach once more.

Her own voice had screeched in an alarming orange and Jaime feared that he had been too late. It took everything in him to stab Ser Osmund only once. It was a potentially fatal skewering, but

Jaime had been in no fit state to be delicate. He had plainly been defending someone against dishonorable intentions, so whether the man died or not mattered little to him.

Jaime had never experienced the feeling of panic. Dread, despair, doubt, sadness, and even fear, but never panic. Not even when the Night King had been closing on them. Especially not then. All he had wanted then was to find his death however it was to be. He thought he'd be free, but he had found himself imprisoned once more. His body was whole and healthy, young, still untouched by the ravages of war, but subject to the torture of being in Cersei's presence. The only thing that had kept him mildly hopeful was the promise of seeing Brienne's freckled face once more.

It hadn't been enough. Living for better than a decade without a friend in the world had worn him down more thoroughly than he had ever imagined and his hope had twisted into despair. Brienne is better off without me. What could she want with an old kingslayer like me, he had lamented. Brienne was tough, she was strong. She would have found her way in the world, with or without him, and then she would've been a true knight, untainted by the cynicism of a murderous oathbreaker.

But the Gods had had other plans. Yet they continue to mock me, tease me, he thought as he clenched his teeth. He had been so patient. Nearly two decade's worth. He had never waited so long for anything in his life, yet he had been forced to keep Brienne at arm's length even after meeting her in the fear that she'd mistakenly draw his father's ire. Yet his attention to her meant she had caught other eyes as well. Unworthy eyes. They hadn't deserved her, her courage and forthrightness. You don't deserve her either, he mocked himself but put it to the back of his mind. He didn't deserve her, but he wasn't about to let her slip through his fingers again if he could help it.

When she had stayed by his bedside after his seizure, the desire to pull her close had been overwhelming, but he had been forced to stay his hand. Would she have stayed so long if she hadn't felt something for him in return? Was she kept there merely by his authority? He was certain there was something to the small smiles she gave him when he had approached her for a morning spar. He couldn't be sure, but he would have to take the first step. She would not, not least out of propriety. But that first step couldn't be taken until he was certain his father wouldn't be a threat to her.

Jaime had taken for granted how undesirable she had been to all but that wildling, Tormund Giantsbane. Now that Brienne was in the Red Keep, training in front of nearly the entire kingdom of lords and their sons, they had started to take notice. If the duel with Ser Osmund Kettleblack demonstrated anything to Jaime, it was that he was running out of time. Aemon had to return if he wanted to focus his attention on winning over Brienne once more.

I'd be in a much better position if I hadn't just yelled at her, he thought sourly and he felt his face heat from a mixture of his anger and shame. If he wished for the Gods to supplant him to another

time, it would be right before that moment so that he could control his response. It hadn't been Brienne's fault that a knight had once more proved himself unworthy of the title. If he survived his stabbing, Jaime was going to make the effort to strip him of his title.

"Lord Jaime, it's time," Podrick gently reminded him. The poor boy looked uneasy and worried about him. It almost sickened him at the amount of trust Podrick seemed to place in him. Poor, stupid boy, he thought viciously to himself. I am not worthy of the devotion of a boy like him.

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach but Jaime raised his head and walked out. Silence immediately fell as he strode to the chair that still stood in front of the Iron Throne. When he sat down, he kept his back as straight and stiff as a board and peered at the audience. A few men and women appeared to flinch as his eyes passed over them; undoubtedly, the rumor of his outburst had already made the rounds.

Once the petitioning began, Jaime could feel his anger leak away. The tension eased from his shoulders and his heart finally slowed as he sank into the routine. For once, he was grateful for the distraction. Finding a way to win Brienne was a pressing problem, but it had to wait. Since he didn't see her among the audience at court, he presumed she was still being treated by a maester. She wouldn't hide from him; she had too much courage for that.

He spotted his father standing in his usual spot with Ser Kevan at his side. Although his father never smiled, Jaime could tell by the way he was holding himself—upright and at ease—that he was brimming with smug self-assurance. Jaime felt his ire peak once more and he clenched his jaw, willing himself not to sneer at his own father.

Jaime's thoughts were jarred when the Master of Ceremonies called out, "Ser Edmure of House Tully."

He wrenched his eyes back to Ser Edmure who was looking as grave as Ned Stark. He nearly snorted at the dark gray attire, with a Tully blue sash and red trimming. As Ser Edmure strode down the carpet, he carried himself with such an air of majesty, that Jaime couldn't be certain he wasn't about to declare himself king. Even his kneeling seemed overwrought.

"Lord Hand, I request that the Riverlands' forces be allowed to depart back to our homes. I have received word that Lords Mallister and Blackwood have each suffered raids by the Ironborn within the last week. Our people are suffering; we must be allowed to defend them," Ser Edmure said with a pleading expression, his voice a wavering yellow in his anxiety. "As you know, my father has been ill for some time and is unfit to lead a force to their defense. It is my responsibility to lead in his stead."

Jaime dragged his eyes over to Robb Stark and found Theon Greyjoy attempting to ineffectually hide behind Robb. Theon froze when he caught Jaime's eye. He was the very picture of terror. Jaime doubted he'd had a role to play in this renewed harassment. He ground his teeth at this new element of chaos. As soon as Aemon left, it felt like Westeros had jumped off a cliff. Varys had reported the same news a few days prior. It had gone against every fiber of his being not to act, but he had managed. He and Aemon could not afford to let any more of his allied forces—those who were loyal through Lord Stark—to simply depart. It left far too many unfriendly soldiers in the Capital.

He allowed himself time to ponder and his eyes fixed to a point on the ground as he dwelled on the problem. Blackwood's land was on the west coast, right near where the Iron Islands were located, so they were a natural target. If he looked at a map, he was certain he'd find Blackwood Vale right on the border of the Westerlands. Lord Mallister's lands were higher up the coast and while the castle was located on a cliff, the lands around it were at ground level. No doubt at Ser Edmure's call-to-arms, Lord Mallister and Lord Blackwood had left minimal guard which led to easy pickings.

Jaime's eyes roamed the hall and right near the front, his eyes fell on Ser Stevron Frey. The man had been standing with his chest puffed, as he usually did and he paraded around the grounds like the king had entrusted him with his greatest secret. He wilted now at the small smile that lifted the scowl from Jaime's face, but he kept a brave front.

"Ser Stevron Frey!"

"Yuh-yes, my Lord Hand."

"I recall you've spoken highly of your feats in battle, dispatching bandits on the King's Road in Frey lands, is that correct?"

Ser Stevron's face twitched, but he nodded and said, "Yes, Lord Hand."

"The Ironborn are the equivalent of bandits. You should have little problem dispatching them."

Ser Stevron Frey pursed his lips in dismay and gave a short nod. "Yes, my Lord Hand. I shall leave at once."

He turned to leave, but Jaime's voice stopped him. "Not so fast. The area that the Ironborn are

raiding is quite vast. You will need more than just your men to secure the coastline." Jaime's eyes drifted over to where his uncle and father stood. "Uncle Kevan."

Although there was no visible change in expression, the demeanor of his father shifted from being at ease to stiff as a stone pillar. Jaime imagined that if he were to speak, there would be a dangerous red tone to his voice.

Kevan was stunned by the address, but then he too stepped forward. "Yes, Lord Hand?"

"The Ironborn are raiding on the edge of the Westerlands. I want you to take your contingent and go with Ser Stevron Frey to secure the coastline from The Crag to Seagard. I will leave it in yours and Ser Stevron Frey's capable hands as to how you intend to distribute your soldiers."

For a moment, Kevan stood staring at Jaime as if he had been asked to join the Night's Watch. "As you command, Lord Hand, so it shall be done," Kevan replied.

"Very well. You are dismissed to start preparing for your march," Jaime ordered.

His uncle gave his father a questioning look, but turned to march off. Tywin narrowed his eyes at Jaime but otherwise continued to stand as if rooted to the very spot. Jaime turned back to Ser Edmure. "Does that satisfy you?"

He gaped at him in confusion and shock. He moved his mouth as if he intended to speak but thought better of it each time. Finally, he said, "Yes, uh, yes, that is satisfying, my Lord Hand."

"Good. You're dismissed," Jaime replied.

When Ser Edmure walked away, his shoulders were hunched as though he had been scolded by his father. There were a few more petitioners, one of which included a merchant airing his grievances without the other party present. Jaime had him tossed for wasting his time—"I don't settle for half the story!"—and then a musician who wished to sing a song about the Bloodless War. Jaime attempted to turn him away by suggesting he return once King Aemon had, but the musician insisted. He strummed his lute and bored everyone with a tune that didn't even rhyme. Jaime searched for Lord Cyrus in the crowd and found him cringing with every broken note.

Then the Master of Ceremonies called out, "Ser Lyn Corbray."

Jaime wished he had raised his voice quickly enough to end court, but he refocused his attention. He narrowed his eyes at the knight that came striding down the aisle. He was dressed in his full armor and the telltale herald of a Falcon and a Moon adorned his chest. Ser Lyn kneeled quickly, but he kept his head down and was silent.

"You may speak, Ser Lyn," Jaime commanded.

"My Lord Hand, I come from the Eyrie with dire news. Lady Arryn continues to struggle with her health and remains resilient, however she has grown concerned about the danger to Lord Robyn Arryn. Our patrols have thinned since the army was brought here to King's Landing and the Mountain clans have grown bold again. Merchants are no longer safe to drive their wagons up to the Bloody Gate to replenish our supplies. Lady Arryn has bid me to ask that you return her forces to the Vale to secure our lands once more." His voice showed the deep purple of lying.

Jaime felt the muscles tighten in his shoulders again and he surveyed the man cautiously. The Blackfish was in charge of the Bloody Gate. Had he sent this man in his place? If he had, wouldn't Ser Lyn be invoking the Blackfish's name instead? But there was no getting around the color of his voice. No one, not even Baelish himself, had managed to manipulate his voice to the point where their true intentions couldn't be sussed out by him.

It was long known that the Mountain Clans were a constant hindrance to the travelers that dared to climb to the Bloody Gate. His voice had been close to blue and Jaime wondered for a moment if this is what a half-truth looked like. Although he had seen blended voices before, Baelish tended to speak in straight lies only, never once attempting the truth, whether he knew it or not. But what was he lying about? That Lady Arryn had sent him or that the situation in the Vale was far different than he suggested?

Has the quarantine broken? Jaime thought and he felt himself break out into a cold sweat. If that was the case, then Littlefinger knew they had been lying about the reasons for Lady Arryn's imprisonment. Aemon had deliberately used Littlefinger's name to inspire her confession, so Baelish would know that he was suspected in Lord Jon Arryn's murder. If that were the case, the knowledge would have reached Littlefinger weeks earlier, but he had seen no change in his voice or demeanor during their small council meetings.

Varys hadn't said anything, but was that something Varys would mention? He had been Kingsguard to Aerys and Varys had not been quite trustworthy even then. Jaime didn't have enough to hang over his head other than vague threats and he knew better than to menace from a position of ignorance because otherwise Varys might feed him information that he liked but was not necessarily true. That had happened more than once with Aerys.

"My Lord Hand?" The man was brave enough to interrupt his musings and he felt a grudging respect for him.

Jaime cocked his head as he weighed his answer, studying Ser Lyn carefully. Should I play it coy or bold? His gut suggested coy, but his heart begged to be bold. He never had been good at being coy anyway.

"If the situation is so dire, Ser Lyn, then why must you lie about it?"

Ser Lyn Corbray froze and paled under his glare. "Forgive me, my Lord Hand, but I do not lie."

"Yes, you do," Jaime replied in a quiet, measured tone. But his voice was a deep, dark red. "You are not telling the whole truth. It's a simple enough request, typically granted. Why must you lie about the circumstances?"

The knight flushed over the scrutiny. Where others might look ashamed or terrified, he instead gritted through clenched teeth, "I am not lying."

"Yes, you are. Lady Arryn is in quarantine and, for her own health, has been banned from communicating with the outside world. The Blackfish is in charge while she recovers."

"The Blackfish isn't there," Ser Lyn roared, coming out of his kneeling. His voice was a bloody red.

The color caused Jaime to pause again. His statement would have remained purple were it not the truth. Where in Seven Hells is the Blackfish? He was supposed to be there to safeguard the Eyrie in its quarantine and few dared to challenge as accomplished a fighter as he.

"Is that so? Then where is the Blackfish?" Jaime asked.

"He's seeing to Lord Tully who lies on his deathbed," Ser Lyn replied. His voice was still sickeningly red with anger.

Jaime hoped the darkening glare was taken as further anger at Ser Lyn for his impudent tone. But

he was certain now that the Blackfish had been lured away so that the quarantine would be cracked open. With his resources, Littlefinger had to know the false nature of the quarantine. Jaime's heart was pounding as he tried to think of what his next move should be. Ideally, it'd be cornering Baelish, trapping him. But how? As far as he knew, Ser Lyn wasn't one of Baelish's accomplices. Or is he?

"You're fortunate I don't have your tongue. Your request is denied for your continued lies. Court is over," Jaime declared. He made to stand.

"I do not lie!" Ser Lyn screamed. "You dare impugn my honor?!" His hand ghosted over the hilt of the sword at his waist.

"Your voice says differently, Ser Lyn. Now banish yourself from my sight before I have you flogged for your impudence," Jaime replied with a sneer.

"That's rich coming from an oath-breaking kingslayer such as yourself!" Ser Lyn pulled out his sword and leveled it at him. "I challenge you to a duel!"

The Lannister guard immediately pulled their swords and stepped up. Jaime couldn't keep the smirk from his face as he looked down at Ser Lyn.

"I've skewered one person already today. You dare try me?" Jaime asked, but he was grinning. The blood roared in his veins and he felt his fingers twitch with the need to fight.

Ser Lyn sneered, "I fought Prince Martell to the death. You're nothing special."

"So be it. Tomorrow morning after breakfast," Jaime said.

The crowd waited with bated breath as Ser Lyn sheathed his sword and started back down the aisle. Jaime watched him leave like a predator stalking his prey.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter End Notes

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Twitter: @Groovypriestess

Chapter 71 - Aemon XXIII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, my readers! I hope you continue to safeguard yourselves. I have greatly enjoyed your input and I hope this fic allows you to find escape. Hang in there and thank you, as always, for reading, commenting, and giving this fic your valuable time!

Thank you, Catzrko0l, for being beta to this chapter. They offered valuable insight that improved the structure and the overall narrative in particular. You're awesome!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 71

Aemon XXIII

He focused on the sound of his boots echoing in the corridor. Apart from Ser Torrhen, he was alone. He felt caged in his room, so he sought peace and solitude out in the palace. Under normal circumstances, someone of the nobility would stop him, but his expression was closed and he regarded passersby in such a cool manner that servants and nobles alike skirted him.

It was not a secret that there was trouble brewing in King's Landing and it pained Aemon that he was too far away to either manage it or be of much help to Jaime. Worse, his uncle had shouted to the heavens that Lord Jaime Lannister was responsible for Robert Baratheon's death.

Aemon held the note with trembling fingers before carefully folding it up and placing it in a pocket in his clothes. The jubilation had bled away and a tense silence followed Aemon's announcement. The last person Aemon locked eyes with was his Uncle Ned. He was shocked to see his own uncle trembling, but with rage. He had never seen him so angry.

When his uncle reached his eyes, he snarled, "I told you! I warned you! Never trust a Lannister! This is clearly Lord Jaime's doing!"

Aemon saw red and shouted, "Bite your tongue, Uncle! I will not allow you to make unjust accusations against Lord Jaime!"

His uncle stared at him as if he'd grown a second head."But you must see—"

"No! Lord Jaime would never betray me! We are done here!" While Aemon leaped to his feet, nearly upending his chair, his uncle remained stubbornly rooted to his seat. Aemon's patience was at an end and he grabbed his uncle by the shoulder and abruptly pulled him from the chair, pushing him past all of the denizens and out into the halls.

Leading his uncle into his room, they had yet another row where they shouted into each other's faces. His uncle's usual good grace and courtesy had vanished with the death of his old friend.

"You are so taken in by the Lannister's gold and power, by Lord Jaime's skill with the sword, that you're not willing to see them for their flaws."

"And you wish to see nothing of Jaime but his flaws! Jaime has not betrayed me, but you can't say the same for yourself against your friend, Robert," Aemon shouted.

"I turned against Robert for your sake because you would otherwise sacrifice yourself for that cad!"

"You betrayed Robert even before that. And that 'cad' believed in me more than you ever did, spending your time trying to usher me to the Wall! You weren't saving me, you were trying to save Robert's legacy!"

Ned's face grew grave, but anger still sparked in his eyes. "I was trying to protect you!"

"You were trying to cast me away so that I wouldn't upset your happy existence. So that I wouldn't upset Lady Catelyn, so that I couldn't challenge Robb for Winterfell or Robert for the crown. So that I could never experience having a family for your fear that my children would threaten your grandchildren. You led me to believe my mother was a whore you slipped up with. You left me to believe that I was nothing and never would amount to anything!"

"I—but, you must see, it was only ever for you."

"We're done here, Uncle. If I hear you continue to poison Lord Jaime's good name, I will have you confined to your rooms for the duration of this stay," Aemon commanded. He walked over and held the door open.

With a final angry look, his uncle walked through the door.

The feast for Prince Oberyn's victory over Ser Gregor Clegane had been a week ago. Aemon refrained from speaking with his uncle, and thankfully, his uncle kept mute and sullen around him, which made it easier for Aemon to not tell him the rest of Jaime's message. Aemon had to try three of their ciphers before he pinpointed it to 'Tormund Giantsbane.'

Be careful of asassination! Don't trust anyone!

Robert was murdered. The servant who gave him the wine is dead. Robert has been killed to clear the path for other blood on the throne. Joffrey? Stannis or Renly unlikely. Doubled their guard to be sure.

New rumor that Cersei is being starved on your orders. She starves herself.

Aemon frowned, feeling a mixture of frustration and fear. With a great effort, he stuck the letter into the candle flame and held it as long as he could and then burned the parchment he had written the cipher onto. He stamped out the fire to ensure nothing caught and then examined the ashes to find that every bit of ink had been reduced to cinder. As much as he preferred to keep the letter for the value it provided, he couldn't risk it falling into the hands of a servant willing to make a quick coin.

Once the parchment was disposed of, he stewed. It shouldn't have surprised him that the moment he was away from King's Landing for an extended period of time, the threats would start making their presence known. He had hoped that the coalition of allies he had solidified would be enough to deter anyone from doing something so foolish as to attempt to challenge him. However, they had already determined that Tywin Lannister was hardly a fool and would also never rest until his blood was on the throne. Him striking had only been a matter of 'when.' Lord Lannister could be patient, but would he wait for a weaker moment or was he more likely to strike before Aemon had fully ensconced himself? Without even a wife or so much as an heir, Aemon was unlikely to be weaker than he was now.

But poison did not sound like a Lannister weapon. Even when Lord Lannister had had the opportunity to kill Robb at the Frey's, he'd preferred a pitched battle than a simple dosing of the wine for every Northern lord. The poisoning stank of Littlefinger. He felt a chill sweep him at the thought of those two finding allies in one another.

He needed to get back to King's Landing, but he had originally promised a month in Dorne to ease their alliance and solidify a friendship. That would have to be cut short, but the negotiations had

yet to take place. The first thing Aemon did when he woke up in the morning was insist on a date for the negotiations.

It took a bit of haggling, but out of interest to not insult his hosts, he agreed to have them five days after the fight with the Mountain. He announced that he was to leave the day after the negotiations. He spent his time sparring with Prince Oberyn and putting in more time teaching Olyvar. He would take open walks in the garden with Princess Arianne, but he was careful to keep her at a distance. Although she was smiling and courteous, he felt there was something distinctly calculatory in her eyes. Unlike Lady Margaery though, she hadn't dared to cross any boundaries, suggestive or otherwise. In the evening, he would break his bread with Prince Doran and they would discuss politics, supplies, and the coming winter. Although Doran was careful, Aemon could sense the needling in some of his questions, which Aemon dodged to the best of his ability. If Prince Doran was disappointed with his answers, he didn't show it.

As the days passed, the news out of King's Landing only grew worse. Aemon received two more notes from Jaime that the Healer David had been grievously injured and Lord Yohn Royce had passed away. He had been equally loath to inform his uncle about the last one. He had never seen his uncle in such a prolonged state of fury, but this news only darkened it. However, it seemed his uncle didn't let his anger cloud his judgment this time for he simply walked away in silence. He was happy to let his uncle be.

Lord Yohn Royce dying caused him greater consternation than Robert Baratheon. Robert was nothing anymore and he had intended to execute him once he had united the Seven Kingdoms. His death was meant to be an end to the strife, yet he had been robbed of that. Lord Royce, though, was his key to the Vale. The Houses in the Vale followed him in Lady Lysa's stead. Now who would they follow? Jaime had certainly hinted in his private note that he suspected murder. Had Baelish managed to crack the Eyrie or did he strike Lord Royce down because he was the one standing in his way? He hoped the Blackfish watched himself.

Whether Baelish had learned what he'd done at the Eyrie or not, he was striking entirely too close. He prayed to the Old Gods that Jaime would find a way to trace the murders back to him somehow. They needed to catch Baelish and quickly, before he could sow anymore chaos.

Aemon was itching to return to King's Landing, so he burned off what nervous energy he could sparring and learned a great deal about combat with spears. Without sparring to keep him occupied on the ship, the trip back was bound to be agonizing. But he would have to be patient.

The day for the negotiations arrived and it was how Aemon now found himself gliding along the corridors to an open room in a private section of the palace.

Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn awaited him there, sitting on one side of a long table and next to

Prince Doran was a piece of parchment and inkwell with a quill. Prince Oberyn stood and bowed while his brother merely bowed his head. Since the match against Gregor Clegane, Prince Oberyn treated him a great deal more warmly. With both he and his uncle being cold to one another, he had enjoyed his time with Prince Oberyn and was reminded forcefully of Jaime again. He missed Jaime and prayed every night for him to persevere as his Hand.

Aemon waved a hand to point Ser Torrhen to stand at the edge of the room and took his seat. Under normal circumstances, his uncle was supposed to be present, but Aemon no longer trusted him not to ruin the negotiations.

"No Lord Stark today?" Prince Oberyn asked in his usual mocking tone.

"He wishes you both well, but he has never been one for the tedium of politics," Aemon replied.

They were perfectly aware that he was at odds with his uncle, but they allowed the decorous comment to slide.

"Your Grace, I would like to thank you for allowing us to host you in Dorne," Prince Doran began. "It has been a pleasure to meet you and I think we both have a greater understanding of each other. You have surprised us with your compassion and respect towards our departed family members."

Aemon regarded them with mounting apprehension. Not that he had not enjoyed his time in Dorne and found the Martells an amenable family, but the anger and suffering they had endured for more than a decade did not simply disappear in a week. One vengeful duel and two removed heads was not enough either. His uncle and Jaime both had repeatedly stressed to him how angry the Dornish were over the cruel deaths of King Aegon, Princess Elia, and Princess Rhaenys. Whatever understanding they had apparently come to, Aemon knew they were still going to use their pain as leverage to elevate their family.

"Where your predecessor mocked our pain, you have offered your support and even overseen the justice against two men who were responsible for Princess Elia and her children's deaths. However, there is one man left who is still responsible for their suffering—"

"No," Aemon said abruptly. "I would not have been able to take and hold King's Landing without the support of Lord Tywin Lannister and his son, Lord Jaime Lannister. I will not turn on an ally unless they give me good reason to."

A muscle in Prince Doran's face twitched and Prince Oberyn's expression was dark and serious for once. "With all due respect, that sounds...perilous, Your Grace. We are speaking of the old lion and his riotous cub. One sacked the city and the other murdered your grandfather."

Aemon felt his irritation increase as, once more, someone used the death of a grandfather he'd never met—who had killed other members of his family—in an attempt to drive a wedge between him and Jaime. It was becoming tiresome. "I am well aware of what they did. As you are well aware what my grandfather did to my other side of the family and other noblemen. I cannot change the past. The brutal legacy of my grandfather casts a long shadow, but we cannot step outside of that shadow as long as we continue to brood in it. I would prefer to focus on the future."

"What future might that be?" Prince Oberyn spokeup, but his mocking was light. "From what we've heard, it is not all that quiet in the Red Keep."

"Two people are dead. While shocking, it's hardly a cause for alarm. I am confident that Lord Jaime has things well in hand," Aemon replied. He hoped they mistook his sweat as natural from the heat and not an indication of his nerves. It took everything in him to keep his hands clasped on the table.

"You must admit, Your Grace, that your uncle hardly agrees," Oberyn said.

Aemon felt his frown become more severe. "You must understand, my uncle spoke in grief. He has long had a vendetta against Lord Jaime, ever since he became a kingslayer. They may not like each other, but they are willing to put their ill will towards each other aside for the sake of unity in the Seven Kingdoms."

"You must admit, Your Grace, it is puzzling that you have so much faith in a man who murdered a member of your own family," Prince Doran replied.

"I know Lord Jaime. He would not betray me," Aemon said carefully.

Both men studied him as he waited.

"Very well, we will consider your terms. Present them if you please," Prince Doran replied with a pensive frown. He was so very different from his brother. Where Oberyn Martell was all action, like a wild horse too keyed to stand still, aching to run and buck, his brother was like a large river, plodding yet determined. He was calm, intelligent, and considerate. Not that Oberyn was not, but

he seemed to have neither the discipline nor the patience for much planning. Doran did and Aemon warned himself that he would have to be careful with his words.

Aemon nodded and said, "First, I would like to formally thank you for hosting me and my uncle. Consider formalizing King Aegon VI Targaryen as a gift and a wrong that should have long been righted."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Prince Doran replied.

"It is a most welcome gift, Your Grace," Prince Oberyn said.

"As my ally, I expect you to provide Dornish soldiers when commanded. As a united Seven Kingdoms, we fight as one or die apart. There can be no hesitation if you are called to provide soldiers to defend a kingdom that is not your own."

"Yes, Your Grace," they both replied. Prince Oberyn sighed forcefully and showed his restlessness as he shifted. Prince Doran glared at him and he settled.

"Now, for my first item, I would like to welcome a member of House Martell to King's Landing and to have a seat on the Small Council."

They both perked up. "Do you have a position in mind?" Prince Doran asked.

"That would depend on the person you send. I would prefer the position be one that plays to their strengths," Aemon replied. He waited while Prince Doran carefully wrote out the term.

"And?" Prince Doran prompted him.

"I currently have six Kingsguard. I am short one. It would honor me were you to provide a knight to fill the last opening," Aemon said.

Prince Oberyn's smile grew wide and he seemed to have trouble containing himself. However, Prince Doran remained unreadable and measured as he wrote down the option.

"You are yet unmarried, are you not?"

"I am," Aemon replied. I can't possibly make it through without at least one proposal of marriage, he thought with some exasperation.

"You've met Princess Arianne and get along swimmingly. Set aside the Dornish Kingsguard for my daughter and I would consider Dorne and the crown allies once more."

Aemon nodded and he turned over the proposition in his head, not that he was actually considering it. He had to understand what they could gain from a marriage with him and whether or not to offer a marriage with Viserys after all. It was enough to understand that Prince Doran wanted his daughter to be queen, just as the Tyrells had. It came with power and prestige. Her marriage to Viserys, while not providing with it the status of queen, would at least hint at the possibility of royalty. Until he himself had an heir, Viserys was it once he reached the Seven Kingdoms.

Assuming he's still alive, Aemon thought and hoped his shiver did not show. He could easily be providing Princess Arianne the hand of a dead man, not that he knew for sure. It put him ill at ease to offer a false solution, but the only option was Viserys or Arya. He could deceive them for Arya's happiness. He had to.

Aemon said, "Forgive me, Prince Doran, but I have already publicly committed to marrying my aunt, Daenerys Targaryen."

"Is that so?" Doran replied, tilting his head curiously. "I had heard a rumor that Daenerys Targaryen was wed to a Dothraki horse lord. Much like your grandfather, you may not find your pure Targaryen bride."

Aemon ignored the jab. He felt his knuckles crack as he clenched his hands, but then tried to center himself. He made a conscious effort to drop his shoulders as they tensed.

"I hadn't heard such rumors. Whether or not she's already married, she deserves to be with her remaining family in her homeland. She can decide when my envoy arrives to offer her safe passage to Westeros. I think it best to remain unbetrothed until such a determination is made."

Doran's frown deepened but he had little to say against it. Much as it pained him, there was a silver lining to Daenerys being so far away—any stories attributed to her whereabouts could be

disregarded as hearsay. Aemon would take advantage of that confusion where he could, but he despaired at the thought that she might still be married to that Dothraki horse lord.

"I do, however, have another Targaryen family member to offer you: my uncle Viserys."

There was an eager light that entered Prince Doran's eyes, even as he kept his face passive.

Oberyn's grin grew slowly. "He is still alive, isn't he?"

"Last we heard, he is and if rumor has it, he's equally keen to return to Westeros," Aemon replied. It took everything he had to keep his voice steady. His tongue felt as dry as parchment and his heart pounded in his chest. Should Viserys be alive, betrothing him to Princess Arianne might very well be the worst thing he could do. Not only would he be exposing himself to an early death from Dorne in a bid to replace him with Viserys, but he would be condemning a woman to spend her life with him. Or had Viserys changed? Was it reasonable to expect him not only to be of sound mind this time but to welcome a new family member? He prayed to the Old Gods that he didn't just offer Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn knives to stab him in the back.

Doran nodded in agreement. "This is not quite as strong as a marriage with you. However, if you allow us the spot for the Dornish Kingsguard, I think we can come to an agreement. Presuming, of course, that those are your terms."

"Yes, those are my terms," Aemon said.

"Thank you, Your Grace. You have given us much to consider. I would appreciate it if you could give us time to discuss this," Prince Doran said smoothly.

"Of course, but I will require an answer before tomorrow."

"I think you should have our answer by dinner."

"Very well, I await your favorable reply." Aemon stood. He gave them a courteous nod and they bowed in return. Once more, Ser Torrhen fell in behind him and Aemon strode off, seeking a deserted part of the palace to think.

Would they dare attempt to remain neutral? He wondered and frowned ponderously. He had offered enough to entice any kingdom and had granted enough boons to Dorne that they should be willing to fold. Did they think him so soft from these boons that they would dare to ask more? He'd put Lord Frey in his place, but he'd had an army at his back then. Only a small force of Stark men and his Kingsguard had accompanied him to Dorne. Was there any benefit to poisoning him now?

If I were to die, it would give Tywin Lannister all the space he would need to take the throne, he thought sourly. Even with all of Dorne's might, they would not be able to either prevent or uproot Lord Lannister. And in the eventuality of his and his uncle's deaths, they would find themselves alone. Neither the Riverlands nor the North would assist Dorne after assassinating their king. Killing him now would put the Martells and Dorne in a position that was even worse than before he'd taken the throne. With his terms, they had everything to gain and the only thing that could possibly conceive as lost was the queenship.

Allowing Princess Arianne to marry Viserys gave them a path to the queenship, if they so dared. It was a risky ploy, but as long as he was correct in his assumption that Viserys had died in this time, as he had in the last time, then it was a risk he was willing to take.

Aemon decided to return to his rooms. Ghost remained there, panting even in the cool air and he petted him, whispering into his ear, "Thank you for always being here, boy. It seems you're the only one I can rely on." As the nights had passed, he found himself warging repeatedly into Ghost. It was becoming easier as he remembered how to do it. The cool desert nights were a respite from the heat for the both of them. He allowed Ghost to take the lead and simply came along with him on a romp. He sometimes wondered if Ghost even understood that he was with him in some tangential way.

He freshened up as usual for dinner, pulling on a doublet that wasn't soaked with sweat. I feel like a trim is necessary, he thought as he looked in the mirror. Not too short. His long curly locks still hung around his shoulders, feeling weighty and hot in the heat, but he recalled a handful of memories where Dany played with the curls while in bed. She had seemed to like it in the time before and he would suffer the heat if it helped her to fall in love with him once more.

Daenerys will be here shortly. I must look dashing for her, he thought and felt a thrill. It had been three months since he had sent Ser Barristan to find her. Had he succeeded? Or was there a yet unknown obstacle impeding him?

Enough, he berated himself. You're no longer a boy who's wet behind the ears. Time enough to worry about those obstacles when we meet them. We must stay the course for now. He never thought of himself as a lone figure governing the Seven Kingdoms. Jaime would always have his back and he supposed his uncle would never abandon him. At least he hoped his uncle wouldn't. Had he done enough dishonorable things now for his uncle to withdraw his support? He hadn't

told him yet of his plans to offer a likely dead Viserys to Princess Arianne. Would his uncle approve of such a risky tactic? Perhaps it was best that he wasn't there after all.

Aemon was forced to engage with the other nobility as he waited for the Martell brothers to make their appearance. His uncle sat stoic and silent next to him, merely grunting out monosyllabic answers to other noblemen that tried to engage him. He barely heard a word any of them were saying and his attention diverted the moment Prince Doran was wheeled into place just a few seats down.

A small gong was rung and the guests all fell silent.

"I have an announcement to make," Prince Doran said in a loud, clear voice. "King Aemon has offered us generous terms. After much discussion, Prince Oberyn and I have agreed to accept them."

The hall burst into cheers. Prince Oberyn immediately helped himself to a goblet full of wine and reached over to clap Aemon on the back.

Even as Aemon was holding up the goblet for a toast, he thought, All that's left is the Ironborn. But first we have to stop Baelish and then I will hatch Rhaegal.

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes: If you'd like to join this fic's Discord, please use this link. https/discord.gg/Z4KUPN My Twitter: @GroovyPriestess

Chapter 72 - Aemon XXIV/Jaime XXII

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, readers! I hope you're having a lovely weekend. Thank you for continuing to support TDR! Your comments, Kudos, and bookmarks mean a lot to me.

As always, the lovely Catzrko0l beta'd this chapter and made sure that you were in for a smooth ride. Thank you, beta!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 72

Aemon XXIV

He was just leaving the feast to return to his room, his heart light with the knowledge that they would be setting sail for King's Landing the next morning, when he heard his name called. With some reluctance, he turned.

"King Aemon, Your Grace, a moment if you will?" Prince Oberyn was sauntering up to him with his typical mocking smile.

Aemon wanted nothing more than to return to his room for a quiet moment to himself and to allow Ghost to run free one last time before they boarded the ship. Instead, he smiled and nodded. He thought he heard the Hound growl in annoyance.

"What can I do for you, Prince Oberyn?"

"If you will follow me, I have a gift."

Aemon raised his eyebrows. "You're bringing this up now?"

"My brother suggested that I wait until the negotiations had been formalized before presenting it."

More like you didn't want to waste a gift on someone you had no intention of allying with, Aemon thought. After exchanging a brief glance with the Hound, he nodded and waved Prince Oberyn forward. The Hound was following him so closely that he was nearly stepping on his heels. He figured the Hound thought the prince had ill intent, but now that they were allies, Aemon felt safe enough. Dorne would not receive their gifts if he turned up dead.

Aemon followed Prince Oberyn to yet another outdoor room with no walls. The sun was setting and a chill was stealing upon the palace. The cold invigorated Aemon and it made him itch to dive into Ghost once again. A case was laid out on a table which Prince Oberyn opened.

"Are you familiar with Myrish Lace, Your Grace?"

"I have heard of it. Can't say I'm familiar. I know it is a favorite item among the noble ladies in the Red Keep," Aemon replied.

"Well, the Myrish have turned their talents towards creating lace for men, so to speak," Prince Oberyn said. He pulled a shimmering silver garment from the case that Aemon placed as chain mail. He couldn't keep the awe from his face as it pooled like silk in Prince Oberyn's hands. "Not quite as tightly woven as lace, but close enough. The best mail in the world. It is yours."

Aemon started. "Mine? This appears more than a mere gift, Prince Oberyn."

The prince chuckled. "Indeed. It's a gift of thanks."

Aemon stayed silent, waiting for an explanation; he dared not touch the mail yet.

"A gift of many thanks. I doubted your willingness to grant Dorne their justice. You went above and beyond. You sent us Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. You granted my nephew his place as king. You oversaw a trial and demanded justice where others before you cared not for our pain. Even after doing your duty as king by holding the trial, you expressed your concern about my wellbeing. Your story reminded me that all would be for naught if I died in the pursuit of justice. And your advice allowed me to anticipate Clegane's last move. For delivering justice for my sister and her children, for giving me the knowledge to safeguard myself, I present this mail to you."

Aemon finally took it into his hands and marveled at how it seemed to flow like water across his fingers. It was fairly heavy but thin so that it could easily fit under his armor. Did the gift suggest that Dorne was interested in protecting him? Or was it just a gift?

He cleared his throat and said, "Thank you. I've never seen aught like it."

Prince Oberyn gave him a responding grin. "Were you not king, I would suggest you get out and travel more."

"Would that I could," Aemon replied lamentably. From the way Daenerys had described it, Essos sounded like an adventurous land that made his wild heart sing at the thought of exploring it. However, she had also mentioned the extreme heat everywhere and he was certain he would burn up under the sun within days of arriving. How anyone could live in such extreme heat baffled him. He longed for little more than a return to Winterfell and the North. That did not seem likely for years to come, so he had to find a way to manage with the heat in King's Landing.

"Now that I have wet your appetite, I have another favor to ask," Prince Oberyn said.

Aemon gave him a suspicious look. "We agreed on the terms. What's done is done."

"The favor isn't for Dorne. It's for my daughter. My daughter, Sarella, has long had a desire to attend the Citadel to be a Maester," Prince Oberyn said.

Aemon felt his heartbeat ratchet up. He had no interest in attempting to subvert a several thousand- year-old institute and suggest they soften their attitudes to allow women the freedom of becoming educated. He had learned that when Jaime raged at him about elevating the Hound without first insisting on knighthood. No matter how inappropriate Jaime had been, he'd had a fair point that people did not enjoy watching their cultural traditions being torn asunder. He needed unity.

"I see your expression and it's not what you think. In Dorne, we've heard a rumor that you've taken an interest in a particular healer."

"David?" Aemon asked.

"Yes, David and his Shepherd group. He has been around for some time. I heard tales of him in Essos and how he allowed all sorts to join his group. He even taught his craft to women."

Aemon nearly breathed a sigh in relief. "Yes, David has a group of people who work in his healing clinic in King's Landing. It's brought the people much joy and relief."

"That is satisfying to hear. Is he perchance taking any more pupils?"

"I know he was expecting to receive more candidates from the Citadel. It is important to me that my people be happy and healthy, so we struck a bargain to allow candidates within the Citadel the opportunity to learn from him. I am sure he would be happy to accept your daughter."

"Marvelous. I will go inform her so that she is ready to leave in the morning," Prince Oberyn replied. Although he was pleased, Aemon thought he caught an element of disbelief in his eyes.

Aemon hesitated for a moment and then said, "The Crown does not control the Shepherds. They merely have my blessing."

Prince Oberyn's smile turned quickly to a suspicious frown. "How do you mean?"

"The Crown does not pay for them. Lord Jaime Lannister is their patron," Aemon replied.

The prince grew stiff at the information and his expression grew suspicious. "How much...control does Lord Jaime Lannister exert over them?"

"He pays little attention to their daily operations. David is in control of how the money is spent. He has a place on the small council, so his actions are accountable. I have no complaints about his group. He has been a welcome relief for the people of King's Landing," Aemon said.

"If you say so. I still don't understand this...trust that you have placed in Lord Jaime Lannister. Men like him don't change."

"With all due respect, Prince Oberyn, you don't know him at all," Aemon said, his tone becoming curt with annoyance. "If we're done here, I would like to rest."

"As you will, Your Grace," Prince Oberyn said and waved a hand to let him know he was free.

Aemon placed the mail back in the case and picked the case up. "Thank you, again, for this most

generous gift."

The walk back to his room was quiet save for the chirping of insects in the gardens he passed. He breathed deeply in the cool night air and thought, I will finally return home.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Jaime XXII

Talking Podrick through putting on his armor was a welcome distraction and it struck him then how long it had been since he had actually worn his armor. It was long ago back in Winterfell when he was still donning the white cloak of the Kingsguard. And yet, as Podrick put the pieces in place, it felt like he was being placed back into his second skin.

He was preternaturally calm before the duel and he took comfort in that. This is where I belong, he thought as he weighed using Brightroar. Ser Lyn was one of a few who also had a Valyrian Steel sword and Jaime rather doubted he'd be foolish enough to fight with anything else. Brightroar it is, Jaime concluded and held it out to Pod to strap it onto him.

Despite his elation at having a duel, he found himself spent from the hurricane of emotions from the day and had retired back to his room to cope, having nearly been on the verge of yet another seizure. He'd even had Pod turn his father away, who had come to bang angrily on the door. He was not up to the challenge of dealing with his father at that moment and, as far as he was concerned, his father could just stew. No doubt his father would let him have it eventually, but the reprieve was enough for him.

The free afternoon gave him all the time in the world to fume and berate himself for the way he had acted towards Brienne after her duel. He had been too caught up in his fury to see much else except red, but upon thinking back to it, he was certain he saw tears welling up in Brienne's blue eyes. Her gratefulness had quickly given way to reproach. She had been afraid, rattled, and if he had been a smarter man, he would've spoken words of comfort to her. But, no, he had to belittle her instead for not seeing the dishonesty in a man like Ser Osmund Kettleblack.

Her opponent was hanging onto life by a thread, but Jaime wouldn't bring himself to feel empathy for the bastard, having nearly killed Brienne and for bringing shame to the station of knight once more. As soon as he got the chance, there would be a reckoning among knights and he would find a way to purge the unworthy of their title.

Until then, he would have to find a way to repair the bridge that he had thoughtlessly torn down between himself and Brienne. It had taken months of careful planning and constant days of training to forge what he thought was a connection with her. They were nearly as far apart now as they had been after they'd taken the Red Keep. It wasn't in his nature, but he would sooner grovel at her feet than risk losing her all over again.

But why was she at risk of being lost at all, Jaime thought and his attention turned back to Ser Osmund Kettleblack. His surname had a familiar ring to it, from a long ago memory. He had spent part of his night tossing and turning as he rolled the name through his head and attempted to filter out where it had come from. But the previous life had been so long ago that he couldn't recall Ser Osmund cropping up. He felt he'd remember a man who was second only to the Mountain in height. His sleep had been restless and if he had been hoping his dreams would add clarity, they only made him feel worse. For once, he didn't remember his nightmares, but he had felt exhausted as if he'd fought them all night. He allowed himself to sleep in. He wanted to be fighting fit for Ser Lyn Corbray.

One thing was certain, he didn't think Ser Osmund Kettleblack had chosen to propose to Brienne out of true love. He had set Tyrion to the task of finding out more information about Ser Osmund Kettleblack and he hoped to hear from him soon. He had a sneaking suspicion, though, that it wasn't for Brienne's beauty or even the Island of Tarth, though some might consider that a worthy enough prize.

Jaime felt his knuckles crack as he clenched his fist in a surge of fury. His father was behind Kettleblack. Apart from Tormund Giantsbane, Brienne had never had a single soul within proper Westeros that had ever shown a shred of interest in her, island or not. His father didn't want him marrying her so he would simply fix it so that she was unavailable. Now that she had defeated her suitor, what now? Another? Or would he resort to more drastic measures? Jaime shivered at the thought that Brienne's peril had only grown with her victory. He would need to make a move soon to secure both Brienne's heart and her safety. It was only a matter of time.

Aemon needs to get back here as swiftly as he can, Jaime thought grimly. With the Ironborn attack and Ser Lyn Corbray demanding the return of the Vale army, someone was attempting to whittle Aemon's allies down. Was it his father? Was it Baelish? Or was it a concerted effort on both of their parts? He felt himself waver momentarily at the thought of them working together. This effort was coming to a head and he needed to start laying the ground for meeting it.

And the first step was defeating Ser Lyn Corbray. He knew something and he was certain it had to do with the lifting of the quarantine and Baelish. Littlefinger had been sent to the Eyrie to marry Lady Lysa Arryn in the time before; that much he remembered. It had put him right next to the seat of power in the Vale and Jaime had his suspicions that this was his work again. When things did not go right, Baelish had a habit of silencing the loose ends that would otherwise squeal to reveal his involvement. If Ser Lyn was acting on Baelish's orders and Jaime insisted on getting the truth out of him after defeating him, he was certain Baelish would send a cat's paw to silence once more. Jaime would be sure to catch him this time.

He eyed himself in the mirror, making sure every piece of armor was in place. "You did well, Pod," he said, but his manner was uncharacteristically subdued, so Podrick managed only a weak smile. "It's time."

The excited rush in his veins that he had felt after getting challenged had left. Under normal circumstances, he would have a spring in his step from the pent up energy of being ready for the kill, but he no longer felt like an over-eager lion cub. His steps were measured and he kept his energy under a tight rein.

Unlike Lady Brienne and Ser Osmund's duel, the entire Red Keep had turned out for this one. In preparation, Jaime arranged for the duel to take place on the tourney grounds. Lannister soldiers lined the edge of the ring to keep spectators at bay. Ser Lyn Corbray was already waiting, spending his energy doing practice moves and stopped only when Jaime had finished his approach.

Ser Lyn Corbray's demeanor remained equally cool, though he was glaring back in anger. "Back out now and I won't think less of you, Lord Hand. 'Twould be a shame to damage your reputation as a swordsman since that's all you have left. But truth will be heard."

Jaime remained unmoved. "Yes, it will. The Gods are always the winners in these duels and they shall bestow the truth. Your conviction would be admirable were it not for the lies you insist upon. Those lies will be uncovered."

The knight growled and brought up his sword and settled into his fight stance. "I will make you rue besmirching my honor!"

"What honor?" Jaime pulled out his own sword and dropped into a stance.

With a carnal growl, Ser Lyn rushed forward and attempted to skewer Jaime. His sword was batted away, but Ser Lyn only used the momentum to try another quick blow to Jaime's side. But Jaime leaped back and as Ser Lyn's momentum carried through, Jaime struck out with his foot straight into the back of Ser Lyn's knee. Ser Lyn cried out and backed off, kicking out his leg as if to test its damage.

Jaime circled him as he sized up his prey. As much as he enjoyed the fight, the feeling of his rushing blood that fed him strength, he wanted to end it swiftly. Ser Lyn brought his sword up and lunged forward. Jaime swatted it away effortlessly.

"This is the great Jaime Lannister? Never have I seen an effort so lazy. How much did you pay Ser Arthur Dayne to knight you?" Ser Lyn goaded in a voice of red. He laughed at seeing Jaime's expression darken and then he brought his sword up to prepare for a downward swing.

Ser Lyn appeared to have been expecting Jaime to bend beneath his weight and his strength, but in the instant that their swords touched Jaime coiled and launched forward, throwing Ser Lyn back with such force that he staggered. Ser Lyn's eyes widened and he lashed out wildly as Jaime swept over to him with all the speed of a lion. He batted away Ser Lyn's sword, held out Brightroar in front of him and used it to ram Ser Lyn straight in the chest, knocking him back. Ser Lyn weakly tried to bring his sword in front of him to fend him off, but he screamed as Jaime stomped hard on his arm.

"Please, Lord Hand, have mercy," Ser Lyn shouted.

Much like Brienne, Jaime knelt down with his knee on Ser Lyn's chest to keep him down and put Brightroar at his throat. He growled in his face, "Now, you will tell me why you lied about needing the forces of the Vale. What is the truth?"

Ser Lyn's eyes widened and he shook his head. "I-I didn't—"

"Don't lie," Jaime snarled. "What do you need the Vale forces for? Really?"

"I was told they needed to be back in the Vale," Ser Lyn whispered hoarsely, sweat streaming down his face. "I was to make up an excuse."

"Who ordered this?"

Ser Lyn's eyes merely widened and he gave the barest shake of his head.

Jaime leaned in closer, his eyes burning like fire. "Surrender now and I'll let you live."

"I yield! I yield," Ser Lyn cried.

With that, the crowd rumbled into a great cheer. Jaime narrowed his eyes to block out the extraneous color that threatened to obliterate his vision. He could feel another headache coming on. "Very well, but if you ever sully Ser Arthur Dayne's name again, I will kill you," Jaime spoke in a guttural growl.

Ser Lyn's eyes widened in terror and he leaned away from the blade at his neck some more.

When Jaime stood, he turned. It struck him how reminiscent this felt to Brienne winning her duel, only when he turned, she was not standing there with a smile. The thought caused his mood to drop despite his victory. But as he thought back to Brienne's duel, he walked over and picked up Lady Forlorn, Ser Lyn's own ancestral Valyrian Steel blade, but he doubted Ser Lyn would be able to use it with a broken forearm.

"Ser Addam, you will detain Ser Lyn. I want your best men guarding him. He will stay in the Tower of the Hand," Jaime commanded.

"Yes, my Lord," Ser Addam said as he watched Jaime leave in bewilderment.

"Jaime?" Tyrion called out, but he ignored him and continued on back to the tower. The cheers from the crowds rivaled that of a legendary battle. The flood of yellow and green voices clouded his vision and he felt like the world had drowned in color. It wasn't until he was far enough away from the crowd that he turned to find Pod on his heels and, further back, his father.

Jaime grimaced and scowled. "Podrick, bring refreshments to Lord Lannister and myself. We're going to need them."

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 73 - Tywin III/Jaime XII

Chapter Notes

Author's Note: I apologize for the small lateness of this chapter. My Internet was down right at posting time. It just figures...

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See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 73

Tywin II

He'd had enough of his son's foolishness. Baelish had warned him against letting his son in on the scheme, but now Jaime was ruining his plans without even knowing them. He had allowed Jaime to indulge long enough in the power that came with being Hand of the King, but for his own good it was time to reel him in.

Although Ser Osmund had been unsuccessful in either marrying or killing Lady Brienne, the duel had still done its job of driving a wedge between Jaime and the woman he undeservedly favored. She had been hurt by the scratch and by Jaime's words. He'd give the woman credit for her stoicism, but the hurt that had been there briefly was undeniable. If the feelings had ever been mutual, Jaime had just crushed them like a bug beneath his boot.

But that had been the only thing that had gone right the day before. Then, when overseeing court, Jaime had foolishly sent Kevan with that good for nothing Ser Stevron Frey to deal with the Ironborn raids. Just like that, his most trusted adviser was on a task that would send him to the other side of the country and they had set out in the morning.

Tywin had very nearly burst down Jaime's door to speak with him about changing the command and persuading him to send Ser Edmure back as was supposed to happen. But for all of Jaime's kingly behavior, he still had the tendency to act like a spoiled child and he refused all visitors for the rest of the evening.

Then again, perhaps Jaime hadn't wanted to be seen having one of his seizures. He had that pinched look that he got when a headache was building and Tywin had it on good authority that a seizure usually followed. These seizures were an unfortunate weakness in his otherwise perfect son. Despite his current frustrations with Jaime, Tywin was still pleased with the way Jaime acted and carried himself.

But Jaime was still nowhere near on par at playing the game as he was. Few were and that fact was the only thing that separated Tywin's plans from disaster. He would have to be eased into the plan, but Jaime was his son. A Lannister. He would do right by his family, especially once he learned how his beloved Targaryen king had betrayed him.

King Aemon is a devious bastard, I'll give him that, Tywin thought with some grudging respect. The boy had made some clever moves. Forging a letter to frame Baelish and using it to get Lysa Arryn to confess had been a surprising stroke of brilliance. Somehow, King Aemon had been aware that Baelish was a threat and he had laid down the plans early to have him removed. The bastard had been fully aware he was putting a murderer on his council.

All the easier to seize Baelish at the right opportunity, Tywin thought. Despite the clear planning that had gone into the moves, it seemed Aemon couldn't quite get the extra leverage he needed to actually bring Baelish before the court for a trial. That was his greatest weakness. He was bound and determined to adhere by the law. With his hands so tied, it made catching shadows that much harder and Baelish was able to slink enough ahead to keep out of the bastard's clutches.

Then the boy had foolishly left his work half-finished and trusted Jaime to oversee his kingdom. Granted, Jaime had done a good job ruling in his stead, but that he should ever relinquish the throne again to that wolf pup caused Tywin's blood to boil. That throne was the Lannister's, by right of conquest. It should have been Jaime's. He killed the Mad King after all. He saved the realm and his reward was to remain a glorified bodyguard to that disgraceful slob, Robert Baratheon, Tywin thought with some fury. That Jon Arryn thought he, Tywin, should be grateful Jaime wasn't sent packing to the Night's Watch had made him want to kill the man. There was poetic justice in Jon Arryn having been poisoned by his lady wife.

The Starks had enjoyed a brief moment in the sun with the ascension of the Stark bastard. But it was time that ended. While King Aemon had proved himself cunning, the rest of the Stark pack had the intelligence to fill a thimble. The Stark heir, Robb, had proven adept in training, but in little else. Lady Catelyn Stark had failed to teach her children how to navigate the politics of Westeros and Tywin would ensure that they suffered for it.

Tywin stalked after Jaime after the duel with Ser Lyn Corbray. The foolish knight had dared challenge his son to prove his worth and had failed. Although the win was expected, it was a far different fight from what Tywin was used to seeing from his son. Jaime had a tendency to toy with his prey before the pounce. Although it could be intimidating behavior, it was juvenile and risky.

That he was still using the technique at his age was infuriating, but Jaime stood atop the other knights in the realm without peer.

In this fight, however, Jaime had set aside the toying. He used his superior strength and agility to stomp the man into the ground. It had been quick and merciless. With the shedding of this long standing habit, it spoke to Tywin that he was ready to step up and take his place as the head of House Lannister when it was time.

And none too soon, Tywin thought with bitterness. Jaime would be sorely needed in the coup that was just a short time away. The pieces were nearly all in their place and it would only be a matter of time before the trap was set. All that was left was bringing Jaime into play.

Tywin climbed up the steps to the Tower of the Hand. He was in no hurry. Whether Jaime wanted to hear from him or not, he would listen. His squire, Podrick, was missing from the front, so Tywin merely glanced at the Lannister soldiers who stiffened in his presence. He pounded on the door.

"Jaime, we must speak."

The door opened, but Jaime had turned away. "Good day, Father. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Tywin felt his back raise and he ground his teeth. No matter the formal language, the tone was vicious and mocking. Just like their last conversation, Tywin had to quash his fury. It pained him to acknowledge that he had less authority here in this room.

"Congratulations on your duel," Tywin replied in as even a tone as he could manage.

Jaime snorted. "As if that was ever in doubt." He was carefully peeling the armor off, but he bothered to glance up at Tywin with a suspicious glare. "That cannot be your only reason for being here."

"You need to recall your Uncle Kevan and the Lannister forces you sent to the Westerlands."

"And why would I do that? The whole lot of the Freys are weasels and I need someone level and wise to head up the efforts in securing our shores against the Ironborn. I know Uncle Kevan is up

to that task."

"He is needed here," Tywin barked. "Call him back."

Jaime undid the latches for his breastplate and lifted it over his head to throw on the bed. His expression was haughty and uncompromising. "I still haven't heard a reason." At that moment, there was a knock on the door. "Enter," Jaime called.

The squire opened the door bearing a silver tray that included a goblet of wine and cold cuts with cheese. The boy briefly glanced at Tywin before hurrying over to place the tray on the Hand's desk.

"Thank you, Pod," Jaime replied as the boy scurried back to his post in front of the door.

"We will need him in the coming war."

"What coming war? It's not like you to be so vague, Father. Do you mean in the coming war against the Ironborn? Because I assure you that will take place once the king returns. I don't think I need to remind you that the Ironborn put the Lannister fleet to flame when they last decided to go on the offensive."

"That won't be necessary," Tywin said.

Jaime chuckled as he poured himself a goblet of wine. "Have you broken a deal with the Ironborn?" His mirth faded away as he continued to stare in his father's stoic face. "What have you done?"

"I am doing what's right. For the kingdom, for our family."

"You don't give a shit about the kingdom, so don't pretend now that this isn't about anything other than our family," Jaime replied.

"On the contrary, I am taking action to spare the kingdom from another mad Targaryen."

Even Jaime appeared stunned by this revelation. "You dare speak treason about our king? In front of me? His Hand? Father, you can't be serious."

"If there is one who has committed treason, it is your boy-king that you serve," Lord Tywin replied as his frown deepened. "You speak for a king who has betrayed your trust. You think you have his ear, but the Starks laugh at your back. He has betrayed you and he has betrayed the realm."

"You speak nonsense, Father. I suggest you leave before I am forced to take action against you," Jaime said with a sneer.

"It has been uncovered that the quarantine placed on the Eyrie was a false quarantine," Tywin pronounced and he felt some satisfaction as Jaime paused. "This supposed Aemon Targaryen pulled it out of thin air. He forged a letter framing Lord Petyr Baelish for the death of Lord Jon Arryn and used it to coerce a confession out of Lady Lysa, so that he could remove her from power and allow the Stark ally Lord Yohn Royce to assume temporary mantle so that this 'king' could count on the Vale as allies."

Tywin allowed himself to smile at the fear in Jaime's eyes. He had clearly stunned him. "As you can see, your 'king' is nothing but a clever ruse to hide the Stark's bid for power."

Jaime shook his head. "I fear you have lost it, Father. The Stark's bid for power? The same Starks who live and breathe honor? You think Aemon, who has been raised by the Starks all of this time, has the gall to make such a move? And that Lord Stark would approve it?"

"There are a multitude of witnesses. All of the suitors vying for Lady Lysa's favor were locked up in the Eyrie with her. Now that they've been freed, their singing can be heard loud and clear. I will not stand by and allow another Targaryen to plunge this kingdom into chaos and madness. And I can't imagine you will either."

Tywin's frown deepened as Jaime continued to be stunned. It is shameful how little you still know, he thought. Jaime had shown great aptitude for the game so it was simply a matter of training to prepare and bring him up to the same level. Once the Starks were removed, they would have plenty of time to amend that.

"How do you intend for this to happen? Aemon still has the North, the Riverlands, the Reach, and the Vale. The Westerlands aren't beloved either."

"Those rumors that have been going around the Red Keep of the dragon deliberately murdering Robert and Lord Royce to cover his tracks have created unease. Not to mention the other rumors regarding Cersei's starvation."

Jaime's face contorted with anger. "Cersei reaps what she sows, regardless of any rumors."

"Be that as it may, he is starving a woman of nobility and stature. At the very minimum, it is an insult to the Lannisters that she be treated so poorly," Tywin said. "It is vile and ignoble to treat a woman of nobility with such callous disregard.

"The Vale will follow our lead when it's cemented that the dragon had a hand in Lord Royce's death. They were already wavering before. Why do you think Ser Lyn is intent on taking the Knights of the Vale back?"

"That's still not enough," Jaime replied. "You will throw the entire kingdom into war and the Westerlands do not have a large enough force to safely take on five of the seven kingdoms, including Dorne."

"After learning of the crimes of the Starks, do you think the Reach will be content for their beloved Lady Margaery Tyrell to remain a wife to Robb Stark?"

"How do you expect to control the North? They are protected by the Neck. It took Aegon the Conqueror flying a dragon to make them bend the knee," Jaime said, shaking his head mutely.

"I'll worry about that," Tywin said. He was pleased when he saw Jaime's eyes narrow in suspicion. Good. That should keep him guessing, he thought. He would agree with Baelish that not everyone needed to know the scope of the plan. That was kept to him and to a lesser extent Petyr Baelish. He had just received word the night before that Lord Roose Bolton had taken Winterfell with little trouble. All of the children, including the second Stark son, were now held by Lord Bolton. Once Robb Stark was dead, they would control the Stark heir. Lady Catelyn had taken the third Stark son with her on her visit to Riverrun, but as he was a mere babe, his threat was minimal and the Riverlands were far easier to reach than if he had remained in the North.

For once, Jaime was quiet as he absorbed all of the information. Tywin studied him. Since the first revelation, Jaime's expression had not varied much. Chief among them was fear, which Tywin was not expecting. His son had faced down Mad King Aerys and fought against the Smiling Knight. Tywin hadn't been sure Jaime even knew the meaning of fear, but he could see it

now.

"What you're proposing is risky. You could end up at the top, but all the other kingdoms will be clawing to tear you down. And if you don't get to the top… your name will be burned in infamy. It may be burned there regardless," Jaime said in a numb voice.

"We have the most powerful army. With the Reach as our ally, there would be no one who could stand against our might." For the first time since he'd arrived, Tywin poured his own goblet of wine and held it up in a test. "This is our legacy. We were born kings. It is time we showed the realm how kings rule."

Tywin raised the goblet to his lips and he heard Jaime ask, "When?"

"As soon as Kevan returns."

"I'm not recalling him."

Tywin glared at him once more. "Did you not hear me?"

Jaime huffed, but remained resolute. "If we are to show the realm how well we rule, it would look foolish for me to change my mind at this late hour. They're already gone, Father. They will remain gone."

Tywin ground his teeth together. He dared not supersede his son's rule for the time being, not when it was crucial to maintaining order once the coup was over. No matter. With our forces and the Reach combined, the other armies in the Red Keep will crumble just as well, Tywin thought and he felt the self-confidence well up inside of him.

"Very well. It won't be long now. Keep doing as you have and it will all fall into place." With that, Tywin didn't even wait for a dismissal before he left the Hand's solar.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Jaime XXII

Silence reigned in the room upon his Father's swift exit. Jaime swayed where he stood, stunned by the revelations that had fallen from his father's mouth. This is far more extensive than I could have ever imagined, he thought. He was used to experiencing attacks on an open battlefield or viewed from a map. However, his father and Lord Baelish had conspired right beneath their feet and, like vines, they had crept into the foundation of Aemon's kingship and weakened it. It was on the brink of collapse.

And it sounded like they were mere days or weeks away from his father toppling it. Aemon had sent a letter that arrived mere days ago with the date of his departure, having just cast off from Dorne. He did not have a moment to lose.

Jaime went to the door and opened it to find Podrick waiting. "Find my brother Tyrion and tell him to meet me under the hearttree in the godswood."

"Yes, m'lord," Pod said and rushed down the stairs.

Jaime followed him and made a stop at Healer David's room. It had been several weeks since the explosion and somehow the healer had pulled through. Once the healer was on the way to recovery, Jaime demanded updates every week. His apprentice, Julian, reported that David was healing at a remarkable rate, but that he would carry some ugly scars for the rest of his life. Once the healer was lucid, he reported a persistent burning sensation beneath his skin and Julian suspected it was lasting contamination from the wildfire that would eventually go away. Even still, David remained abed and wasn't likely to return to work for another two weeks.

Jaime checked in on the healer. His face was still bandaged, but there was no missing his irritability when Jaime demanded yet another person from the Shepherds bring Ser Lyn Corbray his meals. He had to make sure Ser Lyn wasn't poisoned like Robert Baratheon.

Then he was back on his way.

Jaime let out a breath as he entered the godswood and the chirping of the birds and the rustling of the leaves in the wind calmed him. He had to remind himself that the calm was only apparent on the surface. He stopped to allow his eyes to rove the area, searching for 'little birds' lurking in the greenery nearby. The ability to see sounds made it easier to spot anyone with hot feet or restless hands.

He started forward and went slowly as he scanned the area. A rustling in a bush caught his attention and he sauntered up to it. He saw movement that suggested something much larger than a squirrel. Putting a hand on the hilt of his sword, he stepped around the bush and saw a woman

freeze like a deer with a hand resting against the nearby tree. A basket of berries rested at her feet.

"Picking blackberries are you?" Jaime asked with a curious tilt of his head.

The woman smiled unsteadily and said, "Yes, Lord Hand. Fresh fruit for tomorrow's scones." Her voice was yellow with shakiness, but otherwise truthful.

"Any particular reason why you're picking from a bush without any berries?"

She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

"Get out," Jaime snarled at her. With a frightened gasp, she hastily grabbed the basket and scurried toward the exit. He scowled after her and then did a more thorough check of the surroundings to ensure there weren't anymore servants lurking.

"Jaime?" Tyrion's voice could be heard through the woods, but Jaime ignored him until his search was done.

When he finally turned towards the hearttree and stepped into the clearing, he noticed Tyrion staring at the remnants of the rope he had tried to hang himself with. When he heard Jaime, he turned and glared at him in mock anger.

"You were the one who asked for me," Tyrion said.

"I was flushing out 'little birds.'"

"I hope they flitted their way out of these woods. It can be dangerous for something so defenseless. There's already been more than one victim of a lion's bite today, it'd be a shame to add more. Is this about what father had to say?"

"Yes," Jaime whispered. "I know you're smart, Tyrion, but I am going to need you to be serious and handle this with great care. It will mean our lives if you don't."

Tyrion's gaze darkened and he drew his mouth into a solemn frown. He hesitantly nodded. "Castamere?"

"Much worse. Far worse than Castamere."

Tyrion shuddered. "I am going to need a drink after this."

Jaime grew angry. "Just don't let it cloud your judgment. You were always good at talking, so now you need to be better at keeping your silence."

His brother sighed in annoyance, but seemed to think better of a retort. "So, what are Father's dastardly plans now?"

"He intends to overthrow Aemon and eliminate the Starks."

Tyrion stared at him as if he had turned into a dragon and he himself swayed with the news. "I don't understand. How in Seven Hells does father plan to do that?"

With another glance around the area, Jaime dropped to his knees and whispered the details as loudly as he dared. With each new detail, Tyrion appeared to grow tenser until he was openly grinding his teeth. Once Jaime finished, Tyrion said, "I would call it clever were it not so short- sighted. Father never was good at taking things lying down."

Tyrion covered his face with his hands and kneaded his forehead. "I should've seen it. I spend quite a lot of time listening to court gossip. So few people realize I'm within earshot. I tried to correct those rumors regarding Robert Baratheon and Lord Yohn Royce, but it's like a poison. It's already seeped into the minds of many and won't be dislodged. They would speak it louder if they weren't so afraid of you." They both fell into contemplative silence and then Tyrion asked, "What do you intend to do?"

"I will stop him."

Tyrion snorted. "Stop, Father? You may as well stop the tide from coming in. I think you'll have better results."

"We can't let him win, Tyrion," Jaime whispered. "He must not win this."

Tyrion was quiet as he considered his brother with a grave expression. "It's too late to simply undo this. You're talking about fighting father."

"Well, I would prefer to arrest him, but I'm sure it will come to fighting."

"You're one man and he controls the army. The most powerful army in the Seven Kingdoms."

"Not anymore. I sent Uncle Kevan away, remember?"

"But then there's the Reach. If father has ensnared them, there is nothing stopping him from taking the throne."

Jaime ground his teeth. "There has to be a way. I have to somehow reach the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale armies. They're still Aemon's allies and they're still here."

"I know you have better standing than a year prior, but I doubt you could reach them. Maybe someone else could?" Tyrion tapped the side of his face impatiently as he seemed to think about it.

"The problem is, I can't be seen speaking with Aemon's allies or father might suspect something. If we're finally going to put an end to his conspiring, we have to catch him in the act. We have to arrest him." Jaime itched to pace, but he was deliberately keeping his voice down to prevent eavesdroppers. He could swear that he saw movement out of the corners of his eyes, but the colorful sounds showed nothing more than the breeze rippling leaves. He had swept the other people from the area.

"Wait," Tyrion began and he paused.

"What?"

"The Tyrells may not be as far gone as we think."

"How do you know?" Jaime asked impatiently.

"Lady Brienne."

Jaime narrowed his eyes and he shook his head. "I'm not following."

"Before Lady Brienne's duel with Ser Osmund Kettleblack, Lady Margaery summoned her for tea. Alas, the details were lost under a hearty rendition of The Bear and the Maiden Fair from the Tyrell's fool, but I think it was a positive experience for Lady Brienne. Earlier in the day she had seemed taken aback by the proposal and appeared dazed. On the day of her duel, did she look confused? I think Lady Margaery gave her important information. We know father doesn't particularly like Lady Brienne, but Lady Margaery spoke warmly of her after the duel and sent her flowers and sweets to aid in her recovery."

Jaime frowned. "It's a courtesy. Ladies do that sort of thing."

Tyrion looked at him wryly. "Don't be daft, brother. This is Lady Brienne we're talking about. Apart from Lady Dacey and Lady Maege, no one else has bothered sending recovery wishes to her."

"Lady Margaery is to be a lady paramount of the North. It's only polite."

"She would not be sending flowers to a lady from a lesser house of a different kingdom unless she expected Lady Brienne to be of equal status eventually; a potential ally."

Jaime paused and scowled at Tyrion. "You think based on that that the Tyrells may be at odds with Father?"

"I've been around Robb Stark and Lady Margaery Stark enough to know the two are smitten with each other. You have to realize, the Tyrells would only agree to this scheme with father if it means Lady Margaery becomes queen."

"But she's already been deflowered."

"She's not quite yet with a Stark pup. I believe ladies can control who sires their children, so if they were committing wholeheartedly, she could be taking that herb. But I think Lady Margaery likes things the way they are."

Jaime gritted his teeth. "We cannot guess at this! I have to know that the Tyrells are still Aemon's allies. It could even be that Lady Margaery is unaware as her grandmother arranges it around her."

Tyrion scoffed. "Lady Margaery is quite an adept player of the game for one so young. Gossip says she's spoken of her support in both you and Aemon. She has even come to your defense."

That caused Jaime to pause. "Has she now? We have to be certain."

"Leave that to me. I'll speak with her," Tyrion replied.

Jaime narrowed his eyes. "Do you think that's wise? Have you ever spoken to her before?"

"Just a few times. Pleasantries while walking through the garden and the occasional conversation about a book. I play Cyvasse with Lord Willas, so I have been seen in her company plenty of times."

"Very well. You can't botch this. The kingdom depends upon it."

"I won't fail brother."

"I'll speak to Addam Marbrand. He controls some of the Lannister forces. We may be able to count on him."

"That sounds promising, but did Father mention when the coup was going to happen?" Tyrion said and his voice dropped to a whisper as he spoke.

Jaime thought about it. "He said 'soon.' I think they're about ready, but they're waiting for the best time. Father wants every advantage, so I can't see him springing it during the day where the

guards could see him marching into the city with the army a mile off. When's the next full moon?"

"About a week thereabouts. I'd have to look at the tables, but pretty sure that's it."

"If the night is clear then that's the best time to strike."

Tyrion nodded vaguely. "You are the commander, not I, so you would know best. Before I leave, shall I forward a note to Lady Brienne through Lady Margaery?"

Jaime felt his mouth go dry and hot blood rushed into his face. He abruptly turned away from Tyrion.

"Yelling at Lady Brienne was hardly called for, brother. It's not her fault she was attacked when she had gotten the 'yield' that ended the duel."

Brienne's hurt blue eyes were burned into his memory. Knowing her, his words had been far more injurious than the sword that had sliced her arm. Whatever progress he had made towards cracking the shell she had constructed around her heart was in tatters. "She almost died. I couldn't—I wouldn't." He cut himself off before he could finish and winced at the way his voice had wavered. Tyrion couldn't know that losing Brienne would have shattered his very will. He would return to being a living ghost once more if he lost her again.

"Kettleblack proved yesterday that he isn't worthy of the title of knight. You can start making your amends by stripping him of that, should he live."

Jaime's mouth quirked into a smirk. "Still alive then?"

"He's wavering for now. I admit, one clean stab is impressive, even for you. Ser Lin Corbray must not have seen the duel yesterday or I doubt he would've been so brave at court," Tyrion said and there was amusement in his tone.

"How's Brienne?" Jaime asked.

"The maesters patched her up in a trice. She is resting in her rooms as the maesters insisted. You should do something. Send her flowers."

Jaime vehemently shook his head. "Flowers are not the sort of gift she would appreciate. And I...I can't send her something so overt." He clenched his jaw and glared off at the side.

"Father…" Tyrion mumbled and nodded. "You're concerned Father might do something."

"I know he'd do something. The Westerlands would receive nothing from the match. I don't want to give Father any further ideas to do to her what he did to the Reynes and Tarbecks."

"It's a valid concern, but then what are you going to do?" Tyrion stared at him with an intense frown. "You cannot simply pine away after Lady Brienne forever. She won't wait. It could be that she decides to lose the next duel."

With luck, brother, I won't have to do anything. Father will do it for me, Jaime thought and he had to bite his tongue to keep from speaking it again. He had to continue to be patient.

"I don't know," Jaime said instead. "But I intend to marry Brienne some day."

"Then say so." When Jaime still seemed unsure, Tyrion grew stern. "This is no longer the time to dance around it. You have to be honest with her, speak your intentions plainly."

"That could get back to father."

"If Lady Margaery's loyalties lie where I think they do, then it won't. Remember, she's quite skilled."

Jaime thought about it. It was simply about delivering a message to Brienne; nothing particularly crucial. He didn't have to inform her about any of the other happenings in the Red Keep and with any luck the expectations demanded of being Lady Stark would keep her on the straight and narrow with her husband. With some hesitation, he nodded.

"Good! Just give the note to me and I will see it gets to Lady Margaery."

Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes For those who were on my Discord, I was able to notify that my Internet was down, so posting this would be a bit difficult. If you would like similar notifications in the future, please feel free to join the channel!

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Chapter 74 - Daenerys VIII/Arya III

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! I hope you're all having a good weekend. It's very likely that none of this would be possible without your support, so thank you!

Catzrko0l has once again made sure that these chapters are a smooth read for you. I have much to thank them for and I hope you thank them too!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 74

Daenerys VIII

"They say beasts guard the realm of Old Valyria. No dragons for they cannot fly. It is why those who ever attempt to visit Old Valyria never return. I, however, I will be the first to visit and return. I need only my crew. There be enough here to overwhelm the beasts who guard the Doom," Captain Lucia Hardy said with an avaricious grin.

Daenerys returned the smile, though it did not reach her eyes. It had been a week since they set sail from Astapor on the Rhaella. The armada of ships bearing the rest of the ten thousand Unsullied were sprawled out behind them. She turned now to watch them as seeing all of the ships dedicated to her cause buoyed her mood.

She had been looking forward to the company that both Captain Lucia Hardy and Missandei offered. But where Missandei was quiet and gentle, often willing to share a giggle with her, Captain Lucia's tongue had a cutthroat edge that seemed ready to strip the skin off of anyone unfortunate enough to raise her ire. As yet, that ire had never been directed at her, but she had been witness to it far too many times. It was a lasting source of disagreement.

Captain Lucia berated her own crewmen and even the Unsullied. In the Unsullied's case, they remained unmoved and unyielding and it gave Daenerys the distinct impression that Captain Lucia enjoyed striking them with her words precisely because they would not flinch. The first time Daenerys happened upon it, she called Captain Lucia to her makeshift throne and snapped at her that she was never to speak with such disrespect to her Unsullied again. Captain Lucia had been appropriately contrite, but the incidents of abuse persisted. She nearly broke Missandei's wrist when she was serving drinks because the captain wanted a different beverage. Again, Daenerys demanded that Captain Lucia treat her servants more kindly and wound up comforting Missandei later.

Daenerys would admit that it had been a couple of days since she'd seen such incidents and she hoped that Captain Lucia now knew her place. But Dany was not fool enough to believe she had really changed her ways. Once I reach King's Landing, I can be rid of her, Daenerys thought with some relief. That was a mere two months away. She had waited all of her life to return to Westeros; she could wait a little longer.

Despite her mistreatment of those with lower status, Daenerys gave her grudging respect. Captain Lucia was the only person who appeared unphased by the dragons or even the threat to her being. All it had taken for the other captains to obey was one look at both Drogon's and Rhaellon's hissing mouths full of teeth and they fell trembling to their knees. Captain Lucia had merely shrugged when the threat of a fiery death had been leveled at her. Since the captain had been in Astapor when the Masters had received their hideous deaths, she had to know Daenerys was still willing to deliver on her threats.

Regardless of the danger from the dragons, Captain Lucia appeared delighted by their antics as they snapped and hissed at each other in aerial battles. For all of her bravado, she was not quite fool enough to attempt to pet them at least. The dragons still only allowed Dany to lovingly stroke their necks.

As much as Daenerys disagreed with her treatment of people of lesser status, Captain Lucia's knowledge of worldly affairs was undisputed. In just the one week, there were two times they had spoken long into the early hours of the morning where Captain Lucia gave her a history of Westeros and it's major families. Later, when she ran the conversations by Ser Barristan, he had agreed with much of it, correcting only smaller details here and there. There was one section of history, however, that Daenerys was adamant about hearing straight from Ser Barristan and that was the circumstances surrounding her father and his death. Captain Lucia had been a mere child when the events had occurred and although she had been accurate on much else, Dany didn't trust her memory for this.

Daenerys glanced over to see Ser Barristan standing mere feet away, watching over her like a hawk. Her bloodriders were of a similar distance. They still seemed ill at ease on the ocean despite the time traveling on it, but Ser Barristan swayed with the ship like he was a part of it. He hadn't said anything further about Captain Lucia since they departed and he kept his face pleasantly neutral. Apart from seeming naturally pleasant, she could not read the thoughts on his face.

She hadn't known him for long, but she understood that he was too deferential to initiate the conversation. That would be up to her. She had been delaying as she sorted out her army and supporters, like Captain Lucia, but not in small part because she wasn't sure how much she wanted to hear the truth.

Her brother, Viserys, had insisted that the rebels were mere agitators who wanted power for themselves and that they had attacked their king without legitimate grievances. She had grown up her whole life hearing about how the Stark Whore had seduced their brother Rhaegar like a northern witch and he had died with a hammer to the chest by the Usurper, Robert Baratheon, as a result. Their father had valiantly tried to hold the traitorous Tywin Lannister at bay only for Tywin's golden son to shove his sword into the back of the very king he swore to protect. Their mother died to give birth to her on the stormiest night that Dragonstone had ever seen. That they had only managed to escape by the skin of their teeth before Lord Stannis Baratheon, the new king's brother, had arrived to bring them to their deaths.

All of her life, she was moved from place to place and watched her brother beg on their behalf, for food, for shelter, for mere scraps. For years she had forgotten what having a full belly felt like. She had otherwise been fed on a diet of unending hate against the Usurper and his friends. But that had seemed so distant to her, all her brother told her sounded almost like tales of mythical lands far away.

Even now that she was grown and had suffered so much, all she could do was wonder about the changes in Westeros. The Usurper who had rebelled with his friend, Eddard Stark, had found himself backstabbed by that very friend and a new dragon was placed on the throne. Even Robert Baratheon's first and best friend would not back him in the end.

Daenerys pulled herself away from the railing. Captain Lucia was still entertained by the dragons as they plunged into the water for fish and weaved through the air. They were big enough now that Daenerys no longer felt comfortable keeping them in her cabin. The first night she had spent away from them, they had screeched and cried mournfully through the night and Daenerys found herself joining them to keep them company so that the rest of the crew could sleep. Eventually, they had grown used to the separation.

Daenerys walked over to Ser Barristan and said, "I am ready to hear about my father and what he did to inspire the rebellion."

"As you wish, Princess."

"We shall speak in my cabin," she demanded.

"Very well," he replied and fell into step behind her.

The quarters were large for a ship, but not nearly as grandiose as what had been available to her at Xaro Xhoan Daxos' palace. Her bed was set out in the open and they seated themselves at a small,

round wooden table merely a few feet away. There were plush rugs to make it more comfortable, but it was otherwise kept clean and simple.

Daenerys took a sip of the wine Missandei had brought in and watched Ser Barristan closely as he merely glanced at it.

"You are free to partake," she said.

"Thank you, Princess, and I will," he replied, but he still continued to sit, stiff and alert in his chair, watching her closely. Then he asked, "What is it that you would like to know first?"

Daenerys focused on a dent in the wood and willed herself not to pick at it. She wanted to say the beginning, but where was the starting point? When Rhaegar crowned Lady Lyanna his queen of love and beauty? When the Usurper called for open rebellion? Finally, she said, "Where do you think I should start?"

She noticed Ser Barristan's eyes fade away to a far off point as he seemed to think. Finally, he said, "It started with your father, King Aerys II. He was the main instigator. He was not always so… antagonistic. At one point, he and Lord Tywin Lannister were close friends. Lord Tywin acted as Hand to King Aerys II. It's hard to say where your father started showing the first inklings of madness, but most speculate that it began in the form of jealousy for Lord Tywin's accomplishments. There were whispers that Lord Tywin was the true king of Westeros and King Aerys was merely playing at king. Your father didn't like that."

Daenerys was already stunned. Her brother had never mentioned Lord Tywin Lannister of all people in a positive light. Had never mentioned that he and perhaps his children had once been family friends and allies.

"The Targaryens were close allies with the Lannisters?'

"With Lord Tywin at least, once. Now, your brother, Prince Rhaegar, is another major influence. Prince Rhaegar was the kindest, gentlest man I knew. He liked to go down to Flea Bottom and play his lute for the people living down there." Daenerys could see a softening in Ser Barristan and a small smile played on his lips. "He was the best musician and could cause the women to weep with a few strums of the chords. He was also remarkably intelligent. Knowledgeable of many things. I like to think I knew your brother well, but if the events that led to his death are anything to go by, I didn't know him well enough."

"How do you mean?"

"Your brother became obsessed with a prophecy of some kind. I only have small details. Bits about how the 'Dragon has three heads' and that the 'Prince Who Was Promised would be born from fire and ice.' It makes little sense to me. I never thought your brother would be taken by something that seemed so fanciful. He was not the first Targaryen to be undone by prophecy. It could be argued that your grandfather King Jaeherys started this pursuit of prophecy. He appointed me to the Kingsguard, so I am familiar enough with your family's history that you can be confident in my words. When Prince Duncan married his Jenny, her woodwitch friend predicted that The Prince Who Was Promised would come from the line of then Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella. Yes, your grandfather forced your father and mother to marry because of this. It was...an unhappy union to say the least." Daenerys raised her eyebrows at the shame that seemed to steal over Ser Barristan and he averted his eyes to the table for a moment. He then cleared his throat and continued, "Your father's madness coupled with Prince Rhaegar's headlong pursuit to fulfilling this prophecy set your family on a ship towards a waterfall."

Daenerys realized she was chewing the inside of her mouth and willed herself to stop. She tried to be patient as Ser Barristan finally took a draught from the wine cup. She thought she saw pain on the sharp plains of his face.

"Harrenhal. Everyone was there for the tourney that was to take place. Now, your father had already had quite a reputation for his ill-temper and his wild moods. The smallest thing could set him off. Lord Tywin was still Hand of the King at this point. A few years prior, he had been positioning for your father to accept a betrothal between Lady Cersei Lannister and your brother, Prince Rhaegar. Your father spat in his face and chose Princess Elia Martell instead. And still, your father did not like his grandchildren. He said he smelled their Dornishness. Princess Rhaenys had dark hair but Prince Aegon was born with the Targaryen silver hair."

She stared, aghast at the revelation. Two beautiful children had been born to succeed the king and he was not pleased? She could not wrap her mind around not welcoming either of them. Viserys had a disgusting habit of scaring her to stillness when he spoke of the assassins killing her in the same way Ser Amory Lorch had stabbed their niece Rhaenys half a hundred times. The details of their fate weren't ones that she could escape.

"Are you well, Princess?"

Daenerys felt her mouth work soundlessly. Finally, she spoke in a trembling voice, "Yuh-yes, I'm fine. Please, continue."

"Ser Jaime was sworn to the Kingsguard at Harrenhal. Are you familiar with the requirements to be a kingsguard?" When she nodded, he said, "King Aerys did it to steal Lord Tywin's heir. Then

once the ceremony was over, he sent him off to King's Landing. He was a mere boy of five-and- ten. That was the last straw for Lord Tywin. He packed up Lady Cersei Lannister, resigned his post as Hand, and left for Casterly Rock.

"Then, of course, Prince Rhaegar crowned Lady Lyanna Stark his queen of love and beauty upon winning the tourney. He rode right past Princess Elia to give it to her. This caused great offense to a large number of parties; your brother should've known better. He almost certainly knew better. He was already married and had no business giving the crown to a maid he was not entitled to. Lady Lyanna Stark was betrothed to Lord Robert Baratheon." When Ser Barristan finished this sentence it was with a heavy sigh and he kneaded his forehead as if he still was trying to understand the purpose of the events.

"A few weeks after Harrenhal, Prince Rhaegar took Lady Lyanna from somewhere outside Riverrun and they eloped."

Daenerys felt herself biting her lip. She had known that Prince Rhaegar gave the crown of love and beauty to Lady Lyanna Stark and later absconded with her. Now that she had been wedded and bedded to someone like Khal Drogo, she wondered at what Lady Lyanna had been thinking. Had she been willing or did she even have a choice? Would Rhaegar give Lady Lyanna the same choice that Viserys had given her when it came to marrying Drogo? It didn't sound like the kind man Ser Barristan described.

She nodded. "I learned about this not long after I had married Khal Drogo. It's what grants King Aemon legitimacy."

Ser Barristan nodded. "Supposedly, the Septon annulled the marriage between Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia. It's not clear how he did this. Perhaps it was under pain of death? The only ones who were there besides Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna were the Kingsguard who guarded her at the Tower of Joy. And they're all dead.

"Once the news spread that Prince Rhaegar had stolen Lady Lyanna, Brandon Stark and some of his friends rushed to King's Landing. Brandon Stark demanded his sister returned and threatened to kill Prince Rhaegar," Ser Barristan said and sighed again. "Foolish, really, to level such a threat at the crown prince to the king himself. For that, Brandon Stark and his friends were thrown into the cells."

A distasteful expression stole over Ser Barristan. "Lord Rickard Stark came to King's Landing to barter for his heir's life and demanded a trial by combat, as was his right. Lord Rickard showed up to court dressed in his best armor. He was suspended from the rafters. King Aerys declared that fire was his champion and if Lord Rickard could keep himself from burning, then he would win."

Daenerys gasped and stared in confused horror. "That's… hardly fair…" She heard herself murmur. Her thoughts instantly flew back to the Masters she'd had the dragons burn alive. They had been wicked men who tortured little boys and turned them into warrior slaves. They had deserved such a fate. She had given Mirri Maz Duur the chance to prove her worth and heal Khal Drogo. Mirri Maz Duur had betrayed her instead to be rid of another Khal, only for two new Khalasars to spring forth. With the death of the Masters, Daenerys ended a horrendous practice and freed ten thousand slaves. Those were not deaths she would regret.

"Unfair indeed. The fire was started. Brandon Stark had been brought up into the court. He was rigged so that his struggles would tighten a noose around his neck with every move. He tried. He tried to save his father. He strangled himself in the noose. The same fate befell the rest of his friends and their fathers; they were all executed. King Aerys just laughed."

Daenerys felt herself going numb as she tried to understand how her father could have been so different from what Viserys had told her. He hadn't given her the details of how the Lord Stark was burned alive with his son watching, just that they had been traitors and they'd gotten what they deserved. She was starting to think now that even Viserys hadn't known their true fates. She felt ill and as she watched Ser Barristan take another drink, she realized he had yet more to continue.

"When Lord Stark and Brandon Stark died, your father demanded Eddard Stark's head, and Lord Robert Baratheon's as well. The new Lord Stark had been sent to foster with Lord Jon Arryn at the Eyrie and Lord Robert was also fostering there. That's how they became such close friends. Lord Jon Arryn refused to give them up. Lord Robert demanded they go to war to gain back Lady Lyanna and avenge Lord Stark's family. So began Robert's Rebellion.

"At the Trident, myself, Prince Lewyn Martell, and Ser Jonothor Darry rode out with Prince Rhaegar. Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Ser Oswell Whent were left to guard Lady Lyanna at the Tower of Joy. Ser Jaime Lannister was the only member of the Kingsguard left in King's Landing. He was responsible for guarding the king, Princess Elia, Prince Aegon, and Princess Rhaenys. From what I've heard, though, King Aerys kept him by his side every single day.

"I think you know the rest. Prince Rhaegar lost his life in the Battle of the Trident. I was injured and unable to divert the blow from him. Lord Tywin sacked King's Landing and Lord Jaime slayed your father, the king."

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "Do you think being so close to my father inspired Ser Jaime to kill him?"

"I cannot say, Princess. As far as I know, Lord Jaime and King Aemon are the only ones who know what happened. Neither have spoken a word of it."

"What do you mean, 'as far as you know'?"

Ser Barristan seemed to consider her question and then he said, "King Aemon pardoned Lord Jaime for his kingslaying."

Daenerys felt her ire rise and she started to tap the table in irritation. "Did he now? Ser Jorah told me some months ago that King Aemon saved Lord Jaime from death. I remember it infuriated my brother. It baffles me. Why?"

The old knight cocked his head at her. "The political reasons are strong enough that keeping Lord Jaime alive was far more favorable than the alternative. But I don't think that is the only reason."

"I know the Lannisters are a powerful family. But it surprises me that King Aemon would so quickly forgive him for killing a member of our family."

"The situation is complicated, Princess. The death of Lord Jaime Lannister for a crime he did not commit would've torn the realm asunder. If you're not aware, Lord Tywin does not take slights against his family lightly. He butchered an entire line for refusing to pay his father's taxes and giving the respect the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands deserved."

Daenerys felt her eyes widen and she stared with a mixture of fear and disgust at Ser Barristan. He merely nodded.

"By saving Lord Jaime, King Aemon stayed Lord Tywin's hand. However, with the same move, he made it impossible for the former Prince Joffrey to contest the succession. Lady Cersei had confessed that Robert Baratheon's children were not his. So while Lord Tywin's favored son was saved, the rest of his blood was removed from the throne. I doubt Lord Tywin would weigh the significance of the debt he owed King Aemon higher than the insult of having his grandson stripped of the crown."

Daenerys leaned in further. She had never been entangled in a conflict this intricate and political.

Ser Barristan continued. "So King Aemon pardoned Lord Jaime for the kingslaying and dismissed

him from the Kingsguard."

She blinked in confusion. "I thought you told me that a Kingsguard serves for life?"

"That is true. It's a requirement that I wish could not have been subverted, but the king may do as he wishes. Releasing Lord Jaime from the Kingsguard restored him as the heir to Casterly Rock. Elevating him to Hand of the King tied Lord Jaime—and therefore Lord Tywin—closely to King Aemon. While Lord Tywin may not hold life debts in esteem, Lord Jaime does. And Lord Tywin would dare not go against his heir for fear of undermining his authority when he finally took over as head of House Lannister."

Daenerys nodded. "I see what King Aemon had planned. He is quite clever."

"That he is. But I don't think he made Lord Jaime Hand to the King for political reasons alone. He was squire to Lord Jaime, having been bound to him for three weeks before Lord Jaime was set for execution. They are friends."

"Hmm…" Daenerys furrowed her brow and she did not bother to hide her skepticism. "Are you so sure that Lord Jaime would not try to kill King Aemon? Being that close would give him the opportunity."

"Indeed it would, but I don't see Lord Jaime attempting to kill King Aemon. Despite what he did to your father, he does not carry a grudge against all Targaryens."

"I would like to find that out before I put myself within arm's reach of him. How is it that King Aemon would trust a kingslayer?"

"Because Lord Jaime took King Aemon as his squire. That was when King Aemon was known as the Stark's bastard, Jon Snow. Without a doubt King Aemon showed prowess and great talent with the sword. But I later learned, after King Aemon assumed the throne, that Lord Jaime knew that King Aemon was Prince Rhaegar's son. Taking him under his wing as squire was merely an excuse to get him into King's Landing, near the seat of power."

Daenerys gasped. "But how did he know?"

The knight had a small smile on his face, but she noticed that he couldn't quite meet her eyes and

then said, "He put two and two together in King's Landing when Lord Stark came back from the Tower of Joy with his sister's body and a babe."

"Ser, you have been truthful all this time. I would hate for you to undermine your own account by withholding the truth now."

If Ser Barristan was hiding the truth, he did not flinch. Yet he still could not seem to find her eyes. He shrugged and said, "That's what Lord Jaime said to us."

Daenerys frowned. The account had given her much to think about. She had already known that her brother had taken Lady Lyanna despite being married himself. It surprised her that all of this tragedy had been precipitated by her brother's obsession with a prophecy. And now she was curious to hear it herself, but for what purpose had he been pursuing this prophecy? She wondered if Ser Barristan would even tell her if he knew.

No matter what King Aemon seemed to think or the masterful move he made in making Lord Jaime his Hand, she was not about to forgive the kingslayer. Whatever her father's crimes, Lord Jaime's actions had led to her growing up in misery, to being sold to a stranger as its own form of slavery by her own brother, who had grown bitter and mad from all the years of begging.

The dragons had been her saving grace and not strictly for their power. She had lost one baby, Rhaego, only to be replaced by two baby dragons. While a human child and dragons could not be compared, her two babies trilled, played, and crooned in much the same way. Rhaego could not be replaced, but the hole he'd left in her heart did not have to pain her as sharply as it would have if she had been left with nothing.

She glanced towards the window and found the orange light of the setting sun shining off the water. "I best bring the dragons in. Thank you, Ser Barristan, for giving me the truth."

"Of course, Princess. If you would ever like any more information regarding your family, King Aemon, or the history and houses of Westeros, I will do my best to provide."

He followed her on deck, staying on her heels like she imagined he once did with her brother Rhaegar.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Arya III

She skipped towards the training yard. When she thought about it, her own transformation amazed her. The last thing she had ever wanted to do was leave the North. The entire journey south to King's Landing had been a blur characterized only by her anger and sense of betrayal. Being forced to share a carriage with Sansa for months on end was a misery she was afraid to repeat. She honestly thought her life couldn't get worse.

Then Jon freed her from the obligation to be forced into a marriage. Then she was able to get sword lessons from real women fighters! And then she had made actual friends! She'd only ever had her siblings and Theon to play with back in Winterfell. But in King's Landing, Lucille was her age and also training to fight with a sword. Nearly every day they were on the training grounds swinging swords as if they were boys. Although Lucille did do lady things like sewing, she didn't find them appealing like Sansa. For so long, Sansa and Jeyne Poole had made fun of her for being different, calling her horse-face. The majority of ladies still did not fight, but Arya felt she had found her people in Lady Brienne of Tarth, Lady Dacey, Lady Maege, and Lucille.

It wasn't even just the other women who treated her right on the training grounds. Edric Dayne had been training with them as well. Women fighters did not faze him since he was from Dorne. He was a couple years older and served as the squire to Ser Beric Dondarrion. When the three of them were feeling particularly rambunctious, they pleaded with Ser Beric to tell them stories of his adventures and fights. Other times they took Nymeria and ran through the godswood. Nymeria was nearly her height and she could outrun them within a few leaps, but her direwolf dogged their steps as they ran shouting and leaping over the tree roots sprawling out before them. She wasn't sure she had ever felt so carefree in Winterfell with all of her lessons hanging over her head.

She stopped mid-skip to take the stance she saw from Lord Jaime in his duel against Ser Lyn Corbray. Father would have never let her watch such a thing, but Robb was too involved with Lady Margaery to keep a close eye on her. She, Lucille, and Edric had squeezed through the people and crouched at their feet, peering through the legs of the Lannister soldiers. Lord Jaime had been fierce and majestic in his multifaceted Lannister armor with gold paint the color of his hair. His expression had been darker than any she had seen from her own father and it caused her to shiver in fear and excitement. She expected the battle to be epic.

While Lord Jaime had been powerful, he'd been much too quick for Arya's liking. She would've preferred the fight had gone for several minutes longer. Edric had quirked his mouth at her and said, "Most duels end quickly. It seems that Lord Jaime wasn't interested in playing with his food this time."

"This time?"

"You've seen him training. He likes to toy."

Unfortunately, it had been months since she saw him training. It wasn't too long after Arya arrived that Jon and her father had sailed to Dorne. Almost as soon as they were gone, Lord Jaime had become like a ghost. The only times she ever caught sight of him were when he was at court and she made every effort to stay out of there. Standing around watching him make decisions was duller than unpolished armor.

Arya ran through the stances that she remembered, brandishing her invisible sword. She fixed her face into an expression mirroring Lord Jaime's and then just as quickly picked up skipping again. There hadn't been any training the day before, so she was eager to get there now and beg Lady Maege or Lady Dacey.

As the training ground came into view, she grinned at seeing Lucille already waiting, training sword by her side, but she was tapping her foot impatiently as she watched Lady Maege and Lady Dacey.

"Lucille!"

Her friend turned and grinned, waving enthusiastically. "Hi, Arya! Ready to fight?"

"Always am," Arya piped back up.

Lucille then scowled and said, "I don't think Lady Maege and Lady Dacey are going to train us today."

"Again?" Arya said scowled back. This was the third day in a row that they had sent the girls away. "But I want to try some of Lord Jaime's moves."

"They've just been standing there whispering to each other. Something doesn't feel right, but then no one ever tells us anything," Lucille replied.

Arya frowned. She had felt something similar. The warrior ladies had been particularly level with them compared to most adults, but ever since Lady Brienne had been injured, Lady Dacey and Lady Maege had seemed worried and distracted. When they'd asked what was going on, Lady Maege had shaken her head and Lady Dacey said, "Adult things. You wouldn't care."

They were right. Arya didn't care, but she didn't understand how it could distract from fighting. Training only happened an hour or two a day and then Arya was forced to attend lessons and sewing with Sansa. Thankfully, Lucille also attended their sewing lessons so Arya at least had someone to share her misery.

Since Lucille was the daughter of an exceedingly minor lord, she was hesitant to interrupt a serious conversation. But Arya was the daughter of the lord paramount. She walked over to them and blatantly said, "Lady Dacey, Lady Maege, Lucille and I are ready for our lesson." She frowned when they looked at her in irritation. They were generally more forgiving of her willfulness, as her father called it.

"I'm sorry, Arya, but not today. We have...other things on our minds," Lady Maege said in a tone that brooked no argument.

But Arya had had enough of the delays. "But we want to learn the moves that Lord Jaime did in the duel!"

Lady Maege's eyebrows went up and her eyes became as hard as her father's when he was at his most angry.

She took a small step back and began chewing her lip.

"I said no and that will be the end of it! You shouldn't have been at the duel anyway… Now go along before I say something to Lord Robb."

Like he will do anything, Arya thought, but she stomped away fuming all the same.

Lucille sighed at her thunderous expression. "No then?"

"Of course not!"

"We could always practice without them."

"They always break up the fight before it can even start," Arya replied. "No training without a judge."

Lucille sighed again in exasperation. "Let's go find Edric."

"Yes, let's," Arya replied. Before they scoop us up for more sewing, she thought heatedly. They dashed for the throne room, dodging all of the nobility and servants who gave startled cries. Before they entered the doorway, they veered to the left of the building and down the stairs. They kept going past the buildings and servants watched them run by in confusion. Tucked in a corner was a small hole for a window and they climbed through.

It appeared to have been a servant's room if the broken beds were any indication, but it had since been filled with a variety of crates. They held tablecloths, candlesticks, torches, blankets, and other odds and ends. One of the candle holders on the fireplace hung on a mechanism and when they turned it inward, a small door behind the grate opened. They crawled through into the darkness. Before closing the door, they reached for a wrapped bundle and pulled out a candle holder each with fresh candles they'd stolen from within the crates. Once the candles were lit, Arya found the lever to pull the door back into place. The candle did not put off a lot of light, but they followed the tiny corridor. Even they had to stoop as they walked along until they came upon an opening on the right and they ducked in.

"I'm so glad we found this. It's nice to have a place even my brothers can't reach," Lucille said as she blew out a breath.

During one exploration of the Red Keep, Arya had brought Nymeria along. No one had dared say a cross word to them with her direwolf lurking in the back and grumbling her mistress' irritation at any meddling. She had been the one who found the window in the wall. They had left her standing guard since it was too small for her to fit through and she ensured no one snooped in their business.

"Mmhmm. Sansa would never follow me down here."

Lucille laughed. "I'd like to see her try."

Arya snorted and soon they broke up into giggles.

It hadn't taken them more than a couple of weeks to explore the Red Keep and stumble upon these

hidden passages. Once they had found a tiny room as their base, she, Lucille, and Edric had struck out and wandered the lengths of the hidden passages. Some hallways had ended in barred gates and others were simply deadends. They had found one passage ending in a ladder and when they'd gone up it and found the lever, they had been shocked to find it had spilled out into the Hand of the King's solar. They had immediately left. It had been fortunate that was the one time Lord Jaime was holding court.

They had spent weeks exploring the passages and had found numerous doors. Arya had fruitlessly examined the walls in her room for a secret passage and found none. However, she once had had the opportunity to explore their private eating area and had found a passage next to the fireplace. They had found that was a common pattern for most of the secret passages.

There had been a handful of times when they'd been exploring and stopped short at voices echoing down the hall. The three of them had quickly retreated to their hovel.

Undoubtedly, they were not allowed in these tunnels and they would be in huge trouble if spotted. Then they'd never get a chance to hide away again.

They had attempted to keep food stored away, but had come back to find rats as big as cats chewing on it and that had ruined the idea forevermore.

Lucille handed Arya a cup with contents that rattled. Then they divided up an assortment of wood chips and pebbles they had collected. Soon they were throwing the dice, making their bets, and giggling and crying as their luck wavered from fortunate to ill. They hadn't played more than a handful of rounds when they heard footsteps. They froze, staring at the door and only relaxed when Edric poked his head through.

"Glad you found us," Lucille said.

"I figured you might be here when I asked Lady Maege and Dacey if they'd seen you. They said you'd run off together to the 'Stranger knows where.'"

"They refused to train us. Again," Arya said with a scowl.

"Yeah…" Edric said with a puzzled frown. "Everyone feels on edge. I don't think it's just from the duel yesterday."

"But they won't tell us anything. We're too young," Arya grumbled.

Edric gave her a wry smile. "As if you'd listen."

"I can listen when it's interesting."

"Except they wouldn't tell you anything interesting, precisely so that you won't think it's interesting and you won't try to find out more. It is boring politics and house history and insults. It's just a tangled web, but…"

"But what?" Arya asked.

"Have you heard something?" Lucille began eagerly.

Edric's frown deepened. "A few days ago while you were in sewing lessons, I was exploring the passages here. I must have been by the Stormlord's quarters because I heard Lord Penrose speaking to another lord. I can't remember his name. They were talking about a 'Baratheon Protection Plan.' The one I didn't know said, 'Do you think we can trust Lord Tywin?' He said there were plenty of reasons to think so."

Lucille wrinkled her nose and said, "That could mean anything."

He gave her a sharp look. "The Baratheons were in line to be kings before King Aemon uprooted King Robert Baratheon. And if Lord Tywin is involved, it can't be good."

Arya chewed her lip and fiddled with the dice in her hands. "You think they're going to hurt Jon?"

He was grave as he looked at her and said, "It sounded like it."

Arya shot to her feet. "We need to tell someone!"

"Who?" Edric asked.

Arya shot to her feet. "Robb! Robb will listen!"

"Do you really think so?" Edric's face was grave.

Arya hesitated.

"My parents would listen," Lucille said.

"Absolutely not," Edric said in a far sharper tone than they were used to and Lucille shrank, glaring at him. "You parents are vassals to Lord Lannister. They are beholden to them. This could easily get back to them."

"Their loyalty is to Lord Jaime, not Lord Lannister."

"They're one in the same," Edric replied hotly. "Families don't go against one another. Lord Lannister is Lord Jaime's father, do you think he would go against his own father? Would you go against your father? If King Aemon is in danger, Lord Jaime is in support of it because his father is."

"But… but Lord Jaime has been so kind to us," Arya said with her brow knit in confusion. "He and Jon allowed us to train when no one else would."

Edric sighed. "It's all been a ruse. He's just as untrustworthy as his father. He is the Kingslayer, after all."

"No!" Arya shouted and her voice echoed in the tiny stoneroom. She was startled at the burst of noise and lowered it. "I don't believe it. Jon wouldn't be so stupid to befriend someone who would go against him. And I mean Lord Jaime, not Lord Lannister. He is not like his father, he even saved Robb. Jon is smart, he wouldn't make Lord Jaime his Hand if he didn't trust him."

Edric just shook his head. "Whatever King Aemon thought of Lord Jaime, he appears to be wrong. Arya, please, whatever happens, do not trust Lord Jaime. The Starks are tied so closely to King Aemon that it could mean death for you, too, and I don't want that. We don't want that, right, Lucille?"

"Of course not! But do you think something really will happen? I may not know much about winning, but usually the winning force likes to keep ladies alive," Lucille said and she grimaced. "Usually for nothing good…"

"Exactly. Arya, if something happens, find your way here! Lucille and I will help you stay hidden."

"But...what about Robb? And…Sansa?" She found her sister boring and annoying at the best of times, but she couldn't imagine Sansa suffering. She couldn't allow Sansa to suffer.

"Do you think they'll listen to you? If not, at least you have to look out for yourself, and maybe you can help them too later. At least this way Lord Robb won't have to worry about you too if something happens." Edric said. "If things get serious, you need to come straight here."

"What do you mean by serious?" Arya asked in a trembling voice.

"A fight, a battle," Edric replied. His face was more intent than she'd ever seen. There was both fear and concern. "Please, tell me you'll be safe!"

"I will," she said and sat once more. Her good humor was now gone and she chewed her lip in worry.

"I'm sorry, Arya. I… I don't want anything bad to happen to you," Edric said.

"Thanks," she whispered back and was grateful once again to have friends. She wrapped her arms around her knees.

"Do you trust me ?" Lucille asked in a bitter voice.

"Of course I do. I just don't trust your parents. We can't trust your parents."

"...I don't think my parents would hold with any fights."

"Your parents will do what they need to do to make sure the lot of you survive. That's how it's always been," Edric said. "We can only trust ourselves." He looked around at their gloomy faces and said, "Hey, it's okay. Nothing's going to happen right now. Hopefully, nothing will happen. Cheer up. Let's explore the passages some more. We should make sure we all know the way back here if we need it."

Arya sighed. Edric was particularly bad at cheering people up. Now that Arya knew Jon and her family were in danger, she didn't think she'd be able to get it out of her head. She wanted to tell Robb at dinner that night, but she could just see him chuckling and telling her she had a wild imagination. Then he would once again turn to talk with Margaery. Sansa would simply sneer at her for raising alarm when there was none.

Despite what she knew, she would be dismissed. Wouldn't she?

Chapter End Notes

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Chapter 75 - Margaery III/Brienne VI/Arya IV

Chapter Notes

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for continuing to read this fic and give your support! As you can see, this is a pretty special chapter with three POVs! I hope you enjoy!

Catzrko0l continues to be a fantastic beta. In fact, it has officially been a year since they agreed to beta TDR! You are as steady and unmoving as a mountain. Thank you so much for your dedication to this fic and all of your hard work!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Chapter 75

Margaery III

"I am very much looking forward to marrying your brother. He has been naught else but a gentleman. I also look forward to seeing Highgarden. Do you think I might be able to visit before the wedding?" Sansa asked with a bright smile.

"I don't see why you couldn't. My family would never allow harm to befall you. We are so very excited that Willas is finally getting the match he deserves," Margaery said to Sansa, who only seemed to grow happier at her words.

Sansa was a sweet girl, but she had a tendency to walk on clouds. Margaery was a tad concerned about what being Lady of Highgarden might do to her because her grandmother would never allow such indolence and naiveté. Sansa was in for a harder time than she imagined, but Margaery felt confident that she would rise to the challenge. She just needed a bit of work.

Margaery was a bit disturbed that Sansa had not yet had the veil of true knights and courteous ladies lifted from her eyes. Neither Lord Stark nor Robb seemed to have an inclination to pull back the cover to reveal its ugly secrets beneath. Whenever Margaery voiced this concern, Robb would always laugh and say, "Is the world so different? Let her be. Time enough for her to grow up between now and then."

So Margaery had done what she could to hint at the hidden, dark underbelly within the Red Keep, but she wasn't quite sure if it had penetrated Sansa's pretty head yet. If this coup happens as expected, then it won't be long now, she thought with pained sadness and she struggled to keep up her lighthearted demeanor. She was not looking forward to what might happen. It could be

snuffed out before it even started—as she hoped—or it could be drawn out into a protracted war for the throne, yet again. Living during such dire times was difficult and painful. She would have to worry about the safety of her family, particularly her brothers and father.

Most especially, she worried for Robb. Lord Tywin needed to crush the Starks to achieve his aims and that would undoubtedly include executing her husband. From what her grandmother implied, they wanted to free her from the bondage of marriage and bind her to someone else. But she wanted no one else. Robb was not perfect, but he was sweet. If there was any wonder as to why Sansa still believed in true knights, it likely had to do with Robb. He teased Sansa, but it was always brotherly, much in the way Margaery's brothers teased her. Although he was not without mischief, he was the height of chivalry and honor. She had been disappointed that she would not find herself in a more powerful position than Lady of the North, but she had made her peace with that.

For the briefest of moments, her hands grazed across the flat plane of her stomach. It would not be so flat within a matter of months. Her moon blood had yet to arrive since her first shedding right after the wedding. There had been some mornings where she felt too ill to rise but did so anyway. She was waiting to confirm it with a maester until she was certain there would be no adverse consequences. Her grandmother knew she had refused Moon Tea. She had made her intentions quite clear without voicing them and her grandmother was wiley enough to understand the message. As far as she knew, she was pregnant and she intended to keep it that way.

"Do you think you will be heading back North after too long?" Sansa asked with a troubled look in her eyes.

"One can never know. Robb and Lord Stark may yet be here for some time after, but that does not necessarily include me, though I hope it would. I don't know how your lady mother managed when her husband left immediately for war after the wedding. It's difficult to imagine how lonely that would be. It has been such a treat to be with Robb and everyone else," Margaery replied, giving Sansa a warm look that immediately put the smile back on her face.

"I hope it is still long yet. I would love for you and Robb to attend the wedding."

"We shall s—"

"Ah, Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa. I hope you are having a pleasant walk in the gardens."

Both women turned to their left to find the dwarf, Tyrion Lannister, trodding over to them with a wide smile.

Margaery felt her eyebrows rise in surprise but then schooled her expression. A meeting like this was never a coincidence.

"Tyrion, how lovely to see you," she said, then turned to Sansa who she could see was struggling to stay courteous. "Have you met Tyrion? Lady Sansa, this is Tyrion. Brother to Lord Jaime Lannister."

"Pleased to meet you," Sansa said with a delicate curtsy.

"You as well, my lady. You both are looking lovely this fine day. Lady Margaery, I was hoping you might assist me?"

"I must warn you, Tyrion, that I am sworn to never assist anyone who goes against my brother in Cyvasse. I can't be giving away my secrets to victory," Margaery replied.

Tyrion laughed. "Keep your secrets! I intend on challenging you one day. No, but if you'll recall a couple of weeks ago, you spoke very highly of a book, The Rise and Fall of the Targaryen Dynasty . I was wondering if you had finished and would be willing to hand it to me. It sounded like a fascinating read."

"Of course, Tyrion, though I believe I returned it to the archives. I'll show you where it is," Margaery said. She turned to Sansa. "Pardon me, Sansa, but I must help Tyrion. I shall see you at dinner tonight."

"Of course, Margaery," Sansa replied with a bob and a wholly innocent smile.

Margaery watched her go with a wistful look. That poor, dear girl, she thought.

They made idle chatter as they headed towards the archives. Tyrion made offhand jokes about day drinking and Margaery spoke about the history that she had learned in the book, though it had in truth been months since she last had it. They smiled at the acolyte in charge of keeping the archives, who nodded at them cordially. He was familiar with both of them. Their words fell away in the quiet of the archives. Margaery listened for any movement outside their own and heard nothing. It was uncommon for nobility to be seen in the archives since few had an interest in reading.

Tyrion led her to a corner where he frequently propped himself up with a good book. He made himself comfortable and she found a little stool to sit on.

"Let's not mince words, Tyrion. You're here on behalf of your brother."

"Indeed. I'm pleased that nothing gets past you. This will make things easier," he replied as he cocked his head at her with curiosity.

She frowned at his scrutiny but did not speak.

"We have it on good authority that our lord father is on the cusp of making a move. He would not be so bold were it not for your family. He must have a guarantee of some sort."

It took every bit of schooling that her grandmother had coached her to keep her face still, but she felt her heart pounding beneath her dress. Although the language that she had been taught was subtle, her grandmother would pick up on the true message. Was there a chance it had been misinterpreted? Or was her grandmother playing a different game altogether? As Tyrion suggested, Lord Tywin could not hope to have his coup without the support of the second most powerful kingdom, the Reach. His ambitions lived or died on her grandmother's whims. She could just imagine the sort of joy her grandmother would get out of torturing Tywin Lannister with indecision.

"I thought I had made my intentions quite clear. Robb Stark is my husband."

Tyrion narrowed his eyes further at her, no doubt trying to understand her meaning. He was quite an adept player of Cyvasse and would frequently tease Willas to make sudden moves. It rarely worked on Willas, but Tyrion would pounce like the lion of his house when it did. She hoped he was skilled enough to tease her meaning.

"There may be some confusion. My brother wants it cleared up. At least for him."

Margaery quirked an eyebrow at him. "Things might be clearer had he not been such an ass to the Lady Brienne. I gave her hope she held his heart, but he stomped all over hers. I do not appreciate being made to look the fool, even to one lady."

She supposed she shouldn't have expected Tyrion to show chagrin on his brother's behalf, but the smug smile startled her. "Your words are like a hot brand, my lady. I would like to see them applied to my brother. He is a hot-headed fool. But an honest one. I was actually hoping you might do him a favor on that account."

"Oh?"

Tyrion reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment. "Circumstances being what they are, he can't be seen delivering this. It would cheer him greatly if you could pass this on to Lady Brienne."

Margaery took the paper and promptly allowed it to spill open so that she could read it. Her eyes narrowed as she read the message and nodded, feeling her ironclad demeanor slip. Things were far dire that she had ever imagined. She looked up at Tyrion with alarm. If he had taken offense at her blatantly reading a private message, he didn't show it.

"I will do this for Lady Brienne," she replied, folding the paper once more and sticking it into the top of her dress. "If that will be all…"

"Not yet, my lady. You seem to know where my brother's loyalties lie. You are not mistaken. However, he is not free to speak with whom he pleases lest suspicion is cast on his presumed loyalties."

Margaery's eyes widened a hair and then she nodded. She remained quiet.

"Would you be able to get messages to the rest of the Northern lords and possibly the Riverlands?" Tyrion whispered. "They need to know their king is in danger. They need to know that Jaime remains true."

So Lord Jaime intends to set a trap for his father, she thought and felt a shiver run through her. It was inconceivable that someone would go against their family. The idea of turning on her father and her brothers made her want to tremble with pain and fear. However, if Lord Jaime's note to Lady Brienne was anything to go by, Lord Tywin had designs for Westeros that Lord Jaime disagreed with and had every intention to circumvent.

Margaery cast her eyes down as she thought. They could prevent a coup as long as her family remained loyal to the King and, by extension, the Starks. The Riverlands and the North were still

in the area. The Vale was in chaos without the steady hand of Lord Yohn Royce to guide them. It was unclear yet who controlled them. She wouldn't be surprised if their loyalties split. The Northerners were a proud lot, but even she knew from speaking with them that they remained suspicious of Lord Jaime and the idea that he might go against his family was, again, unheard of. She would have to prove to them somehow that Jaime was still loyal to the king, but how? What was demonstrable enough proof that he would support King Aemon Targaryen?

He had been governing the kingdom under the ideals of the Starks, though she felt that Aemon might disagree with the lack of mercy for liars. Despite winning the Keep bloodlessly, despite keeping his promise to her family that Loras would remain unharmed, the shadow of his kingslaying still loomed large in the minds of most of the lords.

Margaery twisted her mouth into a doubtful frown and said, "I trust your brother, but I am unclear how I am to prove to the other lords where his loyalties truly lie."

Tyrion quirked his mouth at her and replied, "He sent our Uncle Kevan away with a significant portion of the Lannister army. It was not due to the convenience of the Westerlands being a target of the Ironborn."

She remained unconvinced. "I see your point, but it is because of that convenience they still might not believe."

"Tell them to be ready on the night of the next full moon," Tyrion replied. "It's the only day that makes sense."

Fear shot through her heart and she allowed it to show on her face for the first time. Her mouth felt dry as she opened it to answer, but she was too wellbred to be caught wetting her lips. "I will do that."

When she stood and walked away, she glanced at the shelves and did not see the book they had originally come into the archives for. "I believe, Tyrion, that I found the book over here." She came to the new row and perused the tomes that rested well above her head height. Her finger stopped on a blue leather bound book with frayed gold leafing where only the word 'Dynasty' remained whole.

"That is most kind of you, my lady. Give your brother my regards."

"Of course," Margaery said with her usual bright smile. She was grateful that it was almost the hour of lunch and that she would be expected back at the quarters she shared with Robb. Just the thought of him nearly made her smile falter. He was in grave danger, but she dared not reveal how serious the threat was. As fond as she was of him, the Starks were too open and honest to keep such a secret; she feared he would do something rash against Tywin that would only clinch the Starks' fate. Lord Stark's Targaryen nephew was clearly the exception and not the rule. She would have to quietly prepare the Northern forces without his knowledge.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Brienne VI

She turned the page of the book and felt her temper flare as the paper caught on her sling. Again. She was ready to tear the page and fling the book across the room, but she was certain the maesters would take glee in flogging the skin from her if she damaged their precious tomes. Although she was not confined to her rooms, she hid away after Lord Jaime had embarrassed her at her own duel. Once again, she had been made the fool.

The slice on her arm had stopped stinging as soon as it was wrapped, but the pain in her heart was an agony that had not allowed her to sleep the first night. Later in the day after the duel, a servant arrived with a vase of flowers and a note from Lady Margaery. The note had bid her well and gave soothing platitudes, but it said nothing about Lord Jaime Lannister. Brienne had been in such pain that she'd taken the flowers and thrown them onto her fire before retreating to her bed once more.

Lady Maege and Lady Dacey visited every day. They learned quickly not to discuss the fight or Lord Jaime. She merely hummed or grunted at them in acknowledgement as they chattered about Lady Arya, Lady Lucille, and Edric Dayne during their training. They also spoke of their home in greater detail and reminisced about how little Lady Lyanna would've loved to join Lady Arya and her friends in their training.

Lady Dacey had captured her attention when she mentioned that Lord Jaime had ensnared himself into his own duel right after hers. Brienne frowned, wondering if this was somehow in retaliation to stabbing Ser Osmund Kettleblack, but apparently a knight had taken offense at being deemed a liar by Lord Jaime. She would not lie that her fingers twitched at the thought of seeing Lord Jaime's duel, but even as Lady Dacey had suggested it, Brienne abruptly turned her eyes towards the fire. She drew her mouth into a stubborn line and had refused to speak anymore about the matter.

She had briefly left her quarters when all of the lords and ladies left for the tourney fields to watch the duel. It was peculiar seeing the grounds so empty save for the servants, but the peace was

short-lived when she heard the chatter of a large number of voices when they returned just a short time later. She faded back into her room once more.

Much to her consternation, she still had a week until the maesters were willing to allow her back onto the training grounds. She grudgingly conceded to them. Training with an injury only had the potential to increase the odds of injuring herself further. She had decided to start going to the archives for reading material and found a book on the history of the Kingsguard and the best knights of the realm. She had particularly enjoyed the recount of Ser Duncan the Tall with his squire, Prince Aegon. She lamented that his life was cut short by the tragedy at Summerhall.

A knock sounded at her door and she stared at it with suspicious eyes.

"Lady Brienne, I am a servant of Highgarden. Lady Margaery Stark has an invitation for tea, my Lady."

She couldn't keep the snarl from her face and she growled, both in annoyance and that Lady Margaery would have the audacity of believing her presence was wanted. With a great sigh, Brienne set the book aside and opened the door a crack to peer at the middle-aged woman who stood there bearing a plate with a single envelope on it.

If the servant noticed her ire, she showed none of it and simply beamed at her. "The invitation, my lady," the woman held out the plate to her with her head bowed. Brienne reluctantly snatched up the envelope and shut the door with a decisive snap.

Brienne was tempted once more to simply throw it in the fire. But while the unaccepted gesture of the flowers would go unnoticed, a rejection of a tea invitation would not. She still could not risk the chance of an insult and started opening it. She pulled out the carefully folded parchment and then started when she noticed an even smaller slip of parchment fall out. She bent to pick it up and saw an untidy scrawl that bore no resemblance to the exquisite penmanship of Lady Margaery.

She opened up the slip of parchment:

My dear Lady Brienne,

Apologies are in order. I should not have snapped at you the way I did. I am truly sorry. I caused you further pain. It is Ser Osmund who should suffer for his actions, not you. When it is safe, I will give you a proper apology.

I love you. I wish to spend the rest of my life with you. I enjoy sparring with you. I miss seeing you and I hope we will be able to spar again soon. I intend to marry you, if you're willing.

There are forces that I cannot control that are attempting to keep us apart. Ser Osmund was one attempt and I fear there may be more. My father cannot be trusted. Do not trust any of the Lannister forces. All will be made clear soon. Burn this immediately.

Jaime

When Brienne sucked in air, she nearly choked on a sob. The paper trembled in her fingers and very nearly fell out, but she held onto it. Was it another trick? She had never seen Lord Jaime's writing before, but she had heard rumors that he was poor at it. Could she trust in this or was Lady Margaery creating yet another joke at her expense?

She thought back to Lady Margaery insisting that Lord Jaime Lannister appeared to want to marry her and this spelled it out in plain terms. Yet there was caution in his words as if she was in danger. He seemed to suspect that Ser Osmund was set up to marry her to keep them apart. The thought reminded her yet again of Margaery explaining how peculiar it would be for the Heir of Casterly Rock to marry the lowly, uncouth daughter of a minor lord from the Stormlands. It hadn't taken long for the facade to be pulled back from Ser Osmund's ugly intentions in the middle of the duel. Whether Lord Jaime had loved her or not, it had been imperative that she win that duel, for the sake of herself and Tarth.

Brienne shivered at the thought that an entire army might have ill will towards her by virtue of their lord being Tywin Lannister. Everyone knew of his cruel and violent nature. Perhaps it was not so farfetched that he'd arrange for something horrible to happen to his son's choice of bride if he didn't approve.

But how are we to be together then? She thought with some frustration.

She stared at the flames and back at the note still trembling in her hand. Before she could second guess herself, she tossed the paper in and felt her throat clench as the words went up in smoke. It's better this way, she soothed herself. If it was a horrible joke, it was her secret.

With a heavy heart, Brienne once more picked up the invitation and brought it to her eyes. She sighed and resigned herself to the idea that she was due for tea with Lady Margaery the next morning.

-The Dragon's Roar-

Arya IV

She eyed the Tower of the Hand, sizing it up. She had drawn her expression into a terse frown, but her heart pounded like a frightened rabbit's. Kicking herself for her fear, she stepped in before she could have any further doubts.

Despite what Edric said, she wanted to try and warn someone. Her family wouldn't believe her, she was certain of that. Lady Margaery had been kind to her, but she was not a Stark, and she was too much like Sansa for Arya to believe she wouldn't do anything but scoff. Jon had always had her back, but now he was gone. If he had been here, she would not have hesitated to go straight to him. He was still in Dorne with Father and they weren't expected back for some time.

However, Lord Jaime Lannister was ruling in Jon's absence. She stood by her words to Edric the day before. Jon would not put someone he did not trust as his Hand. Edric seemed certain Lord Jaime was put there for political reasons, which greatly confused her. What was the point of giving positions to bad people? Father had always insisted that bad people were punished. Clearly, despite being known as the Kingslayer, Lord Jaime was not a bad person or he would have been punished. She was aware that Father didn't like him, but Jon didn't let that bother him. She trusted Jon, so she would trust Lord Jaime.

Yet, she was still uncertain about whether she could tell Lord Jaime what Edric had told her. Her friend seemed certain that family did not go against one another, but then Jon had very nearly seen her married against her wishes. All was forgiven now, but she was prepared to spend the rest of her life hating him for the injustice of forcing her to marry. As much as she loved her mother and father, she continued to resist their efforts to turn her into a lady. Both of them had lectured her about how marrying and providing children to her husband was the only role she would be expected to fill and she needed to stop with her nonsense about fighting. At least Jon had never tried to take that from her.

But could she go against her family? It was not a thought she had considered. She had remained certain that she could persuade her father—or Jon—to let her be. What would've happened if they hadn't budged? Could she run away? Leave her family? Just the thought repulsed her, an impossible idea, but… at the point she would be sent to her future husband, she wouldn't be running away from her family. She'd be running away from her future husband. She would have already left home at that point.

And still, her Aunt Lyanna had run off with Prince Rhaegar. A war was fought for her. Her

grandfather and Uncle Brandon were dead because she ran away. She still remembered her own father asking her if she'd prefer that he and Robb risk their lives in a war because of her resistance to the idea of marriage. The thought had pained her.

Her next thought had been: But why would there need to be a war because of one, stupid marriage? Would her not marrying put her family in that much peril? She could not wrap her mind around it. And ever since Jon rejected her betrothal, she hadn't once given it a thought. She deliberately had wanted to put that behind her. She was training, she was playing with her friends. That was all that mattered to her.

Until now. Now, she wanted to safeguard her family.

Arya slowly made her way up the stairs, the top of them seemingly ever more beyond her reach. A couple of servant girls passed her on the stairs, carrying sheets or food trays. Arya heard voices through a door off of one landing, but she knew full well it was not the Hand's solar due to the lack of guards. She found the double doors of the place she was looking for on the very next landing, blocked on either side by two stern guards in Lannister red cloth and the dull gray coloring of undyed metal. Their eyes fell on her immediately and she tried to hold her head high as she approached. As soon as she stepped up to the door, both men moved to block her entry.

"What is it you need, girl?"

Arya tried to draw on her best impression of her mother. "I am Arya Stark and I'm here to see the Hand."

"Did you hear that, Geryl? She's here to see the Hand," the guard said.

"Aye, fancy that. And I'm about to be raised to a bannerman by Lord Lannister. You're not getting in, girl."

"I am the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. I demand to be let in," Arya shot back. She curled her own fists in the fabric of her shirt to keep them from trembling. She was becoming increasingly nervous as the guards stalled her. Maybe this was a bad idea after all, she thought.

Both of the guards looked her up and down, their expressions becoming more sneering by the moment.

"How do we know you ain't some filthy commoner, acting high and mighty? T'aint no ladies who dress like that."

"I'm not a lady!"

"Then you're not going in. The Hand is busy. Run along, girl."

Arya gritted her teeth and sucked in a breath to yell at the guards more for being as thick as bricks when one of the doors gave away and Lord Jaime himself popped his head out. "What is the meaning of this?" He snarled. He looked at both the guards before his gaze fell on her. The irritation on his face morphed into a puzzled frown.

"This here girl was trying to sneak in to see you, m'Lord," the guard named Geryl said.

"No, I wasn't!"

"That 'girl,'" Lord Jaime began in a similar mocking tone, "is Lady Arya of the House Stark. The next time I catch you disrespecting a lady, both of you will stand in the stocks for a week. Is that understood?"

Both guards stammered as they tried to make excuses, but as Lord Jaime continued to glare at them, their voices bled away until they had nothing left but to shut their mouths. They fell back to their original posts and stared shamefaced at the floor.

"Now, Lady Arya, what is it that you needed?"

Although Arya had watched in satisfaction as both men were put in their place, she found that words failed her as she opened her mouth. She looked at the guards, bit her lip, and blurted out, "Are you going to return to the training grounds again?"

He blinked at her and then he relaxed and at the same time he suddenly appeared far older and exhausted. "Not until your cousin, the king, returns, my lady. There simply isn't time these days."

"Lady Dacey and Lady Maege keep turning us away. They also say they're too busy."

Lord Jaime couldn't seem to resist smirking at her and he shook his head. "We all have a lot on our minds these days. Hopefully, they'll be more up to it once Lady Brienne makes a full recovery." A shadow passed over his face and he became grim like her father.

"Are you going to teach us those moves you did during your duel with Ser Lyn?" Arya asked, peering into his face for an answer. She wanted to trust him.

"Perhaps. Though you have to be a bit bigger and stronger for them to work," Jaime said. There was a twinkle in his eye and he seemed pleased at her interest.

"Errm, thanks," Arya replied and began back down the stairs.

"Is that all?" Jaime called after her, puzzled once more.

"Yes, that is all," Arya replied quickly and began making her way down the stairs. She gave a startled yelp as she ran nearly headlong into Podrick Payne, who had shrunken back against the wall and held the tray high above her head to keep from tipping it.

"There you are, Pod. Come in," Jaime said from the doorway.

Arya skittered down around the corner of the stairwell to rid herself of their stares. She scolded herself, Stupid, stupid. That was stupid! Edric's right. It was better not coming here. He had seemed sincere, but the guards mocking and sneering had put her on edge. She hadn't wanted to speak what she knew in front of them. It was only as she had been standing in front of him that she realized how ridiculous it would sound. While she didn't think he'd mock her like he had the guards, she was certain that he would tell her she had misheard. And if he had asked for more information, she wouldn't have been able to say without giving away there were passages in the walls. That was hers and her friends' little secret and she wasn't about to give that away.

I can only trust in Edric and Lucille. We'll be safe in the tunnels, no matter what happens. No matter how much she tried to assure herself, she couldn't dismiss the tug of guilt she felt at not including Robb and Sansa. But Edric was right; no one would listen to her.

Chapter End Notes

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The Dragon's Roar

Prologue - Jon I

Chapter 1 - Jon II

Chapter 2 - Jon III

Chapter 3 - Jon IV

Chapter 4 - Jon V

Chapter 5 - Jon VI

Chapter 6 - Jon VII

Chapter 7 - Jaime I

Chapter 8 - Ned I

Chapter 9 - Jaime II/Jon VIII

Chapter 10 - Jon IX

Chapter 11 - Jon X

Chapter 12 - Jaime III

Chapter 13 - Jaime IV

Chapter 14 - Aemon I

Chapter 15 - Jaime IV

Chapter 16 - Catelyn I

Chapter 17 - Aemon II

Chapter 18 - Aemon III

Chapter 19 - Jaime V

Chapter 20 - Varys I

Chapter 21 - Jaime VI

Chapter 22 - Aemon IV

Chapter 23 - Jaime VII

Chapter 24 - Aemon V

Chapter 25 - Daenerys I

Chapter 26 - Jaime VIII

Chapter 27 - Arya I

Chapter 28 - Jaime IX

Chapter 29 - Jaime X

Chapter 30 - Aemon VI

Chapter 31 - Aemon VII

Chapter 32 - Aemon VIII

Chapter 33 - Jaime XI

Chapter 34 - Ser Barristan I

Chapter 35 - Daenerys II

Chapter 36 - Jaime XII

Chapter 37 - Jaime XIII/Aemon IX

Chapter 38 - Aemon X

Chapter 39 - Brienne I

Chapter 40 - Aemon XI

Chapter 41 - Jaime XIV

Chapter 42 - Aemon XII

Chapter 43 - Jaime XV

Chapter 44 - Aemon XIII/Jaime XVI

Chapter 45 - Daenerys III

Chapter 46 - Aemon XIV

Chapter 47 - Petyr I

Chapter 48 - Aemon XV

Chapter 49 - Catelyn II/Daenerys IV

Chapter 50 - Aemon XVI/Jaime XVII

Chapter 51 - Aemon XVII/Margaery I

Chapter 52 - Arya II/Cersei I

Chapter 53 - Brienne II

Chapter 54 - Aemon XVIII

Chapter 55 - Jaime XVIII/Tywin I

Chapter 56 - Aemon XIX

Chapter 57 - Daenerys V

Chapter 58 - Daenerys IV/Jaime XIX

Chapter 59 - Catelyn III

Chapter 60 - Aemon XX

Chapter 61 - Petyr II

Chapter 62 - Aemon XXI

Chapter 63 - Jaime XX

Chapter 64 - Aemon XXII

Chapter 65 - Margaery II

Chapter 66 - Brienne III

Chapter 67 - Joffrey I

Chapter 68 - Daenerys VII

Chapter 69 - Brienne IV

Chapter 70 - Jaime XXI

Chapter 71 - Aemon XXIII

Chapter 72 - Aemon XXIV/Jaime XXII

Chapter 73 - Tywin III/Jaime XII

Chapter 74 - Daenerys VIII/Arya III

Chapter 75 - Margaery III/Brienne VI/Arya IV