Beyond the Wall 1 AC.

Myrny.

The dreams had been strange and confusing. A beast larger than any she'd ever seen and which seemed to own the very skies themselves. A white wolf with eyes the color of blood that stood by the side of a man dark of hair and grey of eye. One of the descendants of the Kings of Winter, who sought a new home in the lands Beyond the Wall, and who had the Children of the Forest for traveling companions. Myrny had seen much and understood little. Other than her gods were sending her a message.

Ever had she been a faithful servant of the Old Gods and so the message they sent had been listened to and accepted. When the time came, she would act upon it, and so as the dreams came to her each and every night, Myrny took note of as much of them as she could. Some of them filled her with a hope that she'd never believed she was capable of, while others chilled her to the very bone with the horrors they showed. Horrors that thankfully were not to be hers or her people to face, should they just but adhere to the will of the gods.

When the dreams suddenly stopped, Myrny felt their loss as if it was a limb or an eye. For days afterward she was almost inconsolable at the thought that she'd earned her gods' disfavor. Only to then realize that the reason the dreams had stopped was not because she'd done something wrong, but because the time had come for her to do something right. In this, her gods would find her their true servant and so she readied herself and joined in the hunting party when the time came. Eager to find out if indeed the path she walked was the right one.

"Why are you with us, Myrny?" Harkan asked curiously.

"To offer my protection and stop you from being the fools you may otherwise be."

"Protection from what?" Munda asked. The Spearwife was not one who felt the need for anything more than her own bow and arrows to guarantee her safety.

"Not what, Who," Myrny answered, though she said no more.

The hunt proved a waste of time and yet the longer the day went, the more Myrny was sure that she was right. She felt it even more keenly as they sat down to eat the meager fare they'd brought with them. Then, almost without realizing she was doing so, Myrny rose to her feet. With a finger to her lips, she bid those with her to be quiet and shook her head when one or two of them moved to their weapons. If their gods' will was for them to fight here today, then they'd not have sought Myrny to join them, or so she believed.

The loud gasp that came at the sight of the first Child of the Forest, could have come from any of the hunting party or even from Myrny herself. While the worried looks that soon followed were ones worn even on her own face. Myrny had not expected the sheer mass of men that followed after even more Children of the Forest, nor that some of those men looked almost to be spoiling for a fight.

"We mean you no harm," she called out, while those with her looked at her in confusion and shock. "And request a parley with your chieftain," she added, to even more confused looks.

"That would be me I wager." a large and fierce-looking man replied and Myrny smiled as she now looked upon one of the Kings of Winter from old.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and dark of hair, the man looked much like the figure from her dreams. Enough at least for Myrny to name them as kin. The grey wolf he bore as his sigil named him even more truly to be a man from the House of the Wolf. A Stark who it seemed had come not to fight, but yet was willing to do so.

'Just the right sort of man to thrive on this side of the Wall,' or so Myrny thought as she looked even more closely at him.

Soon enough it wasn't the man himself that Myrny stared at, but the horn he carried on his back. A horn that she'd dreamt about as a young girl and which now had her moving towards the man and past his guards. None tried to stop her, the Children's words bidding them not to interfere and so Myrny quickly found her hands rubbing gently over the horn itself. Her words were spoken softly and almost reverently as she did so.

"The Horn of Joramun," she whispered.

The man himself said nothing and just as she had done to him and his companions, he now did the same to Myrny and her own. It was by the nod of his head to those with him that their stances relaxed. Once they'd done so, her own people too soon followed and Myrny smiled to herself as she turned to speak to the man who had been sent to her by her gods.

"I would have your name," she said, moving to stand a little further away from the tall broad-shouldered son of Stark.

"Brandon Snow."

"And your family's name?" she asked, worried for a moment that she'd somehow been mistaken.

"My brother is the Lord of Winterfell, Torrhen Stark," Brandon said and Myrny smiled once more.

"You were sent here by him?" she asked, wondering just how close Brandon and his brother were.

"No, not by him. By the White Wolf and the Three-Eyed Raven."

Which of them gasped loudest, Myrny knew not, only that her own breath was exhaled at the same time as that of those with her. The White Wolf was unknown to any of them, save for herself, while the Three-Eyed Raven was very much someone they'd all heard of. Even if some of them had named him a dream, tale, or story from long ago.

Looking to the Children of the Forest that accompanied Brandon Snow, Myrny knew full well there were those who'd named them the very same. Seeing the one with their own eyes only made the truth of the other even more acceptable to them all. So she moved quickly to the fire and picked up a piece of salted meat and some bread, offering it to Brandon Snow who accepted it without question.

"Our camp is some miles away and though we came seeking meat for our tables, our hunt was unsuccessful. There is little point carrying it on," she said as Brandon nodded.

"We have supplies we'd be willing to share." Brandon offered, earning him goodwill with her people in the process.

"You have our thanks. Now we should make a start, there are miles to cover and a storm on the horizon."

There were no black clouds or signs of a storm and yet Myrny felt it in her very bones. In this, she was proved right as no sooner had they reached the outskirts of their camp than the storm was on top of them. The men with Brandon Snow and the Children, were all now happy to be offered shelter and warmth. While her own people were just as pleased to be gifted some of the food the men had brought with them.

Myrny had not truly had the chance to speak to Brandon Snow, other than on the simplest of things. Now, as they'd eaten their fill and readied to take to their beds for the night, she decided to take the chance to do so. Bidding him to join her by her fire, she was surprised when one of the Children took a seat beside them. Even more so when the Child spoke to Brandon Snow in the Old Tongue.

"Labhraíonn tusa an Seantheanga?" (You speak the Old Tongue?) she asked Brandon eagerly.

"Sea, déanaim." (Aye, I do.)

For the next hour, they spoke using only the Old Tongue. Brandon Snow drank some of the mead she offered him, but only after she herself had done so. At first, they spoke on much and nothing, both of them just feeling the other out and growing more comfortable with what they'd say or not. Eventually, the Child of the Forest grow bored and demanded they stop the silly game they were playing and get to the heart of the matter.

Myrny asked about the Horn and was told it was a gift from the Three-Eyed Raven. Brandon then asked where the largest settlement of their people was and promised that he was there to make peace not war. When he mentioned the Thenns, Myrny smiled, even more so when he spoke of Joralaf and Valrine. Names that Myrny believed he could only have been given by an ally and not an enemy. For even under the pain of death, the Free Folk wouldn't give up their clan leaders.

Hearing him speak of Hardhome and naming it as the site for a future large settlement of her people, both worried and intrigued her at the same time. Many times over the years one clan or the other had tried to settle there, only for those from the South to force them off those lands or to take what little they had for themselves. Yet Brandon Snow was from the South and what he seemed to be suggesting, to Myrny's ears at least, was not only did he intend to build a large settlement, he intended to rule over it. With help not hindrance from both his brother and the White Wolf, he spoke of so fondly.

"Cén fáth? Cén gnóthachan a fhaigheann tú as seo? Cén fáth iarracht é seo a dhéanamh?" (Why? What gain do you get from this? Why seek to do this?) she asked.

"Chuir mo Cheann Cionn an tasc orm é sin a dhéanamh." (My kinsman tasked me to do so)

"An Stark i Winterfell?" (The Stark in Winterfell?)

"Níl, an Mac Tíre Bán.) (No, the White Wolf)

Myrny promised to take him to the Thenns and on to Hardhome, then she bid both him and the Child of the Forest a goodnight and went to her bed. The dreams came to her as soon as she fell asleep. Dreams of a settlement larger than any she'd ever known. Of wooden and stone homes, ships sailing to and from Hardhome, good furs, steel weapons, and children with full bellies. Looking over them all were two men. One of them she'd just met and the other, she very much hoped to. For now, he was simply a shadow, yet be it atop his great green beast or standing next to the White Wolf, he remained ever their truest protector.

The Aegonfort 1 AC.

Aegon Targaryen.

Work had continued apace, even as they'd sought to bring the entirety of Westeros under their control. So the Aegonfort that he and Rhaenys returned to was much different than the one they'd left all those moons ago. As too was the city that had sprung up around it and which would one day rival Oldtown or Lannisport in size and scope if Aemon was to be believed.

Work too had begun on a place for the dragons to call their own. Though just as with the Aegonfort, the city, and much of what Aegon had planned for Westeros, this too had changed due to his Goodbrother's influence. Aemon had told tales of how the Dragonpit, while on the face of it was an imposing and worthy place to house the dragons, in the end, it had become their prison.

Dragons needed to be free and on Dragonstone they had always been so. According to what Aemon said, those in the Dragonpit were very much not and Aegon had needed not Rhaenys' words to tell him how wrong that was. Though he had much enjoyed hearing his wife speak and how passionately she'd said those words when she did so.

'Zaldrizes buzdari iksos daor'

A dragon is not a slave and never would one be under his rule or the rule of his descendants, or they would not if Aegon had any say in it. Something which he very much did according to Aemon.

"You, Visenya, Rhaenys, it was you three who conquered Westeros and forged the Iron Throne," Aemon said passionately. Visenya for once not correcting her husband and saying that he too had played a large part in seeing that was so.

"Iron Throne?" Rhaenys asked.

"Made from the swords of the vanquished, my queen."

"So that's why." Aegon chuckled. He'd wondered why Aemon was so keen on collecting so many swords from those who'd knelt and those who'd not.

"Aye, your grace. Each thing you did is a symbol to those who came after. All looked to the Conqueror and his sisters." Aemon no longer named them as Sister-Wives, which Aegon understood. "Be it the Young Dragon, The Conciliator, Daeron the Good, or mine own father, they looked to what you three accomplished and judged themselves to that standard more than any."

"They did?" Visenya asked.

"As did I," Aemon said, his tone slightly different before it changed back to how it had been a mere moment earlier. "All of us came up short, your grace. Yet still we aspired to be as much like you as we could. Let that be what those that come after us wish for themselves once more. Only let it be the knowledge of such that guides our hands at times."

Aegon had promised himself it would be. That he'd leave a legacy behind that was worthy of being followed. Knowing that was to be so, helped guide his future actions. King's Landing had been changed based on what it would one day become, as too had the Aegonfort. Which soon would undergo even more radical changes as a true keep was built rather than the temporary one that would house them for the next few years. There would be no place for a single faith either. No future home for a Great Sept, as instead all faiths would be represented somewhat equally. The hill upon which Aemon said Baelor the Blessed had built the Great Sept was named after his sister. So it was only right in Aegon's mind that her husband's faith was represented there.

A Godswood, a hall where the faithful could gather and pray, where the Faith could if they wish hold services, and even a representation of the Pantheon, all would be built there. While those who visited from Essos would find, over time, that their own faiths were just as welcome in the Seven Kingdoms and its capital city as they were in their homelands. Yet along with the Keep, the Home for the Dragons, and the Home of the Faith, they were plans that would take years to see realized. It was time for plans that could be acted upon sooner to be embarked on and so Aegon made his way to the Maester and bid him send the ravens.

No sooner had he done so, than he heard the sound of wings high above his head and he looked up to see Meraxes and Rhaenys making their way to the hill which bore her name. Nodding to Ser Corlys, Aegon bid the knight to follow him to the stable, and within a few moments, they along with two other guards were riding to greet his wife. The mere sight of whom was enough to make him forget all plans other than those of simply enjoying her company.

"A good flight?" he asked.

"She loves it so," Rhaenys said, her smile beaming as she looked at Meraxes. Aegon wondered if dragons could speak would Meraxes say the same about his wife? For it was clear that Rhaenys at times was happiest upon her dragon's back and soaring through the skies.

A kiss to his wife's cheek, followed by a truer one to his lips, and then as they walked arm in arm, Meraxes took to the sky in search of Balerion. What the dragons did when they were far from their sight, Aegon knew not. Be it hunting, resting, or simply flying over the lands beneath them, their time spent away from them was a mystery to him. For unlike Aemon, none of them were wargs.

Aegon liked the not knowing though. The thoughts that some things were unknown were ones that he at times enjoyed and he rested secure in the knowledge that no matter what the dragons got up to, they always returned. Balerion would need to see him of a morn and of an evening, Meraxes likewise with Rhaenys, and when it came to flying with them, no more than a day or two would be allowed to pass without such. Another of his Goodbrother's lessons had been taken to heart. However, this was one that all three of them had practiced almost their entire lives.

"We and our dragon are as one, as close to each other as the person we love or the family we one day will have. That need we feel to see them, to be with them, to share all we've seen or done when we're parted, they feel it just as keenly."

"Yet unlike you, we can't share that with them, Aemon," Rhaenys said and Aemon shook his head.

"Not in the same way, Aye. Yet I know each of you feels it all the same."

Aegon did, Visenya he believed did too and one look at Rhaenys and Meraxes together was enough to be certain that his wife most certainly did. The dragons weren't just a symbol of their power and might. Nor were they only their most powerful weapons against any who dared to challenge them. As Aemon had said, the dragons and they were as one. Never would he, Visenya, or Rhaenys forget that and they'd do all they could so those who followed forgot it not either.

Upon reaching the Aegonfort, Rhaenys changed her clothing and preparations began for their nightly meal. Aegon took to the sparring yard, then once he was done, it was to the baths. Only after he'd cleaned himself of the sweat and grime that inevitably followed a spar against Ser Coryls, did he then seek out his wife once more. An hour, two, or even three spent in Rhaenys company was more than enough to sate their need for each other. That it helped build their appetite for the night to come, was a welcome side effect of their coupling. Though very much not its intended one. Thoughts of a babe of their own playing with their cousin or atop their own dragon were ones that both he and his wife had shared more than once.

For the next few days, the true reality of running a growing city and ruling over a vast kingdom became truly apparent. Appointments had to be made and a City Watch needed to be formed. Houses to store the wares of the ships that carried them to King's Landing needed to be built and set aside and daily they received numerous requests from their Wardens, Lords Paramounts and others who now looked to them for guidance. It made the Small Council meeting that Aegon had called for, to be one that was now even more important and he was happy that he'd sent the ravens as soon as he had.

Travel took much time unless you were fortunate enough to have a dragon to call upon and seeing how long it took each of the Small Council members to arrive, only proved this even more true. Other than Aemon and Visenya who no doubt had left Harrenhal only that morning, each of the other members took a week or more to travel to King's Landing. This was why two things had been decided before his sister and Goodbrother made their way from Rhaenys' Hill to the Aegonfort.

In the future, other than when absolutely necessary, Small Council members would reside in King's Landing, and should they need to travel, they'd need a better-maintained road to travel upon. A King's Road, Rhaenys had named it, and though he'd tried to instead name it after his wife, she was far too decided to let him change her mind.

"A King's Road it is then," Aegon said as he, Rhaenys, and Ser Corlys awaited Aemon and Visenya's arrival in the Throne Room.

The seat he sat upon was one that was imposing and bore a message for the entire realm. An Iron Throne made from a thousand melted swords. A Throne fit for a conqueror and one forged, as Aegon himself had been, by Dragons and Dragonfire.

Beyond the Wall 1 AC.

Valrine.

The hunting party had been successful early, which in turn was a blessing from the Old Gods given what Valrine and the others had come across. Never before had she seen so many men from the other side of the Wall and it had worried her and those with her, greatly. For it would take many men to stop them from doing whatever fell deed they'd come to their lands to do.

Knowing how much her people needed the meat that they'd been fortunate enough to gather, Valrine sent a half dozen men back to her father with it and with the news of their unwelcome guests. Meanwhile, she and four men would track the men from the South and learn as much about them as they could.

'Mayhap even cause a little chaos in their ranks should we be lucky' Valrine thought hopefully.

They would need every advantage they could make for themselves just in order to survive any fight with these men. Her father and the warriors who followed him were fierce and unyielding and against any man, they were usually more than a match. Any man bearing weapons from north of the Wall that was. The men of the South bore weapons that her clan could only dream of wielding. Good steel, bows of a quality that made the one she carried pale in comparison, and was that not enough, then the true armor they wore certainly would be.

Moving as close as she felt was safe to do, Valrine used the trees, the rocks, and the lands themselves to keep her men and her own presence a secret from those she now followed. That they'd been part of a hunting party served them well now. Their clothing blended into the lands much better than it normally would and even laying for long periods on the cold snow, proved easy. As too did following the men of the South for some reason. Or at least it did until it did not.

It was night when they snuck up on them. Huddled together on the ground to keep the cold away, three of them slept while Valrine kept watch. No fire was lit to give away their location and yet they were found easily enough despite it. That she managed not to raise the alarm would have shamed her much had it not been for who it was who'd caught them unawares. Neither Valrine nor the men with her were a match for the Children of the Forest and the large broad-shouldered man who moved with them and now held a sword to her throat.

"I gceist againn tú aon dochar." (We mean you no harm) the man said, his eyes looking her over and seeming to both enjoy what he saw and be surprised by it at the same time.

"Labhraíonn do chlaíomh difriúil." (Your sword speaks differently)

"Déanfaidh mé mo chlaíomh a lomadh nuair a bheidh tú féin agus do chuid fear dí-armáilte." (I'll sheathe my sword once you and your men have been disarmed)

"Agus ansin cad?" (And then what?)

"Ansin is féidir linn a chóireáil gan an bhagairt duit a ghearradh mo scornach nó mo chuid fear ag déanamh an chéanna leat." (Then we can treat without the threat of you cutting my throat or my men doing the same to you)

Valrine looked the man over while a Child of the Forest moved to her and held out its small hand. Its three fingers and one thumb took her attention from the man who had captured her and her men and her thoughts about what fate they were to face, for now at least. Looking at the Child's gold and green eyes and incredibly expressive face, Valrine almost felt herself be at peace. Only for one of the fingers to then poke her in her shoulder and point to the knife on her hip.

At first, Valrine thought about only giving up the weapons she bore that could be seen, though she quickly dismissed that thought. Instead, she handed over them all and noticed the broad-shouldered man smile as she did so. It was not to her mind a smile of triumph either. More it seemed that the man seemed to be pleased to see she carried so many weapons or at least that was how Valrine interpreted it. Not really having any dealings with a living man of the South, she couldn't be certain of what anything they said or did meant. Though she was proved wrong in this line of thinking, but a few moments later.

"Tuigeann do mhuintir Aoi Ceart?" (Your people understand Guest Right?) the man asked and Valrine was unable to answer with more than a nod. The confusion she felt about being offered such was something she held right up until the bread and salt were handed to her.

Around the makeshift camp, her men looked to her, and as Valrine took a piece of each, so did they. So too did the broad-shouldered man and as he ate it, once again Valrine looked him over. He was dark of hair and grey of eye, as tall as her father and he was handsome for a kneeler. Had he been a man from this side of the Wall and one that Valrine knew, then she'd have tried to steal him by now. A thought which almost brought some color to her cheeks and yet was soon forced away when the man spoke once more. This time using the common tongue and not the old tongue of her people.

"You understand what I'm saying, don't you?" the man asked and despite not wishing to tell him more than she needed to, Valrine nodded. "My name is Brandon Snow, brother to the Warden of the North, Torrhen Stark"

Valrine knew not the name of the Stark in Winterfell, though she and all those north of the Wall knew of him. Should they ever try to cross the Wall, as had happened many times over the years, it would be the Stark in Winterfell who they'd eventually have to face. Yet they'd not gathered together or come under a King Beyond the Wall for many years and her people never raided when times were plentiful. It made no sense to her why the Stark would send his brother north, and so she much feared the reason for it.

"Why have you come to our lands?" she asked, her common tongue something that set her apart from most of her people and which had proved invaluable in trading with those who dared to do so with her clan and others.

"Because my kinsman and the Three-Eyed Raven demanded it of me." Brandon Snow said and Valrine gasped aloud.

They were fed and then allowed to roam around the camp as freely as they wished. Though only after giving their word that they'd not try and escape or warn their people any more than Brandon Snow allowed them to do. One man and one man only was given leave to return to speak to her father. The offer he carried was one that Valrine knew would be rejected and yet one she hoped would not.

Brandon Snow came not to kill her people, not to subjugate them. Or at least not how men from the South usually came to do so. Instead, he came to them with an offer for a brighter future. A future that not even in her wildest dreams did Valrine ever imagine she'd live to see. True he sought to be their King, and yet where once the thoughts of such would have annoyed her, now they very much did not. A King Beyond the Wall who was a brother in blood to the Stark in Winterfell. One who'd see them given good steel and help them build as the men of the South built. If it was only a dream then Valrine hoped not to wake from it.

Yet when she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep it was with a different dream that welcomed her. A dream of stealing a king for herself and of whispered words in both the old and common tongues. Words she'd never heard spoken with such fervor.

"My Love, My Queen."

King's Landing 1 AC.

Visenya.

Preparations were underway to host a feast for all their Bannermen and a small tourney of sorts. Aemon was keen to invite as many warriors and men who sought a patron to Harrenhal as they could. Her husband wished to fill out their guard even more and though he had said their fighting was more than likely done, never would he not be prepared in case it was not. Part of that, Visenya believed, was due to the babe that grew in her belly and part was simply Aemon's nature.

Be it what he'd gone through before they'd met or simply because of what he believed to be the way of the world, Aemon took steps that to some would seem unneeded. It was why he would take himself off to the Godswood and close his eyes so he could look through the eyes of his familiars. Why so many ravens and visitors arrived at their keep bearing messages from his many spies throughout the land. Her husband took no chances and it had even caught her by surprise when he first spoke of the network he'd built up already.

"In mine own time there was a spymaster who worked for the crown. Lord Varys was his name and he used children most of all."

"Why children, Aemon?" she asked curiously.

"Who pays attention to children, Senya? Who gives them a second glance or thinks them more than just nuisances at times?" Aemon replied and Visenya could see the logic of it almost as he did so. "In every single kingdom, mayhap every single keep, Lord Varys had his little birds and it made him probably the most dangerous man in the realm."

"Knowledge is power," she said softly.

"Aye, it is. Especially when it's supported by true power." Aemon replied, a smile on his face that she liked not. "Lord Varys served only his own interests and in my grandfather, he had a paranoid and mad king who he used his words to manipulate. Yet for all of his little birds, he saw not everything. Only one man was able to do so."

"Who?" she asked, not questioning who the little birds were, for now at least."

"The Three-Eyed Raven."

Visenya had listened as Aemon spoke about an almost all-knowing presence. A man, or to be more precise, a collection of them, who served the Old Gods and watched over everything that happened. To what end, she knew not, and not even Aemon was certain of it. As to whether or not they were allies or enemies, again her husband could name them not as either. What he did say was that he trusted not the one in his own time and so he trusted not the one in this time either. Before he then told her about their kinsman who had a thousand eyes and one.

Like Lord Bloodraven before him, Aemon too now had a thousand eyes and one. Some of them were animals, some were children, and some very much not. The old, weak, infirm, women and men, any who sought to earn some coin and who would be most grateful to the man who paid them that coin. He'd gathered them all during their travels and given what he'd said, he wasn't even close to being done yet. So by the time the raven arrived from Aegon bidding them to attend the Small Council meeting in King's Landing, Aemon had much to speak on and many whispers he wished to share.

Still, as her husband helped her up onto Vhagar's back, Visenya cared not for the intrigues and plots that were prevalent in any kingdom, not just their own. Instead, she looked forward to the flight and to seeing her brother and sister once again. It may only have been a moon or more since they'd parted, but after a lifetime of barely going a day without seeing one or the other, it was still something she was getting used to. Bidding goodbye to Martyn Rivers and to their Castellan, the two dragons, and Ghost took to the sky and left Harrenhal behind. Both of them were eager to see just how quickly the journey to King's Landing took. So they flew straight and true and would stop not on the way.

Vhagar followed Rhaegal as the green dragon climbed high, the air thinning out and making it a little more difficult to breathe. Yet up here, high above the clouds, the dragons could reach their true speeds and so with a look to her husband to let Aemon know she was well, their true flight began. It was exhilarating to move so fast and unnerving to look down at the lands below as they were almost a blur when the dragons flew over them. An hour, two, and then as Rhaegal slowed, so too did Vhagar. The last part of the flight spent both slowing down and dropping closer to the ground.

By the time they landed, they'd spent no more than three or four hours in the sky. It was tiring, Visenya needed her rest and was grateful when Aemon helped her down off her dragon's back. As she was for the feel of his lips on hers and the way he looked at her so concernedly. Brushing off those concerns for now, Visenya moved to thank Vhagar for the flight and just one look into her dragon's eyes was enough to tell her that she had not felt it as Visenya had.

"Kirimvose, ñuha dōna vhagar. Ipradagon, ēdrugon, syt iksan isse aōha gēlȳn hae va moriot." (Thank you, my sweet Vhagar. Eat, sleep, for I'm in your debt as always.)

Her dragon trilled under her touch and at the sound of her words. The praise she gave her was both fulsome and well-earned. Looking at Aemon she could see that he too was praising his dragon before he then called for food to be brought for them both. To her surprise, Aemon bid them to wait until the dragons had eaten and only once they had and had taken to the skies again, did they make their way to the Aegonfort. Visenya, curious as to why that was, asked Aemon as they and Ghost walked along with the guards her brother and sister had sent their way.

"Dragons have their pride, Senya. Only seeing them after they flew once more is the truth of the journey shown."

"Vhagar was not tired, Aemon," she said firmly as she defended her dragon.

"Aye, I know. Yet I needed to know for certain."

"Why?"

"Because if we ever need to make this flight for true, then when we arrive, it won't be to dismount so freely."

Visenya felt the shiver run down her spine at Aemon's words. The truth of why he'd sought them to fly so quickly, finally coming to her. Should they be forced to do so in the future, then it would mean that either Aegon, Rhaenys, or both were in danger. They'd be flying to rescue or avenge them and they were not thoughts that she much welcomed.

The sight of her brother and sister unharmed and unworried, she very much did. As she did the feel of both their embraces and Rhaenys' questions on her babe. Her hunger for food and rest was soon sated too, as she, Aegon, and Aemon had little to do for the rest of the day. Sleep too was a most welcome thing and something Aemon only requested of her and not demanded. Tired as she was, she simply nodded her head and was helped to her bed. Happy and content that Aemon lay down with her until she drifted off. Happier still at their coupling when she awoke refreshed and eager for her husband's touch.

They spoke little that night and her appetite was a thing to behold. Visenya ate two full meals and earned herself some odd looks from Aegon and Rhaenys. Aemon's words that she was eating for two, followed by his sharing his desert with her, were then enough to answer her brother and sister's unasked questions. Again her eyes and body soon betrayed her and sooner than she wished, Visenya was seeking her bed. Aemon joined her and though it took them some time to find a position in their bed where she was comfortable and could yet have his arms around her, eventually they did so.

A breaking of her fast where her appetite departed her. Some sickness of the morn that felt never-ending and soon enough she and Aemon were sitting side by side in the Small Council meeting. Visenya listened as each of the members spoke on their various duties and as Aemon spoke only on some of his own. She and Rhaenys had no true roles as such, yet none there would have dared suggest they not attend. Though as the meeting drew to a close, Visenya wondered if there should be some more formal roles found for both her sister and herself.

"Now, Aemon, tell me what it is I truly need to know about my kingdom," Aegon said once the others had left and it was only their family and Orys who remained behind. Visenya looking on proudly as Aemon now turned his whispers into much truer words.

Beyond the Wall 1 AC.

Brandon Snow.

Each night they camped had at first found him locked in conversation with one of the Children of the Forest, Brandon keen to learn as much about these lands as he could. It was them who led him to Myrny and the woman had proved herself invaluable already. Never more so than when they came across Valrine and the small hunting party that she traveled with. As for Valrine herself, Brandon could barely look at the woman at times.

To name her as beautiful would be to do her a disservice. Her long golden almost silver hair. Dark grey-blue eyes that were the most expressive he'd ever seen and which at times he almost found himself getting lost in. Though she wore heavy furs, mostly, her figure could still be somewhat seen when she moved and the few glimpses of it that he truly got were full of promise. No woman had ever affected him as much as she did in the brief time they'd travelled together and it took all he had to simply remain in her company.

Thankfully, Brandon traveled with good and true men. For if he did not, then by now one of them would have no doubt shamed themselves by trying to force themselves upon her. Seven Hells, he'd be a liar if he hadn't thought of almost doing that himself. Though doing so in the Wildling way, stealing her and making her his own rather than trying to take by force that which he wished was given freely. Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he rose from his bedroll and made his way to where the morning meal was being prepared.

"You slept well?" Myrny asked as she readied a warm bowl of broth for him to break his fast on.

"I slept," he muttered.

No sooner had he sat down and dipped the bread into the warm broth than Valrine moved towards them. Brandon's grey eyes following her all the way as she seemed to glide across the snow and move to the pot over the fire. He watched her as she ate. Hungrily, unladylike, and yet as arousing a sight as if she was slowly undressing. Turning to look away, he shook his head and tried to force his mind to go where he wished it to. Even managing to do so, if only for a moment or two. Or more precisely until he turned back and watched her eat the piece of broth-soaked bread that she brought to her lips.

'Get a hold of yourself, man. You're no blushing maid'

The voice in his head spoke true and yet each time he looked to Valrine or was in her presence, he reverted to being so. Listening to the conversation that was going on, at least allowed him to concentrate on something other than Valrine's rosy red lips and high cheekbones. Brandon now paying attention to the talk of where the Thenns were camped, how many of them there were, and how far they were from Hardhome. He paid close attention to what Valrine said about her father, Joralaf, and what sort of reception to expect.

"My father won't name any of you as friends. He'd not even hear you out without seeing the Children with you."

"As is to be expected," Myrny answered as Brandon and those with him looked at the two very different women.

Valrine he'd put at close to his own age, mayhap a little younger even. Myrny could be a mother to them both, though he wagered she wasn't quite that old. The lands Beyond the Wall were harsh and unforgiving and it seemed that the years took their toll. A hard life was not something that left no mark on you, and in all his conversations with Myrny, Brandon would name her life as hard.

Mayhap that was why she was so keen to accept what he was offering. Or mayhap it was the Children, his words about the Three-Eyed Raven, and her faith in the Old Gods that made it so. Regardless, it mattered not. Myrny accepted and so too did Valrine. He believed that her father would accept too. Though he doubted he'd do so quickly or easily. Aemon's words on the Free Folk respecting strength and being stubborn were ones he'd taken much note of.

"We're ready, Brandon." Rickard Flint called out, taking Brandon from his thoughts.

"Good," he said, rising and emptying out the remnants of the broth in his bowl, a quick glance to Valrine and a nod of his head to Myrny before he then moved to join his men and lead from the front.

By the time darkness fell, they'd reached some caves in which they rested the night. Another night where his dreams were of silver blond hair and grey-blue eyes. When he woke it was still dark outside the cave and feeling the need to relieve himself, Brandon rose and moved as quietly as he could so as to not disturb those who slept still.

Leaving the cave behind, he made his way to a tree and had only just put his member back into his britches when he caught sight of her. Sitting atop a small hill, looking out at what he knew not, Valrine looked otherworldly. Bathed in moonlight, her silver blond hair seemed to glow and Brandon stood open-mouthed as he watched her. After a few moments, the spell he was under seemed to break and it allowed him to move to where Valrine sat. Brandon asking for and receiving permission to take a seat beside her.

"What is it your people want, Valrine?" he asked, the same question he'd asked Myrny more than once and Valrine at least twice.

"The same as any people, to be free."

"Aye, but what does your idea of freedom look like?" he asked, looking not at her, or not directly at least.

"The Freedom to make our own choices," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper, and Brandon didn't notice himself moving his head closer to her so he could hear her clearly. "How we live, what we do with our days, who we let lay beside us at night." his breath stilled. "Our needs are many and yet none are more pressing than those."

He let out the breath he was holding, watching it as it appeared in front of his face like a small cloud. Rising to his feet, he offered Valrine his hand and felt the warmth of her own when she took it. For the briefest moment, they stood face to face and Brandon was relieved to see there was some nervousness in those dark blue-grey eyes that now seemed to be looking him over.

Was it not for the sound of a twig or branch being trampled on, then he may have taken a chance and attempted to kiss the woman in front of him. Or, she may have taken her own chance and shown some of that freedom that she cared so much about, by doing it herself. Instead, both of them turned and were soon laughing at the sight of the small white hare as it moved out from behind some trees and looked them both over before then racing off to only the gods knew where.

"He too values his freedom it seems," he said, earning him a true smile and stilling his heart once more.

After helping her back to the cave, Brandon watched her as she lay down on her bedroll and then slowly moved to do the same as she had just done. He didn't sleep the rest of the night, his eyes ever being drawn to where Valrine lay and for the first time in his life, Brandon Snow found himself wishing he had been born on this side of the Wall. For if he had, then before the sun rose on the morrow, he'd have stolen himself a wife.

Three days later.

A small snowstorm was enough to hinder their travel by more than a day or so, fortuitous that it turned out to be. Had they arrived but a day earlier, then Joralaf would not have been there to greet them and there may have been a fight rather than words spoken between them both. As it was, the Magnar of the Thenns held their warriors at bay long enough for Valrine to at least explain some of it to him. It allowed him to see the Children of the Forest and even to offer Guest Rights, which all but Brandon accepted. The reason for his own rejection soon being made clear. By the time the moon rose in the sky, he and Joralaf found themselves facing one another with swords in hand.

"An Chéad Fhuil nó chun báis?" (First Blood or to the death?) Joralaf called out loudly.

"Chéad fola. Tháinig mé a chóireáil." (First Blood. I came to treat) Brandon replied.

"Féadfaidh tú taisteal le Leanaí ach is mise atá i bhfabhar na Sean-Déithe." (You may travel with Children but it is I who have the Old Gods' favor.)

"Cé a deir nach bhfuil siad i bhfabhar dúinn araon?" (Who says they don't favor us both?) he replied.

His reply drew a half smirk from the fierce-looking man who he was soon to face. Joralaf was an inch or two taller than Brandon and yet he'd not be a match for him here today. The Magnar wore some scattered pieces of bronze armor. His sword too was made of bronze and against castle-forged steel, it would be useless. If he was here to kill the man, then Brandon believed he could do so. Yet it was not his death he sought but his respect.

Looking to where Valrine looked on nervously, he wondered if it was her father or him that she bore that look for. Mayhap it was for the both of them, as while neither wished to kill the other man, in a fight anything could happen. His men looked on and were as relaxed as Brandon had ever seen them. Rickard, Martyn, Gareth, Morgan, and Cregan as well as the others, all expected only one outcome to this fight. As too did the Thenns, even if they believed it would be a different one.

A loud shout, something moving in the corner of his eye, and before he knew it, Brandon was deflecting the bronze sword that swung down hard at him. For the new few minutes, he simply did that rather than anything else. Not once did he press his attack or go for one of the many openings that the Magnar gave him. Partly because he believed that at least some of them were traps that were laid to lure him in. Mostly because he had no wish to shame the older man.

When he did begin to swing his sword, the difference in skill if not strength was readily apparent. Brandon was long considered the best sword in the North and until he'd faced off against his kinsman, no man had even come close to being a match for him. Joralaf would not rank in even the top five of those he faced. Yet overconfidence begets complacency and when Brandon over-extended himself, he lost his sword. Luckily for him, so too did Joralaf.

The fight then became a much different animal. A much more even match too. For it was a fight fought now with fists and no longer would first blood be enough to judge a winner. Both of them even managed to draw each other's blood at the same time. Punches were thrown and landed that somehow managed only to break skin and not bone. Soon enough they were both breathing heavily and though his lip was busted, Jorlaf's nose seemed to be broken.

Punches and kicks had long since been abandoned, the fight turning more into a wrestling match than anything else. Brandon felt himself being squeezed as Joralaf gripped him between two arms that seemed much larger now that he was caught in their embrace. A smack of his head was enough to see him released and then his own arms gripped Joralaf tightly. Squeezing with all his might, he felt the older man weaken and so dropping to one knee so he could gain more purchase, Brandon squeezed even more.

In the end, he won, but only barely. Joralaf passed out while Brandon held on with all he could. Both of them were laying on the ground and when Valrine moved forward and declared him the winner, only then did Brandon let go. It took him some time to catch his own breath and be able to rise to his feet. To look on as water was thrown over Joralaf, who then awoke from his enforced slumber.

When he held out his hand, he at first believed it would be slapped away, but the way Joralaf looked at him and how quickly the man shook it, showed he'd earned his respect at least. Now it was time to earn his allegiance too and so together with Valrine, Myrny, and one of the Children, they made their way to the hut that Joralaf named his own.

Brandon was offered bread and salt once inside and this time he took it, much to both Jorlaf's and Valrine's relief. He accepted the meat he was given too and even partook in a drink made from elderberries that he very much enjoyed. Then for the next few hours, he laid out his offer and spoke up on the benefits of the alliance he wished to forge.

"Ar mhaith leat a bheith ina Rí thar an mBalla?" (You wish to become King Beyond the Wall?) Joralaf asked. Brandon was unable to discern anything from the man's expression.

"Ní hea, ach sin é a chaithfidh mé a bheith.) (NO, but it's what I must become.)

"Hardhome?"

"Aye, Hardhome," he answered.

The Thenns knelt to no man, not even their Magnar, yet his offer was accepted far more eagerly than he'd expected it to be. Had this been the lands on the other side of the Wall, then the condition for accepting that offer would be that he take Joralaf's daughter as his wife. Yet not even a father could force a free woman to take a husband she wished for not. Not even a father could decide a daughter's fate once she came of age Beyond the Wall and so when he lay down to sleep that night, Brandon wished again he was on the other side. For had it been a condition of the Thenns' acceptance, then it was one he'd gladly have accepted.

It was four days later when they set off for Hardhome and Myrny came to him, Brandon knowing what she was about to ask without her needing to do so. With the Children of the Forest, Valrine, Joralaf, and their clan, as well as his own men looking on, he stood atop the Fist of the First Men and blew the Horn of Joramun. Nothing happened when he did so. There was no great revelation or sign other than the unearthly sound the horn made, and yet Brandon knew. By the looks in their eyes, so too did the Children and whatever he'd done, he believed the answers awaited him at Hardhome.

Harrenhal/Beyond the Wall 1 AC.

Aemon.

During their three days at King's Landing, Aemon provided reports from throughout the realm. Some were shared with the entirety of the Small Council, some only with those whose trust was beyond question. He spoke about the Maesters in the Citadel and the Septons and Septas in the Starry Sept. How absence had made them grow braver and a truer message may need to be sent. From them, it was to the new Wardens and Lord Paramounts, to the vanquished few and those who'd come to their side more willingly. Aegon, Rhaenys, Visenya, and Orys were all pleased by what Aemon had found when he looked their way.

Dorne may very well have gone on as if they'd not been brought to heel, but they did so very much with the knowledge and acceptance they had. The West bristled over the Field of Fire and the Reach over having House Tyrell named as their overlords, but they were but the small voices of minor discontent and not those of future rebellion. In the North, his mother's House had accepted their rule far more truly than they had originally done so. What they'd seen on the Isle of Faces along with Aemon's presence had been enough to make that so. While the Pact of Ice and Fire that had been signed between House Targaryen and House Stark was more than enough to ensure that ever would their alliance hold true.

The Riverlands was where he found most dissatisfaction, there and the Vale, though both for different reasons. Their upcoming feasts and meetings with those Visenya and he now ruled over would fix the one, while a visit from Aemon and Rhaegal would soon sort out the other. A promise regarding the Three Sisters that had been made and somewhat forgotten by him had now turned into a bone of contention. It would be a bone that he'd soon see buried and one he now did all he could to remember how it had been dealt with in his own time.

Try as he might, he found he could not, and in the end, it really made little difference. It would be him and his dragon that resolved the problem this time round and he had words to share with House Sunderland that Aemon knew had not been spoken to them before. Words that he prayed would be heeded and a threat that he knew would. So after telling Visenya, Rhaenys, and Aegon what he intended to do, Aemon then spoke on the Iron Islands. Their plans there required news of Brandon Snow and yet each time he attempted to look Beyond the Wall, he was shown little of any use. It annoyed him, frustrated him, and made him wonder if the Three-Eyed Raven was blocking him somehow. Or if it was simply the Old God's will that he see only what they wished him to see.

"Is it my sight that deserts me or your will?" he asked as he knelt by the Weirwood sapling that now took pride of place on Visenya's hill.

Finding no answers and knowing that the time for him and his wife to return to their own keep was almost upon them, Aemon left the Godswood and made his way back to the Aegonfort. He hoped to arrive back before his wife awoke and yet here too the gods had other plans. As when he stepped into their room, it was to find Visenya already up and about and looking somewhat pained.

"Senya?" he asked worriedly as he moved to her.

"I'm well, Aemon. 'Tis discomfort and not pain."

Helping his wife back to their bed, Aemon rubbed her shoulders softly as he sat behind her. From there it was to her feet and here his attentions had more of the desired effect. Visenya's smile and contented sigh let him know that his ministrations were at the very least relaxing her a little. Not enough to get her to go back to her bed, however, and so they ended up moving to break their fast far earlier than either of them wished. Though given both their appetites, mayhap it was a good thing that they did.

"I wish to fly home, Aemon." his wife said once they were finished with their meal.

"You feel up to it?" he asked concernedly.

"I can manage a flight atop Vhagar, not as quick a one as the one we took to get here, but I would like to sleep in mine own bed tonight."

"Then we fly today," he said, his wife's warm smile letting him know just how much she welcomed his words.

Though they'd eaten their fill, they stayed until Aegon, Rhaenys, Orys, and Argella made their way to the table to break their own fasts. Aemon letting them know that he and Visenya would be leaving within the hour. It saddened them all that they were parting so soon and yet it was getting far easier to do so each time they did. No longer did they think about how long it would be until they saw each other again. Nor now did they have any doubt that should they need to come to the other's aid and do so quickly, it could not be done.

They said their goodbyes a couple of hours before noon. Aemon then helped his wife onto her dragon's back before following Ghost as he climbed atop Rhaegal. Two stops to rest, eat and drink and by nightfall, they were back in Harrenhal. Martyn waiting in the Godswood for them and seeming most happy to see them both safe and sound. Another meal to feed his hungry wife before Visenya took to her bed and Aemon dealt with any messages or things that needed his attention before joining her. Then holding Visenya in his arms and speaking softly into her ear, they both drifted off to what was, for one of them at least, a peaceful night's sleep.

"We do not kneel."

"The Freedom to make my own choices"

"I never expected to name a kneeler a friend."

"You know nothing, Aemon Targaryen."

"My people thank you, for the time you bought them. I thank you for my son."

The dreams were of days long passed. Of a people who to most had been savage and wild and yet Aemon had never met men or women so loyal and true. Faces that he'd almost forgotten or at the very least had put out of his mind, visited him as he slept. Thankfully he saw them only in life and not in their pain-filled final moments.

"You saved us, Dragonking."

Aemon woke and somehow managed to leave the bed without waking his wife. He moved to the window and looked out at what was the fullest moon he could ever remember seeing. Wiping the tears that had fallen either while he slept or since he'd awakened, he felt the call long before it was truly made. The sound of the horn was so loud that he had to cover his ears and yet when he looked to Visenya, she was sleeping still.

Images flooded his mind of places he'd visited but the once. The glade with the giant Weirwood, the Frostfangs, Skirling Pass, the Fist of the First Men, and the Haunted Forest. None were as clear to him as Hardhome and Aemon shuddered as the memory of what he'd seen there and how it had made him feel, now threatened to overwhelm him once more. Two kings faced off and only one of them was worthy of his crown. The other was merely a fool who knew not the true strength that his enemy possessed.

Half dressed, caring not about the coolness of the night air, Aemon hurried from his room and waved away his guard's concerns. Through the keep and out the large doors, he was soon running towards the Godswood. Once there, he fell to his knees and cursed the gods for all they'd shown him and the suffering they'd made him relive. He cursed them for all the losses and the lives that they'd allowed to be taken. The faces of which he now saw for true.

"Why?"

"Why show me this?"

"Why now?"

His words went unanswered until they did not. Rhaegal landing behind him and Ghost then moved to his side. The feel of the white wolf's fur as it brushed against him and the look in his dragon's eyes when Aemon looked his way, both enough to soothe if not chase away the pain he now felt.

Closing his eyes, Aemon sought the answers to those questions and by the time he opened them again, he had them. Though he liked them not, it mattered little. His task had been set and Aemon knew full well what would happen should he fail that task. There was no need for him to imagine the last moments of Margaery or his children, and thankfully he saw no images of their ends, nor the ends of Visenya and the babe she carried.

Making his way back into the keep, he woke his wife and they argued for what felt like hours. His words were still unwelcome even long after they'd been accepted and the hurt he saw in his wife's eyes was one he was powerless to chase away. When he told those in his service what he wished for them, it was Martyn Rivers who argued with him. His squire wished to travel with him and offer his aid and Aemon found he had not the words to tell him he could not. It left only a final conversation with his wife before he departed and one that he was both loathed to have and was much needed.

"I will return, a week, two at most," he said, to no reply. "I swear it on all I am, Senya. I give you my oath on this."

An embrace, a kiss that he never wished to end, and no words were his only reply. His wife's worry for his safety along with her own wishes not to be left alone wouldn't allow for any to be spoken. With a nod to Martyn, his squire, and then Ghost climbed atop Rhaegal's back before Aemon then joined them a moment later. Then with barely a look back to take in Harrenhal, his wife, and all that he was leaving behind, he bid Rhaegal to fly and his dragon quickly complied.

They had many miles to travel and much to do. The sleepers had been awakened and it would take a dragon to keep them in line. As it would the men of the Three Sisters.

"A week, two, I beg of you let that be all you ask of me," he whispered as Rhaegal flew east and once done there, would then fly north.

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. I won't go into details about why I've been so lax in my updates, other than to say I hope it's resolved now. To try and make up for things, I'll be posting double chapters of each of my fics in order to catch up, Starting with this one with the next chapter coming next week.

Up Next, As memories of days long passed fill Aemon's mind the sleepers are awakened. A rebellion is put down before it can begin while all roads lead to Hardhome as Brandon, Valrine, Joralaf, and Myrny find more clans drawn to them. A Red Priestess arrives in Harrenhal and speaks with a reluctant princess while beyond the Wall, Giants, Mammoths, and the King Without a Crown treat, travel, and reach an agreement that Aemon hopes will change the North and Westeros forever.

For those following my other fics, Revenge is a Dish is up next and I'll be following that with a second chapter of this and then another of Revenge before moving forward with my other fics.

Missed Reviews.

MJJ: Deria does understand the threat Aemon possesses, so we'll see if and when he jumps if that changes things. Although, Aemon has given Aegon the blueprint to deal with Dorne, so maybe nothing will change. Yes, sort of, she allows him to forget a lot of the hurts he carries, to put them away for a moment at least.

Chapter 16 Reviews.

M-F42: Sorry about that but it's needed.

Warkingdead: Don't think I haven't thought what you're thinking. I do have plans to make things interesting and there is a reason why Aemon will be traveling to other time periods, so without spoiling, I do hope to make each of them interesting and I have taken into account the fact that as you say, dragons render Robert's Rebellion not only predictable but unlikely. Not sure what you mean regarding Visenya, if it's that you don't like her character or her and Aemon together, then this obviously is not an ideal story for you, one of the other ones within this series may be more to your liking.

Celexys: So very glad you enjoyed it, my friend.

Princess: Sorry about the delay, next chapter should be quicker.

Rhatch; That's exactly Aemon's thought process, it takes out so much loss and allows for a much easier go of things. Not to mention Rhaenys and Meraxes' survival.

Dunk: That part is coming as soon as Aemon comes back from Beyond the Wall, I think there will be a couple of slow, mundane, world-building chapters, before the jump through time. Without spoiling too much of what's to come in the series, yes, not all Aemon does will work as he expects, which is why he is not allowed to stay in one period of time and will be forced to jump more than once.

Irish Hermit: They may at some point consider it, this generation or the next certainly won't, but you could argue that while most Houses in Westeros accepted things after the Conquest, future generations did try and rebel, I mean the Lannisters joined the Greens and House Baratheon even went against the Targs, twice, so the Martells, may consider it, we'll see.

I'm with you on Rhaenys, for all his attributes and good deeds, Jaehaerys was an idiot at times. He ruined most of his own family's lives and his choice in order to stop a future war pretty much laid the seeds down for one. I mean even if Viserys wasn't a weak king, simply by Jaehaerys passing over Rhaenys it meant that there was always going to be an issue with Rhaenyra's reign. Jaehaerys was also in a much stronger position than Viserys was, so his word carried more weight. Had he named Rhaenys, then while there may have been some dissent, it would have led to little more than that. By passing her over, it set the precedence with Rhaenyra and told the realm at large that a woman shouldn't rule, which given some of the Targ men, really was a mistake.

Yes, Aemon will see his child and spend time with them before the jump. Oh, I agree with you to a point regarding Maegor, in some ways he was needed due to Aenys' weakness. But on the flip side, there was no doubt that Maegor was cruel either, so it's a bit of both Imo, history written by those who wanted to malign Maegor and some of Maegor's own nature and actions helping them paint him a certain way.

Visenya's ambition, her own sense of entitlement, didn't help either, which is something Aemon has tried to curb here.

Soares: Some things will not, but whether or not they're in this specific time period or after, we'll have to wait and see. Aemon is specifically there to fix things, it's why he's been sent back, and he has some foreknowledge of events that helps him do that. I mean, if you sent Robb Stark back to the start of the WOTFK with the knowledge of what happened during it, you'd expect him to fix things, would you not? So that's the general theme of Aemon's time in this story, however, not everything can be fixed or works out how you hope, so while he can handle known events, it's unintended consequences that are the unknown. For example, Robb stopping the Red Wedding from happening doesn't mean he'll not be killed some other way, does it?

Qwerty: So glad you liked it.

Lady Octarina: I do have some fluffy family times ahead for him and Visenya before he's flung forward in time, so hopefully you'll get a bit of both worlds.

Hyoakage: Brandon's story is almost the biggest single change in things, so I hope you like what's coming there.

Orthankg1: Wow that is an interesting visual, I wish I'd thought of that. I probably should have shown a little more of the swearing fealty, but as I was writing it, I worried that it may come across as dull. It wouldn't have with that visual, however. I may steal that for a different fic, or even for one of the later timelines in this one.

Xan Merrick: Yes, Aemon will see and hold his child before the jump.

Creativo: La presencia de Aemon avanza en la línea de tiempo de la conquista, por lo que todo termina un año antes, lo cual es bueno.

En cuanto a quién viene de Volantis, ya veremos, pero bien podría ser un conocido conocido.

Guest: Yes, it's only Starks that he should paint targets on his back for, right? Seriously, it's been clear from the get-go that this is a Targ Positive fic, it's literally the entire point of Aemon's plan to make sure they and the dragons survive and thrive and since he's the one out of his timeline, then of course he's the one who is willing to die, if it saves the others. It's literally one of the key themes of the fic, so to get to this chapter and be annoyed that he's painted a target on his back or that he's done so for the Targs, just beggars belief.

But as I say, no doubt if this was Jon Snow willing to sacrifice himself for the Starks, it would be more to your liking. This is funny too, because this Aemon would be just as willing to do that too, and is doing all he can to ensure that the Starks rise just as high as they possibly can as well.