Hi everyone, time for chapter 12, I hope you all enjoy,

As always I own nothing

295 A.C

The Sunset Sea

Aemon ducked under the blade of Ser Jaremy before delivering a kick to the knight's knee, only for his guard to jump backward, avoiding the blow at the last moment.

Not staying idle, Aemon sidestepped the axe of Ser Roland before parrying another strike of the first knight with his dagger. He pushed back his guard while slamming the flat of his blade against the second's chest. Ser Rolland grunted from the force of the blow and was destabilized enough that Aemon passed on the offensive, his sword becoming a blur as rained blows on his guards' arms and thighs.

However, before he could realize it, he had been led into a trap and found himself once more on the defensive, doing his best to parry, redirect, and altogether avoid the strikes. Aemon winced as he took a blow to his shoulder pad while avoiding the axe coming for his knees.

Ser Rolland stumbled as his axe met no target and enjoying his surprise, Aemon delivered a powerful kick to his hand, forcing him to drop his weapon, and a second later, the knight had a blade under his chin.

"I yield," he smiled, already rubbing his hand and Aemon had to roll to avoid the incoming sword of Ser Jaremy.

Once more he found himself engaged in a duel, though the older knight seemed to tire, and Aemon increased the cadence. Striking and slicing at the padded leather of his guard while he led him toward the ship's guardrail.

Aemon could not help the smile on his face as he danced around the older man, dealing strike after strike, and suddenly, Ser Jaremy was forced to stop, his back blocked.

Their swords met in the middle and sparks flew but Aemon only had to flick his sword, overpowering the knight and disarming him before resting the weight of the dagger against his throat.

"I yield," Ser Jaremy chuckled, and Aemon almost jumped as the clapping began. "It seems we had an audience, your grace," the knight whispered as he turned around and was unable to control his blush.

It seemed most of the crew of the merchant ship had turned up, watching his training.

"Very good work, Aemon," Arthur complimented, offering him a jug of water.

Aemon nodded thankfully before he began gulping down the water.

"A true devil, your boy!" the captain of the ship exclaimed as he approached them. "I've never seen one fight like you do, lad, exceptional!"

They had chosen to avoid traveling on the HMS Victory to make their way to Lannisport. According to Arthur, the Lannisters held tight control of the port city of the Westerlands and knew most of what happened there.

Given what he wanted to do while in the Westerlands, it was best to avoid scrutiny, at the beginning at least. The message he would leave was one that Aemon expected to have quite an impact on the Lord and Ladies of the realm.

"He's not a boy," Arthur remarked coldly.

"Aye," the captain gave an almost toothless grin, "I can see that, you sure we can't tempt you to stay? You'd sure give a hell of a fight to those fuckin' reavers,"

"I appreciate the offer, captain," Aemon smiled, it was not the first time it was made, "but I have plans,"

"Aye," the captain spat in the Sunset Sea, "I bet a lad like you has plans, I'm sure I'll hear from you again. What did you say your name was again, lad?"

"Aemon," he replied, "Aemon Sand,"

"Right, a Dornish bastard," the man gave another toothless smile, "not the first one I meet, and I wager you won't be the last,"

"Captain!" The lookout bellowed from his post, "Lannisport in sight!"

"Ah!" the man exclaimed, "Sorry lads, got work to do,"

Both Aemon and Arthur waved him off as the man turned and finally left them alone.

"All is ready," Arthur said, "you should change,"

"Aye, lad!" Aemon cracked a smile as he gave a poor attempt at imitating the captain though to little success but the twinkle in his kingsguard's purple eyes.

Only a few minutes later, he was back on the deck, wearing his usual silk breeches and tunic, while the climate was milder than in Dorne, it was not enough to make him forego years-long habits.

Still, now Lannisport was visible as they got closer with each minute that passed, Aemon found himself gaping. Not at the sight of the city, while impressive it had nothing on Oldtown, but at the sight of Casterly Rock. The legendary castle loomed over the port city, the sunset lit it with red and golden hues, closely resembling the colors of House Lannister. The light even made veins of gold appear from miles away, it was truly a mesmerizing sight.

The castle itself was carved out of the rock, and Aemon was unable to look away. It was incredibly high, perhaps three times as tall as the Hightower, and wide, much wider, at least five, possibly six miles.

It was truly an impregnable castle, even Aegon had not tried, and he could not help but think it was good that King Loren I had knelt after the Field of Fire.

Even dragons would find it a hard task to take this castle, but Aemon had an advantage his ancestors lacked. Though even his magic alone was not enough, it was said there were countless shafts in the mountain, leading both to the riches of the Rock and to the Lannisters themselves. He would need someone who knew their way around them if he wanted to take it, or more accurately, to take what was inside.

Ending the Lannister line was not in his plans, to be truthful, there were no lines he wished to end. But Tywin Lannister had to pay, he first had with his son's life, and he would again when one day he'd find his coffers empty. Preferably at a crucial time so that it could properly cripple him and his armies.

That day was not today.


295 A.C

The Manticore's Nest

"Who comes here?" a voice screamed atop the walls of the Manticore's Nest.

The keep of Ser Amory Lorch, though he knew any knight would take offense at being assimilated to such a man, was not a large one.

It was a small bastion lacking any truly distinctive features. The walls surrounding the keep were made of grey stone that stood at forty feet and there was a single watchtower on the east side, facing towards the river road.

The only sign that told him they had arrived where meant was the large banner depicting a manticore on a white field beneath three gold coins and the red of their liege lord that hung next to the large wooden gate.

After disembarking from the merchant ship in Lannisport, they had quickly exited the city but not without taking note of a few places to turn into apparition points whenever he needed to come back, all the while Ser Roland secured a few horses for them.

And Aemon had no doubt he would come back.

The son's memories of his father's retelling of the sack of King's Landing had provided him with enough proof and justification that he felt nothing but rightful in seeking justice for Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon.

And while the Lord of Casterly Rock had not been one to dirty his hands, he had given the order, and as far as Aemon was concerned it was as good as doing the deed himself.

He knew he could kill Tywin Lannister as easily as any other man, but he had a very different fate in mind for the man who had ordered the brutal death of his siblings and stepmother.

The Lord of the Rock would lose everything before he lost his life. He would see everything he had worked for disappear, his legacy fade away and the name Tywin Lannister would become a cursed one, a lesson to all those who sought to hurt his family.

No matter how monstrous, the Lannister lord had been right in slaughtering the Reynes and the Tarbecks, from that point on any feeling of rebellion had been crushed, not through military might, but only by sending a bard to sing the Rains of Castamere. And though the Lannister line would not end with him, Aemon sought to achieve a similar result.

There were few people that Aemon could say he truly hated, Robert Baratheon was one of them, but even he had not been the one to order his little sister of three and his baby brother of one to be savagely murdered. His crimes against his family might be plenty but besides killing his father on the battlefield, he had not murdered any Targaryen.

Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch were far higher on his list than the Usurper.

He knew for a fact that the Lorch lord was not one to leave the comfort of his keep and it was why it had been his first stop since arriving in the Westerlands.

Gregor Clegane was different, he was much more active, often participating in tourneys across the realm or terrorizing the smallfolk. Which meant that if he was not at his keep, Aemon knew he would struggle to find him.

Thankfully the Manticore's nest was barely half a day away from Casterly Rock and while he could have infiltrated the walls of the keep with magic, he had chosen a different way in.

Oswell, Roland, and Jaremy had all stayed behind with the trunk, a mile or so from the keep while Arthur joined under the invisibility cloak.

"Only a weary traveling merchant, my friend, seeking warmth for the night and to his sell wares in the morning!" he answered loudly.

There was no answer, and he could only guess the guards were discussing whether to let him in or not.

"What is it you have to sell, merchant?" another voice bellowed from the top of the wall.

"Wine from the Arbor and Ale from Pentos my good Sers!" he answered cheerfully, gesturing to the cart behind him, laden with barrels, doors were always opened for wine sellers.

The next thing he knew, the gate was opening to let them inside and Aemon smirked, they had just led a dragon into their nest.


Aemon quietly closed the door of the stables behind him, after making sure Arthur had enough time to exit.

It was pitch dark around the courtyard, the clouds hiding the moonlight as the hour of the owl was nigh, and only a few torches lit the keep's doors.

With a tap of his wand, he disillusioned himself, knowing Arthur would find his way to the main door.

The guards had him sleep in one of the empty stables, before taking his cart away. He knew that they would probably take some of his merchandise for themselves, but Aemon did not give a single fuck about it, it had only been meant to be a cover for them to enter the keep.

At this late an hour, everyone was fast asleep, and even the guards atop the walls seemed to have been lulled into complacency as none of them noticed the keep's door opening and closing with nary a sound.

He dispelled his disillusionment charm once inside, "Follow me," he whispered to his kingsguard before pointing his wand ahead, "Homenium Revelio."

A dozen silhouettes in red appeared in various positions, all sleeping. Only a few guards patrolled the keep, and he knew he'd have no issue avoiding them.

It was fewer people than he had seen in the son's memory, but Aemon cared not, he was here for one man tonight, and possibly a few other things as he came to realize how wealthy said man was.

Numerous paintings adorned the walls and as he passed in front of them, he gasped.

One depicted Jaeherys the Conciliator, the oldest king to have ruled over Westeros, sitting on the Iron throne at an advanced age, yet looking still spry and filled with confidence.

Just on his side was a painting of Vysenia and her dragon Vhagar standing behind her. The bronze she-dragon had been impressive, dozens of times larger than her rider and in that painting she was only a few decades old, having been hatched twenty or so years before her most famous rider was born. Vysenia too, cut an impressive figure, with Dark Sister in her hands and her black, rippling armor covering her body. She looked very much like the warrior queen she was said to have been.

Another was of Baelor the first, the Blessed as he was called. He had been the one to unite Dorne with the rest of Westeros. He had also been a true believer of the faith and by all accounts a bit crazy. He had tried to outlaw the prostitutes in King's Landing. Aemon had snorted when learning of this, believing his mother was jesting. Everyone knew it would only result in a rebellion to try something like that.

But it was not amusement he felt at seeing those paintings here, it was his blood boiling as he realized they had looted his family's home.

When he turned the first corner, he stopped dead in his tracks, in front of him, lit by several torches was a tapestry depicting the Field of Fire that stood in all its glory.

In the middle was Balerion, the largest dragon in memory, and on his two sides Meraxes and Vhagar. The three dragons made up almost half of the tapestry and only the silver hair of his ancestors allowed him to see them riding on their backs, even hundreds of years after it was made. The rest of the tapestry showed how the black, silver, and bronze fires set aflame the Gardener and Lannister armies.

To learn that the man responsible for the brutal murder of his sister had been rewarded with the spoils of his family's defeat enraged him beyond belief.

He could feel Starfyre roar in his mind, her too feeling the same rage.

Aemon saw red, he whipped his wand out and silently miniaturized everything he knew that belonged to him. The tapestries, paintings, and sculptures were all sent inside his bottomless pouch, and he continued doing that as he passed every corridor in the keep.

With a determined step, he finally arrived in front of a large double door with a manticore carved in the middle.

There was a single person in there and his bet was with the patriarch of the house.

Silently, he pushed that door open and winced as it creaked. Aemon stopped breathing and listened attentively, only to hear nothing amiss, besides the snoring of his target.

He carefully pushed it further and thankfully it made no further noise.

It closed behind him with a small thud, and he found himself engulfed in darkness.

The snores filled up the room and he could not help but feel for any who had ever shared the man's bed.

The peaceful sleep his sister's tormentor was enjoying felt like an insult to Rhaenys. His snoring, a taunt only made to enrage him further. Crushing the anger he felt, Aemon began to apply protective charms over the room, it would not do for anyone to interrupt or hear what was going to happen.

With a smirk, he raised his wand and sent a stunning spell to make sure he was not disturbed whilst he prepared. With a flick of his wand, the torches were lit, and bathed the room in a warm glow, revealing another tapestry, this time depicting the burning of Harrenhal. "You can come out, Arthur,"

One could see the black flames devouring the impressive castle. His mother had told him how the castle had been finished the day Aegon and his sister-wives set out to conquer Westeros. It had been meant to entrench the reign of the Ironborns on the Riverlands forever.

Harren the Black, its builder and the last King of the Isles and Rivers, could be seen burning atop the Kingspyre.

He was said to have been a true monster, and that thousands had died during the construction of his castle. Thankfully, his ancestor had purged the lands of this man and his cruelty.

Only a second later, his kingsguard slipped from under the cloak and cracked his shoulders as he straightened up.

"They should all be put to the sword, your grace," Arthur spoke with hatred burning in his violet eyes.

"I know," Aemon tried to calm himself, nothing ever good was accomplished in anger, "but I shall not hold children responsible for their father's crime,"

"No innocents dwell in this keep, your grace, all men here are guilty," Arthur was uncompromising.

"What do you know?" Aemon narrowed his eyes.

"We should visit the dungeons," Arthur's gaze hardened even more, if possible, "there are many disturbing rumors about the Lorches,"

"Fine," Aemon answered before turning his purple eyes on his original target, "but first, Amory,"

He took the armchair near the put-out hearth and dragged it next to the bed, no longer caring for any noise he made.

With a negligent wave of his wand, the fat knight rose in the air, and he unceremoniously dropped him in the armchair, conjuring a set of thick steel chains around the man's legs and torso.

His bright purple eyes shone with nothing but hatred as he looked at the fat figure of the supposed knight.

Knights were meant to uphold their vows, to protect the innocent, be they men, women, or children, to be just, to fight bravely, and to obey their lord and king.

He knew that as a king he could not swear to these vows and dutifully hold them. A king was supposed to have the interest of the realm at heart, he was supposed to make the choices for millions, even, and most especially, when those were hard to make.

Though he had a lot of conflicting feelings with the oaths that had kept his kingsguards in service of his grandfather, he also knew that there were true knights in Westeros, thankfully not all were bloodthirsty monsters.

And even then, his kingsguards had been bound by their oaths, no matter how he felt about it, there was honor in holding to one's vows.

And while the man before him had obeyed orders as well, there was a limit not to cross, namely the senseless killing of children. While Arthur and Oswell had obeyed their king, he had no doubt they would have drawn the line there and then, even if it meant their deaths.

With a flick of his wand, he enervated the disgusting excuse for a man.

Blue eyes zapped around the room as he did so, only for them to lay on him and then on Arthur and widen.

"Surprise," Aemon chuckled.

"Guards! Help!" the man screamed in his high-pitched, squealy voice.

Aemon smirked but otherwise did not react.

"Guards!" he screamed once more before realizing there was no one hearing his pleas.

"Did you like my present?" he asked, still wearing a smirk, the head of his son should have reached him at least a moon ago.

Amory's eyes snapped back to him.

"You…" one could see the anger burning in the man's blue eyes.

"Yes, me,"

"You killed my son!" he exclaimed, struggling to get out of his chains, to no avail. Though Aemon had no idea what he imagined he would do if he succeeded. Arthur would probably cut him to pieces if he even made a step towards him.

"I did," he smiled, "to be fair, your idiot son had just tried to do the same to me," he chuckled which only served to ignite the man's anger more.

The chains rattled as he tried once more to free himself, but his bonds would not break.

"Who are you?" he finally stopped and asked.

Aemon approached, making sure the man could see him properly. The only indication of his current emotions were his purple eyes shining with hatred.

"The brother of the little girl you slaughtered all those years ago,"

"Lies!" Amory exclaimed, "I saw the Mountain bash the head of the dragonspa…"

Aemon's fist crashed into the blonde's nose and blood spurted from the broken appendage.

He took a deep breath, "I don't like that word," he cleaned the blood on his hand with a quick wave of his wand, not missing the man's eyes widening.

"I am Aemon Targaryen, son of crowned prince Rhaegar Targaryen and princess Lyanna Targaryen," he said smirking as the man's blue eyes widened even more as he understood what it meant. "And I'm sure you can recognize my companion, Ser Arthur,"

"Impossible," the man said, and Arthur stepped into the light, making Lorch gasp.

"Lorch," Arthur sneered, hatred burning in his eyes, still, he kept his sword sheathed.

"I only obeyed orders, I swear, it's Tywin Lannister you're looking for…"

"Don't lie to me!" Aemon snapped, stabbing the pathetic man in the hand.

Amory Lorch screamed, and he felt no remorse for it, he was going to suffer much more than that after all.

"You took pleasure in killing Rhaenys, don't deny it," he said as calmly as he could and stopped the now teary-eyed man from lying again. "You liked it so much that you stabbed her half a hundred times!"

There would be no legilimency for the vile man, Aemon had no wish to see the last moments of little Rhaenys, no wish to hear her screams of anguish and pain, and no wish to see her breath her last. His imagination already provided him with realistic enough images to know it must have been horrible.

He could only imagine how alone she must have felt, alone and terrified. The simple fact that her last moments had been filled with nothing but suffering haunted him and would do so for many years.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing you can give me I'm afraid," Aemon smiled sadly. "But if you tell the truth I might be lenient,"

Amory frantically nodded his head.

"Who gave you my family's belongings?" he asked, obviously it could not have been his decision.

"King Robert, as a reward for my deeds," the man reluctantly said.

"For killing my sister you mean,"

He gulped but nodded anyway.

He had wanted to know, not that it surprised him.

"Where do you keep your gold?" Aemon then asked, if House Lorch was going down tonight, it also meant making sure he took away everything they could rely on, besides, he had plans and campaigns to fund.

He could see the debate taking place in the man's mind, but eventually, his reason prevailed, not that it would change anything.

"Behind the library," he sighed and jerked his head to his left.

Aemon easily spotted the signs on the ground as the stone had been scratched by the library. With the tap of his wand, he unlocked the mechanism and watched as it revealed a hidden room.

It was not big, but it was filled to the brim with copper, silver, and gold coins.

Aemon whistled, "I take it it's also spoils of war? A reward for murdering a girl of three?"

There was no need for an answer. He clenched his jaw, reigning in his anger was becoming harder by the minute.

"How much is there?"

"Thirty thousand dragons," Amory whispered and watched on in anguish as Aemon transferred it all inside his pouch.

He walked back in front of the trembling man.

"What are you…" he whispered.

"Your end," Aemon answered and finally freed his anger as he grabbed the dagger and pulled it out only to plunge it back into his right thigh and he screamed.

"But… but…" he stuttered, "you said…"

"I lied," Aemon interrupted him and repeated the process in the other thigh, making his sister's murderer release another cry of pain.

"No please, stop!"

"Did you stop when she pleaded?" he asked while taking hold of the hilt and twisting.

He screamed again.

With a grunt, he pulled it back out and stabbed him in his shoulder, and then in the other, and then his arms and he stabbed him over and over again. So much so that he lost count of how many times he thrust the dagger in. At some point, the man had soiled himself and not long after that, he had stopped screaming.

It took another dozen blows for him to stop. And it was with tears streaming down his face that Aemon fell to his knees.

"I'm so sorry, Rhaenys… I wish I could have saved you…"

"Your grace," Arthur lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, "it is done,"

Wiping his face with his sleeves, he nodded to his kingsguard. Looking down, he could see dozens of stab wounds. He did not know if he had delivered as many as his sister had received but there was little point in trying to find out now.

He knew it would not bring back his sister, nothing could. Justice was the only thing he could give to her and he felt he had, as expected it did not make him feel better. But it was the very least she deserved, as did Elia and Aegon.

"Could you," he gestured to the slain knight and Arthur nodded, unsheathing the steel greatsword he kept in lieu of Dawn, which was far too recognizable.

With a practiced motion, Arthur swung his sword with one hand, and the head came cleanly off, landing with a disgusting thump and bouncing a few feet away.

With a flick of his wand, he conjured a small coffer and levitated the head inside of it, he was sure the Martells would appreciate the gift and perhaps it would be enough to buy some goodwill from them.

"Thief in the keep!" A voice screamed loud enough that they heard, and Aemon had no doubt others would.

"Fuck!" he swore, he knew he should have waited to reclaim his possessions.

"We won't have time for the dungeons,"

"It doesn't matter," Aemon whispered under his breath and a small golden flame caught the bedding of the former lord. "We must hurry," he urged as the fire truly began to take and quickly spread.

Thinking fast, he sent a preservation charm on the man's corpse, making sure to leave proof behind.

The magical fire would burn down the entire keep, stone included.

"Thief! Guards! Guards!" the voice screamed but closer this time.

"Hold my arm," he instructed Arthur who immediately complied, "Do not let go, it's going to be uncomfortable," Without further warning, Aemon turned on his heels and disapparated with a loud crack.

Aemon had to keep Arthur steady as they apparated a mile out of the now burning keep, the bell ringing in the distance. His kingsguard retched as soon as he was stabilized.

"Seven hells," Arthur swore, "that was… Uncomfortable,"

"You get used to it," Aemon reassured the man, though it only became comfortable once one did their own apparition, not that Arthur would.

He watched with satisfaction the flames devouring the Manticore's nest.

The magical fire he had set fulfilled its purpose. He could see people running out of keep, no matter if some of the Lorchs survived, he had accomplished what he had set out to do, and more.

Without their gold, keep, or any other possessions, he knew he had just condemned House Lorch.

Maybe if they had not stolen his family so blatantly, he could have felt more merciful towards them. But they had thrived on what was his by right, no doubt spending more of the gold than what he had retrieved, they had perhaps even sold some of the tapestries.

He had only found those three, but he knew that one alone fetched more gold than what the man had in his vault.

They depicted legendary events and were hundreds of years old and still in pristine condition, proof of the care they had been shown over the centuries.

Many Targaryens had been renowned for their love of art, whether painting, jewelry, or tapestries. It was said the vaults of his family had been filled to the brim with gold, jewels, artifacts, and many more. That a single room in the Red Keep had more art than what most keeps in Westeros had on their own.

A dozen paintings, three tapestries, and thirty thousand gold dragons only accounted for a very small part of his heritage.

It made him hope Clegane's keep also had a range of belongings that were rightfully his as well.

It would be his next stop before heading to King's Landing, it was essential he could apparate to the capital if needed, it would mean he'd be able to apparate in the South, East, and West of the continent.

Then he would head North, to finally rejoin with his brother.

With both his wand and his children, he had no doubt he could now keep what little family he had left safe.

Besides, the Northern kingdom housed not one, but two Targaryens, and Aemon would be damned if his namesake spent what little years he had left in the dreary place that Castle Black was said to be.

Then they would head to Essos, and one way or another, he would find the remaining Targaryens. One thing that was bound to help him was the glasscandle he had acquired from the Citadel, as soon as he figured out how to make it work.


295 A.C

King's Landing

Taking measured and silent steps, Varys walked the halls of the Red Keep.

Only someone directly looking would have been able to know he was there. His silk robes, though of a garish yellow color no longer caught the attention of the many inhabitants of the seat of power of the Seven Kingdoms. However how much a seat of power it was, was something worth debating and one could easily argue it had not been so true for the past decades.

Something equally true when one considered the number of rumors and songs that had made their way to his ears over those same decades.

His first sign that something was amiss had been the escaped loyalists, dozens had made their way to the Wall, ready to pay the price for the fealty they had shown, only for some to vanish and reappear a year or so later, on the other side of the Narrow Sea.

Getting his little birds to Castle Black and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had taken most of two years, to his great frustration, only to hear songs of events that should not be possible.

A dead man intercepting the last wagon of loyalists, along with a force of a hundred men, or ten, or fifty, the numbers were never sure. But that it had been the Black Bat had never varied. Only Ser Oswell Whent had reportedly been slain by Eddard Stark and his party before finding the corpse of his deceased sister. His bones, sword, and armor had all been returned to the Lady Whent at Harrenhal, and yet, it was not the last time he had heard of the former kingsguard.

His little birds had seen a man matching his description gallivanting across the free cities, often coming back to the Company of the Wolf. A company of sellswords that had oft been the talk of the court during the first few years of the Baratheon Dynasty.

His reports had made sure to never mention the Black Bat, not when he would have been laughed at for it and certainly not when it could play into his hand.

But the songs he heard had only gotten unlikelier since then.

And no matter what Varys tried, they all got back to one realm, Dorne.

It was no surprise given the Dornish had the most cause to wish arm on the rule of Robert Baratheon. However not once had Ser Oswell been seen anywhere near Sunspear.

And then there had been Ser Jaime's disappearance.

Mayhap the most mysterious event to have happened for many a year. He was not foolish enough to believe the Ironborns were to blame. No, abducting the Kingslayer was beyond their capabilities. Additionally, they would have never kept quiet about it if they had been involved.

No, someone else had used the conflict to their ends, enjoying the chaos created to kidnap one of, if not the most known knight in the Seven Kingdoms.

To pull it off, and then vanish into thin air required a skill not found in most men, as well as a dedication and a resolve to hurt the Lannisters. Naturally, his mind had gone to the Martells. And so had his little birds.

And once more, they had not been involved in the slightest. But all leads still led to Dorne and to be more precise, to one castle that most nowadays paid little thought to.

House Dayne had been among those who had lost the most during the rebellion.

A Lord was slain in battle, a sister had taken her own life after learning of her brother's demise at the hand of the quiet wolf. Only a sister remained now.

Or so had everyone been led to believe.

But if the Warden of the North had been able to lie to his king regarding the Black Bat, was it not possible for him to have lied about the others? Were the Sword of the Morning and the White Bull also running around Westeros and Essos?

Those were questions he had pondered for over four years. Birds had been dispatched to Starfall, only to find access was denied to all but a few.

The few that were utterly loyal to their liege lords. And so, Varys had bid his time, waiting for the right opportunity.

But when it had come a few moons earlier, there had been nothing to find but that Ashara Dayne still very much lived. While interesting, it was nothing to confirm what he had been thinking.

Had it not been for the formidable ships that he had first tracked to Braavos and then to a healer, Alanis, hired by House Dayne a dozen years ago, Varys might have dismissed it entirely. But no, something was definitely afoot with the legendary house.

Still, there was no proof of anything amiss besides the survival of Ashara Dayne. And even then, her demise had only ever been a rumor, a rumor that had probably been planted by the Lady herself. Or perhaps by the Warden of the North who was proving to be much more of a player than Varys had first assumed.

"Lord Varys," Petyr Baelish greeted him as he arrived in front of the doors leading to the small council chambers. "I hear you bring us news?"

"Do you, my lord?" Varys asked with a slight smile. He truly could not stand that man.

"Indeed," Littlefinger smirked, "I hear the most disturbing of tales, but I'm sure you and your little birds will enlighten us all…" he drawled in his nosey, high-pitched voice. "I hear even our King shall attend,"

"I would think it rather obvious, my lord," he giggled, nodding to Ser Meryn and Ser Arys guarding the door. They would not be here if the king had not planned to attend.

"Please after you, my lord," Baelish sneered and Varys only answered with a giggle before entering the chamber, taking his usual seat, in front of the tapestry depicting the Battle of the Trident, or a rendering of it anyway. On one side, loyalists, on the other, rebels, and in the middle, the demon of the Trident, caving the ruby-covered chest plate of Prince Rhaegar.

"My lord-hand," he offered a bow to Jon Arryn, previously engaged in a conversation with the master of ships. "My lords,"

"Lord Varys, Lord Baelish," the Hand of the King rose from his seat to greet them, proud as always.

"I hope you came prepared, my lords," Mace Tyrell puffed up his chest, "I hear his grace is joining us this day,"

No doubt his appointment would not last, but apparently, the King has seen fit to send his brother home for the rumors of his latest tryst to die down.

"How blessed we must be," Stannis drily remarked, "and when shall my brother be joining us?"

As if summoned by those words, the doors opened once more and Ser Barristan stepped in, followed by Robert Baratheon, cup in hand. At once, those not standing did and bowed their heads.

The Lord Commander had only recently taken his seat in the small council back, after years of having yielded it to Jaime Lannister.

"Robert of House Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First-Men, the lord-" his cup-bearer, Lancel Lannister announced.

"Oh shut up, will you," the king barked, "they all know who I am, for fuck's sake,"

"Your grace," echoed around the room.

"Yeah yeah, get on with it, will you? I've got better things to do with my time,"

Varys smiled as he observed both Stannis' and Jon Arryn's lips tighten.

"Lord Varys, please," the hand gestured for him to begin.

"I have heard the most concerning of songs, your grace, my lords," he bowed to them and pulled out a roll of parchment from his sleeve. "Something that I believe is of great import to the realm,"

"Bloody get on with it, Varys," The king groaned and emptied his cup, before having it refilled once more. "I've got heavy teats waiting for me in my rooms," he barked a laugh, and the spymaster could see Stannis shake his head in disgust.

"Of course, your grace," Varys said with a raised eyebrow, "I bring disturbing news, my little birds have sung that the Manticore's Nest was burned down and Ser Amory Lorch was found dead, his body intact from the fire, stabbed half a hundred times and missing his head,"

What Varys kept quiet however was exactly how much the keep had burned. The stones were reportedly melted from the intense heat. There were only a few types of fires that could melt stone, all magical, like wildfire or dragon fire. What disturbed him the most was that neither green flame nor gigantic beasts had been noticed by the survivors, only a wine merchant who had disappeared during the night.

"And? Isn't it something for the old lion buggerer to deal with?" the king drily laughed as he sipped his wine.

His disgust for all things Lannister was well known, which was ironic considering whom he was married to, and how many red cloaks and blond-haired men resided within King's Landing.

"Your grace," the hand reminded the king who snorted and waved his concerns off, "he was the one who killed Rhaenys Targaryen,"

"You think I forgot who got the fucking dragonspawn, Jon?" he spat and Varys closed his eyes for half a second, "I also remember the idiot he was, who cares if he made enemies and they killed him?"

The king drank down his cup in a single gulp.

"Is that it Varys? I'd rather you bring me the heads of the rest of the dragonspawns in Essos,"

Said man bowed, "Of course, your grace, I shall do my best,"

"Do that," the king grunted out, "Right, we're done here," he slammed his cup on the table, spilling much of its content on his brother's lap before raising and leaving the chambers at once, without another look. Though it appeared others knew the significance of such information.

Jon Arryn was the sole reason why the Baratheon rule had not collapsed yet, but even he could not work miracles.

The king might only focus on the Targaryens he knew, but Varys knew firsthand not to assume all dragons were dead. The times during the rebellion had been chaotic, enough to make many disappear. And how odd was it that it had taken close to five and ten years for Rhaenys' murderer to be visited by a vengeful man?

Ever since learning of it a few days ago, he had listened to many songs that at first glance seemed unimportant, though considering what Varys knew now, it was maybe not so.

His little birds had sung the song of a young man with purple eyes in the company of Marwyn the Mage.

Though he had ways to get messages across the Seven Kingdoms that were much faster, when a little bird from Oldtown had traveled to the capital to speak with him in person, he had been unable to dismiss the information brought.

Purple eyes were not uncommon, most associated it with the Targaryen Line but some houses in Dorne shared that characteristic, as did many dragonseeds around the land, remnants of the Targaryen dynasty. And across the narrow sea, it was almost as common as green or blue eyes were on this side of it.

But it was his other features the little bird had seen fit to report in person. As said young man looked very similar to the man that stood in the painting in his apartments, the one that only came out when the door was barred, and he could ensure that no one who was not meant to see could catch even a glimpse of it. Though Varys had no reason to doubt his birds nor the songs they sang, the young man shared the chin and angular cheekbones of the previous crowned prince.

And had it been for only that, he might have dismissed it, Aerys after all was not known for his restraint and could have likely birthed a bastard or two.

But one could not discount the gruesome murder of Amory Lorch, one eerily similar to the one of a young and sweet princess who once walked the halls of the Red Keep. Only for the missing head that is, but Varys suspected it was used as a message. He had his guesses as to who the recipient was, but he would need more information, much more before he could decide on the correct course of action.


295 A.C

River Road

Aemon wrapped his hands around the glasscandle's sharp edges and winced as the obsidian cut into his palms. His blood, however, did not spill but was immediately absorbed. And a second later, a black flame burned bright and hot, and Aemon found himself unable to take back his hands.

He could not help but gasp as he felt its power coursing through him and his vision took on a slightly dark hue as people and places began to pass in front of his vision.

Most were ones he ignored, though he could recognize some castles from books he had read, like the Red Keep, Riverrun, or the Eyrie. All were formidable in their own ways, but none were what Aemon was looking for.

He grunted as he made a conscious effort to calm his thoughts.

The magic of the glasscandle was strong, and he could understand Marwyn's warnings better after a few uses. It would be easy for anyone to lose themselves in it, and it took a strong will to use the magical artifact.

"Targaryens," Aemon directed his thoughts toward his family and immediately the images began to change.

In the flame stood a young man, with dark brown hair and storm-like grey eyes.

He was facing off against another young man, though this one had red hair and blue eyes, both were of similar age, though the latter was half a head taller and easily a few stones heavier. They both wielded blunted weapons, the former had a longsword with a wooden shield while the other wielded a greatsword.

"Daemon," he whispered in realization, spotting a pile of snow in the corner.

His brother was doing well, parrying, redirecting, and using his advantages against his stronger opponent, was it Robb? His uncle's firstborn? It was likely, though he looked nothing like his father.

However, before he could try anything else, the image changed. Only to show him a very old man, dressed in black. His great-great uncle, he had already seen him in his previous attempts to use the glasscandle, and like the other times, he felt his heart clench at the sight of the old man.

It had been years since the letter he had received from him, and it seemed the years had not been kind to his oldest relative. His eyes were white with blindness, and his face looked frail as if he was only a few breaths away from his last.

It seemed the maester was not alone in his quarters of the Night's Watch as Aemon could see his lips move but heard no sound being made.

"Soon," Aemon whispered, and to his shock, his great-great uncle sharply turned in his direction and his blind eyes seemed to stare directly into his purple ones.

'Had he heard?', Aemon thought, Marwyn said they could be used to communicate, but he like the archmaester, had had no success doing so. But as he opened his mouth to say something else, the image changed once more.

Only to settle on familiar faces, the angular features of Viserys, and the softer traits of his sister, Daenerys Targaryen. Or at least who Aemon supposed they were, but given their silver hair and purple eyes, he felt he had the gist of it.

They were on a ship, thus was made evident by the shining surface of a calm sea. It was consistent with Alton's last report, as his spymaster had almost caught up to them in Volantis before they boarded a ship.

Visibly they had not yet arrived at their destination.

"Uncle, aunt," he tried getting their attention, but unlike with the maester at the Wall, it did not work. And the image blurred once more before the flame extinguished itself.

At once his hands were freed from the dragonglass, whatever wounds there should have been having already healed. And Aemon had to wipe his face from the blood streaming down his nose.

"Are you well, your grace?" Ser Jaremy asked, handing him a cloth.

Aemon nodded as he finished wiping the blood from his face. "I am, it just takes a lot,"

And it did, the first time, he had almost blacked out from the strain. The dragonglass candles were powerful artifacts, ones not everyone could use. And he already had more success than the Mage in that regard, the archmaester had choked it up to his dragonblood, though Aemon felt like his inherent magic might have something to with it as well.

"Have you seen them?" Arthur asked, a worried look in his eyes.

"I did, I saw Daemon," he gave a small smile, it seemed his twin was doing well. From what little he had seen, Daemon was a skilled swordsman, though he had easily spotted a few mistakes in his brother's and cousin's moves, they had not had the Sword of the Morning to train them. "But I still don't know where Viserys and Daenerys are heading,"

The Lord Commander sighed, they had been trying to find out ever since leaving the Citadel, but it was not so simple. Using the glasscandle took practice, and even then, he could not practice often. Each usage was followed with a period of complete inactivity, the flame could not even be lit before the next moon. Maybe he should have taken the other one as well.

It was frustrating, to say the least, and with his maester of whisperers following an equally important lead in the capital, Aemon felt more and more impatient.

"We'll set up the camp while you feed them," Arthur said as he and Oswell lay the trunk on the ground.

Aemon nodded thankfully and quickly set up a few magical protections to prevent anyone from surprising them. He pulled a few miniaturized cows as well as a couple of sheep from one of the many bottomless pouches he'd had to make. And it seemed it was the perfect time as he could feel his children calling for him, all hungry.

Without further ado, he flipped the lid open, it was pitch dark, still, used to it, Aemon grabbed the ladder and began to make his way down.

As he did, his surroundings slowly began to take form. The first thing he could see was the green grass of the rolling hills that seemed to stretch far into the horizon. Then he saw the trees, they had been saplings only a few moons ago and now they stood proudly as if they had been there for decades.

Some parts of the woodland he had planted were scorched though, with trees having fallen from one game or another his children played at.

Speaking off, as he touched the ground, Aemon spotted the three dragons, flying high in the sky, as high as the magic allowed.

Magic truly was a wonder.

At they spotted him, the three dragons screeched and he could see them switching directions.

They grew bigger and bigger until finally, the three massive dragons landed, and the ground shook as they did.

Each of them had their eyes on him, expectingly waiting for something, "all right you spoiled brats," Aemon chuckled, "there you go,"

It took only a few seconds for the cattle to regain their normal sizes and before anything could be said, they all darted in different directions, going as fast as they possibly could go.

Aemon could have sworn he saw Starfyre smirk, only it lasted a second and all three took flight once more, flapping their powerful wings and the air seemed to crack with each displacement of it.

He could only watch in awe as they all took flight in different directions and began to harass the cattle, herding them into a single group.

Once done, they roared and unleashed their fires, white for Starfyre, Blue for Lyarax, and Purple for Rhaenyx.

The panicked animals were ended at once, and they each landed once more, taking part of the bounty for themselves, though Starfyre had the largest share.

He could do naught but watch with fondness as the powerful creatures dug into their meal, bones snapping as easily as twigs between their mighty jaws.

They had grown so much since leaving Starfall, despite the confinement.

He had made sure to leave enough place for them to grow and fly, it had not been easy, but he could not imagine failing.

Without it, he had no doubt news of the dragons would have made it to every keep in the land. He was not ready for that, far from it. As such, he could only find comfort in the fact that his children were mostly happy, even if he often felt them yearn for more, they also understood why they were confined. Proving once more their remarkable intellect.

Especially now that they were all massive, Lyarax and Rhaenyx were approaching the size of elephants, meaning they would be able to take riders soon, not that he had anyone to ride them.

And as usual, Starfyre had them beat by a wide margin, having been hatched close to nine moons sooner. However, it was not the only thing that explained her consequent faster growth rate. She was now far bigger than an elephant, even larger than what he imagined mammoths were like.

Her teeth as well had grown even fiercer, there were literal dozens of them, most at least thirty inches long, and some larger and wider than his forearms.

Her red eyes found his purple ones and Aemon could not help but snort, they were still hungry. With a nod, he pulled out a few other cows and set them free.

This time, his children did not play with them and went directly for the kill.

Starfyre only had to snap her jaws around the cow and unleashed her potent flames, cooking it inside her jaw. While her younger siblings pounced and used both claws and teeth to end their prey. Seconds later, they were eating slightly burnt meat and the only evidence of the cattle's existence were the few bones his children did not find to their tastes.

Once they were done, both Rhaenyx and Lyarax began to retreat to their lairs and only Starfyre remained, Aemon settled on the grass beside her, and the she-dragon settled her large triangular head upon his lap. Aemon could not help but smile as he began to stroke her scales and she purred, it was truly special.