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A/N: Maester Aemon had three brothers: Daeron, Aerion, and Aegon (later became Aegon V; aka Aegon the Unlikely). Aegon was also Rhaegar's great-grandfather.


Chapter 22

If seeing the houses of the North filled him awe, seeing Castle Black in the distance as filled him with a sense of anticipation which quickly dwindled into dismay the closer he got. Once inside these massive walls his disappointment intensified though he tried not to show it. The place was striking, as it should be, yet, the signs of decay were unmistakable. There were men going to and fro and a bustle of constant activity, but, he could not ignore the distinct sense of something lacking. If he could see it in Castle Black, he fears about the state of the few still operating keeps. He thinks of his night at the Queenscrown. Even in death, Alysanne must be screaming in consternation.

It is ungenerous of him, but, many of his misgivings come in the form of men who make up the Night's Watch. There are a few sons of proud lineages at the Wall, and though he is certain the likes of Benjen Stark will still join their number one day, it is the others which gives Rhaegar pause. Most of these men he does not know well enough or at all and then there are some men here he knows only by name and reputation. Some are here because his father, or rather, Lord Tywin sent them; some, his own words caused them to become members of the Night's Watch.

Others of King's Landing did not think much of the order. Many times he had heard of the Wall being described as a magnificent relic. Those who knew he was coming here said "it was a worthy idea" though with little enthusiasm. In the North, they have a more exalted view, however, when the Northmen he came across spoke about the Night's Watch, they do it in terms of duty and tradition, not of affection.

As if that was not enough to be concerned with, he does not require the Lord Commander to tell him about how many men there are at the Wall. Though Lord Qorgyle was a man who clearly valued using strict mandates, there are not enough men to properly man the Wall's defenses let alone to combat an unknown future threat.

As diminished as the role it plays in Westeros seems to be, he knows the value of the Night's Watch. Seeing this, however, he has much to do; far too much. Even if there was no future danger to face, he should help rebuild one of Westeros' oldest intuitions. It is the least he should do. For now, he does fear and his mind whispers a litany: "prepare, prepare, prepare". Once the Lord Commander took leave of him, it is with that thought, he went to see Maester Aemon, at last.


"Enter!" They met briefly when he arrived, but, the meeting had been full of ceremony and with others in attendance. Rhaegar remembers the odd look on the Maester's face which quickly melted away when they had been introduced. Black clad for years and Maester Aemon was still a true Targaryen prince. Now, from inside his doorway, he does not know if that is to be boon or bane.

"I hope I am not disturbing you?" Even if Maester Aemon would know he was here for no mere whim, he does not know how the other man will react to his inquiries. It is one thing to put words to paper; his being here was something else entirely.

"No, you are not, though, I will admit curiosity. It is not often one gets to meet a King of Westeros at the Wall." Remembering the men he saw earlier, he wonders if Maester Aemon is hinting at the same sentiments Northern lords do about Southron attitudes towards the Night's Watch. He ponders of what the Maester makes of him, though he noticed the older man called him by his title.

"You knew me before I became that."

With a pang, Rhaegar remembers this smile leveled at him though he had not seen too many of them. It is was like his father's when he had been capable of doing more than sneering. Through age-clouded eyes, the old man peered at him before stating, "We corresponded, yes."

Why phrase it such a way? Rhaegar hesitated. He wonders if it is some sort of attempt at distance though the man speaks the truth.

He tries, "We are family."

Rhaegar can practically read the Night's Watch's oaths in the lines of the weathered face. After a few moments of silence Maester Aemon admits, "Aye, we share blood."

He releases the breath he was holding and chastises himself for forgetting there were many years separating them and the idea of a man forgoing his former relationships was integral to taking "the Black". With Lord Commander Qorgyle that had been a relief; after all, he hailed from the Dornish city where Oberyn had been fostered. Here, with this man, it rankled, though he tried not to show it. "That is not all."

The older man looked as though he wanted to sigh. "No, it is not. Sit."

Seeing the remnants of court-practiced politeness directed towards him Rhaegar almost did so himself. He sits in the plain, uncomfortable, wooden chair in the corner of this small room the older man gestured to. Maester Aemon continues, "You had a good journey, I trust."

Now, Rhaegar does sigh.

Because the Maester does not seem to want to begin the discussion Rhaegar does not quite know how to start Rhaegar answers the query posed to him. "Yes, I suppose." He remembers all too well Elia's publicly masked hesitance, Arthur's concern, the sleepless nights, the suspicious looks from those of Winterfell and other places in the North, and the thrice-damned cold. The journey was far from easy, even if the road was.

Knowing nothing of what he does, the Maester nodded agreeably. "Good. The roads are not always so tame and it is a long voyage from King's Landing. I take you have seen enough of Castle Black for today."

Oh, yes, he has. "True enough."

Maester Aemon nods. "If you are settled, and while I would not think to suggest anything to man grown, much less a King, I think I might tell you to write to your home. Your wife is eager to hear from you."

He was not taken aback by the use of 'your' rather than 'our' when the man mentioned 'home', but, the rest of what he said caused him to straighten with no slight measure of alarm. "Elia? What of her? She wrote to you? Is she well? The children?"

He nearly sighs in relief when he sees that almost unfamiliar smile again. "All is well in King's Landing, including your wife and children."

When he sags back into his chair in relief, looking vaguely amused, Maester Aemon speaks again. "Is it so surprising your lady would write to me? It is no short distance you traveled well beyond a simple matter of days. It is only proper she writes to me knowing you will be here. Now, that you are, though I have my own letter to write, I imagine she would more welcome something written in your hand than mine." He pauses and amends, "Or appropriately, my steward's."

Setting aside acknowledging the last portion of that sentence, he questions, "You plan on writing to her?"

The look the Maester Aemon sends him is full of something which seems to be censure. "To not respond would be the height of rudeness to such a charming letter."

He is used to others considering his kin odd and he knows others view him in a similar light, but, this one seems to be just as unusual. "Charming?"

"There is plenty to be said about Dornish simplicity cloaked in the manners of King's Landing."

He nearly scoffs though he does not contradict the statement. Of course, if Daeron was Aemon's grandfather, his grandmother was Mariah Martell. "And so you will write because she wrote to you?"

"Ravens travel quicker than men. As it is, we have corresponded before, though it had been some time ago. I was rather expecting it, when you informed me of your intensions of travelling North."

He hesitates before speaking. Elia agreed that he should come to see Maester Aemon, though he was under no delusion she championed the idea. The knowing look on the man's face tells him he suspects the same. Still, the man spoke of it as though he very much welcomed her correspondence.

As if reading his thoughts the older man says, "It is not often one receives letters written in a practiced lady's hand here."

Rhaegar supposed that was true, but, there was something warm in the Maester's expression. He said she was well, but, he has to question, "How was she?"

"Well enough, I suppose, though, she is concerned for you. She says your daughter asked after you and how your sons would likely welcome tales of your journey when you return." There was a wistfulness about it Rhaegar almost had to look away. The only thing that stopped him was knowing that if he looked away from Aemon then he would begin to regret being here rather than being in King's Landing when he could have been.

He promises, "I will write to her."

Maester Aemon nods again. "And your brother. I have a letter from him, as well. You might want to add a note when you get to writing that letter for your lady." He blinks. Maester Aemon is full of surprises. He wonders what sort of omen this is to be.

"Viserys wrote to you?" He never spoke to Viserys about Maester Aemon and as far as he knew neither did Mother or Father. Viserys was curious about everything, but, what brought this on? He supposed this could have been inspired by his brother's lessons, but, he simply did not know. A voice in his mind accuses if he had been in King's Landing he would have known. He smothers the thought as quickly as it came.

The older man shakes his head. "Asking all sorts of questions."

There was something in the tone which sparks his own curiosity. "About what?"

The way the Maester sits back into his own chair seemed to say that he was settling in for a long evening of talking. He had come here to speak with Aemon though he had not thought it was his wife and brother he would be speaking about; and yet, he was. The Maester replies, "It seems he finds me of a certain interest. Aside from wondering if you reached Castle Black and about living in it, your brother thought to ask something of a more personal nature for me."

He frowns. 'Personal nature?' What questions could Viserys possibly have for their much older kin? It certainly could not be…"Such as?"

"Your brother wanted to know why I decided to join the Night's Watch when I had the chance to become king." He chuckles, clearly amused. Rhaegar was not.

"I apologize for his impertinence." Such a question! He will most definitely speak to Viserys upon his return. Curiosity is one thing; rudeness such as this, quite another.

Maester Aemon lets out a soft laugh and waves a hand, almost attempting to wave his concerns away; as if it was nothing to be dogged by the questions of the impudent young. "Your wife already has, though there was no need. It is quite understandable, if he was curious about our history. Since he thought to ask I should tell him something. It is better that than his making up his own tales."

He knows Viserys had questions about the journey, but, this boldness had to have come from his brother's time in Dorne. That might also explain why Elia, even when she saw fit to apologize, still sent the letter along. When he looks at Maester Aemon again, other thoughts strike him. Why would he be so indulgent? He swallows, starting to wonder if the Maester first began writing to him for similar reasons. "You intend on giving him an answer?"

As if to explain, Maester Aemon says, "Those who know about the Grand Council convened, naturally, would find the matter of interest. I was the subject of inquisitiveness when I arrived at the Night's Watch. Children are curious and your wife implies this is not something new with regards to young Viserys."

He supposes that might be true enough. He had no different in that regard, though his questions for the Maester were of an entirely different subject. Delicately, he reminded, "I never asked".

He gets a searching look before the Maester speaks. "No, you did not." As evenly it is said, Rhaegar wonders if the other man would have liked it if he had.

He blinks away the thought. It was too late to do anything about it and at present, he was equally curious about what the man would tell his brother. "What will you tell him?"

There was that smile again. "I will tell him the same thing I told my steward, who just as unsubtly asked me the same question when your brother's words left his lips. My grandfather decided that I become a Maester of the Citadel and began forging my links when I was so young. Maesters never expect the possibility of becoming king. It is an unlikely possibility for third sons of fourth sons, you see. I will tell him once the circumstance arose, I was certain Egg, Aegon, would have made a good king while I chose to continue to serve the realm in a different way."

There was something in the tone of the Maester's voice which prompted his next question. "That is not the entire truth is it?"

The look on the wizened face is far milder than his father's would have been, but, Rhaegar feels the severity. "No it is not, but, it is enough for a boy your brother's age."

"What is the truth, then?"

He froze in horror the moment the question left his lips. "Forgive me-"

Maester Aemon holds up a hand. "One should not require to forgive every time someone asks questions, my boy. What I said to my steward and what I will write to your brother is the truth, but, I do not think either would quite understand why I chose the way I had. It matters not if they ever do though it was a simple thing."

"Simple?" He nearly chokes on the word. Passing up a crown is simple? He knows all too well forgoing any sort of responsibility to take up another is nothing simple.

A nod. "Usually, the course of one's life is fairly predictable, even for those of us who have the luxury of being born well; even for those of our blood. The only time it is not is when we are faced with uncertainty. When one is faced with more than what one expected, one can either keep moving on the path they always did or embrace the unknown. I chose to remain on the path I was always on; the one which kept me away from the Iron Throne. So, you see, it truly is that simple, but, I do not think that would satisfy a boy Viserys' age."

Rhaegar let the words wash over him. Unlike the Maester, Rhaegar always knew the Iron Throne was to be his and it became his. His unexpected, however, was the prophecy. Only he embraced it and believed it with surety.

"Knowing as you do now, would you have chosen differently?" He does not ask if he should have chosen differently. Such thoughts plague him far too much.

The older man frowns. "I am not certain. Some days I am content with my choices; on others, less so. If you are asking if I could have chosen differently, there is no doubt about it."

Confused, he ventures, "How do you mean?"

"As I said, I never felt I would be king. That I found it so easy to convince the Council to name Egg the king makes me think I did not deserve to be. Still, I had other choices than to defer to my brother."

Rhaegar swallows. Any other choices Maester Aemon would have likely meant he would not have been standing here, much less as a king. "What choices were those?"

"Daeron's daughter would have never been allowed to take the Throne, of course, but, there was Aerion's boy. I could have chosen to be Regent for him or tried to convince Egg to do it. To allow him to take up the mantle of king when he became a man grown would have been proper. It would have been a matter of a few years, but, Aerion was our older brother and it would have been his son's due, after all."

"Aerion Brightflame?" Rhaegar swallowed. Before there had been his father, Prince Aerion was seen as the maddest of their kin and for Maester Aemon to speak so plainly about perhaps putting forth his son to rule…

As if he was reading his thoughts, Maester Aemon nodded. "It might be unkind of me to say such things of the dead, yet, I cannot say Aerion was dear to me nor was he dearer to Egg or Daeron. While the tale of his death are talk of legend, albeit of a terrible variety, one does not necessarily have to see the father in the same way one sees the son. Given the eccentricities of some of our kin, for any of us to personally hold such a view would be troublesome."

How innocuous the words sound for such a terrible reality when voiced in a pleasantly even tone. He admits, "There are those who are only too happy to see the son as an extension of the father."

Surprisingly, a dark look passes across the Maester's face. "You think the same holds true for you?"

He waits a moment before stating, "I have done certain things which shocked plenty."

When the Maester nods agreeably it is not astonishing. His words and the hardening expression, however, are, "Shock is a rather mild term, I should think."

"You would censure me?" Others have. He wonders what form it would take this time. Years ago, even months ago, he believed no one would or find a reason to do so. To embrace the unexpected, indeed!

"Though there is little to be done about it, had I known what you would do, if I assumed you would listen, I believe that I would."

Though he still blinks at the easy admittance, the grim set of Maester Aemon's mouth tells him not to doubt the words, though to do so never so much as crossed his mind. "Would you, truly? Where would you start? Are you saying you do not believe in the Prince that was Promised?"

Maester Aemon shakes his head and even laughs; however, once again Rhaegar is reminded of his father, because the bitter twist of the lips, so far away from a smile, he was more accustomed to seeing. "I considered that would be your primary motivation; at last, now I confirm it."

Even when he is thankful they are finally discussing the purpose behind his presence here he has to squash the irritation which spikes within him. "That does not answer my question though you are correct in how it drove me. Do you or do you not believe?"

When Maester Aemon's head tilts just so, he fights the urge to flinch. The gaze, so piercing it fills him with much disquiet. The sentiments intensified when the Maester spoke once more. "You studied the subject extensively as have I. Then, you are equally aware of the vague nature of prophesies, even when they come true. You also said it more than once you were mistaken in your interpretation."

He grimaces. "Are you suggesting I am mistaken again?" He does not like the implications, but, he had been plagued with the idea. He would be a fool not to be and he had been foolish enough in the past. He cannot afford it now.

"You very well might be correct in thinking as you do; it does not necessarily make it so." He fights a frown. Maester Aemon's calm voice is far from soothing and his words are even less. The older man has no right to sound as though he was saying the most reasonable of things; not after he helped him understand aspects of the prophesy in the first place.

"How do you mean? Though I once thought I was meant to be the Prince that was Promised, I now know it is not me. It was said the Prince was to be born of the union between my father and mother."

"As far as I recall, you stated a wood's witch brought to your grandfather's court made the pronouncement for which that was the result."

The abrupt change of subject made pause, but, he was forced to admit, "That is true."

Maester Aemon muses, "It was long after I left King's Landing when she arrived at Court, but, I was written to about her by others before you did."

"Were you?" Of itself, the information is nothing surprising, but, what does he mean by this?

"The wood's witch was brought to court by Jenny of Oldstones."

He does not grasp what the Maester was hinting towards, and his tone is sharper than he intended. "Yes, she was. What of it?"

Clearly, thinking nothing of his outburst, the man shrugs and replies, "It could mean anything and nothing. I simply find it odd that the girl was not good enough for one of my nephews to marry without giving up his due inheritance, but, who she brought to court was worthy enough for my other nephew to listen to and influence the course of our family."

Never considering such a perspective, he blinked in surprise. "You are saying that you do not put much stock into the wood witch's word." Charlatans are in no short supply anywhere and he knew King's Landing had its fair share, but, this?

"I am merely suggesting one must examine the messenger alongside the message."

He murmurs, "I see." For a moment it feels as though he was trying to deny the belief Rhaegar has. What could he do if the Maester no longer shared his belief? Could he change that? Does he even wish to? As pleasant as the thought is, even when he could ignore the wood witch's words, he knows that it was not only her pronouncement which proved the impetus for his belief.

Rather than argue the point, he waits for the other to continue, which the Maester does. "If we can take her words as truth and I have no reason to suspect they are not, then we must move on to consider her message and what it may mean."

A chill which has nothing to do with the cold fills him. "You think the prophecy does not refer to Aegon."

He was not expecting the sharp look he gets. "I think nothing of the sort. You may be correct in that; even now. You described to me the circumstances which made you suspect the prophecy referred to this son of yours. I cannot deny how those are highly suggestive. Still, you and he are not the only ones to be born of the line stemming from your parent's union. This is something worth considering."

He presses his lips together. He ventures, "You think I might have seen the signs incorrectly? Do you think the prophecy could refer to Jon?" Though he had been wrong and received a Jon instead of a Viseyna and Jon could be said to have been born of the union between ice and fire, the signs pointed to Aegon. He knew he had to prepare all of his children for what may come, but, what would it mean if he was wrong once again?

He straightens in his chair when he sees that smirk again. "Or Viserys."

He frowns; "My brother?" Something else he had not considered. No doubt, that was the purpose of Maester Aemon's voicing it. He thinks of their earlier words regarding Viserys. Was that why…

He ignores the knowing smile the Maester graces him with. "There is also nothing to suggest the term 'prince' refers to someone who is a man. You are just as aware as I in how Valyrian translation can be cumbersome. You also have a daughter and a sister. They all are of the same line."

He sags back into his chair, those words nearly having the impact of a blow. "It could be any of them?" Where did this come from? He remembers each letter the older man wrote him. He had been certain Maester believed. Now he asks himself if the words in those letters were the ones the older man truly wrote or if they were ones he wished to read. He presses his lips together reading the Maester's most recent letters to Elia. Her eyes asked the same questions in his own mind now.

As if to mock him the man goes on to say, "Prophesy can be difficult even to those who know exactly what they see. While there is nothing to suggest you are incorrect, it is not necessary that the witch's word means anything, much less to firmly believe the prophecy refers to any of them, for that matter. Even if we can hold all you believe to be true, the Prince that was Promised may just as easily refer to any of their descendants, assuming of course, that the prophecy will, in fact, come to fruition at all."

What was this? Was this Aemon's method of saying he no longer believes in the prophecy without stating it outright? Frustration builds more sharply within him. He had come here because he believed Aemon had answers. Thus far all he had received were questions which suggested otherwise. He reminded, "In the past our dreams saved our family. That you cannot deny. The Dragon has three heads; that has nothing to do with the wood's witch. You believed. This, I know."

He hesitates when he sees those lips curl upward the same way his father's used to. "Ah, yes, and I take it you are going to tell me that because you have three dragons in the cradle you have become more certain."

"It would fit, would it not?" He knows he sounds brusque, but, all that happened had to have occurred for a purpose; otherwise, all the things he has done, all that he intended…

Maester Aemon retorted, "Because you tried to make it fit."

At the way Maester's eyes seemed to sharpen, he sat frozen for a moment. He has never forgotten, but, now the weight of his mistakes press upon him once more. "I know that I went about it the wrong manner-"

Sharply, Maester Aemon repeated, "The wrong manner?" The older man shakes his head. Voice dripping with incredulity, he continues, "Is that where you believe my objections lie? You truly are Egg's son, aren't you?"

Rhaegar's brow furrows in confusion and apprehension. Where did this flash of anger come from? What did he mean by 'Egg's son'?

At his expression, the Maester states, "Do you think I do not know why you are here? The others might believe you are here to see this old relation of yours, to see the Wall, or even, perhaps, to reconcile with the houses of the North. There is certainly enough reason for you to do all of it and while it may, in part, be true, I know you Rhaegar Targaryen. You are here for validation and you mean to seek it from me."

Hearing this his temper own flared, and he bites back, "Is that so wrong to want to believe the one constant in my life is a true constant? All of my life I dedicated to duty to the realm and if the realm is in danger I must act, even if is a mere possibility even if I do not know how to best go about doing it. Can you truly sit there in judgment and criticize me for it? You, who dedicated your life to learning of such things! You have just said you ran from duty when it came to you. Would you have me do the same simply because it proved difficult?"

The older man wastes no time in rebuking him. "I know what I have done and have not done. I lived far too long not to have tasted all manners of regrets and I do think of what could have been. I also spend many nights thinking of what may come. However, do not tell me that trying to turn vague words into reality caused you to lose sight of your other duties or that you have not erred in trying to see the prophecy through in the way you wished."

He goes to speak and then hesitates. No matter how much he wishes it he cannot argue against those words. The very idea tastes sour on his tongue though there is little he can do about it. Still, if anyone could and should understand it is the man before him. "I know I acted in haste."

Maester Aemon shakes his head in palpable disappointment. With a voice mired in misery the Maester speaks again. "I was not referring to your appallingly unfortunate timing."

He stiffens. If he would be accused and judged, will Maester Aemon not speak plainly? "Then, what is it you are referring to?"

He steels himself after receiving that incredulous look. "By the gods, child, did you learn nothing from the mess Aegon made?" 'Aegon', this time it was not 'Egg' much like he had been 'King" and not "kin'.

The words nearly confuse him out of his irritation. What did that mean? And just like that understanding dawns slowly. He whispers, "It is true, then? He was trying to birth dragons at Summerhall?"

Maester Aemon jerks his head sharply. "Aye, he had the dreams; Daeron too, for that matter. Egg would tell me he needed dragons while Daeron dreamt of one and the destruction it would cause. If your brother knows the family history I trust you not ignorant of it?"

Though phrased as it was, it was not a question. Maester Aemon shakes his head once more. Silence calls and in front of him all Rhaegar sees is an old man who is the very picture of desolation. When the Maester speaks again there was no shortage of woe in his voice. "Daeron! Such a waste, but, Egg! Of my brothers I loved him the most and he was a good man who I believed would be a good king, but, he too gave in to those wretched dreams. All he did kill himself and others while I was here, unable to do anything. They say you were born under Summerhall's shadow. Clearly, you know the tale. How is it, then, you ignored what happened there?"

Even when the words touch him he does not understand if Aegon thought there was a need to bring dragons to life and have the same dreams, how could this man be saying this if he loved is brother so much? Why would Aemon say this now when the letters between them bled belief? "It is in part because I know the story that I believe. Can you truly tell me different?"

The Maester frowns. "I do not say what I do because a lack of belief, but, my boy, you must understand how before I spoke the vows of a brother of the Night's Watch I was a Maester of the Citadel. Even those most-learned of men say magic is long dead. I might be old and nearing complete blindness now, but, I have seen the skulls of long dead dragons littering the halls of our fathers to know they are just as dead. My brothers saw the same ones and were dead before their time. When you first began writing to me, I found your reputation for being intelligent and thoughtful to be well earned. You must have seen the same and known the same."

Gods! Little else would have cut so deep. "Then what would you have me do? Am I to forget or ignore my fears and what I learned and read? All those letters we exchanged! Was all that you told me about for nothing or were you simply humoring me? Is all I have done for nothing? Is that what you are telling me now?"

Maester Aemon rises from his seat; far more quickly than Rhaegar thought possible for a man of his years. "Do not think me so cruel that I wasted your time and mine or that I do it now. Then, you had questions and so I answered them as best I could. I would have done that for anyone who would have written to me. If I thought for one moment it was for naught I would have said so, even now; especially now."

His temper is close to fraying once again and he waits before replying. "Then, what are you saying? Speak plainly. I do not understand and that is all I want."

The old man laughs. "What understanding can I help you to reach when I do not understand fully myself? While I have knowledge few would know exist, my boy, I am not a seer and I know better than to pretend to be. I cannot say if what you have seen has been for nothing because I know that whether or not we are ready, what is fated will come. Perhaps what you believe may. It does not mean that I have to agree with your actions, when you tried to master fate."

By the end, the man looked even older than he did mere moments ago. But, Rhaegar cannot let it end here, not when he is once more set adrift. He whispers, "What?"

He gets a hard look. "You know what I mean or at least you should. If not, I can be of no help to you."

He swallows his irritation and takes a deep a breath. "You mean my role in the war and the events which led to it. I should not have left my father. I should have taken precautions before eloping with Lyanna. I know where my mistakes were."

He stops, not knowing why the Maester frowns at him when he freely admits to his failings. The Maester Aemon replies, "As the Crown Prince it was your responsibility to at least mitigate your father's excesses. That you came to see it, gives this old man hope; however, where the girl was concerned it is not that you should have taken better precautions when 'eloping' with her. You should have never taken her at all, your father's unpredictability being only one of the reasons to refrain from doing so."

Now it was his turn to frown though he swallows his initial thoughts. He counters, "Because she was high-born?"

He had seen in many faces when he first returned to the Red Keep before taking command of the Royal Armies, that the outrage he caused by absconding with Lyanna would have been far less if he had done so with someone of a far less noble birth. However, he suspects that will not be the cause of Maester Aemon's consternation. He remembers all too well what heard from Benjen Stark about how generations of Starks became members of the Night's Watch. The Maester would have also known Rickard Stark and perhaps the Lord of Winterfell before him.

Even then, he blinks when the Maester grimly replies, "I would rather think you that you remembered you had an equally high-born wife and children you left to do as you did."

He nearly flinches at the reminder of the beginnings of their conversation. He knows how he failed there as well. While there were to be leagues between Lyanna's brother and him, he will never be free from Doran's wordless disenchantment or Oberyn's contempt. Must there to be reproach from this quarter when things were best left in the past? He grinds out, "That is between Elia and myself and I did not leave them for a mere whim and I had no intention of staying away." He does not bother adding how he does not intend to do so now.

As if he said nothing the older man replies, "There was the matter of the girl's betrothal to your cousin."

His jaw twitches. This man can say whatever he wishes about not wanting to be king, he certainly retained the ability to pontificate on all manners of matters even those which should be of no concern to him. "Robert?"

"Yes, Robert, your cousin; your family and mine." Rhaegar did not bother trying to ignore the emphasis on the last four words, much less try to stop to think the thoughts they bring forth.

"You were close?" Though he tries not to let it, the prospect does bother him.

"I never met him and we never corresponded. Never the less, he is, he was the grandson of Egg's daughter."

His mind finishes what the old man does not say, 'you are the grandson of Egg's son'; an equal relation to the Maester. Of all the things Maester Aemon would speak to him, this was one thing he would rather not speak about, but, if the old man wishes to speak on it they shall. "She did not want to marry Robert. She came to me willingly. I did not intend to spite him and the betrothal was not among my considerations."

Prophesy and what would come had been more important than much of anything else. Much as he did not like to admit it, he had not thought about Robert until he was forced into it.

"She was someone whose father spoke for her, even when she did not agree with what was said. Did even she know what you were after?"

No, Lyanna did not know the entirety of what drove him. Few did though many died for it. He remembers each word Elia recounted of the time in King's Landing and when others haltingly spoke of war. He watched Robert's face lose all of its color. The crypts of Winterfell were just the newest reminder of what followed him. "I needed more than what I had and she wanted different than what she was headed towards." If only they had known…

That grimace he was familiar with, even when this is the first time he seen it on Maester Aemon's face. "I doubt that was of any comfort to her, Robert, and her father; or yours, for that matter."

He does not argue, but, he was not the only on responsible. "I suppose not, I admit it. It was my fault for not acting appropriately, but, my actions are not what started the war."

"I know the men your father killed and I know he demanded Robert's head." He hears the unsaid all too clearly.

"And that meant Robert had to rebel? He chose to do so."

Maester Aemon counters, "As far as I know, Jon Arryn was the one who raised the banners in his name, and yet, you chose him as your Hand while your cousin lay dead."

Many moons passed and even in the frigid north, the sounds of thundering hooves, the smell of flesh, and the sight of blood assault him. "Jon Arryn is not my Hand currently and I had to make concessions, to fix a broken kingdom. As for Robert, he was trying to kill me." Uncharitably, he thinks, 'How is it that the Maester chooses to ignore that?'

The expression on his face tells him his 'uncle' finds the response inadequate. Perhaps it was, but, he certainly had not done any of this to spite Robert or wanted to kill him. "And yet you succeeded where he failed."

Those words feel like he had just been slapped. He closes his eyes, and yet, all he sees Robert's face twisted in rage turning in to shock when he delivered that final blow.

His fists curl at his side and he only just refrains from lashing out in a way he knows he will regret. He takes a shuddering breath to compose himself. "Do you think it could have ended any other way? Whatever happened at the beginning; we were at war. I had to respond when I learned what happened and he called me out. One of us were going to die at the hand of the other. Do you think I do not wish I had done things differently or that I do not grieve for him along with so many others? Even if I did not know that his youngest brother was a friend to my own and Lord Stannis' restraint comes from his own honor, I know I wronged Robert in more ways than one. I shall never forget it and I must live with it."

The Maester is unrelenting, "I suppose that excuses it, then."

The hard look on the Maester's face is so reminiscent of his father's that he growls in frustration. "No, it does not and you will never hear such things from me. I did what I had to do. I did not expect my father to kill all of those men and as I stated or I did not expect for what followed to do so. Had I, I would have done many things different differently, I swear it!"

The old man presses his lips together before replying once more. "Yes, but, you were nowhere to be found and there is no changing the result of that."

Not knowing what else to do he throws his hands up. "That is my fault. I will say it as many times as anyone needs it from me, but, I cannot undo what was done no matter how much I wish it. You say most believe magic is dead; then what do you expect me to do when I cannot bring the dead back to life! Would that I could." Gods, he is tired. This was not why he was here and yet he cannot go now, though it would be so easy to get up and walk out of that door right now.

"My boy, I am not asking you to do the impossible."

The laughter that bubbles up from his throat is edged with hysteria. In one moment Aemon rages at him about Robert and in the next he calls him "my boy." Rhaegar understood the man who wrote letters to him. He does not understand this man at all. He gestures between them and through clenched teeth, he manages, "What would you have me do, then? If you have nothing but disdain or vitriol for me why did you agree to my coming here? Was is because you wished to berate me to my face? Tell me what it is that you want from me because I know not what will please you." What good will come of this? It will not bring Robert back to life or stop Stannis from privately hating him. He can try to make amends or curse himself from dawn until dusk, but, there is only so much he can do.

The man gets up once again, this time slowly. Eventually, he whispers, "My boy, you give me far too much credit. I do not have disdain or vitriol for you and I do not think I ever could. Do think that this is some form of those. I also do not need you to please me. I have been at this Wall for far too long to enjoy the waste such things bring. This is man speaking to his younger relation; as is my duty. As to why I wrote? I wrote because I always did. Once the war was done and you were installed as king I thought it best to begin again. This…" He gestures between them and turns away to look out through a small window. Rhaegar knows behind the glass the only thing to be seen is snow.

Rhaegar makes no move to follow him, and the words Aemon whispers keep him in that chair. "Fire and Blood. Our words. Most look upon those words see strength. Do you know what I have come see?"

"What?"

Aemon turns back towards him though for a moment it looks as though it was not Rhaegar the old man was speaking to. "Fire and blood is what we cause." He has nothing to say to this; he cannot when he caused both.

When the old man's gaze is truly focused on him he continues, "With Egg I believed it best if I completely separated myself from King's Landing. With Jaehaerys, he made his own plans and had no need of me for the three years he was king. By the time your father was king I might as well not been one of you. But, I was never content with it; not entirely, though I stood by my oaths quite thoroughly. When you first wrote, you were so eager and so I wrote back. By providing you with the knowledge I had, I thought I was being helpful, but, I did not think to warn you of the trappings of what we shared. I kept at a distance. On my part, it was an error I do not intend to make again."

He hears what Maester Aemon does not say and the guilt of causing it gnaws at him. "You feel responsible."

"I am old man at the edge of the world who has seen enough of his family destroyed by more than their own selves for little or no reason at all. Many nights I wondered if I had not written to you perhaps some of this mess could have been avoided. You looked to me. I should have taught you better."

Rhaegar opens his mouth to reject the words he heard but hesitates and looks away from the man whose shivering has little to do with the cold. He wants to tell him of how he would have been driven by prophesy no matter if Aemon wrote to him or not. Still, he doubts the other man would be mollified by his denials even when they are true. Had this been any other moment he would have mused on how this was yet another thing they have in common. Instead he says, "You thought I went mad, like Father had."

"Your actions did not inspire much confidence."

He does not try to argue and he is not riled by offence. He lacks the energy for it and the words are honest. In truth, he deserves what the Maester is telling him, given what they just spoke about…"Then why did you write again?" If he proved to be so disappointing…

"Because, as you say, we are blood. I wanted to know if you were well and I wanted to know whatever madness took hold of you was truly gone. I heard about the steps you were taking to rectify what could be, but, I had to know for myself, for certain."

"And what have you found? Am I mad for still believing?" He does not ask, 'Am I still found lacking?' He was almost worried to hear the answer.

Aemon shakes his head in a 'no' gesture. "Then I am equally mad, my boy."

Though the words feel something like a reprieve; that is the extent of it. Once these very words would have filled him with elation; no longer. However, he could not help but comment, "And yet all you have done is present argument upon argument about why I could have been wrong and why I still might be."

"Can you truly blame me for it?" Aemon sighs, still sounding weary. "As much as I want to wish you are wrong, I know far too well that wishes mean very little when faced with fate."

He closes his eyes and leans back. "Then what do I do now?" What can he do? If he is correct, this was a matter of his children. What does he do now?

"If you truly believe that there is something coming, you must prepare for it."

So simple and yet is anything but. "How? If I am correct then it is to be my children whose burden this is to be, whatever form it might take. They are too young and I do not know enough." It nearly hurts to think it, but, if anything the Maester spent much of the evening teaching him this.

Once these words would have never left his lips and the thought would have never occurred to him. He would have been so sure that when his children grew victory would be a certainty. The Maester smiled at him, as though he was pleased at his musings and yet Rhaegar can take little joy in the expression or the words that come after. "It does not mean you leave them to their own devices. A man who fights alone against a great danger or even three can fail."

He knows that all too well. He tried it and made a greater mess of things.

"What do you propose I do, then?" The Maester might not think him mad, but, others may, if they already do not for being so concerned about a threat he cannot truly understand.

The older man smiles at him again, this time Rhaegar thinks it is far more genuine than any other the man graced him with. He never thought he would be so relieved to see it. "Give me your ear, my boy. I am not going anywhere and I doubt you are for a while. Between us, we might think of something. I know you well enough to think you came here without a thought about what actions you believed are necessary. On the morrow we can comb through the tomes and scrolls I have in my possession. It is a start."

Though he did no such thing, for the first time in a long while Rhaegar felt the urge to smile back.