Hi everyone!
Over a thousand readers in less than three days it's amazing! It motivated me to finish this one today, hope you enjoy !
*I don't own anything, it all belongs to George RR Martin and JK Rowling
288 A.C
Starfall
A steel sword swished through the air.
"Very well, Aemon," the ghost of ser Arthur Dayne complimented.
He had been three when he had first met the knight. It seemed he was the only one able to see him. Though Aemon knew it made sense given no one he had met had any magic. Still, he could remember it as if it was yesterday.
Flashback
The small wizard roamed the halls of Starfall, looking for something.
For months, Aemon was sure he was seeing something, or rather someone. Yet every time he had tried to corner whomever it was that haunted his home, the person got away.
It was all the more difficult as until a week ago, he had to always be followed by his mother, Ashara, or by his wetnurse Wylla, though the woman had stopped feeding him years ago, she was still the one taking care of him when his mother was busy.
It was weird, for years he had wished for nothing but having parents, by the time he was a teenager the first time around, he had accepted it was simply not to be. Only to be given a second and then a third mother.
And while Aemon would never forget Lily Potter, Lyanna Stark, nor the sacrifices that allowed him to live, Ashara had truly taken the place of his mother.
Still, the boy was looking for something. Like many times before, the guard standing outside his room, ser Benedict Blackmont, had been half asleep by the time the castle was devoid of noise.
The knight had sworn himself to house Dayne after ser Arthur Dayne saved his life in one of the many battles against the Ironborns. The man was a fervent loyalist of long and had eagerly taken a vow of secrecy to learn of his identity.
As the night before, and the night before that one, Aemon had snuck out. Trying to find what had escaped him during the day and enjoying that the knight was too tired to stay entirely up all night.
A silvery-looking thing snatched his attention, "Wait!" he whispered.
Aemon ran to the end of the corridor, where had seen the glint of silver, something he had come to see quite often over the past few years.
He rounded the corner and gasped.
"A ghost," the boy could not help but breathe out.
"You can see me?" the man asked surprised.
He had the looks of the Daynes and on his side, was a sword Aemon recognized for having seen years ago, when his uncle Eddard Stark had brought him to Starfall.
Since then he had not heard of his uncle and had been unwilling to ask. How was he supposed to remember the man without explaining everything?
Aemon nodded.
"How?" the knight asked, "I've tried talking but no one could see me…"
Aemon hesitated before answering. From everything he had seen until now, magic was not well viewed, especially not by the religion his mother's family followed.
But after all, who was the ghost going to tell anyway?
"I have magic," he simply stated.
The knight laughed but stopped moments later as he saw the young boy was not laughing with him.
"Are you serious, young one?"
Aemon nodded again.
"You do not seem surprised to see me…" the knight added.
"You're not my first ghost, and I was looking for you, who are you?"
Aemon had a suspicion as to who it could be but it was only because of the many stories his mother had told him about her brother.
"Ser Arthur Dayne, and whom might you be young lord,"
"I'm Aemon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark,"
The knight's eyes widened, and he knelt, "my king, it is an honor to meet you,"
Aemon almost felt the urge to groan but contained himself, he would have to get used to it anyway.
"Rise, uncle,"
Arthur did so, "you call me uncle?"
"Rhaegar and Lyanna might be my parents, but it was your sister that raised me."
"You speak well for one so young…" he observed but Aemon only smiled in return, he was not going to disclose all his secrets in one night.
The ghost chuckled at the lack of answer, "you do well to keep some secrets, your grace, but if I may ask, why you were looking for me?"
"I want to become the next Sword of the Morning," Aemon said.
The more his mother told him stories, the more he understood he would have many enemies in this world too. And if magic was reviled he would want to restrict its use, or at least make sure no one could truly link it to him before he was powerful enough to defend himself from any that tried anything.
And to do so, he needed to be the best there was at fighting, it was essential to making it in Westeros. The sword of the morning was a title that was granted to the wielder of Dawn, and to be granted the honor one had to be worthy.
Ser Arthur Dayne had been its most recent owner and one of its most renowned. Who better than him to teach Aemon?
Once more, Arthur's eyes widened but he nodded nonetheless, "if that is your wish, I will train you, but being the Sword of the Morning must be earned."
Aemon nodded at this, he knew it, and in no way would he want for it to be handed to him for anything but the right reason.
"You're still too young to begin physical training, but you can begin to learn tactics, we'll begin your physical training when you are six name days,"
"Deal," Aemon nodded, he had not known for sure who the ghost was but so far it had been far better than he could have imagined.
End of Flashback
Unlike what the knight had said, they had only focused on tactics for two years before beginning his training with a wooden sword, that way he could begin to get a feel for the sword without risk of injury.
There was no one to heal him anyway and his magic was far too weak to try any healing.
After three years of this treatment, and a few weeks after ser Benedict Blackmont finally began his training at his mother's request, he had been caught by said person, practicing with his uncle.
Aemon had had no choice but to come clean about his magic and had been thankful for his uncle's presence. While it explained why he had been doing so well with his instructor and why the man spoke of Arthur's reincarnation. Without the anecdotes from their childhood, his mother would have kept believing he was as crazy as his grandfather.
He knew perfectly well what his family had done. He had read his first book when he was barely two and had managed to keep it a secret until his fourth name day, which had still impressed both his mother and his aunt.
The Targaryens, while they had united the kingdoms with ideals in mind, had ended up screwing things over multiple times. As such, with every book he read, plans formed in his head.
As far as he was concerned, the madness his family had been plagued with was because of inbreeding. Magic had probably been the reason why it was present in only some members and not all.
Incest had consequences and was not the doctrine to follow when it came to keeping a gift in a bloodline.
As the Gaunts and countless others had proved in his previous world, it always caught up. The Blacks, the Malfoys, the Crabbes, or the Goyles, whether it was insanity, sterility, stupidity, or even all of the above in the case of Slytherin's descendants, incest had a way to screw up with even the most "noble" of families.
As such, Incest could not become the norm again, there were other advantages to foregoing such practices, besides the nastiness of it. The more ties one family had with others, the less a war was likely.
But to avoid war, another parameter was important, dragons.
In a world devoid of technology or major magic, once grown, they were the equivalent of a nuclear bomb.
They could not be tied to one family, blood magic was something he had practiced in, after realizing how useful it was and it would be of use in this case.
It was said that to tame a dragon one must have the blood of the dragon, of old Valyria.
Riding a dragon could no longer be a birthright, it had to become a privilege.
Still, Aemon reminded himself, he might form plans in his head, but it would be years before he could do anything.
While the feeling of being an adult in a child's body gradually faded with time and growth, Aemon still had thoughts and reasonings far too mature for his age. However, Harry Potter had been left behind, but significant days reminded him of his wife, Hermione, or any other friend he had made in his previous life, but the more time passed, the less it happened.
One part of his former life he would not forgo, however, was his magic. For the past seven years, when he was not reading or training with ser Blackmont or with his uncle, he practiced his magic.
Every day he could notice progress. When he was five name days, he managed for the first time to levitate the feather of a raven for ten seconds without a wand, before his magic felt spent.
Since then, the progress had been much faster. In a couple of months, he had managed to go from ten seconds to a minute, and then two in the month that followed.
Since then, Aemon had learned to summon and banish objects wandlessly. He could also make a flame appear in his hand, that was a relatively new thing, so he still had trouble making it last, but it did not hurt at all.
Yet, despite all his progress, the hallows remained unreachable. He could feel them getting closer, but he still had a way to go.
He had several theories going through his mind, his least favorite was that he would get them at the same age he had united them.
It would mean ten years had still to pass.
Wandless magic could only take you so far. Even Hermione never managed transfiguration or any complex spells. Wands were foci for a reason, a way to concentrate a witch or a wizard's magic.
Another theory was that he would get them when he had received or taken each one. It meant the cloak was four years away while the stone and the wand were ten years away.
Or it was just waiting until he was powerful enough to hold them. It was by far Aemon's favorite theory, and he was training under that assumption, having to wait ten years before getting a wand was too much.
While many topics had picked his interest in the years after Hogwarts, mainly those applied to fighting or defending, he had not dabbled in wandlore.
The subject was an extremely complex one and with both his faithful holly wand and the powerful Deathstick, he had had no wish to change wands.
He might not know much about the art, but he knew that making a wand was far more complicated than finding a piece of wood and drilling a hole in the middle to stick a core inside.
Even finding a core would be difficult, from what book he could read, there had been magical creatures at some point. Dragons of different kinds, giants, unicorns, direwolf, and more. None had been seen for a very long time.
The wood would be the easier of both to find, and even then he had no way of assembling the two.
No, the elder wand had to show up, sooner rather than later.
"You've come a long way, Aemon," the ghost complimented as he pulled the young boy from his thoughts. "Your footwork gets better every day, it's impressive for one so young…" Arthur rose an eyebrow. "Almost, as if you were born to fight…"
Over the years, he had learned to trust more and more in the family he was given, but his biggest secret had remained one.
How did anyone, especially a boy of seven name-days, tell their family they were not who they thought they were? That in fact, he had already lived a life. He saw no way of doing that without making sure he was seen as completely out of his mind. Magic was one thing, another life in a very different world was another.
And in the end, he was not sure it mattered.
His wife, their unborn child, Hermione, Sirius, and the Weasleys, he still missed them. Enormously. But the only way for him to see them again was to complete the mission Death gave him.
He had no way to know what the being would do if he failed but Aemon had no wish to discover. Death was not something or someone you could simply finesse your way with.
And with each day, week, and month that passed, he felt more like Aemon Targaryen and less like Harry Potter. He would never forget his previous life, but he had to focus on this one.
"Do you think I'll be able to become the sword of the morning, uncle?" Aemon said, he had been working towards that goal for four years, but it was not a subject he had breached since meeting the ghost.
The ghost of Arthur Dayne narrowed his eyes.
"You're still too young to have any strength…" he began, "and it's still too soon to tell if you'll be tall or short. Rhaegar was tall but Lyanna wasn't, so it's likely you'll be in between, but if you keep the same dedication, you'll surpass even me, nephew, as I said many times before, it is as if you were born to fight."
Aemon smiled, in a way, he was. And such praise from one of the best swordsmen to have ever lived was another reason to do so.
"Let's go again," the ghost instructed and despite his tiredness, he rose the sword once more and began the moves he had been taught.
289 A.C
Starfall
"Arthur! Arthur!" his cousin barged into his room in the middle of his magical training.
Before his cousin had time to notice, the books he had been levitating in a spiral quickly fell to the ground in a stack, as if they had been there the whole time.
The exercise was one to increase his focus, slowly he added more and more books, he was up to six at the same time and had been trying for a week to make them fly in opposite direction. With two, it was easy, but the more he added and the faster his focus slipped and the books fell.
"Yes?" he asked with a raised eyebrow as his cousin's eyes widened and he put his hands above his mouth.
"Sorry…" Edric said.
Aemon winked at his cousin and smiled, "it's all right,"
There was a strict policy at Starfall, no one entered his bedroom without knocking. No doubt most of the servants thought it to be a whim of his when it was to make sure none witnessed his magic.
Only a few knew who he was, ser Blackmont, Lady Clarisse, and Wylla, that was it, and they had all taken vows of secrecy, and only the ghost of his uncle and his mother knew of his magic. The maester was not informed, his mother had told him once that maesters hated magic and dragons. The vows they had taken when joining the citadel all but prevented them from taking others and he would have informed someone of Aemon's true parentage.
Everyone else knew him as Arthur Sand.
He knew they talked, from the cooks to the guards, speculating on who his parents were, some even went to say he was ser Arthur's bastard, not that they would voice that thought if they knew he was around. But most had too much respect for his fallen uncle and knew he would never break his vow of celibacy. Those had accepted he was Ashara's son and speculated on some lord or another, who had either chosen to marry someone else or died in the rebellion.
But keeping the secret of his presence justified it, or so his mother had told him. If Aemon was truthful with himself it felt like it had when the Weasleys had to adapt their routines every time he stayed at their place.
He might have not noticed back then, or at least for his second-year and fourth-year summers. But hosting the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't just about preparing a bed and cooking a bit more, though this last point could be argued when considering the Weasley matriarch. No, wards had to be applied, questions were asked, and procedures implemented.
It was a major bother in everyone's life, not that they would have said anything.
But it only made him feel more guilty as he knew his mother had had friends before but raising him meant that contact had to be avoided, at all costs.
His cousin, Edric, or as they liked to call him Ned, was prevented from such things as he believed Aemon truly was his cousin and Ashara's son.
Asking a child to keep a secret like this one was too dangerous to consider it.
"Did you get the answer?"
Edric nodded excitedly.
"Don't keep me waiting, Ned," Aemon chuckled.
"He said yes!" the blue-eyed Dayne exclaimed.
Aemon rose his hand and his cousin gave him a high-five, Aunt Clarisse had always looked at them strangely when they did so, he assumed it was not a familiar gesture to her.
He had never met his uncle and Clarisse Dayne had had her son rather old for this time.
Her son was a much better cousin than Dudley ever was, not that it was hard to compete but despite their larger-than-life age gap, his cousin and he had always been close. While he was not capable of the meaningful conversations Aemon had become used to, he was a perfectly willing and eager companion to explore the secrets of Starfall.
Even if had been burned down by Visenya and Vhagar some three hundred years ago, the castle had been rebuilt, the same could be said for the Palestone sword tower.
It was this place that was the most interesting to the boys. Mostly because it was the only place inaccessible to them.
The Palestone Sword tower held the most precious possession of House Dayne.
Dawn.
The fabled sword, forged from the heart of a fallen star.
Somehow he doubted it was the truth, stars simply did not fall from space. But asteroids could, and despite him knowing precious little on the subject, he knew that sometimes they were filled with rare metals, maybe some special enough that it would make the perfect sword.
Though Aemon had a feeling magic was linked to it as well. Thousands of years ago, when House Dayne had been founded on the very spot they had found the asteroid, or star according to the legend, magic had been common. It was therefore entirely possible for some magic to have found its way into the forging of the sword.
But examining it was out of the question. The tower could only be accessed by the knights of the Palestone order and pretenders.
At least that was what his ghost of an uncle had told him, Aemon himself had never seen one before. The order of elite guards was sworn to protect the sword and only deliver it to one worthy.
His uncle had kept silent as to what made one worthy, one had to be unaware to be even allowed inside.
It only reinforced his belief that somehow magic was involved.
Every now and then, a knight would show up and declare himself worthy. Aemon had witnessed at least a dozen go in. Some came out, but most didn't.
But much like the hallows, something was telling him he needed it. Once again he would have to trust his guts and hope that his luck had not died out.
"Aren't you mad?" his cousin questioned, pulling Aemon from his thoughts.
"Why would I be?" he frowned.
"Because you can't do it, because of your disease…"
Aemon almost wanted to slap himself, he had almost forgotten the excuse they had had to give his cousin to explain why he would not become a page as Ned would.
"No, it's okay," he feigned a bit of sadness, even if he was glad for not having to. Aemon pulled his cousin in a hug, "I'm happy for you, I swear," he pushed his cousin away and looked at him in the eyes, "I'll keep the castle safe for you, don't worry,"
Ned gave him a strained smile.
"And I'll bring back lots of stories to tell you,"
The purple-eyed boy smiled, it was the deal they had made a few weeks ago when his cousin had penned his request to Lord Beric Dondarrion, the lord of Blackhaven.
"When are you leaving?"
"In two days, at dawn," Ned said, conflict written across his face.
While his cousin was happy to become a page, he was also sad to leave his home and his family behind.
"I got you something," Aemon said as he went around his bed and lifted his mattress, taking the gold dragon coin he had hidden.
If one took a closer look one would see runes inscribed on it. As he experimented he found the runes he knew worked perfectly well in this world. Why? He could not tell; he had studied ancient runes in his later twenties mainly for warding, not in their entirety and the only person he knew that could explain was long gone.
Wards were the greatest defence one could have, no matter what anyone hiding behind walls a hundred feet high might believe. Especially when a wizard was in play.
As such he had had to learn if he was going to succeed in his missions and he had found he had an affinity for them. It made him regret not having taken the class at Hogwarts and begun his education in them at thirteen.
Still, he knew enough to begin experimenting with them. Wards were out of the question as they could backfire and collapse, without a wand it was extremely dangerous. But for simpler magics, runes were perfect, either it worked or did not but there was no risk of causing an explosion.
It took him a few months to get it right, it had almost been too close to his cousin's departure. But a fortnight ago, he had finally cracked the rune array needed to connect two objects.
"If you're in trouble, take it in your hand and squeeze it." He said as he handed the gold dragon with the Mad King's head on the other side of the array.
"What is it?" Ned said as he took it carefully on his palm and examined it.
He gasped and looked around, "is it magic?" he whispered.
It was extremely basic, whenever Edric used it, it would heat a coin he kept with him and it would act as a tracking charm, in theory. He had no way of testing it for sure, not without a wand, but he was confident it would work. At least it heated and would tell him if his cousin was ever in too much danger.
Aemon nodded, "don't tell anyone,"
Edric widened his eyes, "I swear,"
"Hide it, and come on, it's time for supper,"
The other boy gave him a smirk and before Aemon could say anything, "Race you!" his cousin screamed as he turned around and ran away with his cousin hot in pursuit.
291 A.C
Starfall
"What about this one?" Ashara said as she pointed to the blue one with six yellow flowers.
"It's the coat of arms of House Cuy, they're sworn to the Hightowers" Aemon answered.
His mother smiled at him, hers was so filled with love that a few years ago, Aemon had decided he would try to make her smile as much as possible. If it meant learning all the coat of arms of Westeros, then so be it.
"Good, describe me the one of House Dondarrion,"
"It's a forked purple lightning bolt on a black field covered with four-pointed stars"
"And who are they sworn to?"
"To the usurper," Aemon answered automatically making his mother raise a well-manicured eyebrow.
"House Baratheon," he rolled his eyes.
What his uncle, Eddard Stark, had predicted all those years ago, when he had thought him too young to understand a single word that was said, had come true.
Robert Baratheon was not a good king. His only saving grace was that he did none of the ruling and left it to his small council. It was good in the short term, sure, but never in the long one. Right now, and despite an enormous debt, the realm was in a better state than it had been in decades. New trade routes had been opened, and the relationship of the Seven Kingdoms with the Iron bank was better than ever before, and yet, it could not last.
One could see the enormous debt the Crown had contracted as a bad sign, the many tourneys the Crown organized alone ensured many thought that, especially by the enormous prizes given by Robert. However, they didn't know much about economy and finances.
After finishing Hogwarts, he had no knowledge whatsoever about both. It was, after all, a school of magic. But having to manage the many businesses the Blacks had acquired had forced him to become somewhat knowledgeable.
There was a reason why the wealthiest always got loans and did not spend their own money. Banks knew they would always get their cash back, with interest, and in exchange rich people could spend outrageous amounts of money on their projects, some succeeding, which meant a large payday for everyone involved. And some failing, for the investor it meant no profit, but no loss either as they did not invest their own money. In any case, the bank did not lose a single gold dragon.
The wealth of a country on Earth was determined, not by how much gold it had, though it never hurt, but by how much a country produced and whether or not it was able to pay back loans and bonds. It was the same for the Seven Kingdoms and given the increased taxes that they had received every year or two since the Usurper came into power certainly confirmed they could.
But there came the main disadvantage of only ruling through the small council. They were meant to be advisors, not decision-makers, and for a very simple reason.
The King was supposed to have the realm's best interest at heart. The members of the small council, however, all came from different houses, and different backgrounds. And as such, they had their interests, their own goals, and of course, their ways to accomplish them. If the King left them free reign, they would eventually push too much.
The island on which Starfall rested was surrounded by fruitful lands, themselves protected by the red mountains on one side and the sea on the other, the location hard to invade, if not impossible. Only dragons and the tens of thousands of ships of the Roynish Queen Nymeria had ever conquered the area.
Which meant they had no trouble paying the increased taxes. But this was not the case for everyone. The North for one, where his birth mother had been born, had never been wealthy. The lands were plentiful, for sure, it was not the largest kingdom for no reason. But people were rare, and as such the lands were hardly exploited, which meant little wealth for them and an increase in tax such as those they had known would anger many.
Anger often led to violence, if not always. And the violence caused instability, and this was a deadly recipe for a kingdom.
Especially when one accounted for the many enemies both the Baratheons and the Lannisters had made during and after the rebellion. House Martell for one, it wasn't hard to guess why, after what had happened to his half-siblings and the first wife of his father.
Aemon himself had felt his blood boil and the desire to exact revenge at the thought of it.
While he understood the rebellion and if he was honest, would have probably stood with them, no matter who his family was. What had happened to Elia Martell and her children was nothing short of monstrous.
Sadly, without a wand, there was little he could do for now, but Aemon had sworn that everyone involved would pay. It was unlikely Gregor Clegane was the one to have taken the decision. The man was known for his fighting ability and gigantic size but not for his cleverness. And against a wizard, none of that mattered.
And he would pay, there was no doubt of it.
But the Martells were not alone, and with the dragons gone for a long time, many more were lining up their pawns to reach for the iron throne.
"And what about this one?" his mother pulled him from his morbid thoughts.
He looked at the large book, but her hands were not there.
He frowned but turned to her and gasped, there was a necklace resting in her palms, with, in a circle, the coat of arms of House Dayne, Dawn crossing a falling star. But what held all of his attention was the alloy it was made off.
"House Dayne…" he whispered reverently, "is that…"
Aemon was at a loss for words.
His mother beamed and nodded as she rose from her seat and came to stand behind him.
"I know you're a Targaryen," she unclasped the necklace, "but you also are my son."
She lowered the necklace, and he felt the crest come to rest against his chest and gasped. He could feel magic coming off it, not a lot but enough to let him know it had magical properties.
"You'll always be a Dayne and this necklace is proof, it's made of the same metal as Dawn, but it's not as sharp," His mother chuckled as she clasped the necklace behind his neck.
Aemon rose from his seat and hugged her, as much as one could in a ten-name-days body anyway. "I love you, mum,"
"I love you too, my little dragon,"
He groaned, she knew he hated that nickname, Draco Malfoy probably had the same one when he was a child.
She ended the hug but kept her hands on his shoulder and looked at him straight in the eyes, purple meeting purple.
It was no wonder his cousin had believed them. The only clue that he was not Ashara's true son was his paler complexion and that could be easily explained.
"Never take it off, it will guide you home, always," she said seriously.
His eyes widened, 'could it?' Aemon could not help but ask himself and examine the emblem, on the side that was supposed to be against his chest, runes were engraved, not ones he knew, which only raised more questions.
It made him think of another object that guided people, the deluminator, he had no idea what had become of it, but Ron had used it to apparate without knowing where he was heading.
A very foolish practice normally but the deluminator had allowed him to not splinch himself. But doing so when you had no idea of where you were was also risky, less so but still, there was no one to reattach a limb for him, much less to go and get it. Having a similar object could be incredibly useful if he ever found himself in a bit more trouble than he could handle.
He was not arrogant enough to think that nothing could hurt him in this world simply because he was a wizard. Any human would be hard-pressed to do so, even one with magical powers. But there were legends, tales of incredibly powerful creatures. Almost all tales had some truth to them and given that he knew the stories his mother had told him about the long night, a time when even in Dorne, crops froze, and the dead rose were all true. It inclined him to believe there was more to this world than it seemed at first glance.
"I promise, I won't,"
"Good boy," she whispered as she hugged him once and released a few seconds later.
"Let's get your armor on, it's time for your lessons with Ser Blackmont."
Aemon groaned. Since his cousin had left he had been forced to wear his armor every day, all day, the only exceptions being with the lessons he had with his mother and when he was sleeping. He understood why, but the thing was incredibly bothersome.
"Don't groan Aemon" His mother smirked, "it's unbecoming, and was it not you that wanted to become the Sword of the Morning?"
He smiled, it was, but that did not mean he was not going to complain every so often.
"Go on," she pushed toward the exit, "I'm sure you'll be late again"
292 A.C
Starfall
The silver-made knife scrapped against the stone floor of the bedroom as Aemon carved the rune Ehwaz. It was a deeply unpleasant sound but a necessary one.
For weeks he had been working on the ritual, he remembered most of it from his previous life but had been too old to go through it, he had made no effort to learn it perfectly.
Rituals were a very tricky subject. Everything influenced one, the day, the position of the sun, of the moon, the age of the wizard, or if they had done others before. And of course, the sacrifice.
Intelligent witches and wizards who dabbled in such things knew not to make too many. It was best to stop at a set of three, going all the way to seven was dangerous if you were not well-learned in the art. And foregoing any magical number was a recipe for failure. And failure with rituals meant death, or horrible mutilations, Aemon knew which he considered worse.
Doing one too soon was also detrimental to future growth. There was a reason why young witches and wizards only received their wands at eleven.
Magic in an individual was not stable before then, it allowed a child to survive even the direst of circumstances but otherwise, it was best not to mess with one's magic before eleven name days.
He had also hoped that this was the time he would get the elder wand, but he had been wrong. Every time he tried to feel for it, every time he focused on bringing the hallows to him, it felt closer. But no matter how closely he got, they stayed hidden.
And the more one sacrificed, the more the ritual yielded results. But a sacrifice had to be made, be it in blood, pain, or something more meaningful.
One of the most potent sacrifices was a life, it was the reason why killing in cold blood and making a Horcrux had such incredible power. Not one worth it, but it still allowed some form of immortality.
Aemon had long theorized that his first mother, Lily, had been involved in a ritual, maybe not one of her own making, but one anyway. And with her life willingly sacrificed she had allowed him to live. But it was only a theory, one he could never verify.
Still, rituals did not all need for a life to be given.
They had been rather common hundreds of years ago and almost everyone used to go through a few. Slowly, over centuries, the ministries of the entire world and the ICW had forbidden their practices, and ever so slowly, they had fallen out of use.
Except for some families of course. The Blacks, among others, would have never forsaken an advantage they had over everybody else.
Every Black, no matter male or female, would go through the first at one and ten, the second at three and ten, and the final one at seven and ten.
It was better to do it soon after the name day and to enjoy the power of a celestial event. It could be anything, but the rarer, the more potent. Everything had an effect.
Tonight, Aemon enjoyed the red light of the blood moon. He had been lucky that it fell exactly seven days after his name day, which funnily, was on the last day of the seventh month.
He had just finished the last rune for movement, it was joined by six others, Natuhiz for stamina, Laguz for healing, Uruz for strength, Thurisaz for reflexes, Raidho for growth and to bind them all, Sowilo.
He remembered all but one as of a few weeks ago and sadly had to experiment before he could attempt it on himself.
He had managed to summon the needed subjects from his bedroom, a feat in and of itself. Three rabbits had paid the price for it. Thankfully they had died almost instantly and on the fourth one, it had suddenly stopped moving and had squeaked in pain for close to a minute before falling limp. The brown rabbit had awakened only ten minutes later or so, and had escaped, bouncing through the window of his bedroom, he fell for over thirty feet and bounced, completely unharmed, zipping to where its hole was.
Any predator the rabbit had would find it impossible to catch it.
Standing up, Aemon undressed and unclasped the necklace he had not taken off since it had been gifted to him over a year ago. No magic could interfere, and he had no wish to sacrifice it anyway.
In the case of this ritual, parts of magical creatures could be used to lessen the cost of pain and blood. He had no such objects at his disposal. Pain and blood would have to do.
Bare as the day he was born, Aemon Targaryen stood at the centre of the carved runes.
He was taller than he had been in his previous life at the same age, not that it was hard given how underfed he had been. Spending most of his childhood in a cupboard could not have helped either. Now, he was the size he remembered his classmates being at the sorting, at about four and nine feet tall, he was even possibly a bit taller.
All the training already made muscles begin to grow on his chest and arms. Still, it seemed that in any life, he would always have a leaner kind of figure. Not that it mattered now.
He stuffed a piece of leather inside his mouth and squeezed, it would not do to wake the entire castle with his screams.
Aemon rose his left arm in front of him and cut at the wrist, blood immediately began to spill from the wound and hit the floor, each drop of it rolling on its own to fill each of the runes.
He could only watch, enraptured by the sight of his blood, moved by an invisible force. There were no words needed, it was pure intent, expressed through the runes and his own will.
As he began to feel lightheaded from blood loss, the wound closed itself when the runes all had their share of his blood. He barely had the time to stare in astonishment before he felt his body seize as his muscles began to heat up.
He bit harder on the piece of leather and suddenly, his scream was muffled by the leather, but anyone outside would have still heard had they not been asleep. It felt as if every bone, every muscle, and every nerve in his body was being melted and remade at the same time.
Not even the cruciatus had hurt that bad.
He fought to stay conscious through the incredible pain he felt but the young Targaryen lost his fight and his consciousness as his world went black.
293 A.C
Starfall
"Clang!" Two swords met, making sparks fly, Aemon tried to push but his strength was still not enough to counter ser Blackmont.
He ducked as his opponent quickly withdrew his sword and went for a swipe where his head had been a second ago as Aemon took a step back.
"Good, young king, you're getting faster,"
The purple-eyed teenager only grunted in response and began to move to strike the knight who went to parry, but at the last moment, he slid on his knees, and hit him behind his knee, making him kneel.
Aemon used his momentum to spin around and ended up on his feet, his sword resting on the neck of ser Blackmont.
Both the knight and the teenager had wide eyes.
"I yield" the knight quickly said.
Applause rang throughout the courtyard making him raise his eyes, he was not aware they had an audience.
His mother stood beaming on the side, clapping with both hands and making him blush immediately.
Praise had been much more forthcoming in this life, but one simply did not erase their first childhood.
Still, it was deserving of praise. It was the first time he had managed to beat the knight in training. Not through strength, he was still eleven, but with speed and reflexes.
All of those had increased since the ritual a few months ago.
He had woken up, naked and completely oblivious to what had happened despite his entire body hurting as it had rarely ever done.
It had taken an entire minute for the memories of the night to come back to him. To his surprise, every trace of the ritual had disappeared, as if it had never been there.
The effects had been small at first, he had known that it wouldn't be instantaneous, but the slowness of the process still surprised him.
Rituals, unless one dabbled in the most dangerous ones, would not give everything instantly.
It was more like unlocking additional potential and accelerating the growth toward reaching it. In other words, he still had to work.
Every morning he did as many laps around the castle as he could and stopped only when his legs were about to give out, he would then do push-ups and crunches. It was followed by two hours of sword training and one of archery. Every afternoon he spent two hours with his uncle, teaching him footwork, techniques, and tactics to be a successful commander and fighter.
He then dedicated time to magic and learning about the continent he was in and was supposed to govern one day. Its history was rich, civilizations had developed there for thousands and thousands of years.
Never reaching heights in technology but all with their respective traditions, religions, governments, and sometimes magical power.
One thing that bothered him the most was that all the knowledge was controlled by a single guild. They could write and rewrite history as it suited them, some events were perhaps completely invented, or at the very least heavily interpreted by one of the many maesters of the Citadel. Even a lie, if it was repeated enough times, would become truth.
And the Citadel had existed for thousands of years, there was no telling the damage they had done, especially if they were against magic as his mother told him.
"I'm so proud of you," his mother said and broke him from his thoughts, her beaming smile clearing off the frown he had not noticed had formed.
She approached her pale blue dress flowing on the ground behind her. Aemon sheathed his sword, and she hugged him, he felt himself relax in her hug. She was one of the few to have that ability. Even Molly's had been too overbearing and rib-crushing to be enjoyable.
"Thank you," he mumbled on her shoulder.
He had no idea if it was an effect of the ritual, but he had grown by five inches in only six months and was getting closer to his mother's five and eight feet.
"No need to thank me, little knight," she said, still smiling.
Aemon said nothing and took the time to enjoy the hug, he might be in a young body but his experience told him those moments had to be appreciated to their fullest.
"Come on, I believe Ser Blackmont told you your training would be shortened the day you made him yield, yes?"
"Indeed, my Lady," the older man answered.
"Good, then you won't mind if I take my son and add a lesson to his schedule?"
Aemon groaned but the knight chuckled and answered, "Not at all, my Lady,"
"On your way then, young man,"
"Mum…" he began but his mother's look told him all he needed to know as he began to head to the room they used for the lessons.
If you liked feel free to review, next chapter probably won't be out before next weekend. It will be time for Aemon to leave the nest.