A/N: Sorry for the late update. I've been busy with stuff, but most of it has been good, including my good friend Longclaw 1-6 about to be a father :D

Myles Hightower sat in the throne room that he had built for himself in the building that bore his family's name. He had granted an audience to the one of his most powerful lords at the moment, Lord Garth Roxton. At the moment, the Roxtons had over four thousand men under their command and whatever complaints that they had could not be ignored, not unless Myles wanted to deny himself a large part of his potential army when he needed it.

"King Myles," Lord Garth bowed before him. "I hope that I have come here on an auspicious day, for it has been some time since you have heard my requests."

"Indeed it has been, Lord Garth," Myles responded. "You requested that your men be given more control over their territories, with their jurisdiction to be extended over the wagon trains that come to and from Dornish garrisons."

"We might be paying them to help protect us, King Myles, but they are on our land still," Lord Garth stated. "We are Reachmen first, not to be beholden to the men of the sands."

"Be careful in saying that, Lord Garth. Before we are Reachmen, we are followers of the high and almighty leader of our Faith, the High Septon," Myles corrected him.

"Of course," Lord Garth responded apologetically. "However, my point stands, King Myles. And we have to ensure that Reachmen are still in control of our territories rather than Dornishmen."

"You can be assured that the sovereignty of your men will be respected," the Dornish emissary, Ser Michael Uller, joined in and made his voice known. "But not at the expense of the wagon trains that my countrymen needs."

"Are they not gorging themselves enough on Reach livestock and the grain before both are taken to the Triarchy, Ser Michael?" Lord Garth and Ser Michael never enjoyed good terms, particularly since the second son of House Uller had a tendency to push himself on those he considered beneath him.

"You forget, my lord. It is only because of Dornish spears that you and the rest of your rebels were able to be fully secure from any retaliation from the dragon's fire," Ser Michael retorted. "After all, we had no reason to come here until you and your king invited us to come. If anything, you need us more than we need you."

"You, a knight, dare to use that tone with me?" Lord Garth gritted his teeth. "And we are not rebels. We are followers of the Faith of the Seven."

"Actually, I can, because when you speak with me, you are also speaking to one appointed by the Princess of Dorne herself. And I have overall authority over the twenty thousand Dornishmen that are regularly stationed along the Honeywine," Ser Michael was quick to remind him. "Unless you want me to make a recommendation to the Princess herself to consider withdrawing all troops and thus leaving you to deal with the consequences that rebels face, because that is what you are."

"You would not dare," Lord Garth sneered. "You do not have that kind of power."

"I do," Ser Michael glared at him. "Should I send a raven today telling the Princess on your impertinence before me?"

Lord Garth looked to Myles. "Your Grace, you allow this sandman to speak for you? You are our king, so please say something."

Myles curled his fist into a ball, but he was utterly powerless in stopping Ser Michael in exerting himself. After all, his power rested on the Dornish spear and the security of the alliance with the Triarchy, so he could not afford to make them feel that they were slighted. As such, he could not do anything to make Lord Garth feel that he could win a battle of words with Ser Michael.

"Ser Michael Uller speaks true," Myles finally said, making the Uller man smirk at the head of the Ring. "Please apologize, lest you invite Dornish vitriol to affect us all."

Lord Garth trembled slightly, but he saw that there was no point and he bowed his head at Ser Michael. "Forgive me… Ser Michael."

The Uller man nodded. "All is forgiven. Now, King Myles," he looked at him. "You were about to say something about the wagon trains to and from the Dornish garrisons along the Honeywine?"

Myles had to suppress a growl, for it was just the latest of the Dornishmen trampling over him despite him being a king. But he knew reality and he could not fight it, not unless he wanted to make himself a prey to the monsters lurking in the shadows as they searched for a moment to strike at him.

"As per the treaty negotiated between Oldtown and Dorne, all wagon trains are to not be subjected to local law, which also applies to Dornishmen with arms and their fortresses that they reside in. Even if Dornishmen are to find quarters in a lord's castle, he is to be subjected to hospitality but not the law," Myles outlined for him.

Lord Garth froze, his face white as he remembered what had happened on the day the Dornishmen marched into Oldtown. But like Myles, he could do nothing.

"As you wish… my king."

"You are dismissed." Myles allowed him to leave.

Once Lord Garth left, Ser Michael's friendly disposition disappeared. His black hair and swarthy skin had been little affected by the climates of the southern Reach, but the look on his face reminded Myles of the vipers that so defined the sands of Dorne. He slowly but menacingly approached Myles before putting a hand on his neck, his grip not choking him but also making it uncomfortable for him to breath.

"Put your hands off me," Myles tried to take his arm off, but it was too strong for someone twice as young as he was.

"Or what? Are you going to kill me? Will you dare, like you did your cousins?" Ser Michael scoffed. "You think that you have power here, but you do not."

"Why are you doing this?" Myles was shaking with fright.

"To remind you on just who exactly got you hear. Sure, you saw a chance to make yourself rise from your rather lowly station and as a descendant of an undistinguished line from your more distinguished betters. And yet despite the crown on your head and you trying to play the part of a king, you are still that same knight whose avarice led you to kill your kin and become a rebel," Ser Michael was cruel in his criticism. "The only reason why you were spared from a traitor's death was because of me and all of the other Dornishmen who bled and died to protect you all. I would suggest you start showing more gratitude towards our efforts."

Myles breathed his nostrils hard. "And you think that you are any different, considering that you are still a second son of the Ullers?"

That set him off, as Ser Michael dug his fingernails into his neck and it was more than painful. "Do not speak as if you are better than me. We were born different and not even a crown will wipe away what you still are. A usurper, a kinslayer, and a traitor. There are special places in the Seven Hells for those sorts and I am sure that whoever controls death will be more than happy to make you experience pain from all of them."

Only after he said that did Ser Michael release Myles' neck and he was quick to rub it.

"Make sure that all of the losses that you incurred with the most recent and most disappointing harvest are made up, for we are not here for free," Ser Michael warned while pointing at him. "Do not think for one moment that we will help you more than it is necessary. Understood?"

"Yes," Myles nodded his head but with great reluctance.

"Good. And do remember to keep men like Lord Garth under control, for why would we want to keep shedding Dornish blood on these lands if we are not welcomed?" Ser Michael asked sarcastically while extending his arms wide and putting a false smile on his face.

"Of course, Ser Michael." With that, the Dornishman reassumed his seemingly subservient place besides Myles' throne and they both went through the next petitioner.

That was how it was for the past thirty years. While Myles enjoyed autonomy as a king in the beginning, his authority and powers were gradually chipped away at due to the long presence of the Dornish garrisons on Reach lands and the amount of grumbling from the Reach houses who had to quarter and accept the Dornish spears with great reluctance. The Faith Militant were only willing to help Ser Myles on some occasions, as they saw Myles' struggles as belonging to a temporal plane and the Faith Militant would only deal with those of a spiritual nature. Myles complained to the Most Devout that such an arrangement was not what they agreed upon, for they were dependent on each other. But the High Septon was quick to point out that since Myles was dependent on both the Triarchy and the Dornishmen for protection, their arrangement had to be revised to "better reflect the realities of the world at present." What a colorful way of saying piss off.

In the thirty years since Oldtown and the southern Reach broke away from the Seven Kingdoms to become a kingdom that would become devoted to the Faith and to the traditions that existed long before the dragons came, Myles saw that the port of his ancestors was becoming less peaceful and more tense with itself. And the problems that were just discussed with Lord Garth Roxton regarding the immunity of the Dornish wagon trains and thus their garrisons themselves, also extended to the inside of Oldtown. The City Watch was pretty much his private army and via their original purposes, they had authority over all of the city. But they also clashed with the Faith Militant, mostly Poor Fellows, who also patrolled through the streets with the purpose of guarding the city's many religious sites. There was also a conflict of jurisdiction, as the City Watch claim that the religious or not, the sites that the Faith Militant guard are still on Oldtown lands, while the Faith Militant claim that such sites are outside the jurisdiction of temporal authority. This usually resulted in street brawls and the occasional death, with the Most Devout and Myles himself having to step in personally to avoid the situation from becoming more serious. Usually, the conflicts would die down with a light punishment on those involved and a bribe to keep things quiet, but Myles wondered how long it would keep going. It is not like I have a bottomless purse to keep paying them off.

People were also getting tired of seeing the City Watch and the Faith Militant clash in their streets, for it showed disunity among those who rule them. Some began to say that they could not see a difference between them, for they both acted like gangs of rogues who leech on them for small amounts of coin and ignore the Faith's guidance on brothels and foreigners. It was becoming common knowledge that some members of both the City Watch and the Faith Militant were lining their pockets with bribes from brothels and traders from outside bringing in contraband. The only silver lining in this was that the people had a better opinion of the City Watch because they saw the Faith Militant, when consorting with smugglers, were using the religious sites as bases from which to make a profit in the underbelly of the city. And what was worse, some of the lower-ranking septons were in on it and were living comfortable lives, expressed through good food and Arbor wine on a daily basis.

He tried to emulate the kingsguard with his own, with fourteen knights instead of seven, only they could never match with the quality that the original kingsguard had. Adding to his problems was that House Hightower could only assemble six thousand men, which barely made them the most powerful house by sheer numbers. And none of them could match the fighting capabilities of the Dornishmen or even those like House Roxton, who was the most active house in the field of battle. It made his bargaining position all the weaker, since he could not leverage his fighting men nor could he call upon his bannermen to fight when he needed them to without making significant concessions. How did I end up here?

House Hightower was trimmed down in size regarding members because of his own shortsightedness, as he was the only one left who could carry the Hightower name past his own generation. He did have two daughters with his queen Marra, but no sons. As per the customs of the Andals, his daughters could not inherit and thus the kingship of Oldtown would pass to the nearest blood relative. The problem was that all of them were located on the wrong side of the Abyss, with the closest blood relative being that from Daeron Targaryen of Harrenhal and Lady Helaena Targaryen of Winterfell, both of whom had sworn vengeance on himself for his involvement in Maelor's death. In summary, not only was his position being chipped away, the succession to the throne he created was insecure. If he died without a male heir, what he created would be forever gone and all of what he did would have been for nothing.

It made him think to taking a mistress and father some children with her, getting some bastards and then legitimizing them as Hightowers so that they could take the crown after him. But such a move would not endear him to the Starry Sept, as they frowned upon bastardy and illegitimate children taking any portion of any inheritance. Why does the Most Devout have to make things more difficult for me?

However, bigger than the worries that originated from the Starry Sept were that from his bannermen. None of them were likely to follow a legitimized bastard, as his personal reputation was tarnished already by him killing his kin and seizing control of a throne that he made out of thin air despite lending their support to him. Given his undistinguished heritage, no one was likely to condone any more actions that would tarnish him further. And most importantly, his allies in the Triarchy would never condone it, as the whole point of his marriage to Marra Rogare was to ensure that some Lysene blood would one day inherit the Oldtown crown. His goodfather, before he died, warned him in no uncertain terms that their alliance would be cut if he made bastard sons and had them inherit after him. Gods, they are making their partner be put in a more difficult situation than before?

As Myles went to his solar to contemplate on how far down he had regressed despite being an independent king, he heard his wife enter. Looking upon his Lysene woman, he quietly wondered on what made the Lysenes retain their youthful appearances. Despite some wrinkles here and there, mostly due to giving birth, Marra still looked the same as when he first met her. Having seen at least sixteen name-days when she first came to Oldtown, she had celebrated more than forty-five namedays. She was still lithe and her skin tight around her body, but she was still as inquisitive as ever.

"Another day at court?" Marra asked him.

"You already know everything that happened, so why both telling you about it?" Myles tried to brush her off.

"That is what Ser Michael does. You already knew what he was going to be like."

"But to embarrass me like that, in my court?"

"He thinks that his power allows him to do what he wants. But he is just like all the others who let the power get to his head, in that they think that they will be spared from consequences. You and I know better."

Myles scoffed, but not at Marra. "Right. I wonder if the time will come when he will get his comeuppance, as do the rest of the Dornish who think that they can do whatever they want because of their spears here." He then felt her arms circle around his chest from behind the chair, to which he responded by squeezing his hand. "Why did you come here?"

"I just talked with the maesters. I am pregnant again."

Myles stood up and turned around to face her. "Really? But you are past childbearing age."

"Not yet, it seems like," Marra answered him. "So that means that this could be our son coming."

Myles sighed in relief while he kissed her hands gently. "Thank you, my queen. Thank you."

"I am doing my part of the bargain, Myles. In return, I would suggest that you allow some ships to pass by the patrols around the mouth of the Honeywine tonight without inspections."

"What is coming on those ships?" Myles asked.

"Just some things that might help us balance out our disadvantages against the Dornish. After all, there are no true allies, only common interests. And who is to say that the Dornish will stick by us, thick or thin?"

Myles nodded in approval. "My, you are not the bookish girl anymore. You learned while during your time as my queen."

"It is only natural that I learn, in order for the both of us, as well as our daughters, to survive."

Myles exhaled before allowing a rare smile to come across his face. "Of course. But as of right now, let us make sure that you are well and protected. After all, we have to protect our son when he comes."

As they both hugged, the humiliation that Myles felt from Ser Michael's grip went away, but the concerns he had did not go away.

Aemon stood on the highest peak of the Red Mountains nearby Summerhall, as he drank his water and watched as Meleys circled around him above. He enjoyed just being alone and taking in the view afforded to him from such a high position, as that allowed him some peace and quiet from what was happening at court and within the family. It was quite cold that high up in the mountains, so Aemon wore a northern cloak that his Stark grandfather gave him over his armor.

When Aemon was not busy watching over Summerhall or attending some family event, he was given the responsibility of patrolling the western parts of the stormlands, which also corresponded with the marcher lords' lands. The Red Mountains, as well as the Dornish Marches, had seen blood for more than a thousand years and that had not ceased to this day. However, ever since the Dornish spears aided the Hightower rebels and allowed them to seize control of the Honeywine, there needed a place to fully secure the western edges of the Seven Kingdoms still under the rule of House Targaryen. The Baratheons might have had a different man at its head, Aeron Baratheon, but the stags could not be trusted so soon after the treachery of Borros Baratheon. Therefore, the dragons came up with a solution that would both allow them to exert control over their lands and also keep it in those who would be loyal unconditionally. That solution was giving his father, Viserys, land and giving him enough coin to build a fortress that would hold power over the lands around it. After a while, Summerhall came into being.

Aemon earned his spurs fighting against the many Dornish raiders who tried to storm and burn their fields, first by fighting from horseback and then from the back of Meleys. The Dornishmen were quite persistent, as Aemon lived through two winters and even then did they send cavalrymen to try to rob and pillage. He had more respect for the Dornish than the rebels of the southern Reach since they knew how to fight and did not give up, which fit their overall character. He found those who came from Oldtown and the Honeywine not exactly the most competent warriors, with their Warrior's Sons only being a little better. Still, both caused quite a number of headaches for Aemon and the rest of the family, especially since the Dornish came while they were eating at some points. However, his parents and older brother Daemon fought alongside him and they pushed them back again and again.

Eventually, the number of raids that happened each moon died down, as the Dornish must have believed that the cost of trying to take from the lands around Summerhall was becoming too costly. Aemon was not complaining, but that left a lot of time for him to patrol without seeing any action. It made him want to write to his father and ask that he be posted to the Abyss, where the Dornish and even the Hightower banners were still trying to break through. However, Aemon also realized that he was still needed and he also thought, Do I really want to keep fighting nonstop?

Aemon loved his oldest brother Daemon and was there when he fought in his first clash of steel. He could only watch in awe as he came back on top of Vhagar and was betrothed to their cousin Daena, both of them spending time at Summerhall and getting acquainted with their new home. The betrothal would soon turn into a full-blown marriage, something that Aemon was looking forward to and was waiting for when his nephews and nieces would come. Daemon, you finally did it.

Their only sister, Naerys, was more soft-spoken and preferred to be with her direwolf. Both he and Daemon always were near her, trying to give her company when the other court ladies were not reaching out to be friends with her. And Naerys was not someone who liked ostentatiousness, as she was a royal and she was already exposed to enough pomp and ceremony at court. She did, like her brothers, enjoy going to the North when they could and that allowed them some way to meet their Stark cousins and their grandfather Cregan. He is the only one who adores Naerys outside of the family, Aemon thought.

Regarding his cousins from his uncle the king and besides Daeron and Daena, Aemon liked Elaena very much. She had a rather sharp tongue and was very knowledgeable about a great many things, but unlike with his cousin Baelor, knowledge did not make her weak. Instead, it made her more potent. There was one incident where Aemon saw Elaena best the grandmaester when it came to the anatomy of the dragons, as the grandmaester speculated that dragons mated like lizards since he could think of no other comparable creatures with cold blood. Elaena corrected him in that they were neither lizards or cold-blooded, as dragons were not creatures that could be understood by normal standards. The grandmaester said that both had scales and resembled lizards, so there had to be a connection, but Elaena told him that lizards could not think or be selective in who could approach them. Lizards were more liberal in who they approached, she said, and it is only if they wanted to eat something. The grandmaester eventually accepted her answer gracefully and admitted that he still had much to learn.

Other courtiers were not so gracious, as one even had the audacity to tell to her face that the only role princesses had was to marry for alliances and give their husbands children. Elaena was stunned by such rudeness, and it took Daena to give them a very harsh dressing down for them to back off. That was not the end, as Aemon's aunt Queen Jaehaera had heard about what happened and gave them a choice: either pay one hundred golden dragons as a fine and leave court, or the price of remaining at court is cutting off their tongues for hurting her daughter's feelings. The courtiers thought she was jesting with them, until she threw a knife and a pair of hair clippers at their feet, making them choose which tool they could use to remove their tongues. Naturally, they chose the former and no one dared to be so careless in front of Elaena ever again.

Aemon could not admit it, for he did not feel confident enough, but he did have feelings for Elaena. However, after reflecting more on it, he wondered if he loved her or loved only what he saw, as dragons were rare specimens and Aemon could not find any other to have feelings, at least to his knowledge. Elaena was perfect in his eyes, but so did everyone when they thought Daena and Daeron would marry. And now that he was thinking about it, just because someone seemed perfect did not mean that they were perfect for each other, a belief that was strengthened when he saw some things about Elaena that ran contrary to who he thought she was. She is too consumed with books and she could be pedantic on some occasions. Nothing wrong with being knowledgeable, but no need to put someone down if they do not know even one minor fact.

That left Rhaena, but she was easily influenced and followed cousin Baelor around. Contrary to what others thought of him, Aemon actually found his amiability very annoying. One day, Aemon decided to see the soup kitchens that Baelor ran in Flea's Bottom and maybe help out. However, when he was there, he sensed something… off about him. Behind the smiles and the kind words he said to them while giving the poor food, he never even bothered to ask them how their day was and what else they needed besides what they could put in their bellies. And it was always onion soup and a loaf of bread, nothing more and nothing less. When Aemon asked if there was anything else that he could give to the poor, Baelor said, "I must be mindful of what I put in their bellies. After all, they are from the low class and the gods obligate that we feed them only how much they can handle."

"And how do you know how much they can handle?"

"This is Flea Bottom. Is there food in abundance? Can their small bellies be able to endure a large portion so suddenly? They must be able to eat their provided amounts first before I can think of giving it to them."

That was one thing that the rest of the family did not know about Baelor. They might have been fooled and Baelor might have even fooled himself, but Aemon could see him for what he really was: someone who thought so highly of himself due to his good deeds but was also weak in dealing with reality. That was the reason why he found Baelor contemptible and why he tried to avoid him whenever he could. I sometimes wonder if Baelor was the only one who inherited Aegon the Usurper's weaknesses and made only worse by how soft he is.

Thinking back on Rhaena, if only she could be removed from Baelor's influence could Aemon think about approaching her. But until then, he could not talk to her.

What are you thinking about? Aemon heard Meleys speak to him.

Thinking about who I might marry, he responded.

Stop thinking about that. Do you not have a meeting with Ser Bryan Swann soon?

Oh, right. Aemon suddenly remembered that he had to meet one of his acquaintances, who also happened to be posted in the far reaches of the Red Mountains. He was posted in a village not far from the Dornish border, on their side of the Boneway.

Calling Meleys down to him, he flew to the village, which took less than an hour and he went into a rather empty tavern. There, he found Ser Bryan Swann there. A second son of Lord Swann, he was the more capable of the most recent generation of House Swann and had served with distinction against the Dornish raiders. However, he was also the most secretive, which made him ideal for cross-border reconnaissance. Today, they had to plan another reconnaissance into Wyl lands, but this would be no normal survey as they needed to plan for the eventual retaliation against their lands. Lyonel Tyrell was losing his nerve despite being a capable commander and he wanted something to be done against Oldtown so as to lessen the threats against his own lands.

"Ser Bryan," Aemon shook his hand.

"Your Grace. Good to see you again."

"And I you. I trust you are ready for another scouting mission?"

"Indeed, Your Grace. I am ready to put myself in danger once again."

"Let us hope that will not be necessary."

Ser Bryan rode with Aemon on the back of Meleys and they landed on the mouth of the Wyl. There, they discarded everything but their weapons and adopted Dornish garments. They went into the village surrounding the main fortress of the Wyls and observed everything that is going on.

"There is an unusual amount of activity around here," Ser Bryan whispered while they observed many boats, spears, and swords being transported here and there.

"I am seeing a lot of gold, all of it from the Triarchy," Aemon added. "Usually, we see bales of wheat from the Honeywine come through here. That means something is wrong."

"It would not be too out of the ordinary if Myles Hightower was behind on his grain payments, but to see none of it here… indeed, something is going on."

"Could it be possible that the they are stepping up their raids in order to recoup their occupation costs?"

"It is likely."

The two of them decided to get food at a tavern, but they realized that they might have gone to the wrong one after seeing how many Dornishmen were there, all of them armed. And they were looking at them with wide eyes.

"I think we might have overstayed our welcome. We got what we needed and we should get out of here," Ser Bryan suggested.

"Of course." After they finished their drinks and before their food came, they tried to move back to the mouth of the Wyl and tried to get through the narrow alleyways of the town around the fortress of the Wyls. Keeping their faces hidden underneath their Dornish garments, Aemon heard Meleys ask, Do you need my help?

Not yet. Dragonfire will only give away our position and alert the rest of the enemy of our presence. We have to get in and get out quietly.

Understood. I will be flying nearby in case you need me.

Thank you.

But then, as they were about to make through their final alleyway, their exit was blocked by three men in front of them. As they tried to turn back, there were four men already surrounding them. All of there were armed with scimitars and holding the sigil of House Wyl. Aemon gulped, as the Wyls were quite ferocious and the only Dornish family that he grew nervous of, their notorious history notwithstanding. And with them surrounded and despite having much training with the sword, they were at a severe disadvantage.

"We have been following you since you left the tavern so quickly," one of the men said as he stepped forward, the leader assumingly. "We know who the both of you are. The question is, what were you two doing there?"

"The both of us were trying to have a decent meal there," Bryan spoke. "Is that wrong?"

"That would be an acceptable reason, but you left before the waiters brought your food. And we know who your uncle and your sponsor are… Bryan Swann."

Seeing the men's hands tighten on the handles of their swords, Aemon and Bryan nodded to each other before they took out their swords, readying themselves in their stances. Aemon went for the leader while Bryan aimed went for the four men behind them.

"There is no need for violence, good sers. Just let us go and we will be on our way," Aemon suggested.

"No," the leader rejected. "The both of you must have seen too much, but Lord Wyl told us to make your deaths look like simple robberies, which is easy given where we are. After all, nothing could attract more unwanted attention than a dragon prince murdered in cold blood and a Swann knight too far from home."

For a moment, Aemon was confused as to how Lord Wyl knew that he and Bryan were there. However, he pushed those thoughts aside, as the men surrounding them raised their scimitars and charged at them.

Not waiting for him to get a second chance, Aemon went forward and struck against his attacker's belly. Seeing him double down and grab his stomach in pain, he did not hesitate as he brought down the his sword on his back, putting him on the ground while killing him. He then pushed the other two back with his arms, sticking one in the heart while elbowing the other before punching him and then stabbing him in the neck.

Turning his head to the other end of the alley, he saw that Bryan had managed to kill two of his attackers, bring one to the ground, and was swinging away at the fourth. Seeing the one on the ground get up and pick up his scimitar, Aemon acted quickly and brought the sword down vertically, the force being enough to run through all of his Dornish garments and then bring his head down to the ground.

Both Aemon and Bryan looked at each other, almost in disbelief at what just happened while breathing heavily. Granted, the two of them had a narrow space working in their advantage, but they had just killed and subdued a group of Wyl men. And not one of them got a cut on their bodies.

"Watch out!" Bryan's eyes widened before he rushed in front of Aemon before he heard a blade cut clean across flesh. Turning his head, he was stunned that the man he had thought he killed got up and picked up his scimitar. But instead of Aemon, Bryan got in the way and his chest was sliced, his face frozen as his body was stuck in place, as if almost processing the wound.

"No!" Without thinking, Aemon picked up one of the dead attacker's scimitars and swung the blade upward at the last one's neck. The head fell backwards while the corpse got on its knees and then dropped forward.

Before Bryan collapsed backward, Aemon caught him in his arms as he dropped the scimitar. "Hold on, Ser Bryan. I will see you returned."

But he knew that there was nothing he could do, as the cut was too deep and had severed the major arteries. And Bryan also knew that.

"Do not… trouble yourself… Your Grace," Bryan struggled to say as blood gushed from his mouth. Aemon could not think of anything to say, especially to the one who had just saved his life. He then grabbed Bryan's hand and held it tightly. "Get these… bastards… for me…"

Aemon nodded firmly while he felt his eyes and face twitch. "Of course. You have my word."

"No… word…. Just… do it," Bryan struggled to say before Aemon felt his grip release and he breathed out his last, his eyes unseeing and his mouth half closed.

Holding the body in his arms, Aemon closed his eyes in respect while he put his hands over Bryan's eyes to close them. He remained kneeling with the man who barely knew him but still saved his life, his blood staining his clothes before he took off his ring and then ran to the mouth of the Wyl.

A/N: Myles is reminded that he has little power, but good thing that he those who will make him forget that little humiliation.

Aemon the Dragonknight shows here, but in a different circumstance