Hi everyone, here is the fifth chapter with a slight delay, I hope you enjoy.

As always I own nothing

289 A.C

Starfall

Dear Nephew,

I shall quieten the many generations that do us apart but know that rarely a letter as ever brought such comfort and relief to these old bones of mine.

I cannot say how long the years have seemed as I waited for word of you, and my darkest hour, I truly had thought it all lost, that our legacy would end with your grandfather.

Thankfully it is not to be.

I cannot express how much joy and pride it brings me to know your dear parents chose to honor me this way and to know my name will finally be associated with our legacy.

I do understand the troubles you face regarding it, as it has taken me many decades to decipher what I think is the truth, it lies in our words. But I urge you to remember, nephew, magic has a cost and only death may pay for life.

I sincerely hope you can find some wisdom in the words of a tired old man who longs to see his family once more.

In kinship,

A.T

Aemon could not help the smile on his face as he read the words of his great uncle. Not only was this confirmation he lived still, but his words also carried meaning for those knowing what they were looking for.

His oldest relative also seemed to request he come to the Wall, and he would.

For the simple reason of wanting to see something so obviously magical, but also because his brother resided on the way and when the time came for them to be reunited, it would surely be the time to visit maester Aemon. He could only hope the old man lived long enough, but somehow, Aemon knew he would.

Still, there were words he could act on now.

It seemed he had been right in feeding the egg with his blood and having it stay inside a fire. Fire and Blood indeed. But as he thought, he had been missing something.

It felt obvious now, the Dragonlords of old had been reputed for a few things but among others were the unparalleled slave trade they had organized, their dragons, and their magic.

Ritualistic magic was powerful, it was true both in his former and in this world, and to achieve incredible feats, a price in blood was always requested.

It was how Voldemort planned to become immortal, to create a horcrux one had to kill in cold blood, it seemed it held when it came to hatching dragons. A life for a life. Or as his uncle put it, only death may pay for life.

He handed the letter to Arthur who clenched his jaw as he read the words of his kin. He handed it to his sister, who visibly paled as she read.

"It seems pretty clear what the next step is," Aemon said.

"You will not be going North…" His mother began to say.

"I know," Aemon said before she could continue, "I was talking about the other part," he said and she sighed, perhaps having hoped he had not understood.

"You don't mean to…" she began but was once more interrupted, this time by her brother.

"He does, and he should, if it truly is the key, a dragon would change everything," Arthur said, determination clear in his eyes.

"It would, Mother. Rhaegar trusted Maester Aemon, I know I can do it, but I will have to be the one to do it," he said, intent was important in magic, and so was meaning, he could not let anyone else influence the ritual, for it was a ritual. He expected a rebuttal, and it came.

"Certainly not!" his mother exclaimed but before she could go on, a knock sounded on the door and Alysanne Dane entered the room.

"Ser Oswell has been spotted, he should arrive shortly,"

Aemon refrained from chuckling at seeing the look his mother gave her brother and was glad he did as she soon directed the glare his way, this conversation was not over.

Not that it would change his mind, a dragon was necessary, even more than that, it was essential.

There was a time he would have balked at the thought of killing someone in cold blood, life had seen fit to teach him the truth of the world and that sometimes, difficult choices needed to be made to save the many.

Just like his magic, a dragon was a weapon so powerful that with it, armies would kneel without blood having to be shed. He was not a fool, not all would, but some, and hopefully it could be enough.

"I will greet Ser Oswell while you two go wash yourselves, yes? But this conversation is not over." Ashara said, hands on her hips and a steely look in her eyes.

They both gulped but nodded all the same and she left the room after her sister.

Aemon gestured for his kingsguard to follow, and he did without question, as he led him to his room.

They exchange no words as they did but soon found themselves in the hottest room in the castle.

"Your grace?" Arthur asked once the door was closed behind him.

"We need to do it, no matter what my mother thinks,"

Arthur nodded simply, there was no avoiding the truth.

"But there is something else," Aemon continued, "the death should be meaningful,"

"I'm not sure I understand, your grace," he frowned.

"Meaning matters, we could take the first criminal you find, but I think it would be better if it was someone who acted against me, against my family," Aemon explained, he would never take pleasure in killing someone, though some certainly deserved it. Though in this matter, he believed he was right.

Arthur smiled as he began to understand where he was getting at.

"There are many who wronged my family, ser Arthur," Aemon smirked, "and I believe the Ironborn rebellion has given us the perfect opportunity…"

"I see, your grace," Arthur smiled truly this time, Aemon knew it ate the faithful knight to leave some wrongs unpunished for so long. Even if he saw raising his king as the most important thing, the Sword of the Morning was a man of action.

Aemon raised his mattress and pulled the invisibility cloak from its hiding spot.

"It should help you," Aemon said, and seeing Arthur frown he demonstrated and had the satisfaction to see the knight gape as he disappeared.

"How…" he whispered as he reappeared.

"As there are some things you won't tell me yet, there are some I must wait before telling you, I only ask you trust me, I will explain,"

"Always, my king, always," Arthur said and accepted the cloak, still with a questioning look in his eyes.

Aemon knew one day he would have to figure out exactly what to say to those closest to him to explain his magic, hopefully, he would hatch a dragon before then.


289 A.C

Starfall

As he watched his kingsguard's ship leave the small harbor of Starfall, Aemon could not help but think how unremarkable the ships were.

He had never spent much time thinking about it, admiring the sails coming and going on the horizon but not reflecting on the ships themselves. He could not help but find them lacking.

As a former British citizen, they were even more so. The muggles of Great Britain had been especially proud of their navy, and he had to admit, they were right to be so. Through it, they had conquered a large part of the world and had become the most powerful empire to have existed.

While he had spent a small number of years in the British educational system, this had been hammered in their heads. He could also remember a visit to the National Museum of the Royal Navy, one of the few he had been allowed to since the Dursleys could not rely on Mrs. Figgs to take him.

But the pride of the British navy had been those huge ships, at least thrice as large as most he could see pass through Starfall.

Those were hard to forget, given how large and impressive they felt to a seven-year-old.

Surely, he could something to improve the boats here, it was almost a matter of national pride, Aemon thought with a chuckle.

"Master Alanis?" he turned to the essosi healer that had revealed to be a well of contacts on the other side of the Narrow Sea.

"Yes, young lord?" he asked with his thick accent.

"Do you know anyone in Essos that could build a ship?"

"Any ship, my lord?" the healer asked, "surely one can be built in Westeros,"

"No, not just any ship," Aemon smirked, ideas already forming in his mind.

"Then yes, I believe I do know such a person in Braavos,"


290 A.C

Greyshield

"Ser Arthur Dayne, as I live and breathe!" a man exclaimed, and Arthur smiled as he recognized the lord of the Greyshield approaching on the docks.

The westernmost isle of the shield islands was dreary and constantly beaten by powerful winds, but its value was not in its beauty. Instead, it was on the capacity to defend the Mander, the main artery of the Reach which would allow an invasion force unimpeded passage through a large swath of fertile land.

"Old friend," Arthur greeted, and they both squeezed each other arms.

Lord Guthor Grimm had been squiring for the Martell Prince as Arthur began his service to the kingsguard, in an attempt to bring Dorne and the Reach closer.

Over twenty years later and the young squire had lost much of his superb, having like most lords fallen to the trappings of a life of comfort.

"When a bard sung songs of your death at the hand of the Quiet Wolf, I knew it was false, that a mummery was played for the realm,"

Arthur smirked, it was true that any clever man should doubt such a tale, yet it seemed they had not. Either there were more fools than he had first thought, or they had had a low opinion of his skill. He was betting on the former.

"Here follow me," Guthor urged him and his group.

"This is Ser Jaremy Rykker and Ser Roland Wendwater," Arthur introduced his two companions, both having come with Oswell to aid, though Arthur felt it could be done alone, he was thankful for the company. The former had been among the ones they had managed to intercept on their way to the Wall and had later recruited the latter.

Like most men who had joined the company, he had needed little prodding as he kept to the first vows he had taken and only needed a direction.

"I'd offer but I doubt you would accept to stay the night?"

"I thank you, my friend, but I'm afraid we must hurry, have you gotten word of the siege on Pyke?"

"A raven arrived this morn," Guthor nodded, "Baratheon's host should have arrived by now and we saw Stannis' fleet pass only a sennight ago, and several Redwynes' ships passed by three days ago,"

Arthur nodded, the host was twenty thousand men strong, composed of Lannister and Baratheon men while the royal and Redwyne fleets came to enforce a blockade on the Iron Islands.

"Your ship is ready to leave then, but I urge you to be careful, with the blockade in place they might seek to search your ship."

"Thank you, my lord," Ser Jaremy said as he embarked, and Ser Roland followed suit.

"Anything for the Sword of the Morning and his companions, I wish you safe travels and success in your endeavor," the lord of Greyshield said, "I hope you can stop on your way back, old friend,"

"I will try but I cannot promise," Arthur said and once more squeezed the lord's forearm before boarding the ship. "I…" he began to say but was interrupted by Grimm Lord.

"You were never here," his old friend gave him a toothy grin and a wink, "and remember, the Shield Islands have not forgotten to whom their fealty belongs,"


Harlaw

A moon later

The Lannister guards were organized in groups of three to patrol around the siege of the Harlaw keep.

The Ten Towers it was named, and aptly so Arthur had to say, as ten towers loomed over them. Half of it stood on the cliff while the other half faced the rest of the island. The castle was dark, almost as much as the stone that stood beneath the High Tower, though the atmosphere here had the hair on his neck standing.

The rest of the islands was only composed of meadows and rocks, the former was used to feed the hordes of shaggy ponies raised here. Arthur certainly had no wish to lengthen his stay any more than he had to.

With an environment like this, it was no wonder they were all savages. Still, Arthur felt no sympathy for them, the Ironborns would be getting everything they deserved, and though he would have preferred it was not the Usurper who put the squids down, he would take it anyway, they were truly the worst Westeros had to offer.

Still, he was not here to hunt for squids, certainly not when he had learned so many lions and their supporters were present.

While he felt urged to seek out the Usurper on Pyke, he knew it would be foolish, and it was unlikely he would make it out alive, not that he had any doubt he would succeed in killing the fat stag. For it was what men called him around here.

The Sword of the Morning could not help but feel some sort of disappointment at learning of the Usurper's physical state, to think his prince had been felled by that.

Sadly, Robert's day was not today, though one could hope an Ironborn sword found its way through the fat king. The true king needed him, he could simply not afford to go missing, nor to be recognized. As such, he needed to content himself with a simpler but not less valuable target.

The fact that the patrols each had three men almost felt like a sign from the gods, Arthur thought as he gestured for his companions to get ready to jump out of their hiding spots.

"I swear this isle is fucking cursed," an approaching Lannister guard said, the gold of his armor reflecting the moonlight.

"I can't wait to get back home but you know the Old Lion wants his revenge," a second one answered, and Arthur tensed.

He felt a chill go through his spine at the thought of what Tywin Lannister was capable of, the man was a monster, and he had no wish to stay and witness the fate of the keep's dwellers for the fleet they had burned.

"Ha," the first one exclaimed, "we'll send them to their drowned god's arms alright," he laughed, and Arthur gave the signal.

Three resounding snaps echoed around, and the Lannister guards fell without having the time to make a sound as each got a snapped neck for their efforts.

Arthur, Ser Jaremy, and Ser Roland immediately got to work stripping them of their armor before putting them on. Once disguised, the bodies of their victims were dragged to the adjacent cliff and one by one, they disappeared into the sea below.

"Hey, you three!" another guard exclaimed, and Arthur's eyes widened, this was Gerion Lannister, "what are you doing here?"

The youngest of Tywin's brothers was easily recognizable with his long blond hair and piercing green eyes, he could still remember the day Prince Rhaegar unhorsed the man in a joust and Arthur was glad for the helm he wore.

"Nothing, my lord," he quickly reacted and bowed his head, "I thought I heard a splash, but there was nothing,"

The Lannister hummed as he went to check over the cliff himself.

"Back to your duties then boys, the patrols won't make themselves," he laughed and just as quickly as he had arrived, disappeared back into the darkness.

He could hear rather than see Ser Jaremy exhale a loud breath, it was close.

"In and out," he whispered to them, and they nodded.

The walk was painful, the Lannister guard had been smaller, and he could feel the armor cut into his thigh, the sooner they were done, the better.

They had spent three days mapping out the camp and trying to assess which target could be worthy. He was not one to pretend to understand the magic necessary in hatching a dragon but if his king said they needed someone who had wronged them, then he believed him. Aemon might only be an almost nine namedays old boy to most, but having seen him grow, Arthur knew better.

Where he had thought his father special, the king the realm needed, he now knew that Aemon would surpass whatever his father would have accomplished, by a very wide margin.

Especially if he had a dragon, it would change everything, the only factor would be time. Time for it to grow and become fierce enough that entire armies knelt before it.

But to do that, they needed to succeed, and he believed he had the perfect man for it.

While it was nighttime, the camp was not as quiet as it should be as the armies were preparing the siege engines, on the morrow they would begin the first assault.

The tent of the commander was guarded by two men, he gestured for the other two knights to take to the back of it while he slipped under the cloak his king had entrusted him with.

It was an artifact of power, unlike anything he had ever heard of, able to fool a man's senses and to allow anyone to go anywhere they wished. One could probably take a keep with it. It would be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands and Arthur could not help but wonder as to how exactly his king had obtained it.

Still, now was not the time for questions.

Completely hidden from sight, he passed slowly by the guards, making sure to make as little noise as possible.

He entered the tent to find Jaime Lannister in his bed, sleeping peacefully, as if he had any right to. The sight alone made his blood boil, he had to reign in his urge to pull out the stolen sword and deliver justice for himself. Reminding itself that justice could not come from him, no matter how much he wished to.

Just as silently, he slipped from under the cloak as he approached the bed, slowly pulling out a dagger and a small vial. The dagger came under the jaw of his would-be victim while he positioned the vial above the kingslayer's lips.

"Arthur…" Jaime Lannister began to say as his eyes widened but before his reflexes could kick in, a few drops of the milk of the poppy were dropped in his open mouth.

Arthur let out a breath he had not realized he was holding as his former brother collapsed back into his bed.

He approached the back of the tent and whistled only loud enough for Sers Roland and Jaremy to hear, and he hoped the cart they had marked yestermorn had not moved.

He quickly packed Jaime's golden armor and sword, the plan was to have them think he was gone for a reason, the time it took for them to realize he had been kidnapped was additional time for them to escape the reach of the Lannisters.

There was a second whistle as he covered the kingslayer with the magical cloak and watched him disappear from his view. Though he had grown accustomed to it, Arthur could not help but touch to make sure everything was still there.

As quietly as possible, he lifted the unconscious body of Jaime Lannister in his arms. The back flap of the tent was parted to the side and revealed the cart, he sighed in relief.

Jaime was quickly loaded into it along with the bundles containing his armor and sword and everything was hidden under the cloak.

He nodded at the others and put back his helm on, and as quickly as they had come, they took the opposite way back.

Ser Jaremy took care of pulling the cart behind, and each was glad for the soil flattened by the passage of thousands. As they moved, both he and Ser Roland took care of pilling up resources they could find to better hide what they were doing.

"You three again," Gerion Lannister said, and Arthur clenched his jaw, his hand inching closer to the sword at his waist.

"My lord," he bowed his head and his companions followed.

For a moment, he looked at them and then at the cart before shrugging.

"Well don't let me slow you down boys, on your way," he chuckled, and Arthur refrained from sighing, he had almost unsheathed the sword.

They did as told and soon enough passed by the last tent.

Only a few minutes and they would be on the ship, sailing away from this cursed island and its people.


290 A.C

Pyke

Trystane Hill walked nervously through the royal camp, his palms sweaty with anxiety and his heart pounding under the weight of the information he carried.

He followed the squire dutifully, guiding him through the many tents that made up the camp.

Finally, they reached an important-looking tent, much larger than the others and guarded by white cloaks, moments later he was allowed in to reveal the war council in session.

The news he was about to deliver was sure to provoke a furious reaction from the renowned Lion of Casterly Rock. But duty demanded that he relay the information promptly and accurately.

As the conversation amongst the war council members quieted down, the messenger swallowed hard as he bowed deeply, "Your grace, my Lords," and spoke in a trembling voice. "M-My Lord, I bring grave tidings. Ser Jaime has disappeared from his post."

The words hung in the air, and the silence was deafening. Trystane could feel the weight of Lord Tywin's piercing gaze upon him. His eyes darted nervously, avoiding direct eye contact, as he awaited a response.

A fierce scowl etched itself on the Lannister Lord's face, and his voice rang out with a commanding authority that made him shrink back. "Disappeared? Explain yourself, boy!"

Trystane stammered, struggling to find his words. "M-My Lord, he was last seen entering his quarters at night. His whereabouts are unknown, and no one seems to know what his intentions might be. The guards stationed outside his tent reported that he left without a word or a trace. His armor and sword are missing. I-It appears as though he vanished into thin air."

The Old Lion's anger flared, and he turned his gaze towards the Master of Whisperers, Lord Varys, who stood nearby. The tension in the room intensified as all eyes focused on the eunuch.

"And what of your little birds, Varys?" his voice boomed, filled with a mixture of frustration and fury. "What use are you if you cannot keep track of my son? Of a Kingsguard? You claim to know everything, yet you allow this to happen under your nose."

Lord Varys kept calm and composed, and his response came as such. "My Lord, I assure you, every path to locate Ser Jaime will be explored. My little birds I have no doubt will find him."

The Lannister Lord's eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with disdain. "And every path better be explored. Find my son, or…"

The weight of Tywin Lannister's fury filled the room, and he did not need to finish his sentence for everyone to understand.

Kevan Lannister stepped forward, attempting to calm the storm of anger brewing within his brother. "Tywin, we must remain calm and gather all available resources to search for Jaime. We will find him. It's possible that he…"

But before Kevan could finish his sentence, Tywin's voice thundered through the room. "My son! They took my son! He is a prized captive, a pawn in their game!" His voice cracked with a mixture of fury and anguish, revealing the depth of his distress.

"We will spare no effort, no resource, in finding him." For the first time the King spoke, "The Iron Throne will not rest until Ser Jaime is returned to us. Begin the search immediately. I want every corner of the realm scoured. Leave no stone unturned."

Trystane, shaken by the intensity of the moment, bowed deeply and hastily retreated from the war tent. His heart weighed heavy with the knowledge that the fate of Ser Jaime Lannister, a man both feared and admired, now hung in the balance. He knew that the search for him would become the utmost priority for House Lannister, and he could only hope the search for the Golden Lion of the Rock would yield results.


290 A.C

Pentos

The sight in front of her was a welcome one, one that if she was honest with herself, she had doubted she would see once more.

Yet, her Lord had provided, he had protected her and when the sailors' bodies failed from the blight of the Doom, his light had kept them going, so that she could fulfill her mission.

R'hllor was the only one responsible for her survival to this point, it was true the lands of the Valyrian Freehold were cursed and Kinvara was left to imagine what they had done to deserve her lord's wrath, for the explosion of the four and ten flames of Valyria could only be her lord's will.

Still, the Bay of Pentos was indeed a welcome sight, though it seemed the ship and her companions were at the end of their journey and that she would have to continue alone.

As the ship docked, she carefully disembarked with a chest containing all she had managed to bring back. And as soon as she did, the sailors that had seen her through all combusted as one and the ship began to be swallowed by the water.

"High Priestess," two men greeted her, dressed in the red robes of her god and wearing distinctive swords that signaled them as members of a particular order. "We are of the Fiery Hand," the tallest one began, "the High priest Benerro has sent us to you on the word of our Lord,"

"A ship awaits us," the second one said and Kinvara nodded, not bothering to ask for names as she knew they had none.

Once more, R'hllor provided and she could now see it had been his will for the ship to begin to fail where it had, all was his will.


290 A.C

Starfall

The wooden sword of his student slashed through the air and Oswell moved to intercept it, but to his surprise, Aemon ducked under his sword and moved inside his guard, it was only the knight's reflexes of shoving the threat away that allowed him to avoid the sword coming under his chin.

"Very good, Aemon," he praised the almost nine namedays old boy as he got up, unfazed by their previous bout. "Again,"

They were soon engaged in a back-and-forth, Aemon ducking and rolling his way out of danger, what he lacked in strength he made up in speed and reflexes, ones he had never seen in one so young. It was as if the young king, no matter how he disliked the title, was born to fight.

He never tried to block strikes coming from him or Arthur, knowing it could not be done, but instead parried and used his body to redirect them.

If he was honest with himself, Oswell had never seen such talent for the blade and even Arthur was the first one to say he had not been this good at his age.

Still, the blazing Dornish sun forced them to stop after another hour as it hit its zenith.

"It was perfect, your- Aemon," he corrected himself, knowing he disliked it, but most especially when they trained.

"I'm not beating you," said boy answered after gulping down some water and Oswell chuckled.

"I'd hope so," he said, feeling amused at the disgruntled look on his king's face, "you're only missing strength, and experience, both need time,"

Aemon groaned at this, "It's always time… Do you think Arthur will arrive soon?"

His brother had been gone for over three moons, and they had not heard him. Starfall being so distant from everything else, news reached them slowly, even more so when he was stuck here. Not that he minded, there should always be a kingsguard with the king, one was the very least, but also the very most they could do.

Still, it made it impractical to keep updated with what happened in the realm and beyond.

He would need to visit Alton as soon as Arthur returned, as well as the company.

Both were doing well, in the past two years, the Celtigar bastard had taken to his duties well and had developed his spy network all over Essos. All to locate the Targaryen siblings, there had been sightings, first in Braavos, then in Tyrosh, and then in Myr, but every time they were too slow. Still, Oswell was confident the day they managed to catch up with them was approaching.

But they also needed to develop their network across Westeros far more than it already was. King's Landing was monitored by Ser Barristan as well as several others. They also had several whores taking their gold in the Citadel's favored brothel, as well as different merchants and bartenders across a few of the major cities of the Realm but they needed more, far more.

"He should not be long now, it should not take longer than four moons, to Pyke and back,"

Aemon nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

"Have you received news of Master Seawright?" Oswell asked and could only smile as he saw the boy's eyes illuminate.

At first, he had given little thought to the project, he was not a man of the sea and did not enjoy the frequent travels between continents he had to make as he often caught the seasickness.

But not a moon after his king had sent a letter to a contact of Alanis containing a few drawings he had not bothered to look at, Aemon had received an answer, one several pages long detailing a business proposal and offering improvements on the designs.

Since then, more letters had been exchanged, Alanis taking a trip himself to Braavos as it turned out his contact was none other than one of the Shipmaster of the famed arsenal. Whom the healer had healed after a nasty infection he caught at sea.

Lorenzo Marino, as he was named, had been very enthusiastic, claiming he had never seen nor thought of ships so powerful.

Though he was not one to care about such things, Oswell was not afraid to admit he had been speechless at seeing the plans his young king had drawn.

The largest ship was immense, thrice as long as a war galley, and three times taller, it had three masts to which seven and thirty sails were tied in intricate ways.

But what had left him speechless the most were the sums involved, the shipmaster estimated each ship could carry tens of thousands of gold dragons worth of merchandise, as well as the protection needed for such a cargo.

The shipmaster had offered to build ships for him at a discount as long as he was allowed to build ships of his own and sell them. They would get a fifth of every sale for the next ten years and then a tenth of every sale for the next fifty years. Proving he was far more than a normal child once more; Aemon had requested he be given the right to veto a sale for the next ten years as well.

"I have, we agreed, and they've begun building the first," he said with a smile.

Though he did not understand why, they were building what they called a 'proof of concept' first. There was no doubt in his mind the ship would sail, still, they wanted to test it.

"I received the last letter a fortnight ago, it's been two moons since they've begun,"

It was a good thing they had not dallied too, given that a single ship would take up most of what remains of the year to build. And would then need another six moons for the wood to dry before it could sail.

It would soon be unavoidable to introduce themselves to the Shipmaster without any artifice. Something he knew Arthur would not enjoy, but perhaps it was a good first contact, it would bring the list of people who knew to eight, given it had been as unavoidable to tell the would-be master of whisperers. It would have been hard to explain having to find Prince Viserys otherwise.

Still, he could feel it, their time of complete isolation was coming to an end and soon enough, the Great Game would begin anew for House Targaryen.


290 A.C

Summer Sea

"What'you looking at Kingslayer?" Ser Jaremy sneered at their captive and Arthur withheld his sigh.

For two moons they had been forced to take cover on Greyshield, first to escape from a tempest that would have undoubtedly sunk the small merchant ship they sailed on, and then to wait for the Royal and Redwyne fleets to abandon the chase for Jaime Lannister.

While most of the time, he managed to hold his disgust at bay, the same could not be said about Ser Jaremy and Ser Roland. Thankfully, the latter was more of a taciturn type and kept glaring at the dishonored knight. Though Arthur did not doubt that if looks could kill then the Kingslayer would have dropped dead long ago.

There were even times he had to stay his hand as he was taken by the urge to run Dawn through his former brother.

Only the thought that his king wished for the honor himself stopped him from doing just that and dumping the body overboard. While normally, Arthur would have refused to entertain the thought of a nine namedays old boy committing murder, Aemon was no normal boy, he was a king, and despite his feelings, it was best Aemon learned how the world truly worked. If they had their way, Aemon would be responsible for far many more deaths than just the one of a man who had betrayed his family and his oath.

"Only wondering what your mother would have done if she'd seen your face before she…" Jaime snarked back but had no time to finish as Ser Jaremy backhanded him.

"Jaremy…" Arthur began to say but the knight rose his hands.

"I'll go take some fresh air, I can't handle the smell of piss and shit anyway,"

The Sword of the Morning could help the small smile that tugged on his lips, it was true they had not allowed their prisoner to wash in quite some time. While he was not as mistreated as he deserved to be, there was no reason to treat him nicely.

"I would watch my tongue Kingslayer," Arthur warned, and Jaime smirked at him, the blood from his busted lip standing in stark contrast with the white of his teeth. "You are very far from your father and we both know you stand no chance…"

"Against you? Maybe," he conceded, "them? I like my odds,"

Arthur snorted, unable to keep the contempt he felt away, "a man without honor like yourself would stand no chance against the likes of Ser Jaremy or Ser Rolland, much less both of them,"

"You think honor matters, Arthur, really? Honor is a myth, a tale told to children to give them hope for the future,"

"You know nothing of honor," Arthur said, seething inside, 'how dared he?'

"Very well, then tell me, if honor is not a myth, where were you at the Trident? Where were you when Stannis took Dragonstone, answer me this, if honor is not a myth, then how come we served a mad king?"

"You understand nothing," Arthur felt his hand inching closer to the hilt of his sword, "Aerys was always going to fall, whether by the Usurper or by his son, you ask me why I served him if I have honor? My duty lies not only with the king seating the Iron Throne but also with the Targaryens yet to be born, those yet to occupy that same throne, those that would make the Seven Kingdoms a better place, as their ancestors have. You ask me where I was at the Trident? I was not there, nor was I at Dragonstone, or in King's Landing when you sold your honor for your father's pride. Woe the Usurper if I had for a Dragon would yet sit the Iron Throne, and yours and Baratheon's lines would have gone extinct." He snarled but before he could do something he would regret, he felt the hand of Ser Roland on his shoulder, stopping him.

"While you let your father's men rape and murder your charges. I was protecting my king, the future of House Targaryen, and it is this king that now seeks your head, and this and only this is the reason why it is still attached to your shoulders, you broke your oath and as the White Bull said, you will burn in the seven hells for it,"

Arthur nodded gratefully at his companion, this sentence was not his to pass and he went to exit the room to settle down his emotions. Thankfully at the same moment, Ser Jaremy seemed to have done so himself and came back in.

"I knew Stark could never kill you…" the kingslayer whispered, but it was loud enough for him to hear as the door closed behind him.


290 A.C

Starfall

With his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth, Aemon put the final touch to his latest drawing and held it out to let the sunlight pass through.

One of his better attempts, no doubt, drawing the faces of those he had known decades ago was not easy. He had drawings for Ginny, Hermione, and Ron where he once had photographs, but for the others… Details were hard to remember.

Still, it was one he was finally happy with, he could see the joy on the Weasley's faces, Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes, or Fred's missing ear that did nothing to prevent him from being happy.

It had been so long ago.

But the one face he had the most trouble with was his own or rather the one he used to have.

He had never been vain enough to spend much time looking at himself in a glass, but most of all, he now saw himself as he was, no longer as an adult Harry Potter.

"Aemon," Ser Oswell interrupted his thoughts and Aemon made sure to mask his drawing from his sight, he was not ready to explain that side of him, not that he knew if he would ever be. "Alton Waters is here,"

"Send him to me," Aemon smiled, he was truly curious to meet this master of whisperers.

Oswell had already told him some, that he was a bastard of House Celtigar, and that he had been serving in the Company of the Wolf and about to gain a knighthood.

He hated the word, bastard, it felt deeply wrong. Though now that he was aware of the Blackfyre rebellions, he could understand the stigma somewhat. It was still horrendous to judge a child based on his parents' misgivings. Maybe it was that if illegitimate children were treated like others, they would not feel the need to revolt.

Said man arrived in Starfall's topmost garden, walking behind the much larger Kingsguard.

He looked nothing special; his blue eyes were perhaps his one defining feature but otherwise, he had sandy hair, he was slightly taller than average but not by much though one could see he was well-trained.

"Your grace," his master of whisperers knelt before him, and Aemon restrained his sigh, he needed to get used to it as it was bound to happen a lot more.

"Arise, Master Waters," he said, not wishing to spend any more time in that situation, "I have been wanting to meet you for quite some time,"

"Apologies, your grace," he said rising and was about to offer more excuses when Aemon waved him off.

"No need you're a busy man, I understand," he said and gestured for them to take a seat at the nearby table where a bottle of wine stood.

He had never been one to indulge heavily but even he could fall prey to a good drink, sadly he was still a bit young for such.

"I'm afraid Ser Oswell won't let me accompany you,"

"It's alright, your grace," Alton said, visibly beginning to relax as he took a sip. "You might not drink but you do have great taste,"

"I can't take credit for that, it should go to Lady Dayne,"

"To Lady Dayne then," he raised his cup, "and to the one true King,"

"Ser Oswell tells me you've made some progress?" he asked, wishing to move on to subjects that mattered.

"I have," Alton smiled and took another sip of his cup, "We have eyes and ears in all of the Free Cities, Yunkai is left in Slaver's Bay, but I was not sure if I should extend East…"

"Don't," Aemon immediately said, Slaver's Bay was already too far for his taste but both Arthur and his mother had argued for it and he had not protested, trusting their opinion. Going further east would only take resources away from Westeros with little to no gain. "I take my aunt and uncle still evade you?"

"They do, your grace," the man sighed, and Aemon could understand his frustration, for years he had been tracking them, coming close but never close enough. "I am now sure they resided in Braavos for several years, with someone powerful, possibly even the Sealord. Especially given they seem to have left approximately at the same at which a new Sealord was chosen."

Aemon nodded, it made sense someone would see the use of having the last known Targaryens staying with them, if executed right, it could see one granted wealth beyond measure.

"We have tracked them in Tyrosh, Myr, and Lys but each time we were too late…"

"Have you heard of them?" he asked, were they all right? He thought, growing anxious.

"I have, your grace," Alton said and immediately seemed to tense up again.

Aemon frowned, it was not obvious, but it was there. "What is it? Are they not well?"

"No, they are, your grace," he hurriedly said, "Your aunt Daenerys is said to be of a rare beauty, with all the traits of a Targaryen, but…" he hesitated.

"Speak truly, Master Waters, you have nothing to fear for the truth," Ser Oswell intervened and it seemed to do the job.

Alton sighed loudly but nodded, "It is your uncle, your grace,"

"What of him?" Aemon's frown deepened.

"The prince and princess have been entertained by the wealthy of each city they have visited. But each time, it is said they have been kicked out, not because of the Princess who is said to be most lovely and quite shy but because of the Prince, some already whisper of the madness of his father, your grace, I have personally talked to a wine merchant who said he saw him hit her,"

"What?" Aemon asked, clenching both fists and jaw, he could feel the rage slowly taking over him and had to take a few deep breaths.

"The merchant, your Grace, he was westerosi and understood the common tongue, apparently the prince would have warned her not to wake the dragon after slapping the Princess,"

He could still hear his heart pounding with the anger he felt, how dared he?

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, your grace,"

"Your grace, if I might?" Ser Oswell asked, and Aemon nodded, he just wished they stopped asking permission for everything. "There were already rumors when Prince Viserys lived in King's Landing, they ceased after they were moved to Dragonstone but…"

Aemon sighed, part of him wished to sail to each of the Free Cities and find them. But the other part knew very well how foolish it was and how likely it was he would find nothing more than his spy network.

But he could not help but feel extremely guilty for leaving his aunt, who was younger than him, to suffer with a man like his uncle seemed to become.

"What did they say?" he asked warily, and Oswell visibly gulped.

"It was only ever rumored, your grace," he began, choosing his words carefully, "it was Prince Lewyn who was assigned to him, I never asked, but he liked to punish the servants and even had some burn themselves…"

Aemon paled with every word that was pronounced, he remembered someone exactly like that. Who took pleasure in the pain of others. Who enjoyed tormenting those they felt were lesser. He could not help the shudder he felt at the thought of someone like Tom Riddle growing up with so much power. What would Viserys do if he ever got a dragon?

He preferred not to think of it too much. He had so little family in this world, only five people. That was what the House Targaryen was reduced to and among those five, one was old enough that Death could claim him any day, three were children under ten, and one was mad.

It almost felt like the beginning of a bad joke.

One that would end terribly if not managed carefully.

Could he kill his uncle? It would not be his first kill, far from it, but family? A direct member of it at that? It was one thing to kill a five-time removed cousin, but the brother of his father was a whole other level.

And that was without counting the stigma a kinslayer would face afterward.

There were few worse crimes in the eyes of the Gods, old and new.

No, the solution could not be to kill his uncle, he would need to meet him first, but if it was truly so bad, then maybe they could confine him. He would make sure his uncle became the best-treated prisoner of the Seven Kingdoms. But it would still be a jail.

It was a moot point anyway, first, he needed to find them before everyone else because there was for sure more than one looking for them as well.

"Have you heard of Ser Arthur?" he asked, changing the subject to one not much better. His kingsguard had left six moons ago when the trip was supposed to take half.

"I have, your grace," Alton relaxed and smiled, visibly more comfortable with this news. "Though I know not where he is, Jaime Lannister has been reported missing and there has been no news on that front,"

Aemon smiled, they had not defined a target, not knowing who was going to be where in the first place. But to think he had taken the man who had killed his grandfather, this was very good news.

"It is my belief they have been forced to take refuge somewhere as a tempest raged around the time, they should have passed Oldtown, and then got stuck as the Royal and Redwyne fleet searched every ship looking for the kingslayer,"

"Have they stopped?" he asked.

"Only a moon ago, your grace," Alton said and he could see Oswell sigh in relief.

And Aemon could do naught but agree with his knight, while he had never believed Arthur to have been killed by any man, not that any could, traveling by sea could be risky.

But if they had raised their blockade of sort a moon ago, then it meant that if he had indeed survived, Arthur would be home soon.

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, don't hesitate to leave a comment and follow, I've just finished chapter nine so I'll continue posting once a week for at least a month,