The Conquest of Westeros XLVI,
Aemon Targaryen and the False Dragonknight.
No one truly knows what it was that first set Aemon Targaryen against his granduncle or why he was the first to truly question whether or not Brynden really was a Dragonknight or not. True enough there had been those who'd doubted before him, but few who'd been so blatant in those doubts. Aemon though was a studious man, a learned one, and so mayhap it was in the books and the histories of House Targaryen that he first noticed the signs which painted Bloodraven as false.
What is known is that Aemon was close to his cousins who'd been christened as Blackfyres, he believed their stories and tales of Bloodraven and had seen the jealousy that his granduncle had shown to any over Shiera the Star of the Sea's affections. He'd known better than any of the traits that a Dragonknight had and knew more of Dark Sister than any man in the Empire including the man who wielded it. Or to be more precise did not. For Bloodraven far preferred bow to sword and that did not sit right with Aemon nor did his relationship with his dragon Whitefyre.
The bond between a Dragonrider and dragon was one of mutual trust and respect, the bond between a Dragonknight and his dragon was something much deeper. Aemon's own dragon Darkfyre was one that he rode daily, while Bloodraven's Whitefyre was rarely seen in the sky with him upon its back. So eventually after much work gathering evidence, Prince Aemon readied to present his case to his brother Emperor Aegon, only for Bloodraven to somehow gain knowledge of the plan beforehand and seek to flee. Where he intended to flee to, remains a mystery to this day as does what happened when Prince Aemon and Darkfyre finally caught up with him. What is known is that when Aemon returned he did so alone and bearing Dark Sister, and that Bloodraven or Whitefyre were never seen again.
"My granduncle Aemon was a great man, the best of men. He was good and true and no Kinslayer. And both the Empire and my House owed him far more than we ever gave him." Aemon the Dragonknight.
A History of the Conquest of the Dragonknight,
Marwyn the Mage.
Volantis 301 AC.
Rhaegar Targaryen.
He looked down at his Granduncle's body, Aemon looking as if he was merely sleeping and not breathing more. They'd all done their best to prepare themselves for this day. Aemon's health had been growing steadily worse these past few years, so they knew his time was near. But this? To have whatever days he had left remaining to him stolen by an assassin's blade, was not something any of them were prepared for.
Rhaegar brushed his Granduncle's hair from his face and leaned down to place a soft kiss on his forehead. His wisdom and guidance had been something he'd relied on for years. The words he'd speak to him when they were alone and he questioned his own decisions, were ones that had been most comforting. After his father's reign had finally been brought to an end and as Rhaegar was trying to get used to the role of High Emperor, it had been Aemon who'd helped him through those first few days. When his mother had passed, when Lyanna had, as much as it had been Elia and his children that he'd taken comfort from, it was Aemon's words that had stopped him from falling into the abyss of grief.
Each of his children had loved him. Aegon, Rhaenys, and his brother and sister too, though none more so than his namesake. What words his Granduncle and his son would speak together were known only to them both. Rhaegar had always believed that some were in regards to Bloodraven the False Dragonknight and that others were in regards to his son being a true one. Whether he was right or wrong, it mattered little now. He knew that Aemon and Rhaenys would both take this news as hard as he and the rest of their family were, harder still mayhap in Aemon's case.
"I will avenge you, uncle, I will find those who took you from this world. On that, you have my vow, my oath, and when I do, they'll feel my fire." Rhaegar said determinedly.
With a last look at his Granduncle, he turned to walk from the room. As he did he could hear the sad lament from outside the window where Darkfyre flew in its own show of grief. Before the dragon then flew to ready itself to bring its flames to bear one final time for its rider. In the halls outside, Viserys and Aegon waited and he nodded to them both. His brother and son then went inside to pay their own respects to a man who meant so much to them both. He'd ordered three days of mourning, the standard for any but the High Emperor or his Empress. Yet he felt it not enough, in truth it was a poor send-off to a man who deserved a far better one.
Rhaegar though knew the politics were important. To make the death any more than an expected one was to court disaster. Word could not be allowed to spread regarding the truth of Aemon's death. Instead of assassination, it must be that he passed peacefully in his sleep. Anything else would shatter the image of the Royal Family being untouchable. Their enemies and even their allies could not be allowed to know that a Prince of the Blood had been killed in their own Grand Palace. That just couldn't be spoken to any but family. He hated it, wished it was not how things must be, and he wished to rant and rave. He wanted to rage for all to see, but he knew he could not.
He walked the halls almost in a daze, his guards behind him, and from now on not even in this place of assumed safety would a member of his family not be guarded as if they were on non-friendly ground. Rhaegar turned to speak to Arthur, to ask him about the steps he'd taken to ensure his family's safety, only to once again be reminded that his closest friend and truest sword was far from here. It brought him less comfort today than it normally did. The knowledge that Rhaenys and Daenerys walked with the Sword of the Morning, as well as with Aemon himself, had made him fear not for them in Westeros. Today though he found he wished that it was here and not there that Arthur was. For today his fears were for the family he had close by and not those in foreign lands.
Soon enough he reached his rooms and with a nod to his guards, he entered them. Elia came to him as soon as he did so and he allowed her arms to offer him the comfort he so desperately needed. He didn't sob, shed no tear, for he'd done so enough in the last few hours. Instead, he allowed her arms to bring him strength and wash away some of the sadness he felt. The time had come for other emotions to come to the fore, none more so than anger. So after a few moments, he moved from his wife, placed a kiss on her cheek, and told her that he was better, if not yet well.
"I'll burn them all, Elia, every last one of them. I'll burn them all!" he said and for once he cared not that he sounded like his father.
"I know you will, my love." his wife replied simply.
He moved to he balcony and looked at the dragons that flew in the sky. One mournful and flying closer to the Grand Palace than it had in many a year. Soon enough the indigo dragon would fly to Lys and wait to be claimed by a new rider. Truth be told it had been some years since his Granduncle had flown upon his dragon's back, yet Rhaegar knew the bond between them had never been diminished. Seeing Arrax fly towards him, he smiled. His own dragon knew his mind even better than he and Rhaegar could see the same determination in its red eyes that he believed was reflected in his own indigo ones.
"Hēnkirī Arrax, hēnkirī īlon'll maghagon zirȳ Perzys Ānogār." (Together Arrax, together we'll bring them Fire and Blood.) he said as his dragon, and the others that flew with him, all seemed to roar together.
Walking back into his rooms, he felt different, more determined if that was possible. He sent for Varys and made his way to his solar to meet with his Spymaster. Rhaegar sent for his brother and son too, as while they were about the Empire's business this day, they were about their family's as well. The assassination of a member of their family had to be answered on both counts. Both the Empire and the Targaryens themselves demanded justice and he demanded vengeance.
It was his son and brother who arrived first, with Varys arriving a little after them both. Rhaegar could see how shaken Aegon was still, yet it seemed that just as with him, his son too had passed beyond grief and now sought retribution. Viserys was still more grief-stricken and for a moment he wondered if he should allow his brother more time to deal with that, though in the end, he felt he could not. He too needed to know the steps that were being taken, for he too would have a part to play in seeing them to their natural end.
"What songs do your little birds sing, Varys?" he asked without preamble.
"None, your grace. No one speaks of the death of Prince Aemon, other than the words you wish them to speak." Varys said to a glare from Viserys which Aegon removed rather than he, his son whispering in Viserys' ear.
"And the other songs?"
"Less than none, your grace. No one speaks of the man who murdered the prince, not here, nor elsewhere. Though one song I've heard from afar."
"Which is?" Aegon asked impatiently.
"That King Tywin Lannister's dwarf son visited Braavos, where he met with the Iron Bank," Varys said and Aegon looked to him, Rhaegar nodding and allowing his son's words to be the ones spoken and not his own.
"The Sorrowful Men, Varys, what can you tell me of them?" Aegon asked.
He, his son, and his brother, all listened as Varys spoke of them being other than the Faceless Men, the largest group of assassins in Essos. Based out of Qarth, his family had never had any dealings with them and unlike with the Faceless Men, no pact. A mistake on their part which had cost them greatly and would now cost the Sorrowful Men even more. As to who had hired them, it was Aegon who seemed to come up with a suspect quicker than he, a suspect that he did not wish Varys to know about as of yet given how he looked at him.
"I want to know all about them. Speak to the men of Qarth, but do so in generalities only Varys. The truth of them I wish to know through your little birds and seek out more on why Tywin Lannister's son visited the Iron Bank," he said and Varys rose to his feet before turning to leave the room.
They waited until he was gone, Viserys then rose to his feet and almost demanded that they all fly to Qarth and end these Sorrowful Men once and for all. A large part of him agreed with it as a plan and almost wished to do it now and not wait a moment longer. The people who'd killed his Granduncle deserved not to breathe while he did not, but there was more going on here and while the Sorrowful Men had killed Aemon, they were not the true enemy. That was whoever had paid them to do so.
"The assassin tried to blame Aemon, father. I told you his words." Aegon said and they both heard Viserys snort.
"As if my nephew would ever send a fool to do something he himself could do easily. If Aemon ever wished any of us dead, which we all know is not something he'd even countenance, it would be no assassin's blade that ended us, it'd be Dark Sister wielded in his own hand." Viserys said and all there of them knew his words were true.
"But someone seeks to place the blame at his door, uncle. Why? Who would gain from such? Who does it benefit to see the Empire and the Dragonknight at odds? I know my brother would not seek my death. I know too that should he find out what happened here then not even Varys' little bird would do as much seeking of the truth as he." Aegon said almost happily.
"But we must do so first, Aegon. Aemon is far from here, it'll take time for word to reach him and who knows what form his search for vengeance will take." he said and he knew he'd spoken it true, it wouldn't be justice that his son sought, but vengeance for his namesake and himself "An attack of this nature shows we've new enemies. Ones that thus far are unknown to us and ones that must be removed root and stem lest others seek to join their cause."
"The Lannisters." Aegon said and he looked to his soon curiously "Aemon seeks to take their kingdom from them, he's taken most of Westeros with ease, and to face him on an open field is to sign your own death warrant, is it not?"
"It is," Viserys said before he could answer.
"King Tywin, you told me once he's a ruthless and clever man, father." Aegon said and despite the seriousness of the discussion they were having, he smiled as it had been many years earlier when King Tywin had visited and both Aegon and Aemon had still been boys "Would this be something he'd attempt?"
"I'd not have thought so, but his son's presence in Braavos…."
"We need to fly, father. Viserys and I, we need to fly."
"You cannot go to Westeros, Aegon," he said rising to his feet.
"Not Westeros, no. Qarth and Braavos." his son said and he looked to him and to his brother before nodding.
"After the days of mourning have passed, not before."
"No father, not before," Aegon said determinedly.
Winterfell 301 AC.
Rhaenys.
Waking up to an empty bed was a new experience for her these last few moons. Other than when she'd gone to Dorne, she and Aemon spent little time apart and so she had found it hard to sleep the night before. When she did drift off it was to dreams of her husband and upon waking it was to the reality that he was not here and they'd not see each other for a few more days at least. Rhaenys knew not what it was Aemon had gone to face at the Wall, only that her husband had felt the need to do so. Something she both loved and hated him for in equal measures this morning.
She rose to her feet, stretched, and then smiled at the sight of the white wolf as it lay in front of the fire. At more than one point during the night before, she'd shared her bed with the giant Direwolf. It almost seemed to know when she needed something to hold onto and before she could get too disheartened, there he'd be. Moving to the trunk where her clothing was, she began to dress and she washed in the large bowl of water that had been left on the table near her bed. The cold of it was actually welcome as it helped wake her up for true and in no time at all she was dressed and ready for the day ahead.
"Well Ghost, let's find something to break our fasts shall we?" she said to the white wolf who rose to his feet immediately.
Rhaenys opened the door to find Ser Arthur on duty. Ser Barristan had been her guard when she took to her bed and they must have switched at some point during the night or the early morning. Offering Arthur her warmest smile, they moved to Dany's room and as she looked at Dany's guards, she found herself feeling mischievous. Her aunt was not a morning person, though since coming to Westeros she seemed to be turning more into one. However in the cold mornings, since they'd come north, even though they were less of a thing in the keep itself, she'd reverted back to her former habits. So knowing what she'd find, Rhaenys opened the door and she and Ghost entered Dany's room. With a look to the white wolf, Rhaenys was soon giggling loudly as Ghost moved straight to the bed.
"What? What? Gerroffff me…" Dany's annoyed voice rang out a few moments later and by this time Rhaenys was in almost tears of laughter, something which she actually was a few moments later when she was hit by a pillow wielded by a clearly non-amused Dany.
"I couldn't resist…" she said in the gaps of her laughter "Aemon would…"
"The sooner the better my nephew returns and I can get a decent night's sleep," Dany said angrily, though mostly it was feigned anger that her aunt spoke with.
Once their fun was over and done with, Rhaenys helped Dany dress and even did her hair herself. The feel of the brush as it took out the knots in Dany's silver hair and the look on her aunt's face as she readied her for the day, showed that all was somewhat forgiven. Together with Ghost, they left the room and made their way to the Great Hall to break their fasts. Rhaenys found to her delight that both Stark girls and some of the other young ladies of Winterfell were already up and eating.
"Good morning, your grace," Sansa said rising to curtsy, she and Jeyne Poole along with Beth Cassel the only ones who did so.
"Mornuppph…" Arya said as she stuffed another spoonful of porridge into her mouth and Rhaenys giggled once again.
Aemon's two cousins were as different as night and day. Sansa was more a lady of the court, even if they didn't truly have one in Winterfell. The older girl had confided in her that she was struggling to get used to life at Winterfell itself, having been raised and spent her life with her family at Moat Cailin. While not much different to Rhaenys' eyes, the Moat and Winterfell were as different as can be. One was the gateway to the North, the other the heart of it and Sansa had told her that she was looking forward to the increased number of feasts and visits from other Houses in the North that Winterfell would host.
Arya meanwhile, was more of a Northern Lady or so Aemon had said. Though where her husband got his notions of what constituted a Lady of the North, Rhaenys knew not. While Lyanna to her memory had been somewhat a mix of both girls, she'd not spoken much on the ladies of her homeland, though given how much Aemon wished to know about the birthplace of his mother, mayhap he had simply sought the information out. Whatever the truth of it, Arya epitomized it to Rhaenys' eyes. The girl was as happy in the yard and doing what to some were unladylike things as her sister was in doing them. She liked them both equally, while she believed that her husband may have been somewhat fonder of Arya given her resemblance to his mother. Yet another way that the two girls differed. Sansa was red of hair and blue of eye, traits of her mother's house, while Arya was brown of hair and grey-eyed, traits of her father.
"I was planning to go visit the dragons this morning, would you like to accompany me?" she asked as their morning meals were placed in front of them.
"Very much so, your grace," Sansa said smiling.
"Could we fly?" Arya asked to a laugh from Dany as Rhaenys looked at her plate.
The porridge was hot and steaming and she poured some of the apple syrup over it to sweeten it. Were this Volantis or even the South, then it would be honey she'd be having and she found herself wondering if the North had even tasted such. They certainly didn't import it, instead keeping to more basic foodstuffs. Something she'd seek to change in the future. Still, the taste was pleasant and the porridge and its warmth were much welcomed.
"Not today, girls, for I feel a winter storm is on the horizon." Lady Catelyn said and Rhaenys looked to the lady to see if she was speaking true or just feared for her daughters on Meraxes or Nightwing's back, finding herself sure it was the former.
"We can fly some other day, Arya. When the weather is more agreeable," she said and Lady Catelyn's smile showed that Rhaenys had read her right.
After eating, it took some time for the party to be assembled to head to Wolfswood and to where the dragons had taken for their lair. Guards, both her own and those representing House Stark, the wolves, and young Brandon and Rickon Stark too all joined them, and the ride when it finally began took little time.
She smiled when she saw Meraxes and Nightwing in the sky. The two dragons were playing with each other and those with her all looked on as she did in awe as they almost danced together. While Gaelithox was Meraxes' favorite flying companion, her dragon so enjoyed being with Nightwing too. Looking up at the two of them it was clear that they'd been playing together for some time and it was only when they felt them nearby, that they stopped their games and landed close to them. Both she and Dany moved to greet them first, her aunt looking eagerly at her and Rhaenys shaking her head much to her disappointment.
While she could feel no change in the weather, the clouds in the sky were darkening and she felt it best to accept that Lady Catelyn's experience in living in the North had provided her with an insight that she shared not. So instead it was soft words and touches and not climbing on the dragon's back to take to the sky that they would spend this morning. Meraxes was more than happy to have her near and to hear her words, while Nightwing seemed likewise. After their own private moments, she bid Sansa and Arya, and the others closer and asked Meraxes to allow them to touch her too.
"We should go back, your grace." Ser Arthur said after some time and when the first flakes of snow had begun to fall.
"Very well, I'll just say my goodbyes, Arthur." she said before she moved to look into Meraxes' golden eyes "Īlon'll sōvegon aderī, ñuha jorrāelagon. Ao, nyke, Nightwing se Gaelithox. Nyke kivio."(We'll fly soon, my love. You, Me, Nightwing, and Gaelithox. I promise.) she said and Meraxes trilled loudly.
After Dany had said her own goodbyes, they moved to the horses and watched as the two dragons took to the sky once more. They had made truer lairs for themselves in some caves some distance away and so would go and shelter there if need be, or they may be heading off for a hunt. Either way, she was sad to see them go and she so wished she could have gone flying with them this morning. Feeling the chill of the wind and the snows beginning to fall a little more truly, they hurried back to Winterfell and arrived just in time.
Lady Catelyn had been proved right and it was indeed a winter storm that had headed their way, a far more violent one than even the lady had expected given how relieved she looked to see them return. By the time they ate their evening meal, the storm was in full rage and when she took to her bed that night, it was to the window and with her eyes looking to the north that she found herself. She felt the lick of Ghost's tongue on her hand and offered up a prayer to the gods to see her husband safe before she took to her bed. Once she did, she was even happier for Ghost's presence when he lay down beside her and as she hugged the white wolf, she wished it was someone else her arms were wrapped around.
"Be safe, my love. Be safe and return soon I beg of you," she said softly.
The Westerlands 301 AC.
Daario Naharis.
The people of these lands amazed him. In essence, their king was at war with an enemy that had him beat in terms of strength and numbers, who had dragons to call upon, and yet they were able to ride freely without being challenged once. Not that if they had been challenged it would have caused them any difficulties, but the mere fact they weren't had shown just how badly prepared the West was to face the Dragonknight.
At taverns, they drank, ate, and were clearly not from these lands, and yet no word was sent to the nearby keeps or their lords about them. No riders came after them when they left the towns or villages and so he and his men rode practically without a care. Had they been here for anything but the mission they were on, then they could have caused chaos within these lands. Something they were more than gifted at and which at times in Essos they had been tasked to do. The Second Sons were well used to sneaking behind enemy lines and spreading discontent and panic in the ranks of those they faced. Setting fires, killing commanders, or riding off with stores was all well within their wheelhouse.
Here in these lands, it would be even easier to do. Villages burned, keeps were easy to infiltrate, and even were they to be found out and find themselves running for their lives, there were so many places to get lost in. They had crossed into the West at the Golden Tooth. Daario had sent Lucearon and Jaedor on ahead of his main group to seek out a path that hid them from the keep itself, one that was found most easily. So as night had fallen, they'd snuck into the West unseen and Valarr had added the route to their map. While not large enough to get the Westerosi heavy cavalry through, their own men could easily traverse the path unseen and they could march the Unsullied right behind an enemy's lines if they wished to.
From the Golden Tooth, it was to Ashemark, the Crag, and finally to Lannisport itself that their travels took them. They stopped in villages, drank in taverns and his men did one of the things they did best, they sought and found information that would be useful to their cause. The Old Lion was as feared as he was respected, while his son Prince Jaime was spoken about as the best swordsman in all seven kingdoms. Something that Daario knew to be false as there were certainly two that he knew personally who would be far better than the man and his own blade may be more than a match for his as well.
They'd listened as people spoke of the wedding in Dorne. Of how the two kingdoms combined would be more than a match for the so-called Dragon King and he'd tried not to laugh. His men found that to be harder than he did as they found the arrogance of these people to be unfounded. The Second Sons were arrogant as were The Flames of the Dragon and The Sea Snakes. The Unsullied were not, they just were. As for those who commanded them, Aurane was perhaps the most modest of them all, other than Torgho Nudho. Thoros believed he walked with his god's favor and he had himself grown more and more arrogant over the years. Aemon he knew walked with an arrogance that few men possessed. Unlike these fools in the West though, they had reasons for their arrogance, victories to name their own, and enemies they'd put into the ground to prove their arrogance was well earned. These men spoke of victories yet to come and they spoke false.
"By the Seven I'd love to see Prince Jaime stick his sword up the Dragon King's arse." a drunk man shouted loudly.
"Ha. What a sight it would be."
"To Prince Jaime, The Kingslayer."
"The Kingslayer."
He and his men were still chuckling when they left some of the taverns. It was not the bragging that made them do so, just who they were bragging about seeing being brought low. The day that their prince faced Aemon Targaryen, would be the last day their prince drew breath. They had no doubt that would be the outcome of that fight. Just as they'd had none that when he faced the Storm King it would be Aemon who lived to fight another day, which had been what had occurred.
It was in Lannisport that they found tongues even more loosened. Lucearon finally found a name other than the Mountain for the giant amongst men. How many ales he'd bought or what women he'd slept with to find out that name, only the man himself would be able to speak on. For while he'd left him and others in some of the taverns, it had been to Casterly Rock itself that Daario had turned his attention to. Finally finding something in these lands that impressed him. Other than some of the women that was.
The Rock as those who lived in its shadow named it, was as impressive a keep as he'd seen since arriving in these lands. Though nothing compared to the Grand Palace in scope or Harrenhal in size, it loomed majestically over the lands beneath it. Situated high on top of a mountain, his first thought had been that it would take dragons to take this keep. As he'd then gone in for a closer look, he'd found for the first time, men who took their roles seriously. He was stopped, questioned, watched warily, and followed all the way to the gates of the keep itself. So warily was he looked at that he had to try to enter the keep and accept the insults and the denial of entry just so he could travel freely back down the mountain.
Only after he'd done so was he watched no more. He'd seen enough though. Guard towers were built into the stone leading to the gates of the keep itself. Murder holes had been cut into the rocks. A pathway that while comfortable enough to travel up was not one you'd seek to march an army lest you'd taken care of all enemies in your path first. It would take many men to see this keep fall. More than that though, it would take the Blood Wyrm some time to end the resistance of those inside the keep. Taking his journal out, he wrote one word next to the name of the keep itself.
Casterly Rock: Formidable.
Thankfully when meeting back up with his men, their news, or Lucearon's in particular was better and it was a man named Gregor Clegane and his family's keep that was to become their next destination. The ride took them no more than a few days and the closer they got to the keep, the more he felt it. There was a malevolent presence in the air and one that only grew once they reached the village beneath the large towerhouse.
Even Lucearon, who was afraid of no living thing, seemed almost unwilling to sup in the tavern when asked and in the end, it had been Daario alone who'd done so. He'd not ask his men to do something that he would not and so he rode alone into the small village and saw the fear in people's eyes as soon as he arrived there. It was not fear of him and it took him no time at all to find out it was the Lord of the Keep that kept these people awake at night. None would speak of the man, no words of his or cajoling would get them to open their mouths and it left him annoyed and yet impressed. As he was when he finally got a glimpse of the man himself.
Eight feet tall and as muscled as any man he'd ever seen. Gregor Clegane wore heavy plate and carried a Greatsword that put Dawn to shame in terms of size, if not beauty. The Mountain that Rides, that had been the name they'd heard more than once while seeking out this giant of a man. As he now looked at him mount his horse, he felt the name was apt. When he looked his way, Daario felt a shiver run down his spine and felt somewhat a fool for being here alone. Had the man joined the two he sent after him when he left the village, then he'd not have made it back to his own men. But be it confidence, cockiness, or thinking Daario to be as weak as he looked, instead of how many it would need to bring him down it was only two ugly men that had been sent after him.
"Halt rider." one of them called out and Daario ignored him as he rode a little faster, "I said HALT!" the man shouted, and then he heard their horses ride towards him at speed.
He reached down for his lady, turned around on his horse, and waited until the distance was closed. Once he was sure he'd not miss, he took his lady in his hands and threw her. His aim was good and true and he caught the man square in the head, Daario almost laughing at the sight of him falling from his horse. The other guard drew his sword only to find Daario had unsheathed his Arakh far more quickly and before he got the chance to swing at him in anger, his head was no longer on his shoulders.
"Another day and I'd sought answers from you both." Daario said as he dismounted and moved to retrieve his lady "Today though it was only your deaths I sought."
Both men breathed no more and he knew his time in these lands was now over and done with. It took him another hour to meet up with his men and he had them ready to ride less than an hour later. They stopped not in Lannisport or anywhere else until they reached Ashemark. Even then it was only Lucearon and Jaedor who entered the village itself for supplies as while he believed they were not being followed, he wished not to take the chance he was wrong in that regard.
It was their return to the Golden Tooth that brought them information that he knew Aemon would more than welcome. Lucearon had sought to spend a night in the village near the keep and while Daario and the rest of their men camped, he let the man do as he'd asked. They japed about him that night as they ate around the campfire. He and his men were sure there was a lady that he wished to bed before they left these lands and in this, they were proved right. Though as always with Lucearon, the laying with the lady was only half his reason for spending the night. The other half was something that he and his men found out upon Lucearon's return.
"You're sure about this?" Daario asked after listening to what Lucearon had just told him.
"I'm sure. The girl is a maid in the keep. She said that Prince Jaime, along with the Mountain and some other men stayed in the keep a few moons past. That they rode from the east."
"It may be nothing," he said though he believed it not.
"The Mountain is not welcome in most keeps, Daario. People fear him with good reason according to Lara. Had he not been with Prince Jaime then he may not have been allowed within the keep's walls." Lucearon said.
"They'd stop him from entering?" Jaedor asked.
"Here they would," Lucearon replied.
"What's special about here?" Valarr asked.
"The Lord's daughter is married to Prince Jaime Lannister," Lucearon said.
He looked to Lucearon and to the rest of his men, he could see that they believed the words that Lucearon had spoken to them all. If true then not only had The Mountain killed Aemon's uncle, he and Prince Jaime may very well have killed his grandfather too. War was already coming to these lands, that was inevitable. What had not been up to now was which side of Aemon Targaryen and the Blood Wyrm they'd see. Now it was and it was not a side of either that any in Westeros would soon forget.
The Wall 301 AC.
Benjen Stark.
He'd seen the dragons from some feet away, both while they flew in the sky and as they landed. When his nephew had come to Moat Cailin, it had been him that had greeted him first and so it was him that had been nearest to the red dragon. As they'd marched south, he and the rest of the North had born witness to the power of dragons when they'd come across the Iron Born who'd been unlucky enough to face the Blood Wyrm's wrath. Yet none of that prepared him for just how incredible a beast a dragon truly was.
When Aemon had suggested coming with them to the Wall, both he and Ned had been greatly relieved. More so when he'd said that he'd be bringing the Blood Wyrm to bear on whatever enemies that Jeor Mormont was warning them about. Benjen had no doubt that just as it had been in the past, it was once again Wildlings that needed to be repelled. Though he did wonder just why Jeor seemed so desperate for their help this time. All of that had been mayhap why he'd not at first realized that he and his brother would be flying to the Wall upon a dragon's back. Now as they soared through the air, he finally began to understand just how outmatched anyone was against dragons, and just how majestic they truly were.
He barely saw the ground beneath them, so fast did they fly over it. Before he knew it they'd passed over the Wolfswood and as night fell they were almost at the Wall itself. Were it not for his nephew's worry over their tiredness and Aemon not wishing to arrive at the Wall not ready to fight if need be, then he believed they'd have continued on and flown straight to the Wall. Something which beggared belief when he thought about it. A journey that would take them weeks to do, being done in a single day, was just mind-blowing to him.
It showed him more clearly why no army could truly match one with a dragon at its head. For even ravens flew slower than the Blood Wyrm and Benjen would wager that for as fast as they'd covered the ground, Aemon hadn't even bid the red dragon fly as fast as he could. Were you marching an army against such a foe, then before you knew it, your enemy would be right atop you, or behind you, and the fight would be upon you before you knew it. Given then what they'd seen in the Neck and the tales they'd heard of the Blood Wyrm's ease in ending the Iron Born threat, to fight against such a foe was folly. The North and other Kingdoms had chosen not to. Partly because Aemon was their kin, mainly because they'd realized the odds they faced. Others had not and as they landed and Benjen climbed down to stretch his legs, he felt sorry for those who did not.
"He'll go eat and be back within the hour," Aemon said as the red dragon took to the sky and Benjen looked around at where they were.
"The Gift?" Ned asked looking to him and Benjen nodded, believing that indeed was where they were and confirming to himself that he'd been right, they could have made it to Castle Black if Aemon had wished it so.
"We should start a…" he was about to say fire when he looked to see that Aemon and the quiet stoic guard who always stood at his nephew's back had already lit one "Or just join them at it." he chuckled as he and Ned moved to where his nephew and his guard, Torgho Nudho sat by the fire.
They took their own seats, and Ned reached into their pack to pass out some bread and cheese, something that each of them partook of. He looked to his brother, to his nephew, and to the man with him and while the silence wasn't foreboding or uncomfortable, he felt the need for someone to speak.
"You said you wished to go to the Wall, Aemon? For why?" he asked as he tore off a piece of bread and then chewed down on it.
"Mother would tell me tales of the North, uncle. When she put me in my bed at night, she'd sit with me and speak of the lands, the people, its customs, and her family. She'd tell me a tale of a wall of ice that rose as high as the Emperor's Towe. One that stretched further than the walls of Qarth or Yi Ti. To the boy I was, it sounded such a sight to see, and given that it was my mother speaking of it, of the lands she'd been born in, it was only more so." Aemon said wistfully.
"It must have been hard for you when you lost your mother," Ned said softly.
"It was hard for us all, uncle. Rhaenys, Aegon, my father, and Elia, the people of the Empire. Those who were enslaved most of all." Aemon said looking to his guard.
"Slavery, such a thing…" he said disgustedly, then seeing a small nod from the normally stoic guard.
"The Empire was founded on it. A relic from Valyria itself and one that for the longest time no one ever challenged, not until my mother that was." Aemon said bringing a smile to both Benjen and Ned's faces "When we would travel through the Empire, my mother would free slaves where she could, though never as many as she wished for."
"Not even as the Empress?" he asked and Torgho Nudho glared at him thinking he was speaking ill of his sister, only for Aemon to place a hand on the man's shoulder and whisper in his ear before he then spoke.
"My father's will alone would not be enough to stop slavery. Oh, he could mayhap force it to, proclaim it so, but it would bring the Empire crashing down around him were he to do so. Mother understood this, she knew it had to be a process, little by little. So together they began to introduce reforms, after she….when she passed, I'm afraid those reforms were forgotten and so it was left to the law named after her to be all that slaves could look to for their freedom. Alas…I was the only one who enacted that law." Aemon said rising to his feet and shaking his head at his guard as he walked to the stream some distance away.
There was silence once again and Benjen felt that they would the last words were spoken that night, other than to bid goodnights when they turned in, he was wrong. Torgho Nudho looked to Aemon before then speaking, surprising both he and Ned when he did so as the man was by nature a quiet one they'd found.
"Empress Lyanna freed Torgho Nudho. I stand with her son always." Torgho Nudho said firmly.
"You knew my sister?" he asked curiously.
"I had the honor of knowing the Empress. Empress came to Astapor and when she left, she took me with her. Many years later, my prince and Torgho Nudho went back and freed others. Not all, but many and none who were cut." Torgho Nudho said almost proudly.
"Cut?" Ned asked.
"No longer men."
He was about to ask more, or Ned was when Aemon walked back and rejoined them. He'd not say he'd been crying, but it was clear he had been saddened by the words they'd spoken and the memories they'd brought back up. Yet as he took his seat, soon enough he was speaking of other things and making japes at their expense. Something that they probably needed. The red dragon arrived back an hour or so later and they ended up making their beds against his scales. Benjen was stunned to find that though the night was cold and the wind blew, they felt it not and he slept as if he was abed in Winterfell and not sleeping on the cold snow-covered ground.
They broke their fast early the next morning and were flying less than an hour after waking. He'd been to the Wall three times in his life, Ned only two, neither of them though had ever seen it from this vantage point and it was a sight to behold. He could even see over it and half expected to see the Wildlings already there waiting, though there was no sign of them and after flying them alongside it for some time, Aemon finally bid the red dragon to land. Whatever it was they'd come to face, Benjen had no fear of them. For they had a dragon to call upon and Wildlings like any other who faced it were simply outmatched.
The Crownlands 301 AC.
Aurane.
The men arranged against him were a fierce and unfriendly bunch. Warriors one and all, yet some had left their best days behind them and others were yet to see them. Green Boys and Grey Beards and despite having him beat in terms of numbers, should there be a battle here today, then he felt that he'd end up winning. He just had no desire to pay the cost of that victory. For he'd lose men too, and he both had no desire to waste them in a pointless battle and had fewer to call on.
Still, he'd set his lines up and as they rode towards the leaders of those who'd stand against them, he did so under no illusions that a loss of men may be unavoidable. Beside him, Marxus looked eager for a fight and had sent word to Thoros in Harrenhal that one may be upon them. Not that his friend would be able to send men to help him out if one came. Something which preyed on Aurane's mind and should there be no fight here today, then it was something that he'd seek to rectify before getting back to building his city.
When they reached the middle of the field, he looked to see the men riding towards him and tried to judge which of them led. It took him some time to be sure that he was in the right of it, but in the end, he was certain that it was the older man in the middle, the one bearing the red crab of House Celtigar. Seeing how the man looked at him when they finally brought their horses to a stop, he was even more certain he was right. There was hatred in those looks, distrust, and anger too. Yet there was fear there as well, a fear that he intended to make use of.
"These are not your lands, boy, they belong to my House, to all our Houses." the old Celtigar Lord spat.
"All the Lands of Westeros belong to only one House, Lord Celtigar. The House of the Dragon and it is to the man and woman who rule over that House that I answer and not to you. It is to King Aemon Targaryen, the King of Westeros, and to Queen Rhaenys Targaryen that both mine and your own fealty is owed. It was they who named these lands as mine own and bid me see that so." he said firmly.
The looks on each of the faces only grew ever more angered and yet once again it was Lord Celtigar who spoke.
"We swore no oaths to the dragons, nor to the other men who named themselves kings. I swear no oaths to you and owe no man my fealty. You have until midday to leave these lands in peace, boy, if I were you I'd run back to your dragon king and tell him that these lands are not, nor will ever be his."
He saw it then, the pride that was for now overriding the fear that was there. Were it Aemon and Gaelithox here then it would be the latter that was the pre-eminent emotion. Had he a fuller army here, then he too could engender that fear in the man across from him. But since he had what looked to be a lesser force, even though he believed them superior, it would not be fear that brought this man to his knees or not the fear of what may happen today. Instead, he would use what would happen on the morrow to cow these men.
"King Robert Baratheon rode out with the full might of the Stormlands. More than 20,000 men he brought and yet it was in a Trial by Seven that my king took his life." Aurane said and he saw one of the lords, a man wearing moonstones and whose sigil was seven golden stars look at him fearfully though Lord Celtigar's expression changed not "The Knights of the Vale and their king knelt when the Blood Wyrm showed them that their Bloody Gate was no obstacle to my king's march. Harrenhal now flies the banner of the Two-Headed Dragon, rather than one of the Hoares, and was taken with a snap of my king's fingers." he said snapping his fingers for effect "The North and the Riverlords knelt despite winning a great victory of their own. Yet you believe that you can give orders to a king?" he said dismissively while looking at the wizened old lord.
"I knelt…."
"To no King. I heard your words and I'll say but this, the only reason they are true is that you've known no king like mine own. We are not men of Westeros, our King is no man of Westeros, yet Westeros like Essos before it has found that you kneel or are brought to your knees when the Dragonknight stands before you. We can give battle here today, you'll lose, but we can fight if you wish. The gods may even be good to you and I may be talking out of my arse, and you'll win. But what price that victory, my lords?"
He looked to the now more nervous looks, turned to Marxus and nodded, and saw him look back to his men, his cavalry now making their presence truly felt. Aurane used them just to emphasize that even their victory should it come would be a false one.
"Should I fall, should my men fall. What do you think comes next, my lords? Who do you think would seek to avenge us? My King is my brother by choice, I know in death what faces the man who ended me? And yet I'm a fair man too. So I'll give you a chance to take that which you seek. Your best man against mine own, one on one here in the middle of these lands. Should you win then the words I send my brother by choice will name you free and these lands are your own, when you lose, however…."
"We kneel?" Lord Celtigar spat and Aurane nodded.
"Very well, an hour." Lord Celtigar said and they turned their horses and rode back to their army while he and his men did the same.
An hour later they met once again in the middle of the field. He'd handed the latter to Darron just in case he fell and saw the surprised looks on the Lord's faces that it was him that was standing as his own champion. Those looks soon turned respectful and then worried as his words about Aemon began to sink in. Aurane knew they were right to be worried, his letter to Aemon may name his offer true, but he doubted he'd keep to it. Not if he fell here today, something he had no intention of doing. Were he to fall, then each and every single one of the Lords who'd ridden to face him would die at Aemon's hands. If they were lucky, then that would be all the vengeance for his death that Aemon would seek. He doubted they'd be that lucky.
"Ser Triston of Tally Hill." the knight who walked towards him said.
"Aurane Velaryon." he answered "To a yield will suffice for me, Ser Triston."
"My lord will be most pleased to hear it. I bid you good fortune, Aurane."
"And I, you, Ser Triston."
With a nod from Lord Celtigar, the two of them unsheathed their swords and while Ser Triston bore a shield, Aurane did not. Just as with Aemon himself, movement and speed were his strengths and so he held a dagger in his non-sword hand. He moved out of the way when after he'd blocked a strike from Ser Triston, the man tried to crash his shield against him. His dodge slightly unbalancing the other man.
His sword mainly parried the other man's blows at first, and it was clear that behind his shield's defenses, Ser Triston thought himself unreachable. Something that Aurane was about to prove he was very much not. With a turn and spin away from the shield attack, he once again unbalanced the other man, and then with his dagger, he drove down at the arm that held the shield. Aurane's dagger was a Myrish stiletto. Its point was sharp and narrow and it was made of Valyrian Steel. To Ser Triston's surprise, it cut deep into his armor and pierced the skin, forcing him to drop his shield and in essence, to lose the match.
Sword on sword, he was no match for Aurane and with the blood loss and pain in his injured arm, he was distracted too. A leg sweep caught him completely and as he fell to the ground, Ser Triston lost his sword as he had his shield a few moments earlier. Aurane stepped towards the prone man and placed his sword against his neck.
"Yield."
"I yield."
That night he accepted the fealty of the lords who'd sought to battle against him. Words and a small exhibition of swordsmanship had been enough to get them to bend their knees. The things he told them that night about the city he was building, were more than enough to keep them bent he felt. They too would prosper by the city he was building being on these lands, they'd see their coin increase as the trade itself did. That and knowing they'd not be facing a vengeful dragon was enough to see different looks on their faces when they feasted that night. It was enough to bring a smile to Lord Celtigar's too. As for Ser Triston, Marxus had seen to his injury and Aurane offered him a place within his guard, one that the man gratefully accepted.
The Conquest of Westeros XLVII,
The Lands Beyond the Wall.
Why the Wall was built had been somewhat lost over the years. The true reason that Brandon the Builder felt the need to build such a massive structure, along with the formation of the Night's Watch to guard said structure and the Lands beyond it, had been diluted and misremembered. Were you to ask any man south of the Wall, then you'd be told it was to keep the Wildlings out. To separate the lands of good and true men from the lands of savages.
Yet there were hints that it was more than simply savage men and women that the Wall was built to keep out in both the words of the Night's Watch Vow and in certain of their traditions. For amongst the tales spoken to the children of the North to scare them and that they thought untrue, one tale stood above all, the Tale of the Long Night. A night that cast the realm in darkness and where the sun shined not until it ended. A night when the Others marched and brought death to any they faced.
Amongst the Night's Watch's vows, certain lines of it seemed to refer to this being their true purpose. The Sword in the Darkness, The Fire that Burns against the Cold, The Light against the Dawn, and the end of their oath too. For this night and For all the Nights to come. Night not day, the night it was the Night's Watch was to guard against and were that not obvious enough, then their name alone should have told anyone their true purpose. For what does Night's Watch mean if not to watch out for the Night to come. Yet those words had been misconstrued for far too long and even their signals as to what came from the other side of the Wall had somewhat been forgotten. One horn blow for a returning Ranger, Two for Wildlings, and Three for Others. So long had it been since they blew for the last of those that they'd forgotten they'd blown for it once.
For eight thousand years it was Wildlings, King's Beyond the Wall, and a true purpose was forgotten. An animosity had grown between those on one side of the Wall and those on the other. When in truth, they were and had always been allies. The Watchers on the Wall were supposed to serve as the last line of defense and warning, not the first, the first was always supposed to be those who lived on the other side of the Wall. The truth was in the tales, in the stories of the North, of Brandon the Builder, Brandon the Breaker, and of Joramun. King's of Winter, and Kings Beyond the Wall uniting together to face the threat that sought to end them all, allies not enemies, friends not foes. In the end, it would take a king to see the truth in those words. A king with winter in his veins and fire in his heart, a king who'd been told those stories too.
A History of the Conquest of the Dragonknight,
Marwyn the Mage.
Castle Black 301 AC.
Aemon.
His dreams of it did it no justice at all. The stories his mother would tell him as she put him in bed, were now given context and as Gaelithox flew alongside the great wall of ice, Aemon smiled. There had been times over the years since she passed that he'd wondered if she'd made it up. Never would he doubt her or name the words she spoke to him as untrue, but there had been times when as he grew, he found the thoughts of a wall of ice to be just too fantastical. The height and length of such a thing, even one made from stone, was beyond even the Empire to construct. So Aemon had put some of her words down to while not lies, half-truths. Looking at it now, he felt a fool for even doubting his mother's words that much.
They flew some more before landing, Aemon bid Gaelithox fly higher and the red dragon was only too keen to do so. He looked over the Wall itself into the lands beyond it and found himself thinking of other words his mother had told him. There was no army lying in wait that he could see, no threat that was apparent, and yet according to his uncles, the Lord Commander rarely called for their aid so directly. With a last look to the other side of the Wall, he bid Gaelithox land and did so close to the small keep.
After dismounting, he looked to Torgho Nudho and saw the small nod of his head. No words needed to be spoken to his sworn shield and while they had come here as allies of the Watch, both he and Torgho Nudho would be ever vigilant just in case. His uncles seemed to share none of his concerns and as they began to walk to the gates, so did he. They reached them to find men waiting for them and one of them being greeted warmly by his uncle Ned.
"Lord Commander." his uncle said formerly.
"Lord Stark." the gruff older man replied before breaking into a warm smile "Ned, thank the fucking Old Gods for it's good to see you old friend."
"Aye, you too, Jeor."
"Benjen."
"Jeor."
The reunions took probably half the time they would have had he not been with them. His uncle almost forgot about him until Gaelithox took to the sky, but once the red dragon was flying again, then all eyes turned to him.
"I'd not believed the words," Jeor said looking to Gaelithox as the red dragon flew to feed and find a place to rest.
"Jeor, may I present his grace, King Aemon Targaryen, King of Westeros, and mine own nephew along with his sworn shield Togo Nadhu."
"Torgho Nudho, uncle," he said with a chuckle as he moved forward.
"You're Lyanna's boy?" Jeor asked as they shook hands.
"I am."
"Well then let me welcome you to Castle Black, your grace. Now no doubt you'd like to get inside where there's a warm fire and mayhap some hot food waiting, we may even be able to find an ale or two to wet our tongues if we're lucky." Jeor said and he and his uncles began to walk while Aemon and Torgho Nudho waited for a moment before doing likewise.
He took in the condition of the small keep and found it incredibly run down. The wood seemed to be rotten, the men looked as if they wished to be anywhere but here, and looking at their arms and armor, they were poorly equipped in both. The looks they gave them were anything but friendly, though they seemed to him to be men who'd not smile for much or had much to smile about. Still, as they walked, he noticed how Torgho Nudho took note of the harshest of those looks as did he. It was always far better to have an idea of those who may wish you harm than to be surprised by them.
The warmth of the Lord Commander's rooms when they entered it was welcome and while the food they were given was warm, that was the best that could be said about it. His uncles drank the ale that was offered and by the looks on their faces, wished they'd not. So he and Torgho Nudho stuck to water. Aemon found much to his delight that for some reason the water tasted better here, purer somehow. Or mayhap it was just him who felt so. Words were spoken of anything but why they'd been sent for, instead it was on the war in the South, his conquest, and why the North had knelt. Along with commiserations for the losses his uncles had suffered. Eventually, word soon turned to why Jeor needed their aid.
"Mance Rayder, Ned. A former brother of the Watch who now names himself as King Beyond the Wall." Jeor spat.
"He'll find out like the others who've done so that the North Remembers, Jeor." his uncle said firmly.
"'Tis good to hear it, Ned. But I sought men?"
"And men march, Jeor. The Greatjon should arrive soon along with men from the Mountains and we have my nephew and his dragon too. Trust me they are more than a match for any force of Wildlings."
"What does this king seek?" he asked taking the three men by surprise.
"To cross the Wall, your grace," Jeor replied as if he was speaking to a child and not a full-grown man with a crown.
"Other than that?" he asked to dumbfounded looks
"Mayhap you're not aware of…"
"Your history? The History of the North? I think you'll find I'm as knowledgeable as any in this room. I know the tales, Lord Commander. I know that Bran the Builder built the Wall more than eight thousand years ago. I know that Brandon the Breaker and the King Beyond the Wall, Joramun, united to defeat the Night's King. I know one thing more than any other, however." he said as he rose to his feet.
"Which is, your grace?" his uncle Benjen asked.
"No man builds a Wall such as this to keep out men. There is no need for such." he said before turning to walk to the door "The lift I saw, it goes to the top of the Wall?" he asked to a nod from Jeor "I leave you to your conversation, for now. I'd like to see over the edge of it as my mother told me one day I would."
As they walked to the lift they were joined by a man named Qhorin Halfhand and another named Thoren Smallwood. Both men looked at him and Torgho Nudho distrustfully yet held their tongues. It took some time for the lift to take them to the top and he had to admit that it was a relatively ingenious apparatus. One that he'd no doubt had been built long ago and by cleverer men than those he'd met thus far at Castle Black. When they reached the top of the Wall, he was told the ice was slippery and not to stand too close to the edge. Thoren Smallwood almost wore a smirk on his face as he spoke the words.
Looking over the edge of the Wall, he could see the tree line and the forest that lay some distance away and he felt eyes upon him as he did so, eyes from both sides of the Wall. The lands had a beauty to them, harsh though they were and he found he wished to travel them, to explore them, and to seek the truth of them. A small voice in his head though spoke a warning to him and told him that there was naught but death in those lands and that in time those lands wouldn't be enough to contain death's hunger.
"Both of you have dealt with the Wildlings?" he asked to grunts "With this Mance Rayder?" he asked to no reply "Were you born mute and is it just me who stills your tongue?" he asked annoyed while turning around to face the two men.
"Aye, I know Mance. He was my brother once. He was the best of us, the worst of us too." Qhorin said.
"And would you name him a craven, a coward?" he asked catching the man by surprise and while Thoren did just that, Qhorin very much did not.
"He's an Oathbreaker, aye….but he has eyes to see, and no man ever dared to name him a faintheart." Qhorin said and Aemon looked to Torgho Nudho and saw it in his eyes. His own path was one that his sworn shield wished him to forge yet again.
They ate with the men that night. His uncles spoke to Jeor Mormont and other men that they knew while he and Torgho Nudho sat in silence for some time. When they'd finished eating, it was to the Maester's rooms that he went rather than his bed and while he bid Torgho Nudho to sleep, something he did reluctantly in the chair by the fire, Aemon spent most of the night looking through some of the books that he'd asked the Maester for access too.
He ignored the tomes on the realm and instead looked through journals written by former Lord Commanders. None of them going back as far as he wished them to, yet some offered him insight. By the time dawn had risen, he knew what it was he wished to do and that there would be those who'd name him a fool for doing so. Aemon was a king though and it took a king to treat with a king. Especially when around him the truth of things had been lost.
Wildings raided for the things they needed. They sought to steal, ravage, rape, and were savages according to the Watch and his uncles. Yet there had been relative peace between them and those on the other sides of the Wall for many years. Raymun Redbeard was the last King Beyond the Wall to truly unite the Wildings and that had been five and seventy years ago. He'd seen the watch become complacent and had snuck past them only to find his end at the hands of Starks and Umbers. Aemon had read the tale in the Lord Commander's, at the time, own journal. Tired as he was, he chuckled at the name that had stuck to Jack Musgood after that event.
"Sleepy Jack," he said softly chuckling still.
No there was more at play here than simply Wildlings seeking more than they had and the fact they were led by a former man of the Watch gave them more room to negotiate too. If war was inevitable then he'd bring them war, but his mother's tales, the sense he got from atop the Wall and something even deeper than all of them was telling him that was not what they Wildlings sought. True they sought to be free men and they'd fight for that freedom, but he believed the truth of things was in the tale of the Wall itself. For eight thousand years it had stood to keep something from crossing it. That something was not men and he feared that the time had come when it sought to cross once more.
"Come, Torgho Nudho, it's time to go argue with my uncles and the Lord Commander and to remind them it's me that wears the crown," he said as he woke up his sworn shield.
A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up next Aegon and Viserys arrive in Braavos and Qarth respectively. In Oldtown, the High Septon calls a meeting to discuss the heathens in the realm. Aemon argues with his uncles and the Night's Watch and is stunned by a surprise visitor that upends all his plans. Daario arrives back at Harrenhal and shares his news with Thoros and finds he's not the only arrival at the great keep. Before the Targaryens leave the North and take to the skies. In Dorne, plans are made and a course of action is put into motion that will change the fates of many.
For those following my other fics, Live as a Dragon and Last Wolf are the next ones to be updated, I just don't know in which order yet. So whichever is next, the other follows after.
Felipe: I'll be introducing some new dragons next chapter, so I'll do the full list of the known dragons and their riders at the end of it.
Bhuvan: The Night's King is the name of the Lord Commander that turned at the Wall, the one that married the Corpse Queen and was beaten by Brandon the Breaker and Joramun, the Night King is the name given to the one we see in the show. They are two different entities. One is supposed to be a corrupted human, the other is a physical representation of the Others. Basically, the Night's King served the Others, the Night King leads them.
Jessicanightmarewolf: Have they survived? They are alive still, but there is more to come. I sort of wanted it to be somewhat how canon Myrcella is, she's meant to be the most clever of the children, and so I wanted to give her that since Joanna is sort of the more important of them in terms of her birth. Aegon has been somewhat lax, I sort of showed that earlier with him arriving at meetings late and having it being said that it was pretty much Viserys doing his work for him, Aemon's departure has refocused him, but he's not been as diligent. Had it been Viserys, he'd have known right away, but this is just something he paid little attention to, among other things.
I love me some Maester Aemon, but he's almost the easiest to kill given his age and we'll see some flashbacks of him and Aemon to come, but yes, he usually gets the short end of the stick. We'll be seeing some of that with the dragons very soon, and yes, you remember it right. With the Martells it depends on which of them seeks to fight really. Aemon is not very merciful, especially when he feels betrayed.
Celexys: So glad you enjoyed it, my friend.
Shadowquark: They'd never believe it, Aemon's tactics are just too well known and in a way this is why I had him say those words to Brandon Stark during the meeting, to foreshadow this. LF thinks he's smart, but he's out of the loop with the dragons, and only has third and fourth hand info.
Dunk: You'd be spot on, no way the Targ would suspect him. Funnily enough, if it was him, then this is the best way to do it, simply because there is no way they'd suspect him. Maester Aemon always gets short shrift, but his death here is pivotal and yes it could very well lead to his Aemon being stretched too thinly.
On the Starks, at the end of chapter 2, the breakdown is there already. I wanted to do something with the wolves, have them again be a catalyst of sorts as they were in the show. Glad you liked the interactions, we'll see a little more of them though in a chapter or two and almost in flashback as we'll be moving from the north next. On the Blackfyres, we'll be seeing Daemon's descendants soon enough, they rule over Meereen and Qarth, so we'll be finding out more about them. They are Targs though, only named as Blackfyres as an insult by Bloodraven. Since the concept of bastards doesn't really apply in Essos, all of Aegon the Unworthy's children are Targaryens.