Hi everyone!
Here is chapter 4, I hope you enjoy.
*I don't own anything, it all belongs to JKR and GRRM
296 A.C
Starfall
All he could hear was the clunking of his armor against the stone of the castle. Filling the silence as if there was only that noise that existed in the entire universe.
The servants of the castle all stood, watching him in silence as he passed in front of them.
Aemon had no idea how word had gotten out that today would be the day.
Only his aunt Clarisse, ser Blackmont, and his uncle had been told of it.
'Oh well,' Aemon thought, it was not like it mattered in the end, but it put some additional pressure.
He could still remember the words the ghost of Ser Arthur Dayne had said to him when he had told him.
Flashback
"Uncle?" he asked the ghost watching over the courtyard from his usual spot.
The ghost ignored him. Aemon frowned, he had never ignored him before, he was quite literally the only person he could still speak with.
"Uncle?" he said a little louder, startling the ghost if such a thing was even possible.
"Forgive me, Aemon, I was lost in my thoughts…" his uncle said, "But you wanted something?"
"What were you thinking about?" he said, the previous matter delayed.
"Nothing that needs to bother your mind, thoughts I guess only ghosts have…"
"Maybe I could help you…" he offered, expecting a rejection from his private uncle.
"Maybe you can…" His uncle whispered, looking straight into his eyes.
They had never talked about his condition. Aemon knew that one did not remain behind for no reason but it was up to his uncle to ever breach the subject. He had enough tact to know that.
"You'll be leaving soon won't you?"
Aemon nodded, part of him felt guilty for abandoning his uncle but a ghost was tied to a place, there was no way he could bring him along, even if it could prove a boon in the future.
"The day after Oberyn,"
"I sometimes wonder what my purpose will be when you are gone…" his uncle said as he drifted back to the window.
Aemon joined him, thinking about what he could say to alleviate his uncle's mind.
"What made you stay behind?"
His uncle turned to him frowning.
"Doubt… I think," he began, "No, I know it was doubt."
"The doubt of what uncle?"
"Doubt that by holding my oath I failed it. That maybe kneeling to Eddard Stark was not such betrayal as it was leaving you alone in the world." The ghost said and lowered his head in shame.
Aemon felt the urge to physically comfort the ghost. Sadly some boundaries were not meant to be crossed.
"You didn't leave me alone," he protested, "you raised me, almost as much as mum did, you taught me everything you knew and more."
His uncle rose his head and once again looked him in the eyes, trying to figure out if he was being honest.
"You taught me how to fight like you, not ser Blackmont, you taught me about the houses, my enemies, my possible allies. You gave me weapons no other could have provided. House Targaryen owes you a debt that can never be repaid, but I will try."
By the end of it, there was a single silvery tear rolling down his uncle's right cheek, it fell but never hit the ground.
"Thank you, Aemon, you cannot know how much it means to me…"
"I told nothing but the truth uncle, if I ever take King's Landing back, I will build a statue of you for all to see and remember."
Aemon knew it would be a long way to keep his word, but he would.
"I am guessing you will be attempting to claim Dawn before leaving."
Aemon nodded, it was why he had come here in the first place.
"Very well, I cannot tell you more than advise you to be ready for anything."
The four and ten-name days old smiled at his uncle and turned around to return to his preparations.
"Aemon?"
"Yes?" he turned around.
"I believe you will claim it, and I believe you will take the Iron Throne back. I have served both your grandfather and your father, neither could ever hope to be half the man you are becoming."
"Thank you, I'll miss you uncle,"
"So will I,"
End of Flashback
Aemon finally passed the doors to the courtyard, and with it left the servants behind.
The courtyard was eerily silent. There was not a single soul in sight and the gates to the outside were closed off. Barring anyone from entering Starfall.
With an assured step, Aemon closed the distance between him and the Palestone Sword Tower.
All his life he had wanted to find out what was behind that white door, adorned with only the crest of House Dayne.
He took a deep breath in and knocked three times.
To his surprise, the door slid open, as if it had never been locked. Though, now that he thought about it he had never tried. Seeing some of the men that did never come out was enough for him at the time not to go and mess with it.
Carefully, he pushed the door to try and see inside, but no light came from within, it was pitch black.
Putting a hand on the pommel of the sword he wore on his waist, he took a step inside the room and then another, and suddenly, the door snapped shut behind him.
He jumped around, unsheathing the great sword as he did so, and stood ready to fight.
He turned around again and gasped.
A silvery glow filled the room and bathed his surroundings in it.
It came from Dawn, hovering above the white altar.
Unlike what he could have thought, it did not come from a window above and reflected on the sword. It was the sword itself, its milky white blade that was responsible for the light.
The light it emitted revealed seven knights.
Immediately, he dropped his sword and pulled out his wand.
But as they stood still, Aemon felt the need to smack himself. They all wore stone-made armor, and they all had their hands resting on the pommels of the biggest swords he had ever seen.
His great sword looked like a normal one compared to theirs.
But nothing happened.
There was not a single noise.
He knew better than to relax. Magic was definitely at play here.
Carefully picking up his sword, he sheathed it back in its scabbard but kept the elder wand in hand.
There was a chance the knights would spring up and he knew better than to dismiss them.
Still, they had not moved an inch since he had first noticed them. It meant he had to do something.
His gaze was drawn back to the impressive great sword that was Dayne, it was of a similar size as the one he used but his uncle had said it was much lighter, and much more deadly.
It could cut through chainmail and armor as if it was nothing but silk.
There was only one thing to do.
Besides the sword and the knights, there was nothing, the light carried upwards but did not reach the top of the otherwise empty tower.
Taking careful steps, he approached the altar.
Slowly he passed his wand in his left hand and closed the right one around Dawn's hilt.
Before he could say anything, the ground gave away beneath him and he fell, tumbling down with his arms flailing around himself, unable to do anything but scream.
And just as quickly as the ground had dissolved beneath his feet, he slammed completely unharmed against a different ground.
He pushed himself up, he no longer had his wand, his armor, or his sword. Dawn had also disappeared, and he began panicking, he looked around but there was nothing but darkness.
"It is all right, you will not be needing your weapons here,"
Aemon jumped around in the direction of the voice and gasped.
"Seven Hells!" he exclaimed as he watched a perfect copy of himself, walking towards him.
"Who are you? Why do you look like me? And where am I?"
He chuckled.
"My, so many questions…" He said as he circled him.
Aemon had never been so disturbed seeing another look exactly as he did.
"I shall try to answer them, I am Dawn, or rather a manifestation of the will of its wielders, nourished by the blood of their enemies, I protect the Sword." His copy said and put a clear emphasis on the last word as if he revered it.
His eyes widened, the legendary blade had something deeply magical to it. It sounded like some sort of ritual, allowing the entity to exist with the sacrifice of life and blood.
"I can change form if you'd like," The spirit of the sword said and his figure blurred as he began to look like his mother.
"No!" he felt his blood boil, but still, he had to get the being to cooperate.
"All right," she smirked and changed again, this time to the form of the former Sword of the Morning.
Aemon clench his jaw but nodded anyway.
"As to where you are, you are in my domain," he spread his arm around dramatically.
He rose an eyebrow, there was nothing around them.
"And why am I in your domain?"
"Were you not the one that came to claim Dawn?" he smirked again.
'Why hadn't his uncle warned me something like that dwelled inside the tower?' Aemon could not help but ask himself.
"Because he did not remember, none of them do and neither will you,"
Aemon's purple eyes widened.
"You read my mind…"
"Why, yes, I did," he gave a wide smile and Aemon felt a chill go down his spine, no one was supposed to smile that wide.
"But how? I…"
"I am all-powerful in my domain, you cannot keep secrets from me, whether as Harry Potter or Aemon Targaryen…"
It felt as if his heart stopped beating for a second.
"Worry not young one, after all, there is no one I can share my knowledge with, is there?"
A weight lifted from Aemon's shoulders.
"So… what happens now?"
"Must you ruin my fun? Even Arthur was not such a bore…"
Aemon spluttered, if there was one thing he had not expected to hear, that was it.
And he laughed but it felt like it did not belong to the face of his uncle.
"I don't understand…"
It stopped laughing but still held mirth in his troubling blue eyes.
"I suppose you do not…" he scratched his chin, "It is not often I meet one worthy, most of those who come here are filth than I am more than happy to keep…"
His eyes widened.
"You mean all those men…"
"I kept them with me," He smiled and snapped his fingers.
The space around them was suddenly filled with dozens of lit torches, revealing something truly nightmarish.
Where no walls stood before, they were now surrounded by dark as night stone. On each wall, dozens of men were tied at the wrist with heavy-looking steel chains. What truly horrified him was the way their eyes and mouth were sawn shut, the way one could see their bones through their skin.
Some moved but most were completely still, either dead or not far from.
The being snapped his fingers again and they were gone.
"What was that?" he questioned horrified.
"Oh you don't have to worry," he steps towards him but Aemon took a step back.
He did not approach anymore and rose both of his hands in a peace gesture, "These men pillaged, raped, and murdered their way through the Seven Kingdoms. And they dared to come and try to claim The Sword? Never. Outside this tower, my only power is to compel the sword's wielder to bring her back if the one I had chosen died. But here I can do what I want, and it is quite boring I admit, so" he waved his hand around.
"So you take men and torture them?" He felt horrified at the mere thought of it.
"Bad men," He corrected him, "but I do not expect you to understand, your uncle was much the same, you have not seen this world yet. It is filled with evils, so I do my part, as the many Swords of the Morning have in the past and as will you."
"So you're letting me go?" Aemon wanted to make sure he had understood the being and that there was no reason to argue on right and wrong when in a few moments he would not remember a thing.
"Your destiny is far greater than staying here Aemon Targaryen, you have many challenges waiting for you, and just as many enemies. You will need Dawn."
He made the legendary sword appear out of nowhere with nothing but a snap of his fingers and tilted the hilt towards him.
Aemon's eyes widened, at this point, he would have been happy enough to just get out with his life. Still, almost reverently, he reached for it and could not help but gasp as his hand encountered the cold steel of the handle.
Despite his uncle saying so, he was still surprised by the light weight of it.
It was even lighter than the first steel sword he had used so many years ago. It would take some training to get used to it.
"Good, it seems I have chosen right,"
Aemon rose his head surprised, in his excitement he had completely forgotten about the spirit observing his every move, reading his every thought.
"Farewell Aemon Targaryen, I wish you luck in your endeavors." He smiled as he snapped his fingers and Aemon's world went black.
Purple eyes snapped open.
He was on the ground, still in his armor. He could feel the comforting weight of the elder wand against his forearm.
'What happened?' he could not help but ask himself.
With little effort he rose to his feet and looked around, he was still in the room with the seven knights and the altar. Except Dawn was gone.
That was when he noticed the additional weight on his hip. There was another scabbard with a sword sheathed inside.
The pommel looked like a star with seven branches.
He gripped the hilt and pulled the sword out and gasped.
Its milky-white blade was unmistakable from any other.
It was lighter than he had expected, even after what his uncle had said.
He tried a few stances but found himself destabilized by its light weight. It would require some training to get used to it.
Carefully, he applied the tip of the sword against his thumb, and without even pushing, it opened the skin and Aemon saw drops of his blood run along the blade and watched as they disappeared, as if absorbed by the sword.
Sheathing it back in the scabbard, he took a look around to see that none of the knights had moved during the last minute.
But before he could cross the threshold he found himself face-to-face with his uncle.
"Thank you, Aemon," the ghost said.
"I don't remember anything…" the young man said confused.
"Neither do I, but I can see the light now,"
Aemon's eyes widened in realization. He smiled as a single tear escaped his eye.
"I'll miss you uncle, but you should go," he smiled, trying not to sound too sad.
"We will see each other again, Aemon, though I hope not for a very long time."
He had never seen his uncle so peaceful, maybe it was the nature of ghosts to be tortured beings but for the first time in years, he had abandoned his permanent frown.
Without any other words exchanged, the ghost of ser Arthur Dayne began to drift a few feet away, and with one last smile, he disappeared.
He would truly miss his uncle, but the man deserved to find peace. Being a ghost could not be pleasant, especially in a world where you could only interact with one person.
He brushed away the mark left by the tear on his cheek and finally exited the Palestone Sword Tower.
It took a second for him to adjust to the light, it seemed a few hours had passed as he could now see the sun approaching its apex.
His aunt was standing a few feet ahead of him.
"Aemon," she breathed out, "I was beginning to worry…" she approached and surprisingly hugged him.
His aunt had never been one for public displays, though there was no one else in the courtyard now that he could see. Still, he returned the hug.
"It's all right, I have it…"
"You do?" she asked as she broke the embrace.
"Yes," he pulled the sword out of the scabbard, and she gasped, raising her hands to her mouth.
"What happened?"
"I don't remember," he sighed, "I just remember grabbing it and then I must have passed out because I woke up on the floor, with Dawn on my hip."
"It was the same for Arthur…"
He nodded; it made much more sense that his uncle had not been able to tell him anything. He simply had nothing to tell.
296 A.C
Oldtown
"Hightower in sight!" A voice bellowed from outside his room.
After claiming the Sword, Aemon had gone back to his room, hiding his newest possession in his latest creation.
A bottomless pouch, it was not as good as the mokeskin pouch he remembered, but all he needed was a place he could store his stuff in. Especially the sword and the eggs.
Carrying Dawn in plain sight was bound to attract attention. The sword was legendary and would get recognized easily, especially if he had to fight with it. No, his usual sword was better for now and he still needed to practice with an exceptionally light great sword.
Revealing the dragon eggs would be an even worse idea. If anyone learned he had those it would be like shouting on the rooftops of King's Landing that he was a Targaryen.
Still, for three nights he had had them and every time he could he got them out of their crate.
He had already memorized every single detail about them. The way the scales felt under his fingers, their weight, much more than one could expect from such a small thing.
Still, they remained cold to the touch.
With the Hightower in sight, his chances of finding an answer on how to hatch them greatly increased.
He had departed much later than he had planned to initially. He had been lucky many ships passed through Starfall's harbor on their way to Oldtown. Still, as the ship stayed close to the coastline, they had to stop at night, which lengthened considerably the trip. Where it could have taken a single day and night, they now were on the third day.
Still, it had given him time to pour through what he had stolen from the maester's office. The cloak had come in handy in that task and even though he had other ways to do it, he had put his knife to use and breached the door easily.
Maester Anselm had been extremely diligent in his task and had kept a record of every letter sent and received in Starfall.
Which was all the better for him as it had revealed a wealth of information.
Mostly about the events the realm had gone through over the past decade and a half.
There had been talks of a Dornish rebellion not long after the Usurper's ascension. But it had led to nothing, Jon Arryn talked with Prince Doran and that was it.
He had immediately found it suspicious given the speed with which Oberyn had offered his family's support. He was aware now that the Dornish prince wished to see what kind of man he was becoming. Maybe even a picture of what kind of a King he could one day be. But one thing was sure, Oberyn Martell was obsessed with revenge.
Aemon did not even have to read his mind to know that. It was so apparent it was a wonder he had done nothing else yet.
Jon Arryn might have quelled the rebellion then, but the Martells and Dorne still wanted revenge for what happened to Elia and her children.
Then there had been the Greyjoy rebellion, they had burned the Lannister fleet which couldn't help but bring a smile to his lips.
He had known there had been a rebellion but not much about the details. It had happened when he was seven, still extremely sheltered by his mother.
Thankfully, the Greyjoys had been crushed and Pyke sieged and breached. The Ironborns were nothing but reavers, rapists, and killers and they deserved no mercy as far as he was concerned.
The problem was their culture, and nothing could be done to change them.
The fact that the Greyjoy heir had been sent to Winterfell chilled him to the bone. He had to hope that Daemon could defend himself as well and be grateful that his uncle Eddard Stark was also there to protect his brother.
It was also the opportunity to learn his uncle had wed a Tully of Riverrun who had birthed him three sons and two daughters. He did not have their names, but it felt nice to know he had more family out there.
The crown's debt was also a heavily discussed subject between him and others maesters.
He had known it was a large one but as long as the crown paid it back in time, it mattered little. The problem and information he had lacked earlier were to whom the debt was due. The Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister, the Lord of the Rock and wealthiest man in the realm.
Also, the one that had sacked King's Landing and the most likely to have ordered the deaths of Aegon, Rhaenys, and Elia.
It was obvious there was more to it. A reason why the Lannisters were footing the bill so much. Even with them having a lot of interest in the Crown, four million galleons was a lot of money. But he still lacked pieces of the puzzle to make sense of it all.
Otherwise, the realm had been rather peaceful, which he was grateful for.
Peace meant the stocks of food were full. And with every year of summer following the other, it promised a very harsh, very long winter to follow.
And he had not forgotten what Death had told him all those years ago. The Night King and his army of the dead would come and try to end life.
Knowledge about it was scarce in Starfall and it was only another reason to make it to the Citadel.
Wanting to see the fabled tower, Aemon pulled out his wand from his sleeve and with nothing, but a wave sent his stuff packing, all neatly falling into his bottomless pouch which he tied around his neck.
It was hidden under his shirt. It was charmed against theft and would not draw the attention of anyone but him. With what he carried in it, he had taken all the precautions, which were only made easier by the elder wand.
He pointed his wand at his eyes and changed the color to a dull brown. Purple eyes, while not unique to Targaryens were rare enough that they could raise questions.
Finally ready, he exited the room he had paid for.
There were two others, one for the captain and one another guest that had disembarked at Starfall and been empty since.
It was a way for those merchant ships to make a few more stags on each trip and ships were the fastest way to travel. Until he could apparate that is, but apparating required knowing places.
With that in mind, he exited the small corridor and gasped as he saw the Hightower.
It was far taller than he had ever imagined.
It stood proudly on a rock at the entrance of the city. Hundreds of feet tall and a bright flame burned at its top, lighting the way for ships as it had for thousands of years.
It was said both the Wall and the Hightower were built by Brandon the Builder, the founder of House Stark.
Despite its age, it was a pristine white color, contrasting with the black rock it took its foundation on.
He could not detach his gaze from it as they approached and dropped the sail, while the sailors went to man the rows to safely enter the busy harbor.
He felt smaller and smaller as they approached it and he could truly appreciate its size.
"Impressive, innit?"
Aemon almost jumped but saw the captain of the ship standing beside him.
"Very…" he whispered loud enough for the man to hear.
"Some say it's taller than the Wall,"
"Truly?" he asked surprised.
He grunted, "but I wouldn't know, I've never been there myself and I don't fancy taking the black." He laughed and Aemon chuckled with him.
It was true, taking the Black was not something any in their right mind should do, but the Night's Watch was about to become the center of everything.
Supposedly they would be the first to know when the dead approached.
"Thank you for the ride, captain'" Aemon slipped a couple of silver stags to the man in thanks.
It was half the price of the cabin from Starfall to Oldtown but given the amount his mother had made sure to set aside for him. The difference would be unnoticeable.
The man nodded his thanks and went to direct his men to dock in the busy harbor.
Aemon smiled, he could finally begin.
He shut the door behind him with a locking charm and exited the still mostly asleep inn.
It had been recommended to him by one of the sailors on the ship. The Quill and Tankard Inn. It was a tall wooden building with sharp angles leaning towards the south with a hundreds-of-years-old apple tree standing right outside.
He had heard they served a particularly good cider but as soon as he finished unpacking and applying a few alert charms on the door and windows he fell asleep.
The room he stayed in was more than fine, he paid quite a lot for it, but it also came with the tranquillity of not having to search for food or a bed every night after he would spend his days in the Citadel.
After taking a room and giving the letter from his aunt to an asinine maester, he had visited the city. It was said to be the second-largest city in Westeros. Just behind King's Landing population-wise. But where most described the capital to be filthy and dangerous, Oldtown was relatively clean and safe.
It was the result of an expansion over thousands of years compared to one of a hundred years. The fact that the city was divided into countless islands standing over the Honeywine river probably also helped as everyone had access to relatively clean water.
He had also seen numerous men of the city watch, wearing green cloaks and patrolling through the streets of the city, making sure it was safe for merchants to trade, scholars to learn, and for tourists to wonder.
He had never seen that many different people in one place. The Dornish had an olive-skin and usually dark hair and eyes, a heritage they got from the Rhoynar, the people Queen Nymeria had helped escape from his Valyrian ancestors. He had always known he did not have the same origins as them with his fair skin and it would always be an indication he was not truly a Dayne.
But in Oldtown, differences were common. He had seen men with skin dark as night, others with mixed-toned skin, and some had blue eyes, green eyes, or brown eyes. People wearing clothes he had never seen before and for some, weapons that were unknown to him.
The epitome of it was the harbor, there he could hear so many different languages being spoken it almost made him dizzy if he tried to pick them out.
Fruits, vegetables, clothes, artifacts, weapons, scrolls, everything he could ever want was traded in Oldtown. Some come from as far as the free cities. There were even Northmen trading furs, though they had little success this far south.
There were many different religions present as well as red priests, clerics, and even moonsingers from Braavos. There were many others he had not heard about before. In Westeros, only the Faith of the Seven, the Old Gods, and the Drowned God had any kind of following.
In Essos it was very different, there were as many different religions as there were people.
But the followers of R'hllor held the most power on the other side of the Narrow Sea and were generally not well-viewed on this side.
And while the Faith left the place for others to express their beliefs, there was no doubt about which belief was preeminent in the city. The Starry Sept was truly magnificent with its black-marbled walls shaped to give form to a dome.
It was here Aegon had been crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms hundreds of years ago.
It was truly a beautiful city and Aemon could understand why it had been the center of the Westerosi civilization until the arrival of Aegon and the construction of King's Landing.
Another advantage of the inn he stayed at was its closeness with the Citadel.
Even after having already seen it, he could not help but stop to wonder at the ancient complex.
It was huge, easily larger in space than even the Hightower. The Citadel was made of countless domes and towers, bridges crossing over the Honeywine, and long hallways. It was easy to see that the construction had been progressive, adding one layer after the other as it was needed by the developing Order.
Two sphinxes guarded the massive entrance, one male, one female, and although one could guess it indicated the maesters cared little about gender, they would have been wrong.
Apparently, learning required a dick.
Despite many of his memories fading some people stuck around more than others. Ginny for one, it helped that he had drawn her face many times as a boy in fear of forgetting her, he had become quite good at it if he had to say so himself. Hermione was another, and he could almost hear the rant she would throw if she learned of such things.
Still, he carried on and passed the two sphinxes to arrive at the Scribe's Hearth, a courtyard with open booths on the sides, some filled with "young" men.
While the only condition to study at the Citadel was to have a letter of recommendation. Not all were of equal backgrounds or intelligence. Some arrived literate, others did not and even then, some took years to even forge their first link while others sailed through and became maesters at the same time.
Aemon had no pretension to make it past the rank of novitiate. Much less acolyte or maester, he was here to learn about specific subjects, find the books or scrolls, duplicate them and get out.
Traveling would give him plenty of time to read on his own and he did not need the ever-so-curious maesters to come and sniff around.
Still, those that stayed years in the Citadel often needed a way to fund their studies and living costs. It was the place they managed to do so, people would come here to have a letter read to them, purchase a particular book, have something copied, anything that the smallfolk or even nobles could use against a few coins.
Aemon passed the courtyard and entered the main building with a dome-shaped glass ceiling in which he had met the most unlikable man since arriving in this World.
"Novitiate Sand,"
'Gods, did he ever take a break?' Aemon thought as he turned to see the same Maester seated at the desk, half-buried by books.
"Yes?"
"Maester," the man corrected him.
"Yes, maester?" he gritted out.
"Will you be paying or working for your studies?"
"Paying," Aemon flipped the gold dragon over the desk and moved on.
Such a coin was a fortune for most folks, and it only paid for a year of education. It was another way to make sure not everyone could acquire knowledge. Those that had to work spent their time being glorified assistants to the maesters who gave them the boring chores no one wanted to do. Not exactly the learning opportunity it was presented as.
Still, the library was truly awe-inspiring. The collection of knowledge gathered over thousands of years amounted to tens of thousands of books and scrolls.
Dragons were the subject that interested him the most, but he could not afford to forget the many others that he needed to gain more knowledge on, the army of the dead slowly heading for the Wall was one, but anything related to magic was of interest to him.
Aemon groaned as he snapped another book shut.
It had been a waste of time, like the dozens of others that came before.
It had taken a few days to find his way around the gigantic library that was the Citadel.
Once he could finally locate the high mysteries section, what the maesters called magic. He had been surprised to find a rather small one. Only two rows, each a dozen feet high, but still he had thought Magic was a more studied subject than that.
It was filled with cobwebs, so much so that he had to spend another day cleaning it. Magic was not an option, not when anyone could see him. It was weird the subject did not attract more attention.
After all, even if one lacked the ability what was more interesting than magic?
Everything, at least according to the texts gathered by the ancient order.
Frustrated, beyond belief, he put back the last book he had taken out and made his way to the entrance hall.
In a fortnight spent in the Citadel, he had accomplished nothing. Half the scrolls and books stocked in the shelves dedicated to magic were falling apart, and most had their texts erased by time. The others were completely useless. Biographies written by long-gone maesters and archmaesters. Treaties on the existence of magic in civilizations that had fallen long ago, on religions and their connection to higher energies. All of it was useless to him, some interesting readings sure, but no useful knowledge.
He had lost count of the number of texts he had gone through in his search for answers.
The only text about dragons was a treaty arguing their final disappearance from the world. Maester 'Morwn' it seemed, the name was already fading even if the scroll was only a few decades old, argued that the different Dragons that had been alive during the Dance of Dragons would have all been too old at that point to still breathe.
Then again, it had been interesting but it contained no information on how to hatch the eggs he unpacked every night and made sure to keep close to him for a few hours.
He had no idea why he felt the need to do that, but it had become a sort of ritual to end his boring days spent in the Citadel.
He had avoided asking anyone for information about what he sought, especially when realizing that it was not a subject that usually interested the men inside these walls.
But with every failure he had been met with, it made it all but impossible to avoid it.
"Excuse me, maester?" he asked the same man that had greeted him the first time. It seemed he truly never left his post.
"Yes?" he answered and as he turned, narrowed his eyes ever-so-slightly, "Yes, novitiate Sand?"
"Could you tell me where I'll be able to find texts on dragons, please?" He tried to be as pleasant as possible, it usually landed better results.
"Bottom sixth level, on the right, you'll find two rows dedicated to the higher mysteries," he sneered the last two words and went back to his book.
"I've already been there, for ten days," Aemon sighed, "Is there anywhere else I can find something, please?"
The maester rose his eyes from his book once more, and stared at him, "Only in the Vaults, maybe,"
Aemon's eyes widened, finally.
"The Vaults?"
"Are you deaf boy?" He sneered back, "Yes the Vaults."
He clenched his fist and breathed out.
"How do I get to the Vaults?"
The maester snorted, "Only Archmaesters have access."
"Fuck…" he whispered.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing, thank you Maester …?"
"Dickard." He said haughtily.
Aemon barely managed to restrain snorting at the seriousness with which he said it.
"Thank you maester Dickard," Aemon said though he could barely keep the mirth out of his voice.
He had just left the entrance hall when his stomach reminded itself to him. It was time to eat. Though the food was lacking at the citadel it was practical and allowed him to get back to his research easily.
Despite the pleasure the maester had visibly taken at informing him he would not get what he sought, Aemon knew it was a win.
He simply needed to locate the vaults, entering them would be fairly easy.
Still, he had to locate them first and he could not do so on an empty stomach.
He entered the mess hall and was thankful to see it was scarcely occupied. It was already past mid-day and most had already eaten. Still, some novitiates were serving the gruel.
The mess hall was larger than Hogwarts' Great Hall and could accommodate hundreds of guests. Long wooden tables made up for most of the seats, even though much like in the wizarding castle, a table stood above the rest, with ten plush seats. Seven of them were reserved for the conclave of Archmaesters and the rest for honored guests that visited.
He quickly served himself and went to sit at an unoccupied table.
Despite the looks of it, it was not bad per se. It lacked a bit of taste but it was filling and could be eaten pretty quickly, which was the point he guessed.
With a practiced motion, he discreetly ran his hand with the tip of the elder wand coming out of his sleeve, over his meal.
He had taken to the habit ever since leaving Starfall. It was a habit that had carried from his previous world but without a wand and safe in the castle, it was not needed. He no longer was safe though, even if he disguised the color of his eyes every day he knew it was possible some already knew of his existence. After all, Oberyn had found out. There was no telling if the man had spoken to anyone, friendly or otherwise.
However, unlike every meal he had had before, the wand buzzed and Aemon almost dropped it in surprise.
Someone wanted to kill him.
He tried to clear his mind of every thought so as not to betray himself.
It was likely the person who wanted to kill him was in this room. They had to know he was here to ensure they got the right meal. It meant he was probably being watched as they waited for him to swallow his food.
He tried to discreetly look around but could not pick out anyone watching him.
If they were smart they would use something rather slow acting. So that they could follow him and simply dispose of his body without being seen.
A plan began to form in his mind, and slowly he began to eat, making sure to vanish the food before it even touched his lips.
It was bothersome but he needed to find out who was trying to get rid of him and why. Had someone discovered his true identity? Was it something else?
As soon as he finished, he exited the mess hall, and sure enough, he saw two grey-robed men follow behind.
He needed to attract them somewhere quiet.
After a minute or two, Aemon made sure to begin to stumble every few feet. He could not know what the effects of the poison were, but he doubted the ones following him knew either. Even if he was considered a bastard, he still came from a well-known house. One that would not appreciate its members being killed while studying at the Citadel. It meant the order had to come from high up, and this meant that whoever wanted him dead was unlikely to do it themselves.
Finally, he exited the main complex, his would-be assassins following closely behind.
He made a show of laying on a wall to catch his breath and betraying their inexperience, the two men stopped at once and made him smirk. This would be easy.
Only a few hundred feet away stood the Ravenry. It was a small fort with two short towers and crumbling walls. According to what he had read it was the oldest building in the Citadel, dating back to the age of the First Men.
Ravens were a large part of the life of every lord and maester in the land. The black ones were used to relay messages from one keep to the next and the white ones, in much fewer numbers were used to announce the seasons changing.
The two breeds did not get along, he had already witnessed a few acolytes trying to break up fights between them and ending up getting pecked and clawed by the vicious birds.
Holding on to the guardrail, he crossed the wooden bridge joining the Isle of Ravens.
He was already familiar with the place, having learned it was the place where the lodgings of the Archmaester of the Higher Mysteries were located.
Unsurprisingly it had also been filled with cobwebs and dust. As if no one had been in there for years. There had been nothing of interest in the small apartment.
Still, what had captured his interest was in the courtyard of the small fortress. A weirwood tree.
It was covered with moss over its bark except in one place where an angry face was carved.
He had read about them of course. Especially when trying to learn more about the Northern culture. It was after all the place his birth mother came from and where his brother was growing up.
Before the invasion of the First Men, there had been many weirwood trees all over the Seven Kingdoms, except in Dorne. Thousands of them some said, all planted by the Children of the Forest. It was said they were very small, had green skin, and lived in the woods. But their most distinguishable feature was not physical.
The Children of the Forest had been capable of powerful magic.
But confronted by the large population of humans, much more numerous and able to replenish their numbers easily. The children had slowly lost ground and as they did the First Men cut down every weirwood tree they could find.
At one point they agreed to stop the conflict and the First Men stopped destroying the heart trees. Many even adopted the Old Gods' religion for their own.
Nowadays the carved trees were rare and despite having become familiar with it he could not help the feeling of being watched whenever near it.
Many parts of the history were flimsy at best and he had hoped to find more knowledge about it in the Citadel. But much like anything centered around magic, he had not.
Finally reaching the courtyard, he slipped behind a wall while the men tailing him lost sight of him for a moment.
With nothing but a tap on his head, he disillusioned himself and held his breath as two relatively young men passed.
Two jets of red light materialized out of thin air and successively hit both men in the back.
Aemon dispelled his charm, seized the would-be assassins by their robes, and turned on his heel as he disapparated with a crack.
Less than half a second later, he found himself in his bedroom at the inn. Leaving the two stunned bodies on the ground, he began to secure the room extensively.
If someone was trying to kill him a few alerts charms could not do anymore.
"Fianto Duri", "Repello Inimicum", "Protego Totalum", "Muffliato", with quick and practiced motions, Aemon created a barrier of magic.
He quickly found himself within a translucent dome of magic. One of the spells he had used alone would have been enough to repel almost anyone but with the full array almost no one could break through.
With another wave of his wand, he conjured two wooden chairs out of thin air.
He levitated and unceremoniously dropped the unconscious men on the chairs, securing them as he did so, there would be no escaping for them.
He pulled his only real chair up and settled in front of his prisoners.
With nothing but a negligent wave, two sets of eyes snapped open and widened fearfully, zapping around the room to figure out what was happening to them.
"Looks like you made a mistake, boys." Aemon smiled.