Hi everyone!
It took me a bit more time than I planned but here is the third chapter, hope you enjoy!
*I don't own anything, it all belongs to JKR and GRRM
294 A.C
Starfall
"Fuck!" Aemon swore as for the umpteenth time, his rune array failed.
"Language!"
Aemon's purple eyes widened, so used to being left alone when in his bedroom that he had not heard his mother come in. She was the only one who did not need to knock after all.
"Sorry, mum," he said sheepishly and she smiled at him.
As none of the deathly hallows deigned to show up yet, the purple-eyed wizard had intensified his efforts to create useful objects that could replace some of the functions of a focus.
But where a wand was capable of many different types of magic, runes had to be specific. At least, when you were not an expert as Dumbledore or Hermione had been.
It was why it had taken so many trials to succeed in making the "alert coin" as he had dubbed it. But the project had been a necessary one, though he could not tell if it truly worked until his cousin called on him and he had a wand to follow the tracking charm. As such he continued with smaller, less useful projects to build his skill.
First, he had made a cloak capable of even warming someone close to hypothermia. Not that any would in Dorne. It was much easier than the coin as he already designed the heating rune array for the coin. The only trouble he had was to choose the material needed. It turned out that different ones had various capacities when infusing them with magical properties.
Wool, cotton, broadcloth, sailcloth, leather, silk, he had tried everything he could put his hand on easily. Amusingly, it had been something Hagrid gifted him that gave Aemon the information. The moleskin pouch. Unlike the other cloths, moleskin had to be ordered in the Riverlands for it was only produced there.
It took him only a few minutes to work out the kinks and the cloak was working as intended.
His next project had been a Lumos stone, it was simply that, a rock with a carved rune array that lit up with nothing but a touch of his hand. It was pretty useful to explore the castle. Lumos was a spell he could also do wandlessly, but it took much more focus than he ever wanted to put into a light bulb. Still, it took him an entire moon to figure it out.
He then developed a knife similar to the one Sirius had offered him many years ago. While he could directly unlock a door with his magic, it took lots of concentration, and doing so made sure he would be unable to pay any attention to his surroundings.
Aemon had no idea whether or not it would also open a magically locked door as the original knife did, but it could unlock any that was locked with a key.
Once again he had to find the correct material for the knife. Valyrian Steel would have been perfect. Sadly, it was not an option, while House Dayne was wealthy it had no ancestral blade made of the rare alloy. And with how little there was in the world, it was rapidly dismissed.
Steel was not an option either, he had tried. But every blade only lasted a couple of locks before they snapped.
He had lost count of the number of blades that he wasted in his pursuit of a working Alohomora knife.
Until finally, he tried with a ceremonial knife.
Those were made of gold and were rare. Not because gold in itself was rare and expensive, though it was. But more because golden knives made for very poor ones. First of all, any with such a belonging would see themselves hounded by thieves and the like. And a far more important reason was the fact that a golden knife had to be sharpened almost constantly to keep its hedge. Sharpening it also had the effect of losing much of the gold every time he did so.
Thus, almost no one but the wealthiest of families kept those, mostly for ornamental purposes.
Thankfully, House Dayne was such a house and Aemon felt no need to ever use that knife for stabbing or cutting. Once he found the right knife, it only took a few trials to have it working as intended.
"Are you still working on your healing stone?"
Aemon hummed in affirmation. It had been his project for over four moons now.
"You know you should take a break, honey, there is no need to tire yourself when the sickness has gone,"
Aemon sighed, he knew she felt he was working too hard to obtain a functioning healing stone. Still, what if it ever came back? His magic could not help as it was. Even a wand would have been useless, it could be used to close wounds and many other things. But not for viruses.
It had overtaken the castle and the surrounding lands in less than a fortnight, infecting everyone but him. Most survived, but there were also many deaths.
He had tried to make it work in time, spending his days and nights on it.
If he was honest with himself, he knew that even if he made it work, it would not have sufficed.
Diseases like those were not an issue for a wizard or a witch, only Dragon Pox could have been any threat to them when it came to viruses. Even so, a pepperup potion would have been enough to give everyone a fighting chance. If it could be administered to muggles, that is. A potion required innate magic to work. Everyone knew that.
And that was not even talking about the ingredients which for the most part did not exist in this world.
Wylla had suffered the price for it. Barely a week after the first symptoms appeared, she had begun to cough heavily and had developed a fever. A week later she was confined to her bed and another week after that, she died.
Though he would have preferred not to remember being fed by the wetnurse he had grown to love her. For the woman unable to have children he had become almost like a son.
Death was no stranger to him, however, and while it never got easier. Aemon had mourned and moved on.
His mother had come through but weakened. However she tried to hide it, the shadows under her eyes only grew wider. And her coughing had never stopped. His best guess was that either her throat or her lungs had been damaged by the virus.
But he was no healer and his knowledge mostly applied to broken bones, curses, and other physical wounds.
As such, he kept working on the healing stone. And failed, none of the runes he could think off worked, and not for the first time he wished he had Hermione to help him on his project. He was sure his former best friend would have been excited by the project.
But no matter how hard he tried to keep the memory of his loved ones alive, it seemed like every day he forgot something. Ron's laugh for example was one he could not remember.
Though it had worried him at the beginning, he had come to accept it. Eventually, they would be reunited but to do so, he needed to succeed in his mission, and it required he commits to this life.
Bringing magic back was one thing, making sure it stayed was another and he had no wish to dedicate his life to a goal only for it to be wasted the moment he died.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" His mother asked, breaking his train of thought.
Aemon nodded, ever since she had begun to grow weaker, he had tried to spend as much time with her as possible.
And the smile she gave him only made it all worth it.
"Have you thought about what we've talked about?" she asked once they had left his room and interlaced her arm with his.
As the month passed, he was getting taller and taller, having taken another two inches since the end of last year, and Aemon now stood at his mother's shoulder.
"Mum…"
"I know it's hard honey, but I also know you can see it," they stopped, and she looked straight into his purple eyes, "I wish we could have more time together my sweet boy…" she said as she caressed his cheek.
Aemon sighed, he knew she was right but talking about her eventual death and what he would do after was never a subject he liked.
"I want to travel,"
She smiled.
"You should, but you must be careful, I know you've grown stronger with your sword and your magic, but the world we live in is full of evils,"
Aemon nodded, while he had begun training with two opponents, he was still far from being ready, and with no wand to his name as of yet, he had no proper alternative.
One opponent would be easily handled, maybe two if they were not too skilled but three would be a stretch. Summoning and banishing objects could only do so much and the progress with fire was far slower than anticipated.
It took him a year to begin throwing fireballs. At first, they did not even make a few steps, now they would cross a room, but the wall was left unaffected by the impact.
He had tried practicing with water but the most he could do was make the water bubble. Which wasn't very useful, he had to admit.
Still, he persevered, as long the elder wand evaded him, he would have to.
"Where do you want to go?"
"I want to see the Citadel, first, and maybe the major castles of the realm, the free cities…"
"You'll have to hide your face, not until Robert is dead can you reveal yourself, you understand?"
He nodded as another idea for a destination formed in his mind. His brother was a person he dearly wanted to meet.
However, the North was very far, if he could simply apparate it would be fine, but one could not apparate to somewhere they had never been.
And Daemon, or whatever he was called in the North, was an unknown. Going to him could mean Robert would learn of their continued existence before he was ready and then the king would stop at nothing to get their heads.
As they walked past one of the gardens inside Starfall, colorful flowers filled his vision, and he could not help but take a deep breath to try and catch the scent of as many flowers as he could.
He had to come to love the gardens in the castle. They were exceptionally well maintained and gave plenty of fruits to everyone living inside. Blood oranges, lemons, pomegranates, and more. Dorne was truly a blessed place, according to the books he read, only the harshest of winters truly threatened the region, not that he could verify the information as he had been born at the beginning of the longest summer in memory.
"I don't have to go now, right?"
"Of course not!" she answered fiercely and hugged him.
Aemon returned the hug, and while he could feel his mother getting thinner by the week, he tried to enjoy it for as long as he could.
294 A.C
Starfall
The last day of the seventh month, July 31 in another world. It was funny he had been born on the same day. Though maybe it was on purpose, which one? He had no idea.
He had been waiting this name day for a long time now.
Not for the gifts, despite forgetting more and more of his old life, he still felt like an adult in a teenager's body.
The voice changing, he could have done without, though he guessed he couldn't go on sounding like a child either, but the time in between definitely sucked.
No, he had been waiting this day for the second ritual of his set. The one that applied to the mind, though its effects reached further than the mind alone.
The blood moon of a few years ago would have been better, but half a lunar eclipse was better than nothing, and having it on his name day was supposed to increase its power on the ritual.
Aemon knelt on the ground and pulled out his reinforced silver knife and began to carve.
The first rune was Kenaz for creativity, with slow but confident movements, he repeated the rune over and over again as it slowly appeared on the floor of his bedroom.
The second was Hagalaz, this one was harder to carve as instead of two short lines, it was similar to the capital "N" letter. It was meant to represent perpetual change.
Next came Mannaz for the self. His best guess was that this one was used to preserve the mind, to make sure one did not lose him or herself during the ritual or after.
It was also supposed to help resist torture from what he remembered reading so many years ago. Trust the Blacks to think of something like that to put in their ritual. Though with the world he found himself in, maybe it was for the best.
Then there was Aigiz for protection, this one was supposed to help with Occlumency.
He had long overcome his difficulties with the art and with supposedly no one practicing legilimency in this world it felt irrelevant. But changing the ritual in any capacity could provoke untold damage. If by some miracle he managed to replace it with the right rune, in the right order, then it would have been best. But it meant years of experimentation. Countless subjects to sacrifice.
Then again, he was not an expert in runes, his knowledge lay mainly in Nordic Runes, with a few others in other ancient languages, it sufficed for the need he had at the time.
No, in the end, it was best to avoid messing with such things.
He pivoted and began carving the fourth of seven runes, Tiwaz.
Carving it was easy with its arrow-like design. But it was the one he had been the most unsure of.
Much like with the first ritual, he had to summon a few rabbits. The meaning of it was the difficulty he encountered. To succeed in a ritual, one could not afford to not know the meaning of the rune he was trying to use. And runes could have different meanings according to the context.
In the end, the only test subject that survived was the one he had used with the meaning of Leadership.
How it would translate in the real world, Aemon had no clue. It could be a sort of aura projected to others, or maybe something that would increase decision-making capacity. It was hard to tell with a rabbit, and with magic, everything was possible.
The next rune he carved was Ansuz for truth. He could still remember how the word legilimency had been annotated under it. The word had been underlined and circled many times.
It only made sense the Blacks would seek every advantage they could get, and the mind arts were a huge boon in any society. Whether one used them for protection or to discover secrets.
Voldemort had been so talented in the art that only the most skillful occlumens could try and get away with lying to him.
And finally, the last one, Dagaz for awareness. By far the most useful as far as he was concerned. Being able to notice even the smallest of details could mean the difference between life and death. Especially when you had to aim as high as he had to if he wanted to succeed.
Once finished, he rose from the ground and felt and heard his joints crack from the time he had spent on his knees.
He looked outside the window and could see the half-red half-white moon high in the sky, lighting the circle of runes with its light.
He quickly undressed and for only the second time in years, took off the necklace bearing the coat of arms of House Dayne.
Aemon came to stand inside the circle, at equidistance from each rune. He stood naked as the day he was born, with nothing but the piece of leather he was biting in, and the knife held in his right hand.
With a practiced movement, the knife slashed his left wrist and he stood hypnotized by the sight of his blood as it poured from the wound and quickly moved off itself to go and fill the runes previously carved.
As soon as they were, he felt unable to move and a headache began to form. It took only a second for the pain to increase tenfold and Aemon bit as hard as he could into the leather to muffle his screams of pain.
And suddenly, the pain became excruciating, it felt as if his brain was being stabbed again and again until he lost consciousness.
295 A.C
Starfall
Aemon ducked to avoid the swinging mace his opponent directed at him but before he could regain his footing and attack, he had to spin and felt the great sword of Ser Blackmont pass his head and open a small wound on his left cheekbone with its tip.
Before his old teacher could retract, Aemon freed his right hand of his great sword and gave a harsh pull on his aging teacher's forearm, forcing him to take two steps forward. As he passed by, the young Targaryen brought his great sword down and only stopped before the steel could decapitate his teacher.
Barely half a second later he felt the other knight come in his back, ser Manwoody, a young man of five and twenty that had been knighted after a raid of the Ironborns while squirring for ser Garth Hightower a few years ago.
The younger man side-stepped the mace coming from above not a second too late as his original teacher stepped to the side, defeated.
Aemon quickly put some steps between himself and ser Manwoody who nodded at him, "Very good, Arthur,"
The purple-eyed teenager shrugged as he cracked his neck, fighting with a great sword always tired him more, but every practice made it easier.
While the knight ignored Aemon's true identity, he had been reliable and always willing to help in his training since he had come to learn under Ser Blackmont a few months ago.
He had learned that his teacher was famous for his skill with the great sword; sadly, since the sickness, he had grown weaker.
Not enough to have anyone worry over it but enough that he could see it in their fights.
With the effects of the rituals showing more and more each day, it only meant the aging knight had not made him yield in half a year. It was why he now trained with two opponents instead of one.
The second ritual had been brutal and had left Aemon sick for almost a week and he had never felt weaker before. He knew it was the effect of not using anything but pain and blood as a sacrifice, but still, he had not been prepared for it.
Thankfully, however, it also increased the effects of the first one while adding to his mental capabilities. It had been almost unnoticeable at first but with every fight, he saw differences, sometimes it was what his opponent was about to do, giving him an extra second to react, or sometimes it was moves he knew he hadn't seen before and yet could see the openings for now.
Even when reading a book, he found the information was more easily retained and all of it only made him more eager for the final and third ritual.
Still, right now he fought to win, and he stood ready as his opponent approached again, swinging his mace over his head.
Ser Manwoody's attack was far too anticipable, he quickly stepped under the coming blow and found himself in the back of the knight, too close to use the great sword, Aemon kicked him in the back, forcing him to take hurried steps forward.
He rushed after him and brought down the great sword only for it to be blocked by the handle of the mace as the knight had to kneel to withstand the force of the blow.
Aemon clenched his jaw and tried to overpower the older man, but his strength came short as ser Manwoody used his weapon and strength to push him off, forcing him to the side.
But before he had the time to properly stand, Aemon came back bearing another blow which the knight only managed to deflect, Aemon used the momentum to flip his sword and used the hilt to deliver an uppercut to the knight.
The blow sent him back a few feet as he dropped his weapon and was forced to take his helmet off, a large bruise already forming on the jaw of the olive-skin man.
"I yield," he said while holding his jaw.
Aemon could not help but smile and look up to see where he knew his uncle usually spent his time when not with him. Sure enough, he could spot the silvery light emitted by the ghost.
This was a move his uncle had taught him and the man, or rather the ghost, had told him that when he was grown it could kill as easily as a blade to the heart.
Aemon knew he was not that strong yet and that was why he still used it at training, it would not do to kill his sparring partner. Even more a son of a Dornish house, a small one, but one all the same.
"I'm impressed," ser Manwoody said still massaging his aching jaw.
Aemon sheathed his sword and came to offer his hand to the knight who took it, he grunted under the weight but held until the knight stood up.
"It's not often you see such footwork, speed, and reflexes in one so young…"
"Outstanding, isn't it?" Ser Blackwood gushed while approaching.
"You have done great work with him, Ser," the younger knight bowed his head to the older one.
"I wish I could take the credit!" he laughed, "no, this one has it in his blood, he moves as his uncle did,"
"Sadly, I'm too young to have seen him…"
"Oh, I tell you, he attacks and he defends just as the Sword of the Morning, even this move," he gestured to the bruise on his jaw, "I remember seeing Ser Arthur pulling it on a raider when he was barely older than this one, killed that one he did, "
"Did you see him fight a lot?"
"Aye, we trained together when we were lads…"
The two men began to walk away and Aemon left them to continue without him. After all, he had access to the real thing if he wanted to hear the tales of his uncle.
Keeping his armor on, as he had almost every day for the past six years. Aemon walked quickly to join said ghost for his lessons.
As time went by, they decreased the physical training as there was only so much that could be done without a real opponent. Nowadays, his uncle focused more on the politics of it.
As far as he could remember he had never liked politics.
But in Westeros, being a great swordsman mattered very little if you were unable to go up against the heavyweights. And conflicts with those people rarely resolved themselves with a single sword.
"Aemon," his uncle greeted him as he entered the room the ghost spent most of his time in when he was not roaming the halls.
"You got hurt,"
Aemon rolled his eyes, "it's only a cut, and look, it's already healing," he pointed at the cut, with the healing stone still failing to work, he was thankful for the ritual that allowed him to heal these injuries quite easily.
He doubted it would be enough for larger wounds but in training it was rare he suffered more than bruising and little cuts here and there.
"It is truly wonderous…" the ghost whispered as he floated closer to examine the cut, "I can see it closing before my very eyes,"
Aemon coughed and his uncle seemed to snap out of his observation, "yes, last time we were talking about the Tyrells, get that book for me, will you?"
He approached the shelf and took out said book, titled 'Great Houses of Westeros'. He flipped through the pages until he arrived at the relevant section.
The Tyrell name was inscribed in gold letters, with beneath, their house words and the golden rose they used as a crest.
"What can you tell me about them?"
"They've been Lord Paramount of the Reach since Aegon's conquest, Mace Tyrell is the current Lord, their seat is Highgarden and they bent the knee to Robert Baratheon," Aemon recited what his mother had told him in one of their lessons.
His uncle nodded, "Yes, but while Mace Tyrell is the Lord of the house, the true power is Olenna, his mother, anyone who stayed at court could tell you that much."
Aemon rose his eyebrows, it was rare to see a woman rule in Westeros, rare were the houses that even allowed it.
"Highgarden truly is a sight, but it is possibly the least defensible castle I have ever seen." Arthur said as he pointed at the castle etched on the following page, "It seats on a small hill, surrounded by leagues of open plains that go as far as the eye can see,"
"Why did they build it there then?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
Aemon approached the wall on the left where a seven feet high and three feet wide map of Westeros stood.
Highgarden was located on the other side of the Red Mountains, on the banks of the Mander, and at the crossroads of the Ocean Road and the Roseroad.
"Trade?" he answered,
"Are you asking or telling me?" the knight challenged.
"They settled here because of the trade," Aemon confirmed.
"Yes, in large part, anyone from the west coast that wants to trade with the Westerlands or the Stormlands is almost forced to go through Highgarden. But also because it is the most fertile land in all the seven kingdoms."
"That means they also have the most people, right?"
His uncle smiled at him, "Indeed, about a fourth of the seven kingdoms live in the Reach, what else does it tell you?"
Aemon thought about it for a minute, "Obviously, they'd have the largest army," Arthur nodded and gestured for him to continue, "but it's the second largest kingdom. That means they'd need time to gather their entire forces and with Highgarden as easily taken, you'd have to leave lots of men behind."
"Very good, you also have to take into account that many houses still resent the Tyrells for their ascension,"
Aemon frowned, "Why would…"
"The Targaryens are the reason the Reach is governed by the Tyrells, your ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, and Balerion the Dread, burnt most of the Reach's army in the field of fire. When he arrived at Highgarden, the Tyrells, who had been placed as castellan by the Gardeners, bent the knee and Aegon rewarded them. But Houses like the Tarlys felt they had more of a claim, and they still do."
Aemon looked at the map, "The Tarly's seat is Horn Hill, right?" His uncle nodded, "How many men do you think they have?" the young man asked then.
"The Reach as a whole can muster a hundred thousand fighting men, House Tarly alone provides for twenty thousand,"
His purple eyes widened, Horn Hill was incredibly close to Highgarden, "if House Tarly rebelled during a war, they could sack Highgarden…"
The ghost hummed in confirmation.
"How would you counter it? House Tyrell might support your claim if there was ever such a war, attacking and defeating your enemies is one thing, but if you cannot protect your allies it will be all for naught."
Aemon stood in front of the map, thinking of his options before answering.
296 A.C
Starfall
"Aemon,"
Said teenager rose his head as someone interrupted his reading.
"What?" he snapped before realizing it was his aunt, "sorry, Aunt Clarisse,"
"It's all right," she answered and gave him a strained smile that betrayed her fatigue, "you should go be with your mother, I don't think there is anything else you can achieve in this library…"
He nodded, even he knew it was futile, he had just been unable to do anything as his mum became weaker and weaker. Another virus had swiped through the castle when essosi merchants had arrived in the harbor to trade goods. Most had been unharmed, only a few smallfolk had died, and most didn't know if it was because of the sickness or simply old age. And in the castle, no one had died, but his already weakened mother had suffered the worst of it.
A moon had passed since the last symptoms had manifested but Ashara remained bedridden. She was slowly but surely wasting away and nothing had helped. None of the maesters remedies, none of his magic.
He closed his book on medicinal remedies and followed his aunt to his mother's room.
They walked in silence, each absorbed in their thoughts until they reached the room.
Before he could walk in, his aunt stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, "you know you will always have a place in Starfall, right?"
He gave her a small smile that did not reach his eyes, "I know, thank you,"
"No need to thank me," she tried to smile but even hers was small, "go on, spend some time with your mother…"
Aemon nodded and entered the room, as a little boy he had visited every time he had an excuse to do so, having a mum was even better than he had ever pictured it to be, and he took full advantage.
He had continued to be close with his mother his whole life, unlike most children and teenagers he felt no need to push boundaries, challenge her or try and emancipate from her.
For the very reason that he knew time with loved ones was often cut short and there was never enough.
"Aemon," she greeted with her tired voice,
He quickly joined her and settled in the chair beside her bed.
"My perfect boy," she whispered as she raised a tentative hand to caress his cheek.
She was barely over five and thirty and yet her gaunt traits and sunken eyes gave her at least another decade, if not more.
"I don't have long, I can feel it," she breathed out, visibly tired.
"I can try…" he began to protest.
"Aemon," she interrupted, "I know you wish you could do something, but some things in life are out of your control. It's not your fault, you understand that, right?"
He nodded, despite his best efforts he had found nothing, he even doubted that the elder wand would have changed anything. This was something that required a medicinal cure, and if Maester Anselm with his three links in medicine found nothing, it was doubtful he could with his knowledge. Maybe if he had studied more, learned more ways to cure people, or if he had paid more attention in history classes. But in the end, it mattered not.
"I'll make you proud, I swear," he found himself saying.
"You already do," she said with tears in her eyes, "I couldn't have wished for a better son, no mother could,"
Aemon felt a tear roll down his cheek.
"You must remember you are never alone, there'll also be I'll always be there," she touched his heart as she said it. "And I know you have a big heart, Aemon, I see it every day, but if you truly want to reclaim your birthright, you'll have to be as ruthless as your enemies, more even,"
Aemon nodded, he knew he wouldn't start a war for only that reason but still, she was right.
"I know, mum," he said while squeezing her hand, "I love you,"
"I love you too my son," she said and yawned.
"You should rest,"
"Will you stay with your mother a bit more?" she asked with a smile.
Aemon nodded as she settled more comfortably in the bed.
"Sweet dreams, mum,"
Aemon wiped his cheeks with his sleeves, he was standing in a crowd of a few dozen, most nobles from neighboring houses.
In front of them stood an altar with Ashara's body enveloped in a white shroud.
"We stand here today, to celebrate the life of Lady Ashara Dayne, daughter of Lord Robert Dayne and Lady Eglantine Dayne," the Septon began, "although her life was short and her candle was snuffed too early, Lady Ashara lived fully and was a proud daughter of her House to the very end. On this day, we gather to pray to the Father so that he may judge her fairly and to the Stranger for safe passage to the Seven Heavens,"
She had never woken up after their last discussion. Maester Anselm said she had died in her sleep.
Aemon stood there and repeated the words everyone said, he had never been one to believe in higher powers, whether in his previous life or this one, but he knew his mother believed in them.
They had had long discussions about religion, what the main ones were, their beliefs and which he felt suited him more. While he found himself forgetting more and more of his old world, it pertained more to who he was than what he knew, as if there was only enough place for one person to exist.
The faith of the seven reminded him too much of Christianity for him to trust them. Religions as a whole tended to want to convert people. Some did it peacefully, although they were rare, others used all methods they felt appropriate.
Still, it had never been an argument as she was incredibly open-minded and had let him make his own choices for a long time. However, as far as she was concerned, his magic was a gift of the Seven, it proved their will to see a Targaryen seat on the Iron Throne.
He had never bothered to contradict her.
It was easier that way and with the way magic was usually seen in the southern kingdoms, it would be best that everyone saw it that way if it ever came to light.
But in truth it would be best if it never did, the faith of the Seven was far too entrenched in the realm to hope to pacify it if people he could not trust with his life came to learn of it.
At that moment he could not help but feel for his left interior sleeve where the Elder wand was hidden.
It had been waiting for him, innocently seating on his pillow the first time he returned to his bedroom after she died.
He had stood over her body until two silent sisters arrived only a day later, to prepare her for the rites.
When finding it, along with the two other hallows, he stood there, he had no idea for how long, staring at the objects he wished to have just a few days ago that finally deigned to show up. Despite knowing inside of him he could have done nothing more; he could have tried.
He had fallen asleep that night, without touching any of them.
After finally putting some food in his stomach, he visited the lower levels of the castle, places he had not seen since Edric had left seven years ago.
The news was always hard to get but with ser Beric Dondarrion always on the move it only made it harder, it had been two years since they had received any news longer than a short note to tell them his cousin was fine.
He had then gone through every spell he could think of while his mother's corpse was being exposed in the small sept in the courtyard.
Aemon had had no wish of visiting her in that place. As far as he was concerned, his memories of the woman she had been were better left as they were.
His thoughts were broken by a nudge on his left side as his aunt began to advance toward the altar.
He felt as if he was half awake, half sleeping. It had been a week and yet it felt as though he was still dreaming. But the reality of it came crashing down on him as he moved in front of the white shroud.
He felt tears roll down his cheeks and made no effort to stop them.
"I…" what was he supposed to say? Willa's funeral had been much shorter and far fewer people had shown up, it was over in a few minutes. He had not seen any kind of funeral for his birth mother, though he hoped she had been honored as she deserved in the North.
"I'll always love you," he whispered so low only he could hear it, "I promise I'll make sure your house is always taken care of,"
"It is your house too, Aemon," his aunt surprised him by whispering in his ear, he had not even registered she was still there, by his side.
He nodded and stepped back, watching as the nobles took a few seconds to say their goodbyes to his mum. But before anything else could happen, the large gates of the courtyard opened as the castle's herald came to stand on the side.
"Prince Oberyn, of House Martell," he announced loudly, and everyone began to whisper.
Sure enough, a man in his thirties with olive-toned skin, dark hair, and just as dark eyes crossed the gates of Starfall. He was accompanied by half a dozen guards on each side of him, displaying proudly the crest of House Martell on their banners.
A red sun pierced by a golden spear on an orange background.
But at that moment, Aemon found he cared very little for such things.
"Please, my lords and ladies," the prince began to speak as soon as he stepped off his horse. "We're here to honor Lady Ashara Dayne, you are free to honor me any other day of the year," he chuckled.
For the first time in weeks, Aemon smiled, if only just a little bit, as he watched one of the Dornish princes make his way through the crowd, ignoring everyone as he did.
He came to stand in front of his aunt and kissed her hand as she offered it to him, "My lady, please accept the most heartfelt apologies of House Martell for the loss of your sister," he bowed his head.
"Thank you, my prince," she curtsied back to him, "it is most appreciated."
"And to you as well," to Aemon's surprise, Oberyn Martell turned to him as he spoke, "for your mother, although it has been many years, she and my sister were once close friends,"
"Your sister?" he asked surprised, "my prince," he bowed his head just a second later, remembering how he was supposed to address the prince as Arthur Sand.
While bastards might be accepted in Dorne, there was no need to commit a social faux-pas when he first met a member of the ruling family.
The prince clenched his jaw, "Elia…" he whispered, visibly still shaken by her loss.
"I'm sorry…"
"No need," Oberyn interrupted his apology with a wave of his hand, "you weren't there…" the prince moved on to stand in front of the altar.
From there, no one but him could hear what was spoken. And soon enough, another lord came, and Aemon could do nothing but watch as nobles upon nobles came to pay their respect to the woman who had raised him.
It all felt like empty words to him. How could they pretend to know his mother if they didn't even know she had a son? It seemed only Oberyn had known. It was done by purpose, of course, but still.
They were only here because etiquette said they had to.
When they had finished it was the turn of the people working in the Castle, this time he finally saw tears on the faces of those mourning.
Aemon stood there and could only watch as the ceremony ended, and the two silent sisters came out from the castle with a stretcher. As quick and silent as ever, they took away the body to bring it to the crypts.
It was one of two places he had never seen, both Edric and he had been forbidden to enter them and with this part of the castle locked, they had never tried.
However, now that he had a reason to visit them, he hoped his aunt wouldn't begrudge him because he was not a Dayne.
"You don't care for feast do you?" a voice on his left interrupted his thoughts.
Aemon was about to tell the person to get lost but turned before doing so, "No, my prince," he quickly answered to the man staring down at him.
While he had grown a lot with the help of the rituals and now was five and eight feet tall, the Dornish prince still had to look down to talk to him.
As was tradition to thank the guests for coming, a feast had been organized but he could not find it himself to attend. Some might take offense but he did not care.
"Then perhaps you would care for a spare?"
"It would be an honor, my prince,"
An opportunity like this was not rejected, no matter the situation.
Ser Blackmont had told him of the red viper. He was renowned for his prowess with the spear and his viciousness in combat.
Spear training was something all Dornish boys had to follow, but beyond that Aemon had preferred to focus on swords.
The Sword of the Morning was a great sword after all.
Oberyn nodded and walked back while Aemon went to take the great sword he currently used in training, but surprisingly the prince unsheathed his sword.
"Won't you fight with the spear, my prince?" he said as he unlaced the sleeves of his leathery doublet.
Oberyn laughed, "it wouldn't be much of a fight if I did,"
Aemon clenched his jaw, he had never liked arrogant people.
Still, he continued by taking off his silk shirt and stood only in his leathered pants, as was the older man.
"When you're ready," Oberyn said.
296 A.C
Starfall
"Clang!", "Clang!", "Clang!" his blade and the steel end of Oberyn's spear met successively, each blow making Aemon back a step.
Quickly he tried to move away from the Dornish prince, but before he could get out of the reach of the spear, he saw a flash of metal from the corner of his eye and moved his great sword just in time to parry the blade of the spear. He jumped and avoided the swing that passed under his feet, but as he landed back on the ground, he felt a heavy blow land across his chest, knocking him over.
His sword clattered on the ground, and he could do nothing but lie on his back and gasp for breath.
It took him a full minute to get over the shock of the blow.
The next thing he saw was his opponent's hand offering some help. Grateful, Aemon seized it and with a bit of effort, was back on his feet.
"You've progressed a lot,"
"Not enough to beat you" Aemon could not help but snort to which the prince laughed.
"I should hope so," He ruffled the teenager's hair, "I have been training with the spear for thirty years after all,"
The younger man shrugged. It turned out it was not so much arrogance as it was confidence that defined the youngest prince of Dorne.
And he was right to be confident with his skill with a spear. Even after a moon, he had not managed to beat him even once when fighting against his spear.
When only using swords it was a different matter, besides their first spare, Aemon had won all of them.
"I understand you'll soon be leaving as well?" Oberyn half-asked half-stated.
"At dawn," Aemon nodded.
"Then it is only right I leave one last gift to you Arthur," He walked back to the horses that were waiting for him to depart.
Aemon frowned, the prince had offered to stay a bit to see what he was made of. He had never expected him to stay so long. Wasn't a prince of Dorne, even not a ruling one, supposed to have better things to do than train a random teenager? Even if his sister and Ashara had been friends over a decade ago, it had felt flimsy at best.
But he had not dared to deny the prince's offer.
First of all, it was a huge boon. The red viper was known across the seven kingdoms for his skill in combat. And he had learned a lot in the past thirty days.
Also, one simply did not refuse House Martell. Especially when one day, they could support his claim to the Iron throne.
Curiously, Oberyn's guards handed their prince a large wooden crate ornamented with precious stones and beautiful carvings.
He could not decipher them as of now, but even from a distance he could see it was a very beautiful, but why was the Prince even offering him a gift? As far as Aemon was concerned, the moon of tutoring was more than precious enough, well when the prince was not whoring his way through the Harbor. If anything, it was Aemon that owed him a debt.
Taking careful steps with his gift, Oberyn walked back to him and settled the coffer on the ground. But before Aemon could properly look at the ornaments, Oberyn flipped open the lid and revealed its contents.
The teenager could do nothing but kneel as he gasped, and his eyes widened almost comically.
There, under his very eyes, stood something he had thought would take forever to acquire.
Laying on a velvety mattress, stood three dragon eggs. One white, one pale blue, and one purple.
Having forgotten everything else around him. He approached his trembling hands and almost reverently, touched each of the eggs from the tip of his fingers. Feeling the rough scales each was covered with but also cold, where he had expected warmth.
Just as fast as he had dropped to his knees, his eyes widened once more when he realized he had just been handed dragon eggs.
He quickly got up and saw Oberyn narrowed eyes, fixated upon him where anyone would have expected him to stare at the inside of the wooden coffer.
"I don't understand…"
"Don't you?" he smirked.
Aemon shook his head.
"You see, I was close with Elia," Oberyn began to say, "she was my best friend." One could almost hear the loss in the prince's voice.
"And given Ashara and her were also extremely close, I expect Ashara would have told my sister that she was pregnant."
Aemon gulped, he could already see where this was going.
"And I knew Elia, she could not have helped herself and would have told me. So, imagine my surprise when I found out Ashara had birthed a son…"
"Do you die your hair?"
Aemon coughed as a way to disguise his laugh, this was not what he expected the prince to ask, he shook his head nonetheless which only made the prince narrow his eyes more.
"Despite this, you do not bare much resemblance to your mother, even your eyes have a different shade of purple…"
He tried to think of a way to deny the prince's observations but even he knew anyone knowing both he and his mother could see the differences. It was why they had told those that spent the most time with them.
With her gone, the risk was lessened, though he would take it any day only for her to still breathe.
"Who do you think my parents are?" he sighed.
Oberyn narrowed his eyes even more, truly resembling the animal he was nicknamed after.
"Your eyes are the same as Rhaegar, but everything else… I haven't had the chance to meet any of the Starks, but his apparent kidnapping of Lyanna Stark is what sparked the rebellion."
He signed but nodded anyway, "My real name is not Arthur Sand, it's Aemon Targaryen,"
Oberyn was about to kneel before Aemon stopped him.
"Don't!" he whispered harshly, "few know my name, and I am not ready."
"Do you fear the Usurper, your grace?" Oberyn rose his eyebrows.
Aemon groaned, it had been a long time since anyone addressed him that way, he had never cared for it.
"I would be a fool not to, he has resources I do not, seven kingdoms to be exact."
"Dorne will back your claim, I know my brother will. So will others, many still toast to the Dragons my King."
"And many more remember what my grandfather did to them."
"With the dragons, they will kneel as they did Aegon, we can visit our allies, I know Targaryen loyalists across six of the seven kingdoms."
"You know how to revive them?" Even with little knowledge about them, it was easy to see the eggs were not about to hatch. "How did you even get them?"
"Your father, your grace, he brought them to me, a few moons before he died at the Trident." Oberyn closed the lid and pushed the precious box at his feet. "He said only a Targaryen could hatch them, and that your family words were the key to it."
'Fire and blood' were the words of his House. Would dropping them in a fire with a few drops of his blood work? It seemed too simple. Nothing like this ever was.
It only reinforced his need to acquire more knowledge, and there was only one place in Westeros where he could do just that.
"There is much for me to do before I can reclaim what is mine, but the murder of your sister and my siblings will not go unpunished, I swear."
"I will slay the mountain myself," Oberyn snarled.
"As is your right," Aemon bowed his head, she might have been the first wife of his father but she was Oberyn's sister. "But he did not give the order, he only obeyed them, those that gave them will suffer more than any before them."
Oberyn looked in his eyes, as if to judge whether Aemon was speaking truthfully or not.
"Then House Martell thank you, justice has been denied to us for too long."
"It has." The teenager nodded.
"By your leave, your grace,"
"Of course, I hope we can meet again," he answered, he had much to do before he could leave on the morrow.
Oberyn smiled and answered, "Undoubtedly, your grace" before going back to his escort and jumping on his horse.
I hope you liked, if you did leave a review and follow to receive an alert for the next chapter.
I hope to get enough time this week & weekend to write the next chapter but I can promise anything, as I said before, in december I'll have a lot of free time and I plan to be highly productive.
See you soon!