Hi everyone, I hope you're all doing well, time for the tenth chapter and a bit of drama ;)
As always, I own nothing,
294 A.C
The Citadel
Aemon groaned as he closed An Account of the Conquest, a book written by Grand Maester Lyonce, the second to ever hold the office.
While the tale it told was interesting, especially for one who aimed to emulate his ancestor as Aemon did, it lacked any kind of information about the army of the Dead, Dragons, or magic in general. It mainly focused on the military side of the conquest, on how with three dragons and three thousand men, Aegon had brought a continent to heel.
Balerion had been a large factor to explain the relatively easy conquest led by Aegon and his sister-wives, as had Vhagar and Meraxes. But Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya had successively used diplomacy, warfare, and fear to take over Westeros.
Like many other books before, it was interesting but not what he was looking for, Aemon tapped it with his wand, duplicating it and he shrunk the book to add it to his growing collection.
"Any success?" Arthur asked, looking up from his reading.
Aemon simply shook his head and rose from his seat to stretch his legs.
It had taken a few days to find their way around the gigantic library that was the Citadel.
Unsurprisingly, texts on the subjects that interested him were the rarest, but once he had discovered the maesters referred to magic as the Higher Mysteries, he felt he would have a better chance at finding what he was looking for.
But even with another two men looking, they were met with nothing but failure.
The section dedicated to the subject was nothing if not disappointing.
It was filled with cobwebs and dust, the few texts there were old, and some scrolls had even crumbled to dust when he had tried to read them.
The whole situation felt weird as if something was amiss. It was like the maesters and archmaesters did not study the subject. But that did not sit well with him, after all, even if one lacked the ability, what could be more interesting than magic?
Everything, at least according to the texts gathered by the ancient order.
The fact that they preferred the study of astronomy above that of magic baffled him, especially when both were so heavily connected.
Frustrated beyond belief, he put the last book back on its original shelf before gesturing for Arthur and Oswell to follow as he made his way to the entrance hall.
In the fortnight spent in the Citadel, he had accomplished nothing. Half the scrolls and books stocked in the shelves dedicated to magic were falling apart, and most had their texts erased by time. The others were completely useless. Biographies written by long-gone maesters and archmaesters. Treaties on the existence of magic in civilizations that fell long ago, and on religions and their connection to higher energies. All of it was useless to him, some interesting readings sure, but no useful knowledge.
He had lost count of the number of texts he had gone through in his search for answers.
The only text truly about dragons was a treaty arguing their final disappearance from the world. Maester 'Morwn' it seemed, the name was already fading even if the scroll was only a few decades old, argued that the different Dragons that had been alive after the Dance would have all been too old at that point to still breathe.
Then again, it had been interesting, but it contained no information he was not able to learn by his observations.
And nothing on the one subject he truly needed more knowledge.
Until now, they had avoided asking anyone for information about what they sought, especially when realizing that legends and magic were not subjects that usually interested the men inside these walls.
"Excuse me, maester?" he asked the same man that had greeted him the first day. It seemed he truly never left his post.
"Yes?" he answered and as he turned, narrowed his eyes ever-so-slightly, "Yes, novice Sand?"
"I would like to study more on the higher mysteries, would you be able to direct me to the relevant section?" He tried to be as pleasant as possible, it usually landed better results.
"Bottom sixth level, on the right, you'll find two rows dedicated to the higher mysteries," he sneered the last two words and went back to his book.
"I've already been there, for a sennight," Aemon sighed, "Is there anywhere else I can find something?"
The maester rose his eyes from his book once more, and stared at him, "Only in the Vaults, maybe,"
Aemon's eyes widened, finally.
"The Vaults?"
"Are you deaf boy?" He sneered back, "Yes the Vaults."
He clenched his fist and breathed out.
"How do I get to the Vaults?"
The maester snorted, "Only Archmaesters have access."
"Fuck…" he whispered.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing, thank you Maester …?"
"Snivellus," the rat-faced man answered haughtily.
Aemon snorted but managed to mask it with a cough, it was too good to be true.
"Thank you maester Snivellus," Aemon said though he could barely keep the mirth out of his voice.
He had just left the entrance hall when his stomach reminded itself to him. It was time to eat. Though the food was lacking in quality, it was practical and allowed him to get back to his research rapidly.
Despite the pleasure the maester had visibly taken at informing him he would not get what he sought, Aemon knew it was a win.
They simply needed to locate the vaults, entering them would be fairly easy, in this case, their ignorance of magic perfectly suited him.
Still, they had to be located first and he could not do so on an empty stomach.
He entered the dining hall and immediately, Arthur and Oswell began to engage in small talk and Aemon participated absentmindedly, his mind firmly focused on the vaults.
Still, he was thankful to see the hall was scarcely occupied. It was already past midday, and most had already eaten. Still, some novices and acolytes remained serving the gruel, as punishment for some misdeed or another.
It was larger than Hogwarts' Great Hall and could accommodate hundreds of learned men. Long wooden tables made up for most of the seats, even though much like in the wizarding castle, a long table stood above the rest, with five and twenty plush seats. Four were reserved for honored guests and the rest for the many archmaesters of the citadel.
He thanked the novice for the bowl of gruel and took a seat at an unoccupied table.
Despite the looks of it, it was not bad per se. It lacked taste but it was filling and could be eaten quickly, which was the point he guessed.
As he had taken to do since they had left Starfall, Aemon discreetly ran his hand over their meals, the elder wand concealed underneath his sleeve.
However, unlike every meal he had had before, the wand buzzed, and Aemon almost dropped it in surprise.
Someone wanted to kill him.
But only him, only his plate was poisoned. Immediately, his eyes snapped to those serving. But in his absentmindedness, he had not taken notice of whom had served him.
Yet it was the only way to poison his and only his plate.
"Arthur," he whispered as slowly as he could, "are those the same men that served us?"
His lord commander frowned but looked all the same before slowly shaking his head.
"Two have been replaced," his kingsguard whispered back to him.
"Don't react," Aemon whispered again, and both his guards nodded, staying as discreet as possible while he slowly took his first scoop of the poisoned gruel. As he carried the spoon to his mouth, the content vanished before it could even touch his tongue.
"My gruel is poisoned," their eyes widened, "I am not eating," he whispered again but still made a show of eating and drinking. "We need to find out who did it,"
Once more, both Arthur and Oswell nodded, each with a steely look in their eyes, only proof of the anger they currently felt.
It was likely the person who wanted to kill him was in this room. They had to, to know he was here and ensure he got the right meal. It meant they were probably being watched as they waited for him to swallow his food.
If they were smart, they would use something rather slow acting. So that they could follow him and simply dispose of his body without being seen.
A plan began to form in his mind, and he slowly continued to eat, making sure to vanish the food each time.
It was bothersome but he needed to find out who was trying to get rid of him and why. Had someone discovered his true identity? Was it something else? And why not Arthur and Oswell?
"Follow behind those who follow me,"
"Aem-," Arthur began but Aemon shook his head, this was the only way.
As soon as he finished, he exited the dining hall, and sure enough, he saw two grey-robed men follow behind.
They were not even being discreet; it would be easy. But he needed to attract them somewhere quiet.
After a minute or two, Aemon made sure to begin to stumble every few feet. He could not know what the effects of the poison were, but he doubted the ones following him knew either. Even if he was considered a bastard, he still came from a well-known house. One that would not appreciate its members being killed while studying at the Citadel. It meant the order had to come from high up, and this meant that whoever wanted him dead was unlikely to do it themselves.
Finally, he exited the main complex, his would-be assassins following closely behind. Neither noticed the shadows advancing behind them.
He made a show of laying on a wall to catch his breath and betraying their inexperience, the two men stopped at once and tried to get busy pointing at something in the distance. It made him smirk.
Only a few hundred feet away stood the Ravenry. A small fort with two short towers and crumbling walls. According to what he had read it was the oldest building in the Citadel, dating back to the invasion of the First Men.
Ravens were a large part of the life of every lord and maester in the land. The black ones were used to relay messages from one keep to the next and the white ones, in much fewer numbers were used to announce the changing of seasons.
The two breeds did not get along, he had already witnessed a few acolytes trying to break up fights between them and ending up getting pecked and clawed by the vicious birds.
Holding on to the guardrail, he crossed the wooden bridge joining the Isle of Ravens.
He was already familiar with the place, having learned it was the place where the lodgings of the Archmaester of the Higher Mysteries were located.
Unsurprisingly it had also been filled with cobwebs and dust. As if no one had been there for years.
Still, what had captured his interest was inside the courtyard of the small fortress. A weirwood tree.
It was covered with moss over its white bark except in one place where an angry face was carved.
It was much, much taller than the one near Starfall. Closer to the giants he had read about. There the magic felt stronger, more powerful, though he dared not approach one again.
He had woken only a minute after collapsing last time but he could not forget how helpless he had been against the will of this tree wizard.
It had not been meant to harm him, if it had it could have, easily. But that did not mean he would give it or him another opportunity.
While at first, he had deplored the culling of the weirwood trees enforced by the First Men and then the Andals, he could not help but feel glad they no longer populated the entirety of the continent. They were a power he did not understand, and one he would avoid messing with.
Though whether he would visit this man beyond the Wall was still undecided.
Finally reaching the courtyard, he slipped behind a wall while the men tailing him lost sight of him for a moment and the shadows following them got even closer.
But before his guards could intervene, Aemon snapped his wand twice and two jets of red light sped toward the unaware men, catching them both square in the back and they collapsed in a heap of flesh and bone.
At the same moment, both Arthur and Oswell arrived, running with daggers in hand and both sighed at the sight that greeted them.
"They weren't very experienced," Aemon chuckled at the disgruntled faces of his kingsguards who stared at the stunned and crumpled Acolytes.
"If it weren't for your magic…" Oswell began but stopped at Aemon's raised hand.
"But I have it, I might as well use it," Aemon argued back, they had had the conversation many times. He could understand their frustration at being overwhelmed with what his abilities meant, both for him and for them as kingsguards.
But as he had pointed out many times, he was not the first king capable of protecting himself, with potentially little need for a guard. And yet, neither dragon nor magic was all-powerful, there would always be times when he needed another to protect his back or his family.
With a tap on each, he shrunk their bodies and stored them in his pockets.
"Won't they…" Oswell began, but stopped, searching for words.
While they knew, both had seen little of what his magic was truly capable of.
"They'll be fine," Aemon shrugged, "as long as they don't wake up anyway, so we should probably hurry."
Putting their hoods back, the trio quickly made their way out of the ancient complex and were joined by the other two knights who spent most of their time in the Scribe's Hearth.
No word was needed for them to understand that something had happened and both Sers Jaremy and Roland adopted their hurried pace, back to their accommodations.
"Keep watch," Aemon instructed the two knights who were not kingsguard as they arrived at the Quill and Tankard and quickly entered his room. While they were aware he had magic, only Arthur and Oswell had truly witnessed it, and Aemon was reluctant to show others what he could do.
"Repello Inimicum, Protego Totalum, Muffliato", with quick and practiced motions, Aemon created a barrier that would prevent anyone from hearing what happened inside and repel any potential enemy that thought it wise to intervene.
With another wave of his wand, he conjured two wooden chairs out of thin air and placed the miniaturized prisoners upon them, before returning them to their true sizes.
Silently, he conjured heavy sets of chains around each, though they were hardly needed, he knew the effect it had.
He pulled his only, non-conjured, chair and settled in front of his prisoners, and with a negligent wave of his wand, both sets of eyes snapped open and immediately widened fearfully as they took stock of the situation they found themselves in.
"Looks like you made a mistake, boys." Aemon smiled ruefully at the two panic-filled stares he was given.
One had blond hair, and blue eyes, and his nose looked like it had taken more than a few hits. Both were rather young, in their twenties though the second one did not have any distinctive features, with straight brown hair and brown eyes, Aemon was sure he would never have remembered his face otherwise.
"You should be dead," the first one spoke in surprise.
Aemon snorted, "And you should keep your mouth shut, like your friend, you aren't exactly in a good position," he said, nodding toward the thick chains that surrounded them.
"You can't keep me here, I'm a son of House Lorch!" Aemon's purple eyes widened, and he gave a look to his kingsguards, standing in the back of the room, who both had hands on their swords, "I just need to scream, and you'll have every watchman of the city on you!"
"Help! Help! I'm…" he stopped as Aemon's fist crashed into his nose.
Blood spurted and the purple-eyed teenager grabbed the offending head with his two hands, holding him firmly in place.
"You know, I've been meaning to catch up to one of you Lorchs," he smirked and could see the man gulp under his stare. "It's good, at least you've learned to shut up." Aemon chuckled as he stepped back and grabbed a towel to whip the blood off his fist.
"You wouldn't happen to know of Amory by any chance?" Aemon asked and this time, his prisoner kept his mouth shut but nodded nonetheless. "Speak,"
"He's my father,"
"Good," Aemon nodded and pulled out his wand and both acolytes stared confusedly at the wooden stick, "at least I don't need to feel bad,"
"What?" Amory Lorch's son barely had the time to question.
"Legilimens," he whispered looking deep into his eyes.
Immediately his vision was assaulted by meaningless memories of the man that had stood before him moments ago, moments shared between him and his father, ser Amory Lorch.
"Rhaenys Targaryen," he spoke out, focusing the man's memories on the subject he wanted.
Just as quickly as the first memories had come, Aemon felt pulled towards another one.
He was looking through the eyes of a rather small boy, everyone around looked bigger than him.
There was a long table with many people around. Whether male or female they all looked familiar to one another, with their blond hair and somewhat stupid looks. And above them stood the black manticore on a white field, the crest of a man responsible for atrocities.
"Father?" one of the older boys on his right began, "Can you tell us that story about the Sack?"
Aemon laid eyes on Amory Lorch for the first time as the fat man laughed loudly as what Aemon assumed were his children and family, all began to urge him on.
Rarely had he ever seen such a vile-looking man. His only comparison could be some of the sycophants of Tom Riddle. People like Amycus Carrow, or Walden Macnair, they all had the same piggy face.
While he had no reason to believe Jaime Lannister would have lied in his final moments, he still wanted to verify the information he had been given.
"All right, all right," he said with a high, thin voice as he straightened in his chair, clearing the crumbs from his belly. "Just before King Robert's host met with Rhaegar's at the Trident, Lord Tywin called his banners to join the Rebellion's forces. We'd been sieging King's Landing for a sennight, all twenty thousand men from the Westerlands. We thought we'd had to siege the city for many moons, years even." He chuckled and everyone was hanging onto his words, "Then we received word that the crowned Prince was dead. That Robert Baratheon had crushed Rhaegar's chest plate and sent him flying in the ruby fork, and the bloody fools opened the gates for us." He laughed and Aemon could feel his anger building up as the entire table was taken with laughter.
"But Ser Gregor and I, we had orders from the Lion himself," the fat blond man puffed his chest, "so while the others took the city and killed the last loyalists, we scaled the walls of Maegor's Holdfast and we found Rhaegar's bitch and his heirs, those fucking dragonspawn," one could see the hatred in his little piggy eyes.
All the family had silenced and despite viewing the memories of another, Aemon could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest waiting for the man to utter the words that would doom him and his house.
"It was the Mountain that took care of the bitch and her son whilst I killed the girl, the little whore wouldn't stop moving so I stabbed her, again and again, and again!" Amory exclaimed and rose his glass, celebrating his acts, and was answered by a toast to his name.
Aemon dropped the head of his victim, only to see him gasp for breath with tears of blood in his eyes.
"What have you done to me?" he whimpered but the purple-eyed young man kept feeling his blood pumping through him. The thoughts of little Rhaenys, screaming as she felt a blade being run through her small body over and over again.
"She was three…" he whispered.
"She deserved…"
"Crucio!" Aemon screamed as he heard him speak, and for the first time since he had come to this world, made use of the unforgivable.
Hatred like he had rarely felt filled him up as he watch the son of his sister's murderer writhe and scream under the crimson bolt of light that kept flying from his wand.
The other one looked on with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, unable to understand what was happening.
He threw a look to his kingsguards who had their eyes widened but otherwise did not react. Aemon kept the spell up until his victim stopped screaming and simply writhed in his bindings.
Aemon released a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Opening them again, he saw that Amory's boy had kept still, his eyes vacant.
"I swear I don't know anything, my Lord! I swear, please, I don't know, I don't want to end up like him, please," the other one pleaded.
"Shut up," Aemon gestured with his wand and silenced the begging man.
"I'm going to ask you something and you're going to answer, nothing else,"
The brown-haired man nodded quickly, his eyes strained on the form of his former comrade.
"Who told you to follow me?" He dispelled his silencing charm as he asked.
"I don't know, I swear, he was in the shadows, he said to follow you and dump your body in the Honeywine. I'm sorry, I didn't…"
He silenced him again.
It was so obvious his last prisoner was telling the truth he did not even need to use the mind arts.
"All right…" Aemon began, searching for what to do.
"Have him report to his master," Arthur suggested as Aemon turned to face him, "with your cloak I can follow,"
Aemon nodded, and turned back to his prisoner, "Listen closely, if you want to survive this, you'll do exactly as I say,"
An hour later
Oldtown
"Oswell, could you?" Aemon asked his kingsguard who had kept silent since Arthur had left with their new friend while conjuring a wooden block.
Understanding what he wanted, the Black Bat only nodded as he helped him move Amory's son's unresponsive body and the knight unsheathed his longsword.
"Here?" he asked once the former acolyte was positioned.
"I'll clean up," Aemon shrugged, with magic, it was not a concern.
Without adding another word, Oswell swung his sword and the head of the man fell cleanly off his shoulders, spraying blood in front and his head hit the carpeted floor with a disgusting thump.
Aemon vanished the offending corpse and blood with a negligent wave and took out his dagger.
"Your grace, I can do it," Oswell said, realizing what he aimed to do, "you need not soil your hands,"
"It's alright," Aemon shook his head, he would not ask anyone to do something so unpleasant. And he knew the stigma the desecration of a corpse carried in the Seven Kingdoms.
It was not something he cared about, only that it was bloody disgusting.
But it had an aim, he thought as he began carving the name of his deceased sister on the man's forehead.
He hissed as the task proved itself harder than he would have imagined but still kept on, fighting the disgust he felt.
Human flesh was not exactly the best carving tissue.
While he was not responsible for his father's crimes, Aemon felt no guilt for what he was doing.
Rhaenys had been innocent too. Purely so. He had no idea how someone could even do something like that to a three namedays old little girl.
Even from a political standpoint, Robert's claim would have been strengthened if he had married his sons and daughter to the young Targaryens. Not even the staunchest of loyalists would have been able to oppose his reign or dynasty.
But no, they had chosen differently. Why he could not picture, but in the end, it mattered not.
Finishing the final "S", he let out a sigh.
It was still disgusting.
But it would make a fine trophy for his father while Aemon made his way there. There was no doubt in his mind that he would make his way to the Manticore's Nest.
It was located a bit further north than Casterly Rock, between the Ocean Road and the coast and not so far from Clegane's keep, another place he aimed to visit.
Finally, three knocks sounded from outside his room. And the Acolyte was let in by his kingsguard, leaving the door open for a while longer to allow Arthur back in.
Sure enough, once the door was closed, his kingsguard relieved himself of the cloak of invisibility, and the acolyte could not help but gasp.
"Gods be good…" he said as he stared at the head of his former acolyte and finally, it seemed he understood whom he was dealing with, "you're a Targaryen,"
"Good, you understand what's at stake," Aemon nodded, "Any news?" he asked his kingsguard.
Arthur smirked but nodded, "The order came from Maester Snivellus,"
Aemon's eyebrows rose, why was he not surprised?
"I followed him after Anton confirmed your death," Arthur continued, his eyes narrowing, "The order came from above, I could not see the man's face but I could hear him, and he wore an electrum-made mask, the dear maester is no longer an issue,"
Aemon's eyes widened, he had known the order came from high up in the chain of command of the Citadel, but an archmaester? That was a lot.
Black Iron was for ravenry, Brass for architecture, Bronze for astronomy, Copper for history, Gold for economics, Red Gold for sums and numbers, Iron for warcraft and strategy, Silver for medicine, and Valyrian Steel for magic, or the higher mysteries as they called it, but he had never heard of an electrum link.
Looking at his other kingsguard was enough to tell him Oswell ignored who it was as well.
Aemon pulled out of the mind of his victim only to find himself staring into vacant eyes.
"Which Archmaester wears an Electrum mask and rod?" he asked Anton, apparently the name of the surviving Acolyte.
"The Seneschal my lord," the man stuttered.
"I haven't heard of him…"
"It used to be a one-year appointment, but now it's for life, my lord. The Seneschal manages the affairs of the Citadel and appoints maesters to keeps in need of one,"
Aemon rose his eyebrows.
"And who holds the office now?"
"Archmaester Benedict, my lord," the shivering man answered, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground.
"Thank you, Anton," Aemon smiled, it was not so hard. "No last name?"
The frightened man shook his head.
"Thank you, Anton, you've been most useful." Aemon smiled at him and rose his wand.
"Wait!" he widened his eyes, "please, my lord, I can be of service to you,"
Aemon stopped himself.
"I can spy for you, I'll tell you everything that happens in the Citadel, I swear,"
The young Targaryen stroked his chin with his left hand, keeping his wand raised in the other. He looked to both his kingsguards, and Arthur nodded.
Maybe he was right. No matter what he ended up doing with the Seneschal, he would not stay for much longer in the citadel, and he needed to keep an eye on the order. If anything, this whole situation had proven he would quickly make many enemies.
"How many links do you need until you become a maester?"
"Three my lord," Anton rose his shaking right hand, showing the chain of links on his wrist.
He took it in his free hand, it had one and ten links on it, two made of black iron, three of silver, one of gold, two of copper, one of red gold, one of steel, and one of tin.
Aemon hummed.
"Can you make three a year?"
Anton's eyes widened even more, but he nodded again.
"If I don't have to work for the maesters, yes, I think so, my lord,"
"Alright, I'll fund your studies in the Citadel, I expect you to report everything of interest, I'll find a way to communicate, don't worry about that." He sheathed his wand and pulled out five gold dragons. "If you fail to get the three links in the next year, I will kill you, if you betray me, I'll do the same thing I did your friend Lorch over there," he pointed at the severed and carved head still standing on his desk, "understood?"
"Yes, my lord," Brandon said, unable to stop looking at the head.
Aemon handed him the coins which broke him from his trance.
"Thank you, my lord," he whispered wide-eyed.
It was a small fortune for most.
He knew the average wage was around a silver stag a week, that was around six and ten copper pennies a day. It took one hundred of them to get one silver stag. And a hundred stags to get a gold dragon.
And he had just given five of them. Or ten years of wage for the average Westerosi smallfolk.
"I'll find you when I have a way for us to communicate,"
The Acolyte understood he was being dismissed and scrambled to his feet, rushing towards the door.
"And remember Anton, if you speak of any of this to anyone, I'll make what I did to Lorch over there seem like a pat on the back, yes?"
"Yes, my lord, you have my word,"
"It seemed we have a name, good Sers," both men chuckled at this. They were going to pay a visit to this Archmaester Benedict.
Invisible and silenced, Aemon and Arthur made their way inside the Citadel, on a path only Arthur had walked before. His kingsguard was hidden by his invisibility cloak while he enjoyed the benefit of a disillusionment charm.
Aemon was only able to cast and maintain one at a time, meaning only one other could accompany him using the cloak.
It was in truth, the main advantage of the cloak as several could hide underneath. Well, not several of Arthur's size, but enough for a few women or small-statured men.
Aemon followed the beacon placed on his kingsguard, the only way to keep track of his cloak as they advanced through the maze that was the citadel.
Finally, Arthur took a right turn and led them up to the tower. At the top of the stairs was a heavy-looking metal door, baring the access to the Archmaester's chambers. Arthur quickly shed the cloak of his shoulders and while trying to make as little sound as possible, tried to open the door, only to find it locked.
Aemon canceled his disillusionment charm, becoming visible, and placed a finger on his lips to indicate Arthur to keep quiet.
"Alohomora," he whispered with his wand against the lock and it clicked open. He silenced the hinges with a wave of his wand, and Arthur pushed it open. Only to be greeted by the sound of sobs and of flesh slapping against flesh.
Instinctively, his hand found its way to the sheath of his dagger as the sounds amplified as they entered to find a dark room.
Only the moonlight allowed them to see their surroundings. They were obviously in the Archmaester's private office he constated, observing the desk and comfortable-looking armchair, surrounded by shelves of books on all walls.
There were rich paintings and even a tapestry depicting the Citadel in all its glory.
It was a lot of displayed wealth for a man supposed to have dedicated his life to learning.
The only other thing in the room was another door left slightly ajar, from which the flickering light of candles filtered through, and as they both approached, keeping as silent as possible, they were left with no doubt as to where the sounds were coming from.
Aemon widened the existing gap, allowing one of his eyes to take stock of the situation they were going in and he wrinkled his nose at the sight.
An old, pudgy man rocked his hips forward, as much as they allowed him to, into what Aemon could assume was a woman.
The jiggling wrinkled flesh of the old man was enough to burn this scene in his mind and Aemon felt dirty for it.
Still, he nodded at his kingsguard and pushed it open the rest of the way.
With his back turned, the archmaester could not see them enter and close the door back, only reacting when it clicked shut. But before he could even take his cock out, a jet of red light hit him in the back, and he collapsed backward.
Arthur reacted quickly enough to avoid injury and managed to catch the old man before he hit the ground while Aemon took care of stunning the girl before she could wake half of the Citadel, for it was a girl and not a woman the old man had been plowing into.
Aemon felt even more dirtied by the scene he had been witnessing, she could not be older than him, he was even willing to bet she was younger as her traits relaxed in her slumber.
"She's a child…"
"Such is the fate of many among the Smallfolk, your grace," Arthur answered with a sad smile. "Even nobles are not spared in times of war,"
"It's not right…" Aemon whispered as he took away the memory of the night from the brunette, she would wake up believing the old archmaester had used her services and passed into the night.
The archmaester suffered the same treatment, though Aemon took far less care in not injuring the old man, he had no wish to have to stare at the man's flaccid cock while they interrogated him.
Using the same spells as for the earlier interrogation, Aemon secured the room from any unwanted ears or eyes, and with nothing but a tap on the man's head, woke the Seneschal up.
"What…" the old man groggily began but stopped himself as his eyes widened at the sight of them. "Who are you? Who dares enter an Archmaester quarters?"
"Oh shut up," Aemon punched him hard in the stomach and the man reeled from the shock. The young Targaryen had no issue hitting old men that used young girls and tried to have him murdered. "Do not try to call for help, no one will come to your aid, answer my questions and maybe you'll survive, am I clear?"
The man's brown eyes zapped around the room, obviously searching for some to escape his predicament but still nodded, sighing as he realized there was no escaping.
"Good, do you know who I am?" he asked, once more taking the lead, it was far from the first time he had to interrogate someone.
Archmaester Benedict shook his head in denial.
"You just ordered my death," Aemon could not help but chuckle as the man's eyes widened fearfully.
"You must be mistaken, young man, I am an Archmaester of the Citadel, we do not command assassinations, our order is above such criminal behaviors," the old man scoffed and this time, Aemon could only laugh and was joined by a chuckling Sword of the Morning. "It is not a subject of laughter, young man," he tried to chastise him, "here we take our vows seriously,"
Aemon's laughter doubled and the last part got Arthur softly laughing as well.
"Remind me, Arthur, when was the last time we saw a maester breaks his vows?"
"Only yesternight, Aemon," his kingsguard chuckled with mirth-filled eyes, "I saw a group of three grey-robed men enter a brothel, not two streets from here,"
"I'll have them punished…" the archmaester began but was interrupted with a slap of Aemon.
"Spare your words, Archmaester," he sneered, "you might not have many left and your order does not fool anyone here, why did you order my death?"
"I do not understand what…"
"Do not lie to me." Aemon coldly said, one of the benefits of the practice of legilimency was the ability to tell lies from the truth, only those masters at hiding their emotions would be able to fool him.
"I do not…"
"Crucio," Aemon snarled and snapped the elder wand forward and the archmaester screamed, for naught but a second but it was enough to fill the room with the scent of piss. "Do not lie,"
The whizzing man slowly righted himself, unable to stop the tremor in his fingers before nodding.
"Because you're an abomination, all bastards are!"
Aemon sighed and backhanded the old man, he had lied again.
"It seems he's intent on lying, Arthur, could you come to hold him for me, please," he asked with a smile as Benedict's eyes widened once again in fear. "Let it not be said that I did not give you a chance, Archmaester, I doubt you'll survive this,"
With one practice movement, the elder wand founds its way above the man's brow and Aemon whispered, "Legilimens."
"Aemon Sand," he pronounced the name he had given upon entering the Citadel, trying to orient the man's thoughts as he was taken from memory to memory before one became more apparent than the others.
"Archmaester, the Starfall bastard is asking about magic," Maester Snivelus said, his face half hidden by the ambient darkness.
"So what?" he answered haughtily, "he's only a bastard," and they could not afford to give Marwyn another apprentice when the mastiff was only a moon away.
"He is persistent, Archmaester,"
"Then have him killed," he waved him off with his electrum rod, "discreetly,"
"Of course, Archmaester," he bowed.
The man had just ordered his death, just like that, it was a reminder of how little they gave value to those not of noble birth, and even then, he could not be sure some respect was even afforded to those that were.
He was left with another question though, who was this Marwyn? He was despised by the Archmaester, and as the adage went, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, perhaps it was worth sticking around to meet this man.
"Magic," he tried to orient his thoughts once more and memories once more swirled around him before one appeared that seemed more important.
"You will spend the night here, the lock will remain closed until the first ray of the sun pierces through the horizon and during this time you will try to light this candle with naught but your mind and your mind alone," an old man wearing a Silver mask spoke, his voice deformed by it.
"Archmaester? What happens if it does?" a young Benedict asked and was answered with a barked laugh.
"Then the Sun will rise in the West and set in the East, the mountains will crumble, and the seas will rise to swallow us all,"
The young Benedict nodded, frowning, but turned to face the three black candles as the door of the dungeon closed behind him and the lock clicked shut.
They were tall, taller than he was, and as dark as the darkest of nights. He had read of them, they were made of obsidian, giving them razor-sharp and twisted edges. During the time of the Dragonlords, their powers had been said to allow sorcerers to see across mountains, seas, and deserts, to enter a man's dreams and to communicate with one another half a world apart.
Placing his hand around the one in the middle, Benedict tried to will it to light, to shed the room of its darkness.
But no matter how many times, or for how long he tried, nothing worked, and the candles remained fireless.
Hours later, the door clicked open and Benedict exited, disappointed but unsurprised.
"Magic is dead, and it will remain so,"
"Dragons," he tried again.
Unlike the other words he had used, this one triggered one and only one significant memory.
"This is our responsibility, Maester Benedict," An old man said, wearing no mask but using a rod made of copper to carry some of his weight as both men arrived in front of an impressive door. "The burden we must carry for the world of men to remain safe from the evils of magic,"
The old man pulled a single, dark key from his robes and inserted the key into one of the seven keyholes with a trembling hand.
"The others are fake, Archmaester?"
"Indeed," the old man chuckled, "This secret you must carry to your grave, as I certainly will in just a few moons,"
"Don't say that Archmaester," Benedict replied softly.
"No use fooling ourselves, boy, I am old, and it is why you must take my place, your work with Lady Selara was noticed and appreciated, and now you learn the truth, help me will you?"
Benedict nodded and helped the old man pull open the heavy-looking door and gasped as he lay eyes on the hundreds of books and scrolls neatly stacked on shelves.
But what attracted his eyes was the pedestal with an imposing grimoire upon it.
"Come along," the Archmaester shuffled forward, heavily leaning on his rod to walk. "Tis' our most prized possession, it took decades for our brothers to locate it, and decades more to secure it,"
"What is it, Archmaester?" Benedict asked, unable to read a title that had likely been erased by the passage of time.
"It has had many names," the old man chuckled, "most famous are Blood and Fire or the Death of Dragons, a compendium of all that is known of dragons, how they hatch, grow, kill, and most importantly, how to kill them,"
Aemon gasped as he exited the memory and found himself staring into vacant, blood-filled eyes. It seemed the last memory had been the limit of the old man's mind, even if he had been gentler than with Lorch's son.
Still, it was not important. What was important was the fact that a book like this existed, that anyone had the knowledge to hurt his children.
"Have you learned something?" Arthur questioned and Aemon nodded.
"We have much to do," he answered simply, this was probably the reason why his father distrusted the maesters so much, somehow, he must have learned something related.
Not wishing to lose any time, Aemon quickly vanished the proofs of their presence and undressed the dead Archmaester before levitating him inside his bed, next to the poor girl.
"Alohomora," Aemon whispered, pointing his wand to the right lock and it clicked open, making him smirk.
In their arrogance, they had ignored magic and thus made it extra simple for him to get inside.
Arthur was immediately to his side to help open the heavy vault door, and while it was technically his second time, Aemon could not help but gasp at the sight offered.
It was a far cry from the 'Higher Mysteries' section they had found earlier.
They closed the door behind them, having no wish to get caught while focused on the literal well of knowledge that sat before them.
He began to read the titles of the books that still had one and could not help but smile as he did.
'Controlling Water: the ways of the Rhoynar,'
'Against the Unnatural,' by Maester Vanyon
'An account of the tales and legends of the Long Night,'
'Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their unnatural history,' by Septon Barth
'The Book of Lost Books,' by Maester Marwyn
He stopped at the last one with surprise, while some had lost their titles and authors, this one seemed recent and was written by the same man mentioned in one of Benedict's memories.
Taking it off its shelf, he began to read the first page and widened his eyes at the Maester began by saying he believed to have come into the possession of three pages of the lost book, 'Signs and Portents'.
The famous grimoire written by Aenys the Dreamer, his ancestor whose dreams had led their family across continents and seas to escape the Doom. In it, where supposed to have written her many prophetic dreams, it was consequently the source of much speculation and men had spent their lives searching but never finding the lost book.
Meticulously and carefully, he began to shrink all the books and scrolls he could find, slipping them inside the bottomless pockets of his robes.
If they were going to keep all this knowledge hidden, he might as well liberate it.
The order of the Citadel had too much power, this much was evident. He would need to find ways to restrict it, and it seemed like a good first step to deprive them of this knowledge.
295 A.C
Volantis
"Hurry sister, we must leave," her brother pulled on her hand as they made their way through the corridors of the palace in a hurry, "The fat Elephant is no longer grateful for our presence," the sneer in his voice so obvious she did not need to see the one on his face.
Daenerys felt a tear run down her cheek, once more they were being chased from their new home. Almost a year it had lasted, but once more Viserys had said or done something to offend their hosts, not that she dared voice that thought.
He pulled stronger and she was sent to her knees, her silk dress, a gift from the son of the Triarch, tore easily. Even against the smooth floor and as she felt more tears gathering in her eyes, she reeled from her brother's slap.
"I told you to hurry, Dany," he hissed, "now get up unless you want to wake the dragon,"
She hurriedly obeyed, and once more he began pulling on her arm to have her follow and once more hurrying through the halls and corridors of the luxurious palace.
She would miss the tapestries, the fine dresses, and the full meals.
But most of all she would miss the short but delightful peace they had known here. One of the rare places where her brother had been able to relax, of course, it would not last.
"My prince!" a small, collared boy hurried after them as they finally reached the entrance. "A letter for you, my prince," he said in a broken common tongue, that was not so common in this part of the world.
Viserys stopped at once and Daenerys struggled to keep upright but managed to in the end, unwilling to provoke another bout of her brother's anger.
Viserys expectantly reached out his hand, unwilling to take a step closer to the boy and he hungrily shut his fist around the roll of parchment, the boy simply needed, keeping his gaze to the ground, and ran back to his master as quickly as he could.
Daenerys felt her heart thump against her chest as she waited for her brother's verdict, wishing that somehow it was good news.
"It seems, dear sister," he drawled, "that a magister of Pentos has seen sense where his counterparts did not,"
She breathed a sigh of relief, Pentos she knew, it was good news, "Will he be sending a ship for us?"
Her brother's face darkened, and she felt a chill travel down her spine.
"No," he answered firmly, "Come we have one last thing to trade to buy our passage,"
Her purple eyes widened as she realized what he meant, their mother's crown, the last of their legacy. She felt her heart clench at the sought of parting with it.
"My Prince!" Someone called after them, and Viserys' eyes widened with fear, taking on a familiar, manic look, "Princess!"
She tried to look in the direction of the calls but only could see a pair of brilliant blue eyes and shoulder-length wavy brown hair before her brother tugged hard on her arm.
"Hurry Dany!" he urged her, "the usurper's dogs have found us,"
I hope you enjoyed the chapter, don't hesitate to leave a review and follow.
A bit of an update on my posting schedule, as promised, you'll keep getting a weekly chapter until the first week-end of september at least, I've currently written 14 chapters and I'm well on my way to finish the fifteenth, I've decided to keep two in advance as I often need to make adjustments and corrections as I write, which means I'll post for sure chapter 13 by the second week-end of september (saturday 9) and then it will depends on how much I can write, I will try my best to keep to at least one update a month and I'll strive to get faster updates, I just don't want to promise anything, otherwise, see you next week for chapter 11.
